☁︎ summary: when nanami is injured from his fight with mahito, you're sent to pick him up. and both of your careful avoidance of your feelings for each other comes crumbling down.
☁︎ cw: hurt/comfort, angst then fluff, mutual pining, mentions of injuries, blood, spoilers for events of s1, these two idiots are so in love
☁︎ wc: 3,509
Nanami had very few regrets in his life, if any.
Regrets felt almost wasteful to him — living in the past when you were already firmly rooted in the present, and aside from that, he knew the insidious power of regret — the way it festered and grew and fed cursed energy and spirits alike.
However, as he grasped at his side discreetly — pain blooming with each step he took, scarlet red painting his fingers that barely concealed the wound under his jacket — he couldn’t help but regret arriving at this trap without backup.
It was hubris really — he thought as he finally found an empty bathroom — and the utter lack of resources that Jujutsu sorcerers had, in both manpower and strength.
Really, he thought as he stripped off his jacket, leaning against the wall of the stall, his blood still roaring in his ears, you’d think after all these years, the organization would have any semblance of organization or unity for that matter. He glances at the wound staining his shirt — shit it’s deeper than I thought.
He rinses his hands off in the sink, ringlets of blood staining the clean countertop and sink alike. He pulls tissue from the dispenser, wiping the remainder of blood from his fingers, before taking clean napkins and wadding it, placing it at his wound to stem the bleeding.
But how could it? He pulls out his phone — finding Ijichi’s number and dialing it — especially when sorcerers were dying left and right —
— And he was barely an exception.
"Hello, I’m sorry!”
“Hm?” what could he possibly have to apologize for?
“I’ve just sent you my location,” he feels a headache creeping on, and he wasn’t sure it was from the fatigue or the blood loss — probably both, “please come and pick me up a.s.a.p. I need you to take me to Jujutsu Tech to get some treatment from Ieiri.”
“Treatment?” he was tired of questions — the exhaustion settled against his body familiarly, the adneradline finally beginning to wane from his body.
“Nothing serious,” and he almost could have laughed — a penetrating wound in his side wasn’t serious — and he added, “nothing that’s going to kill me anyway.”
But it easily could have — if he hadn’t hidden his soul in time, if he hadn’t chosen to take the hit, he would have died — or would he have? A shiver travels down his spine at the thought of that transfigured human, pleading for him to kill them — or would his subconscious simply have been trapped?
“That’s good,” comes Ijichi’s sigh of relief, “Well, I’m about to join up with Itadori, then we’ll head your way.”
Nanami’s brow wrinkles, “What? He’s not with you?”
There’s no telling what those unidentified cursed spirits’ plans were — but it was a terrible idea having Itadori wander around unsupervised with any of them out there. They had no idea what plan these unidentified special grades had — only that they started emerging when Itadori became the vessel for Sukuna. He pinches the bridge of his nose — whether that was a coincidence or not, he didn’t want to take that risk.
“I’m sorry!” Ijichi yells into the receiver, and Nanami flinches, holding the phone away from his ear, “I’m going to get him right now. Wait right there.”
And Nanami hangs up, putting his phone away, leaning against the wall of the bathroom again. The pain in his side begins to throb, and he sucks in breath, only to sigh. Like he said, it’s not like this would kill him — he glances down at the wound again, but it did hurt like hell.
He hoped Ijichi got here quickly.
You see Ijichi’s name flash on your screen, as you glance up from the mountain of paperwork burying your normally neat desk. Volunteering to be a temporary teacher at Jujutsu Tech while Gojo was away was a mistake, if only because you got stuck finishing up the paperwork he so kindly left behind for you. You could almost imagine him laughing at you when he returns, thanking you with some tacky souvenir he picked up from some gift shop.
He may be the greatest sorcerer in the world, but he’s still the same pain in the ass you knew from your time here.
You grab your phone — so you’d welcome any distraction — even if it’s Ijichi asking you to run an errand for him.
You pick up, “Ijichi, what’s up?”
He greets you, “Can you do me a favor?” his voice is breaking, and you wrinkle your brow.
“Are you okay?”
“Never mind that,” you swear you hear him sniff, but he continues regardless of that, his voice growing more even with every word, “could you pick up Nanami for me? I sent you his coordinates.”
“Nanami?” your brows knit together, chest squeezing, “is he okay?”
“He’s fine, from what he said on the phone, but he needs to be seen by Ieiri for treatment,” Ijichi says, the tension in his voice thick with every passing word, like a clock being wound far too tight, far too quickly, “please, I would really appreciate it!”
“Alright, alright, Ijichi,” and you hear him sigh in relief, “Did you let him know I’m coming?”
Silence fills your ears for a moment, before he speaks, “Can you just let him know? Thank you so much, I will see you soon!”
“Ijichi—” and he’s already hung up, and you sigh at your phone.
Nanami’s right — jujutsu sorcerers are shit.
You make your way to Nanami’s location, your fingers drumming against the leather of your steering wheel, chewing on your lip. You didn’t bother telling Nanami you were headed his way, knowing him he’d only protest and call a car to come get him. And you weren’t about to let him get driven home by a stranger when he’s hurt. Nanami was the type to hate being reliant on anyone, only when it was absolutely necessary — you had learned that soon enough after meeting him.
You squeezed the wheel tighter — you hoped Gojo hadn’t said anything to him about your conversation with him — the damn bastard was so smug — as always.
“You really agreed to come back quickly,” Gojo’s lips were split in a wide grin, and even behind that blindfold, you knew he was gauging your reactions.
“Yeah? So? I’m at Jujutsu Tech half the time anyway in between missions,” you frown at him as he walks you to where you’ll be staying at the school, “plus, this will give me some time to observe the first years, and make sure you’re not filling their heads with nonsense,”
“Oh, you wound me,” despite that, he’s laughing maniacally after, his lips still curled smugly, “but still, I just find it interesting is all, especially because you were hesitating until I mentioned Nanami would be here as well,” And you furrow your brow, head snapping to him, “is all I mean.”
“Gojo—”
“Have you told him how you feel?” and he doesn’t stop for a breath, “of course you haven’t, the two of you still dance around this like you did when you were students here. Very high school of you, but I guess it’s fitting since we’re in one.”
“We don’t—”
“You can’t deny it,” he says, still grinning, “well, you can, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still there,” and then he gestures to the door in front of you, “we’re here!”
You only stare at him, brow furrowed, “I don’t have feelings for Kento — we’re just friends.”
And to your surprise, Gojo nods, “You’re right — you’re just friends, and that’s all you’ll ever be,” and he’s brushing past you, “unless one of you says anything,” And you blink, teeth digging into your bottom lip, “Or unless I say something—”
“Gojo!” and he’s already disappearing around a corner, laughing.
He wouldn’t say anything — he wouldn’t.
You think, at least.
But — you tap your foot against the floor of the car — it didn’t make you any less anxious.
It wasn’t simple. You and Nanami.
It never was.
Both first years at Jujutsu High — you grew up together, you lived next door to each other, you fought together — until you didn’t.
Until he didn’t, because he left.
But he had to — you never blamed him for that. It was hard enough to see horrors you all did day in and day out, but another thing is to lose people close to you — to be at risk of losing everyone.
It was too much for him.
And you knew that, you saw it, even if he didn’t want you to.
Too many nights you would barely knock on his door only to find him wide awake, bags under his eyes. Eventually, there was one night, after a difficult mission, you found yourself at his door. His door creaked open, and you knew he wasn’t sleeping — he had been lying awake just like you had. You spent the night with him in solace, in quiet, until eventually you both fell asleep.
It became a habit — one that you had started after you couldn’t sleep one night, and it soon became every night — except the one night Gojo had barged into Nanami’s room, finding the two of you asleep by the dining table on the floor, your head resting against his shoulder. Gojo had woken Nanami up with the click of his camera phone, and you woke up as Nanami yelled at Gojo — who ran out of the room, laughing.
After that, Nanami would find his way to your room instead. And you had asked him once why he still came? He paused, only shrugging, “Because I want to.”
And then he came back. Because he wanted to.
You had him in your life again, but it wasn’t the same. The walls you had tumbled before were higher and harder to climb, and you didn’t even know if he wanted you too.
It had been a while since you had seen him — a few months, almost a year.
You pulled into the area he was in, as you turned your car off. And you didn’t know what you were going to say to him, grabbing the first aid kit and your keys, before opening your door — only that you hoped he was okay.
Nanami hears a knock on the stall, and his eyes flicker open, checking his phone — no call or text from Ijichi — his hand instinctively reaches for his blade. Until he senses who it is. He furrows his brow, unlocking the door, “What are you doing here?”
How long had it been since he’d seen you? A few months? A year almost? Either way, it was far too long since he’d seen you, heard your voice, saw you smile—and he brushed away his thoughts.
And that was exactly why it had been as long as it had.
You stand, arms crossed eyes scrutinizing until you find your way to his wound, “Strip,”
And he blinks, “Excuse me?”
“Take off your shirt, Nanami,” and he purses his lips at the use of his last name, you open up the first aid kit — fully outfitted in everything needed to care for a wound, “I need to dress the wound before I take you to Jujutsu Tech, otherwise it could get infected, especially since it’s been left to bleed.”
“You don’t need to—” and the rest of his sentence dies on his lips when your eyes flicker to his, glowering, and he sighs. It was more trouble to argue with you then it was to concede.
He undoes the buttons of his shirt, as you wash your hands, sanitizing them, before grabbing a clean cloth. He gingerly shrugs off his shirt, and he sees your eyes flicker over his bare chest, before quickly resting on his wound. Heat climbs his neck, as you examine the wound, your cold fingers brushing against his warm skin.
“It doesn’t look like there’s any remnants of cursed energy or poison in the wound,” you rise, dampening the cloth under running water, “I’m just going to clean it and bandage it.”
His gaze softens as he watches you, “Since when did you learn so much about caring for wounds?”
“I’ve had Shoko teach me a few things over the years,” you wring the cloth out, before kneeling again, “this might sting a little.”
And it did — but his focus was elsewhere aside from pain. His eyes couldn’t help but gaze at you, noting the tenseness in your shoulders, the tiredness in your eyes, the signs of wear on your face, but he also notices that things that haven’t changed — the way you bit your lip when you were focusing, the way your brow scrunched deeply, and the way you always wore your heart on your sleeve, even if it wasn’t apparent to most around you.
Or maybe it was just the way you were around him.
That was the one thing that always drew him to you, wasn’t it?
He was content in his life — he had left the jujutsu world because he thought he couldn’t handle it, and maybe at that time, he couldn’t. The deaths — especially of the people around him — it was too much. But he returned because he realized that the appreciation he could gather, the thank yous, were enough for him to live each day with no regrets.
But his eyes found you again— almost.
You were always the one to make him dare to want more than simple contentment — and it was dangerous to want more — because there was more to lose. And he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else — no, he pursed his lips, glancing as you rose to wash and wring out the cloth — he couldn’t bear to lose you.
“Nanami,” and his gaze snapped up, finding himself staring at a water bottle, “drink.”
He thanks you, taking the bottle from your fingers, brushing yours as he does, and the question slips from his lips before he can help it, “Why are you calling me ‘Nanami?’”
You pause, raising an eyebrow “Should I be calling you Nanamin?”
And he blinks, lips parting to ask where you heard— before he scowls, where else? Gojo must have told you about Itadori’s nickname, “No,” but he felt his ears burn — or maybe you should — and he continues, “You always called me Kento, before,”
“Like you said, it was before,” you purse your lips, "what happened?" And he frowns, tilting his head, "I mean with the cursed spirit you were fighting,"
"I had to withdraw," he shakes his head, "this was an unregistered special grade — much like the ones that Gojo encountered. It's technique — it—" he breaks off — the memory of the woman— and he corrects himself — the corpse begging for him to kill her, "it was a bad match for mine, so I had no choice." but he notices your gaze lingering, "what?"
"Are you okay?" And he blinks.
"I'm fine—" and you shake your head, "what?"
"You don't always have to do everything on your own, Nanami,”
And he purses his lips, “Jujutsu isn’t—”
“A team sport,” you finish, raising your eyebrows, “but this isn’t about the fight itself,” you pull fresh gauze from your kit, “it’s about the toll it takes after,” your fingers brush his, as you guide his hand to press it to the wound.
“I don’t need to burden other people—”
“You’re not a burden,” you cut him off, and you steal the breath from his lungs, your gaze burning a trail of heat wherever it lays, “how can you expect anyone to feel close to you if you won’t let anyone in?” the sound of tape cuts through the silence, as you bite it before ripping it into strips.
“Maybe because I don’t want anyone to get close enough to see how weak I really am,” he says quietly, the back of his head resting against the wall again, “it’s easier to be content living so close to death every day, when you don’t have anything to lose.”
You frown, “Nanami—”
“The things we see—” he says, “the murder, the disfigurement, the death, the loss,” he runs a hand over his face, “is it worth it to do what we do?”
He feels your gaze linger on him, “Nanami, what happened earlier?”
“I don’t—” he shakes.
“What happened?” he squeezes his eyes shut, before sighing.
So he tells you. About the cursed spirit, about how it can morph and mangle souls and bodies into whatever form he wishes, how it was the worst match up against his cursed technique, and about the corpse, “And there was a person— a corpse,” he swallows, “their face right below my feet, begging me to kill them — and I couldn’t do it,” his voice breaks.
“Nanami—” he can’t look at you — he can’t.
“And it almost did the same thing to me,” he whispers, “I could have ended up just like—”
“But you didn’t,” your hand reaches for him, but he catches your wrist in his hand, gently, “you escaped.”
“But I almost—” became just like them.
And he almost understood what Itadori meant by the fact he wanted to have a proper death — because there was nothing proper about what that cursed spirit did to those people.
You break from his grip, and your fingers brush his cheek tentatively, and you guide his gaze to yours, “You’re here with me — because of your skill, because of your abilities, because it wasn’t your time,” you tilt your head, “I’m not losing you that easily, Kento. Not without a fight.”
His lips twitch into a bitter smile, watching the overhead fan spin above them, “But I suppose I’ll still be losing something in the end,” the words slip past his lips, “just like I lost you.”
“Kento,” and he blinks, mouth parting, his eyes finding yours again, your brows furrowed, “you never lost me. You always have me—” and your eyes shy away, but not before they turn stern, “but not if you insist on being a martyr.”
“I can manage that,” he says softly, as your fingers brush against his again, pressing tape over the gauze, and he hisses a little, leaning forward.
Your head whips up, “Sorry,” and you freeze, your face an inch from his own. He feels your breath warm his lips, while his own stills — god, you were so beautiful, weren’t you?
“Do you still not want anyone to be close to you?” you breathe, and he chuckles, lips curling in a smile, as his fingers dare to brush against your cheek, his chest stirring as he feels you lean into his touch.
“Maybe not anyone,” and then he adds, “but if it’s you—”
“If it’s me?” and he dares a little closer, tilting your head upwards, his fingers resting on the back of your neck.
“I always want you by my side,” he breathes, his lips a centimeter away, as he breathes your name, almost to ask for permission, “I’ve always—”
“I know,” you whisper, “me too.”
And his lips brush yours, for a moment — hesitant, as you both part for a moment, until your lips find his again, and again, and again. Until his hands are cupping your cheeks, and your arms are wrapping around his neck, your nails carding through the hair resting on the back of his neck — as your lips meet again.
“Kento—” you murmur, and he nearly groans, as he’s pulling you closer — and he can’t think of anything else, but you, “I—” and you gasp, as his lips kiss down your jawline, and your hands slide down his shoulders to the front of his shirt, grasping at it, tugging him needlessly closer.
“Ow,” he flinches, his wound stinging, and you pull away, hands raised.
“Sorry, sorry,” and he smiles, his arms pulling you back to him, “Kento— we should get you to Jujutsu Tech,”
Hu hums, “Just a second,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I just want to savor this.”
“I didn’t know you were one for being sentimental, Nanamin,” and you feel him chuckle, your head resting on his chest, gingerly.
“I don’t mind you calling me that, so much as I do...others,”
“I’ll have to let Gojo know,” you snort, as your fingers toy with a button on his shirt, “and I’ll have to thank him.”
He raises an eyebrow, “For what?”
“For making me realize my feelings for you,” and Nanami tilts his head, “I’ll explain later.”
“I’d thank him,” his hands wrapping around your waist, “if I respected him more.”
“You do—” and he kisses you again, hard, his nose bumping against yours, before he smiles, his thumb softly grazing the length of your cheek back and forth, “Kento—”
“You can thank him later,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours, “I want to keep you to myself for now.”
“And then?” His fingers slowly intertwine with yours — a perfect fit — as you tug at him, leading him out of the washroom.
He squeezes your hand, “We’ll see.”
Together.
☁︎ a/n: this is a fic i wrote a long time ago when i watched season 1 and i was like why not post it?
☁︎ tag list (apologies if you didn't wanna be tagged, going off who liked the poll i put up): @thotsposts, @ib4ryuguji, @sunspawn22, @kannra21, @nightmarelov,
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Sukuna is old. He is also weirdly cultured for the monster that he is. With so much time on his hands, he loves indulging in arts and literature, and as with everything else he tries, he's good at it. You wouldn't know this, of course, you are only his pet. The time you spend with him is limited and hardly consists of intellectual conversation. You are there to serve one purpose and you know that quite well. So when you wake up in his bed one morning, two things come as a surprise. First that you're even here. It's one of those rare occasions when Sukuna couldn't be bothered kicking or carrying you out of his chambers once your time together was up. Second, he's awake, bent over his desk and so concentrated on a little figurine in his hand that he doesn't immediately notice you've shuffled awake. Once your eyes focus, you see that he's holding a tool in his other hand. He's carving wood. You're almost hypnotized by the scene. The scene feels so private that even a pet like you, who knows Sukuna in the most intimate way, feel like you shouldn't be watching. But you can't look away.
"Awake?", he asks, without sparing a glance at you. You apologize for staring, and look for your clothes around the bed. You throw them on just precisely enough to cover up until you reach your chambers, just wanting to be as quick and innocuous as possible. You wait for Sukuna's approval to leave. He gives you a simple nod, once more avoiding to look at you. You leave feeling conflicted. Special, because he allowed you to stay and watch (even as little as you did), but saddened because he barely looked at you, once more solidifying in your mind that you're only interesting to him when you're naked and bent over. As long as you've been here, you could never stop wishing for his validation.
Sukuna knows when you get insecure too. He notices the way your eyes droop, the way you close in yourself and seem absent in his presence. He justifies this excessive worry about you by telling himself he likes to be the only thing that bothers his pets. All the way until he realized he already is the only thing that can make you said. This realization falls upon him one time he lashes out on you and sees the immediate change of heart on your face. Now, he isn't one to apologize, especially not to someone who is as low under him as his pet. But why does he feel guilty when he sees this one act of his ruin your day? When he catches a glimpse of you sitting in the garden with your head hung low, or leaving more food on your plate than you usually do. If only you knew the way you really made him feel.
He beckons you to his chambers, and you follow three steps behind him like a good pet does. You didn't expect this time to be any different than others. You've become used to serving Sukuna on days you loved him and on days you hated him. But when he tells you to close your eyes, you know something is different. You obey, of course, and listen to his footsteps as he fetches something from the room. His hand takes yours and opens it, placing a piece of wood onto your palm. You already know, but you wait for him to allow you to open your eyes. He lightly presses his thumb on your cheek under your eye, and when you look, you find a small wooden fawn, curled up and asleep.
"Master!!..", you start, but nothing else can leave your mouth. You turn the figure around in your hand, inspecting and admiring the details. He's given you gifts before, but not ones carved by his own hand. Not ones made with love.
"You don't have to squint anymore.", Sukuna says, almost jokingly. But his face is as serious as ever as he looks at you, his muse. He thinks of the first time he's exhausted you to the point of passing out right after your nightly meetings. You were relatively new and very unsure of your safety. He thinks of your small body curled up in sleep on the edge of his bed, knees pressed to your chest in a primal, subconscious attempt to protect yourself. His little pet, his fawn.
You slur on and on about how beautiful it is, how you don't know how to thank him, the usual when you receive a gift. And as usual, Sukuna shuts you up with a kiss. You welcome it and wrap your arms around his neck, giving yourself in to him and letting him take you to the bed.
And he takes things slow tonight. He's gentle and so, so giving. Every sensation is delicate, prolonged and heightened to exhaustion. You cling to him, pull him impossibly close, and come apart under the comforting weight of him. Afterwards, you hold his hand to your face and kiss it softly. His hands, so large and strong, capable of such violence, yet for you they craft gifts, cradle, caress, love... in a very subtle and distant way, of course. With these thoughts your hands slip away from his, you turn around and quickly drift off.
He looks at you now, sleeping so close to him. Trusting him with your back, and turning your curled up form to the outside world. As if he is no longer a perceived danger. He smiles to himself in victory, and plants a chaste kiss to your shoulder to wish you one final goodnight.
warnings: not sfw//mdni. porn with plot, fluff and smut, monsterfucking, size difference, slight blood play, fingering, f receiving oral. mentions of violence and injury. death mention. mentions of human sacrifice and cannibalism. dark content warning. sukuna has multiple wives in this, the reader isn't one of them. fem!reader
synopsis: the reader is a sorcerer working for sukuna when they're gravely injured during a battle. fluff and smut ensues >:)
word count: 8.8k
jjk masterlist
You had never given much thought as to how you’d die.
As a child, death was a seemingly inconceivable topic to you, as it is for most children. It's a topic you can't quite grasp until you witness it firsthand, as you're still too young and sheltered to understand it. Some are unlucky in that matter; they see it far before they should; in the deaths of the elderly—their grandparents, or in the elders of their village. Or in the passing of a beloved pet; a dog gone rabid, or sick in some other way, with the only option left to put it down.
Yet you grow up seeing it’s effects all around you. In the faces of your neighbors. Those burying loved ones, or those just burying an unnamed body. In the losses of crops, and livestock. In the faces of the sorcerers that would return home, fewer and fewer each time. They all had this look in their eyes. You would look into them, but never at them, because there was nothing left behind their eyes.
It's the only fair thing in life as it sweeps through everything indiscriminately: everything that lives, has to die.
You were convinced you were invincible. Untouchable. From the moment your abilities as a sorcerer manifested, this thought only solidified itself in your ideology. In the golden age of sorcery, those who practice it, often don't make it to retirement. Those that do, find themselves to be something less than human.
The older you grew, the more you became settled in the thought of a violent end. If you were going to die, then at the very least you would do it while human. A fitting ending to a short, violent life.
As you’ve come to learn, there are only two guaranteed things in this life: death, and taxes.
This wasn't the first time Ryomen Sukuna had threatened to raze your village. A hundred years prior, he had shown up with the intent to pillage and kill to his heart’s content. The shamans of the village had managed to hold him off. Just barely. But time had weakened your people. It made them complacent with their way of life, and lazy. They had forgotten the unimaginable hardships they faced nearly a century earlier. There was no defeating him this time.
Like usual, the residents began putting together offerings: food, money, jewels, and their most feared sorcerer. Those who were smart, took their belongings and fled. Those who weren't, tried to fight. It's only in human nature to want to survive. Most people will do anything to achieve it. Others will try to claim that there's more to live than plain survival. And at one time, you believed it. The people of your village feared what they couldn't defeat. And so you were exiled, only to be put on a silver platter in hopes to appease the King of Curses, and prevent the fate that everyone knew they’d face.
Maybe it’s out of pity he’s kept you alive all these years. You were only keeping this body for the carrion that would feed on it. For the scavengers that would take your bones and strew them across the land, leaving them to bleach in the sun.
Perhaps this was all set in stone by a power far greater at hand. Perhaps there is no changing the fate laid out for you. But the cockroach does not question the boot on it's way down to squish it.
Buzzards circle overhead.
Your mind walks the line between waking and sleep. Just moments ago, there was a structure here. A temple. Holy ground. Or at the very least blessed. All that remains are charred splinters of wood, and a stone foundation. Smoke curls up along the horizon. It's long since gone white. The fire has already gone out. It would be black if the fire were still raging.
Blood and corpses will render this field infertile. That waste will sink into the soil and leave any fruit that grows here toxic. Nothing will thrive if planted here; until carrion strewn the bodies of soldiers about and pick their bones clean, then will things finally begin to grow.
Your eyes can hardly focus on the figure looming over you.
"I did not give you permission to die." Sukuna says.
…
It had to have been spring.
The sun was too high in the sky, but the early morning came with a bitter cold. Rain came and went. Sporadic showers carried on throughout the morning, and well into the afternoon. One second, the ground was dry as bone, the next it was a flooded, muddy mess.
You had followed that damn trail for hours, starting when the sun was low on the horizon, and ending when it had begun to set. It was as if the forest itself were cursed.
The woods had made quick work of your traveling companion; another sorcerer doomed to walk this path with you.
A sacrifice.
“Not much of a sacrifice”, you’d say if anyone were to ask you. He could hardly brave these woods you spent so many years growing up in. Humans are the biggest threat out here. But you also have snakes, bears, and the occasional mountain lion. Though those rarely travel so close to villages. If they can avoid humans, they will. And if you’re not smart, there's various poison plants that will make quick work of anyone dumb enough to eat them.
There was only so much distance you could cover before the sun set entirely. Turning back wasn't an option. The people of your village would kill you (or at the very least try to) if they saw your face again.
You happened upon a clearing. At one point in time, there was a structure here. A temple, with an altar. The wood completely rotted away with time. Only the stone foundations remain. Despite this, the lanterns and candles were lit, and fresh food remained on the altar.
Being exhausted, and hungry, this seemed as good a place as any to rest for the night. There wasn't much you could do while it was still dark out. The lights would ward off any woodland creatures that would dare bother you, and the food was decent enough; persimmons, pomegranates, plums of all different kinds. Produce. From your village.
The thought spoiled any appetite you once had.
You perched on a soft spot on the grass, with your bow in your lap, an arrow knocked for any woodland creature that should dare try to disturb your rest. Two of your arrows were sacrificed to ward off a bear, leaving you with eight.
Out of the treeline emerged a man. The tattoos should have been the first sign something was off. He stood a full head taller than any normal human, and had an extra set of arms to match. His only weapon looked to be a trident. Maybe it was supposed to be a spear—but the head was far too large and unwieldy to belong to a throwing weapon.
The King of Curses. The very curse that threatened to raze your village.
Had he caught you in a different mood, you would have fired that arrow straight into his face. Not that it would do all that much, but at the very least, it would have stunned him. Such an act would be more for revenge, than to defend yourself. But being exhausted, and irritated, you weren't going to put up much of a fight.
He had circled you like a cat stalking prey, all too surprised at the fight you put up—or lack thereof. He expected you to do something. Anything. Anything but sit there, continuing to peel your pomegranate, popping the seeds into your mouth. Your hands were stained a pale red from the juices. So were the inner parts of your lips. With the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth, before standing.
“I suppose you’re headed to that village?” You said. “Take me with you. I have a score to settle.”
Or you did. Before you got lost.
“You’re not going to beg for their lives, or your own?”
“Nah,” you said with a shrug, “could care less about them. Besides, you couldn't kill me if you tried.”
His clawed thumb pressed against your throat. With one swift movement, he could have your carotid artery open, and you a bleeding mess on the ground. On your own, there would be no stopping the flow of blood. In a matter of seconds, you would lose consciousness. In minutes, you would be dead. No help would arrive in time for you.
“You seem so certain about that.”
Sukuna expected different of you. Most would cry, or plead for their life—sorcerers are no exception in that. The soul has been broken, tears are only a sign of that. Others would try to fight, usually to no avail. You… you just seemed apathetic.
You leaned into his hand.
“My only wish is that if I die, I die a human,” you said.
Typically, Sukuna would travel about the countryside, terrorizing villages as he pleases. But it seemed that this time he found a new toy to do with as he pleased. As a sorcerer, you were strong. You held an immense power Sukuna only saw in humans once a millennia. Why he kept you alive instead of killing you right there, you’ll never know. The cockroach does not question the boot on it's way down to squish it.
“I do not give you permission to die,” he said.
…
By the time you finally wake, the sun has long since gone down. There's a dryness in the back of your throat that won't quite go away. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to do so much as wiggle your toes, let alone sit up. But you manage, slowly working life back into the tips of your fingers, then your arms, then your body. It's not a fast process. It feels as if it takes hours. Days even.
The first thing you see is a woman.
Mei. You're not certain what her surname was. She's long since stopped using it. It's the case for a lot of people around here. It's easier to forget where you're from, and the fates of those at the place you once called home, than to try to remember them. She's a small, pale woman, dressed in the finest silks and jewels this country has to offer. Her hair damn near reaches her waist; it's long, and black, and shiny like glass. Her skin holds the same porcelain finish. A sacrifice. Prized by her looks, and as sharp as a knife. Presented to him by her village in hopes he wouldn't raze the place. But he took her and did anyway. That's the case for most of the women around here. His wives, they’re called. Identified by the small black gemstone on their ring finger.
Most agree to stay. Most just don't have a place to go back to. They figure a life here is far better than whatever lies outside these walls. Holding such a title will only bring them bad luck, especially around sorcerers. Not much aside from a hard life lies ahead of them, should they decide to leave. At least here you're fed, and clothed, and given a dry place to sleep. So you understand why they stay, even if they don't necessarily like it here. You don't blame anyone for trying to survive.
Some of his wives survive longer than others. Many are tossed aside once he grows bored of them. And that's frequently, considering his lifespan. Despite that, she’s survived quite long. Years maybe. Almost as long as you.
You like her. Your first bit of advice when you first met her, was to not eat any meat he tries to offer. It's not pork. It takes someone quite smart to last as long as she has. Her small stature is deceiving. Your interactions with one another are few, and far between. Sukuna has had many men castrated for so much as looking at one of his wives the wrong way. The same goes for you, though. Those same men aren't spared such a fate when it comes to you.
Cradled in her arms is a pail of water, and a ladle. She holds the ladle to your lips and softly commands you to drink. You're met with the cool feeling of water across your tongue. You drink greedily, downing one ladle, then a second. When you try to go in for a third, she pulls away, warning you not to make yourself sick.
The pain in your side isn't unbearable. You suspect that's due to her reverse cursed technique. She’s one of the few gifted with the ability to heal others. Not that her talents get much use around here. If someone’s injured enough to need her help, then they’re not going to last long around here anyway.
You groan as you move from your spot. Her arm shoots out and across your chest to prevent you from sitting up. Yet you still attempt it. Even in your weakened state, your strength rivals hers, and are able to move from your spot.
"You lost a lot of blood," she says. “I healed what I could, but you're going to feel awful for a few days. I suggest you take it easy, but I know it's you I‘m talking about, so just try not to rip open your stitches.”
The blankets fall around your waist as you sit up. Mei doesn't bother to try to stop you this time.
Blankets—not yours—furs and silks far too lavish for your tastes. This isn't your bed. Sukuna's. The King of Curses doesn't need much sleep. If any at all. Not much sleeping gets done in this bed. It's merely decoration at this point, and a soft surface to fuck on.
You watch her head tilt to the side. The corners of her lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Maybe smile isn't the right word for it; it's more of a smirk.
"What did he say?" She asks. "If I'm not being too forward- I'm just curious if he said anything to you before he brought you back."
"'I didn't give you permission to die.'" You say.
There's that look again. No good follows this look in her eyes.
“He loves you,” she says. “You love him back, don't you?”
When you spend so much time with a person—curse—it's hard to not love them, if even a little bit.
"I don't think he's capable of loving anything." You say. "Well, he loves his wives in the same way a miser loves gold. He likes pretty things. Toys he can ruin, and break."
Yet here you are. One of the few things he couldn't destroy. His most prized lieutenant. A sorcerer feared by mn and curses alike. Kept for your natural talent in battle, and overwhelming amount of cursed energy. The King of Curses doesn't need a guard, yet you stood by his side like one. Maybe that was what he told everyone else, to save himself the shame of proving you were something he couldn't kill.
Perhaps his affections for you stemmed out of his inability to kill you. He often compared you to a cockroach he couldn't squish under his boot. Humans in general. Try to cut off their head, starve them out, poison them: they’ll always come back. They tend to out-fuck any threat that they face. Like cockroaches, they out-breed any threat they face.
But the cockroach doesn't question the boot on it's way down to squish it.
"You don't seriously believe that," Mei says.
“Of course I believe it,” you say, “I've seen it plenty of times before.”
You sense she has more to say, but she remains silent on the matter. Holding a bowl up to you, she softly says eat. In it is what looks to be a white, mushy substance. Rice porridge. It's not the most appetizing color, or texture. It doesn't have a particularly strong smell to it either, but it's been sweetened with honey, and spices like cinnamon and cloves. Bland but comforting. Each bite makes warmth spread out from your stomach, to your fingertips.
“How long was I out?” You ask, handing the bowl back to her.
“About a day.” She says. “You’ve been in and out of it for the past few hours. You got up once to get some water, but that was about it.”
She chats idly while you eat. The topic of conversation sticks to nothing in particular. You don't do much more than nod and hum in the way of contributing to the conversation. Personally, you think you’re about as good a conversationalist as a brick wall, but she insists on talking to you anyway. That's never changed as long as you’ve known her. The two of you don't typically have much to talk about, and when you do, conversation is quick, and hushed.
If you were a man, such behavior would warrant odd looks, and possible retaliation from the King of Curses himself. Rumors would spread of fraternization. Of affairs. You get away with it, as long as you aren't too obvious about it.
You do feel better after you’re done eating. Something heavier would be nice, though, you’re not certain you could keep it down. So maybe it's for the best.
Sukuna has to duck under the door frame as he enters the room, and though most of this furniture is made to be larger than the average human could use, he still dwarfs it. Save for the bed, which you could sprawl out as wide as possible and never touch the sides.
He doesn't bother to knock, which warrants a glare from you. But it is his room after all, so you suppose you can't be too mad.
Both sets of his eyes are trained on you. Some small part of you wishes to shrink under his gaze. You're not certain what you feel. Is it shame? Anger? It certainly isn't fear. There's many things you've felt fear towards, but never him.
Mei scoots back to give him room to settle between the two of you. The bed dips under his weight as he sits. Despite being sat down, he’s still taller than her. It's almost amusing how he dwarfs any average human.
With a nod, and a single movement of his hand, he excuses her. She stands on the tips of her toes to kiss him before exiting.
Something stirs in your stomach. A flicker of jealousy, maybe? Why? Why now? It's not like you haven't seen this hundreds of times before. The beautiful men and women that would throw themselves at Sukuna’s feet for a chance to be with him. The various wives he’s had over the years. How he parades himself about like he’s a god among men. A perfect creation. Like he’s a truly divine being.
Maybe because it's hard to spend so much time with a person, and not love them, if just a little bit. Or maybe your rice porridge just isn't sitting right.
His power may be impressive, but he is far from holy.
You try to stand, but he's on you in an instant, guiding you to sit back down. This time you can't fight it, and are forced to comply. The smell of woodsmoke, and something metallic hangs onto him, barely drowned by the scent of incense.
"Don't be stupid," he scolds, "I scoured that field for days trying to find you. It's such a waste, letting your life go like that."
He… was looking for you?
You had been so resigned in your fate that you hadn't taken into consideration the fact he would go out looking for you.
Why? Why bother with someone who was certainly dead?
Would he have buried your body? Cleaned your weapons and armor until they were shiny, and buried them alongside you? Decorate your grave with flowers? Would he visit you as you rot? Bring you fresh flowers, and throw out the old wilted ones?
How long would he wait? Would he watch the foliage grow back across your grave? Watch your headstone erode and eventually crumble? Would he wait until the end of time for you?
Sukuna is greedy, and all consuming. He takes what he wants, when he wants, and leaves nothing behind. You suppose you're not excluded in that regard. If he wanted you, then it's not out of the realm of possibility to think he would go searching for you.
“I think you’re losing your touch,” he says, “letting yourself get killed by something as weak as that.”
“Blood loss doesn't care how strong you are,” you say. “It's easy to find yourself overwhelmed out there.”
He beckons you closer. And you comply, getting up just enough to crawl to rest in his lap. Sukuna's thighs provide enough space to lounge comfortably across. Though he's mostly muscle, and they're a bit hard, his size makes him a decent spot to sit.
It's the first time you've dared to do such a thing, but the action feels natural, as if you’ve done this a hundred times over. His arms move to wrap around your waist and prevent you from falling off his lap.
“Sometimes I forget you're still human.” He says.
“I don't.” You say.
You guide his hand to rest on your side, just below your ribs. To feel the warmth of your flesh through your clothes. In a second, he could have this flesh in shreds. Rip and tear at it with his nails, or shred it between his teeth, exposing your organs. Despite this, he's surprisingly gentle.
Then you guide his hand to your heart. He doesn't need to be touching your chest to notice the way your heart picks up in pace. Sukuna allows himself to drag his nails upwards across your exposed collarbone, and relish in the way your heart rate picks up. Such a simple, human reaction. His hand wraps entirely around your neck, with room to spare. With a simple, quick movement of his wrist, he could have your neck snapped—and you know this—but a certain unspoken trust solidifies the idea that he'd never do such a thing.
You're not certain what point you're trying to get across with this. Maybe it's that you're still squishy and fragile under all that armor. That the metal and leather you wear is only an ornate dinner plate for your organs. That you still need to eat and sleep. That inside it all you’re still made of flesh and blood. Still human, even after all this time.
You imagine that becoming a curse isn't a quick process. One day you’re going to wake up, and the action of breathing will bring you no relief. Food will turn to ash in your mouth. Alcohol will no longer fill you with warmth. You will sleep for hours, but never find yourself rested. And slowly, oh so slowly will your humanity bleed from you.
"I'm getting old, Sukuna," you say.
"No you're not." He says in a scolding tone. "You've hardly lived a life."
For a man who's lived a hundred lifetimes over, mortality scares him. Not in the sense of himself—he knows he'll be fine—but in the sense of others. He's frightened for the life of his most beloved pet.
You find yourself complying when he guides you to rest your head against his chest. There's no heartbeat under his skin. But he bleeds, so you assume he must have a heart. Everything that bleeds has a heart.
He holds you like that for a moment, cupping your head in his hand. His palm nearly covers your entire face. He handles you softly, and with such care you didn't know he had in him. Sukuna cradles you with the same tenderness one would hold a small bird with. It's like you’re a fruit that he’s trying not to bruise. His thumb traces your lower lip, taking in the soft skin. He’d much like to know how your soft lips would feel pressed against his. You allow yourself this moment of peace; to be cradled like something truly precious. To feel the tender touch that only happens between lovers.
Love in a soft sense is a strange thing to you. You only know a harsh love. To be loved in such a gentle way is entirely foreign.
But you are just as much his, as he is yours.
You crane your neck to face him. One side of your—his; it's far too big to be one of yours—robe slips off your shoulder, but he's only met with the sight of bandages. You’re practically drowning in the light colored fabric. His gaze lingers on the muscles of your arms and the various scars that dot them.
Did he stand behind Mei as she healed you? Watched her dress your wounds in these bandages? Was he the one to take one of his robes, and clothe you in it?
Your thighs squeeze together at the thought. Wearing his clothes… it feels like a form of possessiveness over another person. Sukuna doesn't share. It smells like him. Like woodsmoke and something earthy. It has a coppery smell to it too. Blood maybe? A certain undeniable heat rises to your cheeks, and you’re quick to turn from his gaze.
"I want to devote myself to you," you say, "in the same way your wives do."
You swear you see something flicker behind his eyes. What? Confusion? Lust? Or something more sinister?
“Not with those wounds,” he says, “you’ll hurt yourself.”
“What is worship without a little pain?” You ask. Your face burns. You’re certain heat is radiating off your skin like a furnace.
"Don't martyr yourself for the sake of sex," he says, "if you’re so insistent on this, then let me do the work."
You feel yourself throb at his words. Unconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together, hoping for some relief, but the action brings you none. That little bit of bravery you had before is now gone, leaving you a shaky, quivery mess.
These walls are thin. You're not oblivious to what goes on in this room when everyone is trying to sleep. Key word: trying. All those years you’ve listened to screaming—screaming like those people were having their organs rearranged. And for all you know, they were.
One set of arms remains around your waist, the other gently nudges your knees apart. It's almost comical how his hands dwarf you. Both of your hands find one of his much larger ones, and wrap around it. He squeezes yours; whether on purpose to comfort you, or instinct, you can't tell.
When you squeeze his hand back, he pauses. “Is this alright?” He asks.
“Yes,” you say.
Sukuna doesn't think he’s ever heard your voice sound so small before. His grin is nothing short of predatory; you are the rabbit, small and trembling before the big bad wolf. Though it seems the wolf has you right in his jaws.
The feeling of teeth nipping at your ear makes you shiver. Sharp. Sukuna’s teeth are impossibly sharp. Certainly so for a human. But you know well by now that Sukuna is far from human.
Your eyes trail one of his hands as it moves lower and lower, before disappearing under your robe. Fingertips ghost up your thigh, making goosebumps rise along in their wake. You’re not quite certain what to do with your hands, and Sukuna picks up on this, guiding them to rest on one of his own. The slick that pools between your legs is enough to draw an amused chuckle from him.
"This is lewd," you say with a laugh.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asks.
You frantically shake your head. "Feels good." You say. "Don't stop."
Sharp nails graze against your skin as his fingers draw circles around your clit. The action itself is rather lazy; slow and drawn out. He’s playing with you, feeling you grow wet around his fingers, instead of putting much intent to his action. Sukuna can't help but wonder how much better this would be if he were on his throne, with you nestled on his lap.
He leaves you like that for what feels like hours, toying with you idly, turning you into a trembling mess. It could hardly be minutes, but the silence, combined with the aching feeling in your core, makes the passage of time meaningless. It's unbearable. Your nails are digging into his forearm so hard they leave little indents in his skin.
“More,” you say. “Please I need more!”
“Greedy, aren't we?” He coos.
The feeling of something wet flitting against your thigh makes you freeze. You lift the fabric of your robe just enough to see the shiny grin looking back at you.
A mouth… on his hand…
Your body freezes at the feeling of a hot tongue against your clit.
You're certain you're going to faint then and there. Sukuna’s fingers leave you feeling full, stretching you open almost impossibly so. It's not a stretch in the painful sense, but a feeling of fullness. The mouth on his hand laps and sucks like it's been starved. Two clawed fingers prod against your insides, until they find the spot that makes you squirm, and begin abusing it.
Your head rolls to the side, exposing your neck. Sukuna can hardly restrain himself from dragging his teeth across the silky flesh. They're so sharp you hardly feel the blood he's drawn, until you're met with the feeling of a wet tongue across your neck. He laps up that blood like it's the finest wine known to man. Like it's water after he’s trekked across the desert for days. You shudder, and a low laugh escapes him, one you feel rumble low in his chest.
When he leans down to kiss you, you can taste yourself on him. It's a… strange taste. Not unpleasant. But strange. Like an unripe persimmon, but without the sweetness.
“I can… taste it.” You say. As your nose wrinkles, he laughs.
“How do you taste, hm?” He asks. You’re not certain if he wants an answer to this question, but you’ll give him one anyway.
“Strange,” you say, “it's not how I thought.” Not that you’ve ever given much thought to the idea.
That tongue continues to toy with you, figuring out just what makes you writhe. It's quick work, honestly. After being pinched and prodded in all sorts of ways, it doesn't take you long to cum. You don't get louder as you near your release—as Sukuna expected—but quite the opposite. It sounds as if you've forgotten how to breathe. You’re quiet. Shy even.
Now this is a side of you he's never seen. Not that you're the most open and outspoken person usually, but this… This is a part of you only reserved for him.
Your thighs clamp around his hand as you cum, though this does little to stop how he toys with you. It's not until you’re putty in his hands, writhing under his touch that he pulls away, making a show of licking his fingers.
Your jaw falls slack, and he presses two of his fingers against your lips, before they dip into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the digits. There's that taste again. Persimmons, and salt. Sukuna’s free hand moves to cup your jaw, as both sets of his eyes are trained on you. Your limp, trembling body lays against him, nestled in his arms. You’re certain you couldn't move if you tried. Exhaustion sets in. From the waist down you feel nearly numb. You doubt your legs would work if you tried.
A line of saliva connects your lips with his fingers as he pulls away. With his thumb, he wipes away the thin line of saliva on your chin.
“Please,” you say, “please lord Sukuna-”
The corners of his lips twitch at the use of his title. “Please what?” He asks.
Sukuna rests on his knees in front of you, almost as if he’s bowed in prayer. The King of Curses isn't one to bow for anyone. This is the closest he’ll ever get to worshiping another being.
“Fuck me,” you say with a sigh. He can't tell if your words are meant as a demand, or a curse.
Off comes his kimono, and you’re unsurprised to see he’s not wearing anything underneath. You are surprised—however—to see that he’s already hard, and leaking precum against his tattooed thighs.
He's… huge. And there's two of them? Not that you’ve seen many cocks before, but you’ve seen enough to know that's one too many.
It shouldn't come as too big of a shock. The man himself is huge, anything smaller would look comical on him, it's only fair for these to match. The bottom one is smaller, if only slightly. It's still nearly the length of your forearm, and about as thick. Taking the top one is out of the question—you’re not certain it’ll fit—but the bottom one might.
How would that even work? What does he do with the second one? Do his wives, and those in his concubine normally take something so big? Do they take both at once? Is that humanly possible?
Still, he picks up on the way you subtly shrink back. "Do you still want to do this?" He asks.
You nod.
"I need to hear you say it," Sukuna says.
"I want to," you say.
"You want to do what?"
Now there's no denying the heat that rises to your cheeks. Does he want you to spell it out for him? Or is he like a vampire, and can't come inside without explicit permission?
"I want to…" you swallow hard, "have sex with you."
He's on you in an instant, caging your body under his. A warm set of hands moves to discard your clothes, working to rid your figure of them. There's something so oddly intimate about being undressed in this way; to have your wounds scrutinized by his eyes. To watch him as he slides the flimsy fabric down your body, and touch you in the same way as a lover would. In an instant, he could shred it with his nails, but he's taking great care not to damage it. To anyone looking in from the outside, this would simply look like an article of clothing he cares greatly for. You know better. The King of Curses cares little for material objects like this. He’s dragging it out solely to toy with you. He seems to take great joy in toying with his prey.
“They're so big,” you say, breathless, “why are they so big?”
“Why are you so small then?” He asks, pinching the flesh of your side, which draws a gasp from you. Using your hands to shield your face, you giggle.
"Don't hide from me," he says, gently nudging your hands away.
Your eyes lock for only a moment, before you're turning away. Out of either shame or embarrassment. He regards you with a grin, and a laugh. It's such an odd thing to see from him. Such kindness in his expression… such warmth… It's almost like he's human. You suppose he was one at one point. Maybe a few centuries ago. Never in your lifetime. Any humanity he once had, has long since been lost to time.
You try to imagine how the others take him. Try to imagine fitting your hands around his cock. Would they even fit? Could you wrap one entirely around it? Do they use their hands, or their mouth?
“What do I…” your mouth opens in a silent question.
“Here,” he says, “use your hands. I’ll guide you through it.”
You sit between his parted thighs, legs crossed. Though you can't hear the way your heart subtly picks up in pace, Sukuna can. He guides your hand to wrap around his cock—the upper one—and stroke. Just once. Using his hands as a guide, he motions you through the action of pumping his cock. Precum leaks from the head, dribbling across your closed fist. He’s uncut. It's quite an angry looking thing; his cock, you mean. There's a vein running up the bottom of his upper cock, that only seems to get bigger.
“I never knew your legs were tattooed too,” you say, laughing nervously.
Your thumb swipes across the head, disturbing the bead of precum that once rested there. Sukuna twitches. Whether this is on purpose, or just instinct, you can't tell. His eyes have shut, head tilted back, giving you a good look at the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
It does help your nerves a bit, seeing him so lost in his own pleasure. What truly makes one human, if it's not the desires of the flesh—the need to sleep and eat and fuck? Is it something greater than this? Does some higher power decide what makes you human or not?
His eyes snap open, and he tilts his head down towards you. You want to shrink under his gaze, but find yourself frozen.
“Stop.” He says, and your blood turns to ice in your veins.
“Did I do something wrong?” You ask.
Sukuna shakes his head. “No, I just don't want to cum so soon. Here, lay back.”
You fall back against the pillows with a soft “oh!” From the head of the bed, he seizes a pillow. One set of hands finds your hips, guiding you to lift them off the mattress. Unceremoniously he shoves a pillow under your lower back. The change of angle is slightly more comfortable than your previous one, and allows him a better look of your soaked sex.
He can smell it. How you're practically dripping with arousal. It's sweet, much like honey, and more intoxicating than any drug known to man. Your skin is flushed, and holds an almost unnatural warmth to it. Sukuna could hardly imagine that you, with your stoney expression, and reserved nature, could ever be seen like this.
“I don't think both of them will fit…” you say.
“It will fit,” he says. And with such conviction you want to believe him.
You’re met with the feeling of the head of his cock pressing against you, his precum mixing with your own slick. You scramble for purchase against his body, clawing at his broad back. If he were anyone else, you’d be terrified of scratching him bloody, but your nails don't even break his skin.
"It's too much-" you say. “You’re too big!”
This draws a low laugh from him. "Am I?" He coos. "I'm hardly even in. I know you can take more of me."
Inch by inch, he sinks deeper into you. There's no words that quite describe the feeling of fullness it—he—gives you. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix, so impossibly deep inside of you. Deeper than any other man could reach. The top one grinds against your poor neglected clit, abusing it in an entirely different way.
Your ankles lock behind his back, thighs squeezing his body. You cling onto him for dear life. It's as if you’re afraid to fall once you let go, despite having your back to the bed. In no possible way could you get closer to him, with your chests pressed together, your foreheads against one another, and your arms around his neck. Your bodies much resemble a knot in the way they’re intertwined.
Another moment goes by before he moves. He claims it's so you can adjust to his size. Mostly it's so neither of you cum on the spot. You don't think you could last any longer if he started fucking you then and there. Though, Sukuna could say the same.
He's quite gentle with his movements. Almost uncharacteristically so. The hands that aren't cupping your ass, are cradling your face, thumbs tracing along your cheekbones. He rocks against you in slow, steady movements, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust.
You expected it to hurt more. Hell, you expected his size to split you in half. It shouldn't be humanly possible to take something this big. Yet you’ve managed to do it. If he were to thrust any deeper, it’d hurt. The feeling of something up against that ring of muscle is not pleasant in the slightest. Sukuna seems to sense this, and pace himself, making sure to not fuck you so deep it's painful.
You’re not sure who speaks first, but it's as if a set of floodgates has been opened. All you know is pleas are spilling past your lips and you can't stop them.
“Please!” You say. It's one of the only coherent words that leave you. Soft “please”s, and “Lord Sukuna”s spill past your lips.
He thinks the title sounds so much better when it's on the lips of someone who refuses to use it. Oh how much sweeter the forbiddenness of the fruit makes it taste.
The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, barely audible over the lewd cacophony of moans and grunts. Your lips crash together in what's supposed to be a kiss. It feels much more like mashing your skin together, than a proper kiss. The feeling of a hot tongue against your lips makes them part, allowing the slick muscle to enter your mouth. Sharp teeth graze across your lips, following the metallic taste of blood. He laps at the bit of crimson that drips down your chin.
All you can do is cling onto him for dear life. Like he’s the last bit of land before you find yourself lost out in open ocean. This time he kisses you sweetly. It's the touch of a lover. Soft. Loving. His thumb moves to wipe away the bead of blood on your lips, bringing it to his mouth, and swiping it across his tongue. You feel your cunt throb at the low groan that leaves his lips, a truly animalistic noise of desire. To devote yourself to another being in such intimate matters. To be wanted in such a way. Wholly. Completely. To be held so close and in such reverence, like a higher being in worship. You are no longer a human, or a sorcerer, you are truly a god.
Your poor, abused cunt can only take so much before your orgasm is forced out of you, tearing you apart and putting you back together wrong. The moan that tears through your throat much resembles a scream in that nature. But you’re not wounded—it's quite the opposite. It's as if you’re stuck out in that open ocean, making a feeble attempt to tread water, and failing miserably as the swells pull you under.
To you, all that exists in this point in time are you, and him. As your bodies knot together in a mess of limbs, and aching forms, all you can truly focus on is him. Minutes seem to bleed together. Time itself has taken the form of a thick jelly.
It's such a strange sensation; being filled with his cum. It gets quite literally everywhere. The cock that isn't currently stuffed inside of you, spills all across your stomach. And your thighs. There's droplets across your chest, and streams down your stomach. There’s so much. No human should make this much…
Such a beautiful sight, you with Sukuna’s cum streaming down your tits. Truly no sight is better than having you bowed at his feet. You, a being that has never worships anything but themself, knelt in reverence. Or, bent over in it, stuffed with his cocks.
But having you under him works just fine.
He rolls to the side, so as to not put his entire weight on top of you. Pulling out is something he does slowly, so not much of his cum is spilled. You doubt it's done to protect the sheets, which are already stained. He must have an ulterior motive for doing such a thing.
One hand moves to stroke your hair, the other shamelessly gropes at your tits, pinching at your nipples, which have stiffened upon being exposed to the air. A sharp nail traces across your jugular. You know with a single movement, he could have your carotid artery opened, and you a bleeding mess on the floor. Who knew that the King of Curses, so powerful in nature, could have a soft spot for a sorcerer.
A rag is sacrificed for the sole purpose of cleaning up the mess. He doesn't allow you to move as he wipes you down, taking great care to clean up every last spilled drop of cum. Sukuna is silent as he drags the cloth across your skin, taking in your form greedily, and all at once. Once he deems you clean enough, the rag is discarded alongside your clothes, and you’re pulled flush against his chest.
You fit so perfectly against him that you can only be convinced you were made for such a thing. Exhaustion has set in. Your limbs curl in much like that of a dead spider, as you huddle against Sukuna for his warmth.
He gets up once to throw more wood on the fire, leaving you bundled in furs. The coals don't need much coaxing to come back to life, and the wood is dry enough that it catches instantly. The crackling of the fire soon fills the room. The scent of sex and sweat hardly covers the smell of woodsmoke, and incense.
There's only so much you can do to fight sleep. Between the warmth of the fire, and that of the body beside you, sleep threatens to pull you under entirely.
Around you goes your—his—kimono, the white fabric draping loosely around your figure. It's more of a privacy measure, than to keep you warm. Not that many people will be out at this hour, but he doesn't want some stranger seeing your naked body.
You groan as he tries to move you. But there's not much you can do to fight off the arms that scoop you up.
“Let's get you into a bath,” he says.
You fall limp against his arms with another groan. You very much don't want to be moved from your spot on the bed, but there's little you can do to fight against him.
Your eyes are closed for most of the walk. It's not a particularly long one. If you had to guess, you’re only one room over. You hear the door as it's opened and shut, but not locked.
It's a plain room, with another fireplace, a wash basin on a stand, and a metal bathtub. There's a mirror above the wash basin, and various cosmetics are littered about the counter. You suspect those belong to Mei, or one of his other wives.
He gets to the slow task of filling the tub, making you check the temperature of the water occasionally. Steam curls off the surface of the tub. Tub may not be the right word, as it's nearly big enough for you to swim in. And it takes an enormous amount of water to fill it, piped in through a spigot on the wall. It's hot straight from the tap.
Sukuna picks a few glass bottles, before uncorking them, and pouring their contents into the water. One looks like salt, one appears to be dried flowers, and the third is some kind of oil. Perfume, if you had to guess. They're very fragrant, filling the air with the scent of something floral. Lavender. Orange blossoms too.
It's almost comical; like he’s a witch, pouring vegetables and herbs into the cauldron he’s going to boil you in. But you doubt you’d make a good soup. That's one of the first things you told him; that you weren't very good for eating. Your meat is too tough, and your bones don't have much flavor. He simply scoffed, and said he’d eat you if he ever wanted to.
Most baths you take don't have such luxuries as this one. Boiling water for a bath takes too much time and effort in your opinion. That's if you’re here, and not out and about, running some job, or hunting something down. On longer trips out, stopping somewhere with a bathtub wasn't often an option. Inns are few, and far between. If you had to take a dip in a freezing river, it was best to make it brief. Not much time to sit and relax when you’re worried about hypothermia.
Growing up, there were hot springs near your village. Some shamans claimed they were healing waters, but really, they weren't special in any matter. Some people bought into it. Travelers, typically. You think most people knew it was just ordinary water. Still, it was nice to have in the dead of winter. Those waters have thawed out your bones plenty of times.
In hindsight, that was one of the only good things about living in that place. Now when you think about it, you’re only left with a cold feeling in your chest.
Sukuna helps rid you of your remaining clothes. Your—his—kimono pools around your bare feet. Off come the bandages; can't get those wet. At this point, they're more for show anyway. Your wounds have mostly healed through the help of Mei's reverse cursed technique.
He helps you settle into the water, your fingers laced with his. When he lets go, your hands move to grip the side of the tub. It's deep enough that when you sit, the water comes up to your shoulders. You sink down enough that the water reaches your chin, curling your legs in towards your body.
"You're not getting in with me?" You ask.
"No," he says. "You smell. Bathe."
“And who’s fault is that?” If you stare at him with those sad eyes any longer, he may just burst.
With a sigh, he relents, stepping into the water to join you. You’re left with far less room to stretch out now, and nearly have to sit in his lap. The hot water feels nice across your sore muscles. You sit between his parted thighs, with your back to his chest. There it is again. That tenderness. The touch of a lover.
Does this make you two lovers?
You almost wish for the bath water to swallow you whole. To rise up above your head and pull you under. The set of arms around your waist anchors you, preventing any such thing from happening.
“Do you remember what it's like to be human?” You ask.
He sighs. At first you expect him to scold you for asking such a dumb question. But no verbal berating ever comes. He speaks quite plain, and calmly.
"I do," he says, "and if you expect me to lament about how I miss the days I was still human, you're sorely mistaken. I don't understand how you stand it."
"Stand what?"
"Mortality." He says. "Some humans are more durable than others—you're hardly predictable in that regard. What one human perishes to, another survives. Yet it doesn't seem to matter how hard things like disease and natural disasters try to thin your kind, you somehow come out on top,
"I simply do as I please," he continues, "I live to eat and kill and fuck to my heart's content. But humans want more. And I don't understand that."
He watches the corners of your lips turn downwards.
"You're quite different from other cursed spirits," you say, "hell, you're downright strange. I've never seen a curse quite like you. You realize that, right?"
He scowls at what would be an insult if said by any other person. "Why are you so insistent on being human when you die?" Sukuna asks.
"Because I want to stay dead." You say.
"You don't believe in reincarnation?" He asks.
To a certain extent, you think it's possible. Maybe in a thousand years, Jujutsu society will somehow bring you back. But that would be against your own will, and if they dare do such a thing, you’re putting up one hell of a fight for it.
"I mean… I do," you say, "I just don't want it. I don't want there to be an epilogue after the story ends. When I kick the bucket, I want that to be it. The show ends, the curtain falls: that's it."
He seems content with your answer, albeit begrudgingly. His arms tighten around your waist.
“So what are you?” You ask. “If you’re not a human or a curse? What does that make you?”
synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village
word count: 10.3k
a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol
jjk masterlist
As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.
Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.
Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek.
You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.
Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing.
Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came.
The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.
“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.
What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.
But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.
“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”
It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…
You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.
The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father.
“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards.
“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”
Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.
“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you.
“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”
“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”
A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”
The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.
The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.
If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match.
Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.
In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him.
The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.
“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”
“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”
“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”
Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?
You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.
Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking.
“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.
Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.
“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”
The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.
“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”
Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.
“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”
“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”
That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.
“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”
“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.
They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.
“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”
“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”
After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.
Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?
“You win.” She says.
“What?” You ask.
“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”
You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.
“I don't get it.” You say.
“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”
“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”
“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.
A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it?
Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?
You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.
From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.
Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood.
You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.
“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.
Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.
“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.
“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.
“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”
“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.
The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”
This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.
Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.
More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them.
The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!”
“What about you?!” You ask.
“Just get your father,” she says.
And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.
And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago.
In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters.
The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.
His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.
“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”
You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.
“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.
“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”
“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”
The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”
Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear.
You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear.
“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”
Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.
“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”
Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.
“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”
Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.
It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.
Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.
Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.
Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.
Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.
Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams.
Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.
“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”
With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.
Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders.
“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.
They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.
Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”
The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.
About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.
Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?
Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”
“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”
Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.
Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.
“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.
“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.
Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?
You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.
Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.
The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.
So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.
Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.
“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says.
Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.
“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”
That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.
“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,
“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”
Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.
This is it, you think, you are going to die.
In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.
“You are entertainment.” He says.
That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind.
What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.
You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.
Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this.
The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.
Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.
Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.
Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.
From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.
Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.
Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity.
Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?
Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you.
It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.
Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.
You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.
“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.
Is it so obvious?
“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.
“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.
You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.
“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.
His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore.
“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.”
“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.
A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things.
“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.
Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.
“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”
He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.
“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”
Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.
You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down?
Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.
Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.
You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.
You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.
“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.
You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after.
You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.
Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.
As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.
The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods.
Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long.
Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk.
You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.
You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire.
“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.
The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.
“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says.
You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse.
You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.
This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.
“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.
“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”
So he was human. At least at one point in time…
“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”
“You have it,” you say.
Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.
Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.
His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.
Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.
A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.
You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.
You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.
The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.
He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?
You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear.
His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.
You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough.
“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”
Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.
“You were human once?” You ask.
The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.
“I was. Once.” He says.
Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”
“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”
His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.
Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?
“You're sad. Why?” He questions.
“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”
You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.
This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.
“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.
You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living.
“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river.
The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.
“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.
“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.
The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff.
“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”
“I will,” you say.
No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you.
Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.
A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.
The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly.
Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.
Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.
When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.
Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours.
“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”
“I know,” you say.
She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.
“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.
“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”
Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.
“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.
“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”
She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.
“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”
“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.
“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”
“Except for me.” You say.
Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.
“Does he treat you well?” She asks.
“Yes,” you say.
“Better than any human man?”
“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it.
“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”
“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”
“But do you love him?” She asks again.
“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.
It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.
That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse.
Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.
𐐪 warnings — none! just some sleepy & clingy babies, i love them sob :,)
𐐪 note — i am so very obsessed with them, satoru is my favourite dork in the world i’m sorry i wrote these when i was sleepy >~<
・✶ ｡ﾟ GOJO SATORU
you almost shriek when you turn in the kitchen while grabbing some water, startled by a raspy “oh? what’s this?” before you sigh when you notice your 6’3 man baby of a boyfriend pouting at you in the dark — messy bed head, tired eyes and blanket over his broad shoulders. you smile as satoru approaches you, out stretching his arms to bring you into his chest before he’s wrapping the blanket around you both and nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a grumble “what do we have here, huh? where was my invite, baby—i thought my company was your favourite.” satoru drawls, voice lilting to a tease and you giggle when you feel him follow it with a low whine against your skin, placing ticklish kisses against along your shoulder before he’s wrapping the blanket around you and trapping you against his chest with a crooked grin, squeezing his arms around you affectionately. “i wont let you escape again, consider this solo kitchen trip your last.” satoru grins and you rest your face on his shoulder, taking in his natural warmth before he gently shuffles you both back to your room with a hum, “and—i get extra good night kisses, since you excluded me.”
・✶ ｡ﾟ ITADORI YUUJI
you giggled quietly as you scrolled through tiktok on the couch, blanket draped loosely over your lap, but you find yourself suddenly jumping slightly when you hear a quiet but deep “baby?” echo from down the hall. the sound is followed by a few heavy footsteps approaching you before you’re met with a drowsy itadori, shirtless frame and grey sweats accompanied with fluffy, messy hair but still a bright smile although it’s a little drowsier than usual as he pads towards you. “why’re you still awake babe?” yuuji grumbles, lips resting into a pout almost naturally, “i was just on tiktok.” you reply and you watch him blink at you. “oh.. okay.” spoken from where he stands in the door for a few seconds before he comes towards you, eyes fluttering slightly as he joins you on the couch. yuuji lies back before grabbing your hand and guiding you against his chest, eagerly tucking the blanket around you with a content sigh, and you know you’d never resist the urge to nuzzle against him only to hear his soft snores moments later, his arms wrapped around you tightly.
・✶ ｡ﾟ NANAMI KENTO
you flick the bathroom light off before finding yourself glancing back at the bedroom door and turning to walk into the kitchen for something to eat instead — it was already 3am a few more minutes wouldn’t matter, but your internal dialogue is quickly cut off when you hear the bedroom door behind you suddenly open. “going somewhere, sweetheart?” nanami grumbles and you almost whimper at how deep his voice always is when it’s laced with sleep, the bags under his eyes a little darker when he finally comes into view but there’s an unmistakable frown accompanying them. you don’t think of an excuse quick enough before nanami’s infront of you, finding yourself suddenly distracted by the brooding man infront of you before he clicks his tongue, grumbling under his breath despite the gentleness of his touch when he takes your hand in his. “if you can’t sleep, i can make you some tea, love.” the blonde haired man grumbles, his smile almost gentle despite the obvious sleep lacing it.
・✶ ｡ﾟ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI
you were lying on your side as you scrolled through your phone, brightness down lower than usual because you knew how light of a sleeper your boyfriend megumi was — not wanting to disturb him. but you jump when you feel a featherlight but lingering touch smooth along the dip of your waist, finding yourself spinning round quickly to be met with a very grumpy looking, very close megumi. there’s a soft pout on his lips, his eyes slightly covered by his messier dark hair as he sits himself up next to you, sleep still lacing his prettier features as he turns to squint at the clock. “what are you doing?” he groans and you do open your mouth to speak, but when you feel his arm snake around your waist, you seem to suddenly lose your train of thought—instead you find yourself being pulled against megumi’s side before he lies back down, placing a sleepy kiss against your forehead with a huff. “you have to sleep.” he sighs, words still soft despite his pout, but the sound has you nuzzling into him instead, feeling his delicate fingers trace comforting shapes along your skin as the corners of his lips upturn slightly from where they’re resting against your temple.
・✶ ｡ﾟ GETO SUGURU
you had quietly stood from the comfort of your bed to leave the room after finally getting out of suguru’s arms, his limbs heavier than usual due to him softly snoring beside you, lost deep in sleep. but even with that considered you still only just manage to reach the door before you hear a muffled “where are you going?” cut through the solitude despite not hearing any movement. you suddenly see a shadow slightly shuffle towards you before you’re met with a very sleepy, but still as gentle gaze from your boyfriend, paired with a bed-head that has something warm blooming in your chest when the dark hair that’s fallen from where it’s pulled back frames his features. there’s still a familiar gentleness to suguru’s touch when his fingers graze your lower back, guiding you wordlessly back to bed as he gets in first, patting his chest for you to climb on top while his arms wrap around you instantly and you hear the dark haired sorcerer mumble a “go to sleep, there’s still time.” as he gets comfortable, fingers tracing along your spine soothingly and even though his eyes are closed, you still feel a gentle kiss against your forehead, just as your eyes flutter closed.
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pairing: Yuki Tsukumo x fem!reader
nsfw: dom!Yuki
wc: 1.9k
author's note: I skimmed a motorcycle tutorial for this
description: Yuki convinces you to ride her bike and rewards you for your bravery
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Yuki says, holding out her spare helmet.
You’re floored she would even suggest the idea. “I’ve only ridden on your motorcycle, what makes you think I can drive it?”
“You’ll be a natural,” she urges, pushing the helmet into your arms, “and this is the perfect place to try it out.” She gestures to the abandoned dirt lot you’re standing in; it doesn’t have much to crash into. The only other thing out here is the road lined with glowing streetlights heading back to a city you passed around fifty miles back, a distance like that meaning an ambulance would take forever to arrive if you had an accident. You can’t even get started about wait times in emergency rooms.
“You said we were coming out here to go stargazing, not to see how fast I can kill us both by crashing your bike.”
Yuki laughs and steps closer. “It’s cute when you get all worked up over nothing.” She presses a kiss to your flushed cheek. “What if I give you a reward for your bravery?”
“It’s not bravery, it’s stupidity,” you respond. This is a bad idea, no doubt about it. You have trouble driving a car, which has four wheels, a motorcycle only has two. It’s like making the jump between rollerskating and rollerblading, but with the potential of much more severe consequences. Your eyes flick back up to Yuki—she’s dressed in her stupid, dangerous, sexy motorcycle jacket and goggles—and see her watching you with a tilted head and smirk. She’s been your girlfriend long enough to know that curiosity is tugging at you and isn’t surprised when you look away and ask, “But…what is the reward?”
Yuki turns, walking back to her propped-up bike. “Only one way to find out.”
She’s such a tease. What’s more frustrating is how it works so well on you.
You huff, strapping the helmet on. “All right.” It can’t be that bad, can it?
It is indeed bad when you’re on the thing, the angry engine rumbling beneath you and the exhaust spitting out fumes of gray smoke. The glare of the headlights just barely scares off the darkness of the night so you can see the dirt a few feet in front of you. If Yuki’s arms weren’t wrapped around your waist, you would’ve been off the motorcycle in a second.
Your fingers tighten around the handlebars. “This is a terrible idea.”
“You’re gonna do great,” Yuki purrs in your ear, sending a tingle down your spine. Or is this death machine activating your fight-or-flight response? Either way, you readjust yourself in the seat.
“Okay, whatever, how do I even do this?”
One of her arms loosens from your waist and she lays her hand on top of yours on the right handlebar. Her riding gloves leave her fingers uncovered, so you’re able to feel her skin as well as the rough leather coating her palm. “This is the throttle, and you twist it toward you to move forward.” With Yuki leaning forward to demonstrate the mechanics of the handlebars, her chest is pressed against your back. Her motorcycle jacket would muffle the sensation if it wasn’t unzipped like it is now, so you can feel the plushness of her breasts on your shoulder blades as she’s describing another lever on the bike. “…is the brake. Got it, angel?”
“Um, yeah…yeah I got it.” Doesn’t seem that hard, just a few twists and levers. Maybe it is possible you’ll survive this ordeal.
“Okay, I’ll just–” You twist the right handlebar toward you and the bike kicks up and starts rolling forward.
Yuki laughs, “Attagirl! Look at you go!”
You laugh a little too, not because you’re amused, but because you’re in disbelief that you’re moving the thing and haven’t blown up yet.
Still cautious, you turn the throttle slightly further, bringing the speed of the motorcycle up past the pace of a casual walk. And when you steer the bike into a gentle turn at the border of the dirt patch, you find it easier to control than you expected. Soon you’re successfully circling the lot while Yuki cheers you on. As impossible as it first seemed, you’re actually doing it, you’re driving her motorcycle.
“That’s my girl,” Yuki says. You want to turn and show her the smile her encouragement brings to your face, but you’re not comfortable driving without looking straight ahead yet.
“This is kinda fun,” you say, still leaving room to change your opinion in case of the terrible crash that your nerves are convinced will happen.
“You’re so good at it,” Yuki responds, giving your waist a small squeeze with her arms.
These kind of situations are why you like dating Yuki so much, she knows how to pull you out of your comfort zone, help you grow and try new things. Despite your anxiety, every experience she’s helped you through, though usually miserable whilst occurring, has been rewarding after pushing through it. It’s how you feel now, you’re proud of yourself for doing something that scared you.
You’re about to express your gratitude when her hands unclasp themselves from around your waist and travel up your torso. Your brows furrow, but you’re able to focus on the upcoming turn until her fingers splay out on your breasts, squeezing and kneading them.
You look down to the gloved hands on your chest. “Yuki, what…what are you doing?” The motorcycle lurches to the side and you snap your eyes back up to the dirt ahead of you, scrambling to re-center the bike until it steadies. The close call leaves your heart pounding and breath short, but Yuki is unaffected.
“It’s your reward, silly.” Her fingers pinch your nipple through your shirt and you gasp. “For being so brave.”
“What?” you whisper. You can’t make sense of this. Heat burns through your body and you’re not sure if it’s from her touch or your panic. This has to stop. Where did she say the brake is? You can’t remember.
“If you keep doing this”—she nuzzles her chin onto your shoulder and nibbles at your ear—“we are going to crash. This is literally distracted driving.” You steer through another turn, having a much harder time with it than your first attempt. With her touching you like this, if you make the smallest mistake, like hitting a rock or going into a turn too fast, you’ll both get sent flying.
“Don’t worry about it,” Yuki coos, “I’ll make sure nothing happens. Just enjoy the ride, m’kay?”
“This–this is crazy, you know that?” A sharp exhale leaves your lips when Yuki moves from your ear to your neck, opening her warm mouth to lick and suck on your pulse. You shift in the seat of the motorcycle, trying to keep your attention on the land ahead while Yuki’s every movement is pulling it away.
“Fuck, don’t–” Her hands are moving downward, unbuttoning your pants and traveling underneath your underwear. Surely you’ll crash if she touches you there.
“You’re doing great, angel. Just keep those pretty eyes on the road.” You whine her name and she gently sinks her teeth into your neck, her arm slinking around your waist as other her hand descends to your heat. “Thought you’d be too nervous to be this wet,” Yuki breathes against your skin, hungry. The bike wobbles.
She slides her fingers through your folds and your vision blurs, the glow of the headlights melting into the dark of the night until you blink and refocus your eyes.
“Yuki–shit–I’m–”
You’re driving. You need to tell her to stop, but you can’t get the words out, you don’t know if you want to. Even if you think this is bad, idiotic, truly a one-way ticket to the hospital, the excitement flooding your core, swirling and churning deep inside you, is impossible to reason with. Any tension or tightness in your abdomen is softened with the swipes of her elegant fingers. You’re helpless when she’s making you feel this good.
It’s hard to keep your attention on the road, but you’re still trying, so you don’t notice how your hips angle themselves forward so she’s able to start circling your clit. You also don’t notice how your tightening grip on the handlebars—your body unable to bear the pleasure spreading out within you—causes the motorcycle to pick up speed, now traveling at the pace someone could pedal a bicycle at. The wind whisks your moan away into the night and the muscle memory built in the first few minutes of riding takes over to help you steer.
“I want…more,” you say, grinding your hips against her hand.
“Gotta focus on driving, angel,” she responds.
“I–fuck–I know, it just–feels so–”
“Uh huh?” Yuki skims her teeth over the heated skin of your neck.
“It feels so…good…when you touch me,” you say, and she kisses you. You try to keep your eyes from fluttering closed as she continues to swirl her fingers around you, tending to the pressure pushing up against your insides. It’s interesting how you’re being built up to an orgasm so much faster than normal. Splitting your attention between an activity like driving while pleasure is sailing through you wipes out any of those thoughts you have that take you out of the moment—how your body looks, whether Yuki likes what you’re doing, if you’re being sexy enough. In this moment, you’re out of your head, able to feel her touch without insecurity marring the sensation. Maybe Yuki knew this would happen. She knows you well.
You moan her name, doubling over. You shoot your head back up immediately, keeping your eyes on the road even though your legs are attempting to press together, trying to shut out the pleasure overwhelming your body, though the tangled metal of Yuki’s motorcycle keeps them apart and you susceptible. The bike rocks again.
“Yuki–I can’t–I can’t take anymore,” you plead, “I can’t focus.”
“I’ve got you,” she says, her hand stroking your waist. Her skilled fingers pick up to the pace she knows you like when you’re close.
“Fuck,” you gasp.
“It’s okay,” Yuki tells you, “Just let go.”
So you do. The rope holding you together snaps as strings of pleasure whip through your poor body. Any consequences of releasing yourself, thoughts of crashing, dying, long ambulance wait, it’s all washed away; you even let go of the handlebars. The motorcycle bucks for a second, but Yuki wrangles it with her free hand, holding onto the handlebar as you cum all over the hand working at your clit.
You grab onto her forearm, clamping down on it as pleasure rolls over you, making it hard to realize how reckless letting go of the handlebars of the motorcycle you were driving is. You don’t really care though, with this feeling washing through your body, you don’t care about the bike, your stupidity, or anything that doesn’t relate to the motorcyclist behind you who’s slowing her strokes and cooing in your ear as the last muscle spasms of your orgasm calm.
Yuki takes her hand from your pants and is unfazed by the wetness coating it when she reaches it forward and to the lever sitting underneath the right handlebar. She pulls on it and the bike slows to a stop. So that’s where the brake is. The realization makes you laugh a weak, fucked-out laugh.
She kicks out the bike stand and you unfurl from your hunched form and sit back so you’re leaning against her chest.
“That was insane,” you heave out, “and stupid and dangerous, and…”
“…and?” There’s a grin in her voice.
A hazy warmth settles over you. You pull her arms into your lap, running your fingers over her gloves palms.
“Thanks, I guess,” you say.
She knows you mean more than just for the orgasm, she knows you appreciate how she pushes you from your comfort zone and helps you try new things. Even if those new things are reckless and crazy.
Yuki leans to your side and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You’re welcome.”
a/n: mentions of alcohol and drunk reader, reader called sweet girl once, reader wears makeup and heels, satoru doing boyfriend duties
Satoru has been watching you fiddle with the strap of your heels for two and a half minutes now.
He'll give you some credit, as the heels are a bit clunky and the buckles a tad finicky. And yes, you are still drunk from your girl's night out. But two and a half minutes of watching you struggle can only be so entertaining.
He's itching at the seams for you to let him help you. On the opposite end of the couch and leaning on the armrest, you can barely sit up straight. He doesn't know how you even have the strength to fight him on this, but he shouldn't be surprised; your stubbornness tends to have a never-ending amount of stamina.
He tries again, softly motioning you to join him on his side of the couch, "C'mere."
He's met with the expected pushback when you whine, "Nooooo, I can do it."
"You can't, baby," he softly reminds you with a sigh.
You gesture to where your ankle rests on your opposite thigh. As if you're clearly proving him wrong, you exaggerate your movements, "I'm doing it right now."
He watches you get nowhere with the tiny buckles on the straps and allows himself to tiredly laugh.
"You're not."
Deciding enough is enough, he moves a cushion closer to you.
"Come here," he doesn't let you scurry away when he brings your foot to rest on his lap, carefully loosening the strap and unwrapping the silly shoe from your ankle.
Through the silence of the house and the drunken mumbling from your lips, he admires your heavy eyelids, how they flutter beneath their own weight like butterflies gliding in the spring.
His lips gently kiss your other ankle after finally freeing you from the contrasts of your heels. "You're allowed to let me help, y'know?" he whispers sweetly.
"I don't need help," you nearly hiss, removing your ankle from his grip and planting your feet on the floor again. "I'm plenty capable of taking my shoes off," you drunkenly lie.
And Satoru smiles at you, proud and bright when he nods.
"I know, but I like to do it, too."
He thanks his speed for your lack of pushback when he's able to scoop you from the couch and carry you to the bathroom. Plopping your deadweight on the sink and keeping a steady hand on your waist, he lets you get comfortable on the counter.
Your swollen feet sway as they dangle from the sink, and Satoru bites his tongue from any comment about you looking cute.
He holds up a bottle of what he knows to be your makeup remover, still going out of his way to ask, "It's this one, right?"
"No," you weakly lie.
Satoru sees right through you. "Yes, it is," he gently scolds. "Stop it."
You watch as he soaks a cotton round with the remover, something he's seen you expertly do about a million times before he brings it to your face and raises his eyebrows.
Your whining continues to commence when you dodge his gentle hands, "I don't need help, Satoru."
"I'll be gentle," he breathes.
"I'll kick your teeth in."
"What a sweet girl I have."
This continues for a minute or so before you get tired and malleable enough to just let him do as he pleases. With a final grumble from you, Satoru begins the gentle process of rubbing your skin.
He's cautious, meticulous around the more sensitive areas as he mimics your usual circular movements. He's extra careful when it's time to remove your eye makeup, watching you look up at him for him to gently tap your lids and whisper a soft, "Close 'em."
Remover turns to face wash which turns to rinsing and toner. And throughout the entire process, Satoru has a soft smile on his face, humming to himself as he admires both his work and your face.
"Such nice skin," he presses two fingers into your forehead. "What's your secret? Getting drunk and letting your boyfriend wash your makeup off?"
"No," you sleepily murmur, eyes closed at the relaxing touch, "he always forgets my moisturizer."
"No, he doesn't," Satoru chuckles. "He just likes to make you a little mad."
After eventually completing your full routine, something he will most definitely be expecting praise for in the morning, he softly rubs the remainder of moisturizer on your cheeks and gently smushes them together for good measure.
He uses the opportunity to plant a tender kiss on your lips, and he's thrilled when you only whine and don't push him away.
He smiles halfway through the kiss, pulling away to press a kiss to your cheek and tease, "Mmmm, tequila."
"Want me to brush?" you can barely open your eyes.
"Nah," Satoru shrugs, grabbing you beneath the thighs and scooping you off of the sink, "let's just go to bed already."
In bed, with your cold feet pressed against his calves and his warm hand resting comfortably against your abdomen, he feels you press a tiny kiss to his exposed bicep.
"Thank you for takin' care of me," you whisper, almost as if you're a bit embarrassed to be admitting it.
Tomorrow, you'll blame it on the cocktails consumed the night before, but Satoru knows you. Knows how hard it can be for you to let someone in, let someone help. And every single time, he's willing to fight for it. Willing to coo and purr at your hissed and fanged attempts to scare him off.
Satoru merely hums into your hair, letting himself close his own eyes and sink into the mattress.
polluted
geto suguru, gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna, kamo choso/f!reader
word count: 11k
warnings: 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT, recreational drug use (weed), dubious consent, slight sexual coercion, sex under the influence, gangbang, oral sex (f! and m!receiving), double penetration (oral and vaginal), biting, spitting, creampie, snowballing, pussyjob, fingering, choking, squirting, hair pulling, generally rough sex, implication of non-consensual filming/photography, shotgunning, college!au, no curses!au, slight dumbification, ft a cameo from nanami.
a/n: this is a continuation of a drabble i posted ages ago (the first few hundred words of this fic!) feel free to skip that if you’ve already read it. also these tags alone are sending me to hell. enjoy! never talk to me about this again!
crossposted to AO3
“D'ya want some?” Gojo asks up at you, his head in your lap as you tap at the screen of your cellphone idly, leaving a heart on a friend’s perfectly filtered photo that only makes you feel a little bitter when you look at it.
“Hm?” you ask, glancing down towards him as he peers up at your face. He has a bag of gummy candy resting on his tummy, and you part your lips and stick your tongue out slightly, asking for one of his sweets.
He lets out a little heh at your expression before popping a pink and blue candy–dusted with a sweet-sour crystalline coating–into your waiting mouth.
“I meant the weed,” Gojo answers your earlier hum only once you begin to chew the treat he’d just fed you. He sticks his thumb in his mouth, licking it clean of the tangy sugar that clings to it. “D'ya want some?”
“Oh,” you reply, eyes flickering to the other side of Gojo and Geto’s dorm room where Choso is seated on the floor, a pillow on his lap and an old DVD case on top of it. He’s diligently packing the ground up weed into a rolling paper–little bits of green clinging to the tips of his fingers like the sugar had to Gojo’s. “I don’t think so.”
ur sukuna favorite wife blurb has rotted my brain like that is a NEED now
cw: sukuna has multiple wives, a bit of wlw fetishization, degradation
"Why am I your favorite?"
Sukuna doesn't try to deny it. He can't, not when you're tucked into his bed, draped in only the jewels he's gifted you. None of the other wives are even allowed in his bedroom without permission, and yet you're here, just like you are almost every night.
He shrugs his robes from his shoulders and then he's bare, two half hard cocks hanging between his legs. It's been a while since you were frightened by this true form of his, but you can't deny it's monstrous. Four arms, a twisted mouth, a forever grinning maw across his stomach: it's be a horror if it wasn't your husband.
"Does it matter?" His lip curls as he speaks.
"It does to me," you say as you pat the bed beside you. Like a dog summoned, he eagerly crawls forward on to his hands, pulling the sheets down as he approaches.
"Maybe it's because your tits are so suckable."
First, he kisses the string of pearls across your neck and runs his tongue across the diamonds, savoring the salt of your skin on them. Then, he moves to the swell of your tit. His dagger edged teeth nip the skin and a bloom of heat stirs inside you. A bruise is already coming to the surface.
"Mai has bigger breasts than me," you pount out, breathless.
"Your skin is soft," he retorts. His free arms are clutching for you, digging into the fat of your ass.
"Gena is younger. Her skin is much more supple."
"Your cunt is sweet."
"Not as sweet as Lyla's."
Sukuna pauses for a moment, mouth half closed around your nipple. He leans back after a moment, a dark chuckle on his lips.
"Have you been licking the other wives while I've been away?" He leans in like he's angry, but the wicked grin across his face tells a different story. "Whore."
He says the word with such joy. One of his cocks is hard against your inner thigh, twitching to go back inside you, where it belongs. The mouth across his stomach has begun to drool, warm droplets of spit wetting your lower stomach and pubic hair. When you move your thighs, you aren't sure if the slick is from you or from him.
"I've tasted her on your cock, sire." You keen forward for a kiss and he lets you take one, even letting you linger for a moment, "And on your lips."
"I'm tempted to summon her now, just to see you between her legs." Sukuna gathers both cocks in one hand, guiding them towards your core. The thought of stretch to fit both makes you squirm, but his sturdy hands keep you in place, "Her cum in your lips must be a heavenly delight."
"Does that mean she's your favorite now?"
Real anger flashes across his gnarled face. With gritted teeth, he leans back onto his knees to tower about you.
"Woman, you are more hassle..."
He suddenly grips your hair and tugs, dragging your face centimeters from his. He moves your body like it weighs nothing to him, and yet he's careful not to hurt you.
"I will say this once and never again, so listen." Sukuna's eyes are sharp and narrowed, "You are the only wife I love. That is the reason you are my favorite."
Just as suddenly as he grabbed you, he lets you go. Your fall is softened by the mountain of pillows-- all of which bought just for you.
"Now, spread your legs and never ask a stupid question again."
The soft vibrations of crickets fill your ears when you reach the garden of the estate. The moon peering over the clouds illuminating your path as you descend the wooden stairs onto the stone walkway that leads towards the small bridge above the pond. The sound of the shishi-odoshi begins to tune out the rhythmic buzzing of the insects that surround the area the closer you get to it as you lean over the railing to look at the koi fish below, entranced by their bright colors and effortless motions before the soft pad of feet slowly approaching captures your attention.
One of the house maids ascends the bridge as she offers you the tea you requested upon your arrival, thanking her as you watch her retreat back into the estate, the yellow hair pin holding the strands from her face catching your eye before she disappears behind the wooden sliding doors. The smell of the warm matcha fills your senses as you bring the small cup towards your lips, feeling how it eases the ache in your muscles after returning from a long mission.
More and more cursed spirits had been terrorizing the nearby villages and in a desperate attempt of survival they called upon the neighboring towns for help, you being the eldest daughter of your clan you'd taken the initiative to gather some of the capable men and journey to the villages in need. Coming from a family of skilled sorcerers, your combat skills were unmatched, much to your father’s disdain who believed your focus should be to find an honorable man to be lawfully married to. The thought alone had your eyebrows creasing in discontent while you peered down at your cup, taking another sip of your tea to bury your thoughts in the back of your mind, a problem to be settled at a later time when you face your father after leaving on negative terms. Focusing on the warmth that filled your insides with each sip while letting the soft thudding of the bamboo against the rock along the flow of the water calm your mind.
Watching how the moon reflects against the green liquid before a small snowflake captures your attention, melting instantly into the warm tea followed by another and another as the first signs of snow begin to fall gently upon your skin. Closing your eyes to soak in their comforting touch, clearing your mind as you raise your cup again - but a scream echoes through the night. The loud shrill of a woman in the distance makes you turn towards the estate, frozen at the sudden silence before a loud crashing sound resonates through the whole area making the ground shake below your feet as you take off running into the building, grabbing the Tachi sword that was mounted on display at the main entrance when you sprint past it to the source of the commotion growing louder by the second.
Your breath gets caught in your throat when you reach the main garden, the once thick and fragrant cherry blossoms that adorned the entrance now destroyed as the flames consume it to the last branch, causing a cloud of smoke to devour its surroundings. A scream coming from within the estate makes you turn abruptly as you run back inside towards the source of the sound when you're met with the horrifying sight of numerous bodies of maids and cooks slaughtered and strewn around, mangled past recognition.
The loud crash of glass breaking has you pushing forward as you step over the bodies, their blood soaking up your feet while your hands clench around the hilt of your sword as you slowly remove it from its sheath. Rounding the corner towards one of the back rooms of the estate, you can hear the large thumps of something big moving around - something deadly with the amount of cursed energy that oozed through the area, it felt more and more suffocating with each step.
Just as you near one of the doors, you catch a glimpse of the intruder causing you to hide behind one of the columns in the hallway while you peek from the side into the room he's in. Only now noticing the trail of blood leading towards his position as the faint sound of wet crunching becomes more and more eminent - is he eating someone? You were no stranger to curses devouring humans, but this was something different. Something of this size, able to cause such calamity, was a monster. One that you needed to get rid of, and fast.
The sound of quick thudding pulls you from your thoughts as you peek around the edge again, a yellow hair pin catching your eyes, it was the maid from earlier. She stood frozen in the entryway where the monster was in, fearful of her life you begin to step out from behind the column to get her attention, but just as you do so, two extra limbs extend from his sides capturing her by the head as terrified screams rip from her. But they die down just as quickly when her skull caves in under the pressure of the clawed hands that crushed it with ease as her body hits the wooden floor with a sickening thud, a pool of blood forming right afterwards as the monster continues feasting on the body in front of him.
The bustling sound of multiple set of feet resonates through the back porch as the guards of the estate burst through the wooden doors causing the monster to ram through the wall of the room into the opening where the guards stood, allowing you to see the body of the person he was feasting on now discarded on the floor as it falls down into a pool of its own blood, its head rolling out onto the hall - it was your father’s. His face plastered with an expression that was unrecognizable to you, eyes wide and frightened, an emotion your father never showed in the life you knew him, always the hard and strong man that only wanted the best for his family despite your disagreements.
Your heart was racing in your chest, head throbbing as your hands curl around the hilt of your blade, looking over at the monster with seething anger where he's battling the guards, slashing them down with his claws one by one before he captures one in each arm. Taking the opportunity of all four of his limbs being occupied, you sprint over to the beast, dashing through the air for an added advantage against his towering figure, slashing his upper left arm swiftly before your feet slide along the bloodied floor as you take a defensive stance in front of him.
Now able to take him in completely you feel yourself falter slightly at the sight. Just like his arms, there are four eyes that stare you down as you both stand frozen in place. Black tattoos adorn his body with precise double bands on his wrist and biceps forming a circle and two segmented curves on his chest leading towards his partially open kimono revealing a mouth on his stomach.
The room falls silent, only the grunts and cries of the men struggling in his grasp echo through the space while you stare at each other. His expression unmoving as if still processing what just occurred, his arm bleeding out onto the wooden planks of the floor where it layed as it begins to slowly decay into ash while his shoulder gushes with blood. His eyes drifting to the tip of your blade as he watches his blood drip from the shiny steel flashing before him. Face suddenly crackling into a violent grin allowing you to see his sharpened teeth, gory and bloodied causing you to strengthen your stance when his eyes meet yours with a sinister glint.
The men in his grasp now mangled like the rest as he crushes them in his palms, bones breaking followed by the revolting squelch of their organs scattering onto the floor as he holds the remains in his palms, bringing them towards the mouth in his stomach as it opens wide. A long tongue lolling out between rows of sharp teeth stained with corpus as it quickly devours the fresh flesh before making a scene of licking the muscles around it as if cleaning its lips. Using it to regenerate as a new arm bursts through his shoulder, replacing the one you'd slashed as all four of them flex at his sides followed by a loud boisterous laugh.
“It's been a while since someone has given me a good fight”, his voice is smooth and rich yet booming, you can feel it vibrate against your chest when he speaks and it makes you swallow thickly while you hold firmly onto your sword.
“Do your best not to disappoint me”, he mocks. And with that he's moving, fast and overpowering allowing you only enough time to barely dodge him as you step to the side before one of his large arms could catch you, unable to avoid his sharp claws as they scratch against your thigh tearing through the fabric and breaking the skin just as you find enough balance to swing your blade across his back, barely injuring him as the wound quickly seals back up.
Facing each other again as he launches for you with an even bigger grin on his face as you manage to slide down between his legs before quickly slicing through his lower right arm and rotating the blade as you strike his back once more, this time with more force as it slices from his shoulder across to his hip, feeling the resistance of bones against the metal making you plant your feet firmly on the ground, urging the blade forward until its out the other end. Blood spraying in the wake of your attack as it stains your skin, drenching your clothes before joining the mess on the floor while you hold the blade at your side, confident that such a fatal blow would subdue the beast enough to bring him to his knees and administer the final blow.
Instead, he laughs.
Laughs and laughs and laughs as more blood gushes from his wounds and before you can register it, you're sent flying into the air so far back that your body crashes through the sliding doors of the garden before colliding with the wooden gate past the pond that divided the estate from the forest. Launching himself through the air right after as he falls above you, ground shaking from the force as snow and dirt scatter in his wake, shoving you down deeper into the ground as he presses himself against you roughly while the blood from his wounds drips onto you, bathing you in it as you notice where your blade pierced all the way through the front of his chest and down to his stomach where the mouth has ripped apart.
Maniacal grin on his face as he leans down onto yours, the rotten stench of blood filling your senses before his tongue swipes against your cheek to lap at the blood on your skin, wet and violating as he hums in delight at the taste. You struggle against his figure but the sharp sting of claws digging into your sides holding you down force you to stay still as he leans over to lick from your neck towards your other cheek before drifting upwards into your hair, deeply inhaling your scent as he hums again, this time followed by another laugh.
“Oh, you certainly did not disappoint”, he laughs whilst leaning down to press a kiss to your bloodied cheek before sucking the skin in between his teeth, harshly releasing your delicate skin to lean down onto your neck and unashamedly take another inhale, raptured by the sound of your heart almost beating out of your chest against his ear and he can’t help the way his fingers twitch at the excitement building within.
“You…”, lifting a clawed finger unto your face to brush away the stray hairs that cling to your skin while he circles his large hand around your head, settling on your nape as he holds you tightly in his grasp, allowing you to fully see his face as your eyes dart along the tattoos decorating his skin, matching the ones on his body before settling onto the second face melding into his own where his eyes rest one atop the other. “...will make a wonderful hunt”, he adds as his tongue slides across his lips, like a predator savoring his prey before digging into them.
The fear in your eyes only fuels him further as he laughs while lifting himself up to his full height, bringing you up with him with your feet dangling in the air before shoving you back onto the cold snow as you struggle to catch your footing before taking off towards the woods, the wet sound of flesh melding together and bones reconstructing themselves getting tuned out by the heavy snow that darts through the wind as you disappear past the tall trees and into the dark forest with only the moon to illuminate your path.
The Tachi is long forgotten in the snow as you push yourself to run despite the ache on your body, every muscle screaming at you to run faster knowing that the second you stop, it will be all over. The cold air entering your lungs felt like it was piercing your insides as you sprint between the dark looming trees, cursing to yourself when your clothes get caught on unexpected branches, tearing the fabric and scratching at your skin while you focus on staying on your feet when the cold from the snow starts nipping at your skin making it almost numb.
But the further you venture into the forest, the eerier it got. No longer able to hear the faint buzzing of crickets, no owls hooting into the night on the crowns of trees, no foxes coming out of their dens in search of their prey before it gets too cold to hunt. Nothing. Only the whistling of the piercing snow squall around you, causing you to slow down as you lean against the nearest trunk. Dread settling into your gut as you stand frozen in place with your ear pricked for any odd sounds, the tension suffocating you while your head darts in every direction where you are barely able to see anything a few feet away from you.
The sound of a distant twig snapping causes a nauseating pit to form in your stomach as your eyes dart around the area, desperately trying to find the source of the sound as fear settles deeper and deeper into your bones. Screaming at you to run knowing you were unarmed and your cursed techniques were no match for this beast even if you tried. He would devour you before you even tried.
Snap.
The sound of another twig snapping sends a sharp chill up your spine as the air gets caught in your throat. The sound came from above you.
Your blood runs cold as you shakily push your head to look upwards. Your knees threatening to give out under you when your eyes are met with four glowing red eyes stalking down at you through the fog followed by the deadly glint of sharp canines flashing down at you. Like a spider creeping up on its prey when it gets caught in its web.
You push yourself from the tree trunk, scurrying on your feet as you try to get away from the terrible fate that awaits you. But a sharp pain erupting from your side has you wailing in agony as you get thrown off balance, tumbling into the freezing snow as you roll through the clearing of trees before your back gets pressed into the ground once more. Every inch of your body aching as you scream and thrash against the heavy weight pushing against your body. The sounds of sinister laughter filling your ears again as it echoes through the dark forest, causing tears to cling to your lashes before they spill past your cheeks.
“Shhh don't cry”, he coos as the wet warmth of his tongue hits your cold skin when he licks the tears from your face.
“You did so good”, another lick against your neck has you wriggling in his grasp.
“As a matter of fact, you did so well that I think you deserve a reward.” The booming sound of laughter vibrates every nerve in your body as it clashes with your screams when his claws rip away the last layer of clothing protecting you from these harsh conditions. Banging your fist against his chest in a final futile attempt to get him off of you before two of his arms trap yours underneath them as he drags them through the snow to rest above you and hold you down with only one hand as the other lowers to your face, sharp nails brushing the hairs out of your face gently as you try to jerk away from his touch. Suddenly gripping your throat tightly as he forces you still, crimson red eyes searing into your glossy ones in a silent threat to calm you down.
I like it when they put up a fight…”, he begins before his face falls into a scowl. “...but don't think I won't kill you before having my way with you and leave you here for the wolves to finish.”
You force a gulp down your throat where his large hand is pressed, constricting the airflow as you feel yourself starting to get light headed from the pressure. Noticing how his eyes trail down your body, fully exposed to him as you watch how both of his mouths lick their lips simultaneously, savoring the view as he openly devours you with his gaze.
The tongue on his stomach extends unnaturally long until it falls flat against your abdomen - wet and heavy as it wriggles carelessly against your skin. Dripping inhuman amounts of spit as it coats you in a warm and sticky layer of saliva while the tip stretches towards your exposed chest, your nipples already erect under the cold touch of the snow as his tongue circles the buds all while he watches you from above. Head tilted to the side with a pleased grin while fixated on the way your skin feels against his large tongue, occasional humming vibrating in his throat each time the limbs holding your figure rake their sharp nails along your skin causing shiver after shiver to flow through your flesh.
Laughing when his eyes trail up to your face, noticing how you try your best to contain the sounds of pleasure that threaten to escape you the more the large wet muscle drags against you, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your voice. An unapproving scowl forms on his features as he lowers himself to hover above you, caging you beneath his monstrous figure before you feel his tongue slowly descend from your chest, past your abdomen and onto your exposed cunt causing your legs to twitch in an attempt to close them but his lower arms hold you open as his hands grip around your ankles. Caressing them slowly and teasingly while occasionally adding pressure in what almost felt like a possessive act, unable to contain the urge to mark your skin as his own as each jerk left a new scratch against your skin causing more blood to flow from your wounds.
Meeting his gaze as his grin grows large at the glare on your face, noticing how you're struggling to maintain it with each swipe of his tongue through your folds and he can't help but to be more amused at the fighting spirit within you. His canines aching with the need to taste you when the thought of breaking such strong resolve flows through his head as he lowers himself to sniff along your face like an animal before leaning down against your neck, the hot touch of his breath against your skin has you closing your eyes as you try to relish in the small warmth that it gives you in contrast to the freezing cold that surrounds you.
But a sharp sting makes you jerk against his frame. A scorching shiver flowing through your body at an overwhelming pace engulfs you completely when he buries his teeth to your side - deep enough to graze bone as you dig your nails into the palm that holds you prisoner, unable to contain your sounds any longer as mewls escape past your lips. Blood upon the snow as red begins to spill from the wound and into his mouth, drinking it greedily while you feel it pool beneath you. Smiling against your skin when he hears the sweet sounds of your voice as he drinks from you more brutally before tearing his maw away. Dripping in red as he tilts his head back, gulping it down followed by a delighted grunt rumbling deep in his chest while his eyes close in thought as if drowning the rest of his senses to only focus on the savory taste of your blood against his tongue and feel how the warm liquid travels down his throat to settle into his stomach.
The tongue on his stomach lapping at your pussy with newfound enthusiasm as if it too could feel the taste of your blood against it and you can't help arousal that starts to gather on your entrance, mixing with the slobbers that hung and dripped in frothy ropes from its mouth as the wet sounds became more and more loud.
Enough to pull the monster above you from his blissed trance as he peers down to your core, tongue lolling out to swipe along his fangs while his eyes slowly trail up your body to meet your gaze again before his features contour into a delighted yet crazed smile that made his eyes glow sinisterly causing you to gulp down the drool collecting in your mouth as you watch him slowly inch closer as he lowers himself onto your face again. Inhaling deeply before swiping his tongue along his lips, cleaning the blood that remained there.
“You might just be…”, he lowers his lips onto your cheek again to gently suck on it while his sharp teeth ghost along your skin and lean back until it slips from his mouth before leaning back down to rub his cheek against yours.
“... Different from the others.” The smooth skin of his face feels almost gentle against you as if providing a false sense of security only to feel the sickening stinging of his fangs sinking into the already broken flesh of your neck once more as a scream rips from your throat.
Sucking on it messily before pulling back as he holds the thick liquid in his mouth while trailing down your body. The tongue from his stomach ceasing its rapid licks as it retreats back into its mouth causing it to reveal the two erect cocks that stood bulging against what remained of his kimono. One of his large hands rises to unfasten it, fully revealing their lengths to you, long and veiny with oozing tips ready to sink inside your heat.
Kindle eyes meeting your widened ones as you watch him unhinge his jaw over them as blood starts to flow from his mouth and onto his cocks - your blood. Warm and sticky with the mixture of drool as it drips along his lengths and onto your messy skin until the last drop of blood flows from his mouth before lowering himself onto you. Dragging them along the length of your pussy with a loud squelch as he teased you with them while still staring deep into you, soaking in the way your expression falters with each jolt of pleasure that sends through your body each time the thick creamy tips of his cocks catch your clit, swollen with need as it grows more and more sensitive with each swipe.
A low laugh rumbling in his chest when he feels your thighs begin to shake against his frame, the hands that were gripping your ankles now dragging their sharp claws along your calves, circling your thighs before resting on your hips where they carelessly dig into your meaty flesh to hold you in place while his large frame spreads your legs wider when he presses against you more.
Lowering himself to cage you beneath him again while his free limb reaches down between your bodies, gripping his lower cock before aligning himself with you while the other rests atop your clit. Causing you to tip your head back, pressing your skull against the snow when the protruding head enters your pussy sending a burning rush through your body as it stretches you open for him the deeper he sinks into you before slowly leaning back to thrust forward again. Not giving you enough time to adapt to his size as he gradually increases his pace.
Booming laughter followed by a guttural grunt echoes through the vacant forest for only the moon to hear as she peers down at you through the snowy clouds, the only one to bear witness as you descend deeper into the overwhelming mixture of pleasure, anger and fear as the very beast that butchered your family has his way with you. Unable to contain your cries and moans as they flow freely from you the more he pounds into you, the cock resting above you rubbing quickly against your clit while drips and spurts of creamy white splatter onto the hairs above your heat.
His free hand rubs along the base of the cock thrusting in and out of you as he collects some of the messy mixture that rings around it with his fingers before guiding them up towards your mouth, pressing your lips closed in a show of defiance as the sharp pointed tip of his claws pricks at the delicate skin of your bottom lip, breaking the skin causing a small bead of blood to trickle down your chin.
He lowers himself with a deep grumble, amused at your will to still fight against him despite your current predicament as he presses his lips to your other cheek, rubbing them against your skin down to your ear where he sucks the lobe into his mouth before puncturing it with his fangs enhancing the deep roar of his voice that makes your senses shake from the intensity.
“OPEN.”
Your resolve dissipates from the overwhelming power that vibrates with his words as you open your mouth to him while his digits slip inside with ease, pressing down against your tongue as the coppery taste of your blood immediately overpowers before the array of different flavors follows suit. The sharp salty yet burning taste of his arousal contrasting the velvety sweet taste of your own, the viscous and fleshy taste of umami from his saliva, the vile and rotting taste of the gore still clinging underneath his claws from the previous carnage. All of it hits you in a flash as it drowns your senses when he sinks his long fingers deeper into your throat causing drool to pool at your mouth when you gag around them. Watching you with a gratified look before sliding his fingers back until just the tips are hooked to your bottom teeth, the point of his claws poking at your tongue forcing your mouth agape.
“There you go”, he coos. “Taking me like the obedient whore you are”, eyebrows frowning in anger when the degrading name reaches your ears as you meet his gaze in discontent to which he only laughs followed by a sharp thrust of his hips that causes you a shiver to travel along your spine as he buries his cock in your wet heat all the way down to the base before the arm that was holding yours above your head releases you.
Brushing through your hair to grip at your scalp, keeping your head still to look up at him while he peers down at you whilst you drag your arms down through the snow before reaching up to cling against his large frame. Your muscles feel slightly numb from the pressure of his strength when they flex to dig your own nails into his flesh, the faint sting feeling almost comical as a breathy laugh blows from him, its warmth hitting your skin as it makes your eyelashes flutter from the proximity.
“I think you're just about ready to take me whole, don't you?”, tilting his head to the side as his eyes fixate on the way drool collects at the corners of your mouth while he holds it open.
An obstructed “what?” begins to vibrate in your throat but it's quickly interrupted by the thick weight of his spit hitting the back of your tongue as you struggle to swallow with the digits that still pry your mouth open. The same digits that quickly slide along your bottom lip to circle around your cheeks, his palm pressing into your chin and before you can register it, his lips are on yours. Hard and demanding paired with the smooth yet imposing feel of his tongue swiping along your teeth before pressing it against yours, pushing his spit deeper into your mouth as it mixes with your own until you no longer can resist the urge to swallow - oddly hot and impossibly sticky as it struggles down your throat while the wet muscle slithers out of your mouth with a satisfied hum, leaving thick and stringy threads of saliva connected between you before it curls back into his own allowing you to take sharp gulps of cold air again.
Another confused protest builds in your chest but that gusting laughter of his quiets your voice as he quickly removes his cock from you, sharp canines only flashing brighter when he feels your pussy constrict around him trying to pull him back inside before it slides out with a slick pop as bloody strands of arousal stretch between your bodies.
The feel of sharp claws digging into your hips sends a burning sting across your skin before your no longer peering up at the moon, flipped over as you knees dig into the icy snow followed by your elbows when he presses his weight against your back, his warm skin against your cold flesh as one of his arms travels from your hips and along your torso curling around your neck to pull you back and press you further into him. Feeling how one of his cocks twitches against the dip of your spine while the other rubs hard between your thighs as it leaks onto the snowy ground.
Another set of claws trickles down the center of your spine, slow and calculated until it curls around your rear to grasp at it with more vigor, giving it a firm shake before reaching down to rub against your cunt as he collects the mess that drips from your pussy onto his palm whilst he drags his digits through your folds - slick and swollen from only taking one of his cocks as his touch has your eyes rolling into your skull. Feeling how he rubs his palm up towards your puckered hole to coat it with your release and blood before pressing his thumb around the rim, using the messy slick as lubricant to stretch your rear open as his thick digit breaks through the first ring of muscle making you fist the snow below with a groan at the initial sting.
A content hum vibrates from deep in his chest against your back as his thumb pushes deeper into you until its fully nestled inside before removing it slowly to introduce another finger, gradually spreading your hole open until you're able to take four of his long digits with ease as the squelch of his fingers toying with your insides causes your thighs to quiver while he nuzzles his nose at the crook of your neck, smiling against your skin when he feels you tremble beneath him.
Removing his digits as webs of slick stretch between his fingers when he reaches for his cock, guiding it from your lower spine to align with your gaped hole before slowly thrusting inside, the thick head sliding in with ease after being stretched and you can't contain the moans that spill from your lips when the cock resting between your thighs simultaneously presses against your clit sending jolts of pleasure through your body with each jerk. Gradually shoving more and more of his length while his nose hovers above the wound on your neck, oozing fresh blood as he takes a deep inhale before you feel the hot touch of his tongue lapping at the crimson liquid. Slowly licking around the surface where his fangs pierced the skin as he brings his lips down to the opening, encouraging more blood to spill into his mouth while the sound of his gulps echoes through your ears.
The hand that was spreading you open suddenly curls around your front as his lips detach from your skin whilst you feel the digits around your neck twitch against your skin, holding you in place as you watch him spit the viscous mixture of saliva and blood into his hand before it disappears from your sight. A jolt erupts from your body when you feel it press against your cunt, rubbing the slimy liquid through your pussy as his digits spread you open while sharp claws ghost along your sensitive skin with each motion causing something to twist in your gut.
Reaching for the cock between your legs as the one in your rear eases its pace, coating it with the remaining slick in his hand as he gives it a few pumps before you feel the large tip rub against you, throbbing with each swipe as wet noises fill your ears again the more it collects the mixture of bloody spit along with the arousal dripping from your pussy onto the thick head of his cock as it presses into your entrance making you squirm against his grasp when it pushes into you. Already feeling impossibly full with the cock buried deep in your ass, but the feel of claws threatening to rip through the skin of your hips forces you still as they hold you in place whilst the hand around your throat twitches again as his tongue returns to the wound above your shoulder.
The overwhelming feel of everything at once causes your jaw to slack against his touch as moans continue to spill past your lips the more his length sinks deeper into you. Spreading your pussy open on him as the cock in your rear throbs against your tight insides, moving in par with the other. You feel your breathing become more labored as you lift one of your hands from the snow to clutch onto the one around your throat, his skin feeling hot in your touch as your ears pricked at the sound of low rumbles erupting from deep within his chest when his cocks nestled fully inside your warmth, the vibration spreading across your skin where your back met his chest as his nose trailed up to your hair. Inhaling your scent before slowly pulling his hips back, the thick veins on his lengths rubbing through the velvety walls of your core making you gasp at the sensation until only the tips remain inside as all 20 of his fingers press deeper into your skin when he thrusts his hips forward again with a loud wet squelch that clashes with the purring emitting from his chest whilst your entire body flushes hot in contrast to the cold that surrounds you.
Tears welled in your eyes the more he quickened his thrusts, driven savage as he splits you open on his lengths whilst your blood eases his vicious pace against you. Stuffed beyond limits whilst the sweet sound of your moans only fuels him further as he feels himself get closer to his release. Teeth aching with the need to bury themself deep in your flesh as he sinks them into the side of your neck that remained untouched, now bloodied and ripped as your skin gives away under the force of his hungry maw. Gore spilling into his throat as his purring becomes wet with your blood as a groan builds in his throat when he feels you gush against his cocks, withdrawing from your neck to peer down between your bodies - crimson stained grin spreading wildly at the sight as he fixates on the way your holes stretch around his lengths leaving a thick creamy ring of arousal at the base that he can't resist to taste as the tongue on his abdomen extends to lap at the mixture.
A content groan resonating through the loud vibrations of his chest as he lowers himself to press against your back again, the fingers at your throat flexing on your skin as he tilts your head back to look at him. Admiring the sight of you covered in the mixture of his blood and yours whilst you cry out in pleasure and pain with each powerful thrust of his hips - something snaps within him. Something he thought was long past buried and forgotten as he feels it stir deep inside of him. Something primal and carnal that has the pace of his hips faltering when he meets your gaze. Eyes that were previously filled with ravenous rage, now drowned in exhilarating pleasure - yet a hint of defiance remains, staring directly back into his own when no other would've even dared to allow the thought to enter their minds.
And the action has him erupting in a maniacal laugh that makes the snow clinging to the branches of the trees that surround you come crashing down, but he pays no mind to it as he regains the strength of his thrusts, fucking you open anew until his cocks are swelling up inside your heat before a final jerk buries his lengths deep in your warmth. Rope after rope of thick cum filling your insides as a searing heat spreads through your core, making your holes tighten around him causing the both of you to curl into each other at the overwhelming sensations that are running rampant through your bodies.
Lapping at the blood dripping from your neck in slow, unhurried licks while he soaks in the feel of your pussy pulsing around him, greedily milking him till the last drop and he can't help but smile against your mangled skin before lifting himself to lean back as his lower arms reach for your cheeks, spreading your rear as he slowly starts to withdraw from your body. Creamy ribbons of cum already seeping through the sides of your tight holes whilst you whimper at the feeling when it drips down your thighs into the snow below. His cocks popping out of you with a loud squelch and his eyes glow at the way your asshole gapes from the imprint his size left on your along with the steady flow that gushes from your pussy and he resists the urge to plug you up again and keep you full and bred for him.
Instead you feel claws travel up your sides before they curl around you, now facing him as he stands at full height with you in his arms as your exposed cunt drips onto his abdomen for his tongue to lap and the mess. Feeling a sudden warmth at your back as he shields you from the snowfall with his kimono whilst he begins to walk further into the looming forest.
“I think I'll keep you for a little longer.” He whispers against your cheek, lapping at the blood staining your skin before wrapping his palm around your chin, claws digging into you as he forces you to look at him. Searing crimson staring deep into your blissed ones before breaking into a malevolent grin as you feel his digits dig deeper into your flesh, threatening to split you apart at the thrill building within from all the thoughts running through his head. For he's never had a prey quite like yourself.
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Warnings: All characters are 18+, this post is explicit smut. As if you couldn’t tell that from the title
A/N: Funny story, I forgot I already wrote this same concept last year… but since I didn’t realize until I finished writing this… imma post it anyways. But if you’d like to see my original thoughts on this topic, you can see them here with an additional 2 characters lol
Gojo Satoru
He is relentless, especially when he’s in the mood to go down on you. These little moods of his will have him between your legs for hours, multiple times a day. You always like to joke that he knows when you’re ovulating because somehow these little moods seem to fall in sync. If Satoru goes more than three days without you, it’s like he’s going through withdrawals. He’s skilled with his tongue, he’s able to move it in ways and speeds you didn’t know a man could. Typically he’s a tease, he’ll edge you until you have an orgasm so pathetic you can’t even call it one. Ya know, the kinds where you come and don’t feel that satisfaction, just the pulsating ache of needing more. But recently, Satoru discovered how much more fun it is to overstimulate you. He loves the way your finger’s bury in his hair and try to tug him off as he sucks on your clit until you’re sobbing and begging him to ease up. He’ll keep your thighs spread wide, large hands effortlessly keeping them in place while they desperately try and close. He’s also the type to see those “pineapple make’s your cum sweet” articles and come home with enough pineapples to feed a village. He’s not even embarrassed about his reasoning, even if it’s just a myth, his sweet tooth can’t pass up the opportunity. Satoru loves your natural taste, but you surprised him with edible lubes in various fruity and sweet flavors one night… you still recall seeing the sun rise.
Geto Suguru
He’s a god at eating pussy and you can’t convince me otherwise. Suguru has always been about your pleasure over his, not to say he doesn’t have his selfish moments, but your pleasure is just so much fun to him. He loves the noise, the facial expressions, the smell, the taste. The first time he went down on you, you were convinced he was lying about it being his first time. The ability just came naturally to Suguru. Like Satoru, Suguru loves to tease you. He’ll focus all of his attention on your dripping entrance, only stimulating your clit if his nose bumps it. He loves the way you squirm, his nails leaving crescent shaped nail marks in the plump flesh of your thighs as he holds you in place. He loves your breathless gasps, his long hair tickling your thighs as he eats you out, only adding to the stimulation that’s making your toes curl. Suguru loves to make you beg, pulling his mouth away from your cunt to just barely flick his tongue over your clit. He’ll stop all together just to taunt you until you’re sobbing, begging him to do something. He has a whole album on his phone dedicated to you, most of the content being videos of him eating you out, some he even made you take just so he could see the camera shake with your effort to keep it straight and hear your noises better. He puts on a show for you, slurping and sucking and moaning just to feel your thighs tremble as you moan with him.
Nanami Kento
Eating you out is a stress reliever for Nanami… so it happens like very fucking day. Lord help me this man will spend hours edging you, cheek pressed into your thigh as he lazily licks and nips at your cunt. He can’t think about anything but you when he is between our legs, moaning and whining his name like a beautiful lullaby. He’ll let you cum eventually, but for the time being you are completely at his mercy. Nanami is the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, especially on nights where he comes home late and you’re already passed out in bed. He’ll make out with your cunt honestly, licking and sucking and nipping at your folds until he can’t tell if you’re wet from his saliva or your own arousal. The answer is both. He doesn’t care for any of the fancy shit, so don’t bother with flavored lubes or eating particular fruits to try and alter your taste, he just wants you and you alone. I feel like this man has a scent kink so the smell of your arousal honestly gets him going even more. He prefers eating you out in bed, mostly because he’s tired and nothing feels better to him than laying on his plush mattress while using your thighs as his pillow. He’s a whore for face sitting by the way, even less of his energy needs to be put into that, especially when you’re grinding your cunt against his tongue. Nanami’s other favorite thing to do is use his tie to bind your wrists, that way you really can’t interrupt him.
Fushiguro Toji
I had to restart Toji’s so many times because I got too aggressive. Listen, this bummy ass bitch will eat you out till the sunrises and he will make a fucking mess of you while he does it. Toji will eat you out and finger fuck you until you’re screaming. He’ll give you a “break” by stuffing you full with his dick and then get back to work eating you out again after he blew his load in you. Filthy bitch. He’ll eat you out anytime, anywhere, any position. He’ll never turn down the opportunity and depending on your relationship with him, this bitch may even charge you for his services. Which is just another way he likes to tease you, watching you whine and squirm while you cough up the money he wants. He’ll call you pathetic as he gets on his knees and basically rips your underwear off of you, commenting the whole time about how much of a whore you are… like he ain’t selling his body to you rn. This man will somehow make you feel inferior, but you can’t be bothered when his tongue is lapping at your cunt like a starved man. Toji will make sure your thighs and your cunt are swollen, bruised, overstimulated, and sore by the time he’s done with you. Your cunt is puffy from his sucking and biting, thighs littered in dark marks and teeth indents. He'd go as far as to find a marker and write “cum dumpster” on you if he was really in the mood to see you sob.
Ryomen Sukuna
Listen, you thought Toji could be mean? Sukuna is ten times worse. The thing is, the king of curses actually likes to eat pussy but he won’t admit it. But that is not to say he can’t live without it, Sukuna is selfish and really only prefers things that pleasure him in the process. But, when you’re sobbing, pathetically begging him to go down on you, he may just crack. Especially if you’re looking at him with watery eyes, swollen lips from sucking him off, your neck littered with bite marks and bruises. Oh, and, if you’ve made him cum, he’s more likely to agree and indulge you. If you manage to convince the king of curses to go down on you, don’t expect him to be easy on you. His nails are digging into the flesh of your thighs, blood dripping slowly as he eats you out with so much force it’s borderline painful. He’s using his tongue and his teeth, nipping at your folds and even grazing your clit with them until he can tell your sobs are a breathless mix of pleasure and pain. If we’re talking true form Sukuna, I promise you he won’t stop until you’ve blacked out. He’ll use one set of arms to hold your waist while the other set keeps your thighs spread. He’s forcefully dragging your cunt over the long tongue that protrudes from his stomach, occasionally stopping just to hold you still as he spreads you open and stuffs you with the same tongue, watching you yelp and moan as he toys with you.
Okkotsu Yuta
If you look up the definition of “pussy drunk” you’ll see a picture of Yuta. This man cannot go down on you without becoming delirious. Your body puts him in a trance, he can’t even explain the way you make him feel. Yuta is all about body worship and his favorite way to go about it is having his face shoved between your legs for hours. He’s just as vocal as you are while he eats you out, groaning and whining against your cunt until the vibrations are making your eyes roll back as you cum again. He’ll be kneading your thighs as he eats, squeezing them like stress balls and hitting nerves that send sparks of electricity all the way to your toes and all the way up to the base of your neck. Without even trying, Yuta will manage to overstimulate you until you’re unironically going cross-eyed, fingers twitching as they bury in his hair and try to pull him off so you can catch your breath. Yuta is still a bit shy when it comes to being intimate outside of the privacy of your home. But that doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into the nearest bathroom and eat you out against the bathroom stall. In this sense, he’s almost cocky when someone unknowingly enters the bathroom only to see two sets of feet in one of the stalls. Not to mention the noises are echoing. Yuta lives to see your eyes going wide from embarrassment as he doesn’t stop, your noises are uncontrollable as he tongue fucks you. The poor bastard who entered the bathroom with the intention of properly using it just muttered under their breath and walked out.
Itadori Yuji
Yuji is eager, so, so damn eager. He wants to do anything and everything that brings you pleasure so when it comes to eating you out, he’s determined to be great at it. Yuji is the type to ask you for “practice” or “lessons” which is just his way of indirectly asking if he can eat you out. Most of the time, it’s an offer you can’t refuse, because as fate would have it, Yuji isn’t bad at anything. He’s so praise focused, eyes glued to your face as he flicks his tongue along your folds and waits for you to tell him he’s doing good. He’ll slow down when your praise isn’t coming fast enough because he wants you to beg. Yuji is a sucker for adding fingers to the mix, as much as he loves making you cum with just his tongue, he sees no point in limiting your pleasure for his own confidence boost. Kind of contradictory since he likes when you beg. Yuji is also the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, just slowly lapping at your cunt while also rutting his hips into the mattress, trying to not wake you up until you’re coming. He finds it so pretty when you wake up gasping, completely unable to restrict any of your noises as you orgasm. It’s important to mention that Yuji is a sucker for 69-ing and face sitting, he loves, loves, feeling your plush thighs caging in his head. He can’t get enough of the way your body settles so nicely into him, no longer afraid of “suffocating him” by sitting all the way down on him.
Fushiguro Megumi
He won’t admit it but he loves to eat you out. Megumi is shy at heart so even if he’s been with you for years, he can still get embarrassed when telling you how badly he wants to go down on you. He’s focused when he does get between your legs, hands gripping your thighs or hips while his tongue laps greedily at your cunt. Megumi loves to tongue fuck you, just because he knows it’s not enough stimulation to make you cum but enough to make you embarrassingly wet. He’s a bit mean at first, not willing to let you come until he feels you’ve earned it. He’ll stop abruptly just to sink his teeth into your inner thighs, not stopping until you’re gasping as the pain turns bruising. He’ll admire the teeth indents he’s left on your skin while his nails are scratching down your other thigh, tongue moving to wiggle against your clit until your hips are bucking. Megumi finds toys to be very hit or miss, but he’s found a love for stuffing you with a vibrator while putting all of his attention on your clit. Megumi’s preferred method of “torture” depends on his mood, either he’ll edge you until you’re begging or overstimulate you until you’re crying. He’s very private when it comes to these things… unless he’s jealous. Much like Yuta, he will not hesitate to drag you somewhere private while out in public to remind you of who you belong to.
pairing: gojo satoru x gn reader
established relationship fluff
Satoru’s already clingy as is, but when he’s drunk, it’s taken to a whole new level.
He holds onto you like a lifeline. Has those strong arms of his wrapped around your form, trapping you in his embrace and caging you against his warmth, as if the beat of his heart would be put to a pause if he let go even for a millisecond.
“S—” He hiccups. “So pretty.”
“So pretty,” he murmurs, extending the compliment, breaths soft and warm as he places tender kisses all over your skin, trailing from the passage of your neck down to the valley of your chest. “Always so pretty.” And then another. “Always taste so good, too. I Love you. Love you s—so much,” he continues, stumbling on his words.
You can’t say that you’re complaining, though.
How could you? When he’s treating you this gently, tracing slow circles on the outline of your hip, slurring mumbles of praise to you as if it’s his second nature, there’s nothing else to feel besides contentment. And in his arms, you’re always content. Always safe.
Always loved, too.
You exhale a huff of breath, seemingly annoyed. But internally, you’re melting, insides turning into mush.
It’s nothing new, really, being presented this kind of treatment from Satoru. He is a romantic through and through, after all. But you wonder, sometimes, how he manages to keep his suave up even after being driven past the edge of sobriety. And you wonder, always, why your heart keeps hammering inside your chest despite being used to his affection.
You thread a hand through his hair and brush away a few stray strands. In return, he lifts his head up, lips drawing into a woozy smile the moment he catches sight of you through a lidded gaze.
“Hi,” Satoru says, bubbly, his bluer than blue eyes pooling with reverence as they gaze at you, enamored.
“Hey, ‘Toru,” you say sheepishly, a little flustered. “You gotta go to sleep soon. Go take a shower,” you remind him. He has a long day tomorrow. Always does.
Satoru groans in response, shooting you a brief look of chide, as if you’d committed a criminal offense with the mere proposition, before shaking his head in protest.
“Don’t wanna,” is all he says.
“I know.” You nod your head in understanding. “But you have to.”
“No I don’t,” he rebuts, shaking his. “Showers are stupid, I always smell good. And I’m too tired to move. Just stay with me, like this.”
“You reek of alcohol, Satoru.”
He drags out a long inhale, then hums, as if pleased with the scent of ethanol hanging in the air. “Smells good to me.”
It’s a lie, you can tell — his poor attempt at concealing the disgusted crinkle of his nose speaks volumes.
“Well you smell horrible to me,” you joke, pushing him away for added emphasis, dipping your chin into your neck to keep him at bay.
Satoru whines, and in an instant, places on that needy pout of his. “Don’t be like this,” he sulks, leaning forward to close the new distance you’ve created. “So mean to me…”
“I’m not mean to you. You’re the one who always complains about how I never bug you to take one the day after.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yeah you do.”
“Nuh uh,” he says, far too quickly.
And Satoru — he’s many things, but one thing for certain is that he’s a horrible liar. It’s a truth even the blind can acknowledge. And he knows this too, because he changes the subject immediately, trying to evade your reprisals.
“Well, whatever. It doesn’t really matter. Can I not even love you in peace anymore?” He huffs, placing his cheek against your chest. It feels warm, and soft, even when separated by the fabric of your nightwear.
“Can’t believe you’re getting in between me and my romance time with my lover,” he mutters.
You fight the urge to laugh. “Are you calling me a homewrecker, Satoru?” You scold, lightly pinching on his cheek.
He frowns at that, and takes hold of your wrist to redirect a hand back to his hair. Instinctively, you start playing with the strands.
Shame on him for being so distracting, you think, but shame on you too, for allowing it to happen.
“I didn’t say that, but if the shoe fits, then— ah!”
You smack the back of his head, enough to startle him, but not enough to hurt him. Satoru glares at from you below, eyes thinned into disapproving slits, but even then, you still think he deserved it.
“See, mean,” he says.
“Satoru, come on,” you try to bargain. “I’ll even dry your hair if you do.”
“No. You—you suck”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Let me stay here and sleep.”
"The last thing you'd ever be caught doing with your head on my chest is sleeping, Satoru."
His neck flexes at the statement.
“You... Oh... Yeah you're right." he admits after a few seconds of thinking, then giggles. Outright giggles, like a schoolgirl in love. “But it’s ‘cause I love you. So it's okay. Now gimme a kiss. Pleaseee.”
So goddamn stubborn.
For a moment, frustration prickles at your nerves, but then realization slashes at you, and you feel something expand in your chest, feel warmth blossom inside your heart at his love, which briefly silences you, catches you off guard.
Because right now, Satoru is drunk. His thoughts are supposed to be drifting aimlessly within the cesspool of his mind, colliding with one another until every shred of reason he’s managed to hold onto dissipates into thin air — But they aren’t.
Despite it all, he’s still holding onto you, still reaching out for you even after being reduced to a dizzy mess.
“Pleaseeeee.”
And it’s beautiful, you think, to be on the receiving end of such love. So beautiful that you can’t help but give in. “Alright,” you say, pulling him closer before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“I spoil you too much.” You click your tongue, but it’s anything but reproachful.
“I like being spoiled.”
“I can tell.”
Satoru grins, pushing himself closer to eliminate any space between you two. “Yeah?” He asks, thumb tracing the outline of your lips, the same way it did with the curve of your hip earlier. “But you like it though: spoiling me.”
You want, so badly, to wipe the smirk off his face. To refute his claim and tell him that: No, I don’t enjoy spoiling you. You’re a pain in the ass. But when he moves his hand to cradle your jaw and slots your lips together with his, kissing you slow and deep, you can’t help but agree.
let’s be honest, gojo satoru probably likes you (and you probably like him too).
gojo satoru x f!reader | wc: 2.41k+
contents: mentions of drinking, a gift as a suggestive costume and a joke based off of that, a reference to the league of superpets movie, implied shokohime, tooth-rotting fluff, happy halloween guys! stay safe <3
With Halloween coming up, the Jujutsu world can’t rest. Classic horror films bring unrest in young children and new couples alike, young teens egg and TP houses, negative emotions are at an all-time high so curses are at an all-time high, and yet—
“So, (Y/n), what’s going on with you and Satoru?”
You choke on your drink, your tongue blocking the booze from going down your esophagus, your eyes staring wide at the two girls in front of you. Shoko leans on the table, a canned drink in her right hand and her jaw leaning on her left hand, her finger covering her mole. Utahime is giggling along with her, chewing on the nail of her thumb, a flushed hue on the apples of her cheeks as she playfully punches Shoko’s shoulder.
“Nothing!” You cover half of your face with your hand, your head turning the other way out of embarrassment, “We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, me and ‘Hime are just friends too.”
You tilt your head to the side, giving her a dirty look. “You guys are different and you know it.”
Your friend takes another swig of the can, tilting her head back as Utahime giggles again—the two of them are completely off their rockers and you can’t help but sigh as Utahime slumps forward on your floor, staring at you accusingly through hooded eyes.
“Yeah?” She scoffs, “So you don't have any romantic plans for Halloween?”
“Nothing special,” you frown defensively, “We were just gonna go to a bar.”
“Sounds like a date to me.”
“It's not—!” You try to object, but Utahime slides her hand under the table, shaking her head in mock distress as she pulls out a small bag.
“Here, take this.” She slides it to you, waggling her eyebrows, “It'll help seal the deal.”
You already feel the uneasiness creep up on you when you open it, but you can't help but squeal in abject horror when you see what’s inside. It’s a bunny costume, a two-piece with far too much lace and not enough fabric coming completed with opaque white stockings; you can even see the faux tail sticking out of the underwear underneath the bunny-eared headband of shame.
“Utahime!” Your eyes shut as you push the gift away from you, the two girls in front of you exploding into fits of giggles and laughter as your face grows aflame.
“We just wanna help you get laid, (Y/n), we can even get you guys a matching set, please!” Shoko whines, bringing her fingers together desperately in a praying motion, “He'll go crazy over you!”
“As if he's not crazy about her in the first place.” Utahime corrects her, drunkenly chastising her like a schoolteacher.
“Both of you need to get a reality check.” You swallow as you stand up to disrupt your rapidly beating heart, desperately hoping they're both too drunk to notice the subject change, huffing as your finger juts back to your kitchen, “I'm gonna get more beer, does anyone want more?”
Shoko and Utahime both raise their hands in unison.
———
If you're being honest, you have no idea if Gojo Satoru likes you.
You suppose that he's clingy, incredibly so, even, but he's just as clingy with Suguru (to be fair, they're also far closer than you and Satoru are, so you're still left at square one). You suppose he's asked you to spend this Halloween with him, but Halloween is a rather friendly holiday, isn't it? If it were Christmas or New Years, you'd understand, but Halloween is more casual so it's less relationship-y and more—
“Am I boring you or something?” You're brought back to reality by Satoru's voice; although his words are harsh, there isn't a hint of malice in them, just playfulness, “Is it the bar’s vibe, are the neon lights a bit much?”
The neon lights do nothing except accentuate the man in front of you.
He's dressed up as Clark Kent (not Superman, he likes to correct people), sporting a simple white button-up that’s not very buttoned at all with a tie that’s draped loosely underneath his collar, one side dipped below the other. The opening reveals a tight Superman tank top underneath, the proud ‘S’ symbol hugging the dips in his pecs, the blue barely outlining the curves of his abs under the flashing lights. He’s traded out his usual circle frames for thick-rimmed black ones, boxy and rectangular, just like his smile. It makes him look cuter than you think he wanted to be, not that he’d ever admit it.
“Stellar wine and fantastic music,” you flash a smile, trying to pull it together (for real this time), “Almost good enough to make up for the mediocre company.”
“You have to be more confident, (Y/n), you’re not mediocre.”
You kick him from underneath the table and he lets out an exaggerated grunt, hunching over the table while clutching his stomach as if you had punched him in the gut.
“You got kryptonite in your shoes or something?”
“Why would Clark Kent’s weakness be kryptonite?” You wonder out loud, tapping your chin before you gasp dramatically, “Unless—”
He lets out a whine in protest as his body leans, flopping onto the wall in embarrassment, his shoulder against the brick that looks like it still has chipped and dried gum on it, “Is that why you're the fucking bunny from that one movie about Superman’s dog, to finally reveal your true colors?” He drones childishly, “Hairless, spineless, and evil.”
Now that makes you raise an eyebrow. Sure, Shoko and Utahime’s costume choice wasn't great, and you had found a sheer shawl at the bottom of your closet to cover yourself up in case you dropped more jaws than just Satoru’s, but you don't look like you're an evil supervillain from a kids movie, don't you? “What do you mean, bunny? She was a guinea pig, Satoru.”
He blinks.
“Wait,” his head lifts up from the wall, his brain swirling in confusion, “Then why are you dressed like a bunny?”
Oh.
Oh.
You feel your cheeks heat up just as his eyes widen inadvertently, realizing exactly what he said. He’d thought you were matching with him. Anybody could spin it as a weird couple’s costume if they tried hard enough, and he had tried.
“I—I mean—” He splutters as your heart beats faster, “I just thought because we watched it I—I didn't mean—”
“Yeah, no—” You laugh to cut through the awkwardness, your eyes suddenly finding the dirty steel table all the more interesting, “Honestly, it's hard to even call this costume at this point, you could say I'm matching with anybody else around here and no one would bat an eye.”
He looks around, his eyes glancing at the friends that surround him. Geto and Nanami sit across from the two of you, Shoko and Utahime drunkenly sing an 80s pop song with two other girls, and Haibara is chatting up a storm with Yaga. Disappointment flickers in your eyes as you watch him stare, but that’s before he turns to you, his thumb jutting to the door. “…What do you say we get out of here? It’s getting stuffy.”
You smile.
“Yeah, okay.”
———
“There’s no way Left Twix doesn’t taste the same as the Right ones.” Satoru argues like a kid who’s gotten his candy taken away (or more like a kid who has just gotten candy), opening both candy bars at the stump of the tree you sit under.
Trick-or-treating is disappointing when you’re both adults, but when you have a single basket and the ability to hijack a bunch of kids in some rich neighborhood means that you can get the extra big candy bars for less, and it’s not like toddler Batman wouldn’t care.
He takes a bite out of both, nodding his head thoughtfully as he chews, swallowing the caramel. “Yeah, no, they taste the same. Here, you try.”
He hands you the two bars—you hesitate, staring at the bite marks. He’s been doing this lately, you realize, sharing things with you; he’s been giving you cups of coffee, to-go lunches, and hours to “study” for exams in the library room coincidentally next to the VR.
He’s not lying when he says that they taste the same, though. Chocolate, caramel, and cookie don’t taste any different whether which parts are crispy or not, and you give him the Left one to eat as you stare up at him.
“Hey ‘Toru,” your voice catches attention, swallowing down the chocolate, “Why’d you take me out?”
He swallows, setting the half-eaten Twix bar into the Halloween basket behind the two of you.
“I’m actually not sure.” He shrugs. It’s a lie, an ambiguous one, but a lie nonetheless. There’s too much in between you and Gojo, you think. You’re stuck at friendship, not close enough to be closer like Suguru, but you think you might be getting there. If you’re not hesitantly unrealistic, how could you ever hope to aim for the strongest of the strong?
“What do you think?” Your voice is airy, much like the crisp breeze that runs through your body. Maybe it's because he's slightly inebriated, maybe he's just sick of just being friends, maybe it's the spirit of Halloween knocking on his door, but he feels his heart pound and thud at his chest.
“...I think you like me?” His cheeks heat up, avoiding your eyes (he looks nervous, the great Gojo Satoru actually looks nervous), “I mean, I think—I dunno actually, I could just be going crazy ‘nd reading into things too much, I actually—”
“Yeah? What makes you say that?” You tilt your head to the side, leaning on the shoulder that’s the closest to him, smiling up at him.
“You got a—” he laughs, tilting his head down in embarrassment, “You got a look in your eyes. I think it means something.”
You stare him dead in the eyes. “…Sorry, I must’ve been thinking about your best friend—ow—!” You giggle as he playfully headbutts your shoulder, burying his head into your neck.
Okay, let’s be honest, Gojo Satoru probably likes you.
There are too many coincidences: like how his blue eyes get that much brighter when he sees you, or how he always manages to have a twinge of pink on his cheeks when you get close to him. Then there’s the fact of how he’s lifting his head right now, and how he’s staring at you through his hooded lids like you mean the world to him when he smiles at you. He swallows, and you’re suddenly aware of how the grass tickles the palm of your hand before he tilts his head, his lips slowly brushing against yours.
You kiss him back because of course you do, your hand grabbing the collar of his jacket to press him closer to you. He lets out a grunt of surprise, his arms reaching out to balance himself before gravity takes the both of you, sending you rolling down the grassy hill you hiked up—he immediately wraps his arms around you with a “Shit!”, cocooning your body as he takes the brunt of each roll. It’s a blur of green and black and blue, the moon shining even brighter than ever, and yet, all you can think about is how good the cologne he’s wearing smells with your nose pressed against his collarbone.
The hill is steep but short, and you stop rolling when the grass evens out on the semi-flat land, the pebbles prick at your back, and the cold air nips at your skin, but you can hardly feel it compared to the warmth that builds in your chest and settles in your stomach.
Just before you're about to say something, his loose tie slips, flopping pathetically on your chest, and you can only stare wordlessly at it as it lies crumpled on the curves of your costume.
“Well, would you look at that?” Satoru laughs casually, “It looks like my tie fell for you.”
“Very funny,” you giggle, “I'd prefer it if its owner did too.”
“The owner already has.” He laughs again before he groans in mock affliction, his body falling closer to you as the pressure on his hands shifts onto his forearms. “Oops.” He bites the inside of his lip sheepishly, “Looks like Clark Kent has found his Kryptonite.”
“That was painfully cheesy, Satoru, god, I think that physically hurt me!” You whine from underneath him, closing your eyes in embarrassment.
“Oh shut up, you know you like it.” His face is closer this time, the wisps of his bangs hanging over his forehead, covering the sheen on his skin as his eyes catch your bottom lip, “Killer bruise you have there.”
“I think I bumped it on our way down, ‘s all your fault.” You manage to mumble through your own breathless laughter; he’s a sight to behold when he’s on top of you, laughing like the two of you are kids again, his forearms caging the space under your arms and one knee between your legs. His thumb reaches up to your face, swiping your bottom lip, tentatively tapping on the corner of your mouth.
“Would you like me to kiss it better?”
A bold statement from the strongest man in the world, but you wouldn't expect anything less—not from Satoru.
“…Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
With that, he captures your lips once more, your pumpkin-shaped Halloween basket left forgotten and useless at the top of the hill because, quite frankly, you taste better than any overpriced chocolate ever could.
Let's be honest, Gojo Satoru probably likes you. It's easy to prove now (honestly you should've dressed up as a detective) with the way his lips kiss yours, how his hand cup at your chin, how it trails down to your shoulder and to your waist; you'd think that he would have more decorum than to be making out with you right in the line of sight from some rich person's backyard but you guess you can't expect anything from him, and it's not like you're complaining either way.
You kick one of your legs against his and he lets out a startled noise against your lips as he feels his gravity shift. He lands on the grass, staring at you with wide eyes as you grin down at him; you block the moon with your head, the light curves off of your silhouette as your finger toys with his collar and your legs straddle his waist, but he doesn't think you've ever looked brighter. As you lean your head down to kiss him again, he makes a mental note to thank Shoko and Utahime.
Let’s be honest, Gojo Satoru probably likes you (and you probably like him too).
inspired by the special episode of jungle juice!
the superman costume was completely self-indulgent sorry i was going through something (and if you saw this reposted im so sorry 😭)
ღ warnings — fluff!!! no warnings except more f. leaning petnames.
ღ note — consider this a gift from one sleepy person to the next ><
・✶ ｡ﾟGOJO SATORU
youd curled up next to satoru on the couch as he sorted through some files from lessons, feeling his arm immediately find its place around you—pulling you in to smear a lazy kiss against your forehead. “you okay, pretty girl?” satoru drawls, fatigue evident in his tone and also in the way he hadn’t even changed out of his uniform yet. “tired, ‘toru.” you reply and his lips upturn slightly, softly—his other arm coming around to gently grab your thigh before dragging you onto his lap. satoru leans back just enough to be able to pull you onto his chest, his arms hooking around your waist before hes peppering a few more kisses to your temple and his cheek is smooshed against the skin, sighing sleepily above you while his words are muffled against you but they still drawl so dreamily. “how’s that, sweetheart? you know you can sleep right here if you like, i’ve got you.” he hums, feeling his slender hands smooth up the length of your spine everytime you nuzzle closer to him, soothing you as he smirks a little lovesick to himself. “so sweet, aren’t you, angel? you always look the prettiest when you’re wrapped up in me, you know.”
・✶ ｡ﾟGETO SUGURU
you groan a little when you feel suguru slide in bed beside you, immediately smelling the familiar scent of his shower gel as he ties back his wet hair. “sugu?” you sigh, hearing a grumble in return before his lips are softly pressed against yours, accompanied by the feeling of his hands smoothing over your skin. “you okay?” he drawls and you hum at the low tone he his voice always took when he was tired. “i’m tired.” you rasp and he smiles. “me too, pretty girl.” suguru’s features are already laced with sleep, feeling his fingertips smooth under the shirt you’re wearing before his body flops on top, nuzzling into your chest with a drawn out sigh. “you comfy now?” you grin and he sighs contently, there was always a drop in his guard when he was home. “yeah, nap with me, baby?” feeling his fingers draw absentminded shapes into your skin as you allow yourself to melt under his touch, nodding before you feel him place a kiss against your skin through the fabric of your shirt.
・✶ ｡ﾟ ITADORI YUUJI
yuuji just came back from a mission when he’d found you on the couch, a little dazed as you nodded off. “baby! what’re you doing—i’m home, you okay?” his voice is a little softer than normal, but his smile is just as bright when he squats down to place a kiss on your lips. “im okay, just sleepy.” you reply and you hear yuuji hum in thought for a few seconds before his smile seems to tug even wider. “oh! i know, does that mean you wanna cuddle, yeah? cmeer babe.” he beams and you groan a little when he lifts you slightly, clumsily sliding himself in under you with an enthusiastic smile before pulling you up against his chest, giggling when you nuzzle into his warmth immediately. “see, now you can sleep here baby. i won’t move, i promise. i’ll be extra quiet.” his words shouted whispers as he holds you tightly, peppering a few gentle kisses to your temple every couple of minutes with a little grin.
・✶ ｡ﾟFUSHIGURO MEGUMI
megumi in the kitchen, making a coffee before he felt your arms wrap around him from behind—drawing a smile from the dark haired sorcerer when he feels you nuzzling into his warmth before he’s turning to greet you. “you okay?” he asks, voice low and dreamy. “yeah, just tired, ‘gumi.” you reply and his features are soft when his hands come to cup your face gently, smoothing over the skin before guiding you closer, his lips resting against your forehead as he speaks. “do you want some tea? or a nap, i don’t want you getting mad if you’re not getting enough sleep.” a small pout forms on megumi’s lips at the thought, frowning until he hears you sigh and he’s immediately melting at your own sleepy features “that would be nice, ‘gumi.” you hum and he stays with you until you fall asleep, because he knows you like when he traces his fingers lightly over your skin.
・✶ ｡ﾟNANAMI KENTO
nanami was finishing some papers on the couch when you approached him, flopping down next to him with a sigh— followed by his hand immediately finding its place on your thigh as he squeezes the skin affectionately. “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he drawls and you stifle a yawn before casting him a drowsy glance. “i’m tired.” he only hums in response to your words, his eyes still locked on the paper before he sighs, running a hand through his hair and moving back slightly—allowing you to lie down on his lap while he works. nanami’s smile is soft when your face rests against his thigh, one of his hand softly resting on your cheek while his thumb brushes along the skin gently, while he uses his other hand to scribble through his work. you may have opened your eyes a few times to him staring at you in a daze, resulting in him getting all frowny with a flustered excuse. “i was just making sure you weren’t uncomfortable.”
Sunlight pours through the open balcony doors, liquid gold spilling across the floor and soaking the foot of the bed with warmth. It’s early afternoon, the skies outside bright and blue, a gentle, salty breeze winding through the gossamer curtains that hang open and loose where they frame the doors. The distinct rustle of bedsheets followed by a giggle floats into the warm air, shameless in the privacy of these four walls.
The pillows smell like detergent and are soft under your head, but it's overwhelmed by the lingering scent of shampoo and oud on the man currently fluttering sweet, lazy kisses up the curve of your neck. His golden hair tickles your skin, silky where it flops a little messily over his forehead. A deep hum vibrates in his bare chest as you press back against him, slipping your fingers through the strands of blond to scratch at his scalp.
“Good morning to you too, honey,” you giggle, basking in the warmth of his bare skin on yours.
“Is it still morning?” he rumbles next to your ear, the velvety quality of his voice making you shiver the way it always does.
“Technically, it’s midday. We should probably get up, housekeeping will be here soon.”
Nanami ignores you, still kissing a haphazard path up your jaw and cheek. His strong arm is secure around your middle, pulling you back into his firm chest. A hand strokes delicately at the plush flesh of your tummy, the other smoothing up and down your naked thigh. There’s a twitch against your backside.
“How soon is ‘soon’?” he murmurs, thick fingers brushing towards your inner thigh. You let them part slightly in a quiet invitation.
“An hour or so I think.” He hums, lips dragging dangerously close to your mouth as you twist your head slightly to meet him, a breath of laughter kissing his skin. “You’re very handsy this morning.”
“I suppose I am,” he says quietly, flicking his tongue out to tease the corner of your lips.
“I didn’t know you could be so insatiable, Kento,” you grin.
“You make me insatiable, dear wife,” he says with a soft sigh, and something about the way he calls you wife so easily, as though you’ve been married for years and years, kindles desire deep in your gut. Finally, his lips meet yours in a languorous, messy kiss, fuelled by need as his hips press against you more firmly. Nanami tastes you deeply, rolling his tongue heavily against yours as your grip on his scalp tightens to pull him closer.
Meanwhile, his hand slips between your legs and you’re glad that you’re still nude from the previous night's activities. Blunt fingers caress the skin of your labia, his touch almost featherlight as he continues to swallow the soft hums of delight simmering in your throat. Using two fingers to spread you open, he flicks the middle one at your clit lightly, revelling in the sound of your pleased little mewl.
His finger dips down to test the waters, finding your arousal drooling slowly to coat his fingertip, only to withdraw and smear it over your taut clit. Your jolt a little under his warm, wandering hands, squirming to get him closer, to nudge him to where you need him. But his exploration is slow and gentle despite the growing hardness against the curve of your ass, flitting away when he feels you get worked up under his clever hands.
“Relax,” he murmurs against your mouth, “We’ve got plenty of time.”
“But housekeeping-”
“Will wait.”
Every brush of his fingers, every time he slips them inside you, goads you into melting into him, like ice cream under the heat of the island's
sun. Each touch is so simple, gently guiding your pussy to soak his fingers as he leisurely plays with you. You should be embarrassed that he makes you this wet, but it’s just what Nanami does to you. It’s the love and care imbued in those large hands, the slip of his lips on yours and his breath that fills your lungs that drives you to dizziness. He holds you far away from the edge, warming you slowly as he rocks almost imperceptibly against the base of your spine.
“Don’t stop, Ken,” you breathe, grinding into his fingers as your lips part with an audible smack.
“I suppose I’m not the only insatiable one here,” he chuckles, still plucking gently at your cunt the way one would a harp. He pecks your cheek affectionately, lips wet with your saliva. “So very greedy, hm?”
In retaliation, you reach back to close your fingers around his thick length, smirking at the low whistle of breath that curls over your ear. You squeeze gently, pleased at the slight shudder that ripples under his skin as he chases your touch by squeezing you closer.
“I never thought I could have someone so perfect,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe before burying his face in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “And yet here you are.”
Your heart swells in your chest, enjoying the more unfiltered side of your new husband that creeps out when sleep still clings to his eyes. Nanami always gets so soft like this, cradling you to him as he grumbles about the time of day and having to get out of bed and leave you. However, since you’re on your honeymoon, there’s no grumbling to be heard. Just his hands on your body, memorising every swell and dip all over again, soaking in the softness of your skin and your gentle warmth. Right now, time means nothing, and he’s only too happy to let it all go.
A soft whine escapes your lips when his hand draws away, nudging yours when he wraps it around his cock. “Can you flip onto your stomach for me?” he asks gently as he spreads your arousal over his length. You shift onto your front, cheek nestled in your pillow so that you can look at him in the afternoon sun. His hair catches the light and shines like threads of gold, mimicking a halo around his head. Sunkissed and lightly scarred skin stretches over the flex of his muscles as he lazily fists himself, rising to his knees and shuffling to straddle you. Lowering himself, he brushes light kisses up your spine, from tailbone to nape, his hands kneading your hips. When he reaches your neck, he nips softly, before he guides his cock through your wet heat, spreading you wider for him with his thumbs.
Unhurried, he lets your pussy engulf the tip and warm him for a moment before he pushes in further, filling you inch by delicious inch. Eyes fluttering shut, you gasp softly, acutely aware of how he grazes every nerve. “Love you,” you breathe, peeking up at him with love-laden eyes.
Pressing his torso flush against your back, skin kissing skin, he nuzzles sweetly at your ear. “I love you too,” he whispers, circling his hips in a grinding motion that makes your breath stick to your throat. He fucks you steadily, hips thrusting down into you. There’s no room to squirm with how his large body cages you against the mattress and you’ve no choice but to spread your legs a little wider and surrender to the heavy plunge of his cock. The sound of his hips meeting your ass fills the air and you briefly wonder if anyone can hear you moaning through the open balcony doors.
“So big, Ken,” you sigh, wiggling back on him as the pleasure winds tighter in the pit of your belly. “So good.”
Nanami says nothing, only grunting in your ear as his hips take up a sloppier pace. Your hand travels down, pushing it between your slick thighs to rub at your clit. His cock brushes your fingertips with each thrust, your laboured breaths mingling as you approach orgasm. Left hand tangling with yours, your rings glint brightly in the sunlight.
“Kento, I-” Your words melt into a whimper of pleasure as you cum, clutching his fingers tighter and screwing your eyes shut. Nanami follows you shortly after with his forehead pressed to the nape of your neck, groaning deep in satisfaction as his warmth fills you.
He’s still weighing you down as you both take a moment to catch your breath. You gasp as he pulls his softening cock out of you with a hiss and rolls onto his side to gather you against his chest. You can already feel his cum begin to ooze out of you.
“Are you awake now?” you tease as he kisses your temple lovingly. He hums in amusement, hugging you tighter.
“More or less,” he says with a yawn. “Though I would like some coffee, too.”
“And brunch.” Your stomach growls at the mention of food and he smiles, a soft, lazy curve of his lips that makes him look youthful.
“Is that how late it is?”
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door accompanied by a shy, tremulous voice. “E-Excuse me?”
Your eyes bug out of your skull in surprise, whipping your head to your grimacing husband. “Do you think they heard us?” you whisper, heat climbing up your cheeks in embarrassment.
“I should hope not,” he grumbles, reluctantly letting you go and sitting up, stretching his arms over his head. Swiping up one of the discarded hotel robes from the floor, he slips his arms through the sleeves and ties it loosely at his waist. “Give me a moment, darling.”
Before you can even convince him not to, he’s at the door, pulling it open a little to speak to the women on the other side. His voice is low, so you can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but judging from his tone, it’s stern.
The door shuts and he tugs the belt loose, letting the soft fabric fall off his shoulders. “What did you say to them?” you ask, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around your waist. You can’t help but admire his naked form as he roots around your suitcases for fresh clothes, pulling out neatly folded garments for himself.
“I asked them politely not to eavesdrop.”
“Sounded like a little more than that,” you murmur under your breath as he steps towards you.
“Come.,” he says, offering you a hand with a gentle smile. “Let’s go get brunch.”
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As conscious reaches the surface, your mind registers both the dip in the mattress and the unnatural warmth laid across from you. Body still one foot in sleep and the other in wake, you force your eyes open despite the sting, and glare into the dark.
You’re not alarmed by the silhouette beside you, their features gradually sharpening as your sight adjusts to the shadows. There’s nobody else it could be other than him. The bedroom curtains are thick but the moon is persistent, and she reflects back dimly in two distinct blue eyes, giving them an almost cat-like appearance.
“Satoru, you’re such… a fuckin’ creep…” you mumble, the words still thick and slurred as waves of exhaustion attempt to coax you back into sleep. You hear him huff, it’s a warm exhale of laughter and he’s close enough for you to feel it by your cheek.
“So mean,” he says. His voice is low, barely a whisper but cutting loud through the silence, and it is fond. The sheets rustle as he shifts, and you feel his thumb gently swipe the corner of your mouth.
“You drool in your sleep,” he emphasises with a light tap to your chin, the whole of his hand now cradling your jaw, “it’s weirdly cute”.
His palm is softer than expected, the grip barely there and loose like he wasn’t sure you’d allow it for long. Reflexively, you turn into his touch, and he inhales. The more you wake, the more you worry.
“You should be more aware of your surroundings you know,” he continues in a quiet murmur, “I could’ve been anyone”.
This was a first. While Satoru made a habit of appearing wherever you happened to be the moment he felt a modicum of boredom, he’d never crawled into your bed unannounced before. “I already sensed that it was you,” you reply, swallowing against the dryness of your throat, “and I don’t let just anyone in my bed”.
Reaching towards him you’re met with no resistance — only the fabric of his shirt. You knew from the reports that he had dealt with a special grade today, and wondered if that was part of the reason he was here. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
It’s difficult to see completely, but you’re sure his expression wanes into affection. Even the hand at your jaw relaxes, resting heavier where it cups your face. He strokes the swell of your cheek in a back and forth motion, humming in acknowledgment. “Just wanted to check on something important,” he returns.
Your fingers curl against his chest, the repetitive caress lulling you back to sleep. “Did… did you find what… you were looking for?”
“I did,” his eyes squint slightly, a telltale sign that he was smiling — he wore plenty of them, but they always felt less plastic when directed at you.
“Go back to sleep,” is the last thing you remember hearing.
nanami has always put love off. he’s always told himself it’s better to wait, to promise himself a home that he can return to with no signs of blood seeping through the cloth of his shirt, to give you a peace of mind when he pecks your lips as he walks through the door. and nanami knows that this is not his plan at all, but he can’t stop himself when his large hand cradles your jaw, and his lips press onto your warm ones, and his nose gently grazes against your skin as he breathes you in and out. he could never sit through promising himself it’s his last time feeling you.
and there’s a lot nanami has told himself he’ll do right, and this certainly isn’t following through with that, but how can this be wrong when it doesn’t feel that way? on most days, he’s not sure if the breath that tickles his neck as you breathe comforts him, or makes him drown in guilt, but he knows that he’ll keep coming home to you and seeking out the feeling no matter how much he tells himself this isn’t right.
because maybe it’s not, but it makes everything wrong in his life feel small, insignificant, like it doesn’t matter. and for once, perhaps two wrongs make a right after all.
“there,” you say quietly, voice a gentle hum as you wipe the blood off of his chest. the cut is small, it’s not deep, but the twisting feeling of his gut is, and he fights the urge to apologize when you stare at it with a twinge of sadness in your eyes. “that should be clean.”
“i could’ve done it,” he murmurs, eyeing you as you set down the bloody cloth.
you pause your movements, and you sigh deeply. you know this is nanami, that this is how he is. he’s a whisper that brings goosebumps to rise on your skin, and he’s a moment that ends all too quickly and leaves you reminiscing.
you wish he’d let you see more of him. more subtle touches that he leans into when you feel him briefly, more fluttered eyelashes that hit his skin as he closes his eyes and lets you clean his wounds, and more soft exhales of relief as you rub over the tenseness of his shoulders with your thumbs. you wish he’d offer you just a little bit more of himself, but you selfishly latch onto what you can get.
because that’s love—it isn’t always right, but it could never be wrong.
“you should let me take care of you more,” you chide gently, frowning as you run your thumb over his brow. he hums, and his eyes close once more, and your breaths are one as they mirror each other’s patterns. he steps a tad bit closer, body in between your legs as you’re sat on the counter, and your hand grazes over his skin—running over the slopes of his muscles, trying to find more of him in each crevice, trying to search for an opening that’ll let you in a little further than he keeps you.
let me in. let me in, and never shut me out, your touch all but begs, but he takes a sudden sharp breath and grabs your hand, lifting it up and pressing a kiss to the palm before letting it drop to your lap.
“i shouldn’t bring all of this home to you in the first place,” he mutters, “you’ve got enough to worry about.”
“it’s more worrying when you brush off a gash like it’s a paper cut, kento,” you scold lightly, brows furrowing as you wet your lips with your tongue briefly. he almost leans in to press a kiss to them, but he knows now’s not the time.
“i’ve sat through worse,” he argues. this is exactly what nanami tells himself is wrong. why he shouldn’t—and can’t have room for love and this work at the same time. it’s cruel, he thinks, to himself and to you, to sit through and watch the pain the blossoms in your eyes, and lingers in your touch as you trace over each new scar that mars his body when he comes home to you every day.
a quiet, bitter scoff ripples through the air as you roll your eyes at his words.
“i’m not weak, kento,” you scowl. and he wants to cup your cheeks and breathe out that he knows, he knows you’re not. you’re not weak, not when you sit through him and the burdens he brings home to you, not when you sit through it with a smile and a gentleness in your touch, not when you fight off the urge to selfishly keep him with you each morning, and selflessly let him out the door.
you’re not weak, but nanami is. he’s weak to you, and it’s wrong to keep you here when his life and its hurdles throw all this at you, but he still can’t find it in him to let you go—to leave you behind.
“i never said you were,” he frowns.
“you’re implying it.”
“of course i’m not,” he says instantly, “you just shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“i don’t deal with it,” you whisper, but it sounds more like a beg. like you’re pleading him to listen. you sigh, cradling his cheeks and pulling him to press his forehead to yours. he finds solace in the warmth of your touch, and you find peace in the kiss he places on your palm. “i don’t deal with you. you don’t deal with someone you love,” you remind him.
and there it is again, the blistering pain in his chest that here is love, and here is you, and outside of this apartment he comes home to, there is a whole other world that could easily sink its claws into what you’ve built together. nanami comes home to you today, but he might not tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. it’s wrong to keep you waiting here. but you love him, and he loves you.
and that’s love—it isn’t always right, but it could never be wrong.
he lets out a shaky sigh before closing his eyes, breathing you in and out for just a little bit longer. and you’re right. he knows you’re right. you’re well aware of it too, of all that could go wrong loving someone like him, but someone who lets the thoughts of tomorrow taint the possibilities of today is nothing if not a fool. you run your thumb over the warm skin of his cheek, each back and forth motion a reminder that you’re here, and he is too, and it’s okay. for now, it’s all okay.
“there’s a bruise on my arm,” he mumbles, peeking an eye open to take in your face. he watches the light break over it as you give him a soft smile.
“need me to ice it?” you ask, and he chuckles lowly.
he pulls you a bit closer, almost as if he’s letting you in further than he has before as he whispers, “that would be nice.”
