JJK✨ DS☀️ 21 y/o She/Her

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute. 

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you. 

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away. 

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water. 

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—" 

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in. 

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted." 

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it. 

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color. 

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable. 

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read. 

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask. 

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before. 

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him. 

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him. 

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude. 

"C'mere, pretty girl." 

You comply, dropping your bag, making your way to the bed. When you look at him from beneath your lashes, warily expectant, Satoru feels a thrill rushing through his body. 

He's always been impatient. It's in his nature to take. He nips at your mouth, eager to taste your soul from your soft lips. Soft. Everything about you is so soft—Malleable beneath his fingers. 

Satoru didn't explicitly say what his plan was, but you aren't stupid. He can tell you know what's about to happen when you stiffen in his hold, turn to stone within his grip. He would've allowed it if you hadn't gripped onto his shirt, pulling yourself away from his feasting. 

"Satoru?" You whisper, still leaning away. "The door...?" 

Annoyed, he glances over. His room is open. It shouldn't really matter. 

"It's fine." Satoru tells you. "No one's here." No one's ever here. 

You still look panicked, hands gripping his shirt. Satoru finds that adorably pathetic. How helpless you are. How that's all because of him.

He's sure to make a big show of it. Satoru gives a dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders, but eventually pushes himself off the mattress to push at the door. He even clicks it shut. He's too nice, sometimes. 

"Happy?" You nod, you don't look very relaxed but your shoulders have dropped a bit. 

Satoru doesn't feel too guilty pushing you down, not when you're already in his bed. He isn't known for his patience. He tastes your skin, leaving marks when he can: teeth bites. He pushes you down down down down so he can sink his teeth into your flesh.

You're asleep and under the covers by the time he's done. The moon's out too. Satoru watches it, largely unimpressed. It's so tiny, a sliver of glowing white. 

And then you shift, turning ever so slightly, enough to catch his attention. He should probably kick you out and send you home. That's what he usually does. When he gets into bed with you, draping his arms around your limp body, he convinces himself it's because he's tired and waking you up would be too much of an effort. 

He lets himself enjoy your warmth; it's nothing like the cold glow of the moon. 

☾

Sometimes, even Gojo Satoru wonders if he's dreaming. 

Sometimes, life is too perfect for him to realize it is real. Everything falls perfectly in place, fitting together like those jigsaw puzzles his caretakers used to distract him with halfheartedly. 

You're in his kitchen, chopping vegetables. 

It had already been a few weeks, but he still wasn't used to this. You, being in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed. Satoru thinks he's masking it well, but his mind is still reeling, it's a difficult adjustment. 

Not a bad one. 

It's like he's been drowning for years and he can suddenly breathe when he sees your toothbrush next to his. It's like he's been stabbed and waking up to your sleeping face is the aloe. It's like he's been suffering through a blizzard, and you cooking in his kitchen, humming a song he doesn't know, is the warm sunny day. 

Things have changed since he brought you home. His home doesn't feel incomplete anymore. As though the apartment itself has agreed that this is where you belong. There are more clothes in his closet, more shoes by the door. The space is ever so slightly less empty and it fills him with tangible relief. He can cook a meal, but it's still nice coming home to something warm already made. 

It makes Satoru wonder what things could have been like, had it not been taken away from him. 

You flinch when he wraps his hands around your waist, nestling into the space in your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come in, apparently. Regardless, you don't linger, fingers hesitating before resuming your task. He finds this part of you adorable. Ignoring the thing that makes your heart race, as though he'll just fade away into the shadows. 

It's his ego that makes him slink into your warm skin, making sure you know he isn't going anywhere. 

"Smells good," he says. 

You nod, pushing away the bell peppers in favor of the onions. Unlike him, you acclimated extremely well. It'd taken nothing to lightly push you to add more and more stuff from your apartment to his. You quietly moved from one setting to another. He remembered this trait of yours from high school. Go with the flow. 

Though, perhaps, it was less out of genuine apathy. Satoru doesn't have to say what will happen to you if you refuse him. He doesn't have to throw lectures about his family and the influence he has on you. He likes that you aren't stupidly brave. He likes that you're meeker, quieter. You pick your battles. 

But he thinks he'd like to see you crack, just one more time. 

"Hey," he says, "let's go out for dinner tomorrow night. There's this restaurant just out of town that has great shrimp cutlet." 

He expects you to nod, like you always do whenever he decides to do something impulsive and meaningless. Instead, you bite your lip. 

"I can't." You mutter after a minute of silence. "I have work. Mr. Higuruma just closed a deal and—and I think I'll be coming home later and later this week." 

Home. It's enough to make his heart flutter. It's the first time you've called the apartment that. Your words almost make him forget about the second thing you said.

Higuruma. The lawyer guy with dead eyes. Satoru remembers him. He always looked at Satoru like he was a child, too stupid to do anything. He never liked how the guy looked at you. Besides, he was way too old for you, never mind that you were taken. You were always taken.

"Oh, right." Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, fully leaning on you. "Work. What a shame." 

You nod, clearly thinking the conversation is done with. Satoru wasn't so charitable. 

"Y'know, you don't really have to work. Not anymore, pretty girl." His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you towards his chest. Your hands freeze. The knife glints in your fingers. 

"I make plenty of money. You should just stay home. That way, you don't have to work shitty hours." 

You stiffen underneath his fingertips. He's disappointed when your skin turns frigid. When he peeks over your shoulder, intent to look at your face, there's a nervous smile twitching on your lips. 

"I don't think that's a good idea..." you trail off hesitantly. 

"Hm?" He tilts his head with faux confusion. "Why not?" 

The knife moves up and down, as though you can't decide whether to place it back on the cutting board. Satoru realizes it's your way of fidgeting. 

"It...it would just be unprofessional to leave when everything is so hectic." You finally decide on. 

Satoru scoffs. "So? Who cares. I'm sure everything will work itself out. Just rely on me, pretty girl." 

You don't like the answer, but you don't make a comment on it. Satoru just watches you rotate the knife in your hands. He wonders if you want to use it on him. Slice at his neck, leave him out to bleed on the pretty tile floor. Cut straight through his heart, ending it quickly. 

Or would you like to carve out his eye and keep it as a souvenir? He thinks he'd happily let you. It sounds romantic.

You don't do anything. Instead, you pull back your shoulders as if you're physically ready for war. 

"'Toru," you say gently, softly, and it works in his eyes, "I...can't let you support me like this. It's not right. It's not like we're married or anything." You laugh, like it's a joke. Satoru doesn't cave. 

"I mean, not yet." Satoru rocks you back and forth in his hold. "But gimme' some time to shop for a ring, okay? It needs to be perfect for my perfect girl." 

You follow his movements. He can see your mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes get glassy. 

He knows he's terrible, but he really wants you to crack. 

"You're right, Satoru." You say, "I'll put in my two weeks tomorrow." He grins in delight. 

"That's a great idea, baby." Satoru kisses you on the cheek.

Right, you pick your battles. 

☾

Satoru tells you he loves you, and you're gone, not even three days later. 

He breaks and shatters into pieces he'll never be able to put back. Each day without you is torture. He feels like a corpse, just going through the motions. His clothes feel looser. His skin doesn't feel like his own anymore. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees someone he barely even recognizes. 

It's like you left with his heart. 

No, you ran away with his soul. 

One day, you were Satoru's, safely tucked underneath his arm...the next, you just weren't. 

His parents don't acknowledge it beyond casual disgust. Every time Suguru talks to him, Satoru can barely comprehend it. Days pass by. Everything reminds him of you. His bed feels emptier; he hates it when he reaches out to the space you used to take up and finds it cold. Your locker remains untouched. Nothing is ever the same. 

Satoru tries looking for you, but you're untraceable. No social media, no friends left to tell where you went, not even your fucking parents know where you are. 

You left him. 

You left him to rot. 

Denial comes first. It can't be. You wouldn't. You wouldn't fucking dare. Anger seeps in the next. For weeks, Satoru can only imagine what he'll do when he finds you. He'll break your legs this time. He'll squeeze your neck so hard that your head pops. He'll kill you over and over again until your corpse is begging to be forgiven. And he won't ever stop, because you're Satoru's. 

That doesn't stay for long. He feels himself get weaker day by day. Food tastes like dirt on his tongue. Any of his earlier vices are gone. 

He misses you. 

Why wouldn't he? You were his everything. 

Like all things, it passes. You aren't there to fuel the flames, so the fire wanes in his chest. The ache in his heart gets smaller and smaller. Things keep him busy. College. Then, his new position in the office. 

Ten years pass. He’s forgotten what you look like. But he remembers parts. Every so often, he sees a flicker of you within someone else. Your eyes are on another woman’s face. Your lips on a girl's smile. It irritates him to no end. It’s even worse when he starts seeking them out, keeping those parts of them for just the night. 

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear your voice—what he thinks is your voice—soft, needy Toru Toru Toru. 

“Gojo, sir?” 

He blinks. Ijichi stands in front of him. Satoru looks down at the meticulously crafted pages. 

“Mr. Higuruma needed you to sign this,” Ijichi lifts a paper filled with bureaucratic bullshit he pays other people to understand.

Why did Suguru take off now? 

“Sure sure,” Satoru says, “I’ll get it done.” 

Ijichi shifts nervously. “Well, it’d be best to finish it right now, Sir. His paralegal is just about to leave the building.” 

Oh, right. The lawyer’s assistant. Gojo could never get a good look at that person, but the assistant resembled a shaking deer to him at most times. He’s not even sure if they’ve ever talked to each other, but he always found the other a bit odd. Big eyes. A shaky expression. 

It was a little annoying to look at. 

☾

Some executive was throwing an office gala, and since he is Gojo Satoru, he needed to come along. 

And since you are Satoru's, you're dragged along too. 

Honestly, the only upside to this is you and that new dress he bought you. A velvet turquoise dress that he can't take his eyes off of. The gold jewelry draped across your neck makes you even more delectable. But his favorite part of the outfit is the shimmering diamond ring. 

The ceremony hadn't been anything extravagant. He'd just booked out one of his favorite restaurants, ordering lobster and sweet wine. He remembered hearing his heartbeat when he bent down on one knee, opening the elegant ringbox, like an oyster revealing its pearl. Looking back, he didn't know why he was so nervous: it's not like you'd say no. 

"What do you think of it?" He asked when you were back in his bed, bare from everything except that glistening ring. 

"It's pretty." You spoke, perfectly nestled in his chest. 

He feels in his heart when he hugs you, a small kiss in your hair. You say something, but he can't hear it; he is too preoccupied with feeling you in his arms. It's still so new, even after all these weeks. It's the anxiety, knowing at any second you could leave and he'd be nothing. He won't allow that, he can't. 

"I thought about something else, y'know?" He speaks quietly in your hair. "Ropes, chains, maybe. I could keep you here, forever. But—but then I realized how sad you'd get. I couldn't go through with it." 

You give no reaction. When he tilts your chin up to get a better look at you, your eyes are glassy. 

"You get that, right?" 

You nod. He's really too nice, sometimes. 

He spends the entire evening with you, tucked away in a corner, away from prying eyes. Just because he has to be there doesn't mean he has to be sociable. Every time someone walks up to him and you, a drink in one hand, he resists the urge to bite their head off, feigning politeness. He complains about their lack of decorum to you multiple times throughout the night, his head resting on your shoulder. You pliantly sit there, listening and nodding. 

About ten minutes after the last board member left, someone else walks up. By then, Satoru's patience has mostly declined. He peers over with disdain before he can really process who he's seeing. 

"Suguru!" He waves over. 

You stiffen, and Satoru remembers you haven't seen him in ten years. 

Suguru walks over with an easy smile on his face. He's nicely tanned, and Satoru is reminded of the pictures he sent over of the Maldives. Maybe that's where the honeymoon should be. 

"Had fun slacking?" Satoru asks with a grin; Suguru shrugs. 

When his eyes meet yours, he feigns delighted surprise. Suguru speaks your name with practiced shock. It's imperfect, only Satoru can see the amusement dripping from his fangs. 

"Long time, no see!" Effortlessly, Suguru corrals you into a hug. You follow, giving into the cold touch of affection before pulling away back to him. 

"Hello, Geto." You say when you're rightfully by his side again. "It's nice to see you again." 

Suguru laughs, light and airy. "You as well!" He looks at your hands, tilts his head. "Oh? Congratulations, you two! When's the date?" 

"Eh, we'll figure that out later." Satoru gives a quick kiss on your cheek. "Everything happened so fast, y'know? Us reuniting and everything: It feels like fate." Suguru's eyes flash. "Let's not rush this. We'll take our time." 

Suguru nods along thoughtfully. He's looking right at you, and you stare right back. Not used to feeling left out, Satoru is quick to intervene. 

The conversation is light, two long-time friends reuniting after a long spell. You stay quiet like decor, settling into Satoru's side. Suguru doesn't acknowledge you after that. 

"We gotta' go. It's getting late." He eventually says, tugging you along. 

Suguru gives a pleasant smile. "Of course, of course. We should catch up sometime." He directs this at you. You give a strained smile before Satoru leads you off. 

"Suguru." The man turns. Satoru grins. 

"I loved my gift. Thanks, man." 

Suguru's smile is catlike. 

"You kids have fun." He calls out right when Satoru's dragging you away all over again. 

You're silent. Not in the way you usually are, pliant and cute. You're thinking. He gives you a nudge. 

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?" 

You shake your head. "Nothing." And then you say, "He's changed." 

From your view, Satoru supposed that's true, but really—

"Nah." Gojo shakes his head. "He's just dropped his act." 

Satoru's hand was wrapped around your waist when you two ran into him. You hadn't noticed him yet, eyes fixed on the floor. The lawyer hadn't changed since the last time Satoru saw him. That dead expression, those creepy eyes. Higuruma's eyes flit over your figure, before he finds Satoru's. 

He stares. Satoru stares right back. Something gives, and the lawyer calls out your name. 

"How are you?" His tone is cool, and this is another reason why Satoru can't stand him. The guy has no tells. He's just a talking robot. 

Unlike you, fidgeting by his side, practically vibrating with nerves. 

"I'm fine, sir." Your smile gets more painful to look at by the second. 

Your voice earns you a tired smile, a mild pinch of humor. Higuruma shakes his head, waving you off. 

"No need for formalities. We aren't at work." His smile drops just a bit, as he watches you for a bit more, eyes flickering to your hand. "I was...surprised when I saw the announcement. I didn't know you and Mr. Gojo were involved." 

Satoru grins, making himself known like a shark in the water. His grip on you tightens. 

"Oh, you didn't tell your boss 'bout us, baby?" He looks down at you with cruel mirth, pinching your cheek. You wilt. "We go way back—highschool sweethearts. Lost contact for a couple years. It's actually thanks to you we were able to find each other again. We'll send you the invites." He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

Higuruma hums at that. Satoru expected jealousy in his eyes; he's even more upset when he finds none. 

"I'll be sure to save the date." 

Then he shuts Satoru down completely. 

"I heard about your resignation. It's sad to see you go," Higuruma says. 

You nod, but you don't look at him. "Satoru and I talked about it, and we decided it's best if I focused on other things." 

"Very, very busy, this one nowadays." Satoru interrupts. "Between wedding plannin' and all that."

"Is that so?" Higuruma says dismissively, "in any case, you already knew this, but I've begun preparations to start a new firm." He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a card. "I always thought you were good at what you do. If you ever want to get back into the industry, call me." 

You take the laminate slip with a quiet thank you. Satoru feels blue turn into red. 

When Higuruma slips into the party, Satoru tightens his grip on you a little harsher than necessary. He's dragging you through the halls. Behind him, he can hear you stumbling over your heels, begging him to slow down. He knows he should care, but he doesn't. That damn lawyer. Those dead eyes. Mocking him. 

"Did you fuck him?" He asks when his anger has reached a high enough peak that he presses you against the wall. 

Your eyes are wild, flitting back and forth. He'd your expression a little cute if he wasn't feeling like a furnace, at the moment. 

"No. I—we never." You say. "Mr. Higuruma was my boss. And—and he's married—" 

"Really? 'cause you're precious 'Mr. Higuruma' was eyeing you up and down like he's already seen what's underneath." 

"'Toru." You plead. "Let's—let's just talk about this at home. Please? Let's just go home." Home. You said that word again. If he were a better man, he'd melt, but he's not. 

"Shut up." He spits out. "Hike up your dress." 

You stare at him. Then, you try to smile, like he's making a shitty joke. It wavers on your lips. 

"It's...we're still in public." You whisper and it's so cute you think he'd actually care about that. "We—we can't...we shouldn't—" 

"Baby." His voice drops, as he licks at your neck. "Pull up your dress, get rid of those panties. Otherwise, I'm just gonna take it off myself." 

He doesn't need to explain anything further. You already get what he's saying. Right now, Satoru doesn't care if you leave this building with your clothes intact. 

He thinks the worst part is that he knows he's being unreasonable. He's backing you into a corner where you'll have no choice but to surrender, and he knows that, but he keeps thinking about those man's eyes and how he looked at you and it was just all so much. 

He'll apologize to you later, with flowers and shiny gold earrings. He'd give you the world; just be good for him now. 

He just needs his fix. So just be good for him now.

☾

When Satoru discovers it's been you all along, he feels like an idiot. 

In a pathetic way of defending himself, he convinces himself there's no way he could have recognized you. You're so different compared to your high-school self. 18-years old, fresh-eyed, naive. The you now is all grown up: a mature voice, a new hairstyle, clothes he'd never even think you'd wear. 

It also didn't help that he couldn't even see your face since you turned away every time he looked at you. 

Embarrassing. He's just glad Suguru wasn't here to call his blunder. 

He thought about it a lot. He spent an hour in his office, pacing around, doing nothing but thinking and thinking and thinking. Part of him wants to corner you already. He can already feel your rabbit heartbeat on his fingertips, the look you always had in your eyes when he was right in front of you. Part of him wants to ruin your life the same way you ruined his. He wants to tear you apart, piece by piece. Leave you in tattered pieces. 

But he can't do that. Satoru still loves you. 

You left him a hollow shell. Broken. Tainted. There are pieces of him he still can't find. He should hurt you. He's hurt other people for doing less. But they weren't you. Even after all those years, he's never quite stopped loving you. 

But he wants to sate his bloodlust, just a tiny bit. 

His perfect opportunity comes where he, the lawyer, and you are all sitting in one of the waiting rooms. The lawyers explaining something, possibly about the ongoing case. Satoru doesn't really care. Besides, this is what Ijichi's here for. 

He waits until everyone is quiet. You're unassuming. By then, your shoulders have lowered, like you think you've gotten away with it 

"Hey," he says, "do we know each other?" 

The other two don't bother, but you stop completely. The pen in your grip shakes. Satoru resists the urge to laugh. 

You timidly glance up like you're still delusional enough to think there's a fifth person he's talking to. Satoru has always been told his eyes are like two suns: bright and intense. He lowers his glasses. You wilt under the solar flares. 

"Hm?" He prods, enjoying the way you shrivel. "Have we?" 

You swallow, glassy eyes flicking from side to side. Finally, you clear your throat. 

"No." You mutter, voice barely a whisper. "I don't think we have." 

"Are you sure?" To intensify the magnifying glass, he leans closer, like he's examining you. "'cause you look really familiar." 

To his delight, you chew on your bottom lip. He can imagine biting it until it's bloody and raw. He stops just when you're about to shatter completely. Breaking you too soon would take the fun out of it. 

"Oh, wait. I don't think that was you." He relents, pulling back and he can see the relief ooze over your face. "I think I got you mixed up with someone who interviewed here a couple months ago. My bad. Maybe you have one of those faces." 

You nod, eager to take the out. 

"Yes," you quickly say, "one of those faces." 

How adorable. You haven't changed since high school. 

He's usually not this obvious, but Suguru isn't here to berate him about it and it's not like anyone else will get on his ass. The women he brings in are his usuals: tall models with full lips and perfect bodies. Satoru parades them around like expensive jewelry. He wants to see you seethe in envy, stew in it. He wants you to see what you abandoned. 

But you don't do any of that. You just sit there, like the dutiful little workbee you are, right by your boss's side.

And then, you give one of them your jacket. Satoru can't stand it wrapped around her waist like she fucking owns it—own you. She wears it so flagrantly, like any token from you shouldn't be worshipped and coveted. He hates it. He hates it. 

"I've never done this in an office before." She squeals when she shuts the door behind her. "So, how do you—" 

"Get out." 

The girl pauses. What was her name again? Satou was too pissed to give a single shit. 

"Um, what?" 

"What, you deaf or something?" He waves her off as if he weren't seething. "Get out." 

"Oh," she says, blinks, and then she takes a step back. 

"Wait." Satoru stops her. 

"Take that off." He points to your jacket. She does it with zero complaints. When he tells her to drop it on the chair, she follows that too. Reluctant expectation. Kind of like you. Maybe that's why he was initially invested in her. 

He only takes the fabric after she's gone. It's soft underneath his fingertips. Nothing designer, but good quality. When you're finally underneath him again, he'll buy you better clothes, all the jackets you want. 

He needs you. He can't wait anymore. 

He needs you, whether you want him or not. 

☾

Satoru wakes up to something crashing. 

It's faint, obviously coming from the bathroom. Not the best way to be woken up. He remembers the first few nights he brought you home. He'd hear you crying in your sleep, choking on tiny sobs. It was the sweetest little thing, like a whimpering puppy. 

These noises are a little more concerning. 

He yawns, sliding out of bed. You didn't bother locking the door. You didn't even close it all the way, either. A sliver of light comes from the crack before he pushes it open. 

"Baby?" He calls. You don't answer. 

You had knocked over a caddy. Toothbrushes, hairclips, soap dispensers, perfume bottles were scattered all over the floor. You're curled up in the corner of the bathroom, huddled right next to the tub. You seem physically okay, no blood, no bruising, but he can't see your face. And you're shivering. 

Satoru's about to call out to you, when he steps on something. He looks down at the tiles. 

A positive pregnancy test. 

"I'm not keeping it." Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying for hours. "I'm not keeping it." 

"Pretty girl." He coos, trying his best to keep the glee out of his voice and failing. "Let's not worry 'bout that, right now. C'mon, let's get you off the floor." He reaches for your hand. You smack it away. It stung. 

When you look at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears, Satoru's heart skips a beat. He feels like he just trapped a wild animal, making it pace in a corner. Any wrong move could result in his hand getting bit off. It's scary. 

He's finally cracked you. 

"Fuck you." Your voice shakes and wobbles, but it's loud and you're clear. "Fuck you. You're a sick, twisted man-child. You ruined everything. You ruined my entire life and—and now you—" 

You're cut off by his giggling. It sounds psychotic even to his ears. He's beyond caring. You flinch when lifts your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes. He's smiling so hard it hurts. 

"Yeah, I did that. I ruined you. I ruined your entire fucking life. For me." He stresses, squeezing your face so hard you try to pull away. "But I had to. You—you wouldn't be here if I didn't." He sighs, pressing your body to his. "I need you."

You're both huddled on the bathroom floor, captive and lover. He's clutching you to his chest, smiling, nestling his face in your hair. You don't say anything for a while. 

"I'm not keeping it." You whisper. "I'm not. I wouldn't stand it if it ended up like you." 

It's spiteful. You're still in that phase where you think your venom can hurt him, as though he'd see your blows as anything but blessings. Satoru thinks to his own childhood. Where he was given everything, lathered in gold and silver. Yet, the house was always cold. But you were always so warm. 

"That won't happen." He tells you. "'cause you're here." 

Your anger has dwindled to smoke. Maybe you've finally realized how crazy he was for you. 

"Please let me go." It's not a beg. It's not even a request. 

"I can't," he honestly says. 

"You won't." You correct him. 

He smiles in your hair. 

"No baby," he says, "I can't." 

If you ran away again, if you escaped his claws, he'd probably die. Drop dead, rot on the floor. He needs you. Even more than he needs food, water, and oxygen. You won't understand that. You've never been in love before. 

You don't fight him. If anything, you sink into his hold. He's there to catch you, heart soaring. You lean into his chest 

"I hate you." You whisper. His heart beats a little faster. It's probably the first time you've ever been so honest with him. 

God, he loves you. 

"I hope our baby has your eyes," he says. 

"I hope our baby looks exactly like you." 

You say nothing, but when he leans down to kiss you, you finally kiss back. You're cracked, and your essence is ready to be molded in his image, just like he's always wanted you to be. 

"Angel face, I told you... Yuji's not here right now-"

His arms, all four of them, reached out, had you caged between himself, who seemed to grow into a tall menace towering over your small frame, and the cold stiff wall behind you.

"But don't worry... he's watching."

Hands too quick for you to avoid, gripped the fabric of your dress, tearing it off, leaving you bare before the demon in front of you.

"Poor pup is whining like a little bitch... more so than you. But I can't blame him... the brat thinks I'm going to rip your heart from your chest."

The man wearing your boyfriend's face gave a twisted laugh, dark like raked coals, still in Yuji's voice yet so far from a sound he could ever make.

"He fears he'll have to watch the light leave your pretty eyes as you die, your blood staining his fingers an unforgivable scarlet."

You trembled as his hands, the four of them, grabbed your bare waist, his head ducking with a ragged sniff, sighing out in a gasp while levelling with your chest. He gave a small moan in awe before producing his tongue, warm and wet, laving up the valley between your breasts, up your collar and throat, to your ear, whispering on it.

"Don't you cry, turtle dove."

Your arms hung still at your sides like deadweight, not daring to make a move, frozen still, even as the finger from one of his hands curled beneath the band to your underwear, tugging on them in an effortless aim to tear them off.

Your toes curled upon the nippy air kissing your exposed sex, hands clenching when feeling his fingers rub against your slit.

He cooed at you as you whimpered and shook on weak knees, kissing your cheek as another hand spidered up your neck, enclosing large lanky fingers in a snug deadlock around your throat, sharp purple talons sinking playfully into the fine skin in the curve of your jugular, forcing you to look up at him as he stared you down, tears misty in your terror-wide eyes.

"I promise I won't hurt you. I'm not as bad as the brat makes me out to be."

Your eyes blurred to near blindness, unable to focus on anything sept for the burning red residing in his, where it wouldn't surprise you if they started leaking with blood.

Your body rendered to just a rag doll as his bottom arms lifted you up to cradle his torso, one top arm kept between your thighs whilst the other remained wrapping strong fingers tightly around your throat, fingers that would have zero issues snapping your neck if need be.

"It's him you should watch out for... if only you knew what cursed thoughts go tumbling through his brittle hormonal mind..."

He pressed his forehead against yours and continued his taunting, words kissing your face with the stench of his breath.

"Thoughts about you... and all the nasty things he wants to do to you."

There was something wickedly gleeful in his eyes as he sunk two of his fingers inside you, humming at the tightness, spreading them and smiling as you winced at the stretch, otherwise ignoring your horror.

"Torturing himself with lewd pictures of you, thinking about how good you would feel beneath him, wrapped tight around his cock."

Unbothered by how your hands suddenly made to push at his tough chest, his stiff skin liking the attention of your dainty breakable fingers, finding it amusing for a moment, before leaving your throat in favor of gathering your aimless delicate little wrists in a cross above your head, allowing your head to hang and shake from side to side at the thick fingers being pushed inside you.

"Fisting himself until he makes a mess in his bed, your name drooling from his lips." His voice licked at your ears like fire, sending your head spinning like a storm. "You should count your blessings that whatever belongs to him... also belongs to me." He laughed, tightening the hold on your wrists, dragging you up higher in order to lift your head to his level, kissing your unwilling mouth with a smirk.

His arms held you up effortlessly, like you were stuffed with cotton and not flesh and bones, with another hand nudged between your thighs, pumping cruelly long fingers inside you, turning you into honey and velvet, dripping down his tattooed arm, flexing with stiff muscles like the warrior he was.

"Only unlike him... I take good care of my possessions."

His roughened black talons dug in deeper into the soft flesh of your ass, making you whimper, eyes shutting tight, giving way for more fat tears to drizzle down your adorable miserable face.

"And don't shy away from the things I want."

A warm tongue swept up your cheek, giving you no room to avoid it, licking up your tears like he a wasp feasting for honeydew.

"You're too sweet I swear I could devour you both. Gorge myself so wastefully in your warm soft flesh."

He gave a ragged moan, groaning, mouth falling to your chest with his teeth gracing against your collarbones, wide and manic grin spread on his face as he listened to the panicked pitter pat of your precious little fragile heart.

"My two little pets."

He curled his fingers, stretching you out, where the sudden pressure of his sandpaper-rough thumb-pad pressing down on your budding swollen little clit, made you moan out like a little kitten mewing for attention.

"One blundering puppy, and you... sweet soft little innocent bunny in desperate need of corruption."

Your thighs shook upon the guilty knot fighting and twisting in your gut, hopeless eyes looking at the curse where he stood smirking down at your pathetic effort at keeping your undoing at bay, offering no mercy and not a shred of regard despite knowing what he was robbing you of.

"Poor thing, just begging for a helping hand." He purred, hot breath fanning against your already heated face, panting out small adorable whimpers and suppressed moans and frustratedly guilt-ridden whines as you twist on the fingers disappearing inside you, messaging everything tender into a grateful pool in his palm, for where it might have been unwanted, it was pleasure none the less, intimacy unlike anything you'd ever felt before. "Not a single cursed bone in your body, is there?" He admired with a hungry smile, eyes glazed with a sinister heated lustful greed, far away from shameful. "Strictly pure-hearted... just like the angels intended."

You dared look up, only to see him drool like a mongrel, swivel-eyed and manic.

"Forgive me-" He licked his lips, seemingly in an effort to stop salivating, yet only succeeding in slobbering even more, thick drops of spit dripping down onto your chest, making you look down only to see that he'd pulled out that thing Yuji always tried his best hiding when you'd kiss him in manor more heated than chaste. "I'm usually quite the well-behaved curse, but sometimes I just can't seem to hold myself back."

You stirred upon the size, a chill biting up your spine making you swallow thickly.

His large hand having taken hold of his base, stroking tentative fingers up and down his own shaft, smearing pre-cum and spit up alongside thick pulsating veins, rubbing over the glistening red-kissed bulging tip that soon pushed softly into the wet lips of your virgin cunny.

You gasped, squeaking. "No, don't-" But the demon didn't listen, loving how the both you were staring down wide-eyed onto your union, as the thick cock pried your tight walls open, sinking inside you one painful inch at a time.

He groaned at the pressure enveloping him, the resistance no match for his strength, but a resistance none the less.

"Your fault for tempting me." He uttered, squeezing the plush flesh of your ass, lifting you forward to meet him as he bottomed-out inside you. "Don't blame me." His hand ascended to grab your chin, lifting your face so that he could stare down into the pitiful pool of your pretty eyes as he sent you over the edge. "I'm an artist-"

Sweet plaything... you look horrified.

"I see a clean canvas and I just have to go on and destroy it."

He sat curved inside you, bulging out from your poor belly.

"Blame the brat, he's the one who led me to you, offering you to me like a sweet little gift, precious virgin ripe for the plucking."

"Please." You interrupted, clenching tightly around the intruder taking up the taunt space inside, your body jolting at the foreign fulfilling feeling of having something warm and living burrowing itself through you. Virgin anxiety making it feel as though he'd break through whatever weak barrier it pressed up against, how you feared he wasn't satisfied and would continue pushing until fitting inside your stomach and come out through mouth, already choking and hiccuping on the thought alone, clenching around the fat girth of him in hopes of keeping him at bay.

"It's in my nature. You wouldn't want me defying nature, would you?"

His claws pinched at the hallows of your cheeks, not allowing you to look away from the hysterically deranged look on his face, canines sharp as knives dripping with either spit or venom as he smiled down at your horrified little face.

"Truly, everything is as the gods intend."

He seemed to push in deeper, threatening the very thing you feared, feeling so insurmountably big as though reaching inside your organs, stretching you out, poking into and swelling in places that stung and had you recoil each time he made a new move.

"Meaning, they're smiling down at this moment... waiting for the show to begin."

He pulled back with his hips, watching you wince with sadistically gleeful eyes, his smile growing wider at the moan ripped from your chest as he filled you right back up again, reaching deep into that squishy soft spot that had your toes curling and eyes crossing, cute little pink tongue lolling from your mouth as you moaned so ridiculously sweetly for him.

"Yuji~" You whined, which made the demon click his tongue, fucking into you deeper, noticeably harsher with a growl that rippled like an earthquake within his ribcage, sounding ready to level cities.

"Wrong again." He taunted. "Won't you say my name, angel?"

He rocked into you sharply, making you choke on a gasp.

"Won't you moan it for me?" Beginning to roll his hips on repeat, words in a frenzy. "Scream it? Beg and plead and cry with it, carve it like a prayer on your tongue?" His eyes seemed to gleam in some perverted delight. "Come on, give a curse a blessing, and say my name, pretty please, little lamb."

Your eyes turned cotton-flavoured as he kept humping into you, docile and blissful in his arms, hanging off of his every movement.

"Ah- Sukuna~"

He fucked you good and well into the wall, not as harshly as you thought he was going to with the feral smile he gave you while holding your face between his claws, keeping your eyes levelled by his bleeding red gaze. But he took you slow and deep, until you were melting, turning you into jello in his arms.

He hummed, face touching yours while having you completely enslaved to his touch.

"You see, brat?" He whispered. "You were worrying for no reason at all, she can love the both of us."

He sunk in deep, had you enveloping him entirely, even though it seemed impossible.

"Poor sweet thing doesn't have the heart to hate."

You clenched tightly around him, pussy fluttering, kissing alongside his girth while breathing in his exhales.

"Aww, look at you..." He crooned in a soft whisper, still holding your wrists above your head tightly, keeping you firmly pressed against the wall, even as you gave yourself completely away to the gratification he was giving you. "Cock stretching out your tight little cunt." He continued, tone deceptively sweet and soft as he nudged in deeper. "Not so innocent gushing around us like a desperate little whore, are you?"

You gave a moan like a little kitten and he caught your lips in a kiss, softly yet determined to pry open your mouth to explore, tongue swiping along your lips, brushing and playing with yours as you mewed into his mouth, making his face twist again into a wretched gluttonous smirk.

"Tell us how good I'm making you feel, love."

It had been a long time since he had any worshippers. About the same amount of time since he ran out of places to wash the blood from his hands. Which was long ago. People aren't as beholden to true carnage anymore, but he never quite valued those that were either. False worshippers thinking themselves on his level just because they can watch a man beg for his life and not flinch. Silly humans, believing there's strength in disregarding a life, when the real truth is measly human lives have no value to disregard.

Though, he cannot deny he found some pleasure in seeing them bow and sing for him, in the foolishness of it all he might have tipped his head in amusement when he'd find such cute little trinkets at his shrine, goblets brimming with filthy blood of some nameless faceless sinner worth nothing but to water the spider lilies. Naturally, it was more the horrified expressions painting their confused faces once he slaughtered them that brought him joy, to rip them apart as they thought they were safe. That sweet and utter look of betrayal as he sliced open their miserable lives like it meant nothing, having them fully understand that they meant nothing.

But he'd gladly have you.

It might be the brat's influence, but... you would make such a proper little pet, sitting on his lap, snug against his chest, inside the warmth of his kimono with a collar around your throat, pretty markings decorating your soft flesh stating his claim on your terribly adorable fickle soul.

"Come on, love, tell me how much you adore me and I'll give you what you want." His voice was like an echo, filling your mind like an empty cup, ridding it of all other thoughts. "Say the words, little one, and I promise the reward will be worth it."

You couldn't bare the thought of breaking from his eyes, even though you felt as though you was drowning in them, spellbound with your legs tangled around him, urging him to continue whatever sweet sin he'd ensnared you in.

"I love you."

He doesn't remember the last time he'd heard a voice so sweet, so fruitful and whole and holy and his.

The angels must be weeping at the scene, it would give him goosebumps if he wasn't so focused on fulfilling his promise and give you, his sweet precious little thing, what your poor body was aching for.

"You want this, little lamb?"

He angled his hips, his cockhead nudging into a terribly sensitive spot that had your thighs quivering, nodding your head with large pleading doe-eyes, bottom lip caught in your teeth as you clung to his torso tighter, pulling on him like a needy little devotee happy and thirsty for the attention your god was giving you.

"So clingy..." He commented with a snicker, fucking into you again, moulding your insides with the thick curve of his manhood, sending your tummy into a turmoil, spurring and curling like an adder, tightening like a coil, something breaking, falling apart, unwinding and releasing in a spurr, tight gummy walls dancing alongside his cock, milking him in a desperate need for him to empty his balls inside you, fill you up with sticky warmth, make you dumb with pleasure. "Don't worry your sweet little head, angel face, I'll give you what you need. You keep looking at me like that and I'll make a pretty mess of you soon."

You whined in torment at his teasing as he left you wanting for his lips on yours and his seed to spill and paint your insides with milk.

"Well, if you want it so badly, why don't you beg for it?" His eyes glinted dangerously, and you felt compelled to roll your hips like a needy bitch in heat as you whimpered for him, wanting so desperately to hop on his cock and milk him for every single precious drop of cum.

Poor Itadori was crying too. Rendered to watch her pretty little girl's tits bounce up and down, only allowed to feel every lick and kiss and pump and your weeping tight virgin cunt squeeze him for his cum, but not allowed to touch.

He was begging too.

A string of sobbing delirious pleas spluttering from his lips in a raving stream of drool, needing so badly to fill your precious perfect tight cunny with cream.