kuurechr

[kuurechr]

sweet tooth | ryomen sukuna

episode 3: anyone out there?

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.

word count: 7k

content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, introverted reader, both sukuna and reader are SO confused

a/n: there's a little bit of angst in this chapter but there's fluff to make up for it :) this chapter title is inspired by enkee1 by hemlocke springs so go listen!!

series masterlist | ao3 | previous chapter (ch2) | next chapter (ch4)

You didn’t show up for the study session. 

At first Sukuna had assumed that you were just running a little late, but as 15 minutes turned into half an hour with him still sitting alone at that table in the corner of the humanities library, he was beginning to lose hope. 

He’d shot you a text fairly quickly, wondering if perhaps you'd just forgotten that you’d agreed to meet today. You’d seemed pretty exhausted at the bakery last night, maybe it had simply slipped your mind. 

[Sukuna]: we still on for today? 

But as he stared at the text his brow furrowed at the little singular grey tick in the corner of his message, indicating that it had been sent but not received. Your phone must be off for some reason. 

That was odd, but he still had hope that you’d show up. 

He’d had so much fun talking to you yesterday, and you’d seemed at least somewhat enthusiastic about helping him study despite your busy schedule. So he stayed waiting in that corner, watching reels on his phone and raising his head each time someone walked over in his general direction. 

A full hour passed before he finally threw in the towel, concluding that you’d stood him up. 

He was pretty sure that he’d never actually experienced being stood up before and it certainly didn’t feel good. He’d spent all morning looking forward to seeing you - to be left hanging without a text made him feel like shit. 

Perhaps he’d misread you. His assumption had been that you enjoyed his company but you were just shy, that you’d need a little bit of coaxing if he wanted you to come out of your shell. But this had him wondering if you didn’t actually like him at all. Maybe you’d agreed out of politeness or fear and never had any intention of showing up in the first place. 

It fucking sucked. 

But even through his frustration and embarrassment at being stood up, he couldn’t help but give you the benefit of the doubt, shooting you another text as he headed out of the library, hating the feeling that everyone was watching him - like everyone knew what he’d just experienced. 

[Sukuna]: have to go to my game now

[Sukuna]: hope you’re okay? 

You’d been so sweet to him so far, even going so far as to not immediately impart judgement on him after Nanami had so callously assassinated his character. He didn’t believe that you wouldn’t show up just for the sake of cruelty. That wasn’t the type of person that you seemed to be. 

Perhaps something had happened? Your life seemed pretty hectic right now after all. 

Maybe you’d see his text later and come along to his game to explain - that would be nice, to see you in the crowd cheering him on. 

Yeah. You wouldn’t have stood him up out of choice. That wasn’t you. 

But as the day rolled on and his basketball game started with still no response from you, he couldn’t help but start to doubt himself, a sense of resentment creeping into his chest. Even if he was still choosing to believe that something had happened to lead to you not showing up, it didn’t make him any less frustrated. 

He wanted to see you, wanted to spend more time with you. What he didn’t want was for his heart to feel like it was made of lead, dropping down into his stomach just because you hadn’t shown up for a study session. 

If he’d invited Toji to hang out he wouldn’t see it as a big deal if he no showed. He’d just accept that something had probably come up and he’d move on with his day. He wouldn’t linger on it, wouldn’t agonise over what his friend might be doing instead. 

So why was it any different when it came to you? It wasn’t like you were anything more than friends, if you could even consider the two of you friends yet. 

No, you were essentially just an acquaintance that he knew a weird amount about. He needed to stop thinking about it, he was sure he’d see you at the Bakery at some point - it wasn’t worth worrying over. 

But as much as he tried to tell himself that, his body didn’t really cooperate - his frustration and confusion evident in the way that he played basketball that afternoon. He was an absolute monster on court, sinking shot after shot for his team. It had gotten to the point where their opposition had started putting three guys on him just to try and contain him. 

Not that it worked particularly well. Sukuna was as strong as he was fast, easily ripping through the defence and scoring several more baskets in the final quarter, openly taunting the other team about how much they sucked, taking the frustration that he felt about you and sharpening it into a weapon against the poor university team that they happened to be playing that afternoon. 

“Bro, what’s going on with you?” Toji asked as the five of them returned to the locker room after the game. 

Despite their victory, the atmosphere in the air was filled with uncertainty, as if they were all aware that something was wrong with Sukuna right now, all of them walking on eggshells around him. 

“Are you mad because of my own goal on Rematch last night?” Satoru asked. “Because I said I was sorry, I didn’t realise that game was going to make you de-rank.” 

Now that Sukuna was thinking about it, he was actually still mad about that. Although his frustration towards his blue-eyed idiot of a friend was dull compared to this morning’s humiliation. 

“I’m mad at you for that.” Suguru said with a soft laugh. It was clear that the two of them had made up, their argument from yesterday completely forgotten. 

“Nothing’s going on.” Sukuna muttered as he grabbed his change of clothes from the locker, slamming it shut with a little more force than he needed to. 

Nothing was going on, not really. 

If he explained to them why he was in such a bad mood he’d definitely be laughed out of the room. Sukuna’s reputation was based around not giving a fuck, the idea that he’d be so easily affected by some nerdy girl not showing up to help him study would certainly tarnish his name. 

“Yeah, sure.” Toji said, always annoyingly perceptive over Sukuna’s moods. 

He was good friends with everyone in the group, but Toji was the one that he really gelled with, the person that he’d hang out with most one-to-one, the person who he guessed he’d go to for advice if he ever needed such a thing. He and Toji had spent an insane amount of time together over the last three years, and he was extremely familiar with what made Sukuna tick. 

It pissed him off. 

“What? I gotta have some big reason to want to crush a bunch of losers?” He asked, addressing the whole room. 

Now they all knew that something was off, because Sukuna wasn’t generally the type to bother to defend himself. Usually he wouldn’t care enough. 

Toji opened his mouth to retort but Suguru was quick to cut him off, evidently not keen to see just where Sukuna’s evident rage would take him if they pushed too hard right now. “We’re going out tonight, right?” 

The group turned to look at Suguru, who’d already finished getting changed, his rucksack slung over his shoulder as he gestured to the phone he was clutching in his hand. 

“There’s a new club opening up, we should check it out.” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes as he rummaged about in his own bag for his phone, hoping that when it lit up it would display a message from you. But he had no such luck, his only notifications being a text from Jin asking if he wanted to call later, and an instagram dm from Yorozu, one of the cheerleaders, congratulating him on today’s win. 

“I’m gonna pass.” He said as he opened your contact name and noticed that the messages still hadn’t been received. He was starting to get a little bit worried now - if they were showing as delivered or read he could just accept that you didn’t want to see him, it would hurt and he’d be pissed as hell, but he could accept that. 

Undelivered was concerning. 

What if something bad had happened to you? After what had gone down with the men in the alleyway he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t the case. He should really go by the bakery and check that you were okay.

But as soon as that thought had formulated in his mind he was doubting himself, wondering if perhaps you’d blocked him and that’s why you weren’t receiving his messages. In which case showing up to the bakery would be a terrible idea, because you obviously didn’t want to see him. 

“You can’t pass.” Suguru said, pulling Sukuna from his thought spiral. “We’re all going.” 

Sukuna considered telling Suguru to fuck off, the words ‘you can’t tell me what to do’ right on the tip of his tongue. But going out probably wouldn’t be the worst idea right now. His mind had been running wild with thoughts of you since your first meeting and it was frankly embarrassing. 

You were just some girl that he knew, you weren’t all that - he was stupid for thinking about you as much as he currently was. He just needed to go out, get drunk and set his mind straight. If he fucked someone else you’d probably disappear from his mind entirely, and he could stop his stomach from feeling like a pit of anxiety everytime he wondered if you actually enjoyed his company or not. 

Yeah. This would be good for him, he could forget all about you standing him up this morning. 

If you wanted to text him back, you could. If you’d blocked him and never wanted to see him again, then he supposed you were both getting what you wanted. 

“You better buy me a drink.” He mumbled grumpily at Suguru, and his friend just shot him a calculating smile. 

“A small price to pay.” 

—

The club that Suguru had taken them to was nice, one of those shiny new places where the floor wasn’t sticky yet and the air was surprisingly free from the smell of piss. 

Much more pleasant than their usual grafitti-ridden dive bars, but not particularly Sukuna’s scene - especially when the bartender told him that they don’t serve beer here, forcing him to opt for some fruity cocktail instead. 

He really wasn’t pleased that it cost him 3000 yen, with Suguru somehow nowhere to be found when he came to pay for his drink. Bastard. He was going to get that free drink out of his friend at some point tonight if it killed him. 

Usually Sukuna liked being at clubs, but tonight he really wasn’t feeling it. Perhaps it was because the music choice fucking sucked, playing nothing but remixes of songs that had gotten popular on TikTok. Maybe it was because the whole place was far too bright and blue for his tastes. Or perhaps, it was because even with his mind dulled from alcohol, all he could think about was you.

He’d pull his phone out to check for notifications at every moment, still hanging on to that tiny bit of hope that you would get back to him, that there was a reasonable explanation for your absence this morning. But each time he was met with nothing, staring haplessly at that single grey tick mark, his mind running wild with possibilities. 

So he tried drinking more, pulling Suguru over to the bar to buy him two more stupid fruity cocktails, and downing both of them in the hopes that it would wipe you from his mind, at least temporarily. 

He let Satoru and Suguru pull him onto the dance floor for a while, pretending to enjoy dancing along to whatever shitty Taylor Swift song they were currently playing, like he wasn’t imagining himself in the bakery talking to you, wishing that he was there instead of here. 

Would you like it here? Would you enjoy dancing with him? 

Fuck. What had you done to him? 

Maybe drinking wasn’t such a good idea, because now he was sure that his desire for you was being heightened by the alcohol, his mind running away with silly little fantasies that he never would’ve allowed if he was sober. He hated drinking cocktails, good old fashioned beer wouldn’t betray him like this. 

His intent in coming to the club had been to forget about you, maybe find some other girl to bring back to his place so that his foolish mind could get back on the right track. But instead, when a girl approached him on the dancefloor, grinding up against him and batting her lashes, he found himself pushing her away, completely uninterested in the idea of sex with a stranger right now. 

Seriously, what was wrong with him?

Leaving the girl to try her luck with Satoru, he made his way off the dancefloor, starting to feel a little sick and desperate for an inch of personal space while he tried to sort through his jumbled thoughts. He found Toji sitting alone at a table, pink drink in hand, looking entirely unhappy with his current situation. 

“This place sucks.” He complained as Sukuna took a seat beside him, leaning back into the plush fabric of the booth as he stared out at the dancefloor. Satoru had that girl pressed up against him now, his hands resting on her ass as he grinned down at her. That would usually be Sukuna, if he wasn’t broken right now. 

“Total shithole.” Sukuna mumbled in agreement. 

“You want this?” Toji asked, holding out his drink, which seemed to have cotton candy on the top. “I feel humiliated just being near it.” 

Sukuna shrugged, taking the glass from his hand and downing it. It wouldn’t be his drink of choice but he had no problem with sweet things. Like you. His mind thought intrusively before he could stop it. 

Genuinely, he might be seriously sick at this point. 

“Where’s Choso?” Sukuna asked, trying to hold a discussion in an attempt to quiet his troublesome mind of thoughts of you - the memory of your gentle touch on his cheek a constant in his brain, the underlying worry that there might be something wrong with you today constantly nagging at the corners of his mind. 

It wasn’t his problem. You weren’t his problem. He needed to stop. 

Toji shrugged. “Lost him somewhere. You know him, probably chatting some girl up in the smoking area.” 

That was likely. Choso wasn’t a big fan of all the noise in clubs and would often find his way outside. If they were lucky he’d shoot them a text to tell them he was heading home, but most of the time they’d just assume that they weren’t going to see him again until the next day. 

At least now that Sukuna, Toji and Choso shared a house they could be sure that he was alive and well as soon as they returned home, the light from beneath Choso’s door a sure sign that he was there. Back in first year they’d text him over and over again in the group chat hoping that he’d wake up and respond, and that he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.

Sukuna let out a hum of acknowledgement at Toji’s response and sat back in his chair, completely zoning out. Maybe he should just go home, fall asleep and hope that you’d gotten back to him by the time he’d woken up? Or perhaps a good night's sleep would totally clear his mind of these tangled feelings that seemed to plague him whenever he thought of you. 

“What’s going on with you, man?” Toji asked, looking over at Sukuna with interest. He wasn't the type of man who generally cared much about other people’s problems, but when Sukuna was in a bad mood it dragged everyone else down too. 

It was in everyone’s best interest to keep him happy. 

Sukuna shrugged. “Nothing.” He mumbled, and Toji rolled his eyes. 

“I know you.” Toji reminded him. “You wouldn’t be sitting here with me if there was nothing going on. Never seen you push a girl away before.” 

How annoying perceptive of him. 

“Nothing important.” He huffed as he brought out his phone again, heart sinking for what felt like the hundredth time today at the realisation that you still hadn’t gotten his messages. 

“You acting like this over a girl?” Toji pressed, glancing down at Sukuna’s hand, noting the way that his fingers were practically white with how tightly he was clutching the device. 

“Fuck no.” 

His response came out way more defensive than he intended it to, Toji raising his hands disarmingly, making it clear that he wasn’t trying to actively provoke the man. He knew better than most to not start digging about in Sukuna’s emotions. 

But perhaps he was feeling bold tonight. 

“What do you keep checking your phone for then?” 

Sukuna scowled at him, annoyed that he’d ask such a straight to the point question, because there was no real answer to that beyond the truth. All of Sukuna’s close friends were here, and Toji knew that Sukuna made minimal effort with his brother and dad - so what was he checking his phone for? 

Toji had a shit-eating grin on his face, clearly proud of himself for that line, confident that he’d effectively caught Sukuna in his trap. 

“None of your fucking business.” Sukuna hissed. Toji wasn’t particularly deterred, he’d had plenty of venom spat at him from Sukuna over the years, and they’d only ever come to blows once. 

“Oh, don’t tell me some girl rejected you and you’re all sad about it?” Toji was really poking the bear with that one and he knew it. There was no way that he actually knew what was going on with Sukuna - he was just throwing shit at the wall and hoping it stuck.

And unfortunately it was working. 

“As fucking if.”

He didn’t want to think about how near to the truth that actually was. Even if it wasn’t really rejection - even if he didn’t even want you like that, his humiliation at the library sure felt like getting turned down by a girl that he liked. 

Toji looked at him with narrowed eyes, a slow smile crossing his face. “Holy shit, am I right?” 

Sukuna fixed him with a glare, trying to silently signal that he would be saying no more on the matter, but Toji had never been one to let things go easily. He opened his mouth wide, clearly about to continue his tirade when Sukuna was saved by the appearance of Suguru, who seemed a little disgruntled as he threw himself onto the plush seats. 

As much as Toji loved to fuck with Sukuna when they were alone, he knew not to push it when others were around, dropping the conversation as a result of Suguru’s presence. However, he did give Sukuna a smug look that told him the conversation wasn’t over. 

Great. 

“This place suuuucksss.” Suguru groaned, earning a nod of agreement from Sukuna and Toji. 

“Why’d you bring us here in the first place?” Toji asked. 

Suguru shrugged. “Some of the cheerleaders were talking about it, I didn’t want to put them out by not showing up. Oh, speaking of-”

The shrill call of Sukuna’s name had the hairs on his arms raising. 

Yorozu. 

The black-haired cheerleader approached with several of her friends, giggling as she squeezed into the booth next to Sukuna. He found himself shifting towards Toji to get away from her overbearing presence. 

He was not her biggest fan. He’d slept with the woman once in his first year at university and she hadn’t left him alone since - always chasing him down on campus, showing up at clubs and bars he visited, making new instagram accounts to message him from when he blocked her on her main. 

She was totally insane, incapable of taking a hint - even when the hint was being directly told that he was not interested in her. 

And right now as she placed a hand on his leg, shuffling closer to him once again, he found himself more repulsed than ever. It was normal for him to want to avoid Yorozu - what wasn’t normal was for him to wish that it was your hand on his leg instead of hers, to fantasise about you next to him, huddling up closer to his side. 

Fuck it. He needed to get out of here before he lost his mind. 

Hissing at Yorozu to move, she clung to his arm gazing up at him with big eyes as she begged him to stay, asking if he wanted to come to her place for a bit. He was quick to shrug her off, telling her plainly to get the fuck away from him as he slid out of the booth. She certainly wouldn’t get the message permanently from that, but at the very least she might leave him alone for the night. 

“You leaving?” Toji asked, looking very uncomfortable now that there was no buffer between him and Yorozu - desperate not to be the next one that the girl set her sights on. 

“Need some air.” He grumbled, not wanting to tell Toji that he was actually going to head home, desperate to avoid the man trying to continue their conversation from earlier. 

Right now he needed to find a way to get you out of his head, and Toji interrogating him certainly wasn’t going to help. 

—

It was around 12.30 by the time he arrived home, trekking past Choso’s room and into his own, not even bothering to flip on the light as he collapsed onto his plush duvet. Today had sucked, he really just wanted to fall asleep and forget about it. 

Checking his phone on instinct, his drunken mind almost didn’t register that there was a notification from you on there, initially locking the screen to black and closing his eyes in defeat for a second before comprehending just what he’d seen. He was sitting up in seconds, eyes wide as he stared at the messages on the screen.

[strawberry shortcake 🍰]: fuck i’m so so sorry 

[strawberry shortcake 🍰]: there was an emergency and my phone was dead and I only just got back 

[strawberry shortcake 🍰]: i’m really sorry i’m the worst 

For some reason his heart was fluttering like crazy as he read those three sentences over and over again. He wasn’t sure if it was your words or the reminder of the sweet little nickname he’d chosen for you when he’d input your details, the memory of the way you’d flushed when he’d shown you what it was. 

Realising that you were probably waiting for his response, and that it was weird to read the same texts over and over again like some kind of fool, he wracked his brain to think of a good response for you.

God, he wished he was less drunk right now. 

[Sukuna]: don’t worry about it 

[Sukuna]: everything okay?

He watched with bated breath as his message was instantly shown as read, your speech bubble appearing for a few seconds and then disappearing, before reappearing once more. That continued for a little while, his heart beating faster with every passing second - it was agonising waiting for your response. 

[strawberry shortcake 🍰]: yeah surviving 

He stared at those two words intently. It did not take that long to write that message out, you must’ve been agonising over what to type just like he had been. The longer that he stared at the short message the more uneasy he felt. Were you okay? The word surviving certainly didn’t fill him with confidence. 

Before he could think better he was pressing the call button next to your contact name. It only rang twice before you picked up, sounding breathless as you let out a quiet little “Hello?”

“Hey.” Sukuna said softly. 

He wasn’t really sure what he was doing, had called you with absolutely no plan in mind, just pressing the button on instinct. He really wished he hadn’t drunk so many of those cocktails because then maybe his brain would’ve stopped him from doing something impulsive like this.

“Hi…” You repeated, as if you hadn’t already greeted him when you first picked up the phone. “I’m sorry about earlier.” Your tone was uncertain, perhaps even a little tearful? It was hard to tell without seeing your face. 

“It's fine.” His heart felt like it was about to jump out of his ribcage at the soft sound of your breathing on the other end of the line, it felt like you were right next to him. 

“It's not fine.” You protested. “You probably thought I’d ditched you or something.” 

“Well yeah.” He confessed. “Figured you didn’t actually want to meet up or something, like you’d only agreed out of obligation ‘cause I’m a regular at the bakery.” 

“No, No!” You said quickly, so fast that he couldn’t help but laugh softly at the panic in your tone. He supposed all of his worries about you wanting to avoid him had been pointless. 

“No?” 

“I like spending time with you, it’s just- something happened and I- sorry.” You trailed off, clearly unsure on how much to share with him. That made sense, you hadn’t really known each other very long - he could understand that you’d still be somewhat cautious of him. 

But what he was really focussing on was the first half of your sentence, the fact that you claimed to like spending time with him had his whole body feeling like it was on fire. How could simple words impact him so much? He wasn’t a man who had ever been easily affected, and yet a few sweet words from you had him feeling like some giddy teen. 

He considered teasing you for those words in an effort to diffuse the tension in his own mind, but the tremor in your voice gave him pause. Clearly you weren’t in a good place right now. 

“Are you okay?” Sukuna asked gently, surprising himself with how soft his tone came out. 

“Yeah…” 

“You don’t sound it.” 

“Oh, uhh-” Your tone was uncertain, clearly caught off guard by his response. 

“You can tell me if something’s wrong. I got nowhere to be.” He said.

That wasn’t strictly true, because he was extremely tired and should be tucked up in bed drifting off to sleep right now. But that didn’t matter when he had your sweet voice to listen to, he’d gladly stay up all night for that. 

You let out a sigh. “I don’t wanna drag you down.” 

He frowned. Your dad had always said that you were the type of person who didn’t like to cause fuss for others, that you’d keep your problems and feelings bottled up so that you could deal with them yourself. You didn’t like to be a burden to others, completely in the belief that you had to cope with everything on your own to avoid being a bother. 

“You wouldn’t. I asked, didn't I?” Sukuna was lying flat on his stomach now, one arm hanging off the bed while the other was keeping the phone pressed hard against his ear, desperate to be as close to the source of your voice as possible. 

Fuck, he was lame lately. 

And yet he found himself holding his breath as he waited for you to reply, desperately concerned that there was something wrong with you. After what had happened with the salarymen and how hard you seemed to be working all the time it just seemed like you couldn’t catch a break. 

“I was at the hospital today.” You said plainly. 

“Fuck, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You paused for a moment before taking in a deep breath. “You speak to my dad a lot. Has he told you that he has cancer?” 

Sukuna hadn’t been told the specifics, but your words just confirmed the suspicions that he’d been having for a while about your dad’s health. Not that his prior awareness made the confirmation sting any less. He’d spent three years visiting that man, hearing the word cancer was like a punch to the gut. 

“It's stage four.” You continued. “If you don’t know what that means, the rundown is that he can’t be cured. They’ve been doing chemo to reduce the speed that the cancer is killing him but it will ultimately kill him.” 

There was a slight tremor to your voice, but you seemed to effectively maintain control as you rattled off that spiel - as though you’d practiced the explanation over and over again. Perhaps you had. Maybe the only way for you to cope with delivering the news was by having a robotic speech prepared that you could entirely detach yourself from. 

Sukuna was silent, he hadn’t realised it was that bad. He knew that the old man was ill, but he was still cracking jokes whenever Sukuna came into the bakery, always smiling and telling him stories just as he always had. How could he be dying?

“How long have you known?” Sukuna asked, the thought of your dad not being there at the bakery one day hitting him hard. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for you. 

“A few months. He started getting pretty ill at the end of last year - he didn’t really have an appetite and he was achy and tired all the time. By the time the doctors had run all the tests and found the cancer it was already too developed to cure. He collapsed this morning, he was too malnourished and needed to be put on a drip for a bit.” 

“Is he alright now?” Sukuna asked, alarmed that he might be in critical condition. 

“Yeah. He’s back at home with my aunt. He just needed some fluids.” You paused for a second, your next words coming out in a whisper. “It was really scary though.” 

Your breathing was heavy, as though you were purposefully taking deep breaths to try and keep yourself from falling into a tearful spiral. Sukuna couldn’t help but think about you in your room right now, all alone in the dark. His drunken mind couldn’t help but wish that he was sitting beside you, that he could comfort you in person. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

No wonder you seemed so stressed out all the time, having to cope with the emotions of this situation on top of working at the shop and keeping up with uni - he was surprised that you were holding things together at all. 

And he’d been selfish enough to ask you to give up some time to tutor him, when he didn’t even actually need it. That was shitty. He’d spent the day so caught up with stupid things like worrying if you liked him, while you were battling with the worry that your father could die at any given moment.

“It's okay.” You mumbled, but he caught the sniffle that you desperately tried to stifle. “There’s nothing anyone can do.” 

He hesitated. You were right, there was nothing that he could do. But that didn’t make it feel any less unfair. He wondered if his own dad knew about his friend’s state - he hoped that your dad would’ve told him, Sukuna didn’t like the idea of Wasuke being left in the dark about this. It would break Wasuke’s heart if your father died without him even knowing he was ill. 

“I’m probably keeping you up.” You said nervously, filling the silence, clearly trying to make an effort to bring the call to a close - most likely assuming that Sukuna’s lack of response had been due to discomfort over hearing about your problems. 

“You’re not.” He said firmly. 

There was more sniffling on your end of the line now, your shaky breath a sure sign that you were crying, albeit making your best effort to not allow him to hear. It made him a bit sad, that you’d do your best to close yourself off even when he was making an active effort to listen to your worries. 

“Sorry.” You whispered as a small whimper sounded from your side of the line. “This is hard for me to talk about, I shouldn’t cry in front of you - you barely know me.” 

For some reason that irked Sukuna, because even though you were technically right, it sure felt like he knew you. Years of stories from your father had him feeling like you were an old friend, and if the way his heart raced whenever he thought about you was anything to go by, he cared immensely about your feelings. 

“Cry as much as you want, I’m here.” 

Between the sniffles, you let out a sound that sounded almost like a laugh. “Why are you being so nice to me? I don’t get you.” 

“I like you.” He said earnestly. “And I like your dad.” He quickly added, not wanting to give the wrong impression with that initial statement. He didn’t want to scare you off when you were already so illusive as it was. 

Besides, he didn’t like you like that. Right? 

“Oh.” He thought he sensed a hint of disappointment in your tone, but he couldn’t be sure. 

You were silent for a while longer, but Sukuna was sure that you were still on the other end of the line, the comforting sound of your breathing still loud against his ear. He wondered if you were lying on your bed in the same manner he was. 

Briefly his mind drifted to the thought of you laying on his bed beside him, warm bodies pressed together as he comforted you. But he was quick to push that idea away and lock it deep in some vault inside of him. 

Yeah, he’d definitely had too much to drink tonight - what were they putting in those cocktails? 

“Is there anything I can do?” Sukuna asked, breaking the silence. Secretly hoping that you’d want his help for something so that he could see you more. 

“I don’t know.” You said honestly, and Sukuna tried to hide his disappointment. He should’ve known that you wouldn’t be so willing to lean on him. “I like talking to you though.” 

The shyness in your voice was sweet, and it had his heart racing once again. That was something - maybe he should try calling you more? If it was something that you enjoyed he was more than happy to oblige. 

“Yeah?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“Yeah.” There was some more shuffling on your end of the line for a moment, and the sound of you taking a deep breath before speaking. “Did you read any more of the Ship of Theseus?” You asked, clearly trying to distract yourself, moving the conversation on from your father. 

Sukuna was desperate to ask you more questions on the matter, like how long your dad had to live, but now clearly wasn’t the time. You were already feeling terrible about it, he didn’t want you to think about the issue more than you had to. 

“Nah - haven’t had a chance to read since I spoke to you yesterday. I was busy with my game this afternoon and then we went out to a club.” He said, figuring that going into the details of his day would be a good distraction for you. 

“Oh your game! Did you win?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Well done!” 

His stomach flipped at how proud of him you sounded. He had dozens of people telling him how good he was at basketball everyday, had endless cheerleaders praising him constantly, and yet the sound of your soft voice congratulating him was better than all of that. 

“You should come to a game sometime.” He said, loving the idea of seeing you there in the crowd while he did his thing, desperate for your attention to be focussed on him for some reason. Even if he already got plenty of attention from others, he wanted yours. 

“If you want me to.” 

Your voice sounded a little uncertain. He didn’t know why you were still so unsure about him and his wants - hadn’t he made it clear to you that he was actively seeking your presence? Although, who could blame you when he still wasn’t even sure what he wanted from you. 

“I do.” His tone was earnest, and he hoped that conveyed effectively through the phone. It was hard to show just how serious he was being without body language. Likewise he found it difficult to get a read off you relying on voice alone. 

“Okay.” You agreed softly. “I didn't disrupt you at the club, did I?” 

There was a sweet edge of panic in your voice, as if you were afraid that you’d pulled him away from some girl. Like you were worried that you were somehow ruining his night, despite this call being the one good thing about his day. Hell, even if he had managed to bring a girl home he probably still would’ve answered your text - kicking her out for the sake of talking to you. 

Now he knew that he must be going insane. 

“No, my night sucked. Suguru took us to some horrible new place, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.” 

You hummed softly, and he noticed that the sniffling had stopped, your tears seemingly all dried up for the time being. He heard a bit more shuffling and nearly inaudible sound of you yawning. It had likely been a long day for you, and he didn’t want to deprive you of sleep anymore than you already were. 

Even if he did still want to talk to you. 

But before he could suggest ending the call, you interrupted him. 

“I‘m really sorry I didn’t show up today, Sukuna. Are you free on Friday?” 

Sukuna rolled onto his back, a wide grin spreading across his face at your question. He’d figured that with this evening’s revelations he wouldn’t be getting that study session - it would be selfish of him to ask with you while you’re facing such a difficult situation. But if you were offering, that was something else entirely. 

Plus, he wasn’t sure that you’d ever said his name aloud like that before, it sounded so sweet spilling from your lips. It was so lovely to hear that it had his cock hardening in his jeans - that was a new development when it came to you. 

It was definitely just because he was drunk. Definitely. 

“Of course, angel.” He purred. 

He wondered if you were blushing at his nickname. You’d blushed the last couple of times that he’d used it and it was cute - he wanted to see more. He wished that he could see your expression right now. 

“Lunchtime again?” You asked. 

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere to eat this time though.” The hour that he’d spent in the library today was enough for him. He didn’t like it much there, always feeling like he was out of place, as if all the other students were judging him - like he didn’t really belong there. 

“I uh- I don’t think I can afford that.” You whispered quietly, and he instantly felt bad for suggesting it. He hadn’t considered that your financial situation wouldn’t be great with your father’s illness and the fact that the bakery always seemed empty. But he wasn’t going to let that stop you from having a good time. 

“I’ll pay.” He offered. 

“No, that’s too-” 

“I’m not asking, angel.” He cut you off firmly. 

He had plenty of money - his father’s business was doing great as always, it wasn’t a big deal for him to buy you some food. Besides, with you working so often and being so sleep deprived, he wouldn’t be surprised if you were skipping meals too - especially if you were broke right now. 

“At least let me make it up to you?” You asked.

“You already are by helping me study, consider this my way of saying thanks.” 

That seemed to be the most effective way to get you to comply - a favour for a favour. That way, in your mind, you weren’t acting as a burden to him. Not that he could understand that mindset of yours at all - as far as he was concerned, if someone was offering then you might as well take. 

“Thank you, Sukuna.” You whispered. 

“No problem. I’ll pick you up outside the main hall at 12.30 on Friday.” You let out a little noise of agreement and he found himself smiling at the thought of having you all to himself for a bit. “Oh, and if you wanna talk before then you can always call me.” 

He figured he'd leave that door open for you. He was confident that your stubborn nature would mean that you weren’t going to call him, but he at least wanted to plant the suggestion in your head that he was there. 

“I appreciate that.” 

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispered. “Sweet dreams.” 

“Night, Sukuna.” 

As he ended the call he tossed his phone across the room, running his hands down his face, his cheeks warm. His heart was pounding, butterflies swarming in his stomach. That was nice. He wanted more, wanted you to be pressed up against him while you whispered against his ear.

Maybe he wanted even more than that - you beneath him and squirming as he- 

No. He couldn’t think like that - even if his mind kept straying to it in his drunken haze. Although, he wasn’t sure if he could even blame this on the alcohol anymore. 

Fuck. He really had a problem. 

a/n: love making sukuna's mental a total mess lol

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed this chapter - reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic! <3

I also have a perma taglist for sukuna fics now, so if you want to get notified whenever I bring out a new sukuna fic, reply to my perma taglist post or send me an ask.

Taglist (open!): @call-me-nyxx @mad-katsuki @ilovesmolkittycats @cupidxml @solarlovesxyz @serenadesvt @fushiguroooozzz @surgikull @yuujispinkhair @himezoro @etsuniiru @lkukaknka @svnarxnn @chaos-4baby @rinofcike @eepydeepysleepy @linaaeatsfamilies @tisuruxx @grimm3r @minasuniverse @sail0rpluto @beereadzzz @00frenchfries00 @sukubusss @poopooindamouf @himbosexual @yatsuyu @thejujvtsupost @shewhoscreamssilently @kalulakunundrum @xxkay15xx @madison777x @thoreeo @saltypuffin1040 @t4ters @sugarysc @sussiesushi @silviscosplay @inthedarkshadows000 @nikkissecretlibrary @p1nkfl0wers @philiasoul @emochosoluvr @tweetybomb @ynishalee @camsdrzd @jupitereleven @anguuubb @lily-bisque @christinezz33

© sukunahs

[kuurechr]

TEENAGERS | extra scene. proposing.

From, TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVIN' SHIT OUT OF ME

[chapter one] : First, it was proposing to you. He never admitted he was nervous about this one. But he still remembered having to wipe the sweat that kept building up on his hands as he waited to ask you if you would marry him.  note : I wanted to include little random additions bc its' fun to write and doesn't have me in my head abt it needing to be perfect, like the actual chapters. so flashback stuff, or mentions of things that have happened in the past will be expanded in these extra scenes !

Sukuna was ready for this. 

He’d been hyped up by every man he knew. He’d also been given advice, from every man he knew. 

So, it was all kind of jumbling in his head and messing with him. 

Toji had said to take it easy. Leaning his head back against the couch, Toji nursed his beer. “She’s expecting for you to ask but she’s not expecting much,” he had said. “She’s pregnant, if anything she’ll get mad at you for whatever way you do it.” 

“Your fiancee agree with that?” 

Toji shrugged. “She asked me.” 

Sukuna’s brows furrowed. “Seriously man?” 

“Hey, I didn’t want her to think I was rushin’ it, we’re still young,” Toji said, gesturing his beer in Sukuna’s direction. “You have no choice in the matter.” 

Sukuna sighed and went back to making dinner. As expected, Toji was of no help. 

Also expectedly, the guys at work were of no help. 

Kusakabe’s the type of guy to back out of everything, it was a wonder that he chose to become a cop despite being scared of everything. Sukuna didn’t think his fear would be contagious, but when Kusakabe kept rambling about every poor reaction that you – a pregnant you – could have, Sukuna felt himself start to sweat. 

“Okay, calm down,” Yaga huffed, putting a hand on Kusakabe’s shoulder as he looked over at Sukuna. He took his sunglasses off of his face, all serious. “I think you should figure out what her recent cravings are, eat them with her in solidarity so she sees the love you have for her, and then propose once she’s feeling that high.” 

Sukuna stared at him for a moment before scoffing. “Fuck you, man, this isn’t a joke.” 

Despite that, Yaga chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe ask the captain,” Yaga offered. 

“That old punk would tell me to serenade her with a guitar solo.” 

“Oh please.” Sukuna turned to see Tengen behind him, sitting on top of his desk as she leaned forward, kicking her feet. “Captain Gakuganji would just call you an idiot for getting a girl pregnant out of wedlock. After a past like yours, I thought you would want to try and keep your record squeaky clean but, manly urges, I guess.”

“Hey,” Sukuna grunted, glaring down at her. “I would’ve married her with this baby or not.” 

“Well, then,” Tengen said, smirking. “Why are you asking us for advice then? This should’ve been in your head from the moment you met her.” 

Sukuna paused. 

Kusakabe rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, no one wants to think about all that with every girl they have fleeting feelings for, Sarge, you’re just being idealistic there.” 

As Tengen argued with Kusakabe and Yaga over her idealistic views, Sukuna got in his own head again. His original plan was scrapped. Did he even really have a plan? Not really. But now he did. He thinks. Fuck Kusakabe. 

You gave up on leaning down to tie your shoelaces. You knew this day would come, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. “‘Kuna!” You called out, a little breathless after trying so hard to do what used to be such a mundane task. 

“Give me a second, dove!” Sukuna knew what you wanted to ask. He’d been preparing for this day for weeks, now. For months really, ever since he found out you were expecting. This was the day. It was happening, right now. 

And the box was slipping out of his hands, because his hands were producing unnatural levels of sweat, right now. Sukuna muttered curses under his breath, before he was ready. When he finally made it to the front door, wiping the sweat off his hands, you were… already up? 

“What took you so long?” You huffed, opening the door. Sukuna stared down at your shoes. The shoes on your feet. Huh. That wasn’t part of the plan. 

“You– you got ‘em on?” Sukuna cursed himself for stuttering, feeling his pockets for the box that had freaked him out so much that the moment had been ruined. 

“No, these are my slip ons,” you grumbled. “Figured they’re more comfortable anyways.” 

“Yeah, yeah, but,” Sukuna rushed his words, trying to come up with an excuse for you to wear shoes that had shoelaces. Or just any shoe that you needed his help for. “That trail you chose has a lotta walkin’, it might be hard to–” 

“Can we just go on another trail today,” you sighed, scratching the back of your neck. “I barely wanted to get up today, I don’t think I can do a long walk.” 

“O…kay,” Sukuna nodded, grabbing his keys. “Let’s just… yeah.” 

You sighed, leaning against the railing of the bridge the two of you were walking over on the much shorter trail that you had chosen for today. You and Sukuna had gotten into a routine of going on walks after you had gotten pregnant, but as you got further into the pregnancy, your lack of physical ability was just starting to annoy you, making you begin to develop a distaste for the walks. 

Sukuna could sense your pissed mood the entire time. This was definitely not the time to propose. But everyone knew it was happening soon, and Sukuna was sick of going into work, or calling his dad and brother, or seeing Toji, and getting asked the same question. 

“So…?” 

Because, no. ‘So…?’ didn’t happen. And that question was always followed up by: “Why not?” 

And Sukuna felt like a weakling. He felt like Kusakabe. Because the only answer he had was that he was scared. And it was an answer that would always get followed up by; “That’s normal,” or, “Gotta do it before the baby comes along, though.” 

Why was proposing getting him like this? He just wanted to marry you, why couldn’t you both just skip to that part? 

“The weathers’ pretty nice, right?” You hummed, looking down at the reflection of the setting sun on the river. “Hope its’ like this for your birthday, we could do something nice outdoors.” You looked beside you, to not see Sukuna there. 

“‘Kuna?” You turned around, and quickly gasped. 

Sukuna looked up at you, grinning, box open in his hands. “Marry me?” 

When he’d gotten that ring on your finger, he’d immediately shoved the box in his pocket. Despite how damned expensive it was, his sweat still stained the box.

[kuurechr]

| your daughter not recognising satoru after he cut his hair !!

you didn’t expect him to actually do it.

he’d been threatening to for weeks, though. “it’s too hot,” he’d whine, flopping onto the couch, long white strands falling into his mouth. or “i’m basically shedding,” while brushing out his ends with your comb. always followed by: “i’m cutting it all off, you won’t even recognize me.”

you always hum, unconvinced. “you’d never survive the heartbreak.”

turns out, you were right—just not your heartbreak.

it starts the second he walks through the front door. he’s grinning, proud of himself, sunglasses still pushed up into his now much shorter hair. you don’t even get the chance to greet him because your daughter—the sweet little toddler that she is—just stares.

like he’s an intruder.

“…hi,” he says, smile twitching a little.

her tiny brows scrunch up.

then she points. “mommy? who’s that.”

you blink. look at gojo. look back at her.

“baby,” you start gently, already smiling, “that’s daddy.”

her nose scrunches. “nuh uh.”

gojo’s voice jumps an octave “excuse me?”

your daughter doesn’t even flinch. she hugs your leg tighter and mumbles, “you’re not daddy. he’s pretty.”

gojo blinks. “…i’m pretty though.”

“no you’re weird,” she says matter-of-factly. then she looks up at you like she’s concerned. “who is this man?”

you try to hold it in, but it bubbles up in a laugh, your hand flying to cover your mouth. gojo shoots you a look—devastated, betrayed, offended.

“you’re laughing at my pain,” he accuses.

“you look like you’re about to cry.”

“because my own daughter called me ugly, sweets.”

“no she said weird.”

“that’s worse!”

you shrug, trying to stay calm while your daughter peeks around your leg again, eyes narrowed. “maybe you should’ve waited until after bedtime to go and get an identity crisis.”

he glares. “this is discrimination against people with good bone structure.”

“you cut your hair, satoru. not your jawline.”

“she doesn’t care about my jawline,” he whines. “she liked the fluff. she used to call me cotton candy.”

“okay, well. she also tried to lick your head once.”

“it was endearing!”

you’re giggling again when he crouches down to her height, eyes soft now, voice quiet.

“hey,” he says. “i know i look different, but it’s still me. promise.”

she stares at him. considers. then lifts one small hand and gently pats the top of his head.

“…you feel like a hedgehog.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud.

gojo groans. “i shaved off my parental rights, didn’t i.”

but she’s still standing there, little hand still petting him. her frown has softened into something closer to curiosity now.

“you talk like daddy,” she says.

“yeah?”

“and you smell like daddy.”

“that’s…. weird—”

“…maybe you are daddy.”

“thank you!”

she sighs, like she’s doing the world’s heaviest emotional labor, and then opens her chubby arms for him to pick her up. gojo does immediately, practically cradling her like she’s been lost at sea.

“daddy,” she whispers seriously, “next time ask mama first.”

“yes ma’am,” he breathes, resting his cheek against her head like he’s just been forgiven by god himself.

you roll your eyes with a grin as he mouths ‘she loves me again!!’ over her head.

—

taglist - @whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto

[kuurechr]

Hi! Are your works on ao3? I prefer to read things there beacuse I don't like tumblr's formatting ^^

Most of them are but my new Sukuna fic isn’t yet 😔 I’m away from my laptop rn so I’m going to work on the formatting of everything and get to posting it once im back home (which is around mid August so a few weeks from now I’m sorry 😔) I’ll have a few more chapters by then hopefully !

[kuurechr]

Ah I love your ex convict Sukuna so much! Yes we see the jjk men as dads but never as dads fathering teenagers. I’m so excited to keep reading if you continue the series. Great work!

Tysm you’re too kind 🤭 there’s this nanami one shot by @yasu-1234 with father-of-older-child Nanami which I have to recommend if you like that trope and also I’d love recs myself 🙏

[kuurechr]

| thinking ab the look on sukunas face when she says “dada!” 1st !

the competition starts off as a joke. mostly.

you’re lying on the floor one afternoon, baby between you and sukuna, all squirmy limbs and drooly grins. she’s nearly one now — chubby cheeks, curls in every direction, her favorite hobby is throwing expensive things off tables and laughing like she’s done something groundbreaking. she’s also been babbling nonstop for weeks: ba ba ba, ga ga, ahh!

“any day now,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of her face. “come on, sweetheart. say mama. you know you love me more.”

sukuna snorts from the other side of her, one hand propped under his chin. “in your dreams. she’s a daddy’s girl. always has been.”

“she literally bit your finger this morning and laughed.”

“because she’s my daughter. feral and mighty.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart’s too full to argue. especially when your daughter blinks up at you both, fists curled tight, mouth opening and closing like she’s almost got it.

from that day on, the war begins.

it’s ridiculous. every spare second, one of you is whispering sweet nothings into her ears like she’s a tiny, impressionable oracle.

“mama,” you say sweetly as you rock her to sleep. “say ma-ma, baby. you can do it. ignore the big scary man.”

“dada,” sukuna whispers like it’s sacred, holding her in one arm while pouring juice with the other. “you wanna say dada, don’t you? you love your old man.”

he even cheats — you catch him once holding her favorite stuffed animal hostage until she says something even vaguely “da”-adjacent. she just smacks him in the face with it and shrieks.

score: baby 1, sukuna 0.

but then—one lazy sunday morning—everything changes.

you’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself, trying to pour cereal with one hand and not burn toast with the other. your daughter is sitting in her high chair, hair wild, cheeks puffed out like a tiny chipmunk, watching sukuna pace around the room shirtless and still half-asleep.

he stops to lean against the counter, eyes still heavy-lidded, and yawns out, “hey, gremlin, what do you want? you hungry?”

and then—

“dada!”

the spoon in your hand clatters into the sink.

sukuna blinks. straightens. turns to her like she’s just summoned a divine prophecy.

“…what did you say?”

“dada!” she squeals again, tiny hands smacking the tray. “dada dada dada—!”

and sukuna — sukuna, the king of curses, the war god with enough arrogance to swallow cities — makes the most inhuman noise in the back of his throat. and you see him smile like never before.

he grabs her from the high chair, lifts her high into the air like she’s made of gold and sunlight. “say it again,” he begs, spinning her in a circle as she giggles, squeals, clutches at his face. “again, princess. say it again for dada!”

“dada!” she shrieks, absolutely thrilled with herself.

“that’s my girl,” he breathes, cradling her close and pressing his forehead to hers. “that’s my girl!!”

you’re watching from the doorway, arms crossed, heart squeezing painfully.

you should be annoyed. you should tease him, remind him how smug he’s going to be for the next forty years. but you can’t. not when he looks like that — glowing, flustered, borderline emotional. his hands are so gentle. his voice is just a whisper.

he turns and sees you watching. freezes.

“…don’t,” he says quickly, brows furrowed. “don’t make that face.”

“what face?”

“that face.”

you smile. “not my fault you’re a big softie.”

“shut up.”

“you’re blushing.”

“it’s warm in here.”

he’s still holding her like she’s the world’s most precious artifact. she’s started chewing on his shoulder now, drooling through his shirt.

“dada,” she says again, this time softer. like a secret.

and you swear you see his throat bob.

“…you win,” you admit quietly, walking over to kiss the top of her head. “but only because that was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”

“damn right i win,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her tiny knuckles. “she knows what’s up.”

“guess we both do.”

you press a kiss to his cheek this time, and his ears go pink.

—

perm taglist : @whorishminds @throatgoatgeto

[kuurechr]

Your new sukuna series is something I’ve never seen before in any fandom ever and I love it omg

thank youuu i will be so genuine idk how it popped up in my head. i think i just looked at each version of sukuna and thought, haha wouldnt it be funny if he was just a parent to the teenage menace versions of himself? and i got convict/cop sukuna from the rookie bc i binged the hell out of that show.

[kuurechr]

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVIN' SHIT OUT OF ME

Summary : After ten years in prison, Sukuna returns home. Unfortunately for him, with time comes change. And the worst change he has to deal with is the fact that his kids have become full blown teenagers. Warnings : inaccurate prison and police related stuff probably, exposition , and teenagers, awkward-ness

You slowly drove down the street, letting Sukuna take in the scenery of what was once a familiar home. “Anything changed ‘round here?” Sukuna asked, frowning as he spotted one of the houses with a lack of a chair on the porch. 

“A lot,” you nodded, watching as he held the bag of KFC close to his stomach. “But let's take things one at a time. First, the kids.” 

Sukuna sighed, nodding, turning dead silent as you quietly drove into the driveway of your home. As you took out the keys, turning off the engine and shutting off the radio that had been quietly playing in the background, Sukuna slumped in his seat. 

“They probably don’t wanna have a weird reunion at twelve forty two in the morning,” Sukuna said, his voice gruff. “I’ll just stay in the car.” 

You scoffed, taking the bag of KFC from his hands, and opening the door on your side. “I bet they’re still waiting for you, ‘Kuna.” Unbuckling your seatbelt, you looked at him pointedly. “And you know they’ve been waiting a long time.” 

Sukuna appreciated that you stepped out of the car, gently closing the door behind you, so as to not alert the kids that you were here. Sukuna took his time, taking a deep breath and checking the mirrors in the car to look at himself. He had always been a scary looking guy – his tattoos and his larger figure didn’t help him look all that gentle – but prison had somehow made him look even more gruff. 

He had shaven, trying to make himself look cleaner, but nothing could really hide the fact that he had aged in ten years. He pulled at his eyes, trying to make them less tired-looking… but Sukuna just looked like that. He couldn’t help it. 

He bit his cheek, trying to keep himself from frowning, or having any sort of resting annoyed face on him, but it just made him look more pissed off. 

Tap, Tap, Tap. 

Sukuna turned his head to the side, to see you looking through the window, waiting outside the car patiently. Sukuna opened the door, but stayed seated. You smiled awkwardly. “Need more time?” 

Sukuna huffed. “I need all the time in the fucking world.” 

You chuckled softly, rubbing your hand soothingly across his large arms. “Well… sitting here won’t give that to you.” 

“I know,” he huffed. “But if I go in there…” Sukuna swallowed, staring down at the glovebox. “There’s a chance that I’m gonna ruin everything before they even give me a second.” 

Your hands stopped at his words. Chewing your lips, you contemplated your next words. 

When you decided on them, you put down the bag of KFC in his lap again. Your hands reached out to rest on his jaw, tilting his face slightly so he had to look at you. You looked up into his eyes, smiling softly. “‘Kuna… they’re teenagers. At this age, they’re not even going to give you a millisecond.” 

Sukuna’s eyes slightly widened, before he decided to scoff, looking away from you. “Nice to know you haven’t been cheating – no way you could’ve kept a man with these comforting skills.” 

You giggled. “I’m being honest. I thought after being married so long we could tell each other everything.”

“Never meant I wanted to hear about your intense diarrhea when you came to visit me. Even the guards gave you dirty looks over that, ya know?” 

“‘Kuna,” you giggled even more, lowering your head as you tried to compose yourself. “I’m trying to be serious here.” 

Sukuna sighed, placing his hands over the KFC bag, the crinkling sound much louder than the faint sound of crickets in the night. “Should just get it over with before this goes cold, huh?” 

You nodded. “The stomach is the way to teenagers’ hearts.” 

“Isn’t it a womans’ heart?”

“Same thing,” you huffed, moving away and looking over at the house. You peered into one of the windows upstairs, that had the blinds slightly ajar. For some reason, when you had narrowed your eyes onto it, it went back to normal. “Okay,” you looked back at Sukuna. “Do you need more time?” 

Sukuna shook his head. “Quit babyin’ me. Those three aren’t gonna be as nice as you are and you’re not properly preparin’ me.” 

“Okay,” you grinned, stepping back as Sukuna got out of the car. “Imagine three of you, at different temperament levels – and that’s what you’re dealing with!” 

Closing the door behind him, Sukuna rolled his eyes at you, walking away, towards the door. You gasped, lifting up your keys to lock the car, as you followed after him. 

“You’re still so sassy at your old age, huh?” 

“All three of them get that, too?” 

You groaned dramatically. “You’ll finally get to see what dealing with you is like.” 

Sukuna scoffed, lifting up his fingers to ring the doorbell. 

But your hand quickly slapped his away. 

Sukuna turned his head, to see you, with your eyes wide and your stance rigid. The sound of the slap felt like it echoed in the silent, cold night air. Even the crickets went quiet. “What?” Sukuna asked, breaking the silence with a quiet voice. 

“We…” You moved forwards to take his hand, rubbing it softly to silently apologize for hurting him. It didn’t do much besides leave a slight sting for a moment, but that was probably just because of the shock. “We don’t ring the doorbell.” 

Sukuna’s breath stilled. 

“Right.” He lifted his hand away from yours and held it at the door, ready to knock. “You guys have a pattern or something?” 

You shook your head. Sukuna went ahead and knocked, trying to let the sound be as soft as possible. It took a few moments before he heard hesitant footsteps at the door. Slowly, he heard the click of the lock, before the door was opened. 

Kita was the one to open it. He was used to seeing you, he barely spared you a glance. His eyes were locked in on Sukuna, and his giant frame. Kita had shot up in height over the past year, and while he stood taller than every other first year in the area, he was nowhere near the height of his father. 

As Kita scanned Sukuna, Sukuna did the same to his son. The last time either had seen each other was Kita’s fifteenth birthday, when you had dragged him to visit Sukuna. Kita had been very upset, and his attitude hadn’t pleased Sukuna in the slightest. Both of their grumpy attitudes had you close to tears, when it was supposed to be a nice visit. 

So, to avoid your tears (and each other), Kita hadn’t come to visit. 

Kita had very dark hair, slicked back in the style that Sukuna also had it in. He had a small scar under his left eye, one he’d gotten when he had tried climbing the counter that the TV was on top of – after that sharp corner had almost ‘gouged’ his eyes out (according to you), Sukuna had to buy a bunch of baby proofed furniture for his two year old troublemaker. 

When he looked at the kid, he saw an almost carbon copy of himself. Kita just had a few softer features than he did. But, that was something he would probably grow out of, with age. 

“Hey…” Kita said hesitantly, leaving out the ‘pa’ he’d been much more comfortable saying over the phone. He glanced down at the KFC in Sukuna’s hand. “You got it.” 

Sukuna shrugged. “It’s not that hard to win a fight against your ma.” 

Kita’s lips almost twitched into a grin, and he looked at Sukuna knowingly. “I’m sure she let you have this one.” He held his hand out for the KFC. 

Sukuna, letting out a grunt, handed it over. You slid past Kita, stepping into the house and taking off your shoes. “Where are the other two?” 

As Kita stepped back inside, his hands already digging into the bag, Sukuna hesitantly took his first step into the house. You and Kita were so natural. You hung the keys without even looking at the key holder, and then you turned while you took off your coat, to hang it up in the closet. 

You moved with instinct, and Sukuna had to think to just step inside. 

“Suiko’s sleeping, Kagu is still up, I’m pretty sure.” 

“He’s still studying?” You asked, brows furrowed. 

“Nah,” Kagu replied. “He’s playing video games or something. Suiko told him to be asleep before you got here but…” Kita just shrugged, moving away from the front door, to the kitchen. 

You looked back at Sukuna, who was leaning against the door he had closed and locked, taking in the house. You looked at him carefully, speaking quietly. “We’ve moved some stuff around over the years but… never really bought anything new. Furniture’s gotten real expensive.” 

Sukuna’s eyes slowly went over everything. Where it was. Where it used to be. Pictures on the wall. Many old, but many new. Well painted walls, covering up the chips that used to be there ten years ago. It was clean, much cleaner than it used to be when young children took up the house. The only mess he really saw was a bag of chips on the couch, but that was for sure Kita. 

Wordlessly, you tugged at Sukuna’s coat. He leaned forwards, helping you take it off of him. Before you could hang it up for him, Sukuna just shook his head and pulled his coat away from you, walking over to the closet himself. 

He opened it and his eyes immediately caught onto a specific coat. Sukuna hung his own, before pulling out his leather jacket from high school. With a slight grin, he looked at you. “You still have this?” 

“It’s technically Suiko’s now,” you hummed, coming closer to get a feel of it. “It’s vintage.” 

Sukuna grinned, leaning down to get closer to you and eyeing you knowingly. “Does she know what we did with this back in the vintage days?” 

You covered your mouth, holding back a snort, and using your free hand to push him, making him put the jacket back in the closet. “She’d burn her skin if she found out,” you answered. “Do not tell her.” 

“What?” Sukuna asked, raising a brow at you. “You painted yourself as a saint while I was gone? You know you’re far from that.” 

“And our teen aged children don’t have to know that until they are…” You tapped your chin, pretending to be in though. “Twenty five.” When Sukuna sent you a flat look, you giggled, shoving his shoulder. “What?” 

“Twenty five? What stupid book did you get that from?” 

“It’s when the brain stops developing,” you replied. 

Sukuna scoffed, kicking his shoes off. “Is that what they’re saying nowadays?” 

“Yeah,” you said, crossing your arms and tilting your head at him, teasing. “Keep up with the times, old man.” 

Sukuna grinned, curling his arm around your waist, about to pull you close when a voice from upstairs called out. “Mom?” Sukuna’s head immediately turned to the meek voice that called out. You pat his back, while pulling away, looking up the stairs as you called back.

“Hungry?” 

“Yeah,” he replied. 

“Come on down,” you said. “Dad bought you KFC.” 

Sukuna sensed some hesitance, but Kagu came down the stairs, slow as to avoid making eye contact with his father, probably. When Sukuna could see his son entirely, he saw the careful, wide eyed expression on his face. 

Very unlike Kita. 

“Hi…” Kagu said, clearly unsure, as he came down the stairs. 

Kagu used to visit much more often when he was young, basically attached to your side. But as he got more praise for his academics at school, you said it began to take over his life. He started to refuse to come visit Sukuna because the trips took too long, and he would lose precious time that could be spent doing something ‘actually productive.’ 

“Hey, Kagu,” Sukuna nodded at him. Kagu also differed from Sukuna and Kita when it came to looks. While Kita and even Suiko had very much gotten Sukuna’s genetics, all of Kagu’s face was just a carbon copy of yours.��It wasn't something to complain about honestly, but it was weird to get used to in person.

“Go get the food from Kita,” you said. As Kagu walked away, clearly in a hurry to get away from Sukuna, you called after him. “You’re getting up before noon, okay? We’re having guests over tomorrow.” 

Kita, from the kitchen, groaned. Kagu just shrugged and said a quick, “Okay,” before walking to the kitchen to get some chicken. 

You didn’t even acknowledge Kita’s complaint, and instead, tugged at Sukuna’s clothes while calling out to the boys. “Pa and I are going to bed! The two of you better be asleep in the next hour.” 

“It’s bad to sleep right after you eat,” Kita argued. “Right, Kagu?" You were sure Kagu just nodded his head, more focused on the chicken, but that was enough confirmation for Kita. “Kagu agreed!” 

“I’ll make sure you two don’t get fast food for the rest of the month if you don’t sleep,” you threatened, before fully dragging Sukuna up the stairs with you. The boys halfheartedly agreed, knowing you wouldn’t care to hear them out anyway. Sukuna was in his head about Kita barely acknowledging his presence, letting you pull him around, until you began to give him a little updated tour of the house. 

“The bathroom hasn’t really changed,” you said, leading the way down the hallway that was upstairs. You pointed at the doors, explaining the room arrangements. “This is Kagu’s room – Kita used to sleep here, too, before high school.” 

“Right, he lives at the fancy private school now?” 

You nodded. “Visits for weekends, though,” you explained, before gesturing to another room, with a large ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign taped on the door. “That is Suiko’s room.” 

Sukuna scowled. “Who does she think she is?” 

“The boys have a bad habit of just storming into rooms,” you huffed, passing by and flicking the sign. “If anything, she saves them from her wrath by doing this.” The door next to Suiko’s room was the bathroom. “The kids all share this one,” you said, opening the door to it, and wincing once you saw the mess inside. 

Sukuna looked over your head to look as well, and almost gasped. 

“The fuck are all those things?” 

“Suiko’s a girl–” 

“And she needs all that shit to stay that way?” 

You scoffed. “Teenagers are just like that.”

“You weren’t like that,” Sukuna pointed out. 

“I could barely afford my uniform,” you argued. “And anyways, you were like that. Kita is just like you, that drawer right there is just filled with hair gel.” 

“I didn’t use that much–” 

“I remember trying to run my hands through your hair once, and it was just rock solid.” 

Sukuna glared down at you. “I think you’re confusing me for one of your exes.” 

“Oh, because I have so many,” you replied sarcastically, closing the bathroom door. 

Sukuna huffed. “Why don’t we check out some of your other old jackets?”

You grinned up at him. “One time! One jacket, I kept from an ex! And we literally gave it away!” 

“Do you see me with my exes hair ties?” Sukuna replied, brows furrowed. He began to walk toward the master bedroom. The room that you were most excited about when Sukuna had been the one to show you around the house when he had bought it. The room that you had shared with all of your kids, with their little crib in the corner, making the largest bedroom in the house just a little more cramped. 

You followed after him. “A hair tie is like two cents, that jacket was probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever worn,” you huffed. “Why are we even arguing over this? It was like twenty years ago. I barely remember it.” 

“Sure,” Sukuna huffed, opening the door to the room and stepping inside. “Do you remember crying because I smelt like some womens’ perfume after I was trapped in an elevator with some group of bachelorette party girls?” 

“I was pregnant and sensitive to smells,” you quickly sniped back, as you usually did whenever he brought this up to counter you. “And I was worried for your safety.” 

Sukuna grinned. “Kita was right. It’s harder now, winnin’ against you.” 

You simply rolled your eyes at him, shutting the bedroom door behind you, as you pointed to the bathroom. “Please do not shit on the creams that I have in there – I, uh, stocked up on the gel that you use for your hair.” 

“Ha ha,” Sukuna huffed, going to the bathroom. “What else you got in there for me? A bubble bath?”

You frowned, genuinely regretting not having thought of that. “I would’ve but the day just came so quickly, I didn’t have time to restock on bath bombs.” 

Sukuna’s brows furrowed. “The hell is a bath bomb?” 

You shook your head, waving him off. “Not important. I have clothes for you in there, I’m guessing your old clothes don’t fit you as well, ‘cause you’re all…” You gestured to his body, tight in the clothes that you had brought up to the prison. “You know.” 

Sukuna smirked, crossing his arms. “What?” 

You bit your cheek, holding back a grin. “You know.” Walking closer, you raised your hand to lazily punch his stomach... which felt rock solid. “Jeez. Maybe I don’t know,” you muttered. 

“Wanna find out?” 

You looked up at him, as he raised a brow at you, that stupid sleazy look on his face. Sukuna saw as, instead of contemplating the idea, you began to take his face in. You had kind of just ran up to him and brought him into a hug the second you were allowed to touch him at the prison. And since then, while you’ve been watching his expressions… you hadn’t really looked at him. Taken him in.

And seen how he’d changed. 

You brought your hand up, brushing your fingers over his ear. “They closed.” Sukuna was almost taken aback by the sudden switch up, but he knew how easily your mood could be swayed, by just lingering thoughts in your head.

“You knew that,” Sukuna hummed, bringing his hands up to rest on your hips. “You were all sad. Tears in your eyes and everythin’.” 

“You don’t think I was crying over my husband being in prison?” You asked, pressing your lips together as you focused on his ears for another moment. Sukuna didn’t answer that, and let you continue the conversation. “Wanna get them pierced again?” 

“‘Course,” Sukuna hummed. 

You looked up at his eyes. Eyes you used to love looking at, intimidating, rare, red. The eyes you had only been able to see every day through your eldest two kids, who sometimes refused to come out of their rooms as they got older. 

Your hands moved from his ear to above his eyes. His left eyebrow, on your right, where he usually had two slits, was gone. “And the eyebrow slits? You think you’re too old for that, yet?” 

Sukuna squeezed your hip, his nails digging into your skin playfully. “I’m not gonna shut up when you turn forty.” 

You frowned. “Yeah, you will,” you said, your hands coming up to run through his hair. “You’ll be long dead by the time I get to that age.” 

Sukuna smirked, bringing his hand up to pinch your cheek. “You know what, you’re right. Living with my almost forty wife who still acts fourteen, will kill me.”

You giggled, pulling your face away from his hands. “Okay, okay, listen, ‘Kuna.” As Sukuna kept trying to pinch you, you still laughed, but brought your hand up to cover his and keep them away. “Listen,” you whined. “Serious, it’s about Suiko.” 

Sukuna relented, bringing his hand down, watching you carefully as you looked up at him with hopeful eyes. 

“I think you could connect with her well, if you get everything – your piercing and eyebrow slits, and stuff – with her.” 

Sukuna’s brows furrowed. “What do they allow at school nowadays?” 

You groaned. “After graduation, ‘Kuna. Seriously, though,” you said. “She’s just like you. The pink hair, piercings, the eyebrow slits, she wants it all – if it wouldn’t kick her out of school, I would let her, but I’ve been telling her 'just wait for after graduation and you can go with your pa' … and you’re here now.”

Sukuna still frowned. “I don’t want her being all… what if she gets caught up with the wrong typa people?” 

“She’s smarter than that,” you huffed. “She understands the consequences of looking all intimidating. She’s lived with that her whole life – she has your face." Sukuna pinched your cheek again and you laughed. "Your adorable, loveable face," you giggled, trying to pull off his hand again. "Just… don’t be all traditional and against it when she brings it up, okay? You did all this at her age, too.” 

“And I got a girl pregnant around this age, too,” Sukuna argued. 

“The girl you got pregnant didn’t do any of that and still got pregnant, so, no correlation, really,” you bit back. 

Sukuna narrowed his eyes on you. “Have I gotten rusty, or have you gotten really good?” 

You grinned up at him cheekily. “I haven’t won an argument against these kids in ten years – if you can’t handle me, good luck with them.” 

“Oh, I’ll handle them,” Sukuna scoffed.

He didn't know what he was in for.

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

Taglist : @illuzminate @matcha-kitty13 @seellove @getosh0e @dovey-quacks2332 @dreamingoftomorrow @universal-s1ut @ane5e @jungkookswifeeeeeee @womenlover4eva @maidofking123 @angelcake999 @sinyaaa @evnyy @1-rxse-1

[kuurechr]

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVIN' SHIT OUT OF ME

Summary : After ten years in prison, Sukuna returns home. Unfortunately for him, with time comes change. And the worst change he has to deal with is the fact that his kids have become full blown teenagers. Warnings : inaccurate prison and police related stuff probably, exposition , and teenagers

Sukuna closed the car door and let out a loud sigh, running his hands through his hair. 

He didn’t often feel nervous. He could count the number of times he had ever felt nervous, on one hand. 

First, it was proposing to you. He never admitted he was nervous about this one. But he still remembered having to wipe the sweat that kept building up on his hands as he waited to ask you if you would marry him. 

The second time was when you both had your first kid. It was his first born child. Of course he was fucking nervous. He was gripping onto your hand, firm, as you laughed off how scared you were of the entire thing. Thankfully, it went well. And the two of you had a beautiful little girl. 

Sukuna wasn’t scared to have his next kid, after his daughter. A son wasn’t much different. 

But the third time he felt nervous was when you had your third, and last child. It had been a difficult process, and Sukuna wasn’t allowed in the operating room when it had gone south. Sukuna held you more than your baby, while you were both recovering. It was probably the most scared he’d ever been in his life. 

The fourth time was 10 years ago. 

When he was sentenced to prison. For 10 years. 

Sukuna huffed as you closed the door on your side, getting comfortable in the drivers’ seat. He gestured to his legs, cramped in the front. “Which kid of ours has legs this short?” 

"I do." You chuckled, putting your seatbelt on as Sukuna adjusted his seat. “Suiko’s been driving, remember?” 

“And you’re teaching her?” Sukuna asked, raising a brow. You sent him a look and he scoffed. “I hope you’ve gotten better in the past decade.” 

“I’m about to show you how good I got,” you snarked back, jiggling the keys in your hand for show, before starting the engine. “Wanna get some food on our way? Have you been craving anything?” 

Sukuna shrugged. “Nothin’. What would the brats want?” 

“I was gonna get pizza tomorrow, for when everyone else comes,” you replied, swiping through radio stations. “So I made some food before I came to pick you up.” 

Sukuna’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Would I be in better… graces? If I bought them somethin’?” 

You sighed, lowering the volume on the random FM station you’d stopped at, smiling over at him and surveying his expression carefully. Sukuna grunted, looking away. “‘Kuna. You know this is gonna be hard.” 

“‘Course I know that.” 

“Doesn’t mean you have to suck up to them, though,” you hummed. “They didn’t forget you. They’re well aware you’re their dad.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “But they’re not gonna see me like that,” he said, deciding to search through the radio stations himself, now that you’d stopped. “I’m just this… fucking man that you forced them to write to and see once a year.”

Sukuna regretted saying that as he saw you falter, your gentle smile falling as you pressed your lips together. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “You know I meant to bring them around more often, but…” 

But, it was hard to force teenagers to come see their dad, locked up in a prison that was hours away from home. 

“No…” Sukuna huffed, running his hand through his hair again, making it messier in the process. “It’s not your fault,” he said, glancing down at the radio stations again. “What happened to that one metal station?” 

“Hm?” Your brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before you remembered what he was talking about. “Oh! Uh, that was gone like… a while ago.” 

Sukuna frowned. “A while ago… as in?” 

You shrugged, looking over at him with those stupidly apologetic eyes. “I don’t really remember. It’s been a few years since I noticed though… I didn’t wanna burst your bubble and bring it up.” 

“Right,” Sukuna nodded. “What do you listen to now, then?”

You shrugged. “The kids usually plug their phone in and play what they want… if we’re all in the car, Suiko is the boss.” You chuckled to yourself, as you tapped your fingers on the wheel. “She had an intense metal phase, remember?” 

Yeah, he remembers. He remembers you telling him all about it. 

You glanced over at him, noticing the way he looked down at his feet, staying silent. Carefully, slowly, you moved your hand over to his arm. “I’m here for you, okay?” 

Sukuna looked over at you for a moment. 

Ten years since he was allowed to be alone with you, properly, like this. He’d stayed in touch with you, every way that he could. But as the years passed, sometimes things came up for you. Someone’s recital, or a birthday party that they really really had to go to, or someone puking their guts out all night. You were busy raising the kids on your own for the past ten years. 

Sukuna reached out a hand to your jaw, cupping your face entirely. He brushed his thumb against your jaw, and you watched his eyes carefully, as they traced your skin. As his eyes flickered to your lips, your breath caught in your throat. But when he moved in, very quickly, he wrapped his arm around your head and buried his face into the side of your neck. 

He could feel your lips lift up into a small smile as they brushed against his ear. 

The two of you stayed that way, the engine running quietly in the background, as Sukuna gently ran his hand up and down your shoulder. He took comfort in your slow, soft breaths. Your steady heartbeat. Your scent, your warmth. 

But it was all interrupted with the ring of your phone. You didn’t have to say anything. Sukuna tensed, having a feeling of who it was, and he moved away, settling back into his seat and putting his seatbelt on. 

You answered the call, holding it up to his ear, but he could hear the faint voice of the person on the other line. 

“Ma, I’m hungry.” 

“Just run to the convenience store,” you replied back, checking the time. “It’s gonna be another few hours til we get home.” 

“Have you left yet?” 

“We’re about to,” you said.

Sukuna heard a groan. You rolled your eyes, smiling, glancing over at Sukuna, who was clearly focusing on the voice. You mouthed the name of who was on the other line. Kita. Your second kid, your first son. He was sixteen now. 

“I get the reunions nice and all, but please get home by midnight.” 

You scoffed, laughing at your sons’ words. “Don’t worry, we’ll get back at a reasonable time, unlike you.” Whatever Kita said next was harder to hear, so Sukuna just focused on your expression. You tilted your head slightly. “Just ask Suiko for some money – she can say no, but tell her I won’t help her learn how to parallel park next week if she does. Good?” 

Kita said something else quickly, and you smiled. 

“Alright, Ki – hey, wanna say hi to pa?” 

Sukuna froze, like a deer in headlights. 

You grinned over at him, mouthing, ‘Don’t worry,’ as you put your phone on speakerphone. “Okay, you’re on speakerphone!” You said, all giddy, while reaching out for Sukuna’s hand. Sukuna let you squeeze his hand, as a source of comfort. 

“Uh…” Kita seemed just as awkward as Sukuna felt. “Hey pa.” 

“Hey kid,” Sukuna answered, just as unsure as his son. You pushed your phone into his hands, and he fumbled, taking it because you forced him to. He didn’t really know what else to say, and the next few seconds, filled with awkward silence, had him dying on the inside. “You hungry?” He finally decided, was the right thing to say. Or the only thing, really. 

“Yup,” Kita answered. “But ma won’t get us takeout more than once a week. She’s got a real tight leash.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “I’m sure I can loosen it a little.” He grinned at you slightly as you glared over at him halfheartedly. “Hey, say that ma and I get you whatever take out you want… wanna extend that curfew by an hour or somethin’?” 

Sukuna heard a little chuckle on the other line. Kita let out a hum like he was thinking, before answering. “You know what – you kids have fun. I want KFC, by the way.”

“You got it,” Sukuna replied. “See you later, kid.” 

Kita was silent for a moment – Sukuna almost thought that the call had ended like that. But then, he hesitantly replied. “Yeah… I’ll see you at home, pa.” 

Sukuna let out the breath he had been holding. 

You smiled, leaning over. “Can ma get a bye, too?!” 

The call ended. 

“See,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Ki is just like you.”

“Then he’s doomed.” Sukuna said, scoffing, as he looked down at your call history. You had started to back out of the parking lot, ready for the long drive back home. 

Ki-chan       just now

KoKo              four hours ago

Toji                 six hours ago 

“Toji?” Sukuna said aloud, raising a brow at you. 

You were more focused on the roads now, but you nodded. “He’s coming tomorrow. He just asks if I need help with things, usually, but–” A cheeky grin grew on your face. “I have you back now.” 

“The house must be a mess if that deadbeats been the one fixing things,” Sukuna said. 

“Well, you have a lot of projects to work on now that you’re back,” you replied. 

“What’s Toji even been doing, besides messin’ up our house?” Sukuna asked. 

“He told me he’d been visiting you,” you said, your brows furrowing. 

“Doesn’t mean we talk about… our outside lives.” 

“Then what do you talk about?” 

“I don’t know,” Sukuna shrugged. “Stuff.” 

You sighed. “How informative, honey.” You gestured to your phone, still in his hand. “Look through my photos – Toji told you stuff about Megumi or anything?” 

Sukuna frowned. “He’s been taking care of him?” 

“Yeah,” you answered softly. “He’s told me once… you basically gave him a second chance after… Well, he said he wasn’t going to throw it away. That’s how he’s repaying you.” 

“He’s repaying me by taking care of his kid?” Sukuna came across pictures of the first day of school this year. “Wow… Kita grew.” 

“He’s tall,” you nodded. “Super sudden growth spurt, honestly, but he’s been bragging to Yuji all year.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed onto Yuji, who had his arm around Kita’s shoulder, smiling brightly for the picture. Jin and Kaori hadn’t talked to him in years. “How’s the kid?” 

“Yuji?” You clarified. Sukuna grunted. “He’s doing great, a supreme athlete. We have to go to one of his baseball games, you have to see how insane he is. Humanly impossible records… he might beat out your old high school ones.”

Sukuna let out a disgruntled scoff, looking at the other kids in the picture. “Black hair is Megumi… who are the other two?” 

“Kugisaki is the redhead and Yoshino is the other guy,” you replied. “Yoshino’s been friends with Yuji, and Kugisaki is also just in their little group – she came from some village, farther than here, even. She kinda rotates between Yoshino's mom, Jin and me, for food."

Sukuna kept his eyes on the photo for a little longer, remembering the new faces and preparing himself for seeing the grown Yuji, Megumi and Kita, before he swiped to the next picture.

“This Kagu?” You spared a glance at the picture, and nodded, a small smile on your face. 

“Yup. He hadn’t really been excited for middle school… just wants to get into a good high school.” 

“He’s still all reserved?” Sukuna asked, frowning as he looked at the photo of his youngest child. Kagu was standing, all monotone, as he stood still for you to take the picture. He was very different from Kita, who was surrounded by his friends. 

You shrugged. “The teachers have been pointing it out every year – ‘He’s gifted but he’s so quiet.’ I can’t force him to be a talkative kid around other people.” 

“How’s he at home?” 

“Oh my goodness,” you sighed. “He won’t shut up sometimes,” you said with a chuckle. “And yet some teacher recommended speech therapy to me. That’s the last thing he needs, honestly.” 

Sukuna nodded, before swiping to the next picture. 

Immediately, he scowled. “Are kids allowed to wear makeup to school now?”

“Nope,” you grinned. “She came home and complained about having to wash it all off at school.” 

“Why’d you let her go like that, then?”

You shrugged. “She didn’t listen after I told her all morning – that was earned.” 

Sukuna shook his head. “Just yell at her more to make her listen.” 

You shook your head even more firmly, smirking over at him. “Just you wait – teenagers are no fun job, Sukuna. Especially not your teenagers.” 

chapter one | chapter two

[kuurechr]

tear-jerker domestic fluff. spouses nanami x fem!reader. suggestive humor. non-sorcerer au.

You and your husband, Nanami Kento, have tucked in for the night five hours ago. Your dress and his suit were pressed and hung by the doorway of your hotel room. You’ve double-triple-checked tomorrow’s call time and itinerary and set ten alarms on your phone. 

You've tried every sleeping position and nighttime ritual, from spooning to cradling, and shared half a melatonin gummy you’ve fished from the depths of your purse. And yet, you can't sleep. You can’t even stay calm.

And how could you?

Your daughter is getting married tomorrow.

You break free from Nanami’s arms and rush out the bed.

“I can’t,” you say, as you pace back and forth. “I can’t, honey. It’s tomorrow.”

Nanami flicks the nightlamp switch and the room glows orange. He hunches over the side of the bed and buries his face in his hands. 

“I can’t stop imagining what could go wrong,” he mutters.

“I just gave birth to her like, yesterday.”

“I should probably text the suppliers. Make sure they’ll come on time.”

“My baby girl. Oh god, she’s getting married.”

Your words smack Nanami. He turns around, jaws slack.

“We’re gonna give her away,” he says. As if he just realized it.

“We’re gonna give her away!” you repeat. It just sunk in for you as well.

“He’s gonna take our daughter and we’re just gonna give her away—because they’re married!"                                                                   

“Oh god… and they're gonna fuck! Cause that’s what married couples do!”

He raises a finger “DON’T! Put that image into my head.”

You stop, fan yourself, and take a cleansing breath. Nanami does the same. He circles the bed to gather you into his arms and rest his forehead against yours. The way he always does when the world feels too loud.

The warmth of his hands seeps past the silk of your nightgown, and your hearts reach out from each other’s chests in search of stillness.

With your eyes closed, there is nothing else but the smell of his deep, heady scent, the fluttering of his lashes against yours, and his smooth, freshly shaven jaw against your palms. When you press your lips against his, you taste the faint mint of toothpaste. 

Eventually, your breaths even out, and for a moment, tomorrow feels far away.

“Do you think your parents panicked like this before we got married?” you ask.

“Who knows?” he answers. “Why don't we grab a ouija board and ask?” 

You smile and shake your head. But then you open your eyes and see the dew forming in the corner of Nanami’s eyes as the warmth and tenderness and regret and shame rushes into his chest altogether. 

From the moment his daughter was born he knew that in some way, he can’t be hers forever. That she would eventually walk her own path with nothing but her memories of him and his countless advice.

Now, knowing this, on the eve of her wedding, he wonders if he had done enough for her. If he was visible enough. Did he cook her enough meals? Did he tell her enough ‘I love you’s? Hold her tightly enough when she cried? Maybe he missed too many family dinners…

If time compresses our memories of people into a single vignette, what about him would she remember long after he's gone? 

“It’s okay,” you say. “She’ll be okay. Our daughter has good tastes and high standards.”

“Too high,” he sighs. “If anything, it’s impressive she found someone who checked all her boxes.”

You chuckle together, softly now, as you recount all the traits that she wanted in a husband. A handsome boy who’s strong and kind. With a high income and a noble job. Protective. Loyal. Lighthearted. Selfless…

“And it’s good that her standards are high. She just knows how men are supposed to treat her,” you say. “Because the first man who ever loved her was you.”

Your words break him from his thoughts, and his eyes soften into pools of honey. 

“Everything she knows about love is a tapestry of everything you have ever done for her,” you continue. “What we have done for her. The love that she sees when we’re together. It all mattered, my love. Every single moment.” 

He nods and wipes a wayward tear. Then he laughs.

“Don’t make me cry now,” he says. “We’re supposed to be calming each other down.”

“I’m just saying. She knows what she wants. And you liked that kid for a reason.”

Nanami shrugs. To him, it wasn't about whether or not he liked this man. His future son-in-law.

It was about the smile his daughter had when she took him home and introduced her to the family. It was the way she laughed over his stupid impressions and how she slept in his arms when they fell asleep on the couch.

In some way, she looked exactly like she did when she was a little girl and Nanami was the only man she had ever known and loved. There is something special about meeting a partner in life that can coax out the child that lay dormant inside of her, calcified by all the pains and inconveniences of adult life. 

“Itadori Yuji,” he sighs. “You better take care of our girl.”

“I know he will,” you whisper. “But most of all, she can take care of herself.”

With lighter hearts, you make your way back into the bed and rest your head on Nanami’s chest. He places a large, warm hand on your head and hip, cradling you, before kissing your forehead for a good night’s sleep.

“I hope we don't have to wait too long for a grandchild,” he murmurs. “I miss having a kid around the house.” 

“We could always try for another one,” you tease. 

Nanami pinches your side and you yelp.

“Don't tempt me.” 

yuji as papamin's son in law?! who would have thought! hehe. one of my friends have gotten married and i wrote this fic as an engagement gift. now i post it for nanami's birthday! happy birthday nanami!

has anyone seen when life gives you tangerines? i watch gwan-sik and cant help but think that nanami would be just as steadfast and devoted as a husband and a father. wonderful show!

i am still too busy to manage this blog. very sorry. but everyone, please take care of yourselves!

[kuurechr]

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVIN' SHIT OUT OF ME

Summary : After ten years in prison, Sukuna returns home. Unfortunately for him, with time comes change. And the worst change he has to deal with is the fact that his kids have become full blown teenagers. Warnings : inaccurate prison and police related stuff probably, exposition , and teenagers

Sukuna closed the car door and let out a loud sigh, running his hands through his hair. 

He didn’t often feel nervous. He could count the number of times he had ever felt nervous, on one hand. 

First, it was proposing to you. He never admitted he was nervous about this one. But he still remembered having to wipe the sweat that kept building up on his hands as he waited to ask you if you would marry him. 

The second time was when you both had your first kid. It was his first born child. Of course he was fucking nervous. He was gripping onto your hand, firm, as you laughed off how scared you were of the entire thing. Thankfully, it went well. And the two of you had a beautiful little girl. 

Sukuna wasn’t scared to have his next kid, after his daughter. A son wasn’t much different. 

But the third time he felt nervous was when you had your third, and last child. It had been a difficult process, and Sukuna wasn’t allowed in the operating room when it had gone south. Sukuna held you more than your baby, while you were both recovering. It was probably the most scared he’d ever been in his life. 

The fourth time was 10 years ago. 

When he was sentenced to prison. For 10 years. 

Sukuna huffed as you closed the door on your side, getting comfortable in the drivers’ seat. He gestured to his legs, cramped in the front. “Which kid of ours has legs this short?” 

"I do." You chuckled, putting your seatbelt on as Sukuna adjusted his seat. “Suiko’s been driving, remember?” 

“And you’re teaching her?” Sukuna asked, raising a brow. You sent him a look and he scoffed. “I hope you’ve gotten better in the past decade.” 

“I’m about to show you how good I got,” you snarked back, jiggling the keys in your hand for show, before starting the engine. “Wanna get some food on our way? Have you been craving anything?” 

Sukuna shrugged. “Nothin’. What would the brats want?” 

“I was gonna get pizza tomorrow, for when everyone else comes,” you replied, swiping through radio stations. “So I made some food before I came to pick you up.” 

Sukuna’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Would I be in better… graces? If I bought them somethin’?” 

You sighed, lowering the volume on the random FM station you’d stopped at, smiling over at him and surveying his expression carefully. Sukuna grunted, looking away. “‘Kuna. You know this is gonna be hard.” 

“‘Course I know that.” 

“Doesn’t mean you have to suck up to them, though,” you hummed. “They didn’t forget you. They’re well aware you’re their dad.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “But they’re not gonna see me like that,” he said, deciding to search through the radio stations himself, now that you’d stopped. “I’m just this… fucking man that you forced them to write to and see once a year.”

Sukuna regretted saying that as he saw you falter, your gentle smile falling as you pressed your lips together. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “You know I meant to bring them around more often, but…” 

But, it was hard to force teenagers to come see their dad, locked up in a prison that was hours away from home. 

“No…” Sukuna huffed, running his hand through his hair again, making it messier in the process. “It’s not your fault,” he said, glancing down at the radio stations again. “What happened to that one metal station?” 

“Hm?” Your brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before you remembered what he was talking about. “Oh! Uh, that was gone like… a while ago.” 

Sukuna frowned. “A while ago… as in?” 

You shrugged, looking over at him with those stupidly apologetic eyes. “I don’t really remember. It’s been a few years since I noticed though… I didn’t wanna burst your bubble and bring it up.” 

“Right,” Sukuna nodded. “What do you listen to now, then?”

You shrugged. “The kids usually plug their phone in and play what they want… if we’re all in the car, Suiko is the boss.” You chuckled to yourself, as you tapped your fingers on the wheel. “She had an intense metal phase, remember?” 

Yeah, he remembers. He remembers you telling him all about it. 

You glanced over at him, noticing the way he looked down at his feet, staying silent. Carefully, slowly, you moved your hand over to his arm. “I’m here for you, okay?” 

Sukuna looked over at you for a moment. 

Ten years since he was allowed to be alone with you, properly, like this. He’d stayed in touch with you, every way that he could. But as the years passed, sometimes things came up for you. Someone’s recital, or a birthday party that they really really had to go to, or someone puking their guts out all night. You were busy raising the kids on your own for the past ten years. 

Sukuna reached out a hand to your jaw, cupping your face entirely. He brushed his thumb against your jaw, and you watched his eyes carefully, as they traced your skin. As his eyes flickered to your lips, your breath caught in your throat. But when he moved in, very quickly, he wrapped his arm around your head and buried his face into the side of your neck. 

He could feel your lips lift up into a small smile as they brushed against his ear. 

The two of you stayed that way, the engine running quietly in the background, as Sukuna gently ran his hand up and down your shoulder. He took comfort in your slow, soft breaths. Your steady heartbeat. Your scent, your warmth. 

But it was all interrupted with the ring of your phone. You didn’t have to say anything. Sukuna tensed, having a feeling of who it was, and he moved away, settling back into his seat and putting his seatbelt on. 

You answered the call, holding it up to his ear, but he could hear the faint voice of the person on the other line. 

“Ma, I’m hungry.” 

“Just run to the convenience store,” you replied back, checking the time. “It’s gonna be another few hours til we get home.” 

“Have you left yet?” 

“We’re about to,” you said.

Sukuna heard a groan. You rolled your eyes, smiling, glancing over at Sukuna, who was clearly focusing on the voice. You mouthed the name of who was on the other line. Kita. Your second kid, your first son. He was sixteen now. 

“I get the reunions nice and all, but please get home by midnight.” 

You scoffed, laughing at your sons’ words. “Don’t worry, we’ll get back at a reasonable time, unlike you.” Whatever Kita said next was harder to hear, so Sukuna just focused on your expression. You tilted your head slightly. “Just ask Suiko for some money – she can say no, but tell her I won’t help her learn how to parallel park next week if she does. Good?” 

Kita said something else quickly, and you smiled. 

“Alright, Ki – hey, wanna say hi to pa?” 

Sukuna froze, like a deer in headlights. 

You grinned over at him, mouthing, ‘Don’t worry,’ as you put your phone on speakerphone. “Okay, you’re on speakerphone!” You said, all giddy, while reaching out for Sukuna’s hand. Sukuna let you squeeze his hand, as a source of comfort. 

“Uh…” Kita seemed just as awkward as Sukuna felt. “Hey pa.” 

“Hey kid,” Sukuna answered, just as unsure as his son. You pushed your phone into his hands, and he fumbled, taking it because you forced him to. He didn’t really know what else to say, and the next few seconds, filled with awkward silence, had him dying on the inside. “You hungry?” He finally decided, was the right thing to say. Or the only thing, really. 

“Yup,” Kita answered. “But ma won’t get us takeout more than once a week. She’s got a real tight leash.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “I’m sure I can loosen it a little.” He grinned at you slightly as you glared over at him halfheartedly. “Hey, say that ma and I get you whatever take out you want… wanna extend that curfew by an hour or somethin’?” 

Sukuna heard a little chuckle on the other line. Kita let out a hum like he was thinking, before answering. “You know what – you kids have fun. I want KFC, by the way.”

“You got it,” Sukuna replied. “See you later, kid.” 

Kita was silent for a moment – Sukuna almost thought that the call had ended like that. But then, he hesitantly replied. “Yeah… I’ll see you at home, pa.” 

Sukuna let out the breath he had been holding. 

You smiled, leaning over. “Can ma get a bye, too?!” 

The call ended. 

“See,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Ki is just like you.”

“Then he’s doomed.” Sukuna said, scoffing, as he looked down at your call history. You had started to back out of the parking lot, ready for the long drive back home. 

Ki-chan       just now

KoKo              four hours ago

Toji                 six hours ago 

“Toji?” Sukuna said aloud, raising a brow at you. 

You were more focused on the roads now, but you nodded. “He’s coming tomorrow. He just asks if I need help with things, usually, but–” A cheeky grin grew on your face. “I have you back now.” 

“The house must be a mess if that deadbeats been the one fixing things,” Sukuna said. 

“Well, you have a lot of projects to work on now that you’re back,” you replied. 

“What’s Toji even been doing, besides messin’ up our house?” Sukuna asked. 

“He told me he’d been visiting you,” you said, your brows furrowing. 

“Doesn’t mean we talk about… our outside lives.” 

“Then what do you talk about?” 

“I don’t know,” Sukuna shrugged. “Stuff.” 

You sighed. “How informative, honey.” You gestured to your phone, still in his hand. “Look through my photos – Toji told you stuff about Megumi or anything?” 

Sukuna frowned. “He’s been taking care of him?” 

“Yeah,” you answered softly. “He’s told me once… you basically gave him a second chance after… Well, he said he wasn’t going to throw it away. That’s how he’s repaying you.” 

“He’s repaying me by taking care of his kid?” Sukuna came across pictures of the first day of school this year. “Wow… Kita grew.” 

“He’s tall,” you nodded. “Super sudden growth spurt, honestly, but he’s been bragging to Yuji all year.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed onto Yuji, who had his arm around Kita’s shoulder, smiling brightly for the picture. Jin and Kaori hadn’t talked to him in years. “How’s the kid?” 

“Yuji?” You clarified. Sukuna grunted. “He’s doing great, a supreme athlete. We have to go to one of his baseball games, you have to see how insane he is. Humanly impossible records… he might beat out your old high school ones.”

Sukuna let out a disgruntled scoff, looking at the other kids in the picture. “Black hair is Megumi… who are the other two?” 

“Kugisaki is the redhead and Yoshino is the other guy,” you replied. “Yoshino’s been friends with Yuji, and Kugisaki is also just in their little group – she came from some village, farther than here, even. She kinda rotates between Yoshino's mom, Jin and me, for food."

Sukuna kept his eyes on the photo for a little longer, remembering the new faces and preparing himself for seeing the grown Yuji, Megumi and Kita, before he swiped to the next picture.

“This Kagu?” You spared a glance at the picture, and nodded, a small smile on your face. 

“Yup. He hadn’t really been excited for middle school… just wants to get into a good high school.” 

“He’s still all reserved?” Sukuna asked, frowning as he looked at the photo of his youngest child. Kagu was standing, all monotone, as he stood still for you to take the picture. He was very different from Kita, who was surrounded by his friends. 

You shrugged. “The teachers have been pointing it out every year – ‘He’s gifted but he’s so quiet.’ I can’t force him to be a talkative kid around other people.” 

“How’s he at home?” 

“Oh my goodness,” you sighed. “He won’t shut up sometimes,” you said with a chuckle. “And yet some teacher recommended speech therapy to me. That’s the last thing he needs, honestly.” 

Sukuna nodded, before swiping to the next picture. 

Immediately, he scowled. “Are kids allowed to wear makeup to school now?”

“Nope,” you grinned. “She came home and complained about having to wash it all off at school.” 

“Why’d you let her go like that, then?”

You shrugged. “She didn’t listen after I told her all morning – that was earned.” 

Sukuna shook his head. “Just yell at her more to make her listen.” 

You shook your head even more firmly, smirking over at him. “Just you wait – teenagers are no fun job, Sukuna. Especially not your teenagers.” 

chapter one | chapter two

[kuurechr]

This blindness I'm condemned to - ryomen sukuna

summary: you've spent your life as a priestess dedicated to the two-faced god known as sukuna. As war descends upon your treasured city you call upon your god for aid only to find that he's taken a particularly special interest in you.

this is greek mythology au, inspired by the story of apollo and cassandra.

word count: 11k

warning: there is some dubious consent in this one, if you’re not comfortable please don’t read.

content: 18+ mdni, smut, dubcon, fem!reader, greek myth, angst, character death, power imbalance, age gap (kinda - he’s a god and she’s mortal), spitting, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, piv, cunnilingus, blow job, depictions of war/sacking of a city, unhappy ending (sorry!)

authors note: was listening to cassandra by florence + the machine on repeat for this one.

Your whole life has been devoted to one thing, the worship of him. 

There’s no moment in your memory that exists without him, his being was intertwined with your very existence. As a child you would spend hours at the temple under the strict orders of your parents, engaging in prayer and offerings. As you grew and matured you underwent training to become a priestess, to dedicate your whole life to him, to Ryomen Sukuna. 

He was great, but terrible. An all-powerful being worthy of reverence. He could make or break nations with the flick of his wrist, cause great plagues or cure impossible ailments, bestow blessings or inflict terrible curses. Such was his nature of being a two-faced god, his mood ever-changing. 

Sukuna was a constant part of your life, and yet he always felt so distant to you. Like some far-off character from a fairy tale that your parents used to tell you. You had faith in his existence of course, the evidence was everywhere. But your modest little life was confined primarily to the four walls of the temple that you had grown up in, so far removed from those brilliant and terrible acts that Sukuna committed across the world. 

Until they weren’t. 

The sleepy city that you had lived in your whole life was drawn abruptly into centre stage, with the crown prince kidnapping a princess from a neighbouring country. 

He had claimed that it was for love, that the woman he had taken wanted to be with him, to be rid of her brute of a husband. But as with all matters of marriage, the woman’s say matters little. So, the offended party called upon his legions of allies and marched upon the city. Your beautiful city, which had only ever lived in peace, turned into a warzone - under constant siege from the enemy at the door, all over a single girl. 

For just one single girl, the eyes of all the gods were keenly watching. Waiting to see what would happen next, who would prevail. The gods all have their favourites of course, leading to them intervening with mortal squabbles in esoteric ways - not wanting to appear as though they’re actively aiding their chosen mortals to avoid open war amongst each other. 

You can’t understand the bloodshed, but you know better than to start questioning the gods and their love for war. That doesn’t stop you from despising the way that the city walls are painted red, the constant clashing of swords, the sound of soldiers taking their last breaths on the battlefield. You hate that no matter how hard you pray for safety, for yourself and your people, that your prayers go completely unanswered. 

But without your piety you have nothing. You’d be stripped of your entire being. So you lock yourself into the temple, spending day after day knelt at the altar, providing offerings for your god and hoping that for once you will be heard. 

Until one day your wishes are answered. 

Things had been perfectly mundane on that warm evening, with you being the only priestess left in the temple, humming to yourself as you went about your usual duties. 

You hadn’t noticed him at first, hadn’t bothered to turn towards the door when you heard it creak open. People were always coming and going, worshippers and priestesses alike. Especially in these troubled times, more and more of the devout would find themselves seeking out answers in the temple, in the hope that their piety would bring a swift end to this war. 

But as the minutes dragged on, it felt as though the air in the temple had grown heavy - oppressive even. Taking a moment to catch your breath, assuming that you must have overexerted yourself whilst sweeping the floors, you braced your hand against the wall. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement, and you instinctively dragged your gaze up towards the door. 

The first thought that crossed your mind as you looked upon the hulking figure in the doorway was that he was beautiful. It was beauty in a devastating sort of way, like watching a volcano erupt - gorgeous, but only if you’re far enough away from the destruction that it will leave in its wake. 

As your eyes trailed over him slowly, taking in the four arms, four striking red eyes, tanned skin littered with tattoos and stained with blood; your second thought was that you were terrified. You found that in your heart was a deep-set sense of fear, screaming at you to look away, to run, to get as far away from him as you possibly could. 

But your body wasn’t capable of doing anything in that moment, feet rooted to the floor and your eyes glued to his form. 

“Shouldn’t you be on your knees, priestess?” His voice was deep and gravelly, the sound felt like it was reverberating through your bones. 

It was as if your body responded instinctively to his order, with you dropping to your knees at his command, head bowed respectfully. You wanted to mumble out an apology, but you found yourself unable to draw upon any sound. 

“That’s better.” He purred. 

There was silence for a moment, before the temple filled with the sound of his heavy footfalls echoing as he approached your kneeling form. He towered over you, heat rolling off his battle-hardened body in waves. You didn’t dare to chance a peek upwards, keeping your eyes firmly on the marble beneath you. 

You flinched a little as he chuckled. There was a sound of fabric shuffling as he crouched down, and all of a sudden a warm feeling of his fingers brushing against your chin, as he firmly raised you into a kneeling position. Tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Heart fluttering a little at his touch, your eyes darted around his face, taking in the striking black lines that ran down his cheeks, the twisted mask that sat on the right side of his face - responsible for his reputation as the two-faced god. Your eyes finally settle on his, which seem to be carefully studying you, a deep intensity burning behind those red irises. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He spoke, his tone almost soft as he dropped his hand from your face. “Tell me your name.” 

You tell him, your words coming out shaky and unsure. A smile spreads across his face at the sound of your voice - perhaps his response should’ve put you at ease, but there’s no warmth in his expression, an involuntary shiver running through you at the sight. 

“Ah, so you are the one I’ve heard of. Good.” 

“You’ve heard of me?” You hate how small your voice sounds. 

He gives you a hum of acknowledgement. “Plenty of the men on this side of the fight mention you, you perform your role diligently. Most of the offerings in my name are coming from this side of the wall, I suppose to some extent I have you to thank.” 

“I just do my duty.” 

“Indeed.” There’s that smile again, all teeth, never quite spreading up to his eyes. “I wonder though, if those men visit my temple so regularly because they are devout, or because they lust after the one who provides the services.” 

Your face went red with the implication. You paid little attention to the desires of men who entered the temple, it’s likely that any attempt at an advance would’ve gone unnoticed by you. You had sworn an oath of chastity when you became a priestess, the wants of men mattered little to you - your only concern was maintaining the sanctity of Sukuna’s sacred halls, anything else was inconsequential. 

“I can’t imagine that anyone would enter here other than for worship.” You responded. 

He stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter, a loud booming sound that echoed around the room. 

“Oh sweetheart, you should hear some of the things that those men out there say about you. The things that they would do to you, if they weren’t so afraid of me.” 

He paused for a second to take in the look of disgust that flickered across your face. 

“I had assumed that those men were exaggerating in their tales of your beauty, that they simply hadn’t had a woman in a long time - but if anything, I’d say they were underselling you. You are something truly divine. It's strange, all these humans squabbling over that fool of a girl, but she’s nowhere near as exquisite as you.”

Your heart was hammering desperately in your chest, wondering for a moment if you might be dreaming, to have him bestow such high praise upon you.

“Thank you…” You whispered. 

“I wish to bestow a blessing on you.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

“A blessing?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. You’d heard of this sort of thing, gods providing all sorts of boons to their favored mortals. For the most part it was men, great heroes among mortals who would receive such gifts, very rarely women. You wondered what he would even expect you to with his blessing - you were no fighter, he couldn’t possibly expect you to wield one of his gifts out on the battlefield. 

“Yes, something to help you perform your role as my priestess more effectively.” 

“How would it work?” 

He seemed to ponder on that for a moment. “I can provide you with the gift of foresight. You’ll be able to see the future, like an oracle of sorts but with much greater clarity. You’d be able to see the outcome of this war.”

You thought about that for a moment. It was an excellent gift, one that would keep you and everyone else safe. It was an ability that most men would kill for. 

“What’s the catch?” You asked. 

Amusement flickered through his red eyes, his lips quirked upwards into a sly smile. “The catch?”

“Yes. You forget that I’m a priestess, I’m well versed in the actions of the gods, and I know that very rarely does a gift come without a price.” You watched his reaction carefully, scanning for any hint of deception in his face, only for him to bark out a short laugh.

“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” He leaned forward, his fingers once again coming to rest on the underside of your chin, skin tingling beneath his touch. “You’re right. Nothing is granted without something being given in return. But, all I ask for now is that you stay true to the vows that you made to become my priestess. That you’ll live to those vows by the letter.” 

That was simple enough, you’d lived by those vows your whole life. A little voice in the back of your head nagged at you though, questioning whether that was truly it, turning over the wording of his statement in your head, trying to comprehend what loophole might exist for him to exploit. But who were you to question your god? You had devoted your life to him already, why would anything change now? 

“Okay.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I agree to those terms.” 

“It’s a deal then.” He responded with a smirk. “Stand up for me.” 

You did as ordered, shakily rising to your feet. You had already felt small on your knees before him, but now that you were standing you somehow felt even smaller, realising how tiny your full height was compared to his - he must’ve stood at around 8ft tall, a true monster of a being. 

“Good.” He purred. “Now open your mouth.”

Once again you followed his command, a light red blush dusting your cheeks as you parted your lips as requested. 

You felt Sukuna’s hands brush through your hair, lightly tugging your head back as he leaned down, his lips just above yours. Your heart was pounding at the proximity, your eyes wide as they gazed uncertainly into his red ones. 

He smiled down at you for a moment, before parting his own lips and spitting into your mouth. The sensation was odd and for a moment you considered spitting it out, but he was quick to bring one of his spare hands to your chin and push your mouth closed. 

“Swallow it.” He ordered. And just like an obedient little devotee should, you gulped down the glob of spit before parting your lips once more and sticking out your tongue to prove you had done as asked.

“There’s a good girl.” He praised you, one hand tenderly stroking your hair, with another gently cupping your face. “The gift will come in time. Don’t be alarmed if you get a little overwhelmed at first, you’ll improve.”

You leant into his touch as spoke, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you. Even though his skin was tough and calloused, he radiated warmth. It was pleasant to be at his side, to bathe in that divine light that he seemed to give off. It was as though something safe and familiar was wrapping around you, keeping you protected. 

“I need to take my leave.” He said, a hint of disappointment seeping into his tone. “Things amongst the gods are tense right now, I cannot be away from my station for too long. But I will be back, my little priestess, to make sure that you’re still holding up your side of our deal.”

And with that, before you could say anything more, he was gone. The only evidence of his presence being the sweet aftertaste that his saliva left on your tongue.

—

For days after the encounter you wondered if you’d dreamt it all up. Life continued as normal, the war raging on outside the city walls, with you tending to your duties in the temple as you always had. Perhaps the extra pressure that had been on your shoulders since the war began had been getting to you, so desperate for a sliver of attention from your god that you had built yourself a pleasant little fantasy. 

But then the visions started. 

At first they were only present while you slept, distant and confusing dreams with meanings just out of reach. But slowly and surely they started to seep into your waking life. An embrace with your mother, brushing hands with a fellow priestess, your shoulder bumping against a stranger’s - each interaction led to vivid imagery filling your mind. You could see their lives, the near and the distant. You could see all the branching possibilities of choices that they could take, and the impact that those options seemed to have on their outcomes. The visions always ultimately ended the same way though, with the person’s demise - one way or another. 

Sukuna’s suggestion that his blessing would be overwhelming was something of an understatement. In reality, his gift constituted complete agony. So many images that it was impossible to really make sense of any of them, far too much input making your brain feel like it was overloading at any given moment. It was hard to even understand which vision belonged to who, whether what you were seeing was a memory of your own life or a future of another’s. 

A small mercy was in your inability to see your own future. You were able to see yourself in a handful of the visions that appeared for your mother, as if watching through her eyes - but the full extent of your own future remained a mystery. That was probably best for the sake of your sanity. 

Sukuna had said that you’d improve at using his gift, so perhaps all you needed was time, a greater amount of experience with those jarring images before they’d finally start to make sense. But that didn’t stop you from wishing that he’d given you just a little more guidance, a handful of tips to lessen the gift’s burden on you would’ve gone a long way. 

Several weeks passed by before Sukuna finally returned to your temple. 

It was late at night when he finally manifested in the doorway, and once again you were the only priestess present. You’d taken to sleeping in the temple since the visions had started. Sleeping at your home would conjure an endless stream of images surrounding your family’s fate, keeping you awake through the night. In the temple your brain was eerily quiet, as though residing in Sukuna’s holy place was shielding you from seeing too much too quickly. 

You were curled up on the cool marble at the foot of the altar, already half-asleep when his heavy footfalls reached you. He knelt down beside you as you stirred, your tired eyes taking in his form. 

“How do you feel, my little priestess?” He asked. “Struggling with your gift?”

You willed your body to sit up, wiping sleep from your eyes as you did so. 

“I see so many things.” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper, you hadn’t done much speaking in the last few weeks, doing everything that you could to avoid contact with other people, in the hopes that you could keep your mind as clear as possible.

“Hmm, I bet.” 

“I can’t be around my family. I can’t touch anyone or my mind becomes overwhelmed with how much I’m shown.” You continued. “I feel that it may be more of a curse than a blessing.”

You didn’t realise your mistake until you noticed a frown settle across his features. 

“Are you not grateful for my gift?” He asked.

“Oh, no I-”

“Because I don’t grant boons to just anyone.” He said, as he stood up to his full height. “You’re special, I’ve granted you my attention, you should be weeping at my feet with thanks and instead you’re complaining like some ungrateful little brat.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I didn't mean it that way, it's just I can’t control it - it's painful for me.” 

You looked up at him with desperation in your eyes, hopeful that he’d be forgiving enough to accept your explanation. After a moment his face softened slightly.

“Let me help you. I’ll show you just how much of a gift this skill truly is.”

He reached down to you, gripping your hand and tugging you to your feet. The second that your skin made contact you were faced with the familiar onslaught of imagery. This particular tidal wave was more intense than anything you had encountered so far, for a god’s life was infinite - no death to signpost the end of what you could witness. 

You pulled your hand away from his quickly, as though you’d been shocked. “Please don’t touch me! It's too much...” 

He looked back at you incredulously. 

“How do you think you’re going to learn if you keep running?” He asked. “You have to open yourself up to foresight or you’ll never get any better. Seeing my future is the most overwhelming thing you’ll ever encounter, if you can even slightly come to grips with that, you’ll have no problem sorting through the futures of boring little mortals.” 

He sat down on one of the marble benches situated around the perimeter of the temple, gesturing for you to join him. He was spread out across the seat, his hulking form taking up most of the space. You were just about to perch yourself right at the end when his deep voice echoed out across the temple.

“Not there.” 

You looked at him, tilting your head a little in confusion. Your eyes followed his hand as it reached down to his thigh, tapping the surface invitingly. 

“I- uh–, no it's okay.” You could feel heat blossoming across your face at the idea of being in such close contact with him. 

“I’m not asking. I thought your job was to comply with my wishes? You’ll do as you’re told.” His tone was stern and it sent your heart racing in your chest. You hadn’t intended your words to come across as defiance, your response instead formed from years of politely declining any advance from men. 

“Sorry.” You apologise for your second fumble with him that evening, shuffling towards him and delicately perching upon his thigh. Perhaps leaning was a more appropriate term for it, with you keeping the tips of your toes on the cool floor, trying not to place all of your weight on him. 

He said nothing, but it was evident that this displeased him from the flicker of annoyance that passed through his eyes. He wrapped one of his four muscular arms tight around your waist and pulled you closer, your feet raising off the ground as he sat you properly on his lap, your upper body pressed up against his broad, bare chest. 

Once again, the flood of images that filled your mind was unbearable. So many visions that the temple around you completely disappeared, all of your senses completely overrun by Sukuna and the future that awaited him. It felt like the very fabric of your mind was being torn apart at the seams and rewritten with only that which you could currently see. 

The number of images was so vast that it was impossible to make heads or tails of any of it. It was as though you’d been pulled under the surface by a wave, stuck tumbling beneath the water, desperately needing to breathe but unable to comprehend which way was up. 

For a moment it felt like you had lost yourself completely, that you were stuck in this infinite loop of Sukuna’s future. Until the sound of his gravelly voice pulled you back, anchoring you to something real. 

You could hear him speaking, from some distant place, soothing you - praising you. All of sudden you could feel the sensation of his large hand on your waist, rubbing gentle circles into your side. You could hear his thunderous heartbeat where your head was resting against his chest. Reality no longer felt like something far off in the distance, but something that you could reach out and touch if you just willed yourself to. 

As you focused intently on that rhythmic thud of his heart, you slowly felt your grip on the world return once more. The visions in your head were still there, playing along in the background, but they were passing by more slowly now, much more of a stream than a flood. Something that you could push into the very back of your mind if you needed to.

You let out a relieved little laugh, a sense of pride swelling up in your chest as you looked up to him, seeking out his validation. He was regarding you with amusement, a slight smirk on his lips. 

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“I- No, I suppose not.” You responded breathlessly. 

“You just have to tether yourself, never let it sweep you away, lest you lose your mind entirely.”

The two of you sat there in silence for a moment, his hand still pressed firmly against your waist. It was a comforting feeling, to be so completely enveloped in his warmth. 

As you sat, you started to take notice of the visions that were reeling through the back of your mind. You hadn’t thought much of them at first, witnessing grand events that seemed to take place so far from your lifetime, in foreign lands that were unrecognisable to you. But as you watched for longer, the images became more familiar. Places that you knew, people that you knew, all encountering great despair and ruin. All viewed through Sukuna’s eyes. 

You encounter a scene that has you as the centrepiece. You, on your knees outside the temple, sobbing over the bodies of your family which were strewn out across the blood-soaked cobblestones. The city was burning around you, and all you could hear was Sukuna’s booming laughter. 

You were quick to jump to your feet, distancing yourself from him and by extension the images that his touch provided. He looked towards you, red eyes questioning. 

“Something wrong?” He asked. 

You frowned, barely registering his question. That scene was playing on a loop in your mind. You had to be looking at it the wrong way, right? You were misinterpreting things. Sukuna had provided you with this great gift, had taken time to teach you how to use it - he wouldn’t bring about ruin to you. You were far from an expert on foresight, it was foolish to jump to conclusions. 

And yet, as you looked at him, his expression quizzical, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that sat in your gut. 

“No - I’m fine.” You lied. “Just a little disoriented.”

You knew that he didn’t believe you, your hesitance to answer was far too telling, and he made no effort to disguise the skepticism that was written all over his face. But instead of questioning it further he just shot you a cunning smile. 

“Make sure to practice more on mortals now you’ve got the hang of it - you should find it easy now.” 

He rose from his seat, giving you a once over, waiting to see if you had anything to add. Perhaps he was hoping you’d share whatever you were hiding, as after a few beats of silence he let out a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll return in a few weeks to check on you, little priestess.”

And just like the last time, a moment later he was gone. 

—

The next few weeks were far less painful than the last. It seemed that following Sukuna’s lesson you had finally gotten to grips with your newfound ability. 

You wasted no time in putting the new skill to use, greeting disciples at the temple each day and offering to peer into their future. You would take their hand briefly and inform them of their fate - occasionally you would bring up different pathways they could take, which choices they should steer clear of to avoid tragedy. 

However, it was rare that you would share absolutely everything with a person whose future you were seeing, it didn’t feel right to explain to them how they were going to die, especially when this was generally a fixture in every one of their potential futures. Death was the only certainty for mortals after all. 

It felt good though, to be able to help with the smaller things. Offering the people of your city advice on what actions to take day to day to improve their lives. More and more of the soldiers had been coming in recently, asking about the outcomes of their upcoming battles, and what they could do to outmaneuver the attacking forces. Wherever you could see an answer to give them, you would provide it willingly - eager to help put an end to this war. 

Your prophetic abilities had become well known across the city, with even some of the invading force slowly becoming aware of your feats. But this fame was something of a double edged sword - it was hard to find a moment alone anymore, with crowds of citizens flooding to the temple to get their fortunes told. 

Not to mention, your renown brought in plenty of sceptics who either claimed that your skills were a hoax, or branded you as a witch who needed to be disposed of. But as a priestess of Sukuna you were used to drawing the ire of certain groups, so you simply brushed off all the criticism and continued on with your duties - that’s what Sukuna had demanded of you after all. 

Yet, as you read more and more fates, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had been sitting in your stomach since your last meeting with the god. The most common death that you encountered in all of your visions, was the individual perishing violently in this very city, fire burning all around them. 

You had informed several of the soldiers of this, concerned that it may be a plot of the invading force, something that they could perhaps avoid if they were made aware of it in the first place. But unlike most other scenes that you encountered when learning a person’s fate, the image of the burning city was never preceded by anything useful - nothing that could tell you how the situation manifested, as though a connecting scene was being intentionally obscured from your view.

And as you watched more and more futures, all with the same fate, you began to dwell on what you had seen in Sukuna’s own future, on the image of you on your knees amongst all of that fiery chaos. 

You didn’t like to doubt him, it wasn’t your place to do so. As a priestess your entire role was unmoving obedience to him, but there was a tiny voice in your head telling you that something was amiss, that he wasn’t quite what he seemed. 

But what were you to do? As long as your visions were obscured there was no evidence of foul play beyond your own uncertainties. It was better to trust him. After all, it’s well documented that no mortal who turns against a god ever ends up happy. 

—

The next time he came to visit you were in the midst of prayer. Knelt down before the altar at the back of the temple. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him approach, only registering his presence when a large hand came to rest on the back of your neck. 

“I’m not really listening, you know.”

You flinched in surprise, quickly sitting up and twisting to look at him. For once he looked quite pristine, no blood marring his tanned skin in the way it had been on his previous visits. His expression amused as he gazed down at you. 

“You…aren’t?” 

“No. I’m a busy man, if I had to listen to every prayer and pay attention to every offering I’d never get anything done.” He said, matter of factly. 

“Oh…” 

“I always know when someone’s doing it though, I get this warm sensation deep in my bones - it's pleasant.” 

“I see.” You paused for a moment, deep in thought. “I suppose that’s why you never responded to me then?” 

“Hmm?” His brow was raised questioningly. 

“When this war first started, I spent day after day making offerings and praying, begging you to do something to bring an end to this. But nothing ever happened. I suppose you just never heard any of that.” 

He shrugged. “I suppose not. The list of people begging for my help at all hours is endless, I can’t give everyone attention.” He shifted forward, reaching out a hand to tenderly brush your cheek. “But you have my attention now, my little priestess. I answered your wish for aid didn’t I? Granted you your foresight, is that not the miracle that you had been praying for?” 

You hummed softly. You had been bracing yourself for another tidal wave of imagery to overcome at his touch, but none appeared this time. Your confusion must have been evident on your face because he let out a low chuckle. 

“Even with your control, it's not good for a mortal to see too much of a god’s fate, I’d prefer for your sanity to remain intact, so I’m keeping you out of my head for now, sweetheart.”

You frowned, irritated by this development. You were desperate to see those visions again, to seek out answers on the fate of your city. His sharp gaze was carefully fixated on you, his expression unreadable. 

“Something wrong?” He asked. 

“I– I saw something in your future, something that I couldn’t explain. It’s been weighing on my mind.” You spoke. 

His expression remained neutral, almost bored as he waited for you to continue. 

“In the vision, this city was burning. Everyone other than me seemed to have perished, and you were there, laughing.” Your voice came out a little shaky as you spoke, not wanting to draw his ire in any way. You directed your gaze down to the floor, almost fearful to witness his reaction. “I mean- it was probably just a misunderstanding right? It's not like I had mastered the gift back then, but I see fire and death in many people’s fates so I have to bring it up.”

He studied you for a moment before speaking. 

“It's likely not a misunderstanding.” You raised your head up to stare at him in shock. “It sounds like something I’m capable of.” He continued, his voice lacking in any real emotion. “But what you were witnessing was simply one of many outcomes of how things can play out, you should understand how it works by now.”

You flinched a little as one of his hands slid around your neck, his thumb rubbing gently over your pulse point, not applying any pressure but just resting there as a silent threat. 

“That vision is likely your fate should you do something to displease me, should you break our sacred vow.” He explained. “Perhaps, you’re already on the path to betrayal, my little priestess.” 

His grip on your neck tightened slightly and you let out a tiny little gasp. 

“After all, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you were doubting me. Doubting that I’d take care of you after I’ve been nothing but generous.” 

“No- I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything by it!” Your hands reached up to his, trying to pry his fingers from your neck, but he was immovable. 

“Hmmm. I’ve been so good to you, have offered you nothing but kindness and guidance, and now you repay me with suspicion? It hurts, you know?”

“Sorry-” You rasped. It was becoming harder to breathe with his firm grip on your neck. 

“I’m going to need more than that, little priestess. How about you show me a little gratitude for once?” One of his hands moved into your hair, playing gently with the strands while a third hand moved to your shoulder, toying with the strap of your dress. His fourth hand finally came to settle on your waist, pulling you in closer to him. 

“Gratitude?” You squeaked out, your gaze dropping down to his hands resting on your body.

“Mmm.” He moved his hand slowly from your waist to your ass, squeezing gently. “You’re going to give yourself to me. Show me how grateful you really are for everything I’ve provided to you.”

Your blood ran cold at the realisation of what he was asking of you, your hands moving up to his chest to try and push yourself away from his grip. 

“I’m s-sorry, I can’t...I can’t break my oath of chastity, to be a priestess I must remain pure.” Your heart was thumping in your chest as you denied him, suddenly aware of what a precarious situation you were in. All alone in a temple, with a god who could nullify your existence with a flick of his wrist. 

Fear spiked through you as you looked up at his stormy facial expression. He didn’t budge at your attempts to move away from him, gripping you firmly.

“But your body belongs to me, doesn’t it? Isn’t that what you promised when you became my priestess, that your body, mind and soul are all completely devoted to me?”

“Yes, but-” 

“But what?” He scoffed as he leaned closer, breath fanning your face. “Do you honestly think that you, my little inconsequential priestess, are in a position to deny me?” 

The fingers tangled in your hair were tugging a little on the strands now, pulling you close so that his lips could brush against the shell of your ear. 

“Besides, be honest with yourself, you know you want me - I‘m your god.”

And with that he released you, dropping you unceremoniously back to the floor. Both sets of his arms were crossed as he examined you.

“Stand up and remove your clothes.” He ordered. 

You remained frozen for a moment, before slowly pulling yourself up to standing. Your cheeks started to burn and you diverted your gaze to the ground as you slowly removed your dress, leaving you standing in your undergarments. A shiver ran through you as the cool air in the temple kissed your skin, the hair on your arms standing up. 

“Take off everything.” He said, “I want to see all of what’s mine.” 

You could barely hear him, a battle warring in your head. This was wrong - you had made a promise to live your life in purity, to remain untouched by any man. And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. He was no man after all - he was the god that you had taken your vows for in the first place, surely that changed the rules? Besides, there was no denying the tingling feeling in your stomach at the thought of his closeness, the way your skin heated up whenever he touched you. 

To deny him and lose everything: your gift, your position as a priestess, even your city. Or, to fall into sin for him, to give yourself over fully in exchange for his favor. What choice did you really have?

So, as requested, you shimmied yourself free from your undergarments, heart racing as you stood completely bare before him. Nervously you looked up, meeting his enthused expression, his mouth drawn back into a wide grin.

“There’s a good girl.” He praised as he admired your form, taking in every inch of your body. You felt a little shy beneath the intensity of his gaze, for no man had ever seen you in this state of undress before. 

He approached slowly, savoring that sweet, unsure expression that sat on your face. It suited you. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asked softly, his breath warm against your skin as he brought a hand to your waist, pulling your smaller body against him. “Just let me take what I want…” 

Keeping you flush against him, he crashed his lips into yours. It was rough for a first kiss, not tender and romantic as you had imagined it to be when you were young, but dominating and all-encompassing. 

One of his hands snaked around the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss, as his tongue pushed against your lips, demanding entrance. You were quick to comply, opening your mouth a little. It was an odd sensation, feeling his tongue brush against yours. It felt a little humiliating, that you were so clumsy with your movement, clearly lacking in experience compared to him. 

He pulled back for a moment, grinning down at you. “First kiss, sweetheart?” 

Your face turned a deep shade of red, embarrassed that he’d draw attention to your obvious innocence, making you feel small and foolish beneath him.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He dove back in without waiting for a response, leaning down over you to make up for your height difference. It was a little uncomfortable to crane your neck up to meet him, a discomfort that he must’ve shared, for he reached two arms behind your thighs and picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist so that you were closer to his level. 

Slowly the kisses become easier, more familiar, his tongue flicking against yours as you sink in against him. You were so focussed on the kiss that you were caught off guard when one of his hands made its way down to your breast, giving it a firm squeeze. You jumped a little, pulling back in surprise. 

He smirked at you. “Problem, little priestess?” 

Maintaining eye contact with you, his fingers moved to your nipple, deftly pinching it. You let out something between a yelp and whimper, the action sending heat pulsing through your legs, and in that moment you became acutely aware of your position - completely naked and wrapped around him.

“Oh? Does that feel good? Can feel that pretty pussy of yours leaking against my stomach.” 

He brought another hand up to your other breast, his remaining hands clutching at your thighs and holding you up. He ran his fingers over the other nipple, watching as it peaked under his touch, before bringing his lips to your neck, sucking marks into your soft skin. 

Whimpering, you arched your back, your legs squeezing against his waist as you tried to bring yourself closer to him. It was hard to think straight with his hands on you like this, your body acting on its own, desperate for more of him. 

You were just starting to get used to all of these new sensations when you suddenly felt a foreign wetness between your legs. You yelped out in shock as you looked down, met with the sight of a large mouth that had opened on his stomach, a monstrous tongue sticking out from it, lapping at your pussy. 

There was a part of you that felt as though you should be horrified, but that reasonable section of your brain was quickly overruled by the pleasure that this new appendage was granting you. He was lapping at your pussy without restraint, the tip of the tongue running up and down your folds, occasionally flicking at your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure shooting through you. 

Sweet cries of his name left your lips, echoing across the chamber as your fingers dug into his biceps. He chuckled as he continued to bite at your neck, still paying great attention to your nipples. You could feel an odd sensation building up in your abdomen, like a dam about to burst. 

“S-Sukuna!” You whined. “Something’s wrong-” 

He ignored you, continuing with his ministrations. He was no fool, he knew exactly what you were referring to and was certainly not going to stop now. The multiple sources of pleasure were becoming too overwhelming, and that knot in your stomach tightened further. 

“Please-” You begged. One of his hands moved down to your clit, applying a little pressure which finally sent you over the edge. That knot in your abdomen snapped and you came, letting out a cry of his name as you had your first orgasm on his tongue. 

“Good girl.” He cooed, petting gently at your hair as he carried you over to one of the marble benches, taking a seat and carefully positioning your naked body in his lap. “That felt good huh?”

You nodded, your mind still a little hazy from what had just happened, your body felt limp, as though you’d just swam a great distance. Before you could have much of a chance to recover, one of his hands was between your legs, fingers running through your folds, getting you used to his touch. 

“Need to get you ready for me.” He spoke as he slowly started to press a finger into your opening. He held you still as you started to struggle in his grip. “It’ll hurt more if you move about too much.” 

Placing your trust in him you stayed as still as possible, letting him slowly ease his finger into you. It was painful, the burning sensation of having something inside you for the first time, but all it took was a few moments for the discomfort to subside. He curled his finger inwards a little, letting it rub against a pleasant spot inside you and causing you to clench around him.

“Mmm, there we go.” He hummed as he slowly pushed in a second finger, repeating the process over again until you seemed comfortable with the stretch. He rubbed at your clit with the palm of his hand as he started to move his fingers more quickly. 

You braced your hands against him, burying your face into his chest to try and hide your embarrassment at the obscene sounds that were echoing with each movement of his fingers inside your wet pussy. He was revelling in it, loving how tight you felt around his fingers, wondering just how good you’d feel wrapped around his cock instead. 

“Feel good?” He asked. 

You nodded, unable to find any words in that moment. You could already feel that pressure building up once again, each careful flick of his fingers driving you wild as he struck that spongy spot inside you over and over again.

Leaning forward, he captured your lips with his, and the affection of that action was the final push that you needed to reach your second release, gushing around his thick fingers as you let out a sweet little whine against his mouth.

He pulled his fingers out of you before bringing them up to your mouth. 

“Clean them.” He ordered. 

You complied without any complaint, parting your lips and taking his fingers into your mouth and sucking on them obediently until he deemed them to be clean enough. 

“You’re so eager to please.” He praised, lifting you off his lap and placing you back down on the marble floor at his feet, propped up on your knees. 

He kept his eyes on you as he removed his own clothing, dropping his robes to the ground. You’d never seen a real man bare before, and you weren’t sure what you were expecting - but it certainly wasn’t this. The statues that you’d seen of naked men couldn’t hold a candle to the immense magnitude of the cock that hung between Sukuna’s legs. The sheer size of it had your mind riddled with fear at the thought that he was going to try and fit it inside of you. 

His expression was smug as he watched the horror play out across your face. He was fully aware of how big he was and revelled in watching your reaction, already thinking about how lovely you were going to look all stretched out around him. 

“Let's see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.” He suggested, gesturing down to his cock. “You do want to please me, don’t you? After how much pleasure I’ve given you.”

Reluctantly you shuffled forwards, crouching before him as you gripped his cock with your much smaller hands. Experimentally you brought your lips to the tip, giving it a few tentative licks. He left you to your own devices for a few moments, waiting to see what you would do.

“You need to do more than that, sweetheart. No need to be scared.” He soothed as his hand came to rest on the back of your head, pushing you towards his cock. 

You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around him. It was a tight fit, with you struggling to open up wide enough to take him in. He let you adjust for a moment, watching as you became more comfortable with the feeling of him in your mouth, before he started to push his cock further down your throat. 

You felt yourself starting to gag at the sensation as he slid deeper into your mouth, struggling to breathe. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath through your nose and tried to centre yourself before slowly starting to bob your head, taking him slightly deeper each time, finding your rhythm as you did your best to appease him. 

He let out a groan of pleasure, loving how your warm mouth felt nestled around his cock. He could feel his own release building as he stared down at you. You looked so pretty on your knees before him. Drool was dropping down your chin, and your eyes were glassy as you looked up at him - a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks, a sight that made his cock jump. 

The grip that he had on your hair tightened and he took control of the pace, moving you up and down on his cock as he chased his orgasm. A few thrusts later and he was cumming in your mouth, your nose pressed up against his abdomen as he released deep in your throat. 

“Swallow it.” He muttered out through gritted teeth, his ego satisfied as he watched your throat bob around him. 

He pulled himself out, and in an instant he had you down on the marble floor, all spread out in front of him, your legs parted allowing him easy access. He admired you openly, his gaze trailing down to your pussy, liquid dripping to the floor below from the two previous orgasms that he’d granted you. 

“So pretty…” He mused as he positioned himself over you, pushing your legs further apart to allow space for his body between them. 

Fear was clouding your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart beating desperately within your ribcage. To him, it was a beautiful sight, to have you completely at his mercy like this. He rubbed his cock teasingly up and down your slit, occasionally catching your clit with the very tip and eliciting a moan from you, leaving you shaking a little each time - still overstimulated from your previous release. 

“You want this, pretty girl?” He teased, staring down at your tear-stricken face. 

“Yes, please–” you rasped. 

“Mmm, I don’t know…I think you could want it more.” He said, intent on dragging this out, to make it more humiliating for you as your cheeks began to burn. 

“Please Sukuna, I want it, I want you-” 

That was more than enough convincing for him as he slowly started to push the fat tip of his cock into you. More tears sprung to your eyes at the immense stretch that he was causing, your body struggling to cope with his massive size. You let out a cry of pain, your fingernails digging into his arms desperately as the pain grew in intensity. 

“No, please- it's too much!” You begged. 

“Shhhhh.” He cooed affectionately, one of hands moving to stroke your hair gently. “You’re doing such a good job, being such a good girl for me, just relax and take it.” 

You took a deep breath, trying your best to adjust to the stretch as Sukuna edged his way further into you, letting out a satisfied little sigh as he bottomed out inside you. You were so warm and tight, he felt like he was in paradise with you wrapped so snugly around him. 

It was less pleasant for you, your legs quivering as you tried to grit your teeth and withstand the pain. You’d heard plenty of tales from women about how it felt to have your innocence taken, that it would be painful at first but eventually it would give way to pleasure. So, with Sukuna completely filling you up and overwhelming your senses, you found comfort in those tales - you just needed to push through the pain. 

Whilst you were battling your inner turmoil, you felt Sukuna snake a hand down between the two of you, his fingers brushing against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you which momentarily overwrote the burn of having him inside you. 

“Just relax.” His fingers rubbed circles against your clit, slowly leading the pain to give way to pleasure. “Feels good doesn’t it?” His eyes were locked on yours, watching you closely as he felt your pussy tighten around him. 

You let out a little whimper of agreement, and that was all he needed to hear before he started moving, filling you up with deep and hard thrusts, his fingers still pressing against your clit. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding purchase on his back, nails digging into him with each brutal thrust. 

He leant down, bringing his face into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin and leaving a trail of red marks in his wake. He continued a path down your body, kissing softly at your breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking at it meanly for a few moments before sucking on it, leading you to arch your body into him with pleasure. 

As he continued to thrust into you, you felt that familiar warmth building up in your stomach, sent spiralling over the edge once more as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you which had you seeing stars. You let out a cry of ecstasy, your vision going white for a moment as you clenched around him. 

His laughter was echoing around the chamber. “There’s my good girl, huh? You look so pretty cumming around my cock like that, squeezing me so fucking tight.” You could barely register his words, your ears ringing as you slowly came down from your high. 

A few thrusts later and Sukuna was pulling out of you, leaving you a little confused and disoriented as he pulled you up onto your feet, manhandling you over to the altar at the back of the temple. He stood you before it for a moment before placing a large hand between your shoulder blades, bending you forward over it. 

Your body felt exhausted and you complied without a concern. In the back of your mind you could hear a faint voice telling you how sacrilegious it was to dirty an altar with lust like this, in a place that was meant to be a sanctuary - it was unforgivable. But in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, giving yourself to him fully. 

His hands ran tenderly down your back, tracing along the curve of your spine until they rested on your ass. He paused there for a moment, admiring your form in the moonlight, before positioning his cock back against your pussy and slowly easing himself in. 

You let out a little gasp, but the stretch wasn’t nearly as painful this time, not after he’d already had you cumming around his cock once. It was as if he’d moulded you to his shape now, which was far from a problem considering that he was the only man who would ever lay hands on you. 

He watched with amusement as you scrambled to grab at the marble of the altar, knuckles turning white as you struggled to hold on under the weight of his thrusts. Two of his hands were gripping your hips tightly, holding you still as he fucked into you at a merciless pace, balls slapping rhythmically against your clit and adding to the pleasure. One of his hands curled into your hair, pulling your head back so that he could more clearly hear the cute little sounds leaving your mouth - the moans and whimpers of his name. 

This position felt even better than the last, his cock reaching so deep in your pussy, hitting that one spongy spot inside you over and over again, your orgasm building up even faster this time as you teetered right on the edge. 

“O-Oh, I’m going to–” 

“Are you going to cum for me again, pretty girl?” He asked, his pace increasing as he leaned forward over you, the tip of his cock reaching an even deeper spot inside you. “F-Fuck sweetheart, you’re so tight, feels so good.” The stutter in his voice had your heart leaping with pride, the idea that your god would be so proud of you, so contented with what you had to offer to him meant everything to you.

And just like that, he had you cumming again. You probably would’ve collapsed to the floor after that one if not for his hands on your hips keeping you up. The speed of his thrusts didn’t relent, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing across the temple. 

“T-that’s it pretty girl, just stay still.” He was groaning against your ear, so much of his weight resting on top of your much smaller body. “I’m so close. Need to fill you up.” You let out a small strangled whine, feeling utterly helpless beneath his body. 

A few thrusts later and he was cumming, sheathed to the hilt inside you as he did so. He let out a low groan and held you still beneath him, wanting to make sure that you took all of his seed into you, not wanting to see any go to waste. You let out a whimper at the foreign sensation of him finishing inside you, feeling entirely too full as that hot, thick substance was released into you. 

You lay still beneath him against the altar, unable to move until he finally pulled away, removing his cock from your sore pussy. As you pushed yourself up from the altar you felt some of his cum dripping down your leg and for a moment, in some far off part of your brain, you registered how much of a sin you had just committed, how much of yourself you had just given away. But before you could dwell on it, Sukuna was holding out his hand, pulling you over to one of the benches where he placed you carefully in his lap, holding you close against his body. 

Contrary to popular belief, he took good care of what belonged to him. 

—

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there in Sukuna’s arms, not long enough for the sun to have risen, for silver moonlight was still floating through the window when you awakened. The god was still there below you, breathing softly as though he were at total peace with the world.

For a moment you felt happy - glad that you had been provided with such undivided attention from him. You were just a mortal, completely insignificant to most, but not to him. What more could you ask for? 

And yet, as soon as that thought crossed your mind the visions returned in full force. It was as though Sukuna had let his guard down in his slumber. They weren’t overwhelming this time - you’d gotten far too good with your foresight for that. But part of you wished that they were still incomprehensible to you, for that would’ve been a greater mercy than coming to terms with the fate that you were witnessing. 

Because this time, you saw everything. 

The city aflame, the invading forces spilling out of a great wooden horse that they had presented as a gift, a sign of peace. A cunning betrayal that led to them ransacking the streets, slaughtering and pillaging as they went. You watched in horror as citizens were ripped from their homes, the men killed and the women taken as prizes for the victors. 

Sukuna was there in these visions, standing by and watching the massacre, making no move to provide any sort of aid, a cruel grin stretched across his face at the sight of such glorious bloodshed. He’d always been such a fan of war. 

In an instant you were brought back to reality, scrambling desperately out of his lap, desperate for some distance from him and the horrors that you had just witnessed. 

He awoke with your movement, red eyes fixing on you with interest as he noticed your defensive figure, eyes wide and your body trembling. 

“Bad dream?” He asked calmly. He was no fool, and the look on his face made it clear that he was well aware that there was more to it than that. 

“You– you’re going to let this city fall to ruin.” You accused, your voice shaking. 

He tilted his head at you. “So?” 

It felt like your heart stopped at his blatant dismissal of your accusation. You couldn’t comprehend how he could respond in such an uninterested manner. This place was your whole world, the citizens of your city were everything to you. You’d just become aware that he was going to stand by and allow tragedy to take place, that he was going to let everyone you’d ever loved die, and all he could care to say was ‘so’?

“You promised–” 

“I didn’t promise you anything.” He cut you off, raising to his full height. “I said I’d give you a blessing, and I did. Don’t you think it's greedy to demand more from me? You should know your place.”

You were shaking with anger now. “But, you said it was likely only the outcome if I were to betray you! I gave you everything - I laid with you to show you my loyalty and gratitude, surrendered my very innocence and you’re still going to let this city burn.” Tears sprung to your eyes, running down your cheeks. 

“Yes, I am.” He said simply. “But I won’t let that be your fate. I want to keep you for myself, little priestess.” He reached out for you, hands caressing your hair for a moment before you stepped away. 

“Don’t touch me.” You spat. It made you feel sick, the way that he spoke about you. It was as though you were nothing more than a pet to him, something pretty and easily appeased with no existence or desires outside of your relation to him. He didn’t consider you to be a citizen of this city, didn’t consider that you were a daughter, a sister, a friend. He couldn’t comprehend your care for anyone other than him.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it mere hours ago.” Your face twisted in disgust at his words. “Perhaps I just need to fuck you again, you seemed plenty compliant when I had you bent over that altar.” 

You took another step back, fearful of what he might do should you get too close. “Don’t come anywhere near me. I saw the whole plan, I’m going to tell my people not to accept that gift, I’m going to make sure that this city stays standing.” 

He sighed. “So be it.”

His body was on you before you could move, taking you down to the marble floor. One of his hands grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them above your head, the weight of his body keeping you still beneath him. 

Another hand caressed your face tenderly as he gazed down at you. But as you met his eyes, you found that there was no warmth behind them, just the cold and calculating stare of an immortal being who couldn’t care less about the life or fate of any mortal. 

“Last chance, sweetheart.” He spoke. “You can survive this. You can belong to me completely, stay at my side, be mine to enjoy whenever I choose. Wasn’t that what you always wanted anyway? To have my attention? I’ll grant it to you.” 

“In exchange for a whole city?” You asked incredulously. 

“What do they matter, really? What can silly little mortals provide you that I can’t? Don’t be foolish, my pretty little priestess.” He could see your expression waving, a feeling of total helplessness washing over you as you lay beneath him. “Besides, you enjoyed getting fucked by me, didn’t you? I could see how good I made you feel - I can give you that all the time.” 

His tone was almost convincing, but as you studied his face you found that his facade was entirely transparent. He didn’t care for you, he wasn’t capable of care. Even if he saved you from your fate today, one day he would tire of you and dispose of you in the same way that he’s disposed of thousands of other mortals. You’d just be his pet, a temporary source of entertainment. 

“I’m telling everyone what I saw.” You said evenly. “I’m done being your priestess.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile which reeked of mockery. 

“What a shame.” He whispered, one of his hands made their way up to your mouth, forcing your lips apart as he lent in close to you. “No one will ever believe you.” And with that he spat into your open mouth before quickly forcing it shut with his hand.

Your eyes widened in horror as you felt the globule of spit sit in your mouth. He was staring down at you expectantly, and you did your best to hold it there in your mouth, hoping that by some divine intervention you may be able to escape your fate.

You struggled against him, trying to push him off you, to remove his hand from your face. If you could just spit it out and tell one person what you had seen, you could save everyone. But Sukuna was far stronger than you, and he had nothing but time - keeping you locked in position until your mouth grew so dry that you involuntarily found yourself swallowing what he had given you. 

Your blessing had become a curse. 

“There we go.” he purred, before standing up. He looked down at your body with disdain. “I’m disappointed. I would’ve liked to play with you longer - but I’ll settle for witnessing your despair instead.” He turned to leave. 

“Why?” Your voice came out ragged and broken, and he glanced over his shoulder at you, waiting for further elaboration. 

“Why does this city have to burn?” You asked. 

He shrugged. “We gods always use these silly little mortal wars to settle disputes amongst each other. In this case I stand with the gods who favor the men laying siege, so I’ll allow this city to burn for them.” 

“But, they’re my people–”

“And what does that matter to me? All of you mortals are always so petty - they’d all be dead in 80 years anyway, what difference does a few years make?” 

You opened your mouth to respond but he was already gone, nothing but empty space where he had previously stood.

Gathering yourself together as best you could, you ran out into the street. The sun was rising over the city now and the battlefield was quiet. Perhaps if you were quick you’d be able to pass the message on before Sukuna’s curse set in. 

You banged on doors and cried out in the street, approaching every person that you saw to warn them. But it all fell upon deaf ears. Your tale of the great horse and the men hiding inside it was brushed aside with ridicule and laughter. 

Even your family, when you finally made your way back home at midday, were unreceptive to your message. They suggested that maybe you needed a lie down, that you’d been spending far too much time at the temple and were losing your grip on reality. 

It was just as Sukuna had said: no one will ever believe you. 

It was regret that filled you as the men wheeled that great wooden horse into the city - as the enemy jumped out of it in the middle of the night and slaughtered your city, setting it ablaze. You were hollow as you knelt over the corpses of your family, babbling out prophecies that no one would hear. 

Sukuna was there then, watching you in your despair, allowing you to be taken away as a war prize for the invading force. After all, who were you to deny him? You deserved this. And as you were pulled into your new life far from the only home you’d ever known, you wondered if you should pray, if his prior fondness for you would bring him back to your side. 

But you knew it was foolish. 

He wasn’t listening anyway.

a/n: thank you for reading, had a bit of a cry writing the end of this one honestly.

I adore mythology so if anyone has any fic recs please send them my way! I'm considering doing an orpheus and eurydice retelling as a choso fic but we'll see how I'm feeling!

© sukunahs

[kuurechr]

from this tweet

[kuurechr]

sukuna gets yelled at by his wife pt 2 🫶🏻 (pt 1)

“honey? will you take the chicken out of the freezer?”

“mhm”

he doesn’t take it out of the freezer. in fact, he wasn’t even listening to you in the first place. as much as you love coming home to the kitchen being spotless, not a speck of dust in sight, there should be a fully thawed package of chicken thighs laying around somewhere.

“sukuna?”

“what is it now?” he grumbles, still not completely paying attention to you.

“where’s the chicken?”

“oh i uh—“ he makes some weird hand gesture at the fridge. “forgot i guess. who cares, let’s get takeout.”

“… but i asked you.. nicely.”

he lets out long sigh. “i know I forgot, its not a big deal. we can order from you fa—“

“i will STARVE YOU SUKUNA— DO YOU FUCKING WANT THAT???”

“the fuck? no?!” he takes a step back from the sudden outburst. “if it’s that big of deal ill just take it out right n—”

“for WHAT? so we can eat at 3 AM?!”

“I OFFERED TAKE OUT DIDN’T I??!”

“wow this is just great— not only are you USELESS BUT NOW YOU’RE YELLING AT ME im gonna cry” your voice breaks into a whine and sukuna looks even more mortified.

“no don’t— don’t cry,” he slightly panics. “there’s no need to cry, i can just—“

“you can just what, sukuna?” you sniffle. “thaw out the chicken?? it’s fucking FROZEN”

“i know that,” he watches his tone. “lemme just.. ill go to the store right now and grab a new pack so we won’t have to wait.”

“you’d do that?” you look up at him with glossy eyes, his pants slightly tighten.

“of course,” he swears. “of course i would.”

“c-could you get ice cream too?” you drag out the tears. maybe if you continue acting depressed for the rest of the night he’ll buy you a new bag or something.

he nods rather frantically, “mhm, chocolate right?”

[kuurechr]

we were just one breath too late. . .

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. what’s the worst thing someone could say to you before you die? “i don’t want to see you again. . .” is that worse enough? will they feel guilty? sorry? or relief? maybe your boyfriend can answer that. . . maybe not.

wn. non-sorcerer au, angst no comfort, themes of death, fatal accidents, emotional and verbal arguments, intense grief, survivor’s guilt, and heavy angst. it includes depictions of emotional trauma, blood, physical injury, and reunion in the afterlife. there are also mentions of alcohol use, self-blame, and spiritual imagery. reader discretion is advised.

GOJO SATORU

it started like every other argument.

small.

stupid.

avoidable.

but tonight, something inside both of you snapped.

you stood under a streetlight, the flickering bulb overhead casting harsh shadows on gojo’s sharp features. the city buzzed around you — car horns, footsteps, laughter in the distance — but between you two, it was silent. thick. suffocating.

“you forgot again,” you said quietly, arms folded across your chest. “my presentation. i told you about it three times. you promised you'd come.” gojo tilted his head back with a heavy sigh. he looked tired. not just physically — but in the bones, in the heart. “i got caught up at work,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “it was one meeting after another—”

“you always get caught up!” your voice cracked. “it’s always ‘meetings’ or ‘clients’ or some emergency that somehow always matters more than me.”

he flinched. “that’s not fair.”

“no, what’s not fair is being in love with someone who’s never here!” you shouted, tears brimming at your lashes. “i come home to an empty apartment. i fall asleep alone. i eat dinner alone. i show up to events alone. i’m starting to forget what it feels like to be in a relationship, satoru.”

he looked at you like you had physically struck him. his mouth opened, then closed. then he laughed — not out of amusement, but disbelief. “you think i don’t feel like shit about it?” he said bitterly. “you think i like missing everything? i’m doing this for us, dammit! so we have a future—”

“a future doesn’t matter if there’s nothing left of us to share it with!” you screamed.

silence.

your chest heaved as your words hung in the air between you like shattered glass. “god,” gojo muttered, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t even know who i’m talking to anymore.”

you took a step back. “what the hell does that mean?”

he looked at you with eyes that had stopped shining. “you’re not the same. you’re not the girl i fell in love with.”

you went still.

your mouth parted, breath catching in your throat. “and you’re not the man i thought you were.”

he exhaled, long and low, like he’d been holding it for years. then he turned — really turned — like he was walking out of your life. “maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “maybe it’s better if we just stop pretending.”

then —

“i don’t want to see you again.”

you stood frozen, heart cracking open like a dam, pain gushing out too fast to stop. “don’t say that,” you begged. “satoru, don’t walk away. please—”

but he did.

without looking back.

and you, like an idiot, chased him. just one more step. one more call. one more plea to make him stop.

you never made it past the street.

the screech of tires.

a horn.

then nothing.

just blood. just broken bones. just cold

when gojo got the call, he laughed. he thought it was a sick joke. he even yelled at the nurse for wasting his time. then they said your name again, and it broke something in him. he drove faster than he ever had, broke every law just to get to the hospital. burst through the ER doors. his eyes scanned for you, desperate, deranged, refusing to believe—

“sir,” the nurse said gently, “she didn’t make it.”

his heart stopped.

he stumbled into the room where they kept your body, untouched, still, and when he pulled back the sheet—

he collapsed.

“no,” he whispered, gripping your cold hand. “no, no, no, no, no. this isn’t— this isn’t how it ends. wake up. baby, please—” he shook. sobbed. screamed into your chest like it would bring you back.

but you never breathed again.

six months later

he didn’t touch his apartment. not even your toothbrush. your shoes still sat by the door. your coffee mug still rested on the windowsill. your scent — faint but present — still haunted the sheets. he refused to let anyone clean anything.

he quit his job.

what was the point?

he started walking at night. hours and hours, mind blank, waiting for exhaustion to swallow him whole. he talked to you. out loud. sometimes on street corners. sometimes at the cemetery, where your grave sat covered in your favorite flowers. sometimes on the balcony, where you used to watch sunsets.

he stopped laughing.

stopped smiling.

stopped seeing color.

“i didn’t mean it,” he’d whisper to the wind, voice breaking. “i didn’t mean any of it. you were everything. i was just scared.”

he stopped answering friends.

he deleted your number, but memorized it anyway.

he called it sometimes, just to hear your voicemail.

“hey, it’s me,” he’d say to the beep, voice trembling. “i saw that commercial you liked. you would’ve laughed so hard. i— i miss you. i’m sorry. i’ll always be sorry.”

he kept a picture of you in his wallet.

folded, creased, worn from fingers that touched it every night. some days he’d imagine what life would’ve been if he just turned around that night. if he hadn’t said those words. if he had listened. if he had held you. if he had said sorry.

you haunted him.

not the ghost kind.

the kind that lingered in quiet moments.

in the smell of your shampoo.

in the old voice memos.

in the way his heart still reached for you, even now.

he never dated again. never loved again. never even tried. because you were the only person he ever wanted to see. and he’d told you he didn’t want to. and fate, cruel and exact, listened.

GETO SUGURU

the air was heavy with the smell of early rain and city smoke, the kind of evening that felt unfinished — like something was waiting to be said. you stood under the gray sky with your arms crossed tight to your chest, and suguru stood across from you with that tired, worn expression, like he was already bracing for the worst.

“you forgot again,” you murmured, barely louder than the hush of cars passing behind you. he blinked, slow and distant, like he hadn’t quite heard. “forgot what?” you looked away, jaw tight. “my art show. it was today. i waited for you.”

there was a pause — long enough to bruise.

“shit,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, “i thought that was next week.”

you laughed. hollow. sharp. “you always think it’s next week.”

he looked at you then, really looked — and for a moment, he looked ashamed. but the wall went back up too quickly. it always did with him. he was too good at protecting what hurt. “i’ve been swamped with work,” he said, like it explained everything. “you know that.”

you turned to face him fully, eyes glinting beneath the streetlight, damp lashes trembling. “you’re always working, suguru. always somewhere else. i feel like i’m dating your shadow.”

he exhaled hard, ran a hand through his dark hair, gaze falling to the pavement. “i’m doing my best. this job— it’s not easy.”

“neither is loving someone who’s never really here.”

those words hit something. you saw it flicker in his expression — that small crack in the foundation. he looked up slowly, his voice a little sharper now. “so what, you’re blaming me for trying to build something stable? for trying to give us a future?”

“what future?” you asked. “one where i’m always waiting and you’re never coming home?”

“don’t twist it.”

“i’m not twisting anything. i’m lonely, suguru. i miss you even when you’re in the room.”

he went still.

then he laughed — bitter, tired, wrong.

“maybe we’ve outgrown each other,” he said softly. you stared at him, stunned silent. his next words were a whisper, like he hated them as they left his mouth. “maybe we’re better apart.”

you took a step forward, your voice trembling like wind-blown glass. “you don’t mean that.” he met your eyes. and this time, there was no anger. only something worse — resignation.

“i think i do.”

you swallowed hard, breath catching. “say it, then. if you want this to end, say it.”

and so he did.

“i don’t want to see you again.”

your heart cracked like the world had tilted.

and just like that —

he turned his back to you.

and walked away.

and you, still so foolish in love, stepped forward. just one step. just one more call of his name— you never made it across. the screech of tires split the quiet. a scream. a sharp thud. and then only silence.

he didn’t cry right away. not at the hospital. not at the funeral. not even when he kissed your forehead for the last time and felt the coldness seep into his bones. but he cried three days later, standing in the kitchen with two mugs in his hands — one yours. instinct, maybe. or hope. but your lips would never touch that cup again, and he crumbled right there, on the floor, hands shaking.

the grief did not come all at once. it came in waves.

in the quiet.

in the morning light that poured through your empty side of the bed. in the sound of your laugh from a video he couldn’t bring himself to delete.

he lived like a ghost of himself.

quiet. strange. slower.

he started talking to you like you were still around. “morning,” he’d whisper to the air, brushing his fingers over your pillow. “i saw someone today who looked like you.”

“i keep thinking i’ll see you walking home with that lopsided tote bag.”

he kept your lipstick on the windowsill.

your earrings in a dish by the sink.

your jacket still hanging by the door.

people told him he needed to let go. he never listened. he went to work. did his job. smiled when needed. but something in him had been buried with you. he stopped writing music.

stopped painting.

stopped dreaming.

and every year on the day he lost you, he would sit on the sidewalk where it happened. a small bouquet. your name whispered like a prayer. eyes searching the sky, as if you might still be in the clouds, watching.

“i didn’t mean it,” he says to the wind, year after year. “those words. that moment. if i could trade places with you, i would.” his heart, once full of poems and possibility, now only echoes with what-ifs and empty promises.

and true to his word—

he never saw you again.

not in dreams.

not in visions.

not even in passing strangers.

because sometimes, the cruelest part of love is that we don’t get to choose our last words. we only live with the ones we never got to take back.

NANAMI KENTO

you stood outside the station, the rain coming down like broken glass, your bag slung over your shoulder, and your heart barely stitched together. nanami stood in front of you, tall and tired, the collar of his coat soaked at the edges, eyes dim with something he refused to let show.

“you didn’t call,” you said quietly, voice catching in your throat. “you promised you would.”

he looked at you, unblinking. “i was working.”

“you’re always working, kento.”

“i have to.”

“no, you choose to.” you hugged yourself tighter, knuckles pale. “you choose your job. your schedule. your clients. you don’t choose me.” his jaw twitched, and he looked away for a moment. “you know it’s not that simple.”

you took a step closer, rain seeping into your shoes. “then explain it to me. help me understand why loving me always comes second.” he sighed, deep and worn. “i’m not young like you. i don’t get to drop everything for romance. i have responsibilities. deadlines. expectations.”

“and what am i, nanami?” you asked, voice breaking. “a weekend hobby? a luxury you squeeze into your planner when there’s nothing left to do?”

his silence hurt more than any answer.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands trembling. “i waited for you at that little italian place. sat there like an idiot with a candle burning out.” he closed his eyes, rain dripping from his lashes. “i didn’t forget. i couldn’t leave the meeting. it was important.”

“more important than me?”

he didn’t answer.

and god, that was the answer.

“say it, kento. if you’re done, say it. if i’ve become another chore, say it and let me go.” he opened his mouth, hesitated—then, with a voice that cracked the world in two, “i don’t want to see you again.”

you flinched like he’d struck you.

he looked away. “you deserve someone with more time,” he added, quieter now. “someone who doesn’t disappoint you.” you shook your head slowly, eyes stinging. “but i don’t want someone else. i want you. even on your worst days. even when you’re tired. even when you forget.”

he turned his back.

and he walked away.

just like that. no final touch. no glance over the shoulder. and that’s when it happened.

you stepped off the curb too fast, still staring at the place where he used to be.

a shout.

a horn.

a metallic crash.

and the world blinked to white. they say it was instant. no pain. no time to speak. just silence and rain.

nanami got the call the next morning. his hands trembled, the receiver pressed too tightly to his ear. his coffee had gone cold on the table. he didn’t finish getting dressed that day.

at your funeral, he stood like stone. still. quiet. his eyes rimmed red, though no tears fell. he wasn’t the kind of man who cried where people could see. but he broke in the quiet. after that, everything dulled.

he went to work.

he ate his meals.

he paid his bills.

but he never bought another book. never returned to the coffee shop where you used to sit across from him, reading aloud the funny lines. never smiled without guilt biting at the edges. your number stayed in his phone. your toothbrush remained untouched. your side of the bed—cold. he would talk to you sometimes. in the mornings. in the silence. softly, like you might answer.

“you’d scold me for how much takeout i’m eating.”

“you always hated this tie.”

“i should’ve told you to wait. should’ve told you i didn’t mean it.”

his apartment became a museum of you. photos. receipts. your scarf on the coat hook. he couldn’t let go, because letting go meant accepting the truth. that his last words to you were a mistake. that he’d chosen work over love, and the cost was never seeing you smile again. he read the letter you left on the fridge a hundred times. “don’t forget about dinner tonight, love you.”

and he whispered to the quiet, every night before sleep—

“i’ll never forgive myself.”

because he didn’t just lose you. he buried the part of himself that believed love was enough. and true to his words, he never saw you again. not in dreams. not in crowds. not even in memory the way he wanted to.

only in the echo of your name, spoken too late, to the dark.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the city never really slept, not this side of it anyway.

it was almost midnight when you finally caught up to him — the sharp sound of your boots echoing through the back alley behind the bar, neon lights flickering against the wet pavement. his motorcycle stood parked just beyond the fence, engine still warm, helmet hooked on the handlebar like he hadn’t decided whether to leave or not.

he turned when he heard you, cigarette hanging from his lips, jaw clenched like he’d been waiting for this — or maybe dreading it.

“you said you’d stop disappearing like this,” you said, voice steady despite the storm in your chest. toji exhaled slow, smoke curling upward. “figured you’d be asleep by now.”

“you said you’d be back by dinner.”

“yeah, well. i didn’t wanna argue.”

“so you just don’t come home at all?”

you stepped closer, arms wrapped around yourself like armor. the scent of gasoline and cold air clung to him. his eyes, always sharp, softened for half a second before hardening again.

“you know how i am, baby.”

“no,” you said quietly. “i don’t. because you never let me in. you disappear, you fight, you come back like nothing happened, and i’m supposed to just… smile? play house?” he shifted his weight, grinding the cigarette under his heel. “you knew what you were getting into with me.”

“i thought i did,” you whispered. “but i didn’t know it’d hurt this much.”

toji looked away, jaw ticking. “you deserve better.”

“don’t say that.”

“it’s true.”

“then be better, toji!”

the words echoed into the night, your voice trembling with all the weight you couldn’t carry anymore. “i can’t,” he said, and it was the quietest you’d ever heard him. “i don’t got that in me.”

“you do. you just won’t let yourself have anything good. you think you ruin everything, so you leave before it happens.”

“maybe,” he said, shrugging like it didn’t crack your chest in half. “but if i stay, you’ll hate me anyway.”

“i’ll hate you if you leave,” you said.

“because you keep choosing the easy way out. and i’m always the one left bleeding.” he moved toward the bike then, reaching for the helmet, eyes not meeting yours. “i don’t want to see you again,” he said.

you froze.

“…what?”

“i said i don’t want to see you again,” he repeated, harsher now, like it was the only way he knew how to kill something softly. “it’s better for both of us.” you stood still, eyes stinging. “you don’t mean that.”

“yeah,” he said, slinging a leg over the seat, engine purring to life. “i do.”

he didn’t look back when he pulled away.

he didn’t see you run after him. he didn’t hear your voice break behind him. he just turned the corner, disappearing like smoke.

and that’s when it happened.

your breath hitched as the headlights blinded you — a car, fast, too fast —

tires screeched. a sickening thud. then silence. like the whole city held its breath. your body lay still on the pavement, your phone still clutched in your palm.

he found out an hour later.

sirens. flashing lights. a phone call from a stranger who found your emergency contact. he dropped the helmet. sprinted through red lights. blood on the concrete. your name already fading into past tense. he wasn’t allowed to see you at the hospital. not until you were already gone.

his hands shook. he hadn’t cried in years, but that night, he did — loud and ugly in the hallway, fist through drywall, the taste of iron in his mouth. he’d told you he didn’t want to see you again. and now he never would.

toji never went back to that alley again.

he avoided the bar. he stopped sleeping in the bed you once shared. your picture stayed folded in his wallet, worn at the edges from the way his thumb kept brushing it. he still kept your old hoodie — the one with the faded print on the front and your perfume in the sleeves. on some nights, he wore it to sleep.

he started carrying a helmet for two. never used it. just kept it. sometimes he talked to the empty seat behind him on long rides.

“you’d laugh at me if you saw me now.”

“i should’ve stayed.”

“i didn’t mean it. fuck, i didn’t mean it.”

toji fushiguro, who never begged, now whispered your name like a prayer. but prayers don’t bring people back. not even the ones we love most. and just like his words, he never saw you again. and it ruined him forever.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

you stand just off the gravel path, arms crossed tight around yourself, breath visible in the cold air. the red and gold leaves have long since fallen. the trees are bare now. and so is the truth.

sukuna leans against his black car, cigarette half-lit in his fingers, eyes on the fading sky. the sunset paints him in fire — but none of it reaches his chest. “you lied,” you say softly. no venom. just a hollow ache. a hurt that’s been carved into your ribs like a name on stone.

“i didn’t,” he says flatly.

you blink. once. twice. “you said you’d stay. that we were… building something. something real.” he exhales smoke and looks away. “things change.”

“no,” you shake your head, taking a step forward. “you changed. you started pulling away. you stopped coming home before midnight. you stopped talking to me unless i begged. is that what you wanted? for me to chase you like some pathetic girl hoping for scraps?”

“stop,” he mutters.

“i’m not going to stop,” you snap, voice finally cracking under the pressure of holding it all in. “you say you’re tired of me? well, i’m tired of feeling like a ghost in my own relationship!”

his jaw clenches, the fire in his eyes flickering like the fuse on a bomb.

“i never asked you to stay,” he says.

“you didn’t have to,” you breathe. “i wanted to. i chose to. and you— you took every piece of me and turned it into something disposable.”

silence. just the wind brushing against the trees. and the slow, cold collapse of everything you thought you could survive.

“look,” sukuna finally mutters, pushing off the car, voice low and lethal, “i don’t want to keep doing this. if this is what we’ve become, if this is what you’ve become — someone who wants to scream and cry and throw shit every time something gets hard — then maybe we shouldn’t keep pretending this is love.”

your throat tightens. “so you’re giving up.”

he doesn’t answer.

“say it,” you whisper. “don’t walk away this time, don’t leave without saying it.” he looks at you, then. really looks. and for a second — just a second — you see it. the ruin in his chest. the heartbreak he’ll never name. because if he does, he’ll fall apart.

“…i don’t want to see you again,” he says.

it’s almost gentle.

you step back, your world crumbling under your feet. “if you leave now,” you warn, voice trembling, “this is it. i won’t chase after you. i won’t call.” he lights another cigarette with a flick of his thumb, eyes hollow.

“good.”

then he turns. gets in the car. engine starts.

he doesn’t look back.

not even once.

you stand there long after the sound of tires fades. you wipe your tears before they freeze to your skin. you step forward, legs shaking, heart pounding like it’s screaming not to go—

you never see the other car. bright headlights. no time. a shattering crunch of metal. then quiet.

then nothing.

he finds out in the morning.

he hadn’t slept. he never does when he fights with you. not really. but he hadn’t turned around. not until someone called. not until the world stood still. they told him you died instantly. that there was a ring box in your coat pocket. he hadn’t seen it before.

now he wishes he had.

after you, sukuna doesn’t date. doesn’t smile. doesn’t laugh the way he used to. his apartment is cold. silent. like a museum for a life that never got to finish.

he buys your favorite tea. never drinks it. he leaves your contacts in his phone. never deletes them. on your birthday, he drives to the road where you died. sits on the edge of the cliff with a cigarette and stares down at the curve of the road below. he keeps asking the wind, “why the fuck didn’t i stay?”

he dreams of your voice. he dreams of the way you laughed with your whole body. he dreams of how you’d lean into his chest at night like he was safe. like he was someone worth loving.

and every morning he wakes up, it hits him all over again. he said he didn’t want to see you again. and now he never will. and for someone who never believed in punishment, he lives every day like it’s hell.

SHIU KONG

he’s never one for public scenes. not shiu kong. always measured, always cold with his kindness — like a man who keeps even his warmth under lock and key. but tonight is different.

you’re standing outside a high-rise bar in roppongi. past midnight. your heels ache. your throat’s raw. the city’s pulsing behind you — full of strangers who’ll never know the ache of your name in his mouth.

the rain’s just started, soft and unhurried, like the sky can feel the ending too. “you don’t even look at me anymore,” you say, voice trembling as you hold your coat tighter. “it’s like i don’t even exist unless i’m behind your door or in your bed.”

shiu sighs. slow. practiced. his hands stay in his pockets like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if they don’t. “you know how i work,” he says, eyes flicking to the ground. “you knew from the beginning. this job, this life— it was never going to be simple.”

“i never wanted simple,” you spit, stepping closer. “i just wanted you.”

he doesn’t flinch. just exhales, tired.

“you’re young,” he says quietly. “you still think love means burning the house down just to feel the heat.” your jaw clenches. “and you? you think love is pretending it doesn’t hurt to watch the person you care about beg for scraps?” his silence is louder than traffic.

you laugh bitterly, blinking against the rain. “i loved you, shiu. i loved you. and you— you loved your job. your image. your goddamn quiet.” he looks up finally. and for a moment, something falters in those sharp, tired eyes.

“don’t do this,” he says lowly. “not here.” you shake your head. “why? because people might see you crack? because the big, composed man might fall apart over some girl who loved him too hard?”

he swallows. hard. “you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“no,” you whisper, voice breaking. “you just don’t understand what you’re losing.” he says nothing. just stands there, like he’s frozen in place, like he knows that if he moves — even slightly — he’ll say something he can’t take back.

but he doesn’t move. he never does.

and maybe that’s the problem. you take a step back, shaking. the ache in your chest doesn’t feel like heartbreak anymore — it feels like finality. “say something,” you plead, voice barely there. “say anything.”

he hesitates.

“…i don’t want to see you again.”

he says it with no venom. no hate. just that quiet, cold steel he always wears. and he turns. just like that. into the streetlight, into the mist, into the part of your life that will never come back. you watch him walk away. you don’t follow. you cross the street blindly, barely seeing the headlights, barely hearing the tires screech—

a sudden flash.

a dull crack.

and then, stillness.

you don’t even feel it when your body hits the pavement.

shiu doesn’t sleep that night.

he pours himself a drink in his high-rise apartment, watching the lights of tokyo bleed into the windows. he thinks about calling. about saying sorry. but he’s not the kind of man who apologizes for being exactly what he warned you he was.

the call comes at 4:16 a.m.

the voice on the line is grim. he doesn’t speak for a long while after they hang up. he just stares at the window, at the half-empty glass in his hand, at the last message you sent hours before — still unread.

“just let me in.”

he keeps reading it.

again.

again.

until his eyes blur.

he doesn’t go to the funeral.

he sends flowers — white lilies, with no name on the card. but he keeps your photo on his desk. he keeps the voice message you once sent when you were drunk and laughing and calling him “your grumpy old man” like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

he never deletes it.

sometimes, when the nights are too quiet, he plays it just to hear you laugh. and every time he closes his eyes, he remembers your voice in the rain. you loved him like it was a promise. he left you like it was a habit. and now the rain never quite feels the same. because he said he didn’t want to see you again.

and he got his wish.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

the argument starts in his office. glass walls. cold lighting. your reflection shaking in every polished surface. you came to bring him lunch. again. like always. you always come. and he always forgets to eat. and that’s how this began — with your love, simple and ordinary, clashing against the weight of his silence.

“you’re not even listening to me,” you say, placing the paper bag down harder than you mean to.

hiromi barely looks up from his desk. “i am.”

“no,” you whisper, “you’re hearing. not listening.”he sighs, finally leaning back in his chair, dark circles under his eyes like bruises. “what do you want me to say?”

you shake your head, stepping away from the desk. “something. anything. do you know how hard it is to be in love with someone who’s always somewhere else? always buried in cases, in guilt, in the past?”

his jaw clenches. “this job isn’t something i can just leave at the door.”

“and i’m not someone you should treat like a ghost,” you snap, eyes glassy. “i’ve been here. showing up. loving you through your silence. and you… you just disappear into it.” he rises slowly, suit perfect, eyes unreadable. “i never asked you to stay.” and the room drops into coldness. so sudden. so final.

“what?” your voice cracks.

“i didn’t ask you to stay,” he repeats, slower this time, quieter. “you chose this. and now you want to make me feel guilty for not being the man you built in your head.”

“no,” you whisper, breathless. “i wanted you. all of you. not a fantasy. not a perfect man. just you. and you can’t even give me that.”

he doesn’t answer. you wait. nothing.

so you laugh, soft and broken, backing away toward the door. “i hope your court never stops needing you, hiromi,” you say bitterly, “because i’m done waiting for a verdict that’s never coming.” you leave before the tears fall. you leave before he can see the way your hands shake. and he lets you. he watches the door shut and tells himself he’s doing the right thing.

he always tells himself that.

the accident happens two hours later. just outside the train station. wrong place. wrong time. someone running a red light. a body thrown too far. a phone crushed in your hand with your last unsent message:

“can we talk?”

when hiromi gets the call, he’s reviewing a case file. he thinks it’s a mistake. thinks it’s a sick joke. he keeps reading the sentence on the paper in front of him five times before realizing he hasn’t understood a word.

he doesn’t cry.

not that day.

not the day after.

he doesn’t attend your funeral either — says it’s to avoid attention. but the truth is simpler: he can’t face what he did. he can’t look at the hole he left in your life and pretend it’s just grief. it’s guilt. and it eats him from the inside.

weeks pass.

he stops shaving. stops replying to his colleagues. stops arguing in court the way he used to.

they say he’s changed. that something cracked in him. he doesn’t correct them. every night, he comes home to silence. he pours two glasses of wine out of habit, but always drinks alone. your toothbrush is still in the bathroom. your jacket still on the hook.

he never moves them.

he reads your old texts like scripture. listens to a voicemail you left one rainy evening, laughing about some café you wanted to take him to. he never got to go. he never said yes.

and every time he sees the empty space beside him in bed, he thinks:

“i said i didn’t ask her to stay.”

but god, he wishes he had. he wishes he had told you — that he loved you. that he was scared. that you made the world bearable.

but he didn’t.

and now, the only verdict left is this; you never saw him again.

just like he said.

[kuurechr]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍. •°. *࿐

Summary: A year after your death, they get to see you again. But it isn't you, but a monster in your skin. Or JJK Characters deal with the fact that you're possessed by Kenjaku, and it isn't pretty.

Pairings(separate): Satoru Gojo x kenjaku!reader, Suguru Geto x kenjaku!reader, Sukuna Ryomen x kenjaku!reader, Shoko Ieri x kenjaku!reader

Content. Angst with a capital A, death, gore, cannibalism, injury, self-inflicted injury, yandere(?) sukuna, kenjaku is an asshole, swearing, Shoko gets a panic attack, kenjaku!reader, gn!reader !DARK THEMES!

w.c. 1.4k - 2k each || Masterlist MINOR AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

❥ SATORU GOJO "You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same."

Blood paints Shibuya in cruel streaks. Satoru Gojo stands in the ruined station, boots crushing glass and bone fragments as his breathing comes sharp, shallow. The air is thick with the rot of battle—gunpowder, charred flesh, the sickly-sweet scent of blood seeping into the earth. Bodies lie twisted in impossible angles, and in the midst of it all, standing beneath the flickering, dim station lights, is you.

Or what used to be you.

Satoru knows better. His mind screams the truth even as his heart falters, staggering against the weight of a curse wrapped in flesh, your flesh. Kenjaku smirks through your lips, tilting your head with mock amusement. Those same lips that Satoru oh so hoped to kiss again, to watch as you smiled at him with love, the image itself was destroyed by this thing, this monster in your skin. The stitches marring your forehead are like a grotesque parody of a crown, a mark of possession, of desecration.

 A reminder that you were a corpse. A corpse that Satoru had cradled in its last moments.

Gojo exhaled sharply, fingers curling into fists. But he hadn't moved yet. Couldn't move yet. His mind was rebelling against the truth his six eyes were showing him. Every cell in his body screamed that this was you. The way your hair still framed your face, the way your body moved, the little mannerisms Kenjaku didn't care to suppress.

But you were gone, his heart and soul knew that. You were gone. 

The face was the same—the one he had memorized in quiet moments, the one he used to trace with his fingertips in the dim glow of city lights. The same eyes, but empty now, soulless, swirling with a mockery of life that was not your own. Kenjaku tilted your head to the side, a smirk curling lips that had once whispered his name with affection. No, something trying to fake it.

"What's wrong, Toru?~" Kenjaku mocks with a faux pout, rolling your shoulders as if adjusting to the weight of your body, your body that moves in all the ways it shouldn’t. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The worst part is, you’re not there at all. There's no sign, no trace—nothing in your stance, your voice, not even a flicker in your eyes. Satoru has never known true fear until this moment, until the raw, gaping realization that there is nothing left to save.

“Get out of them,” he snarls, voice like broken glass, but Kenjaku only laughs—a cruel, mirthless thing that stretches your lips in a way they never would have in life.

"Now, now," Kenjaku muses, flexing your fingers, cracking your neck, treating your body like an outfit to be worn. "We both know it’s too late for that."

Satoru already knew. Of course he knew. The moment he saw you, he understood—you were gone. There was no saving something that had already rotted, no bringing back someone who had already left him behind.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The ghost of muscle memory lingers—his hands know your weight, the curve of your shoulders, the rhythm of your movement. He hesitates. And in that moment, Kenjaku capitalizes.

When Kenjaku struck first, a flicker of your movement—your rhythm—was enough to send something splintering through his chest. The years spent learning your body, memorizing the cadence of your breath, the slight hitch of your shoulders before you struck—it all came rushing back. His mind screamed at him to move, to counter, but his body froze. He felt helpless, small.

A fist slams into his rside, another against his jaw, rattling his skull. His brain lags behind, barely processing before your foot collides with his stomach. The force sends him crashing through steel beams, debris collapsing around him in a deafening roar. His vision flickers; his head throbs. 

Why is infinity off? He asks himself. He knows the answer, hidden in the recesses in his mind, his body remembers you. And his body knows that around you, infinity never had to be on. Panic and pain surges through him, his throat drying up and seizing him as he realizes he had let his infinity down on instinct.

Let his infinity down in front of you. Something so easy as breathing that he couldn’t even catch it. Because your touch was never cruel, never meant to hurt. His body remembered that, knew that you would never hurt him. But this thing wasn’t you. No matter how much it smiled, it never reached your eyes, was never filled with the softness you’d look at him with.

Kenjaku lands softly, tilting their head, watching. "Oh?" They step closer, deliberately slow, savoring it. "You’re holding back?"

Satoru doesn’t answer. Can’t. His chest heaves, fingers twitching with the urge to tear, to destroy, to make sure Kenjaku never uses you again. But when he looks up, all he sees is you—your silhouette framed by firelight, your stance, one he’s seen a thousand times in training, in battle, in life.

The thought of hurting you—no, not you, but the body that once held you��felt like pressing his own hands into the grave you'd already been buried in. 

"You're pathetic," Kenjaku sneered, leaning forward, your breath—your breath—ghosting against his face. "The great Satoru Gojo, hesitating like a love-struck fool. Is that what you are? Still in love with a corpse?"

Satoru bared his teeth, his breath coming sharp, fast. He couldn't afford this. Wouldn’t afford this. He had to move.

The next time Kenjaku lunged, Satoru struck back.

His fist connected with your ribs, a sickening crack splitting the air. The body reeled, staggering for only a moment before laughter—high and taunting—spilled from your lips. Kenjaku straightened, rolling your shoulders with a wince, but it was the expression that sent bile rising in Satoru’s throat. Satisfaction.

"Oh, there you are," Kenjaku purred, wiping the blood trailing from your mouth. "For a second, I thought you'd lost your nerve completely."

“Hmm.” Kenjaku inspected your hands—his hands now—and flexed the fingers experimentally. “You know, this body is surprisingly resilient. But I suppose that’s to be expected, considering how much you cared for it.” His lips curled into something wicked, something cruel. “I wonder… how much of it are you willing to see destroyed?”

And then Kenjaku did the worst thing yet. They smiled. And with deliberate cruelty, they drove their own fingers into your gut.

Satoru's breath locked in his throat as he watched you—your hands, the same ones that used to trace his jaw, the same ones that used to comb through his hair— tear into your own flesh. Blood gushed in a grotesque waterfall, soaking into torn fabric, staining the floor in a deep, spreading pool. Kenjaku groaned, tilting their head back in a twisted mockery of pleasure.

The sound was deafening—bone snapping, tendons ripping, flesh giving way.

“Oops.”

Kenjaku twisted your arm back, far beyond its natural limit, until the skin tore and the bone jutted out at an unnatural angle. The scream never came. The body didn’t react in pain, in fact, you– No, Kenjaku was relishing in it. But Gojo felt it, deep in his marrow, an agony that had nothing to do with himself and everything to do with the image before him. Everything to do with you.

The sickening crunch of breaking ribs echoes. Blood drips from your lips. It’s a performance. A slow, methodical desecration. Kenjaku isn’t just killing you. He’s making sure there’s nothing left to mourn.

“I think I’ll tear out the heart next,” he murmured, reaching for your chest.

Satoru let out a scream, broken and hoarse not from overuse but from the guttural pain that this sight had caused him. It barely sounded human, it was something raw, something from the depths of his soul. His cursed energy sputtered pathetically, his body moved before thought, faster than even Kenjaku could track. His hand closed around your throat, squeezing tight, crushing the windpipe beneath his fingers.

Kenjaku let out a breathless chuckle. “There you are.”

Gojo didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His heart was hammering, his blood roaring in his ears. The grief, the rage, the helplessness that had been suffocating him for the past year coalesced into something dark and all-consuming.

But before he did it—before he ended this—he allowed himself one last moment. He pulled you close, let his mind fool him for a moment, and succumbed to sweet, sweet lies. Held you the way he used to, the way he had longed to for so many nights since your death.

And then, softly, almost reverently, he kissed your lips. There was no warmth. No love. No trace of the person he had cherished. 

Only death. Only a goodbye.

It’s nothing like before.

Nothing like the nights he held you, whispering sweet nothings against your lips. Nothing like the lazy mornings spent tangled in blankets, your laughter echoing against his skin. Nothing like the desperate kisses before battle, when you’d swear you’d come back to each other, no matter what.

When he pulled away, his fingers tightened around your throat.

“You don’t get to have them,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”

And then he crushed your windpipe, snapping the fragile bones beneath his grip.

Kenjaku gurgled, eyes wide, mouth twisting into something unreadable—maybe pain, maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. It didn’t matter. Even as he grinned as if winning this time.

Gojo was already driving his cursed energy through your skull, obliterating everything inside. It was a mercy, he told himself. Fast. Efficient. His Infinity shattered through what remained of you, ripping Kenjaku apart from the inside out. The body in his arms spasmed, a sharp gasp escaping bloodied lips before the light in your eyes flickered, dimmed, died.

The body twitched. Shuddered. And then it was still. Kenjaku was gone. But so were you. The body in his arms was nothing more than a corpse now—limp, broken, empty. Satoru held you as you went limp.

He stayed there, kneeling in the filth of Shibuya Station, cradling what was left of you. Your body was ruined. There was no saving it now, not even the illusion of preservation. The warmth seeped away from your skin too fast, leaving you cold. Stiff. Dead.

His hands trembled. His fingers curled into the fabric of your clothes, the blood staining them no longer just his own. Satoru fell to his knees, still holding you, still unable to let go. His vision blurred. His breath came in ragged, shuddering gasps. There was nothing left.

Nothing left but him. But he too, felt hollow as if you took all of him with you. You did, in a way.

Satoru laughed, cruel, to himself as tears pricked at his eyes and dripped on your body. Tears mixing with your blood. The tears didn’t stop, they never did. Similar to how Satoru will never, never stop loving you.

He’ll never stop mourning you, either. Not until he joins you.

❥ SUGURU GETO "Our last goodbyes were never said, but they were felt."

Suguru Geto has spent years carrying a corpse inside of him.

Not just a corpse—your corpse. Suguru had devoured you whole.

Not you, of course. You were already long gone. You had died years before, and he had felt that loss carve itself into his bones like a brand. Changed how he thought of the world, made him see the truth– the problem with the world. What he consumed was nothing more than a curse, a facsimile of you, a grotesque mockery wearing your skin.

Suguru Geto never thought he’d see you again.

Not like that.

Not years later, not with your body defiled by stitches on your forehead, not with your soul gone and a disgusting brain in its place. He had mourned you once, let the grief carve itself into his ribs until he could no longer breathe without feeling the sharp ache of your absence. He had imagined, in his loneliest moments, what it would be like if you returned to him, if some cruel god rewrote reality and placed you back in his arms.

But Kenjaku was not a god.

Kenjaku was a defiler, a scavenger who pried into corpses and made puppets of them.

Your voice came first. A whisper in the dark, laced with mockery. "Suguru~," Kenjaku had crooned, using your lips, your voice, your goddamn face. "Miss me?"

He had nearly been sick.

But Kenjaku was arrogant. He had thought himself untouchable. He had planned to use you, your body, your hands, to kill Suguru, as if he wouldn't recognize the curve of your movements, the way you once breathed, lived.

He should have killed you then. Should have exorcized the thing wearing your skin before it had a chance to land the first blow. But he couldn't. Instead, he had done something selfish, something desperate. With the practiced ease of a master sorcerer, he had cast his technique, letting you and the brain inside of you dissolve into thick, black smoke and a condensed ball. He had stored you deep inside him, tucked away beside his heart, in his veins, beside his very soul.

He always thought you were the sweetest, but swallowing you was bitter. Bittersweet, maybe.

It was foolish. It was useless.

But it meant your body wouldn’t rot in the dirt, wouldn’t be used for Kenjaku’s amusement. No one could touch you. No one could defile what remained.

Even knowing you were nothing but a curse now, even knowing that your soul had long since withered into dust, he had refused to let you out. You would remain with him, tucked away, unseen. Safe, at the very least.

For years, Suguru has carried you with him, a silent, undying weight pressing against his bones. He has never used you, never called upon the monster that had taken you away. And as his body crumbles beneath Satoru’s gaze, as his blood spills onto the cold concrete, he realizes this will be the last time.

So now, years later, standing before Satoru Gojo, Suguru realized it was finally time to let go.

Blood dripped from his lips, his stump of an arm, pooling in the crevices of the ground beneath them. His right shoulder was nothing but a gaping, jagged wound—his arm long gone, torn from his body like an afterthought. His vision blurred, the weight of his own body growing unbearable.

He could already feel death creeping in.

Suguru smiles.

Not because he’s winning. Not because he’s survived. No, this is a losing battle. He has always known how this would end. But it’s fitting, isn’t it?

To die by Satoru’s hands. To feel his curse technique rip through him, as he has done to so many others.

As his vision blurs, Suguru releases a shuddering breath—and summons you.

The curse tears out of him like a wound being ripped open, the familiar shape of your body forming in the dark mist of his technique. You land on the ground beside him, your chest rising, falling, breath shuddering with stolen life. But it isn’t you. Not really.

Kenjaku—wearing your face, moving your limbs—stretches, rolling your shoulders with a smirk.

"Well, well," Kenjaku muses, flexing your fingers as if testing the strength of your borrowed flesh. "I was wondering when you'd let me out."

Suguru coughs, something thick and hot dribbling from his lips. His body screams, but he ignores it. "Just this once," he mutters. "Just so we can die together."

He’s tired. So, so tired. His heartbeat pounds sluggishly in his ears, a dying drumbeat, the rhythm slowing with each passing second. But even now, as his body fails him, he doesn’t regret it. 

Satoru inhaled sharply, fingers curling at his sides. “Suguru—”

“I know,” Suguru murmured. “Just give me a moment.”

There was no battle left to fight. He could already feel his cursed energy fading, his vision narrowing, his body collapsing in on itself. He had always thought he would die alone. But maybe this was better.

Satoru’s energy flared. Suguru didn’t move. Didn’t brace himself. Didn’t fight. The attack struck your body first.

You crumpled. The force sent you slamming against him, dead weight against his already failing form. Suguru grunted, barely managing to keep you upright. He let himself slide down onto his knees, pulling you with him, until the both of you were resting on the cold, blood-slicked ground.

Your head lolled against his chest.

He exhaled, letting his fingers brush over your hair. Remembering many nights where the two simply sat in each other's presence, softly pressed against each other, content. He remembered mornings where you would brush his hair, style it into his signature style as the girls ran around clipping bows and clips in his hair. You would fix their hair next, little braids and bows adorned them as they giggled about being princesses, and you, their mother, his queen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His hand, the one that remains, lifts weakly, brushing against the stitches on your forehead. The violation of them sends something sick curling in his stomach, but still, he presses his lips against your temple, a final, chaste kiss. It was grotesque, this mockery of intimacy, this final moment with nothing but a corpse. 

You were warm, unlike a corpse.

You shouldn’t be. Suguru knows that and yet he holds you the same way he almost did. Gentle, as if you were glass. Reverent, as if you could save him from his upcoming doom. Loving, as if you were able to love him back.

He sighs as he closes his eyes.

Maybe, in another life, things could have been different.

Maybe he wouldn’t have walked this path. Maybe you wouldn’t have died. Maybe he wouldn’t have spent years trying to justify atrocities while clinging to your body like a ghost.

But there are no maybes. Only this.

Satoru exhales, the sound sharp, pained. “Suguru.”

Suguru lets his fingers tighten around you, even as his mind starts to drift away. He barely even feels the pain anymore. He lets himself be fooled, lulled into a false sense of warmth and comfort as you lie limp in his arms. 

He envisions a different night, one where the air is not thick with the stench of death, one where your body is curled against his in the way it used to be. He can pretend this is a quiet night in a dimly lit room, where your breaths are even and soft, where your body is draped against him because you trust him to keep you safe. He can pretend this is still you. He imagines your fingers curled around his own, your breath warm against his neck.

He imagines a world where you are still alive. Where you never left him. Where this is nothing but another quiet evening spent in each other’s arms.

If he keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend.

The pain fades. The sounds of his heartbeat are slow and dull.

There is only you. Only the warmth of your body, only the softness of your breath, only the feeling of peace settling over him.

And for the first time in years, Suguru Geto smiles genuinely.

“Do it.”

When you two are buried, it is side by side. Whether out of respect or guilt, Satoru ensures it.

No one speaks of it after. No one asks why Satoru took the time to retrieve your bodies, to make sure the two of you were laid to rest together. No one dares to question the way his hands shook as he watched the two of you get placed in the ground.

It doesn’t matter. Suguru Geto is dead, and so are you.

❥ SUKUNA RYOMEN "This world doesn't matter without you in it."

Sukuna had always known rage. It curled beneath his skin, coiled in his sinew, and burned in his marrow like a disease. It had shaped him, made him a god of slaughter, a king of monsters, and a curse whose name alone choked the world in fear. But this, this was something worse.

It was beyond anger, beyond the simple, seething fury of a beast denied its prey. It was a sickness, a rotting wound in the depths of his chest that pulsed with something he refused to name.

Because you were there. Standing before him, twisted beyond recognition. No, you weren’t. Your body was the same, every hair and fiber was as it always was. But your soul, the very one that Sukuna had watched fade from this world, was absent. 

He had slaughtered thousands, torn through flesh and bone like paper, but nothing—nothing—had ever made his blood run so cold as seeing your body move again.

The weight of it crushed him instantly, an unbearable, suffocating sensation that clawed at his insides like rot creeping through a corpse. His chest ached as if something had been ripped from within him, something vital and raw. His grief. His loss. His love.

You were dead. You were dead.

Your body, the same body that he had once held, once touched, once loved was nothing but a puppet now, an unholy marionette manipulated by the most putrid hands to ever defile this earth. Kenjaku smiled through your lips, the same lips used to kiss him awake even as he complained and lied that it was annoying.

Kenjaku had taken you. Desecrated you. Turned you into something wrong.

"You look displeased," Kenjaku said, tilting your head at an unnatural angle, wearing your face like a mockery of life. "Did you love this one, Sukuna?"

Love.

The word was bitter. A lie. A weakness. And yet, it lodged itself in his throat like a bone, cutting, bleeding, hurting.

Sukuna didn't answer. He couldn't. Words were useless things, insignificant against the storm tearing through him. His hands itched, claws curling, his mouth dry with hunger. Kill. Destroy. Devour.

Kenjaku chuckled. "Oh? Nothing to say? I had thought you of all people would appreciate this—having your beloved returned to you, in a sense."

The mockery in that voice, the sheer audacity to speak through your mouth, made something inside him snap. Something break.

He had not moved on. He had not healed. There was no healing. There was no healing from your love, nothing to bring him back from loving you.

He hated it. He hated that word, hated how you always whispered it to him every day and every night, no matter how much he despised uttering it himself. He hated that during nights you were asleep, where nothing but the flickering candlelight accompanied him, he’d whisper the words back to you, a softness in his voice reserved only for your ears. Listening or not.

Kenjaku—the thing inside you—tilted his head, feigning curiosity.

"What? No warm welcome? You look like you've seen a ghost."

A ghost. A ghost? Sukuna would’ve laughed.

No, no. This was a defilement.

A mockery.

A sacrilege so unforgivable that Sukuna's own flesh felt sick.

He took a step forward, his foot splashing into the blood-soaked ground. He hadn't even realized he'd begun bleeding from his claws, from the sheer pressure of how tightly he had curled his fingers. He wanted to carve Kenjaku open. He wanted to rip him apart piece by piece—to drag that wretched brain from your skull and crush it beneath his heel.

"Ah, I see. You're upset."

Kenjaku laughed, voice smooth, playful. But the face that smiled at him was yours. And that—that was the next thing that broke inside him. The first thing that broke him was you, then the loss of you. Then this.

The rage faltered for just a moment. A fraction of a second. Just long enough for something else to creep in. Something ugly. Something weak. 

You had always been his. Not in the way mortals belonged to each other. Not in the way pathetic lovers claimed each other with whispered promises and fleeting touches. No. You had been his in a way that surpassed all reason. In the way a beast belonged to the wild. In the way blood belonged to the body. In the way the sky belonged to the earth.

He had devoured you in every way a man could devour another. And yet, you had still been taken from him. His voice came slow, thick with something unfamiliar, unwelcome, cold.

"That isn't yours."

Kenjaku chuckled. "Oh, but it is now."

Sukuna moved before thought could catch up.

The ground split under his feet as he lunged, claws gleaming, fangs bared. The first strike sent Kenjaku flying, body crashing through temple ruins, stone crumbling like brittle bones. But Sukuna didn't stop. He was on him again in an instant, slamming a foot into his stolen ribcage, feeling the satisfying crack beneath his weight.

His claws sank deep, puncturing the soft flesh of your throat, his grip tightening. Your windpipe collapsed beneath his fingers, and Kenjaku gagged. Sukuna wanted to crush him, crush you, crush the entire world until nothing remained but silence.

"You took what was mine." His voice was guttural, primal. "You used their body like a puppet."

Kenjaku wheezed, the amusement still glinting in those now unfamiliar eyes. "And what would you have done, hmm? Buried them? Let them rot? Is this really so different from what you would have wanted?"

Sukuna’s vision blurred. His fingers trembled where they held your throat. His mind filled with the sound of your voice—your real voice.

"Sukuna, you’re impossible." "I’ll always come back to you, one way or another." "Don’t look at me like that. It makes me feel like I’m something you’re afraid to lose."

He ripped your head off.

Right then and there, he ripped the stitches that connected your skull to your face, fingers gruesomely squelching into your head as he ripped the cursed brain out of you. Not with slow reverence, not with careful, grieving hands—but with raw, brutal hatred.

Hatred for you. Hatred that he could never have you again. Hatred that you came back, just like you said, but not as yourself. You clever, conniving wretch. How dare you?

It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough when it came to you; When it came to how much Sukuna loved you, it was brutal and all-consuming.

He tore deeper, his claws sinking into your torso, peeling away flesh, delving into the warmth of what had once been yours. Kenjaku's technique tried to resist, but nothing could resist him. Organs spilled from his hands, viscera dripping from his mouth as he sank his fangs into your ribs, your skin, your lungs—

And for the first time in centuries, Sukuna wept. Not in the way mortals did. Not in soft sobs or shaking shoulders, not in gasping breaths or trembling lips. He wept in the only way he knew how—by consuming you.

If he swallowed you, if he devoured every piece, there would be nothing left for the world to take. No corpse for another parasite to defile, no remnants to rot and wither under the weight of time. You would exist inside him.

And if he could not have you in life, then he would keep you in death. He chewed slowly, deliberately, raw flesh sliding down his throat, warm and thick. It was nothing like he remembered. Nothing like you had been before. But his hands did not stop. His teeth did not stop.

The world around him faded, dimmed, collapsed. And for the first time since you died, Sukuna felt human.

The hunger burned through him, carving out something hollow and endless in his chest. He dug deeper, cracking bones with his teeth, tasting the last traces of you. His hands were drenched in blood, his lips parted with ragged, animalistic breaths. The last bite was your heart.

It sat in his palm, still warm, still soft. Still yours. Sukuna stared at it for a long, long time. His stomach churned, something bitter and foul curling in his gut. This was love, wasn’t it?

Twisted. Wrong. Disgusting. But fit for him. Did it fit you, though? He wondered in cold contemplation before coming to a conclusion: No. It didn’t. But you loved him anyway. He would never understand how.

If he could, he would have swallowed your soul, too.

Sukuna looked down at what remained. Nothing but crimson-stained bones, gnawed and shattered, the last fragments of you disappearing into his mouth. His fingers trembled as he wiped his lips, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths.

And then, he smiled. A slow, bloody thing. Content, crazed. Because he had won.

The world could never take you from him again.

❥ SHOKO IERI "Why do I have to see you dead again?"

Shoko Ieiri had spent years dissecting bodies, peeling back flesh to learn its secrets, unraveling the mysteries of life and death with steady hands and a sharp mind. She had been the first to see the broken corpses of friends and strangers alike, her scalpel carving through the silence of the morgue with clinical precision. She had long since stopped believing in miracles.

But right now, she really hoped the world proved her wrong more than anything.

Because the moment Gojo steps into the morgue, Shoko already knows.

It's in the way his shoulders are too stiff, the way his lips press into a thin, bloodless line, and the way his Six Eyes—limitless, boundless, all-seeing—refuse to meet hers. It’s in the way the air around him crackles with restrained fury, his cursed energy screaming even as his face betrays nothing.

But most of all, it’s in the body he’s carrying in his arms. Your body. 

Again.

The first time had been bad enough. The first time, Satoru had been quiet in a way that wasn’t him, the weight of loss settling on his shoulders, pressing him down in ways his limitless technique could not counter. The first time, Shoko had stared at your body on the metal table and thought, this isn’t real. But it had been real. You had been gone. And she had failed you.

But now? Now it was worse. Now, Satoru’s face was twisted in something far darker than grief as he placed you on the slab once more. Your body was ruined, flesh worn and rotted in places it shouldn’t be, eyes sunken and wrong. You had been moving days ago. You had been speaking, fighting—but it hadn’t been you.

Kenjaku. A parasite in your skin. A thief wearing your face.

She should have stopped this. She should have done her job right the first time.

"I’m sorry," Satoru said, voice cold, hollow. He knew that if he let anything else slip, they would both break at the loss of you.

Shoko couldn’t look at him. She knew if she did, she’d see that same grief, that same pain, reflected in his stupid, infinity-shielded eyes, and she couldn’t take that right now. Instead, she focused on the body—your body, but not you—and forced her fingers to move. She reached for the scalpel, but her hand shook.

No.

She took a breath, tried to steady herself, but the tremor wouldn’t stop. She curled her fingers into a fist, nails digging into her palm hard enough to hurt.

"You can leave," she murmured.

Satoru didn’t move.

"I’m not leaving you alone with that thing," he said. His voice was sharp, but there was something else underneath it, something raw.

Shoko swallowed hard. "Satoru."

"Shoko."

She turned her head just enough to glance at him. His hands were clenched into fists, the muscles in his jaw tight enough to crack. He wasn’t just staying for her sake. He was staying because he needed this, because he had to watch. Funny isn’t it? How Shoko herself wished to be a million miles away from this, to never even know it happened.

Fine. It’s fine. She can work fine with an audience.

So Shoko didn’t argue. She turned back to the table, setting her tools in order with more force than necessary. The sound of metal against metal was sharp, loud in the too-quiet room. She swallows down bile, no mushy food left to puke out after she had vomited all of it out hours ago, when she first heard of your ‘return’ and how Gojo had to… Had to kill you this time. Fuck, she cried out then, why again?

A part of her is still crying it out. Maybe all of her.

Shoko stood over you, scalpel in hand, her fingers trembling so hard that she could barely keep the blade steady. She exhaled shakily, setting her jaw tight, but it did nothing to stop the nausea curdling in her gut.

You looked almost peaceful. That was the worst part.

If she ignored the unnatural stillness, the wrongness of the body on her table, she could almost pretend you had just fallen asleep. Could almost pretend she could shake you awake and hear your voice slurring something oddly optimistic through exhaustion.

Shoko pressed the scalpel down, her grip white-knuckled, and made the first cut. She could only imagine your laugh as flesh split open under her hands.

Her hands shook. She clenched her jaw, breathing through her nose. The trembling didn’t stop. She was a doctor, she was a mortician. She had done this a thousand times.

But never to you.

Never to someone who had once leaned against her shoulder on long nights, who had laughed at her dry jokes, who had stayed with her even as so many others left. Even a year ago, when you were first presented cold and dead on her table, she couldn’t do it. And that's why you’re here again. Your body, atleast. 

She forced herself to keep going. To focus. But her vision blurred, her breath catching in her throat as she slid the scalpel deeper. Muscle and tissue parted beneath her blade. Blood welled up, too red, too fresh. It wasn’t like dissecting a corpse. It was like killing something. Like killing you.

Except you were already dead. You had been dead for a year. She was just fixing her mistake. Shoko swallowed hard, her stomach twisting as she reached for the bone saw. She had to do this properly. Had to make sure there was nothing left for Kenjaku or anything else to crawl back into.

Pain flared sharp and sudden.

Shoko hissed as the blade nicked her palm, warm blood dripping onto the metal table. Her vision swam for a moment, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

She was falling apart. No. She couldn't. Not now.

Shoko stared at the thin line of red beading against her skin, feeling utterly disconnected from herself, from everything. 

“-oko.”

A strange sound clawed its way up her throat—a strangled, broken laugh, thick with something that wasn’t quite hysteria, wasn’t quite grief, wasn’t quite anything at all.

“Shoko.”

Gojo’s voice was firmer this time, maybe desperate, pained, coming from somewhere in the room. Where was he again? In the corner? Beside her? She couldn’t focus on anything, not when you were right in front of her. Dead. 

Her breath came fast and shallow, and she realized belatedly that her hands were shaking harder now, her entire body wracked with tremors she couldn’t control. She wiped the blood from her palm with the back of her sleeve, smearing red across white, staining it, ruining it.

There was nothing left. Not you. Not your warmth, not your laughter, not your presence.

Just this—this grotesque act of erasure, this second death, this final, awful thing that she had to do.

She sucked in a breath, but it didn’t reach her lungs, got caught somewhere in the hollow, aching space in her chest where something important had been ripped out. She braces her hands against the table, shoulders hunched, lungs heaving as though she’s just resurfaced from drowning. Her fingers dig into the cold metal, nails scraping against its unforgiving surface. She needs to move. She needs to finish this.

She was drowning in it—in the sterile scent of antiseptic, in the smell of iron and decay, in the memory of your voice, your touch, the way you used to call her name, the way you used to look at her—

A blur moved past her before she could protest. Gojo.

He’s there, solid and warm, arms wrapping around her shoulders with a quiet kind of certainty. No words. No meaningless platitudes. Just warmth, steady and grounding. Her body resists at first. She wants to shove him off, tell him to leave her the fuck alone, tell him that none of this will change anything. But she doesn’t.

Because the moment she lets herself lean into it, she shatters.

A ragged breath. A full-body tremor. Her fingers twitch against the edge of the table, grasping at something that isn’t there. She presses her forehead against his chest, against the soft fabric of his uniform, and squeezes her eyes shut.

“I should have—”

Her voice cracks, Gojo tightens his arms around her.

“You did what you could,” he murmurs.

The words are gentle. Meant to be comforting.

They are not.

She shoves at him, not hard enough to push him away, just enough to make space, to breathe. Her pulse is erratic, panic clinging to her ribs like a vice. She's angry, she's crazed, she's mourning you.

“Don’t.” Her voice is hoarse. “Don’t fucking say that.”

Gojo watches her, gaze unreadable behind his blindfold. But he doesn’t argue. She steps back, fists clenching, nails biting into her palms. Her breathing is uneven, ragged, her head pounding from the weight of it all.

She should be used to it. She should be—

But she isn’t. 

She swipes the back of her hand across her face, breathing through the sharp hitch in her throat.

“Let me finish,” she says, voice steadier than she feels. Gojo nods once, Shoko refuses to look him in the eyes, fearing she’d see a reflection of her own pain. But he doesn’t leave.

Her hands are still shaking.

She doesn’t stop.

A.N. OKAY. I think thats enough angst for me now. Jfc this hurt omg. Anyway let me know if yall want this with Nanami or other characters!!

[kuurechr]

Today is the most important day of Nanami's life. Today, he finally marries the love of his life.

Everything went perfectly. There were no complications, and everyone seemed happy. Most importantly, you were overjoyed, too, looking as divine as ever in your white dress. Nanami knew he would cherish this day for the rest of his life.

Well, everything except right now, maybe.

Currently, it's his wedding reception. It's warm with fairy lights and the sound of glasses clinking.

But this also means it's also time for his best man speech. Unfortunately, the best man just so happens to be Gojo.

The man in question grins widely. A little too widely.

"Today, we are all gathered here to witness the miracle of someone marrying Nanami Kento, a guy who once tried to resign from life because his favorite bakery ran out of his beloved bread."

People laugh. Nanami's eye twitches. He tries to take the mic from him. "Okay, that's enough."

Gojo waves him off. "Let me finish, Nanamin! You should be proud! After all, it takes real charisma to seduce someone via Google Calendar invites!"

You're nearly crying from laughter. Betrayal at it's finest.

"It's true!" Gojo, much to Nanami's dread, continues. "Their third date was titled "Possible Romantic Engagement (Trial 3)" and color-coded beige. The only spice was the footnote, which said 'hand-holding permitted always'."

Nanami, gracefully, lunges for the mic, but Gojo side steps as if he were professionally trained.

"Anyways, let's not forget his wild days. Remember, Thailand, Nanami?"

He narrows his eyes. "Don't you dare–"

"He was offered a lap dance. And he said, and I quote, 'No thanks, I'm saving for a rice cooker.'"

Before Nanami can get the chance to strangle Gojo to death, Yuji appears, with cue cards in hand.

"My turn! My turn!" The boy beams. "I just wanna say, I look up to Nanamin a lot. He's the dad I never had. The emotionally repressed dad who once broke his arm trying to iron his shirt while wearing it cuz he was getting late to a sorcerer meeting."

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose.

"That was one time. I was sleep deprived."

"Let's not forget the PowerPoint proposal!" Gojo jumps back in. Where did he get the mic? Who knows.

"Title slide:- 'Statistical Reasons to Marry Me'. Slide three was a pro and con list. The only con? He won't tolerate mixing the whites with the darks when doing laundry."

You are now full on wheezing.

Nanami turns to you and deadpans. "I was being honest."

Gojo raises his glass. "In all seriousness... Nanami is a great guy. A little stiff. Deeply tragic. Probably haunted. But the most loyal and caring man I've ever known. Full of love, too, even if it's expressed through dry sarcasm and firm handshakes."

Yuji wipes a tear. "Yeah, we love you, Nanamin."

He exhales. Peace. Finally.

But then, Gojo adds, "Also, he cried during Finding Nemo, but not when Nemo got lost. But when the dad filed taxes."

"I am kicking you out of my wedding."