kuurechr

[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."

[kuurechr]

down the drain (literally) — ft. ryomen sukuna

female reader ; established relationship (engaged even!) ; modern bf sukuna ; slightly dramatic reader (she’s in shambles okay??) ; soft sukuna ; fluff

Sukuna is going to kill you.

For one, you’ve been in the bathroom for thirty minutes and he is clearly sick of it—the door handle rattling is proof enough. For another…well…your engagement ring is down the drain.

(Literally.)

You’re technically supposed to take it off when you wash your face just to be safe, but you get tired, and you forget here and there—mornings are always rough as it is. Sometimes, because you’re human, you forget. And it’s generally okay. Until it’s not.

Because your engagement ring is down the drain. (Literally.)

“God fuckin’ dammit woman,” he hisses, knocking on the door, “what are you doing in there? Open the damn door it’s been ages.”

“Just a second,” you call, panicking as you try to pull the drain plug out, but it doesn’t budge. Your fingers aren’t doing you any favors either—it feels like they’re the perfect size to not fit around anything to help you out here.

Your engagement ring is down the drain (literally) and there’s nothing to do but slowly bite your lip as tears collect at your lash line. So you open the door—and before Sukuna’s angry face can scold you any further, you’ve collapsed against his chest, soaking his bare chest with your tears.

“Wha—” he’s stunned. Stiff and standing there for a moment before he’s stuttering, “h-hey—I didn’t even yell at you that bad, what the fuck? Why’re you bein’ so—”

“I’m sorry, Kuna,” you sob, “please don’t be mad!”

“I’m mad but not that mad,” he says, bewildered. You sob harder at that, and his hands quickly find your hips and squeeze in panic at a poor attempt to reassure you. “Okay, okay! Not mad. Just…mildly annoyed. You’re…mildly annoying, better?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you wail.

“Okay! I got it! You’re havin’ a slow morning. Whatever, I waited. Can we just—”

“I didn’t think it’d slip off like that!”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“My ring,” you hiccup. He stills. You sniffle, pulling away and preparing yourself for his harsh, bitter anger as you whisper, “it fell down the drain.”

“What?” he looks at you, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I w-was washing my face and then…and then—” you take a shuddering breath to try and work through your sobs before you continue, “it fell off and went down the drain! Now it’s in the sewers!”

“The sewers?”

“Yeah the pipes are gonna take it to the sewers!”

“I don’t think it’s in the sewers just yet—”

“And then the sewers will take it to the ocean and then I’ll never find it again!”

“The ocean is a long way from here—”

“I’m so, so, so sorry—”

“Oh my god, woman,” he grabs your cheeks, squeezing them together to shut you up as you stare up at him with wet, miserable, teary eyes. And he softens. Lets his shoulders fall a little as he sighs before rough thumbs are swiping at your cheeks less than gently, but more than in love. “’S just a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring,” you gasp, “it’s my engagement ring!”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs, “but we’re still engaged—”

“But now no one will know!”

“Then I’ll buy you a damn new one,” he groans, rubbing his temples as he clicks his teeth when a fresh new round of tears soak your cheeks. (He doesn’t like how it looks—wobbly lips and puffy eyes on you make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. He has enough mistakes to worry about as is.)

“But it’s expensive and—”

“And not your problem,” he grumbles, “I’ll buy you a ring. A nicer one, too, if you promise to quit your whining.”

“You’re not mad?” you sniffle, slumping against his chest as your arms circle his waist.

He melts. Because it’s you, and he always does when it’s you. His arms wrap tightly around you, and a large hand cups the back of your head as he presses a small kiss to your temple.

“You want me to be mad that bad?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Then ‘m not,” he snorts, chest vibrating under your cheek at his laugh, “so quit worryin’. You’ll get creases and everyone’ll think I married some old hag.”

You crack a small grin. He’s good at that—at pulling a soft smile onto your lips against your will as you let out a quiet giggle, gently swatting at his back with your hand as you huff. For a second, the ring is forgotten. For a second, it’s just you, it’s just Sukuna, and it’s just nothing else.

“Not a hag, you asshole,” you huff.

“You nag like one,” he mumbles.

“Do not,” you huff, “you just always piss me off.”

“You piss me off, too.”

“Are you pissed off about the ring?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he grunts. His arms squeeze you tighter, his lips kiss your head once more, and his body sways you side to side ever so slightly as he repeats, more seriously this time, “no. Forget the ring. I’ll get you a new one if I have to, so don’t cry.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he hums.

He does. Ring or not, he does. And you can tell he does when he pulls away, gently pinches your nose and leans in to kiss the tears off your face as you can’t help but smile and giggle.

Your ring is down the drain (literally) and so is the hefty sum of money he spent on it, but everything else is still right here. Him and you and you and him and everything you’re ever built, nestled perfectly safe between the little space between your bodies.

“Done cryin’?” he asks gently.

You nod, kissing his jaw as he hums in content. “Yeah.”

“Great. Then get out—it’s my turn in the bathroom and I’ve waited long enough.”

—————— BONUS.

“Hand me the wrench.”

“Okay,” you hum. You hand him a tool, and he stares at you unimpressed as soon as he looks at it.

“That’s a screwdriver.”

“Oh. Which one’s the wrench?”

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” he groans, rubbing his temples.

Fifteen minutes later, and a good deal of bickering over what a wrench looks like and how his tools don’t all look the same, Sukuna has successfully retrieved your very shiny, and very pretty engagement ring. (It didn’t make it very far down the pipes—which is good. It didn’t make it to the sewers, and it most certainly didn’t make its way into the ocean.)

It’s no longer down the drain. (Literally.)

It’s now on your finger. (Literally.)

“Happy?” he raises a brow, watching as you grin at your finger, clearly pleased.

“Yeah,” you hum, sighing in relief. “Good thing you’re at least good at something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“I’m flushin’ that thing down the toilet next time! Sendin’ it straight into the ocean so you’ll never find it again!”

I’ll never forget when I was six years old and I dropped the small ring I got from a gumball machine down the drain when I was brushing my teeth and then I had such a severe meltdown my dad had to bust out his toolkit, open the damn bathroom sink pipes, and fish it out. Because six year old me could not FATHOM losing my 50 cent plastic ring no matter how many times he promised he’d buy me a new one 💀

Anyway. My dad and I were reminiscing about that on call and then I decided it would make a cute sukuna drabble so here you go.

Anyway peace ✌️

[kuurechr]

Pre-relationship your boyfriend is the worst

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, and Megumi

Synopsis: they’re your friend/coworker notices that you’re boyfriend isn’t treating you right.

pt. 1 - pt. 2

my smau masterlists one and two

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[kuurechr]

You and Sukuna did each others' hair.

It was a way to save money and it was also a nice experience to have a boyfriend that had the ability to do your hair. He had a careful eye when he cared, and because he knew you valued how your hair looked, he handled it with the utmost care no matter how long it would take.

Sukuna could cut his own hair, with his technique and all, but he never put too much effort into that. He could just run his hand through his hair and it would stay in place – you were always jealous.

But one thing he did ask your help for was with dyeing his hair.

Jin and Sukuna were both born with brownish-blond hair. Sukuna had started dyeing it at an early age – back in the Heian era, his blondish hair was part of what had made people consider him to be a freak. He often dyed it in the blood of people he murdered, leaving it a pinkish colour.

It was much better to dye his hair like this though – to have you do it.

You rubbed it in with the brush, and Sukuna scowled at you. "You got it in my ear, woman!"

"You're fidgeting!" You insisted, pulling the towel around his neck to wipe at his ear. "S'not my fault."

"I'm not fidgeting," Sukuna grumbled. "And if I were, it's cause you're taking way too long."

"I am doing it the fastest I've ever done it."

Sukuna was sitting in your bathtub, while you sat on the ledge, running your brush and your gloved hands through his hair, with pink dye. Your nose twitched slightly and you scratched it with the nook of your elbow, unable to touch it.

"Oh, Kaori texted me earlier, by the way."

"Huh?" Sukuna turned to you, brows furrowing. "Why?"

You used your elbow to try and itch your nose again but failed. Sukuna reached up and scratched it for you. You muttered thanks to him, before answering. "They're having a small gathering, she said. Really wants us to come by."

"Doesn't mean we have to," Sukuna said, gruffly.

You raised a brow at him. "What's wrong with you? Are you fighting with Jin again?"

"No," Sukuna huffed. "That girl – Kaori – is off putting."

You frowned. "That's rude, 'Kuna. She's your sister in law."

Sukuna grunted. "You just can't see it with your non-sorcerer brain but... just trust me on it, okay?"

"We still have to go," you told him, looking through his hair for any missed spots. "It's important to Jin, too."

"Fine," Sukuna said. "But you're never gonna be alone with Kaori. Just stick by me the whole time, ya promise?"

"I promise... and finished!" You removed the towel from his shoulders, letting his shirtless body free from being covered in any way, revealed in all of its glory. "Hit the showers, dude."

Sukuna grabbed your wrist and pulled you in between his legs, in the tub, making you yelp. "Call me dude again and I'll drown you. But since this was just a one time thing, shower with me."

"Ew, no dude, your hair dye is gonna drip onto me." Sukuna grabbed your hair and brought his forwards, to get his pink onto you. You screamed, laughing and pulling away. "'Kuna, let me go!" 

[kuurechr]

notes : sukuna takes toji's girlfriend for an ultrasound

"Thanks for doing this," Mayumi huffed, getting into the car. "I know it's last minute."

"Put your seatbelt on," Sukuna grumbled in response.

Mayumi shook her head, muttering to herself. "I just got in here, gimme a second." She pulled her seatbelt on, clicking it in, and sending Sukuna a pointed look. "Happy?"

"Don't give me sass," Sukuna shot back. "I'm missing work for you."

"Right," Mayumi nodded, with a small smile. "Y/N told me that you were more than happy to do that."

Sukuna almost let out a snort. "She's not wrong about that." He looked over at Mayumi pointedly. "You better have a strong kid, I need to teach some actual talent at that stupid school."

Mayumi chuckled, resting her hand over her stomach. "Considering Toji, I'm sure they'll come out just fine... what do you think they'll be by the way?"

"Huh?" Sukuna stopped at a red light and raised a brow at her.

"A boy or a girl?"

"I don't care what the kid is," Sukuna huffed, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "S'long as it comes out without being dead or killing you, what does it matter?"

"I'm not saying it matters," Mayumi said, rolling her eyes. The light turned green and Sukuna made sure to still check for the cars at the side before he went ahead. "I'm just saying it's fun to guess."

"Okay," Sukuna nodded. "What's your guess?"

"No, I wanna hear your guess first!"

"Who cares about my guess? It's not my baby, and you'd know best – it's in you, isn't it?"

"Ryomen." Mayumi took a deep breath. "Just... just tell me if you think it's gonna be a girl or a boy. You're making this way more complicated than it has to be."

"Fine," Sukuna nodded. He thought about it for a second. And then more seconds.

Mayumi couldn't put up with the silence. "Ryomen!"

"What?! I'm thinking, woman!"

"Just–" She inhaled sharply, wiping her hands against her pants. "Just what would you want me to have? A boy or a girl?"

"Fuck do I care?"

Okay, maybe he cares a little bit.

He really didn't think he would – this wasn't his kid. It was your friends' kid, and he had no relation to them whatsoever. Sure, he'd had pleasant conversations with Mayumi – he'd also had frustrating ones. He was never careful with her though, not how he was with you, because he never wanted to ruin things with you.

Mayumi had hated him when they'd first met, she was more hostile than any of your other friends. But Mayumi clearly loved you a lot, and Sukuna knew that was good for you. You loved her too.

Sukuna just never considered your friends to be his friends.

But right now, as the doctor showed off the ultrasound and the soft heartbeats of Mayumi's kid filled up the room, Sukuna had to pause. It was like his heart had filled up – it was the same feeling he always got when he was at his happiest with you.

"Ryomen." Mayumi had whispered his name, and it had taken him out of the trance of staring at the ultrasound. She held out her hand. Sukuna hesitated. He didn't want to touch a woman that wasn't you. In the Heian era he would've killed any woman who dared to even think it possible.

At his hesitance, Mayumi retracted her hand but smiled. "Have you thought about it yet?"

"What?"

Mayumi chuckled, her head falling back. "Boy or girl, Ryomen?"

Sukuna looked back at the ultrasound.

Mayumi wasn't like a concubine – she was a woman, sure, but she was a genuine friend to Sukuna now. She wanted the best for him, and he knew that. And he wanted the best for her.

"A boy."

Sukuna raised his hand up and ruffled Mayumi's hair.

"And he's gonna have your messy hair, too."

[kuurechr]

Satoru woke up with a start.

His pulse raced. His breaths came out laboured, heavy, as he recovered from waking up so suddenly.

The contents of his dream - no, his nightmare - were quickly leaving his head. He knew it had something to do with you. He knew his chest was constricting in fear. He was sure there was blood, lots of it. Even though nothing was clear, he knew what he must have dreamed of.

He looked to the other side of the bed.

You weren't there.

But he knew you wouldn't be. He knew you were sent on a mission at the worst possible time. He'd insisted on going instead, but you said you'd be fine. He reached out for the dressing table beside the bed, where both of your phones would usually be. Instead, it was just his tonight, and he grabbed his phone.

2:46 A.M.

Satoru sighed and got up. His throat was dry, and he could do with a midnight treat. He stretched his arms out, yawning as he made his way through the bedroom door. He had to step through the living room in order to make it to the kitchen.

On the coffee table, in front of the sofa, were cookies.

Despite his grogginess, Satoru smiled.

He loved having kids.

The trap they had set up was so obvious. Satoru couldn't help but chuckle.

He grabbed the cookies, knowing it would set off the trap, which was somehow supposed to capture Santa Claus - a man who may not have been taller than Satoru, maybe not even much more white haired, but definitely a man who weighed a lot more. The measly trap barely captured a half of Satoru's hand.

He took the trap off, and ate the cookies, eyeing the milk left out wearily - there was no way he trusted milk that had been out since who knows when.

Lights suddenly turned on, not blinding Satoru since he knew what was coming. He still winced, to be all dramatic, and hissed as he saw the kids gape at him. Tsumiki seemed fully awake and energetic, while Megumi, behind her, was still rubbing sleep from out of his eyes.

"Aw, what!" Tsumiki huffed, stomping her foot. "You're not the one we wanted!"

Satoru smirked as he took another bite of the cookie. "That's a bit rude, no? Is Santa the one who bought you all those sweets last week?"

"Those were for you, be honest," Megumi grumbled, walking over to the couch and sprawling over it, resting his head.

"Even when you're tired, you find a way to annoy me," Satoru grunted. "Anyways," Satoru said, as he continued munching. "I thought you didn't believe in Santa, 'Gumi."

"I don't," Megumi said hesitantly. "But..." He looked away. "It doesn't hurt to try and figure something out."

Satoru chuckled. "So, were you excited to see a big man with white hair munching away?"

Tsumiki pouted. "Don't laugh! I really thought we caught him!" She let out a loud sigh and walked over to the couch as well, pushing Megumi's legs to the side so she could sit comfortably as well. "I was so ready to tell everyone at school."

"Well, tell them you got something better," Satoru grinned, gesturing to himself. Megumi huffed, reaching his hand out and slapping the crumbs off of his shirt.

"When's Y/N getting back?" Megumi asked.

Satoru, reminded of you and the nightmare he'd had, grimaced slightly. "I'm not sure." He pulled out his phone from his pocket. No texts or calls from you. You were in a different timezone, opposite to Japan, and if the kids weren't here, Satoru would simply pop in and check on you. To be frank, Tsumiki and Megumi were kids that Satoru would never worry about leaving alone for a week, much less two mere seconds. But he knew you'd yell at him and he'd rather not have that.

And he himself would rather not leave the kids alone on Christmas - it was too important of a day.

Satoru looked over at the presents under the Christmas tree. The light was dimmed by the lights of the rest of the room. But it was important. It held a special place in this family's hearts now. These were the same lights they had used for two years of Christmas, now the third.

There were just as many presents as there had been during their first Christmas.

"Will she get here before we're supposed to wake up?" Tsumiki asked, tilting her head. The tinge of hopefulness made Satoru's heart churn. He really needed a confirmation from you, something that said that you were alright.

"She said she'd try," Satoru said, forcing a smile. "But what's the point when the two of you can't get up tomorrow because you're tired from staying up! She'll end up blaming me for that, you know?"

Tsumiki giggled, and Satoru chuckled along, as he began to usher them both to bed.

Once he had successfully done so, wishing the two goodnight and shutting their door, he let out a tired sigh. He looked back down at his phone, and still, nothing, no word from you or from anyone else about you.

He got a bit too scared to head back to bed, even though he wouldn't like to admit it out loud. He was nervous about living through that nightmare again. He went to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and washing his face again.

As he slowly prepared himself to go to bed, practically procrastinating it, he swear he heard a noise. It was a subtle and quiet. A knock on the door, making sure it wouldn't wake up the kids. Satoru practically tripped over his feet, dashing to the door, as quietly as he could, and fumbling with the lock as he opened it. He didn't need to check a peephole to check who it was. He just knew.

He swung the door open, and there you were, bundled up in winter clothes to withstand the cold air that had blown into your shared home now, no doubt making Satoru freeze in his light pyjamas. But Satoru couldn't care. He was too happy to see you, your chapped and bitten lips, your tired smile, your loving eyes, your slightly runny nose.

Satoru grabbed your face and pulled you in for a kiss.

You melted into it. You missed his warmth and his presence as much as he missed yours, even if it hasn't been a measly 24 hours. For some reason, not being able to sleep in bed together when one of you had missions at night, was always worse.

You tapped out, your freezing fingers unable to move much anymore. "Inside?" Satoru asked, breathlessly. You nodded, shivering despite your warm attire. He nodded and hurried you inside, shutting the door. Your home was heated well, but the presence of the people you loved probably made it feel all the more warmer.

Before you could take any of your winter clothes off, Satoru reached out and pulled you in for a hug. You chuckled, exhaustion seeping through, but hugged back anyways. "Did something happen, Toru?"

Satoru squeezed you tighter. "Nightmare," he whispered. He knew your next question. "I'm alright now though."

"Are you sure?" You asked, patting his back lightly.

He smiled, burying his head in the crook of your neck. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "You're here now."

[kuurechr]

notes : you take sukuna out on a date after he has a falling out with Jin

Things had been tense the past few days. You'd made sure to call Wasuke and talk about how Sukuna was doing, since he'd apparently been ignoring calls and texts. Sukuna wasn't outwardly fighting with you or anything, but his words were limited and he was opting less and less to spend time with you.

Apparently, Jin had fully cut out Sukuna. He refused to even let his brother near his baby, when they're born. You and Wasuke had watched as Sukuna stormed out, and hurried to the door, where Jin came up, a blank look on his face.

"You two can make your choice now, too."

You had no clue what to do. Wasuke fully agreed with Sukuna but he stayed. He wanted to protect his son. And his grandson. You had really wanted to stay, and you told Jin that as well. But you went to fake Kaori, offering her a hug and apologizing about a fake inconvenience that had you and Sukuna in a hurry to go. Jin hadn't even acknowledged your attempt at saying goodbye, and let Wasuke take you out to the door.

So, safe to say, he was mad at you, too.

You hated the tense atmosphere, though. You hated this mood that Sukuna was in, you hated that the family was torn apart. You felt like there was a heavy weight on your chest.

So, you had offered to take Sukuna out to the movies.

"You want to take me out?" He had replied, raising a brow at you.

"Yeah," you nodded, repeating yourself. "To the movies."

He sat up on the bed, onto which he'd rushed onto after he got home and took a shower. He had only nodded at you as he passed by the living room, where you had been waiting for him. "When have ya ever heard of a girl taking her boyfriend out?"

"It's pretty common in this generation," you huffed, crossing your arms. "I want to take you out! Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Yeah, there is." Sukuna laid back in the bed, resting his head against the pillows. "I'm taking you out."

"Do you even want to watch this movie?" You asked, raising a brow at him as the two of you walked away from the ticket seller.

"Who cares what I want," he grumbled. "You want popcorn?"

"You don't like popcorn," you said, looking around. "There's probably something else we can get."

Sukuna stopped walking, looking down at you. "The hells' your problem?"

"Huh?" Your brows furrowed, although you were trying not to let out your own temper.

"Since when were you so insistent on having everything... so catered to me? What, you think I'm some sissy or something? I haven't become all sensitive 'cause my brothers' an idiot."

"I know that!" You huffed. "I just... wanted to be nice, jeez. I can't be nice?"

"You're being nice because of the fight with that idiot."

"I'm being nice because you've been down – I don't care about what."

Sukuna rolled his eyes and scratched the base of his neck. "Let's just go watch this fucking movie."

When Uncle Ben died, you cried.

But for some reason, you couldn't stop.

Sukuna eyed you at first, when you had wiped a few tears at the death scene, but that was to be expected, so he left you alone, sipping on his drink which was far too sugary. But a few minutes later, he found himself glancing at you again, and you still had tears streaming down your face.

"Hey," Sukuna whispered, immediately worried as he leaned in close to you. "What the hells' wrong with you?"

"It's- It's not your problem," you sniffled, wiping at your eyes. Sukuna huffed, grabbing one of the napkins he'd gotten when buying you popcorn and used it to wipe your nose. You swatted his hands away. "I can do it myself."

"Come on, the uncle died minutes ago," Sukuna said. "Why're you still crying?"

"I'm sorry I have emotions and this made me sad," you whispered harshly, snatching a tissue from him and dabbing it at your eyes. "Let's just be quiet and watch, please."

Sukuna stayed quiet, with his eyebrows all furrowed as he couldn't quit glancing back at your puffy and red eyes once you left the theatre. "It was sad, huh?" Sukuna asked, as the two of you walked out of the theatre.

You nodded, silent.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?"

You shook your head, but quickly changed your mind. "Actually, no. I'll just be a second."

Sukuna nodded, taking your purse and leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. He felt the stares and looks of awe as people passed by him. Even if he slouched, he was still a big guy. His height alone was something to talk about, but Sukuna was also built. And handsome. A triple threat, really.

He saw someone about to approach him, but he immediately glared at the girl harshly, and that was enough to make her back away, retreating back to her friends. Sukuna was still incredibly in his head about whatever could have made you so sad. Yeah, he knew you were upset about recent events, but how did a fictional character dying trigger you so badly?

You came out of the bathroom, turning your head to look for him. Sukuna was at your side before you even looked in his direction. You took your purse from him and walked slightly ahead, towards the exit. "Good movie?"

You shrugged. "I liked it."

Sukuna took one larger step in order to get in front of you in time to open the door for you. You nodded your thanks to him before pushing the next one open and holding it out for him. Sukuna felt himself shiver as he walked through the door – this wasn't the behaviour of a man.

"Alright," Sukuna huffed. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong."

"Something is wrong. You wouldn't cry like a baby unless something was wrong. Is this about Jin and I?"

"No."

"You better not be lying."

Your head whipped to look up at him. Your lips wobbled as tears fought their way to blur your vision. "I'm not– I'm not lying." You chewed on your lips after your voice betrayed you, cracking. "It's just... Nothing."

Sukuna let out a long breath, lowering his head.

For the first time on this entire date, he grabbed your hand. "Come on," he muttered, pulling you along behind him. He walked slow enough so you wouldn't stumble all over your feet to keep up with him. "We're talking about this whether you want to or not."

He led you to an empty alley behind the movie theatre. It wasn't explicitly dirty or anything but it made you feel a little queasy – but maybe that was because Sukuna took you here to open up about your emotions.

Once the two of you had stopped, he still hadn't let go of your hand. Instead you pulled it away, to wipe at your nose. Sukuna sighed. "Alright..." He didn't know what to say, really. "Why'd that movie make you cry so much?"

"It's stupid," you pouted. "You won't care."

"You're only stupid if you think that," Sukuna huffed. "Tell me." He hesitated for a moment. "Please."

You swallowed. "I... I've been feeling guilty for everything that's been going on."

Sukuna's brows furrowed. "With me and Jin?" You nodded. "Why the hell would any of that be your fault?"

Your brows furrowed as well, and you brought up your sleeve to your nose again. "Because... because if I didn't go out to the mall with her that day, Kaori would be fine, and you and Jin wouldn't be fighting, and Wasuke wouldn't constantly be worried and everything would be okay... but it's not."

Sukuna took a minute.

"You really... Do you really think all that is your fault? Really?"

"I...? Yeah..."

"You're being serious?" You looked up at him, brows knitted. He let out a frustrated huff as he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, dove, listen to me. That is– that's the dumbest shit I've ever heard."

You frowned. "This is why I didn't–"

"Shut up, I told you to listen," he interrupted. "How special do you think you are? One tiny action of yours ruins the balance of the world and destroys an entire family? You think yer that important?"

"No," you gaped. "I never said that!"

"You think if we all stayed at home, all cozied up, Kaori wouldn't've died? Come on, use your brain, woman, whatever things took over her was probably waiting for an opportunity. This was coming, with or without you around."

"But–"

"No buts," he snapped. "You really think I'd let you blame yourself for something you couldn't control?"

Your breath hitched.

"Got it?"

You didn't say anything.

"Look up at me, woman."

You raised your chin slightly, but still didn't exactly look at him. "Okay."

Sukuna huffed, leaning back against the wall of the alley.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "Next time you start thinking stupid shit like that, tell me so I can shut it down before you start crying in a goddamn movie theater."

"I was trying to talk to you before," you argued, but your voice was soft. "You didn't listen to me."

Sukuna huffed. "Okay. Okay, you got me there. How do you want me to make up for it?"

You couldn't stop the small smile edging onto your face. "Say sorry."

Sukuna clicked his tongue. "I've already said please today – that's all you're getting outta me."

[kuurechr]

thinking about your first kiss with satoru being under the rain in the middle of the street . . . him turning off his CT and getting wet with you as you both melt into the kiss . . . the world stops for you. to those who pass by in a rush, you look like a crazy couple in love, to be standing under the pouring rain, without an umbrella, kissing. they’re not wrong, but there’s so much more to it.

satoru thinks,

come closer to me. come unbearably close

i am ready to stay under the rain with you, under any rain that falls on us — be it water, be it bullets

i am ready to be drenched to my bones and bleed to my death, for you

and no matter how hard it pours, my lips will always find yours

[kuurechr]

catch of the day

[kuurechr]

Beautiful writing. S tier 🫶🏽

THATS SO KIND thank you so so much 😭❤️❤️❤️

[kuurechr]

[kuurechr]

notes : inspired by that story from chris martin about his daughter

Satoru was fidgeting around, unsure of what to do with himself. You sighed, putting your hand out to place it on top of his.

"Why are you worrying so much?"

"Why are you not?" Satoru huffed, pulling his hand back and running it through his hair, gripping it in a way he would never let you do with yours.

You raised your hands to carefully try to pry his fingers from his hair. "She is a big girl," you sighed, enunciating each word carefully. "And of all people, Tsumiki can handle herself. You know that, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter if she can handle herself - you never know what could happen!"

"She's a cashier."

"What if someone gets mad at her and attacks her?"

"It's a shop for preteen girls."

"Do you remember Tsumiki at that age? She gave me white hairs."

"All you have is white hairs," you huffed, tugging at it lightly. He swatted your hand away in return. "Quit being upset about it, you're gonna make her feel bad. You should be happy that Tsumiki is pushing her comfort zones - she's growing."

"Why would I be happy about that? She's my little girl!"

You sighed and continued with your lecture.

Satoru relented at some point, but truly, deep down, he worried about her. If it was Megumi out there working, he wouldn't care at all - that boy had gotten in more fights than Satoru had been in by that age.

But this was his kid, his firstborn (not really), his daughter. You never admitted to having favourites, but Satoru found great joy in being a girl dad.

Which is why, he showed up to the store for pre-pubescent girls, standing out like a sore thumb the second he walked in.

Immediately, a group of 11 year olds started giggling him and following him, and that led to more of the people in the store noticing him. He had spotted Tsumiki at the counter and was going to go straight up there, but when one of her coworkers pointed Satoru out to her, Tsumiki's eyes darted around to find him and when they landed on him... Satoru was a strong man. The strongest even.

But he ducked for cover.

He needed to build up the courage to face his daughter.

He peeked up again, and he thinks his heart was just pierced through by Tsumiki's daggering stare. 'Leave,' she mouthed, very clearly. 'Now.' She shook her head, before a smile blossomed on her face as she turned to her coworker.

Satoru, his hands shaking, grabbed a cute hair clip he found.

With his head hung low, he walked over to the counter. He could feel Tsumiki's glare, so he avoided her completely, going over to her coworker.

"J-Just this?" The cashier asked, taken aback by how good Satoru looked in person. Not that he cared. He was still openly sulking about Tsumiki.

"Yeah," he nodded, a sad faraway look in his eyes - it was making everyone staring at him, swoon. "And, uh, would you mind giving this to Tsumiki over there?"

Tsumiki's head shot up. The cashier looked back at Tsumiki warily before turning back to Satoru. "She's right there... you can give it yourself."

"No, it's alright," Satoru said, handing out the bag. The cashier nodded, cashing Satoru out and handing him his receipt. "It's fine," he waved her off, turning around dejected, with a single hair brown hair clip in his hands.

Tsumiki rushed to the counter when Satoru started walking away, grabbing the bag and looking at what was inside. "How do you know him?" Her coworker immediately asked. "Do you have his number?"

"He's my dad," Tsumiki huffed, taking out what Satoru had brought her. "Kikufuku..." She muttered.

"Your dad?!"

Tsumiki looked over at Satoru, who was near the door now, and then down at her kikufuku box again before looking up and gathering the courage to shout.

"Dad!"

Satoru froze.

"Thank you! I love you!"

Satoru turned around, waving at her with a smile, his dimples now permanently etched into his skin. "See you at home, sweetie!"

He did not see her at home.

He waited until her shift was over.

[kuurechr]

"I have a feeling you've got everything you wanted."

Geto Suguru had defected years ago.

You thought about him every day, even when you tried your hardest not to. He wouldn't leave your brain, your heart, your very soul. He was etched in there, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of him.

But everyone else seemed to move on so easily. Shoko smoked a lot, sure, but she never talked about it. She was focused on medical school. Satoru just seemed to get even more bubbly. You hated how they weren't obvious about it. You couldn't believe that they could go to sleep without thinking about him.

That's why your hands were shaking right now.

"You... you what?" You couldn't believe what you had just heard from the woman who was scanning your groceries. She was offhandedly talking to her coworkers, but when you heard a certain name, you froze.

"Oh," the woman turned to you, with a smile. "Have you been feeling any pains in your body recently?" You nodded, hesitantly. "There's this man in a temple in Nara who does exorcisms, and goodness! He does amazing work! I had a pain in my neck that went away instantly, thanks to him."

"Oh, uh," you shrugged. "I don't believe in that stuff really..."

"Please," she shook her head, as she continued to scan your groceries. "You have to try it at least once, if you're feeling pains. It's better to go to him than waste your money on medicines and doctors."

"Well," you said, scratching the back of your neck. "Does he have a card?"

"No, he's a little reclusive, but I can write the address down for you," she offered.

You smiled. "That would be helpful... who should I ask for when I get there?"

"Geto."

"And you're not wasting time, stuck here like me."

Your breath hitched as you walked in.

Suguru's eyes seemed to widen for a second, in genuine surprise, but the expression was fleeting. He grinned, but not in that comforting way you remembered from high school.

"I'm surprised you're here... get an order from the higher ups?"

"I can't just want to see you?"

Suguru raised a brow at you, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "Most people like you don't want to just see me."

That made your chest hurt. 'People like you.' He was lumping you with all of them. He used to make you feel special, and he was refusing to acknowledge you as a singular person.

You swallowed. "You should know I'm different."

He hummed. "Are you?"

"You can't shit on me for thinking you're at least a little evil," you said, gritting your teeth. "You killed your own parents, Suguru."

"Suguru," he repeated. "You still see the good in me, though, huh?"

"No." You were firm but there was a slight nod to your head. Suguru smiled. Genuinely, this time, but you weren't looking at him.

"It's been years, Y/N," he said. "What did you think was going to happen with your arrival?"

You didn't say anything.

Suguru felt how twisted he'd become as he said his next few words. He was going to get rid of all this good you saw in him. Bring you into reality. "Did you think you'd bring me back? Reform me? Do you still think that's possible?"

Your fists were clenched.

Suguru let out a haughty chuckle.

"What in the world have you been doing for the past five years?"

He smirked as your head finally raised, and he saw the rage in your eyes.

Come on, blow up.

But as you always did, you simply exhaled slowly, and steadied yourself. The smirk on his face twitched before slowly falling into a frown. His fingers froze, and he stretched them out, a little flustered by the reaction you were able to pull out for him. It was so subtle that you had no chance of noticing, though.

Whether you noticed it or not, Suguru barely had time to recover before you actually made him want to crawl into his own skin.

You shook your head. "There's no point in killing you, Suguru. You've practically done it to yourself already."

notes : a songfic ig? i usually hate doing these since they feel so limiting but there's a lot to work with using this song

[kuurechr]

hehe im failing chem but at least im writing

[kuurechr]

airhead jock bf! yuji with you, who has to have things all planned out or you will explode. she will literally plan so meticulously but no matter what, yuji always seems to be the one with his life planned out better than yours. he's got so many away games, he got accepted into a university by his second year in high school, he knows what he's gonna do with his life. you're proud of him but it can be genuinely frustrating sometimes. but whenever you get frustrated, the one who makes you relax is yuji himself - since he's jusat cruising through high school after his acceptance, he has more time to cater to you when he's at school. stressed for a test? he already booked a study room and ordered food. not getting enough sleep? he has a car, and blankets especially for you. overbooked yourself? yuji's got you covered wherever. it is his ultimate goal to get you to relax. life always has a way of working out in the end.

[kuurechr]

Woah i didn't even realize i reached 500 thats crazy thank you... i feel like i should do smth special so ! requests are open ! (no nsfw please)