sadnsxft

[sadnsxft]

VOLUME CONTROL: OFF .ᐟ.ᐟ

cw: neighbour choso, he's a broke loser, this man whimpers, okay?, mean!reader, not mean mean but mean mean if you understand what i meant, yes he's pathetic too, pu$$y drunk choso, begging, p in v, lots of whimpering :p

neighbour!choso was quiet. the kind of quiet that made you suspicious. you never saw him with friends, never heard a TV, never once got a “good morning” in passing. just the occasional nod when your eyes met in the hallway—hood pulled up, bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept since taxes were invented. you figured he was just some overworked, underpaid loser trying to scrape by.

neighbour!choso wasn’t quiet at night, though. oh no. he was a fucking problem after 1AM. the kind of problem that had you pausing your playlist, rolling your eyes, and pressing your ear to the wall with a sigh. moaning. whining. deep, needy groans echoing through your apartment like a damn soundtrack. you’d groan into your pillow, “jesus christ, get a fleshlight already,” but you never turned away. curiosity was a hell of a drug.

neighbour!choso had the audacity to still look shy when you showed up at his door one morning, hoodie thrown over sleepwear, jaw locked and unimpressed. “are you seriously jerking off this early?” you asked, arms crossed. he blinked at you like a deer in headlights, lips parted in slow horror.

“uh—I, I didn’t think you’d—I mean I didn’t mean—”

“when was the last time you fucked, huh?”

he looked like you’d slapped him. the tips of his ears went pink. his neck followed. “...i don’t remember.”

you scoffed. “damn. no wonder you’re moaning like you’re auditioning for a porn studio every night.”

neighbour!choso looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

you tilted your head. “you could’ve just called an escort, you know.”

his voice cracked. “i—I can’t afford that…”

you sighed. long, dramatic, exasperated. “broke and pathetic. christ.”

but then you didn’t leave.

no—you stepped past him, into his shitty little apartment with peeling wallpaper and mismatched chairs, and gave him the kind of once-over that made his knees go weak. you sat down on the edge of his bed and patted your thigh.

“…well? show me how desperate you are, then.”

neighbour!choso dropped to his knees like you’d just handed him god’s permission slip. fingers trembling, eyes wide, lips already parted like he couldn’t breathe until he had your pussy on his tongue. and when you spread your legs? he whimpered.

“needy little loser,” you muttered, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. “you get off every night to the thought of me, don’t you?”

he nodded against your thigh, breath hot, voice wrecked: “y-yeah. all the time.”

“figured,” you rolled your eyes. “you’re loud as fuck. next time just beg.”

neighbour!choso licked like he’d die without it. like your pussy was the cure to his broke boy blues. every moan vibrated against you, every breath shaky, tongue messy and relentless as he sobbed into your cunt. and when you came, legs clamped around his head, dragging him in?

you said, “don’t stop until I say so.”

neighbour!choso had tears in his eyes when he finally pulled back, face soaked, lips glossy. “c-can I—can I fuck you?”

“hmm?” you smirked. “thought you were broke. dick work just fine, huh?”

he nodded. hard. desperate. “please. let me show you how sorry I am.”

neighbour!choso was thick. hot and twitching as he pushed inside like he’d been saving this last bit of strength just for you. your breath caught, nails dragging down his back as he bottomed out with a broken moan. you barely had time to catch your breath before he started moving.

"shit—Choso—"

"i'm sorry—i’m so sorry—" he moaned into your neck, "feels too good, i’ll do better, I swear—"

"then fuck me like you mean it."

neighbour!choso did. hips snapping hard enough to make the bed creak, his rhythm deep, focused, uncoordinated in the best way. he bit down on every whimper like he was ashamed of how much he needed it—you—this. you dragged your nails down his back, grinned when he whimpered like he was about to cry.

“this the first real pussy you’ve had in years?” you whispered in his ear.

he choked on a moan. “y-yeah—fuck—I’m close—”

“then come in me, loser,” you growled. “but you’re cleaning up the mess.”

neighbour!choso came with a full-body tremble, cock twitching as he spilled deep, breath catching like he didn’t know whether to cry or thank you. he stayed inside you, arms trembling, forehead pressed to your collarbone like you’d broken something inside him.

maybe you had.

“…so,” you muttered, dragging fingers through his hair. “next time you moan that loud, I better be the one making you.”

neighbour!choso nodded, dazed. “y-yeah. I—I promise.”

[sadnsxft]

prince charming

one wears a crown and the other seems destined for chains and dungeons. but whose to say which one you'll end up in - or with?

synopsis: from his playmate to his personal servant, you've spent your life pining after the pretty prince. until you're reminded just how misplaced your affections are for a man whose meant to marry another. so you do what any other sane person would do, sell off his possessions and slip out of his palace in the dead of the night! how far will he go to get you - and his stuff - back to his bedroom? and to keep you there, as princess or prisoner?

pairing: prince!Gojo x maid!Reader x bandit!Sukuna

content: mdni, angst and smut, medieval fantasy au, VERY DUBCON, YANDERE GOJO, collaring, jealousy, unprotected piv sex, EXTREMELY unbalanced power dynamics (master/pet), very messy relationships and emotional entanglements, heavy yearning/pining, oral (m! + f!receiving), murder, torture, manipulation, threats, drugging (we put sleeping pills in his tea lol), literally chained to his bed guys ok he's INSANE and EVIL, codependency, kidnapping, branding, manhandling

Satoru Gojo liked you best on your knees.

Scrubbing some stain his drink left behind, brows knitted together on the task at hand. Your work dress sprawled on the floor, your ass sticking out while you strained to wash the wood grain clean. Your breasts would bounce with the force of it, cleavage threatening to spill from the thin cotton barely holding them in.

Sure, his office aide protested the costs of getting a custom uniformed tailored and made specifically for you - but you were the prince's personal maid. You should stand out.

"You missed a spot."

And oh, how pretty you looked pouting over your shoulder at him, biting on that bottom lip before replying softly. "Sorry, Your Royal Majesty."

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me by my name?" He murmured, leaning down, but not to get on your level. No, it was meant to remind you of it. You were beneath him. His property to do with as he pleased.

It wasn't that you'd done something to deserve it.

He was just born better than you. Better than everyone.

You didn't speak, just nodding, that familiar spark in your eyes like you were desperately seeking his approval before you let your head hang low.

"My apologies again," You murmured, hesitating to let the next word fall from your lips. "Satoru."

Honestly, he'd prefer master, but you might do something foolish if he insisted on it too soon.

He wasn't exactly patient.

But he was trying to be for you.

To break you in slowly, mold you into the perfect shape he wanted before he made you snap.

Was it his fault your adoration was so addictive? Those big eyes you'd give him? The shy glances you'd steal? Obediently following his every request and anticipating the ones he hadn't even ordered yet? Cutting his food into cute shapes and adding extra salts to his bath after particularly grueling training sessions?

He used to think you were like a lost puppy. Your parents worked in the kitchen, and you ended up exploring the palace most days when you were both younger, following him around starving for whatever scraps of attention he'd throw at you.

It was annoying when you were six and he was seven. But no matter how spoiled he was, he knew better than to kick a hungry dog. They could bite. So he allowed your company, your devout compliments and bright smiles while you clung to his side. Growing up with you as his shadow.

He wasn't sure what changed - or even when.

Just that somewhere along the way, you both grew up - and he was the one chasing your tail.

From your first confession that you'd be starting work in the scullery despite barely finishing your schooling, he scoffed and snatched you up to work in his chambers instead. It was awkward at first. He was barely a man, and you were meek in your little maid outfit, but your clumsy fingers still worked to fasten the buttons on his outfits and fix his bathwater every morning, just as attentive as his servant as you were as his friend.

It'd turned into something more once you were adults. Unable to hide the attraction, and why should he? You'd been his since the first day you tugged on his sleeve and called him Toru. It only made sense you'd end up sharing his bed and crying his name out now.

He'd been keeping your leash tighter lately, insisting you wait on him during his meetings, despite your protests that you needed to clean his chambers and prepare his things during the day.

Nonsense.

He was your duty. Your god, really.

To be worshipped and waited on.

His word was the law. What was the point of being a prince if what his words weren't worth their weight, if his orders weren't absolute?

"I want strawberries," He hummed, watching your shoulders briefly stiffen, before you nodded again.

"I can go pick some from the garden," You immediately offered, before swallowing hard and correcting yourself, standing up slowly and readjusting your dress so you looked a little less like a hired whore, pulling up the front to cover your breasts more. "I'll go now."

That was power, wasn't it? Three words and you were rearranging your entire day simply to satisfy his whim.

"Come here," He murmured, and you obeyed.

Scampering over with those fluttering lashes, a permanent glimmer of hope glittering in your eyes when you tilted your pretty head up to look at him.

"Yes, Your-" You blushed, cutting yourself off and fumbling with your hands. "Satoru?"

His ego could sustain itself just on the way you pronounced his name alone, the hesitant way it pitched up at the end, the intimacy in each syllable, soft and sweet.

Satoru wanted to swallow you whole - refuse to spit you out even if meant you'd suffocate.

His hand traced down your side, settling on your waist before squeezing you there. You melted into his touch the way you always did, never stopping for a second before molding yourself around him.

"Don't take too long," He murmured, not particularly caring if you did so he'd have a reason to scold you later. To watch you whimper while you tried to make up for it. Preferably underneath his body between the sheets. Stain it enough that you'd have to spend tomorrow cleaning it with the reminder of what you were washing away.

"I'll be back soon," You promised, your stare lingering on his lips like you wished he'd kiss you goodbye.

He leaned down, grazing his mouth ever-so-slightly against the edge of yours, gracing you with the closest he could come to being gentle. A ghost of a peck to satisfy you.

Couldn't you see how kind he was?

Your prince could be a cruel man.

He didn't mean to be.

Maybe it was in his nature.

Cold to the rest of the world, an icy exterior masked by grand hand gestures and bright smiles, neither ever reaching his sharp blue eyes. Commanding a room like the world was just at the reach of his fingertips, there for the taking, all too aware that your world revolved around his every word.

He was magnetic, had been since the first second you saw him, pulling you in with one look, one touch. Plucked you out, preserved you like you were a perfect flower to admire instead of a poor thing to pity in comparison to him.

You weren't oblivious to his favoritism.

You reveled in it.

Happy to be his fool if it meant his eyes wouldn't stray, happy to pine for being put in your place if he was the one on top of you, unhealthily attached to attempting to be the center of his life too, pathetic or not.

That was love, right? Or the closest you could afford to come to it?

He assigned you a role - you played it to the best of your ability. He gave you a task - you did it without a question.

Satoru had been born to rule. You were born to serve him.

So you slung the woven bag over your shoulder, shielded your eyes from the sun and started out towards the overgrown garden path to the strawberry patch behind the palace.

The heat was oppressive, sweat already pricking at your forehead within minutes, your dress clinging to your chest and the hem collecting dirt and grass stains as the stepping stones turned to gravel and weeds.

No one else was there, the kitchen probably too busy preparing lunch for anyone to be collecting ingredients under the sun.

You'd barely made it through filling half your basket before you heard the crunch of leaves, your head snapping over in the direction of the woods nearby, squinting through the thick patch of trees.

But then a hand grabbed your shoulder, turning you around to see an angered Satoru. He was wearing his crown, standing out on top of his shaggy white hair, the gold metal glinting and all the little jewels nestled inside it glittering in the light.

You blinked, unable to breathe until he huffed and held out his arm. It took you a second to see what had irritated him so much.

The coat you picked out for him this morning had a small rip in the sleeve, something only a trained eye would notice. Or a particularly vain man obsessed with the tiniest details devoted to his appearance.

"How am I supposed to show up to a meeting with this?" He frowned, but you knew better than to actually answer.

Let him groan and give you his list of grievances, listened to him moan about the merchants he had such important business to discuss with despite the fact he'd called them imbeciles when you were in bed together the night before.

"Are you mad at me?" You spoke quietly, swallowing hard as you stood there awkward and stiff.

He scoffed at you, rolling his eyes as he held up the frayed stitch.

"I want this fixed tonight," He curtly said, taking off the jacket and tossing it at your chest. "I'll just have to go without it."

The snarky part of you that you usually had to shut down whispered that it was too hot for him to wear a coat anyway. That he was searching for something to complain about.

"I'll fix it," You echoed him, carefully draping it over your arm so you didn't have to meet his scrutinizing stare.

"Get the chefs to prepare a fresh pastry with those for when I finish talking to those morons," He demanded, looking down at your basket with disdain.

"Okay," You murmured, embarrassment coiling in your stomach, slippery snakes of it slithering around and sinking deeper in your gut at the feeling of failing him.

Satoru bent down, hardly an inch away, nose grazing against your ear as he brushed your hair back.

"I'll expect you on your knees when I return," He dryly instructed.

It wasn't a whisper.

If anyone was around, they'd have heard. But Satoru had never given a shit about your reputation, or the murmurs of his other staff.

He'd probably tell the entire palace you were sleeping together if someone showed the tiniest sliver of interest in you.

Satoru didn't wait for you to say anything.

Turned on his heel and walked away, not paying attention to the vines, flattening a stray strawberry under the sole of his shoe, a mess of red mush left behind.

You turned your attention back to the bushes, bending back over to pick a few more strawberries, to give yourself something else to think about.

Another twig snapped, and you glanced back up, expecting Satoru to be returning with something new to say, but it wasn't him.

Instead, it was someone you were sure you'd never seen before.

You certainly would remember a man who was somehow even taller than Satoru, broad and bulky, shoulders and arms that were strong enough to probably crush a grown man in a headlock. Pink hair sticking up, a few leaves stuck to it from being in the forest, a deep set scowl etched into his face, but it was the amusement in his eyes that pissed you off.

He was tattooed too, thick black lines and strange symbols you were unfamiliar with on his skin.

Some sort of magic, maybe? A mage from the wizard's tower also here in business?

No, Satoru would've told you about something like that.

"Who are you?" You defensively asked, holding your basket close to your chest as if you'd actually be able to protect yourself if he chose to do something.

"Just a nobody," He casually shrugged.

"I meant your name," You insisted, more than a little flustered at the focus behind his stare. It wasn't that it was purely physical, but rather measuring, weighing some quality you couldn't discern.

"Do you know anyone's name other than his?" He hummed, a hint of genuine curiosity there.

Irritated by his not entirely inaccurate assumption, you started to turn, to pretend he didn't exist, but he wasn't about to let you.

"Still, it must be nice," The stranger whistled, long and low, greedy eyes searching you up-and-down.

"Excuse me?" You huffed at him, throwing the last couple ripe strawberries in your basket and glancing around the empty garden.

"To have someone as pretty as you to toy with," He shrugged, one corner of his mouth curling up as he jutted his thumb in the direction your prince stomped off into.

"I'm not a toy," You mumbled, looking down at the plants growing by your feet, the smashed strawberry he'd stepped on without a second thought.

"Does he know that?"

Some people might think sweeping floors and stitching his clothes might mean you didn't have much dignity, but you did those things for your prince.

He picked you.

"You're rather rude," You commented. He didn't seem to care, stepping closer much faster than you'd think someone as big as him could, cornering you before you had the chance to scamper away.

Up close, with him hovering over you, you could admit (to yourself alone) that he was rather attractive, strong and sharp, albeit in a wildly different way than Satoru was.

You held your breath, waiting for what would come next, but he just snatched the gold pin off of his Satoru's coat, something that had to cost an absurd amount of coins.

He dropped it in his pocket with a clever smirk.

"You're a thief," You accused, heart beating too fast in your chest, pulse pounding in your ears. Men like him made a living off of stealing from the rich, royal or not, filling their own pockets instead rather than give back to the poor.

"You're a pet," He remarked with the same sort of contempt.

"If you're trying to call me a bitch, I'd prefer you just say so," You snarled back.

"You wanna go rat me out to your master?" He murmured, making fun of you straight to your face. "I'll wait."

You should. Start running while he was giving you a head start. But some piece of you refused to move. And you weren't sure what was making you so reluctant? Resentment?

That couldn't be it.

You loved Satoru.

"Just leave," You muttered under your breath.

He laughed at you for letting him go.

"If you ever get tired of your cage, come to the guild at the edge of the village down there," He leaned in the same way Satoru had, but this was a mockery of it. Still, you weren't sure which one of them was threatening you and who was flirting with you. You didn't think you wanted to know.

His breath was cool against your warm skin, taunting.

And then he pulled away, the moment slipping past so quickly it felt almost as if you imagined it.

You watched him disappear between the trees, but the encounter refused to leave your mind the rest of your day, stuck on the still image of him with that stupid pin for the fleeting second it was between his fingers before he pocketed it.

Stitching up the sleeve until the tear was unnoticeable two hours later while the palace chef finished making Satoru's favorite treat, well, second to you. Would he notice the pin was gone? He had to.

What were you supposed to say?

Oh, it must have fallen off?

Satoru was too smart to buy that.

You were still anxiously mulling over it when you were balancing the silver tray and his coat on your arms, slowly making your way down to curving halls and confusing inner labyrinth of rooms to Satoru's chambers.

Was it good luck he wasn't back yet? Or did it mean his meeting was running long and he'd be in a foul mood by the time he returned to you?

You had barely sat the platter down on his polished nightstand and hung his coat back up in his closet when you heard the creak of the door handle.

And a good dog waited with its tongue out.

You spread your skirt out around you, hands in your lap on the ground and mouth open to form an apology before he even fully opened the door.

But he was already talking, saying he was starving just to shut up once he saw you sitting as he requested.

"Sweetheart," He purred, obviously pleased, but more with himself than you. He looked down at you as he approached, cocking his head to the side with a smug grin. "Such a good girl for me, huh?"

"I fixed your coat," You confirmed, sheepishly avoiding his stare like that would cover up your blush. "And the chef has prepared your snack."

"What if I changed my mind?" He teased, grabbing ahold of your chin and tilting your face up to look at him.

Automatically, you opened your mouth like a puppy waiting for a treat.

He clicked his tongue, chiding you with a soft chuckle. "Patience, princess."

You hated yourself for how much you liked him calling you that.

For pretending for even a second that you were more than just his maid. Or at most, a poorly paid concubine.

He dropped your chin, walking a few steps over to check his jacket. Running his fingers over seams to double check your work. You held your breath, waiting for him to notice the absent pin, but he didn't.

Just hummed his approval and walked over to the tray, lifting the lid to snag his dessert before dropping it with a clang. He draped himself across the closest armchair, long legs spread out and taking a bite of his treat, groaning at the taste. He indulged in every little luxury available to him in life with the same enthusiasm, his crown now askew and crooked on his hair.

You watched him from across the room. Studied the strawberry sticking to his lips, painting them a dark shade of red that reminded you a bit of blood.

He caught you staring, a charming grin spreading across his face before he licked the strawberry off.

And with his free hand, he tugged his cock free from the confines of his pants, already hard, thick veins running along the outside as he stroked the base, readjusting to get more comfortable.

"Well?"

You supposed that was your treat.

Palms pressing against the floor, you were about to push off to stand but then he made a soft scolding sound that stopped you in your tracks.

"Crawl."

You had done worse for him. Would do worse. But for the first time in your relationship, unease had slipped through the cracks. Disgust. With yourself, mostly. That you'd put yourself so far underneath him that you were already crawling to him.

Even though it hurt your knees. However humiliating it was to hear him chuckle at you slowly making your way to him.

And once you were close enough, you were wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking slow and soft at first, lapping up every drop he had to offer you. Taking what he gave without gagging.

Letting him bully himself deep in your throat, his tip practically bruising the back of it with how hard he was shoving it in. Groaning and grabbing a fistful of your hair to guide you how he wanted.

He kept bumping up into the roof of your mouth, your breathing getting cut off every few seconds, barely able to keep your hands in your lap to stop from steadying yourself on his thighs.

It made your jaw ache, whining a little when your tongue pressed against his vein and it throbbed, desperate for him to cum already.

By the time he did, you were close to tapping out, your mouth about to lock up when you felt his abs tense and he moaned your name, warm cum hitting the back of your throat. You swallowed what he gave you without a question, the slightly salty taste lingering on your tongue even after he pulled out, dragging his leaking tip over your lips with another soft laugh.

You still waited for him to tell you to move, knees surely bruised from the hard floor, one of the few spots in the room without plush carpet.

He took his time putting his cock back up, wiping the last drop of his tip with his thumb and popping it in your mouth, waiting for you to suck that clean too.

Once you did, he fixed the band of his pants as if none of it had even happened, pulling a small box out of his pocket and smiling at you so sweet you could almost forget about what happened in the strawberry patch earlier.

"Close your eyes," He instructed.

You swallowed hard, but did what he said anyway, all your senses on high alert when you couldn't see anything.

"Here," He murmured, something cold slipping around your neck, light on your skin. You reached down to grab it, eyes immediately fluttering open to find a pretty gemstone glittering in a fine silver setting. It wasn't large, but it was obviously worth more than a year's worth of your salary - maybe even two. It caught the light in a strange way, reflecting it back oddly as you examined it between your fingers. "A token of my appreciation."

The stranger was long gone, but part of you couldn't help but wish he was here so you could rub it in his face. See?

Your prince appreciated you.

No one else you knew received gifts of any kind from him.

Much less a nice necklace like this.

He reached down to pick you up by your waist, pulling you up onto his lap, grinning at your giddiness.

"I suppose you like it?" He hummed.

"I love it," You murmured, impulsively craning your neck up to kiss his cheek.

He pushed your hair off your shoulder, pulling down the sleeve of your dress to return the kiss, his lips tender on the bare expanse of your skin.

There was a pause, a silence the two of you rarely had, where you felt more like a couple than a master and his servant. Where you could be in his lap and enjoy his lips without thinking about how badly you needed him to need you.

"I wish it was always like this," You breathed, touching the gemstone, admiring the glittering blue as his lips made their way up your throat.

"Me too."

A new rhythm had been established. You tried to reason with yourself that your relationship with Satoru was sustainable. Waited on him hand and foot and went to every length imaginable to keep him content. And he had sex with you every night like he wasn't. Like he wanted more.

Fucking you in front of the mirror just to watch the necklace he'd given you bounce, laughing when you blushed or tried to hide your face.

But there were moments where you wondered about the man you'd only met for a few moments. Sukuna.

You knew why he lingered on your mind.

He just said the quiet part of your relationship out loud. The fact you forced yourself to forget every morning before you got out of Satoru's bed. That you were more like his pet than a person.

Convincing yourself that somehow you'd chosen that path.

What were your other options?

Go work for pennies doing hard labor? Your only real skill was taking care of Satoru.

There was no guarantee you'd get treated better anywhere else.

So yeah, you weren't trying to snoop. Just struggling to focus when you stumbled across a letter sticking out of Satoru's drawer.

And come on, the jarring words marriage proposal right next to coronation were pretty eye-catching no matter how nice the cursive they were written in was. You dropped your rag. Fingers trembling as they traced over the neat lettering.

Your prince was no longer yours.

He was to be engaged to a princess in a neighboring territory in a matter of months. And rather than a dowry, he'd get their kingdom.

How long had you known it was coming for it to still be a shock?

There was nothing you could do.

You had no power. Hardly any money.

Once their princess knew about you, how long would it be till you were disposed of too? Discarded so he could have heirs?

Maybe moved back to the scullery where you were always meant to be, probably to be ostracized and made an outcast once he'd officially thrown you away.

It wasn't like you had proof any of that would happen.

But even the possibility that it could was too much for you.

Anxiously, you reached up to fiddle with your necklace, only to stop the second your fingers closed around it.

It didn't have a damn thing to do with appreciation.

This was appeasement.

He'd known about the letter.

And still had kept his mouth shut. Didn't say a word about the fact he was supposed to marry someone else.

You shoved his letter back in his drawer, jealousy and disgust simmering inside your stomach like it might burn straight through you.

It held you in place, every muscle too tense and taut to move while you tried to stop yourself from hyperventilating, from crying or screaming or punching something.

"What are you doing?" Satoru's voice startled you, and you snapped out of it.

"I dropped this," You answered, bending over to pick up the rag you'd nearly forgotten about.

Before you could, something hard was pressed against your ass, a firm palm sliding over your side to cup your breast with a chuckle.

What you wanted was only a means to what he wanted.

Would you be thirty-something some day with nothing to show for your life but calloused hands and cold baths? Or would he kick you out the day you were no longer some pliable pretty thing to bend and twist?

You didn't want that.

And maybe, you didn't want him.

Not if this was what it meant.

Sukuna was an asshole.

Maybe the one man who could rival Satoru's cockiness.

But when you showed up knocking on a shady building under only the light of the moon with an potato bag filled with expensive pieces of jewelry and coins Satoru had left lying around, his closet and drawers pilfered for valuables he'd forgotten about, Sukuna just smirked and told you where to put it.

It was a heat of the moment mistake.

Something you normally never would've done. But treason wasn't exactly a simple thing you could walk back.

And Satoru would certainly see it as that instead of just thievery.

"Can you get me across the border?" You murmured, anxiously looking back at the door as he sorted through the treasures you brought him. The gift you'd been given was in the stack, the blue stone glittering at you more like a taunt.

"What? Are you scared or something?" Sukuna scoffed, barely sparing you a glance.

"I just don't wanna be around when he wakes up and realizes I'm gone," You quietly answered, picking at the nails you bit down all afternoon. "And that I took all of this with me."

"I doubt he'll notice," He grunted. "He'll forget about you once there's some new maid in a tight dress taking care of him. People like us are replaceable."

He was right and wrong. You might be replaceable - but Satoru would remember. Especially if he felt scorned.

Which, you were fairly positive he would, considering you impulsively slipped sleeping aids (plus an extra dose or two) you usually took in his nightly tea instead, making sure he stayed asleep so you could steal his shit.

You swallowed your pride to meet Sukuna's harsh expression, the hardened frown and rocky exterior.

"Please."

He stared at you, squinting at little before sighing.

"Fine," He grumbled, giving in before you even had to beg too much. Throwing the necklace that had been around your neck two days ago into a pile of stuff to be sold. "A merchant boat is leaving for the south tomorrow morning. Hope you're fine being a stowaway."

It couldn't be worse than being a servant.

He knew something was wrong when the sun woke him up.

No gentle fingers brushing through his hair or soft voice calling out to him through his dreams. No feet scampering around his room to start his bath, no food waiting for him beside his bed. No you.

He gritted his teeth, ripping out the tracking scroll he'd never suspected he'd actually need to use from his bedside drawer, a magic map of the palace and nearby village roughly sketched on the parchment. The latter was marred by a single glowing dot, hovering over where the market usually was held in the mornings. Your necklace must be there - so you had to be too.

Perhaps it was self-absorbed, but the only conclusion he could come to was you wishing to surprise him with as gift on your meager salary. Maybe his gesture had moved you more than he expected.

He'd still have to scold you for leaving without his permission.

But he'd be lenient this time.

He was about to place it back in his nightstand, but the letter about his proposed marriage caught his attention, immediately scowling at the sight of it.

As if he'd actually let himself be married off in some political sham of a union.

He'd rather take their kingdom with blood. None of it was his own anyway. It was a numbers game. Who was willing to sacrifice how many bodies before they ran the risk of losing their head.

The letter might as well be a white flag. Offering up their only daughter because they were terrified of him?

He didn't need her or them to take his father's throne.

It was already his.

So why have a wife when he had you?

He sighed, swinging his legs off the bed, grimacing at how heavy they felt, leaden and body still thick with sleep, every movement a drag.

His head hurt, a dull migraine blooming behind his eyes and hitting him hard the second he stood, forced to sit back down on the edge.

If you were here, he'd be demanding you fetch the apothecary to concoct him something to fix this awful headache.

The faint irritation burned brighter as he laid back down, glaring at the door as if it'd make you walk through it faster. The only thing that made him feel any better was the thought of waiting on him, pressing a cool compress to his forehead bathing him with your hands when you got back, imagining pulling the sick card so you'd be forced to pamper him and feel bad you'd left him like this.

But maybe he'd take a nap first.

You'd surely be back by the time he woke up again.

You didn't know what happened first. Falling out of love with Satoru or falling in love with Sukuna.

The feelings were tangled up in each other, twisted so you couldn't exactly separate them.

Three months without Satoru felt more like a millenia. Each day was your own to dictate.

The first few weeks were weird.

Strange to wake up without a million tasks ahead of you, to crawl out of a stiff and unfamiliar bed or sleeping bag, to survive off stolen foods and dressed in different clothes you pilfered from suitcases and from staff.

You were supposed to part ways with Sukuna at port the ship you'd stowed away with him on docked at.

But after the time you'd spent together, awkwardly picking together the pieces of his life and offering slices of yours, he'd begrudgingly taken you with him to meet the other members of his guild. They operated under the cover a different one - disguised to orchestrate an entire underground market of stolen goods.

You never expected any of them to welcome you in.

Yet they did anyway.

Instead of being tossed back onto the street, they offered you a room to stay in. Helped you create a fake identity and set you up waiting tables for extra coins in the tavern that they met in the backroom of. And when Sukuna showed up at your door grumbling that he was supposed to go on another trip, you surprised yourself by asking to go with him.

He surprised you more by taking you with him.

It was strange in itself.

He'd been, well, clingy lately. Still standoffish and stoic, brusque every time he talked to you, but he never strayed too far from your side, no matter how strained his expression was.

So you tried to play it cool the first time you felt his hand settle on your shoulder, the weight of his arm heavy on your frame. Pretended to be normal about it when you leaned into his sturdiness.

You thought you'd be protected by Satoru.

But you never knew what safe felt like until you were with Sukuna.

He didn't have a name to back him up. Or the type of money to bail you out. But people steered clear when he was around, shrinking back before he stepped anywhere close to them and listening to everything he said the first time he snarled it out.

You liked to study his face when he was sleeping, all his features still stiff, frowning at whatever his dreams brought, only relaxing when you curled up against him, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you in tight enough you couldn't escape.

The sun was starting to poke out from above the canopy of the trees, shadows casting across his face when you tried to squirm out of his grip.

"Don't be a brat," He muttered, squeezing you tighter.

"We should get going," You whispered.

"Fuck," He grunted, groaning as he started to sit up, still not letting you go.

The day continued the same. A hand on your waist. His mouth brushing against your ear when he spoke to you. His hip pressed into your body.

The village you stopped at was small, wary glances thrown your way when you walked into the only place that served any food in town for travelers passing through.

Sukuna managed to convince someone to lend you a room for the night with a few coins, grabbing bowls of some stew that would at least be warm, dragging you back in and double checking the door was locked before putting the food down on the rickety wooden table.

You ate slower than usual, too busy scrutinizing every flicker of his face.

"Stop starin'," He grunted, shoving a spoonful in his mouth before you rolled your eyes and glanced out the window instead.

It was pretty here, all sorts of plants and greenery you'd never seen before, white flowering shrubs and small pink weeds among the mossy grass. It looked like something out of a storybook you used to steal from the palace library, hiding away in the corner just to stare at the pictures of, pretending Satoru was the prince in the fairytale.

You felt your lips twitch down into a frown, the way they always did when you thought of him.

Was he busy wedding planning? It had to be happening soon.

Or had he forgotten about you already? Moved on?

A part of you that you were ashamed of hoped he hadn't. Hoped he wished he'd loved you more when you were around, or that he'd yearn for you long after you left. It was selfish and incredibly stingy, but you couldn't help it.

You'd been avoiding any news about the kingdom you left behind, cringing and walking away whenever you overheard someone speaking of it, turning a blind eye.

But you saw him sometimes, in your memories disguised as dreams, where he'd hold you and make more promises that meant nothing.

But he was your past.

And a much larger piece of you had started to think of Sukuna as your future.

"Are you thinking about him?" Sukuna broke the silence.

"What?" You looked back at him, blinking back shock.

"Your prince," He spat the word out like it left a disgusting taste on his tongue that wasn't just from the stew.

"Only that I'm glad I left," You shrugged it off, looking back out the window.

In just a few short months, you'd seen more of the world than you had your whole life. And it was a lot fucking bigger than what was inside the castle walls.

Sukuna had handed you a map a couple days ago, asking you to pick a place for the two of you to travel to next after you mentioned how exciting you found all of it. Being with him included.

"Yeah?"

It seemed he was just full of surprises lately. Because in a few short seconds, he was pushing his chair back with a creak, crossing the short distance between you and bending down to kiss you.

You were once again reminded how little he was like Satoru.

This was starving, filled with a hunger, a fever that Satoru's lazy kisses lacked. He had kissed you like he had all the time in the world. Sukuna kissed you like there wasn't nearly enough.

Sucking on your bottom lip and cradling your cheek, tugging your hair while murmuring your name. Hard and soft and everything in-between.

You weren't fully aware how you ended up on the bed, too distracted by the heat of his palms on your skin hiking up your dress to notice until your back was on the mattress, the frame whining under your combined weight.

"Sukuna," You breathed, about to ask him to roll over so you could do what you'd done so many times for Satoru, but then he was on his knees, peeling your little lace underwear down your legs. "W-what are you doing?"

You could feel his smirk against your skin when he tailed kisses up the inside of your thighs.

"Taking care of you."

He was two days from losing his damn mind. Or maybe it'd been gone from the moment he realized you were.

Months. It'd been months and he still hadn't found you.

Satoru had searched every inch of the palace personally. Commanded a task force to look for you, scouring through homes and ransacking businesses.

The tracker in the necklace only lead them to a goddamn trash can.

You'd throw away his love for you just like that.

Too bad, really. Because he couldn't do the same to his affection for you.

You just needed to remember how much he'd done for you. How much he loved you. Because once he had you again, he wasn't letting go.

Surely, something had driven you away. Or someone has convinced you to leave him.

There was no way you'd do it on your own.

Stealing his fucking stuff and drugging his tea?

His pet wouldn't dare.

So who the fuck had gotten to you when he wasn't paying attention? Who dared to sneak in and slip free your leash right under his nose? He'd be sure to return the favor.

He was chasing another lead, following the trail of a criminal who allegedly was known for distributing stolen goods in black markets. Satoru had to personally torture a pompous prick of a merchant to even get that much information.

As if there was someone actually scarier than him.

He honestly thought it'd be another dud until Ijichi stopped the carriage to give the horses a break and he stepped out to see his scrawny driver chatting with some disgustingly dirty locals.

They didn't know who he was, although he guessed they would soon enough when he inevitably took over their pitiful excuse of a land they still had the audacity to call a kingdom.

"Have you guys seen a man? Around my height? Pink hair? A beautiful young woman with him?" Satoru called out, refusing to step down into the dirt and gravel and mess up his shoes.

"Oh, um, sure, a day or two ago," One of them quickly replied.

"You're sure?" He frowned, squinting at them like he could discern whether or not they were lying.

"I mean, he was a bit taller than you-"

The first one elbowed the other to shut up before interrupting, "They were going that way."

He thanked them, plastering on a polite smile before slamming the carriage door shut behind him.

Perhaps you hadn't left him to rot and care for himself. You hadn't just deserted him.

You were probably kidnapped.

Waiting for him to come to your rescue.

His princess wasn't in a tower though, no, you were in bed.

Another man's head - between your thighs.

Squirming around while his hands clawed at your hips, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him and chasing your climax. What sounds were you making? Moaning and whimpering for someone else like a whore?

He watched through the window, unable to move. Stuck on the way the man's tongue slipped over your cunt, how you cried out when his mouth wrapped around your swollen bud.

Anyone could see you if they passed by. Not that you seemed to care. Too busy getting serviced to be aware that you were putting on a show.

Those pretty lips of yours were gasping for air, open and sucking it in when you should be sucking him off. Not in this rundown village letting some street scum taste your precious pussy. He didn't give a shit what rusted heirloom those morons ransacked and ruined. Except for stealing you.

His prized possession was priceless. Although, he was sure he'd find a way to make them pay.

And your punishment?

Well, it'd be more personal.

It wasn't Sukuna's arms you woke up in.

Body sluggish and sore, but when you tried to open your eyes, it was only black. After a few panicked seconds you realized someone blindfolded you. You guessed by the lingering exhaustion in your body, you'd been drugged too.

You called out to Sukuna, but the only answer you got was the creaking of carriage wheels and the crunching of gravel beneath them.

It took you longer than it should've to figure out what happened through your broken and hazy thoughts.

Satoru had come back for you.

Probably used the same trick with the tea you used on him, maybe paid someone to slip it into your food or drink at the place you'd been staying at.

He wasn't there. But you recognized the voice of his typical driver when the carriage stopped to feed the horses.

The trip to return you to the palace was unpleasant.

Confined to small spaces for most of it, always locked up in handcuffs or blindfolded even during the voyage back. Barely being fed enough to go on, offered scraps that were never rotten enough to make you sick, but foul tasting.

It was particularly humiliating to be paraded back through the village handcuffed, lead back through the main street as some new cruel punishment, sketches of you still stuck to building with the word missing scribbled at the top of each one.

You guessed they'd have to rip those down now.

For two days, you were bound and gagged in some rat-infested dungeon in the depths of the palace. They tried to nip at your feet, only dissuaded by your week attempts to kick with your ankles still tied in rough ropes.

Listening to someone being tortured down the hall, unable to make out much in the dim candlelight, only pray that it wasn't him.

You supposed it was probably time to start praying for yourself too.

"My poor pet," A familiar voice cooed, a shadow crossing in front of the bars while you shivered. "Look at you."

Pathetic. Definitely dirty and disgusting. Dirt sticking to your skin and twigs probably still tangled in your hair. The only baths you got lately had been getting doused in freezing salt water.

And then in the low flickers of the candle, you saw him, your stomach churning at just how clean he was. As perfect as the day you left him.

It wasn't pity in his eyes though, it was excitement. Amused to have his plaything back, even if it'd almost been broken.

"They want me to cut your hands off," Satoru sighed, pausing for dramatic effect, watching you flinch and shrink back, not that you could move much.

You tried to make a sound, muffled and weak. You'd beg him if you had to.

He knew it too.

"But even though you betrayed me," He murmured, making sure the word felt like a stab, guilt piercing through you as he mulled over an offer. "I'm still willing to pardon you."

You waited for the catch you knew was coming.

He unlocked the door to the cell, pushing it open with ease, striding over to where you were curled on the ground. Satoru clicked his tongue in disappointment at your sorry state, bending down and grabbing your chin to tilt your head side to side, shaking his head at the way your spit had soaked through the gag, the tears pricking at your eyes.

And even though somewhere in the back of your mind that he put you here, he still was framing himself as the hero plucking you free from it.

"There's one condition," He murmured, slowly pinching the thick fabric to loosen it before pulling it down from your mouth to hang around your neck.

For a second, you had the grim thought of a noose, a fleeting moment where you could do nothing but hope Sukuna was spared from whatever they had previously planned for you.

You didn't even mind if he sold you out if it meant that he made it out of this safe.

"What?" You croaked, voice raw and raspy.

"You won't ever leave the palace again."

It wasn't as bad as you anticipated. You expected him to be angrier, more upset with you for abandoning him.

"Okay," You mumbled, accepting his terms.

You probably should've thought harder about that.

But then he was pulling a knife out from a sheath on his thigh, cutting your restraints and freeing you before you could take it back.

You stilled, not entirely convinced he wouldn't cut you you too, but suddenly you were being lifted from the floor, cradled against his chest like you were his bride instead of a burden.

This time, you were spared the indignity of an audience when he brought you back to his chambers.

Your roles reversed as he prepared a bath for you, insisting that you have a sip of tea and nibble on a snack already waiting on a table for you. The water was warm when he ushered you in, scrubbing your skin clean and washing away all the grime, feeling raw by the time he finished. Smelling like his soap and shampoo as he worked his fingers through the knots in your hair. He poked at the scrapes and bruises left on you, sighing like a parent admonishing a child before he finally picked you up out of it and used a towel to dry you off.

The new knowledge that he'd always been capable of taking care of someone stung. You supposed he never had any interest until you were no longer there.

"I'm sorry for lea-" You awkwardly started in a low whisper.

He shushed you.

You didn't know how to act around this new him. How to be the new you when your body was begging you to give back into his hands as he dressed you up. It wasn't your old uniform.

It was barely even clothes.

A thin and sheer dress that left little to the imagination, clinging to your cleavage and short enough he barely went past your ass. The fabric was more expensive than anything else you ever wore, reflective when the sun shone on it through his oversized windows.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to fetch much for you in this," You tried to joke, hesitantly looking up at him. There was a wild look in his eyes there hadn't been before, something you only noticed now that you were so close to him. The unsettling thought occured that maybe it had always been there, but you were too lovestruck to pay it any mind.

"You won't be fetching anything," Satoru casually said, fixing the strap of your dress and guiding you over to his bed without even elaborating.

"What?" You blinked.

"You said you wouldn't leave," He shrugged, like it shouldn't be a surprise to you.

It was only then you noticed what was new in his room.

A thick iron chain now clasped to his bed and at the end, and sitting on the pillow you used to rest your head on, a fucking collar.

You froze.

"What do you think?" He innocently asked, moving your hair way from your throat with a soft hum. "Made this one just for you. Bet it'll be a bit harder to throw this one away."

You were wrong.

Satoru was pissed. Just hiding it behind his pretty face, his practiced friendliness.

His fingers traced a line down your arm, goosebumps raising with his touch.

"What will it be? You wanna stay with me? Or go back downstairs?" He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of your shoulder. As if downstairs didn't actually mean dungeon.

What scared you wasn't your answer. But how easily you made it, how much of you was still attached to him, how of a hold he had on you that a few stray touches and the purr of his voice had your thighs squeezing together.

"You."

He just laughed.

You let him lock the collar around your neck.

Thick fingers skimming over your much thinner skin, feeling the tendons go taut as you swallowed hard. There was the loud clink of the chain, the heavy metal immediately weighing your head down the second he stopped holding it on, settling uncomfortably on your collarbones. Reflexively, you reached up to touch it, panic setting in at being confined. Feeling around for some weak spot, touching the lock just for your stomach to drop at the realization there wasn't any escaping this.

Willingly, you walked into your own cage.

You were trapped.

Condemned to the same room you'd spent years of your life coddling him in. Where you supposed you'd be serving your time in, despite your lack of a trial.

You'd been sentenced to a life of a different type of servitude.

Maybe it hadn't set in, but you still couldn't stop yourself from looking up at him like he saved you. That you'd loved Satoru before. You could convince yourself to love him again. After all, hadn't he done this just to have you?

"This was what you wanted. Right, sweetheart?" He hummed, caressing your cheek softly.

A growing numbness had started to harden over your heart, nodding slowly as your hand dropped down to the bed, glancing around to see how long the chain was. It looked like you could probably make it through to his attached bathroom, but the door to the hall was too far away. What did it matter when stepping foot outside would mean getting arrested again?

He tugged on the chain, making you jolt forward with a gasp.

"Just gonna be us now," He promised. "Always."

"I thought you were getting married," You heard yourself mutter, still not entirely present, a little detached from the reality it felt like you'd been dropped into the second the collar was locked around your throat.

"Where'd you hear that?" He cocked his head to the side, amused by the hint of jealousy in your words.

You clamped your lips shut, unwilling to admit you looked through his stuff.

He chuckled at you anyway, stroking your hair like you were just some stray he'd taken in.

"Don't worry, princess," He mocked. "You don't need to think about anything anymore. There was a proposal, but I rejected it."

"Why?" You whispered.

"Unlike you, I wouldn't throw what we have away for a stranger," He wryly replied, another pointed jab that succeeded in making you feel like shit.

Should you feel guilty?

What really was there to throw away?

"I'm sorry," You murmured anyway, barely managing to meet his accusatory stare.

He waited for more, for you to beg or cry about it.

But the only tears you had in you weren't for him.

"Was your family upset with you?" You asked instead. "Or did any of the lords give you trouble?"

"Sure, but I killed them," He shrugged, as if he said something so simple - "I mean, some of the useful ones are imprisoned, but still-"

He saw the way your mouth fell open, panic-stricken but painfully aware there was no place in this palace or outside of it to run to. Not that you were sure you would even if you could.

"Don't be scared," He dryly chuckled, dragging a thumb over your cheek. Soft. Unscarred.

"Your parents," You started to sputter.

"They were problems," He condescendingly corrected you.

You reluctantly dragged your stare up past his eyes, only now realizing the crown atop his head was no longer the same one as before.

No, it was bigger, crafted for a king.

Your prince had overthrown his father for the throne.

There was no one above him now.

And it didn't take long for you to get used to being underneath him again.

Time slipped away from you, the days dragging by when you were confined to the bed most of the time, the collar making moving too much inconvenient and uncomfortable. All you had to look forward to was him.

Growing accustomed to him holding you at night, following whatever schedule he saw fit and falling back into old habits. Picking out his clothes and drying his hair for him, cleaning his room just for something to do on the days where he'd leave you there for hours. You still had yet to have sex, but you figured it was just a matter of time.

What he was waiting for, you were clueless.

It hurt your feelings more than it should've, guilt chewing on your self-esteem, eating away at it. Did he think you were dirty now? Tainted?

You were just now realizing how much more there was to him you were completely unaware of.

He hadn't exactly forgiven you, but he was pretending to. Kissing you like he used to, holding you in the same places, just stopping short of heavy petting.

The idea he'd killed his one family was taunting you, how easily he spoke of it, like it hadn't affected him at all. That he'd done it all in your name.

As if it all was some act of devotion.

What haunted you more was how flattered a sick sliver of you found it.

Listening to him describe in detail while he brushed and styled your hair one morning, as if he was discussing lunch plans.

"They did have a point," He hummed, carefully sliding a pin into place.

"What?" You swallowed hard, the collar shifting and irritating your skin while you studied the makeup products he'd bought for you scattered across the counter.

"I do need an heir," He sighed.

The implication was obvious.

He couldn't be serious.

You were chained to his fucking bed. A prisoner in a pretty dress. A peasant compared to him. There was no way he meant-

"You'd be safe in here," He murmured. "No one would be able to touch you or the baby."

"Satoru," You quietly spoke back, trying not to sound too against it without letting him know you didn't want a fucking baby to destroy the already fragile relationship you'd been attempting to rebuild with him.

"Master," He corrected you, and you felt ill.

It was too much.

"What?" You breathed, waiting for him to say it was a joke. That all of this was. That his parents would walk in with a cake and he'd take the chains off and you could all laugh at you for falling for it.

He pulled something out of his pocket, a small ring you recognized as his mom's. You didn't say a word when he slipped it on your fourth finger.

For some reason, it felt heavier than the collar around your neck.

There was no proposal. Just mutual understanding of what it meant.

"I got you something else," He changed the subject, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "Get on the bed."

You were just glad he didn't ask you to crawl, but you weren't sure what to do once you climbed back on, ending up sitting on the edge. He was quick to readjust you, pushing your stomach down on the mattress and ass in the air, unmoving while he tied your hands behind your back.

Part of you questioned if this was it, if he was finally going to fuck you or if this was just another punishment disguised as foreplay.

Satoru walked to the door - and left.

It felt like he was gone forever, but it was more like fifteen minutes when you heard the hinges creak, turning your head to look at him.

He wasn't alone.

Sukuna was behind him.

Your heart shattered. All the thoughts you'd been burying, all the hopes you'd been holding onto crushed by the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, barely able to even take steps forward, Satoru happily holding the chain to tug him in.

He dragged an armchair over, pushing him down in it.

"Did you miss him?" He asked you, waiting for your reply with those feral eyes that you'd begun to fear.

"Sa-" You stopped yourself, voice shaking as you tried to find the shred of courage you had left to protect Sukuna, pushing aside whatever sick and twisted feelings you still had for Satoru. "Please don't hurt him, okay? He didn't do anything. Everything was my fault."

"He touched something that belongs to me," Satoru spoke so calmly, but you couldn't miss the hatred in his voice. He walked to the side of the bed, bunching the slip you were wearing up past your ass to where your hands were bound. Nudging your thighs further apart just to slip his hand between them, rubbing his palm over your panties. "Tasted it."

And then he pulled his hand away, walking back over to Sukuna, grabbing his strong jaw between his fingers and forcing it open.

You really almost threw up.

He cut out Sukuna's tongue.

What was there looked excruciating, a still-healing wound that must've happened days ago. But Sukuna didn't react, didn't offer him the satisfaction of it, his face set in a familiar disdainful state.

You couldn't speak. Weren't sure what you'd even say if you could.

There was no sorry that would give him his tongue back.

"What do you think, pet?" He mocked.

Something damp was on your face, but you couldn't even wipe the tears away. Hands straining against their restraints, wishing you could break free for even a moment to touch him one last time.

"You said I shouldn't think," You reminded him, a poor attempt at not giving him the reaction he wanted either.

Satoru wasn't fazed, glancing back at Sukuna with a smirk.

"I'd take her tongue too, but I can think of a better use for it," He smugly winked, and Sukuna took the bait, struggling against his restraints, enraged by the obvious implication. "You wanna see my favorite trick of hers?"

"Let him go," You murmured. "Please, Toru."

You hadn't used the nickname since you were kids, and it was more effective than you expected.

He stood up straight, his attention snapping back to you.

"Why should I?" He expected a real reason. Well, he expected one specific one.

Most likely the whole reason he even bothered dragging him out from whatever cell he'd been keeping Sukuna in.

You hesitated over the words that'd really condemn you, briefly glancing to Sukuna for even just a snippet of the safety he used to give you. His eyes told you to suck it up and stop feeling sorry for yourself. To survive.

"I'll give you whatever you want," You muttered.

You didn't want to even whisper the word.

But it wasn't hard to imagine what you meant when you only had one thing to give.

"Say it then," Satoru dared you.

"I'll give you a heir," You swallowed hard. You didn't even know if you'd hate him for it, if it was something else you'd teach yourself to accept.

Really, he could take what he wanted from you at any point, but he wanted you to choose it. To pick him.

If Sukuna could talk, you knew he'd be shouting.

But you weren't the only one here Satoru was determined to embarrass.

"Isn't she gonna be cute? All stuffed full and swollen?" He leaned down to mutter in Sukuna's ear. "Shame you won't be around to see it."

You weren't sure you could even be grateful when he dragged him away, unable to stop yourself from crying the second the door closed behind them.

The prince you'd once thought would slay dragons for you putting away a man who acted more like a king than he ever could.

Satoru's mouth latched onto your neck the second he returned, murmuring beautiful words, like he could talk enough to make you overlook the humiliation burning in your gut even after he cut the ropes restraining you free.

Telling you he loved you (he loved the power he held over you), that he was yours (you were his), that he'd give you anything (but only if you gave him everything).

And when you had sex, you still kissed him back, let his tongue slip between your teeth with the disturbing reminder Sukuna didn't have his anymore, despising yourself for letting go of him to live through this. Hating the shadows inside you that wanted Satoru. That whispered to you that no one could love you like he did. No one else would burn the rest of the world just to have you to hold.

You were just as disgustingly devoted to him. Maybe better at hiding it.

Able to shove it down and suffocate it when he wasn't around.

But the second his mouth was on you, the second his fingers plucked off your underwear or slotted themselves inside you, you were putty in his hand. Happy to wear his collar and call him whatever he wanted.

You were both ashamed of it and unable to shut it off completely.

All the confidence Sukuna granted you left with him.

There was nothing you could do but hope Satoru kept his word and let him go.

"Did you set him free?" You barely managed to work up the strength to murmur the question a few days later, fiddling with the chain attached to your collar as Satoru readjusted, his head resting in the crook of your neck and his cock buried inside you, cum leaking out into your thighs.

"I will once you're pregnant," He murmured, leaving a kiss on your collarbone. "You can even watch."

You had a feeling that really meant something else entirely.

But even when your hands weren't tied, it felt like they were.

There wasn't a single part of you he didn't own. He had his seal stamped just above your ass, branding you as his so he could see the permanent reminder of who you belonged to every time he fucked you from the back. His kisses littering your body, the expensive silks and slips he dressed you up in hardly ever covering any of it.

But hadn't you signed up for it?

This was the deal he gave you - the one you took.

"I might be late today," He murmured as you fixed his crown. Had it been a couple days? Or a couple weeks? What difference did it make?

"Okay," You yawned, exhaustion lingering in your bones. It'd been getting harder to get out of the bed in the mornings, body sore from being bent over and broken in.

"I'll bring food," He kissed your cheek, squeezing your ass one last time before heading out the door.

The lock clicked behind him.

You dragged yourself back to bed, curling up and lulled back to sleep by the scent of sex and him. You weren't sure how long you'd been out for when you were being shaken awake.

A hand grabbed your waist, tugging at your limp form. You didn't bother moving, let yourself be tugged around, eyes still shut from your attempt to sleep when he suddenly shook you hard enough they shot open.

Squinting up at Satoru only to realize it wasn't him.

You made a pathetic little sound - half a squeak, half a strangled gasp.

Sukuna flipped you over, thick brows furrowed together as he frowned at the heavy iron collar around your throat. No chains attached to him this time, no handcuffs or restraints to weigh him down, although you could see how they had scarred his skin, raw red marks left where they'd been. You were terrified to know what your neck must look like. You hadn't made it a habit to look in mirrors lately, not wanting to see what your reflection had to say about you.

He didn't say anything.

Couldn't.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him how he managed to get free before you remembered he probably couldn't answer anything outside of shaking his head.

Blood was smeared across his cheek.

He yanked a hair pin out of your hair, bending it out and tilting your head so he could jam it in a key hole you couldn't see.

Every second that passed by where was was working the lock and you stared at him, trying to swallow your hope was torture.

He was struggling with it, a deep crease forming between his brows with frustration.

"You should save yourself," You whispered, reaching out to touch him. Skimming your finger over his jaw and nose, brushing your thumb over his lip. One last time was all you wanted. Maybe the universe had answered your request.

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you.

"I'm being serious," You huffed in a heated whisper. "I'll make sure he won't chase you and-"

He covered your mouth with one of his huge palms, flashing you a glare to shut up so he could focus.

You pouted, but kept your lips sealed, struggling not to say anything when you heard it.

The faint click.

He actually did it.

Yanking the collar off and throwing it on the bed like it was diseased, helping you off and grimacing at how unsteady you were on your feet.

He rummaged through the drawers and threw one of your old dresses Satoru thankfully still had at you, turning away so you could throw it on.

You hesitated by the threshold, glancing back over your shoulder at the room. The expensive rugs and the canopy over the bed, the details you'd discarded before.

But Sukuna held out his hand.

It was just up to you to take it.

alright guys it's up to YOU actually

^its supposed to say GOOD ending lmfao but I can't change it lol sorry guys brain is fried haha my apologies for any other typos/autocorrect stuff I missed <3

[sadnsxft]

love's laziest worker

call me cupid

(un)lucky you. it seems Sukuna will do anything to stop you from meeting your soulmate just for a few more days to slack off!

synopsis: in desperate need of a vacation day or maybe just a new job that doesn't involve helping idiots fall in love and create more mini-idiots, Ryomen Sukuna decides to take his frustrations out on the next case file dropped on his desk - you!

pairing: cupid!Sukuna x bratty!Reader

content: mdni, fluff and light angst and smut, who knows what kind of au this would be considered lol, sukuna has wings, he's sick and TIRED of working LMFAO, both of them are bratty, begrudgingly falling in love, jealousy, stuck-up sukuna, roommates, fingering, unprotected piv sex, bathroom sex, hickies and biting, semi-public sex

a/n: gorgeous sukuna art by @alukaforyou + divider by @bronzewasp

Humans were pathetic.

Seriously.

What, a few flowers? A sappy note? Meaningless words whispered between calculated caresses? Was that all it took for them to fall in love?

Sukuna had seen it a thousand times before. He was sick of the same old scene. He chooses a random file left on his desk, usually containing some sorry loser wishing for someone out of their league and watches them make a fool out of themselves for a few weeks to study them, or pretend to, at least. Usually, he'd end up disguising himself as one of them and drinking at the closest bar.

It wasn't like it mattered what he did - the happy ending was always the same.

Two arrows and two weeks later, his target would be madly in love with whatever idiot he picked out for them. Sometimes he went with their coworker, a passing stranger, or even someone on the opposite side of the city. On the days he was in a particularly foul mood, he'd just close his eyes and let the arrow fly.

Why should be care?

They found each other anyway.

Most of them were so lonely they'd take the smallest scraps of love they got and convince themselves of whatever lies they were being sold.

It was boring. Dull. Dragging himself through each day, finding excuses to stick around longer than he had to until he had to start something new and do all the same stupid shit all over again.

But here he was.

Reading some typo-filled rant some idiot had left via a request form, rambling about how all attractive guys were assholes and that all you wanted was to meet one semi-nice man who didn't look like he crawled out of a sewer.

He guessed from the way all your words clustered together you'd been wasted when you wrote it, probably fresh from a breakup or mourning a one night stand that hadn't called you back.

And maybe it was the attitude in your letter, the accusatory tone behind it as if he was personally responsible for your failure of a love life, but he found himself scowling on the street a couple hours outside an investment banking building.

Spitefully searching out a man who looked like he was dating four women at the same time, probably bitched about his stocks during sex, boring and self-absorbed, precisely the kind of man he was willing to bet on you hating.

He didn't even notice the arrow when it planted itself in his shoulder, too busy looking down at his phone to pay attention to his surroundings.

Sukuna let him walk away, more than a little smug to see what a moron he looked like, oblivious to the arrow in his back. The arrow would return on its own to his sheath after a few minutes even if he didn't retrieve it. All that idiot would be left with was a small mark to prove that he'd been paired with someone.

Soulmates, according to the corporate lingo management tried to push on them.

It wasn't even luck or fate. Just him.

So why the fuck did it feel so strange knocking on your front door?

Really, he could just pop inside if he wanted, teleport in just to scare you. His wings settled heavily against his shoulder, a few stray feathers fluttering as he impatiently tapped his foot.

It would be even easier to just wait for you to leave your apartment on your way to work tomorrow, shoot you and wash his hands of someone who was surely insufferable.

But he wanted to put a face to all that fucking hostility and haughtiness.

To at least sleep tonight thinking about it pouting and whining a few years from now, miserable and married to the kind of asshole you complained about and convincing yourself you were fine with it.

You pulled open the door, scoffing before he even said anything. Catty eyes scanning over him, rolling at the sight of him as you leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you, like, a stripper? You've got the wrong place," You mocked, a brow arching up at the wings, the muscles on his tanned and broad chest, a thin toga barely covering him up.

The first thing that came to mind was a word HR would not approve of.

So he pulled out an arrow, drew his bow and sent it into your thigh before you could snarl out something else snappy at him.

You yelped.

Blinking back surprise while your brain quickly worked to make sense of the situation.

The bond between you snapped into place, something unseen, intangible, an annoying feature that came with the arrows. Technically, speaking, he was bound to be at your service from now until your case was closed.

"Did you just shoot me?" You glared at him like it was supposed to be scary. Brows drawn together and lips pursed as if your little scrunched up face was somehow scary.

"That's my job," Sukuna glared back, bow hanging by his side, his sheath of gold-tipped arrows still slung over his shoulders. He yanked the arrow out of your leg and dropped it in with the rest, no blood or wounds left behind on your thigh, just a faint little heart to show you'd been marked too.

You scoffed at him when he pushed open your door all the way, walking into your apartment just to see what it looked inside. He expected it to be messy, clothes scattered on the ground and unwashed dishes, but it was well-kept, the tv playing some braindead reality show where girls were shouting at each other and a window wide-open to let fresh air in, a sheet curtain fluttering with the breeze.

"I didn't send in a fucking request," You huffed. Arms folded across your chest, following on his heels, a gust of wind sending your mini-skirt up before you gave up on your attempt at being serious to hold it back down.

"You did," He deadpanned, pulling out the form from his pocket, crumpled and wrinkled but still stamped with approval.

You took it, but not before rolling your eyes, your scowl only softening when you read it and realized he wasn't lying.

"Shit."

Sukuna didn't ask questions. Didn't care to.

You chewed on your cheek, glancing at the paper and back up at him. Making some stupid decision that was probably painfully human.

"So where is he?" You asked, tilting your head up at him. Even just your stare was a challenge, something burning in your eyes when they focused so sharply on him. "My soulmate?"

"Probably fucking a girl on his lunch break," Sukuna shrugged.

"You're not funny," You wryly said, shaking your head before throwing the paper back at his chest.

"That wasn't a joke," He grunted, letting it fall to his floor rather than catch the crumpled sheet.

"Do you guys have like, a complaint form I can fill out?" You grumbled, still glaring at him.

"You think I'd give it to you if I did?" He cocked his head to the side, leaning down and still not at your height, his wings twitching at your next eye roll.

He might've left it at that.

But then you did something no one else had ever dared to do. Reached out and plucked one of his feathers. He winced. Surprised at the sudden pain before his hand shot out reflexively to catch your wrist.

"Tell me or I'll take out another one in your sleep," You threatened him, holding it up like a trophy.

As if he couldn't snap your bones in a second if he wanted to.

"I'd break you first," He warned, but you refused to back down, ripping your hand free.

"Asshole," You hissed at him under your breath, and a funny flicker curled inside his chest, a warm flare of something he hadn't felt in forever. Amusement. One of your pretty manicured nails poking at where his heart would be if he had one, stabbing at the hard muscle like you wished you could puncture his skin. "Seriously, you-"

Sukuna stopped listening.

Smirking as the idea took shape, planted roots in his brain. Like it or not, he was tied to your case until you sealed the deal with your soulmate with a kiss.

But that also meant he wouldn't have to take another case while you searched for him. So why shouldn't he have a little entertainment of his own?

Pissing you off suddenly sounded like a pastime Sukuna might actually enjoy.

Listening to you shout and throw a few kitchen utensils at him from across the room when he sprawled out on your couch, crashing at your place like it was a hotel, eating all the food in your fridge, takeout boxes stuffed in the trash can.

You came home from work threatening to call the cops each day he was still on the couch when you opened the door, finding new ways to annoy him by constantly changing the channel and calling him every colorful insult your brain could come up with after trying and failing to convince him to tell you who your soulmate was so he could get the fuck out of your life.

And okay, he wasn't a totally horrible houseguest. He took out your trash. Occasionally did a load of laundry. Refrained from stealing a pair of panties even if he did think it'd be funny to watch you get worked up over it.

But a bucket of freezing water thrown in his face one morning was overkill, towels tossed at him next, your lips pushed together in a pretty pout when you demanded he clean up the mess you made.

That night though? You crammed yourself in the corner of the couch staring at him with contempt that looked more like consideration in the low evening light.

"I hate you," You murmured.

"Uh-huh," He dryly said.

He was still better company than the man you wanted to meet so badly.

"Really," You added, the crease between your brows not nearly as intimidating as you tried to make it. A kitten was still a kitten even with its claws out.

"You could get a hotel, you know," You muttered, flicking his leg where it was pressed against yours. "Bet you could find one with a pool."

"I don't swim," He shrugged, wincing internally at the thought of his wings getting wet again.

"You can't keep sleeping on my couch," You tried to argue, but there wasn't any relief on your face when he stood up. A flicker of panic maybe, like you hadn't actually meant what you said.

"Guess I'll take your bed then."

Cockblocking you was the closest he'd come to fun in the past century.

You were cute. In a frustrating way. How you would go from complaining and poking at every last nerve just to end up falling asleep on his shoulder or stealing the food off his plate. Talking to him about your work problems or groaning about your family or friends sometimes, like it'd slip your mind you were supposed to hate him. You admitted to him that you'd been on a bunch of bad dates before, usually dickheads that only wanted to fuck you over one way or another.

The last one's wife had shown up when the dessert arrived.

A prick of something he refused to admit was guilt settled in Sukuna's stomach at the reminder of how little thought he previously put into pairing you with someone.

A month slipped by him, work calls piling up on his pager, his manager asking what the hold up was just to get ignored.

And still, when you asked again, he refused to tell you who the guy was. Where he found him.

Why did you even want to know when you didn't try to shove him out of your bed anymore?

Just got under the blankets beside him, limbs thrown over his, stealing the covers and curling up against his body. You burned up enough that he didn't mind, your skin hot to the touch as you tossed and turned, your hair sticking to his face and your thigh caught between his in your dreams.

It wasn't quite a truce when lately, you started trying to leave in the evenings, changing clothes and ignoring the man lounging on your bed like it was his own, probably out to search for your soulmate.

That was annoying.

Irritating to watch you try so hard to sneak around on your phone, flipping through dating apps like your find that guy on there. Not that you'd know what he looked like.

Last night had been more of the same.

"You're wearing that?" He interrupted you before you went out, squinting at the skimpy outfit that barely covered your skin, makeup smeared around your eyes.

"Some of us have needs other than stuffing our face," You scowled at him as he peeled an orange, your nimble fingers readjusting your dress so it pushed up your cleavage more. You didn't have to say it for him to see it. Sick of not having sex since your unexpected guest insisted on constantly hanging around, usually shirtless or half-nude, never bothering to put up a disguise given you already knew what he was.

Heat stirred in the pit of his stomach, too low for comfort, mixed with something that burned and roared at him.

Tension crackled between you, held between your glare and his, the air thick with it.

"I could do both," He scoffed, his offer only earning you slamming the bedroom door in his face.

You holed yourself up in there the rest of the night.

Gone again by the time he woke up the next day, although it did appear you might've plucked another feather or two off his bottom row of wings when he was sleeping.

Sukuna didn't feel bad. Okay, maybe the smallest sliver of him did. But he shoved it down, cleaning up around the place and grumbling to himself while he did it. Reclining back on the couch only after the sun had started to slope back down mid-afternoon, the floors vacuumed and the counters wiped, the clothes put up (and maybe a pair of panties slipped in the jeans he'd begrudgingly wore for you).

Changing his mind to stand back up, impulsively teleporting outside the only restaurant you had a takeout menu for, ordering and using his company card to pay for it, teleporting back inside your apartment to arrange everything on your coffee table.

Ten minutes passed. Then thirty.

And an hour after you usually returned, you were still absent.

What the fuck?

Begrudgingly, he tried to reach out through the bond that tethered him to you, feeling it still there, although it was more faint than it should be. He yanked on it, trying to figure out where you were, wondering if you'd feel it too.

He never actually attempted to use it like this before.

There wasn't any kind of change or reaction, so he supposed it didn't work.

But he could still use it to teleport to you.

Grimacing while he glanced at his face in the mirror, fixing a stray strand of hair, and sighing as he shut his eyes and focused on you.

When he opened them, he was outside some shitty fucking bar.

You really had terrible taste.

He guessed his own was worse when he walked in and saw the fucking man he shot in the shoulder standing there buying you a drink, your work clothes wrinkled and hair a little mused, giggling at something he was saying.

Sukuna wanted to strangle him.

What could he even be talking about for you to smile at him like that? The subtle tilt of your head, eyes sparkling under the dim lights as you drank up every word.

It struck Sukuna that he needed you to look at him the same. That no mortal man deserved to be on the receiving end of it.

He was walking over and grabbing the guy by the collar before he could stop himself, directly intervening despite what his instincts told him.

"Back the fuck off," Sukuna growled.

"That's not your decision," You hissed in his ear, your smaller hand on the sleeve of his hoodie trying to tug him down to your height. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you," He murmured, as if it should be obvious.

You turned to the man he hoped you hadn't figured out was meant to be yours, apologizing with another soft smile that made Sukuna seethe inside. "Can you give us a minute?"

He was being dragged to the bathroom in the back before that prick could protest. Letting you lead him there, studying the anger burning behind your glower.

You locked the door behind him, the mirror cracked, your reflection in it just as flustered as the real you.

"Seriously, what the hell?" You gritted your teeth, demanding an answer that he didn't want to give.

Because, if he was honest, his vacation had filled a vacancy in him, your scent, your scowl, your warmth, all of it occupying his brain, burrowing in and burying itself into his bones.

"What is it? You don't want me to meet my soulmate? Do you just want me to be miserable?" You asked, exasperated, arms folded across your chest, your work skirt riding high up on your thighs, your dark tights begging to be ripped off.

"Yes," He admitted, brows furrowed before he finished. "And no."

"Well, which is it?" You huffed at him, too annoyed to piece it together until you suddenly blinked, the realization hitting you why he'd bothered to find you in the first place. "Oh my God."

"Shut up," Sukuna preemptively muttered under his breath.

"You like me," You accused, pointing that finger at him, pride flickering in your eyes.

"Do not," He argued, but he couldn't even convince himself.

"Do too," You challenged, a cocky smirk curling up on your face, like you solved some great mystery. "You're jealous, aren't-"

He captured your lips in a heated kiss, breaking the very first rule of playing cupid.

Not to fall for his client.

It was hard to follow when you tasted better than divinity. Sour on the outside, sure, but your lips were sweet, nectar on his tongue. Pulling you in with a hand on your waist, pinning your back against the cool sink, kissing you harder, claiming you as his so no one would even be able to slip between you.

Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, roughly tugging at the roots, giving in to whatever tension has been building between you like it was always going to end up broken like this.

"I still loathe you," You murmured into his mouth as his hands grabbed your ass, hoisting you up to sit in the edge of the porcelain. You still moaned when his palm slid over your cunt, applying precise pressure to have you grinding up into the heat of his hand.

"Loathe me all you want," He chuckled, ripping off your tights so he could have proper access to that pretty pussy of yours, biting down on the inside of your cheek when he saw the damp spot on your little lace thong, proof of your affection for him. "Only look at me though."

He bet you couldn't even remember the color of that asshole's eyes when Sukuna had three fingers shoved inside your tight cunt, clenching around him and crying his name, desperate and whining for more as you squirmed in his grip. Leaving hickies over his skin, teeth sinking in as he stretched you out.

"F-fuck," You whimpered, eyes glossy when you glanced up at him like you'd never really seen him before.

"Louder," Sukuna barked, watching you start to unravel, sweat beading at your forehead, panting before he'd even fucked you. "Let him hear."

"You're such an ass," You scolded him between gasps of air. He pulled his fingers back out, licking each one clean before fumbling to unbutton his jeans. Stupid modern clothes.

You got irritated, smacking his hand away and doing it for him, unzipping his jeans next. You yanked his cock out, cooing at how hard and aching for relief it already was, the tip an angry shade of red, swollen as your smaller fingers swabbed it for pre-cum, popping it in your mouth for a taste of him too.

How the fuck was he ever supposed to hand you over to some human who wouldn't appreciate that?

Watching you suck on your fingers, your eyes never leaving his, making good on his request.

He fucked you like he'd never leave you.

And right now? He didn't plan on it.

Pushing his cock past the first ring of resistance with a groan, your soft thighs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his spine as he filled you up. You didn't even have to beg.

His mouth sucking a starving trail down the side of your neck, hoping that your soulmate suck around so Sukuna could scare him off for good.

Biting down to leave the outline of his teeth, your shudder only making him more sensitive to how tight you were squeezing him, sucking him deeper.

He hoped you wouldn't let him go. Wouldn't want to after this.

"Tell me you want me," He grunted, a gravelly rasp, molars grinding as your head tilted back to give him more access to your throat with a whine.

"T-tell me you want me first," You stammered, mewling his name under your breath when his hips slammed back into yours, cock grinding into you with a filthy squelch. Your thighs were damp, slick sticking to both of you, your skirt pushed up around your hips and your shirt now missing one of the top buttons.

"Fine," Sukuna growled, jaw clenched as he held back the urge to cum just from how devastatingly beautiful you looked like this, possibly the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. "I want you."

You sighed, content and slightly smug despite your fucked-out haze, enough of you there underneath it to still smirk at him. "Say it again."

"Brat," He murmured, cutting off your next remark by dragging his thumb back over your clit, watching how quickly your lips clamped shut with satisfaction.

Hips readjusting, unable to decide if you wanted to run towards or away from the pressure, your expression going dumb the second he started rubbing rough circles over it.

God, you were fucking gorgeous, gasping his name in weak whimpers like you'd been made for this. Carved out of the same stone his heart was, a missing piece he'd never realized he needed.

Watching you cum around him was the closest spiritual experience he ever had, your cunt milking him for every last drop, his plans to edge you until you were crying and saying you wanted him over and over again, thrown away in favor of giving you pleasure just so you knew no one else could help you reach that high.

Lashes fluttering and mascara running, lip gloss smeared and your tights ripped in ruins on the floor, body trembling at every tiny touch. Your thighs were limp, pliant as he pumped you full, cum dripping down to coat your skin, a pretty sheen that caught the light.

You struggled to catch your breath, resting your head on your chest, fingers clawing at his shirt.

"You didn't say it," He grumbled when you finally seemed to be coming back down to earth, counting the milliseconds until your face scrunched back into a pout.

"I want you too," You murmured, face flushing as you looked back towards the door.

That was all he needed to hear.

What, were they going to fire him?

Sukuna didn't give a shit.

They might take his wings, condemn him to being a mortal, a fate fragile and fleeting.

But you'd be there. His for the taking.

Tugging your thong back up before helping to your feet, pulling down your skirt until you were semi-covered, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

"Let's go back home," He muttered.

"So, my, uh, soulmate-"

"You don't need one," He shrugged.

You had him.

He could sense the incoming eye roll. But instead, you stared at him for a second, studying him, taking in the casual way he said it, the confidence.

"Okay," You murmured, letting him pull you in closer.

You know, maybe it was time to retire.

His pension would probably pay for a pretty nice vacation in an actual hotel. One with a pool.

[sadnsxft]

I Gotta Go My Own Way .ᐟ

𝜗𝜚: satoru, suguru, nanami, choso, toji

note: you tell them you don’t want to spend the night !

warnings: cursing, suggestive, toxic toji, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

[sadnsxft]

At first, puppy!Hybrid Satoru was thrilled.

You were home. All day! No jingling keys. No goodbye kisses. No annoying work smells or plastic bags that didn’t include treats for him. Just his favorite person curled up in bed - warm, sleepy, soft - exactly where he wanted you. Not even Fox! Hybrid Suguru to steal you away from him today.

He had burst into the room that morning with tail wags, a little too excited to climb right on top of you, peppering kisses across your face and nuzzling into your neck with those little nose sniffs. “Morning, pretty baby!!” he sang with that goofy grin, snow-white hair flopping in his face, ears twitching happily. “You're still here?! Lucky day!”

But by midday, he started to realize something was off.

You hadn’t really…moved.

The curtains were still drawn. The covers pulled high. You hadn’t changed clothes. Hadn’t eaten. Not even a sip of water. You barely even looked at him when he padded back in from the kitchen with a snack he proudly tried to share (offering you sweets he didn't even lick yet). His excited ramblings turned to soft little whines.

Still, he climbed in beside you, thinking maybe you just needed a cuddle. His soft ears brushed against your cheek as he nestled in close, arms curling around your waist, his fluffy white tail swishing in hopeful little swoops behind him.

But even then - you didn’t smile.

Didn’t run your fingers through his hair like you always do. Didn’t call him your “good boy.” You just blinked slowly, lashes heavy and stuck together with sleep or tears or something heavier he couldn’t quite understand.

“…Baby?” he asked, this time quieter.

Your lip trembled. “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t.

And now Satoru’s throat tightened with worry, because he knows fine doesn’t sound like that. His bright blue eyes, usually full of sparkles and trouble, dimmed into something softer. Sadder. He shifted so he could lie on top of you, posing as a weighted blanket for the day, wrapping his arms around you protectively, burying his nose against your neck.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll stay here too, then. Just for a bit.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t push or ask you to get up. Didn't even go to bark at the mail man or check to see if Suguru came home from errands yet.

He just laid there, his body radiating gentle warmth, letting his tail flop occasionally. Every few minutes he’d nose at your cheek, just to make sure you were still with him. Ears twitching every time you sighed.

“You don’t have to talk,” he mumbled after a while, voice thick and muffled from where he pressed his mouth to your collarbone. “But I’m here, yeah? Always. You’re not alone, promise.”

And that’s the thing about puppy!Satoru.

He might not always know why you’re hurting, but he’ll never leave your side while you are.

Even when his tail isn’t wagging. Even when his bright smile is replaced by a soft little pout and glassy eyes. Even when he’s scared and doesn’t know what to do, he’ll still be your shadow. Your blanket. Your good boy.

All you have to do is breathe.

And he’ll be right there, nuzzling closer, whispering just above a whine: “Love you. Love you so much. Gonna stay ‘til you feel better, okay? Gonna be such a good boy today"

While he hopes that tomorrow will be a better day.

[sadnsxft]

sick dayᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

toji and shiu take care of their sickly girl <3

warnings: slightly suggestive, overwhelmingly fluffy!

a/n: i was not expecting this one to get so soft! also, guess who woke up sick this morning... teehee

[sadnsxft]

early risers ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

toji and shiu wake up way too early in the morning...

warnings: 18+

a/n: lmk if you'd like to be on a taglist for these!

[sadnsxft]

utahime’s mouth is already on your neck when shoko walks in — late, like always, the scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat as she drops it on the floor. “already started without me?” she hums, half amused, half annoyed, watching the way your fingers twist in the bedsheets. utahime doesn’t stop. her lips brush lower, warm breath skating over the top of your chest. she’s been like this all evening, needy and clingy.

“you were taking too long,” she murmurs, tongue flicking over your nipple, voice pouty. “she was getting impatient.”

you weren’t. not really. you’d wait hours if it meant shoko would crawl into bed and look at you like that — half lidded eyes, cigarette barely hanging on between her fingers. but utahime's jealousy gets under your skin in the best way.

“aw,” shoko says, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing her hand along your thigh, “you miss me that bad, princess?”

you nod, lips parted, breath hitching when utahime sucks a mark into your collarbone. shoko’s eyes don’t leave yours. “say it.”

“..missed you.”

“good girl.”

utahime glares, but her hands never stop moving. she’s already pulled your panties to the side, already sliding two fingers through your folds like she owns you. maybe she does. maybe they both do. it’s hard to tell whose name you’re moaning louder.

“jealously looks cute on you,” shoko murmurs toward utahime, finally flicking the cigarette into the ashtray and climbing fully into bed. she pulls you into her lap, letting your back rest against her chest, one hand cupping your breast and the other sliding down your stomach, just barely brushing over where utahime’s fingers are still moving between your legs. “but you’re going too easy on her.”

“she’s already shaking,” utahime mutters, flushed, licking her fingers and pressing a kiss to your thigh like she’s trying to calm herself down. “she’ll cum too fast if i—”

“so?” shoko’s voice is lazy. “let her.”

you cry out when they both touch you at once — utahime’s mouth pressing between your legs, shoko’s fingers tugging at your nipples and whispering filthy things into your ear. you don’t know where to look. don’t know whose name to moan. don’t know how to handle the warmth building in your stomach with both of them all over you like this.

“fuck, that’s it,” shoko purrs. “you take it so well. i wonder how you'd take my new strap.”

utahime’s eyes flick up to look at you - she’s sucking at your clit now, slow and firm. you’re all hers.

you cum hard. and then again. and again.. and again. until you’re panting and crying both names mixed together. shoko’s smiling against your neck. you’re the prettiest little toy she’s ever owned.

“look at her,” she breathes. “you did good.”

utahime kisses your trembling thigh. “we both did.”

[sadnsxft]

something, somehow, someday

chapter 3: sun stall | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, a lot of yearning :P

a/n: i have a poll up on chapter length so if you have an opinion please vote! it's been tied up almost the whole way, and the poll will end around sunday. also, as always, feel free to send asks about context/content, i know i can be...sparse sometimes >:) i love you all

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

SATORU, for his part, never resented you for leaving. he missed you almost masochistically: he dreamt of you on purpose, refused outright to forget, dragged your memory behind him, the whole comatose body of it. but soon after your leaving he failed so spectacularly at protecting amanai, and suguru defected not long after. he lost that year in totality to his own failure, to a boundless and indiscriminate wash of waste and desecration. it was everywhere. and so covered in it as he was, it was impossible to discern the particulars; your disappearance was a limb to a much larger, beastly thing. 

for a time he hated himself for losing two of the most important people in his life, though even that he had to abandon for megumi and tsumiki’s sake. by the time he had enough clarity to truly wonder why you left, he had the sense to recognize that returning to 2006 could do him no good. so no, there has been no hatred—in fact, he doesn’t think he could ever hate you—only a quiet wanting, the remainder of the ways he once loved you, and your koi fish in the stream. 

he hasn’t spent much time in this part of tokyo. shoko seems to have crested her temporary calm and dissolved again into a tremor satoru pretends not to see. she scans the neighborhood with fear and appetite in equal measure and he finds himself doing the same. she stops suddenly, remembering something.

“you should take off your blindfold.”

his brows pinch together. “ha?” it doesn’t come out cruel so much as confused.

shoko makes an expectant face: you are at my mercy. satoru continues walking as he slips a finger behind the fabric and pulls it off. “you know, it’s cruel to string me along in the dark like this. just because you know something i don’t doesn’t mean you can prey on me,” he mutters.

shoko scoffs. “you think i’m enjoying this?”

“yeah, actually, i think you are at least a little bit,” he bites.

“gojo, i have scanned medical records, cctv footage, eye witness accounts—god i got teachers at the kyoto school involved for this—”

a small grin slides over satoru’s face. “utahime?”

shoko’s annoyance persists. “i’ve put years into doing this for you and you can’t offer me the courtesy of trusting me? this one time? after i’ve done something so monumental on your behalf? jesus, gojo, you really are—”

something behind satoru’s ribs turns over once, twice, snaps open. there are teeth in his sternum. he feels it all before he sees it, the tug to square his shoulders towards something, the echo of the person he used to be bellowing something inside of him, but he can’t make any of it out. he sees his eyes first, they’re his eyes, looking over your shoulder. they look frightened; he’s never seen his own eyes so afraid before.

there are a few things satoru knows immediately and a few others that are slower on the uptake. that is his child—this point is undeniable, though there isn’t much internalization that can happen right at this moment—and you are his mother. he would know you anywhere, he would know you in the dark, he would know you senseless, and he certainly knows you like this, eyes wide open and ten yards away. your back is turned and satoru also knows, right then, that you cannot sense him yet.

the kid does, though. he looks like a ghost, embraced in your arms, an eerie reconstruction of himself at that age. satoru wonders now if everyone found him as incandescently striking looking as he now finds this child, or whether it’s because it’s his. his child. there are no words or musings in him, only this feeling, the bite of wonderment and love and hurt. the latter, he thinks, wins out on his face.

the child whispers something in your ear and your back straightens. you shake your head a little, and the movement lets satoru see the side of your face for a brief and monumental second. god, you are just as terribly lovely as the day you left. there are more whispers between you and you stand, slowly, and satoru sees that you are now terrified, too. you come all the way up before you turn.

there is only a deep breath’s worth of time spent like this: satoru, frozen on the sidewalk and as helpless as he’s ever been, you, eyes wide, refusing to panic but nonetheless knowing that everything has changed, and your baby, the siphoning of each of you, stepped now in front of your legs. and that’s the worst part, satoru thinks. yes, it may be the most awful thing to have ever happened to him that this child worries satoru may hurt you. shoko and the neighborhood fade, blurred on the periphery of this little massacre shared among the three of you.

satoru moves first. a step towards you, and then another. you don’t make to protect your son, he knows you know that you don’t have to, but the boy clings to your knee behind him, so furious somehow and so petrified, and most of all determined to keep you safe. for one of the first times in his life satoru is glad for his six eyes; he can look at you both at once.

when he arrives at the altar of your feet satoru squats to his son’s level. it occurs to him only then that he must recognize satoru as his father; if he knows at all what his own face looks like then it would be impossible to miss it. 

the belated circumstances arrive in satoru’s head; this child has cursed energy, he has a cursed technique, he’s using it right now. satoru extends a hand towards the boy slowly, pauses each time he flinches, until suddenly his palm just…stops. whatever was left holding him upright leaks out his ears now as satoru sinks all the way to his knees.

your voice, against all odds, is even. “it’s okay, takara.” takara. he slumps a little as he relaxes, but keeps a chubby arm barring your legs from moving forward. you drop to the ground anyway, tears streaming down your face, and they look like they burn.

“say something,” you plead quietly.

satoru wrenches your name from his mouth like a death rattle. “what can i say? what do you want me to say?”

you shake your head, “i don’t know, i—i’m sorry. i can’t—you were never meant to meet him.”

“and what? you were just gonna keep him from me forever?”

you almost look confused as to how he couldn’t understand. “of course i was. he is your son, satoru. if people knew they would take him,” your voice raises only a fraction, “nobody could protect him from the onslaught of people who would use him to hurt you,” your words sound like sobs, they are heartbreaking, but you continue, “it was all i could do to protect you both.”

“and what about you? what about your protection? i could have been there for you and for him—”

“satoru, stop.”

“no, be serious with me. be honest with me. don’t you owe me that?” he’s almost manic now, so angry and so devastated and it bares itself in his voice, “how could you have decided without me?”

satoru wonders if you’d be yelling at him if takara wasn’t between you, but as it is you keep two hands on your volume. “i was practically a child! and so were you! i did what i thought was best. i did it for you. how could you ever be a father? i couldn’t burden you with that responsibility, there was too much on you already!”

satoru shakes with a terrible laughter. “and yet i ended up halfway to parenthood anyway!” he exclaims.

you suck in a breath. “what does that mean?”

where does he even begin? he tries his best to keep himself human but god how could you rob him of this? “i took in two zenin kids around when suguru defected.”

this information only slows you down for a moment before your face twists again. you had heard about suguru’s defection; yaga left you a voicemail, worried he’d seek you out. it’s one of the only times you had to well and fully restrain yourself from reaching out to satoru, who had loved geto voraciously, you think. you cast the thought aside and say again, slower, “i felt like i had no options. no way out but…away. i knew what you’d do if i told you.” 

and this is by far the most devastating thing you’d said to him so far. to acknowledge how deeply he cared for you seared you both, each of you shuddering with the memory. satoru practically whispers, “i can’t believe you took this from me…took him from me.”

the words rush out of your lips faster now. “i never wanted to hurt you, not ever, and that’s why i left. i stand by that choice.” you poke your pointer finger into his chest and he lets you. “he’s gotten to live free from us.” 

satoru grabs your wrist and keeps it close, firm but gentle, still. even feeling so betrayed by a version of you gone by he seeks your touch for comfort: his fingers wrap around to your pulse to feel you living. neither of you think much about how physically familiar you remain to one another. “he has my technique.” 

you both look at takara now, the first time since you began arguing. he looks even smaller up close, satoru thinks. his hands are wrung behind his back and his toes point in but he does not look at all confused. it’s clear to the both of you that he’s understood every word, or at least the meaning, and his eyes well with the knowing but he refuses to loosen. he stands stiff as satoru tilts his head and holds his hand out, releasing your wrist.

“my name is satoru.”

~~~~~~~

YOU cannot, try as you might, reconcile satoru gojo in your living room. takara points out his various toys at your request, and satoru watches him intently, nods when takara glances up at him. shoko had slipped quietly away watching the tableau of the three of you at the park, and against your better judgment you had let satoru through your front door; the two of them are blinding, beaming in each others company despite takara’s trepidation and satoru’s lingering hurt. they kneel together on the floor while you watch from the couch, witness now to a sacred moment, trying not to move.

you’re only mildly alarmed that you still know satoru’s posture enough to know he is trying to consume as much of takara’s presence as he possibly can. he’s hunched the way he is when he eats, ingesting the sight of his son who he’s known less than an hour. and you have so much left to say to him but you are not so cruel as to rip from him this time, too.

takara is sharp, too. in between turning his wooden trains upside down and sideways in this strange, stilted performance, he asks satoru enough questions to make a running catalogue in his mind: where do you live? do you have a job? do you have parents? how long did it take to get here? and satoru’s smile, already fond, nearly takes you to an early grave.

at least, you think to yourself, you can at last put to bed your questioning: you are still in love with satoru. watching them acclimate to each other's company, for the first time in a long time, you remember what it is you gave up for takara’s sake. in taking takara from satoru you forsake him, yes, but you denied yourself these moments, too. and part of you dreads the conversations with gojo that are sure to follow, but the rest opens itself to the warmth of the two of them, splayed unceremoniously across your carpet.

still, you meant what you said before; you don’t regret your decisions. the world of jujutsu asks for takara now, and you find a small comfort in the fact that he knows, to some degree, what he would lose if he took up the post of his lineage. 

takara’s eyes are sleepy as you glance at him now.

“bubba why don’t you say goodnight to satoru and i’ll come help you wash up in a few minutes?” 

takara hesitates. “will i see him again?”

you refuse to look at gojo when he asks. “yes,” you assure him, “i promise you will.” you mean it in a way takara can feel. he drags himself away and down the hall, leaving you alone with…what would you call your relationship now?

satoru takes his time situating himself on the couch next to you. how strange it is to see him again, to be thrust into such devastating conflict, to miss him so strongly at an arm’s length. he’s more stunning than you’ve ever seen him, blindfold still off and unfurled on your coffee table.

“he’s amazing,” he breathes. 

you can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto your face. “yeah, i know.”

satoru chews a moment on his question before he asks it. “did he ever ask about me?”

you deflate a little. “don’t do that.”

“don’t do what? don’t ask? don’t i deserve to know about my son?” his hands gesticulate ahead of him. you suppose the both of you are as angry at the other as you were earlier today, which is to say not very much, you think. mostly he is hurt—he cannot hide this from you—and you, somehow, are wounded, too, and you’re both floundering watching the other lick their blood dry. satoru continues, “don’t i deserve to know whether my son needed his father?”

“needed you? i assure you, satoru, i have been more than enough for him. i’ve given up the rest of my life in service of—”

“—that’s not what i meant—”

“isn’t it?” his eyes flit across your face, he’s looking for something and you’re unsure whether he’ll find it. “aren’t you asking me how often i’ve left a gap big enough for him to miss a man he never met? how often i failed?”

“no! i—no,” gojo reaches for you on instinct but leaves his palms hovering an inch from your forearms. “it’s obvious you’ve done an amazing job with him, especially given the circumstances, but—”

“and what circumstances would those be, exactly?” you ask with no small amount of cruelty. the funny thing is, you know exactly to which realities he is referring—your financial and familial solitude—but still it stings to feel questioned by this heir to a very real monetary fortune, beyond the immense power already bequeathed to him. “i may have wanted for things, gojo, but takara never has.”

bluer than anything human, satoru’s eyes look devastated, taken by gravity down his face. “don’t call me that.”

you purse your lips. “i just…” something vicious and sharp dissipates into the air, the both of you taking a breath, softly. “i’ve worked so hard to be proud of the way i have parented him.” satoru nods you on. “it’s not that i don’t want you in his life, i mean—i don’t think there was ever a moment when i didn’t want that at least a little bit. i can’t tell you how many times i wanted you to be there. but i feel…” you reach for him this time, resting a palm lightly on the back of his hand. “a little afraid, i guess,” you whisper.

satoru lets your admission flower in the silence a moment before he smiles, tiny and wry. “afraid of me?”

“yes,” you breathe. the white gleam of his hair bounces in the lamplight. “because everything is different.” you feel the steeled tension melt a little; you want to be honest with him, more than anything. “it feels a little bit like you’ve spoiled everything.”

satoru nods a little again, sober. “maybe i have.”

and your next confession will sound to satoru like a promise, you know it will, but it finds its way out anyway: “i can’t deny you him now, can i?”

“not without being terrible.”

you laugh something watery and real. “yeah, i guess not.” 

a silence consumes you both again, but it’s no longer hostile, the both of you too exhaustedly malleable  for anything more charged now. 

in the soft sounds of your apartment you are given the space to notice that you have an urge to ask about satoru’s life now. you don’t think you are capable of philosophizing more on your choices and the unyielding consequences tonight, and he’s seen now—at the cost, maybe, of your sanity—what your life has been in your six years away. and you suspect it may hurt you somehow to know more concretely how he’s lived in your absence, but the day has been long. you are tired. you allow yourself this luxury.

“you said you…adopted two kids? is that right?”

“i—yeah,” satoru says, surprised in a gentle sort of way, “they were collateral from a mission that summer.”

you soften even further at the thought of satoru growing into guardianship at the same time you did. something catches in your lungs. “how old are they now?”

satoru smiles at the thought of them. “the little one, megumi—a pain, honestly, and so mean to me—will be ten this year. tsumiki is three years older. i sometimes forget it, though. she acts so much like a little adult,” he laughs softly.

“i’d like to meet them,” you admit.

“i want you to, too,” satoru says, almost too fondly. you preen a little in it anyway.

“do they live on campus with you?”

“no, no. i tried that at the beginning but it felt…i don’t know, inappropriate? i got an apartment as close by as i could, and i stay there as often as i can.”

you hum. “you seem…” you have to look for the right words, “suited to this.”

“are you surprised?” he scoffs, not unkindly.

“i don’t know, i guess so,” you admit with a grin. a little teasing. a time capsule.

“i’m very mature now,” satoru says back.

and because the only secret you could ever keep from satoru was ruined this afternoon, you confess: “the you i have in my head has been from when you were 18. all this time has passed and—” you tilt your head back and forth slightly, “—and you haven’t aged in my mind at all. not until today, all at once.”

satoru’s eyes on you warm your cheeks and you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, not really for anything. “and?”

you narrow your eyes. “and what?”

“am i still as wonderful all grown up?”

the laugh that comes from you is real. “that’s yet to be determined, actually.”

“smart girl,” he says, you hope without thinking. the quiet asserts itself again.

all these years later, you find yourself still intimately familiar with the choices satoru makes in your company. when he moves, and how: all of it has been in his own image, a predictable force. you have never flinched when he has reached for you, in part because you are unafraid, but also because you have always seemed to know when he wanted to move his hands.

but you are rendered entirely still as you realize—your mind is a moment behind you—that satoru is holding you, now. 

his arms are so warm you almost want to tear them from your body. instead—fool and terminally lovesick that you are—you press your forehead to the cradle of his neck and breathe the scent of him in. nothing has been settled tonight, not really, but neither of you move to acknowledge it, lest this sacrosanct handful of seconds be broken. you merely allow the bruising grip of his elbows around your biceps, the claw of your fingers around his sides, to hold.

tomorrow teases you from below the skyline. it’s only beginning to darken to evening but still you are confronted with the passing of time, with the reality of today. 

though you remember, here in his grasp, one of the things you used to love so much about pressing up against a supernova like satoru; all other light fades, and the darkness, too, is gobbled up. time stops for a moment, you think, a withholding of breath as the sun stalls in its burial below the city. you allow yourself to forget temporarily about the fact that you have no idea what to do, of how to continue living on top of the remains of this life you crafted so carefully, and push your nose further into satoru’s shoulder.  he whispers into your hair, so quiet you wonder if it isn’t meant for you: “i missed you.”

~~~~~~~

a/n: i feel SO eternally grateful as the taglist for this series continues to grow. i can't tell you all how much it means to me that you keep reading. i adore you <3 also, if you're interested in having a say on my chapter length in the future, vote in the poll i posted on sunday hehe. as always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @emochosoluvr @por0u @vraiao @voidfulcrumdilemma @vaniyeiszero @missingnozw @crowroakchi @seikamuzu @anonymous-3846 @asahinasstuff @kunisnaomi @bl6o6dy @meanderingwistera @lilac-heartz @acowboykisser @miiikooooooo @missingnozw @heiranni @sadmonke @alicebleu @sanchann @splinx04real @lolllllllllllllliiiiiii @eggrollforyou @updated-version @yaurss @khaleesihavilliard @mizzowizzo @mierins @eolivy @spencerreidisagorgman @dahliadaenerys @cantchooseanctbias @fallenfromgrxce @theclassbookworm @liestel @jiasdream @maddy24207 @valoriya @19catspiledontopofeachother @hbhbhbhbhby @bijuu-naginata @jv5t4g1rl @bobagang @thraxpatty @muscovitechick

[sadnsxft]

something, somehow, someday

chapter 2: near miss | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, takara is my little baby, shoko showing emotion (scary)

a/n: i have the sense i should be spacing these chapters out more but i'm enjoying it too much. i hope you like :)

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

2012

YOU suspect that training takara here, practically in public, is a terrible idea, though you hardly have another option. the park by your apartment is by no means sprawling, but it fills only sparsely with people, and there are places to hide. the lot backs up to an office building on one side, so in between the trees there you can compose some version of privacy. the leaves tremble around you now, trees frenetic, greener, with the small makings of your hands. 

with a pointer finger sunk a half inch in the soil, you conjure a small root and make it dance at takara’s folded legs where he sits. you speak softly to him, always, “focus.”

his eyes squeeze shut as he braces himself against the ground. “i am,” he tells you. his hair, grown in as platinum as you knew it would, catches the waning light as it crests the horizon; he is painted orange, glowing as he shears. you twist the root and begin poking at his legs softly. his skin dimples with each moment of contact and he bows himself further into his effort.

“don’t strain, bubba,” you remind him. he strains.

“i don’t feel anything,” he whines, little face folded in on itself. 

you cannot help but assure him, “yes, you do.” 

he tosses his hands up and flops onto his back, palms stained a little from the grass he’d wrung between them. “no, i don’t!” you let your root go. his eyes, blinking at you now, are a curtain; they cut through the evening’s pink light. 

“this is inside of you, takara. you’ve done it before!” he doesn’t seem particularly interested in that fact, huffing at you quietly. unlike you at this age, and you suspect unlike his father, takara is bound to his small failures; he remembers them. you brush your knuckle down his nose. “we can go home.”

he nods, quietly collecting himself, and clambors to stand. it’s been weeks of this work for only a few, precious moments of success, but in this, too, you are choiceless. you could see the moment limitless began manifesting in him, a maw of energy pried open with time, and it would be negligent not to teach him how to use it.

of course, you don’t know how to use it. not really, anyway. your instructions come out misshapen, distorted things scraped off your memories with satoru as teenagers. there is a small and saccharine delight you take in this regardless; takara is a student of his father’s, and you’re the only one who knows. you take takara’s hand as you make your way home, bent at the waist to meet him. 

he is still a sun in your grasp, still so damningly his father’s son, still so different from either of you. he is quiet, takes a great deal of time deciding—though you suppose that bit is from you—and easily frustrated. he is resilient, too; you don’t know from which of you he inherited that. your takara. you are so devastatingly endeared to him.

the walk is short and quiet back to your apartment, and with the cafe being within a block, too, you only rarely leave your neighborhood. it’s best this way, you think; you have brought up a new world for yourself and for takara, one that needn’t overtly touch what you left behind. you’ve never seen anyone you used to know here.

you know you are still recognizable. your shoes, in the first place, give you away, and anyone attuned to cursed energy would know immediately the sort of masking ability they have on your technique, that you are a thing to be tamed. in a more intimate sense, too, anyone who knew you in high school would recognize them by appearance alone. the sound of them resonates on the sidewalk, cushioned in between by the soft footfalls of takara’s sneakers. 

you only notice now that he has braced himself to ask you something.

“mama,” he begins. your neighborhood passes slowly around you and you squeeze his little hand tighter to tell him you're listening. he continues, “your technique is different from mine.”

something in your spine locks. he is not asking; it’s leveled at you much more like an accusation. you nod, and take stock of his face. you can almost see the words in his mouth as he forms them.

“who…who has my technique?” 

you’ve arrived home now, and take the moment finding your keys like the reprieve it is. the clinking sound echoes softly against your door and you usher him inside.

this is not the first time he’s asked you this, or some version of this, and you would be terrible to blame him. to the best of your ability you have tried to understand the sensation of unearthing something wholly unnatural and singular; he cannot see this part of himself, his technique, in you. you wonder whether this makes him afraid, and then admonish yourself immediately. of course it does.

you sit beside him to remove his shoes and yours. part of you wants to admit the whole gory mess of it, present the truth to him, five-years-old and a sage to you. but another part of you, the part that wins, cannot bear that either. you tell him what you always tell him. “your dad has your technique and another one,” you press a finger beneath each of his eyes, twice on each side, “called the six eyes.” the affection in your voice is so easy to hear, you cannot help it. you don’t even try.

takara nods. he has never asked you why he cannot meet his father, though you are sure that day will come. for now, he is still young enough that he cannot altogether perceive the irregularities of his situation. he asks, instead: “when did his start working?”

you sink into that question further than you care to admit. it is an impossible truth to reconcile: for all you felt for him then, satoru was too enormous a thing to really learn. at the time of your pregnancy, the three years spent with him spanned so much of your life, and it felt almost noble to love a thing so wholly invisible. but now, in the face of this child who you love so fiercely, and against the nearly six years that have passed since you left, your not knowing no longer feels so generous. you almost pity yourself for how unendingly you pledged yourself to him. almost.

because even still, even now, you remember what it felt like to be so irrevocably in love. you can’t even discern for certain if you still are; or, more accurately, you cannot quite confirm for yourself that you aren’t. how could you? you meet his eyes every day. takara still waits for your answer.

“honestly, i don’t really know.” you flatten a wrinkle in his shirt with your palm. “but i know he tried every day.” takara’s eyes narrow; he senses you’re trying to teach him something. “and he never got mad at his mom, and he always did what she asked,” you add with a growing grin.

takara groans, high pitched and squeaky, as he putters away, and you giggle as he goes.

~~~~~~~

it is with a cold and leadened weight that SATORU assesses shoko in his doorway. each arm braced on the opening, she stands tilted in on herself, unsteady, like her center of gravity has moved. she looks more animalistic than he’s ever seen her, and given her typical affectless disposition, a great terror washes over him. eyes wild, she says only, “i need to talk to you.”

satoru is well and fully taut as he nods her in, but he is still himself, and so he tries to ease the tension: “lay it on me, boss.”

shoko all but buckles into the seat in front of his desk. “i don’t even know—shit,” she stumbles. “god, i don’t even know how to tell you, gojo.”

his eyebrows pinch together. “what does that even mean?”

“i don’t want to hurt you.”

“are you planning on hurting me?” he prods, smirking a little despite everything.

shoko cannot answer his question. she purses her lips, sucks on her teeth, looks for something to unstick. it comes loose, at last: “i found him, i think.”

and it’s been almost six years, but it takes satoru only a moment to know exactly what she means. there’s only ever been one person he’s sent her looking for.

he remembers his hopeless drowning when he first felt it, that greedy warmth which made him convinced a family member was close by. and the feeling never ceased so much as he became familiar with it; but satoru drowns again now. the vice grip inside him flexes and tears. his face grows pleading as he asks, “who?”

shoko can only shake her head and wave him out of his office. “i won’t tell you until i can see for sure.” and gojo is so desperate he cannot bear, even, to complain.

they leave the jujutsu tech grounds that way, shoko still strung with tension but seemingly relaxed, at least slightly, by now sharing the burden. and satoru, a sinking man, clawing with each step towards…whoever it is. the sky threatens to open and pour above them.

to pass the time on the way—shoko, difficult as she is, would not reveal their destination either—he considers what his options are. surely his life would be changed upon arrival, he thinks. yes, someone with enough cursed energy to alert him would be worth meeting in the cosmic sense. ignoring the glaring fact that he knows his own lineage, satoru cannot help but wonder who it is, cannot help but hope. he knows, of course, that anyone precluded from his studied family tree, ostensibly by treason or worse, could not sate this embarrassing desire for kinship. 

but still, satoru is hungry for family, a terrible appetite he has mostly suppressed. in megumi and tsumiki he has found it, and satoru, boundless, wants more. he has leashed himself so tightly all this time, in his power and his work and his personal life, but as he sets off with shoko towards the center of tokyo, his grip, white-knuckled, gives. 

~~~~~~~

YOU almost don’t take takara out for training; the sky groans and bloats above you and you don’t want him caught in the rain. but he’d pleaded with you to go—you choose not to comment on your victory in that—and you suppose the park is close enough to avoid drenching you both if the rain does come. 

in the grey mist there are few people out. huddled again between the treeline and the office building, you poke at takara’s leg with a conjured iris as he braces with the labor. you see the contact once, twice, a third time, and his frustration crests just so. you can hear the whistle of grass between his fingers as he squeezes and kneads himself into an attempt at cooperation. and then—

your iris stands pacified, still, a centimeter from his shin. you push a little, and then a lot. it doesn’t move.

for all your deliberation, you find yourself incapable of describing completely the look on takara’s face when you lift your gaze. at the beginning of his life, every moment was new and enormous, but now, at five, it is noticeably less often that you find him completely unrecognizable. but you feel it now, watching the sincere and incandescent pride wash over his face, tempered only by a split second of surprise. it is a world-ending look, his whole face open with it; he has never looked so pleased with himself, never been so profoundly relieved. you have half a mind to weep for the rest of your life. you smile instead, as wide as you can manage.

“takara,” you begin, soft. you find you’re afraid to frighten him somehow. he doesn’t even respond with words, surging forward on his knees to hug you, cackling to himself.

“i did it! i did it!”

you laugh now, too. “you did it!”

“mama, you saw! you saw it!”

“yes, bubba, i did!”

he squeals as you squish him between your arms, the two of you reduced to lunacy in the face of this terrifying power that your child, for a moment, towed enough to move. what sanity could you find in this? this moment feels very much like takara’s coronation, king of nothing, son of god. 

you breathe, at last, in the knowing that takara will be capable of his own protection. as inevitable as he emerged before you five years ago, you feel certain now that he will survive you, too. the relief entirely all-consuming, you are blind with it, almost numb. 

takara stills suddenly in your arms and straightens, looking over your shoulder. but you can’t feel a thing.

~~~~~~~

let me know if you'd like to be added, and i hope you enjoyed! <3 also i know i'm a less-is-more kind of fic writer as it relates to context so if you ever have questions just ask hehe

taglist: @emochosoluvr @por0u @vraiao @voidfulcrumdilemma @vaniyeiszero @missingnozw @crowroakchi @seikamuzu @anonymous-3846 @asahinasstuff @kunisnaomi @bl6o6dy @meanderingwistera @lilac-heartz @acowboykisser @miiikooooooo @missingnozw @heiranni @sadmonke @alicebleu @sanchann @splinx04real @lolllllllllllllliiiiiii @eggrollforyou @updated-version @yaurss @khaleesihavilliard @mizzowizzo @mierins @eolivy @spencerreidisagorgman

[sadnsxft]

something, somehow, someday

chapter 1: your takara | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort (but like…no comfort yet), gojo terrorizing megumi, very very vague descriptions of giving birth (SO abstracted)

a/n: i cannot thank you enough for your love on the prologue i am simply jumping with joy. BOUNCING. thank you <3

ok another authors note?? i meant to schedule this for tomorrow but for some reason tumblr posted it now. i don’t care enough to fix it…so…enjoy :P

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

2006

the funny thing about pregnancy, YOU think, is that despite how axis-tilting the fact of it may feel, you have ample time to become accustomed. after the initial devastation—and it was nearly fatal to you—of leaving satoru and the rest behind, the shock of composing this godly thing in your body ebbs. you’d come to the conclusion that it would grow nonetheless, the wingspan of the color and the power and the life of them is ceaseless. this child would be born, you would be their mother. there isn’t much point in surprise, you determine, and so you let that sharp and startled feeling go. it leaves easily.

in the first few months, you begin to wonder whether you were fated for this. your technique being what it is—an ingestion of the earth’s natural cursed energy, a trail of trees and grasses under your feet and hands—has allowed you some familiarity with the act of being a creator. being cast out from your family in pursuit of your cursed technique, too, means you know how to survive somewhat on your own. the tangible particulars of what your life has become are not altogether new. you find a job at a cafe and an apartment close by, work yourself overtime while you only have to care for one body. 

there are moments when the tragedy of being 18 and pregnant and alone dawn on you, but when have you ever fret over the inevitable? and it is so hard, you find, to stay hateful when what you imagine is only a few clumps of cells exudes energy that looks so much like their father’s. 

of course, you miss satoru in a terminal way. that isn’t much of a surprise, either, and you cannot escape him. in the smell of sugar at the cafe, in the plants you grow in your apartment window sills, he is all over them, so potently in your life despite being so factually absent. but you know, too, that his traces remain on you for all the reasons you fell in love with him. he’s like ocean on your hands; dry and invisible but you can still smell the salt. and so much like everything else, you make peace with the constant reminders of the man you love, the father of your child, who is so far away by your own design. the first trimester passes that way, almost mindless, living in the decision you could not help but make, growing used to the growing.

only at your most weak, in the dead of night, do you allow yourself any thought of why this is necessary. an indulgent masochism you did not use to be prone to, you think of how much a target this child would be if the world knew whose it was. techniqueless, your baby would be essentially gone the moment they left you. insurmountably more petrifying, though, was knowing that this baby did have sorcery in them.

you think of this now, watching your ceiling fan spin and spreading your fingers across your stomach. this child, your child, would be tethered to jujutsu. there could be no running, not from this. 

your doctor told you today that your baby is a boy. you sat with your knees tipped inward on the floor, holding the phone to your face, and you’d laughed something waterlogged and conflicted when she said it. there was something terrible about knowing he would look like his father, but there was comfort, too. your love for satoru is unselfish and indiscriminate, even now; you cannot help some unbridled joy that this life you’ve made together will have echoes, like everything else in the scenery of your day-to-day, of him.

when you first ran away to learn jujutsu from your grandmother, she told you stories of her father, who mastered the technique before her. takara: a gift from god. laying in your bed now, thinking still of what your son is doomed to be, you hold your middle tighter, which steadily grows now into the unmissable signs of life. you smile, something soft and small, thinking that this baby is your gift from god, from your satoru. takara. yes, you think. your takara.

~~~~~~~

2007

SATORU has, at 19, felt a great deal. power and fear and hubris and devastation: he has been lost, he has been dead, he has been in love. he takes some level of pride in this disproportionality. it’s what makes him a good guardian to megumi and tsumiki, he thinks, despite how incompetent shoko and yaga seem to believe him to be. 

but nothing has ever felt like this. on the last day of january, stretched in front of a space heater with megumi as snow collects outside the window, satoru’s body straightens, folds, something inside him yawns open. he sits up.

megumi levels him with a stare. “what?”

satoru rubs a hand over his face. it feels like his heart is turning inside of him, like his soul is moving. something deep and fundamental is happening. he’s terrified, for a moment. his silence, unnatural as it is, draws megumi’s attention. he asks again, a little kinder, “what?”

satoru shakes his head. “i don’t know.” he looks at megumi’s little furrowed brow and schools his expression. “i’m fine, sorry. all good.” and for the sake of convincing, though it sounds even more desperate, he says again: “i’m fine.”

megumi only scoffs and turns back to watching the mounting blanket of ice outside, but satoru remains unwell. what the fuck is happening to me? he can only barely stop himself from clutching his chest, from clawing his hands into his body and pulling something out.

he looks around; there are no discernible perturbations in the energy on campus, no physical ailments on or in him. the space heater hums, but the warmth is almost stifling now. 

with a great deal of effort, he lays flat again and tries to calm his breathing. eyes closed, satoru thinks. the sensation beats behind his ribs, kicks from the inside. and as suddenly as it onset, satoru knows: it is familiar. or maybe familial. it feels, almost, like someone from his clan appeared in the area. this is impossible, he knows, but it’s almost unmistakable. he shoots to a standing position and pushes out of the room, disregards megumi’s discontented little “hey!” as he trudges towards shoko’s office.

the door flings open as shoko blows a puff of smoke from her lips. yaga allotted her an office space as soon as they graduated so she could begin healing sorcerers when they returned from missions; she leans both elbows on her desk, exasperated with him already.

“do you know how to knock?”

satoru can’t even rise to that quip, still heaving. “do i have any relatives coming to tokyo?” he asks.

shoko lifts a brow. “satoru why on earth would i know that?”

his eyes are wild as he asks again, breathless: “do i?”

shoko’s exhaustion begins to morph into something different, something like concern, and she puts her cigarette out in the ashtray by her hand. “no, i…no. i mean, i wouldn’t know,” she admits. satoru nods, trying to self soothe, but shoko presses on. “why?”

satoru shakes his head again like he’s trying to free something between his ears. “i don’t know, i’m so fucking freaked out, i was just with megumi and—and all of a sudden i felt….god, i don’t even know.” he looks shoko in the eye now, something fatally serious in his face, “someone related to me is in tokyo. i can feel it, i—i don’t know.”

shoko tilts her head a little to urge him on.

“if a gojo is here, one that i don’t know about, wouldn’t that be…like…bad? terrible?”

at last shoko laughs a little, comforted by the sense that satoru is returning to himself. “i guess. does it matter?”

“yes!” satoru throws his hands up.

“well what do you want from me? you want me to go and scalpel them? be serious.”

satoru scoffs, “no! jesus, i just need help figuring this out.” he’s quiet a moment. “please? help me find out who it is, if it’s anyone?”

shoko tips her head back in her chair and exhales slowly like there’s smoke to release, but her breath comes out clean. satoru is still buzzing, hands trembling at his sides, but the world is clarifying around him, slowly. shoko straightens herself. “if i say yes will you leave my office?”

“will you actually help me if you say yes?”

“yes.”

there’s a sigh shared between them. satoru’s shoulders slump, partially with the weight of this feeling and partially with relief. “okay…okay. thank you.”

he makes his way slowly to where he’d left megumi, dragging his feet a little. this is so uncomfortable. megumi is furious in that tiny way only he is capable of when satoru reenters the room.

“what was that?!”

satoru shrugs. “i don’t know, honestly.” megumi isn’t convinced, and satoru sighs for the thousandth time. “it’s adult stuff.”

megumi doesn’t miss a beat. “you are not an adult.”

“i am too!”

“nuh uh.”

“uh huh!”

megumi imitates him in a voice even squeakier than his real one: “uh huh!”

satoru almost gags on his gasp before smiling a little, despite himself. “you think you can take it, little man?” he asks, only joking halfway. megumi nods. “i thought i felt…i guess…almost like someone i’m related to is closeby. all of a sudden.” megumi remains stone faced. “and i don’t—well, if someone from my clan appeared without me knowing that would be bad, i guess. i think.”

megumi nods and crosses his arms. satoru wonders whether he’s trying to look adult, or if he just is. “aren’t you supposed to be the strongest?”

satoru can’t help but smile and tilt his head. “yes.”

“then what’s the problem? worst case, you fight with them. but you’d win.” satoru nods, pleased even now to be implicitly praised by his greatest critic. “best case, you have a brother. or a sister. or an uncle. i dunno. i like having a sister. why would it be bad?”

satoru can’t answer that. not immediately, anyway. maybe not ever. he decides to grin instead, wry and teasing. “aren’t you, like, three years old? do you even understand what you’re saying?”

megumi clearly doesn’t think very hard before picking up the closest pillow and throwing it at satoru’s head. he cackles, loud and delighted, as he lets it hit him. 

in the end, though, the truth remains; satoru does not know how to let go. not when you left, not when suguru defected, and not now. he is hopeless in the face of his remembering, and there is so much memory in him. mostly he has been as noble as his predispositions allow; he, at your request, has not looked for you, and he has extended the same courtesy to suguru. but this? something wiry and taut has coiled his arteries and snagged his breath, and with no one left to bar him, satoru resolves—engaged in fierce battle with his five-year-old charge—to find whoever tugs at the other end of the line. 

~~~~~~~

YOU cannot remember much from takara’s birth. you remember your own wailing, the sound of it more than the sensation, and you remember realizing you’ve been torn down the middle. you suspect it was the greatest pain you had ever been in, but the memory frays, fuzzy. 

you remember taking him in your arms, though. seeing his eyes squeeze as he screeched just as you had, seeing them open only to heave in air and sob harder, he looked so furious. you wept and laughed at him, the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, a tiny thing even though he came a week late. 

it was almost too obvious to think of it consciously: how much he looked like satoru, even from the first moment. the beginnings of his silver hair, the blue of his eyes, it was all there, your satoru, your takara, bellowing at you. your earlier sense of satoru’s memory as a salt on your hands expounded, made enormous by the life in your grasp, made new. undeniably yours, undeniably his, less like an ocean and more like the sun, even his anger at taking his first breaths gleamed, some invisible illumination. 

he was born january 31, snow pitching outside. all at once you are terrified, overjoyed, a mother, all of a sudden.

~~~~~~~

a/n: ok i know i said i would wait a week before posting the next part but i was excited :) i hope you enjoyed, and let me know if you want to be added to taglist <3<3

taglist: @emochosoluvr @por0u @vraiao

[sadnsxft]

something, somehow, someday

prologue: aurora borealis | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort (but like…no comfort yet)

a/n: i've been gone SO long and i don't really have an explanation. to add insult to injury, this isn't the fandom i used to write for. i'm sorry. i hope you like it anyway :) also, as is tradition, thank you to @indiewritesxoxo, @sixeyesonathiel, @shokocide, and @kunareads, who have crafted some really special pieces that inspired me to post again :3

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

2006

SATORU wakes that morning to the orange glow of the sun on his face. it is unseasonably warm for april, or it feels that way in his first moment awake to the day. the slats on his window cast shadows down his body, and his face, pale and godly, is made hot with the beams in between. this dorm room is always most homely at night, he always thought, though this moment, basking feline in the warmth and believing you’re next to him, suits him nicely. you’re not next to him, of course. but he does not notice at first.

“good morning,” he whispers with a rasp, turning to you—or, really, where you were last night. but he sees it now. you aren’t there.

the truth is, he has no reason to believe you’ve gone in the final sense. you could be off training somewhere, or tending to your koi. you’d conjured them freshman year when he bet you ten thousand yen you couldn’t. your kneecaps made little craters in the dirt, watery next to the creek in the woods neighboring jujutsu tech, and your fingers fanned steadily out as you made them; colorful things, a little unnatural, and beautiful, satoru thought, all of you. he loved that you didn’t tremble with the weight of life-making. he’d paid you gladly. it was the first time he loved you, actually. yes, you could have been out watching them spin around each other and the gray rocks, but somehow he knew. 

so unlike you, his hands shake immediately as he scrambles upright. there’s a note on his bedside table and he hardly keeps himself from tearing the thing apart as he grabs for it. his heart lurches for crassness to ease the blow: fuck, he thinks. he is afraid. the note stays wrinkled in his closed palm a moment, before he turns it open.

what he thinks first is that he hasn’t seen your handwriting before. it feels so intimate, it wraps around his wrists, there’s a stickiness to it. your letters swoop and scratch and he thinks, even before he processes the words, that he may die here, looking at your handwriting for the first time. god, he wants to touch you again, he wants to see your body. 

i’m sorry. don’t come looking for me

satoru is a cosmic thing, he has always known it, the world comes to him and bows. and mostly he has relished in this unending power, in the sense that he himself has tipped some scale somewhere, in the knowledge that when fate decides she tells him first. but for the first time in his life, he hates that he was right.

~~~~~~~

YOU had labored over it: i’m sorry, don’t come looking for me. don’t come looking for me, i’m sorry. the scrap of paper dampened a little with the sweat on your palm, and you could only hope it would dry by the time he’d see it. 

you’ve always done everything after great deliberation. learning your family’s technique from your grandmother, estranged from the rest of the family, coming to jujutsu tech to make use of it in combat, becoming so entangled with satoru as you are. it was with great thought, all of it. 

it has been your most detrimental weakness in training. you cannot decide quickly. your jujutsu, a mostly docile thing you fear you may have mutilated to violence, heaves the natural cursed energy from the earth and carves life from it. flowers and branches and the koi fish you’d made for satoru, you borrow the soul of it to play god. you suppose that’s part of what you loved about being with satoru. with him your little godliness was negligible, and in that way you could forgive yourself some. yes, cast out from your family as your grandmother before you, it felt so blasphemous—or they’d told you that, anyway—to hold earth in your hands and squeeze. but with satoru you were hardly a sorcerer, the sound of his power so deafening your ears ran red with it. you loved that. you love him. 

not that any of it matters now. no, cold and beside him in the dead of night you must make this decision now. i’m sorry, don’t come looking for me. don’t come looking for me, i’m sorry. the light will crest over the horizon soon enough and satoru will wake, and you know he’d never let you leave. as soon as he sees you he’ll know. this energy is not like yours, bears only a passing resemblance to you. mostly, damningly, it looks like him. he’ll know. you bear a palm over your stomach.

in the end, you scribble: i’m sorry. don’t come looking for me. mainly because you aren’t sorry that he shouldn’t look for you. but also because you love him so terribly and you don’t want him to be hurt; you want to break him softly. it will break him, you know. you have never suspected he loves you in the way you want, but you have always asserted that he loves you in the way you deserve. it is friendly, and sometimes lustful, and so gentle, and so you insist upon hurting him as unfatally as possible. already you can hardly bear the rest of this great mess.

the night is cold as you step into it, though you know by morning that the sun will heat the smooth tiles that make up the main walkway. your shoes, special tools that keep you from cannibalizing the cursed energy in the floor beneath you, click against the stone. am i doing the right thing? you don’t know where to begin. leaving this way is only the latest awful and unforgivable thing you have come upon to do. you suppose the first would have been falling in love with satoru and letting him take you to bed, though what else was there to do? what else but him? no, you don’t regret that part at all. the gate marking jujutsu tech’s opening passes over you and you step into the mouth of your decision: you are leaving. you cannot return. you haven’t cried yet but the tears well, furious with you and terrified for something like the first time. 

you turn back: a terrible thing. this place you’ve loved blinks back at you. satoru will wake soon, you think, to read your note and hate you. you hope he hates you, for the sake of them. you look to your torso. a part of you is stunned that the cursed energy emerges this early, though if you think about it a moment longer, you suppose there’s no reason for surprise. you can almost feel it, an aurora borealis in your skin, and the resemblance is damning, truly.

~~~~~~~

a/n: i don't have much to say other than thank you for reading and i hope you liked it!! <3<3 hoping to get the next part out by this time next week :P

[sadnsxft]

Why're u lookin' at me like I'm your..

In which you misunderstand your relationship status with the JJK men and they have a lot to say about it. cw: sassy men apocalypse, angst if you squint, fluff, crack, excessive use of Y/N, suggestive.

an: i ran out of ideas by the time i reached nanami. :///

[sadnsxft]

satoru absolutely baby talks you when you’re sick.

not in a mocking way. no. this is full-blown softie satoru, disgusting levels of wife guy activated, baby voice on max, coddling you like you’re the most precious, fragile little thing in the universe—and not because he thinks you’re weak, but because it’s the one time you let him get away with it without putting up your usual walls.

because you’re sick. hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big watery eyes that blink up at him like you’re seeing god—or worse, like you might actually cry if he leaves the room. like you need him. and honestly? that does something to him. wrecks him, even.

and you do need him. you’re fevered, shivering, curled up in bed in one of his oversized shirts, your hair a mess, nose stuffy, brain thoroughly fried. your fingers twitch like you want to reach for him but can’t be bothered to try, lips parted in a weak sigh as you breathe through your mouth. your usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help self? gone. obliterated. absolutely bulldozed by the flu. all that’s left is a miserable little lump of a wife who clings to his sleeve like a koala and mumbles, “’toru… i feel like a soggy towel…”

his whole body stills. there’s a twitch in his brow, like his heart has physically clenched. his lips part, just a little, before curling up in the softest grin. eyes soften behind pale lashes—just a hint of red at the corners from how tired he is too—but none of that matters. not when you’re looking up at him like that. the corner of his mouth tugs upward, not in amusement—but in something far gentler. reverent, even. and then god. he melts. instantly. his heart shatters into a million pieces and reforms just to explode again.

“awww, my poor widdle baby,” he coos, already pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. his breath is warm, his nose brushing yours. “does my soggy towel need her soup? wanna be spoon-fed by the hottest nurse in the world?”

you don’t even roll your eyes. you nod. actually nod. sluggish, dazed. and then flop into his arms like dead weight, forehead nudging his neck, skin hot against his collarbone. you let him hold you like you’re made of glass.

he almost cries. really. because you’re letting yourself be coddled. cuddled. taken care of. no sass. no biting remarks. just tiny, pitiful sniffles and pouty faces and your arms wrapping around his waist like he’s your anchor. like you don’t want him to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

and satoru eats that up like it’s a feast.

“you want juice, angel? how about some water? apple slices? forehead kisses every ten minutes? medicine with a kiss as a chaser?”

“mmm… apple. but peeled…” you whisper, voice small and hoarse, eyes half-lidded and glossy.

“of course, peeled! only the finest fruits for my fevered little dumpling,” he gasps, hand dramatically on his chest like he’s been knighted for a sacred quest. there’s a shine in his eyes—something starry, something stupidly in love.

he tucks you in like a burrito, tugs the blankets up to your chin, and then scoops you onto his lap because apparently that’s where you sleep best. his fingers comb through your hair, slow and tender, while your cheek rests limp against his shirt. he puts on your comfort show, even though you barely keep your eyes open long enough to register the sound.

he hums something soft—tuneless and low—while cradling you like a fevered woodland creature. his tone dips lower when he leans in again.

“do you still love me even if i’m gross and sweaty and my nose is red?” you mumble, lips wobbling, brows pinched like the thought genuinely upsets you.

his hand smooths along your cheek. “i love you way more,” he says instantly. “you’re my sweaty, sniffly soulmate. cutest germ gremlin i’ve ever seen.”

“you’re lying…”

“baby, i would kiss your snotty nose right now if you asked.”

there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it—like it’s a vow. and he means it. he’d do it without hesitation, wouldn’t even flinch. because if it’s you, there’s no such thing as gross. not when he’s this stupidly in love. not when every part of you, even at your messiest, makes him want to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

you groan into his shirt, muffled and pitiful, and he grins like you just serenaded him.

“who’s the most handsome man in the world?” he asks out of nowhere, fingers curling behind your ear, brushing tenderly as if coaxing the answer out. his voice dips low, honey-sweet and just a little smug. not because he expects the answer—no, he needs it. his entire self-worth depends on your silly little validation right now.

“you are,” you mumble, cheeks squished slightly against his chest, nuzzling closer without shame.

his fingers twitch where they cradle your skull. his whole face lights up like a sunrise. pale lashes flutter, and his pupils dilate like he’s just been told he won a lifetime supply of you.

“louder.”

“toruuuuu… it’s you…”

the pleased little noise he makes is downright sinful. his lashes flutter shut as he closes his eyes in smug bliss, and he tilts his head back like he’s soaking in the warmth of your praise. if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“that’s right,” he beams, practically preening, fingers now stroking under your chin. “say it again. for my health.”

“you’re the handsomest… in the whole world… even when your hair’s stupid…”

he gasps, clutching his chest with a hand like you just shot cupid’s arrow straight through it. “rude and true. i’ll take it.”

his heart is doing somersaults. he’s convinced there’s never been a more fulfilling moment in his life. not the promotions, not the accolades, not even the recognition. just this—this feverish little version of you, croaky and honest and too tired to pretend you’re not as in love with him as he is with you.

he whispers the dumbest, softest shit while holding you against his chest like you’re something sacred. calls you every pet name in the book and then invents new ones on the spot: baby, sweetheart, princess, dumpling, snugglebug, fever bean, coughy cake, angel face mcsweats-a-lot.

you blink up at him between fits of sleep, lips parted like you want to say something else—but all that comes out is a pathetic little whimper. his hand smooths over your spine again, touch featherlight.

“what was that, baby?” he whispers.

“love you…” you murmur, eyes falling shut.

his heart flips. flips, spirals, and lands in a fucking somersault.

he kisses your temple and you go quiet.

and when you finally pass out, nose smooshed into his collarbone, snoring faintly like the most adorable little gremlin, he exhales like it’s the best moment of his life. like the universe aligned just for this. like his purpose has been fulfilled. his hand never stops moving—stroking your spine, combing your hair, tracing shapes into your shoulder blade beneath the fabric of his shirt.

he lives for clingy, soft, unguarded sick-you. because even though he adores the bratty, sharp-tongued, little menace version of you that picks fights and flicks him on the forehead and makes him earn every kiss—this version? this sleepy, dependent little furnace wrapped in blankets and his love? she needs him.

and satoru loves being needed. loves being the one you reach for, even when you’re half-delirious. especially when you’re half-delirious.

he leans down again, voice barely audible now.

“rest up, baby,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your clammy forehead. “you’ll feel better soon. and then i’ll go back to being emotionally bullied by my beloved wife.”

[sadnsxft]

I beg of you please, PLEASE, a CRUMB of soft/fluff [REDACTED] content p le a se

I just wanna- I just- I wanna- hhhhhhnnnnghh-

(sorry i’ve gone absolutely bonkers, feel free to ignore this!)

⌞♥⌝ I got a bit angsty at the end with this one, sowwie

"That's it. Now move your hand here." With the utmost gentility, your beloved hacker moves your fingers along the fretboard until it's in the correct spot. "Just like that."

He gives you enough space to strum the guitar yourself, though his chin doesn't seem to move from its spot on your shoulder. Cold, blue eyes peer down with a look of pride in them as you fumble around with the strings, and [REDACTED] pays no notice whenever you mess up a note or rush through the tempo. Instead, he gives you an encouraging nod of his head and steadily taps your thigh in an attempt to keep you in time with the rhythm.

Soon enough, [REDACTED]'s bedroom is filled with a soft melody, and you beam up at your partner with a wide, accomplished grin on your face.

"Here," Leaning back into the warmth of his chest, you shift the guitar in your shared laps so that [REDACTED] can easily reach over to grab it. "Why don't you play something for me now?"

A look of genuine consideration pulls at their features before they take you up on your offer — gently pulling you and the guitar closer to his chest before peering over your shoulder once more.

It must've been second nature with how easily his fingers fall into place, and before long, the immediate sound of a soft, haunting song starts to fill the once-empty silence once more. Although you weren't able to see his expression, you could tell that [REDACTED] had found their flow state with the steady rise and fall of his chest, as well as how languid their grip on the instrument seemed to be.

After what feels like hours, his melancholic song soon comes to a slow stop — until the only noises left are your shared breathing and the quiet hum of your partner's PC in the background.

"I used t'play that song for my sister when we were younger." He muses, "It used t'calm her down whenever—"

Almost suddenly, you feel [REDACTED] adjust his position from behind you before his grip on the guitar returns. "Here, d'you wanna learn something else? Why don't I teach you another easy riff?"

[sadnsxft]

*slides you a 20* Can we get some Soft™ Ren/[Redacted] headcanons? I'm talking the real good stuff, enough to turn me into a loveydovey pile of mush on the ground

✦゜ANSWERED: *slides the $20 back because the thought of soft Ren is enough to fuel me for the rest of eternity*

Ren:

Will cuddle you on the days when you feel terrible, or the days when you just don't want to get out of bed. He'll cover you in all of your/his plushies and take cute, candid photos of you to look back on later. (He'll probably also make it his lock screen too ^^;)

Sometimes Ren might show up at your work with your favourite food and drinks, and would just sit with you during your breaks if you ever need the company.

Similarly, he also likes to help you clean up at the end of your shifts; whether it's by sweeping the floors, closing all the doors, returning books, etc. He's eager to help in any way he can -- and if it makes things easier for you, then he'd do it in a heartbeat.

He'll let you play with his hair (or even dye it!), as well as paint his nails, choose outfits for him to wear, or even do your entire skin-care routine on his face ^^

Ren would send you random photos/texts throughout the day that include things that remind him of you. It might be pictures of a flower or a cute dog, or even an outfit you might like or a book he saw you look at once.

[REDACTED]:

He created an (albeit janky) phone app that sends you cute reminders throughout the day, as well words of affirmations and memes about your current likes and interests. It's probably one of the only things he's installed on your phone that he doesn't use to track or monitor you.

He's recently started painting his nails to match your exact eye colour, and finds that he likes it more than the abysmal black he used to paint them. Plus, every time he looks at his hands, he gets to be reminded of you. Sometimes he finds himself flexing his fingers and missing the way your hand feels in his.

He likes to bundle you up in his slasher hoodies so that you both can match, and likes to rest his hands in your pockets. He's also not above tying the strings together and doing this to make you laugh :')

[REDACTED] will use his scary dog privileges to ward off shady people and make queues/waiting in line shorter -- and would ensure that you don't get harassed or tired from standing around too long.

He has like 4 monitors hooked up to his (main) PC, and one of them is dedicated solely for you. He's let you take artistic liberties with the wallpaper and desktop icons -- and even lets you use it to watch any of your favourite shows, anime, play games, or browse the web while he silently hacks beside you. [REDACTED] always wants you by his side, so this would be an easy compromise for him.

[sadnsxft]

The 14DWY brainrot is real... >_< were ypu planning on sharing koi ren's design here too or is it discord only for now? remember to drink lots n lots of water today 🐸☔️

i don't rmbr if i included this but can you share any koi crumbs too?

✦゜ANSWERED: aaaaa I'm 14 years late to this ask (/silly), but thank you for reminding me!! I'll add the new Mer Ren design to da queue >:3

I'll also put the Koi Ren (I'm rocking with this new name!!) crumbs under the cut!!

"Stop rocking the boat, Ren." Without sparing a glance in his direction, you continue to stare out into the vast, open lake. "You'll scare away all the fish."

Had you turned around, you would've seen the faux-deadpan look on his face as Ren takes in the irony of your words. As if to prove a point, he gently swishes his tail in the water, which causes small ripples to form and (eventually) disturb your bobber. "I don't think the boat is the problem here."

"Okay, how about this... One more fish, then we can go back." You finally look back at your scaley companion — who was still leaning against the edge of your tin boat with a lazy smile — and give him a resolute nod. "Promise."

"Sure," Ren casually reaches into the boat to pick and pluck at some of your live bait. "But you said that about the last three fish."

"This will be the last one. I swear."

"You... swear?" You try to ignore the way Ren swallows up one of your minnows as if you weren't using them for bait as he continues to speak, "Like... curse words? Humans sure are weird creatures."

As if realising his comment, Ren's ocean-blue eyes widen slightly and shift towards your form. "N-Not... Not you, though."

With a laugh, you playfully try to nudge him off of the boat. All it does is cause it to tip slightly, but Ren steadies it when you show signs of losing balance.

"Alright. One more fish, then?"

You nod and cast your attention back to your rod once more. You don't even notice the silence — nor Ren slipping away — until you suddenly feel a tug on your line and call out to your companion in excitement. "That was quick!"

Quickly reeling it in, you wonder what kind of fish you'd just caught — it's definitely stronger than you anticipated, given how the rod drastically bends and snaps at every movement from the fish. And just as you see the shadow from the murky depths get closer, the ripples get bigger and cause a stir underneath your tin boat. Standing up now, you try with all your might to reel it on board...

...Only for a mess of black hair to emerge from below and peer up at you with a smug look.

"Ren!"

"Looks like you got a big one."

"C'moooon." You practically whine, though you allow Ren to haul himself into your tiny boat and rest his head in your lap. You can still feel his body shake from underneath your touch, no doubt still laughing at his poor attempt at a joke. "This doesn't count."

A beat passes before your fishy companion responds. "...Hm? Fine then."

Another moment of silence follows before he slithers back into the water without another word. Half of you worries that you might've said something to offend him (there was still the tiniest hint of a language barrier between you two). Still, it ultimately leads to nothing as Ren soon emerges once more — only this time, he's hauling the biggest largemouth bass you'd ever seen into your boat.

"This good enough?" He looks at you with wide, blue eyes. "If not, I can probably find a sturgeon and—"

"It's bigger than my boat!"

"Is this what your kind calls... exaggeration? Because your boat is big enough even for me to—"

"—Arghh! It's getting water everywhere! Put it back!"

It was almost comical how Ren tossed the fish over his shoulder and back into the water without breaking eye contact with you.

Another wave of silence hits, yet neither of you seems to move or break the awkward staring contest you'd somehow started. It's then when you notice Ren's grin get bigger — most likely at your resignation and embarrassment — which causes you to fall back into your seat in defeat.

"Fine. Enough fishing for today. Let's head back." Busying yourself with the bucket of fish and tacklebox in front of you, you secure your gear and pack everything away. But it seems Ren had other plans, seeing as he took it upon himself to climb back into your boat and rest his arms on your legs. No longer able to move as freely, you have no choice but to indulge in his carefree whims.

"But you caught me. Aren't you going to bring me home too?"

"As much as I want to," Truly, you do. You've always wanted to show Ren the world outside of Lake Bluemoss. "There's no way I'm carrying you all the way down the mountain."

"You never know until you cry."

"Try." You correct him. "Until you try."

"Your kind sure are funny." Ren nuzzles himself closer. "Perhaps another time, then... Stay here tonight."

Your body pricks up at his words, and you spare a glance at the abandoned boathouse near the dock. Despite its rough and rugged exterior, you and Ren actually made it quite comfy. It had some of your old blankets and sheets thrown over one of the boats to make it comfortable to lounge in — alongside a giant empty tank that you and Ren filled with water for him to sit in as well. Despite the lack of human traction, the place still felt homey and well-loved.

"...I guess I could."

"Then what are we waiting shore?"

You had to roll your eyes at his attempt at a pun.