#i write more jjk fics

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

he’s staring.

in the corner of your eye lies a silhouette, a blur of black hair and sharp facial features. awfully hard not to notice, when he’s standing so close to you — gazing at you so intently. waiting for you to say something.

(resisting the urge to look at him directly is a struggle.)

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, something giddy and sweet flooding your veins. he’s just standing there. all while you tap at the keys of your laptop, trying to focus on your work. in vain.

because, inevitably, the rubber band of your patience snaps — and you can do nothing but give in to the temptation. feeling him shift from foot to foot, silent as a mouse. you turn your head.

suguru looks meek.

there he stands, tired eyes trailing over your facial features, before falling down to the floor. something about it makes you want to coo — almost like he’s a little flustered. fidgeting with his hands, wringing his long fingers together, so patiently waiting for your attention to fall on him. 

you swear you see the ghost of a pout slip into the curve of his lips. wearing a comfortable sweater, oversized and fluffy, framed by the obsidian of his hair; cascading down his shoulders like a black river. let loose, free to fall as it please, a signature sign that he’s tired.

and as soon as your eyes meet his, a certain something blossoms within the scope of his iris. peeling at the corners, slipping into the amber and cedar, an emotion you can’t quite place. would it be too tacky to call it love?

a giggle slips from your lips, dancing on the tip of your tongue. it’s soft, a little teasing, but who could blame you when he looks so cute? suguru, with his tall stature and broad shoulders, sharp eyes and intimidating presence, staring meekly in your direction. as if too embarrassed to ask for something, curling into himself.

”hey there,” you exhale, something amused laced into the vowels. ”everything okay?”

he averts his gaze. enamored with the smile on your face, the crinkle of your eyes, the melodic lilt of your sweet laughter. like peach blossoms and duvet covers, too soft for him to handle. far too sweet, the mere sight of you, all cozied up on the couch; legs crossed and laptop balanced on your thigh. 

(suguru wishes he could take its place.)

a tilt of your head beckons him to speak, and he can’t help but notice the remnants of something teasing in the gesture. he feels a little out of his element, almost shy, and it’s discomforting — but he’s just so tired. much too plagued by the need to be close to you.

he can live with a little teasing, if it’s you, only if it’s you. 

”what’re you working on?” he asks, delicate, soft voice flowing from his lips like melted honey. there’s a raspy tilt to it, a little scratchy. you smile, gaze drawn towards the screen in front of you.

”nothing much, just some essay. i’m almost finished.” a low sigh, as you lazily scroll through the text. suguru hums. when you look over at him, the smile on your face grows just a tad softer. ”did you need something?”

suguru stills. blinking drowsily, slow and awfully endearing, a flutter of his black lashes. absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of his puffy sleeve. the silence lingers, a contemplation etched onto his features, until he clears his throat — still unable to look at you properly. 

(there’s only one thing he wants. needs. asking for it is just a little bit tough, though.)

patiently waiting, you begin to study his expression. second nature, to tuck his features in between your ribs, smoothe along the contours you’ve come to love so dearly. memorizing every dip and birthmark.

there’s a barely noticeable flush to his cheeks, a crimson smear that starts at his ears and only ever nips along his cheekbones, but it’s enough to let you know that he’s embarrassed. more than enough, seeing as his gaze won’t even land on you, seeing the fatigue beneath his eyes, the crease between his brows. something that sticks to his skin and drags him down. 

he has been a little stressed, lately. more so than usual. and you’ve noticed, of course you have — worriedly waiting for him to approach you, to let you help. winters are never very kind to him. 

he’s gorgeous, though, even like this. especially like this. sleepy, just a little unkempt, in his natural state. bare, somehow. like he just woke up, like the morning sun is kissing up his collarbone and he just made a cute little sleepy noise that you’re going to tease him for over breakfast. like he’s unguarded, at peace, safe in your arms.

it makes your heart soften considerably. crumbling at the corners, a pang of lovesick ache tugging at your fragile heartstrings.

and finally, you speak up. urging him to continue, gently, not wanting to rush him. ”well?” 

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, just a little chapped. his tongue flits out to lick along the dry skin, and he does a little cough under his breath. you’re patient, waiting for him to speak, but it’s tough when all you want is to tug him close.

(you have an idea of what he’s going to ask you, what it is he wants. because you know him — and you want it too.)

”… can,” he starts, tentative. slow, as if he’s trying to swallow the embarrassment, gulp down the nervous flutter of his heartbeat. then he continues. ”i get a hug?”

finally, he looks at you; and your heart ricochets in your chest. amber eyes boring into yours, deep and warm, soft around the edges. kind of shy. 

a sharp intake of breath. you can’t help the grin that crawls up to your lips, and you can’t help the words that spill from them. ”gosh, you’re so cute.”

suguru turns away, with what you’re almost sure is a low grumble — buzzing in his throat, like a dragonfly itching to break out. he really does look meek, a little needy, so cute you’re afraid your lungs might collapse. when a chuckle pushes past your lips, the red tint on his neck and ears only seems to exacerbate. 

with swift movements, you close your laptop, plopping it down on the table in front of you. not wanting to waste any time, a little afraid that he’ll change his mind. ”of course you can,” you assure him, a soft lull of your tongue.

leaning back, you rest your head against a pile of cushiony pillows, melting into the couch beneath you. extending your arms; beckoning him close, into your embrace. the smile you grace him with is a little teasing, but mostly soft, inviting.

and suguru can’t resist it.

he still seems a little flustered, as he crawls along the couch, to take his rightful place in your arms. flopping down on top of you with a huff, like a big dog, cheek squished against your chest — eager to listen to the echo of your heartbeat. steady and soothing, a lullaby to his muddled mind.

a long, satisfied sigh escapes him, muffled into the fabric of your shirt. he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling a little further into your touch. slowly melting.

ah, he’s just too much. try as you might, you don’t fully manage to stifle the coo that laces the tip of your tongue. just admiring him, in the dim lighting of the room, all sleepy and content. that palpable fatigue, slowly dissipating. a soft groan slips from his lips when your hand goes to card through his hair, softly, nails raking over his scalp.

”my big baby,” you murmur, planting a kiss on the top of his head. suguru wants to grumble, protest a bit, but all he can do is soak in the words, the skip of his heartbeat that follows. ”everything okay?”

he nods. groggy, cheek against your soft chest. no longer able to hide his neediness, to muster the strenght, thoroughly soothed by the warmth that seeps from your body. from your veins to his. and he sighs, barely above a whisper. ”jus’ missed you.”

he must notice it, you think — the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat, something erratic in the decisive thumps of blood. a little louder than they should be. 

but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. only shifting a little in your arms, nuzzling further into your chest, relishing in the sensation of your hand in between his messy locks. so cozy. 

”i missed you too,” you echo, unable to fight off the sappy grin on your lips. so much affection in every caress, every soft glance. eager to be let out. ”’m sorry if i’ve been neglecting you.” 

suguru shakes his head — brushing off your guilt. always so willing to put your peace of mind before his. it only weakens you further, thoughts fuzzy with the image of him, the love that clouds your vision. how to properly convey it in words. 

”i’m always so proud of you,” you exhale, a little shaky. so earnest that you falter. a loud mantra of your heartbeat filling your ears, so much fondness stuffed inside your chest. ”working so hard. love you so, so much, honey.”

this time, it’s suguru’s heart that stutters and flails. reduced to a desperate instinct, something intimate and bare. the term of endearment slips off your tongue like it was always meant to be there, like that’s where it belongs, coupled with the soft sensation of your fingers ghosting over his skin. brushing away his bangs to smear a kiss against his forehead.

”i’m never gonna let you go,” you promise, unable to control the affection smeared into your voice. like you’d explode if you didn’t speak it out loud. ”my angel.”

”okay — that’s,” suguru croaks, before you can continue. exasperated, deeply embarrassed. at this point, he’s sure his face must be red, and he’s sure you can see it. despite his attempts to hide away in the crook of your neck. ”that’s enough.”

laughter bubbles up in your throat, sweet like osmanthus and whipped cream. giddy and teasing, in equal measure, sending a jolt of fondness running through his veins. ”are you embarrassed?”

”no,” he scoffs, too quickly. you both know he’s lying. it’s a rare treat, seeing him this flustered — how could you resist the urge to tease him a bit? 

”then why d’you want me to stop?” you grin, searching for his gaze. but suguru refuses to look at you.

”it’s just…” he mumbles, a string of tiny words. gnawing at his bottom lip. ”a little much, don’t you think?”

”i mean it, though.”

suguru groans, and a bout of giggles pushes past your lips. the smile on your face is starting to make your cheeks hurt, an achy kind of joy. yeah — suguru is just far too cute. he’s cute, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous. how could you keep yourself away?

reaching for a strand of his hair, you let it fall between your fingers. smooth and silky, brushing against your skin, soft and familiar. memories bloom from your fingertips, seeping into your subconscious; the first time he let you touch his hair, that content purr in his throat, the time you braided it as the world fell asleep around you. he takes good care of it, always has. attentive and delicate, almost as lovingly as he handles you.

a great surge of affection sprouts in between your ribs, spreading throughout every cell of your body, wholly engulfing you. it’s too much to bear.

a blissful sigh. you tilt your head, softly, a bleeding tenderness to every word you speak. and you do, with a sincerity to your voice that he’s never been able to handle. “is it really so strange if i want to give the love of my life some affection?” 

— and suguru’s resolve crumbles into dust. 

”… you’re,” he tries, a shiver of his weak voice. under normal circumstances, he could think of a suave reply, something to get the upper hand; but today, suguru happens to be very tired, and you seem awfully set on making him melt through the couch. ”— awful. you know that?”

his heart aches, when the bitter words make you giggle. a little sleepy. it makes him want to tuck you into his chest, hide you away inside his ribcage. kiss you breathless.

”so mean,” you pout, entirely fabricated. a heavy amusement lays thick on your tongue. “i’m professing my undying love for you here, y’know?”

”that’s exactly what i mean,” he sighs, unable to repress the slight smile on his lips. a little tug, that says more than his words ever could.

the laughter in your throat lingers, for a bit, until the intimacy of the moment softens you up. something tender and genuine in the depths of your eyes. ”i mean it, though. i’m not just teasing you.” 

your hand goes to cup his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. and then you’re leaning in, to press your lips against his forehead — pulling away with a drawn out mwah, a soft grin, a little boyish. terribly cute. 

”i really do love you,” you profess, a whisper. he believes you. “i love everything about you.”

a moment passes. the soft ticking of the clock fills the space between your words, and the scent of leftover curry and brewed coffee simmers in the faraway kitchen. wafting out into the living room. 

suguru places his hand over yours. a rough palm, always so gentle with you, slipping down to your wrist so he can hoist himself up. 

you blink. 

before you know it, he’s pressed his lips to yours, slow and methodical. tender, tender, tender. always. he sighs into the kiss, content, and your heartbeat quickens — he tastes like honey and rain.

when he pulls away, he’s smiling. a little lovesick.

”i love you too,” he hums, a soft purr that trails down your spine. he delights in the way you finally blush, cheeks warm beneath his heavy hands. ”so, so much.”

all you can do is stare, entirely transfixed. 

then you’re averting your gaze, and he’s stifling a soft bout of laughter, and something warm and wonderful blooms in the nearly non-existent space between you. his cheek finds itself pressed against your chest, again, allowing the soft and rapid thumping of your heartbeat to carry him away.

an anchor for him to hold on to, his lighthouse at the end of a murky ocean. it’s always, always there — that soft mantra of thump, thump, thump.

(he can’t tell you how many times it’s saved him.)

”… you can’t do stuff like that when my guard is down,” you murmur, after a moment. sheepish. ”what if my heart explodes?” 

suguru only chuckles, sleepy and raspy, the same as ever. he turns his head to press a kiss against the fabric of your shirt, right above your heart, a kind of cheeky, soft apology that you know he doesn’t actually mean. 

(he could never feel sorry for telling you how much he loves you; no matter how flustered you get.)

and, at last, suguru thinks the fatigue clinging to his soul may have slipped off entirely. substantially. soothed by your presence, your very being. 

it’s embarrassing, being so very doted on, being so painfully unaccustomed to it. but suguru could never hate it. he could never hate a single thing you do to him, grant him with, from your soft touches and cheeky kisses to the burnt pancakes you worked so hard on. 

he’d rather die than deny you. 

so he has no choice but to bask in it; the feeling of your hands in his hair, nails on his scalp, breath against his skin. the change you’ve brought into his life. bringing with you the fading scent of peach blossoms and chewing gum, sweetness and softness. happy dreams.

yeah, that’s right. he has no choice but to melt into your touch, nuzzle into your chest, fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

no choice at all.

[kirishwima]

Random Boyfriend Texts w. Gojo

(Pt.2 coming soon because the boy's a MEME. A meme i tell u)

[meowkunas]

"Come here." Yuji slips a hand onto the small of your back and tries to bring you next to him instead of letting you trail along behind him. The crowd surrounding you doesn't let him.

"You okay?" You mumble, somehow managing to bump your shoulder against his. You're used to Yuji's doting by now, but he's strangely focused on you today.

He doesn't respond. The noise of the crowd seems to disappear into the background as you catch sight of his facial expression — a tenseness between his brows and a vacant look in his eyes, plus he's not even looking in your direction. It's a sign that he's been running on autopilot with you for at least the past ten minutes. You curse yourself for not noticing it sooner.

You try again. "Yuji?"

"Huh?" He turns back to meet your gaze. Whatever internal stress he's been working through is replaced quickly with a smile. You wouldn't have known he was faking if you hadn't caught his facial expression before. How many times have you missed something like this? "Just don't want to lose you in the crowd!" He says cheerfully, curling his hand into your shirt and then splaying his fingers out repeatedly. A nervous action. One of many that you're still figuring out.

"Yuji." You say, managing to guide him through the crowd to a quieter corner. "Are you okay?"

He hesitates and his gaze shifts from your face to a spot behind you. "Mm."

"That's not an answer."

"I know, I know! I'm just thinking."

"About?"

Yuji shrugs his shoulders, shifting his gaze away.

Don't do this. You want to say. Please burden me with whatever it is you're worried about. Please don't—

It feels difficult to swallow. "Do you want to just go watch a movie instead?"

"No way!" His eyes are wide, almost panicked. "You've been wanting to go to that dessert place forever."

Shaking your head, you reach forward and cup his cheeks between your palms, squishing slightly so that he's forced to look at you. "And it'll still be there tomorrow, and hopefully, the day after." You pause, whispering your next words. "Not asking for me right now, Yuji. Do you want to go today? Right now?"

He seems to deflate slightly at your question, but hesitantly and so slowly, he shakes his head. You catch his eyes flicker and you know he's about to come up with an apology, churned from the guilt he feels from burdening you with this, and perhaps, for wrenching away whatever happy moment he thinks he's stolen away from you.

"Okay." You say, simply.

Sometimes it's impossible to tell what he's thinking. Sometimes he gets very quiet and vulnerable. Being constantly loud and friendly covers that stark difference a bit too obviously. It's at times like this that you wish you could say the words directly into his brain so he gets it quicker.

I'm here. I'm here. Yuji, focus. I'm here. There's only so much you can do.

"Let's go." You murmur, sliding your hand into his.

This will have to do.

[kentocalls]

nanami kento | tummyaches singleparents!au, sfw. discussion of grief/mention of loss. reader is referred to as momma/tiny momma (in comparison to the sky)

"nobara, honey pleaseeeee" you sit on the ground as your daughter dramatically flops away from your spoon. she's facing the wall now and still making snow angels with her tiny arms, blankets wrinkling in protest. she's too stinking cute, a smile is on your lips and you try again. "this is really yummy magic soup, it'll help you feel better." you make noises that get her to slowly turn and peak at you, crawling closer she looks at the bowl, you bring it up mixing the liquid so the spices make a tiny galaxy. "it's not red." what?

"it's…the soup you like honey, the butternut squash one. the yellow one.” "his papa gave him magical red soup." huh? “whose papa?” “yuji.” she starts to cocoon herself in blankets. “it has to be red. like tomatoes.” "you don't like tomatoes. no red, remember? honey?” she is silent for many minutes, you prompt,”nobara…no icky red right?” "need it momma. tomato soup." her voice cracks towards the end, she emerges from her blanket burrito with fresh hot tears streaming down her face. you put the bowl aside to cradle her. she's still warm, you eye the clock. too early to take her temperature and still no food in her little belly. you don't know what to do. this isn't something reading books or watching movies can prepare you for. nobara falls asleep in your arms, you kiss her tiny forehead and settle her back into bed as gently as possible. she’s full of medicine, water and mucus. you hate it so so so much. your bright buzzing brilliant child is sniffling and meak due to a tummy ache and fever. back to the kitchen and what can be used to conjure up a red-tomato-like soup? you can't remember the last time you bought tomatoes. nobara hates everything round and red. which means all tomato, the big ones, little ones, green ones because they become red, all of them. as long as you've known her, which is her whole life, she's disliked them. you look at the photo of you and your best friend, with a tiny two day old nobara tucked into your arms. its crazy how much of your friend you see in the tiny girl. you stare at the ceiling, "i know you're watching me so can you use your angel powers to help me make tomato soup without tomatoes please?"

♡

"so she's missing another day?" you try not to curse at the most judgmental school administration staff you've ever dealt with. no books to prepare you for that either. "yes, she is still feverish and unwell." more judgey things, a mention of not letting her be out like yuji and an abrupt end to the conversation. yuji. the kid in nobara's class, the one she deems her rival. you haven't had a chance to meet the kid, another thing you try not to feel guilt over. your best friend would've known all her friends and classates. would’ve made the best mother, instead nobara has you, her fumbling godparent that can't get her fever to break. you keep her hydrated, help her change and turn on her favorite ninja show. she's lying on top of you, cheek plastered into your shoulder. you're sure she's drooling but she's finally comfortable, took her medicine, ate the not red soup. no tummyache. small win. "it's going to be me." she says in a sleepy haze. "i fight everyone." "yes honey, you're the strongest and bravest." you don't remember this character. they must've added a new ninja. "yuji jumps higher than me tho. that's ok." she sits up, eyes super serious, "i'm going to beat him." "you're going to jump so high." moving some bangs from her face, she doesn't feel too warm, you have three more minutes before needing to check her temperature again. "to the moon!" oh gosh, her little voice is stuffy but she has energy again, you've missed her bouncing around your tiny apartment. it didn't feel ready for a child but it’s the perfect size to keep an eye on her at all times, to have her sweet voice echoing off all the walls. "to the moon!" she continues to roar. you grab the napkin and help her blow her nose into it. "to sky momma!" her head rests back onto your chest, her slow breathing as she giggles at the tv. you try not to let the tears that well up fall from your eyes. god, you miss her momma too. nobara would feel double the love, been so much more spoiled. but this is healthy, as the thearpist said. that nobara acknowledge the loss in tiny ways. that you encourage her remembering. she knew enough to miss her mother, doesn’t need to fully understand why she was gone. now she understands her ‘sky momma' is an angel and away. that all the blue in the sky is her much her momma loves her, that all the stars are gifts she has waiting for her. that she’s always there, giving her the biggest hug. and that you are her ‘tiny momma,’ you don’t fill the sky because you need to stay small and near her. you are human sized and sky momma is, well, the sky. everywhere. you felt so guilty when she called you that, tiny momma or momma. it should've been you in the car. you should've gone out during the snowstorm. you should've held onto her like you did baby nobara. you should’ve went out to get the milk and medicine. if only you had— "momma, tiny momma? "yes honeybunny?" "i'm not a bunny silly." her giggles make a tear slip. "are you sad?” you shake your head, plaster the best smile you can, she leans in and whispers “tell sky momma. she will fix it. she’s angel. she has powers.” “is that what you do?” nobara nods and her face is back on the ninja tv show. you look up, lost in thought. you may not have angel powers, but you’re going to give your absolute best to her precious babygirl. your precious babygirl.

♡

the doorbell to your apartment rings early next evening. nobara is busy coloring and singing along to a theme song. you stop putting away groceries and whip around to the entrance, there’s no body in the peephole. nobara is good but she hasn’t been near your phone to order magic food delivery. you live in a mostly safe apartment, still opt to wait a few minutes before you hear the doorbell ring again but there is no BODY there. a ghost? a malfunction? ugh. the landlord is never going to get this fixed and you’ll be pressed if nobara doesn’t get her rest, the girl is finally well enough to go to school. when you open the door your legs are met with a brute force. you look down and see pink hair on a small form. “oh, hello nobara’s momma.” a toothy grin from a child you’ve never seen before. you stand utterly confused, there’s no guardian in the hallway either. “hello?” he hands you a folder but half the content slips out. he looks very shy, doesn’t say more than, “oops…sorry.” big eyes trying to peep around your legs and into the apartment. you bend down to his eye level and help gather the papers. “it’s okay, i drop things too.” your eye catches a headline and notice a paper for mr. geto’s class, “did you bring these for nobara?” your voice is sweet, it’s easy to be nice to this little pink haired child. his eyes go big before he blushes as nods, “nanamin said i could!” he jumps, suddenly made aware that he’s standing at your door alone. he looks left, looks right, looks up and down, does a whole spin around and focuses back on you, his eyes wide and he’s starting to get teary eyed. “i lost nanamin!” “that’s…that’s okay sweetie we can find him.” but there’s no one in the hallway. “do you want to come inside? we can call his number.” you know for a fact mr. geto has drilled it into his class to learn their guardian’s phone numbers. its how nobara understands how to unlock your phone. that and you should change your passcode from her birthday to something more secretive— “yuji! that’s my momma!” nobara clings to your arm, frowning at the boy who is near shaking. you would reprimand nobara but she has a coughing fit and now you’re letting her invade your personal space, her tiny hand clinging to your arm, smushing her face into your neck. she’s warm again. you put a hand on her back and rub gently, the coughs are still bad. the pediatrician said it would be better by now. yuji stares and looks so close to crying. his lip is wobbly. and your lips frowns, you hate hate hate seeing little kids cry. you pat his head, and he instantly melts into your touch. “i want papa!” he wails. and two just feed off of each other. it’s a round of dramatic gasps and sobs. you are not meant for this. your arms can barely handle getting an entire crate of water up the apartment stairs and you have two tiny humans digging their hands and knees and bodies against you for comfort and warmth. you don’t squat enough to lift them off the ground. so you sit, half inside your apartment door with two highly emotional and dramatic children. you must stay calm, you must stay calm. you are the adult. you are the blueprint. you can teach them how to regulate their emotions. you breathe slowly and deeply. “you know what? let’s eat some pizza bites. so when nanamin comes he can eat with us.” yuji perks up at that. “nanamin likes pizza!” you give him a smile. nobara is still coughing, saying she feels icky. yuji says he will tell nanamin to bring red soup and explains how his papa added magic to make it taste delicious. he’s animated, lively. takes a proper seat at the tiny dinning table after asking to wash his hands. he notices the lack of plates on the table .

“can i help you set the table? i can carry plates! but not forks or knives.” he has such nice manners. this nanamin is absolutely a wonderful guardian. you nod, hand him plates one by one as you set a clingy nobara on the kitchen counter. she’s being fussy but cooperating, takes her medicine like a big girl and whispers she wants nuggets instead of pizza. pizza has tomatoes afterall. you nod at her, she starts to brag about her coloring book. you let the two sit at the table and talk about her extra deluxe packet of crayons while popping in pizza bites and nuggets into the oven.

wait, are you supposed to defrost them first? yuji and nobara are talking about the color red and how awful/cool it is. yuji is adamant about tomatoes being a magical food and nobara is doing her level best to not barf. she’s on her best behavior despite her tummyache, it warms your heart. you reread the instructions for the frozen food. provide the kids with juice and start sneaking in greens, they woudln’t notice a salad if it has yellow corn in it right? you do have some green-ish tomatoes from the grocery store run, yuji likes tomatoes, maybe you can get nobara to eat some green things if yuji is here. for a rival nobara is treating yuji like a friend, helping him with utensils and napkins. they go back to talking about the ninja cartoon and you zone out, just for a bit. carefully plating the food and grabbing not-red sauces for the kiddos when you realize it’s gone silent. panic sets in. there’s a beeping sound. it’s not the oven or your phone or your watch or the smoke alarm. it’s not in your head either, right? you place the pizza bites and nuggets onto the kids plate, warn them to not touch as they’re too hot and, god the beeping is still there. you look around in confusion. “momma yuji is beeping.” you turn to nobara in confusion. “what?” she points at yuji, “he is beeping.” yuji is shocked himself. starts to pat at his clothing when you notice the tiny watch he’s wearing is lighting up. you hear a man yelling in the hallway. you grab a red crayon out of surprise, the voice sounds scary. you smile and ask the kids to stay seated. you peak into the hallway to notice an absolute unit of a man walking towards your door. he looks so menacing. muscles tight, jawline constricted, fists clenched, eyes cold. he looks like a business executive ready to throw a office chair threw a window. corporate villian scares you, frozen to the spot. crayon ready, you’re not letting this guy hurt anyone. yuji is yelling, “NANAMIN!” and tries to rush past you, trips before he can reach your legs, and thank sky angel for gifting you with insane ‘parental’ reflexes, you stop his fall by grabbing his hoodie. “you’re okay buddy, i got you.” yuji smiles bright, points at the tall man, “my nanamin, hi papa!” he— what? his…his nanamin is the jacked corporate villain ? “yuji, kiddo. you can’t run off like that.” his voice is as deep as you expected, but gentle. yuji is talking a mile a minute and his nanamin somehow understands all of it. eyes fall to you and nobara who clings to your leg. “i’m really sorry about this. i didn’t mean to scare you. i thought yuji was—“ you smile. “i would’ve done the same. you’re mr. nanamin then?”

yuji answers for him, “he’s papamin! papa nanamin. he’s super strong.” “my momma can break a window! she’s super strong too.” nobara steps in front of you, bragging about how you can hold anything heavy. her and yuji have a ridiculous ‘nu uh’ momwnr before a coughing fit hits nobara, instantly you’re crouching down and rubbing her back.

“okay, okay baby. let’s eat and get ready for bed soon yeah? yuji,”— wait you should address his papa, “umm, i made food for yuji too if…if that’s okay. he was all shaky and crying when he thought he lost you…i..i didn’t kidnap him, promise.” nanamin is watching you, yuji insisting he will eat the salad too with pleading eyes, plus he really wants to show papamin something. the tall corporate not villian nods. it ends up with the large man comically seated at a tiny dinning table and two little children forcing him to pick which deluxe crayon is the best color. you hand nanamin a plate and it feels nice. easy. it’s enjoyable to see another adult interact with their child the way you do with nobara.

maybe you can do the parent thing afterall. kento nanami, you learn, is a gentleman and offers to do dishes while you finish putting away your forgotten grocery. the theme song of the ninja show is blaring through your tv and you hear a, “papa! they’re going to catch the bad guy!” and you know better than to stop yuji from seeing this magical moment, it’s all anyone is going to talk about at lunch tomorrow. “our sofa is big enough, you can stay until the end of the epsiode, i don’t mind.” he gives you a curt nod and oh, he’s really handsome. you wonder if this is the volunteer all the moms talk about in the PTA newsletter. “thank you.” you do not check him out as he walks over to the sofa, opting to sit on the ground as nobara and yuji are standing on the sofa, jumping excitedly. nanami does not have nice legs and butt. he absolutely never misses leg day. “momma they’re not going to catch him!” nobara shouts, convinced you have magical powers and can bend this cartoon plot to your will. “papa, you have to help them!” yuji adds on. you watch with a full heart how nanami speaks softly to nobara and yuji, asks them to help him summon his magic powers and has them in full giggle fits when he does help the ninja cartoon hero’s catch the bad guys. the kiddos are roaming around the living room singing the ending song while nanami looks over the folder of homework yuji brought. “this is a months worth of ice cream. ah, gotta come up with a better bribe.” you sigh, immediately moving to action when both nobara and yuji attempt to fly off your dining room table. yuji thanks you for food and surprises you by adding an apology for getting nobara sick and you do not accept that. “germs happen yuji, we can’t always control them. but i know you did your best to not get anyone sick.” nanami chimes in, “yeah buddy, you washed your hands, sneezed into a tissue, even ate your veggies. it’s not your fault.” he looks so happy and gives you a hug before nobara pushes him off, clingy and territorial. you give nanami a small smile and lock his smile back away deep in your heart. you absolutely do not blush when you hear “great job!” from the other side of the door. “oh no! tiny momma, your face is red!” “oh no, i think i need ice cream!” as you get nobara ready for bed and look over the folder with her missed homework. mr. geto is such a serious teacher and part of you appreciates it. part of you loathes having to figure out how to bribe nobara to sit still enough to focus through all these sheets. there is a tiny post it that says, legoland makes for a very good homework bribe — n, with his number on it. your heart does not skip a beat.

♡

[hijinks-n-lowjinks]

teaser for my itafushi fic…………. 👀

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (The unique way Sukuna is damned to eternal miscommunication and existentialism in the modern era.)

Notes before we start.

1) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

2) I need professional help.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface

I want to get one thing out of the way. This is going to be a weird write-up because I'm hardly going to cite the manga.

I'm basically posting this as a reference for myself. All of this occurred so I could properly lean into the old man aspect of Sukuna for a fic I'm writing. (Aka I read too much on actual Heian Era history and now you all have to suffer.)

People often joke that Sukuna is an old man, but I'm here to tell you he is so out of touch and out of time that he might as well be existing in a never-ending Lovecraftian nightmare where time has stopped being real.

It's going to take a while to explain why this is the case so hear me out, maybe?

Fundamental Measurements

What is a unit of measurement? And where did these units come from? If you've taken an entry level physics class, you've already been through the existential crisis answering these questions caused.

But for the uninitiated, have you ever sat down and asked yourself why you know what a foot/meter is? Everyone has kind of agreed they represent a specific distance, and depending on where you were raised, you'll prefer one over the other.

I'm an American. I'm also an engineer. I have to use SI Units and Freedom Units all the time. Differing distance units are things I can easily conceptualize. I understand what a meter is. It's like 3.3 feet.

Every time I hear meter, my brain does the conversion to 3.3 feet because I was raised with feet as my base unit of measurement. But oddly enough, when I hear 100 meters, I instantly know how far that is. This is because I was a sprinter for all of Jr. High and High School. When someone says 100 meters, I picture the got danged torture stretch of the 300 meter hurdles.

The point of this is to establish that early life experiences become a reference point when thinking about things as an adult. If I didn't run track or do engineering, I would be a "What the fuck is a kilometer?" type American.

Measurements of Miscommunication

If you couldn't tell, I wrote the previous section with Non-Americans in mind. I specified the units of measurement I was using for distance because I understand people outside of the US could be reading my post.

But what happens if I don't do that? What happens when people assume everyone's units of measurement are the same as theirs? Allow me to recall a conversation I'm sure most of you Non-Americans have had with an American on the internet and vice versa.

Friend, Non-American: Ugh it's 40 degrees out today.

Me, American: Dang that sounds pretty cold, don't forget to wear a jacket.

Friend, Non-American: What the hell do you meant that's cold???

Me, American and remembering where they live: OH YOU MEAN CELSIUS. That's 104 in Freedom Units.

Friend, Non-American: 104 IS SUPER DEAD IN CELSIUS.

(40°F is 4.4°C btw.)

As you can see, these kind of assumptions relay drastically different information. 40 degrees without a unit is read as cold or hot depending on where a person is from. It also doesn't help that the conversion between these units is nonsense. The vast majority of people can't do °C = (°F − 32) × 5/9 off the top of their head.

I, for the life of me, cannot comprehend Celsius. Temperature is too abstract a concept for my brain to swap systems. I think there's a reason for this.

Unlike distance, you can't see the temperature with your body. You can feel it, sure, but sometimes you step into a walk-in freezer and come out feeling like everything is warmer than it is. Relativity like that won't affect how you see distance. A foot is a foot, a meter is a meter, and they will always look those distances. You can check them easily.

Temperature? You need a thermometer to check. Or you assume the generalized data on a weather app is accurate. And things like humidity can fudge with your perception it.

This is all to say that my brain assigned the number 40 as cold. It being a hot number is barely comprehensible because my foundation is it being cold.

(If you were wondering, yes this is why I write out dates like Month DD, YYYY. It's so no one has to look at 3/4/YYYY and guess if they're supposed to be reading it as March 4th or April 3rd because they can't tell what country I'm from.)

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Well my dear reader, my question to you is: What units of measurement were used in the Heian Era?

Forget about distance and temperature. How was time measured in the Heian era?

Heian Era Timekeeping

Ancient Japan ran on something called a Lunisolar Calendar. This is a type of calendar based around moon phases and sun positioning hence, lunisolar.

Taken directly from Wikipedia:

"A lunisolar calendar is a calendar in many cultures, incorporating lunar calendars and solar calendars. The date of lunisolar calendars therefore indicates both the Moon phase and the time of the solar year, that is the position of the Sun in the Earth's sky. If the sidereal year (such as in a sidereal solar calendar) is used instead of the solar year, then the calendar will predict the constellation near which the full moon may occur. As with all calendars which divide the year into months there is an additional requirement that the year have a whole number of months. In some cases ordinary years consist of twelve months but every second or third year is an embolismic year, which adds a thirteenth intercalary, embolismic, or leap month.

Their months are based on the regular cycle of the Moon's phases. So lunisolar calendars are lunar calendars with – in contrast to them – additional intercalation rules being used to bring them into a rough agreement with the solar year and thus with the seasons."

Did you notice something funky? A leap month has to be accounted for with this calendar. And it gets worse. The duration between leap months vary because the earth's path around the sun varies.

Under this calendar system, instead of a fixed interval of time always passing for a year, everything is variable. This means conversion to a modern date, which uses fixed time intervals, is not a one to one thing. It's kind of like trying to convert February 29th to non-leap years. Some people born on this day celebrate on February 28th and others will use March 1st. Legally speaking in the US, March 1st is used for tallying. (And if you've seen the Pirates of Penzance, this is an actual plot point when trying to determine a character's contract clause.) So imagine that but for months, years, and hours all the time.

I exclude days from this issue because Heian Japan agreed that a day was as day. They don't shrink or grow. The 12 hours a day always pass! And yes I mean 12 hours a day.

Heian Hours

For the rest of this discussion I'm referencing this lovely source by Katherine M. Lawrence. Everything quoted is from here.

So... let's get into that 12 hour day thing.

"Days consisted of 12 hours based on the 12 zodiac animals, each Heian hour being equal to about two modern hours. In a moment I will get to why I deliberately used the word “about.”

Days were divided into six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of darkness. Instead of midnight, the day started at daybreak. Only in the Meiji times, in 1867, did the day change at midnight.

What is fascinating is that there were always six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of night irrespective of the time of year. In modern times, with mechanical and even atomic clocks, we accept that more daylight falls in summer than in winter. We might turn back or move our clocks forward twice a year. In Japan it was done 24 times a year—approximately every 14 to 16 days—so that the first light would always come during the first “hour” of the day, which was known as the Hour of the Rabbit, sometimes called the Hour of the Hare. Dusk would come at the Hour of the Bird, sometimes called the Hour of the Rooster.

If we were to measure the actual length of winter days using a modern timepiece, the Hour of the Rabbit would be shorter than two hours because the relatively shorter total daylight in winter would still be distributed into six parts.

The six nighttime hours in winter would absorb the extra darkness and be proportionately longer than the nominal two hours of our 24-hour clock.

All this kept the astrologers and priests busy, because every 14 to 16 days, the clocks had to be adjusted. “More on that in a minute,” which by the way, is an idiom the Japanese of the era would not have used, because our modern concept of sixty minutes to an hour and sixty seconds to a minute is highly tied to mechanical clocks."

In summary, Heian Hours quite literally grow and shorten depending on the season. That 1 Heian Hour=2 Modern Hours conversion only works when daylight hours are the exact same as nighttime hours.

But it gets even weirder than that. Rather than counting from 1 to 12 for daytime and nighttime like we might on our modern clocks, Heian Japan counted down from 9 to 4 twice. This results in a clock conversion that looks like this.

And remember, this is only accurate when daylight hours are equal to nighttime hours!

It should also be noted that these hours were announced by the ringing of temple bells throughout the day and the night. Everyone relied on these temples to keep the time at all times.

But wait, there's more! (Heian Months and Solar Stems)

This is where timekeeping really starts to fall apart in terms of my understanding of it so Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence is going to explain it.

"In the Heian period (and until 1867), each month began on the dark moon, also know as the new moon. The full moon would come on the 15th day and the month would end approximately on the 28th, sometimes the 29th, and even the 30th day of the month.

Japanese did not have the western concept of the seven-day week, though they certainly could count to seven. What they had instead was the concept of the solar stem, of which there were 24."

"The first solar stem of the Japanese year starts on the first day of the year: Start of Spring, which, unlike the Western calendar, is not  in March. The Last Solar Stem (the 24th) ends on the last day of Major Cold. The beginning of the year in Japan, as measured by the Western calendar, would start somewhere between mid-January and mid-February, the variation resulting from aligning the solar stems with the lunar months."

In summary, Heian Months may be about the same length as Modern Months, but they are strictly based on the moon phases and the 24 Solar Stems are anchored around them.

This leaves us with a conversion calendar that looks like this. (Edited to number the Solar Stems.)

And remember, this is approximate. The Solar Stems do not always align with these exact Georgian calendar dates.

The lunar months, of course, do not use our calendar date names. I present a summary table based on several people's documentation (Source 1, Source 2, Source 3) since sadly the other blogger didn't include them:

(Jan-Feb) Mutsuki (睦月) Month of Harmony/Affection 

(Feb-Mar) Kisaragi (如月) Month of Changing of Clothes

(Mar-Apr) Yayoi (弥生) Month of Plant Growth/New Life

(Apr-May) Uzuki (卯月) Month of Deutzia Flowers

(May-Jun) Satsuki (皐月) Month of Planting Rice

(Jun-Jul) Minazuki (水無月) Month of Water/No Gods 

(Jul-Aug) Fumizuki (文月) Month of Literature

(Aug-Sep) Hazuki (葉月) Month of Leaves  

(Sep-Oct) Nagatsuki (長月) The Long Month    

(Oct-Nov) Kannazuki (神無月) Month of Gods    

(Nov-Dec) Shimotsuki (霜月) Month of Frost     

(Dec-Jan) Shiwasu (師走) Month of Running Priests  

This table merges multiple sources because the translations of Kanji differ and it's good to see how/why these differences occur. There's also the issue of the bloggers presenting the months like 1-to-1 conversions.

I want to stress that these Lunar Months start and end anywhere from the middle to the late parts of Georgian Months. This is why Source 1 claims Mutsuki=Feb while Sources 2 & 3 claim Mutsuki=Jan. Source 1 chose Feb because the majority of Mutsuki occurs in Feb while Sources 2 & 3 chose Jan because Mutsuki technically starts in late Jan.

Now that I've laid all this out, I'm sure you have the following burning question:

How the hell do you convert modern time to Heian time???

I turn to Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence again for guidance.

"If this post gets some interest, I will continue and explain how the author calculates..."

There's no guidance.

However! There is an example of a conversion without the explanation.

"Thus, we know as Yamabuki and Tomoe ride up to the Shayō Tōge, the Sunset Pass, at Sunset on May 11, 1172, in the middle of a freak snowstorm, the author can say with some assurance that it happened at the Hour of the Bird on the 13th day of the 7th solar stem, two days past the full moon of the Flower Month."

So I'm going to try to figure out how this occurred using the information I've been given.

Hour of the Bird: This one is easy! The bird hour is the official sunset hour.

7th Solar Stem: According to the chart that's between late April and early May.

13th Day: Since Solar Stems are about 14-16 days this means it's almost the 8th Solar Stem which starts around May 21st.

2 days past the full moon of the Flower Month: "Flower Month" is not on my chart. From what I know about kanji, I think this is a simplification of Uzuki (卯月) or the the Month of Deutzia Flowers. This aligns with the month of May.

This is where I give up. I legitimately do not know where to go from here. ...And that's my point.

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Before I completely lose you, my dearest most patient reader, please consider the following:

You wake up in a place where time is counted backwards and the hours pass faster than you've ever known them to. The things you use to tell the time don't exist or are in a form you no longer can recognize.

You see a clock face that counts in the wrong direction to numbers you've never seen used for time. The sounds it makes are familiar and foreign all at once. When you try to use the times and dates everyone you ever knew understood instantly, you're met with complete confusion. No one except a few dedicated scholars know how to convert your concept of time to theirs.

This is how Sukuna experiences time in the modern era.

Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (Sukuna almost fumbled his date with Gojo.)

Remember all my rambling about my own experiences with trying to understand SI Units as a Freedom Units user and my complete and utter failure to convert Heian Time to Modern Time? This is to establish that on a fundamental level, it does not matter that Sukuna has access to his vessel's memories. These foreign units mean nothing without a conversion reference.

Yuta in Gojo's body showed us how the memory recollection process works. You see them like movie and must draw your understandings from them.

We also learn from Sukuna that he tends to ignore memories that aren't relevant to his sorcery. So something mundane like telling the time isn't his priority. (I often think about how Sukuna has been watching Yuji and everyone around him use a cell phone but he still calls it a photography device.)

(He's lying about the flowers though.)

So this leads us to Sukuna and Gojo setting the date for their battle...

When Sukuna heard Kenjaku say November 19th and Gojo say December 24th his brain was the equivalent of TV static. It's very likely that Sukuna had to rely on Kenjaku to ensure he showed up at the right day. (Kenjaku, of course, is an exception here because instead of drawing from memories, Kenny got to live through the transitional period of the Lunisolar Calendar to the Georgian Calendar and had 100+ years to adjust to it. And now that I think about it, the Culling Game using days to count time is probably Kenjaku being considerate of this generational difference.)

It's a really good thing that Gojo didn't specify the time because that would've made things worse. See the following examples using the handy dandy conversion chart as a reference...

Gojo: Let's do this at 10.

Sukuna: ???

Gojo: Let's do this at 9.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 2 hours late at 11 am.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 8.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 5 hours late at 1 pm.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 7.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 8 hours late at 3 pm*

Gojo: Let's do this at 6.

Sukuna: *Shows up on time?* (It’s December in the northern hemisphere so the sun comes up after 6. Sukuna might still show up a bit late.)

These examples also assume that Sukuna can still gauge Heian Hours accurately. That too is up in the air because the hourly bells that sounded the Heian Hours no longer exist. The temples and bells may remain, but their use for timekeeping has changed entirely.

Since it's likely he spent a large portion of his early life in a temple, there's a chance Sukuna has a strong internalized sense of Heian Hours. But how many people do you know that can accurately feel an hour pass on vibes alone?

There isn't any point in the manga where Sukuna indicates he knows what Georgian Month is, let alone a Modern Hour. I think that's why he's just waiting on top of the building for Gojo to show up. The day starts for him when the sun comes up, not midnight. He probably figured that as long as he was out there by dawn, eventually his date would show up.

There's something strangely adorable about that. Sukuna didn't go out massacring others for funsies or wreak havoc after Gojo was unsealed. He just waited a whole month and gambled on their connection starting the death date on time.

How Sukuna Might Tell the Time

When Sukuna uses time units, he only uses minutes or seconds.

Well...the narrator implies he's able to use seconds.

This makes sense despite the Heian Era not having minutes or seconds. They're foundational units rather than a unit he needs to convert to something mentally. Because they are so drastically smaller than other Heian units of time, it's easier for the brain to calibrate itself to them.

This means that if one wanted to communicate a duration of time to Sukuna, it would be better to use minutes or seconds.

For example, rather than saying "see you in an hour", "see you in 60 minutes" would be better. Otherwise Sukuna is going to default to 1 Heian Hour and show up approximately 2 hours late.

Another example, telling Sukuna you'll "be gone for a few hours" means to him that you'll be gone for most of the day. At this point it would be better to reference a duration of an activity he's familiar with than use minutes. Sukuna watched some of those movies with Yuji. "I'll be gone for 1-2 movies" will make a little more sense to him.

Funnily enough though, telling Sukuna that you work a 9-5 wouldn't cause a miscommunication for duration. That's 4 Heian Hours or about 8 Modern Hours. He probably thinks it's weird you start working in the middle of the day and into the night though.

How Sukuna tells time for himself is likely similar to someone lost in the wilderness. He'll mostly be relying on environmental cues like moon phase, sun position, constellations, and flora growth. (Which ironically, climate change affecting flora growth patterns would throw him off even more. I can't even imagine how he'd feel about light pollution stealing away the stars on top of that. But at least the moon is still there!)

But as you can see, the normal methods of precise timekeeping are next to impossible for Sukuna to use and this discrepancy is ripe for miscommunication. This has a lot of comedy and horror potential in fanworks. (Hence me writing this as a resource.)

How Sukuna Used to Tell the Time

After doing all this research, I found myself viewing Sukuna's theme Malevolent Shrine a little differently. I always found it to be a quite sad sounding song for his character. Villains as violent and fierce as Sukuna tend to get battle themes that reflect that. In comparison to high energy bangers like One-Winged Angel (Sephiroth Final Fantasy), Avalon (Ultimate Lifeform Kars Jojo), or The Last Mission (Murem vs Netero Hunter x Hunter), Malevolent Shrine is rather somber and unfocused.

This theme opens and closes with bells. The opening in particular feels chaotic with how the different bells seem to overlap and overwhelm each other. But if you listen closely, you'll hear the gong of a temple bell that keeps rhythm by marking the start of a new measure. Using this bell, it becomes easier to count the beats, even when it eventually disappears in the middle section.

His theme to me now feels like an echo of what Sukuna used to know before he was thrust into a world that is no longer in sync with his very concept of time.

"Interestingly, the Japanese “witching hour” is not at midnight, but at nominally 2 AM (1 AM–3 AM) and is known as the Hour of the Ox."

I don't really know where else to put this. Sukuna on his throne of ox skulls, a representation of the witching hour where reality falls apart and spirits come out to play.

How all this might look in action. (Defending my questionable writing choices.)

Though everything I've given is plenty enough for people to run wild with in fanworks, I would like to give examples of it in my own. My type of autism is one where it's easier for me have something to use as a direct reference. (Clear and concise instructions please.) So I want to provide that for anyone else wired similarly.

Context: The fic I'm writing is from Sukuna's POV so I've taken great care to avoid him using modern timekeeping terms. I have a timeline for everything outlined, but I refuse to make that clear to the reader so they can get the Sukuna Experience™.

Other characters will reference the time and give the reader little windows into what date it possibly is, but otherwise they have to infer it themselves.

But because I myself use modern time, I caught mistakes I made in an early chapter... (Aka before I realized Heian Timekeeping is Extremely Different.)

Old Sentence: The year is 2019.

Revised Sentence: The year is 2019 for the Common Era.

(Heian Japan was mimicking China so I'm assuming that the numbered years restarted with each era since I couldn't find how years were kept.)

Old Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten for the past 5 hours and 38 minutes.

Revised Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten since the hour of the dragon���338 minutes and counting.

(This one is self evident I think.)

But even within this chapter, I obscured the date by having Sukuna observe his surroundings. I don't think it's a good example so I'll use a different one from an unpublished draft.

...it occurs under the same wisteria and same midday sun. The branches and buds have begun to green and swell before the Flowering Moon has reached its full, an indication that the bloom will come early.

Wisterias bloom in late April around the time of full moon. April aligns with Yayoi or the Month of Plant Growth/New Life. I worked under the assumption that the moons can be called by their month names kind of like Native American moon names. But Plant Growth/New Life Moon didn't sound good to me so I changed it to Flowering.

So I do have a very specific date for when this scene occurs, but Sukuna doesn't know so the reader doesn't know. The best you can guess is sometime in April but you have to know when Wisterias typically bloom and what a Flowering Moon might be. (I'm hoping this kind of vague timekeeping disorients the reader and causes frustration. I used sun, moon, and star positioning charts for this got dang it.)

Tools to Use for Weird Timekeeping

Chinese Calendar Conversions

Solar Stem Converter

(This one is annoying to use because they don't use the translated names but there is a definitions table.)

Lunar Calendar Converter

(Unfortunately it only allows for 1901-2100. You can probably infer the lunar month via the Solar Stem Converter for older dates.)

Celestial Bodies

For star/constellation positions in the night sky use this:

Sky & Telescope Interactive Sky Chart

(Yes you can even change the location and time to get the exact night sky the characters might be looking at.)

For sun positions and sunrise/sunset times use this:

SunCalc

For moon positions and moonrise/moonset times use this:

MoonCalc

(If you want to see a summary of moon phases by month this tool is helpful.)

Why have you done this?

I don't know. Please enjoy my perverse obsession with the little details.

[nanaslutt]

I NEED geto fucking gojo in the ass while the reader rides gojo, I need overstimulated gojo 🙏🙏

i hav done this :p

u and geto tag teaming gojo here!!

[sulky-cabbage]

There is something very delicious about Gojo satoru spending his whole life fighting curses since his childhood for humanity's sake while yearning for the King of Curses.

Do you think Gojo was tempted to eat Sukuna's finger given that he had it for god knows how long?

I mean ......He was lonely and bored.

Imagine feeling different from everyone else, like a freak, and being told that the reason curses are growing stronger is because of YOU being born into the world. and the only person you might possibly connect with is this 1000-year-old king of curses, to whom you are holding a mummified finger that you must destroy in some way in order to save humanity.

All of this for people who can't even begin to understand you.

However, you could just... eat it.

and HE will be present.

The only being who can comprehend YOU.

Do you think the finger's cursed energy was luring him to eat it? That thing has strong cursed energy, and the seal was weakening everyday.

I know Gojo was salivating 😮‍💨

There's only one in a million chance that someone survives eating it, but this is Gojo Satoru we are talking about; he's the first person born with six eyes & limitless in 400 years; he's as special as he can get.

he's also very confident, arrogant, and CRAZY; the fact that the higher-ups will not approve if he consumes it will just serve to entice him to do so. What are they going to do about it? execute him?

He appeared to be pleased that Sukuna had been reincarnated & was all giddy giving Yuji another finger to eat. he was giggling and shit, he was way too excited about this. I'm starting to think it's the reason he likes Yuji so much (lol)

The whole thing about him relating to Sukuna wasn't brought up before the Shinjuku showdown, but Gojo must have always felt that way.

He was a little shit when he was a child, and he was also an edgy teenager with a fuck the weak mindset.

I know he had a crush on Sukuna prior to his reincarnation.

I JUST KNOW IT OKAY??

[thatbakedpotato]

you ever read a fic that changes the literal trajectory of life? that renders you incapable of picking up another piece of literature? cause same.

[gintrinsic-writing]

A Fuckless Year

It’s just a kiss, Legend tells himself. Just a kiss. One stupid, little kiss. This is, like, the least frightening thing I’ve ever faced. 

Oh hells, who is he kidding? This is terrifying. 

Ravio leans in ever so slightly. “Pardon? You, uh...” 

“What?” Legend blurts uncomfortably.

“You said good night, and then you…” Ravio clears his throat lightly. “You paused and looked at me. With your eyes.”

Legend almost laughs. Instead, he makes a sound like a dying frog, then waves both hands in denial. “How else am I supposed to look at you, idiot?” he asks, knowing exactly what Ravio meant. 

“Shrill,” Ravio accuses. Legend hopes the chain can’t hear them from the guest bedrooms. “You only ever sound shrill when you’re guilty!”

“I was—” Legend clears his throat and purposely makes his voice deeper. “I was not shrill. I’ve never been shrill in my life.”

Ravio pinches the bridge of his nose. The tips of his ears are endearingly pink. “Link…”

It’s just a kiss! You’re the goddess-damned Hero of Courage! Act like it! 

But instead Legend stands there like a loser, palms unreasonably sweaty, heart racing like it hasn’t since the last time fought that pig Ganon. He inhales slowly and counts to three, prepared to, well, do something, maybe, but Ravio suddenly holds out a hand. 

“Hey,” Ravio murmurs, expression soft and achingly affectionate, “let’s go to bed.”

Legend’s jaw drops before he can help it, and his entire face burns. “B-bed?” He yanks off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. He can’t seem to decide where to stare. “You—But I—We haven’t even—We should at least kiss first!”

Ravio’s face goes through at least four stages of grief, by Legend’s rapid approximation. Ravio slaps his palms together as if about to pray, then presses his fingertips to his lips. His eyes are comically wide. “Link, my hero, my best customer, my regular headache—what?”

“You were the one who said let’s go to bed!” 

Legend slaps a hand over his mouth as soon as he finishes shouting. They both wince in tandem, eyeing the stairs, but there’s no noise from the others. Legend just knows there’ll be embarrassing hell to pay come morning, though. He drops his voice to a whisper: “You said bed. Did you—Oh fuck, you didn’t mean…?”

“No!” Ravio whispers back. “I mean, not that I’m opposed, but.”

Legend’s throat is so fucking dry. “You’re not opposed,” he repeats dumbly. 

“Of course not! But just then, I meant sleep. Which people do in bed. You have a bed. Your own bed.” Ravio’s ears droop as his own dumb words catch up to him. “It was simply an invitation to retire for the night, separately!”

“But,” and Legend can’t seem to move past this point, Din burn him, “but you’re not opposed?”

“Ohhh my Goddess!” Ravio hisses. “What are you, some closeted creep? If you must know, then yes, I’m interested. I have been for a fucking year! Or should I say, a fuckless year, thanks to you and your stupid—your stupid—” He grips the air as if strangling some invisible menace. “You’re inept!”

Legend doesn’t think his self-esteem can get any lower at this point. “It’s not like you’ve been giving clues,” he begins weakly, but clearly that’s the wrong thing to say.

“Haven’t been giving clues? Haven’t been giving clues!” Ravio half-shouts. “The discounts? The lingering smiles? The robe slipping off my bare shoulder?”

Legend remembers that. He’s remembered it many, many times. “...Oh.”

Ravio throws his hands up in despair. “Oh, he says! Oh!”

The silence that follows is painfully, painfully awkward. At least on Legend’s part. “So…”

Ravio’s jaw works in silence for a moment. “Yes?”

Legend thinks dying must surely be less painful than this. “A kiss?”

Ravio holds up a finger threateningly. Legend wishes it wasn’t such a turn-on. “I swear to every Goddess in existence, after all you’ve put me through, if this isn’t the best kiss I’ve ever had, I’ll sell your hide for a single rupee.” 

“Wow,” Legend breathes. “You really know how to make a guy feel confident.”

“And I don’t need your stupid—”

Legend pulls Ravio in by his robe and slots their mouths together, kissing like each taste is a breath, like each spark is a measure of adoring warmth on an otherwise chilly night. He chases Ravio’s mouth and is chased in turn, until suddenly he realizes he's pressed against a wall and gasping from lightheadedness. 

“Rav,” he begins, having no idea what he actually wants to say. 

“Maybe…” Ravio takes a moment to simply breathe. “Maybe more than one rupee. Maybe fifty.”

“Fifty?” Legend repeats incredulously, then laughs. He hopes the others don't wake, but he doesn't really care if they do. “That’s it?”

Ravio licks his lips and presses closer. “Maybe a hundred, I’m not sure.”

“Sucked the math right out of you, huh?” Legend jokes, only belatedly realizing what an opening he has given the greedy salesman. 

Ravio’s grin is downright devilish. “Now there’s an idea.”

Legend prays. 

—

Part 2 (sort of nsfw)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank you to @/teddybeartoji for having the biggest brain in the galaxy and infecting me with this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading you can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. satoru steps back, inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when that makes you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“... fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily. his chest is heaving, lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire. ”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

“… do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing. enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

[owoshrike]

Just Another Morning

Partner Fic: [The One with the Flower Shop]

《--¤--¤--》《--¤--¤--》

Sukuna was never a light sleeper perse, but he was beginning to think that his body had recently been trained into becoming one. The man groaned, eyes rolling underneath his eyelids as his mind slowly awakened. It was a process- feeling the bed sheets underneath him, noticing how cool he was from tossing the covers off the night before, and reminding himself that yes, all of his limbs were still attached to his body.

There was also a small dip in the sheets next to his head.

Slowly, deep red eyes peeked open as he turned his head to the side, frowning slightly when he saw the bottom of a pajama covered foot immediately in his vision. He didn’t move but angled his head to look at the body connected to the foot, mouth thinning as he saw the chubby baby splayed out beside him snoring away as if he was the only one in the bed. Seeing how his limbs were star-fished out, he really must’ve been thinking he was. Sukuna’s eyebrow ticked before he turned his head to look over at the bedside table. The man refused to move just yet and instead squinted at the clock, groaning softly as “7:15AM” greeted him.

“That’s too damn early,” he grumbled lowly. “I’m going back to sle-”

A little foot pressed against his cheek as he turned his head to look at the ceiling, the man sighing heavily. The appendage didn’t move for a second but then it tapped against his cheek again…and again…and again. Sukuna growled and turned his head, one hand coming up and grabbing hold of the foot to keep it from prodding against his face.

“Hey! Knock it off, brat!”

As if the child knew he was speaking in- some- jest, it didn’t stop the small gummy smile from spreading on his face. Yuuji’s foot wiggled in the man’s hold as he tried to turn onto his tummy, face scrunching in concentration. Sukuna loosened his hold slightly and observed silently, slightly amused by the sheer determination the other was exhibiting. It was only when the other whined from simply rocking in place that he sat up on his elbow and rolled the boy over. “It’s too early for crying.”

Now satisfied that he was in the position he strived for, the bab focused his attention fully on Sukuna. He pushed himself up on his hands and feet, crawling closer to the older man with a loud hum. Sukuna stared a bit longer before groaning and fully sitting up, huffing a laugh as he watched Yuuji try to keep himself up despite the shifting of the bed. His feet swung over the edge and he stood with a stretch. He grabbed his phone lying on the bedside table, the screen flashing to show a few missed messages. Sukuna sucked his teeth in annoyance and shook his head, only praying that none of the messages were work related.

“Baaaaaa.”

Turning the screen back off, he then glanced down and saw Yuuji crawling closer to him, the boy’s lips wobbling slightly as he made his way closer. Sukuna watched the baby and only reached out to pick him up when he got too close to the edge. He shifted the baby until Yuuji was resting along his arm, his hand holding firmly to the baby’s abdomen. Yuuji gave an approving coo and kicked his feet happily, Sukuna only rolling his eyes with a sigh through his nose.

“You’re too easy to please while also being picky as hell,” he said with a shake of his head as he walked out of the room.

Sukuna used the edge of his phone to scratch at his bare chest as he crossed into the living room, glancing over to the window before turning into the kitchen. Switching the phone for the stray pacifier that was on the island counter, he shifted Yuuji again to hold him upright against his chest. Immediately, Yuuji began to whine and Sukuna stuck the pacifier in his mouth like clockwork. He was mildly surprised that the baby didn’t spit it out right away, but the small beading tears told him to not hold his breath. He refused to fall for the puppy dog look again as memories of Yuuji nearly crawling out of his hand while he was in the kitchen played in his head.

Instead, he focused on getting some breakfast ready for the two of them.

The absentminded sucking of the pacifier next to his ear was like a white noise as Sukuna moved through the kitchen. He wished he had turned the TV on but was too into the routine to pause it. Carefully, each fruit was sliced small and swept onto the small tiger plate, and Yuuji kicked his feet in impatience at the sight of the strawberries.

“Can you just wait a second, brat?” he grunted, picking up the plate and taking Yuuji over to his high chair. Once the baby was situated, he placed the plate down in front of him. “I’ll get your bottle in a second, ok?”

The older man’s eyebrow ticked in annoyance when the baby ignored him completely, spitting out his pacifier and scooping the fruit pieces up in his chubby hands. Sukuna turned back into the kitchen and switched on the electric kettle, resigning himself to tea rather than coffee this morning. Since he wasn’t working, he didn’t feel he needed a “pick-me-up” for once. While that was going, he began to put together the baby bottle in a quick practiced motion, the action practically engrained in his system by this point. A glance over his shoulder gave him the sight of Yuuji gnawing at a strawberry piece, humming to himself as his feet kicked happily in the chair.

For a fraction of a moment, his gaze softened but if anyone was there it would look like his expression had never changed. He finished shaking the bottle just as the kettle clicked off and broke him from his reverie.

Since when did he get so soft?

Placing the bottle to the side, Sukuna finally focused on putting a simple breakfast together for himself. He whipped himself up a quick tamagoyaki with some rice and sardines to the side. The man nodded to himself after pouring his cup of tea, moving his food to the counter and sitting down on the bar stool. Sukuna placed Yuuji’s bottle down in front of the boy and took the empty plate, scratching gently at the boy’s cheek as he placed it on the counter.

“Will you let me eat my breakfast in peace today?” he grumbled, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on before sitting down next to the baby.

The sudden noise from the television caught the baby’s attention and allowed Sukuna to get some immediate bites of his food. As he ate, he began scrolling through his messages. Most of them were emails regarding sales on supplies he could use for the shop with an occasional text message here and there. His lips tugged up at the corners when he saw a text from Uruame, the other saying how they would be coming back in town at the end of the week. The last messages, however, had Sukuna’s eyes rolling so hard they could have fallen out of his head.

Satoru had basically bombarded their chat with a nonsensical spam of emojis from last night following into the morning. The two of them were talking about what needed to be done at the shop in the coming week before the conversation switched to the blue-eyed man’s new crush, to which Sukuna immediately ignored the conversation and eventually fell asleep. His thumb scrolled through the fawning texts that the man left, and Sukuna could feel himself gag, nose crinkling in disgust. Tossing his phone on the table, he turned to look at Yuuji who was engrossed in the people speaking on the TV. One hand was stuck in his mouth while the other laid splayed out on the tray, grabbing at the empty plate of fruit while his eyes stayed firmly on the woman speaking. Sukuna glanced over the TV before huffing, moving to place the bottle in the baby’s reach.

“She’s not even that attractive, brat. Get better standards,” he said in a snarky tone.

At the sound of the man’s voice, Yuuji turned his head and gave a small coo. The two held each other’s gaze for a good minute before the baby reached for the bottle. Sukuna watched as the boy maneuvered his hands to hold the bottle before bringing it to his mouth, eyebrows raising only slightly. The boy was still completely helpless- as babies are- but the little bits of independence he showed still found ways to surprise Sukuna every now and then. Without saying anything else, Sukuna changed the channel to something more kid appropriate before going back to what remained of his breakfast.

After Sukuna finished eating- and prepping more food for Yuuji since the baby was determined to eat the man out of his own house- he began to go about his morning routine. To the annoying sound of some tinny god-forsaken children’s song, he began his set of push-ups. Though his gaze was trained on the large window before him, he was still aware of the smaller body next to him. A glance out his peripheral showed the little bab next time attempting to copy his action. Pudgy limbs were pushed underneath Yuuji as he tried to push himself up onto all fours…but he could only do half of the motion.

He would push himself up with his hands or legs but then the opposite end stayed flat to the floor. Whenever he did manage to push up on all fours, his attention would divert to the TV before he slowly dropped back onto his belly and rested his head against the floor.

“Your lack of focus is pathetic,” Sukuna chided with a snarky chuckle before moving to grab the boy by the back of his onesie. Yuuji cooed as he was lifted up and placed on the man’s back, Sukuna’s large hand holding him in place as he proceeded with his exercise using only one arm. It was hardly a challenge for him after doing this for so long and he would never admit that he found the baby’s small gasps of awe amusing.

He was sure Uruame knew but the other was smart enough to keep their mouth shut about it.

Once he reached the end of the set, Sukuna slowly lowered himself to the ground and moved Yuuji off of his back. He huffed when he saw the baby’s eyes fluttering slightly despite the boy’s attempts to keep his eyes on Sukuna’s face. One hand was stuffed in his mouth as he absently gnawed on it while the other moved to rest on top of Sukuna’s hand. The older man turned onto his side and propped himself up with one arm to watch Yuuji, the baby’s mouth opening up in a wide yawn that caused his face to scrunch up. Sukuna snickered.

“Such an ugly face!” he laughed as he picked up the baby and rolled onto his back, placing Yuuji against his chest. He sat his hand firm on the other’s back when he tried to squirm. “Go ahead and take your nap, brat.”

Bright honey eyes peeked at Sukuna through fluttering lashes as Yuuji continuously lost the battle to his drowsiness and full stomach. The baby babbled something that was muffled behind his hand before dropping his head right where Sukuna’s heart rested. Sukuna laid still as he felt the other’s own tiny heartbeat pump against his chest, the organ slowly calming down as the boy fell deeper into his sleep. After a minute, the man moved as gently as he could from the floor to sit up against the couch. His eyes narrowed down at Yuuji and he carefully nudged the baby’s hand out of his mouth, grimacing at the spit that trailed down his hand. Sukuna sighed through his nose before tipping his head back and turning back to look out the window as the sun finally reached its peak in the sky.

A stray beam caught the edge of a picture on the side table next to the couch, its shine catching Sukuna’s attention immediately. He frowned as a heavy emotion swirled in his chest, the image of the two young men suddenly becoming too much to bear. It didn’t help that he was aware of the other “look-alike” that was blissfully sleeping against his chest.

“You just had to up and leave, lil’ bro,” he muttered under his breath though there was no heat to his words. Just a hazy feeling of melancholy. “You’re lucky I’m nice though. Brat wouldn’t have survived without me.

[epickiya722]

Just a thought!

So sitting here wondering how Kenjaku even got involved with Jin and everything.

Like, either Kenjaku just so happen to be interested in Kaori because of her technique and was lucky enough she was Jin's partner.

Or Kenjaku could have been tracking Sukuna's twin's reincarnation down, found Jin and decided to take over Kaori's body to pose as his spouse and was lucky enough she also possessed a technique.

I'll be honest, that second one confuses me a little because how do you track a damn soul down? What I can see is Kenjaku seeing Jin one day and realized how similar he looks like Sukuna and thought "those genes could work". (It would be so funny if Kenjaku actually had no clue who Jin really was and decided he was perfect because of how he looked.)

Now those are the only two scenarios I came up with but then I thought back to that first one.

What if Kenjaku's target wasn't Jin, but Kaori first?

Hear me out!

She had a technique Kenjaku could use, right? Seen it been used twice in the story. Faking the Prison Realm dropping to get Mahito and the others moving away so Kenjaku could go on to do whatever and fighting against Choso and Yuki .

It's a useful technique.

Just like Geto's! Kenjaku didn't just take over Geto's body because he was Gojo's (who Kenjaku wanted to seal away) closest person. He just so happen to be close to Gojo, but Kenjaku really wanted that Curse Manipulation.

(Here's the thing, it's not like Kenjaku could have actually made Geto and Gojo get that close now. That they did on their own. Kenjaku got lucky with that.)

What if that was the case for Kaori? Kenjaku was watching her this whole time because of her Anti-Gravity technique and it just so happen that she was to be Jin's partner?

(Kenjaku is a calculating, manipulative individual, but sometimes, again, it does feel like Kenjaku is just lucky at times.)

Better yet... this is going to sound crazy... but what if she happen to be related, at least, distantly to Kenjaku's previous vessels?

Just what I think, but given Kenjaku's history with the Gojo family, I doubt that's the only family Kenjaku kept tabs on. What if this vessel here...

... had been Kaori's ancestor? What if this vessel was a Kamo? Or someone who is a ancestor to both the Kamo family and whatever other family Kaori came from?

I bet you're thinking "Well, Kaori doesn't have Blood Manipulation".

Yes, but even being in the same family there will be different techniques.

In the Zenin family, Megumi has a different technique from Mai, Naobito, Naoya and other family members.

Gojo and Yuta are distantly related and they have different techniques.

So it's not really a far fetched idea. Have you seen Yuji's family tree?!

What I'm pretty much saying is that what if Kenjaku was keeping tabs on Kaori and her family this whole time? Possessing whatever member's body that seemed useful? Then Kaori came around and Kenjaku already planned to possess her body because of her technique but was lucky enough that she was Jin's wife?

Thinking about it, we know Sukuna figured out that Yuji's father is his twin reincarnated but... was it ever really explicitly stated Kenjaku knew?

Again, what if Kenjaku was just lucky enough that Kaori was Jin's wife but the original plan was to possess her body for her technique?

We don't know anything about the original Kaori, but I bet she has an interesting past. A past that was interesting enough to catch Kenjaku's eye. Whether it be who she is related to or just who she was as a person.

[osunism]

Crystalline

Eyes meet, you know where this goes Her keys in, they take off their clothes They're soaking, caught in a dream Her skin shines, like crystalline —The Midnight, "Crystalline"

🪧 Summary: On the night Yuji Itadori consumes Sukuna’s Finger, Satoru finds a familiar face at the epicenter of a shocking discovery. Takes place three months after If. 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️ Be Advised: Explicit sexual situations, recreational drug use, descriptions of violence, blood mention. ❤️‍🔥 Pairing: Satoru x Sundari [🧿👹]

🔏 This is a commissioned fic by the lovely @septembersums. With her permission, I finally get to post this fic so folks can understand how Satoru and his goddess met. September was kind enough to see my vision and bring it to life in her gorgeous writing style as part of my growing Parallax 'verse. She's an absolute joy to work with and talk to and I highly recommend commissioning a fic writer to bring your vision to life! September's AO3 <- Support her work too!

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 FFN 𑁍 Fic Masterlist 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs 𑁍 HCs & Meta ⛩️

       Satoru is getting bored. 

         As much as he loves shopping, and he does love shopping, even Satoru has a limit when it comes to how long he can wander between food stalls browsing the options. Although boredom might not be the best word for it. Restlessness, maybe. 

         He’s been idling away the hours while he waits for Megumi to call with news that he’s secured another of Sukuna’s fingers. It’s a difficult job for a first year, considering how cursed spirits tend to flock to the cursed fingers, but Satoru is fairly confident Megumi can handle it.

         If not, Satoru will just teleport there as soon as he senses danger. Simple, easy. In theory, it shouldn’t go wrong. That idea does little to quieten down the sense of unease settling into Satoru. There’s something in the air tonight, something that tastes like intuition, something that feels off.

         Satoru attempts to shake the unnatural anxiety by purchasing some more kikufuku. Sweets usually help when he gets a bad feeling like this, which is a decidedly rare occurrence. Even with his impulsive spending, the feeling persists, and it gets stronger. He considers teleporting himself straight to Sendai to see what’s causing it but ultimately decides against it. He’ll know if something happens. 

         A shiver runs down his spine while he’s standing in front of a food truck that sells crepes, and he knows that his intuition was right. In an instant, he’s standing at the peak of a skyscraper, looking over the city. The wind whips at his loose-fitting clothes and his hair, as he pulls his blindfold down to get a good look at the situation at hand. 

         What he sees makes no sense whatsoever. It raises the fine hair at the back of his neck, makes the skin of his arms prickle with goosebumps. 

         Gaze cast towards Sendai, he sees something there— a ripple of cursed energy that looks like Sukuna, but much smaller and less destructive than one would expect of a freshly incarnated Sukuna. It’s a threat, whatever it is, and there’s no question about that, but it’s nothing compared to the other surge of cursed energy in the distance. 

Sendai is a blip on his radar in comparison to the potential nuclear explosion of cursed energy he sees building in Tokyo.

         A massive, ever-swelling fog of cursed energy covers an entire block, settling over the street like a storm cloud. The longer he looks at it, the bigger it grows. 

         It makes little sense, considering that he knows something significant just happened to one of the cursed fingers in Sendai, but it looks like Sukuna himself just appeared in Tokyo. A fully formed Sukuna with all of his power, decidedly unlike the tiny hints of it he catches when he’s near the fingers. 

         This is the real fucking thing— full-fledged, entirely unregulated, a ticking time bomb of a person who will detonate and kill hundreds of people if they aren’t contained and controlled quickly. 

         “How the fuck is Sukuna in two places at once?” Satoru hisses to himself. Not even Satoru could manage something like that. 

         Two threats, two people that he needs to keep away from the higher-ups and whoever else might be looking for an incarnated Sukuna. One, however, is a much bigger problem than the other. 

         A hypnotic bassline thrums in Sundari's ears, a familiar feeling that she normally loves. Right now, though, it’s too much. Something within her is changing, shifting, pulsating— growing. It feels like she’ll be torn apart by the surge of strength within herself, as she stumbles away from the dancefloor filled with gyrating bodies and into the bathroom. 

         Her breaths are labored, pulse racing, as she nearly doubles over against the wall. She’s drunk, sure, and she’s taken a few party drugs just to keep the night going, but she doesn’t feel right. Something’s fucking wrong, but she doesn’t feel bad. No, she feels good. She feels strong, a lot more so than usual. 

         The bathroom is empty right now, which is a shocker at a rave like this, but she’s thankful for it. Nobody needs to see her like this— panting, as the power within her claws and grips at her insides. It just grows, and grows, and grows. With a rough rasp, she stumbles over to the sink to look at herself in the mirror. 

         It might be the drugs talking, but something about her face doesn’t look right. She blinks a few times at the shifting, moving image reflected back at her.

         The scars underneath her eyes aren’t scars anymore. They’re eyeballs. Four of them. She squints at herself, leaning closer to get a better look.

         She should not have four fucking eyes right now. 

         Sundari has tried a lot of shit, but nothing that’s ever warped her perception like this. The extra eyes blink in tandem with her own, and she can somehow see through them. It’s disorienting, the shift in perspective, but her vision is only getting better as she acclimates to it. 

         “The fuck?” She mumbles, gripping onto the sink for balance.

         The porcelain shatters under her grip, and water floods into the bathroom. She’s always been strong— a good fighter, a damn good fighter. She even makes money off of it on the side, but she shouldn’t be that strong. She needs to get the hell out of here before she breaks something else, or worse. She can’t imagine what would happen if she bumped into someone right now with her newfound superhuman strength.

         She leaves the bathroom in a rush, stumbling at first as she ascends the dark stairwell that leads out of the underground rave and back into the streets of Tokyo. With every step, she miraculously seems to be sobering up. The metal door leading outside warps when she shoves it open. Fuck.

The cool night air feels better than it did inside. She inhales deeply, sighing audibly as she leans against the brick wall behind her.

         “Huh. You’re not Sukuna,” a familiar voice drawls from her left.

         She whips her head around to see who’s talking to her when she’s having the worst trip of her life, only to see a face she knows all too well. The wickedly pretty boy she hunted in the club a few months ago, not someone she expected to see tonight. He’s leaning against the wall next to her with his arms crossed, eyeing her warily. 

         “Nah— Sundari, but I thought you knew that,” she snaps back, a little annoyed to see him again right now of all times. “What are you doing here?” 

         “I do know that, but I didn’t expect to see you here either,” he argues, arms still crossed. “I should’ve known those seals on your back were for something big, but I didn’t think it was this big. Sukuna’s daughter, huh?”

         “The fuck are you talking about?” She asks, temper flaring.

         Maybe it’s the newfound strength she’s gaining, but this cryptic, confusing conversation is wearing on at her nerves. Something fucking big is happening to her— the last thing she needs right now is a weird conversation with a guy she fucked a few months ago. 

         “Come with me to my place, and I’ll explain it all,” he offers casually. “It’s a lot safer there than it is here for you. Lots of people are going to want to get their hands on you with all the power you’re gaining right now, and I promise you— I’m the one you want to end up with.”

         “You don’t know anything about me. Why would I go anywhere with you?” She snaps, pushing off of the wall with a little too much strength behind it. 

         The brick crumbles, leaving a sizable crater.

         Satoru looks between the crater and her eyes, as if that proves his point. 

         “You really want to deal with this without any information about what’s happening? What happens when you shove past a stranger on the street and break half of their bones? Or use your technique by accident and kill off a whole city block?”

         She hisses out a couple curses, weighing her options. Her decision is only really made when a fractal of a memory slams into her subconscious, and she relives it like a dream she’s forgotten. 

         The Godslayer, they called her. A monstrosity falling apart underneath her four hands, as she rips it to shreds. Worship, and her mother’s avoidance. 

         “Fuck,” she hisses. What the fuck was that?

         As far as options go, it’s looking slim right now. She could either trust this guy, or she could do exactly what he said when this keeps happening, and she can’t control her own strength. She doesn’t want to hurt people— not innocent people— not if she can help it.

         “What’s it gonna be, Sundari?” He pressures her.

         “Fine, fuck, let’s go,” she says. 

         He reaches out a hand to her, and she takes it begrudgingly. 

         Missing pieces of Sundari’s life start to come together within the next few days. Satoru explains some things to her, like Sukuna, and how she must be his daughter or something similar to have inherited this power from him. Nadja always kept her father a secret from her, a piece of the past that she never wanted to unearth.

         The memories come back in waves, usually when she sleeps. Little bits and pieces that don’t make sense when separated but start to form a clearer picture when she puts them together. She’s a lot older than she thought she was, given that she was worshiped at some point a very, very long time ago. For a number of years that she can’t begin to quantify, Sundari’s power has been sealed away, locked inside of her and restricted, as she’d lived her life like a normal person.

         Satoru explains that Sukuna was recently incarnated somewhere else, and the seal was broken, which explains why she was suddenly able to break sinks, walls, and doors with her bare hands. The four eyes are hard to get used to, but at least the extra arms haven’t shown up yet.

         Now, she’s here in Satoru’s house, being fiercely guarded day and night like some sort of prisoner. Apparently, she’s in grave danger right now, as if shit wasn’t weird enough without that added layer of stress. Satoru’s the strongest sorcerer, which he told her very arrogantly, and his entire job is killing curses like her father, and possibly like her.

         It’s been tense. Sundari isn’t naive enough to think that she’s entirely safe with Satoru, seeing as he wants to kill her dad because he’s too powerful. Where does that leave Sundari at the end of this? She hates being guarded and coddled like a child, like she’s something that needs to be contained and controlled, rather than a person.

         She’s fucking stressed, and she can’t sleep without these dreams of her long-forgotten past haunting her. She doesn’t necessarily blame Satoru for needing to kill Sukuna— he’s chaos incarnate, he’ll kill thousands of people if he isn’t stopped.

         Somewhere deep inside of herself, Sundari is afraid. She’s afraid that Sukuna’s innate violence is lurking beneath her skin, waiting to come out when she doesn’t expect it. Afraid that if she’s left to her own devices, if she gets angry or upset, she’ll become like him. Her memories and Satoru’s stories do enough to remind her of what her father has done, of what she’s capable of if she doesn’t control herself.

         But she can control herself. She’s not a loose cannon waiting to be muzzled. Satoru might not see it yet, but she can.

         She doesn’t dare mention her feelings to Satoru. Not yet at least. He’s been nice to her while she’s staying here, he didn’t even make a fuss about it when she accidentally broke a door of its hinges trying to open it, but how much can she trust him? Not enough to reveal her deepest, darkest fears, that’s for fucking sure. 

         It takes Sundari a week to gain full control of her own strength. Like an astronaut that’s just come back from Mars, it takes her a while to settle into herself and feel comfortable with her own body’s limitations again. She knows not to push too hard on doors or rip the handles off of the sink.

         Muscle memory from the distant past is kicking in to help her contain her technique. At first, her cursed energy was a serious problem that was only contained by the seals Satoru has around his house. Now, she’s maintaining it herself so well that even Satoru was shocked to see it.

         The issue now is the weird tension between the two of them. Satoru’s helpful, but she can see the hunger in his eyes when he takes off the blindfold. She feels it within herself, too, now that she can focus on it without worrying so much about her own strength. Something unfinished and unspoken, leftover from the last time they were together. It was a good night, he was a good fuck, and that was supposed to be the end of it.

         Now, they’re living together, and despite the domesticity of that, she still can’t trust him. So, like any reasonable person, she comes up with an idea of how their get over the uncanny tension, or at least make it bearable.

         “Do you have any weed around here?” She asks, as they’re sitting on the couch together, silently watching some movie she’s not paying attention to.

         Satoru turns his head slowly to look at her, intrigue written on his features. God, he’s pretty. A little too fucking pretty— it makes sense that he’s as powerful as her, given that he looks like that.

“I could get some,” he answers nonchalantly.

         Sundari smiles, and maybe they’ll work out their differences after all. Even now, she struggles to be wary of him, he’s so smooth with his words. He matches her wit with ease and returns it just the same. They’re too similar— a little arrogant, both of them, but she doesn’t see it as a bad thing. She sees it as a challenge.

         Satoru does come back with some weed a few minutes later, and she struggles to watch him roll a joint— he’s good at everything, apparently, but not that.

         “God, you’re bad at that. Let me do it,” she says, frowning as she takes the half-rolled, uneven thing out of his hands.

         “I was getting there,” he pouts, rolling his eyes.

         “You really weren’t,” she teases, which draws a smirk out of him. He likes it when she talks back, she’s realized.

         Satoru watches with a catlike grin, as she fixes it for him. Her eyes lock with his as she runs her tongue over the smooth paper, before flattening it down to make a perfectly cylindrical joint. His eyes flicker between her lips and her own when she presses it between her lips and leans toward him, waiting for a light.

         He lights it, and she feels a thousand times better as soon as she inhales. Something to calm the nerves a little bit, it helps a lot, and he has money and connections enough to get some good shit.

         Maybe it’s a little too good, actually. They’re both on the moon talking about nothing, passing it between each other and laughing at each other’s jokes. He’s funny, she thinks, as she’s looking at him. The nerve of him to be hot and funny. He’s trying to explain his technique to her, but she’s lost before he gets half of it out.

         “Bet I could take you,” she says, relaxing with her head in her palm, as she sits a little closer to him than she realizes.

         “In a fight?” He asks, teasing and a little flirtatious.

         She grins. “Yeah, in a fight.”

         “Bet you couldn’t,” he argues.

         She’s not one to lose fights, and she tells him about it. The Yakuza pays her good money to fight in underground rings, and they wouldn’t hedge their bets on her if she lost. Satoru counters it by telling her that he’s never lost a fight— maybe for a second or two, but he always comes out on top.

         “Really? Last time I saw you, you didn’t end up on top at all,” she teases him, remembering the way she made him beg to fuck her.

         “That was an ambush,” he says. “You just caught me off guard. Won’t happen again, trust me.”

         “Yeah? We’ll see about that, Satoru. I’m disappointed you didn’t actually knock my IUD loose if you’re that strong.”

         “We can always try again.” 

         Satoru is a fucking flirt, a huge one, and she’s starting to like it. Maybe it’s a little Stockholm Syndrome, because they’ve been living together for weeks now, but she’s starting to actually like him. Before, they could’ve fucked again and went their separate ways, and that would be all there is to it.

         But now…

         Now, she doesn’t know. It’s just so easy to fall into a routine with him, to forget the situation and enjoy hanging out with him, despite the looming threat that he might try to kill her someday if she ever loses control.

        There’s chemistry between the two of them, chemistry that’s growing and changing with every day that they spend together. She’s never been one to fall in love or get attached for long, always too ready to move onto the next thing to get caught up in feelings.

         But all of these little moments between them during their time together are adding up, piling on top of each other, until whatever it is between them feels like more. His hand on the small of her back when he passes by her, a gentle touch here and there when she starts to spiral, even a hug one time.

         He says “Morning, beautiful” when she’s just rolled out of bed, curls sticking up in every direction and a sour look on her face. Always with a sarcastic drawl and a shit-eating grin on his face.

         She usually just rolls her eyes about it, but maybe she likes it a little. And he’s funny— the fucking nerve of him to look like that and be funny. She’s never met a man that can make her laugh like he does.

         The way he looks at her now— it’s more than fleeting affection. His gaze is lovestruck. She never thought the icy blue color of his eyes could look so warm. She misses him when he’s gone, and he always gives her the biggest grin when he comes back. Mutual attraction has blossomed and thickened. It’s been weeks of this now, and they’re unlikely friends. 

         They give each other shit when neither of them can seem to say something nice, but when she looks at him, her insides feel tight, like she can’t breathe. She can tell he feels it, too, by the way that he always wants to be close to her. He’ll make any excuse to sit next to her, to put his arm around the back of the couch when they’re smoking together, which has become a little bit of a ritual now. It makes it easier to forget their circumstances and just talk, which they somehow end up doing for hours.

         He always says how much he likes her curls, how much he likes the look on her face when she gets a wicked idea, her smart mouth and her attitude. He likes the way she dances, likes the way her body moves when she’s drunk, and the music is loud.

         She sees the way he looks at her, sees the way he takes care of her when she’s struggling with the memories that won’t leave her alone. They’re coming back thicker now, heavier than they were before. She feels haunted by it all, haunted by the life that she’s lived in complete ignorance to what she really is.

         More than anything, she’s haunted by her father. Sukuna, the worst human-turned-curse that has ever existed, at least in Japan. Why did her mother fall for him? For a fucking monster? And where does that leave Sundari?

         She knows herself; she knows that she can be destructive, she can be cruel. There’s an ache inside of her that longs for violence, an itch that she used to scratch with cage-fights and beating the living fuck out of men who abused sex workers, in her past life. She knows now that even if her causes were righteous and good, she enjoyed it.

         The blood, the violence, the chance to unleash the demon within herself that she knows is there. It’s just beneath her skin.

         In a moment of self-collapse, she tells Satoru the truth.

         “I never wanted to be his daughter,” she says, curled in on herself in her vulnerability, knees pressed to her chest. “I do my fucking best to not be destructive like he is, but everyone— your higher-ups, whoever the fuck else, they’ll only ever see me for these.”

         She gestures to the thick bands of black ink around her wrists.

         “I’ll never be free from people who want to control me for it. I can’t even fucking hide them like he can,” she mutters, frustrated and angry. “And even if I like you, I can’t stay here forever, so what do we do when this is over?”

         “You could work with me,” Satoru offers quietly from where he sits beside her.

         He doesn’t invade her space; he knows that she wouldn’t want him to right now. Instead, he sits with her, and he listens. Patiently, quietly— he doesn’t talk over her, he doesn’t give her solutions unless she asks for them. He’s kind to her, gentle with her when he can tell that she needs it.

         She has no fucking clue what to do with that.

         “And everyone we work with will only ever see me as a monster,” she answers, shaking her head.

         “Maybe, but you don’t have to prove them right,” he says. “You’re nothing like him, Sundari. I’ve talked to him, I’ve seen him. You’re less destructive than you think you are, and you make an effort to be good, to do the right thing. That’s what matters, that’s what makes the two of you so different. He wants violence, you want to control yourself and do the right thing.”

         “Does it matter? Will anyone other than you ever believe me?”

         She looks at the tattoos and despises them, wishes she could scrub them from her skin. This isn’t what she’s ever wanted to be. It wasn’t ever her choice, but the world will treat her like it was.

         “They will if you prove them wrong,” he says.

         A moment of silence lapses between the two of them, as they sit together in the living room, quiet and ruminating. Sundari’s frustration feels like fire in her veins. Even now, she’s struggling to contain everything within her. Her body isn’t big enough to fit all of this power inside it without an outlet.

         “What if we tested it out?” She asks, looking up at him, an idea on the tip of her tongue. “Just a little fight between the two of us— let me see if I can control it without breaking everything and losing control.”

         Satoru’s lips curve up into a hint of a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that.”

         She realizes that she’s falling for him in that moment, that all of this forced cohabitation has become something more to her, something that tastes like love on her tongue, even when she can’t bring herself to say it.

         Instead, she says, “Okay. Just don’t cry about it too much when I win.”

         “Ha, I could say the same to you,” he answers, and she knows his words taste like love, too. 

         It’s a friendly fight, Satoru reminds himself, as Sundari lunges for him again. She’s fast— faster than he imagined she would be, and she’s good. Resilient, too. She doesn’t wear down easily— her cursed energy is still thrumming through the air after half an hour of hand-to-hand combat.

         Her fighting style is unique, foreign to Satoru. She wasn’t trained in Japan, that much is clear, based on the way that she moves. The hand signs that she uses when she activates her technique against his are ones he’s never seen before.

         It wears him down to keep up with her unfamiliar movements. If he were anyone else, he’d have lost this fight half an hour ago due to the way she continues to periodically drain his cursed energy.

         But Satoru isn’t just anybody. His reserves are infinite, and he can tell that she’s realizing that, based on the scowl she’s sporting.

         “C’mon, Sundari— stop holding back,” he taunts her, after barely dodging one of her well-timed punches. She’s strong.

And she looks fucking good with a thin sheen of sweat on her skin, whipping around to dodge when he teleports behind her and aims a blow to the middle of her back. She almost blocks it, but he’s quicker than even her eyes can track. It lands, a punch straight to the chest, which sends her flying backwards into a tree.

         That should be the end of it, he thinks, when she gets back up with a wild, feral smile on her face. A little bit of blood trickles down from her lip, and for some god-forsaken reason, his pants feel a little tighter. She lunges for him again, and again. It’s a miss, but she manages to put him on the defensive again. He lifts up into the air to avoid a kick, and she drags him back down, which he counters with an elbow.

         “Stop fucking running if you think I’m holding back,” she taunts him in turn, before he sends her flying off out of view for a split second.

         He thinks that surely another hit like that will make her surrender. God, they’ve been at it all morning. His pulse is racing— he’s never fought anyone as strong as she is. It’s a fucking rush. The blood in his body doesn’t know if it should focus on his brain or his dick. Sundari fights like a warrior, like a goddess.

         She emerges from the tree line with two extra arms extending from her shoulder blades. She rolls them out, unphased at the changes to her body. There’s an extra mouth on her exposed stomach with sharp teeth, grinning at him with the same expression as the one on her face.

         His blood is definitely headed to his dick. That is a goddess. A vengeful, wild goddess. Her curls have come undone, fanning out around her beautifully, while she practically glows with cursed energy. Satoru has wanted her for weeks now, he’s wanted her since he first saw her again, but right now? Satoru needs her.

         He needs to see his goddess sprawled out beneath him, hot and sweaty and snapping at him with her sharp teeth, crying out for more as he fucks her. He wants to feel all four of her arms on him, pulling him in closer, he wants the extra mouth to lick him while his tongue is down her throat.

         She’s on him before he can blink, and this time— he doesn’t hold back.

         The blows shared between them are so rapid, neither has time to think. The sounds of skin meeting skin with dull thuds and their heavy, panting breaths are the only noises to be heard. He can barely regenerate his cursed energy at the same speed that she withers it away, and he realizes distantly that he might have never felt as alive before.

         One failed movement, and he’s on top of her. His own goddess is hissing out curses underneath him, struggling against his strength as he pins her down to the dewy, wet grass beneath them.

         “Yield,” he demands, voice low and breathless.

         “Fuck you,” she spits back, locking her legs around his waist to try and flip him. He doesn’t budge, not this time. There’s only one thing on his mind.

         “Yield, Sundari,” he says again, this time with a coaxing warmth.

         All four of her eyes are wide, pupils dilated to the point that her garnet eyes look black. She still struggles against him, but she’s slowing down, realizing how close they are. Very close, at that. Satoru’s on top of her with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pressed against her at every intimate junction with his fingers fastened around two of her wrists.

         Her other arms have receded back into her, given the position they’re in and the shift of the mood.

         “I said fuck you,” she repeats herself, quieter this time, as her eyes flit between his own and his lips. “I’m not yielding.”

         “You sure?” He murmurs, as his nose brushes hers. “You look like it. You look like you want to.”

That reignites some of her flame, but she pours it into a different approach this time. Always one to move first, she leans up to crash her lips into his. Satoru returns it with even more ferocity, tongue sweeping between her teeth as he presses her down into the grass, groaning against her lips.

         It’s frantic, feverish, the way that she’s tugging at his clothes, and he’s tugging at hers. His cock throbs against the confines of his briefs, as he’s yanking her athletic shorts down her legs and moving his attention to her neck. She nearly growls when he sinks his teeth into her skin, sucking a bruise into the side of her neck.

         She meant it when she said she wasn’t submitting to him, he realizes, as she flips them over with the practiced ease of a fighter, situating herself on top of him. Her hand slips underneath his shirt, desperate for touch and seeking more, more, more of it.

         “Ready to start begging again, Satoru? You did it so well last time,” She purrs, grinning wickedly, as she scrapes her teeth against his collarbone, eager to slip lower.

         “Ha, in your fucking dreams,” he says, before slamming her onto her back.

         She gasps, but he knows she can take it. He’s been fighting with her for an hour and tossed her into more than a few tree trunks, she can handle it. If the wide-eyed look on her face is any indication, she likes it. One hand around her throat, he slips the other down her body and between her thighs to feel her wetness. And god, she’s soaking.

         Circling her clit with his fingertips, he smiles down at her and knows that he looks just as feral as she does. She writhes underneath him, back arching.

         “You got me once, baby. I’ll give you that,” he admits breathlessly, slipping two fingers inside to draw out a strangled moan. “But this time, you’re gonna fucking beg for it. You’re going to tell me how bad you want me to fuck you, and I’ll think about it if you ask nice enough.”

         “You—You’re a fucking dick,” she says, but it’s hard to talk when she’s moaning. “Not begging, not doing it.”

         “Yeah?”

         He knows how she likes it; he remembers her body well. Her pussy sucks in his fingers greedily, as he wraps a hand around her throat and squeezes.

         “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs reverently, honestly. “You’re such a brat too, but you’re gonna take it so good for me, aren’t you? Telling me what a fucking dick I am, while you’re this wet for me?”

         “Fuck you,” she says, but it’s a whine more than anything.

         She’s getting close, he can tell. The adrenaline still pumping through her veins makes it easier to get close without him having to work for it. He’ll edge her time and time again until she’s a mess, slick and wet and crying for him. He traces the tattoos along her chest with his fingertips when he finally releases her throat, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers. Her walls constrict around his fingers, but he retreats before she can cum.

         One, two, three times. He brings her to the edge until she’s all but snapping at him, hissing out curses and whines.

         “Say please, Sundari,” he murmurs, low and taunting. “Say please, and I’ll make you cum. I’ll make you cum so hard— I know you want it, you’re so wet for me.”

         “Fuck— Fuck,” she mewls, rocking her hips against his fingers, as if he’ll let her cum. “Please— Please? Please, Satoru,” she finally relents.

         “Good fucking girl,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her, as he finally lets her stumble over the edge. “So fucking good for me,” he coos against her lips, as she spasms beneath him, whining and humping his fingers through her orgasm.

         The shockwaves of it barely have time to end before he’s slipping his cock into her warmth, hissing out a breath at the way she sucks him in. So wet, and so tight. He can’t help himself, can’t wait a second for her to adjust to his length, he sets a brutal pace in fucking her.

         “So fucking good,” he growls against her lips, biting her lower one until he can taste her blood. “That’s it— fucking take it, take all of it.”

         He maneuvers her over onto all fours, pressing a hand down to the apex of her spine to force her into a severe arch, as she moans incoherently beneath him. The sound of his hips flush against her ass makes him bite his lip, muscles tensing and flexing involuntarily as he tries to hold back from finishing inside her. She’s about to cum, he can tell, but not without permission.

         “Beg for it, tell me how much you fucking want it,” he demands, moving to cover her body with his own, murmuring in her ear. “Know you want it; know you want me to fill up your pussy— don’t you?”

         “Yes— yes— please,” she whines, and Satoru’s ego swells to new heights upon seeing this goddess falling apart underneath him.

         “That’s it, just like that— don’t stop— tell me how much you fucking need it,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, tugging her earlobe between his teeth.

         And she does— she begs beautifully, knees buckling as she trembles through another orgasm. Satoru chases her down to the ground, slamming himself into her over and over again until his entire body seizes up with pleasure. He bites down hard on her shoulder when he comes, filling her up with every drop of his cum.

         The two of them stay like that for a while to catch their breath, still half-clothed and panting against each other in the crater they just fucked into the earth.

         “Still a dick,” she reminds him, which draws a chuckle out of him.

         “You yielded, didn’t you?” He says arrogantly, kissing the nape of her neck as he pulls off of her.

         “You’re hearing things,” she says, sitting up to readjust her top. “I never surrendered to you, and I never will. At least, not in a fight.” She winks at him, and he smiles back at her.

         Fuck, he’s pretty sure he’s in love with her.

         Later that night after a shower and some food, Sundari sleeps in Satoru’s bed for the first time. It feels natural, after all they’ve done. They fucked again after that— inside, this time, rather than outside in the wet grass. Neither of them broached the topic of feelings, but they both know it’s there. Something intangible but real settling between the two of them.

         After such a long day, she falls asleep almost immediately, only to be plagued by dreams again.

         This one, however, is different from the rest.

         She’s standing in her hometown, far from Japan and Satoru and everything else. Back in her old life, where she was The Godslayer, dressed in the trappings of a demigoddess worshiped by her people. This isn’t uncommon in her dreams, but she has an unexpected visitor in this one.

         A monk, it seems. His hair is black and long, silky as he moves toward her with a deceptively serene smile on his face. Stitches sit on his forehead, which draws her attention and makes her wary.

         “Sundari,” he says. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. Gojo Satoru has made it exceedingly difficult to reach you in the past few months.”

         Immediately, she’s suspicious. Whoever this monk is, she doesn’t like the energy he emanates. She doesn’t like the look on his face— so calm, so unbothered, he must be hiding something.

         “And what do you want?” She asks, straight to the point.

         He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want something from her. Satoru warned her that the higher-ups of the jujutsu society might not be the only people that are looking for her. This monk strikes familiarity somewhere within her, as if she’s seen him before but can’t remember it for some reason.

         “Still as blunt as ever, I see,” he says, sitting next to her. “I have a proposition for you.”

         “Of course you do.”

         “Sukuna has returned, as has your power,” he says. “Do you know why you were sealed?”

         She grits her teeth, unwilling to answer. He knows something that she doesn’t, but she’s not naive enough to be tempted by whatever he’s offering until she knows what he wants in exchange for it.

         “I’ll take that as a no,” he says in her silence. “There are so many mysteries surrounding you, most of which are unknown even to you. Your father, who he is and how you came to be. The seals on your back, an entire life lived that you can only remember bits and pieces of.”

         She thinks of her mother in that moment. Nadja would know, she’s certain. The monk has piqued her curiosity— of course she wants to know who she was before her memories disappeared, and of course she wants to know about her father, even if she’d never admit it aloud.

         If she had to ask anyone, it would be her mom.

         Seemingly reading her mind, the monk laughs. “Nadja thinks of you as a child, even after all these years. She’d never tell you anything.”

         “And I’m guessing you can,” she says, annoyed at this long-winded speech.

         “Correct,” he agrees. “I can reveal it all to you, shed light on every shadow in your life. I’ve watched you closely since you were born, Sundari. I even helped to put those seals on your back after you slaughtered that town.”

         Sundari’s eyes grow wide, horrified at the implication.

         “What do you want?” She demands again.

         “I want your cooperation in the coming days,” he offers nonchalantly. “Sukuna will regain his full power sooner rather than later, and he’ll fight alongside me in an… event that I’m planning. You could meet him for yourself, let him tell you about his relationship with Nadja, and I could fill in all of those blank spots that you can’t stop obsessing over.” 

         “So, you want to have control over me when you do something big and fucked up in the future,” she says with an eyeroll. “Got it.”

         She seemingly cannot stop running into people that want to control her or collar her. Even Satoru isn’t immune to that. As much as she likes to live in the fantasy of their relationship, she knows that his goal at the end of this is to contain her. In that way, he’s not so different to the monk.

         “I want to work with you,” he corrects her. “In exchange, you’ll know everything, including your father. I know you’re not interested now, you think you have other options, so I’ll give you time. When you realize that I’m the only source for uncovering the mysteries your mother keeps from you, I’ll find you. Until then, Sundari.”

         He presses a hand to her shoulder, a way of saying goodbye, and she wakes with a sharp gasp, bolting upright in the bed.

         Satoru is awake in an instant, eyeing her warily in the darkness. 

         “Nightmare?” He asks groggily. 

         For a moment, she considers keeping it to herself, just in case. Deep inside, she knows that even if Satoru likes her— even if he loves her— his ultimate goal is not so different to the monk. He wants to control her; he wants her freedom. She’s given it to him by agreeing to stay here willingly for so long, why should she offer up more of herself to someone who will use her like a pawn? 

         They all do. That’s all she is to them. Whether it’s the monk, or Satoru, or the higher-ups, or her mother— they want to own her, to contain her. They want her collared and docile, so that she doesn’t self-destruct and take the world down with her, like Sukuna. 

         “What do you want out of this?” She asks, defensive and guarded. 

         Satoru sits up, shaking his head at her. “What do you mean?” 

         “What do you want from this? From me? What’s your goal?” 

         “To protect you,” he says. “I’ve told you that from the beginning—” 

         “No— you know I don’t need protecting. What is it? Is it just control?” 

         No one has ever protected Sundari, nor have they ever needed to. She’s been on her own, and she’s been fine that way. If anything, she’s always been the protector, the savior, the one who helps when things go to shit, and someone needs muscle to deal with it. 

         “Control?” He asks, huffing out a laugh. “Is that what you think this is?” 

         “What should I think? Why else would you keep me here?” 

         He scoffs. “I don’t know what you saw in that dream, but the past month you’ve been here, the only thing I’ve done is protect you. The higher-ups want you dead, god knows who else wants you dead— I keep them away from you,” he says, unwavering. “I just want to keep you safe, to make sure that no one wants to use you for their own gain.” 

         “So that you can use me instead, right? At the end of this? I’m powerful, so you need to contain me, collar me, make sure I don’t fuck you over—” 

         “Sundari,” he says sharply, cutting her off. “Do you think I could control you, even if I wanted to? If you wanted to leave here right now and go be a force of fucking nature, do you think I could stop you?” 

         She stares at him, unsure of her answer. Could he? 

         “You’re not a pawn to me, you are not something I need to keep under my thumb,” he continues. “You’re an equal to me,” he admits softly. “In every way, I see you as an equal, and the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to keep you away from people who won’t see you that way.” 

         “Why?” She murmurs, uncharacteristically soft and fragile. 

         “I love you,” he says. “I— I don’t know if it’s too soon, or— fuck, I don’t know, but I do. I love you, love the way you laugh, love your bad attitude, love the way you fuss and fight with me. I want to be with you— I don’t want to take your freedom, I want to work alongside you, just– I want to be near you,” he murmurs. 

         “You love me?” She mumbles, leaning closer. 

         “I love you,” he repeats, placing a hand on her cheek. His eyes scan along her face for any reaction. “That’s all there is. I don’t care what you are, or what other people think you are, I just want to keep you safe.” 

         Maybe she can believe him, if only for right now. The monk’s offer is still on the table, still a temptation that she’ll have to grapple with, but this is real. She’s never been looked after before like this, she’s never had anyone feel the need to protect her, to keep her safe. She’s always been strong— when has there ever been the need for it?

         But Satoru is strong, too, and she understands the way he feels. She wants to protect him, too, whatever the cost may be. If anything happened to him, she’d lose her fucking mind, she’d destroy everything in her path. 

         “Okay— Okay. I’ll work with you,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to his. A little grin creeps up on her face. “Under the condition that I want strong opponents— I want to fight people that are worth it.” 

         “Done,” he says, smiling back at her. “Are you okay?” 

         “Yeah,” she breathes. “I— I love you. It might be too soon, but–” 

         He kisses her before she can say another word, and for the time-being, they’re happy. 

Writing © 2024 @septembersums and posted with permission. Sundari Hikmat © 2024 @osunism. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging original posts is okay]. This includes my masterlist and fic format as well as feeding my writing to an AI garbage machine. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. Title and footer banners by me. Dividers and support by @cafekitsune.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

[stellamancer]

choux à la crème — (reader x satoru gojo)

notes: uh. see i have this thing where sometimes i get inspired by objects. or food. that's what happened. sorry, revealing the reader from this fic verse went to the kyoto school. that's because i'm biased myself lmao. i also looked up if there was a beard papa's in dotonbori. and i guess there really is. who woulda thought.

contains: sexual innuendo (licking stuff off fingers, thinking about licking/sucking on fingers)

wc: 1.6k (why is it this long???)

“Oh, hey, hey!”

Gojo’s excited voice reminds you of an hyperactive child, loud and fast. When you think about it, you don’t think there’s really not much of a difference; he's pretty much a gigantic child.

You’d been sent out to Osaka on a mission, and Gojo, for what you can only assume was his own amusement, decided to accompany you. As annoying as it was to have him tag along, his presence made the mission infinitely easier.

Though, you really could have handled it all by yourself.

With the mission all taken care of, Gojo’s taken it upon himself to drag you around Dotonbori like you’re a couple of tourists, eating through the street food the district has to offer. You’d never admit it to him, but you don’t mind it all that much; the food in Osaka is pretty good after all. Then again, as a Kyoto school alum, you might be biased.

You look over to see what it is that’s caught Gojo’s attention and you see him pointing at a Beard Papa’s— a cream puff chain. It's nothing too special; they have locations in Tokyo too, but it's not like you should expect Gojo's indomitable sweet tooth to care.

“We should go get some!” he demands, practically pulling you by the arm toward the storefront. You know when Gojo says ‘we’ he’s really just talking about himself. It’s fine though, you’re not all that hungry after all the other things he’s convinced you to eat.

Then, the warm buttery scent of freshly baked pastries fills your nostrils and you decide that maybe you’ve got room for just one cream puff.

You wait behind Gojo as he puts his order in for some ridiculous number of mini-cream puffs, but when he’s done he turns to you and tilts his head. “What do you want?”

Stunned, you stare at him. You’d fully expected to foot the bill for your own cream puff— he hadn’t covered anything else you’d eaten today so why now all of a sudden?

Sensing your hesitation, he smiles at you, but you can’t help but be suspicious of the random act of generosity. You know he can tell because his expression quickly changes to a pout. “What’s with that face?”

“I can pay for myself,” you say.

The smile’s back now, playful and amused. “I know, but just let me treat you this once, okay?”

You frown. Still not convinced.

“Or, you can just let me order for you. That could be fun! Let’s see…” Gojo whirls around to look at the menu, his expression suddenly devious. As wary as you are concerning Gojo’s intentions here, you know it’s a dangerous play putting your fate in his hands, especially when sweets are involved. “Maybe another two dozen…”

You absolutely cannot eat that many cream puffs. Granted, Gojo probably could eat whatever you don’t, but…

“Okay, okay, I’ll order!” you relent, shooting Gojo a quick glare. As usual, he’s completely unfazed, that stupid smile back on his dumb face. “I’ll get a creme brulee cream puff.”

“Just one?” the kid at the register asks, glancing at Gojo. The sheer size of his order probably conditioned them to think you’d have the same sized appetite.

“Just one,” you echo, confirming the order.

The kid nods and Gojo moves in to pay for everything on his card. You step off to the side and not too long after Gojo joins you, a yellow box filled with his cream puffs in one hand, and a small paper pouch containing yours in the other.

“Here you go!” he says cheerfully, plopping the cream puff into your hand.

You stare down at it, still warm, and then you look at Gojo. His attention is clearly on you, expectant and waiting. “You know you didn’t have to…”

He shrugs, opening the box with his now free hand and tosses one of the cream puffs into his massive mouth. “It’s fine.”

You scowl. “I don’t want to owe you.”

Gojo stops and gapes at you, before saying, sounding completely and utterly scandalized, “Is our friendship really so transactional? I thought you liked me!”

“Shut up!” you hiss. “You know what I mean!”

“Oh… So you do like me! I knew it!”

Gojo’s selective hearing has you seeing red and it takes all your self control to not waste the cream puff he bought you by throwing it at his face. “I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t not say it.”

“Gojo…” You raise a hand and press your fingers to your temple, hoping to stave off any Gojo induced headaches.

He laughs and says, his voice light. “It’s no big deal, you know, it’s just one cream puff.”

You sigh. He does have a point. Not like he’s breaking the bank over it. “...I guess.” Pause. “Thanks.”

He grins. “You better hurry up and eat that— it tastes best when the sugar on top is still warm.”

You nod and pull the paper back to take a bite. Unlike regular cream puffs, this one is collapsed, the pastry forming something akin to a bowl where all the cream filling sits. Over the top of the cream is a layer of hardened sugar, torched so it’s dark brown and caramelized. Looking at it now, there’s no way you’re going to be able to eat this without making a mess.

“If you’re too full from everything else, I’ll gladly eat it,” Gojo teases, reaching one hand toward your cream puff, his fingers wiggling menacingly like he’s going to steal it.

“Just give me a sec!” you snap, swatting at his hand. Might as well go for it. “Thanks again.”

You shove your face into the cream puff, the sugar top crunching as you bite down. As expected, it gets messy, and even with the paper packaging, you manage to get cream on your fingers. You consider taking a second to clean them off, but now that you’ve taken a bite, the cream puff’s structural integrity is quickly failing. If you don’t finish it fast, you’re going to have a larger mess on your hands.

Literally.

Hurriedly, you shove the rest of the cream puff in your mouth, ignoring how some of the filling smears across your cheek. Once the cream puff is gone, you crumple the wrapping in one hand and inspect the other. The mess isn’t as bad as you thought and you lick the remaining cream from the pads of your fingers. It’s a bit uncouth, but it’s not like Gojo will care.

At least, that’s what you think, but when you look at him, he’s clearly gawking at you through the material of his blindfold, his hand hovering awkwardly near his mouth like he’d just tossed in a cream puff, but hadn’t moved to grab another.

Confused, you tilt your head. “Gojo?”

The sound of your voice seems to startle him out of whatever daze he’s in and reaches toward you, his voice low as he smirks, “Missed some.”

Right. Your cheek. You quickly reach up and, with your thumb, wipe the cream toward your mouth. Your tongue darts out, swiping over your thumb as it laps up the remaining cream. For good measure, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Gojo’s hand drops to his side, limp. And though you can’t see it, you just know he’s staring again. Why? And why does it look like the tips of his ears are a little pink? Could it be that he’s… blushing?

Why?

“You… okay?” you ask tentatively.

“Yeah!” Gojo replies, and you think his voice actually sounds a little strained. “Totally okay!”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely!” he insists. “In fact, I’m so okay, that I’m going to share some of my cream puffs with you. Aren’t I so nice?”

“Gojo, I don’t actually— mmph!” you start, but he won’t hear any of it. He reaches into his box and shoves a cream puff straight into your mouth. It feels like it nearly explodes on contact, the sweet vanilla flavor coating your entire tongue.

“The cream puffs from here are so good, right?” he asks, his voice louder than usual. He’s not wrong, but you don’t know how he expects you to answer; your mouth is still kind of full.

Once you swallow, you try to speak. “Gojo, really, I—”

“Here! Have another!” he says, stuffing yet another cream puff in your mouth before you can even finish your sentence.

Now, he’s just being ridiculous. You quickly chew at it until it’s small enough for you to gulp down. This time you don’t even think about tasting it. He’s got another one prepped, ready to thrust it in your mouth, but you move out of the way. “Gojo, stop. I don’t want any more.”

His hand goes completely still. Disturbingly still, you realize. Gojo’s always moving, wiggling, fidgeting, as if he’s got too much energy for his stupidly large body to handle. To see him stop moving... It’s weird. It’s almost wrong.

You don’t know what comes over you, especially when you just said you didn’t want any more, but you lean forward and wrap your mouth around the cream puff he’s holding. The corners of your lips brush against his fingers and a strange feeling runs down your spine and straight to the deepest pit of your stomach. You think of trying to swallow the cream puff whole. You think of lingering there, letting your tongue trace the shape of his fingers. You think of—

You pull away from him, refusing to look him in the face as you finish this cream puff. Once you swallow, you say, quietly. “You’re right. They’re really good.”

Gojo is quiet. Oddly so. But then, he laughs, way too loud as he says, his voice still strained. “Told ya so.”

[megumimania]

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH - shoko ieiri

warnings: shoko x fem!reader, rct has minor side effects , fluff, shoko finally getting taken care of, rct = reverse cursed technique

a/n: shoko yearners (me) rise!

you sighed at her stubbornness.

shoko couldn’t even stand up before her limbs went to jelly and she flopped back onto the couch—a minor side effect of abusing her rct when she worked late nights at the hospital.

yet she was still trying to do the laundry despite you insisting that she needed rest.

“babe it’s fine. i can take care of myself.”

she protested, shooing you away. but you physically couldn’t when she was in such a bad state. you accepted her wishes but you lingered outside the laundry room ready to catch her if she fell.

she was always a fierce beacon of independence, it made sense when she spent most of her adolescence shacked up in the four sterile walls of the hospital, working in silence and solitude fixing up the most unimaginable horrors unbeknownst to man.

however you wanted her to rely and depend on you too. you saw how much stress she carried from work, causing her to be easily irritable but you didn’t take her outbursts personally. shoko being the sole doctor who could perform rct on others in the whole tokyo region was taxing.

so when you saw her knees about to buckle from carrying the load of laundry. you were there in an instant. holding her with such gentleness as if she was going to break with the slightest touch.

her eyes that were full of fire and determination gave way to her true feelings; exhaustion and pain. it broke your heart seeing her like this but you both knew as long as curses reigned the earth and there were sorcerers made to fight them that this would be a continuous cycle.

“will you finally let me take care of you now?” you said softly, brushing the stray hairs away from her face. shoko was honestly too tired to put up a fight, she just needed some sleep.

she mumbled a tired “yeah” which was all the confirmation you needed. shoko let herself go, letting you take care of her the way she desperately needed. background noise from the tv played as you nestled her into bed with a hot water battle, some soup and vitamins and lots of love and kisses.

in the midst of all this shoko realised three things:

1.being taken care of was pretty damn nice

2.she was stubborn as hell and that’s something that needed to work on.

3. she was so lucky to have you, the most beautiful amazing person in the world as her girlfriend.

she slept like a baby that night knowing that you’d always be by her side, ready to catch her if she ever falls.