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konigbabe · 1 year

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the great war

DAY 3 ⇢ Hate Sex Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!curse user!reader Word count: 4k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; hate sex; timejump (2007 → 2018); lovers to enemies vibes; angst; lots of self-loating; pronebone; p-in-v; angry (??) Gojo; unreliable narrator Summary: When the news of Suguru Geto's death reach your ears, the weapon in your grasp guides you to the place where the cause lies - to Satoru Gojo. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]. Divider is mine.

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His palm presses firmly between your shoulder blades, a commanding touch that demands submission, while his other hand clamps onto your hips, fingers digging into the curves of your flesh with just the right amount of pressure.

September 2007

Buddhists believe that life is filled with suffering and misery. That death, in the end, is not a singular event, but rather a fundamental contribution to the misery of human existence.

It was a doctrine you refused to believe in. Spending days by the side of fellow sorcerers, suffering and misery rarely crossed your mind. It wasn't that you were naive or ignorant – quite the contrary. As a sorcerer-in-training, you were acutely aware of the dangers and horrors that lurked in the shadows. Cursed spirits, malevolent curses, and the constant struggle to protect the oblivious, helpless civilians were all part of your reality.

However, you clung to an alternative belief – that while suffering is an inherent aspect of life, whether it leads to misery rests entirely within your control –

Among your companions, your unwavering optimism often stood out. While others carried the weight of their pasts and the darkness of their experiences, you chose to embrace hope and resilience. This outlook didn't make you blind to the reality of suffering; rather, it gave you the strength to confront it head-on. At least you had something to hold on to.

– How stupid of you.

With Satoru's chest pressed firmly against your back, you watch the night sky unfold its kaleidoscope of stars above you. It's not often that the night is quiet; when even the stars shine through the clouds of haze and graze you with their gentle glow.

Arms casually thrown over your shoulders, his sharp chin digs into the crown of your head as he looks up at the sky. Your face tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Suguru leans against the railing to your right. Uniform rumpled, hair a cascade of frowzled strands; your eyes shamelessly roam over his face – pale (more than usual, and even more visible against the obsidian backdrop of the night), eyes staring vacantly forward, a well of shadows pooling beneath.

His appearance resembles a spectral apparition. Haunting reflection of the turmoil that seems to have taken residence within him. Events from the past emerge into your mind – Tengen' merger, Amanai's death, Toji, Gojo's enlightenment and the last piece, Haibara's tragic end.

Satoru's hand reaches to gently cradle yours, fingertips tracing the contours of the simple, polished ring adorning your finger. A single aquamarine gemstone decorating the silver band, its shape resembling a tear. His touch so soft and tender that it feels almost imperceptible.

"Hey," Satoru's voice tears you from your thoughts. Suguru's eyes dart to yours, a brief contact before he looks at Satoru, "are you even listenin'?"

("So you never thought ‘bout it?" Suguru's head sinks heavily onto his arms, the once-pristine white shirt now marred by wear of time and crinkled as he sits against the classroom wall. Class ended almost an hour ago, with Satoru leaving by Shoko's side to grab lunch.

"I mean," you release a deliberate sigh, ankles crossed on top of your desk with arms folded over your chest, "it might be an option," rising one hand, you point a finger at him, "but it's evil. And unreachable. Like c'mon," you flick your wrist dismissively, "we're talking about a worldwide genocide."

"Not worldwide, just Japan."

A derisive chuckle escapes your lips, laden with incredulity, upon hearing his words. "Just Japan," you look at your classmate, close friend, "are you hearing yourself, Suguru?"

He gazes up at you, eyes heavy with weariness and emptied of their usual vibrancy. The burden of his thoughts etched onto his face.

"Suguru," your tone drops, voice becoming a mere whisper; the man before your eyes being close to a delicate thread on the verge of snapping, "are you holding up okay?"

"No.")

"Yeah, yeah," you murmur into his skin, returning his touch and caressing his wrist.

"As I was sayin'," your eyes return to Suguru momentarily before flicking to the horizon of darkness stretching above the school's grounds, "once we finally graduate and I become the head of my clan, we could use my estate as our home. Then we can make loads of babies. Pretty sure my father would be pleased if I had a son."

"It's not your estate," you correct Satoru.

"It's a Gojo estate. And I'm a Gojo. The one with Six eyes and the future leader," his fingers sneak under your chin, gripping the soft flesh of your neck to tilt your head to the side and up, gently straining your neck so that you're compelled to look at him. Eyes the same hue of a tranquil ocean under the moonlight.

"I'll put in the work," his tone turns into a whisper, a murmur that wraps around your body like a velvet night, shielding your conversation from intruding ears – including Suguru, who's standing barely an arm's reach away. The man who now feels like an outsider to the intimate exchange of his friends, "get you all full and happy. You won't leave the bedroom until you go into labor."

It's not his words that render you speechless. Immobile. Mouth slightly ajar. Nor the promise they carry, or the weight of the commitment. It's solely the look in his eyes. As if this man truly believes his words. That he sees this not as an equal partnership, but you as the vessel for his legacy, a mother to his progeny, a means to secure his lineage.

The jujutsu society has carved a mark deep within Satoru Gojo's psyche, even if it's been only a subconscious influence.

"Satoru,"a subtle frown creases your forehead, despite the way his words ignite a fire between your legs, make your pussy throb, "I'm not a breed–"

"Some people believe that the stars are the souls of the people who've passed on," Suguru's words cut through the exchange. Pulling your eyes towards his profile, seeing as he continues to watch the night sky, hands tucked away in his pockets. A gentle smile graces his face.

While you're thankful for his precisely timed intervention, Satoru sneaks a hand onto your abdomen, resting in inside your muff pocket with palm squeezing the soft flesh over the clothes. He releases a theatrical breath, capturing the attention of both of you.

"Way to ruin the mood, Suguru," he adds after a while.

"I think there might be some truth to that," you offer a small, appreciative smile.

In the days that follow your conversation, a dark cloud of dread casts its shadow over your every moment, only fueled by the devastating news of Suguru's most recent mission. After that, each moment's laden with a sense of impending unease. As if the future has already been foretold – only a matter of time before the summons arrives, the call to a meeting that you can already taste like the metallic tang of apprehension on your tongue.

Stepping into the room, it's not just the mission that settles heavily upon your shoulders; it's the weight of an unspoken truth that hangs in the air, casting a pall over the proceedings. Staring upon the silver band encircling your finger, cutting off the flow of blood, it's the revelation that has changed everything for you.

The task assigned to you appeared simple, straightforward, presented with a cold and calculated logic: Kill Suguru Geto and return within fourteen days.

(Reality has a way of deviating from the plans made.

It is why you never came back.)

Early 2018

The ghost of Suguru Geto hovers over you like a specter in the periphery of your thoughts. Especially when you stand in front of the man you've avoided for almost a decade.

There's no solid reason for you to be here. In Satoru Gojo's overly expansive, unnecessarily spacious penthouse. His ignorance to wealth and what's necessary versus what's superfluous still glaringly obvious. Especially with his current job; one that back in the day, back when you were all still students, wouldn't even cross his mind.

You weren't entirely certain if he'd be here today. Tonight. Tracking his movements, they'd always end within the barrier of Tokyo's Jujutsu Tech. A barrier that, if crossed, would result in your immediate arrest and subsequent execution. And despite your occasional recklessness, you had no death wish to speak of.

"That's why you're here?" Gojo's glasses now replaced by a black blindfold, folded around his neck. His eyes, shining even in the dim lighting, twinkle with raging stars when they shift to the weapon in your hand, sensing its foreign cursed energy that overwhelms even your own, "to kill me?"

A sardonic snicker escapes you, your laughter bordering mockery as you respond, "Come on, Gojo. Don't get foolish now. I can't kill you."

With a touch of exasperation, you add, "No one can."

"Then why're you here," he demands, his presence commanding the room. Uniform jacket already cast aside, the white button-up shirt partially undone, showing the contours of his clavicles. Time and age have done the sorcerer good; with gained knowledge, he also gained the physicality of experience. Something that creates longing – desire for the past that surges through you. A tidal wave of yearning. A wish that you stayed; that you were there, by his side, witnessing his transformation.

(Could it be the grip of regret? The sting of rue? Perhaps. But the past already happened, ensnared within the grasp on time's flow; its passing moments already etched into the annals of history. Dwelling on it now serves no purpose but to churn the tempestuous sea of emotions.

The sea whose waves are starting to crash against the rocky shores of the present.)

"You disappeared years ago. Without a word. Not even a goddamn ‘Goodbye'."

You watch his cold, distant façade crumble, anger seeping through the cracks as he waves one hand, advancing with measured steps, "I looked for you. Scoured every inch of Japan. For you. Where in the world were you?"

Gojo's eyes blaze with molten determination; boring into your soul, seeking answers you're hesitant, almost reluctant, to provide. Doubt lingers in the air like a heavy, suffocating fog, clouding the once familiar connection between you two.

A connection that you severed with a violent, rapid stroke, leaving nothing but shattered remnants in its wake.

"You had no right to do that," he seethes, words dripping with indignation.

"You are the one to talk," you return his anger, the relentless tide crashing against unyielding cliffs, "you killed him. You killed Suguru, Gojo."

His face contorts with fury, a wildfire raging behind his eyes. The air crackles with tension as your words cut deep, reopening wounds that had never truly healed.

It's then that the distance between you two narrows until he's almost within reach; enough for your fist to connect with him. Fully aware that it would never actually reach him. His flesh. That you won't feel the warmth of his skin. With the jutte sword's blade facing you, fist tightening around the leather handle, you hit and hit a void.

"You killed my friend," your voice trembles with a mixture of sorrow and rage, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The side of your fist repeatedly collides with empty air – it's a cruel dance, truly – a void that fills the space between Gojo and you, a chasm that feels as vast as the abyss, "my friend. Suguru. You killed him–took him away."

Your eyes lock onto his, a desperate search for answers, while Gojo remains a silent and immovable figure. Face resembling carved marble – all solid, perfect yet devoid of any emotion. Letting you spill your anger onto him. You observe as the brilliance in his eyes wanes, those once-vivid blue hues, reminiscent of a precious topaz, gradually losing their luster, darkening, and becoming more reflective of a human's ordinary iris.

Your fist meets the muscle of his chest.

"I hate you," one, two times your fist hits, "I hate you so much, Gojo."

Then his fingers slither around your wrist, twisting it painfully until the loud clank against the floor indicates that your weapon has slipped from your grasp.

"I know," his voice remains monotonous; a mere echo.

He advances, closing the distance between you, his presence a relentless force pressing against you. Eyes a tempest of longing; a tangible aura of desperation that shouldn't flicker across his stoic countenance. All you want to do is stab the look out of his eyes. Gauge it out with your fingers. Stealing away what he so callously takes for granted –

Maybe then he will stop being blind to his surroundings.

– just as he robbed you of your childhood friend. Someone you considered a brother.

"I hate myself too." It's all he mumbles, his voice a barely audible confession, before his lips crash into yours. A tumultuous collision. His hands are everywhere, grasping your shoulders, trailing down your arms, and gripping your hips with an urgency that borders on desperation. Pushing and pulling; body pressed against yours.

Gojo's tongue sweeps over your teeth, the wet tip coaxing yours, drawing forth moan after moan from you, hungrily swallowing every sound you release, trying to quench an insatiable thirst that only your moans can satisfy.

The kiss ravenous, consuming – it makes you unable to resist the magnetic pull of his ardor.

When your name slips between his lips, the reality crashes onto you. Pulling away, you look into his blazing eyes. Lips bruised and swollen, shirt somehow unbuttoned. Showing the contours and hard edges of his chest and abdomen. The scar across his whole upper body, though healed, remains visible. Body sculpted into perfection by years of determined training.

Your hand reaches forward. Fingertips tingling with the longing to make contact, to savor the tactile sensation. And Gojo stands still, a hand resting on your hip, molding your form against the sturdy frame of the couch. Your thighs caught between his, pressed against the velvety embrace of the dark brown upholstery.

Both of your disheveled hairdos mirror the chaos, intensity of the moment, framing your faces with unruly tendrils. Eyes fixated upon his body, hesitating to meet his eyes. Your arm extends more. An outstretched limb seeking connection.

His scrutinizing eyes trace the landscape of your face – witnessing as time stripped away the youthful, once-cheerful smile that had once adorned your lips. Now swollen, hardened lines with two delicate, faint marks traversing your upper lip – a scar. Curiosity gnaws on him, wondering of its origin. If whatever caused it might've been circumvented if you'd stayed.

If you had stayed.

(Maybe if he searched more thoroughly. Fought with greater determination…)

Your hand jerks back. Recoils as if touched by scorching heat. Gaze turning into a torrential downpour as it locks onto his, a deepening frown carving lines across your brow.

"No," he swears he hears you mutter to yourself, lips finding refuge at the juncture of his clavicles. Hands slipping beneath the satin shirt, clenching the taut muscle of his shoulders. One leg draped across his hip, you grind against his thigh without reservation, embracing the sensation of friction against your clothed core, the fabric beginning to absorb your burgeoning desire.

"What–"

"Just fuck me," you nibble at the skin, voice thick with passion, teeth sinking into the flesh and pulling, causing the man to hiss, "fuck me, Gojo."

He grips your jaw. A touch both benevolent and directing. Pulls you off his neck, compelling you to confront the storm of his eyes. Vortex of unspoken emotions. A cyclone of pure desire and passing hesitation. His thumb and index finger press into the soft flesh of your cheekbones, compressing the pliant contours until your lips pucker and part.

"I hate you," you manage to utter, the words emerging as a strained whisper through clenched teeth.

In the ensuing moment, Gojo acknowledges your declaration with a solemn nod, a silent recognition.

"Good," he then pivots you in one fluid motion. Hands finding purchase on the couch's armrests. Gone is the restraint he's maintained until now. He doesn't hold back. Not anymore, not when you made it abundantly clear how you feel; what you want.

Fingers seeking the buttons on your pants, swiftly unzipping the zipper and tugging both your pants and undergarments down your thighs. Until they lock your knees together. His fingers graze your folds and you feel him hiss under his nose. Fingertip tracing your opening, feeling the slippery wetness, Gojo doesn't hesitate to push one finger in.

And your body eagerly sucks him in. Allows him to thrust his finger in and out repeatedly, making your fingers dig into the cushion, lips parted and shamelessly moaning with hips bucking back, meeting his thrusts. Until he adds another finger, scissors them inside and opens you up.

"Fuck," you hear him breathe out, his hand sneaking from your shoulder blades to your hip, venturing beneath your shirt to caress the exposed skin, "you always sound so pretty. Feel so good."

"Shut up," you scoff at his words, voice laced with disdain, "just–ugh," his fingers curl inside, massaging your walls in harmony with the hand on your hip, tracing tantalizing circles, "ah–just don't–don't talk," and you arch your hips backward, prompting his fingers to delve deeper. Palm completely covering your soaked cunt.

"Don't care," you add when he continues the rhythm. In and out, stretching the limits of your resilience, scissoring to accommodate something far more substantial.

"As you wish," he withdraws. Fingers glistening with your juices. And you can feel the dewy slickness spreading as he toys with your pulsating clit, circling the throbbing bud, causing you to clench around empty air. Every nerve ending in your body awakens, dormant embers being stoked; heat blooming inside.

Then he presses himself against you, hands grasping your shoulder to pull you onto his body as he hovers over you. The close proximity allowing you to feel the hard length of him, thick and pushy, begging for entry.

"Stop teasing," you practically growl at him, an annoyed command laden with unrestrained desire.

"Fine," Gojo lets out a husky huff in response to your impatient plea. Pushing your upper body down, nearly bending you over the plush cushion until your forehead meets the silky surface of his furniture. You can hear the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his own pants, the slide of the zipper seemingly never-ending as your pussy leaks onto your thighs, mind of its own; tugs them down just enough for him to fish out his cock. All hard and swollen, the engorged tip glistening with the telltale evidence of his arousal.

One hand palms your pussy, collecting your juices to spread over his cock. Lube it enough for him to slip inside your awaiting walls easily. Yet he hovers over your entrance, tip kissing the opening before running between your folds. Gojo lets out a sigh upon the long-lost feeling of your wet pussy.

It's been too long.

He wants to savor it. Savor the moment your drenched pussy opens up just for him. Swallows him whole and lock him in, never letting him go.

"Gojo," you push back, hoping that maybe it will cause him to slip in – it doesn't. Instead, the tip of his cock probs at your clit, "fuck me."

"You never shut up, heh," his hand secures the back of your neck, the other guiding his cock to your entrance, feeling you open up around the mushroom head, letting a satisfied moan out upon the feeling.

Gojo doesn't bother. At least he shouldn't, right? It's not like he's your lover. You aren't his paramour no more.

But he does take his time. Every inch a struggle, every second a torture. Until finally you feel yourself split open, the tightest of knots unraveling, and then he's thrusting deep, pushing into you with force. Your body welcomes him, contouring to his shape, embracing him fully. His breath comes out in a rush and you're soon meeting him thrust-for-thrust, hips pushing back.

Blood rushes to your head; bend at an unconventional enough angle that allows him to hit the deepest spots inside you. He pulls back then, his cock easily sliding out of your embrace until only the tip remains inside the cocoon of your warmth. Stretching your inner walls in a way that makes you feel dizzy, mind foggy. Fucked stupid.

Your moans are muffled by the couch cushion, but Gojo pays no attention; his focus solely on chasing his own high, eyes closed to draw your presence out. His thrusts become more powerful and insistent as each one hits its mark with precision.

Your name refuses to leave his lips.

Yet his name sounds like a sacred incantation spilling from your throat.

It makes him push. Hips slamming into yours with enough force to actually send you over the couch's edge; causing you to stumble.

"What the f–"

"Lie down," he commands. Stone-cold and demanding. Your body moves on its own accord as you do what you're told, lying flat on your stomach as his hand guides your body up his couch. Face sinking into the decorative pillows, he lies his weight on top of you without shame. Elbow resting next to your head, fingers tangled in your hair – pushing your face into the pillows.

Slamming his cock back inside, a surprised shriek leaves your lips. His legs on either side of your thighs, one arm holding his upper body slightly off you, the other gripping your hip, fingers biting crescent moons into your flesh.

His breath's hot against your neck, coming out in quick gasps and grunts, the growl in his throat driving you wild and you're not sure how much longer you can take it before you beg for it –

"Fuuck–so tight–ngh–"

His hand is everywhere while yours remain tucked underneath the pillows; nails tracing their way around sensitive skin and curves like a map of pleasure points.

– so you bite your lip. Face flushed against the couch's cushions. Feeling yourself cresting towards the edge. He hitches a breath as your moan’s muffled beneath the pillows, his own rhythm faltering before he plunges deeper.

"M’gettin’ close–"

You can feel the heat radiating from him, sweat dripping down your neck as he takes you higher, presses his forehead against your nape. Heat rises to your face as you feel yourself dripping. Acutely aware of yourself, the slick, shameful squelches that resonate each time Gojo plunges deep inside. Buries himself to the hilt. Pelvis melting with the curve of your ass. Smacks his balls against your thighs.

The air feels thick and stifling as you feel Gojo everywhere. Your entire being consumed by the feverish desire coursing through your veins.

His thrusts become more intense, almost frenzied as he searches for something only he knows and finds it in your body. You're so close now, the pleasure so sweet that it's almost overwhelming.

You swear it feels like an eternity before finally your orgasm rushes over you like an unstoppable tide; overwhelming every single one of your senses as he continues to thrust deep within you. Your entire body quaking beneath him, pulled even closer into him by some invisible force.

Gojo finally lets go with a loud groan and collapses onto your back; leaving him panting heavily against your neck while his cock remains firmly embedded inside of you for a few moments more, painting your walls in translucent white before slowly slipping out with a wet sound akin to pure satisfaction.

You lay there unmoving for some time; eyes closed and lips pressed tight together as if to contain all the pleasure of this moment forevermore in one single solitary heartbeat – before reality comes crashing back in around you both in an instant, making Gojo pull away.

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mononijikayu · 4 months

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water is fine — ryomen sukuna.

You tried to fight, over and over. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to drown. But against your little body, the force of the water was one that it could not fight. The water enveloped you, pulling you down into its depths. You felt your eyes starting to close. You felt like you were losing your soul. All you could think about was your brother. How you had to come back, because he’d be looking for you.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: water is fine by chloe ament.

note: this was longer than i wanted to be, but it took longer because i was waiting for this one to be beta read by a friend. they loved this chapter and they got curious so asked about my plans moving forward. and needless to say, i feel like im gege akutami!!! please enjoy the chapter~ i'll see you in the next one!!! i love you~

YOU WERE THERE AGAIN. You were happy to admit that you hated it. In the dark embrace of the night, Ryomen You found that it was like being transported back to yesterday. It felt like yesterday. to one of the most harrowing summers of your life—that horrible, bloody, summer.

You think you’d never forget the most eventful day of your young life. But dreams were either tender to the righteous and suffering to a sinner. Truth be told, you had always considered yourself a sinner. Because if you were not, the gods would not be willing to punish you. You would not be atoning. Otherwise, nii-sama would still be alive and well.

The Ryomen clan, though not as prominent as the Fujiwara, held an ancient lineage that commanded respect within the world of jujutsu. Their roots ran deep, intertwined with the very fabric of history, marking them as a force to be reckoned with despite their relatively smaller stature compared to the Fujiwara. It was a legacy that had been upheld through generations, nurtured by the strength of their traditions and the power of their bloodline.

Yet, for all their strength, the Ryomen clan had always found themselves at odds with the Fujiwara. The two families had a long and tumultuous history, marked by countless conflicts and rivalries that had spanned centuries. From minor skirmishes to full-blown wars, their animosity had left scars that ran deep, staining the fabric of their shared past with bloodshed and bitterness.

It was in this turbulent landscape that you and your brother had been raised, caught between the echoes of ancient feuds and the weight of familial duty. Your parents had sought to end the cycle of violence through marriage, forging an alliance that had brought temporary peace between the warring clans. But beneath the veneer of unity lay a marriage that was anything but equal, a union marred by resentment and unfulfilled expectations.

In truth, you had grown up in the shadow of your parents' strained relationship, in this consistent suffering of shouting matches and unpleasantries. Your life, your whole upbringing was shaped by your father's unconditional love and your mother's cold indifference. It was a dichotomy that had left its mark on you, molding you into a woman of strength and resilience, yet burdened by the weight of familial legacy.

Perhaps it was why you had grown up never knowing why your mother was that way. Until you had visited her grandfather’s fief for the first time, You had your eyes opened. Your mother’s cold eyes were the same as your old grandfather’s eyes. And it terrified you. It made your skin crawl. Father hated the trip as much as you and Akimu did. Uncle Hiramu hated everyone of mother’s kin too easily. Still, it was keeping the peace. They swallowed their pride, they swallowed their anger and their fears and moved forward.

You and your brother had continued to uphold the tradition of annual visits to their Fujiwara relatives over the years. It was a tradition born out of duty rather than genuine affection. Each visit was rigid and cold. But it reminded both of them that the fragile truce that hung between their families was like a delicate thread. Each visit was fraught with tension, a delicate dance of diplomacy and restraint as they navigated the complex web of familial politics and ancient grudges. You had loathed all of it. You didn’t want it all. But having Akimu there to hold your hand, it was enough to keep your breath.

But it was that summer where their lives changed.

The child that is within you would not know it just yet.

There was no more fighting against their written fates.

Akimu, dutiful and ever responsible, had obligations that required him to travel later than the rest of their family. As heir, Akimu had ventured out from the manor walls and into the wider bounty of the Ryomen lands. He collected taxes, he dealt with disputes, he dealt with the curses — all on behalf of their father. This time would not be divorced from that day to day. Akimu bowed steadily at the chōdō-in in front of all the spectators and smiled handsomely as a prince would. He was to be sent to collect the taxes across the lands and follow to the summer manor of the Fujiwara.

You were not eager to let your beloved brother journey alone, rushed in front of the crowd and bowed in front of their father. You could laugh. You think you must have looked so foolish then. You begged their father to let you accompany him. Akimu’s face lit up with joy at the prospect of traveling with you, protective and proud as he was. You often think that he will only smile like that for you. That you knew then. But you will never know Akimu to have a chance to shine his smile upon someone else. If there had been someone.

In the spacious, sunlit parlor of the Ryomen family estate, young you found your father and uncle seated together, poring over some scrolls and maps laid out on a large table. The air was filled with the weight of responsibility, as decisions made here often steered the fate of your clan. With a mixture of determination and a childlike hopefulness in your eyes, you approached, your mind set on joining your brother Akimu nii–sama on his later journey.

“Father,” You started, your voice carrying a rehearsed tone of earnestness, “I’ve been thinking a lot about my nii–sama and his trip alone to the Fujiwara clan...”

Your uncle looked up, a small softening on his features. “And what thoughts have you had, my little lady?” he inquired, already anticipating the nature of his niece’s reflections.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “I want to go with him. I want to join Akimu on his journey, not just travel later with you and the others.”

Your father raised an eyebrow, setting down his brush. “It’s a long journey, You. And Akimu will be busy with his duties on the way. It won’t be a leisurely visit. I do not want you to disturb him, little one.”

“But I won’t be in the way, I promise!” Your voice took on a pleading tone, your youthful eagerness to be near your brother shining through. “I can help him! I’ve been learning maps and history. I can read it for him too! I... I just don’t want him to be alone.”

Your uncle exchanged a glance with your father, a silent conversation passing between them. “Little lady, it’s not just about being alone. It’s a matter of your safety and well-being,” your uncle explained, your voice gentle yet firm. “You are too important, little lady.”

Your shoulders slumped, but you weren’t ready to give up. You moved closer, your expression morphing into one of heartfelt moping. “Please, I’ll be careful. I’ll stay close to Akimu–nii and the guards. And... and I miss him. When he’s gone, who will teach me to hold a sword at dawn? Who will tell me stories of the stars?”

Seeing you so earnest and feeling the genuine longing in your words, your father sighed, the resistance in his eyes softening. “You’ll miss your brother that much, hm?”

You nodded vigorously, your eyes wide with hope.

Your father rubbed his chin, pondering. Then he looked at his brother, seeking his counsel without words. After a moment, your uncle snickered and just urged his brother with his smile. He nodded slightly, giving a subtle approval.

“Alright, my darling.” your father finally said, a reluctant smile breaking through his serious demeanor. “You can join Akimu’s trip. But you must promise to follow his lead and stay out of trouble. You must be helpful to your onii-sama.”

A bright, beaming smile exploded across You’s face. “Yes, Father! I promise! I’ll be so careful, and I’ll make sure Akimu–nii isn’t alone!”

As you joyously hugged your father and then your uncle who giggled at your joy, your heart swelled with excitement and gratitude. Not only would you be able to keep your beloved brother company, but you also felt a step closer to the adventures you had always dreamed about, now unfolding into reality.

When you found Akimu–nii-sama later that day in the training grounds, practicing his swordsmanship with a focus that seemed to cut through the very air around him, your steps quickened with excitement. You waited for him to complete his sequence, watching as his blade danced in the sunlight. He was so beautiful, such a perfect beacon of home for the future. You hopes that she can be worthy of serving her brother one day. You hope to be worthy of being his servant.

As he finished and wiped the sweat from his brow, You approached, barely containing your enthusiasm. "Akimu–nii!" you called out, your voice echoing slightly in the open space.

Akimu turned, his expression shifting from concentration to curiosity at the sight of his sister’s beaming face. "My little You? What brings you here with such a smile? I thought you still had lessons, hm?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face as he sensed your excitement. “Did you escape your lessons again?”

“I did not!” You pouted at her elder brother, who laughed. “I stayed, like you bid me.”

“Good girl.” He whispered, kneeling to your height and kissing your cheek. “Now, why are you so eager to run out here in the heat and endure your nii-sama and his sweatiness?”

"I asked uncle and father if I could join you on your trip, the one where we visit grandfather Fuji to the Fujiwara clan. And they said yes!" You exclaimed, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I’ll read a lot of your maps, nii-sama! I promise, we will not be lost!”

Akimu's eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of joy and slight concern flickering through them. "Really? You’re coming with me?" he asked, as if needing confirmation for such unexpected but welcome news. “I thought you were going to be with mother and father, little one.”

"Yes!" You nodded vigorously. "I convinced them. I told them I could help, and I promised to be good and follow all the rules."

A warm laugh escaped Akimu, and he opened his arms, inviting You into a hug. As she rushed into his embrace, he lifted her slightly off the ground, her laughter mingling with his. "That’s fantastic! I was dreading the long ride alone, and now I’ll have my favorite sister to keep me company," he said, setting her back down. “My precious little one is after all the smartest girl in the world.”

You blushed. “But I am your only sister, nii-sama.”

“But that makes you the very best one, doesn’t it? You are my only most treasured little sister.”

You’s heart swelled with pride and happiness, knowing her brother was genuinely pleased to have her along. "I can learn so much from you on the way, and maybe I can even help with some of your duties," she suggested, eager to make herself useful.

Akimu set his hand on your shoulder, his expression turning serious. "I’m sure you will, You. But remember, this trip isn’t just about learning; it’s also about being vigilant. We’ll be traveling through some unsettled territories," he cautioned, the protective brother always at the forefront. “Most of all, nii-sama will be busy on this trip too. You must keep close to me at all times, hm? I must keep you safe, little one.”

You nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of his words. "I’ll be careful, I promise. And I’ll follow your lead."

Akimu smiled, reassured by your earnestness. "I know you will. And we’ll make sure to have some fun along the way, too," he added, the twinkle returning to his eye.

But lurking in the shadows of your path were dangers you had not foreseen. Unknown to you, malevolent eyes watched, waiting for the opportunity to strike. You, despite your youth, were already seen as a valuable asset in the political games of higher clans—your hand in marriage, a prize that could sway the balance of power. Being the only daughter of the Ryomen lord, it was a battle on who should be your spouse. From the moment you were born to the cradle, your fate was sealed. It would be a disaster or it would be glorious.

For after all, the Ryomen clan's renown for producing potent sorcerers made you even more desirable. If their sons would father a child with you as soon as possible, then the creation of stronger sorcerer blood would be cemented. Everyone knew this. Most of all, Akimu, who was careful to conceal his sister’s cursed energy from the rest of the world on this delicate trip.

As you traveled, it was peaceful at first. You went from tenant to tenant and gathered the lord’s coin from them. You enjoyed playing with common children in each village, abundant in the smiles of youth. Akimu enjoyed seeing his sister be a lively child. It was often hard to see such a thing at home, more so with their mother being unkind to you. Mother disliked You. Akimu did not know why. But he knew that You deserved to be loved. For his sister was born to be a soul that thrived on being loved.

But on that same route, you stopped because of the night. Everyone was exhausted with the pace you had settled on. It had been non-stop traveling which left little rest for all. More so, Akimu could see how his sister was fatigued by it all. If you kept up with the speed, you would certainly catch a chill. And you wouldn’t be able to perform well in front of their mother’s kin. That would not do. And so, you camped under the stars, ate a bountiful meal for the night, sang some songs and went to bed.

It was then at midnight that a group of powerful cursed users came upon the camp with all their might and staged a barrage of their powers to ambush you. The attackers were ruthless, their intent clear as they overpowered the Ryomen guards and soldiers with terrifying efficiency. One after another, the campsite was filled with screams and horrors.

Body after body, blood after blood, you screamed with your eyes wide open as your protector died one after the other. A man was coming for you. Hand tightly, brutishly— wrapped around your little body, you screamed. You felt fear pierce you for the first time. You felt tears pour out. But an arrow hit before he could do anything. You felt yourself cry out loud. Women or men, children or adults, they died before you. Died over and over again.

Your brother’s eyes tightened as he slew one enemy after another to get to you. You were a sobbing mess as Akimu checked you for injuries. But all he found was your grief and your horror, and the red pool straining your white silk kimono. He hushed you, pulling you into a hidden corner and tried to comfort you. But it was hard. His sister could not stop crying, could not stop thinking about how you were powerless. You sobbed in his arms, kept whispering apologies one after the other. He silenced you and kissed your temple.

“It’s okay.” He whispered to you, brushing your hair with his unstained hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

Ryomen Akimu, brave and fierce, stood his ground once more as new enemies clashed against him one after another. He was fighting with a desperation born of the need to protect his sister. As he slew the last one, he took a deep breath. He looked around and saw that others were preoccupied, fighting for their lives. Flames engulfed the camp. He cannot fail here. Not here. Not when you were in danger.

Amidst the chaos, he turned to you, his voice strained with urgency. "Run to the river, get away from here! Don’t come back!" he pleaded. Your heart shattered with each word, tears streaming down your face as the reality of your fate crashed down upon you. “Please, let me do this, okay? I’ll come for you. I promise!”

With a heavy heart, you ran with tears in your eyes. You could hear your brother's final cries echoing in your ears as you sprinted towards the river. You tried to turn back but you could only gasp as you continued into the river. The water was high, unusually high. But you could not think of anything why. You were concerned about survival. About nii–sama. About their clan folk dying. The cruelty of it all.

Hitching breath lumped at your throat as you ran and ran, still, even as your legs resisted the water’s pressure. The cold, cruel water roared beside you, swollen from the summer rains, a tumultuous escape route that mirrored the turmoil in your heart. These cursed users gave a brutal chase, their dark magic swirling around them like a malevolent storm.

Exhausted, terrified, and overwhelmed, You could not help but strangle in a scream as you stumbled into the river. It was frightening, your body could not react any longer. There was no escape. You couldn’t escape. How you now couldn’t breathe. It felt like your body was burning. It felt like your throat was on fire. Everything was frightening, pulling and pushing. It all hurts.

It hurts.

As you sank deeper and deeper, a strange, otherworldly voice reached out to you.

"What do you desire, child of Ryomen?" it asked, resonating through the water. “What does a child like you seek, before a god?”

Terror mixed with a fierce, brushing against the river’s cold weave —burning anger within you. If this was a different circumstance, there would be a different wish. There would be a joyous wish. A child’s longing. But as you lose your consciousness to the pressure of the water, you feel yourself burn with something else.

"Revenge," you gasped, your lungs filling with water, your voice a drowning whisper. "I want revenge."

The voice, deep and resonant, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, filling the murky depths that surrounded you. It paused, as if considering your answer, the silence stretching into eternity as you struggled against the pull of the river.

"Revenge is a heavy burden for such young shoulders," the voice continued, its tone neither approved nor condemning. Rather, intrigued. "But if it is revenge you seek, child of Ryomen, it shall be granted. However, the path you choose will change you forever. Are you prepared to accept the consequences? To serve me?”

Your mind raced, panic and determination warring within her. You knew the weight of your request, but the loss of your kinfolk, the horror of your brother still fighting for his life, for your life, the agony of it all—they fueled that burning resolve.

"Yes," you managed to choke out, determination collared on your voice. "I accept."

Then, just as suddenly as the nightmare began to unfold, you shook and awoke, your body drenched in sweat, your breaths ragged with fear and anguish. The room was dark, save for the soft light of the moon streaming through the window. Beside you was your beloved, wiping your tears away. Sukuna, who had returned from his late training, stirred, immediately sensing your distress.

Without a word, he reached for you, pulling your trembling body into his arms. His presence was grounding, a solid reality you clung to amidst the remnants of your haunting dream.

"I'm here, night flower. I’m here.” Sukuna murmured, his voice a soothing balm. One that you think you will never deserve. "You're safe."

As you look at him, your face contorts into a silent sob. You buried your face in his chest, the tears came freely, each drop a release of the pent-up fear and sorrow that the dream had stirred. Sukuna held you tenderly, his arms becoming a fortress against the lingering shadows of the past, his heartbeat a steady drum that anchored you back to the safety of the present.

In his embrace, the horrors of that fateful summer day gradually receded, replaced by the warmth and security that his presence always brought. Though the pain of the loss would never fully fade, with Sukuna by your side, You found the strength to face the remnants of your nightmares, in their quiet echoes. You knew that you weren’t alone anymore. These nightmares won’t hurt you anymore.

And so you cried and cried, his fingers tracing your hair.

You could feel the echo of morning light come through.

It will all be alright. Everything will be well from now on.

Ryomen Sukuna was there to chase the nightmares away.

SPRING WAS ALWAYS A BEAUTIFUL TIME. The morning sun bathed the Ryomen manor gardens in a soft, ethereal light, casting a tranquil spell over the lush surroundings. The koi ponds shimmered with reflected sunlight, their waters alive with vibrant hues of orange and pink. The gentle rustle of cherry blossom trees filled the air, accompanied by the distant melody of birdsong.

For you, it was a rare moment of respite amidst the flurry of activity that heralded the upcoming unity games. As preparations for the arrival of the visiting clans unfolded throughout the manor, you found solace in the quiet beauty of the garden. Leaning against the sturdy trunk of an ancient tree, you closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh, allowing the peaceful ambiance to wash over her.

You watch as a bird sits by the water's edge, the soft murmurs of the ponds mingling with the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The bird hums, looking back at you with a curious gaze. That was a new one. But it was quite clever, a witty little bird. The little bird was composing a hymn. You couldn’t help but smile at the sweet tones for a moment. It sounded almost like a tender flute to dance to.

You think you could get used to this. It was a well deserved rest, after what has been happening. Your nightmares have been keeping you awake most nights, terrorizing you over and over again. But each time, Sukuna was there.

It was plain to you that now, you cannot truly live without him or his love. You wanted him. You wanted nothing but him. And he knew that too well. Sukuna lay with his head nestled in your lap, his eyes closed in a rare moment of stillness. You couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into his features, the subtle lines of tension that lingered even in repose. He hadn't slept much, you realized with a pang of concern.

In his restless nights consumed by the weight of his responsibilities. More than that, he had been obsessed with his new developments in his sorcery. You would have scolded him. But you do not have the heart to. You were happy he was there with you, from dusk till dawn, holding his hand as he wrapped his arms around you.

Gently, you let your fingers trail through Sukuna's hair, offering what little comfort you could. You knew how tirelessly he had been training for the curse hunt and the upcoming matches, his dedication unwavering even in the face of exhaustion. Your father had entrusted him with the honor of representing the clan and with your uncle’s own encouragement and your pride, Ryomen Sukuna accepted without another word.

Though, he would have expressed another word had he not been respectful to your presence. He did not like Masaomi. But having to sit alongside Mikoto Masaomi as he too was chosen as the clan’s champion, it was obvious his disdain was evident. But you couldn’t blame him. He was often jealous, with how close you and Masaomi are. Masaomi after all was your personal guard.

Still, it wasn't the first time Sukuna had shouldered such expectations, you mused, recalling the countless instances over the past five years where he had fought tirelessly to uphold the honor of their clan. His relentless pursuit of victory had earned him both admiration and outrageous envy from his peers, yet Ryomen Sukuna remained undeterred in his pursuit of his success.

As you gazed down at Sukuna, a swell of pride surged within you. Despite the burdens he bore and the challenges he faced, he remained steadfast in his commitment to their clan and to you. You marveled at his resilience, you always have. At the unwavering strength that lay beneath his weary exterior. Somehow, you like to think your love for him can only grow from here. Your heart pounded against your chest as you let your love for him flow within you.

In the tranquility of the garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature, you found yourself overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude for the bond they shared. Sukuna had been your constant companion throughout their youth, a source of comfort and support in times of need. This tender love out of it all provides you nothing but strength. Together, you and he could only navigate the intricacies of clan politics, weathered the storms of uncertainty. Hand in hand, you think you came out better for it. But they only did it together. It was all easy, because you had each other. You knew he felt the same, that he would say the same.

As you continued to stroke Sukuna's hair, a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Despite the challenges that lay ahead, you knew that they would face them together, united in purpose and resolve. With Sukuna by your side, you felt invincible, ready to take on whatever trials awaited them in the days to come. He would never disappoint you in all your life— he would never let you face the world alone.

Sukuna lay with his head nestled in your lap, his eyes fixed on the dancing reflections on the surface of the water. Despite the peaceful surroundings, a furrow creased his brow, betraying the turmoil brewing beneath his calm exterior. Sukuna closed his eyes once more, trying to return to the peace he had before.

You watched him with a mixture of concern and affection, her fingers tracing soothing patterns through his jaw. With a gentle, exasperated sigh, Ryomen Sukuna stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet You's gaze. There was a warmth in his eyes as much as there were storms.

"Are you alright, Sukuna?" you asked softly, your voice a gentle melody that seemed to blend seamlessly with the symphony of nature around them.

Sukuna grunted in response, a faint scowl marring his features as he shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm fine," he muttered, though the tension in his body spoke volumes. “Trust me.”

You couldn't shake the feeling that Sukuna was hiding something, despite his dismissive words. You watched him closely, your concern growing with each passing moment. There was a tension in his demeanor that you couldn't ignore, a subtle shift in his usual confident demeanor that set you on edge.

With a gentle poke to his cheek, you couldn’t help but teasingly attempt to draw him out, to coax him into opening up about whatever was troubling him. Sukuna had never minded how playful you were with him. In fact, your giddiness about it pleased him. But perhaps not in this case. Sukuna huffed in response, his frustration evident, but he remained tight-lipped.

"You don't seem fine," You persisted, your tone gentle yet insistent. You studied his face intently, searching for any clue as to what might be weighing on his mind. "What's with you, my love? You can tell me."

“There’s nothing. I’m fine. I'll reassure you.”

Sukuna's response was a terse repetition of his earlier assertion that everything was fine, but you could hear the strain in his voice, the underlying tension that belied his words. You sighed at his thick refusal.

"You know, the more you say that, the more suspicious you seem," you remarked, your brows furrowing in concern. "Whatever it is, we can face it together. You don't have to carry the burden alone. Spit it out, stubborn boy.”

Sukuna groaned slightly in response, a mixture of frustration and resignation coloring his tone. Despite his reluctance to confide in you, he knew that you would remain determined to stand by his side, to offer him the support and comfort he needed in times of uncertainty. You reached out, taking his hand in your own and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll figure this out together, Sukuna," you said softly, your gaze unwavering. "I promise. But I won’t know what to do to help if you don’t tell me.”

Sukuna sighed heavily, sitting up beside you and running a hand through his fuschia hair in frustration. "Fine, since you won't drop it," he grumbled, his tone resigned. He looked at you for a moment and finally spoke, "I heard news about the clans nearing their arrival. They’ll be here soon.”

As you pondered Sukuna's demeanor, she couldn't shake the feeling that his unease ran deeper than the mere anticipation of the upcoming clan visit. You were keenly attuned to the intricate web of clan relations, sensing the subtle shifts and undercurrents that shaped your world.

In recent times, Sukuna's growing power had propelled the Ryomen clan into the spotlight, to heights never seen before in any previous lord’s lifetime. This fame had started earning them both admiration and animosity. But you were certain that such animosity was festering faster than such admiration. The status quo was after all finally being questioned.

The Ryomen clan was often referred to in less than flattering terms by their peers, with Sukuna himself bearing the brunt of much of the criticism. Sukuna could care less about such whispers. He could hardly care if people thought that he was worth talking about or not.

But you were concerned, still. That was most normal when you love someone. You were no stranger to the disparaging whispers and sideways glances that followed in their wake. Being the only female heir of the clans does prepare one for such a thing. In the eyes of many, she was little more than a mere pawn, a figurehead to be manipulated and controlled. The men of other clans, in particular, harbored a deep-seated resentment towards her, their disdain fueled by antiquated notions of gender and power.

For you, such treatment had long been a bitter reality, one you had grown accustomed to over the years. But in your eyes, the questioning of Sukuna’s reputation was much more concerning. Even with the Ryomen name, he was still without the blood. As equally as he was concerned with your reputation, you were concerned about how they looked down on his common birth.

The derogatory nicknames that circulated among their peers served as a constant reminder of the prejudice and bigotry that pervaded their world. Last year's incident, where Sukuna had lashed out at a servant for using a derogatory term to describe you and him. He would not say what he had heard from the servant till now, he had kept it to himself. But for him to resort to such violence, it was not one he took to favorably.

This event had only served to exacerbate tensions further. It was sheer luck that the man Sukuna had chastised was only a servant and not one with noble blood. It was easier also that the servant served under the Gojo. Suzaku had dealt with it on his own. Sukuna had not been pleased with that, but you were.

In a way, you understood Sukuna’s concerns. He did not think that he would want to return to any further gatherings with the other clans. It was more of a headache than anything else. You could never harbor any feelings against what Sukuna felt. Despite your own resilience, you couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at the injustice of it all. A Ryomen was taught to suffer in silence. But you wished there was a time where you could express your own sufferings, to complain.

You had worked tirelessly to prove herself worthy of your position, to earn the respect. Even if you had known nothing from your brother’s own work, you had worked tirelessly to learn. To do well. To serve well. And yet, you knew that in the eyes of many, you would always be seen as nothing more than "the damsel and your hound."

Or if they would like to be blunt, ‘the whore and your hound’.

There were many more names that you perhaps did not know.

And truly, you perhaps would not want to know all of them.

"That's to be expected," you replied calmly, your voice laced with understanding. "But I have a feeling there's something else bothering you."

Sukuna glanced at his lover for a moment. His expression softened slightly at her perceptiveness. "You're…..right," he admitted reluctantly, his gaze drifting to the shimmering surface of the pond. "Our fathers are talking about arranging marriages for the two of us.”

Your eyes widened slightly. You knew you were bound to hear about it again one of these days. But you couldn’t help but be surprised. Sukuna too? Uncle Hiramu knew about her and Sukuna. He had not introduced Sukuna upon the list of eligible bachelors in these many years since Sukuna had grown of age. He said it was up to his adoptive son to do what he wanted. You have to wonder where Sukuna had heard of this. You felt a flicker of concern flashing across your features as you processed the news.

"I see," she murmured, understanding the weight of such a decision. "That must be difficult for you to hear."

Sukuna nodded, his jaw tightening with tension as he wrestled with his emotions. "I have no interest in being tied down by some arranged marriage to some pathetic damsel." he snickered.

“Sukuna, that is unpleasant to say to other women.”

“I don’t care about other women.” He says brazenly, pursing his lips at her. “Are we not already together? Shouldn’t that be enough to spur out such ridiculous notions?”

You opened your lips, but closed them for a moment. “I–I don’t know. Father is the last word upon any sort of marriage. So is your father.”

Sukuna frowned. “He would not deny you the pleasure of a happy marriage, surely? Being married to that wench—”

“Sukuna—”

“That broad—”

“That broad is still my mother.”

He snickers back. “That woman still earned my ire. Of all of our ire. For sucking the life out of every room she deems to enter.”

“That woman may make everyone miserable….but her misery upon others has kept the peace.” You sighed, looking at him and taking his hand. “It’s expected for me to make the same sacrifice.”

“You’re all too willing to settle for a foolish man who’s half hearted and dim-witted? One that could not even protect you? Unlike me?” Sukuna looked at her with a flash of disappointment. “Fuck duty. You don’t have to suffer a terrible husband.”

“Sukuna, you must understand, they will make us explain—”

Sukuna's response was initially sharp, his frustration bubbling to the surface in a surge of aggression. "Damn it. Why should we have to explain ourselves to them?" he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "We don't owe them anything. None of them have ever given us anything.”

But as he saw the flicker of hurt and surprise in your eyes, his anger ebbed away, replaced by a pang of remorse. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his tone softer now, his gaze averted. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just…all this talk of politics and marriage alliances. This is not what we should have. We already chose what we wanted. And I….I want to wed you. To give you the life you deserve. The love you deserve.”

You reached out, gently cupping his cheek with your hand. "I know," you reassured him, your voice gentle and forgiving. "I understand. I know you would never hurt me."

“I nearly could have.”

You shake your head. “But you didn’t. Clear your mind of the notion.”

“.....It’s not easy to do.”

With a small smile, you leaned in closer, pressing your lips against his in a tender kiss. "No matter what happens, I'll love no one in this world but you," you whispered against his lips, your words filled with unwavering devotion. “You are my love.”

Sukuna's cheeks flushed at your declaration, his heart swelling with warmth. "You're too easy with this," he whispers back. “It’s embarrassing. How much you affect me.”

“This is love,” you whispered softly, your voice barely above a breath as you looked up at him, your eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the window.

Sukuna's gaze met yours, his expression tender and filled with understanding. In that moment, he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss filled with warmth and reassurance, a silent promise that you were not alone in your struggles.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of affection and gratitude welling up within you. This connection, this shared moment of intimacy, was a testament to the bond you shared with Sukuna—a bond forged through countless trials and triumphs, and strengthened by unwavering support and unconditional love.

You giggled softly against his lips, savoring the sweetness of the moment, before kissing him once more. In his arms, surrounded by love and warmth, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, united in your love for each other.

But as he leaned for another kiss, you pushed him away.

He frowns as you settle yourself straight on your position.

He looked towards where you were looking and frowned deeper.

Mikoto Masaomi's arrival was met with a courteous nod from you, your demeanor composed and gracious despite the interruption. Sukuna's reaction, however, was less welcoming. His eyes narrowed with a bitter edge as he regarded the man before him. He had never liked Mikoto Masaomi, sensing an unspoken rivalry between them that simmered just beneath the surface.

The bow offered by Mikoto was met with a cool gaze from Sukuna, his expression betraying his distrust. He couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that washed over him whenever Mikoto was near you. It wasn't just jealousy, though there was an element of that too. It was something deeper, a primal instinct that urged him to keep a watchful eye on the man who seemed to hover ever closer to your side.

Despite his misgivings, Sukuna maintained a facade of civility, his lips curved into a tight, obviously, forced smile as he acknowledged Mikoto's presence. But beneath the surface, his resentment simmered, a silent warning to anyone who dared encroach upon his territory. You, too, sensed the tension in the air. Your gaze flickers between the two men with a mixture of concern and wariness.

“Good day, Masaomi–dono.” You smile at him, moving slightly near Masaomi. Sukuna nearly caught your hand, but turned away. “How have you been?”

“Well, Hiromi–sama.” He replies simply, a small fond look was in his eyes. “I am pleased to know you are also well.”

“What have you come to me for, Masaomi–dono?”

"The Gojo clan has started arriving through the gates," he informed you, his eyes darting to Sukuna. It's as though he knew. Sukuna’s eyes grew even narrower. The jealousy in Sukuna’s chest. “Your father, my lord, has asked me to fetch the two of you to attend the formal greeting.”

“I see.” You nodded. “We will be there in a bit. You may go, Masaomi–dono.”

You thanked him with a nod, your smile fading as the weight of responsibility settled upon you once more. Sukuna, too, felt a sense of annoyance at the intrusion, his brief respite with you now shattered.

Mikoto Masaomi inclined his head in acknowledgment of your words before turning on his heel and departing, his departure leaving behind an uneasy tension in the air. Sukuna's gaze followed him until he disappeared from view, his jaw clenched with a simmering anger that threatened to boil over.

As the silence stretched between them, you reached out, placing a comforting hand on Sukuna's arm. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the palpable frustration that colored his every movement. Despite your own reservations about Mikoto, you knew that now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

"We should go," You said softly, yourvoice a soothing balm against the storm of emotions brewing within Sukuna. "Our fathers are waiting for us, and it wouldn't do to keep them waiting."

Sukuna looks at you again. “Must we? I do not want to greet that lecher–”

“You must, and kindly.” You playfully commanded him, your eyes looking at him tenderly. “Play nice, for me.”

Sukuna purses his lips. He cannot win. Not against you, not ever against the tenderness of your eyes for him. He hated it, how much control you had upon him. But what could he do? He loved you too much to leave you too. He sighed and then nodded curtly, his features softening slightly at your touch. With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, offering you a hand to help you up. You smiled at him and took his hand.

Together, they made their way towards the torii gates, the weight of their respective burdens hanging heavy in the air between them. But as you walked side by side, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.

You looked at him and smiled. His hand wrapped against your own, as though he knew. As though he knew you needed his strength. You grinned at him and lifted his hand to your lips, kissing the side of his thumb. He seemed satisfied by that as they parted hands.

No matter what challenges may they come across,

You knew that as long as they faced them together.

They would emerge to be stronger by the end of it all.

Because no matter what, they would always be together.

SUKUNA COULD ONLY WONDER HOW MUCH THEY POURED OUT FOR THIS. The Ryomen manor stood as a testament to opulence and grandeur, its halls adorned with the trappings of wealth and power. Every corner of the estate was meticulously decorated, from the ornate tapestries that hung from the walls to the shimmering chandeliers that cast a soft, golden glow over the proceedings.

Sukuna couldn't help but scoff at the extravagance, the ostentatious display of wealth and power that seemed to permeate every inch of the estate. Expensive tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of battles won and enemies vanquished, while ornate chandeliers bathed the halls in a soft, golden glow.

For you, the lavish display was a source of frustration and disdain. You had always been vocal about your opposition to the extravagant spending that such events entailed. In your eyes, it was a needless waste of resources, a squandering of funds that could be better used elsewhere. As your Ryomen ancestors had taught, simplicity was the way of one’s life — for wealth cannot be brought upon man’s judgment in the afterlife.

Sukuna, too, shared his master's sentiments. As your loyal servant and guardian, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the excessive displays of wealth that surrounded them. He had always been more comfortable with simplicity and practicality, finding little joy in the ostentatious displays of the upper echelons of society.

Despite their misgivings, however, there was little they could do to change the course of events. The unity games were a time-honored tradition, a chance for the rival clans to come together and become allies. A chance for allies to prove their loyalty to another. But most of all, a chance to showcase their strength and skill. And so, reluctantly, you and Sukuna found yourselves swept up in the whirlwind of activity, their reservations pushed aside in favor of duty and obligation.

As Sukuna effortlessly bested opponent after opponent in the individual rounds of curse hunting, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of disdain for the proceedings. The other sorcerers seemed like mere amateurs compared to him, their techniques lacking in both power and finesse. With each victory, his boredom deepened, his frustration mounting at the thought of wasting his time on such trivial pursuits.

The thrill of battle, the exhilarating rush of combat that he so craved, was conspicuously absent in these tame encounters. Instead of facing worthy adversaries who could test his skills to their limits, Sukuna found himself locked in battle with opponents who posed little challenge, their feeble attempts at defense crumbling before his overwhelming might.

As he effortlessly dodged their attacks and countered with devastating precision, Sukuna couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was wasting his time. The individual rounds of curse hunting had become nothing more than a monotonous chore, a tiresome exercise in futility that did little to sate his hunger for true combat.

With each passing round, Sukuna's impatience grew, his frustration boiling over into simmering resentment. He longed for the thrill of a real challenge, for an opponent who could push him to his limits and force him to unleash the full extent of his power. But amidst the sea of mediocrity that surrounded him, such adversaries were nowhere to be found.

As the day wore on and the individual rounds drew to a close, Sukuna found himself growing increasingly restless. He yearned for the freedom of the open battlefield, for the chaos and carnage of a true fight to the death. But for now, he would have to content himself with the hollow victory of a cursed technique mastered and an opponent defeated.

In the moments of respite between rounds, Sukuna retreated to the secluded grounds of the Ryomen manor, seeking solace amidst the tranquil beauty of nature. He stalked away from the prying eyes of spectators and competitors alike and he immersed himself in the relentless pursuit of perfection, honing his cursed technique with a singular focus that bordered on obsession.

You, ever attuned to his needs, would often seek him out in these private moments, your presence a comforting balm amidst the chaos of the unity games. You dressed lovely for him. As Sukuna held you close, his heart swelled with adoration as he gazed upon you. In the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, you looked ethereal, like a celestial being descended from the heavens above.

Your delicate features were accentuated by the gentle light, casting a luminous glow upon your skin. The intricate folds of your decorations upon your garments draped gracefully around you, each layer adding to the mesmerizing allure of your presence. The fabric shimmered with subtle patterns and hues, reflecting the soft hues of the moon, as if woven from strands of stardust and dreams.

Your hair, adorned with delicate ornaments and flowers, cascaded in ebony waves down your back, framing your face like a halo of midnight silk. Each movement sent ripples of light dancing across the room, casting enchanting shadows upon the tent walls.

But it was your eyes that captivated him the most, pools of liquid darkness that held the depths of the universe within them. In their depths, he saw galaxies swirling, stars twinkling, and constellations unfolding—a reflection of the boundless beauty and wonder of the cosmos.

As Sukuna drank in the sight of you, he felt as though time itself had slowed, suspended in the timeless embrace of the night. In that moment, you were not just his beloved, but a vision of divine grace and celestial elegance, a muse that ignited the spark of creativity and wonder within his soul.

And as he held you close, he knew that he would cherish this moment for eternity, a cherished memory to be treasured in the depths of his heart forevermore. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close to you. Sukuna found himself momentarily lost in the warmth of her embrace, the softness of her touch a welcome distraction from the rigors of combat. Your compliments filled his ears with the sweetest things.

Though the time together was brief, you wanted to visit him and cheer him on. In that short amount of time, you rejuvenated Sukuna's spirit, infusing him with a reward for his devotion. He cherished these stolen moments of intimacy, relishing the fleeting sense of closeness that the both of you shared.

But even as he reveled in your presence, Sukuna couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He knew that their forbidden romance could never be openly acknowledged, that the consequences of discovery could be dire for your reputation. He could hardly care for what everyone else says behind his back. But he does care about what others say to you.

You couldn’t help but pout as you reluctantly bid him farewell, your bright beaming cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he pressed a kiss upon your temple. Sukuna couldn't help but admire your beauty in the soft glow of the beautiful morning sun. How did he find such a gem in the world? You seemed to radiate an otherworldly allure that left him breathless with longing.

"I wish you could stay longer," Sukuna murmured, his voice tinged with longing as he held your hand close to his. “You ought to warm me with you.”

You smiled sadly, your eyes betraying the same yearning that echoed in Sukuna's heart. "I do too," you admitted softly, fingers lingering on his arm. How warm you were, he will never get tired how you warm his cold world. "But we can't risk drawing attention to ourselves. It's better this way, for now.”

Sukuna nodded, though the weight of their clandestine relationship hung heavy between them. "I know," he conceded, his tone heavy with resignation. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

Your smile faltered slightly, your gaze clouded with tenderness. "Oh, my love, I know." you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But we have to be patient. Our time will come, I promise."

Sukuna's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and determination at your words. "I'll hold you to that," he vowed, his eyes locking with your eyes full of affection. “I’ll see you soon.”

You smiled. “I’ll see you.”

A wistful sigh leaves his lips, Sukuna watches you depart, a pang of regret tugging at his heart. Though their time together was fleeting, the memory of your kisses lingered on his lips, a potent reminder of the forbidden love that bound them together in secret.

But most of the time, he was alone with his thoughts. He cannot handle the bustling of servants, nor the nagging of his adoptive father. And so, he maintains a quiet time alone for himself when you have become increasingly occupied with duty. It was during one of these moments of solitude that he overheard a group of men talking nearby. Judging by the crest on their kimono — they were Fujiwara, a fact that only served to fuel Sukuna's disdain.

Sukuna listened intently as the voices of the Fujiwara men carried through the air, their conversation laced with arrogance and disdain. His lips curled into a sneer of contempt as he recognized the distinctive crest adorning their attire, a symbol of the very clan that had long been a thorn in the side of the Ryomen.

"They say the Ryomen girl is to take a husband this year," one of the men remarked, his tone filled with a sense of superiority. “I’m quite impressed how high the name remains high on the match maker’s list!”

Sukuna's blood boiled at the mention of your name, your honor in such a context, his fists clenched at his sides in barely contained fury. He bristled at the audacity of these men, their callous words serving as a stark reminder of the prejudices and injustices that permeated the world of sorcery.

"But who would want to marry the bitch?" another voice chimed in, eliciting a round of mocking laughter from the group. "The bitch’s nothing but a cruel murderer of men."

Another man, perhaps emboldened by the laughter, added, "I heard the whore once killed a man just for looking at her the wrong way. Who would want to be tied to such a beast?"

One of the stupid fools bolted into boisterous hooting. “Killed a man? The whore is ever so lucky to have some suitors. No one should be tied to such a brutish whore.”

The other one of these stupid brutes, emboldened by the laughter of his companions, continued, "You may think the bitch is powerful, but if I marry and bed the bitch, I'll make sure that bitch keeps silent. Nothing more than being nothing more than a tool, bent to my will."

The cruel words pushed Sukuna to the brink, his body trembling with the effort of restraining himself. The image of your serene face, your unwavering trust in him, kept him from unleashing the full extent of his wrath. With a sharp exhale, Sukuna forced himself to relax, the tension draining from his body as he made a conscious effort to quell the storm of emotions raging within him. He may have harbored a burning desire for revenge, but he would not let it consume him, not when your safety and happiness hung in the balance.

"The bitch needs a strong hand to guide and rule, someone like me.” another man sneered. "Put the collar upon that bitch.”

"Imagine the power one could wield with that bitch within one of our control," the first man mused, his voice dripping with ambition. "A conquest of the jujutsu world would be imminent. But we must ensure that bitch breaks first.”

The more they talked, the more Sukuna felt like he was going to lose it. It struck Sukuna over and over like a physical blow, his anger flaring into white-hot rage at the disparagement of the person he held deepest in his being. His mind raced with violent thoughts, visions of vengeance dancing tantalizingly at the edges of his consciousness.

But then, your voice echoed in his mind, a soothing balm to his simmering fury.

"Don't," you whispered, your gentle tone a stark contrast to the storm raging within him. "It's not worth it. They are not worth it.”

Sukuna gritted his teeth against the overwhelming urge to lash out, his muscles coiling with tension as he fought to rein in his emotions. It was always you guiding him, even when you weren't around. Even if he hated it, Sukuna knew you were right, knew that succumbing to his rage would only bring them more trouble. More so, if he defeats them now — the clan would suffer more issues with the Fujiwara. Sukuna could care less about these spineless fools. But it would be different for you

With a sharp exhale over and over, even if it doesn’t work — Ryomen Sukuna forced himself to relax, the tension draining from his body as he made a conscious effort to quell the storm of emotions raging within him. He may have harbored a burning desire for revenge, but he would not let it consume him, not when your safety and happiness hung in the balance.

As he tried to steady himself, The sorcerer retreated further into the shadows, his heart heavy with the weight of his unspoken vow. No matter the obstacles they faced, he swore to protect you, to shield you from the cruelty of the world, even if it meant sacrificing his own desires for the sake of your well-being.

Sooner or later, they will end up paying for their words.

He will not let them get away with tarnishing you.

One way or another, it will be the cleave or a cutting slash.

RYOMEN SUKUNA PURSED HIS LIPS IN A FLAT LINE, LOOKING AT HIS THE COURTYARD. Sukuna considered himself fortunate to have the luxury of choosing his opponents. In a world where battles often come unbidden and enemies strike without warning, he relished the rare freedom to select his adversaries. This autonomy allowed him to seek out the most formidable challengers, ensuring that each fight would test his limits and provide a thrill worthy of his power.

To Sukuna, combat was more than mere survival or dominance—it was an art form, a dance of death that required a worthy partner. He took pride in his ability to discern who was truly deserving of facing him, who could push him to his fullest potential. The chance to pick his battles meant he could avoid the mundane and mediocre, focusing only on those who offered a true challenge.

In the quiet moments before a fight, Sukuna often reflected on this privilege. He knew that many warriors never had such a choice, forced to fight whoever fate threw in their path. But he, Sukuna, stood above them, wielding the power not just to conquer, but to choose his conquests. This freedom was a testament to his strength and a source of immense satisfaction, reminding him that he was not merely a participant in the eternal struggle for power—he was its master.

He stepped toward the courtyard of the Ryomen manor and looked upon the crowd. It was a spectacle of unparalleled grandeur, a testament to the clan's status and influence. Every corner of the expansive space was adorned with elaborate decorations that spoke of meticulous care and significant investment. The Ryomen double heron flies above, bright against all the other clan’s banners. His win was a result of that, for which he had too much pride about.

Silk banners, bearing the insignias of the various clans, fluttered lower, ever so gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors catching the light of the midday sun. Intricate tapestries depicting historic battles and legendary sorcerers draped the walls, adding a sense of reverence and tradition to the atmosphere.

Flower arrangements, meticulously crafted with seasonal blooms, punctuated the courtyard, their colors and fragrances mingling to create an intoxicating ambiance. Each floral display was a work of art, with blossoms arranged in harmonious patterns that drew the eye and invited admiration. Pathways of polished stone meandered through the courtyard, leading to various observation points and seating areas where the dignitaries and clan members could comfortably view the matches.

Large, ornate lanterns hung from intricately carved wooden posts, their delicate designs casting intricate shadows on the ground below. These lanterns would be lit as the sun set, casting a warm, inviting glow over the proceedings and adding to the magical atmosphere of the event. The air buzzed with anticipation, a palpable energy that surged through the crowd as they awaited the commencement of the individual matches.

The assembled sorcerers, dressed in their finest ceremonial attire, engaged in hushed conversations, their voices creating a low hum that underscored the gravity of the occasion. The younger juniors of the clan could feel their eyes wide with excitement and curiosity, whispering among themselves, speculating on the outcomes of the matches and the prowess of the competitors.

You sat poised alongside your uncle and your father, perched in a place of honor that overlooked the arena. Though your demeanor projected an air of tranquility and control, your true sentiments were veiled beneath a carefully crafted facade. Despite your efforts to maintain a stoic composure, the affection you tenderly harbored for Sukuna simmered just beneath the surface, evident to those who were attuned to your subtle cues.

From your elevated vantage point, you could survey the unfolding spectacle with a serene gaze one after another. Your eyes, alight with a quiet intensity, traced the movements of the combatants below. While her features remained composed, betraying little of her inner turmoil, the warmth emanating from her gaze spoke volumes.

As Sukuna crossed the threshold into the ring, a palpable aura of determination enveloped him. His steely gaze swept across the gathered spectators, momentarily lingering on the familiar countenance of you. In that fleeting exchange, an unspoken bond passed between them, a silent pact that fortified Sukuna's resolve and served as a constant reminder of the personal stakes he carried into the impending clash.

Opposite him, Fujiwara Koku stood with an air of arrogance that bordered on insolence, his smirk a blatant display of confidence. He remembered this ugly face quite clearly. His words of degradation towards you repeating in Sukuna’s head over and over.

Sukuna's jaw clenched imperceptibly at the sight, his disdain for his adversary simmering beneath his cool exterior. While Koku exuded an air of self-assurance, Sukuna's demeanor remained inscrutable, a mask of detachment concealing the seething intensity of his emotions. He hated Fujiwara. The gall, the arrogance — with nothing to show for it but a power that was collapsing on its own hubris.

As the signal to commence the match echoed through the arena, tension crackled in the air like electricity. Each step taken by Sukuna reverberated with purpose, a silent declaration of his unwavering determination. Across the ring, Koku mirrored his opponent's movements with a predatory grace, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. In that charged moment, the clash of wills between Sukuna and Koku became inevitable, a collision of personal vendettas and unyielding resolve set to unfold in the unforgiving arena of combat.

As the gyōji announced the start of the match, Koku sneered, "Do you really think you can stand against me, foolish little hound?"

Sukuna remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he focused on his opponent.

Koku's expression twisted into one of mock pity. "I suppose your master, your bitch. Look at your master, little dog. You will be watching. Perhaps I should go easy on that bitch’s little pet."

As the confrontation escalated, the air crackled with tension, each heartbeat echoing like a drumbeat in the stillness of the night. Without preamble or hesitation, Fujiwara Koku unleashed the full fury of his power, a torrent of fire and brimstone hurtling towards Sukuna with deadly precision.

The first fireball erupted from Koku's outstretched palm, a searing orb of crimson flame that streaked through the darkness like a comet on a collision course. Sukuna's senses sharpened as he watched the fiery projectile hurtle towards him, his instincts honed from all these years kicking in with ease.

With a dancer's grace and a warrior's precision, Sukuna sprang into action, his movements fluid and seamless as he evaded the onslaught of fireballs with effortless agility. Each step was a calculated maneuver, each twist and turn a testament to his mastery of combat. The home crowd cheered with vigor at the spectacle of their kin.

The air around him shimmered with heat as the fireballs whizzed past, their searing heat leaving trails of scorched air in their wake. But Sukuna remained undeterred, his focus unwavering as he danced through the inferno unscathed. The flames were hot, but that’s all they were. They were nothing to him.

With each passing moment, Sukuna's movements became more fluid, more effortless, as if he were a force of nature unleashed upon the world. His footwork was impeccable, his timing impeccable, as he anticipated each strike with uncanny accuracy.

As the barrage continued, Sukuna seemed to meld with the rhythm of the chaos around him. Each leap, each twist, was executed with a precision that bordered on preternatural. His body moved with a fluidity that belied the danger that surrounded him, as if he were an extension of the very elements he danced amidst.

With each passing moment, Sukuna's senses heightened, his awareness expanding to encompass the entire battlefield. Every flicker of movement, every shift in the air, became a part of his consciousness, feeding into his instinctual understanding of the fight unfolding before him.

The fireballs came faster now, streaking through the night like shooting stars intent on obliterating their target. But Sukuna was no mere mortal; he was a master of combat, a living testament to the power of discipline and training.

With a graceful twist of his body, Sukuna evaded a particularly close call, the heat of the passing fireball licking at his heels as he danced out of harm's way. His movements were a symphony of motion, each step a carefully orchestrated note in the melody of battle.

And then, in a burst of speed and agility, Sukuna closed the distance between himself and his adversary, his blade flashing in the moonlight as he struck with lethal precision. The clash of steel rang out like thunder in the night, a testament to the ferocity of their duel.

"Impressive, little pet. But is that all you've got?" Koku taunted, summoning a larger flame. "Let's see how you handle this!"

Sukuna's lips curled into a contemptuous smirk, a silent retort to Koku's taunts. His focus remained unbroken, his movements fluid and precise as he deftly evaded each incoming fireball with calculated ease. Though Koku's attacks were fierce, Sukuna's resolve did not falter. He remains unshaken, his determination burning like a steady flame amidst the chaos of battle.

With a graceful flourish, Sukuna countered Koku's escalating assault, summoning his own inferno to meet the challenge head-on. The clash of fire and fury illuminated the arena in a dazzling display of power, each combatant vying for supremacy with unyielding resolve.

As the flames danced and flickered in the air, Sukuna's eyes blazed with an intensity that belied his calm exterior. With each passing moment, his confidence grew, fueled by the silent encouragement he sensed from You's unwavering gaze.

Koku's smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty as he realized the depth of Sukuna's determination. Yet, true to his nature, he pressed on undeterred, channeling his rage into a relentless onslaught of attacks.

“I’ll fight you with your element.” Sukuna retorts to the man, a smirk on his face. “It’s getting dull, fighting with you. Is that all you have? Come on. We should mix it up.”

Koku’s face contorts in anger, an insult cutting through at his ego. The heir of the Fujiwara screamed as he harnessed massive flames. The heat could be felt everywhere, people screeched upon the feeling. Koku hurled the massive fireball at Sukuna, but Sukuna was ready. He smirks.

He muttered "Open," the echoes of his palms bouncing off flame against flame. Koku’s eyes widened at the sight. It was bright, orange flames with hints of reddish scarlet. Sukuna’s hands tamed the flames as he brushed them together.

The whispers of Sukuna’s fame were heavily focused upon his cutting and slashes techniques. Ones which were versatile in its own right. But a Ryomen does not content himself with what he is now. He adapts, he develops. He becomes divine.

The crowd goes in awe as his own Divine Flame countered Koku’s own bright flames. The flames clashed in a spectacular explosion, radiating against the veil one after the other. Koku looked pathetic as he tried to push against the fuschia haired man. But Sukuna snickered as he pushed, his superior control and intensity quickly overpowered Koku's attack, dissipating it into nothing. Koku falls back, his head lowered and his feet clutched onto the ground. He looks at Sukuna, who’s flames had disappeared at his command.

Seizing the moment, Sukuna closed the distance between them with lightning speed. Koku swung a flaming fist, aiming for Sukuna's head, but Sukuna ducked under the blow, his movements fluid and precise. He touched the ground, activating Spiderweb. The earth beneath Koku's feet cracked and shattered in an intense blow, the technique adjusting to the terrain's toughness and collapsing the ground in one decisive move.

Koku stumbled harshly once more, his balance disrupted by the sudden upheaval. Sukuna moved in with Cleave, the slashing attack adjusting itself to Koku's cursed technique. Sukuna was no longer giving him time to recover. One could see the elders of the Fujiwara rushing towards lord Isamu. The rest were standing, calling foul at what Sukuna was trying to do. But Sukuna did not see all that. What he saw was his prey and he was going to hunt. Strike after another towards his opponent was devastating, cutting through Koku's defenses and leaving a deep, gaping wound across his torso, his hands, his arms, even at his face.

"You... you'll pay for this," Koku gasped, blood seeping everywhere as he stumbled, feeling more blood spill through his fingers as he clutched his upper chest. He hissed from the pain. “YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!”

"You're not even worth my time," Sukuna replied coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. He watches him cough more blood. But he did not care. Not even when you were standing off your seat, calling out to him, telling him to stop. “Get lost.”

Desperate to live, Fujiwara Koku summoned a massive fireball, his last-ditch effort to turn the tide of the battle. The crowd was yelling and cheering for Sukuna, to end the game. Many professed that he would end the round and win glory for the Ryomen. The cheering grew louder, but Sukuna could not hear them. He did not want to hear them. Sukuna was lost in over his head, for revenge now. He could care less about the glory.

This fool ran his mouth, had stepped on his clan and stepped on the person he loves. He will not let him get away with simple wounds. Sukuna was relentless. He quickly extended his hand, his Dismantle technique slicing through the fireball with ease. Koku's final attack disintegrated before it could even begin, before it could even try to reach Sukuna.

In a final, desperate move, Koku stood and screamed, pathetically charging at Sukuna, flames engulfing both his fists. Sukuna snickered and met him head-on, activating his Cleave once more. The attack was swift and lethal, cutting through Koku's fire and striking him down with a single, decisive blow. The pressure was so much from that hit, everyone could feel it. The sound, the wind, the air — all had changed course as Fujiwara Koku choked on his own blood and flew battered and broken upon the other side of the ring.

Koku's defeat was as swift as it was decisive, the once-arrogant heir to the Fujiwara clan now reduced to a fallen adversary, sprawled upon the unforgiving ground of the arena. The courtyard, once alive with the tumultuous energy of battle, now fell into an eerie silence, the onlookers rendered speechless by the spectacle unfolding before them. Soon enough, the cheers returned. But only the Gojo and the Ryomen cheered. Kamo, Zenin and Fujiwara all looked with horror as the heir of a prestigious clan, lay unresponsive.

Sukuna stood amidst the aftermath of his triumph, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of battle. He did not care to look back if Koku was dead or alive. It was a fair match, one he had won with his sorcery. He would not speak like that about you ever again. Despite the victory he had achieved, there was no hint of triumph in his demeanor, only a solemn acknowledgment of the price paid in pursuit of victory. He was not happy. He wanted more. He wanted more than this. All of them have to pay.

Amidst the hushed whispers and murmurs of the quiet crowd, you remained a steadfast presence, your wavering gaze fixed upon Sukuna. He watched as you shook your head at him, your eyes narrowed towards him. The warmth that had suffused your eyes earlier now mingled with a newfound complexity, reflecting the conflicting emotions swirling within your own heart. Sukuna felt unsettled by that. He thought you would feel a little more pride for what he had achieved.

It’s as if you knew something that Sukuna did not know.

Sukuna felt his glory drowned by the shadows in your eyes.

Fights broke out between the Ryomen and the Fujiwara that day.

You left the conference dinner that night in sheer, wordlessness.

The next few days, Hiramu Isamu looked at Sukuna bitterly.

Ryomen Hiromi was to wed Fujiwara Koku, to keep the peace.

IT HAD BEEN A ROUGH WEEK. The rest of the events had gone without your presence throughout, the withdrawal of the Fujiwara’s heir from all matches and Sukuna’s disqualification. It was quite somber after all of that. Much too much had been said behind the golden screens of the ancestral halls. Tears and brutish whispers and commands. But none had said anything. You ought not to. It was not an affair that belonged to you.

By the end of that week, the tension between You, the heir to the Ryomen clan, and Sukuna, your loyal follower, had become unbearable. It was quite a palpable undercurrent coursing through the entire clan. Lord Isamu and his brother Hiramu too were just as much in a battle of wills, but that was quite underwhelming to say the least. Lord Hiramu knew when to step away and let his brother settle in his inflamed words. He was after all like the water that flows in the river — strident in his own ways.

As the days passed without you emerging from your chambers, the atmosphere within the Ryomen compound grew increasingly strained. The unity games, meant to foster camaraderie and goodwill among the clans, had become marred by the rift between the Fujiwara and the Ryomen. But that was always one that had existed. One that all had been used to. What the rest of the Ryomen had not been used to was the distance between the heiress and her devoted guardian.

For Sukuna, the days of your seclusion felt like an eternity, each passing moment gnawing away at his patience and sanity. Despite his best efforts to understand the reasons behind your withdrawal, whispers from the shadows painted a different picture. The Fujiwara clan, incensed by Koku's defeat at Sukuna's hands, were exerting pressure on the Ryomen, leveraging their influence to force compliance with their demands.

Uncle Hiromu, ever the voice of reason, stood outside your chambers, attempting to bridge the gap between his adoptive son and his niece. But Sukuna's resolve remained unyielding, his need to see you eclipsing any semblance of diplomacy or compromise. He stared down the guards, all of whom whimpered at his dark gaze.

“It’s alright.” Your voice lingered for a moment. “Let him in.”

As he stood before you, Sukuna's emotions roiled beneath the surface, a tempest of anger and disbelief threatening to consume him whole. The weight of the Fujiwara's intimidation tactics bore down upon him like a suffocating blanket, fueling his determination to resist their tyranny at all costs.

Though your explanation of the marriage match was meant to placate the warring factions and maintain peace between the clans, Sukuna knew in his heart that it was a thinly veiled facade. The Fujiwara's ulterior motives lay bare before him, their insidious machinations driving a wedge between you and your true desires.

In the hushed confines of your chambers, Sukuna's gaze bore into you with an intensity that bordered on accusation. His features contorted with a potent mixture of frustration and despair, his silent plea for you to see reason echoing in the hollow recesses of your shared solitude.

But as the walls closed in around them, Sukuna knew that your fate hung precariously in the balance, and that the choices you made in the days to come would shape the course of your destinies in ways neither of you could yet comprehend.

"You accepted the marriage?" Sukuna's voice was barely above a whisper, laced with a seething undercurrent of fury. "After everything that happened, you just... agreed to it?"

You met Sukuna's gaze with a haunted expression, your eyes betraying the turmoil raging within your soul. "It was the only way," you murmured, your voice barely audible above the tumult of your thoughts. "The Fujiwara felt humiliated, Sukuna. They demanded retribution for what you did to Koku."

Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. "You're telling me you agreed to marry that bastard because of their pride?" His words were a venomous accusation, a stark reminder of the betrayal he felt coursing through his veins.

But your response was tinged with a sorrow that cut deeper than any blade. "It's not just about their pride, Sukuna," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I... I feel responsible for what happened. For the animosity between our families. As father does. If I can bear this burden, perhaps... Perhaps I can make amends."

Sukuna recoiled at your words, his disbelief warring with the anguish that threatened to consume him whole. "You blame yourself for his actions? Their actions? For the words he spoke, the pain he inflicted?" His voice cracked with emotion, his heartache laid bare for all to see. “You, you’re smart. You ought not to be stupid about this.”

Your gaze faltered, your resolve crumbling like fragile glass beneath the weight of Sukuna's accusation. "He... he talked about me?" Your voice was barely a whisper, your heart breaking anew at the realization of Koku's cruelty. You shook your head, defeated. “It does not matter…..he…he would be my lord husband.”

Sukuna's anger flared anew, his fists trembling with suppressed rage. "He belittled you, You. He wanted to hurt you, to break you. And you... you would willingly subject yourself to that misery?" His voice was laced with desperation, a plea for you to see reason amidst the chaos of your unraveling world.

But you shook your head, your tears flowing freely now, a torrent of anguish and regret. "It doesn't matter, Sukuna," you sobbed, your voice raw with emotion. "I must carry this burden, this guilt, this shame. For what he did, for what I failed to prevent."

A haunting flashback washed over you, the memory of your brother's death looming large in your mind's eye. You remembered the terror in his eyes, the desperation of his final moments as he faced off against those who sought to claim you. The weight of that guilt pressed down upon you, crushing you beneath its unbearable burden. But the aftermath, it was all coming back to you now. It was all coming back to you. A sinner can never forget. You must only atone.

The water around you began to swirl with a newfound energy, currents twisting and turning in a vortex that seemed to center on your very being. Suddenly, a surge of power flooded through you, intense and overwhelming. It felt as if the very essence of the river—the unyielding force of its currents, the depth of its secrets—was merging with your own spirit.

Your eyes, previously a soft tender shade, ignited with a vibrant purple hue, shining through the murky waters like twin beacons. This transformation marked the awakening of your cursed technique, a manifestation of your desire for vengeance infused with the river's ancient power. A god bestowed you favor and one that could never be escaped. Ryomen You felt the energy coursing through her veins, her head filling with burning sensations. Of the truth of the world, the anger of the world, the horror of the gods — Ryomen You was no longer just a child. You was a god’s warrior. A servant chained to the strings of a god’s whim.

As the power settled within you, the waters around you seemed to calm, and you found yourself gently deposited on the riverbank, gasping for air but alive. You lay there for a moment, drenched and exhausted, yet invigorated by a newfound strength. Your heart pounded with the pulsing reality of the power that now resided within you.

You stood, your clothes clinging to your skin, your every movement imbued with a sense of purpose. You looked at your hands, your gaze then shifting to the river that had nearly claimed your life but had instead given you a new path. The purple of your eyes was not just a mark of the power you had gained; it was a symbol of your vow, a vivid reminder of the path you had chosen.

And you knew what would happen.

There was no kindness nor doubt in your mind.

Ryomen You walked towards the burning camp.

One look towards the dead and the killers was enough.

You could feel the blood pouring down from your wrists.

“You will pay.” You whispered, turning to who noticed her.

“Who are you?”

“Your death.” Your purple eyes narrowed as you looked at her wrist, and raised it onto the air. You watched as it poured to the ground. You smiled at the murderer. “Heaven’s Bloom.”

You stood with an air of eerie calmness as the intricate spirit array spun around you, a mesmerizing dance of white and red light casting long, twisting shadows across the ground. The ambient glow pulsed with the rhythm of your heartbeat, each surge of light drawing forth the energy from the droplets of your own blood that had fallen in the formation of the array. Your purple eyes, alight with a fierce, unyielding resolve, followed the movements of the murderer who stumbled backward, his eyes wide with dawning terror.

The array's light coalesced into forms. It was the most grotesque thing you had ever seen. You watched as these snarling creatures wrought from the energy you commanded. Little by little, they grew angrier, they grew bitter. They grew ugly. Yet, they were manifestations of your will, each one a grotesque caricature of vengeance, one you felt in your heart. You could feel their forms shimmering with the same eerie luminescence of the array. They were your children, your blood. Your little monsters.

Yet they were born out of the heavens, the gods and their wills. They were holy beasts. The ugliest, most horrific of them all. None could deny how terrifying they are. How brutally cruel they are. Not even your newfound victim. Not even you yourself. The air was filled with the sound of their screeches, blood pouring out of their mouths like a languid fountain. It was a brutal cacophony that seemed almost triumphant as they sensed the fear emanating from their prey.

Your smile deepened, your expression one of dark satisfaction as you watched the murderer's feeble attempts to retreat. You think that if she laughed, that man would piss himself. There were more of him around, that she was certain. But he would be the first. You think that he was already too afraid that he would shat himself. His back hit against the cold, unyielding surface of the carriage — there was no further space to flee, no escape from the retribution he had brought upon himself.

With a voice as cold as the freezing night, You uttered a single command that sealed the fates of the murderer and his comrades. "Eat."

At your word, the creatures lunged forward with the most brutal force anyone had ever seen. Their movements were a blur, a violent cascade of light and shadow that pounced on the murderer and his group. One after another, the spraying of blood was all too much. Your kimono danced against blood and water. Blood was indeed thicker than water. But as they sprayed against you one after another, You did not mind it. You just watched, you just stood still and listened.

Screams pierced the night air, a terrible symphony of agony that played out under the uncaring gaze of the moon above. The creatures tore at the men with spectral claws and teeth, each attack brutal, relentless — not just physical assaults, but invasions of the very soul, rending spirit as well as flesh.

The chaos was brief, yet it stretched out like a lifetime of pain for those on the receiving end. You lived in that moment like it was forever. When the dead were claimed by the earth with the soiled thickness of blood, the creatures finally receded. You watched as they were drawn back into the fading light of the spirit array. You could not recognize the fools. There was nothing that remained of the murderers. But the young lady lived in the infinity of their echo of their echoing screams and the disjointed shadows of discarded flesh and bone that danced fitfully on the blood-stained ground.

Your heart beat steadily, a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded. You turned away from the carnage, your steps measured and purposeful. There was no joy in your actions any longer. Not even if you felt satisfied. There is only vain sorrow. Grief. Nothing was left, only the grim satisfaction of justice served — not through the law, but by the ancient, arcane arts that you had mastered and wielded with lethal precision.

As the night reclaimed its silence, Ryomen You felt exhausted. You felt drained. There was nothing left. Nothing of your past left. That night, it all burnt to ashes. And you too, disappeared into the darkness. Ryomen You became a sinner that night, a murderer even. But you did not care. It would never bring your brother back. You did not care.

"Leave me, Sukuna," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the chaos of your shattered world. Your fingers grip tightly to your lilac silks. "Leave me be, at least for now. Please.”

And as Sukuna stood before you, his heart heavy with the weight of your shared pain, he knew that your journey was far from over, and that the road ahead would be fraught with obstacles neither of you could yet foresee. But amidst the ashes of your shattered dreams, a glimmer of hope remained—a beacon of light that illuminated the darkness, guiding you ever onward towards an uncertain future.

Tears poured out from Ryomen You’s eyes.

The pain in your head echoed over and over again.

‘Don’t waste tears over decisions you made like this..’

You bit your lower lip as you could feel the voice of god.

‘Stand by your choices, stop being a foolish little one.’

HE HAD NO WAY TO SOOTHE HIS HEART ACHE. In the secluded sanctuary of the koi ponds, Sukuna sought respite from the tempestuous storm of emotions that churned relentlessly within him. Surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the melodious trickle of water, he found himself drawn to the serene tranquility of his surroundings, each ripple upon the surface of the pond a reflection of the chaos raging within his own soul.

With each step you took along the worn stone pathway, Sukuna felt the weight of his grief pressing down upon him like an unbearable burden. The air hung heavy with the weight of unspoken words and fractured bonds, the silence broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps against the cool, smooth surface beneath him.

As you wandered aimlessly amidst the verdant foliage and graceful arc of the wooden bridges, Sukuna sought solace in the timeless beauty of nature, a silent witness to the tumultuous symphony of your innermost thoughts and emotions. Each breath you took seemed to draw you deeper into the heart of your turmoil, the tranquil facade of the koi ponds offering little sanctuary from the tempest that raged within.

Yet, amidst the chaos of your own making, Sukuna found a strange sense of peace in the rhythmic dance of the koi beneath the surface, their graceful movements a silent reminder of the ebb and flow of life itself. With each passing moment, he felt himself drawn ever closer to the heart of his own grief, the gentle embrace of the water offering solace where words could not.

Lonesomeness among the tranquil serenity of the koi ponds, Sukuna stood on the precipice of his own despair, his heart laid bare beneath the watchful gaze of the silent sentinels that danced upon the surface of the water. And though the path ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty, he knew that in the depths of his solitude, he would find the strength to weather the storm that raged within, and emerge anew, forged in the fires of his own turmoil.

The tranquil ambiance of the koi ponds was disrupted by the fading echoes of departing footsteps, leaving behind an unsettling stillness that seemed to swallow Sukuna whole. As the last remnants of the departing clans vanished into the distance, the weight of Sukuna's isolation settled heavily upon his shoulders, a tangible reminder of the chasm that had formed between him and You.

Lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, Sukuna was startled by the arrival of his adoptive father, Hiramu, whose presence cut through the suffocating silence like a beacon of light amidst the darkness. Wordlessly, the elder Ryomen settled beside him, his silent companionship a balm to Sukuna's wounded soul.

For a long while, they sat in contemplative silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. It was Hiramu who broke the silence first, his voice gentle yet firm as he sought to bridge the gap between them.

"Sukuna," he began gently, "I understand your pain. But you must also understand that You has a duty to uphold. As our lord, Isamu's choice for peace outweighs all else."

Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides, his anger and bitterness threatening to consume him whole. But despite his inner turmoil, he refused to meet his father's gaze, the tumult of emotions roiling within him rendering him speechless.

"What should I do then?" Sukuna's voice was barely above a whisper, a desperate plea for guidance in a world devoid of certainty.

Hiramu's words reverberated in Sukuna's mind like a relentless echo, each syllable a painful reminder of the sacrifices demanded by duty and loyalty. As he wrestled with the weight of his father's expectations, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to unravel the fragile threads of his resolve.

"If you truly love You," Hiramu's voice echoed in Sukuna's ears, the gentle cadence of his words belying the weight of their implications. "Then you must serve her above all else."

The ache in Sukuna's chest deepened at his father's admonition, a bittersweet reminder of the love he harbored for You, a love tinged with equal parts longing and despair. For as much as he yearned to be by her side, to support her in her time of need, Sukuna couldn't shake the gnawing fear that his presence would only serve to deepen the chasm that had formed between them.

"You is alone in her burden," Hiramu continued, his voice a solemn decree that echoed in the silence of Sukuna's soul. "And it falls upon you to fill that void."

The weight of those words settled upon Sukuna like a suffocating shroud, the burden of responsibility pressing down upon him with unrelenting force. How could he, a mere mortal burdened with his own flaws and insecurities, hope to shoulder the weight of You's burdens? And yet, the thought of abandoning her to face her trials alone filled him with a sense of profound despair.

"One day," Hiramu's voice carried a note of quiet conviction, a promise of redemption amidst the chaos of Sukuna's fractured world. "You will be her right hand man, her staunchest ally."

But Sukuna couldn't help but wonder if that day would ever come—if he would ever be worthy of standing by You's side as her equal, her confidant, her friend. The thought of a future filled with uncertainty and doubt sent a shiver down his spine, a chill that seeped into the very marrow of his bones.

"But you must put her needs before your own," Hiramu's words cut through the fog of Sukuna's despair like a sharpened blade, a stark reminder of the sacrifices demanded by duty and obligation. "For the sake of our duty, our legacy."

With a heavy heart and a weary soul, Sukuna bowed his head in silent acquiescence, his resolve wavering beneath the weight of his father's expectations. For as much as he longed to defy fate and carve his own path forward, Sukuna knew that his duty to You, to their clan, to their legacy, was a burden he could never hope to escape. And so, with a heavy heart and a weary soul, Sukuna surrendered himself to the relentless tide of destiny, resigned to the anguished whispers of his own fractured heart.

Sukuna found himself engulfed in a sea of contemplation, each word uttered by his father echoing in the recesses of his mind like a resounding bell telling the truth. With each passing moment, a sense of clarity washed over him like a cleansing tide, stripping away the layers of doubt and uncertainty that had clouded his judgment.

As Sukuna grappled with the weight of his father's wisdom, a profound realization dawned upon him like a ray of sunlight piercing through the darkness. Hiramu was right��if he dared to admit it to himself.

Blood may indeed be thicker than water, but the bonds forged by duty and loyalty transcended the confines of mere familial ties. In the quiet solitude of his contemplation, Sukuna came to understand that belonging was not always about blood relations, but rather about the connections forged through shared experiences and unwavering loyalty.

With a heavy heart, Sukuna acknowledged that he had never truly known what it meant to belong before. Raised within the confines of the Ryomen clan, he had always felt like an outsider looking in, yearning for acceptance and validation amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces. But now, in the wake of his father's guidance, Sukuna realized that being a Ryomen was not just a matter of lineage—it was a testament to the strength of their bond, forged in the crucible of duty and obligation.

"You were all I have," Sukuna mused quietly to himself, the weight of his realization settling upon him like a comforting embrace. Despite the lingering sense of loneliness that had haunted him for so long, Sukuna knew that he was never truly alone. The Ryomen clan was his family, his home, his anchor amidst the tumultuous sea of uncertainty.

“You’re all I will ever have.” He now says out loud.

Ryomen Sukuna looked away from his father and sighed.

He didn’t know what to do, nor did he know where to go.

But he can’t see you and he’s certain, you don’t want to see him.

It would break your hearts more than ever, to seek each other out.

There was warmth in the water, the water was fine as he sought it.

Ryomen Sukuna wonders if he too will be able to feel fine once more.

fun facts about this chapter

this is the longest chapter i wrote and the longest one i took breaks in between for. its about 48 pages in my docu file and it took a week or so because of my school life. i really like it, though.

fujiwara akiko, really didn't love her children. she hates being married to hiramu. she paid more attention to akimu because his status as heir and how that gives her more power and influence. she looks down on hiromi and blames hiromi for akimu's death.

hiromi was found alone in the woods near the fujiwara's summer manor a few days after what happened. gojo suzaku was the one who found hiromi. it was noted that hiromi was the lone survivor.

hiromi's curse technique is called 'siphon of heaven'. her curse technique by nature is sacrificial, she has to offer up something to use it. hiromi's blood is often used. a god has four aspects of control - life, death, nature and the cosmic heavens. 'heaven's bloom' is a nature in between of life and death.

hiromi does not curse technique often. it takes more cursed energy than what is stored up. though hiromi has honed the techniques throughout the years, it is incomplete. with this purpose, hiromi focuses on using other forms of jujutsu including cursed weapons and aids.

prior having 'siphon of heaven', hiromi did have a developing cursed technique but it never manifested as it was overrided by the pact hiromi and the god made. from hiromi and onwards, only three had been users of the technique. hiromi, another clan leader and genmei, who is hiromi's descendant.

sukuna has yet to completely perfect and refine much of his techniques and he is obssessive over the need to be able to do it. hiromi doesn't think its healthy for him to push himself, but sukuna thinks that the only way he'll improve is if he devotes his time to it.

hiramu and sukuna's relationship as father and son isn't the most typical, but its warm enough that they call each other father and son. hiramu has pride over giving sukuna his name.

fujiwara koku is the same age as hiromi's older brother. he is the heir of the fujiwara, but he's mostly disliked by the rest of the clan. however, they are obliged to follow him by their loyalty to the fujiwara. his fire cursed technique is 'fire matter'.

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