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madamechrissy · 1 day ago

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Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- Heavy angst, hate sex, cum licking, oral (m and f recieiving) choking, smacking, say hi to Gojo, toxic relationship. WC this part- 6.5k

Will be six parts <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!

<<<Part Two - Playlist - Masterlist - Part four (soon)

Part Three

“Fuck…” Suguru’s moaning as he’s filling you, and it’s just too much, too intimate, his silken long locks falling against your skin, his lips hovering over yours, one of your legs wrapped on his hip.

“Fuck you…” Is what you mutter back, as his cock fills you, hitting every damn spot all at once, you’re soaking him, hands gripping the blankets, trying to avoid that desire to grip him instead.

“You love it, don’t you?” You shake your head and he chuckles, slipping his hand down your tummy to toy with your clit, pressing it in circles, making you cum so damn easily. “No?”

“Who c-cares- mnh!” You’re screaming out as he overstimulates you, those lazy lidded violet eyes devouring your face, your nails grip his back on instinct, making him hiss in pleasure.

“Fuck.” He huffs again, as he feels your walls, so slick and tight, pulsating all around his veiny length. “Feel perfect-” He pauses himself, as you gasp, he’s burying his face in your neck again, fucking into you deeper and harder now, taking over all your senses while he hides his feelings.

That he’s obsessed with you should be obvious, it is obvious to fucking anyone besides you, clearly. You haven’t noticed the way he’s non stop in your presence, even as there’s a knocking on his door now, he scowls over at it, you release your nails and he glares at you.

“Put them back.” You scowl right back.

“You’re needed M-Master Geto- oh! Ah!” He’s slamming his cock deeper, using one arm to balance, as the other grabs you by your throat.

“Put them back, now. Are the sheets fucking you?”

“I like them better than y-you.”

“Annoying fucking brat…” He grumbles, shoving his cock so deep as the door knocks again. “What is it!?”

“Plans for Kiyoto, Lord Geto. We have been waiting for an hour.”

“I’m not done yet.” The wet sounds of his cock splitting you in half fill his chambers, as he chokes you harder, looking as you lose oxygen, big hand taking your pretty little neck more and more. “I’ll come later.”

“Kiyoto?” You murmur, and he squeezes harder, slamming his cock even deeper as the bed creaks with the force.

“You can still speak?” He raises an arrogant brow, you’re helpless as the fuzziness of him choking you makes you feel like you’re floating as he slams his cock so deep, tip pressing into your spongy cervix, you pulse all around him screaming silently in pleasure. “There, shut your stupid mouth.”

Suguru releases your throat, slamming his lips on yours, and you’re too weak to fight it, you let him kiss you, clinging to him desperately, and letting go for just one blissful moment. Where you inhale the scent of the sex filling the room, where you feel his taste buds on your tongue, and your tongue moves back, earning his soft little whimper that he hides.

You wish you could let go.

But how do you let go with a monster?

Suguru’s big hand comes to your thigh now, gripping it and shoving impossibly deeper as you whine out, your hips rolling for more. If there is ever a time the two of you aren’t declaring your hate or scowling, it’s when he’s fucking you into that bed, deeper and deeper, kissing you like he could love you. A mix of hatred, desire, and more and more feelings you both suffocate.

A month married to him, in his bed constantly, in whatever position he had you in, last night you’d been on top of him, as he’d laughed while you tried to ride him, but when you’d rolled your hips a certain way, you got that look. The look of whatever real Suguru Geto is inside of this shell, you got a glimpse of his tenderness when he came inside you.

Even now, it doesn’t feel all like hate, not when he slows, and he parts his lips, murmuring something that sounded like beautiful, but when you ever looked at him, asked him what he whispered, he’d shut down and flip you. He’d fuck you harder until you couldn’t remember whatever tender words may have spilled from lips that only produce hate.

You gasp now, looking up at him, when he entwines a hand in yours, it’s too much pressure in your tummy, it’s too intimate really, he shouldn’t fucking do this, and he knows it. “D-don’t…”

“Don’t hold your hand, but I can cum in you?” He whispers back, and you gulp now, nodding, while he shakes his head. “Rather me choke you again?”

“Yes.” He scoffs, slamming his lips back down again, rhythm slowing. “Stop kissing me, fuck…”

“No.” You turn your face and he exhales, biting your throat now, sinking fully in and throbbing inside you. “Fucking brat, I swear.”

“Shut up and finish- mnh!” Suguru leans up and shoves you in that mating press now, looking down at you as his hair falls loose and silky and long, brushing the backs of your thighs.

“Need my cum so bad, pathetic girl?”

“Monkey.” You finish, and he pauses, it’s been weeks since he’s said it during sex to you, shit a week since he said it at all. Any time someone else said it he’d end them, so people don’t talk that way anymore.

But the irony is it’s his creation, calling others that.

“You only shut up when I lick you, even dick apparently doesn’t work.” You flush at that, and he’s spitting down between your thighs now, obscene as he does it, running that rough thumb on your clit again as you scream out. “There we go, you can’t help yourself, feels too good.”

“Hate you. Hate you.” You’re whispering even as you shatter, milking his cock so that he cums right with you, groaning out loud, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Perfect little cunt, fuck…” He’s whispering, as he watches the creamy stripes already oozing from your little hole, moaning as he sees it, releasing your thighs. “You took so much, but you’re just pushing it all out.”

“There’s enough cum, you cum so much, ugh.” You grumble, voice breathy as he chuckles so cruelly, finally pulling out of you, dripping with your slick and his seed, sticky and glistening.

“Clean it up then.” He gets on his back now, yanking you until you’re on his face, you gasp then.

“Suguru…”

“Fuck…” He’s parting your drooling lips as you brace yourself on either side of him, feeling the tip of his tongue flick on your overstimulated clit. “Saying my name? Are you only sweet when I eat you out?”

“Shut it.” You lap at his sticky tip, he jerks in your hand, still mostly hard as he’s moaning against you, making you drip out more of his cum right on his lips, mixed with how slick you are.

“Pretty pussy so beat up.”

“Pretty, hmm?” You are met with him shoving up his cock deep, as you suck as much as you can of him, you’ve sucked him a few times now, times when you can’t help yourself.

You love to.

But you don’t want him having the satisfaction.

Though you’ve never done… this, sitting on his face while he laps you up, his huge hands on your hips, while his tongue scoops the cum pouring, only making you closer again. Your eyes roll back as you suck him deeper, losing yourself in the sensations again, it's hard to remember when his tongue devours you that he’s a mass murderer who ‘hates you’.

“Suguru…” You’re pulling back for a moment, pulling away as he flicks your clit again and again, hot breath right on your core, and he glares, yanking you back.

“Don’t run, now, let me get her ready for me again.” You just whine, pathetically, shaking your head.

“M’gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Now.” You sure won’t be taking his orders, but he sucks your tiny clit in his mouth, shoving his cock up with a thrust of his hips, and you are cumming, just like he fucking said. Your thighs shake on either side of his pretty face, as he licks you clean, his own cock fully hard and ready again in your throat. “Finally being good?”

“Mmm, never…” He laughs at you, tapping your hips as you shakily get off him, just to yank you on top, sliding his length between your puffy lips. Your hands brace on his chest, your flushed face so gorgeous he can’t think for a moment. “Must we… so frequently? Shouldn’t I take a test?”

Suguru pauses then.

“And if you are, will you stop your duties as my wife?” He asks, while you grind on him, and you’re exhaling, trying to focus.

“What’s Kyoto?”

“Jesus… just fuck me, don’t talk.”

“That’s all we do!”

“That’s all I enjoy to do with you, it’s the only time you’re not a mean little bitch.” You glare now, leaning back and slapping his cheek, he slaps you right back, while he drags you on his cock, and you scream in pleasure, tits right in his face bouncing with the motion. “There you go, can’t help yourself.”

“Hate you… what the…” He slaps your tits now, as you whine out in pleasure, he leans up to suck one in his mouth, moaning, cheeks hollowed as he does. “Tell me nothing, hmm?”

“It’s an attack, okay? Will you focus on riding dick, your technique is pathetic.” You scowl again, rolling your hips just so and grinding with him bottomed out, smirking as you elicit a whimper.

“Whining like a little bitch, the almighty Lord Geto.”

“God I hate you.” He whispers, pulling you by your hair and kissing you again, so brutal and bruising while he shoves his cock up inside you, skin sweaty and slick from the two of you.

“Attack for what?” You whisper, close to cumming again.

“A thousand curses, will take out every non-sorcerer… f-fuck you feel so… mmm… and anyone who stops me.” You pause at that, unmoving, looking at him in horror now.

“What!?” You earn his scowl, he flips you on the other side of the bed, on top again, a hand on your mouth, as you yank at it.

“I’m killing everyone in that city that’s human. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe, you’re with me.” Your parents live in Kyoto, he doesn’t even let you argue, sinking deeper, shaking his head.

“My parents-”

“Your parents, my parents, baby they’re all gonna die soon.” You’re in horror and shock as the door knocks again, and Suguru rolls violet eyes. “I said I’m busy!”

“Satoru Gojo is here, Lord Geto. You may want to… see this.” Suguru freezes over you.

“You’re gonna kill our parents!? Everyone!? Really!”

“Have I ever made it a secret?” He scoffs, pulling out of you and making you flush in embarrassment as he looks at your body. “I said I’d make an exception, why is that not enough? What more must I constantly do?”

“I don’t know- not be a murderer psycho!?” He’s scowling again as he gets dressed, and you hastily follow.

“I’ll be out there in just a moment.” He says gruffly and you’re following him out, earning him constantly glaring back at you. “I’ll knock you out with a sleeping curse if you don’t stop.”

“Thought I was supposed to go everywhere with you, as your wife, hmm?” His jaw locks as you two step outside, the brightness blinding for just a moment, as several of Suguru’s cult members are ready to fight Gojo, who’s just smirking, turning his attention to the two of you then.

“You paid me a visit, figured I’d return the favor buddy.” Satoru says with a big grin, and Suguru smirks so damn evil, while Satoru eyes you behind the veil of white thin material, face softening a bit. “Who’s the pretty girl, and why is she near you?”

“My wife, okay?” Satoru pauses, while Suguru steps closer, crossing his arms under his wide robes. “What’s it to you?”

Satoru pulls up his white wrapped blindfold, one cerulean eye meeting yours, swirling storms that you could never forget, looking back at Suguru, glossy lips turning up in a smirk. Suguru scowls right at him, when Satoru puts his hands in the pockets of his dark blue pants, tilting his silvery locks as he steps just a bit closer, his shoes glinting under the light with each step.

“A non-curse user married to the infamous Suguru Geto.” Gojo whistles now, walking closer until he’s right in front of you.

“Arranged marriage.” Suguru says, making you tense, feeling sick to your stomach, sure you know it’s true, but…

Perhaps you thought you were a little more?

“Ah, need me to take her off your hands?” Satoru taunts, grinning as he puts his blindfold back on, and you watch Suguru stiffen, before he glares.

“The fuck you say?”

“You hate humans, I’ll take her with me. Sure she’d prefer that over certain death, hmm?”

“You won’t take her any fucking where.”

“Why, it’s forced, right?” Satoru’s lilting voice was laced with sarcasm, as he looks right through Suguru, the way you do, the way Shoko had so casually the day he last saw her, the way only people…

People he loved did.

Fuck he can’t, he doesn’t, but as Satoru brushes your hair back gently and you eye him curiously, he grips one of Satoru’s wrists tightly, and he can feel the goddamn gaze behind that blindfold. Knowing, still caring somehow, though Suguru doesn’t deserve his care, nor does he deserve you.

If he loved you enough, he’d let you run the fuck away with Satoru, perhaps he could keep you safe, from the monster Suguru had become.

But he can’t stand the thought of you gone.

“Is it because she’s pregnant?”

“What!?” Suguru demands, and he lifts his blindfold again, eyeing you with those powerful six eyes that everyone knows the Gojo heir has, as you touch your tummy, looking at Satoru in shock.

“It’s brand new, won’t even show up on a test, but you are.” Satoru’s voice is just a little soft, you could feel how he felt horrible for you, but also you could still feel the love he had for his former best friend.

“You can see?” You murmur softly, as Suguru’s lips are parted.

“I can see a lot. I see you care about her, hmm?”

“You need to leave, to prepare for when I come.”

“Suguru!” His name on your lips makes him pause, as you look at him with tears now. “You can’t do it.”

“Oh I can’t hmm?” Suguru’s struggling to remember his motives, all he can think of is that there’s a fucking baby in you already.

“You can’t do this, what life will this baby even have?”

“A better one, when the scum is off this earth.”

“Including her?” Satoru says now, and Suguru’s jaw locks, violet eyes narrowed with his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, the wind starts whipping around the three of you, as you feel Satoru’s immense energy. It’s far surpassing Suguru’s, intense to withhold as it surrounds him. “If you hate humans, you hate her.”

“That’s… she’s mine.”

“Your human?”

“She’s my…” He stands in front of you now, as Satoru grins, chuckling just a bit. “She’s my wife and has my heir, she won’t leave my fucking sight.”

Suguru never wants you to leave him, the thought makes his heart clench with fear, his very energy shifting, and Satoru picks up on it. “Oh so you’ll just kill her once she has your heir?”

“No I…”

“Why not, care about someone again?” Suguru bristles at that, at his friend seeing everything with one glance, Satoru has always been that way.

“So perceptive now, are you?”

Satoru’s jaw locks. “Now, yes, and you are blinded, can’t even see what’s here for you, can you?”

“Satoru fuckin leave, go prepare now because I sure the fuck am coming prepared to kill everyone in that city, including you.” Suguru stomps away, as Satoru sighs, stepping closer to you.

“Are you alright here?” He murmurs, you nod then, carefully. “I can get you out of here.”

“You what?” You blink just a bit, and Suguru is shouting your name, glaring at the two of you.

“You love him too, don’t you?” Satoru’s question makes you question yourself, your own heart, things you’re trying to shove back, to avoid. But it’s as if Satoru knows you better than yourself and almost like you can feel the love he himself has, the care radiating under his powerful energy.

“No! God no…” You falter, and Satoru exhales, brushing the backs of his fingers across your cheek, and you feel Suguru summon a curse right around you, making you gasp.

“Back the fuck off.” Suguru speaks through gritted teeth, Satoru just smirks, waving off Suguru’s curse like it’s nothing.

“You see them.”

“Yes, I can, some… family trait.” You murmur softly.

“Hmm, interesting. I can still take you away, just say the word.”

You hate Suguru.

Suguru is a psycho murderer.

Right?

“Or…”

“Or?” Suguru’s now got his people around him, his cult, his minions, making you sick as they gather, as if they’re putting a dent in Satoru Gojo.

“Or… you try to stop him.”

“Me!? He fucking hates me, he thinks-”

“Nah. He certainly doesn’t hate you, in fact… maybe only you can get through to him.” He rubs the back of his neck, as Suguru and his group start stepping forward. “I’ve tried, I’m… fucking tired.”

“If you don’t get through, how can I?” Your voice is hoarse, Satoru leans down a bit, voice dropping to a murmur.

“He feels something. Try to… just buy me some time could you?” You gulp now, as you touch your stomach again.

“I’ll try, Gojo.” He smiles at you then, the smile you remember has changed he's… sadder now.

“You have something on here…” He brushes long fingers against your neck, making you tremble a bit at the contact, then blush. You'd only been with Suguru and it wasn't either of your choices, so you wonder if it's just … someone else touching you? Or if it's his intense energy, but soon you notice a little piece of paper that he's placed there. “In case you need me.”

You nod, tucking it in your robes. “Thank you…”

“Good luck with… all of it.” He disappears with one more sad look at Suguru, who's now scowling as he walks over to you. “Go to your room until I say you can leave.”

“What!?”

“Now you’ll be seen as a weakness.” He says, in disgust at the thought, looking at you furiously.

“Why, when you don’t care?” Your words make him furious, how can you not know what he feels?

“I do care, that’s the problem.”

“Oh, I’m a problem!?”

“Go. Now.” You shake your head at him, and he grabs you by your chin, squeezing it tightly. “Go to your room for the rest of the night, I will not repeat myself, or would you like your parents dead earlier?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You say through your sobs that are rising in your throat, and Suguru pauses, guilt flashing as he sees what he’s already done to you, and he hasn’t even started.

“Now.” You rush off as he stares, and the others gather, he aches to follow you when you slam that door, when he hears your cries, but he does nothing. “Someone lock her doors from the inside out.”

******

It’s been all night you’ve been stuck in this goddamn room, and of course you have no phone in here, Suguru lets you use a cell phone to speak to your parents but he never really lets you keep it in your room. Finally, it’s gotta be late, you’ve lost sense of time but the locked windows of your room show it’s dark out, the door opens with a resounding click.

You peer and see him then, furious at you as he stands there, and you step up to the doorway. “Locking me away like this is beauty and the beast, huh?”

“Might as well be, isn’t that what we are?” He raises a brow, and you gulp now, shaking your head.

“No, you’re beautiful. On the outside.” You watch Suguru pause now, face softening a bit. “If I’m pregnant, shouldn’t I be allowed to eat?”

“I didn’t say… you think…”

“You’ve locked me in here for hours.” Your tummy growls as if on cue, and Suguru feels like…

God worse than shit.

His best friend had just been there, and now the girl he’s fallen for is starving and apparently… pregnant. If Gojo is to be believed, there’s life inside of you already, and what sort of life would it be when you’re living in constant terror from him? But Suguru is too far down this path, as much as he will make an exception for you, he will not do that for anyone else.

His family and yours included, eventually.

“So you know, your parents are on vacation.” You exhale in relief, but then instantly feel guilty.

What about everyone else?

“Can I have a phone to talk to them, please?”

He shrugs then. “Sure, I’ll have one brought to you along with dinner.”

“So I have to stay here!?”

“Until you calm down.” He shuts the door again as you glare at it, and he’s resting his head on the other side, despising himself.

“Suguru, really!?”

It’s of no use. With dinner and a phone in a little bit, you devour it, realizing then that you are starving, you’d fucked the man all morning and are apparently… carrying his baby, and haven’t eaten anything. The door opens and Suguru stands there once again, crossing his arms and looking down at you.

“You can come to my chambers if you behave.” You’ll behave alright.

Knowing it to be your chance to attempt to get to him in any way, you agree. As you walk down the halls, seeing his daughters giggling as if everything’s fine, Suguru pats them on the head as he pauses, and when they leave, he looks at you. “So if they were human, what would you do?”

“I asked you to behave.”

“Did you think of Gojo and-”

“Forget who you belong to?” He says angrily, hands on your shoulders now, heat burning you through the silk of your robes.

“It’s just all arranged, yeah?” Your retort leaves him breathless, sputtering, as he catches you by your wrist.

“It was arranged, but let me explain-”

“Nothing you say makes any fucking sense!” You're yanking your arm, now he is dragging you to his room, you're stumbling helplessly, following his quick pace until he's slammed the door behind you.

“You are mine, all mine.” He whispers, huge hands on your face, as you bite a trembling lip.

“Suguru, you can’t do this. Please.”

“Stop telling me what I can or can’t do. Why, think I’m not powerful enough?” He slams a hand on one side of your head, making you tense.

“Is that all this is, who’s more powerful? Does this mean nothing?” You take that hand putting it on your stomach now, as he gulps audibly, his already tired eyes even more heavy.

“The heir.”

“The baby, say it.”

“Baby…” He murmurs, almost in wonder for a moment, before stepping back, as you feel your heart shattering. “You’ll stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll have guards if they come to retaliate.”

“Oh, so it’s all fine then, you’re gonna what, kill other kids!? Pregnant women!? Does that make you feel good, Suguru, so fucking strong?” You shove at him now, and his dark brows lower, jaw clenched.

“You will be safe.”

“For how long, until your hatred overtakes you, and you remember what I am. Say it, huh?” He’s squeezing your wrists, shoving you off him, pinning them above your head as he leans down, the ticking of the clock on his wall matching the rhythm of your pounding heart.

Tick tick tick.

How long until your heart stops beating?

“You’re… more.” He wants to say it then, that he loves you, a human… that he’s never felt like this, even with the love of his friends.

Nothing like it.

You scoff right at him. “Tiny, pathetic, useless, but you’re different, okay? I know that you are.”

“I’m a human. Say it. Say monkey, isn’t that what I am?” He glares at you now, shaking his head, and you laugh then, a mean little laugh. “Can’t now, why?”

“You’re… I… just shut the fuck up.” He slams his lips down on your brutally, your arms are going numb until he releases them, his tongue diving inside your mouth, drinking every bit of you up as you whine softly. “I need you.”

You blink a bit, disoriented at his words, as he picks you up in his arms, and you cling to him, tears filling your eyes. “Why? I’m pregnant now, remember?”

“You think Gojo knows?”

“He knows a lot. He knows you.” Suguru glares now, your back against that wall, as his hands grip your ass, and you feel his hard body against you. “He loves you.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He’s kissing you again, as you exhale, trying to catch a breath, trying to control the storm inside of you. “No one should love me.” He murmurs against your neck, teeth sinking in, making you cling to him, nails scraping against the silk of his robes.

“Why n-not? You’re not t-too far-”

“Baby, I’m no good.” He whispers now, in your ear, and you know it’s true, you know that Suguru Geto is a fucking monster.

But you also know one thing too.

You’re in love with him.

In love with a monster who wants to end the world.

“Then why do you need me? Huh? Go get one of your girls, I’m pregnant already.” Suguru scowls as he leans back, and you bite back a moan as he moves against your hot, eager cunt.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?”

“Shut up.”

“No! We won’t.” You wriggle until you’re out of his hold, and heading for his door, he presses your front against it, hand on yours on that knob. “Let me go. You said once I got pregnant, you were done. Remember?”

Suguru said a lot, a lot of bullshit.

He called you disgusting, useless, trash, a monkey… but as you look at him the way you do, you’re breaking him, in between making his desire to take you grow by every fucking minute. He cups your face, brushing aside your tears, you always cried over him, didn’t you? He’s not worth them, he’s not worth any of you, yet he’s so obsessed and greedy he still takes.

“We don’t have to stop. We both enjoy this, don’t I make you feel good?” He’s slipping his fingers, moaning when he finds your soaked panties under your pretty yukata, and you clench your teeth, eyes rolling back. “We can give this a chance, having this baby.”

“A chance?” You whisper, in between hiccups of pleasure as he keeps teasing your clit over and over, and you find yourself arching against him.

“To be together. I know they’ll be special- like you.”

“I am a fucking human.”

“No.” He’s sinking two fingers in your slutty little hole, as those sticky walls grip his thick digits so good, as he loses himself in your scent, your feel, the sound of you, every fucking bit. “You’re special, you’re more, I know it.”

“Mnh… I hate you…” You cry out as he pumps more and more, thighs shaking while he works you so damn well.

“I know you hate me. You should… go ahead, cum f’me.”

“Call me it.”

“No.”

“Useless, pathetic- weak, worthless-”

“Beautiful.”

“No!” You’re fighting it, turning in his hold, as he sucks your juices off his fingers, getting on his knees for you, and you’re faltering again. “Don’t call me that.”

“You are beautiful. Do you not know?”

“Shut up. I hate you more for it.” Your tears stream further down your face, as he tries to grip you by the hips, to drag you closer to him. “You act as if you could ever love me.”

Suguru blinks then, pressing a kiss on your tummy for a moment, making you both pause. “We can have a perfect world.”

“It’s a massacre, it’s murder, it’s not perfect! Killing everyone that doesn’t meet your standards? Suguru please just stop. Stop it.”

He scowls now, standing tall, looming right over you, your breath catches in your throat in fear. “I will not stop my plans. Gojo got you this fucked up from one meeting? Maybe you did like him then.”

You scoff now. “Your audacity is batshit. How can you be jealous of your arranged wife who is a human, that you said you didn’t wanna touch!?”

“I… you know I didn’t…”

“I don’t know shit, Suguru Geto. Except Gojo loves you, and fuck, I see glimpses of how and why. I do.” You cup his face then, he jerks back for a moment, like your touch is fire, as you cup the other side of his face. “If you love Gojo, and if you care for me one little bit, you won’t.”

“You assume I love anyone.” His words, lies, tear you apart.

You blink more tears, as Suguru lies right to your face. “You care.”

“So what!? That’s why you’ll be safe.”

“And Gojo? And those damn kids from Jujutsu high, and the people of Kyoto, children, you’ll kill them?”

“Just go. You don’t want to now that you’re pregnant, right? Leave.”

“It’s not that, it’s that I want to know if anything good is fucking inside you, Suguru please just this one thing. Just don’t attack.”

His jaw sets as he pulls your hands off, and they fall to your sides, while he glares down at you. “I’ll give him another week to prepare, you can let him know since you’re suddenly his friend, hmm?”

“He loves you. Don’t you see it? Can’t you still be worthy of it? Of… my love?” You whisper, after he’s turned away, and Suguru laughs darkly.

“You could never love me.”

“How do you know- if you’d just try, Suguru!”

“I’ll give it a week. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“Is there any room for me or this baby in whatever heart you have left, with all that hatred inside you?” You whisper, he turns to open his mouth, but you storm out of his room, sobbing as you rush down the halls, leaving him alone, picturing his friend brushing your hair back.

Gojo would be better for you, wouldn’t he?

But Suguru doesn’t think he could ever let you go, even when he brings you to tears, even when he himself feels moisture that hasn’t been there in so long, memories and images of happiness filling him. Of you and a baby, maybe they look pretty like their mom, maybe they’re fiery like you, maybe they’re…

Human.

He sinks to the ground then, head falling against the door.

What if they’re human?

You’re collapsing on your bed, in tears, trying to pull yourself together, finally getting the number Satoru had conveniently hidden in your collar, pulling it out and dialing it, sniffling. “Hello?”

“I tried… I tried but…”

“Shh, hey, calm down.” Satoru sits up in his empty home, hearing your cries, some odd ache to comfort you filling him.

If anyone knows what it’s like to love Suguru Geto, despite all his flaws and his intentions, it’s Satoru Gojo. But also… you seemed so fragile, so small in a home that all hated you. And yet he saw it in your eyes, pretty eyes, full of fear but also feelings, and then he knew that you care for him, as much as Suguru cared for you, so very clear to Satoru.

“It’s okay… it’s not all on you.” Satoru says, his voice comforting your aching heart now.

“He said another week he would give you.” Satoru sighs then, nodding.

“A week is better, more time to prepare.”

“I tried, he doesn’t… he won’t…”

“I know. You love him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Neither should I, but I remember my best friend, the only friend I had.” Your heart tears apart for the person Suguru used to be, and now for Satoru, who you barely know, but you feel it, the longing, the loneliness.

“I don’t know if he’s in there. I don’t know if I can face him if he does it.”

“You bought me time, sweetheart, thank you okay? You can only do so much right now.” He says softly, and you take a shaky breath.

“I see why you two were close, you’re kind of comforting.”

“Comforting hmm, I don’t think I was back then.” Satoru remembers being a little shithead, conceited, cocky. “I don’t think I was there when he needed me, when he needed someone. I can’t forgive myself for it.”

“You should.” You lay on your back now, staring up at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, as the warmth of the phone touches your cheek. “What are you gonna do, Gojo?”

“Try to save everyone, of course. Should be a piece of cake.” You snort then, as he laughs a bit, deterring the situation some. “I meant it, I can get you away, somewhere safe.”

“Why would you?”

“You didn’t choose this. You’re just… a girl. You know?”

“Pregnant, really?”

“Mmm, yeah I’m pretty sure. It’s a certain energy I can pick up on, like more than one in your body.”

“I should go, I’ll be fine, I don't think he’d hurt me… in any way other than… hurting others.” He hurts you in his own ways, sure, but Suguru doesn’t realize how much he’s hurting you, pushing you away. You shouldn’t care, you should have known he was this way, but something in you loves him, against it all.

Do you love the monster or the man still inside?

“All right, if you’re sure.” Satoru says softly, cutting your thoughts off as you blink a bit.

“Satoru, will you… kill him if you had to?” He hears the fear, the thoughts he has in his own mind clearly connecting with you, the last thing Satoru ever wanted to do was kill him.

“I’d try everything else first, but I have to defend the kids, and everyone else… if it comes to it, I… shit I don’t wanna think of it.” You hear his emotions, sighing as you come to understand his meaning.

“Is there any of him left?” You ask softly, Satoru takes off his blindfold, pouring himself a drink and leaning against the counter, pressing you against his ear.

“You want to know if the Suguru you met that day is in there?”

“What was he… like, even?”

Satoru laughs a bit, without humor. “He was a little shit.”

“Well, he’s still that.” You both laugh softly, shit it’s the first time you can recall laughing since you’ve been here almost.

“He was arrogant, but he was kind, he thought we should help the weak, I argued with him. He stopped me from… doing some rash things. We lost a few people, and he grew distant, I wish I noticed… or…”

“He wanted to protect the weak?”

“Yes.” You can’t fathom that it's the same man, sighing a bit now, shifting in the bed as sleep starts to tug at you somehow, though you’re scared to even close your eyes.

“You really loved him.”

“I still do.” He clears his throat a bit now, Satoru’s never really shared how he felt until you, a stranger on a phone, married to his former friend, but for some reason he feels you understand more than anyone. Your voice alone, speaking the words, are something he didn’t know he craved.

“I will keep trying if I can, but I can’t face him right now.”

“Just get some rest, if you need me I’ll get you away. But I hope… I hope he’s still him, somewhere.”

“Me too. Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night.” You hang up, leaving his mind whirling, thinking of your pretty forlorn face, wishing he could save you, wishing he could save his damn best friend, and everyone else. “An extra week, huh…”

You curl up and pass out shortly after, in nightmare after nightmare, hating Suguru, loving Suguru, images of Satoru in there too, of them killing each other, hurting each other. Villages burning, a city in ruins, Suguru’s curses everywhere, so vivid and real you’re tossing and turning, unable to wake up, even as you scream out loud in your sleep.

Suguru is in your chambers then, watching what he’s done, sitting by your side as you toss and turn, gently touching your forehead, sweaty from your exertions. “Shh, Princess…”

Princess.

Why’d he say that?

Why couldn’t he call you it- monkey- anymore?

“Suguru don’t… I love you…” He pauses at your words, on your lips incoherent, tears glistening in the dark room. “Don’t… you’re hurting me… never loved me…”

“I do, fuck I do.” He leans down, holding you, he’s never spent the night with you, of course you wouldn’t allow it, but he’s never even held you.

What’s he done, but fuck you good and try to make you forget how horrible he truly is? As you calm now, blinking a bit, in and out of a daze. “Suguru?” You whisper, fear in your pretty eyes, mixed with more.

He caused this.

How could you even have a baby like this?

“Go to sleep, you were screaming so loud everyone is up.” He huffs, lying to you now, and you pull back.

“I’m fine. Just go, sorry I was having nightmares.” He pulls you back against him now, his strong chest, warmth you ache to sink against, all while you try to picture a world in which he wasn’t evil, wasn’t insane, wasn’t bloodthirsty. A world where he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl, cuddling in bed.

It’s a lovely dream, but you know it’s fake.

“Get to sleep.” His soft order is met with him pulling you even closer, covering you both with a blanket, and for one moment, you let yourself believe the lie, that Suguru could be himself again. That he’d give up this insanity for you.

A beautiful lie, really.

You nestle against him, wrapping an arm around his waist, burying your tired face against his neck, and Suguru feels himself breaking in two. Part of him wants to just… go back to how things were, to be good for you, but there’s still such hatred that’s eaten at him for years. Consuming him.

He knows hatred will win.

But as he holds the girl he loves, he hopes she’ll forgive him for what he's about to do.

More angst cominggg- this will be 6 parts loves <3

taglist #1 @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @rjreins @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @angelzrulez21-blog @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @silvarys @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @makingtimemine @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @voideddd @maddyhehehehhe @nanamiskentos @yenayaps @alygator77 @slamonwords @nonamevenus @sugurumylove @shibataimu @spicy-woodland-queen @nonamebbsblog @notyuralycat @beabamboo @satttanx

#clan leader geto #cult leader geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #divider by strangergraphics #jjk smut #jjk x reader #suguru x y/n #suguru angst #geto suguru x you #suguru x you #fic recs #geto x you #geto x reader #geto x y/n #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jjk geto

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carnalcrows · 3 days ago

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SUB JJK HEADCANNONS !!

content warnings: 18+, twt links (you need a twitter account to open the links), unspecified sexual activity, the links are pretty inaccurate, since the bottom is much smaller, but oh well lol, intentional lower case

sukuna initially doesn't seem like the type to be submissive, but oh, how wrong you were. this man YEARNS. he has so much to do in his everyday routine, do you expect him to be in charge even in bed? god no- it's almost pitiful, the way he sucks your cock, looking up at you doe-eyed as you sit on his throne. (might make a fully-fledged fic of this haha)

higuruma is a very pent-up man, it doesn't matter how he relieves his stress, even if it means that you have to be balls deep inside him. hours and hours of working on cases do take a toll, all you wanna do is help your dear husband out <33

nanami is a workaholic. im not even exaggerating, this man has almost never taken a break his ENTIRE life. you decide to change that by practically tying him up to your shared bed one evening and having your way with him. his legs are shaking by the time you two are finished, but it is so worth it.

geto is skeptical at first, one of those monkeys want to fuck him? ha, the nerve. fast forward to 5 minutes later and you're holding this man in a mating press and fucking his brains out. taunts slip from your mouth, turning him on even more. "what's that, slut? letting yourself get fucked by a mere human? i didn't take you for a common whore." the man whines at the degradation, but he doesn't stop you, i don't think he can!

gojo doesn't even hesitate when you bring it up lol, this man is IMMEDIATELY on his knees for you. imagine holding him up, facing a mirror as you pound into him from behind. his mind is high on your cock and his ego, he looks so pretty in that goddamn mirror, that he won't stop yapping about it, even as you use his ruined hole. the problem is that he is such a brat, you just gotta fuck the attitude outta him.

toji does it for the money. it's as simple as that. he finished a bounty for you, and you asked him of this for an extra price. who in the right mind would say no? imagine him riding you, hands on your shoulders as your cock pistons in and out of his hole. even if he is the one getting fucked, it doesn't seem like it. he likes to be in charge if possible.

choso MY BABYYY!!! god he is so obedient, always listening to whatever you say. his body complies too, back arching to its limit as you pound into him, holding his knees at his shoulders. tears hold so prettily in his eyes as you kiss them away. he just wants to be good for you <3

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baepsays · 1 day ago

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Having boyfriend Nerdjo teach you physics. Because you kind of suck at it. And he is really your last hope.

But when he gets really invested into the lesson, and you get really bored out of your mind. Only way to distract him is to get on his lap and demand kisses.

Which leads to the the text books and papers and the laptop being set down on the floor, off the bed and him forgetting he needs to teach you the entire syllabus before your exam the very next day. All because he is too busy eating you out.

Well. He'll figure out a way to help you cheat.

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sadbenedict · 18 hours ago

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the monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here...

(I get so emotional about dadjo plss I will go reread all fics)

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fushiguho · 11 hours ago

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❦ satoru gojo who’s been teasing you all night. he just can’t keep his hands to himself it seems, not even during dinner at your parents home :(

“let me feel her, baby.” a pretty lil’ pout is pulling at the corners of his glossy lips, his head tilting coyly. “please? real quick?” his big hand creeps beneath the hem of your ruffled skirt, trailing between your thighs before greedily cupping your warm, clothed cunt. “is she already wet for me?”

“c— control yourself.” it’s merely a breath, the waver of your voice a contradiction.

satoru follows your reluctant gaze, attentively peering into the kitchen to observe as your father scavenges for more wine. your mother prepares dessert behind him, nagging her husband about the laundry he doesn’t do.

swiftly, saturo hooks the tip of his sleek, polished loafer against a leg of your chair, impatiently dragging you closer. two of his nimble fingers are pushing the dampened fabric of your panties aside, baring the warm, sloppy mess of arousal that spills from your pretty pussy.

you reach to grab his hand in protest, but can’t rid the gnawing urge to sink down onto his slender fingers and fuck them until your cunt remembers every ridge and callous. and it’s almost like he’s in your head because three long digits are languidly prying you apart, hungrily gliding between your lips and collecting your prolific arousal.

satoru whines, frustrated that he can’t lay you out on this table like he so desperately needs.

“what if we left?” he’s closer now, nose pressed to your cheek, voice so whiny and hushed and for your ears only. “we can say it’s getting late. baby, i need it. i need that... please. need to feel you on my tongue.”

while leering over your shoulder, you swallow a moan that threatens to blow your cover. “what if i kill you?”

“but i got you so wet,” his gaze falls, trailing toward your lips. “so you can’t kill me.. y’could fuck me though.” he nudges his nose near the crook of your neck, inhaling. “i know you need it. look at how you’re fucking my hand like that… like you want my cock or something.” sharp, pearly teeth nip the skin behind your ear and you shudder, yet the warmth of his tongue that follows sets your skin ablaze all at once. “is that what you want?”

satoru eases an eager finger inside of you. the sweet, subsequent flutter of your cunt is enough of an answer, but you nod anyway. his cerulean eyes leer over your pretty, scrunched up face, cautiously gauging the furrow of your brows and the part of your glossed lips. he knows you need more, can feel it in the way you rock your hips into the palm of his hand.

you’re starting to cave when he pulls his hand from between your trembling thighs. he hums, admiring the gleam of arousal that sheathes his digits like honey. like the whore that he is, satoru is plopping his fingers inside of his mouth and sucking them clean. a wicked smile bares his teeth as he begins to push his hand toward your lips.

his cock twitches pathetically when your lips part, your tongue lolling out just a little bit. he nearly moans as you obediently take his fingers into your mouth, eyes fluttering shut while a pretty noise of satisfaction leaves you.

sneakily, he pushes them a little deeper, eliciting a quiet gag from the very back of your throat. satoru curses beneath his breath, that poor, weeping cock straining against the restricting fabric of his slacks while you swirl your tongue over his fingers.

“baby, we have to go home.” it’s a whine, his mouth gaped.

“fine,” you roll your eyes, pushing his chair away with the heel of your foot. “you tell them.”

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nayy-a · 3 days ago

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baby fever is going crazy

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

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unabletonotlovesatoru · 1 day ago

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Nanami & Gojo (separately) with a reader who experiences a panic attack?

.°⋆🖇₊˚ෆ teddy’s notes: enjoy!!

• nanami kento;

nanami notices the shift in your breathing before anything else. his sharp eyes catch the way your chest rises and falls too quickly, the way your fingers tremble as they clutch at your clothes. his entire demeanor shifts—gone is the firm, composed sorcerer, replaced by someone much softer, much more patient.

he doesn’t overwhelm you with questions or touch you without permission. instead, he kneels before you, grounding himself so you have something steady to hold onto, even if just visually.

“you’re safe,” he murmurs, voice a low, comforting anchor in the storm. “i’m here.”

he moves deliberately, slow and predictable, offering his hand but never forcing it. if you take it, his grip is solid, reassuring, a silent promise that he won’t let you go.

“breathe with me,” he instructs gently, inhaling deeply to demonstrate. he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t scold you for struggling. he stays as long as you need, shielding you from curious stares, from anything that might make it worse.

when your breathing evens out and the weight on your chest begins to lift, he lets out a breath of his own—one he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“you’re doing well,” he praises, quiet but firm. “let’s sit for a while. no need to rush anything.”

and if you let him, he’ll stay close, making sure you know you’re not alone.

• gojo satoru;

gojo is carefree, yes, but he’s not clueless. the moment he sees your distress—whether it’s in the way your hands shake, your breathing stutters, or your eyes dart around in panic—his usual playful demeanor disappears in an instant.

he doesn’t push or tease. he just focuses on getting you through it.

“hey, hey,” he soothes, crouching to your level. “you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

he keeps his tone light but firm, something solid to hold onto. if you need space, he’ll give it. if you need him closer, he’ll stay within reach, ready to catch you if your knees give out.

“want me to count for you?” he offers. if you nod, he starts—steady, rhythmic, something to guide you back. “one… two… three…” his voice is steady, unwavering.

if you focus on him, he’ll make sure he’s the only thing in your world for a moment. he’ll crack a small joke when he senses you’re starting to come back, something light and easy.

“so, do i get a gold star for being the best panic attack buddy?”

but underneath the humor, there’s genuine relief, genuine care. he won’t leave until you’re okay. and when you are, he’ll lean back, grinning—but softer than usual.

“next time, you can just tell me if you need a break,” he says. “i’m pretty good at making up excuses to ditch responsibilities.”

and just like that, he makes sure you know—you never have to go through this alone.

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tsukuhoe · 2 days ago

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22. baby, i know cw: heavy mentions of alcohol, teeny bit angsty, wc: 1.8k

you stood in front of the door, your fingers fumbling with the handle. “shit,” you muttered under your breath. you lean on the garage door, arms full of beer bottles and knocked. “hey shitheads?” no answer. you flick a switch, and the garage door opens, and as you walk towards the garage door, the door closes. you look back to see a costumed ghostface closing the garage door.

“...is that you randy?” the masked man shakes his head. no.

“what movie is this from? i spit on your garage?” you scoff in return. “lose the costume; if sidney sees it, she’ll flip.” you walk towards the costume. he’s shaking his head again.

“oh, you wanna play psycho killer?” you said, tilting your head slightly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “can i be the helpless victim?”

he masked figure nods. you cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. “oh no, please don’t kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel!” you said, scoffing, then pushing him to the side. however, instead, the masked face grabbed your arm and pulled out a knife. a few bottles in your arm dropped and shattered as he dragged the prop against your arm, fake blood coming out of the tube. “ah!”

immediately, you ran towards the fridge, slamming the top freezer in his face. he fell to the ground as you ran past him, grabbed the unshattered bottles and threw them at him once he started getting up. “fucker!”

desperately wanting to escape, you spotted the doggy door. you quickly ran towards it, trying your best to shove your body through… unfortunately, your shoulders had made you stuck. seeing his golden opportunity, the killer flicks the switch, which opens the door… you are lifted into the air as you look up…

“CUT!” utahime’s voice booms, the entire set erupts into applause. “that was perfect, y/n and toji!” this was the last day of your filming on set. after the hard weeks of consistent filming and visiting the building, you had finished your part. you felt a lump form in your throat as you watched the cast and crew celebrate. this was the culmination of weeks of hard work, late nights, and dedication.

toji walkers over to you. “we did it. we made the iconic scene.”

you laughed softly, nodding. “we sure did.”

after being on set with toji for a few weeks, he had gotten used to your presence, however, just because you’d been with him for a few weeks does not mean he’s fond of you now… “now you can finally scram. honestly, singing might be something you’d want to stick you.” he said with a smirk on his face.

you could tell he was trying to get on your nerves. “awh, thank you so much mr. fushiguro! i appreciate your support in my music career!” you shot him an insincere smile, tone all cheery.

“nah, i’d never listen to–” “SWEETS! you were amazing!” before toji could continue, gojo ran towards you and spun you around. “seriously, baby, i’ve been watching all the behind-the-scenes clips, and you nailed every scene. i’m so proud of you.”

“thank you so much, gojo!” you giggled. you aren’t exaggerating when you say you saw literal stars in his eyes.

“so, dinner? at kura revolving sushi bar?” he asked, setting you down on the ground.

“yeah, of course— sorry, off topic, but do you know if kento is in the building today? i’ve been wanting to talk to him…” it had been approximately three days since you last had an actual conversation with him. could he be avoiding you?

“ah, i don’t think so, sweets. from what i remember, he has a shooting to do for tomorrow in osaka! i think he should be on a plane by now.” right. of course. kento nanami is a busy man, this shouldn’t be surprising. however, you couldn’t help but to feel a little disappointed… by what? not getting to talk to him? you could always text him. him leaving without informing you? it’s not like you two were together; he isn’t obligated to tell you anything— so what exactly were you disappointed about? did you want to be with him? is that why you’re disappointed? before you could start spiralling even more than you already are, gojo picked up the change in your mood.

“hey, if you want, i could pass along a message for you…? or you could even call him! i’m sure he’d be happy to receive a call from you!” he gently said, running his hands through your hair.

“really? you’d think so?” you asked, eyes watery, tears threatening to spill out.

“i know so. now c’mon! we don’t wanna be late to our reservation, now do we?”

‘fuck. what in the world am i doing.’ was the only thought that ran through his head the whole car ride there. supporting you and nanami’s… relationship? whatever you two had going on. his hands gripped the steering wheel harder. he couldn’t help but to feel a jealous— bitter even. he was jealous of nanami’s relationship with you. he was bitter at himself. what did he lack? why was he even helping him?

“we’re here!” his voice came out cheery, a total contrast to his previous thoughts while driving. you two walked in, while gojo talked to the waitress you couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in his mood. in the car it was completely quiet, but now he’s all sunshine and smiles. he’s the world’s favourite actor (other than toji, of course) after all.

“‘order anything ya want, sweets! it’s all on me.” he grinned, taking his seat as you settled in the booth across from him.

“do you drink, gojo?” you asked, looking at the menu.

“nahh, i don’t, sweets. i’m a light weight haha.”

“oh, alright! then i won’t either!”

“nono, drink if you want to! i don’t mind you drinking, besides i’ll be driving you home!”

It wasn’t long before you two were laughing and nibbling on different types of sushi— salmon, tuna, avocado rolls, and takoyaki. but the drinks? that was beginning to hit you. you started with one shot, but it had been so smooth that you’d convinced yourself to have another. and then another.

gojo watched you carefully, noting the rosy flush on your cheeks and the slightly glassy look in your eyes. you were starting to slur your words, though gojo didn’t want to say anything just yet. you two were having a great time, and the vibe was perfect.

"y/n," he said gently, "maybe we should slow down on the drinks?"

you waved him off. "i’m fine, i’m fine! just one more… okay, two more..."

he let out a small chuckle at your drunken state. “i can now see why you’re such good friends with shoko!”

a few minutes later, you leaned back in your seat with a contented sigh, then suddenly lurched forward, your hand grabbing the edge of the conveyor belt as if to steady yourself. "i think i’m a little drunk," you admitted, your voice wobbling.

gojo couldn't help but laugh. "you think? you’ve had like, seven shots."

you giggled, your head tilting to one side as you tried to look serious. "i don’t know what’s in that drink, but it’s like magic. i feel amazing. i could totally sing karaoke right now."

the mention of singing made gojo laugh harder. "let’s just focus on not falling off the stool for now, alright, sweets?"

you blinked at him, then suddenly grinned. "you’re so funny, gojo. i think i love you."

his heart started to throb. he chuckled and reached for his glass of water. "yeah, well, i’m pretty lovable when i’m sober… let’s go home now, alright, sweets? don’t want you passing out on the conveyor belt."

“you’re so nice, gojo.”

“you know, you’ve been calling me gojo for a while. satoru is fine, sweets.” gojo chuckled, helping you out the booth and walking you to his car.

“satoru… satoru… sa…toru… toru. how about toru. since y’know, you’ve been calling me these cute names, i should too!” you beamed, as he opened the passenger seat door for you.

“sure thing, sweets.”

the car ride to his place was quiet, you were slowly dozing off while he drove. you stared at gojo for a beat too long, his eyes soft and focused on road. "toru…" you began, your words dragging, "you know, i’ve always thought... you’re really pretty."

his heart skipped a beat, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. he thought you were just being intoxicated. "you’re not so bad yourself," he teased, nudging you lightly. “we’ve just pulled into the parking lot. i’ll call shoko or utahime to come pick you up in a few?”

you didn’t laugh. instead, you moved closer, your face hovering inches from his, your breath warm and scented with alcohol. gojo’s heart started to race; unsure if this was the alcohol talking or something more. fuck. he wished it was.

“y/n, what are you—”

before he could finish his sentence, you closed the gap between. the kiss was sudden and clumsy, but it was there— his lips pressing against yours with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for. the kiss deepened, you tasted like the alcohol you’ve been drinking earlier. gojo hates alcohol, but fuck, your taste was so addicting. he didn’t care. your hand moved to his chest, your fingers pressing into him as you leaned more into the kiss.

the kiss grew more urgent, gojo pulled away slightly, his breath shaky. “sweets, wait... you’re drunk. this isn’t—”

“i want this,” you whispered, your voice soft but insistent. your eyes searched his, a mixture of vulnerability and something deeper that made his chest tighten.

for a second, he hesitated, unsure. but there, in your gaze, was something real. something he couldn’t ignore… but he also knew this wasn’t something to rush. not like this. not when the line between friendship and something else felt too blurry.

with a sigh, he pulled back, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “we can’t, not like this,” he said softly.

your eyes flickered with confusion, and for a moment, he could see the haze from the alcohol fading just a bit, replaced by something more knowing, more aware.

“i… i didn’t mean to mess things up,” you whispered, your voice small.

“you didn’t,” he said gently, placing a small peck on your forehead. “we’re just... better off waiting for a clearer moment.”

you nodded slowly, your eyes heavy with sleep now, the alcohol slowly overtaking you again. you leaned back into him, your eyelids fluttering as you tried to keep yourself awake.

he held you there, his heart racing, his mind spinning. gojo didn’t know what had just happened, but one thing was certain— he couldn’t possibly face your sober state after this— even if this kiss wasn’t genuine. even if this kiss only happened because you missed nanami.

album bonus tracks: — hihi i'm SO sorry for the late update omg... — im going to be so fr i actually got really sad while writing this, then i started contemplating my life choices — i love gojo sm, i promise he's going to be happy TT — other than that, please lmk if there's any grammar or spelling errors! — i wanna get deeper into everyone's character so bad but i don't know when's the right time to do it 😞 — anyways, i'll try to update the next chapter sometime this week to make up for the last weeks ^.^ ⋮ MASTERLIST ֹ⋮ PREVIOUS ⋮ ֹNEXT

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izumkay · 1 day ago

Text

"CAUGHT, KEPT, CRAVED" |Ch-1|

❥Pairing- Hunter!Satoru × Fairy!Reader

❥Synposis- Satoru Gojo never believed in fairy tales—until he found one standing right in front of him. A real, flesh-and-blood fairy, in his forest. He should’ve been concerned, maybe even terrified, but mostly? He was just shocked as hell.

Fairies weren’t real. They belonged in bedtime stories, not in the middle of his hunt, staring at him like he was the strange one. And yet, days passed, and she didn’t vanish like a dream. Instead, she became something else entirely—something dangerous, something forbidden. Keeping her close is reckless. Letting her go? Impossible.

❥Gerne/theme- MDNI. Explicit sexual content, lot of sexual tension, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, forbidden love, fantasy AU, fire, abuse, possessiveness, SA attempts, longing, sacrifices, reunion, seperation, fluff too <3

→ WC- 10k

Satoru Gojo grumbled as he trudged through the dense forest, the heavy weight of his bow hanging against his back. The sun was high, casting harsh beams that barely broke through the thick canopy above, and yet, he still had to hunt. Of course, a hunter couldn’t survive without a kill, but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated.

Why did he always have to do this? It wasn’t like he needed the money that much—he lived alone, away from the cities, far from any expectations. His lifestyle was simple, and really, the whole hunting thing felt more like a chore than a necessity. But it was for his living, so here he was, walking through the damn forest again, tracking some monster or wild animal for dinner.

“I swear, if I see one more damn deer today—” he whined under his breath, kicking a stray branch out of his path. “I’ll—”

His words caught in his throat as he paused, his eyes narrowing at the sudden shift in the air around him. It wasn’t the normal breeze that rustled the leaves; no, this felt… different. Almost alive, as if the very forest itself was holding its breath.

He shook his head, chuckling bitterly at himself.

It’s just the wind, he told himself, moving forward again. But the deeper he ventured into the woods, the more uneasy he felt. Something was off. Something was watching him.

And when a faint, almost ethereal sound drifted through the trees—too soft to be an animal, too melodic to be anything but strange—he froze.

His instincts kicked in, the trained hunter in him waking up. The forest was quiet now. Too quiet.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his hand instinctively reaching for his bow, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Nothing.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling. There was no way—he couldn’t afford to let his mind wander. Yet the sensation of being observed was growing stronger with every step. His pulse quickened, but instead of fear, there was an odd sense of curiosity—a pull, something he couldn’t explain.

With a quick exhale, he adjusted his grip on the bow and moved deeper into the forest, determined to uncover what was hiding in the shadows.

As he ventured deeper into the woods, a sudden loud thud echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—or someone—crashing through the underbrush. Gojo’s eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Finally, some action.

He crept toward the source of the noise, his footsteps silent on the forest floor. As he approached, he spotted a foot sticking out from behind a large fern. He bit his tongue to suppress a chuckle. Whoever this was, they were about to get an earful.

Stepping closer, he peered around the fern to find a young woman sprawled on the ground, her wings—yes, wings—splayed out awkwardly beside her. She had a few branches and leaves tangled in her hair, and dirt smudged her cheeks. She looked up, eyes wide with surprise, and they both froze.

For a moment, neither moved. Then, in unison, they both screamed.

"AHHHH!"

Gojo stumbled back, nearly dropping his bow. "What the—?"

The woman scrambled to her feet, brushing off leaves and dirt. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Gojo blinked, still processing the sight before him. "I... I should be asking you that. What are you doing in my forest?"

She crossed her arms, her wings fluttering slightly. "Your forest? This is a public forest!"

"Not anymore," he retorted, smirk returning. "I just claimed it."

She rolled her eyes. "Typical. Another human thinking they own everything."

"Hey, I was here first," he shot back. "And last time I checked, humans were the dominant species around here."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Because last time I checked, humans were the ones who needed to be saved from themselves."

Gojo chuckled. "Touché. But seriously, what are you? Some kind of... fairy?"

She huffed, wings twitching slightly. "Yes. I am. And for the record, not all fairies are tiny and delicate. Some of us can hold our own."

Gojo stared at her for a solid few seconds before scoffing. "Yeah, okay. Sure. And I’m a royal prince."

She frowned. "What?"

"Come on," he waved a hand at her wings. "Fairies aren’t real. You can just admit it now before this gets embarrassing."

Her glare sharpened. "I am a fairy."

Gojo crossed his arms. "No, you’re not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you’re not."

She exhaled sharply. "Why is this so hard for you to believe?"

Gojo threw up his hands. "Because fairies belong in bedtime stories! Magic, wings, flying around all sparkly—yeah, it’s cute for kids, but in real life? People don’t just have wings."

She rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"No, I’m just sane," he shot back. Then, his gaze flickered back to her wings, still skeptical. "What even are those? You make them yourself? They’re kinda impressive, I’ll give you that."

She twitched. "They’re real."

"Right, sure." His smirk deepened as he stepped closer. "Bet they’re just attached to your clothes or something—"

Before he could finish, his hand reached out, fingers just barely grazing the edge of her wing—

SMACK!

"Ow!" Gojo yelped, stumbling back as she slapped his hand away with a force he definitely wasn’t expecting.

"I told you not to touch them!" she yelled, wings flaring wide.

Gojo clutched his hand, eyes wide. "What the hell?! That actually hurt!"

"It was supposed to!" she snapped, her face burning with irritation. "Do you go around grabbing random people's limbs too?"

Gojo blinked, still holding his hand. "Well... I mean, if I thought they were fake, yeah."

She groaned, shoving past him. "Unbelievable. I don’t have time for this."

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" He quickly stepped in front of her, arms outstretched. "Alright, let’s just—wait a second." His blue eyes studied her, skeptical yet intrigued. "So you’re really trying to convince me that you’re some mystical, magical creature, huh?"

She folded her arms. "I’m not trying to convince you. I am one."

Gojo tapped his chin. "Mmm. Nope. Still don’t buy it."

She scowled. "You just saw my wings!"

"Yeah, and I’ve also seen some very good costumes."

Her eye twitched. "I flew before I fell!"

"And I’ve seen people jump off roofs and think they’re flying."

She let out a long, slow exhale, visibly restraining herself from strangling him. "You're insufferable."

Gojo grinned. "So I’ve been told."

Silence hung between them, thick with tension. She was clearly done with him. He was clearly entertained by her frustration. And yet, neither of them moved.

The forest had gone eerily quiet. The wind barely rustled the leaves. It was as if the world itself was waiting to see what happened next.

Finally, Gojo spoke. "Alright, fine—I’ll play along. So, fairy girl, if you’re real... prove it."

She narrowed her eyes, a slow, knowing smirk creeping onto her face. "Oh, you’ll regret saying that."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m shaking.”

Without another word, she stepped back, rolling her shoulders as her wings stretched to their full span. The soft glow of the setting sun caught on them, illuminating the delicate but powerful structure. Gojo barely had time to process the sight before—

Whoosh.

She launched herself into the air, wings beating with precise, controlled movements. Leaves and dust swirled around as she hovered effortlessly above him, the wind from her wings rustling his hair.

Gojo’s smirk faltered.

His brain short-circuited for a second.

She… flew.

Not jumped. Not swung from a branch. Not some elaborate trick of wires or illusions. No, she lifted clean off the ground, rising higher and higher with each beat of her wings.

“What.” His voice came out flat, his head tilting back as he followed her ascent.

She did a slow, mocking circle above him before descending just a few feet in front of his face, her arms crossed and a smug look plastered on her face.

"Still fake?" she taunted.

Gojo blinked. "Okay. Hold on. Wait a damn minute."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, what now? Are you going to say I’m on some invisible ropes? A hallucination, maybe?"

Gojo rubbed his temples. "I'm the hallucination at this point. This—this doesn’t happen. People don’t just—fly.”

"Well, good thing I’m not people," she shot back. "Say it. Fairies are real."

Gojo pointed at her. "You have to be messing with me."

She hovered a little closer. "Say. It."

Gojo squinted at her. Then at the wings. Then at her feet. Then back at the wings. Then—

"…Nah," he said, shaking his head.

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"

"You’re still messing with me," he said firmly, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “This is—this is a trick. Maybe some weird physics thing I never learned. Or—or maybe I’m dehydrated. Yeah. Maybe I hit my head. That would explain why I’m seeing some girl floatin’ in front of me with—”

She sighed deeply before flapping her wings hard, sending a burst of wind directly into his face.

"—AGH, shit!" He stumbled back, hands shielding his face from the sudden gust.

She landed smoothly in front of him, looking pleased with herself. "Convinced now?"

Gojo, hair now an absolute mess, slowly lowered his hands. His expression was unreadable as he stared at her, the gears in his head practically screaming as they tried to process the impossible.

Then, finally—

“…Okay, so let’s pretend for a second,” he began, still skeptical but clearly shaken, “that you are some kind of fairy.”

She groaned. "Oh my god."

"Hey, I’m getting there!" He waved a hand. "It’s just—you can’t expect me to accept that just like that. Fairies aren’t supposed to be real. They’re myths. Fantasy stuff! Kids’ stories! You can’t just—just exist like this!"

"And yet, here I am," she deadpanned.

Gojo dragged a hand down his face. “You see why this is a lot to take in, right?”

"Oh, I do. You’re just painfully slow."

"Excuse you—"

"How about this?" She stepped forward, tilting her head. "Instead of standing here having an existential crisis, you start believing what’s right in front of you?"

Gojo inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and nodded. “Okay.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. I’m… open to considering the possibility that maybe—just maybe—you are not, in fact, a very dedicated prankster.”

She rolled her eyes. "Close enough."

Another pause. Gojo ran a hand through his hair, still visibly shaken.

“…So, uh,” he started, “if fairies are real, does that mean, like… elves are real, too? Or, like, dragons?”

She sighed. “Oh boy.”

Gojo stared at her for a long moment, his hands on his hips, lips pressed together like he was really trying to process what just happened. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally spoke.

"Okay. Fine," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Maybe—maybe—you're actually a fairy."

She crossed her arms. "Wow. That must have hurt to admit."

Gojo shot her a look. "Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited. But seriously—how? How is this even possible?" He gestured at her wings like they personally offended him. "People don’t just have these! There’s gotta be some explanation. Science? Magic? Divine intervention? Hell, did I eat something weird this morning?"

She just blinked at him.

Gojo stared back.

More silence.

Finally, she sighed and turned on her heel. "Yeah, nope. Not explaining anything to someone this stupid."

Gojo gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. "Hey! First of all—rude. Second of all—I think I deserve some kind of answer here!"

"You think?" she scoffed, already walking away. "I don't owe you anything."

"You literally just fell out of the sky in front of me, flapped your little wings, and sent my entire worldview into flames!" Gojo threw his arms up. "The least you could do is tell me how!"

She ignored him, stepping over some fallen branches. "Not my problem."

Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face before quickly following after her. "Oh, come on. Just a little hint? A tiny fairy secret? A—hey, wait up!"

She didn't wait.

Gojo let out an exasperated huff. "Unbelievable. First, I find out fairies are real, and now, apparently, they’re jerks, too."

She smirked but didn't turn around. "Took you long enough to figure that one out."

Gojo huffed as he followed after her, stepping over roots and crunching leaves underfoot. “You know, if you’re gonna crash-land in front of me, the least you could do is answer a few simple questions.”

She didn’t even look back. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Wow. The attitude.” Gojo scoffed, quickening his pace to walk beside her. “You’re seriously not gonna explain anything? Nothing at all? Not even a tiny little—”

“Nope.”

He blinked. “Not even like, ‘Oh, Gojo, I’m actually from a magical fairy kingdom, and I fell out of the sky because an evil wizard cursed me’?”

She gave him a look. “Do I look cursed to you?”

Gojo looked her up and down, taking in the dirt, leaves, and general mess she had become from falling. “Honestly? A little bit.”

Her eye twitched. "I swear, you're the most annoying human I've ever met."

Gojo grinned. “You’ve met a lot of humans, then? Or am I just special?”

"You're something," she muttered under her breath, shoving a branch out of her way as she walked faster.

Gojo followed easily. “Oh, come on. I get nothing? No tragic backstory? No mysterious quest? No ‘I’m the lost princess of the fairy realm’?”

“Keep guessing,” she said dryly.

Gojo groaned dramatically. “Unbelievable. I stumble across a real-life fairy, and she won’t even tell me how she exists.”

She suddenly stopped walking, spinning on her heel so fast that Gojo barely avoided bumping into her. She looked up at him, unimpressed. “Let me make this very clear, human—I don’t have to tell you anything. Not to someone as stupid as you.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like she had physically wounded him. “Stupid?! Me?! I’ll have you know I’m very intelligent.”

“Oh, really?” she deadpanned. “Because a very intelligent person would’ve accepted reality by now instead of standing here whining like a child.”

Gojo pouted. “I’m not whining.”

“You are whining.”

Gojo scoffed. “I am not—”

“You are.”

“I am not—”

She sighed, turning back around and walking again. “I don’t have time for this.”

Gojo followed instantly. “You keep saying that, but you don’t seem to be going anywhere important.”

She ignored him.

Gojo smirked. “You do know where you’re going, right?”

Silence.

Gojo blinked. “Wait… do you not know?”

More silence.

Gojo grinned. “Ohhh, you don’t, do you?”

She exhaled slowly. "Shut. Up."

Gojo chuckled, hands behind his head as he walked beside her. “So what I’m hearing is—you’re lost.”

“I’m not lost.”

“Right, right. You just don’t know where you’re going. Totally different.”

She clenched her jaw, clearly regretting every life decision that led her to this moment.

Gojo leaned down slightly, tilting his head to look at her face. “Hey, no need to be embarrassed. I get it. You fell out of the sky, got dirt in your hair, met a very handsome stranger—”

She shot him a glare so sharp he actually paused.

“…Right. Moving on.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Lucky for you, I know this forest like the back of my hand.”

She snorted. “Oh, great. That makes one of us.”

Gojo smirked. “So, that means you do need my help.”

She looked up at the sky, as if praying for patience. “I never said that.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “You didn’t have to.”

She groaned, rubbing her temple. "I swear, if you don't shut up—"

"—You'll what?" Gojo cut in, completely unfazed. "Hit me again? Because, honestly, I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me the first time."

Her wings flared as she turned sharply. "I will throw you into a tree."

Gojo held up his hands, laughing. “Alright, alright, no need for violence, fairy girl.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t call me that.”

Gojo smirked. “Not a fan of nicknames? What about wings? Feathers? Angry little—”

She glared at him for another second before rolling her eyes and turning back around. “You’re so lucky I have better things to do than argue with you.”

Gojo hummed. “Mm. Seems like you’re still here, though.”

She clenched her fists, muttering something under her breath about insufferable humans.

She walked in silence for a while, probably hoping Gojo would get bored and leave her alone. That was adorable. Like he was the kind of guy to walk away from something this interesting.

After a few minutes, she finally sighed and turned to look at him. “Alright, human—what are you even doing here?”

Gojo blinked. “Huh? Oh. Hunting, obviously.”

After a moment, he tilted his head. “So… how long have you been coming here?”

She eyed him warily. “Why do you care?”

Gojo shrugged. “Curiosity. Humor me.”

She exhaled sharply, clearly debating whether answering him was even worth her time. Finally, she muttered, “Years.”

Gojo blinked. “Years?”

She shot him a look. “Yes. Why?”

Gojo gestured around dramatically. “Because I’ve been hunting here for a long time, too, and I’ve never seen you before.”

She rolled her eyes. “Clearly.”

Gojo narrowed his eyes. “So where’ve you been hiding, huh? Are you some kind of stealth fairy?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “No, you idiot. I come at night.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “At night?”

She nodded. “It’s quieter. No humans stomping around, killing things.”

Gojo smirked. “Ouch. That felt personal.”

She ignored him. “It’s peaceful when the moon is out. The forest belongs to itself again. No arrows flying, no traps waiting, no…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s just… better.”

Gojo hummed, tapping his chin. “Huh. Never figured fairies for night owls.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “You figured nothing because you didn’t even believe I existed five minutes ago.”

Gojo grinned. “Touché.”

Silence settled between them, but this time, it wasn’t hostile. Gojo watched her, something unreadable in his expression.

Years. She had been here for years, and he never even noticed. How was that possible? And more importantly…

Why did that bother him?

Gojo tilted his head, watching her with renewed curiosity. “So, you’ve been coming here for years, huh?”

She didn’t respond, just kept walking.

His grin widened. “Alright, next question—how old are you?”

She scoffed. “Not answering that.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh? Why? Is it a fairy secret? Or are you just—” He gasped dramatically. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re, like, a hundred years old or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not.”

“Two hundred?”

“No.”

“Five hundred?”

“Oh my god.”

Gojo tapped his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Then… judging by your height, I’d say… what, fifteen? Maybe sixteen?”

She froze.

Slowly, she turned to glare at him, pure offense in her eyes. “I’m twenty-two!”

Gojo grinned like he knew that would get a reaction. “Ohhh, there it is.”

Her wings fluttered aggressively. “You are so irritating.”

Gojo shrugged, still smirking. “Hey, I was just guessing. But wow, twenty-two? You sure?”

She clenched her fists. “Yes!”

Gojo hummed, looking at her like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Mmm. I dunno. You kinda give off little sister energy.”

Her eye twitched. “Say that again, and I will dropkick you.”

Gojo snorted. “I’d like to see you try, shortstack.”

Her wings flared. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” Gojo said casually, hands behind his head. “You just wish you did.”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him with an exasperated sigh. “And by the way,” she huffed, “can you stop calling me random nicknames? I have a name, you know.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? You do?”

She folded her arms. “Obviously.”

He leaned in slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well then, mysterious fairy, what is it?”

She introduced herself in annoyance, voice clipped and impatient.

Gojo blinked, then grinned. “Huh. That’s actually a really nice name.”

She gave him a flat look. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, never,” he said, hand over his heart. Then, after a beat, his smirk deepened. “Alright then, fairy girl.”

Her eye twitched. “I just told you my name.”

“Yeah, and I heard it,” Gojo said casually. “But, y’know, ‘fairy girl’ just suits you better.”

She groaned, turning back around. “You’re impossible.”

“Or magical,” Gojo shot back, walking beside her. “You did call me stupid earlier, so maybe I just forgot your name already.”

She didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Gojo grinned, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Alright, how about winged menace? Tiny terror? Ooh, what about sparkles?”

She stopped so fast that Gojo nearly bumped into her. Slowly, she turned, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Call me that, and I swear, I will bury you in this forest.”

Gojo pressed his lips together, looking like he was really fighting back laughter. “Alright, alright. No ‘sparkles.’”

She exhaled sharply, resuming her pace.

Gojo let the silence linger for a few moments before grinning.

“…But pixie is still on the table, right?”

She didn’t answer. She was too busy resisting the urge to strangle him.

She kept walking, clearly trying to ignore him, but Gojo was nothing if not persistent.

“Well,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “since you were kind enough to introduce yourself, it’s only fair I do the same.”

She shot him a dry look. “I don’t actually care.”

Gojo ignored that completely. “Satoru Gojo. Best hunter in these lands, possibly the most handsome man you’ll ever meet, and definitely the funniest.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “You really just talk like that, huh?”

Gojo grinned. “What can I say? Some people are born to be great.”

She sighed, muttering, “And some people are born to be insufferable.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”

She kept walking.

Gojo smirked. “Anyway, as I was saying—I’m twenty-four, I live alone, and I technically don’t have to hunt that much, but hey, a man’s gotta make a living.”

She side-eyed him. “You hunt for sport?”

Gojo scoffed. “What? No. I hunt to survive. But if I happen to look really cool doing it, that’s just a bonus.”

She exhaled sharply. “Right. Of course.”

Gojo continued, completely unfazed. “I don’t really like dealing with people, which is why I live on my own. Less drama, less noise. Just me and the great outdoors.” He spread his arms dramatically. “Peaceful, right?”

She glanced at him. “You? Living in peace? Hard to imagine.”

Gojo chuckled. “Alright, fair point. But hey, I could be worse. I could be some grumpy old hunter who never cracks a joke.”

“I think I’d prefer that.”

“Ouch,” Gojo laughed. “You wound me.”

She rolled her eyes and kept walking.

Gojo, of course, followed right after her, still talking.

“Anyway, what else? Oh! I have amazing eyesight. You might’ve noticed.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“And I’m ridiculously strong. Seriously, I could probably carry you and your wings with one arm.”

“Not happening.”

“And, best of all—” Gojo grinned, stepping in front of her and walking backward so he could face her directly— “I’m really fun to be around.”

She stared at him blankly. “You’re really something, alright.”

Gojo smirked, absolutely taking that as a compliment. “See? You’re warming up to me already.”

She groaned. “You are so lucky I have more important things to deal with.”

Gojo chuckled, hands behind his head. “I am lucky. Lucky I found a real-life fairy to bother for the rest of the day.”

She let out a long breath, as if gathering every ounce of patience she had left.

Gojo just grinned, completely entertained. ThisGojo walked alongside her, hands behind his head, still grinning like he had all the time in the world. “So, fairy girl, where do you live?”

She glanced at him, clearly suspicious. “In the forest.”

Gojo snorted. “Yeah, obviously. But I mean, where’s your house?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered ahead, wings shifting slightly as she kept walking.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t wanna tell me? Afraid I’ll crash at your place? I promise I don’t take up much space.”

Still, no response.

Gojo slowed his pace slightly, watching her carefully. “Wait… do fairies even live in houses? Do you guys have little tree villages? Hollow logs? Underground tunnels? Ooooh, or do you sleep in giant flower petals?”

She let out a sharp sigh before finally answering, voice quiet.

“…I don’t have one.”

Gojo blinked.

For once, he didn’t have a snarky response ready.

She kept walking like she hadn’t just dropped that information so casually, like it wasn’t something strange or concerning.

Gojo, of course, wasn’t about to let it slide.

“…Wait. What do you mean you don’t have one?” He frowned. “Like, at all?”

She didn’t look at him. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, processing that. No house. Nowhere to go. Nowhere she belonged.

Something about that didn’t sit right with him.

And for the first time since meeting her, his teasing grin completely disappeared.

Gojo stared at her, still processing the fact that she didn’t have a home. Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, he grinned and said, “Woah. You can live at my place.”

She stopped walking.

Gojo kept going. “It’s big enough for us, and I am an excellent host. I can take care of you—make sure you have food, a warm bed, maybe even—”

She turned to him with a look of pure disgust.

“First of all, no way am I living with someone like you.”

Gojo clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch.”

“And second,” she continued, rolling her eyes, “I can’t leave the forest.”

Gojo frowned. “Why not?”

She gave him a look like he was dense. “Because if humans saw me, they’d hunt me. Or—or worse. I don’t even want to know what they’d do.”

Gojo blinked, tilting his head. “I mean… I’m also a human?”

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then, without meeting his eyes, she muttered, “You’re different.”

Gojo stared at her, something unreadable flashing across his face.

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “And please… don’t tell anyone about me, okay?” Her voice softened just a little. “Not like they’d believe you anyway.”

Gojo watched her carefully, noting the way her wings folded slightly, as if she was trying to make herself smaller.

Then, with a smirk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and said, “Don’t worry, pixie. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She groaned. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Gojo chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

But despite his teasing, something in his expression had shifted.

And for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet… he meant what he said.

Gojo kept walking beside her, his usual smirk still present but his mind running with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. She really had nowhere to go? She couldn’t even leave the forest?

That… didn’t sit right with him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of whatever birds were still left in this part of the forest.

Then Gojo broke the silence.

“So,” he started, tilting his head at her, “you’ve been hiding here for years, huh? Just… out here, alone?”

She didn’t look at him. “I’m not alone.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You got a secret fairy society somewhere?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. But I don’t need one.”

Gojo hummed, unconvinced. “Must get kinda lonely, though.”

She stiffened slightly.

It was small—barely noticeable—but Gojo caught it.

“…It’s not so bad,” she muttered after a while.

Gojo watched her carefully.

Then, out of nowhere, he grinned and threw an arm over her shoulder. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got me now!”

She immediately shoved him off. “Don’t touch me!”

Gojo burst out laughing, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright! No touching the fairy, got it.”

She scowled. “You are the worst.”

“Aw, come on, I’m a great companion!” He smirked. “Super fun, super strong, and super annoying. The full package.”

She groaned. “Why are you still following me?”

Gojo stretched his arms behind his head. “Dunno. Maybe I’m just curious.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Curious about what?”

Gojo shrugged. “Dunno yet. Guess I’ll find out.”

She sighed heavily, clearly realizing he had no plans of leaving her alone anytime soon.

Gojo chuckled.

For some reason, that thought didn’t bother him one bit.

She sighed, her gaze dropping to the forest floor as they walked. Then, almost too quietly, she muttered, “But… I do want to go outside the forest.”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly in surprise.

“But I’m scared,” she admitted, voice softer now. “If someone saw me—” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “I don’t know what they’d do.”

Gojo watched her carefully, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of her being scared—of her being trapped here—didn’t sit right with him.

And maybe he should’ve thought it through more, maybe he should’ve considered what he was about to offer—

But he didn’t.

Instead, he grinned, stepping in front of her and bending slightly so they were eye level. “Then let me do it for you.”

She blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Gojo smirked. “You wanna see the outside world, right?” He tapped his chest. “I’ll take you.”

She stared at him, clearly trying to figure out if he was joking. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” His grin widened. “C’mon. Who better to sneak you out than me?”

She hesitated, her wings twitching slightly. “You’re a human.”

Gojo tilted his head. “Yeah. And?”

She frowned. “You know why that’s a problem.”

Gojo chuckled. “Relax. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was still teasing, still playful, but underneath it was something else—something solid.

She searched his face for a long moment, uncertain.

He let her think. Let her weigh the idea, weigh him.

Then, slowly, she exhaled and looked away. “…It’s not that simple.”

Gojo just smirked. “Maybe not.” He straightened up, hands on his hips. “But hey, lucky for you, I love complicated things.”

She sighed heavily, like she already regretted this conversation. “You’re ridiculous.”

Gojo chuckled, turning to walk beside her again. “And yet, you still haven’t said no.”

She didn’t reply.

Gojo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his smirk softening just a little.

He didn’t know why he cared so much.

But he did.

And that was enough.

➽──────────────❥

You sat peacefully on a thick tree branch, the cool morning breeze brushing against your skin as you ran your fingers gently over the feathers of a small bird perched beside you. It chirped softly, pressing into your touch, unbothered by your presence.

This was your routine—finding solace in the quiet of the forest, away from the chaos, away from—

"Oi! Fairy girl!"

Your peace shattered instantly.

You stiffened, closing your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose. Of course.

He came.

Satoru Gojo.

You glanced down, and sure enough, there he was, standing beneath your tree, looking just as insufferable as ever. His usual grin was present, but something else caught your attention—he was holding a brown cloak in his hand, waving it slightly.

You narrowed your eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Gojo smirked. "What, no ‘good morning’?"

You sighed, shifting slightly on the branch. "Gojo."

His grin widened. "That’s better."

You rolled your eyes. "Why are you here?"

Gojo held up the cape. "Brought you a gift."

You blinked. "…A what?"

"A cape," he said casually, shaking it out. "You did say you wanted to go outside the forest, right?"

You hesitated.

Gojo smirked. "Figured you’d need a disguise. Y’know, since your very obvious wings might make people lose their minds."

You frowned, eyeing the fabric warily. "And you just… had that lying around?"

Gojo shrugged. "Not exactly. But I may have borrowed it."

You scoffed. "You stole it, didn’t you?"

Gojo gasped dramatically. "Excuse me! I acquired it. Totally different thing."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "You’re impossible."

Gojo chuckled, stepping closer. "C’mon. Try it on."

You eyed him suspiciously, but curiosity got the better of you. With a sigh, you leapt down from the branch, landing lightly on your feet in front of him.

Gojo handed you the cloak, watching as you hesitantly draped it over your shoulders. The fabric was thick but surprisingly soft, and when you adjusted it, it covered your wings completely.

Gojo grinned. "See? Looks good on you. Almost makes you look normal."

You shot him a glare. "Gee, thanks."

He chuckled. "So, what do you think? Ready to step out of the forest?"

You hesitated again, gripping the fabric slightly.

Gojo watched you carefully, his usual playfulness still there, but something else lingered in his expression—something patient.

You exhaled. "Maybe."

Gojo smirked. "Maybe is a good start."

You adjusted the cloak slightly, shifting your shoulders. The fabric was thick and heavy, pressing against your wings in a way that wasn’t exactly painful but definitely uncomfortable.

“…It’s kinda uncomfortable for my wings,” you muttered, frowning as you tried to reposition them beneath the fabric. “Feels weird.”

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as he watched you. “Yeah, I figured that might be a problem.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you get something better?”

Gojo smirked. “What, and rob an entire tailor’s shop? I’m not that much of a criminal.”

You scoffed. “Debatable.”

Gojo laughed, but then his grin shifted into something a little more thoughtful. “Still, even with the cape, people might get suspicious.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gojo gestured vaguely. “You know, seeing me walking around with a girl they’ve never seen before? Might raise some eyebrows.”

You blinked, suddenly realizing the flaw in his plan. “Oh.”

Gojo grinned. “Yeah. I mean, I am quite the handsome and mysterious man—people tend to notice me.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not the issue.”

He smirked. “You sure? Could be a great excuse to say you’re my secret lover.”

Your wings twitched under the cloak. “I will punch you.”

Gojo laughed. “Alright, alright. No need for violence, pixie.”

You groaned. “Ugh, we’re gonna get caught before we even try at this rate.”

Gojo tapped his chin. “Hmm. Guess we need a cover story, huh?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

You had a feeling you were about to regret everything.

You walked beside Gojo, your hands gripping the edges of the cloak as you stepped out of the forest for the first time in years. The open air felt different—less wild, less free. The towering trees were replaced by open roads, stone pathways leading toward a town that seemed to hum with life.

As you approached, the first thing you noticed was the people.

Children ran barefoot through the streets, their laughter echoing as they weaved between market stalls. Vendors called out their wares—fresh bread, spices, handwoven fabrics—all filling the air with an odd but strangely comforting mix of scents. Women strolled by in elegant dresses, their skirts swishing with every step, their hair pinned in intricate styles as they gossiped with one another. The faint melody of a musician’s tune drifted through the air, blending into the sound of horses trotting down the cobbled paths.

It was… overwhelming.

You kept your head down, pressing the hood of the cloak lower over your face as you walked closer beside Gojo.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

You scowled. “No.”

Gojo smirked. “Right. That’s why you’re clinging to that cloak like it’s your lifeline.”

You huffed, loosening your grip slightly but still keeping your pace quick. “People are staring.”

Gojo chuckled. “They’re curious. That’s normal.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “That’s bad.”

Gojo just shrugged, walking with that same relaxed confidence he always had, completely unbothered. “Relax. Just stick with me. No one’s gonna do anything.”

That was easy for him to say.

You swallowed, ignoring the way a few passing townsfolk gave you curious glances.

You had made it this far.

Now you just had to blend in.

As you walked deeper into town, your nerves were starting to get the better of you. Every passing glance felt like it lasted too long, every whispered conversation felt like it was about you.

Then, without warning—

Gojo grabbed your hand.

You immediately tensed. “What are you—?”

“Relax,” he said smoothly, his grip firm but not forceful. “You’re looking too jumpy. This’ll make you seem less suspicious.”

You frowned, trying to pull away. “I don’t need your help blending in.”

Gojo smirked, effortlessly keeping his hold. “Oh, really? Because right now, you look like you just walked into civilization for the first time in your life.”

You glared at him. “That’s because I did.”

Gojo chuckled. “Exactly. Which is why you should listen to me.”

You tried again to yank your hand back. “This is unnecessary.”

He didn’t let go. “It’s convincing.”

You huffed, wings twitching uncomfortably beneath the cloak. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Gojo grinned. “A little, yeah.”

You groaned, giving up the struggle. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, holding my hand.”

“I’m not—you are—” You shut your mouth, inhaled deeply, and faced forward. “Whatever. Just… don’t make it weird.”

Gojo squeezed your hand lightly. “No promises.”

You were so going to regret this.

➽──────────────❥

Gojo wasted no time leading you through the bustling streets, completely in his element while you tried your best to blend in. He was annoyingly casual about the whole thing, weaving effortlessly through the crowd, dragging you along as if this were just another ordinary day.

He stopped at a food stall first, handing the vendor a few coins before turning to you with a smug grin. “Here. Try this.”

You eyed the small pastry in his hand, then glanced at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Good,” he said simply, shoving it toward you.

You hesitated but took a cautious bite. The soft, flaky crust melted in your mouth, the filling warm and sweet with a hint of spice. Your eyes widened slightly—it was actually delicious.

Gojo smirked. “Told you.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, swallowing the bite before muttering, “…It’s alright.”

Gojo laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

And so it continued.

He dragged you from stall to stall, making you try different things—fruits so sweet they made your lips tingle, roasted nuts coated in honey, warm bread fresh from the oven. Every time you protested, he would shove something else into your hands, grinning like a child as he watched you try new flavors.

You were starting to suspect this wasn’t about “blending in” at all—he just wanted an excuse to feed you.

He guided you through the winding streets, pointing out different places—where to get the best food, which vendor had the softest fabrics, which alleyways to avoid unless you wanted to get robbed (which he said with way too much amusement).

And then, of course, people started noticing.

It started with whispers. Curious glances.

And then finally—

“Hey, Gojo,” a passing merchant called out, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s this girl with you?”

You stiffened. Your heart picked up pace. Shit.

More people turned to look, the attention settling heavily on you. Gojo, of course, looked completely unbothered.

Then he smiled. And opened his mouth.

“Oh, her?” He pulled you slightly closer, tilting his head as if the answer was obvious.

“My secret lover, not secret anymore though—”

Silence.

Every single person around you froze.

Eyes widened. Mouths dropped open.

The air grew thick with shock.

You blinked, your brain momentarily unable to process what he had just said.

Then—

Your eyebrow twitched.

Oh god. He really said that.

Gojo just grinned, clearly entertained by everyone’s reaction. He squeezed your hand lightly, as if sealing the deal.

You, on the other hand, were one second away from killing him.

Your fingers curled into a fist. Your wings twitched violently beneath the cloak.

Oh, he was so dead.

And yet, Gojo just chuckled, completely ignoring the way you were vibrating with barely restrained rage.

"What?" he said innocently, looking around at the stunned crowd. “Is that so hard to believe?”

You were so going to murder him in broad daylight.

The second the words left Gojo’s mouth, the questions exploded.

“Wait—seriously?”

“Gojo, since when?!”

“Where’s she from?”

“Why haven’t we seen her before?”

You stiffened as the crowd suddenly closed in, eager for answers. Oh god, what had he done?

Gojo, of course, was perfectly relaxed, grinning like he was enjoying every second of this. “She’s from a neighboring town,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat. “That’s why you haven’t seen her before.”

People nodded like that made perfect sense.

You, meanwhile, were standing there like a deer caught in torchlight, unable to do anything. You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t even glare at him properly because all eyes were on you.

You had no choice but to go along with it.

Gojo was still talking, still lying effortlessly, answering every question thrown his way.

“How long have you two been together?”

“A while now,” Gojo replied, slinging an arm around your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You nearly choked.

He was enjoying this too much.

Then, someone laughed—a young man standing by one of the market stalls, shaking his head in amusement. “Damn, Gojo,” he said, grinning. “You really broke all the ladies’ hearts, huh?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Of course he’d be popular.

You hated to admit it, but… Gojo was handsome.

Annoyingly so.

His bright blue eyes, his sharp features, the way his white hair somehow looked effortlessly perfect—he had the kind of beauty that stood out, that demanded attention. Even in a town full of people, he was the person you’d notice first.

You hated that you noticed.

Gojo just laughed, completely unfazed. “Ahh, what can I say?” he sighed dramatically. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

More laughter, more teasing.

You, on the other hand, were still recovering from the fact that he had just made you his “lover” in front of half the town.

This was not how you expected today to go.

And judging by the way Gojo was still smirking, you had a very bad feeling that this wasn’t over yet.

You could feel their eyes on you.

The women in the crowd—some subtle, some not—were all staring. Some whispered to each other, casting quick glances your way, while others openly examined you, their expressions ranging from curiosity to thinly veiled judgment.

You shifted slightly under the weight of their stares, resisting the urge to pull your hood lower, fidgeting with it.

It made sense. Gojo was handsome, charming, and irritatingly confident. He was the type of person who naturally drew attention, the kind who could have anyone he wanted—so why had he suddenly claimed you?

The disbelief in their gazes said it all.

You clenched your jaw, pretending not to notice the way some of them whispered behind their hands.

Gojo, meanwhile, was completely unfazed.

If he noticed the way the women were sizing you up, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just stood there, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in ages.

You, on the other hand, were not having fun.

Not only were you stuck in this ridiculous situation, but now you were also dealing with the silent judgment of people who had probably spent years fawning over him.

Great. Just great.

You subtly exhaled, trying to ignore it.

But the longer it went on, the more you wanted to strangle the man standing beside you.

And judging by the glint of amusement in his eyes, he knew it.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your expression neutral as Gojo continued to entertain the crowd like this was his personal stage.

The questions didn’t stop.

“Where did you two meet?”

Gojo hummed, tapping his chin. “Ah, it’s quite the romantic story, actually—”

You shot him a warning glare.

He smirked. “—but that’s a secret.”

The crowd groaned, clearly disappointed but still eating up every word he fed them.

You, meanwhile, were dying inside.

The stares from the women hadn’t stopped. Some of them had their arms crossed, unimpressed. Others whispered behind their hands, their eyes flickering between you and Gojo like they were trying to make sense of this unbelievable pairing.

And the worst part?

Gojo knew it.

You could see it in the way he smirked, the way his grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if to prove a point.

Oh, he was enjoying this way too much.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You tugged at his arm, lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Enough,” you hissed. “Can we go now?”

Gojo glanced at you, clearly amused. “Hmm? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your eye twitched. “I will kill you.”

Gojo laughed. Actually laughed.

The crowd looked between you, interest piqued.

“You two are adorable,” one of the older women in the market cooed.

Gojo grinned. “Aren’t we?”

You resisted the very strong urge to stomp on his foot.

Instead, you yanked at his sleeve again, hissing, “If you don’t walk away in the next five seconds, I swear—”

Gojo chuckled, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

With that, he pulled you through the crowd, his hand still firmly holding onto yours, as if to make sure you couldn’t escape just yet.

The stares followed you as you walked away.

You could still feel them.

And as Gojo led you down another street, humming to himself like nothing had happened, you made a silent vow—

You were getting back at him for this.

As soon as you were far enough from the crowd, without hesitation—

SMACK.

Your hand came down hard on Gojo’s head.

“Ow—hey!” He stumbled slightly, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated wince. “What was that for?”

You shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe for LYING TO HALF THE TOWN?!”

Gojo blinked. Then smirked. “Ohhh, that?”

Your eye twitched. “YES, THAT.”

He chuckled, still rubbing his head. “Damn, fairy girl, you’re stronger than you look.”

“I should’ve hit you harder.”

Gojo grinned. “Aww, but then I’d have to tell everyone my lover is abusing me.”

You lunged at him.

Gojo dodged, laughing as he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Relax! It was just a joke!”

“Oh, just a joke?” You crossed your arms, glaring. “Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

Gojo tilted his head. “Uh… made you a local celebrity?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Now the whole town thinks we’re together!”

Gojo shrugged. “Eh, could be worse.”

You looked at him like you wanted to strangle him. “How?"

He smirked. “Well, technically, I could’ve said we were married.”

You gaped at him in horror.

Gojo burst out laughing.

“Ohhh, your face—” He wiped a fake tear from his eye, still grinning. “That was priceless.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you actually killed him.

Gojo smirked, tilting his head. “You’re really worked up over this, huh?”

You glared. “Because now people are going to keep asking about it! The women in town are already mad!”

Gojo hummed, amused. “Jealous, you think?”

“Oh, definitely,” you deadpanned. “I mean, look at you. Handsome, charming, the worst person I’ve ever met—”

Gojo placed a hand on his chest. “Aw, stop, you’re making me blush.”

You were so close to knocking him out.

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Just—just fix this, okay?”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Fix it?”

“Yes! Tell them you were lying, or joking, or—something!”

Gojo just grinned. “Ehhh… I dunno.”

Your hands curled into fists. “Gojo.”

He leaned in slightly, still smirking. “But you haven’t denied it, have you?”

Your breath caught for a second.

Then—

You shoved him so hard that he actually stumbled back, laughing.

“Fix it.”

Gojo just winked. “No promises.”

You hated him.

You really did.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

Gojo was still grinning, completely unbothered by the fact that you had just smacked him.

Then, as if he hadn’t just caused chaos, he stretched lazily and said, “Alright, let’s go to my place.”

You blinked. “What?”

Gojo looked at you like it was obvious. “My house. You know, where I live? Where we can not stand in the middle of town while you plot my murder?”

You scowled. “I don’t need to go to your house.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh, so you want to stay out here where people might keep asking about us?”

Your lips pressed together.

Damn him.

“…Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “But only because I need to sit somewhere and recover from the disaster you just caused.”

Gojo chuckled. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, pixie.”

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned and led the way.

The walk to his home wasn’t long, but by the time you arrived, you were… surprised.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the small house in front of you wasn’t anything extravagant. It wasn’t large or overly fancy, but it had a certain charm to it. The wooden walls looked well-maintained, the small porch had a few crates stacked neatly against the side, and a window had soft, warm light spilling out from within.

It looked… cozy.

You glanced at Gojo, raising an eyebrow. “This is your place?”

He grinned. “What? Expecting a castle?”

You huffed. “No. Just… thought it’d be messier.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Wow. You really don’t think highly of me, huh?”

You smirked. “Not even a little.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he pushed the door open. “Well, come on in. Mi casa es tu casa, fairy girl.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him inside.

And for the first time, you stepped into his world.

The moment Gojo pushed the door open, you stepped inside cautiously, taking in your surroundings.

It was… not what you expected.

The space was small but warm, with wooden beams overhead and stone walls that gave it a sturdy, lived-in feel. A wooden dining table sat at the center, covered with a checkered cloth, a half-empty bottle of wine resting on it like it had been forgotten there. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with jars, plates, and random trinkets, while an old clock ticked softly above the fireplace. The scent of dried herbs and faint traces of smoke from the stove lingered in the air, making the place feel oddly inviting.

Your gaze drifted to the kitchen area, where pots and pans hung neatly from hooks, and sunlight filtered through a small window, casting a golden glow across the room. Everything had a simple charm to it—unexpectedly cute, even.

“…Huh.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, shutting the door behind him. “What?”

You glanced at him. “I don’t know. I just… thought you’d live in more of a mess.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. So little faith in me.”

You smirked. “I mean, considering the way you act, I expected, I don’t know—half-eaten food lying around, arrows stuck in the walls, maybe a dead animal on the floor.”

Gojo snorted. “I am a hunter, not a wild animal.”

You hummed, unconvinced, as you wandered toward the table, brushing your fingers over the wooden surface. “It’s… cute.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh? You think I’m cute?”

You turned to him with a deadpan expression. “The house.”

Gojo chuckled, clearly entertained. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. You’re too proud to admit I’ve got taste.”

You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the table. The chair creaked slightly under your weight, but it was sturdy, just like everything else in this place.

Gojo walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of mugs from a shelf. “Tea?”

You blinked. “You drink tea?”

Gojo smirked over his shoulder. “What, did you think I just survive off the thrill of the hunt and sheer charisma?”

“…Yes.”

He laughed. “Fair. But no. I drink tea, and so do you now.” He placed a cup in front of you before sitting across the table, resting his chin in his palm.

For the first time since stepping into town, you felt yourself relax just a little.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

As you sat at the wooden table, fingers curling around the warm mug Gojo had placed in front of you, a strange feeling settled in your chest.

Comfort.

You weren’t sure why, but something about this place—this home—felt… good. Safe. Like it had been lived in, like it had stories within its walls. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it had warmth. The soft ticking of the clock, the scent of herbs in the air, the way the light spilled gently through the window—it all felt oddly familiar.

Like home.

You weren’t supposed to feel that way. Not outside the forest. Not in a human’s house. And yet…

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself sink into the moment.

Gojo, of course, noticed. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk. “Comfy?”

You shot him a look. “No.”

His grin widened. “Liar.”

You huffed, sipping your tea to avoid answering. It was warm, a little bitter, but soothing in a way you hadn’t expected.

Gojo chuckled, but for once, he didn’t push.

For a moment, the two of you sat there, just existing in the quiet.

And for the first time in a long time… you didn’t feel so out of place.

The warmth of the tea seeped through the cup into your fingers, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it—the quiet, the stillness, the way the air inside this small home felt different from the outside world.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Y’know,” he started, voice smooth and teasing, “for someone who acted like they hated coming here, you’re looking awfully comfortable.

You shot him a side glance, unimpressed. “I can leave.”

Gojo smirked. “Yeah? And go where?”

That shut you up.

He knew you had nowhere else to be. That the forest was the only place you ever returned to, and even that wasn’t really a home.

You set your mug down, crossing your arms. “Don’t think this means I like you.”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, obviously. You just like my house.”

You scoffed, looking away. “Maybe.”

Gojo chuckled, but his expression softened slightly as he rested his chin in his palm, watching you. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he said, voice quieter this time, “you can stay as long as you want.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

He said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like the idea of you being here, in his space, wasn’t strange at all.

You hesitated, glancing down at your cup. “…I won’t stay long.”

Gojo just smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.

The warmth of the tea, the flickering light from the stove, the faint creaks of the wooden house settling—it all felt strangely calm.

Too calm.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, letting the silence stretch between you and Gojo. But for once, he wasn’t talking. He just leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression.

You didn’t like it.

It felt like he was waiting for something.

“…What?” you muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Gojo smirked. “Nothing.”

You scowled. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up, grabbing your empty mug along with his. “Alright, alright. No need to get all shy, fairy girl.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach twisted slightly at his words.

As he turned away, moving toward the small sink, you let your gaze drift around the house once more. The warmth, the familiarity of it—it was dangerous. It made you forget, just for a second, that you didn’t belong here.

You exhaled, standing up as well.

You wouldn’t get too comfortable.

Because sooner or later… you’d have to leave.

A/n- Honestly, writing this took longer than I expected, but I had so much fun with it. Gojo is already a menace, and reader is already so done with him, lmao. But hey, she did feel comfortable at his place… wonder what that means. I hope I didn't disappointed y'all:>

Chapter 2 is gonna be interesting, so stay tuned! And let me know what you think so far, have a great day🩷🫶

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alygator77 · 5 hours ago

Text

oh, im gonna eat this up 😌

stardust

summary: raised in a village on the kingdom’s outskirts, you’ve always dreamed of seeing the annual lantern festival in the capital. when you unwittingly help a thief on the run—gojo satoru—he agrees to take you there as repayment. what starts off as a simple deal soon pulls you into a conspiracy that ties back to the crown—and to satoru’s past.

⇢ pairing: thief/flynn rider!gojo satoru x fem!reader ⇢ contains: romance, angst, smut (oral sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity), slowburn, action, tangled au, debatable attempts at comedy, profanity, inaccurate depictions of horse-riding, mentions of poison and murder, violence that comes with daggers/swords/frying pans—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 31k ⇢ playlist: “you broke my smolder” ⇢ art credit: _3aem | read on ao3 here.

It turns out that blackmailing a wanted criminal is much harder than it seems.

For one, he does not take you seriously. Not even a little.

“Oh no,” Satoru says, eyes wide with feigned horror. “You’re going to turn me in? Me? The helpless victim in all of this?” He clutches his chest, staggering back as if he’s been struck. “What a cruel, coldhearted thing to do to the man whose life you just heroically saved.”

“You’re only saying that because you know I have the upper hand,” you deadpan.

“Details, details,” he says, waving a hand. “But let’s be real here, sweetheart. If you were really going to call the guards—after you rescued me from the aforementioned guards—you’d have done it by now.”

You stiffen. He grins, slow and knowing. “Ah,” he says, tapping his temple. “See, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re bluffing.”

“I am not bluffing,” you insist, even as your grip tightens around your satchel.

Satoru’s grin only grows. He takes a step closer, like a cat toying with its prey. “Oh?”

You plant your feet firmly, refusing to back down. “Oh, indeed.”

Then—so fast you almost don’t register it—he lunges. With a startled yelp, you whirl away, narrowly dodging his grasp as he reaches for the satchel. Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Not bad,” he muses. “You’ve got quick reflexes.”

You clutch the satchel to your chest. “You’re just predictable.”

Satoru places a hand over his chest and gasps. “Predictable? Me?” He scoffs. “Sweetheart, I am many things—charming, intelligent, devastatingly handsome—but predictable is not one of them.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes. “If you want the crown back so badly, then take it,” you say, and before he can react, you pivot on your heel and sprint.

“Whoa, hey—”

You dart through the trees, leaping over gnarly roots and weaving through the underbrush, legs burning as you push forward. The satchel bounces against your side. The village is close—if you can just make it past the ridge, maybe you can—

A hand catches your wrist. You’re being spun; the world tilts, and your back slams into something solid. Your breath is knocked out of your lungs with a sharp gasp.

Gojo Satoru—the most wanted man in the entire kingdom—looms over you. His palm is pressed flat against the trunk of the tree behind your head, trapping you in place. He’s not even out of breath. His hair is a mess of white strands, a few falling over his forehead, and his eyes—those ridiculous, celestial blue eyes—are twinkling with delight.

“Well,” he drawls, “that was fun.”

You glare up at him. “Let go.”

“Mm.” Satoru taps his chin, considering. “Nah.”

“Gojo.”

“Say please.”

You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. At all. He’s all lean muscle beneath his clothes, far sturdier than his lanky frame would suggest. You grit your teeth. “You are the worst.”

“And you,” he says, patting the tip of your nose, “are terrible at making threats.”

You open your mouth to retort, only to clamp it shut immediately after. Hoofbeats. Both of you freeze. They’re distant at first, then grow louder, thundering against the dirt path. Your stomach twists. The guards are back.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. One second he’s in front of you; the next, he’s sweeping you into his arms like you weigh nothing and hauling you away from the side of the path, diving into the thick of the trees.

“What—? Put me—”

“Shhh.” He claps a hand over your mouth, pressing you against the trunk of an enormous oak, both of you half-hidden behind the tree. Your heart pounds. You can see the riders now, their armour glinting under the early morning sun. Their voices carry over the rustling of the leaves, and you hold your breath.

Satoru does too, though you doubt it’s out of fear. No, he looks entirely at ease, a smirk tugging on his lips as he watches the guards ride past, none the wiser. Just as quickly as they arrived, they’re gone. The silence stretches.

Finally, Satoru leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re welcome.”

You bite his hand.

“Yowza!” He jerks back, cradling his hand like you’ve just inflicted a mortal wound upon the limb. “Did you just—”

“Yes,” you say primly, straightening out your tunic. “And I’ll do it again if I must.”

Satoru gapes at you, then lets out a laugh, wild and unrestrained. “Oh,” he breathes, shaking his head. “Oh, I like you.”

“Great,” you say. “So you’ll take me to the capital?”

His laughter dies. You smile sweetly at him.

Satoru groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, mostly to himself. His head tips back against the tree, and for a moment, he just stands there with his eyes closed, as though he’s bargaining with the gods to give him the virtue of patience which he so clearly lacks. “I just saved your life.”

“I saved yours first.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”

“I—” Your cheeks burn despite yourself.

“Not that lucky, though,” he interrupts, dropping his hand and fixing you with an almost pitying look. “Because if you think I’m actually going to drag you with me all the way to the capital just because you swiped a little trinket from me, you’re out of your mind.”

Your momentary victory screeches to a halt. “What?”

“You heard me.” He straightens, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m not taking you anywhere.”

“But you just said—”

“I just humoured you. Big difference.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. You ball your hands into fists at your sides. “You promised.”

“I lied.”

“Gojo!”

He grins, wholly unrepentant, and takes a step back. “C’mon, sweetheart. You didn’t actually think that was going to work, did you?” He tuts, shaking his head. “Cute and naïve. What a dangerous combination.”

Frustration coils in your chest. You take a deep breath. “Alright,” you say, almost calm. “Then I’ll just go to the guards right now, and—”

“No, you won’t,” Satoru says, raising a single finger.

Your nostrils flare. “And why won’t I?”

“Because I just saved your life,” he says, enunciating each word as though you’re a particularly slow barn animal. “Which means, at the very least, I deserve some gratitude.”

Your jaw drops. “Gratitude?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re even!” you sputter. “I saved you first!”

“Semantics. Point is, I was heroic, you were impressed, and now you can return my crown to me and we can go our separate ways.” He winks. “Sounds good?”

“That—” You stare at him, incredulous. “That is the exact opposite of good.”

“Hm. Sounds like a you problem.”

Your grip on the satchel tightens. “Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “Then I’ll—”

Before you can finish, he’s already moving. Fast—too fast. You barely register the blur of motion before his hand is dipping into the satchel, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the crown. Panic flares. You react without thinking.

Your hands snap out, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away. He pauses, blinking down at you, startled—because somehow, despite his speed, despite the way he should’ve been able to snatch the crown before you noticed and vanish into the trees—he hadn’t accounted for you actually stopping him.

Both of you freeze. Then, in an utterly ridiculous, ungraceful tangle of limbs you both go crashing to the ground. The satchel slips from your grasp, tumbling into the dirt. The crown spills out, gleaming in the morning light. It’s a glittering band of gold inlaid with the sort of precious stones and gems you’ve only ever heard about. A string of words, written in a curling handwriting, are etched into the inside of the crown’s band. You blink against the glare. Satoru lands half on top of you, his weight pressing you into the earth.

Satoru is heavy. Not overwhelmingly so, but enough that you’re acutely aware of every point of contact; the solid warmth of his torso against yours, the way his arm is braced beside your head, keeping his weight from crushing you fully.

And, unfortunately, he seems just as aware. A slow, amused smile curls at the edges of his lips as he props himself up on his elbows, peering down at you with those ocean-bright eyes. “My, oh, my,” he muses, low and amused. “How terribly forward of you.”

Your face heats up. “Get. Off.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flickers to the crown lying in the dirt beside you, just out of reach. His smile widens. You see the moment he decides to go for it. Unfortunately for him, you’ve already decided first.

With a grunt, you knee him in the stomach. Satoru wheezes. You wriggle out from beneath him just as he recoils, scrambling for the crown. Your fingers barely skim against the metal—but before you can grab it, the thief lunges forward and tackles you again. There is no grace to it this time. You wrestle in the dirt like two absolute idiots, rolling, kicking, twisting in a desperate scramble for control. He’s stronger, but you’re determined, and maybe just a little feral at this point.

“Would you quit it?” Satoru grunts, narrowly dodging an elbow to the ribs.

“Not until you help me!”

“I told you—”

You shove your palm against his face. Satoru lets out an indignant noise, muffled by your hand. You take advantage of his momentary distraction and reach out—only for Satoru to grab your wrist and twist, sending you both tumbling again, until—

Somehow—somehow—he ends up pinned beneath you, and this time, you have the crown.

Your fingers tighten around it as you scramble off him and glare down at Satoru. He’s sprawled in the dirt, a mess of leaves clinging to his wind-ruffled hair, and a streak of dirt is smeared across his chin. You’re certain you’re in no better shape; you pull a stray twig out of your hair, and rub away the mud on your cheeks with the back of your hand. He props himself up on his elbows, surveying you.

“Tragic,” he sighs. “I almost had it.”

You twirl the crown between your fingers, letting the jewels catch the light, and let your lips turn upwards in a saccharine smile. “It’s called a hustle, sweetheart.”

The marketplace is settling into a quieter rhythm at this time of the day, the golden light of mid-afternoon casting long shadows upon the cobbled streets. Satoru trudges beside you, his usual confidence replaced with something closer to reluctant resignation.

He looks utterly put upon, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, lips set in a pout. Every few steps, he kicks at loose pebbles on the road, sending them skittering ahead of him. You’d almost feel bad for him—almost. But then, you remember that this is a man who stole a crown, got caught, and is now bitter because someone played him at his own game.

The smell of freshly baked bread drifts through the air, warm and inviting, mingling with the sharp scent of spices from a nearby stall. You stop in front of a small bakery, the wooden sign above it swaying slightly in the breeze. Through the open windows, trays of steaming loaves sit behind the counter, their crusts golden brown and crisp.

Satoru watches as you peer through the display, an unimpressed look on his face. “Wonderful,” he says. “I get blackmailed into helping you, and now we have to go grocery shopping. Truly, this is my lucky day.”

“We need supplies if we’re going to travel.” You glance at him, and roll your eyes. “Or do you plan on surviving on pure arrogance alone?”

He sighs dramatically, tossing his head back. “I’ve survived on worse. Once, I survived an entire week on nothing but stolen fruit and the will to be a menace to the commander of the Royal Guard.”

“That explains so much.” Ignoring his indignant huff, you step forward and exchange a few coins for a loaf of bread, still warm from the oven. The baker, a kindly old woman, gives you a small smile as she wraps it in cloth. You thank her and tuck the bundle into your bag.

Satoru watches this process with the dismay of a man being forced to endure unimaginable hardship. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important, he straightens. “Speaking of which,” he says, tilting his head towards you, “where exactly is my crown?”

“Safe.”

“Where?”

“Hidden,” you say, and flash him a too-sweet smile.

Satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re crazy. First, you rob me. Then, you blackmail me. And now, you’ve hidden my prized possession like some kind of—” He gestures vaguely at you, searching for the right words. “Some kind of tiny, feral leprechaun.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Think of it as collateral.”

“Oh, sure,” he mutters dryly. “Because trusting the person who stole from me is such a fantastic idea.”

“You stole it first.”

“So you’ve said. The point is, I need that crown.”

“Why?” you ask, raising a brow.

He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before flashing you his usual grin—teasing and entirely insincere. “Because it’s mine?”

You snort. “Try again.”

Satoru leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing some grand secret. “What if I told you it holds great sentimental value?”

“I’d tell you to stop lying to my face.”

“Wow,” he says, and then says your name, dragging out the last syllable. “So distrustful.”

You shake your head, adjusting the strap of your satchel. “If you do what you promised, I’ll give it back.”

He studies you, gaze flickering briefly to your satchel, as if he’s considering whether he could swipe it and make a run for it. (Not that it would be of any use, anyway, since you’ve hidden it underneath your mattress in your tiny little cottage.) Instead, he sighs, slouching forward like the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders, and mutters, “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Not my fault you lost,” you sing-song.

“I almost had it,” he whines, but his lips twitch.

“But you didn’t.”

“What do you want to go to the capital for so badly, anyway?” He squints at you. “You’re dragging me halfway across the kingdom, blackmailing me with my own stolen goods, and for what? What could possibly be so important that you’d go through all this trouble?”

You hesitate. It’s not that you’re unwilling to tell him—it’s more that you know exactly how he’ll react. Still, you suppose there’s no avoiding it now. You clear your throat, keeping your gaze ahead as you walk. “I want to see the lantern festival.”

A beat, and then, Satoru stops dead in his tracks. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard me,” you grit out, already regretting having said anything.

The thief blinks at you, disbelieving, then throws his head back and laughs. It’s far too loud and obnoxious for your liking.

You whirl on him, scowling. “Stop that!”

“Oh, this is rich.” He wipes at his eye theatrically. “You mean to tell me that all this—” he gestures between the two of you— “was because you want to see some floating lights.”

“They’re not just floating lights,” you snap, folding your arms. “They’re magical.”

Satoru snickers. “Sure they are.”

“They do it in honour of the late queen. And not just anywhere—only in the capital. People travel from all over to see them.”

“Yes, and most people would travel from all over to avoid me, but here you are. Seriously, sweetheart, I thought you were on some grand, noble quest. Some life-or-death mission. But no. You just want to watch some fancy fireworks.”

“Forget it,” you huff, pushing past him. “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”

Satoru falls easily into step with you, still chortling to himself. “No, no, I think this is fantastic. Here I was, thinking you had some deep, tragic backstory—maybe an old lover waiting for you, a family secret, a kingdom to reclaim—but no. You just want to see a festival.”

“I happen to like beautiful things,” you tell him.

He hums. “So you do.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes your steps falter, but when you glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. You quickly recover, jabbing a finger into his chest. “And don’t act like this is entirely my fault. You’re the one who stole the crown. If you weren’t a criminal, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“That’s a very unfair accusation. I am an entrepreneur.”

“You’re a thief.”

“A businessman.”

“An annoyance.”

He grins. “A charming gentleman.”

You groan, picking up your pace. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

“Oh, please.” He slings an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the way you stiffen. “We’re partners now, aren’t we? Off to see the lanterns, hand in hand, like something out of a fairy tale—”

You shrug him off and march forward, squaring your shoulders. Gojo Satoru is unbearable, but if he’s your only ticket out of this boring, provincial life, then you have no choice but to grit your teeth and stick it out. The cost will be worth the reward.

The road stretches long and unbroken before you, a dirt path winding between fields and sparse woodland. You’ve seen this road before—when traders arrived at the village, when hunters returned from the mountains—but you’ve never set foot beyond it.

Now, after years of watching others leave, you are the one walking away. You should feel relieved. Excited, even.

Instead, you feel like an imposter. Like you’re wearing someone else’s skin.

Even your clothes don’t feel like your own. You’re used to sturdy village garments—worn tunics and skirts, softened by years of washing, familiar and comfortable. But now, you’re dressed for travel, and it feels unfamiliar. A dark green cloak, belted at the waist, drapes over your shoulders, its hem brushing against your ankles. Beneath it, you’ve chosen a linen shirt and brown trousers instead of a skirt—more practical, but strange. The boots on your feet are a size too big, borrowed from the village blacksmith, and though well-worn, they still rub uncomfortably against your heels.

Beside you, Satoru moves as if he owns the world, his long strides lazy. His clothes, though practical, have the distinct look of someone who wants to be looked at—worn leather boots, dark pants, a white tunic half-buttoned beneath a navy vest cinched at the waist. The coat hanging off his shoulders is long, lined with faded embroidery at the edges, the kind of detail that once belonged to something expensive before time and travel wore it down.

Unlike you, he looks completely at ease. As if he’s done this a thousand times before—which, of course, he has.

“I was expecting a little more enthusiasm,” Satoru comments. “Most people would kill for a trip to the capital with someone like me.”

You adjust the strap of your bag. “Most people would just kill you.”

“Ouch. That one actually hurt.”

“If only,” you mutter.

He chuckles, undeterred, and kicks a stray pebble along the path. You’ve been walking for over an hour, and he hasn’t stopped talking the entire time. It’s mostly been nonsense—complaints about the lack of decent taverns in your village, dramatic sighs about the state of his boots, and a running commentary on the tragedy of being forced to travel with someone so determinedly unfriendly.

“What exactly is your plan once we get there?” he asks. “Because I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but the capital isn’t as great as they make it sound.”

“I don’t need a plan,” you mumble. Truthfully, you have no idea, but you’re certain the answer will come to you. Somehow.

“Right, because winging it always works out well,” he says, looking at you like he’s waiting for you to react. He gets no such satisfaction—your eyes are fixed firmly on the road—and so, he ploughs on, “You know, it’s adorable how much faith you have in your ability to not get robbed, lost, or, I don’t know, arrested for trespassing.”

You let out a slow breath. “If I do get arrested, I’ll make sure to tell them where to find you.”

“Ah, but that would require you to know where I am. And I am a famously difficult person to pin down.”

You make a noise of irritation in the back of your throat, adjusting the strap of your bag. At this rate, you’re starting to think that letting him get caught might have been the better option.

By the time the sun has dipped below the horizon, the two of you reach the edge of the woods. The thick canopy overhead swallows the last of the daylight, leaving only streaks of violet and deepening blue through the gaps in the leaves. The path ahead is narrow and winding, the scent of damp earth and pine filling the air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls.

“This is it,” Satoru announces, dropping his bag on the ground. “Our humble abode for the night.”

“We could walk a little further,” you say, frowning.

“And risk running into something with fangs?” He plops onto the ground, resting back on his elbows. “No thanks.”

You sigh but don’t argue further, shrugging off your pack and kneeling down to clear a space for the fire. If you wait for Gojo Satoru to be useful, you’ll be waiting until your bones turn to dust. To your surprise, he doesn’t interfere. He simply sprawls out on the grass, watching as you gather dry leaves and kindling.

“Watching you work feels kind of nice,” Satoru says, tapping a finger against his knee. “It’s like having a personal servant.”

You shoot him a glare. “Do you want to get stabbed?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, and guffaws to himself.

Rolling your eyes, you focus on the fire, striking flint against steel until sparks catch in the dry grass. Slowly, the flames flicker to life, casting an amber glow over the clearing. Shadows stretch long and uneven, the trees shifting in the fire’s light.

The thief sits up, brushing stray grass from his vest. “Alright. Time to find some food.”

“We have food,” you point out, nodding at your pack.

He makes a face. “We have bread. I, for one, refuse to live like a peasant.”

“You are a peasant,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“Wrong,” he corrects. “I am a distinguished criminal.”

“Go starve in the woods, then.”

“Fine,” he huffs, standing up and dusting himself off, “but if I don’t come back, you have to live with the guilt.”

“I think I’ll manage.”

He mumbles something under his breath, but disappears into the trees anyway. You take the opportunity to sit back against your pack, stretching your sore legs and letting the warmth of the fire seep into your bones. Five minutes later, Satoru returns—only, he’s not alone. He sprints back into the clearing like a man being personally hunted by death itself, arms flailing as a blur of fur and claws barrels after him.

“What the—” You barely have time to sit up before Satoru dives behind you, using you as a human shield.

“Get it away from me,” he hisses, gripping your shoulders like his life depends on it.

Your eyes whip back to the so-called menace: A small, scruffy-looking cat with patchy grey fur, green eyes, and one torn ear. It stands by the edge of the firelight with its tail puffed up like a bottlebrush.

You blink. “Did… Did you just get chased by a cat?”

Satoru glares at you, panting. “That thing is deranged.”

The cat lets out a shrill mrrow and lunges. Satoru yelps, scrambling further behind you, but the little creature stops just short of pouncing and instead sits daintily by the fire, licking its paw like nothing happened. You stare at it. Then back at Satoru. Then back at the cat.

“Wow,” you say slowly, turning around to face the grown man cowering behind you. “You, the great Gojo Satoru, feared thief and most wanted man in the entire kingdom, are afraid of a stray cat?”

He scoffs, straightening up as though he hadn’t just used you to hide from a cat. “Afraid? As if. I just didn’t expect it to be so… fast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It ambushed me.”

You glance at the cat, which is now lying on its side and stretching out luxuriously. It is, unarguably, the most harmless thing you’ve ever seen. You smirk. “I think I’ll keep him.”

Satoru gapes at you. “What? No! That thing has a personal vendetta against me.”

The cat looks up, makes direct eye contact with him, and flicks its tail in a deliberate motion. “Yeah,” you say, grinning, “I like him.”

Your companion groans, rubbing his face. “What are you going to name him?”

You tilt your head, considering. The cat gives an unimpressed meow and swipes a paw at your ankle, before it pads over to you, climbs onto your lap and turns around in a circle. It kneads your thigh before settling down.

“Megumi,” you decide.

“Oh, come on.” Satoru lets out a strangled noise. “That thing is definitely not a blessing.”

Ignoring him, you scratch behind Megumi’s ears absentmindedly, reaching behind with your free hand and grabbing your pack. You undo the drawstring and pull out the loaf of bread; tearing out a chunk, you pop it into your mouth. The cat purrs in satisfaction, settling deeper into your lap.

Satoru watches this betrayal unfold with a deeply wounded expression. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters. “Two minutes ago, it was out for blood. Now it’s purring like it pays rent.”

You snort, tossing him a piece of bread. He catches it with ease but doesn’t eat it right away, instead tearing at the crust in distracted motions. The fire crackles between you, throwing warm golden light over his features, softening the sharp angles of his face.

You hesitate for only a moment before speaking. “Tell me a story.”

Satoru quirks a brow. “What, like a bedtime story?”

“No, idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Tell me about the capital. I’ve never been past my village.”

“...The capital, hm?” He shifts slightly, leaning back on his hands, and tilts his head skywards. For a moment, he’s quiet. The fire pops, and its glow dances over his cheekbones. Somewhere in the trees above you, an owl hoots. Then, he starts speaking.

“The capital is loud,” he says, “but not in a bad way. It’s the kind of noise that reminds you that you’re alive. The streets smell like roasted chestnuts, chocolate, and something sweet that I’ve never been able to place. No matter where you go, you’ll always be able to hear something—someone haggling in the market, children playing hopscotch, lovers whispering sweet nothings under balconies.”

His voice lowers, almost like he’s letting you in on a secret. “There’s this place, just past the main square. A bookshop, tucked between an apothecary and a tailor. You wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t looking. It’s small—cramped, really—but it smells like ink and old paper, and the owner never minds if you stay too long. When I was younger, I used to sit there for hours, reading about places I’d never been. I’d tell myself I’d see them all someday.”

“And then there’s the bridge,” he continues. “It stretches over the whole river, wide enough for carriages to pass, but if you go at the right time, just before dawn, it’s empty. You can stand in the middle and watch the whole city wake up—lamps flickering out, shutters creaking open, the sky turning from grey to pink to gold. It makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, just for a little while.”

Satoru exhales, and there’s something wistful about the sound. When he looks at you again, there’s a lopsided smile playing on his lips. “Not bad for a bedtime story, huh?”

You blink, caught between the warmth of the fire and the warmth in his voice. “...Tell me more.”

He laughs, bright and careless. “You’re greedy.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, suppressing a smile.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” he says, leaning back fully and folding his hands behind his head. “If I tell you too much, you might decide you don’t need to see the capital for yourself, and I’d never get my crown back.”

You glance down at Megumi, still nestled comfortably in your lap, tail flicking lazily. Perhaps it’s the way the thief spoke about it, or maybe it’s the way you’ve always yearned for this, but the thought comes quietly, unbidden: I already want to see it more than ever.

Morning creeps up on you slowly, quietly, peacefully. The fire has burned down to embers, the air is crisp, and the forest hums with the comings-and-goings of woodland creatures. You are warm, bundled in your cloak, Megumi purring against your chest, and for once, Gojo Satoru is quiet.

It’s perfect. Until something snorts directly at your face.

Your eyes snap open just in time to see a giant, pinkish nose inches from your own. Then— Snort. A blast of hot air right into your face. You yelp, scrambling back, only to trip over Satoru’s arm and land hard on your side. The movement startles Megumi, who lets out an indignant yowl and bolts straight onto Satoru’s face, claws out.

“What the Hell—” The man jerks upright with a strangled sound, flailing as Megumi uses him as a launchpad and disappears into the trees. His vest is askew, his hair is sticking up at odd angles, and he looks utterly lost. “What—where—why does my face hurt— Who is attacking me?”

“That!” You point wildly at the culprit.

Standing at the edge of your makeshift campsite, staring you both down like a disappointed parent, is a massive white horse. At first, you’re confused—horses don’t live in the woods, you’re pretty sure. Then you see the crest of the royal family hanging off of its neck, and you grimace. His reins are hanging off the sides of his saddle; he seems like a runaway royal horse. He paws at the dirt, ears pinned back, looking every bit a soldier preparing to arrest a pair of criminals.

Satoru blinks at him. Then at you. Then back at the horse. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

The horse huffs like he can’t believe he has to deal with this nonsense. Then, before either of you can react, he lunges straight for the thief.

“SUKUNA, NO!”

You barely manage to scramble out of the way as Satoru lets out an undignified squawk and rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding being stomped. He barely has time to get to his feet before Sukuna lunges again, snapping at his cloak.

“What is your problem?!” Satoru screeches, holding his arms up defensively. “I didn’t even do anything—oh, my God—Stop—”

Sukuna does not stop. Instead, he clamps his teeth onto Satoru’s sleeve and drags him sideways.

“He’s arresting me!” Satoru howls, flailing as his feet skid in the dirt. “I’m being detained! Help!”

You double over in laughter. “I—think—he recognises you—”

“Oh, what gave it away? The way he’s dragging me to my demise?”

Sukuna whinnies like he’s insulted by the accusation. As if to prove a point, he yanks even harder—ripping Satoru clean off his feet. He lands on his back with a thud, groaning. Sukuna looms over him, nostrils flaring, clearly debating his next move.

“Okay, okay. I surrender,” Satoru wheezes. “I hereby admit to all my crimes—past, present, and future. Just let me live.”

Sukuna snorts. Satisfied, he steps on Satoru’s stomach for good measure before backing off. You wipe tears from your eyes, your own stomach hurting from laughing too hard. “I think he hates you.”

Satoru groans, draping an arm over his face. “I think I have internal bleeding.”

Megumi, now safely perched atop a tree branch, lets out an approving meow. Sukuna steps back, looking incredibly pleased with himself. His ears flick forward, and he turns to you, huffing expectantly.

You tilt your head. “Oh. I think he likes me.”

“Oh, great,” Satoru says, lifting his head weakly from the ground. “Betrayed by my own travel companion.”

You ignore him, cautiously stepping forward and holding out a hand. Sukuna eyes you warily but doesn’t move away. “You just don’t like him, do you?” you murmur, glancing down at Satoru, who’s still groaning in the dirt.

Sukuna snorts. Satoru lifts a finger from where he’s lying. “That was unnecessary.”

“I think it was perfectly necessary,” you reply sweetly before turning back to Sukuna. He’s still watching you closely, but he doesn’t seem hostile. If anything, his tail flicks once, like he’s waiting for something. Slowly, carefully, you raise a hand to his nose. “You’re not so bad, are you?”

Sukuna leans in, taking a few experimental sniffs before—much to your delight—nudging your palm with his nose. Satoru lifts his head again, gaping at the scene unfolding in front of him. “What the Hell,” he says flatly. “I used to feed you when I was in the palace, you ungrateful beast.”

The horse flicks an ear, unimpressed. Then, as if to drive the point home, he lifts a hoof and kicks dirt in his direction.

You barely stifle a laugh. “I don’t think he remembers you very fondly.”

Satoru groans. “This is what I get for trying to be a good person.”

“You’re a thief.”

“Details.”

You scratch gently at Sukuna’s muzzle, feeling the warm puff of his breath against your fingers. He allows the touch, nuzzling further into your palm. The royal crest on his bridle—the golden emblem of a sun against a dark blue background, the visage of light always conquering darkness—glints in the morning sun. It feels like a reminder of where exactly he’s from.

A warhorse. Loyal to the palace. Loyal to—

You glance at Satoru. He’s watching Sukuna with an expression you can’t quite place. Something distant. Something nostalgic.

“You’re from the palace, then?” you ask softly.

His usual bravado doesn’t come immediately. He props himself up on his elbows, staring at Sukuna like the horse is a relic from a past life—one he hadn’t expected to come face to face with again. “Yeah, ‘course,” he says. “Wouldn’t lie about that.”

Sukuna snorts, stepping closer to you. He’s massive, all muscle and barely-contained energy, and yet he stands still beneath your touch.

“Did you ride him?”

“He wouldn’t let me.” Satoru scowls. “Little bastard always tried to bite me when I got near him.”

The horse huffs, as if to confirm this. You stroke his mane absently, and say, “He seems different now.”

“Yes, well—” Satoru finally gets to his feet, dusting himself off with a wince. “Guess we both are.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes you think he’s not telling you the whole truth. You decide not to push him further, curious though you may be. You let the silence settle between you both, the rustling of leaves filling the space where conversation might have been.

Finally, Satoru sighs. “Since he’s so smitten with you, does this mean we get a free ride to civilisation?”

“Maybe.” You glance at Sukuna.

“Wonderful!” Satoru says, clapping his hands. “Because I refuse to walk another ten miles while my organs are busy rearranging themselves from being trampled.”

“Let’s see if he’ll let us.” You pat Sukuna’s side reassuringly before turning towards the remnants of your campsite.

The fire has long since dwindled into ash and embers, and your packs are haphazardly strewn about—likely due to your frantic wake-up earlier. Your bag is slumped against the base of a tree, close to where you’d left it. Satoru’s bag is nearby, though considerably messier. One of the straps is half-ripped, and the flap is barely secured. You pick it up, brushing off dirt and leaves.

“You live like this?” you ask, tossing it to him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Satoru says. He fumbles but manages to catch it, just barely.

“You were cribbing about bread last night,” you remind him, slinging your own pack over your shoulder.

“I wasn’t begging. I was demanding my basic human right to a proper meal.”

Megumi, who had disappeared into the trees during Sukuna’s rampage, reappears, gracefully leaping down from a low-hanging branch. He lands neatly on the ground, flicks his tail, and gives you both what can only be described as the feline equivalent of the stink eye.

Satoru looks at him warily. “Are you sure he isn’t plotting revenge on us?”

“He likes me,” you say, crouching to scratch behind Megumi’s ears. The cat lets out a quiet purr, rubbing his head against your hand in approval.

“Of course, he does.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

Satoru mutters something under his breath that you couldn’t be bothered to listen to properly. You gently pick up Megumi and settle him into the crook of your arm. He doesn’t resist, curling up as if he’d rather not exert the effort to protest. Sukuna, who has been watching this entire exchange with the unimpressed air of a soldier waiting for incompetent recruits to finish fumbling, lets out a sharp huff and stomps his hoof.

You turn to him. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

“You know how to ride a horse, right?” Satoru asks, raising an eyebrow.

You pause. “...How hard can it be?”

“That’s not an answer—”

Satoru’s warning goes unheeded; you’re already marching towards Sukuna with the kind of confidence only possessed by someone who has no idea what they’re doing. You place a careful hand on the saddle and hoist yourself up. Or, well, you try to. Your foot barely catches on the stirrup before you wobble, losing balance. The next thing you know, you’re slipping straight off the other side.

Satoru catches you before you can hit the ground, his hands firm around your waist. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You scowl, pushing yourself upright, but he doesn’t let go right away. You’re close enough to see the way the morning light catches in his eyes, the sharp blue softened by gold. His hands are warm where they steady you. You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of the heat creeping up the back of your neck.

Megumi, disgruntled from the movement, lets out a miffed meow. The spell breaks.

“Alright,” Satoru says. “Let’s try something else before you end up with a concussion.”

You glare at him, dusting off your sleeves as he turns to grab your packs. He ties them securely to the saddle, double-checking the knots before giving Sukuna an approving pat on the neck. The horse swishes his tail but remains otherwise still. Satisfied, Satoru turns back to you, hands on his hips. “Okay, up you go.”

Begrudgingly, you step closer, adjusting your hold on Megumi before reaching for the saddle. Satoru moves before you can think to protest, hands steady around your waist once more as he lifts you effortlessly onto the seat. You let out a startled breath, barely managing to swing your leg over the saddle before scrambling to adjust yourself. Your fingers grip the front of the saddle so tightly, the hard leather digs into your palms. Megumi, situated against your chest and in between your arms, flicks his tail against your face.

Sukuna shifts beneath you, muscles rippling underneath his sleek coat. You inhale deeply, trying to steady your nerves. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

The thought doesn’t sink in until you’re actually up here, perched atop a beast far larger and stronger than you, with only a few flimsy leather straps keeping you from falling to the ground. For all the bravado you’ve shown so far, you have to admit that you’re terrified.

“See?” Satoru drawls, stepping back. “Much better. Was that so scary?”

“No,” you lie.

The thief studies you for a moment, and then comments, “You’re a terrible liar.”

You give him a withering look, but he’s already moving—grabbing the front of the saddle and swinging himself up behind you in one smooth motion.

“Satoru—!”

Your protest is cut short when he settles in, his chest pressing flush against your back. He’s warm—too warm (or is that you?)—and suddenly, all your attention is split between the solid, sturdy weight of him behind you, and the hands that reach around you, easily taking the reins.

“Relax,” he says, voice lower than usual. “I’ll steer.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and you don’t think it has anything to do with the horse anymore. “I wasn’t scared,” you mutter, but there is no conviction in your voice, even to your own ears.

Satoru leans in just slightly, breath ghosting against the side of your face. He chuckles, the sound reverberating against your back, and says, “I’m sure you weren’t.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you stay quiet, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of Sukuna’s steps once he starts moving—and despite your determination to remain oblivious to Gojo Satoru and his presence, you can’t ignore the way his arms remain loosely draped around you, or the way he shifts ever so slightly when the horse moves, keeping you steady without saying a word. It’s natural, the way he adjusts to you, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he doesn’t even need to think about it.

The woods stretch ahead, quiet and endless, but all you can focus on is the sound of your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

“Tell me more about the palace.”

The rhythmic sway of Sukuna beneath you is oddly soothing, each hoofbeat settling into a steady, lulling cadence. You tilt your head back slightly, feeling the warmth of Satoru’s chest where he sits behind you. His arms are still lightly caged around you, as he guides the reins like it’s second nature to him. Megumi, no longer content with being curled up against your chest, perches himself on the base of the horse’s neck, swiping lazily at Sukuna’s mane every now and then. The horse flicks his ears in annoyance but does not stop him.

Satoru hums, considering your request. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, eyes drifting upwards, towards the slivers of blue sky beneath the trees. “What was it like?”

“Well, it’s exactly what you’d expect,” he says. “Tall, grand, and filled with old men who love to hear themselves talk.”

You huff out a silent laugh. “Sounds charming.”

“Oh, it’s a real dream. The walls are lined with marble, the kind that catches the light just right in the mornings, almost as if the whole place is glowing. The halls stretch wider than some villages, with paintings hanging on the walls that tell stories older than anyone can remember. And the ceilings—” He shakes his head, his chin brushing against the back of yours. “So high it feels like you could reach the sky if you just climbed a little higher.”

There’s something distant in his voice, something wistful and melancholic and fond. “You make it sound very beautiful,” you say quietly.

“Because it is. It’s meant to be. A symbol of power—of control. A kingdom that shines so brightly, no one knows about the shadows it casts.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, but his expression is stony. That easy drawl of his is still there, but beneath it, something festers—and it makes you hesitate before you press further.

“And you?” you ask. “Where did you belong in all of that?”

Satoru exhales through his nose, a slow, measured sound. “Wherever they needed me.”

It’s not an answer, but it tells you enough. You let the silence stretch, waiting to see if he will offer more. He does.

“The training grounds were always my favourite.” His voice drops slightly, thoughtful. “They were tucked away behind the east wing, away from all the silk and the gold. You could hear the clash of swords from sunrise to sundown.” He pauses, then adds, almost to himself, “You never forget the sound.”

A soldier, you think. Or something close to it. It makes sense—the way he carries himself; the way he moves, like he’s always aware of every possible escape route; the way he knows so much about the kingdom and the capital.

You don’t say it out loud, though. Instead, you ask, “Did you like it?”

“I liked knowing what was expected of me.” A beat of silence, and then, “But I was never very good at following orders.”

A soft breeze cuts through the trees, rustling the leaves and cooling the warmth of the sun against your skin. “Is that why you left?” you ask carefully.

Satoru chuckles, but there’s no real humour to the sound. “Oh, I didn’t leave.” His fingers tighten around the reins, just a little. “I was sent away.”

The words are heavy. You don’t push. Sukuna continues forward, steady and unbothered, the sound of his hooves filling the silence that follows. You focus on the road ahead, on the sunlight filtering through the trees, on Satoru’s warmth behind you.

When he finally speaks again, voice lighter, teasing, you let him steer the conversation away. Somehow, you get the sense that when he’s ready, he’ll tell you the rest.

The afternoon sun begins to dip, casting long shadows through the trees. The road ahead winds towards the hills, where a small village is nestled between the slopes. You’ll have to pass through it to get to the capital, according to Satoru. Smoke rises lazily from the chimneys, the scent of burning wood and roasting meat carrying faintly on the breeze.

Satoru shifts slightly. “Looks like we’ve made it before sundown.”

Megumi meows, flicking his tail before settling back down; you reach forward and scratch in between his ears, absent-mindedly. The thought of a warm meal and a real bed makes your shoulders sag with relief. The past few nights have been spent beneath open skies, wrapped up in your cloak that barely keeps the chill away.

“You think we’ll find an inn?” you ask, glancing behind.

“Unless it’s run by a hermit who hates money, yeah,” Satoru says. “Though I wouldn’t count on a royal welcome.”

That much is obvious. Travellers are rare in villages like these—strangers even more so. Your presence will not go unnoticed.

As you pass the first row of wooden houses, heads begin to turn. A blacksmith, hammer paused mid-swing, watches you warily from his forge. A woman gathering water casts a cautious glance before whispering something to the child at her side. Even the baker, hands dusted in flour, spares you a lingering look.

Satoru doesn’t seem fazed. “Friendly place.”

“Maybe they’d be friendlier if you weren’t grinning like you had a bounty on your head,” you mutter.

“I think we both know they wouldn’t be wrong about that.”

That sends a sharp prickle down your spine. You don’t respond.

The village square is small, paved with uneven stone and lined with merchant stalls. Most are already closed for the day, wooden shutters drawn and lanterns lit. Near the far edge, tucked between a tailor’s shop and a grain store, stands an inn. The wooden beams are weathered with age, but the sign above the entrance is freshly painted—The Fuzzy Duckling, it reads, complete with a crude drawing of a yellow duck underneath. The scent of stew and ale wafts through the open doorway.

Satoru nudges Sukuna to the stable. “We’ll rest here.”

You dismount first, stretching your legs as Satoru swings down beside you. Megumi jumps off the horse’s back and lands gracefully on the thief’s shoulder.

The inn is dimly lit, the glow of lanterns casting flickering silhouettes. The scent of firewood, damp earth, and something vaguely sweet lingers in the air. It’s fairly empty, though you suspect that’s just because of the early hour. Wooden tables and stools lay barren, with empty tin jugs placed on each table. Behind the counter, a man leans lazily against the wall, watching you both with sharp, hooded eyes. His dark hair is slicked back, and there’s a faint scar on his jawline. He doesn’t say anything as he steps forward.

“Hey, hey, look who it is!” Satoru grins, though, by now, you’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s fake. “If it isn’t my favourite innkeeper, Shiu. Did’ya finally get rid of all the mould growing in your wine cellar? I don’t know if it was the mould or the age, but it sure tasted weird the last time I was here.”

Shiu smirks. “Been wonderin’ when you’d show up again, Gojo.”

You look between them, sensing familiarity, though not necessarily the friendly kind. “We need a room,” Satoru says, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Think you can manage that, old man?”

“Call me that again,” Shiu says, “and I’ll leave you to sleep outside with the horse. The lady will get a room for free, of course.”

You tense at his words, not enjoying the way the man’s gaze rakes over your body before settling back to Satoru. You get the feeling the thief notices too, because he moves closer to you, shoulder brushing against yours. “Ah, well,” he says. “I’m afraid that’s not negotiable.”

“Relax,” the innkeeper says. “I’m not a skirt-chaser. You can keep your woman with you. Room’s at the end of the hall. Payment upfront.”

Satoru flicks a coin onto the counter. Shiu catches it easily, giving it a quick once-over before pocketing it. As Satoru turns towards the stairs, something catches your eye near the entrance—sheets of parchment tacked to a wooden board. Your eyes snag on one in particular.

A wanted poster.

The ink is bold despite the crumpled paper. The sketch is rough but unmistakable—wild white hair, sharp features, a grin that barely conceals its arrogance.

WANTED—DEAD OR ALIVEREWARD: 100 GOLD COINS

Your stomach twists. Satoru follows your gaze and sighs. “Damn. They just can’t get my nose right.”

“This isn’t funny,” you whisper.

“It’s a little funny.” Satoru’s grin widens, but you don’t miss the tautness in his shoulders. He nudges you gently towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s get some rest.”

Shiu watches you both go, smiling, but his gaze follows too long for comfort. Your chest constricts. The room at the end of the hall is small but serviceable—one bed, a rickety wooden chair, and a window with a view of the village square outside. The floor creaks under your boots as you step inside. Megumi jumps onto the bed immediately, curling up near the pillows, flicking his tail once before settling.

Satoru stretches with a groan, rolling his shoulders. “Cozy.”

You sigh, pressing your forehead against the cool windowpane. The village outside is quiet, bathed in early moonlight, but the unease gnawing at your stomach refuses to fade. “I don’t like this,” you murmur. “The way Shiu looked at you—”

“He always looks at me like that,” the thief says, sounding far too chipper than he probably should.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “We won’t stay long. You can take the bed. I’ll use the chair.”

The exhaustion from days on the road pulls at your limbs. You don’t bother arguing; sleep finds you much faster than expected.

You wake to the sound of boots in the hallway. Your breath catches. This isn’t the usual creak of old wood settling—this is deliberate. Heavy. Purposeful.

Your eyes dart to Satoru. He’s already awake, sitting rigid on the chair, blue eyes alert even in the darkness. His hand moves instinctively to his belt, where he’d shown you his dagger rests a day back, hidden.

A knock echoes against the door.

“Room service,” Shiu’s oily voice drawls from the other side.

Your blood runs cold. Satoru doesn’t answer. He tilts his head, listening. You strain your ears too, heart hammering—there’s a faint shift of fabric. The sound of leather gloves flexing. Someone adjusting their grip on a sheathed blade.

Satoru curses under his breath. “Son of a—”

The crash comes a second later.

The door splinters inward, sending shards of wood flying. You barely manage to roll off the bed before a knife thuds into the headboard where you had just been lying. A figure stands in the ruined doorway: Tall, broad, dressed in black. A jagged scar cuts across the side of his mouth.

You don’t recognise him, but Satoru does. His entire posture shifts—his usual cocky, easygoing stance sharpens, muscles tensing. A slow, tight exhale leaves him as he pushes himself to his feet.

The man in the doorway tilts his head, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. You can just make out a jagged scar cutting across his mouth. “Been a while, Gojo,” he says.

Satoru’s lips press together in a thin line. “Not long enough.”

You glance between them, a creeping unease settling in your bones. Whoever this man is, Satoru knows him—and he doesn’t like him. The stranger takes a lazy step forward, boots crunching over the splintered wood. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flick to you for a moment before settling back on Satoru. “Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to walk back in here, with a beautiful lady by your side and a bounty on your head, too. Guess you really wanted to see me again.”

“Trust me, Fushiguro—” Satoru’s jaw ticks— “I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Fushiguro. The name means nothing to you, but the way Satoru spits it out like a curse sends a prickle of warning down your spine. The man clicks his tongue, his smirk widening. He twirls another dagger in his fingers, casual, lazy. “Did I wake you? Sorry to have disturbed your evening, but—”

Satoru moves faster than breath, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back towards the window just as another blade whizzes past his ear, missing him by an inch. Megumi hisses, darting into your arms and scrabbling onto your shoulder. You don’t even feel the pain where his claws dig into your skin.

Fushiguro lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Running already? C’mon now, Gojo. You’re making this too easy.”

Satoru kicks the window open. “Hold onto me.”

“What—”

And then he jumps.

The wind rushes past as the two of you and the cat drop down, the world blurring around you. You barely register the impact—Satoru lands with a practiced roll, keeping you close, his arms tight around you as he shifts the force of the landing onto himself. Your pulse is roaring in your ears.

Above, Fushiguro leans lazily out of the open window, tilting his head condescendingly. “You’re just making this more fun.”

Satoru doesn’t wait. He grabs your wrist and runs. The streets are quiet, the village mostly asleep, but your footfalls pound against the dirt. Behind you, you hear the faint creak of wood—Fushiguro dropping down from the second story without a sound, graceful as a damn cat.

The thief yanks you towards the stables. “Get Sukuna. Now.”

You don’t argue. The stable doors slam open as you shove inside. Sukuna snorts, stomping his hooves in agitation. You fumble for the reins. “What about—”

Satoru turns just as Fushiguro appears in the doorway. Everything slows.

The light from the lanterns flickers against his dark silhouette. He’s alone, not a single other mercenary in sight. But somehow, that makes it worse. In the darkness, it feels like he’s pressing down on the space, filling every corner, every shadow.

“You didn’t bring backup?” Satoru taunts. “I’m insulted.”

“Didn’t need any,” the bounty hunter grunts.

He moves—a flash of steel—and Satoru shoves you back. The blade slices through the air where his throat had been a second before. He ducks low, twisting away, and kicks. His foot slams against Fushiguro’s side, sending him skidding back a step—but Fushiguro barely reacts, barely blinks, like he had been expecting it.

He strikes again. You barely see the knife coming before Satoru dodges, his movements sharp and fluid. The stable door splinters as the blade embeds itself in the wood.

Satoru grits his teeth. “Go!”

But you—curse your damn cowardice—hesitate. Fushiguro notices. His foot pivots—he lunges for you. A flash of fear tightens in your chest—

But Satoru is there. He grabs Fushiguro’s wrist mid-strike, twisting it brutally. Fushiguro growls as Satoru hurls him backwards, sending him crashing into a pile of hay bales.

“Get on the damn horse,” Satoru orders, breathless. He swings himself onto Sukuna’s back, pulling you up after him, Megumi leaping onto the horse in time with you.

You barely have time to wrap your arms around his waist before he kicks off. Sukuna surges forward, hooves pounding against the dirt road as you tear through the village, leaving the inn—and the very pissed-off bounty hunter—behind.

Behind you, there’s a sound—something sharp, fast—whistling through the air. Satoru jerks the reins, pulling sharply to the side. A blade embeds itself into the wooden post just ahead of you, still quivering from the force of impact.

“Shit,” the thief breathes. “He’s not giving up.”

You don’t look back. You don’t dare to. The village gate is just ahead. If you can get past it, you might have a chance of losing him. Megumi wails, digging his claws into your cloak, ears flat against his head.

Satoru leans forward. “Come on, come on—”

Sukuna bursts out of the gates. Fushiguro curses loudly behind you, but it sounds far away, swallowed down by the horse’s thunderous galloping. You tighten your grasp around Satoru and squeeze your eyes shut. (You might be imagining it, but you swear you feel one of his hands cover your own, a gentle brush of his palm against the back of yours.)

The fire crackles weakly, providing warmth against the cold night air. Sukuna, exhausted from his earlier run, tucks his legs underneath himself and settles down near it. Megumi curls up next to him and begins washing himself. The stream nearby gurgles and bubbles merrily.

The fight is over, the adrenaline long faded, but still, the stress of it all loiters like a phantom pressing against your ribs. Your shoulder throbs now, where the cat had dug his claws into the skin, but thankfully, it isn’t bleeding. Your hands are shaking. You dig your fingers into the earth, trying to steady yourself.

Satoru stands a few feet away, pacing, his boots crushing twigs and dried leaves. His breath comes fast and hard, back rigid with frustration. His coat is torn at the shoulder, and there’s a thin line of blood trailing down his forearm.

You should say something. Thank him, maybe. Apologise. But the words stay stuck in your throat.

“What the fuck what that?”

You flinch, but his voice keeps coming, sharp and cutting.

“You froze—I told you to move, and you just stood there.” His hands come up, then drop to his sides. “You could’ve died.”

You bite your lip, shame curling hot beneath your skin, but his anger makes something inside you snap. “I was caught off-guard—”

“No shit!” he bites out. “You don’t get to be caught off-guard, not in the middle of a fight!”

“I didn’t ask to be in a fight!” you snap. “I’m not—” You exhale sharply, hands curling into fists. “I’m not like you, Gojo. I’m not a fucking thief who’s used to running for my life every other night.”

His jaw tightens. “So it’s my fault now?”

“Isn’t it?” You throw your arms out. “If you weren’t on the face of every damn wanted poster from here to the mountains, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Satoru lets out a bitter, humourless laugh. “Right. Because I’m the one who dragged us into this.”

“You are—”

“No,” he cuts in, eyes flashing. “If it wasn’t for your stupid, fucking dream, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

The words slam into you like a fist to the gut. A cold wind rustles through the leaves, stirring the dying fire. Sukuna neighs lowly from where he’s sat near the flames, but you barely hear him over the ringing in your ears.

Your stupid, fucking dream. The dream you’d held onto for years, the one that had kept you going, had pushed you forward through every hardship. Your throat tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s not fair? You had no idea what you were asking for when you dragged me along on this little adventure of yours. Now, we’re running for our lives in the middle of nowhere, because you had to see some damn lanterns.”

The way he says it—like your dream is nothing more than a childish whim—makes something ugly twist inside you. “You know what, Gojo?” Your voice shakes, but not from fear. “At least I have a dream.”

His expression darkens.

“At least I want something, something that isn’t just running and stealing and barely surviving,” you press on, chest heaving. “But you? What do you want, Satoru? Huh?” You step closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Do you even have an answer, or are you just going to keep laughing everything off like you always do?”

His lips part, but no words come out. For the first time since you’ve met him, Gojo Satoru is speechless. But it only lasts a second. His gaze flickers, something unreadable flashing through his eyes before his mask slams back into place. He lets out a sharp breath, his expression twisting into something cruel.

“You think you’re better than me?” He steps forward now, and you don’t back away. “You think just because you’ve got some dream, you’re any different?” His voice lowers, turning razor-sharp. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart—dreams don’t mean shit when you’re dead.”

Your breath hitches.

“Out here, it’s about surviving. That’s it.” He gestures between you. “And the only reason you’re still breathing is because I’ve been watching your back.”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that you froze. You hate that, for all your fighting words, you hadn’t been able to do anything when it mattered most. Perhaps worst of all, you hate that he saw.

Satoru exhales, shaking his head. “Forget it,” he says. “I’m going to get food.”

He turns and stalks off into the woods. You don’t call after him, because you don’t trust your voice not to break. The moment Satoru disappears into the trees, the night feels oppressive, like the darkness is closing in on you.

You stand there for a long time, fists clenched at your sides, staring at the spot where he walked off. Sukuna shifts in his sleep. Megumi’s breathing is slow and even. You should rest. You should scrounge through whatever leftover supplies you have from your village and find something to eat.

But your chest feels tight, like there’s a rope around your ribs, pulling, pulling— With a shuddering inhale, you turn and walk towards the stream.

The water is cold when you dip your fingers in, crouching beside it. The icy surface reflects the moon’s pale light. You stare at your own reflection, at the way your lips tremble, at the redness creeping into your eyes. You squeeze them shut. It’s fine. You’re fine.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes, willing the burning away. But the second you take a shaky breath, it hits you all at once—the fear, the frustration, the exhaustion weighing on your bones. A choked sound leaves your throat before you can stop it.

You shouldn’t be crying. You don’t want to cry, but the argument replays in your mind over and over—Satoru’s voice laced with anger, the way he threw your dream back in your face like it was nothing.

He doesn’t understand, you think. But is he right?

What were you thinking? That you could drag a thief to the capital and expect everything to go smoothly? That the world would just let you chase your dream, no consequences, no danger? Maybe your dream really is foolish. Maybe you are naïve for believing that you could just waltz into the capital and see the lantern festival without any repercussions. Maybe—just maybe—Gojo Satoru regrets ever having met you.

The thought makes something inside you crack, the pressure behind your eyes spilling over. A broken sob escapes, and then another, your shoulders shaking as you press a hand against your mouth, desperate to smother the sounds.

A hand lands on your shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, jerking away, heart racing—

“It’s just me.” The voice is quiet but unmistakable.

Your breath stutters. Satoru crouches beside you. His presence is warm despite the chill in the air, and you realise now how cold you’ve gotten, how your legs have gone numb from sitting in the same position for too long.

You quickly wipe at your eyes, turning away. “Go away, Satoru.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he sighs heavily and shifts so he’s sitting right next to you, close enough that his knee bumps against yours. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I was a dick.”

You blink.

“I mean, I’m usually a dick,” he continues, gazing at the water, resting his elbows on his knees. “But that was… excessive. I didn’t mean—” He stops. Tries again. “Your dream isn’t stupid.”

Your voice is small when you ask, “Then why did you say that?”

“I just… When you froze back there—” His voice is quieter now, almost hoarse. “I thought you were gonna die.”

You swallow hard. He murmurs, “I’ve seen people freeze like that before. And they didn’t walk away from it.”

“I did walk away,” you whisper, not sure if it’s the right thing to say.

“Yeah.” He turns his head, meeting your eyes properly for the first time since the fight. “You did.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you—like he’s seeing you for the first time. Or, maybe, like he’s seeing too much. You don’t know who moves first, but his hand is covering yours, warm and solid. His grip is hesitant at first, but when you don’t pull away, his fingers tighten around yours. You squeeze his hand back. Neither of you speak.

The fire crackles behind you. The water rushes softly. The moon watches from above.

Gojo Satoru, you think, is an enigma wrapped in glib promises and endless grins. You wonder if it’s his coping mechanism. He’s intelligent, quick-witted and silver-tongued. He’s good at fighting. You want to ask him why they sent him away from the palace, but you don’t think you have the right to. He always seems torn about it, when he’s spoken to you about it before—like it’s a bittersweet part of his life that he’s not very keen on revisiting.

He must have been something before turning to thievery. You stare at him like he’s a particularly intriguing puzzle, walking next to him. He guides Sukuna loosely by the reins; only Megumi is perched on his back, you and Satoru having favoured your own two feet instead of the back aches and leaden legs that come with extended periods of horseback riding.

“If you wanted to stare at my face so badly, I could’ve nicked the wanted poster back at Shiu’s inn,” Satoru says, not bothering to look at you.

Your cheeks prickle with heat. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumble.

The night air is cool against your skin; the wind carries the scent of damp earth and distant firewood, the kind of smell that reminds you of home—though, truthfully, you’re not sure what home even is to you anymore. Maybe it’s the road beneath your feet, the anticipation and uncertainty that comes with weeks of travel. Maybe it’s this: Walking beside a thief who used to be something more, who still is something more, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise.

Satoru doesn’t say anything for a long time, but his arm brushes against the side of yours, familiar in a way that’s almost comforting. The dirt path winds through the trees. The occasional torch flickers in the distance, marking the outskirts of the city. Sukuna snorts softly, and Megumi’s ears twitch as he scans the darkness ahead.

Eventually, Satoru speaks again. “It’s rude to stare and not share your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking,” you huff.

“Dangerous pastime.”

You kick a loose pebble from the path. “I was thinking about you.”

He makes a low, amused sound in his throat. “How nice of you. I knew you liked me, but I didn’t think I occupied your thoughts so thoroughly.”

You don’t rise to the bait this time. “I was thinking,” you say, “about what you were before this. You told me once you were from the palace, but you never really told me why they sent you away.”

Satoru is quiet for a moment. The leaves rustle around you, and you tug your cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“They trained me to be a soldier,” he says, finally, softly. “Me and—” He stops, swallowing the words like they taste bitter.

“And…?” You prompt. Your steps slow.

His grip tightens around the reins. “And someone else,” he finishes. “My best friend.”

The way he says it makes your chest ache. Satoru clears his throat and continues, “They trained us young. Said we had a gift for it. A gift for war, for strategy and battle.” He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “But a soldier only has value if he follows orders. And I wasn’t very good at that.”

You don’t push him to say more, though questions press against the tip of your tongue. The capital looms closer, the distant glow of lanterns casting an orange hue against the horizon. The trees begin to thin, giving way to rolling hills and farmland. In the distance, you can just make out the towering walls that guard the city, their stone surfaces illuminated by torches.

As you near the outer gates, the sleepiness of the countryside fades into the vibrant pulse of the capital. Even at this late hour, the city is alive, breathing, stretching its limbs in the form of flickering lights and distant laughter. You can hear the clatter of hooves against cobblestone, the occasional shout of a merchant still trying to haggle his wares, raucous debates from the inside of taverns. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, of damp stone and burning oil. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your head spin and your chest tighten with something too big to name.

The capital. Your dream.

Satoru slows Sukuna to a halt just before the stone walls of the capital, guiding him off the main road and into the cover of a surrounding thicket. You follow, ducking beneath low-hanging branches. The trail here is narrow and overgrown, winding through the roots of old trees. Sukuna moves easily, his hooves barely making a sound against the packed dirt. When the city walls finally loom ahead, Satoru pulls on the reins, bringing the stallion to a stop beneath the shadows of an ancient oak.

“This is where we part ways,” the thief says, patting lightly on Sukuna’s saddle.

Megumi’s dark ears twitch, catching every sound, his green eyes narrowing at the imposing walls. The cat hops off the horse’s back. He’s been tense since you approached the capital; he doesn’t like unfamiliar places, and the sprawling city is anything but.

Satoru tugs the reins over Sukuna’s head and leads him to a sturdy tree, securing him with deft hands. He runs a palm along the stallion’s neck in reassurance before crouching to do the same with Megumi. The cat lets out a mrow but doesn’t resist when Satoru scratches him behind his torn ear.

“You stay here and watch Sukuna, yeah? Be good,” he says, tapping him once on the head before straightening and unhooking your weather-beaten packs tied to Sukuna’s saddle and tossing them over his shoulder.

“You’re leaving them here?” you ask, glancing between the horse and the cat. It feels strange to abandon them at the outskirts, but you suppose it would be impossible to smuggle a massive stallion and a stray cat through the streets of the capital.

“Not leaving,” Satoru explains. “Just letting them sit this one out. Sukuna’s too big, and Megumi doesn’t care for crowds.”

You hesitate. Satoru doesn’t give you time to dwell on it, already striding ahead. You follow him through a break in the trees, slipping past the walls through a hidden opening you never would’ve noticed on your own. The dirt beneath your feet slowly gives way to stone and lamp-light.

By the time you emerge into the streets, the towering stone walls are behind you, replaced by the overwhelming grandeur of the inner city.

You barely notice the way your breath catches in your throat, too preoccupied with taking it all in. The streets are narrower here, winding and twisting, labyrinth-like. The buildings loom taller than any you’ve ever seen, their façades adorned with intricate carvings and delicate ivy creeping up the sides. Ornate balconies overlook the streets, their silk curtains swaying with the breeze, and the warm glow of candlelight flickers in every window.

A vendor still lingers at his stall, selling roasted chestnuts wrapped in parchment, the rich scent making your stomach grumble faintly. A group of masked performers twirls in the city square, their laughter bright and musical. A nobleman in embroidered silks strides past with a pretty woman on his arm, their voices hushed as they slip into a gilded carriage.

It’s stupendous.

You don’t realise how close you’ve pressed to Satoru, your shoulder pressing into his arm. He notices, of course—he notices everything—but he doesn’t comment. He simply keeps moving, weaving through the crowd with the sort of confidence that only comes with someone who has walked these streets their entire life.

“Stick close,” Satoru tells you. “It’s easy to get lost if you don’t know your way around.”

The deeper into the city you go, the grander the architecture becomes. The modest stone buildings give way to towering structures of marble, their columns wrapped in flowering vines, their streets lined with lush greenery and carved statues. The roads widen, no longer cramped and twisting, but sprawling and lined with golden lanterns. Then—

Your breath stutters as you step into an open courtyard, and there, standing tall and regal under the silver glow of the moon, is the palace.

It’s massive, far grander than you ever could have imagined. White stone gleams under the warm lights, intricate carvings adorning every arch and column. The banners of the royal family ripple in the cool night breeze, deep blue with the yellow royal sigil against the ivory walls. The golden spires reach towards the heavens, their tips catching the light of the stars, as if they themselves are part of the sky.

Awe roots you to the spot. For years, you’ve dreamed of this place; of seeing it with your own eyes. Now that you’re here, it doesn’t feel real.

Satoru stops beside you, watching you quietly, blue eyes twinkling. With a smile curling at his lips, the thief tilts his head towards you and murmurs, “Well, sweetheart. Welcome to the capital.”

Satoru says he knows a place where both of you can spend the next three days until the lantern festival commences. You don’t believe him, especially after what happened the last time with Shiu and the bounty hunter. He had glared at you, deeply affronted, said, “Your lack of faith in me is appalling,” and then proceeded to lead you back towards the inner city.

“Remember that bookshop I was telling you about?” he asks, rounding a corner.

“I remember,” you say.

“The former owner’s son runs it now,” Satoru says. “He’ll let us stay there.”

You don’t deign to reply, still drinking in everything—the towering buildings, the banners hanging from balconies, the cobblestone streets that shine under the flickering lights. Shopfronts boast their trinkets and fine silks, while street vendors call out to passersby, offering skewers of sizzling meat and honey-dipped pastries.

It’s strange. The world you have known until now has always been smaller. Quieter. Even in the busiest towns, even in the places where merchants and travelers gathered, there was never anything like this. The capital, you think, is a city that never sleeps; a city that belongs to people like Satoru—people who thrive in movement, in laughter, in places where the streets are never empty and there’s always something new waiting around the corner.

You tune out the thief talking beside you. He’s rambling about something, making some quip about your starry-eyed expression. The city is so alive, so rich with colour and movement, that it fills every space in your mind.

A sharp tug at your wrist yanks you back just as a carriage rushes past, wheels rattling violently against the stones where you’d been standing a second ago. The force of it stirs your cloak, wind whistling against your cheek. The shock of it doesn’t register right away. You stumble, your body pulled by something—someone—solid and hard.

Satoru’s arm is firm around your waist, his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist where he pulled you. The warmth of him is undeniable, even through layers of fabric. He holds you against him, close enough that you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your breath is stuck somewhere in your throat, heart pounding against your ribs. You hadn’t even noticed you’d stepped into the carriage’s path, hadn’t realised how dangerously close you’d come to being trampled beneath its wheels.

Satoru exhales slowly above you, his grip tightening for a brief second before relaxing. “Gawking at the scenery is nice and all, but I’d rather not have to scrape you off the road.”

“I wasn’t gawking,” you mumble, more out of reflex than actual protest. Your stomach flips, though whether it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re not sure.

“You were,” he murmurs, but the teasing lilt in his voice is absent. His fingers, still wrapped around your wrist, loosen just slightly—but he doesn’t let go.

Instead, his grip shifts. His fingers slide down, intertwining with yours, palm pressing firmly against your own. He’s holding your hand. A warmth unfurls inside your chest, one that you don’t quite know how to name.

The two of you weave through the crowd like that, his fingers still tangled with yours, warmth bleeding into your skin with every step.

Satoru doesn’t let go until you round the next corner. The streets narrow, becoming quieter. The clamour of the main road fades behind you, replaced by the occasional murmur of voices from dimly-lit taverns and the sound of the wind rustling through laundry lines strung between buildings. The air smells of damp stone, faintly sweet and petrichor-like.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the persisting warmth of Satoru’s touch even after he lets go. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he continues ahead. You wonder how often he’s taken this path—how many times he’s disappeared into the quiet corners of the city, both as a thief and as a soldier-in-training.

Eventually, he stops in front of a small, weathered shop tucked between a tailor’s boutique and an apothecary. The wooden sign above the door sways slightly in the breeze, the faint, worn lettering just barely readable. Nanami’s Books.

It doesn’t look like much from the outside. The wooden shutters are drawn, the paint on the door slightly chipped, but there’s something sturdy about it—something dependable, like it’s been here for years, and will remain standing for years to come. A single candle flickers behind the window, casting a warm glow through the glass.

Satoru raps his knuckles against the door. “Nanami,” he calls, sing-song.

The door creaks open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair, wearing a crisp, white tunic, and an expression so unimpressed, one would think Satoru had just asked to rob the place. “No.”

“Nanami,” Satoru coos, grinning.

“No,” Nanami repeats, firmer this time, as if sheer repetition will make him disappear.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Nanami sighs wearily, bringing up a hand and rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “You’re going to ask if you can stay here.”

Satoru places a hand over his chest, wounded. “What, no warm welcome? No, ‘Satoru, my dear friend, I’ve missed you’?”

“I’ve never said that to you in my life.”

“The lack of hospitality here is astounding.”

Nanami does not dignify that with a response. Instead, his gaze shifts to you. His scrutiny is wary but not unkind, expression flickering with mild curiosity. You shift slightly under his gaze, unsure of what he’s looking for.

“You’re new,” he says.

You nod. “First time in the capital.”

“And what trouble has Gojo dragged you into?”

The corners of your mouth lift up in a smile; Nanami seems like someone you can get along with—a kindred spirit in the art of pushing Gojo Satoru’s buttons. The thief, of course, doesn’t share the same sentiment. He gasps, offended, and says, “Why do you assume it’s trouble?”

“Are you really asking me that?” the bookshop owner asks dryly. He sighs, visibly considering whether allowing Satoru into his home is worth the inevitable headache. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, a gesture that suggests this is not the first time he’s found himself in this exact situation. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

“Two nights,” Satoru answers. “Just until the festival.”

“Fine.” Nanami’s shoulders slump as he reluctantly steps aside. “But if you so much as breathe near my ledger—”

“You’re the best.” Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder before he can finish, flashing a triumphant grin. Nanami, on the other hand, looks like he instantly regrets his decision.

Inside, the bookshop is lit by candlelight, the scent of parchment and ink thick in the air. Shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, packed with books that look well-loved and well-worn. The floorboards creak softly underfoot, and a single lamp flickers on the counter beside an open ledger, its pages filled with neath, meticulous handwriting.

“The loft is upstairs,” Nanami says, rubbing his temples. “Try not to destroy anything.”

“No promises,” Satoru says cheerfully.

You follow him up the narrow staircase, stepping into the small loft above the shop. The space is simple—two mattresses perpendicular to each other, pushed against the wall, a low table, and a window overlooking the street below. Dust lingers in the corners, the scent of old parchment soaked into the very walls. There’s no extravagance here, nothing grand or gilded, but it’s warm and lived-in.

Satoru throws himself onto a mattress with no ceremony, arms spread as he sighs dramatically. “See?” he says, peering up at you. “Told you I knew a place.”

You roll your eyes, but despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips.

You wake up to the sounds of an argument in the shop below. The mattress is lumpy and a little hard, but it beats sleeping on the forest floor with nothing but your cloak separating you from the cold earth. Satoru’s mattress looks the same as it did last night—the covers placed meticulously and tucked into the sides, the pillow not creased, as though he hadn’t slept at all. A quick glance around the loft leads you to find a wooden basin filled with water. You pad over to it and splash your face once, twice. The water is cool against your skin. You rub the gunk out of your eyes.

It seems the argument isn’t going to abate anytime soon. Nanami’s voice rises, and, cautiously, you make your way out of the door and pad over to the top of the staircase so you can hear better.

“You’re a fool,” the bookshop owner says. “I told you that months ago, and yet here you are. Again.”

Satoru sounds almost amused when he replies, “Well, hello. What happened to good morning?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

A beat. You shift onto the first step, careful to keep your steps light.

“I appreciate the concern, Nanami,” Satoru says. “Really. But you should know by now that I’m impossible to kill.”

“That isn’t the point.” There’s the sound of something hitting the counter—a book, maybe, or Nanami’s palm pressing against the wood as he fights for patience. “You’re still chasing this—this ridiculous theory? After everything?”

Your fingers tighten around the bannister. “It isn’t ridiculous,” the thief says, quieter this time.

Nanami scoffs, dry and unimpressed. “You’re gambling with your life for a theory you can’t even prove.”

“That’s the point, Nanami,” Satoru counters, sharp. “I have to prove it.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Nanami says, and there’s something frayed at the edges of his voice, something that sounds a lot like concern buried under layers of irritation. “You could leave this alone. Walk away before—”

“Before what?”

“You know what.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. The words sit heavy in the air, thick enough that you almost feel them pressing against your skin. Nanami exhales. “And even if you’re determined to be a reckless idiot,” he says, voice cooler now, “what gives you the right to drag someone else into this?”

You stiffen at the mention of yourself. Satoru clicks his tongue. “Oh, come on. I didn’t drag her into anything.”

“She’s here, isn’t she?”

“She dragged me here. She made that choice herself.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s choosing,” Nanami snaps. “Tell me, Gojo, did you bother explaining anything, or did you simply try to charm her skirts off and decide that was enough?”

“I can be persuasive if I want, you know.”

“Insane. You’re insane, and I want nothing more than to—”

You’re not sure what compels you to move, but you step down the stairs, making your way towards them before the argument can escalate any further. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s annoyance, maybe it’s the simple fact that you’re irked at being talked about like you aren’t standing just a few feet away. At the sound of your footsteps, both men turn.

Nanami regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze. Satoru runs a hand through his hair, but grins at you. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greets. “Enjoy your beauty rest?”

You give him a withering look before turning to Nanami. “What’s going on?”

“That,” he says, lips pressed into a thin line, “is exactly what I’d like to know.”

“It’s too early in the morning for us to be concerned with all this serious talk,” Satoru cuts in, clapping his hands. He glances at you. “Nanami, does Utahime’s shop open this early?”

“Yes,” he replies. “But I don’t think she’ll be very receptive to you barging in and ruining her morning.”

“Nonsense! Utahime loves me.”

Nanami sighs. “I’ll warn her first.”

“There’s no need for that.” Satoru waves a hand in the air dismissively, placing his other one on the small of your back and gently steering you out of Nanami’s bookshop. You bite your tongue, curious to know what they were arguing about, but unsure if it’s in your place to pry.

“Where are we going?” you ask instead.

The thief grins, letting the door to the bookshop swing shut behind him. “To get you some new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with—” You don’t bother finishing the question, as Satoru leads you through the winding streets of the capital. The city is slowly waking—merchants setting up their stalls, children darting between their parents, the scent of roses and bread wafting from nearby bakeries and flower shops. You can hear the clang of a blacksmith hammering metal in the distance, the occasional neigh of a horse, and people haggling over the fresh produce that’s just arrived from the surrounding countryside.

You clutch your cloak around you a little tighter, feeling a little out of place. It’s different, now, in the daylight, when the darkness doesn’t obscure your vision and those of others. You glance down at yourself, taking in the well-worn fabric of your cloak, the practical cut of your tunic and trousers. It’s not like you’re dressed in rags, but compared to the finery you’ve seen nobles wearing in the streets, you suppose you do stick out rather like a sore thumb. (So does Satoru, your mind offers helpfully, but unlike you, he moves as if he owns the very streets he walks on, as if the world itself bends to his whims.)

“Is this really necessary?” you ask hesitantly.

“Absolutely.”

You narrow your eyes. “I feel like you’re just looking for an excuse to spend money that isn’t yours.”

“I would never—” he begins, but you give him a flat look, and his lips curl up into an utterly unrepentant grin. “Alright, maybe I would. But in this case, it’s a matter of principle. Don’t you want to look all nice and pretty at the lantern festival?”

You roll your eyes but let him drag you long, weaving your way through the bustling market district. Eventually, he stops in front of a charming little boutique, its windows lined with displays of elegant dresses, rich fabrics draped across headless mannequins. A little brass bell jingles as Satoru pushes open the door. The interior of the shop is warm, bathed in the golden light filtering through the windows. Shelves upon shelves of neatly arranged fabrics line the walls, bolts of silk and brocade in every shade imaginable. The air smells of lavender and fresh linen, with the faintest hint of parchment from the stack of ledgers resting on the counter.

Behind that counter, a woman with dark hair pulled into a loose bun looks up from where she’s inspecting a sheet of shimmering fabric. Her sharp eyes land on Satoru, and whatever semblance of peace she had this morning is immediately shattered. “Oh,” she says, “not you.”

“Utahime!” Satoru places a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“You deserve it.”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he simpers.

Utahime arches a brow. “You are not my friend.”

Satoru wags a finger at her. “Business associate, then?”

“Barely.”

You shift uncomfortably, not entirely sure how to insert yourself into this conversation. The two of them clearly have some sort of shared history, similar to Nanami and Satoru. Curiosity prickles in your stomach; you want to know more about them, about Satoru’s life before he became a wanted man.

Utahime exhales through her nose, then finally turns her attention to you. Her expression softens slightly, the corners of her lips quirking upwards. “And you are?”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling very out of place surrounded by all this luxury. “Um—”

“She’s my new travelling companion,” Satoru interrupts, slinging a hand around your shoulders as if that explains everything. “Which is why I’ve so graciously brought her here—to make sure she looks the part.”

Utahime stares at him, then at you. Slowly, her grin turns amused. “You mean, to make sure you don’t look like a pauper standing next to her.”

You choke back a laugh. Satoru splutters, “I—how dare you—”

“You look like you’ve been sleeping in ditches, Gojo,” the tailor says.

“That is not true.”

“You have leaves in your hair.”

Satoru blinks, reaches up, and, sure enough, pulls a small, dried leaf from his messy white locks. He flicks it away with a muttered curse.

“I can’t stand someone as pretty as her walking around with a man who looks like he lost a fight with a laundry line. Come,” Utahime says, addressing you and already pulling a gown off a nearby rack. “Let’s get you sorted before I throw him out.”

You follow her shyly deeper into the boutique, leaving Satoru to sulk near the counter. The further in you go, the more extravagant the fabrics become—rich velvets, shining silks, intricate embroidery, lacy tulle. You hesitate, again, feeling out of place among such luxury, but Utahime does not seem to care for your reservations. She studies you with a critical eye, holding up various fabrics against your skin.

You shift awkwardly under her scrutiny. “I don’t need anything too fancy,” you say quickly.

Utahime gives you an unimpressed jerk of her chin. “You think he is going to let you walk around in something plain?”

You glance over your shoulder at Satoru, who is currently inspecting a mannequin in the corner, tilting his head. He doesn’t even pretend to be paying attention. You sigh. “Probably not.”

“Exactly.” Utahime flicks through a row of dresses before pulling one out. “Try this.”

The fabric is smooth beneath your fingertips, a deep blue that shimmers like water under the sunlight. The embroidery along the neckline is delicate, intricate swirls of silver thread that catch the light. It’s beautiful—far more beautiful than anything you’ve ever worn before.

“I—I don’t know if I should,” you admit.

“Why not?”

“I mean, I—” You falter. The words sound silly even in your own head. I’m not used to things like this. Things this nice.

But Utahime merely shakes her head and shoves the dress into your arms, though not unkindly. “You should, because you can.” She gestures to a dressing screen next to you. “Go. Try it on.”

You nod, uncertain, before stepping behind the screen, fingers tracing over the soft fabric. It takes a moment to undo the laces of your old clothes and slip into the new dress. The material drapes over you fluidly, the fit surprisingly perfect. The bodice is snug but comfortable, cinching at your waist before flowing down in gentle folds. The sleeves are light, sheer fabric brushing against your skin like a caress.

When you step out, Utahime nods in approval. “Better.”

You look down at yourself, smoothing your hands over the fabric. It’s strange, wearing something so fine, something that makes you feel seen. You’re so used to blending into the background, to preferring practicality over beauty. But now—

A low whistle interrupts your thoughts.

You glance up to see Satoru leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips. “Damn,” he muses. “I always knew you were cute, but this is something else.”

Your face heats. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” He pushes off the counter, walking over to circle you, inspecting you from every angle. “You’re going to have every noble in the capital turning their heads.”

“Which means you can’t go around looking like that,” Utahime interjects, shooting Satoru a pointed glare.

He blinks. “Like what?”

“Like a half-drowned stray,” she says, and before he can protest, she shoves a bundle of clothes into his arms. “Go change. I refuse to let someone as beautiful as her be seen with an absolute pauper like you.”

You laugh, and Satoru pouts at you. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Extremely,” you agree.

Grumbling under his breath, he disappears behind another dressing screen, leaving you and Utahime in silence. After a beat, she turns to you. “You’re travelling with him willingly?”

“It’s…” You chew on your lip. “Complicated.”

She hums, as if she’d expected nothing else. “Be careful.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you simply nod. A moment later, Satoru emerges, now dressed in something far more refined than his usual attire. The loose, tattered shirt underneath his vest has been replaced with a fitted tunic of dark navy, the high collar emphasising the sharp angles of his jaw. The long coat draped over his shoulders is a deep charcoal, lined with silver embroidery. Even his boots look newer, shinier.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Well?”

Utahime clicks her tongue. “It’s an improvement. Barely.”

Satoru ignores her and turns to you. “What do you think?”

“You look… less like a thief,” you say.

“I’ll take that as a win.”

Utahime rolls her eyes, thrusting a pair of slippers that match the colour of your dress at you, along with an ivory comb to pin your hair back in place. “Take these and get out of my shop.”

So you do.

The capital, you’ve come to realise, is a place of contradictions—grand stone buildings adorned with ivy, shadowed alleyways where whispers slip through the cracks, noblewomen in embroidered shawls brushing shoulders with street performers balancing on stilts.

Satoru weaves between crowds easily, pausing only when something catches his interest: A vendor selling sugared fruits, a fortune teller shuffling tarot cards at a makeshift stall, a pair of children chasing each other with wooden swords, their giggles ringing bright in the late morning hour. He lingers just long enough to soak in the moment before moving on, as if the city itself is nothing more than an elaborate game designed for his amusement. You try not to stare, but the way he carries himself is captivating—like he’s seen it all before and yet, still finds a way to be charmed by it.

“See?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “Told you you’d fit right in.”

You press your lips together and say nothing. The fabric of your new dress sways as you walk, softer and finer than anything you’ve ever owned. It feels unfamiliar against your skin, but not unpleasant. It makes you feel different, somehow, like you’ve stepped into a role that doesn’t quite belong to you. People glance at you differently now; not with suspicion or wariness, but with curiosity.

“So, what now?” you ask instead.

Satoru grins, wild, his blue eyes shining with mirth and excitement. “Now? Now, we explore.”

And explore you do.

He leads you through the winding streets, pointing out interesting stalls and dodging carts and carriages. He stops at a street performer juggling knives and dramatically gasps at every toss, leaning in as if he’s witnessing a royal duel. You shake your head, but his antics coax a quiet smile out of you. When he catches it, his smile softens just a little.

A hidden alleyway tucked between two bustling shops reveals an old woman sitting behind a small table, delicate glass trinkets laid out in neat rows. The figures catch the light, shimmering like captured stardust. Satoru crouches, fingers hovering over a tiny glass cat, its tail curled in mid-motion. His white hair falls into his eyes as he studies it, the briefest flicker of something thoughtful passing over his features.

“D’you think Megumi and Sukuna are getting lonely?” he murmurs, turning the figurine over in his hands before placing it back, offering the woman a charming wink as he tosses her a coin for her time.

“You didn’t buy it,” you observe. The two of you step back onto the main street.

“Didn’t need to,” he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Just wanted to look.”

You make your way towards the bustling heart of the market, where stalls overflow with bright fabrics, glinting trinkets, and fresh produce. The scent of roasted chestnuts curls around you, warm and nutty. Satoru pauses, his gaze flicking to a vendor skillfully tossing chestnuts in a wire pan over an open flame. The chestnuts pop and crackle in the heat. Without a word, he steps forward, tossing a few coins onto the counter. The vendor barely has time to acknowledge him before Satoru is already handing you a small paper pouch, its warmth seeping into your fingers.

“Try one,” he says, grinning.

You peel open the shell of a chestnut, the scent much richer up close. When you take a bite, it’s soft and sweet, the kind of warmth that settles deep in your chest.

Satoru watches you expectantly. “Well?”

“They’re good,” you admit.

“Of course they are,” he boasts. “I have impeccable taste.”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t pull away when he reaches out, brushing a stray hair from your face that escaped the confines of Utahime’s comb. His fingertips barely ghost over your skin fleetingly, but you feel it like an ember catching flame. It stretches between you like a thread being pulled taut—and then he clears his throat and looks away.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of another street. “There’s one more place I want to show you.”

By the time you arrive at the jewelry stall, the sun hangs high overhead, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Unlike the market district, this section of the city is quieter, the chatter of merchants distant, softened by the hum of rustling leaves. The stall itself is small but carefully arranged—dainty chains displayed on dark velvet, rings nestled in silk-lined boxes, gemstones catching the light in a kaleidoscope of colours. Here, the world feels slower, as if it exists in its own pocket of time.

Satoru steps forward, fingers skimming lightly over the jewelry. His expression is uncharacteristically thoughtful. You watch him curiously. Until now, he’s been aimlessly amused by everything, flitting from stall to stall and shop to shop like a butterfly with no real direction, but this—this is different. There’s an intention behind the seriousness in his eyes.

“What are you looking for?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead picking up a simple silver necklace with a small blue gemstone embedded in its center. He turns it between his fingers, the pad of his thumb brushing over the stone as he studies it for a long moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, he looks at you.

“This suits you,” he says.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking. “Here,” he says softly. “Let me.”

Your breath catches when his hands lift, brushing against the back of your neck. The metal of the chain is cool against your skin, but his fingers—his fingers are warm, careful, the touch light enough to send a shiver down your spine. He lingers for just a fraction too long before fastening the clasp, fingertips grazing the nape of your neck in a way that makes heat bloom beneath your skin. When he pulls away, the pendant rests just above your collarbone. You touch it lightly.

“I—I can’t take this,” you say, voice quieter than before.

Satoru only smirks, but it’s not his usual brand of tiresome arrogance. It’s softer. “Too late. No returns.”

Your fingers tighten around the pendant. The stone is smooth beneath your touch, reflecting the sunlight in shifting shades of blue. It reminds you of something—of fleeting moments, of oceans you’ve never seen, of something vast and untouchable yet undeniably present. The question slips out before you can stop it: “Why?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His gaze roams over you, something unreadable flickering in those too-bright eyes. Then, he shrugs. “Consider it a souvenir,” he says. “Something to remember today by.”

You want to press him for more, but something about the way he says it is fragile, delicate in a way that makes you hesitant to touch it too harshly. It is a thread pulled just slightly tighter, a balance shifted just slightly off-kilter. He reaches for your wrist, tugging you gently back towards the street.

“Let’s go,” he says, ever the one to move before a moment settles. “We’ve still got time before sunset.”

By the time the sun begins its descent, the capital is alive in a different way than before. Where the market had been filled with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of wooden carts, the town square now hums with a different kind of energy—joyful and infectious.

Colourful paper lanterns have been strung between buildings, flickering to life as the sky fades from gold to dusky violet. Musicians gather in the center of the square, their lively tune spilling into the air, coaxing laughter and movement from the people around them. The scent of honeyed pastries from a nearby stall blends with the perfume of crushed petals from garlands strung over doorways.

“Well, sweetheart,” Satoru says, “it’s your lucky day. Looks like we’ve arrived just in time for a celebration.”

You look up at him, slightly wary. “A celebration for what?”

“The night before the lantern festival, ‘course.” He grabs your wrist and pulls you forward.

“Satoru—”

“Hush, we’ve done nothing but walk around all day,” he says, meandering through the crowd. “Let’s have a little fun.”

Your protests die on your tongue when you step into the heart of the square. The music swells, a melody of flutes, fiddles and tambourines; it is so rich and lively that it seems to settle beneath your skin, curling around your ribs like something alive. All around you, people spin and sway to the rhythm, moving as if the music is stitched into their bones. Women twirl in dresses of deep reds and blues, their skirts fanning out like blooming flowers, while men clap their hands to the beat, laughing as they switch partners. Children dart between the dancers, giggles escaping their lips, while couples sway together, lost in their own world.

You’re so caught up in taking it all in that you don’t notice Satoru moving until his hand finds yours again. The moment you realise what he’s doing, your eyes widen. “Oh, no—”

“Oh, yes,” he counters, grinning as he spins you suddenly, catching you before you can stumble. “You can’t expect me to dance alone, can you?”

“I can if I don’t know how,” you retort, heart racing at the unexpected movement.

He clicks his tongue. “Tsk. And here I thought you were quick on your feet.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Only when I need to be.”

The thief only laughs, that bright, boyish sound that makes something warm settle in your chest. “Just follow my lead,” he says, drawing you in.

Against all reason, you do. At first, you’re hesitant, stiff under his hands while he guides you into the rhythm of the dance. But Satoru is nothing if not persistent. He keeps you moving, spinning you into the flow of the music, making the world blur in bursts of colour and light.

It’s dizzying, the way he moves—not just with grace, but with a kind of unshaken confidence, like he’s never once doubted that the world will bend to him if he asks it to. His hands are steady on yours, his steps sure, and when he grins, it’s the kind of grin that makes you feel like you’re part of some grand adventure, something wild and untamed.

You’ve never met a man like him before.

Somewhere along the way, your hesitation fades. Your body moves with his naturally now, drawn into the lilt of the music. Your laughter bubbles up before you can stop it, spilling into the air between you as he twirls you beneath the glow of the lanterns. Satoru watches you closely, his smile softening, just a little around the edges.

“Told you it’s fun,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, breathless. “Warn me next time.”

“You do want a next time, then,” he says, and you don’t have an answer to that.

Because—maybe—you do. Something in you, you think, has begun to unravel. Maybe, against all logic, you’re slipping. Maybe, you don’t mind. You meet his gaze, heart rabbiting about in your chest. His eyes are impossibly blue, bright even in the dim glow of the lanterns. Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears, your thoughts a mess of tangled emotions, but you can’t bring yourself to step away. Not when his grip is this steady, not when his eyes are watching you like that.

The music melts into something softer, the once-rapid twirls melting into something slower, more intimate. Satoru’s hand shifts, resting lightly against your waist, his other still holding yours between calloused fingers. The world feels smaller now, quieter, narrowed down to just the two of you.

When the song finally ends, both of you out of breath and a little bit sweaty, Satoru steps back and bows with an exaggerated flourish. The fondness in your chest betrays you, and you curtsey back. He holds your hand again, and doesn’t let go. Even as the music fades and the crowd disperses, laughter trailing off into the warm night, his grip remains firm. You should pull away. Should remind yourself that he’s still a thief, still unpredictable, still frustrating beyond belief.

Instead, you let him guide you through the winding streets of the capital once more, past shops closing up for the night, past candlelight flickering through bedroom windows, past lovers whispering in darkened corners. The warmth of the evening settles over you both, the smell of jasmines and roses and summer heat pressing in close.

“You’ll like this,” Satoru says, turning back over his shoulder.

“You say that about everything.”

“And I mean it every single time,” he replies.

He takes you through a narrow alley, walking with the surety of someone who has spent their childhood finding all the hidden parts of the city. A wooden ladder rests against the side of a weathered stone building; Satoru lets go of your hand and immediately starts climbing.

You pause. “Seriously?”

“Unless you want to climb up four flights of stairs,” he calls down, teasing. “But I don’t think you’re in the mood for a hike.”

With an exasperated shake of your head, you gather the folds of your dress into your arms, bunching up the fabric. The ladder, thankfully, is sturdy despite having stood in that spot for who knew how long. The climb is easier than you expect, and when you reach the top, Satoru is already waiting, standing near the edge of the rooftop with his hands in his pockets, watching the city unfold beneath him.

Your breath hitches. The view is stunning. From here, the capital is a sea of golden lights, stretching wide until the river that snakes around the perimeter near the far end. The castle looms in the distance, its towers reaching towards the heavens, the marble reflecting all the lights. Beyond it, the countryside stretches endlessly, shadowed hills rolling underneath a sky dusted with constellations. The stars seem impossibly close, as if you could reach out and trace them with your fingers.

Satoru watches your reaction, the corners of his lips curling into something softer than a smirk, something quieter. “Told you.”

You don’t reply immediately, too busy taking in the sheer vastness of it all. The castle, the city, the stars—things that once felt distant and untouchable now seem just within reach. Stepping closer to him, you ask, “How did you find this place?”

“I used to come up here as a kid. Sometimes, when things got—complicated, I guess you could say—I’d sneak away, climb up here, and just watch. The world looks different from above.”

You nod, turning back to the view, letting the quiet settle between you. Satoru plops down onto the shingles of the rooftop, inches away from the part where it begins to slope, and motions for you to do the same. You comply, dress rustling as you sit down next to him. After a moment, Satoru shifts, leaning back on his palms, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The cool night air ruffles his hair, the moonlight catching on the silver strands.

“Can I ask you something?”

“...That depends,” you say.

His smile is easy, lazy—but his eyes are sharp and searching, like he’s trying to peel back all your layers. “Back in the market,” he starts, slow, “you let me pull you into that dance. You could’ve left. You could’ve made an excuse, walked away, ignored me entirely. But you didn’t. Why?”

You suck in a breath, eyes drifting to the city below. The streets are quieter now, the celebrations beginning to wind down. For so long, your world has been small. Not just physically, but in the way that mattered—the way that made it feel like you were meant to stay in one place, bound by duty, by love, by responsibility.

“My grandmother,” you begin, softly. “She was the only family I had left.”

Satoru doesn’t move; he just watches you, waiting. “She got sick,” you continue, wringing your fingers together on your lap. “And I had to take care of her. I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to. Even if—” You pause, exhaling through your nose. “Even if I dreamed about it sometimes.”

The memories come back in pieces—watching the world pass by beyond the edges of your village, wondering what lay beyond the fields and forests you had never crossed. The way you used to sit by your grandmother’s bedside, listening to the stories she told of places she had never been either.

“She passed away,” you say, quieter this time.

Satoru doesn’t speak, but the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten. You turn your head, looking out over the city again. The castle towers rise high against the star-streaked sky, the view stretching beyond anything you ever could have imagined from your tiny corner of the world.

“I spent so long staying in one place,” you admit, “being careful and doing what was expected of me. But now…” You trail off, searching for the shape of the feeling that’s been unravelling inside you since the moment you first stepped beyond the life you thought you were meant to live. “Now, I think I just want to see what’s out there.”

A slow smile tugs at Satoru’s lips. It’s not the cocky smirk you’re used to, nor the grin that comes with a teasing remark. It’s softer, something almost—fond. “And now that you’re here, is it everything you’ve dreamed of and more?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. “It’s incredible.”

“I’m glad,” he says, then, after a beat: “Alright, my turn.”

“Your turn?”

“To answer a question.” His eyes flicker to you, playful. “You want to ask me something, don’t you?”

You pause. Then, before you can overthink it, you ask, “Are you still only with me because you want the crown back?”

The teasing edge in his expression falters, just for a second. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts, fingers tapping idly against the rooftop, his eyes fixed on the distant castle. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, more thoughtful.

“At first, yeah,” he admits. “That was the plan.”

You wait, sensing there’s more. Satoru lets out a breath, a faint chuckle escaping him, though there’s a strangeness to the sound—like he’s amused at his own thoughts, still figuring them out. He says, “But you’re not exactly what I expected.”

You frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, turning to face you fully now, the golden lights casting shadows across the side of his face. “It means,” he says, “that I figured you’d be like everyone else. Predictable. Easy to manipulate. Someone who’d either slow me down or get in my way.”

Satoru smiles, tilting his head, but this time, it’s different—less teasing, more like he’s studying you, trying to commit you to memory. “But you’re not.”

Your heart stutters. You don’t know if it’s the words themselves, or the way he’s looking at you—intent, unrushed, like you are something worth deciphering—but something shifts, something fragile and terrifying in its certainty. You should say something; you ought to shake your head, roll your eyes, scoff at him like you always do. But the night air is wrought with something you don’t have a name for, and the weight of his gaze pins you in place.

“You’re stubborn,” he continues, voice dipping just slightly, low enough that you feel it more than hear it. “Smart. Quicker than I expected. You surprise me.”

The breath you’ve been holding releases in a slow exhale, but it doesn’t make the feeling in your chest settle. “I don’t know if I believe you,” you murmur.

Satoru leans in, not touching—not yet—but close enough that the heat of him brushes against your skin. “You really should.”

You barely have time to process what he means before he moves, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to stop him. Some part of you registers this—but you ignore it, because somewhere along the way, you stopped wanting to.

His hand lifts first, fingertips ghosting along your jaw, barely there, a touch so cursory, it could be mistaken for hesitation. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t pull you in like a man desperate—he waits, breath mingling with yours, gaze flickering down to your lips, then back up again, watching. It’s agonisingly slow, and maybe that’s what makes your pulse hammer in your throat, makes your fingers tighten at your sides as if fighting the instinct to reach for him.

And then—the faintest brush. Featherlight; testing. A breath of a kiss, a question rather than an answer. You could pull away now, but the moment his lips meet yours, something inside you caves.

It’s soft at first, uncertain, but the second you respond—just the smallest tilt forward, the slightest press of your lips against his—he becomes more insistent. His hand cups your jaw more firmly, his other coming to rest against the small of your back, drawing you in as though the space between you is something offensive and unbearable.

You gasp against his mouth, but it isn't surprise. It’s relief; like something that had been threatening to snap inside you has finally, finally broken loose. His lips move slowly against your, unhurried but devastating, a contradiction of softness and something deeper, something unjumbling beneath your skin. You don’t even realise when your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might slip away if you don’t.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe. You just fall.

It’s easy enough to fall into Gojo Satoru like this. Too easy, really. It should be harder. It should be something that gives you pause, something that makes you second-guess yourself. But you don’t, because right now, on this rooftop with the whole city stretching out below you and the stars scattered across the sky like crushed diamonds, it doesn’t feel like a mistake. It doesn’t feel like something you’ll regret. It just feels like him.

Satoru pulls away and watches you carefully, the way he always does when he’s waiting for you to make a move first. His hands rest loosely on either side of him, deceptively relaxed, but his gaze tells a different story. There’s something in his eyes tonight—softer, expectant, something that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t entirely understand. Maybe you’ll never understand him fully. But you think, maybe you don’t have to.

You reach for him first this time. A brush of your fingers against his wrist. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—just watches, as if memorising the moment. You shuffle closer, until your knees touch where he’s sitting, until his breath stirs the air between you. When you finally lean in, when your lips graze his in something that isn’t quite a kiss yet, you hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes. Then, finally, he moves.

Satoru kisses like he does everything else—sure of himself, but not impatient. He takes his time, lets you press in closer as his hands find their way to your waist, his touch steady and warm. The rooftop is quiet except for the distant sounds of the city and the faint hum of the night air, but all you can hear is him—the way his breath blows on your cheek, the way he exhales softly when your fingers slip into his hair.

You let him kiss you deeper, let him tilt his head and pull you closer and melt into him as easily as breathing. When he pulls you into his lap, hands firm on your hips and his lips trail lower, brushing along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, you decide you don’t want to stop at all.

The inn is a modest place, tucked between streets. Its wooden beams creak, and the scent of old bookshelves and candle wax wafts through the air, mixing with something sweet—honey, maybe, or the remnants of a forgotten perfume. Satoru had brought you here so quickly and paid for a room that, despite the knowing look the innkeeper gave you both, you didn’t have the time to feel embarrassed before he was whisking you away.

It’s quiet here, away from prying eyes. The bed beneath you is softer than you’d expected, sheets worn but clean, warmed by the heat of your bodies. A single melting candle in the corner lights up the room, its glow casting shadows along the rough-hewn walls, pooling in the hollow of Satoru’s throat as he hovers over you.

There’s a moment—just a moment—where uncertainty creeps in. You’ve never done this before. Somehow, Satoru seems to know that without you even saying anything. His hands, steady and warm, never wander too far, never push for more than what you’re willing to give. Even as his lips move against yours—slow, coaxing, patient—there’s an unspoken question between every kiss; an invitation rather than a demand. It makes it easier. Easier to melt into him and to follow the way his fingers map careful paths down your spine.

You barely register when he tugs at the hem of your clothes, when fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling somewhere unseen. His gentle fingers unclasp the comb in your hair, letting it fall down loose. He leaves the necklace on, though, the blue pendant just above your collarbone, reflecting his own blue eyes. They darken when he sees you like this. His hands are on your bare skin, and it’s different—more real, somehow. More intimate than anything else before this.

Satoru leans back, exhaling as he takes you in, eyes dragging over every newly exposed inch of you. His gaze is heavy, reverent in a way that makes you shiver. “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. Heat pools low in your stomach, spreading through you in slow, curling tendrils. Then he’s pressing his lips to your throat, his hands gliding down your sides, settling on your hips. His touch is firm but never rough. Still, the anticipation builds.

Your skin feels too hot, too sensitive, aware of the way his mouth drags lower—over your collarbone, down the center of your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Then, lower still. You shudder. “Satoru—”

He hums against your skin, one hand sliding beneath your knee, urging you to part for him. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You hesitate for only a moment before nodding. That’s all the permission he needs. His hands settle on your thighs, parting them gently. His lips ghost over the sensitive skin, teasing and testing, before he presses a kiss where you’re already aching for him.

The first touch of his tongue is tentative—just a slow, languid drag against you, as if savouring the taste. Like he’s learning exactly what makes you tremble. You do tremble. A quiet, broken sound slips from your lips before you can stop it, your fingers tightening instinctively in his hair. Satoru groans, low and pleased, and the vibration of it makes your stomach tighten.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t overwhelm you. He simply moves with purpose, unravelling you piece by piece, lick by lick, until the pleasure builds into something unbearable. You don’t know when your eyes flutter shut and your body melts into the sheets. His grip tightens just slightly to hold you in place. When he drags his tongue over that one spot, when he sucks, slow and deliberate, pleasure licks up your spine like wildfire. You gasp.

“That’s it,” Satoru says, a tad proud. “Just let go.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your thighs tightening around him as he coaxes pleasure out of you with maddening patience. The tension builds, winding tighter, higher, and when he rubs your bundle of nerves with his thumb, you moan. Warmth spills through your limbs; your breath catches and everything around you blurs, reduced to nothing but the feeling of his mouth, his hands, his name falling from your lips in a whisper. Satoru stays there for a moment longer, pressing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before moving back up. He kisses you again, slow and deep, and the taste of yourself on his lips makes your head spin.

“How was that?” he asks.

“You talk too much,” you say, and slant your lips against his again.

Satoru pulls away, though reluctantly. Kneeling between your legs, his hands move to his belt. You watch, still dazed, as he undoes it and kicks his trousers off, then pulls his tunic over his head in one smooth motion. You swear you forget how to breathe.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for him, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He shudders at the contact, and something about that—about the way you affect him—sends a thrill through you. Wordlessly, he leans back, watching you carefully.

You meet his gaze, and, slowly, slide your hands up, over the defined lines of his collarbones, over the faint scars that mark his skin. You take your time, tracing the firm places of his stomach, the ridges of muscle beneath your fingertips. He has a scar cutting through his torso, a jagged line that should look unseemly, but on Satoru it does not. You don’t think anything ever could.

“How did you get this?” you whisper, running your fingers along the line.

“Failed assassination attempt on me,” he whispers back. You’re not even surprised anymore.

Satoru is beautiful. It’s a thought that strikes you suddenly, like a realisation that had been waiting for the right moment to surface. He’s all long limbs and lean strength, a body built for running and fighting and surviving. The sight of him, bare before you, makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You’re staring,” he teases, but his voice is quieter this time, almost breathless.

You hum, letting your nails drag lightly down his torso, watching the way his stomach tenses in response. “Maybe.”

His breath comes out uneven. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he leans down, pressing his weight against you, caging you beneath him. The heat of his body is overwhelming, the feel of bare skin on bare skin sending a shiver through you. Even then, when he presses his lips to yours, he asks, “Are you sure?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He exhales sharply, his forehead dropping against yours. “You’re going to kill me.”

You laugh, breathless, tilting your head just enough to kiss him again. “Then die quietly.”

His answering grin is crooked. He nudges your nose with his, and his hand finds yours against the sheets as he laces your fingers together. Slowly, he moves.

The first press is slow, careful, an unfamiliar stretch as he eases himself inside you inch by inch. Your breath hitches in your throat, fingers tightening around his while your body adjusts to him. There’s a sting, a deep pull of discomfort that makes you tense, but he stills immediately, exhaling a shaky breath against your temple.

Satoru’s lips ghost over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, murmuring quiet praises in between. “You’re doing so well,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “So fucking perfect.”

The ache fades gradually, melting into something warmer. You take a slow breath, then shift your hips slightly—just enough for him to move. His sigh is shaky, his grip on your hand tightening.

He starts moving, and the world narrows to nothing but him. It’s slow at first, every movement measured, as if he’s trying to memorise every little reaction and gasp that spills from your lips. He watches you the entire time, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it, like he’s seeing you for the first time. The pleasure builds gradually, a slow burn spreading through your veins. Each roll of his hips, each press of his body against yours sends another wave of heat through you, until the discomfort is nothing but a memory. Your legs tighten around him instinctively, pulling him closer, deeper. Satoru groans, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he curses under his breath.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice strained. “You feel—” He shakes his head, unable to finish the thought. His teeth graze lightly over your shoulder. His pace quickens slightly, pulling breathy moans from you with every movement. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your stomach, winding like a thread about to snap.

And then he angles his hips just right, hitting something inside you that makes your vision blur. A broken sound escapes your lips. Your grip on his hand tightens, nails digging into his skin. “There?” he asks, voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You nod, unable to form words, and he groans, pressing deeper, chasing every little reaction you give him. It’s overwhelming—the warmth of him above you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the way he whispers your name like it’s something sacred.

When you finally reach that peak, when the pleasure crests and crashes over you in dizzying waves, your entire body shudders beneath him. The thread snaps, leaving you weightless and drowning in sensation as he follows soon after, his movements growing erratic. Satoru pulls out just in time, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he spills onto your stomach, one hand gripping your waist as his body trembles above you. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly; he takes in the sight of you beneath him—flushed, panting, utterly wrecked.

For a long moment, neither of you move. His breath fans over your collarbone, fingers fiddling with the silver chain around your neck. He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and his grip on your hand loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Eventually, Satoru shifts, rolling onto his back and searching for something to clean you up. He finds a wash basin with a cloth placed nearby; wetting it gently, he pads back to you. The thief—your lover, now, you suppose—is gentle, wiping you down with slow, careful movements before tossing the cloth aside. Then, without hesitation, he pulls you against him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his lips against your temple.

His fingers trace absentminded patterns along your spine, his touch featherlight. You feel his lips press against your hair, and the gesture makes your chest ache. You curl into him. He rests his chin on the top of your head. “Sleep,” he says.

You don’t say anything—just let your eyes slip shut, and let yourself sink into the warmth of him and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Satoru coaxes you out of bed with the promise of buying you a honey-dipped pastry from one of the vendors you’d been eyeing the day before. You grumble about his methods, saying he has an unfair advantage knowing your weaknesses so well, but truthfully, you don’t really mind. You dress quickly, smoothing your hands over the creases in your gown and pulling your hair back with the ivory comb, while Satoru lounges against the doorframe, watching you with that easy, lopsided grin of his. The sunlight catches in his hair, and when he tilts his head at you, something warm curls inside your stomach. You shove it down.

The two of you leave the small inn just as the sun begins to rise, the golden light spilling over the rooftops. The streets are still mostly empty, save for a few vendors who’ve begun setting up their stalls. You walk beside Satoru, your hands brushing against each other now and then, though neither of you makes a move to pull away. He fills the quiet with his usual chatter, talking nonsense, teasing you about how you hogged the blankets, about how you snored (you did not). You roll your eyes and shove at his shoulder, but he only laughs, catching your wrist and spinning you in a quick, playful circle.

When you finally reach Nanami’s bookshop, it looks the same as it did the day before—quiet and unassuming, its worn wooden sign creaking slightly in the breeze. You push the door open.

Nanami is at the counter, as usual, a book open in front of him. But you can very quickly tell something is off. He doesn’t look up right away. His hands are still, fingers pressed against the page, unmoving. When his gaze finally lifts, it lingers on Satoru first, then flickers to you. He exhales and gives you just the faintest shake of his head. A warning. Leave.

You blink at him, confused. Satoru, oblivious as ever, only grins. “Morning, Nanami,” he sing-songs, stretching as he strolls further inside.

Nanami doesn’t answer. You hear footsteps, slow and heavy—the sound of hard boots against wooden flooring. Not from the entrance. From the back of the shop.

A man steps into view. Tall, with broad shoulders, his dark hair pulled into a high knot, leaving a few loose strands to frame his face. His clothing is different from the soldiers you’ve seen before—black and deep blue, his vest embroidered with the sigil of the royal family. But what strikes you most is his expression: Blank and unreadable; the kind of stillness that feels dangerous without needing to try. His eyes, dark and steady, scan the room methodically before resting on Satoru. He’s flanked by two soldiers on either side of him, standing in metal-plated armour with their faces hidden by the visors on their helmets.

“Ah,” the thief says. “So that’s why Nanami was looking at me like I was already dead.”

The room is still. Satoru doesn’t move. Neither does the man at the back of the shop. Nanami, ever composed, keeps his fingers pressed against the pages of his book, though you can see the tension in his shoulders. He knows exactly who this man is. You don’t.

“You’ve gotten sloppy,” he remarks, as if he was simply commenting on the weather. “I had multiple reports of you wandering throughout the city yesterday. You weren’t even subtle about it.” A small pause, and then: “Frolicking, they said. With a girl.”

His eyes slide towards you. Your stomach tightens. You don’t recognise him, but something about his presence makes your skin prickle. It’s the way he carries himself—the way his posture is lazy, the way his voice is even and smooth, but not emotionless. He reminds you of Satoru, but less flamboyant and raucous.

“I should introduce myself,” he continues, “to our friend here who appears visibly confused. Geto Suguru, captain of the Royal Guard, at your service, madam.”

Satoru merely shakes his head. “You really ought to pay your soldiers more,” he drawls. “Imagine sending them on a wild goose chase to find me. Surely there are more pressing matters to attend to—but I am flattered about the attention you’re very generously bestowing upon me.”

The man hums, unimpressed. “They do their jobs well enough. Unlike you.”

His gaze flicks to a low table pushed to the side. To the crown—the crown that was supposed to be tucked underneath your mattress back in your cottage. Your pulse quickens. Satoru follows his gaze. “Hm,” he says, like it’s all very unfortunate, “I suppose that’s how you found us.”

“You’re different,” the man says. “You never used to be this careless.”

Familiarity bleeds into his tone when he says it. They have a history, the thief beside you and the soldier opposite him, that much is clear. Your fingers curl into your palm.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’ve gone soft?” Satoru grins but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Captain Geto lifts a brow. “If the boot fits.”

Satoru snorts. You stay quiet, your mouth drying up. You don’t know how deep their history runs. You’re not sure if you want to, anymore, even though, earlier, your curiosity about Gojo Satoru knew no bounds.

“You found me, Suguru,” Satoru says simply, grin vanishing.

The captain inclines his head. “You always make things difficult,” he says, lifting a hand.

The soldiers step forward. Satoru doesn’t fight when they grab him. He stays motionless, doesn’t even flinch as they wrench his arms and wrists, twisting them behind his back. He doesn’t move, but you do. “Satoru—”

He turns his head towards you, and you swear you see something shutter in his expression. But as quickly as it comes, it goes, replaced by a grin that looks more like a sneer.

“I assume you won’t struggle,” the captain says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain Geto,” Satoru says.

You open your mouth, but before you can say anything—before your brain wraps around what’s happening—Suguru turns to you. His dark eyes sweep over you, assessive. “You’re from the villages, aren’t you?”

You freeze. His voice is calm—not unkind or threatening. Just certain. There is nothing that suggests immediate condemnation about the way he says it, but it sends a prickle of something cold down your spine. You force yourself to square your shoulders and look him in the eye when you confirm his question.

Suguru nods at your reply, something thoughtful about the way he regards you. “Then you have a choice,” he says.

“A… choice?” Your pulse thunders against your skin.

He tilts his head once more, slightly, and for a moment, you could almost call him composed—gracious, even. His words are anything but. “Either you come with us, as his accomplice. Or you return to your village and pretend this never happened.”

The words drop between you like stones. Your throat tightens. You know what he’s offering. A way out. A chance to walk away and go back to the life you left behind. You can let these past few weeks become nothing more than a bitter memory, something you can tuck away and bury deep. But if you leave—

You find yourself looking at Satoru. He grins at you, looking for all the world like he doesn’t have a care. Like he isn’t standing there, bound, with soldiers at his back and chains ready to be locked around his wrists. But you also see the way his shoulders have gone taut, the way his fingers twitch, just slightly, like he wants to reach for you. Before you can think to answer, Satoru cuts in.

“I lied to her.”

Your heart hammers in your chest at his sudden declaration. Captain Geto raises a brow, waiting.

Satoru’s grin widens, careless and easy. “She didn’t know who I was. She didn’t know about the crown or any of this. I played her the fool, and charmed my way into her good graces. Can you blame her?”

You feel like the ground beneath you has vanished. He’s lying. You know it, Suguru knows it, Nanami knows it—but he says it anyway, as if willing it into truth, daring Suguru to challenge him.

“You never change,” the captain murmurs.

“Nope,” the thief agrees, popping the ‘p’ sound.

There’s a silence; a slow, quiet sigh. Suguru shakes his head. “Take him.”

The soldiers move. You react on instinct, lurching forward, reaching for him—but rough hands seize your shoulders, pulling you back. Nanami, you realise. His sturdy arms—too muscular for a simple bookseller—hold you in place no matter how much you squirm in his grip.

Satoru, on the other hand, merely presses his lips together when they fasten the iron cuffs around his wrists. You feel the sharp sting of panic rise up your throat. “No—” Your voice cracks, but no one is listening. Your limbs feel useless, weak, as the soldiers push past you. “Wait—”

Captain Geto steps forward, blocking your path, his presence an immovable wall of black and blue. His dark eyes settle on yours, calm and resolute. “We found the crown at a cottage.”

His words feel like ice water down your spine. You swallow hard. Suguru doesn’t look triumphant, doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying this. He states it as an inevitable fact. “The entire village was searched,” he continues, measured and unhurried, like he’s laying out the pieces of a story so that you understand. “We found the stolen heirloom hidden there. And if it was there, then that means whoever lives in that cottage—”

He pauses. You don’t dare to breathe.

“—was harbouring the kingdom’s most wanted criminal.”

A leaden weight settles in your chest. No. No, that’s not true. I didn’t know. But the words don’t come. Because you did know, right from the start, when you stole the crown from him. It was already too late, then, and it is too late now, because now—now, you know the shape of his smile, the sound of his laugh, the calluses on his fingers. Satoru was protecting your secret, and the realisation burns. Your nails bite into your palm. You want to say something, to fight back and demand an explanation from Geto Suguru. Satoru turns his head towards you.

The soldiers pull him to the door, and you watch, your throat tight and your breath shallow. Your feet won’t move, your body feels frozen, like some part of you believes this is the last time you’ll see him. Like some part of you is already mourning. Satoru’s grin doesn’t slip. His white hair falls over his eyes, and for a brief second, you swear you see something there—something reassuring. He’s telling you it’s going to be okay. He’s telling you not to follow.

“Gojo Satoru,” the captain announces, “as the Captain of the Royal Guard, as per the First Commander’s decree, I hereby arrest you for the cases of looting, thievery, causing bodily harm and injury, failure to repay your debts to the capital, stealing the royal family’s most precious heirloom, and betrayal to the Royal Crown. Do you object to any of these claims?”

“No, Captain,” Satoru says.

“Very well. Your punishment for the following acts of treason is death. The execution will be tomorrow, at sundown. Do you have anything you wish to say?”

His blue eyes find yours. “No, Captain,” he repeats, quieter this time.

Your vision blurs. Gojo Satoru, the menace, the thief you’ve journeyed with, the man who knows you more intimately than anyone else, smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, as the guards lead him away.

“There’s a history, isn’t there?” You cross your arms over your chest. Nanami and Utahime—who had arrived almost as soon as Nanami had sent word—look at each other. “Between the captain and Satoru, and—and you two and Satoru. Tell me.”

It’s been two hours since Satoru was arrested. Two hours of restless pacing, your mind running in frantic circles and your hands clenching and unclenching as you tried to come up with a plan—any plan—that didn’t result in you standing at the end of a sword.

Nanami had stopped you before you could even try to follow the captain and his soldiers. “That’s suicide,” he had told you, his voice low but firm. “You wouldn’t make it past the castle gates.” He had barely convinced you to stay. But the truth was, you wouldn’t have made it far. Not when Geto had given you just one day to gather your things, buy what you needed from the capital, and leave. Leave. The word itches under your skin. You had nodded shakily when Captain Geto had told you as much. But even as you agreed, you knew. You’re not leaving—not while Satoru is to be executed.

Nanami sighs. “It’s not something you need to involve yourself in.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you snap.

Utahime shifts beside him, arms crossed. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“I don’t care,” you argue. “Satoru is in a cell somewhere, waiting to be executed, and you’re acting like it’s already over.” You take a step closer. “But it’s not, is it? Because if it were, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Fine,” the tailor says. Nanami opens his mouth to protest, but she gives him a look and he stays silent. She leans against the table, fingers drumming on the wood, and takes a deep breath before she starts:

“We were all soldiers once. Me, Nanami, our friends Shoko and Haibara, Geto, and Gojo. We trained together. We fought together. We thought we’d die together. And some of us did. Haibara—he was the youngest of us. Too kind, too trusting—” her jaw tightens— “and he shouldn’t have been sent on that mission. Gojo and Geto were the best of us. The strongest. That strength made them invaluable, but it also put them close to the former captain of the Royal Guard.”

“The First Commander?” you ask.

Nanami nods, his expression darkening. “After Haibara’s death, Geto and Gojo… They changed. Geto became more distant, more dissociated from all the blood and the killing. Gojo became more reckless. At first, we thought it was just grief. Losing Haibara—it did something to all of us. But Geto and Gojo… they were different. They knew something we didn’t.”

Utahime shifts uncomfortably. “They spent more and more time with the First Commander. We didn’t think much of it. He was a brilliant strategist, and they were his best soldiers—it made sense that he’d favour them. Then, one day, while we were busy sparring at the training grounds near the east wing, Geto and the First Commander came up to us. They said—they said that they’ve entrusted us with a new mission: To find and kill Gojo Satoru.”

Your blood runs cold. “...What?”

“We didn’t know why,” Nanami says, grimly. “We still don’t. But we didn’t have a choice, so we played along. We followed his trail, but we never got too close—we made sure of it. Geto was the only one who really cared; the rest of us couldn’t stomach killing our friend.” He lets loose a breath, shoulders slumping. “Eventually, we got sent away for being too incompetent. I took over my father’s shop. Utahime became a tailor. Shoko moved to another kingdom to practice medicine.”

“And Satoru became the kingdom’s most wanted criminal,” you finish for him.

“Yes.” The man sounds tired, resigned when he says it. “The former captain of the Royal Guard became the First Commander—he is the current king’s elder brother, after all—and Geto rose in the ranks to become the new captain. The late queen passed away, and the king’s health deteriorated rapidly, until the First Commander was forced to rule in his name.”

Your head spins with all this information. There must be more to this story—there has to be. Satoru couldn’t have become a notorious thief for no reason. Geto Suguru couldn’t possibly have still been hunting for him if there wasn’t something Satoru knew. Something invaluable. How does the crown tie into this? Satoru must have stolen it for a reason. What could he gain from stealing the royal family’s most priceless heirloom, other than a grand amount of money? You know Satoru wouldn’t have stolen the crown just for the fun of it.

You’re missing something. Something crucial. You just need to figure out what. But first, you need to save the thief who showed you the world beyond the borders of your village.

Nanami exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. His expression remains blank, but there’s something tense about the way his fingers curl into a fist before he forces them to relax. Utahime has her arms crossed, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves. They had hesitated before, unwilling to speak of the past, but you are nothing if not determined and stubborn.

“Do you guys know your way in and out of the palace?” You shift on your feet. The words leave your lips with urgency, and you don’t dare let yourself hope.

Utahime answers without hesitation. “Of course. I couldn’t forget it even if I tried.”

The certainty in her voice makes your chest loosen just the slightest bit. You chew on your lip, mind racing. The execution is set for tomorrow at sundown. The timing isn’t a coincidence—if your hunch is right, Captain Geto has chosen to use the lantern festival as a veil for the event. A celebration of light and joy to mask the bloodshed.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, the beginning threads of an idea weaving together in your mind. It’s reckless and dangerous, but what other choice do you have? “I have,” you say slowly, “a horse and a cat waiting for me outside the capital.”

Nanami’s brows furrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You allow yourself a small, wry smile. The plan forming in your head is far from perfect—it’s borderline absurd, really—but the best distractions are often the ones no one expects.

“What better way to cause a disruption at a crowded event,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “than by letting a massive warhorse go rogue?”

The lanterns haven’t been lit yet—there are still hours to go for that—but the festivities begin with pomp and affair, much like the evening before, when Satoru and you had danced in the town square. Laughter rings out in waves, warm and unrestrained, carried through the crisp summer air laced with the sweet scent of spiced cider and roasted chestnuts. Music swells from the centre of the town square, a lively melody played by nimble hands on well-worn strings, and for a moment, the festival feels untouchable—like something out of a dream.

Until a scream splits through the dusk. The first crack in the revelry appears as festival-goers stumble back, their joy crumbling into confusion, then alarm. The cobblestone streets tremble beneath the furious pounding of hooves, and the festival—once so bright and golden—erupts into chaos.

Like a demon birthed from light and flame, the beast arrives. A massive white warhorse, his snowy coat gleaming beneath the lamps’ glow, surges into the square, his reins flopping about his sides with no one there to ride him and his mane whipping about with the force of his gallops. His powerful frame barrels through the market stalls, hooves kicking up a storm of dirt and debris. A merchant barely dives out of the way as a cart of oranges topples over, spilling fruit across the street in a surge of gold and tangerine. The scent of crushed citrus only seems to amplify the panic.

Sukuna. Warhorse, menace, and a walking natural disaster. He rears up, hooves cutting through the air, and lets loose a shrill, defiant neigh that sends festival-goers scrambling. Children clutch at their mothers’ cloaks. Guards—once lazily stationed at their posts—snap to attention, hands flying to their weapons. Merchants abandon their wares, shouting frantically instead.

From the alleyway, you watch, heart hammering against your rib cage. The plan was simple. Let Sukuna loose. Create a distraction. Slip into the palace unnoticed. You were not, however, expecting this. Your eyes drift to where Nanami and Utahime stand, safely behind a water fountain, observing to make sure no real harm is caused and no one is actually injured. Utahime looks mildly shocked, while Nanami looks a little green.

Sukuna swings his massive head to an unfortunate vegetable vendor, plucks a perfectly round cabbage from the wreckage, chews it once, twice—and then hurls it full force at the nearest guard’s nether region. The cabbage makes impact with a resounding thud. The man crumples instantly. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, holding Megumi tightly against your chest with your other one. You’ve replaced Utahime’s gown with your tunic and trousers from before and a pair of sturdy boots; it’s easier to move and hide the cat against your chest by covering him with your cloak. Your pack rests against your shoulders, filled to the brim with all your supplies.

The horse pivots, tail lashing as he sends a stack of pastries flying with a single, well-placed kick. Cream-filled tarts arc through the air, and one particularly unlucky festival-goer takes a hit directly to the face, stumbling backwards in stunned silence. The panic spreads like fire through dry brush. Flower stands topple as people shove their way through the square, knocking over barrels and baskets in their desperate attempts to flee. Musicians abandon their instruments, their once-lively tunes now replaced by the erratic clang of an overturned drum.

You press further into the shadows, gripping Megumi a little tighter. “Alright,” you whisper, gaze darting to the now-abandoned palace gates. “This is our chance.”

The cat flicks his tail against your arm, but doesn’t resist when you set him down. He slinks forward, paws silent against the stone. You take one last glance towards the town square—where Nanami and Utahime are watching Sukuna with the expressions of a duo questioning every single life decision they’ve ever made—before slipping out of the alley.

The plan had been reckless from the start. Nanami had called it suicidal. Utahime had looked moments away from smacking you when you first suggested sneaking into the palace alone. But when it became clear you wouldn’t be swayed, she’d relented, pressing a map into your hands and tracing a single, hidden path with her fingertip.

“The old passageway beneath the garden wall,” she had told you. “Hardly anyone remembers it exists—except for Geto, maybe, but he won’t be looking for you. It leads you straight through the kitchens and towards the prison underground.”

From this distance, the palace looms like a beast sleeping beneath the stars, its many towers and arching spires silhouetted against the deep blue of the sky. The golden sconces hanging from its walls cast a warm glow, creating long shadows that dance across the stone. Behind you, beyond the square, the festival rages on despite the commotion Sukuna caused. With a population this big, a simple horse won’t stop the people from celebrating—no, Sukuna had done his job well. You don’t hesitate in front of the palace. Hesitation means death.

The main gates are impossible—too well-guarded and exposed. But Utahime had spoken of another way, a smaller side entrance used for deliveries that leads you straight to the garden. It’s tucked away in the farthest corner of the palace grounds. The guards stationed there have been pulled towards the chaos in the square, just as planned. Still, you move carefully.

The shadows are your only ally as you press yourself to the outer walls, each step as silent as you can be. Megumi slinks beside you, nothing more than a wisp in the darkness with a half-torn ear, his sharp green eyes scanning for movement. You follow the curve of the stone wall, past ivy-covered archways and gushing marble fountains, until—

There. A wooden gate, half-hidden behind overgrown vines. You reach for the iron handle, fingers curling around the cool metal. You push against it with your shoulder, and it gives. The gate swings open just enough for you and Megumi to slip through, and then you’re inside the palace.

The palace gardens stretch before you in a maze of hedges and stone pathways. White roses bloom in the moonlight, petals pale as ghosts, their sweet scent thick and cloying. Marble statues of forgotten kings stand in silence, their hollow eyes seeming to follow you as you move. Somewhere beyond, you hear the distant murmur of voices—guards perhaps, manning the main halls. But here, amidst the leaves and the flowers, you are alone.

You weave through the bushes, careful not to let your cloak catch on thorns. The path Utahime described had been clear in your mind before, but now, with the pressure to get Satoru out as quickly as possible increasing with every beat of your heart, the details feel hazy. A fountain, an old tree, and then the passage.

The fountain comes first, its water glimmering like molten silver under the moonlight. You crouch low, pressing yourself against its cool stone base, scanning the area. There’s no one around. A few paces ahead, a twisted oak rises from the ground, its gnarled roots stretching across the earth like reaching fingers. Its bark is scarred, and its branches are half-bare despite the season—just as Utahime had said.

Your pulse quickens. At the base of the tree, partially covered by weeds and wildflowers, a patch of stone juts out at an odd angle. Unlike the rest of the carefully arranged stone tiles in the garden, this one looks out of place—covered by dirt and worn by time. You drop to your knees and press your fingers against the surface. There is a slight shift, a breadth of space where there should be none.

This is it. With a careful push, the stone gives way, revealing a dark opening beneath the roots. The air that rushes out is humid and damp, as though it has not been stirred in years. You glance at Megumi. “Well,” you whisper to no one in particular. “There’s no turning back now.”

You drop legs-first into the hidden passageway. The moment your boots hit the ground, the world above seems to shrink away, muffled by layers of soil and stone. The darkness here is absolute. It presses in from all sides, thick and mawkish, the kind that swallows light and sound alike. For a moment, you do nothing but breathe, your fingers braced against the rough tunnel walls. The air is damp and stale, carrying the scent of moss, old stone, and something faintly metallic—like rain-soaked iron.

In front of you, Megumi lands soundlessly, his lithe form slipping into the darkness easily. You hear the soft thump of paws against dirt, then nothing. If not for the glint of his sharp eyes, or the way he presses his body against your leg, he might as well have disappeared.

Your fingers find the small lantern strapped to your belt. You turn the wick as low as it will go before striking the flint. A tiny ember flares, then blooms into a soft, flickering glow, just enough to illuminate the path ahead. The tunnel stretches forward, curving out of sight, its ceiling low enough that you have to crouch slightly to keep moving.

The walls here are old—older than the palace above, maybe even older than the kingdom itself. Stones worn smooth by time line the passage, their edges softened by centuries of damp air and creeping roots. In some places, cracks have formed, letting in faint sounds from the world above—the distant echoes of music and cheering from the lantern festival. Each sound feels impossibly far away, as if the tunnel exists in a world entirely separate from the one above.

You move forward carefully, your steps light on the uneven ground. Megumi pads ahead, his tail lifted in the air. The path narrows, forcing you to squeeze between the crumbling walls, and then widens again.

The passage spits you out into a vast, cavernous room, its ceiling arched and lined with thick wooden beams. Dust floats in the lantern’s dim glow, stirred by your arrival. Wooden barrels sit stacked in rows along the far wall, their formerly pristine surfaces marred by age and neglect. Bottles of aged wine and forgotten casks of ale sit upon the rotting shelves, relics of a time when this place had been used for more than secrecy. You drag your fingers across one of the barrels as you pass, feeling the rough texture of splintered wood beneath your touch.

Somewhere above, a faint creak echoes through the ceiling—a floorboard shifting beneath weight. Your breath stills. Someone is walking the halls above. You and Megumi freeze in place, listening. Silence.

Whoever it was is gone now. But the reminder is clear: You’re inside the palace now. You are running out of time. Exhaling slowly, you move to the far end of the cellar, where Utahime had said the servants’ door would be. The wood is warped with age, but when you press your shoulder against it, it gives way with a quiet groan. Beyond it, a narrow stairway spirals upwards. At the top lies the palace kitchens—and beyond that, the key you need to free Satoru.

You unsling your pack, shifting it in your arms, and step cautiously into the palace kitchens. The air is thick with the scent of past meals—roasted meats, cinnamon, and something rich and spiced. The massive hearth smoulders with dying embers, glowing orange.

The kitchen is deserted, just as Utahime had said it would be. Most of the palace staff must have gone to watch the festival, or—more conveniently for you—to see whatever disaster Sukuna had caused in the square.

Still, you don’t take any chances. You straighten your back, undo the strings of your pack, and heft it in your arms like a sack. Striding forward, you lift your chin as though you belong here. Megumi flits past your feet, disappearing underneath one of the heavy wooden tables.

The ruse almost works—until just as you near the door leading out of the kitchen, footsteps sound from the far hallway. You freeze for only a moment before forcing your limbs to loosen. With a quick breath, you throw a mild look of annoyance onto your face, shift the pack higher onto your hip, and march forward. The door swings open and you nearly collide with a harried-looking cook. He’s a broad-shouldered man with a walrus moustache, apron stained with what looks like a day’s worth of work, and he stops short when he sees you.

“You—who are you?” His moustache quivers. His eyes flick to the open bag in your arms, filled with a hastily gathered of carrots, leeks, and a single sad-looking turnip.

You let out an exasperated huff. “Finally,” you say, injecting the right amount of irritation into your voice. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get these here?”

“What?”

“The town square’s a disaster! Some lunatic set a warhorse loose! I had to take the long way around the outer walls just to get here, and by the time I arrived at the usual gate, no one was there to let me in.” You shake your pack for emphasis. “Thought I was going to have to eat these myself. You’re lucky I even bothered.”

The cook eyes you suspiciously, but your complaint sounds mundane enough to be true. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “The gods are testing me tonight. Fine, fine, put them on the table. But be quick about it.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter under your breath, making a show of stomping towards the long wooden table in the center of the kitchen. You set your pack down with a decisive thud, dusting your hands afterwards for good measure. The cook is already distracted, grumbling to himself as he turns towards the fire. You take the opportunity to scan the room, eyes landing on a rack of pots and pans hanging next to the hearth.

A weapon. Your fingers itch. It’s not that you’re planning to hit someone, but it’s always good to be prepared. And you wouldn’t exactly be the first person to use a frying pan as a last-minute means of self-defense; you’ve heard of tales of the princess of a neighbouring kingdom escaping her tower where she was kept imprisoned with nothing but a chameleon for company and a frying pan for safety.

Without hesitating, you grab one from the rack, testing its weight in your hand. It’s sturdy. Heavy enough to knock a man out cold if necessary. You slide it under your arm, keeping it close as you edge your way towards the door.

“Oi.”

You stop. The cook is watching you again. You lift the pan slightly. “Borrowing this.”

His moustache quivers again. “For what?”

“To use,” you say vaguely. “Surely I deserve it after having brought you your vegetables despite all the trials and tribulations I faced along the way.”

“You know what? I don’t want to know. Just get the Hell out of my kitchen.”

You don’t need to be told twice. With a slight nod, you make your way towards the hall, Megumi slipping out from his hiding place to follow at your heels. The moment you’re out of sight, you tighten your grip on the pan and let out a slow, relieved breath.

You’ve done it. You’ve infiltrated the palace.

The halls stretch before you, long and gilded, lined with tapestries and portraits. The marble beneath your feet gleams even in the dim torchlight, and the walls are carved with intricate patterns of swirling gold, catching the flicker of flames like veins of molten fire.

It really is beautiful. A shame you don’t have the time to appreciate it.

Satoru had spoken of this palace with an almost begrudging sort of fondness, describing the soaring ceiling and the endless hallways. He’d said that it was too grand and gaudy, but his voice had betrayed him. Maybe, if things were different, you’d have let yourself stop for a moment; might have run your fingers over the carved archways or peeked behind the heavy velvet curtains just to see if what he had said is true.

But right now, Satoru is locked in a cage beneath all this finery, and if you didn’t move fast enough, he’d stay there.

So you force your gaze away from all this grandeur and press forward, Megumi keeping pace beside you. The entrance to the underground prison is right where Nanami had explained it would be—tucked away at the end of a long corridor, next to the life-size portrait of the late queen. A single guard stands watch, leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

It’s almost insulting. You’d expected some kind of resistance, but clearly, the festival is a grander affair than you thought it’d be, given the fact that the entire palace is mercifully empty. (Take that, Gojo, you think. It’s not just some stupid, fucking dream.)

The guard is young, barely older than you, and his helmet is tilted back on his head like he doesn’t expect to actually need it. A ring of keys hangs from a nail on the wall beside him, just out of his immediate reach. You exhale slowly. It has to be fast.

You step forward, letting your footfalls become just loud enough to catch his attention. The guard startles, straightening as his hand drifts to the sword at his hip. “You’re not supposed to be—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish. Before he can react, you swing the frying pan. There’s a thunk as the cast iron connects with his temple, and his expression shifts from alarm to blank surprise before his knees buckle beneath him. He falls to the floor, out cold before he even hits the ground. For a moment, you just stand there, blinking down at his unconscious form.

“Okay,” you mutter. “That actually worked.” Megumi lets out an unimpressed meow.

You shake off the momentary shock and step over the fallen guard, reaching for the keys. They’re cold in your hand as you lift them from the nail, heavier than you expected.. You kneel, looping a thin cord you’d kept in your pocket through the keyring before carefully tying it around Megumi’s neck. The metal dangles against his dark fur, catching the light as it sways with the feline’s movement. Megumi flicks his ears.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, scratching behind his ears in silent apology. “You’re the only one small enough to slip through the bars. Go save Gojo, yeah? I’ll let you use him as a mattress for the rest of your life if you do.”

You glance toward the heavy wooden door leading to the prison. You can already feel the cold draft seeping through the hinges. Satoru is waiting—and you’re almost there.

The moment Megumi slips through the prison door, you press yourself against the cold stone wall, every muscle in your body coiled tight. Now comes the hardest part: Waiting.

The silent stretches, suffocating. The distant echoes of the lantern festival feel like they belong to another world entirely—one where people are laughing, dancing, reveling underneath lantern-lit skies. But here, away from all the joyousness, in the belly of the beast, the air is still. You tighten your grip on the frying pan, the only weapon you have, though you’re not sure how much use it’ll be if someone really finds you. The minutes drag, each one more agonising than the last, and you fight the urge to start pacing.

What’s taking so long? Did Megumi make it inside? Did Satoru get the keys? Did something— A sudden, ear-splitting clang echoes from the prison depths—and then, footsteps. Heavy, fast, running. Before you can brace yourself, the door bursts open.

Gojo Satoru is a blur of white and shackles and laughter, stumbling forward as if he can’t believe the oxygen he’s breathing is real. Megumi bounds after him. The thief’s hair is a mess, his clothes rumpled from captivity, and the iron cuffs that once bound his wrists now dangle uselessly from one hand with the lock wrenched open.

He stops, just for a moment, breathing heavily, and then— “Oh.”

He reaches for you. Strong arms reach around you, lifting you clean off your feet before you can protest. He spins you once, laughter bubbling from his chest, the sound bright and alive and so him that your heart lurches.

“You’re brilliant, did you know?” he says, breathless, grinning into your hair. “My beautiful, clever girl.”

Heat rushes to your face, but before you can come up with anything resembling a response, he pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands settle firm at your waist, fingers pressing into you as if he needs to ground himself, needs to believe that you’re real.

“You actually did it,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as if the realisation is still settling in. His eyes—so much brighter now that he’s not sentenced to imminent death—roam your face, searching. “You came for me.”

“Of course I did,” you say, and there’s a conviction to your voice that you didn’t know you were capable of. “What, did you think I was going to leave you in there?”

Satoru lets out a breath that could almost be a laugh. His fingers tighten just slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Nah,” he says. “You love me too much for that.”

You would have smacked him for that, but Megumi hisses in warning, and—

A slow, deliberate clap shatters the moment. The sound echoes through the empty corridor. Satoru stiffens. You twist in his arms, and there, standing at the entrance to the corridor, framed by torchlight, is Geto Suguru.

He is calm. He is composed. His uniform is pristine, untouched by the madness of the outside world. Something about the way he stands—the way his eyes glint—tells you that he had been expecting this.

“Oh, my,” Geto says, dark amusement curling at the edges of his voice. “What a touching reunion.”

He doesn’t lunge, doesn’t rush—simply tilts his head, fingers shifting ever-so slightly around the hilt of the sword sheathed at his waist. But that is enough. Satoru reacts immediately.

“Time to go,” he says, and before you can even register it, his hand grips yours and pulls.

You break out into a run, Megumi bounding alongside you both. Your feet barely touch the polished marble floors as you tear through the hallway. Satoru’s grip is firm, unyielding, tugging you forward even as your heartbeat roars in your ears.

The palace corridors blur past in streaks of gold and shadow. The vast, open walls, formerly filled with the hum of courtly affairs and the soft shuffle of silk-clad nobles, now echo with the rhythm of your own footsteps. The grandeur, the impossible opulence—none of it matters now. The only thing that does is putting as much distance between you and the man behind you.

Geto does not rush, but you feel him there, just beyond the edges of your vision. He moves like inevitability, his steps unhurried, the soft tap of his boots against stone barely audible over the breathless pace Satoru sets.

Left. Satoru veers sharply, nearly yanking you off balance as he takes a turn down a narrower passageway. The walls here loom closer, lined with paintings depicting long-forgotten wars and rulers whose names history has nearly erased. Megumi races ahead, his black fur a blur against the dim light, navigating the twisting hallways with a hunter’s instinct.

“Where—” you barely manage, lungs burning— “are we going?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. His grip tightens around your wrist, fingers warm despite the chill in the air. Then, finally: “The throne room.”

You nearly stumble. “The what?”

“Best place to corner him.” He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite the speed at which you’re moving. “No exits. Just him and me.”

“That’s a terrible plan!”

“Oh? Got a better one, beautiful?”

You don’t. Not one that doesn’t involve getting caught. Another turn. Another impossibly long hallway. The walls here are different—sleek, dark stone rather than marble, lined with towering pillars that stretch high into the vaulted ceiling. This is the heart of the castle, you realise. The oldest part. The place where power has been passed from one ruler to the next, where history has been carved into the very foundations. The entrance to the throne room looms ahead. Twin doors. Impossibly tall, made of dark oak reinforced with gold filigree. The sigils of the royal bloodline are carved into them, worn smooth from centuries of rule.

Megumi reaches it first. He doesn’t slow—just slips through the narrow gap left ajar. Satoru doesn’t stop running, either. He shoves against the heavy doors, and they groan open, the vast chamber beyond yawning wide to swallow you whole.

The throne room is silent. No guards. No nobles. Just tall stone columns, high windows that cast fractured moonlight against the polished floors, a row of swords hanging on the far end of the wall, and the lone, empty throne that sits at the far end of the chamber. Your stomach drops when you see what’s placed on the throne’s seat.

The crown. Geto Suguru has expected this to happen—had planned for it, even. All for what?

Satoru releases your wrist just as the doors slam shut behind you. The sound of approaching footsteps makes you whip around so quickly, you nearly lose grip of the handle of the frying pan. Satoru turns, unhurried, a smile curling at the edges of his lips even before Geto steps into the dim light.

“How predictable,” the captain drawls. His fingers roll the hilt of his sword idly, his gaze sweeping from the empty throne to Satoru, to you. “Well played, Satoru. But I’m afraid this game is already over.”

He doesn’t move in a rush—not in the reckless, desperate way of a man eager to end a fight—but with slow steps. The grip on his sword remains loose, casual, as if he’s hardly concerned. As if this is nothing more than a simple conversation. Satoru backs up, just as measured, retreating step by step towards the far wall where the swords hang in an orderly row. You stay still, carefully stepping away, Megumi hiding behind your legs. This is not your fight to partake in; you know this because the captain barely glances your way.

“You’ve always been stubborn,” Geto says, tilting his head as his boots click against the floor. “All those years, running in circles, chasing shadows. Looking for something that was right in front of you the entire time.”

“I don’t know,” says Satoru, almost lazily. “I think I was more preoccupied with avoiding your assassination attempts.”

Geto chuckles. “Come now, old friend. I gave you plenty of warning.”

“Oh, sure. That time you nearly poisoned my drink?” Satoru grins manically. “Tell me, was that your idea, or were you merely using the First Commander as inspiration?”

Your breath hitches. The First Commander?

The laughter in Geto’s expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was doing what I had to do. Look at me now, Gojo. I’m the Captain of the Royal Guard, while you’re just a fugitive with no place to call home. This could’ve been your position, had you not decided to be so fucking righteous.”

“Right. It’s my fault for finding out that the First Commander murdered the late queen.”

Everything clicks into place. Nanami had mentioned that the First Commander was the current king’s older brother—the current king, who has been severely ill for the past decade, who hasn’t been seen in the public eye ever since, because he was supposedly on permanent bedrest. Your heartbeat quickens. Just how much rot is this kingdom hiding behind the rubies?

“Ah,” Satoru continues. “I’m forbidden from speaking of it, aren’t I?”

The captain’s jaw ticks, but his smirk remains. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The thief scoffs. “Of course. Because it wasn’t you who told me to shut up about it instead of confronting the old man. To turn a blind eye, to let it happen ‘cause it was—what did you say?—bigger than us.” He laughs, sharp and humourless. “How’s that working out for you, Suguru?”

“Still so naïve.”

“And you’re still so blind,” Satoru throws back. He reaches behind him, grabbing the nearest sword from the wall, and swings it down. “What was it, again? The commander deserved the throne because he was older? Because the king was too soft? Because it was for the good of the kingdom?” His voice drips with mockery. “Come on, Suguru. Give me that speech again. I loved that speech.”

Geto’s fingers shift on the hilt of his sword. “You never understood.”

“Oh, I understood perfectly,” Satoru snaps. “The commander couldn’t sit on his hands and wait for fate to hand him what he thought was his. So he took matters into his own poison-stained hands. And you let him.”

Silence stretches between them, thick as fog, pressing against the walls. You swallow hard, watching the way Geto’s jaw sets.

“We’ve had this conversation before, right before you decided to rat me out,” he continues. “We both knew. We knew he was killing them.”

Geto’s eyes flash. “And what was I supposed to do, Satoru? Fight back? Get myself executed like you nearly did? The commander had already won the moment the queen died.”

“The queen,” Satoru seethes, “who had a son, Suguru. The trueborn heir to the throne. The very thing the commander feared most.”

Geto’s lips part—then press into a thin line. There. There it is. The missing piece, the lock to the key.

Satoru takes a step forward, lifting the sword in his hand. “That’s what broke you, isn’t it?” His voice is softer now, but not kind. “You could stomach the poison. You could stomach the lies. But when he tried to kill the baby, that was when you hesitated.”

“I thought you were dead,” Geto says, almost conversationally. “When you ran. The first few months when they declared you a fugitive, I thought you wouldn’t make it. And yet, here you are.”

“I am very hard to kill.”

“That, you are.”

They move at the same time. Steel clashes in a burst of sparks, the force of the impact ringing through the cavernous throne room. Satoru twists, parrying the next strike with ease, but Geto presses forward, forcing him back towards the dais. They circle each other, two hunters hunting each other. You tighten your grip on the frying pan—though it might be rendered useless given the situation.

“You were so convinced you could save him,” Geto murmurs, keeping his blade pointed at Satoru’s chest. “That you could find the heir, put him on the throne, and somehow make this kingdom right again.”

“And you were so convinced that I wouldn’t,” Satoru says. “It took a while, but I managed to steal the crown, didn’t I? The late queen—may she rest in peace—was clever. It was tough trying to figure it out—that the clue rested upon what belonged to the true heir.”

“Clever, indeed. But not clever enough. You see, I’ve already figured it all out.” Geto lunges again, blade flashing. Satour meets him mid-strike. They push against each other, each testing the other’s strength, neither giving way.

“You think you’ve won just because you found the crown?” Geto taunts. “Because you figured out the queen’s little riddle? It changes nothing.”

“No, Suguru. It changes everything.” Satoru grins, eyes alight with someone reckless. He shifts his weight, twisting free of Geto’s grip, and swings his sword in a sharp arc. Geto blocks it, but just barely—his foot skids slightly against the polished marble, his balance momentarily off. Satoru seizes the opening, pressing forward with quick, calculated strikes.

The clang of their swords echoes, the only sound save for your own shallow breaths. You inch closer to Megumi, keeping him shielded behind you, even as you cannot tear your eyes away from the fight.

“You were there that night,” Satoru bites out in between strikes, “when the commander told us of his plan for the queen’s son to be killed.” His blade swings, forcing Geto another step back. “You heard the order.” A sharp clash. “You almost let it happen.” Another blow. “And you knew I wouldn’t.”

Geto parries the next attack with more force, forcing Satoru back. “I told you to let it go. I told you it was too late.”

“And I told you to go fuck yourself!” Satoru fires back. He dodges another strike easily, as though his years of training as a soldier have not left his body despite the disuse of sword-fighting.

“You should’ve joined me,” he says. “We could’ve risen the ranks together. Fixed things together.”

“Fixed things? You wanted to erase the truth. I wanted to bring it back.” Satoru’s eyes narrow. “That’s why you never killed me, isn’t it? Because some part of you—some part of you—wanted me to prove you wrong.”

A flicker of something crosses Geto’s face. A hesitation. A second too long. Satoru moves. His blade sweeps low, and Geto barely has the time to block before he’s forced back again, this time nearly stumbling. His boot scrapes against the first step of the dais, right in front of the empty throne—mere paces away from where you’re standing, clutching your frying pan like it’s a lifeline. Satoru stops, standing just a few feet away, his own sword lowered slightly, his breathing steady.

Geto exhales slowly, eyes shadowed, and then—finally—he laughs. Low; amused; dark. “You always were the best, Satoru,” he says. “I’ll give you that. But I’ve figured it out too. The queen’s secret. The heir’s true identity.”

Satoru’s expression doesn’t waver. “Oh?”

A slow smile spreads across Geto’s face. “Okkotsu Yuta is his name,” he says.

You take a step forward. Geto continues, “The last remaining royal—”

Another step. “—was raised as—”

Another step; this time, you raise your arms over your head. “—a low-life peasant on the border between our kingdom and the next.”

CLANG!

Geto Suguru’s mouth slackens. His eyes go cross-eyed before he crumples to the floor, unconscious. Satoru blinks. His eyes dart up to meet yours.

You stand over the captain of the Royal Guard’s stupefied body, the frying pan gripped so tightly in your hands, the handle digs into your palms. “...Oops?”

Satoru exhales—a sound caught between disbelief and sheer delight—before throwing his head back with a bark of laughter. “You,” he says, stepping over Geto’s unconscious form, “are fucking amazing. And here I was, thinking I’d have to duel him for longer.”

You lower the frying pan, shoulders sagging slightly as the adrenaline ebbs. “Yeah, well, you were taking too long.”

He drops the sword; it falls to the floor with a resounding thud. You grimace. Satoru wraps his arms around you, melting into you as though drained of all his energy. You lean against him, as well. It’s not over yet—the First Commander is still alive, the king’s health is still failing, the heir is still unaware of his royal lineage, and the kingdom’s fate is uncertain.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, after Megumi weaves about in between your legs. “We might be able to catch a glimpse of the last bit of the lantern festival if we’re lucky.”

You pull back slightly, brows knit together in a frown. “Aren’t you tired? You should be resting!”

“Nah.” He grins. “What sort of man would I be if I brought you all the way to the capital and didn’t let you see your dream?”

“But—”

“Tomorrow. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You give in. How could you not?

The river glows with the reflections of a thousand golden lanterns, each one a drifting star against the darkened water. Somewhere beyond the riverbanks, the kingdom rejoices, but here—adrift in a tiny wooden boat, far removed from the noise and the world—it is quiet. It is just you and Satoru, bathed in the warm glow of floating light. You trace your fingers along the delicate paper lantern in your lap, the thin parchment almost translucent beneath your touch. Satoru watches you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Make a wish,” he tells you.

You let your lips turn upwards, closing your eyes. The lantern lifts into the air. It floats upwards, joining the sea of golden light that drifts towards the heavens. Beside you, Satoru releases his own, head tilted back to watch it rise, the glow reflected in the blue of his eyes. For a long while, you don’t speak. The world has never felt so hushed, so suspended in time.

Then, he turns to you, the shimmer of the lanterns casting his face in soft gold. “I think,” he says, “I have a dream too.”

“Really? Tell me.”

He leans in instead, and his lips press against yours—warm, certain, like the promise of something endless. Overhead, the lanterns continue their slow, drifting ascent, rising higher, higher, until they are nothing but distant constellations in the dark.

It feels like stardust.

⇢ a/n: @mahowaga & @admiringlove, you both know who you are. thank you, as well, to kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic, giving me invaluable feedback, and letting me ramble about this fic to them; i appreciate you endlessly. and, of course, thank you, dear reader, for reading this behemoth of a fic :) i hope you have a wonderful day! sidenote: due to tumblr’s paragraph limit, several paragraphs that were written as separate word blocks had to be combined into one in order to make it fit in one post. to read it with the original formatting, as it was written in my google docs, ao3 would definitely offer you a better experience!

#tbr #fic rec #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru angst

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