ureksbaby

[ureksbaby]

love's curse

summary : sukuna is a loveless being, yet you loved him anyway

type : short fic

w.c : 434

warnings : unhealthy relationship dynamic, angst

sukuna isn't capable of love.

you know, and yet still, you cling to him like a lost lamb.

you had loved sukuna ever since he took you in as a servent.

growing up, you had been deprived of love. an unfortunate child, you were labelled as cursed after your mother died to the childbed. but after burning down your entire village, leaving you as the only survivor, he had studied you.

"you're somewhat pretty. i suppose you'll do."

it was the first bit of praise you had received. it filled you with warmth (or was that the flames of your village?) and so you followed him happily from that day onwards.

it seems silly, to cling to a curse in hopes they might one day love you the same. it seems silly to love a curse at all. it is silly: a curse is the epitome of negative emotions, and sukuna is the king of them all.

loving a curse only hurts.

sukuna let you cling to him. he enjoyed the attention, the reverence, the worship. he was a king - why shouldn't he be showered in these things? and sukuna knew how to string you along. he knew to hold onto you just tight enough to leave a mark, but never tight enough to keep you secure. so that you could see the mark and miss it and chase it and never let him go for good.

he holds you in bed for a moment, after fucking you senseless and relieving himself of any built up tension. wickedly, he cranes his head and kisses you on the forehead. it was so gentle that you could have imagined it.

if love hurts, could it be considered positive? maybe a curse's love was just a negative one. maybe sukuna loves you.

he moves to leave and you cling to him again. you hold his arm, digging your talons in. you won't let him leave,

"won't you stay? just this once?"

he pulls out from your hold. wordless. he won't even think of an excuse to not stay.

and with that, he leaves you. he leaves you in a naked mess of loneliness, scorn and shame. so much so that it burns you from the inside out. if you were to die in this moment, you are sure you would become the most fearsome curse alive. you understand why hatred is just on the other side of the coin to love.

but still, you're cursed with loving him. so when he returns, with sweet words and musings, you'll bend to his will, just like you always do.

[ureksbaby]

little things

summary : gojo loves the little moments with you

w.c : 934

type : short fic

gojo comes home to the smell of your cooking. it’s one of the few consistent things about the chaos of his life. while the smell may be different each day, it reminds him of his hunger; it brings a comfort in knowing that you were prepared for that.

he kicks off his shoes and hangs his jacket up on the hooks that you had insisted on putting on the wall by the door. they’re a little crooked, you had put them up yourself, and despite him telling you that the two of you have no need for them, he uses them every single day. whether that’s because you were right or because he chooses to humour you is constantly up for debate between the two of you.

he walks down the hallway to the kitchen, unsurprised to see you at the stove, sporting the ‘will cook for sex’ apron he had bought you for christmas one year. you had squealed and told him that he was so crude. still, you were wearing it every time he walked through the door. you tell him it’s only because you don’t want to get your clothes dirty and that you have no other aprons. he knows that you keep your plain, less ‘crude’ aprons at the back of the cupboard under the stairs for when your family visit.

he watches you for a few moments, as you quietly hum his favourite song. you’re no good of a singer, but he loves to hear it anyway.

“smells amazing my smoochums.” he sings from the doorway, making you jump. you swirl on your toes, turning to face him with a beaming smile on your face, completely unfazed at this point by the cringy nicknames he tries to give you,

“ah, satoru! you’re home.” you cheer, putting down your tongs and crossing the expansive kitchen to kiss him on the cheek. your lipgloss always sticks to his skin, but he waits for you to turn back to your cooking before wiping it off with the back of his hand. he follows you back to the stove, wrapping his arms around your waist as you cook.

he knows it’s probably no help having him cling to you while you’re trying to work, but you never complain,

“how was your day?” you ask him, stirring the broth in the pot with a practiced hand. he shrugs,

“it was fine: nothing too crazy. although… the first years ruined my shirt.” he tells you. you titter,

“i hope you didn’t ask for them to pay for it.” you muse and he squawks

“why shouldn’t they? they spilt coffee on my lovely new shirt!” he laments, pretending to cry into your shoulder. you reach around and pat his head pityingly

“we’ll try and get it dry-cleaned. and if that doesn’t work, i’ll buy you a new one.” you say sweetly. he laughs,

“and with what money are you going to do that with?” he asks teasingly. you flick his forehead

“yours, of course.” you joke, grin ever-present on your face, “but you’ll have the privilege of having a shirt picked out by me. it’ll be even better than the one that got coffee-d.”

he whines,

“are you insulting my fashion sense?”

you raise an eyebrow, gesturing to the apron you were wearing,

“yes.” you say simply, but he knows it’s in jest. removing his arms from your waist, you wave him away, “now go sit down! dinner’s almost ready.”

he does as he’s told, sitting down at the table in his usual spot, sat in front of the pink placemat that simply read ‘sugartits’. bringing over the food, you place his in front of him and sit down opposite him at your own ‘massive penis’ placemat. evidently, it’s meant to be the other way around, but you had set them out wrong one time, and the two of you had found it so funny that it became tradition.

“thanks, i’m starving.” gojo comments, before digging in. there was never any need to hesitate when it came to your cooking.

you tell him about your day over dinner, as you always do and he listens. you tell him about all the little things you got up to, acting out stories. you inadvertently slow down your eating as you talk and he slows his down too, despite how hungry he is, so that he can keep listening to you without you ever becoming aware that you had slowed down in the first place.

it’s only small talk, but it doesn’t seem so small to gojo. it was pretty big to him.

he loves you.

when you finish eating, and he finishes with you at, conveniently, the same time, he takes the dishes and begins to wash them up. you follow him, drying the plates and putting them away. you chat away to each other even then, about nothing important, just happy to hear the sound of the other’s voice.

he helps you put away one of the bowls on the top shelf; he unties your apron and hangs it up for you; he kisses the top of your head and thanks you for dinner. you put his favourite show on; you let him rest his head on your lap while he watches; he gets into bed before you and notices that you had arranged his pillows in exactly the way he likes.

they're little things, he knows. but when you climb into bed beside him, immediately curling up into his side, fitting perfectly against him - he realises just how much he loves all of these little things.

[ureksbaby]

imagine cats the musical but instead the entire thing is baylord yama and his dogs

[ureksbaby]

is this love?

summary : urek mazino trying to understand love

type : short fic

w.c : 1k

urek thought he loved women. small women, tall women; quiet women, feisty women; weak women, strong women. urek would say that he had a space in his heart for all of them. he had space for those that didn’t know him well, and so adored him. he had space for those that did know him, and so didn't. it didn’t matter to him, his heart was an overflowing void ready to share its space with any and all.

he was shameless in his love. for why should he be ashamed? his love for women was pure. they were soft, strong, beautiful and worthy of protection from someone like him. he was so full of space to love, so he loved all women, without restraint, showering them in affection. he flirted and courted and dated like it was the only thing he was good at.

being the strongest in the tower garnered a man plenty of attention. there was never a lack of women willing to be on the receiving end of his love. he was kept busy with them, but if it grew boring, he still had plenty to spare for the women who were up for more of a chase. there was enough women to keep him occupied.

then, after he thought that he loved women, he thought that he loved garam. the jahad princess was beautiful, that was doubtless. she was powerful, kind, and just by nature. hidden away, with her two of the 13 month series, she knew how to handle herself - she would be able to handle him. when he met her on the floor of death, he was sure of it: she was the one for him.

but she rejected him, and though he tried to rekindle his previous love for all women, dating any other woman just didn’t do it for him. he couldn't dampen the love he felt with senseless dating anymore. surely, it must be garam.

urek thought he simply loved women. urek thought he loved garam jahad. urek thought his barren heart would forever be full of space for others to love.

until he met you.

urek didn't know what it was about you. you were only a regular, residing on the 53rd floor after giving up on your ascent of the tower. at first, there didn't seem to be anything particularly special about you, but somehow urek knew.

perhaps it was the way that, while others may have be blessed with sun-kissed skin, you shone greater and warmer than the sun itself. he wondered if all those that were beautiful had simply come into contact with you and you had shared your beauty with them, like the sun shares light with the moon. it felt sinful to look at you. all children are told not to stare at the sun, but he is unable to listen when the sun in question is you. if staring at you meant going blind, he would stare until the image of you was permanently burned into his memory.

others may call the moon beautiful, but urek was sure that the moon only moved the tides to show you your own reflection in the waves, to witness the beauty you shared with it.

perhaps it was the sound of your voice; the way it said his name, like birdsong. the way you greeted him after a long time apart, asked him about his journey. you always seemed so eager to hear about him, when all he wanted was to hear your voice until the end of time. even the tower seemed to still when you spoke, as if craning to listen. however, he would oblige you, only in hopes of making you laugh.

urek would gladly never hear anything ever again if it meant he could always be blessed by the melody of your laughter.

perhaps it was your kindness, your selflessness, your unending capacity to love what others may consider unlovable. he watched you nurture the smallest plants into the biggest and beautiful flowers (he would say most, but they would have to compete with you for that title). he watched you nurse the weakest of cubs on the 53rd floor, until they were hideous, ferocious beasts, yet you never cowered from their ugliness. you even loved him, letting him into your home: caring, doting, nurturing.

it was rotten work, loving him, urek was sure. selfishly, he would allow himself to soak in whatever bliss you had to offer him for as long as you were willing to draw him up a bath of it.

urek knew that he loved you. he was sure. he knew that he was surely in love when he presented you with a barracuda scale, a memento of his sobriquet

'a piece of me to keep you company while i'm away.' he had told you.

'i'll keep it close to my heart, then.' you had replied.

however, despite him being completely sure this time that he was in love with you, there was a nagging fear that remained. he had thought he loved all women; he had thought he loved garam; what if he only thought he knew he loved you?

he sought out the advice of those he could think to be helpful.

he asked yuri, what she thought of his love for you.

she had raised an eyebrow,

'you? love a regular? pfft, yeah right. that's just some weird perverted fantasy of yours.'

maybe yuri was right. it felt fantastical to be around you. it felt almost unreal. could any living being be so lucky?

he also asked garam.

she had scoffed,

'well, if your 'love' for me was anything to go by, then i wish the poor soul luck.'

was garam right? was being loved by him really such a curse?

finally, he asked baek ryun, confessing his troubles to his best friend,

baek ryun had sighed,

'i think you're asking the wrong people.'

ryun was right. he was asking the wrong people. he needed to ask you.

so, urek returned to you at your cottage on the 53rd floor, surrounded by the biggest and (not quite the most) beautiful flowers, guarded by hideous, ferocious beasts. he heard your greeting of welcome like bird song when he entered. he took in your beauty that shone with all the intensity of the sun when he laid eyes on you. with his overflowing heart now void of any space left for loving anything else in the world, he asked you,

'y/n, is this love?'

to which you smiled, cradling his face in your tender, loving hands, and simply replied:

'yes.'

[ureksbaby]

i think that life would be better if enryu made an appearance

[ureksbaby]

khun: i'm not in love with baam also khun, first thing after waking up from a coma: so where's baam?