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yandere-daydreams · 2 months

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file #2: the amputation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!gojo satoru x reader (jjk).

length: 2.9k.

warnings: non/con, amputation, unhealthy relationships, abusive relationships, obsessive behavior, amputation (no injury to reader in fic), handjobs, masturbation, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Babydoll? You wanna let me in?”

A beat of silence, a light knock. You stayed where you were, crumpled on the bathroom floor, and Satoru sighed.

“C’mon, angel. I can’t help from all the way out here.”

You clenched your bloody arm closer, pulling your knees up to your chest. An orange-tinted, half-emptied pill container sat lidless and on its side next to you. Shoko’s pills took care of the worst of the pain, but a steady, persistent throbbing had lodged itself in the knob that used to be your wrist and refused to let-up. It probably wouldn’t for the next hour, if not the next day.

“I can’t take you to see Shoko if you keep me locked out.”

At that, you relented, uncurling with from your self-made bundle. It took a second to shift yourself onto your knees, another to find the doorknob with your remaining hand, but Satoru himself in as soon as the lock clicked out of place. Thankfully, mercifully, he gave you time to skitter back to your corner before crossing the threshold, but that didn’t stop you from withering as his eyes raked over you, as he evaluated the damage. Eventually, he collapsed against the adjacent wall and sunk to the floor, letting out a raspy groan before tossing you a familiar, crooked smile. You didn’t return it. “That mad at me, huh?” You didn’t respond, gaze dropping to your decimated hand – or, rather, the mangled stump that used to be your hand. His smile wavered, but didn’t fall away. “Yeah, no, I probably deserve that. Does it hurt?”

You didn’t indulge him with an answer. “Did you call Shoko?”

“On a mission,” he said with a slight shrug, a strong note of ‘what can you do?’ in his tone. Like this was some minor inconvenience, annoying but ultimately trivial. Like like you weren’t missing an essential part of yourself. “She said she’d swing by as soon as she’s done, but I’d give it another hour. I think she’ll kill me if I keep asking her to make house calls.”

Another beat of silence, another deafening failure to respond on your part. Finally, he turned to face you properly, leaning forward. “…can I?”

He always did this – paused like that, smiled like that, tried to make himself seem so gentle, so loving, so considerate. It might’ve been well-meaning, an attempt to let you know he was sorry without having to swallow enough of his pride to actually apologize, but all it ever seemed to make you feel was cold and alone, stuck in a shell of an apartment with a shell of a man. It was always the same. It was always going to be the fucking same.

And, like always, you relented, looking away as you nodded stiltedly. Satoru’s smile brightened as he closed the distance between you, his thigh pressing into yours as he settled against your side.

When you’d first gotten into a relationship with Gojo Satoru, you told yourself that if things ever so much as seemed like they might be going south, you were gone. You hadn’t known anything about cursed energy or sorcerer hierarchies or malevolent spirits, but you didn’t have to – even if you hadn’t watched him obliterate monsters the size of apartment buildings with a snap of his fingers, he still would’ve been the strongest person you’d ever met, a man capable of shattering bones with his bare hands and breaking open skulls with all the effort it would’ve taken you to swat a fly out of the air. He was dangerous to be around, even if you doubted Satoru could ever intentionally hurt another living, breathing person. He was rich, and pretty, and strong, and used to getting his way. You loved him, but you needed to be able to leave if it ever seemed like that love was going to put you in danger.

And you did leave. The first time you argued, the first time he lost control of his temper and you were left sobbing on the floor with nothing below your left knee, you’d gotten as far as you could as quickly as you could. It’d taken him a full week to track you down, another to convince you that one of his bizarre friends could heal you, and roughly half a minute of Satoru sobbing and clinging to your (newly restored) leg for you to forgive him, to write it off as an accident – just the kind of risk you took when you got into a relationship with someone who could deadlift armored tanks. The second, you’d stayed at a friend’s place for a few days before coming back on your own, as desperate for his miracle-cure as you were for the pet comforts that came with Satoru’s bottomless fortune. The fourth, you’d barricaded yourself in his bedroom for sixteen hours and only come out for Shoko, who’d muttered about your ‘wreck of a boyfriend’ as she rebuilt the three missing fingers on your right hand.

Now, on the ninth, you’d barely managed to keep him locked out of a bathroom for all of five minutes. It was embarrassing, more than anything. You wanted to be able to hate him, you wanted to be scared of him, but it was hard to be scared of someone you loved. Someone you loved as much as Satoru, especially.

You shook your head, dragging yourself out of your own spiraling thoughts. Your attention, instead, moved to Satoru – still slumped against the tiled wall, his head lulled back and his attention focused pointedly on the ceiling. You were dressed to go out, uncomfortable jeans and all, but Satoru looked like he just rolled out of bed – a plain white shirt pulled tight over his broad chest, a pair of pitch-black sweatpants falling low on his waist, the lights dim enough to mean his piercing blue eyes didn’t have to be locked behind tinted glass or thick fabric. That was what you’d been arguing about, even if it was hard to remember why it’d seemed like such a big deal. He had the day off, no class and no cursed spirits to slaughter, and wanted to waste his morning in bed, with you wrapped in his arms. You’d tried to tell him, as slowly and as tenderly as you could, that you couldn’t, that you had an important early-morning lecture, that you’d be back by the time he actually wanted to get up, but he’d whined and pouted and you’d lost your patience when he reminded you that you could ‘always drop out’. You tried to leave, and he tried to catch your hand, to make you stay for that much longer, and—

“Can I see it?” You were almost thankful to hear his voice, if only for the distraction. “Your hand, I mean. If you’re comfortable with showing me.”

You weren’t, but you were desperate not to sink back into your own head, either. Slowly, cautiously, you shuffled that much closer to him, folding your legs underneath you as you gingerly held out the arm you’d spent the better part of the last few minutes cradling. It made you sick to look at a part of your own body so violently distorted, so violently wrong, so you didn’t – keeping your focus trained on your knees as Satoru took up your shortened limb. His own healing abilities had taken care of the worst of the gore, but even with the open, gaping wound at the end of your arm closed, there was still a ring of bruising around your wrist, streaks of dried blood running down the length of your forearm, a raw quality to the skin where his hap-hazard repairs hadn’t quite taken. His touch was feather-light, skirting around the worst of the remaining damage and lingering near your elbow, then your bicep. Acknowledgement came in the form of a low whistle, an airy sigh. You tried not to let his casualness get to you. Sorcerers must’ve seen injuries like this all the time. This was the end of the world for you, but Satoru would be just fine. “I’m not going to let you lift a finger after this. You know that, right? I’ve gotta make sure my pretty baby’s still nice n’ spoiled, even when I go and fuck everything up.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as he’d ever get. You grit your teeth and nodded, taking a second to find your voice. Even with the delay, it came out as a croak; almost too low and too ragged to be coherent. “This can’t keep happening, ‘toru. I love you, but this can’t keep happening.”

“I know, baby, I know.” One of his hands remained wrapped around your arm while the other, unoccupied, fell between his open legs. “I don’t mean to. If I had it my way, nobody would be able to touch you, but…” A pause, a laugh. “I just get so stressed out when we start fighting, like that. All I can think about is someone hurting you when I’m not there to keep you safe, and I forget how delicate I’ve gotta be with you. It feels like I’m not in control of myself.”

Despite your better judgement, you felt a deep, churning well of guilt open up inside of you. It was your turn to sigh, now, to slump, to let your eyes fall shut. “I love you,” you repeated, like it was the only thing you knew how to say. “It’s just— It scares me, when you get like that. I know you’re just trying to be protective, but it hurts.”

You heard his breathing pick-up, his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel. “I know, sweetheart. I’m just trying to take care of you.”

“You do take care of me, but—” You were cut off by a breathy swear, a throat groan. Momentarily, your fear and self-loathing gave way to irritation, a frown tugging at the corner of your lips as you opened your eyes and snapped towards Satoru. He was still focused on your arm – what was left of it, at least – but his gaze was glazed over, far away, and his hand was moving between his—

You put it together too quickly, the force of the realization leaving no time for numbing shock or dampening confusion. He was touching himself, grinding the heel of his palm into the base of his cock. You could see the outline of his shaft against the dark material – already half-hard, if not worse.

If you’d been able to feel anything, you might’ve felt sick.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away from him, but his hold on your arm only tightened, fingertips digging into your bicep as Satoru laughed, the sound strained and airy. “Sorry, sorry, my bad. I know you like a head’s up, but…” Now, he looked at you, but it was too late, too much, too sudden. All you could seem to think to do was gape back at him, unmoving and unthinking. “Guess it’s just what you do to me. I’ll try to make it quick – all you’ve gotta do is sit there and look pretty.”

It was a familiar line, a familiar excuse. You’d heard it a thousand times – mumbled into your neck as draped himself over you in the early hours of the morning, spouted off as he dragged you back to his car halfway through dinner at a restaurant you’d been looking forward to visiting for months – but it didn’t seem to make sense, this time, didn’t fit with the image of your missing hand hovering a few inches above your loving boyfriend’s erection. The dissonance only seemed to get worse, more dizzying as he shrugged the waistband of his sweats past his hips and down to his thighs, freeing his stiff cock. You’d been too generous, before; he was already hard, his tip flushed a dark pink and leaking thick beads of arousal. Again, you tried to get away, and again, he only pulled you closer, until your side was flush against his. There was a deep grunt, a hazy grin as he wrapped a fist around the shaft of his cock, his grip almost painfully tight. His eyes never left the dull stump on the end of your left arm, his raspy breathing soon turning to a deep, heady panting as you watched him pump his fist over his cock, his pace slow and methodical – a far cry from the spontaneous, erratic Satoru you were used to. A soft voice in the back of your mind, awful and treacherous, suggested that he might be trying to savor it, and a dozen more screamed loudly enough to drown it out.

“Satoru,” you said, nearly surprising yourself with how distant you sounded, how detached. You didn’t feel detached. If anything, you almost felt too grounded in the feeling of cool tile against your back, the heat of his body where it pressed into yours. “Please, stop.”

“I don’t really have a choice, babe.” He shot you a playful grin, and for a second, you could almost imagine hating him. “It’d go a lot faster if you helped me out, though.”

You didn’t answer, but he didn’t need you to. His hand was already groping for yours, already forcing your reluctant participation. The position was awkward, your body half-bent over his, but when you shifted, Satoru’s thumb dug into the bone of your wrist and instantly, you went still. This was bad. Not having control of your only remaining hand was bad. But having your only remaining hand taken away from you would be worse.

Satoru didn’t seem to see it that way. Sounds of aching pleasure bubbled past his lips shamelessly, turning the abruptly claustrophobic bathroom into an echo chamber of pitchy whines and raspy groans and the slick, wet clicks of his cock fucking into your balled fist. It was terrible – being able to feel how his cock pulsed against your palm, being forced to acknowledge the little, stilted movements of his hips whenever he decided your (admittedly lackluster) pace left something to be desired. In less than a minute, his head had lulled onto your shoulder, his voice muffled by the proximity as he struggled to speak in spite of his own unabashed moaning. “Love you so much,” he half-mumbled, half-panted. You could feel his breath against your shoulder, his drool starting to pool just above your collarbone. “W-wanna take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself, make sure nobody else ever gets to put their hands on you. I’d be good – cook for you, n’ shower with you, ‘n dress you up all nice n’ pretty,” He paused, nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You… You wouldn’t hate me that much if we left it that way, right?”

You felt something drop into the pit of your stomach. “Satoru, you’re—”

“Please, baby.” It was the same tone he used when he was begging you to make a late-night snack run with him, or when he wanted to finish inside of you without protection. “Just—Just tell me that you’d let me take care of you. Just say that you’d still love me.”

It felt like your throat was swollen shut, your chest stuffed to bursting with shattered glass and razor blades and spiny needles only just beginning to poke through your skin. You didn’t want to say anything, you didn’t think you could say anything, and yet, when your mouth fell open, you found a voice that was not your own seeping out by means beyond your control. “It’s alright,” you muttered, distantly, as his cock throbbed in your hand. “I’d still love you, ‘toru.”

Although, you were starting to wish you wouldn’t.

You heard him groan, felt something thick and searing spill over the back of your hand. Satoru’s hand, cupped snuggly over yours, kept you moving until every last drop had been milked out of him, until the final ember of his climax had burnt itself out. He went limp against you, his vice-grip finally falling away, but rather than run, you only straightened, wiping your hand on your jeans before tucking it into your lap. How you looked didn’t matter, anymore. There couldn’t have been more than a few minutes left in your lecture, if you hadn’t already missed it entirely.

Silence interrupted only by panting breaths and the beating, drowning drum playing in your ears reigned over the confined space, keeping you in a state of bleary stasis until the sound of a sharp knock, shortly followed by a distant door opening broke through the fog. “That’s Shoko,” Satoru murmured, almost disappointed. He started to separate himself from you, only to relapse – burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a deep, contented sigh. “You know that I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know that all I wanna do is keep you happy?”

“I know, ‘toru.”

“Good.” He pulled back, grinning. “’cause all I ever wanna do is take care of my angel. Don’t let anything ‘side from that get into your pretty little head.”

You only nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, as he slipped out of the bathroom to meet Shoko, to explain what vital part of yourself he’d torn away this time. You wanted to get up, to wash the cum off of your hand, to pump feeling back into your numb legs, but your remaining limbs were uncooperative, heavy and awkward and useless. It was all you could do to pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around your legs, and hold yourself as you started to cry.

At least, next time Satoru decided to tear you apart, you might not find it so hard to hate him for it.

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storiesoflilies · 4 months

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Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairing - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - General descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: Aaaaand here we go!! I’m posting this earlier than I was supposed to in honor of Toji’s birthday. Fun fact - Toji and I share the same birthday :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — Chapter 2

-•-

Chapter 1

The sky was falling ever so softly.

She’d spent so long staring upwards at it, utterly astounded, because it never occurred that way when she imagined it in her head. There was supposed to be an all-consuming deafening rumbling, chunks of blue tumbling down from above, and fiery meteors the size of moons hurling themselves into the chaos of a dying Earth.

But no, it was more like a hundred million and one glowing embers fluttering down like beautiful dying butterflies.

Is this what it’s like when Angels fall?

Y/N thought it was a more peaceful way to go; instead of a violent plummet into the dirt to trade their lives for another one as a Curse. It was a nice thought, naive even, because seraphim were not kind nor merciful to those who they deemed had turned against them. Stupid, wishful thinking, a selfish desire for the world to be anything but exactly what it is; sin was as inevitable as the sun, rising and falling with time in a terrible terrible cycle. She’d seen the streets run crimson like glimmering rubies as Angel’s wings were torn from their bones and flesh, heard their screams from afar as they begged and pleaded not to be cast out. It was always the same; Heaven is, and always would remain, divinely perfect, and it would forever be ruthless in its pursuit of maintaining it. Free will is a beautiful thing, certainly, so long as one made only the right choices.

She shook her head, cool ash flaking off her hair, and picked up her katana from where it lay beside a Curse’s corpse. Satoru Gojo had trusted her with hunting down this particularly erratic Second Layer Curse that had been capturing and torturing wounded Angels. Indeed, she could see the remnants of its latest mangled victim underneath its grotesque blubbery body; a once living soul now just an unrecognizable face beaten into a bloody feathery mess. Maybe they had once sinned, perhaps not, but what did it matter? They were just another tally to be scratched on a plaque, a life reduced to a single scratch on a stone already marred by millions of markings.

Y/N briefly considered attempting to retrieve the body for a proper burial, but it was already far too late in the day. The last rays of the sun threw a brilliant shade of red across the sky, a low hum of anticipation in the air that whispered of all the fury and violence of thunder and lightening; night would soon fall to unleash the lethal Curses that dwelled in the deepest layers of Hell. If she didn’t hurry and ascend to Heaven, then she would bear witness to the unholiest of rituals, as the Earth would crack open beneath her and the molten fire of Sukuna’s wrath would burst forth and consume her body and soul.

She kneeled in front of the Curse; its forked tongue rolling out of a toothless mouth, lidless eyes tipped backwards into its head, and blackened blood dripping from the fatal wound right through its brain. Y/N’s thumb squelched uncomfortably as she pressed it firmly into the rubbery skin of its forehead, and murmured a quick prayer for the deceased seraph, and a blaze of golden light engulfed both corpses. Gojo had taught her how to use her divine energy to smite dead Curses, just to make sure they won’t try again in his own words, and this power could also be extended to cremate their own.

The ground groaned and rumbled, as if protesting against its part to play in the cycle of violence, serving as a sinister warning for her to hurry. A wave of panic washed over her, and Y/N closed her eyes; grasping to control her lackluster wisps of divine energy, and cried out into the seemingly empty plane of the Unlimited Void.

But empty it was not, for Satoru Gojo sees and hears all within his domain.

Within an instant, she felt herself floating into and across the Void as Gojo’s essence consumed and caressed her soul; still as exhilarating and frightening as the first time she had tepidly stepped through this plane of existence. And Y/N could feel all of him, but could do nothing but helplessly travel through the cosmos of his own making. Gojo was like a turbulent ocean, ever-changing and impatient, but perplexingly beautiful; a ticking clock waiting to chime a tune of misery to signal his arrival against his enemies. Not many Angels were privy to ascending into Heaven this way, because Gojo simply didn’t want to do it for just anybody. He was like a fussy child picking only the best things to play with; his trust the ultimate game to win, and many had tried. Y/N didn’t think it was so complex, because she understood fear in a way Gojo could never, and ordinary Angels couldn’t face the fact that their souls would be bared so openly and judged by the Six Eyes himself.

Y/N blinked, and found herself in front of him.

“Cutting it a little close, eh?”

Satoru Gojo stood with his corded forearms crossed over each other, tall and broad form leaning back against an iridescent golden pole of the Gates of Heaven; a marble statue carved directly from God’s hands that demanded complete attention, a perfect vision of beauty that Y/N could never tire of looking at it. He wore a bemused smirk on his face, clearly relishing in her reliance of his power to save her from certain doom, but Y/N liked to think he didn’t completely look down on her. Perhaps she could give him the benefit of the doubt; he had been waiting for her outside the city, and maybe expected her to ascend to Heaven normally, which required an Angel to fly upwards from the Earth and pass through each of the seven layers of Heaven. Each of these layers were well defended by legions of seraphim ready to lay their lives against imminent attacks, bolstered by colossal golden gates similar to the one guarding the main city.

“But you’ve done it, right?” He continued, his eyes completely focused on her as she approached.

Gojo often asked questions he already knew the answers to, something he did with her and his other favorites; a way of settling nerves and putting them at ease around him, as if he hadn’t rooted through every crack and crevice of their minds, pretending he didn’t know them more intimately than they probably did themselves.

“It’s done.”

He hummed appreciatively, the hundreds of eyes decorating his wings blinking intermittently to give an illusion of twinkling cerulean lights, and extended his hand for her to take. Y/N accepted, refusal simply not an option, her fingers intertwining with his as he dropped the infinite barrier coating his body, and let him lead her through the Golden Gates and into the city; their kingdom far above the Earth – where no Curse had ever managed to breach.

Heaven was a seemingly never-ending city; a labyrinth of buildings and twisting pathways built from white marble, with pearlescent towers of varying heights dotted throughout. – a perfect pristine canvas of glittering white diamonds. Many Angels would live together in each of these towers, forming extended families to be born and raised together for generations. Cool air washed through every twist and turn of the city, flowing between trees with silver leaves bearing the sweetest figs; which grew intermittently between any sliver of space between the rock, and some were even as tall as the towers themselves.

“Gojo, couldn’t you see the sky below?”

“Hmm?”

“The sky was burning before I left, it was falling.”

“Ah yes, well… that’s no surprise. Geto has become a Curse, and he is past my sight now. It makes sense the first thing he did was kill the Sky Sentries, so I suppose it’s a good thing you called for me through the Void.”

She froze, and he stopped with her.

Geto is, was, Gojo’s second in command; his most trusted confidant and closest ally. If he had fallen, then there would be many other Angels who would have willingly fallen with him. The Sky Sentries guarded the sky of the Earth, the first layer of Heaven; they stood at the frontline of the war, warriors that couldn’t afford to rest, for come nightfall it was a bloodbath of Curses attempting to breach the first barrier.

So many of us are dead. More lines on the wall.

“Gojo, I-,” Y/N paused, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

At this, he released her hand and turned to face her. “Why? He made his choice.”

Gojo turned away again, staring down at the ground beneath his feet like he was seeing right through it to the Earth and scorched skies, and scoffed loudly. It was a seething sound of a betrayal that had cut him deeply, and it was a promise of violence and vengeance. Nobody escaped punishment, especially not from the Six Eyes, and Geto was certainly not above consequences.

“You know, we were all given free will. It shouldn’t surprise you, when an Angel - any Angel - falls into darkness and becomes a Curse,” he stated with finality, a sharp edge of a steel knife in his voice.

“But, Geto was our family,” Y/N breathed out shakily, her sadness starting to bubble out uncontrollably. “I didn’t know he was changing, I never noticed anything was wrong.”

“Neither did I,” Gojo whispered defeatedly, a complete change in his tone, letting slip just a sliver of his hurt for someone else to see.

Geto and Gojo were born three centuries before Y/N, and became nigh inseparable; a perfect example of how strong the bond of comradery should be between Angels. She had first met Geto when he had started training her to fight, he’d still hadn’t risen to power back then, and they quickly became close. Of course, naturally Gojo took an interest in her as Geto’s pupil, and over the next two hundred years, Y/N had witnessed them rise through the ranks of the Angels; until they reached the pinnacle of power, their combined strength looming over them all like the omnipresent presence of God in Heaven – and yet, they still kept her within their circle. But Geto was different to Gojo, because he understood that strength wasn’t a gift distributed to everyone, and Y/N had seen him fight a fraction harder just to stand on par beside Gojo on the podium of divinity. He had become her brother; a pillar of strength in her life in a way that the Six Eyes could never be, someone who she could truly say would fight to the death for her if he thought her time had come too early.

Gojo was silent for a moment before continuing, “But the sky will heal, Shoku and her followers can do it. There’s always more of us ready to take each other’s place, you don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

He tenderly stroked her cheek smeared with dried Curse blood, watching as a stray tear escaped and ran down her face like a petulant child, and let out a great sigh as if it was the greatest inconvenience for him to witness her sadness. Y/N felt sheepish; how could she be so upset over a betrayer, a snake that had bitten the hand of someone who had thought it graceful and beautiful. Gojo’s great wings unfurled around them, his feathers tickling her exposed neck softly like a lover would, and his arms pulled her into an embrace.

“Im alright Satoru,” she sniffled after some time. “I just need to be alone, to clean myself and pray for him.”

“His soul is gone, you know that Y/N,” Gojo said softly, like she was a precious crystal he held in his palms, threatening to shatter at any moment.

“I don’t care, I need to put him to rest in some way, for my own peace.”

“Let me come with you then, when I return in the morning. You’re too exhausted to go and pray now.”

“Gojo, please. I need this.”

At this he let her go, his wings snapping back in place like they had been stung, and placed his hand on her head in a blessing. A soothing cool sensation spread all the way down from his palms, healing her weary bones and muscles; bathing her in the rarely tranquil ocean of his divine power, and she shuddered in both fear and relief. Some of his followers had gathered around them, eagerly awaiting their commander to follow into the ensuing battle at the First Gate; curiously glancing at the sight of the two of them, like they were forbidden art that nobody could look at for too long. She knew that he had to go; Gojo always went to battle when the last light left the Earth, even if he had already been fighting during the day. But such was the duty of the Six Eyes — always in the heat of battle, never tiring and never resting.

“Go and sleep,” he said, an order; daring her to refuse again. “I’ll see you in the morning. We can pray together then.”

“Be safe,” she whispered.

He nodded, and then vanished instantaneously, leaving Y/N alone surrounded by the watchful eyes of the other seraphim.

-•-

From light we are born, and to ashes we return.

The beginning of a prayer uttered for those who had passed.

Who once was mighty and now fallen.

Y/N had recited these words many times over, but never once had she done so for a Curse.

Heavenly Father, may you guide our souls to peace in Paradise.

She bathed in starlight and galaxies, and sank backwards into the bathing pool; sending her further into space, to a time and place where her brother hadn’t left her. Caked Curse blood swirled away in the holy water as she sank deeper, her eyes never closing as she stared up at the stars in the night sky.

Where we may all meet again.

Y/N whimpered pitifully as she thought again of Geto in the depths of Hell, wondering if he was suffering as his once holy power was warped into something wicked and corrupt. Would he even look the same, would she recognize him if he materialized in front of her at this very moment; a snarling animalistic Curse like the one she had killed today. Or would he remain as he was like a blip in time, a frozen facade of happiness, but with only malice and sin left underneath it all?

To remain in your eternal light forever.

She emerged, water running down her face as her heart constricted painfully, and clasped her hands together and whispered, “Forgive him, oh please forgive him.”

What was else she supposed to do? Oh how she wished she could go back; maybe then she might have noticed if his eyes had tears of darkness in them, if he had laid there alone as the night full of terrors ushered and coaxed his soul to their side. Then she could have told herself what she was meant to do, instead of grieving for Geto like he was already dead like a ghost she would forever clutch on to; stuck reliving a trail of memories she once thought she knew most of, and now none at all. But if she looked into Gojo’s blue eyes, would she find a glimpse of the brother who lifted her on to his shoulders and raised her with dignity and kindness?

Enough, enough .

Y/N climbed up the steps of the pool as droplets of stars cascaded down her hair, down between her thighs, and down to her feet. She wondered what sort of horrors were unfolding hundreds of thousands of leagues beneath her; if Gojo was striking down Curses with all the fury and might of a scorned lightning storm. She murmured silent prayers for the creatures who stood in his way, and for the seraphim whose lives would be lost as a consequence of Geto’s betrayal. Her feet tapped against the cool marble pathway leading from the pool to the back entrance of Gojo’s tower, and Y/N shook her wings free of any remaining water droplets that flung to her feathers. Her body was bare for all to see as she passed through the empty hallways, but she wasn’t concerned; all those who followed the Six Eyes had followed him into the night, into war. Gojo hadn’t deemed Y/N strong enough to fight during the night, and he never would; for his own selfish reasons, he was keeping her safe.

Her thoughts strayed to when he had openly embraced her in public, and knew that it would have added some truth to the rumor that they were more than just comrades. It was common for Angels that hadn’t found their soulmates to marry each other, as it unfortunately wasn’t always a guaranteed event during one’s lifetime; and of course new seraphim must be born to fight in the war. Since neither of them had found theirs as of yet, so many believed that they would eventually marry. Gojo had made numerous advances to court her over the past few decades, namely allowing her to stay within his tower, as well as hints during various conversations that he expected her to marry him when he finally did ask. Y/N knew that he was aware of her hope for her own soulmate, and that was the only reason he had graced her with his patience, but hope was dangerous in war – it was only a matter of time before he saved her from her own misery.

It would be the most practical thing to do, and Y/N truly did care for him, but was that really enough?

Satoru Gojo was an enigma. On the one hand, he was adored for his effortless displays of power as he could single-handedly decimate armies. On the other, what made him loved was also what made him feared; all he had to do was drag a seraph charged of sin into his Unlimited Void, and they would be helpless as he brutally tore through their minds in search of the truth. If found guilty, he would rip their wings from their backs himself, and then hurtle them towards Hell. Satoru Gojo was as revered as he was terrifying; like he had attained a status close to godliness. Why he had chosen her to be his, Y/N would never know; she could only accept him when he finally came calling for her.

Y/N shook her head, trying to banish all thoughts from her head, and slipped into her bed as her wet hair soaked through the pillow.

What if Geto shows himself tonight?

Perhaps she was right to mourn him, Gojo would strike him down for what he had done. Would Geto give reasons as to why he had sinned if he could speak properly? Y/N hoped so; whatever his answer, it could steel her resolve for the hard fight ahead. But for now, she attempted to empty her head of dark thoughts in an effort to sleep. She would have to be well rested to deal with the fallout of Geto’s betrayal; many new Curses would have been born from all the anguish he had caused.

Can I really hunt those who were my allies just this morning?

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, hands clamped over her ears, and prayed the negativity and heartache away from her dreams.

-•-

A purple aura permeated Y/N’s room when she awakened, spilling in feverishly from outside the window, and an eerie silence from the previous night lingered and settled like dust. The battle for the sky must still be ongoing if no one was home yet, which meant it was as brutal as she dreaded it to be; for Gojo must have used his Hollow Purple for forcing the sky to change color. She felt fresh fear being thrown over her like a bucket of ice, as the possibility of more of her family dying hit her instantaneously. Y/N quickly donned a fresh set of armor; it was morning now, Gojo couldnt forbid her from descending to Earth since the moon and stars had vanished from sight – she was permitted to go and fight.

Wait.

Y/N froze.

It was Gojo’s voice in her head, his authority reverberating within her mind like a great ringing bell. A strange feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach; he never communicated telepathically with her. Was he trying to keep her from harm? Why wasn’t he allowing her to descend?

I’m coming to you.

Butterflies furiously erupted in her chest, and Y/N hurried outside the tower; the purple glow of the sky growing stronger the closer she got to the entrance of the tower, like a warning nobody could possibly ignore.

The streets outside were in chaos.

Wounded seraphim were being carried by other Angels from a large swirling blue portal at the farthest end of the street from her, and were immediately being tended to by Shoko’s followers. There was an acrid smell in the air; of anguish and death, the scent of suffering from Hell itself. Y/N spied Nanami Kento holding his blunted sword close to his chest, eyes closed as if he was deep in pain but keeping it hidden, as Shoko wrapped his bloodied arms with fresh bandages.

Before Y/N could push her way towards them, the crowd imploded with feverish excitement and shouting as the portal zapped shut, and she jumped back in fright. An unmistakable white head of hair was moving through the crowd, and the seraphim were singing with glee as they parted for their champion; a god splitting the sea, and holding back the oncoming tsunami of adoration. And then, Gojo finally came into view from where she stood, an indecipherable look upon his face as his eyes roamed over every seraphim in the crowd. His gaze inevitably locked onto her, and Y/N noted a crazed spark in his eyes that made her feel uneasy. But she was frozen in place, like prey helplessly watching a predator rushing towards it, as Gojo strode towards her; broad build dripping with Curse blood as he climbed the stairs, stopping just a step below her.

And then he kneeled in front of her, and the universe went quiet.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “Gojo, what are-”

He reached behind his back, procuring two katanas in his palms to her like they were an offering, but she knew exactly where they had come from. The blades were made of pure holy silver, diamonds and pearls encrusted on the hilt — unmistakably Geto’s weapons.

“Geto lost the right to these holy weapons when he betrayed us,” Gojo said as he turned the blades over in his hands, examining them with that same indecipherable look.

“He’s dead then?” Y/N breathed out shakily.

Gojo shook his head, “No, he escaped, but all his followers have been punished.”

She sucked in a breath.

So many more dead.

“These are yours now,” he continued. “If you’ll have them.”

The Six Eyes had never once kneeled for anyone. Y/N knew what was coming, what he was about to ask of her; but how and why had he decided so suddenly that now was the time? He stared up at her with those all knowing eyes, like he was privy to her thoughts whirling in her head, and maybe he was.

Let him go.

How could she? Her heart ached for a part of her soul she had never even met — and might never. Even if she did meet her soulmate, marrying Gojo would forever bind her to him, lest she would be cast out of Heaven for the sin of forsaking her marriage vows. Would he ever be able to make her move on and forget? Did he really know just how much he was asking her for? Her heart hammered in her chest; she wasn’t ready for this, not now, and maybe not ever.

He is Satoru Gojo. If he isn’t enough for you, then who else is?

“I promise to protect you from anything that would hurt you,” Gojo vowed, his voice low for words only meant for her. “I will uphold your virtue and strength, and I promise to stand by your side no matter what happens. I promise to end the Curse of Sukuna, and create a paradise for us and our children, even if it kills me.”

Never once had Satoru Gojo ever mentioned the possibility of his death; it was unnerving, unspeakable, unnatural. His usual saccharine tone was nowhere to be found, and it was deathly quiet all around them – every soul hanging on every word they spoke with bated breath.

“I promise to love you, but please… all I ask is for you to love me and accept me for all that I am, for who I’m going to become,” Gojo whispered, and for the first time in their centuries of friendship, Y/N could see desperation deep within his irises.

She breathed out, steeling herself from the heartache and loss settling deep inside her; her defeat was imminent, but she would rise again to take her seat on the throne beside him as his equal. The world jittered in anticipation as Y/N took both of Geto’s katanas in each of her hands, her knuckles turning white as she gripped their hilts. Gojo stared at her, pupils blown wide; from adoration for her or the heat of battle, she didn’t know.

“I accept you, Satoru Gojo.”

Nothing would ever be the same again.

-•-

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