Archive of Our Own

“…And they lived happily ever after.”

The book closes with a soft thud. A hand gently caresses the cover, gingerly tracing the little gilded grooves framing a set of happily smiling characters. A not yet drawn breath sits heavily in the air, lingering in the fuzzy space somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. The hand comes to a stop.

He has always loved fairy tales, and this one has been one of his favorites for as long as he can think. It’s a nice story and an even nicer book; nicer than the version he owned when he was a child, when he was still living with gramps.

A child.

He looks down at the crib, holds his breath for a few seconds. It’s quiet, so she must have fallen asleep during the story. Good.

He rises slowly, careful not to risk waking her up again. She looks so peaceful now, so serene. Cute even.

At first, he was unsure if he would be a good mother, and truth be told, it was really difficult in the beginning. The screaming, the crying, the sleepless nights and restless days. But he became used to it. He would even go so far to say that he enjoys it now. There’s an awkward intimacy to parenthood that he didn’t expect, a quiet bond that can be as fulfilling as it is stressful.

The door opens a crack, a thin strip of silvery light streaming into the room. He doesn’t turn around to check, doesn’t even spare a glance over his shoulder. There’s no need to, after all. There’s only one person it could be.

“Yuji,” the voice calls out softly from behind. There’s a hint of hesitance in it, as if afraid to intrude on a sacred ritual. Yuji takes one more deep breath before finally turning around.

“She’s finally asleep.” He gives the person at the door a thin smile. “I read Rapunzel to her today.”

The door opens a bit more, and for a second Yuji is afraid the brightness might cause her to wake up, but the crib stays quiet. A mop of white hair pops in through the opening, the half-shadow cast by the lights outside making it difficult to read the expression on the person’s face.

“I made dinner.”

“Thank you, Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t reply, only lingering in the doorframe for a few seconds before disappearing without a sound. Yuji takes one more look behind him, where the crib lays silent in the dark. He has spent the whole day looking after her without eating or drinking, and his stomach reminds him of the fact by protesting with a quiet snarl. It twists joyfully in anticipation of a proper meal.

Like a phantom, he slips through the open gap of the door, not quite pulling it close behind him; somewhere between attentiveness and paranoia lies the urge for him to keep the door at least a tiny bit ajar at all times so he’ll be able to notice when she wakes up.

Satoru is patiently waiting for him in the hallway, eyes knit in thought. Thoughts that Yuji isn’t privy to. He trails a few steps behind Satoru, following him into the spacious kitchen, where he takes a seat opposite from him at the solid wooden table. A tray full of food waits for him. A plate with carefully laid out grilled mackerel surrounded by a small bowl of rice, a bowl of miso soup, and various pickled vegetables in tiny dishes. He lets his eyes hover on the luxurious meal for a few seconds before raising his head just enough to look at the man in front of him, flinching when he finds his unnaturally blue eyes already trained on him. He quickly looks away.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight recently.”

Not an observation, but a statement. Like Yuji would know – he hasn’t looked into a mirror for weeks. He takes the chopsticks and half-heartedly picks at the fish a little.

“That’s what having a child does to you.”

He puts a tiny bit of mackerel in his mouth and pauses.

It’s perfect. Of course it is; anything Satoru does is perfect.

The silence is awkward, tense. Yuji can hear that Satoru has picked up his chopsticks and started eating as well, and it makes him hurry to continue mechanically putting food into his mouth.

From the outside, it seems like they’re a normal, married couple.

Except they aren’t. He’s 15, and the person sitting across from him is his teacher, his kidnapper and his captor at the same time; his very personal judge, jury and executioner.

He’s 15 and he’s eating dinner with the person whose child he has given birth to; the child that he just brought to bed, that he feeds from his small bosom and cradles in his small arms.

Not like he can complain, can he? He lives in a giant house with a beautiful garden and is served delicious handmade meals every day. He doesn’t have to wish for anything, as his doting husband reads his wishes from his lips, whether it’s limited edition goods for his favorite manga series or an expensive boat ride down Sumida river.

He has luxury and comfort; He has a family, he has a home.

Yuji only notices that he has started crying when a hot tear falls on his quivering hand.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and sniffles a few times, hoping that it will make him stop crying. It only makes him tear up even more.

He sobs once, and the chopsticks fall from his hands, clattering on the table. A chair is pushed back with a sharp creak, warm hands resting heavy on his shoulders. They squeeze him once, twice; then he feels lips press a kiss on his head. It burns into his scalp like a brand of ownership, searing skin and soul alike.

“Hey, shhh… It’s okay, everything’s going to be alright,” a deep voice coos into his hair. It shouldn’t soothe him as much as it does, it shouldn’t.

But it does.

He sobs again, properly feeling like the little heap of misery he probably is, and relaxes into the arms circling around him. Warm and safe. Treacherous vines, creeping in on his heart; yet it still beats.

“You don’t have to finish your dinner, we can just go to bed as is.”

The offer sets Yuji’s body ablaze with panic, the mere mention of the word bed making him freeze up. A bed is not a place to rest for him anymore. It hasn’t been one in a long time. It’s a cage – one that he shares with a beast looking to tear him apart. Over and over and over again. Every single night without fail.

If Satoru has noticed his inner conflict, he has chosen to ignore it.

“Come, my love. I know what will make you feel better, mh? Let me take care of you…”

The beast claws at his arm, but Yuji forcefully pulls away. He takes a deep breath and turns around, defiantly staring back into its blue, blue eyes. What he finds in them is an untamable hunger pretending to be love; an innocent lamb violently ripped from his flock, devoured, hollowed out until it became a disguise for the creature to wear.

“We can’t. What if she wakes up? She’s going to be hungry when she does– she needs me, you know?”

The look in Satoru’s eyes falters, his face twisting into a complicated expression. Is he worried? He almost looks afraid, and if Yuji tries just a little bit harder, he could even see pain mixed into it.

“Yuji,” Satoru says, and it isn’t soft like before. It’s pointed and careful, like a surgeon threading a needle.

“She’s long dead.”

A sudden blow to the back of his head violently rips Yuji from his thoughts. Not like it was a painful one – but the unexpectedness makes him wince nonetheless.

“Good morning to you too, Kugisaki,” Yuji half-heartedly grumbles. Nobara decidedly ignores it and pulls up a chair, casually leaning on his desk as if she owns the place. Her lips are pulled into a contemplative pout, sending an ominous shudder down Yuji's spine. She's thinking, and in the case of Kugisaki Nobara, thinking is always a bad sign.

“What was that for exactly?” he asks while rubbing the back of his head.

“Punishment, duh. One slap for each day you had us mourning for you. I still can't believe you had us think you're dead for four whole months!”

Four months.

Yuji draws a sharp breath, instinctively covering his stomach, as if she could glean just why and where he disappeared to from looking at it.

Four months is a long time, isn’t it? Even if it wasn’t, it was the longest time has ever felt like to him.

It already took a lot of begging for Satoru to allow him to keep going to school for as long as he did. His friends were none the wiser. But as it became harder to hide his growing belly somewhere during the second trimester, Satoru turned to, as he put it, ‘regrettably’ putting him under house arrest. Just like that, the moment he started tasting something similar to freedom on the tip of his tongue, his world was abruptly limited to a golden birdcage again. An opulent estate with luscious green gardens, fenced by tall, insurmountable stone walls and ringed by a thick, dark forest.

Yuji can't even recount how many times he has rounded the whole thing from the inside, his hand never leaving the wall once. It became a routine even, eyes always looking for possible cracks in the wall, always looking away when he did find them. He has been explicitly forbidden from leaving after all, and at some point those words whispered to him on repeat had trickled down into his soul. As a result, his body has started rebelling when he even considered going against his orders, his wishes, his pleas. They were irrevocably woven into his thoughts, his being.

Whether it was his own will or not, he not once took a single step outside those walls, not even leaving the place for his mandatory prenatal check-ups. Satoru had Ieri-Sensei come to the estate instead, lugging all the equipment needed along with her.

Yuji still remembers the first time meeting her. Well, it technically was not their first; he had made her acquaintance during a routine check-up at the school before. But the first time she entered the spare bedroom, which had been remodeled to serve as a make-shift examination room, rolling in a big machine and carrying coffers full of shiny metal instruments – that's the first time he saw something other than apparent disinterest in her eyes.

Pity.

At what exactly, Yuji still can't say.

The procedures weren't easy for him. The first time she showed him the tiny thing growing inside of him on the ultrasound, he felt numb. He didn't even have tears left to cry. Tears are a luxury he can't afford in this little paradise of a cage he is kept in.

But where his hope had died, an unexpected bond sprouted.

Ieri-sensei was kind in a way that Satoru wasn’t; quiet and caring as much as it was distant. And Yuji willingly drank that kindness from her hands. It didn’t take long for him to even start to look forward to their regular appointments. She always brought delicious treats and kept him updated on the outside world. It also helped that she somehow had enough authority to keep Satoru away during the check-ups, reclaiming a tiny bit of quiet and privacy for him. Between the tests and examinations he’d get to just lay there on his bed and close his eyes, dreaming himself into a different life while a strawberry-milk candy melts on his tongue. He would dream of a life where he plays baseball and forgets his homework and stays up late to play video games once his grandpa was asleep. The low hum of the machines and the soft clicks and clacks of Ieri-sensei filling out documents on her notebook or running tests with the samples she took became the background noise to his a rare and short rests.

Satoru was already constantly hovering in close proximity to begin with, but the further into the pregnancy Yuji was, the clingier he became. He rarely would leave Yuji alone in a room when he was home, and his missions, too, became less and less until he stopped going out altogether. He cherished those opportunities to spend some time alone; but whenever Yuji waned himself in a false sense of solitude, the crows outside his window would serve as a grim reminder of his status as a prisoner.

Yuji was– no, Yuji is never alone. It feels like the sheer concept of being alone has become foreign to him, a distant dream perhaps, or a nightmare.

He's afraid to admit it, afraid of saying it out loud but… He now seeks comfort in company. His company.

He was there, after all, holding his hand tight, giving it a gentle squeeze as he-

As he what?

The memory blurs, twists, distorts. He looks down at his hands, covered in red, covered in blood. It’s not his, or perhaps it is– he can’t tell. It seeps into the fabric he is clinging onto with wet fingers, a tiny crying bundle, a creature. It’s a human, it has to be one. With shaky hands he grabs the edge of the cloth covering the things face. It’s sticky, only reluctantly peeling away inch by inch with a nauseating wet sound. The crying grows louder, turns into a piercing wail. With a swift motion he rips off the cloth completely and tosses it aside. When he looks down it’s his own face looking back at him.

“ –ey. Hey. Earth to Itadori!”

A hand snaps right in front of his face a few times, startling him back into reality.

“You've been spacing out an awful lot today. Are you catching a cold or something?” She leers at him suspiciously, and even Megumi, who up to this point hasn’t shown any interest in their conversation, looks at him with furrowed eyebrows. For a second, Yuji panics at the thought that they might be able to see right through him, that they could possibly know. Each tick of the clock takes a second of his life away. Only when Nobara’s face relaxes visibly does he allow himself to breathe again. A teasing smile dances on her lips, but it’s not enough to completely wash off the uneasiness.

“Never mind what I said, idiots like you don't catch colds after all.”

She giggles at her own remark, and Yuji almost feels a sense of normalcy when he joins in.

A gentle breeze caresses his face as he sits down on the porch facing the garden. The wood creaks softly under his familiar weight – his favorite spot.

He blinks a few times to get accustomed to the sparse lighting and marvels at the perfectly manicured display of flowers before him. Even with the clouds dimming the light of the crescent moon do the vibrantly colored roses seem to glow in the dark. Satoru had them planted for Yuji shortly after his arrival at the estate. They were so small back then, barely reaching up his hip; but they have long since surpassed him in height, climbing up the iron arch leading deeper into the gardens.

The view reminds him of the illustrations in the book he made his grandpa read for him when he was a child. A collection of western fairy tales. They look out of place in contrast to the backdrop of an otherwise traditional Japanese garden. Alien to their surroundings, brought here against their will with the sole purpose of being pretty.

He looks at the roses, wonders how deep their roots have grown. Do you feel at home in this place? The question crosses his mind, and his lips silently move, as if the flowers could hear him. They softly sway in the wind, shaking their heads no. He takes a deep breath and tears his eyes away from them to instead look up at the passing clouds overhead. In the distance, a tiny stream bubbles playfully, and if he closes his eyes he can almost make out the words woven into the water’s laughter, or the secrets whispered among the rustling leaves in the garden.

It’s here that he can almost pretend to live in a fairytale himself. The thought gives him some sense of peace, even if he isn’t granted the role of the heroic knight or prince. A damsel in distress, or a princess living in an enchanted garden? There’s no rush to decide. After all, there are many more roles to assign once he is done choosing his part in this twisted play.

A sudden shudder running through his body rips him from his thoughts.

Yuji doesn't need to turn around to know when Satoru is standing behind him. It's always like this when he's near; like the air is getting thinner, more crisp, a subtle chill down your spine as your instincts scream predator. Even now, with the heat of early summer slowly fading into the comfortable warmth of a late evening, Yuji can’t help but feel cold.

“Can’t sleep?”

His voice is gentle, deceptive. Yuji sighs, an answer as sufficient as any words he could muster.

“Mind if I sit down next to you?”

As if I have a choice.

Yuji nods silently. He hears clothes rustling next to him as Satoru makes himself comfortable.

“Not in the mood to talk?”

Yuji hesitates briefly before cautiously shaking his head. In the corner of his eyes, he sees Satoru give him a tiny, understanding nod.

The porch stays quiet for a while, safe for the occasional sounds of wild animals both near and far away. They both just sit and listen in silence, and although Satoru’s arrival didn’t change much in that regard, Yuji soon misses his solitude. There’s a quiet unrest to his presence, like a cog in a clockwork turning twice as fast as the rest. It used to be louder, worse. It made Yuji’s hair stand on end and his body tremble from merely standing next to him. Now, all it does is make his fingertips tingle and his heart grow restless.

The garden slowly lights up, until the entire world is bathed in the milky light of the moon as it manages to finally break through a gap between the clouds. He can hear Satoru’s clothes rustle again as he’s shuffling closer, feels Satoru’s hand hesitantly seeking his. It’s warm and soft and Yuji almost wants to confess that it is comforting if it wasn’t for his instincts telling him to pull his hand away. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets Satoru’s much larger hand completely envelop his, allows him to squeeze it even when it feels uncomfortably tight. After a few more squeezes, Yuji quietly draws a sharp breath and turns his head slightly to look at Satoru, who gives him a soft smile.

“The moon is pretty tonight, isn’t it?”

Yuji ponders the heavy undertone in his voice before tilting his head to look at the night sky.

“It is.”

Satoru hums, satisfied with his reply.

“I hope Megumi and Nobara didn’t give you too hard of a time today. They care about you, they really do. Which is why their reaction to your sudden reappearance was so… crass.”

Yuji nods again. Not like he can blame them. It’s not like he himself had anticipated being secretly spirited away by Satoru in the middle of a mission. He honestly didn't even expect him to be close by in the first place – although at that point he probably should've already learnt to consider Satoru an omnipresent in his life. But if it wasn't for him showing up Yuji would've– No, he would've-

What, not even going to call me by my name? You wound me, Brat.

He freezes. The thoughts come as easy as if they were his own, but they aren't his. They're a worm, a parasite; foul and putrid, festering in his head, lacking the warmth of humanity.

I still feel insulted from being lumped together with such small fry. I could have left you to die against that pathetic curse. Perhaps I should have done that. Looking at you now, I would have done you a favor.

Yuji bristles at the sinister implication. Hopefully, Satoru doesn't notice his body going tense – he really can't afford him noticing that something is off. Sukuna takes his silence as an invitation to continue his monologue.

I'm glad I didn't. Ah, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t do it for pathetic reasons like saving you or anything, far from it. Although I am loath to admit it, I have grown quite a liking for the taste of your suffering.

Shut up.

The corner of Yuji's mouth twitches from the intensity of his own thoughts, but his snappy answer only earns him an amused laugh in return. He's usually more collected than this, showing quite the resistance to Sukuna's relentless harassment. But right now he feels like all of his nerves are laid bare, burning on all ends like a lit fuse.

Someone's being sensitive today. What, didn't your husband fuck you well enough lately?

Shut up shut up shutupshutupshutup-

You're almost charming when you get flustered like this, Sukuna chuckles, the sound of which echoes in his head like a death knell.

I would’ve loved to try my hand at raping you too, but I fear that at this point would enjoy that, you disgusting freak. I'll just have to find better ways to torture you.

He contemplatively hums, and Yuji holds his breath on instinct, as if baring his neck at a court’s judgement.

I was looking forward to using your hands to kill that wretched child of yours, he drawls, and the way Yuji can hear him smirk makes his stomach turn upside-down.

But I fear we’re a bit late for that.

Yuji abruptly gets up from where he sat just a few moments prior. The burning need to throw up sits heavy in his guts, makes his vision swim and his head feel like it’s full of cotton. The sudden movement startles Satoru from the seemingly meditative state he was in, his glowing eyes fixed on Yuji.

“I'll go to bed early today,” Yuji states bluntly, not leaving room for discussion and turning away from Satoru before he can respond.

The pitter-patter of his rushed footsteps sounds like martial drums drumming to the beat of Sukuna’s roaring laughter.

In his dreams, he holds a child. It is small, fragile. A tiny wisp that might be blown away by the littlest of gusts; crumbling to dust in his grasp if he isn’t careful. But each time he would fail to restrain himself, the tips of his fingers turning grey where they dig into her limp body.

He thinks about that dream often, even when he's awake – especially when he's awake. Because then he knows it isn't real, that he doesn't have to cling onto it anymore.

She's gone.

He thinks about it often. When he lies awake in bed, when he hears gentle, peaceful, snores beside him. Those are the times the ache becomes stronger.

Sometimes he wishes that he could stay in a dream where nothing is left. Instead he is forced to return to a reality where he can have anything he wants be put in his hands and still feel empty.

He turns on his side, stares at the wall, traces the twisting shapes that only come to haunt him in the half-shadow. They snarl at him, gnarled teeth bared in a mocking smile.

They know it too.

He isn’t brave enough to admit it yet, and so the accusation directed at himself sits burning low in his stomach. There’s a part of him that’s missing, that thrums with a hollow pain.

He thinks about it often, when the world looks at him with sleeping eyes, when it’s only him and the guilt and the shame and the pain.

Perhaps his heart had died along with her.

“You look awful.”

Yuji whips his head around to face Nobara. He’s supposed to be more than used to her rude comments, but he still can’t help but scowl at her.

“Yikes, okay, you look even worse from the front. No amount of make-up could cover those bags under your eyes – Did you get even a single wink of sleep last night?”

He doesn’t answer, wordlessly bending down to continue stretching instead. It has been three days since he abruptly left Satoru behind in the garden. Their contact is reduced to the minimum, most of their conversation limited to inside the classroom. It has also been three days since he has been able to properly rest up. His sleep comes in short, dreamless bursts from which he awakes with a pounding heart and sweat running down his back.

He bows down even further, touching the tip of his toes. The burn in each individual fiber of muscles in his legs is more effective at waking him up than the cold morning air burning in his lungs. It was disappointing to hear how quickly the morning routine he had established died down during his absence, but at least he has been able to revive it just as quickly after his not-quite-glorious return.

“Don’t ignore me, hey!,” Nobara shouts. He decides to ignores her.

“Itadori,” she drawls with a low voice. “You better not make me worry about you again, or else…”

Her unspoken threat hangs silent in the air. There’s no way Yuji can ever tell either of his classmates about what happened. What would they think of him if they knew? What would they do if they learned about the reason behind the special treatment he receives? If they knew why he regularly has to stay behind after class? If they knew why he doesn’t live in the dorms with them, if they knew why he never takes off his clothes in front of them, if they knew about the scar running up his stomach?

Only when tangy metal blooms on his tongue does he realize he has been biting his bottom lip until it’s bloody. In the corner of his eyes, he catches Megumi quietly shooting him a concerned look. He ignores it as he did with Nobara before and takes a deep breath. One, two. In and out. He makes eye-contact with Nobara, th

“Last one to finish ten laps owes the rest a drink from the vending machine!”

“What–”

Before Nobara can finish her sentence, Yuji breaks into a sprint. He can hear her voice turn shrill from complaining, but her words are nothing but wind in his ears. Beneath him, the racing track flies by, his feet carrying him as if he never had to take a break from running in the first place.

He missed this. Running feels like it’s part of his nature; perhaps in a prior life he was a track and field athlete. It feels good. The impact on his feet running up his legs, the explosive strength catapulting him forwards with each step. He wishes he could never stop running. There was a movie like that, one of the many movies Satoru made him sit through to refine his grasp on his cursed energy during his confinement. It was about a man that was really good at running, just like he is. At one point in the movie, the man kept running across the country for multiple years, never stopping for longer than he has to. Yuji wants to run as well, but he knows he can’t.

He almost stumbles when Satoru’s face suddenly pops up in his mind.

Yuji hates him. Hates him for all the things he has done. That’s what he’s been telling himself all this time. He has to hate that man, after everything that happened.

Then why does the face in his mind look so sad?

He doesn’t realize that he has slowed down to a jog until Megumi overtakes him to the right. He’s too occupied with memories nipping at his mind. A pair of ghostly hands roaming his body, echoes of the past sending comfortable shudders down his spine; They caress his shoulder, pet his hair softly.

He hates him. He hates Gojo Satoru.

No matter how often he repeats those words to himself, they don’t hold any meaning. Allhates hateAAAaa of Satoru’s tenderness floods his mind, threatening to gently drown him. From the way his long arms would wrap around Yuji to the way his body warmth seeped under his skin and, finally, to the way Satoru’s scent slowly replaced the scent of home.

Yuji hates him. He hates him he hates him he hates him.

A frustrated tear fights itself into the corner of his eye. He quickly blinks it away, leaving it behind him on the racetrack.

He hates him. He has to hate him. He knows he does.

So why? Why does the flaring pain in his chest burn with betrayal?

What a traitorous little thing his heart is, pumping longing through his veins; the perfect partner in crime for this loathsome man force-feeding him with his poisoned love. And oh, how he eats it from the palm of his hands like a good little puppy, obedience beaten into him. Which part of it is him, and which part of it is the traces Satoru mixed into him? Maybe he needs to… no.

Yuji shakes his head and picks up the pace again, hoping that maybe, if he just tries hard enough, he can outrun his thoughts.

“Satoru.”

The man looks up from the book he was reading. He looks comfortable, if not downright domestic with the way he lounges in his chair. Important looking documents are strewn across his table, waiting for him to resume working on them. His jacket lies on the sofa, where it has been carelessly discarded, leaving him with an expensive looking white shirt. Messy strands of pale hair frame his face to soften his sharp features and his signature black blindfold has been replaced by a pair of casual reading glasses. Yuji isn’t even sure if he needs them, but he can’t deny that they suit him. And Yuji can tell that Satoru damn well knows they do.

His blue eyes glint behind the thin metal rim and his mouth briefly forms an O before turning into a thin smile. It isn’t often that Yuji comes to him out of his own volition, and if he’s surprised by it, he hides it well. Only in the intensity of his stare does he find a thinly veiled, quietly simmering attention.

“What is it, my love?”

Each word is pronounced with careful languidity. They feel sticky, as if they’re laced with honey. It conjures the image of one hand hold an apple while the other one hides a knife behind his back. Yuji still takes the bait; after all he was the one to search it out in the first place.

He slinks closer to where Satoru remains seated, hands fidgeting to hide the fact that they’re shaking. The man watches him with silent curiosity. Only when Yuji puts them on his shoulders to climb on his lap does he react by drawing a sharp breath through his teeth. Yuji makes sure to take up his entire field of view,

“Satoru,” Yuji repeats with a breathy sigh, a sound so full of genuine longing that it surprises himself. He straddles his lap, only mildly taken aback when he realizes how he’s already affecting him, how Satoru’s cock is already rousing beneath him. Yuji doesn’t even bat an eye at his bodily reaction. Arousal has always been Satoru’s most honest emotion after all. Instead, he throws his head back with a quiet moan and grinds his hips down provocatively, leaving no room for misunderstandings and earning him a smug smirk from Satoru.

“You avoid my affection for a few days just to come back starving for my attention, hm?”

Yuji doesn’t spare him an answer, falling into a steady rhythm of rolling his hips back and forth instead, rutting against the rapidly growing erection beneath him. For all his bravado, Yuji can see that Satoru’s jaw is visibly clenched, gritting his teeth in a desperate bid for self-control. It’s hot, Yuji has to admit, to have a man as powerful and terrifying as Gojo Satoru fighting with himself beneath him. His eyes are ravenous, devouring every inch of Yuji, tearing him apart and putting him back together over and over again, as if he is the one that should be accused of being the starving one.

“Yu–”

Yuji shuts him up with his lips, tasting how the surprised gasp Satoru lets out melts in his mouth like sweetened butter. Satoru doesn’t hesitate long to reciprocate the kiss, tongue lapping against his lips and begging for him to open up. And Yuji, in his practiced patience, of course lets him in. The second he parts his lips, Satoru is all over him. The brush of his tongue and the taste of his saliva, the hands that fly to his waist, their grip tight enough to leave bruises. They bloom like something horrible, something forgotten in his chest. A feeling so close to love that it makes Yuji’s stomach flip and the short hairs on his neck stand on end.

Emboldened by Yuji’s compliance, Satoru eagerly tries to lean forward to capture more of him. But Yuji firmly plants one hand on his chest to push him back down. For the very first time, it feels like he’s the one in control. It’s nice, if not even intoxicating; the feeling making his head buzz and skin tingle. He doesn’t want it to end, not yet. And Satoru seems all too happy to comply, rewarding Yuji for being proactive by letting him set the pace.

Yuji finally breaks away from the kiss, not missing the way Satoru whines at the loss. Focusing on his face proves difficult, his vision still blurry at the edges from being cut off from oxygen so long. There’s a string of their combined saliva trickling down his chin, and despite it feeling so obscenely filthy he doesn’t bother wiping it away. He blinks a few times until the lines of Satoru’s face finally sharpen into coherent shapes again. His lips are glossy from spit and pursed into a tiny pout, his glasses completely fogged up from his breath. Heat creeps on Yuji’s face to match the color of Satoru’s rose-tinted cheeks when he takes note just how utterly shaken the man looks. His eyes, usually glowing brightly with a cerulean glow, now flicker like a candle in the wind instead. Ardent devotion shimmers darkly in his blown-out pupils.

“Touch me.”

The command comes shockingly easy, but the underlying plea still makes his voice crack. Satoru doesn’t need to be told twice, hands immediately dipping beneath Yuji’s clothes, roaming every inch of his skin as if he’s touching him for the first time, as if he hasn’t painted his entire body in his colors already.

But it’s different this time. Hesitant, restrained. Perhaps exactly because Yuji kept avoiding his grasp for a while, perhaps because something inside of Satoru changed. Who knows, maybe he had long overdue second thoughts. The hands travel upward, knead the soft flesh on his chest. A breathy sigh escapes Yuji as he realizes that he, too, has changed.

He missed this.

A thumb brushes against his nipple, and it sets his body ablaze with guilt. Yes, he did mean to find out just how deep the roots of this twisted curse have dug into him. But he didn’t expect his affliction to be so… carnal. It isn’t the first time he’s overcome with want, but it’s the first time he allows himself to be. He welcomes it, lets it light up his fuse while he holds the burning matchstick in his hand.

He starts unbuttoning the jacket of his uniform, Satoru more than eager to help. Their combined hands are clumsy, fumbling, bumping into each other as he helps Yuji out of his uniform, which is carelessly flung into the far corner of the room. For a few seconds, Satoru retracts his hands to give Yuji enough space to take off his beloved red hoodie as well. But the instant that it is tossed aside to join the jacket on the ground, his hands are all over him again, kneading and digging into his flesh while his eyes glint with feverish adoration as they drink in the sight of his student his prisoner his wife his Yuji.

Now, it’s not like Satoru hasn’t seen every single inch of his body before. But usually Yuji would at least try to cover up a little, as futile as it was. This time, Yuji was dedicated to putting himself on display; no longer running, but making Satoru chase him instead. He already looks like he’s hanging on by a thread, hands sliding up Yuji’s sides and coming to a stop right beneath his chest. His thumbs gingerly brush over the twin scars underlining his pecs, a mirror to the set of scars resting beneath his eyes ever since he involuntarily became a host to the king of curses.

He used to bear them with shame, but now he very intently looks down at Satoru as if to say look at them, look at who I am, and look at who you made me.

“How long do you plan on staring?” he taunts, watching Satoru’s Adam’s apple bob in response. The man presses a reverent kiss on his stomach, right above his navel. Then another a few inches higher, and another right over where Yuji’s heart is supposed to be.

The boy steadies himself on his shoulders, gasping at how the kisses leave behind a pleasantly burning, yet intense heat. He whimpers when Satoru’s lips press against his collarbone, his big hands easily fitting the small of his chest in his palms. Yuji lets out a barely suppressed moan when he lightly nips at the soft skin of his neck, a sound to which Satoru responds by bucking up his hips insistently. He’s being so, so patient, and he’s making sure that Yuji knows he is.

“Sato– ah–” Yuji tries to grab his attention, but the sudden suction on his neck commands all of his focus to one spot. After a few moments, Satoru lets go of his skin just to continue nibbling and suckling at another spot, just a tiny bit higher.

It feels good.

He can already tell that Satoru’s work will soon bloom into dark purple marks that Yuji can only pray to be able to hide.

His mouth travels lower again, and this time there’s the added sensation of his fingers brushing over his stiff nipples. Satoru pinches one of them meanly, forcing Yuji to arch his back in response. A familiar pressure is building up in his chest, making his skin feel so incredibly tight. His hands desperately push against the man, who seems to be as unbudging as a rock. If this continues he’ll… He’ll…

“Wai– no…!”

His protest falls on deaf ears, Satoru pulling away to watch with child-like glee as a few drops of milky liquid bead on his nipple. A thousand emotions rush over Yuji, and yet he can’t name a single one of them except the guilty molten pleasure pooling in his stomach as he watches Satoru lick his lips with a pleased hum.

“My,” he drawls, making Yuji shiver, “I was afraid that you would’ve dried up after a few days without my care.” He swipes the bead of milk away with his thumb, just for even more of it to gather in its stead. The little delighted laugh he lets out at the sight makes even more heat creep into Yuji’s face.

“We worked so hard to keep your milk flow going, so it would be a shame to waste our efforts just like that, mh? That would be too bad, wouldn’t it?”

Yuji wants to say something, anything – but the words die in his throat when Satoru’s mouth latches onto his leaking nipple, greedily sucking on it to coax even more milk out of it. And it works, Yuji can feel it. He can feel how the flow steadily increases, even if he doesn’t produce nearly as much as he did when Satoru was still feeding from him daily. It could honestly be considered a miracle how quickly it recovered.

The grip on his breast tightens, roughly kneading it to stimulate the milk flow even more. Satoru’s second hand finds his unoccupied nipple, idly playing with it first before roughly tugging on it and rolling it between his fingers. It didn’t take long for it to start leaking too, a steady stream of milk trickling down messily on his chest and stomach.

It feels good, too good.

And not even in an exclusively sexual way, but more like a valve being opened to release built up pressure, or a heavy weight being taken off his shoulders. Unable to hold back, he breathes out a weary sigh of relief, and judging by the way Satoru looks at him he’s not the only one that needs this. His eyes are hazy, half-lidded, peeking at him through pretty white lashes that fan out delicately over his deep-blue gaze while he dutifully laps up the last remaining drops of milk. Finally, he pulls off his chest with a wet pop, the slick saliva intensifying the feeling of cold air licking at him. Yuji watches in slow-motion as Satoru raises his hand to his mouth, licking off the milk coating it from his fingers without breaking eye-contact once. He’s savoring it, Yuji notes. Like a hungry babe, a needy little child demanding to be spoiled. And Yuji, oh, he loves to provide.

“Done already?” he teases as if his heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest. It earns him a sneer, the mean glint in Satoru’s eyes sending a shudder of a dark premonition down his back.

“Have to make sure you have some left for our child after all.”

Yuji’s breath hitches. His chest suddenly constricts, his ribcage so impossibly small that it cuts into his racing heart.

A child.

A child.

A child

The word rings in his head, loud and heavy and drowning out all thought.

A child.

An image appears in his mind, a tiny bundle in his arms, so fragile yet warm and alive. A small hand grabbing his finger, clinging to it. The first toothless smile. A gentle sway in a warm breeze. Laughter. Warm and alive.

He doesn’t notice that he has started crying until Satoru gingerly wipes a tear from his cheek, cupping it with his large palm.

“Hey,” he says softly, “stay with me, my love. I’m here, shhh… It’s okay, I’m here.”

Yuji puts a shaking hand over Satoru’s. For a few moments, he allows himself to bask in the warm touch, lean into it and seek comfort.

He shouldn’t.

He bites his wobbling lip and leans down.

It’s shy and gentle, nothing more than a chaste kiss. But it tastes sweeter than any of the desserts Satoru has ever brought him, and Yuji chases that faint sweetness, licks it form his lips. When he breaks away the taste still lingers.

A few beats pass with them just looking at each other before Yuji takes a deep breath.

“Satoru.”

“Mh?”

“I love you.”

For a brief moment, Satoru’s eyes go wide with surprise. He blinks once, then twice, then a third time as if running those three words through his mind again and again. But then his face relaxes into something soft, a somber, almost vulnerable expression.

“I love you too.”

His words strike a chord with him, his body humming in resonance. Satoru’s hands find his hips, giving them a gentle squeeze. The glint in his eyes is less sharp, less mischievous. It’s genuine and full of want. Yuji thinks they have never looked this pretty before.

“Say it again,” Satoru whispers.

“I love you.” Yuji responds easily.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Satoru’s mouth opens as if to ask for him to say it again, but he bites his lip instead. Before Yuji can make sense of it, his world goes upside down. He blinks at the ceiling a few times, feels stray sheets of paper stick to the sweaty skin on his back. Large hands gently push him back down when he tries to sit up.

“Stay put for me, sweetheart. God, I love you so much. My pretty little dove, my Yuji…”

Both Satoru’s mumbling and breathing grow erratic. Slender fingers hook under the waistband of his pants and underwear, hesitantly tugging at it as if to silently ask a question he has never bothered to ask before.

“Satoru…”

Yuji’s small hands grasp his wrists, as if he could hope to stand a chance if it came down to it.

“What is it, little blossom?,” he purrs, sickly-sweet.

“I want to… Please, can we… can we do… it?”

The reaction is immediate. Both his pants and underwear get tugged down in one smooth motion, quickly to be discarded of. While Yuji can’t see Satoru in this position, he is certain that Satoru is staring at his exposed cunt. He’s sopping wet already, overflowing juices dribbling down and quickly pooling on the wooden surface beneath him. He feels how a hand parts his wet folds, long fingers rubbing languid circles over his leaking hole. The sloppy wet noises make the tips of his ears burn. Maybe he should be used to having his pussy played with by now, but somehow it feels more intimate, more real than it ever did. The reason is as simple as can be.

He chose this.

“You’re so fucking wet… Little minx, you. Missed me this much, huh?”

You made me this way, Yuji wants to protest, but it turns into weak mewling. He instinctively bucks his hips, chases the sensation of Satoru’s fingers pressed against his entrance. A delicate act of balancing too much and too little, sweet pressure that makes the muscles in his pelvis tense with anticipation of what’s to come.

“Satoru…!,” he whines, wanting to add more but it feels like words are only gibberish on his tongue.

“Fuck… You don’t even need any preparation, do you? Want me to put it in just like that, yeah?”

“Y-yeah…!,” Yuji barely manages to slur, whimpering when Satoru’s fingers pull away. There’s a short break, giving Yuji some time to catch his breath. He hears Satoru’s clothes rustle, and the all-too familiar sound of a belt unbuckling makes his body go stiff.

He chose this.

Like a mantra, Yuji keeps chanting it to himself, forcing his body to relax.

He chose this.

His legs are being pushed apart, something nudging against his entrance, just barely threatening to push in.

He chose this.

A gasp is punched out of him as the thick head of Satoru’s cock stretches him open.

He chose this.

“Sato…ru…”

“What is it my love?,” he answers and it’s unfair how effortless he makes it sound.

“I love you…”

Yuji isn’t sure anymore whom he is saying it to. The words lose meaning, written in the sand and washed away by the tide, written again just to be erased, over and over, running in circles, losing itself, losing himself, three words, a beating heart, hot breath on his neck, a tiny hand in his, crying, laughter, silence. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru–

He chose this.

Yuji chose to love him. He is sure of it. He loves him, he has to. Satoru loves him. He does, doesn’t he? If Satoru loves him, he has to love him too. This is love, right? This is his happy ever after. He chose this.

“I love you too–” Satoru grunts as he steadily slides his whole length inside. “I love you…”

It’s not fair how those words set Yuji’s entire being on fire, fanning flames into roaring blaze, into molten pleasure. Satoru’s cock scrapes his insides with a delicious tear as he pulls it out again, Yuji’s toes curling when he snaps his hips forward to slam it back in. He slowly falls into a steady rhythm, Yuji’s feet flailing helplessly every time skin smacks against skin. The leisurely pace is almost romantic, if it wasn’t for the fact that the torturously slow rhythm makes Yuji throw his head from side to side with an unsatisfied whine.

“More,” he whimpers, his needy pussy greedily clenching down on his girth. Satoru doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling out halfway as if to give Yuji some room to breathe. One of his hands roams his thigh and leg, groping it roughly, fingers digging into his calf and lifting it up to hook it over his shoulder. His arm wraps around it to keep him steady, to keep his leg open. He gives him a few experimental shallow thrusts, the tip of his cock just barely grazing a bundle of sensitive nerves. It’s cruel and delicious all the same, like a wallowing crescendo that dies down without ever reaching its peak.

“Satoru,” he whines, high-pitched and needy. Satoru has to know what he’s doing.

“What is it, love?,” he sighs while lazily moving his hips. Yeah, he’s so doing it on purpose. “I need you to use your words with me if you want something, Yuji.”

How cruel. How utterly cruel. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly what Yuji wants him to do. But he digs it up from deep within Yuji’s chest, blood and dirt under his fingernails until all of Yuji’s secrets are laid bare. The boy rolls his head to the side, one arm shielding his eyes. He takes a deep, stuttering breath.

“Fuck me, please. I need it, Satoru. Please fuck my p-pussy…!” Yuji almost chokes on his spit. He tries to roll his hips, tries to entice Satoru to stop playing around and finally stuff him full. But the bruising grip on his hip keeps him still, keeps him helplessly splayed out on the tabletop for Satoru to take as he pleases. A lamb on the slaughter bank, a butterfly pinned in place for taxidermy.

“So honest with me… You want me to fuck you, mh? Want me to fuck you stupid until you can’t talk anymore? Is that what you want?”

“Y-yes! Fuck, Satoru, yes, please!”

The only answer he receives is a dark hum before Satoru pulls out to the point the rim of his cockhead tears at Yuji’s tight hole. It lingers there for a few seconds, Yuji feeling his heartbeat accelerating in anticipation, before it is slammed all the way inside again in one swift motion. It knocks a breathless gasp out of him, the leg resting on Satoru’s shoulder making his hips twist in a way that gives access to the deepest parts of his insides. Satoru doesn’t waste time to recuperate, snapping his hips to set a brutal pace, mercilessly battering the entrance to Yuji’s small womb over and over again. Tremors rock Yuji’s entire body each time the tip of Satoru’s cock insistently presses against his cervix. He wants to cry and beg and plea – but any words he could have uttered are reduced to shaky breaths and broken moans, his earlier attitude reduced to a trembling mess that can’t do anything but receive and take and take and take.

Suddenly he’s being pulled closer until their hips are pressed flushed against each other. He’s so full, full of everything; of Satoru’s cock, his emotions, of surrender and lust and love. A single tear rolls down the side of his face, he barely feels it on his burning skin. His insides are stretched to their limits and he feels like he’s about to break, Satoru’s pulse throbbing inside of him as if it’s his own, two hearts beating as one, fulfilled, whole. Somehow, Satoru pushes himself so impossible deeper, so perfectly, snugly fitting inside of him as if it has always been meant to be.

Using what little strength he has left, Yuji props himself up on his elbows. The first thing he sees is the obvious bulge on his belly, the sight of which makes his stomach flutter. He shyly averts his eyes to study Satoru’s face instead. His jaw is tense and he’s biting his bottom lip, eyebrows knitted with intense focus and eyelashes fluttering, his half-lidded gaze hot with desire and restraint clashing. For the first time Yuji thinks he looks guilty. Conflicted even, torn. Just what, Yuji wonders, makes him hesitate?

“Satoru,” he croaks out with a raspy voice. He takes a grounding breath, one hand tracing the shape of Satoru’s cock on his stomach and stopping right above the pinkish scar running across his skin, right where his womb lies waiting. It aches so much; a hollow pain that needs to be filled. He knows what will stop the pain, and his insides twist deliciously at the thought of accepting in his heart what his body long since has come to crave. He takes a deep, rattling breath.

He chose this.

“–breed me.”

The words are raw, unfiltered. Not want or desire, but something worse. Primal, inevitable. Like this is right, like it has always been meant to be this way.

Satoru sucks in a sharp breath, and Yuji greedily inhales it.

“Breed me, Satoru. Knock me up, please. Let’s make a family. Cum inside me, get me pregnant, please, I love you… I love you so much, please…”

The words bubble up in breathless bursts, but they’re so true, so honest that it hurts.

Satoru stirs to life with a low noise akin to a growl. His hesitance melts away with every snap of his hips, renewed vigor in his thrusts as his fingernails desperately dig bloody little crescent into Yuji’s calf.

“Is that so?” He sighs, raspy and ragged. “Don’t worry my love, I’ll take care of you. Gonna breed you so good…” Each thrust grows quicker until the pace is eager, feverish, desperate. Satoru’s voice is nothing but a whisper; full of promise, full of sin. “Gonna pump you full of my cum, yeah? Keep you nice and full of my seed, my pretty wife, my pretty little Yuji…”

The words reverberate in Yuji’s head, an unheard prayer in an empty church. They make no sense to him, a mantra that surely comes true if he just believes enough. It burns in his chest, his skin seared by flame, set ablaze from head to toe and thoughts thrown into an indiscernible chaos while all he can do is enthusiastically pant and beg and moan more more more, yes, please, more…!

It's too much and not enough at the same time. With each thrust knocking against his womb the crescendo of his heart crawls towards its zenith. For a brief moment it hinges on the edge like an untaken breath, lingering, a string pulled taut before it violently snaps, the sun falling down from the skies. It tumbles down down down, and Yuji tumbles down with it. The feelings explode all at once, his ears ringing as his mouth opens in a silent cry, insides wrenching, tightening, churning, pulsing.

His orgasm violently washes over him, the riptide pulling him under, drowning him. Lightning flashes before his eyes, blinding his vision, and the roaring blood thundering in his ears makes his head spin. Muffled by layers upon layers of cascading ecstasy, Satoru’s grunts sound like waves crashing against the shore. His body limply sways back and forth as Satoru’s thrusts grow slower, lazy. Distantly, Yuji feels the distinct warmth of cum pooling in his womb. I hope it takes, a tiny voice in his head whispers. Yuji isn’t sure if it’s his own.

The afterglow of their climax smolders like cold embers in his lap. Satoru collapses on top of him, his flaccid cock still lodged inside of him to keep him plugged up. His cheek feels ghostly cold where it rests on Yuji’s chest. Together they catch their breath, or at least try to; Surely Satoru can hear Yuji’s heart rabbiting in his ribcage still, pumping poisoned blood through his veins.

The pleasure ebbs and recedes to a numb throbbing in his core, leaving a wasteland of uneasy serenity behind. He swallows around the poisoned apple lodged in his throat. Is it bliss or the sickly sweet taste of guilt?

He raises a heavy hand, cards his fingers through sweaty strands of pale hair. He gently scratches Satoru’s scalp, which earns him a deep, satisfied hum.

He counts the tiles making up the ceiling. Once, twice. His eyes fall shut by the time he’s almost done counting them for a third time. He feels empty. The man on top of him doesn’t show any signs of moving any time soon, so he’s trapped here for the time being.

Is this what he wanted?

A family, domesticity. Father, mother, child. Intimacy and love.

Perhaps not. Yuji can’t remember anymore. But he knows he chose this. He has to choose this. After all, choosing is the very last act of freedom he has left.

The clouds pass by high above the crematorium’s chimney. The roaring fire in its furnace has long been reduced to cold ashes, the deathly silence in its halls only broken up by the clacking of chopsticks.

A thick fragment of bone is picked up and passed to the next – and only other – person, who places it in the urn with reverent care. There wasn’t anyone else left to mourn the deceased, so the pair quietly work side by side, piece by piece until only one more bone is left. A vertebrae. It gets picked up with an unwavering grasp before being put inside the urn as well.

Yuji is glad that the monk left so he can pick up his grandpa’s bones in quiet solitude. At the same time he is thankful for Satoru’s silent presence being an emotional anchor for him. Without him he would’ve probably broken down crying multiple times by now.

Only when the door behind him closes does he allow himself a single sob. His eyes sting with the threat to spill, but the pain of his teeth digging into his bottom lip is enough to ground him. The large hand on his back radiates warmth and comfort.

“Grandpa is… was my only family, you know?”

He stares at the end of the dark hallway, as if looking at a silhouette standing there. Satoru gently rubs circles into his spine, encouraging him to continue while allowing him to choose when to. Yuji wipes his eyes and looks down at his wet palm.

“And in the same way, I was the only family he had left. My parents they… Well, gramps never told me what exactly happened to them. They probably died. I mean, it would make no difference if they are still alive, since they were never there, you know? Just gramps and me, for as long as I can remember.”

The hand on his back stops moving for the fraction of a second before continuing.

“I just hope he didn’t suffer. He probably died thinking that I left him as well. He never learned about what happened to me, did he?”

There’s a heavy silence, but before Yuji can interpret it as an answer, Satoru speaks up.

“I didn’t tell him about the details, but I assured him that you are safe. I also gave him enough money to lead a comfortable, happy life and personally hired a group of assistant sorcerers to guard him day and night.”

Yuji lets out a bitter laugh, squinting his eyes to focus on the shifting shadows in the dark. They don’t dare to step into the light, so there’s no reason to fear them anymore.

“Is that what you consider happiness? Dying alone?”

This time, Satoru stays quiet.

“Whatever.”

Yuji closes his eyes and tips his head back.

“He’s dead now. I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to be beat up his loss. He would probably say something like ‘go and live a happy life, stupid grandson’”

“And I will make sure you will. I promised it to him, and I promise it to you. I’ll give you everything. A roof over your head, the most delicious food I can find. A family, a home. Myself.”

A weak smile fights itself on Yuji’s face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Is this your idea of a happy end?”

Satoru doesn’t reply. Good. Yuji doesn’t want to know the answer.

He straightens his back and turns away from the dark to face the lit up exit instead. One hand gently caresses his belly – It is flat now, but he knows it won’t be for long. It didn’t take throwing up every morning to notice that something was wrong, or different rather.

No, different is not the right word.

It’s a faintly familiar feeling, one that he experienced before. But where once the realization filled him with horror and despair, it now fills him with purpose and hope.

In the past he had believed that love had been stolen from him. Bloodied hands that plucked his wings; the very same hands that returned them to him in a pretty bouquet. Their purpose twisted, their meaning changed. Different, but still beautiful. Yuji had just been refusing to see. His hands have been just as stained since the day he accepted this gift.

Will he still be able to hold a small hand in his? Has he lost the ability to love and be loved, or can he start all over again?

A part of his heart will never grow whole again, but perhaps not all of it has died with her.

He takes a deep breath and reaches towards Satoru’s hand. But instead of taking it, he shyly tugs on his sleeve instead. Without exchanging another word, they walk down the hallways side by side. A big hand slides against his, interlacing their fingers. Yuji lets him.

This is is how it has always meant to be, isn't it?

After all, his happy end has been chosen for him a long time ago.