𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝟔. ✦ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧? ♡ WC. 4,169

The sixth date takes place under the hanging wisteria trees, petals brushing your shoulders as you walk beside the King of Curses, your expression unreadable as always. You’re dressed plainly, but even simplicity becomes something sacred under your still presence, and Sukuna hates that it affects him.

He doesn’t say anything yet.

You walk with hands folded behind your back, gaze tracing the sky, quiet as usual, until you finally speak.

“What do you think about relationships?”

He almost trips.

He doesn’t, of course. But it feels like a stumble—like you hurled a blade into his spine while he was relaxed, unguarded, and he turns his head toward you so slowly it’s almost comedic. You glance at him, innocent in your intent, but Sukuna knows better. You’re never innocent. You’re sharp and observant, and when you ask things, you’ve already thought about them for weeks.

“Why are you asking that?”

You blink. “Why not?”

“You don’t ask about things without a reason. Don’t start lying to me.”

You shrug, lips unmoving. He narrows his eyes, watching the way your gaze settles ahead, unreadable again. You’re never shy. Never indirect. But now, you’re clearly trying to be subtle. That means it’s serious.

“What did your idiot brother say?”

“I didn’t ask Satoru.”

That makes it worse. You never go to anyone but your brother. Not even Sukuna. And yet, you’re asking him now?

“So you didn’t ask the Six-Eyes who thinks the sun shines out of your ass. You asked me?”

“I thought you were more experienced.”

He laughs. Loud and crass, like thunder. “You thought I—! Hah! You mean the concubines?”

You nod.

And just like that, something ugly crawls up his back. The memory of the third date resurfaces—you seeing him surrounded by women, some of them half-naked, clinging to him like dogs in heat. He hadn’t done it to hurt you. Not really. He did it because he assumed you wouldn’t care.

And you hadn’t. Not outwardly.

But now you’re asking about relationships?

Why does he feel like he stepped on a landmine?

He studies you as you continue walking beside him, his arms tucked behind his back, robes swaying in rhythm with yours. You’re not tense. You’re not flushed. Your voice is smooth, unshaken. But it bothers him.

Because you’re not playing. You’re serious. That curiosity in your voice isn’t idle.

“What do you mean by relationships?” he asks, voice a little lower now.

“Marriage. Companionship. Bonds.”

His laugh is quieter this time, but meaner. “You? Curious about bonds?”

Sukuna leans back, eyeing you like you’re some unfamiliar puzzle. His four arms fold loosely, but his jaw is tense. He makes a joke of it. Of course he does.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for someone already,” he drawls. “Is he weak? I’ll kill him.”

“No one yet.”

Yet.

His mind stutters.

You nod again. No shame, no embarrassment. “The elders brought it up. They think I should consider marriage.”

The ground shifts beneath him. Marriage?

“Satoru doesn’t want to. Says he just needs me. But I think… someone has to, eventually.”

Eventually.

Eventually you’ll belong to someone else. Let someone touch you, live with you, speak to you with familiarity. Someone will make you laugh. Someone will see you tired and broken. Someone will watch you sleep, and maybe you’ll even let them.

He’s already imagined the wedding.

Some faceless noble. Draping you in silks you hate. Giving you orders you ignore. Trying to touch you with hands that will never understand the stillness of your body, the way you sit so perfectly quiet and aware—as if any noise is a waste of energy.

He wants to burn that man alive.

Sukuna grits his teeth.

Why does it matter? He’s the King of Curses. He has seen a hundred women scream his name. He doesn’t care about you. You’re just a curiosity. A quiet girl with cold eyes and a strange way of looking at the world.

So why does it burn?

“And you came to me,” he says, keeping his tone neutral. “To ask for advice?”

“Yes. You’re the only one I know who’s had partners.”

He almost sneers. “Partners. You make it sound so clean.”

You pause at the edge of a small pond, kneeling to let a koi swim up to your fingertips. Your sleeves dip into the water. Sukuna watches the way your reflection dances beside the fish, your face unmarred by expression.

“What is it like?” you ask.

“Sex?” he offers, teasing. He wants to rile you. Shake you out of this dangerous calm.

You don’t rise to the bait. “Being with someone. Having them beside you. Always.”

He can’t laugh this time.

He looks away, eyes narrowing. His own face, monstrous and cruel, reflects in the water beside yours. Four eyes, two mouths, jagged tattoos. What kind of creature feels jealousy? What kind of monster wants more?

“It’s… inconvenient,” he says finally.

You tilt your head. “But not unpleasant.”

“No. Not unpleasant.”

He wants to tell you it’s pointless. That bonds are chains. That love is for fools. That humans waste their lives chasing things that rot. But none of it comes out. Not when you’re looking at him like that, genuinely interested, like he’s more than just a curse.

He hates this.

He hates that you’re considering marriage. Hates that it wasn’t even a conversation about him. Hates that you didn’t ask if he would marry you. You just wanted generic advice—as if he’s some old mentor.

“Do you want to get married?” he asks. Flat.

“I don’t know. I think… maybe I could. If it meant something.”

His claws twitch.

To who? Who the fuck could ever be enough? Who could stand beside you and not turn to dust from your brilliance? From your precision, your quiet resilience, your maddening lack of emotion that somehow hides so much heart?

He could.

He has.

He should be the one.

But he isn’t. Not in your mind. Not even close. You see him as a friend now. You even admitted it last week. That was supposed to be a win.

Now it feels like a curse.

“You shouldn’t,” he says finally, standing behind you. “Marry someone.”

You glance back. “Why not?”

“Because it’s messy. And you hate messes. You don’t like being touched. You don’t like chaos.”

“But people change.”

He leans down, voice lower. “Not always for the better.”

You consider this, and for a moment he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s convinced you. But then you smile. Barely. The tiniest tilt of your lips.

“Still. I want to understand it.”

He straightens, arms crossed now. “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t do love.”

“But you’ve seen it.”

He has. In its ugliest forms.

And suddenly, he’s furious again.

Someone else getting your rare smiles. Someone else being called husband by you.

He wants to kill them. Whoever they are.

He wants to kill the idea.

He almost blurts it out—you’re mine. But he doesn’t. Because he can’t. You’ll disappear. He knows you. If he pushes too far, you’ll vanish behind those walls again. So he smiles instead, cruel and crooked.

“Maybe I should help you find a husband,” he says lightly. “You’re so small and fragile, after all. Wouldn’t want you marrying the wrong man.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’d help me?”

“Of course,” he lies. “I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

The word tastes like poison.

You nod, satisfied. “Then what should I look for?”

“Someone boring. Predictable. Harmless. Someone who’ll never argue with you, or touch you without permission. Someone you can control.”

You look up at him. “You’re describing the opposite of you.”

He smirks. “Exactly.”

You’re silent again. Watching him. And he wonders if you can see it—what he really means. What he’s hiding.

You can’t. Or maybe you can. But you let him have his mask.

✦✧✦✧

The corner of his mouth lifts.

“What do you want me to say? That it’s fun? It is. Until it isn’t.”

You nod, considering. “Do you regret it?”

He snorts. “Regret is for humans.”

He pauses.

And then, carefully, he repeats:

“You’d hate it.”

You look at him. “Why?”

“You don’t like being owned. You don’t like being touched without reason. You don’t love easily, and you never need anyone to feel whole. That kind of woman… marriage is a cage.”

You sip your tea.

“Then what should someone like me do?”

Sukuna’s eyes darken.

He wonders if you’re testing him. If this is some quiet, cunning trap. A subtle admission. Or maybe you’re truly innocent—just curious, just logical, just cold.

But he knows better.

You never ask questions without knowing exactly what you want.

He leans forward now, all four arms on the table, eyes locked to yours.

“If you want something, take it. If you don’t, don’t lie to yourself. That’s what ruins people.”

You tilt your head. “And what if someone else takes it before I decide?”

He goes still.

Time stops.

He thinks about the man putting a ring on your finger. The man pressing kisses to your temple. The man walking away from a temple where Sukuna stands powerless, unable to touch what is now ‘legally’ his.

He wants to murder the future.

“Then they die,” he says simply.

You blink. Then, softly:

“That’s a childish answer.”

He grins.

“You didn’t ask for a mature one.”

He looks at your face. Pale, impassive. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with cosmetics or adornments. Pure intellect. You ask about love the way a scientist studies a beast.

“If you marry someone,” he says at last, voice low, “don’t expect me to attend.”

You nod slowly, then glance away.

“Alright.”

That makes it worse.

Just like that, you’ve accepted his absence. His refusal. His quiet rejection.

As if he won’t matter anymore.

✦✧✦✧

He stares at you for a long moment, then says:

“You want real advice?”

You look back at him.

He’s serious now. Not mocking. Not theatrical.

“Only marry someone who scares you.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because that means they can touch you. Not physically. Really touch you. Your mind. Your soul. If you can look at them and not feel anything, then you’ll leave eventually.”

You go quiet.

Sukuna watches you.

He doesn’t say like I do. He doesn’t admit it.

But it’s there.

He watches the way your eyes lower, just a fraction, the first real shift in your emotion since the conversation started.

And it hits him—harder than any blade ever could—that you were asking because part of you was thinking about him. About what this was. About the possibility.

The elders want you to marry.

And you came to him.

He feels sick with it.

He hates humans. Hates their games, their rituals, their fragile hearts.

But he loves the way your mind works. Loves how cruel you are in your detachment, how your empathy is quiet, not loud. How you understand things without needing them.

He’s been around thousands of years. No one has ever made him feel like this.

Like he might lose something.

You rise from your seat.

“Thank you for your thoughts.”

He grins again, hiding the churn in his chest.

“Any time, princess.”

You walk away slowly, your figure shrinking against the falling dusk.

And Sukuna sits in silence.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Blood splatters across the lacquered temple walls.

Screams echo and die quickly, choked off mid-gurgle, as Sukuna carves through another group of sorcerers dumb—or unlucky—enough to cross his territory. He moves without elegance tonight. No poetry in his slaughter. Just vicious, precise, enraged destruction.

Uraume watches from the edge of the hall, silent.

The massacre was loud tonight.

Not in sound. That was always the same: screams, tearing flesh, curses ripped into pieces like wet paper. No, it was the intent. The weight. The ferocity behind every move Sukuna made—raw and violent, but underneath it all, Uraume could feel it:

Emotion.

A curse’s rage was nothing new to her. Neither was her lord’s brutality. But there was something different tonight. Something jagged. Every time his claws carved through bone, every time a body hit the ground twitching, she felt the fury rolling off of him like heat.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t grin.

Didn’t gloat.

He was silent.

And that silence was terrifying.

Each swing of his claws comes with too much force, bones shattering like porcelain. Flesh peels like wet paper. The blood smells stronger than usual. It’s a rage deeper than instinct. Less performance. More pain.

She knows why.

She knew from the moment you walked away.

The sixth date. Under the wisteria trees. You, with your unreadable voice and blank face. You, who never once touched her master in affection, who never even raised your voice. You asked about marriage. Of all things.

A normal woman, she might’ve dismissed.

But you’re not normal.

You’re the Gojo heir—the only surviving one—and yet nothing like Satoru. Where he is loud, you are quiet. Where he demands attention, you disappear. Where others rage, you study. An Inquisitor’s mind, a surgeon’s hands. Empathy deeper than oceans. And control like steel.

You were terrifying in ways most would never understand. You could’ve razed kingdoms with a flick of your wrist. But instead, you fed stray animals. Helped lost children. Treated curses and humans alike with the same measured detachment and impossible kindness.

You were so… human.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

To the world, you were cold. Distant. Impossibly quiet.

But to the broken, the lost, the unseen—you were salvation.

✦✧✦✧

It was a fact that Uraume has watched humans fall apart in Sukuna’s presence. Cry. Grovel. Die. You did none of that. You walked beside him. Looked him in the eye. Talked to him like an equal.

And worse—he listened.

“Do you want to get married?”

The words had hit Sukuna harder than any blade. Uraume had felt the shift in him the moment your answer left your lips. And now, she watches the fallout.

You had asked about love.

And he hadn’t known how to answer.

Now, he kills like it’ll wash the question from his skin.

Are you choosing someone?

No. You said no one yet.

Yet.

The word is a blade.

He hadn’t said it aloud, but Uraume knew—he thought you’d always be there. Quietly orbiting him like some strange star. Untouchable, but near.

Now you were considering leaving.

To someone else.

To someone lesser.

The last man dies with a soft, wet sound. His body drops in halves.

Silence returns.

Sukuna breathes through his teeth, chest rising and falling slowly. Four arms coated in blood, his lower mouth curled into something like a scowl. He doesn’t even glance back at her.

“She asked you,” Uraume says softly. “Not the Six-Eyes.”

Sukuna grits his teeth.

That’s what made it worse.

You didn’t ask Satoru, your idiot brother. You asked him. As if he had something meaningful to offer. As if he was someone worth trusting. Worth understanding.

The King of Curses.

The monster who should never be trusted with fragile things.

And now, he can’t stop thinking about it.

“Only marry someone who scares you.”

Did he scare you? Had you asked because he did? Or had you asked because he didn’t?

That thought hits harder than it should.

Maybe he was too familiar now. Maybe he’d let you see too much. Maybe he’d spoken too gently, too often. Sat too close. Watched you too long without biting.

Maybe you felt safe.

And you don’t love things that make you feel safe.

He should feel irritation. He should feel pissed that you don’t fear him. But all he feels is this gnawing, hollow thing pressing against the cage of his ribs.

Because you were thinking about marriage.

And you didn’t bring up love. Or desire. Or him.

Just marriage.

Like it was inevitable.

Like you had to consider it, not because you wanted to, but because the world was asking. And you always answer questions eventually.

He wasn’t blind.

You did feel things. Quietly. Deeply. But you buried them beneath logic and control and observation. You didn’t need anyone.

And yet you came to him.

So he was your sample size. Your field research. The whore-king who’d tasted every flavor of sin and could give you the most detached data.

He sneers.

He should’ve lied more.

He should’ve said it was awful. Should’ve told you that sex was blood and boredom. That companionship was rot. That every bond ends in betrayal. That he, above all, would never want that. Should never have it.

✦✧✦✧

He wonders if you’ll ask him again. If next time, you’ll be bolder.

Or if this was your one attempt.

A silent invitation to speak now.

And he said nothing.

He told you not to.

He told you marriage is a cage.

And you nodded.

But what if it wasn’t idle curiosity? What if it wasn’t just a question? What if you had been considering him?

He slams his hand into a tree. It explodes. The cursed spirits nearby scatter.

Uraume steps forward.

“My lord.”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. She’s known him long enough to understand what silence means.

She bows slightly. “Shall I look into it?”

He blinks, slowly. His outer eyes narrow. “Look into what?”

“The suitors. Those the elders will propose.”

His expression darkens.

“They want to bind her to someone political. A tie to the clans. Power consolidation.”

He knows this. Of course he does. But hearing it aloud makes the rage surge again.

She continues gently. “I can gather names. Quietly. Accidents happen.”

He doesn’t respond. Not for several long seconds. Then, low:

“No accidents.”

Uraume nods, though her eyes flicker in surprise. “Then what?”

Sukuna tilts his head, gaze locked on a bloodied pillar. “I want them to know. That I took them. One by one.”

Ah.

He’s no longer confused. No longer conflicted.

The King of Curses has decided.

Uraume lowers her eyes. “Understood.”

She glances once more at the shredded corpses.

✦✧✦✧

You had walked away with calm grace, thanking him for his thoughts. You hadn’t looked back. You never do. Not because you don’t care—but because you don’t chase. Never have.

Uraume wonders what you’re thinking now, walking home alone. Whether you’re truly unaware of what your questions did to him—or if you knew exactly what you were doing. She suspects it’s both. That’s how you are. Brilliant. Icy. Unknowable.

She doesn’t like many humans. But you—

You’re something else.

“I’ll bring you the list,” she says softly. “And the one who proposed the idea in the first place.”

And one by one, ensure her master’s heart would never be threatened again.

Sukuna doesn’t reply.

He’s staring at the horizon now.

If you married someone else—

He would kill them.

Not out of rage. Not out of spite.

But because he couldn’t stand the idea that anyone else could hold something of yours. That they might hear the rare, almost invisible notes of your laughter. That they might see the quiet devotion in your gaze. That they might know what you look like when you let yourself trust someone.

He hated himself for thinking it.

But he’d do it anyway.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The chamber was cold.

Built into the deepest caverns beneath the main compound, it was a place meant to extinguish defiance. A place where voices were silenced not through force, but through tradition—unflinching, ancient, and cruel. Candles sputtered in the shadows, casting long streaks of gold across the polished stone. The elders, draped in ceremonial white and indigo, sat in a crescent arc above you, as if judgment came from the heavens themselves.

You stood before them, hands clasped politely in front of you. Calm. Empathetic. Quiet. Emotionless.

“You have met with the King of Curses more than once,” the middle elder spoke, his voice rasping with age and disapproval. “We had allowed this under the pretense of gathering intelligence, and yet… weeks pass. Months. And he still breathes.”

Beside you, Satoru shifted, eyes hidden beneath white lashes, but his energy simmered like a blade pressed against flame. “And yet she returns each time with invaluable knowledge about his territory, his evolution, his alliances. Would you rather send someone less capable to die pointlessly?”

The elder ignored him.

“There are whispers,” another chimed in, her tone sharp enough to cut flesh. “That the Gojo successor—our pride, our hope—is enamored with the very monster she was born to destroy.”

You didn’t react. Not a flicker of your lashes. Not a twitch of the mouth.

Because it wasn’t entirely untrue, was it?

But not in the way they thought.

Your feelings weren’t foolish infatuation. They weren’t weakness. If anything, they were more dangerous than desire. You understood Sukuna—saw what he truly was behind that bone-chiseled smile and those blood-red eyes. A creature born of wrath and warped ideals, yes. But also something else. Something old and alone and brutal in its clarity. You hadn’t asked him that question about marriage for compliance with the elders. No. You had asked because you needed a perspective unclouded by morality. You needed truth. And he gave it.

Still, the mission remained.

You were the Gojo heir. The one with more than just Six Eyes. You were born with the ability to see truth. Not illusions. Not masks. The truth of things—their weight, their pain, their patterns, their inevitability. And truth had never spared anyone.

“Say something, girl,” the first elder barked. “Do you deny your affections? Do you deny your intentions?”

Satoru took a step forward, teeth bared. “Watch your tone—”

But you raised a hand.

Slow. Elegant. Silent.

It was enough to stop even him.

You tilted your chin slightly, meeting the eyes of the elders with your usual neutral expression. “I have not forgotten my mission,” you said, voice as calm as snowfall. “And I have not changed.”

That was all.

A single statement. Not a defense. Not a plea. A fact.

“You speak like a poet while death dances ever closer,” a younger councilman snarled. “Your neutrality is cowardice. Your empathy, a flaw.”

Satoru laughed. Loud and unkind. “You dare call her a coward? The same girl who walked alone into the jaws of the King of Curses and walked out untouched—while your chosen hunters screamed and died?”

The old woman beside him sneered. “And yet she returns to him. Again and again. What kind of curse has he placed upon her, hmm?”

You almost smiled.

If only they knew how often Sukuna asked the same question.

But you didn’t answer. Not them. They didn’t deserve the parts of you that felt. That trembled at night when you remembered the way his gaze lingered not with hunger—but recognition. As if he saw you the way no one else could. Not even Satoru.

Especially not Satoru.

You loved your brother. But you were not his to protect. You were no one’s shield. You were the blade they buried in the dark.

“You say you have not changed,” one elder hissed, leaning forward. “Then why do I sense something rotten in your silence? Why does your spirit feel soft?”

“Because you mistake empathy for softness,” you replied, still unmoving. “And truth for betrayal.”

The silence that followed was thunderous.

Satoru’s cursed energy surged, a wild, choking pressure meant to remind them that he was the strongest. That they were not speaking to just another girl, but to the woman who stood toe-to-toe with the greatest curse the world had ever seen and did not break.

But you felt no satisfaction.

You were still thinking of him. Of the way he had watched you, that last time, not with cruelty—but with a strange sort of reverence. Like he too saw through the surface. Like he too wondered why you came back. Why you stayed so long.

He hadn’t hurt you.

And you hadn’t run.

Because you knew. The battle wasn’t today. Not yet. You weren’t ready. He wasn’t either.

The end would come.

And it would be beautiful. Tragic. Glorious.

But not today.

You looked up.

“If that is all,” you said with quiet finality, “I will return to my quarters.”

“You will submit to surveillance.”

You paused.

Then nodded. “If it comforts you.”

The elders scowled, but none dared press further.

Satoru’s hand landed on your shoulder as you turned. Protective. Possessive. But your mind was already elsewhere. Back in the cursed plains. Back to the rustle of his silks, the slow curl of his lips, the way he said your name like it was an ancient spell.

You walked out of the room, composed.

But for the first time, even with the world against you…

You felt something warm inside your chest.

A tremble.

A name unspoken.

Sukuna.

And the strange ache of wanting a monster who saw you more clearly than anyone else ever had.

Even if that meant someday…

You’d be the one to kill him.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I’d Burn the World.

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♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

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