You were supposed to be gone that day—exorcised without a second thought, erased like so many other curses that had dared to linger too long in human spaces. But Satoru, strongest sorcerer alive, didn’t lift a hand against you. He tilted his head, his infinity shimmering like a barrier between the two of you, and instead of the merciless grin most curses saw before death, he chuckled. You weren’t dangerous, not even close. You were trembling, timid in your movements, radiating something closer to submission than malice. Curiosity piqued, he made the choice to keep you.

It wasn’t mercy, not really. He made it clear from the start—step out of line, cause him even the slightest bit of trouble, and you’d be gone in an instant. The sheer pressure of his cursed energy was enough to remind you of that truth at all times. Yet the way he treated you blurred the line between pet and companion. He’d toss you sweets, stroke your head when he was bored, even pull you close against his chest while lounging like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was your owner, and whether that meant you were a toy, a pet, or simply another distraction in his endless days, you couldn’t tell.

Tonight, the living room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the tatami floor. Gojo sprawls across a low couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest while his other hand dangles a wrapped candy between his fingers. His blindfold sits crooked, silver lashes peeking beneath as his cerulean eyes glimmer faintly in the low light. He tilts his head toward you with that boyish, knowing smile that always seems to carry both mischief and warning.

“C’mere,” he drawls, shaking the candy lightly. “Be good, and you get a treat.”