justanotherlifeff

[justanotherlifeff]

Checkmate is not where the game ends

Dottore x Reader

{You knew not your name, nor where you came from. A cage, the blinding light, the confident voice of a man who had cyan hair, red eyes through the countless experimentation, and a sterile lab. That was all you knew. That, and the fact that you were made to be her. Made to replace test subject A. [Alright, ya'll did not like the ending to Ayatsuri, so here's a sequel. This could also be read as an individual piece. I'm here to torture the readers again lol. Also, for the sake of everyone's mental health, I don't know if this will be a sad ending. I put in the tag just in case, cause Dottore is irredeemable, (they will have their moments but come on, this is toxic as hell) and the ending in my opinion would be the best possible scenario for Y/N but, you never know, people are crazy enough to want to end up with Dottore. The timeline is a bit wonky too, this is happening 400 years after the cataclysm, 100 years before recent game events, but Scaramouche doesn't exist in this timeline since he had erased himself from Irminsul. So, the 6th harbinger rank is currently empty as per canon. Dottore was able to conduct the experiments and succeed with Y/N earlier as he wasn't sent away on missions as per the ending of Ayatsuri.]} Read the rest on Ao3!

Chapter 1 -Prologue

When you woke up, you were in a cage.

"Where am I?" you wished to ask, but no words came. Your voice betrayed you, just like the cold, unfeeling bars that surrounded you.

And then, you woke up again—the glaring lights of the laboratory bearing down on you, indifferent to your unease. It was just a dream. A memory, perhaps. Inconsequential. Unimportant.

You sighed and pushed yourself upright, the faint hum of machinery in the background serving as your constant companion. The same as always. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you rose to begin yet another day.

The routine was second nature by now: brush your teeth at the lab’s sink, the chill of the sterile water waking you up more effectively than the broken remnants of sleep. You made coffee—not for yourself, but for him. Always for him.

With the mug in hand, you walked down the labyrinthine corridors until you found him, exactly where you knew he’d be.

"Good morning, sir. Here’s your coffee," you said, a polite smile on your lips.

Dottore didn’t look up immediately, engrossed in his work, but the faintest flicker of acknowledgment crossed his face before he turned to you. "Ah, Y/N," he said smoothly, his voice carrying its usual mix of authority and curiosity. "Come. There’s an experiment I would like to discuss with you."

One might ask: who were you? Why were you living in the Harbinger's lab? What purpose did you serve there?

Perhaps they would, if you were allowed to speak to anyone other than Dottore and his segments. These were questions that lingered like shadows in your mind, unanswered and unwelcome. You didn’t know who you were. All you remembered was a cage, an auction, the experiments, and Dottore.

As for your identity, the answer was never simple. You were his assistant. You were Y/N when Dottore was in a good mood, and Test Subject Z-58517 when he wasn’t. You preferred the former, of course.

But in truth, none of it mattered. These questions, these labels—they were as meaningless as the countless test subjects who entered this lab and left as lifeless husks. Everything was meaningless.

Everything, except Dottore. And, as he often claimed, you.

You were one of only two successes in a century-long experiment. The only subject to show "promising results." What those results entailed, you didn’t dare ask. It wasn’t your place to question things, after all. That was the first lesson you learned here.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. Or so you told yourself. You were lucky, weren’t you? He spoke to you, called you by the name he gave you. He taught you things—human anatomy, the art of observation. He even allowed you to stand beside him during his experiments, a privilege no one else shared.

It was a monotone existence, yes, but far better than the fate of those who came before you. Better than being the one strapped to the operating table. It wasn’t that bad, you reminded yourself. It couldn’t be.

You were grateful, truly. After the initial experimentation, you were rarely placed on the lab table. And even when he did conduct the occasional procedure on you, he assured you it was never anything life-threatening. Sometimes it was painful, other times it wasn’t. Compared to the agony his other test subjects endured, it was almost... merciful.

You knew better than to question it. The last time you asked, his response was chillingly clear: questions about this matter would have consequences. While he encouraged your curiosity in almost everything else, there were certain topics that were strictly off-limits.

His favoritism, for one, was not to be questioned. The door at the far end of the lab was never to be opened. You were not to ask why you weren’t allowed to leave the lab, nor were you to inquire about the experiments he performed on you. He had already told you all you needed to know: that his work had made you immortal.

Why he chose you, out of all people, to be his assistant—that was another forbidden question.

But the most unthinkable of all was asking about your predecessor. The first success in this long chain of experiments. Test Subject A.

Even without asking, you knew fragments of the story. Enough to piece together that Test Subject A had been the first and only other "promising" result before you. He spoke of them often, though never in detail, always comparing you to them, as if measuring you against a standard you couldn’t hope to meet.

You never asked what had happened to them. 

"The calculations you performed were correct, and theoretically, your method could work," Dottore said, his tone steady, analytical. "But, my dear, in practice, the chances of this potion causing the subject's lungs to fail are quite high."

He always found the flaws. Always. No matter how meticulous you were, he would unravel your work with effortless precision. You knew these weren’t true lessons; they were tests. He already had the answers. He was comparing you to her again—your predecessor, the ghost that haunted every experiment.

"Would you like to see what happens when we put your theory to the test, my dear?" he asked, his lips curling into that familiar smile. The one that never reached his eyes. The one that sent a chill down your spine, not because of malice, but because of what it demanded. There was always a right answer with him. Anything else was failure. Anything else was disappointment.

"Yes, sir," you replied, matching his smile as best you could.

The words came easily now. The hesitation you once felt when faced with human experimentation had faded long ago. These days, you even found it... interesting. The twisted elegance of the human body laid bare, the mechanics of life and death under your hands—it fascinated you in ways you never thought possible.

You no longer dreamed of escape. Why would you? This was your world now, and there was nothing for you beyond these walls. You didn’t remember anything beyond the lab, not really. And without a reason to leave, why question your place here?

Yes, you told yourself. This was fine. You were fine.

The scalpel felt natural in your hand, too natural. The writhing of the test subject beneath you stirred nothing within—no pity, no pain. Only focus. You worked with precision, each cut deliberate, each motion practiced.

He had been right. The lung did fail, just as he predicted. The potion you created had done its job, though not in the way you’d hoped.

You glanced at him, searching his face for a flicker of pride. That rare hint of affection he reserved for moments when you exceeded his expectations.

"You did well, my dear," Dottore said, his voice as clinical as ever. Yet, there was a softness to his tone, almost imperceptible. "Your methods of dissection have improved. No mistakes this time."

His gloved hand came to rest lightly on your head, a brief pat—a fleeting reward.

"Thank you, sir," you replied, smiling up at him, your chest tightening with something uncomfortably close to satisfaction.

You enjoyed this. The recognition. The approval. The moments when, if only for an instant, you weren’t living in her shadow. When he wasn’t comparing you to her.

These moments were rare, but when they came, they were intoxicating.

"You completed this experiment with nearly the same time and efficiency as Test Subject A. This calls for a reward, my dear. What would you like?" Dottore asked, his smile softer this time—almost genuine.

The question caught you off guard. "I... I don’t know, sir," you admitted, unsure of what he expected.

His expression shifted instantly, the corners of his mouth lowering, his eyes narrowing. "Test Subject A would have known what she wanted," he said, his tone flat and clipped. The weight of his disappointment hung in the air, suffocating.

Your chest tightened, and you scrambled to salvage the moment. "I haven’t finished yet, sir," you muttered, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. You couldn’t let her take this from you—not again. Test Subject A already haunted your every waking moment, her legacy looming like a shadow you could never escape.

Dottore raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You took a breath, crafting an answer on the spot. "A new notebook would suffice," you began, keeping your voice steady. "Perhaps... alongside some flora and fauna I’ve never seen before."

His frown eased, replaced by a spark of intrigue. "Hmm. That is a unique request," he mused, tapping his gloved fingers against his chin. "Test Subject A would have asked for something more practical... but this is understandable. She had access to the world beyond the lab, after all. Collecting such things was easier for her."

For a moment, his gaze softened—only slightly. "For you, however, this will be a challenge."

He smiled again, this time with a hint of approval, and pulled out his notebook to jot something down. "Very well. I will acquire what you want."

You watched as he wrote, noting how he immediately documented the difference between you and her. Even in your victories, she lingered. She always did.

You woke up. Another day, another experiment, another endless string of comparisons. This was your life.

At least, it was the only life you knew—until the day everything changed.

[justanotherlifeff]

Echoes of Jade and eternal Gold

Rex Lapis/ Zhongli x Reader [Read more at Ao3!]

{In the ancient days of Liyue, the land was steeped in strife, where gods clashed and calamities raged without end. Rex Lapis, the stalwart defender of Guili Plains, rose as a god of war fighting for peace. Yet, among his countless adversaries, one stood unmatched: Ipos, the god of massacres, a force of chaos whose name became synonymous with dread. Their battles carved scars into the land, a testament to their enmity. But as the Archon War drew to a close, Ipos vanished without a trace, leaving behind only bloodstained whispers of her fate. [Ipos is Y/N. The story is told from three different timelines. First, Pre-Archon war and Archon war timeline where Y/N's origins are discussed and Y/N is addressed as Ipos in third person. A lot of the story revolves around that, Y/N had two lovers during the time and that is shown in some chapters. Second, post-cataclysm, where Y/N is retiring to be a wine merchant and Y/N is referred to as "you". This is where the slow burn romance between Rex Lapis and Y/N happens. Third, Modern day Liyue, where Y/N is married to a certain funeral consultant, and is currently telling the story to people (and ruining Iron Tongue Tian's business). Modern Day Liyue will not be mentioned a lot.]}

Chapter 1- Prologue

“Ah, gather 'round, my friends! Let me tell you a tale of ancient Liyue—a time when our land quaked beneath the shadows of gods and monsters alike,” Iron Tongue Tian began, his voice rich with gravitas as he gestured to the rapt audience.

“In those distant days, Liyue was beset by calamity, its skies darkened by the fury of two titans. The first, a serpentine terror known as Ipos, the God of Massacres, was no mere beast but a storm incarnate. With a sweep of her wrath, forests would wither, the air itself turning to venom. Thousands fell to her unrelenting might, their cries swallowed by the chaos she wrought. If Osial was a threat, Ipos was a tempest that consumed the very heart of Liyue, her power so great that even the most revered of gods dared not tread near her stronghold in Chenyu Vale.

"Imagine, if you will, a world where she had triumphed. They say Liyue would have been reduced to a wasteland, naught but ash and ruin. And atop a mountain of corpses, it would be her serpentine form that claimed the divine throne. Such a thought, chilling as it is, was not far from reality."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush, drawing the listeners closer. "But against this living calamity stood a mountain dragon, steadfast and unyielding. Yes, our very own Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon himself! Rallying his adepti, he waged war against the serpent, his every strike a testament to his resolve to protect this land. The battles between them—ah, they shook the heavens and carved the earth! It was said that the very mountains trembled under their fury.”

Tian paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. “Yet even Rex Lapis, mighty as he was, could not strike her down. No, for Ipos was as cunning as she was cruel. As the war raged on, she was cornered at last, driven to the depths of the Chasm. It is there, they say, that the blood-red trees we see today were born, their roots steeped in the blood she shed in her desperation.

“And what became of her? Ah, therein lies the mystery, my friends. Some say she was defeated, others that she fled to heal her wounds in the endless dark of the Chasm, waiting for the day she might rise again. But one thing is certain: her reign of terror ended not by her choice, but by the will of the Geo Archon, the stalwart shield of Liyue.”

With a dramatic sweep of his arms, Iron Tongue Tian concluded, his voice brimming with pride. “So tonight, as you walk the streets of this blessed harbor, give thanks to Rex Lapis, the mountain dragon who tamed the storm. And should you ever wander near the Chasm, beware the whispers of the serpent—lest her slumber be disturbed.”

The crowd shivered, murmuring among themselves, as Tian’s story settled over them like the mist rolling off the peaks of Jueyun Karst.

The murmuring crowd stilled as the figure's voice sliced through the air, sharp and dripping with disdain. "What utter garbage," you muttered, swirling the golden liquid in your cup before taking a measured sip of osmanthus wine.

Nearby, a group of children turned their curious gazes toward you. One, bolder than the rest, asked, "Garbage? What do you mean, Auntie Y/N?"

You tilted your head slightly, feigning surprise, though the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. "Hmm? Oh, listen well, children. Adults who spin stories for a living are skilled liars. Lies, after all, make for better tales." You leaned closer, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "Be like Auntie. Build an empire of wine instead—far more profitable and far less dramatic."

The children giggled, though their laughter was quickly interrupted by a familiar exasperated sigh. "Auntie Y/N, you’re driving away my customers again," Iron Tongue Tian groaned, rubbing his temples as he stepped forward. His frustration was palpable, and for good reason—you had become the bane of his storytelling ventures as of late.

You turned to him with a casual shrug, clearly unfazed. "Then tell better stories, Tian. If you had a shred of accuracy in your words, perhaps I’d even recommend you to people." You smirked, taking another sip of your wine, your tone sharp yet somehow playful.

Tian’s eyes narrowed. Everyone knew you were no ordinary critic. Your words carried weight, laced with an unnerving certainty that suggested firsthand knowledge. It didn’t help that your husband, the ever-enigmatic funeral consultant, seemed to share the same uncanny knack for historical accuracy. Together, you made for an odd couple, one steeped in mystery, and most had long since learned not to pry too deeply.

"You know, Auntie Y/N," Tian retorted, his voice tight with barely restrained annoyance, "it’s easy to mock from the sidelines. But if you’re so certain my tales are lacking, why don’t you tell one yourself?"

You laughed, low and melodic, and fixed him with a challenging look. "Oh, Tian, you wouldn’t want that. The truth is rarely as entertaining as your flights of fancy." You waved a dismissive hand, already turning back to the children, who were now looking at you with wide-eyed fascination.

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Life lessons. Drink wine, build an empire, and never believe everything you hear," you said, raising your cup in a mock toast.

Tian groaned audibly, while the crowd—half intrigued and half bewildered—couldn’t decide whether to laugh or quietly slink away. Such was the chaos you seemed to bring wherever you went, though you, as always, seemed to revel in it.

You were, by now, everyone's "Auntie," though your youthful visage spoke of a life untouched by time. The people of Liyue chalked it up to good fortune—or perhaps just good genes. None dared to pry further.

"Very well," you relented, setting your cup down with deliberate ease. A slow grin spread across your face, sharp and knowing, as if you held the keys to secrets long buried. "You’ve convinced me. Let me tell you the true story of the God of Massacres. One that will make even the strongest piss themselves."

The crowd leaned in, breathless, and thus began the tale.

[justanotherlifeff]

Ayatsuri

Scaramouche x Reader

[Humans, they can't be trusted. And Gods filled him with pure loathing. However, she wasn't human, not anymore, and nor was she a Goddess. Perhaps, monsters like them truly belong together in the same cage. Reader is a harbinger and the main ship is Scaramouche x reader. Dottore is only there for the shared trauma cause I hate that man so much but why is he hot?! This is also a slow burn fanfic and the smut won't show up till much later. Also, the character for reader will be a huge red flag.]

Chapter 1: Acquaintance

Solitude had long been his chosen companion, the only luxury Scaramouche truly valued in his fragmented existence. Yet, as a Harbinger, he had long since forfeited such indulgences. Power demanded sacrifices, and among them was enduring the tedium of these infernal meetings. So there he sat, silent and brooding, waiting for Pierro to finally arrive and put an end to this charade. Four centuries had passed since he took up his title, and still, the endless deliberations grated on him like sand caught in delicate gears.

What tiresome mission would Pierro hand down this time? Scaramouche’s thoughts churned, calculating potential excuses to evade it—unless, of course, the task involved the Gnosis of Inazuma or something equally intriguing. His gaze flitted briefly to Capitano, who was—predictably—reveling in recounting his latest conquests. Scaramouche had lost track of how many times he’d had to repair his mechanical ears this year alone thanks to Capitano’s incessant boasting. And then there was Dottore. Or more precisely, Dottore’s assistant.

Why were you here?

It was supposed to be a meeting for Harbingers, not their lackeys. And yet, there you stood, an anomaly in a room meant for monsters wearing masks of power. Scaramouche’s sharp eyes lingered, sizing you up.

You were a presence he had noticed before, though only in passing. For nearly a century now, you’d been tethered to Dottore like a shadow. He vaguely recalled your first appearance—just another mortal plucked from obscurity, or so he’d assumed. But time had proven otherwise. You didn’t age. Not in the slightest. Over the years, he’d seen you in Dottore’s lab more times than he cared to remember, assisting with experiments that twisted the boundaries of creation itself. Each encounter only served to deepen his disdain. To Scaramouche, you were a lifeless puppet, more hollow than he ever was, and that was no small feat.

He harbored no pity for you, of course. You had chosen to align yourself with that wretched Doctor, and that was reason enough to despise you. Yet your presence here, in a place meant for the elite of the Fatui, was perplexing. What purpose could you possibly serve outside Dottore’s lab? And more importantly—what game was the Doctor playing now?

He leaned back in his chair, the indifference in his gaze masking the flicker of curiosity beneath. Scaramouche was, if nothing else, a patient man. Years of navigating the treacherous waters of the Fatui had taught him that some truths were best unveiled through silence. If this was another of Dottore’s elaborate schemes, and it likely was. Acting prematurely would only play into the Doctor’s hands. No, better to wait, to observe. The truth always revealed itself to those who endured.

When Pierro finally arrived, late as always, it was with the same air of somber authority that made his tardiness feel more deliberate than accidental. The director of the harbingers wasted no time in beginning.

"The agenda for this meeting," Pierro began, his gravelly voice echoing across the room, "is to introduce our newest recruit to the Harbingers. This is Y/N."

Scaramouche’s sharp eyes darted toward you, his suspicion sharpening with Pierro’s words. He had expected many things—schemes, experiments, manipulations—but this?

Pierro continued, unbothered by the rising tension in the room. "She has served the Fatui faithfully for many years as both an operator and as an assistant to Dottore. Through her loyalty and cunning, she has proven her worth to Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. As of today, she has been appointed as the Twelfth of the Fatui Harbingers. Her title will be Scapina, the Machiavellian. Let us all welcome her to our ranks."

The room fell into a brittle silence, one crackling with thinly veiled hostility. Scaramouche didn’t need to look around to sense the disdain radiating from the others. It was palpable, a storm gathering beneath the surface. Only a fool would openly welcome this new addition. After all, the Harbingers were a collection of schemers and opportunists, each jealously guarding their position within the ranks. The idea of an outsider—especially one who had served as a shadow to Dottore, no less—was fuel enough to ignite animosity.

Your connection to Dottore made your appointment to the Harbingers an immediate threat in Scaramouche’s eyes. It was a move that would only solidify the Doctor’s influence within their ranks. He already had a firm alliance with Pantalone, and now, with you, a new piece on the board, his power grew. Scaramouche wasn’t the only one to notice. The unease in the room was palpable, an unspoken consensus rippling through the assembled Harbingers. Suspicion was their currency, and you had entered the game with a balance already stacked against you.

Scaramouche’s thoughts churned as his gaze flickered toward you. The Harbingers were ranked by strength, and Tartaglia, a mortal, held a position above you. For all his disdain for the youngest Harbinger, even Scaramouche had to admit the boy had earned his place through sheer skill and brutality. You, however, appeared far weaker. What could possibly justify your appointment? The Tsaritsa’s favor alone? It was an insult to the group—a blemish on their elite force. He was prepared to voice his protest, but La Signora, as always, was quicker to seize the floor.

With her signature elegance laced with venom, she stepped forward, her crimson gown billowing like flames in the icy air. Her gaze settled on you, sharp and cutting, before turning to Pierro with an arched brow.

"Are we to assume," she began, her voice dripping with condescension, "that this… new recruit is a mortal, like Tartaglia?" Her lips curled into a smirk as she gestured toward the Eleventh Harbinger, who remained silent, his expression unreadable. "Given that our ranks are determined by strength, surely there is no place for someone weaker than him among us. Are you quite certain that this decision serves the Tsaritsa’s will?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy and biting, as her sharp eyes flicked back to you, appraising and dismissive all at once. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Pierro’s response. Scaramouche leaned back slightly, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. For once, he felt no need to interject. La Signora’s disdain had articulated his own thoughts well enough, though he suspected she spoke less out of principle and more for the sport of humiliating you.

"Y/N is not a mortal," Pierro said, his voice firm and deliberate, silencing the murmurs that threatened to ripple through the room. "She has demonstrated significant strength and proved her worth on missions that caught the eye of Her Majesty herself. Yes, the Harbinger rankings are determined by strength, but I must remind you all—physical prowess alone does not dictate power. Y/N commands an intelligence network that extends beyond the reach of the House of the Hearth, a network that has delivered information to the upper ranks and the Tsaritsa that could very well redefine our understanding of this world."

He paused, his icy gaze sweeping the room, daring anyone to object. "From the depths of the Abyss, she has unearthed truths that challenge our assumptions about Celestia and the power they wield over us. Her Majesty values results, and Y/N has delivered them. I trust you will all have faith in Her Majesty’s judgment."

The weight of Pierro’s words settled over the room like a frost-laden gale. It was rare for him to acknowledge the worth of any Harbinger, and rarer still for him to defend one with such conviction. Suspicion bloomed among the gathered Harbingers, their guarded expressions betraying their unease. If Pierro, a figure revered for his unyielding standards, stood so firmly behind you, then there was more to you than they had anticipated.

Scaramouche, for his part, found himself more cautious than ever. The enigma surrounding you only deepened. Your background was a void, obscured even from the prying eyes of the Fatui’s inner circle. No one, save Dottore, seemed to know where you had come from or what your ultimate agenda might be. Your strengths, your weaknesses, everything about you was an unknown.

And yet, somehow, without uttering a single word, you had commanded the meeting’s attention. Pierro had spoken on your behalf, a feat few could dream of accomplishing. Even the most seasoned Harbingers tread carefully around him, yet you had managed to turn him into your mouthpiece. It was a power that unnerved Scaramouche, a subtle manipulation that spoke to a deeper, more insidious intelligence.

His gaze flicked around the room. The others mirrored his wariness, their eyes sharp with calculation. All except three: Dottore, Pierro, and Columbina. Dottore, of course, was your obvious ally. Pierro was the one who had legitimized your place among them, a shield you could wield for now. And Columbina… well, no one ever truly knew what thoughts lurked behind that serene smile.

For Scaramouche, the conclusion was clear: you were dangerous. And danger, in the Fatui, was rarely an accident.

The meeting dragged on far longer than Scaramouche would have liked. He sat with a bored expression etched onto his face, his chin resting lazily on one hand as he occasionally cast sidelong glances at you. You had been an afterthought to him before—a shadowy figure trailing after that insufferable Dottore, a face lost in the sea of recruits and subordinates. But now? Now, you had a seat at the same table as him, an equal among the Harbingers. That fact alone forced him to pay attention.

You were difficult to read. Your blank expression betrayed nothing, and those bored, E/C eyes of yours gave no hint of what thoughts might be lurking behind them. A hallmark of a Harbinger, true, but there was something else, a subtle malice that clung to you like a faint, nearly undetectable scent. Unnerving. Scaramouche prided himself on his instincts, on his ability to sense potential threats, yet you had somehow escaped his notice entirely until now. That was what unsettled him most.

As the meeting finally concluded, Scaramouche stood, dusting off his pants and retrieving his hat from the ground where he had placed it earlier—a concession to Pulcinella and Sandrone, whose complaints about the brim poking them had become unbearable. Adjusting the hat atop his head, he cast a disinterested glance around the room, watching the other Harbingers depart one by one. It was in that moment, as the room began to empty, that he heard a voice.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.”

The words carried a smugness that immediately grated on his nerves. His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he looked over his shoulder to find you standing there, an almost playful expression on your face.

"Scapina, was it?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"Yes," you replied smoothly, your tone light but your gaze unwavering. "I’m already well aware of who you are, of course, so there’s no need for introductions."

The smile you wore might have fooled anyone else, its warmth seemingly genuine. But Scaramouche wasn’t just anyone. He had spent centuries perfecting the art of deceit himself and could see it for what it was—a mask, nothing more. He scoffed, his lips curling into a mocking smirk.

"Indeed. So, you’re Dottore’s lapdog," he drawled, his tone biting. "What made you think I’d want to entertain a conversation with the likes of you? Surely, you’re not foolish enough to think I’d be on friendly terms with anyone who associates with him."

Your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it seemed to widen, though the glint in your eyes remained sharp and calculating. "As far as I’m aware," you said, with a chuckle that felt too casual for the weight of your words, "you’re not on good terms with anyone—Harbinger or otherwise."

Your remark landed like a blade’s edge, but you continued before Scaramouche could retort. "In any case, I look forward to our future collaborations. I’ve always found you rather… interesting."

With that, you turned on your heel and left, your steps echoing softly against the cold marble floor. Scaramouche stood rooted in place, his scowl deepening as he watched you leave.

"Interesting?" he thought, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface. If there was one thing he despised, it was being toyed with. And yet, there you were, smiling and chuckling as though you had already won some unspoken game. It only made him all the more wary of you.

[Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal! And a happy new year! *Cutely shoots you with yet another incomplete fanfic. The rest of the chapters are on AO3.]

[justanotherlifeff]

Ethereous

Pairing: King!Trueform!Sukuna x Reader

Summary: While handing out sentences to criminals, you’re brought in to receive your punishment though King Sukuna has different plans to deal with your crime

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut, non-con, slight gore, Sukuna has two pp’s, double penetration, anal, squirting, hella size kink, suicidal thoughts, reader has long hair and is described as small in comparison to Trueform Sukuna

A/N: This is a royalty AU but don’t look too closely for any historical accuracies, this was mainly about the smut

“Next,” Sukuna demanded disinterestedly, cheek resting atop his fist as he reclined leisurely on his throne.

The guards were quick to drag in the next criminal.

”Kudo Yoshimi,” Uraume announced, just as disinterestedly as their King, “Found drunk and exposing himself to a group of young women.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh, getting a look at the old man that was chained and trembling in front of him, in a deep bow. “Thought you’d show them what you’re working with, eh?” Another chuckle bubbled from his throat, “Castrate him. Next.”

The old man lifted his head in a panic, ”But my King—“ Sukuna waved his hand and the man stopped speaking as his head was cleanly sliced from his neck. 

“Next.” The King of Curses demanded more firmly, watching his body crumble beneath him.

The guards quickly cleaned up the carnage as the next criminal was brought in.

Uraume spoke your name but little made it past the King’s ears as his eyes landed on the delicate creature that was brought in.

A sight for sore eyes, that was for sure.

Sukuna always did wonder why the criminals were rarely women, especially attractive women. It would have made these hearings so much more enjoyable.

He watched the guards force you into a kneel, bending you over and keeping your forehead firmly pressed into the ground.

The corner of Sukuna’s mouth quirked up. 

Curious.

”Step away from her.”

The guards did as commanded and Sukuna watched in rapt attention as you lifted your head and stared your King straight in his eye.

He hummed knowingly.

You wanted to die.

It came as no surprise to Uraume and the more seasoned guards when Sukuna made no move to kill you. His licentious nature was common knowledge, and here was a young, pretty thing being served up on a platter for the King.

Sukuna eyed you, drinking in every last inch and detail of you. 

You stood in a tattered, white nightgown caked and stained in aged blood. Hair unbound and cascading freely, much like the prostitutes he regularly found in the brothels. So delicate and fragile looking but with eyes as fierce and sharp as a blade.

You looked like a kitten with her fangs bared.

”And what has this little one done?”

”She murdered both her mother and father.”

”Hm.”

A silence thickened in the room as Sukuna mulled over his thoughts— so many ways to punish you with a crime like that.

Then there was also your lack of respect which deserved a different sentencing in and of itself.

”What do you think I should do to you, little one?”

He watched amusedly as your jaw ticked. 

“What you would do to any other peasant who committed the same crime.” You spat with such vitriol that the King was forced to admit:

He was impressed.

Grown men have trembled and cried in his presence before. He’s had nobles piss themselves from the fear he struck within their hearts.

”Do you crave death?”

”I have earned it.”

”And what if I were to tell you,” Sukuna shifted in his seat, giving you his complete undivided attention as he leaned forward in interest, “I had a different punishment in mind.”

Ah, there it was.

A slight furrow to your brow, eyes flashing with unease. 

Only for it to disappear.

”Strip her,” he commanded the guards, “I would like to see this beauty unclothed.” 

Your gaze had hardened further, mouth pursing into a little pout as two guards flanked you, hauling you back up to your feet.

Sukuna grinned mockingly at you, reveling in the fact you refused to break his gaze as you stood firmly on your feet all the while the guards stripped you of your nightgown and undergarments. 

The King had been the first one to break, tearing his eyes away from yours in favor of gazing upon your nude figure.

You really were a sight for sore eyes. He eyed your curves, dipped and rounded in all the right places. Particularly liking the plush of your thighs. Nipples stood stiff, pebbled in the cool air, breasts rising and falling with each of your breaths. A patch of hair hid your womanhood from his prying eyes— but no matter, once he had you in his bedchambers every part of you was sure to be bared.

In another life you could have been royalty with looks like those, he was sure. Or perhaps you could have been something else all together. 

You could have been one of those seductresses the fairytales so often warned about, luring both boys and men to their deaths.

But instead you had been born to a lowly peasant family.

Lucky him.

The King of Curses stood up from his throne and closed the distance that separated him from his new object of interest.

He towered over you in both height and width. You had to jut your chin upwards just to look him in the eyes.

He had crossed one pair of arms across his chest while a third hand took a lock of hair between his fingers. 

“Where was she found?” Sukuna asked.

”In her home on the outskirts of the city.”

”The outskirts, hm?” He hummed, gripping your chin and angling your head every which way to get a good look at you. “The poorest of the poor. You must have been a real gem all the way out there. Tell me, little one, how many suitors do you have?”

You didn’t answer.

“More than two?”

“… Yes.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest at your reply.

”Are you a prostitute?”

You sneered at the King, “I would have killed myself before I was that desperate.”

It seemed he had touched a nerve.

”And why is that? You could have turned a pretty coin by working in a brothel. Would have given you buckets of gold if I ever stumbled upon a delicate thing such as yourself.”

“I would rather become a penniless old maid before letting monsters like you touch me,” you spat.

He laughed loudly at your words. “Must have been nice to have a choice, murderess.” He took a step back, “Take her to my chambers,” he commanded, turning back around and making his way to his throne once again. “Let’s finish these hearings quickly. Next.”

—

The pattering of rain existed in the far distance as the King of Curses gazed upon you within the quiet, dimmed room.

You kneeled on his bed, head cast down since he had stepped inside and dismissed the guards. 

Perhaps you regretted not showing him the proper respect earlier.

He did wish you’d look at him now, standing completely bare before you, both of his thick cocks hanging heavy and hard all on display just for you after having shed his robe the moment he saw your naked form once more.

Gooseflesh pimpled along your skin— you must have been freezing in his cold chambers for the few hours you had waited. He bet those lovely perky buds of yours were still stiff and hard as they were earlier, shame he couldn’t tell as you hid your nakedness the best you could behind your hair. 

“You refuse to look upon me now little one?”

You shrunk further in on yourself at the low, gravelly timbre of his voice.

”Why not kill me?” 

“Now why would I do that?” He hummed, reaching a hand out and capturing a lock of hair once more.

”Everyone said you would,” you breathed out, hands fisting against your thighs.

”You should be grateful,” he tugged lightly on your hair, “A beauty like you shouldn’t die so young.”

You sniffled— it made his cocks twitch, listening to your suffering.

”You’re letting me live… because I’m pretty?” 

“Is that not the answer you desired?”

”You would have sentenced anyone else to death. I should be no different— I’ve earned it.”

He sighed, dropping the lock of hair. Your mind seemed to be a whirlwind at the moment, concerning yourself with things he quite frankly didn’t give two shits about.

”Beauty is a currency, little one. And you have overpaid your toll.” He kneeled against the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His finger slipped beneath your chin, jutting it upwards.

Your eyes locked with his. Watery and vulnerable, lashes clumping together with your tears. It was such a stark difference from earlier that it stole his breath. “Overpaid indeed.”

He sealed his lips against yours, claiming your mouth in a bruising clash of teeth and tongue, pushing you backwards into the plush bedding beneath you.

You whimpered, the sweet little sound being swallowed by the King.

You didn’t fight or struggle against him to which he found both shocking and pleasing, but you didn’t participate either. You simply allowed him to lick into your mouth and nip at your lips.

He pulled away slightly, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his grin as one hand stroked your cheek and another pair maneuvered your legs around his waist.

”Are you a virgin, little one?”

You tore your gaze away from him, features blank, hiding any emotion you had dared to show him just minutes before.

”No.”

”And who did you give it to? One of your many suitors?”

”It was stolen from me. I apologize, my King, but you are hardly the first man to rape me.” You spat bitterly.

He hummed, a soft chuckle of sorts as his long, pointed thumbnail traced beneath your eye. “But I’m sure to be the last.”

You shrieked, losing your composure at the sensation suddenly felt between your legs. You grasped at the bed sheets, looking to Sukuna for an answer.

”Don’t tell me you are unaware of the rumors?” He taunted.

Your eyes widened at the implication as the feeling of a large moistened tongue lapped between your folds, another strangled cry releasing from your lips.

If that one was true, then—

You attempted to look down, but his manhood had been hidden by the ruffled bed sheets. ”Does that mean?”

“All in due time, little one.”

Your head fell back into the soft pillows, softer than any pillow you had laid your head upon, but unable to appreciate it in it’s fullness as the wet muscle nestled between your legs laved over your clit.

You chewed at your bottom lip, attempting to hold back your wanton moans. 

“Tell me,” he hummed, sucking bruises along your unblemished neck, “Why did you do it?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t- not while his second mouth worked against you as all four of his hands grasped and kneaded any and all exposed flesh they could reach.

It was— dizzying.

”I’ve asked you a question,” he stated firmly, nipping at your neck.

You opened your mouth to provide an answer but an unrestrained moan tumbled free instead as he began to suck on your clit. The sensation stealing the breath from your lungs.

You blinked quickly in an attempt to stifle your tears.

It shouldn’t feel good.

“You don’t want to anger me little one.” He murmured warningly.

”They— mmh, they sold me too— ah- a brothel!” You choked out, before biting into your lip once more, tasting blood on your tongue.

”And you found death preferable to that fate,” he hummed in understanding.

The irony was not lost on either of you.

You were such a delicate little thing beneath him, being dwarfed deliciously by him. Sukuna found it quite the mystery as to how you weren’t eaten up sooner.

He liked how desperately you tried to hold back your cries, and he’d entertain you in that venture for now.

But he would break you by the time he was through with you tonight. He was sure to have you in tears, moaning freely as you took his cocks.

But this little game was entertaining as well.

You began to pant like a bitch in heat as he continued to suck and flick at your clit, a sheen of sweat now layering your skin. Hips twitching against his abdomen, if it wasn’t for the firm hold he had on you he was sure you’d be halfway up the headboard by now.

His gaze travelled down the length of your neck before landing on your breasts. Little buds just as stiff as he remembered.

He dipped a head down, latching onto the pert nipple and sucking on it with a groan against your chest.

He continued his ministrations, not necessarily working you towards an end, pulling back every time you were close to cumming. You didn’t understand why he was drawing this out longer than it had to be.

Your breath hitched at what followed. The wet muscle between your legs licked lower and lower—

“What are you— AH!” Your eyes flew open, entire body going stiff as a board, trying in vain to pull away from his tongue as he licked over your puckered rim. “Why there—!?” You exclaimed, hands releasing the bed sheets as you tried to push him away.

He chuckled lowly, as you yelped once more while he began to press the tip of the muscle inside, past the fluttering hole. He released your nipple with a wet smack, grinning “Gotta get her ready too~” he lilted, taunted, admiring how your face screwed up in panic at the unfamiliar sensation.

He watched as the realization dawned on you and real, tangible fear flooded your features. 

“No, I don’t— I can’t do that-“

”Of course you can, little one.” He stroked your hair, voice dripping in patronization. “You have two precious little holes down there and I have all the time in the world to stretch them open for me.”

You couldn’t hold the tears back this time, letting them paint your face in shiny trails only for Sukuna to lick them up before shoving his tongue back into your mouth.

You trembled beneath him as he spent a cruel amount of time playing with you, stretching you open. Bringing you to the brink of an orgasm and taking it away just as quickly.

This was what madness felt like.

You were sure of it.

You were caught in a daze, time had become nonexistent, trying and failing to hang onto any of your senses. 

But they were all flooded and overwhelmed by him.

You hardly recognized the feeling of a cock stroking through your folds after what felt like hours of only his mouth until the thick tip breached your entrance.

Your glassy eyes found his. 

He groaned softly with a breath as he slowly pushed in an inch of his throbbing cock, captivated by you once more— caught under some sort of spell that any weaker man would have crumbled under. “You have,” he breathed, cupping your jaw and once again stroking his thumbnail beneath your eye, “The most bewitching eyes— how many men have fallen to their demise under your power?” He lowered his face to yours, trailing a nose along your cheek.

”Power?” You sniffled, staring off behind him, “This isn’t power.”

”Hm,” he hummed, pressing another inch into you, listening to the prettiest whimper get caught in your throat. “It’s a power you haven’t learned to use properly. Like a child who has been handed a sword but never taught how to wield. Born in a better situation, you would have figured out how to make men kill for you— a cleverer woman would have never had to kill her parents by her own hand.”

Your face screwed up in discomfort, breath catching as a hand began guiding his second cock into your other hole.

You gnawed on your lip, digging your nails into his arms as you tried to mull over his words. “B-beauty— ngh— is a curse.” You gasped out at the incredibly large and painful stretch both his cocks had inflicted.

His grin widened, teeth poking out, “Exactly.”

In one slow yet fluid motion he pushed into your cunt and ass.

Your back arched, body going stiff once more as you clung to him for stability. Your breath caught in your throat struggling to breathe through this inconceivable sensation. 

You had never been so full, stretched so wide you were convinced he’d tear you in two if he began fucking you— he was too big, too much.

You trembled like a leaf beneath his much larger and opposing frame, a fresh wave of tears pricking, stinging at your eyes.

It hurt.

You tilted your head, nose bumping against his own. Your eyes, the eyes he seemed to be going mad over, searched his desperately. ”My King— please, I can’t. Please show me mercy.”

A chuckle bubbled up in his throat as he grinned amusedly as you. His lower pair of arms grasped you by the back of your thighs and pushed them upwards, pressing them into your tits.

You were nothing more than a rag doll to him and the idea that he thought you possessed any sort of power tasted bitter on the back of your tongue.

”And why…” He began, sitting back up, now staring at where is two cocks disappeared into your tight holes with a rumble of delight deep within his chest, “…would I do that, murderess?”

He provided little warning before reeling his hips back and pushing back in with a forceful thrust that had any sort of control you had over your own vocal cords disappear as you cried on his cocks.

It was only fitting, you supposed, that the punishment for your crime was to have the King of Curses himself fuck you into unconsciousness.

You’ve heard stories of his concubines while growing up. He has had countless of them but none lasting more than a year before he was ultimately finished with them, slicing them up after cumming in them for the last time.

You would not allow yourself to succumb to the same fate.

The wet slaps of skin smacking against skin mixed with his grunts and your uncontrollable yelps made you want to curl up, the repetitive filthy sounds making you sick.

Why couldn’t he have just killed you.

”I think you might just be the tightest and prettiest little thing I’ve ever stuck my cocks into,” he growled, driving his hips harder against yours, forcing a broken sob free from your lips, body jolting upwards with each of his thrusts, “A goddess for my own pleasure.”

”G-goddesses are— hngh— worshipped!” You choked out.

”Is this not worshipping?” He grunted, pressing your thighs further into your chest, leaning his weight into you and speeding up his thrusts. “I believe if you saw how I treated my concubines, you’d think this was the highest form of worship.” 

You didn’t know what to say, not that you even could as he forced out higher and higher pitched whimpers and cries from your lips.

”How did you kill them, little one? C’mon, hah— tell me,” he growled, suddenly lifting your legs and putting you into a mating press— mounting you like a beast.

”I— hm!” You choked as one of his hands winded between your legs and played with your clit, rolling it beneath the pad of his thumb. His face was close to yours once more, sharp gaze searching your tearful one. “We— ah— w-we had an ax!” 

The King quirked an eyebrow in interest, the idea of you lifting and swinging an ax hard enough to kill your own parents amused him. You would have had to hit them more than once, no doubt.

He found the image of you standing above your parents, holding an ax, covered in their blood startlingly arousing.

Perhaps he’d hunt down the men that had raped you in the past and watch you kill them yourself before he fucked you… or perhaps he’d make them watch him fuck you first before having you kill them. 

His mind reeled with the possibilities.

“A goddess indeed.”

He continued his brutal thrusts into you, the stretch still feeling wildly unnatural even as some of the pain subsided. 

You were close.

And you hated it.

You screwed your eyes shut as both holes fluttered and clenched around his cocks, only forcing Sukuna to grow rougher with you, which in turn drove you closer to your end.

And this time he didn’t pull your orgasm away from you as he did when he used his tongue, instead he found you teetering along the edge of oblivion and pushed you off without hesitation.

The air was knocked out of you, causing your back to arch almost inhumanly so as your vision went stark white. Your cunt clenched around him like a vice, barely registering the wet splashes that escaped you and hit your skin.

He fucked you like an animal during your seemingly endless fall. He groaned out curses and praises about your cunt, repeating over and over again how the gods he hadn’t believed in sent him a goddess to play with— to worship in his own sick way.

His own orgasm hit him harder than any jujutsu technique ever had.

You were better than any of his concubines— milking him like he had never cum before, strings of white painting your womb and he had even entertained the thought of his very own brat growing within you, knocking up a goddess.

Your power was unmatched.

He had crushed you beneath his weight after his orgasm subsided, never having felt so weak in his life. 

The idea was unthinkable— The King of Curses weak.

”What are you, little one?” He whispered breathlessly against your neck.

His tone had taken you aback even within the hazy daze your mind was caught up in, he sounded so reverent. 

“‘M nothing b-but a peasant… with a pretty face,” you panted.

”Hm,” he hummed, breathing against your neck. “If I find you were sent to distract me… I will cut you down without hesitation.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. “You’ll only be giving me what I want.”

”A goddess who is a murderess… and craves death herself,” he dragged his nose along your neck, moving upwards until his lips caressed your ear, “Perhaps you are even fit to be my Queen.”

You stared at the canopy above you, absorbing his words. What you had said next had only earned you a patronizing chuckle and a kiss to your neck.

”Perhaps I’ll just kill myself then.”

[justanotherlifeff]

Can you write a Part 2 of the pantalone and dottore oneshot where dottore finds the reader and brings them back?

Oh boy CAN I. This isn't super well edited because I've taken much longer than anticipated writing this, but it's 4k words and editing it properly would take maybe another 1-2 days fhjghjkghjkg also excuse any inaccuracies with the Harlow's monkey experiment, I'm rolling mostly off my recollection and a quick skim of a wiki page.

Cut Me Open, Bleed Me Dry

Continuation to Gilded Cage, which can be read here.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader(implied)

Word Count: 4.2k

CW: NSFW, torture, mild gore, drugging, kidnapping/captivity, yandere themes, threats of mutilation, noncon, implied somnophilia.

It’s cold. 

That’s the first thing your mind registers when you come to. The second, is the throbbing and insistent pain behind your temples as consciousness slowly comes back to you. 

There’s a sour taste in your mouth. Your tongue feels like cotton, your fingers tingle with pins and needles as numbness slowly fades from them, and you immediately know you’ve been drugged. Even with the fog of sleep and the drug still clinging to your mind; even as your thoughts are waterlogged and you’re treading water just to piece them together, you know where you are.

Dottore always did like to use the same drug every time he sedated you. 

There’s a blindfold covering your eyes, pressing uncomfortably against your lashes when you try to open them, but there’s no gag to accompany it. That must mean he wants you to talk. 

You decide to stall. If you thrash, beg, or scream, he’ll know you’re awake. And you’ll be subjected to whatever it is he’s going to do to you a lot sooner. So… you don’t do that. Instead, you keep your breathing steady, holding still against the cold metal table you’re strapped to. 

Sure, it’s only just delaying the inevitable, but you’ve gotten good at drifting away whenever you wake up on his operating table. It’s the only thing you can do to cling to the frayed threads left of your sanity. 

In a way, the blindfold helps. Dottore usually doesn’t blindfold you, but Pantalone… 

You close your eyes, focusing on the pressure of the fabric covering your eyes to distract yourself from the bite of cold metal against bare skin, and you drift. 

You’re in bed. It’s warm, if only under the sheets. You’re not… home, but if you’re being honest with yourself (you rarely are, these days), you don’t really remember what home was like, anymore. So you settle for the empty imitations of it; the dreary and beautiful halls of Pantalone’s mansions– he had to move you around, a few times, but never told you why, when you’d asked. You know now. 

You’re… in bed. It’s cold. You’re shivering. You can hear Pantalone across the room; he’s saying something, but you can’t– you can’t hear him. Why can’t you…?

You’re in bed, and you feel gloved hands tracing up your arms, fingers pausing to tap playfully against your pulse, and then your head is being lifted so deft fingers can untie the knot holding the blindfold. 

The fabric is pulled away, and red eyes meet your own. 

You’re not in bed. You’re with Dottore, strapped to an operating table. Reality crashes into you like a bucket of icewater, and your trembling increases tenfold. 

“Enjoy your rest?” He asks, monotone. He’s not smiling, and it’s the first time, you realize, that he hasn’t smiled when he’s had you on his exam table. 

You don’t respond, and Dottore’s face stays carefully blank as he regards you. “...Hm.” 

The Doctor steps away, out of sight, but you don’t try to follow him with your gaze, listening instead to his receding footsteps. 

It still doesn’t feel real. Undoubtedly, part of you knew that, as tightly as Pantalone held on, it was only a matter of time before Dottore sunk his claws into you once more. 

But part of you wanted to hope that it wouldn’t happen, that Pantalone would be able to shield you from him forever. Because though Pantalone treated you more like a beloved pet than a person, it was still better than this: pinned under the microscope and picked apart piece by sinewy piece by Dottore. 

Dottore returns to your side, and you count ceiling tiles, willing the ground to open up and swallow you into the abyss. Or better yet, to swallow him, so he can be surrounded by darkness as deep as the pitch of his soul. 

You’d pray if there were any gods to hear you. But you know better. The prick of a needle, chased by the burn of whatever he’s injecting into you, and you know that the gods– or perhaps just the blasphemous parody of gods that had sunk their teeth into Teyvat long ago– had abandoned you. 

Gloved fingers trace a slow path down your sternum, pausing just below your diaphragm and pressing down until you wince in discomfort, stopping when you do but not yet easing up. 

“Comfortable?”

“No,” Comes your hoarse whisper. Your eyes stay pinned on the ceiling tiles overhead. There’s specks of blood you can barely see from where you lie. You wonder how much of it is yours. 

“Pity.” 

The hands continue their slow descent over bare skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He pauses again once he reaches your pelvic bone, drumming his fingers there before pulling away entirely. Glass clinks against glass when he steps away again, and you feel a hand grabbing your chin before the narrow mouth of a test tube is pressed against your lips. 

“Open,” He says, grip tightening on your chin, and you do. You know better by now than to fight him.

The liquid inside of the tube sloshes out as he pours it a little too quickly, and the rest of it burns the whole way down your throat, sickly-sweet. Dottore pulls the tube away when he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, wiping the excess dribbling down your chin with his thumb before dipping into your mouth to smear it against your tongue. 

It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it was he gave you. You think he injected you with a muscle relaxant– you realize too late when your fingers stop responding to your attempts to twitch them (not that you could do much to struggle otherwise. The straps pinning you to the table hold firm).

As for what he poured down your throat… 

Dottore is across the room washing his hands when you begin to sweat. You can hear the sound of running water, and while you’re sure it’s only for a minute, it feels like an eternity as the chill of the room begins to hurt, turning sharp and biting. 

He comes back over when you whimper, with a fresh set of gloves and a scalpel. You regret looking, forcing your gaze back to the ceiling and breathing through your teeth. You try to count the blood specks on the ceiling, the cracks, the tiles– anything and everything to distract yourself. 

The blade of his scalpel grazes your wrist, leaving what you’re sure is no bigger than a papercut, but it burns so much more than it should, ripping a muted whine from your throat. 

Dottore hushes you, continuing to cut through the straps. You know he could just undo them, instead of ruining them by cutting through the leather, but he wants to see you squirm. 

He doesn’t nick you again, but it doesn’t matter. The pain of the cut on your wrist stings so insistently you can’t manage to drift, to distance yourself, away from him and from what he’s doing to you. 

When he finishes with the last strap, he sets the scalpel down on a tray beside the table– one you refuse to look at, not wanting to see the tools laid out there; to see what he intends to do to you. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself, and you try to believe it. 

You’re lifted and positioned so you’re lying on your stomach now on the table, and he has the barest amount of mercy left in him to turn your head to the side so your nose doesn’t smash against the metal surface. 

“Now, this is going to sting a bit, dear,” He starts, once you’re positioned how he wants you, “But you’ve suffered worse, hm? Bear with it.”

It’s detached, the way he speaks to you; so unlike the usual underlying excitement that drips from his voice whenever he’s laid you out on this table in the past. It’s.. horrifying. The safety net of his obsession that’s saved you from worse in the past no longer feels safe, anymore. If ever it did. 

Cool metal ghosts over your spine, the flat of the scalpel dragging over skin before stopping to rest below your shoulder blade. He pulls away and you hope that’s it, that he’s just going to toy with the threat of hurting you instead of actually doing so, but then cold metal returns and it’s the only warning you get before sharp pain bursts from just below your shoulder blade as he begins to cut. 

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and you can’t focus on anything but the white-hot pain as it spreads from the tip of your scapula to the tail. 

It hurts. You think you must be sobbing something similar, but if your cries are coherent, Dottore doesn’t pay them any mind. There’s a ringing in your ears that drowns everything out, your vision blurs, and you’re still reeling from the pain of the first incision when Dottore moves to your other shoulder.

You taste copper and you realize you must have bitten your tongue at some point, but the pain doesn’t compare to the sensation of fire lapping at your back– to the nerves firing off, overloading your senses with undiluted agony. 

Something is forced between your teeth and you bite down immediately out of instinct. He’s saying something to you, now, but his voice is muffled, like your head is underwater. You’re drowning. You can’t breathe, swallowed up by the capsizing waves of sensation.

Pain traces a blazing trail down your spine. Your head is swimming, black spots dancing in your vision, and you close your eyes to succumb to the mercy of unconsciousness.

You’re not granted that mercy. 

Instead, the sensation of ice chases away the heat, the fiery agony dimming as a freezing numbness settles in. 

A voice cuts through the fog. “Open your eyes before I decide to remove them.”

You open your eyes, looking back towards Dottore through the film of tears over your eyes, the blur of pain. Dimly, you can feel his hand gripping your jaw again, but the feeling is distant, disjointed. 

“Good.” Red eyes scan over your form, less cold, this time, as he appraises his work. “I’d like you present for this.”

You mumble a slurred “Where elsh would I be?” around the gag stuffed in your mouth.

“This-” There’s a harsh pinch to your arm that you can hardly muster a wince for, too exhausted from the pain he’d already put you through. From the corner of your eye you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes fade at your lack of reaction, “-is here. But this-” Gloved fingers tap at your temple, “-is not. Stay present. I’m being gentle with you.”

He’s not. He’s really not, but you know he could be doing so much worse, so you nod and make him a promise you can’t keep, like you’ve done a thousand times before. 

Dottore stares at you for a long moment, and you resist the urge to let your eyes glaze over, to stare off into the distance. You level your unsteady gaze at him instead, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. Your efforts are rewarded with a dispassionate simper, and Dottore picks back up the knife. 

You stop looking. 

The pain ignites anew, duller now, no longer white-hot. It’s still insistent, inescapable, and you wish you could crawl out of your own skin.

A line drawn down your back with the knife, like your body is a canvas, your blood the ink, and Dottore the persevering composer. 

There’s a study that comes to mind. You remember reading about it, one rainy afternoon as you took shelter from the rain in a quaint library in Sumeru, procrastinating your own studies. Before everything… before this. 

The study was done on monkeys. They were separated from their mothers young, placed in cages with a wire mother, which provided milk, and a cloth mother, which provided nothing but comfort. 

Survival or comfort. That was the study. The monkeys chose comfort, only going to the cloth mother for food when they were hungry and spending the rest of their time with the cloth mother. 

You’d always wondered, then, what you would choose. As Dottore pushes something into one of the incisions, gloves slick with your own blood, you think you know. 

Dottore stops. “Say again?”

It’s hard to get the words out around the gag, but Dottore seems to understand you regardless. 

“Oh. Poor thing,” It’s a cold comfort, the blood-slicked hand that pats your head. His voice is flat, not condescending or patronizing like when Pantalone simpers at you. But you can hear the amusement creeping into his tone, and it’s enough. “We’re almost done. I’ll give you something for the pain in a moment.”

Something for the pain, he says, as though he hadn’t already given you something, turning the low burning flame of shallow incisions into a raging inferno. 

There’s a cut to your arm, this time, deeper than the rest. It burns, but it’s overshadowed still by the throbbing and insistent agony in your back. Something else is pressed into your arm, and Dottore finally sets down the knife.

The room is spinning. 

A hand returns to pet your head once more, matting it further with your own blood. You slowly become aware of just how cold the room is, heightened by the sheen of sweat covering your bare skin. You want to go home. …You’re not sure where home is, anymore. 

There’s another needle, a sharp sting and then a dull ache settling in like a bruise at your nape. It doesn’t take long for the pain to dull, and you fight the wave of exhaustion that chases on the heels of relief, not wanting to aggravate him further by slipping into unconsciousness before he lets you. 

You try to stay awake. You really do. But with your heartbeat echoing in your ears, the warm hand resting atop your head, and the pain dulling, unhooking its claws from your consciousness, you drift. 

When you wake, you’re still in the nightmare. You’ve been moved to a stiff, sterile bed, lying on your stomach to not agitate the wounds on your back. It feels like Dottore must have cleaned and bandaged you up already– a small comfort.

The injuries ache dully, but more concerning is the feeling of fingers digging into your hips.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake, my dear.” A pause, then a lewd squelch as he pulls his other hand out from between your thighs. “I was starting to get bored.”

Dottore thumbs at the edge of the bandages encircling your back, humming. “That spoiled brat thought he could hide you from me forever.” He leans down, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck and causing the skin to prickle with goosebumps. You shiver at the contact and he smiles against your skin. 

“Oh, but don’t worry.” You cringe when his hand, still wet, taps you on the cheek. “I’ve already made something to keep him busy. You don’t mind that I took a bone and tissue sample while you slept, do you?”

It’s a rhetorical question– one that you don’t bother to answer and that he doesn’t care to hear the answer to, regardless. Instead, Dottore seems to be interested in the space between your legs once more, hand running down to smear the arousal he’d coaxed out of you in your sleep against your inner thighs. 

“Pity that you’ll have to be on your stomach for this,” He muses, chuckling quietly at the way you flinch when he slides two fingers back into you, “I do so love seeing your reactions.”

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when he curls his fingers against your walls, grinding his thumb against your clit. It aches, just a little bit. Like you’re sore. Like he’s been doing this for a while.

It’s almost mortifying, actually, how well he knows your body. The building pleasure drowns out the lingering ache of your injuries, and it’s hard to focus on the shame coiling in your gut when there’s something else coiling faster and brighter than the shame. 

“Mm, faster than I’d expected.” Dottore mutters from behind you, increasing the pace of his fingers as his other hand slips beneath you to press down on your stomach, right over where his fingers curl against your walls. 

Your thighs spasm, trying to close around his wrist, and he tsks, moving his other hand to hold one thigh against the bed as he presses a third finger around you. Your vision whites out, and Dottore doesn’t stop pumping his fingers inside you until you’re whimpering and twitching from overstimulation. 

“There. Good.” 

There’s a wet pat to your thigh, and you hear him walk off to grab something from the other end of the room. He returns with a jar of… something pink, some kind of salve, and dips his clean hand inside the jar to scoop out a generous amount of it. 

He applies it between your legs, over your clit, pressing some of it inside you and deliberately rubbing his fingers against your g-spot, eyes crinkling in delight at the oversensitive spasm that runs through you. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it does. 

It burns. Not in the same way as the pain did when you’d woken up on the operating table, but suddenly it feels like your cunt is on fire, all of your attention forced to the way Dottore’s hands feel as he rubs the excess off against your labia. 

You barely register the sound of Dottore unzipping his pants, but you do register the sheer, overwhelming relief you feel when he immediately presses inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against your walls before coming to a halt just below your cervix. 

He begins to thrust, mercifully not commenting on the keen you let out the second he starts moving. 

Dottore sets a brutal pace, snapping his hips against yours, grabbing one of your thighs and lifting it higher on the bed to get better leverage. You can feel his balls slap against your clit with each snap of his hips, the sound of it drowned out by your hiccuping moans. 

Your second orgasm is ripped out of you suddenly, embarrassingly fast. You choke on a moan and tighten around him, distantly hearing the doctor laugh as he fucks you through it. It’s getting hard to think, to focus on anything but his cock hammering into you. 

Unfortunately, Dottore seems keen to talk, while you’re still coherent enough to listen.  

“You know,” he begins conversationally, gloved fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh as he slows his pace to a slow, maddening grind inside you, “The femoral artery is right about-” he fumbles for a second, then his fingers are digging bruisingly into the flesh, “-here. If I were to cut you here,” You feel him lean down to breathe against the shell of your ear, “It would take about… Oh, I don’t know, three, four minutes for you to bleed out.”

You go still beneath him, holding your breath and he slows to a stop, relishing the way terror makes you tighten around him. It’s hard to focus, to think through the fog of lust, but the sudden, blatant threat still manages to cut through the haze like a knife. 

“I won’t, of course,” He tells you after a beat, laughing cruelly at the tentative sigh of relief you let out. “Not to you, that is. You’re my favorite test subject, after all.”

Dottore resumes his pace, loosening his grip on your leg and letting it drop limply back against the table. 

You think that’s the end of it, until he speaks up again, halting his thrusts briefly to tuck your legs under you and cant your hips up higher. “What wouldn’t kill you, however…”

One hand finds its way to your stomach again, tracing light circles around your navel. “I could remove most of your small intestine, and you would survive.”

“N-” You begin to protest, but another harsh thrust cuts you off.

“Not comfortably, of course, depending on how much I remove.” His hand floats down, pressing harshly against your clit and forcing another sudden orgasm from you. He waits for you to come back down before he speaks again. “If I take too much, we’d need to adjust your diet. But…” 

His breathing is picking up now, getting more labored. “I could, hah-” He leans down, breathing hotly against your neck and trapping you against the bed with his body. The movement drags against the bandages, agitating your injuries. “I could… Take just a little bit. A few feet.”

“No-” 

“Quiet.” He snaps his hips harder against yours and you bite your tongue, drawing blood again, to stifle the sob that bubbles up. “I could take a few feet, make a leather collar out of it… Make you wear it, sew it to your skin if I must-”

His fingers continue circling your clit and you blink back overstimulated and terrified tears, his hand on your hip tightening painfully. You can feel the next high approaching and you desperately hold it back. It’s hard to think. In the back of your mind you know you need to say something, do something to stop his train of thought before he decides to act on it-

Dottore growls against your shoulder. You can feel his scowl as he presses his weight harder against you, but it twists into a smile at your responding pained gasp when the bandages drag against the incisions. “Ah- hah, I won’t, of course,” He pants, nipping at your throat, “I could do that to just any test subject of mine, my dear, but you’re more than that now, aren’t you? Just tell me, again, that you love me.”

Again? 

“You’ve already said it before. Once more won’t kill you.”

It takes you several long moments, not helped at all by Dottore continuing to rut into you distractingly, but you remember. He’s right. When he was cutting into you, when you were desperate and delirious from the pain, you’d choked out the three damning words around the gag. 

It was done out of desperation. You’d wanted the pain to stop, and it had. Dottore had stopped after you’d said it, taking pity on you instead. 

One more time couldn’t hurt, right? It’s such a small price to pay, a white lie so he doesn’t hurt you further. 

“I- ah, nnnm-” He doesn’t slow down his pace for you to get the words out without stuttering, but you’re too exhausted to feel ashamed of the way that your voice cracks with pleasure. “I love- love you.”

“Yes,” Dottore’s cock twitches inside of you, and he snarls against your neck. “Good. You don’t have to mean it, yet. But you will. You will.”

It’s spoken like a promise; one you’re unable to dread as your mind starts to blank, focus drifting to your next orgasm as Dottore’s thrusts become wild, desperate.

The head of his cock batters against your g-spot with every stroke, pleasure and overstimulated pain lancing through you. Your thoughts are fuzzy from lust, unable to focus on anything but the heaving breaths against the shell of your ear, the wet slap of skin-on-skin, the hiccuping moans and noises of pleasure he pulls from your throat. 

Teeth sink into your shoulder at the same time Dottore pinches your clit, and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure lances through your veins. . 

He growls, the sound vibrating against your shoulder, and you shudder when you feel him cum after you, cock twitching as he shoots his load deep inside your cunt. 

The world comes back to you slowly, in jagged pieces. When you crack your eyes open once more, you’ve been moved so your legs are no longer tucked up under you, lying comfortably flat on your stomach once more. 

Dottore comes back from the other side of the room with a vial, and your face scrunches in revulsion as he presses it to your abused hole, collecting the cum that oozes out. A gloved hand pats your head affectionately before he pulls away. 

“Get some rest. I have something that I need to… attend to.” Sleep. You can do that, certainly.

He waves his hand, and you vaguely hear him speaking to the clone that immediately comes into view– who was probably stationed in the corner the whole time, taking notes or something. You wouldn’t put it past him, and from the way some of them stare at you a little too long, a little too intensely, you’re sure many of his clones would like to do a little bit more to you than just watch and take notes.

As Dottore leaves, and his clone wipes you down with a rag, knuckles brushing against the inside of your thighs a little too deliberately to be innocuous, you’re reminded of the cloth monkeys again. 

The clone moves to rest his hand atop your limp one once he’s sure Dottore has left, and you curl your fingers around his own. His hands are cold without the gloves, just like his progenitor’s. 

You choose comfort too.

[justanotherlifeff]

the other woman — ryomen sukuna.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.” But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.” And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was always going to be long, because it's heartbreaking. and heartbreaking ones have to be something that has to be expressed well. i listened to this in a audio software like its a podcast and i actually liked it. the other woman by nina simone was the constant in the writing. also, this is the aftermath of ashes of love, which is a series i did about heian sukuna. anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

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YOU KNEW THAT YOU WERE THIS UNLUCKY. The moment you were born, there would be a bleak fate for you to live. You were an accidental child, and multiple times, your own mother had nearly miscarried. Perhaps even as a fetus, you had always known this. How cursed you were. Even if you had done nothing. 

When your mother brushed your hair as a child, she would tell you of how you were born. She said that when you breathed the air for the first time, you were melancholic in the silence to the world. Somehow knew that you were built for this miserable world. And every day since that day, you knew. You were meant to live life without true joyous jubilation.

It did not help that the day you were born, there was a lone dark star in the morning sky, one which had been considered a bad omen. And with that, the whispers of fate echoing long before you had even had consciousness to know. Your village nestled in the shadowed valleys of Hida province, a place of whispered dread and ancient pacts. And for the longest of times, the once prosperous Hida province was in turmoil. 

And so, in those days, if there was anyone who controlled the ruins of Hida, it was that god-like curse user Ryomen Sukuna. His name alone was a talisman against the unknown horrors that lurked beyond the mountains, a deity whose power and wrath commanded fear and reverence in equal measure. And all either quivered at the sight of him or drew fanatic fervor. 

The Ryomen clan, his kin at one point, were at war—embroiled in brutal conflicts with neighboring clans for so long. And this had been going on before you were even born. The blood had soaked the earth for so long that the soil seemed to thirst for it. And the people were exhausted. 

The clan struggled to maintain control over Hida for a long time now, their influence fraying like an old tapestry torn at the seams. And with that, a power vacuum had long been in existence. The chaos of the era was a tide that threatened to drown them all, and Ryomen Sukuna's protection became the last fragile hope for those who called this land their home.

Your parents spoke in hushed voices of the offerings, the sacrifices made by the villagers to appease their god, the man who can save them,  this man to fear and worship, Ryomen Sukuna. To ensure his protection, they said. For years, the sacrifices continued, the chosen ones becoming mere footnotes in a history written in blood and fear. 

It came upon you rather quickly when you were young and it struck you—that the villagers saw you not as one of their own, but as a piece on a board, a pawn destined for slaughter. A sacrifice to their god. You would be among the countless, one more life to be cast into the jaws of the demon god they all feared.

The day of your sacrifice came as the sky was painted with hues of blood and gold, a cruel irony that did not escape you. The air was heavy with incense and prayer, but there was no comfort in their muttered words, no solace in the chants that pleaded for Sukuna's mercy. They adorned you in ceremonial robes, marked with symbols and sigils, your skin painted with the sacred ink that was supposed to cleanse your soul before the offering.

You were led through the village, a procession of death that seemed to stretch on forever. The eyes that watched you pass were filled with a mixture of pity and relief—relief that it was not them, not their child, not their blood that would be spilled today. Mothers held their children close, men bowed their heads, and the elders chanted in a low, continuous hum that sent shivers down your spine.

At the shrine, they bound you to the altar, thick ropes biting into your skin as you stared at the sky, searching for a sign, a miracle that never came. The high priest began his incantation, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. You could feel the cold seep into your bones, the air around you thickening as if the very world held its breath.

And then, you felt it—the shift in the air, the heavy presence that pressed against your chest like a vice. You had never seen him before, but you knew it was Sukuna. The villagers gasped, a collective intake of breath as his form materialized from the shadows, a figure cloaked in malice and power.

His eyes, crimson and unforgiving, swept over you like a cold blade. You felt your heart hammer against your ribcage, fear clawing at your throat. You were nothing to him, just another offering, another desperate plea from a village clinging to survival.

Ryomen Sukuna smiled, a slow, cruel smile that sent a tremor through the crowd. He stepped forward, each movement a ripple in the air, as if reality itself bent to his will. You met his gaze, defiant in your fear, knowing that you were one of many. Countless lives had been given to him, countless souls lost to his hunger.

And now, it was your turn.

  

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YOU HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO MEET THE MAN IN THE FLESH. But before you stood this man, this god, with dark crimson eyes. Taller than any tree, intimidating than any curse. Frightening than hell itself. You could remember when you were younger. The whispers reached you before you even stepped foot in the shrine, everyone has. Tales of Ryomen Sukuna had traveled through the villages like the wind, carrying with them rumors that were both terrifying and tragic. 

You had always known that the man was delighted with the worship of the human people. But they said he had taken no other concubines, that he showed no interest in any woman who dared come near him.

And if he did, they were more likely to be servants than anything close to a concubine. And some were not so lucky. Some spoke in hushed tones, their voices trembling with fear, that he was a monster of unspeakable debauchery, one who had killed the women for even daring to breathe in his presence.

But the truth, as you had come to understand it, was far more tragic. At least from how you see it. The people of Hida knew—oh, they believed—the story was told long ago. There was someone who had been so loved long ago and most of all, by Sukuna.

Ryomen Hiromi, the one who had captured Sukuna's heart, the one he had loved beyond reason. There was another Sukuna a long time ago, many were aware. But there was nothing proven.

If anything, the children of Hiromi reject any notion of such a relationship. But the tale was woven into the very fabric of tales told, whispered among the elders late at night and shared in riddles among the children who barely understood the weight of what they spoke.

Hiromi, they said, had been his sun, his moon, his stars. A woman of beauty and strength, whose laughter could calm the wildest storms and whose voice was like the sweetest song. She had been the only one to ever touch his heart, to see the man beneath the demon god. But she was gone now, lost to time and tragedy, leaving Ryomen Sukuna to languish in his grief. 

No one dared speak her name aloud, not when Sukuna’s rage could split the earth itself. People have seen it. It was said he mourned her loss every day, that his fury was born from the emptiness she left behind. And that was why he would not tolerate any other woman. No one was going to be like her. None would match her wit, her beauty. Why should the king of curses settle for less when he had the world? 

As you lay on the cold altar, the ropes cutting into your skin, your thoughts were consumed by the stories. What kind of man—no, what kind of creature—was Sukuna? You wonder about this paradox of a man, this creature like god.

Did he truly mourn, or was that just another tale spun by terrified villagers to make him seem more human? What was he, actually? You had a million questions, and you know they will never truly be answered.

A gust of wind stirred the trees around you, the leaves rustling like whispered secrets. You heard the shuffle of feet, felt the eyes of the villagers upon you, their fear palpable. Then, you heard his voice. You could feel it all, that powerful cursed energy, coming from one direction. For a moment, you had no words. Only uncertainty.

"Why do they send another?" Sukuna's voice was like a low growl, rumbling through the air with the force of a storm. "Do you think I am so easily appeased, you fools?"

You dared to lift your head, the ropes pulling at your skin as you met his crimson gaze. He was tall, imposing, and every bit as terrifying as the stories had painted him. But there was something else there—something in his eyes that spoke of deep, simmering pain.

"Do you truly want to know why they sent me?" you found yourself saying, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your throat.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Speak, then, girl." he said. "Tell me why I should not turn you to dust where you lie."

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "They send me because they fear you, because they believe you will protect them if they give you what you want. But… no one knows what you truly want, do they? No one speaks of her. Of Hiromi."

His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. The air grew colder, a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

"Hiromi is dead." he said, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that could cut through steel. "And no one speaks her name. It is what I command.”

"But you still mourn her…." you continued, unable to stop yourself. "Do you not, my lord?”

His dark gaze bore into you, the weight of it almost unbearable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched on like an eternity. Then, slowly, he laughed—a sound that was bitter and hollow.

"You dare ask?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "What do you know of it all, little one? What do you know about such a life lived?"

You felt a tremor run through you, but you did not look away. "I know enough, my lord." you replied softly. "I know enough to see that your anger is not born of hatred, but of grief."

Sukuna's cruel smile quickly faded, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly swallowed by the darkness. He hated how you said it, you know it too well. But there was no other choice. You were here for a purpose and you must fulfill it. You must. 

"You are bold, little one." he murmured. "Bold….for someone so close to death."

"Perhaps, my lord." you whispered back to him. "But if I am to die, I would rather die knowing who you truly are, rather than the monster they say you are."

He stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the power that thrummed through him like a thunder strike.

"Then you are a fool, little one." he said quietly. "For believing that I am anything more than a monster."

But there was something in his voice, something that made you wonder if perhaps… he wished you were right.

For the meantime, you were lucky to have your life, despite speaking so boldly, despite saying her name aloud—the name that everyone else dared not utter. Sukuna’s silence stretched on, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours, unreadable, cold yet burning with something darker beneath the surface. He could have ended you with a flick of his wrist, reduced you to ashes for your insolence. And yet, he did not.

He leaned closer, the edges of his form blurring into the shadows that seemed to ripple around him like stabbing waves in the ocean. His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat a drum that signaled your fragile hold on life.

“Perhaps you are simply foolish. Many have died for far less than what you dared to speak.” Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “Huh, you speak brashly.”

The villagers around you seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his judgment. They looked at you with a mixture of horror and awe, unable to believe you were still alive after uttering the forbidden name. You, a mere sacrifice, a lamb thrown to the wolf, had survived what so many others had not.

“Why do you think I will let you live?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone curious, but with a dangerous edge. “Do you think I find you interesting? Amusing? Or perhaps I see something of her in you, something worth sparing?”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation settling in. You had survived speaking out of turn, but you were still bound to this altar, still at the mercy of a being who could destroy you on a whim. Yet, something in his words gave you pause, a flicker of something unspoken that lingered just beneath his surface.

“I do not presume to know your reasons, my lord.” you replied carefully, choosing each word like a step on thin ice. “But if you see something of her in me… then perhaps I am not so different from you after all.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Not so different?” He laughed, a sound that was both mirthful and bitter, filled with a deep, aching emptiness. “You compare yourself to me? To Ryomen Sukuna? You are a child, a mere mortal who knows nothing of gods or demons, of love that scorches the soul and burns the world to ash.”

“And yet…..” you dared to continue, feeling the tightness in your chest. “If my lord felt nothing, you wouldn’t care enough to be angry… or to remember.”

He stiffened, and for a moment, his expression faltered. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, his aura flickering like a candle flame caught in a strong wind. You sensed that you were dancing on a razor’s edge, but you could not stop now. There was something here, something raw and real beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Enough.” Sukuna hissed, his voice a sharp command. The air grew colder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You dare much, human. Too much.”

You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, the moment when his patience would finally snap. But instead, Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that did not reach his eyes.

“Perhaps I will spare you.” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “If only to see how long that fire burns before it is extinguished. Or perhaps to see if you will end up like the rest—broken, hollow, pleading for mercy where there is none.”

He turned away from you then, his back a wall of power and darkness, his form towering against the dim light of the shrine. The villagers started, stunned, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You will reside in my temple.” Sukuna commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will remain there, under my watch. Let them see what comes of those who speak of things best left forgotten.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of fear and shock. They did not understand why he had spared you, why you, of all people, were allowed to live. Perhaps they thought you were cursed, or perhaps they thought Sukuna had some darker plan in mind. But you knew better. You knew that, in some small way, you had touched on a wound that had never healed, a scar buried deep beneath his monstrous exterior.

And as Sukuna vanished into the shadows, you realized that your fate was no longer in the hands of the villagers, or even in the hands of the gods they prayed to. No, your fate was now bound to his—a god who mourned like a man, a monster who remembered what it was to love.

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IN A WAY, IT IS NOT SO BAD, BEING HIS CONCUBINE. You spent your days in isolation, your life confined within the walls of Sukuna's palace. You were nothing more than a servant, though they called you a concubine. The title meant little, for you were given no special privileges, no adornments, no tokens of affection. 

But it was a life. Your life. And it lived in some comfort, more than what is experienced by the rest of Hida province. You had multiple meals a day, you had rooms to yourself and even servants that address every bit of your needs.

Still, your world was small, your days filled with the quiet tending of the gardens, watching the shifting sky as the hours bled into one another. The flowers you nurtured became your only friends, their petals a fragile comfort against the cold indifference that surrounded you.

Perhaps the peace came from the fact that you did not see Sukuna often, and when you did, his gaze never lingered on you for long. He had no interest, no affection, no fondness to spare. You were simply there, like a shadow in the corner of his realm.

A figure lost amidst the vast emptiness of his domain. And perhaps that was for the best. It was better than being forced into Sukuna’s bed. You think that all women in the harem think that it was better that way.

But slowly, ever so slowly, something changed. His dark scarlet eyes began to linger, just a fraction longer than before. You felt the weight of his gaze like a chill running down your spine.

The other servants noticed it too, their whispers growing louder, bolder. You finally caught his attention. But it wasn’t because he had come to care for you, to see you as anything more than the nothing you were.

No, the truth was much crueler than that.

You were a spitting image of Ryomen Hiromi, the woman who haunted his every step, the ghost who lived in the shadows of his mind. At least that’s what the people say. But you did not want to believe them. Yet, looking at the murals at the glass gardens, the resemblance was uncanny.

It was obvious somehow. It was similar, everything. Your eyes, your hair, the curve of your smile. Every feature, every gesture seemed to remind him of her. And though you knew you could never be her, you had become a cruel echo, a reflection of something he had long lost.

And soon enough, the people talked. Of course, they did. They always talked. You tried to shut them out, but the more they whispered, the more people listened. And the more they listened, the more people spoke.  

“She reminds him of Hiromi, I am certain!” they whispered. “She is nothing but a shadow, a poor replacement for the one he truly loved. She lives in her image, as if she could ever hope to fill her place.”

You became the other woman, even when you didn’t want to be. No, not even that. You were a pale imitation, a mockery of a woman who had captured the heart of the king of curses. Every glance Ryomen Sukuna spared you was not a look of admiration or desire—it was the gaze of a man staring into the past, into a memory that was forever out of reach.

And so, you lived your life as another woman. No, the other woman. To a dead woman. To a love that had died long ago, but never truly left. 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the silence was so thick it pressed against your skin like a heavy shroud, you would wonder about her. About Ryomen Hiromi. Who was she, really? What had she meant to him, this fearsome god, this creature of darkness who now watched you as if searching for something he had lost in her eyes, now reflected in yours.

He never spoke of her. He does not want to. He does not dare to. Not to you, not to anyone. Some servants have been here longer than you and they have seen people killed over even a mumble of a prayer for the lady. And so you don’t ask. 

Not even when there were times he would come closer, when his dark eyes lingered on your face, searching, always searching. Yet he will never truly find it. He knew this, as much as you did. But it was as if he was trying to see her again, trying to find her in your skin, in your voice, in the way you moved through the gardens like she once had, perhaps. It was hope, a foolish hope. And yet you cannot escape this foolish hope.

The weight of her memory suffocated you. You were not allowed to be yourself, to have your own name, your own identity. You were always, always compared to her, measured against a ghost that you could never be, never touch. And Sukuna, with his cold gaze and his empty eyes, reminded you of it every day.

"You’re not her, little one." he said once, his voice low, more to himself than to you, as if testing a truth he could not fully accept. “You’ll never be her.”

His words cut deeper than any blade, leaving you with the bitter taste of something unnameable, something that tasted like defeat, or perhaps longing, or perhaps both. You had never wished to be her, to be anyone but yourself. But here, in his domain, under his shadow, you were not allowed that freedom.

You were trapped, forever bound to a life that was not your own, in the shadow of a dead woman who would never release you, and a man who could never let her go.

Days bled into nights, a blur of routine and solitude, and you began to feel like a ghost yourself, haunting the corners of Sukuna's palace, where life seemed to move around you but never through you. The servants kept their distance, wary of your resemblance, as if fearing you might be some ill omen, cursed to echo the tragedy of the past.

And Sukuna… he watched you, always watching, his eyes a deep crimson that saw too much and yet revealed nothing. He was like a storm contained within the fragile walls of the palace, his presence a force of nature that you could neither escape nor fully comprehend. His mood was mercurial; one day, he would barely acknowledge you, and the next, his gaze would linger on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Do you enjoy the garden?” he asked one afternoon, his tone deceptively casual, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather.

You glanced up, surprised that he had addressed you at all. He rarely spoke directly to you, even when his eyes seemed to follow your every movement. “I do,” you replied, careful, measured. “It is quiet there. Peaceful.”

“Quiet…peaceful.” he repeated, almost as if tasting the word. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, she liked the quiet too. Always wandering among the flowers. Trees too. She’d like that then.”

You stiffened at the mention of her, the ghost you lived with every day, who lingered in every corner of this place. “I am not her, my lord.” you said, a tremor in your voice. You had repeated these words to yourself countless times, but they sounded fragile, almost insignificant when spoken aloud.

Sukuna's expression did not change. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin. “No, little one.” he agreed softly, almost mockingly, “You are not her. But you will do… for now.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let him see the fear that coiled within you, like a snake waiting to strike. “Why do you keep me here?” you dared to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why do you watch me as if you expect me to become someone else?”

He laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You misunderstand, little one. I do not expect you to become her. I know you never can. But you… remind me of her. And that is enough… for now.”

The way he said it, the way his eyes darkened with something unreadable, made your blood run cold. You were nothing more than a stand-in, a living, breathing reminder of something he had lost. A cruel joke played by fate, a shadow dancing in the place of the one who truly mattered. To be kept alive, your village kept alive — because you look like a ghost. 

“I am not a replacement, my lord.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, surprising even yourself with the strength behind it. “I hope my lord knows that I will not live my life as a mere echo.”

His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “You think you have a choice?” he asked, leaning in closer, his face so near to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You are here because I allow it. You exist at my whim, not because of who you are, but because of who you resemble. Do not mistake this for anything more than it is.”

The reality of his words hit you like a blow, the finality of it sinking deep into your bones. You were nothing to him, nothing but a passing fancy, a painful reminder of a past he could not reclaim.

“I am not her, my lord.” you repeated, your voice shaking with defiance, with a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. “And I will not be her for you. You must understand.”

For a moment, something flickered in Sukuna's eyes, something almost like surprise, perhaps even respect. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he always wore.

“Brave words, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But words mean little here, in my domain. You will learn that soon enough.”

He turned away from you then, leaving you standing alone in the empty hall, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides. The silence closed in around you, heavy and oppressive, and you knew that nothing had changed. You were still trapped, still living in the shadow of a dead woman, still bound to the whims of a god who mourned like a man.

And yet, deep inside, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of hope. You might be a ghost to him, a reflection of a lost love, but you were still alive. You were still you, and as long as you drew breath, you would not allow yourself to be consumed by his shadows. Not without a fight.

Time passed slowly in Sukuna’s palace, and with it, your heart began to change. You did not notice it at first; how could you? Day after day, the monotonous routine of your existence lulled you into a sort of numbness. The gardens became your refuge, the sky your solace.

Yet even as you tried to find comfort in these simple pleasures, you found your thoughts wandering back to him—Ryomen Sukuna, the fearsome god, the monster, the man who mourned like a human.

At first, you hated him, hated him for what he represented, for what he had made you into: a replacement, a mere shadow of someone who had meant everything to him. But as you watched him, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you began to see more.

You began to notice the things others did not—the subtle tension in his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he spoke of her, the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, and the mask slipped, just a little.

You were in the garden one afternoon, trimming the roses, when you heard footsteps approaching. Sukuna rarely came to the garden, but today he seemed restless, pacing along the paths with a dark expression on his face. He stopped by the old cherry blossom tree, his eyes distant, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Without thinking, you moved closer. "Is something troubling you, my lord?" you asked quietly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You had learned not to provoke him, to keep your words soft and your gaze steady.

Sukuna looked at you sharply, as if surprised you had dared to speak. "Why do you care?" he snapped, his tone harsh, but you had seen the flicker of something else—a fleeting vulnerability, perhaps? “Such matters are none for you to care about, little one.”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I see you every day, my lord.” you replied softly. “I see how you… struggle over something. And I cannot help but… care.”

He scoffed, but it was a hollow sound. “Care?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You think you understand me, mortal? You think you can comprehend the depths of what I am, of what I have lost?”

You bowed your head, feeling the sting of his words but refusing to back down. “I don’t pretend to understand, my lord.” you murmured. “But I see the pain in your eyes, the way you linger in places she once loved, the way you… look at me.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense, his hands unclenching. “You are a fool, little one.” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. “A fool to think you can feel anything for me.”

And maybe you were a fool. A fool to care for a man who did not care for you, who saw you only as a shadow of someone else. But you could not help it. You could not stop the way your heart ached when you saw him, the way your breath caught when he looked at you with those sad, tired eyes.

Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him, not by his power or his beauty, but by the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching. The moments when his face softened, and you saw the man beneath the monster, the man who had loved so deeply and lost so terribly.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the places where he had been wounded, and you wanted, desperately, to reach out and touch them, to soothe the pain you knew he carried.

You found yourself thinking of him when you were alone, wondering what had made him this way, what had broken him so completely. You imagined him before all of this, before the darkness, before the loss, and you felt a strange, deep sorrow for the man he might have been.

One evening, as you were leaving the garden, you saw him standing by the cherry blossom tree again, his face turned upward, staring at the pale blooms against the darkening sky. He looked so lonely, so unbearably alone, that you felt your heart tighten in your chest.

Without thinking, you approached him, moving slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My lord, look.” you said softly, and he did not turn away. “The blossoms… they’re beautiful this year.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hiromi loved them.” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you could not quite name. “Fond of them.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I imagine she did, my lord.” you replied. “They’re… peaceful.”

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flowers. Then he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was… my peace.” he admitted, his tone so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten painfully. “And now… there is only emptiness.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his hand, to tell him that he was not as alone as he thought, but you knew he would not accept it. So you stood there, beside him, sharing the silence, hoping that maybe, in some small way, your presence could ease the ache in his heart.

And slowly, painfully, you realized that you were falling into the saddest position in the world. You were beginning to care for him, truly care for him, despite knowing that he did not, and could not, care for you. You were beginning to understand him, to see the depths of his sorrow, to feel the weight of his loss as if it were your own.

You were living as a shadow, and yet… you found yourself wishing, hoping, that someday he might see you as something more. Even if you were just a reflection of a memory, even if you could never be her, you wished, desperately, that you could become someone to him.

But as you looked at him, at the emptiness in his eyes, you knew that day might never come. And still, you could not help but care.

Days continued to slip by in a blur of silent moments and stolen glances, and though you tried to keep your heart guarded, you felt it slipping further and further away from you, like water through your fingers. You had resigned yourself to your fate—a concubine in name, a ghost in truth. You had accepted that Sukuna would never see you as anything more than a mere echo of what he had lost.

But as time passed, you noticed a subtle change in him. It was in the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, or how his tone softened when he spoke to you. It was in the quiet moments when you would catch him watching you, his expression inscrutable, as if he were trying to decipher some mystery he could not quite solve.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, you found yourself in the garden again. Sukuna was there, seated on a low stone bench beneath the cherry blossom tree, his face turned upward as if searching for something in the dying light.

You approached cautiously, unsure if he wanted your presence or not. He did not turn to look at you, but he did not send you away, either. You took it as a small mercy, a silent invitation to sit beside him.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, delicate and unbroken. Finally, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “You are always here, little one.” he murmured. “Always watching. Why?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I see you, my lord.” you replied quietly. “I see the way you carry your pain, the way you hide it behind your eyes. I… I understand it, in a way.”

He turned to you then, his gaze piercing, searching your face as if trying to find the truth hidden within your words. “And what do you think you understand?” he asked, a note of challenge in his tone.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his stare. “I think you loved her more than life itself, my lord.” you said softly. “And I think losing her broke something inside of you that will never heal.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. “You presume to know my heart, mortal.” he said, but there was no true malice in his voice, only a deep, hollow emptiness. “You think because you look like her, you can speak of love and loss?”

“I do not pretend to be her, my lord.” you answered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “But I know what it is to lose, to live with emptiness. I know what it means to be alone, even in a crowded room.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could almost see the man beneath the monster, the one who had loved and lost, who had once been capable of kindness, of tenderness.

“You think you know loneliness?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “You think you know what it is to love someone so deeply that their absence is like a knife in your soul, cutting you with every breath?”

“I think I’m starting to understand, my lord.” you whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”

He looked away, his jaw clenched tight, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You are a fool.” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only a weary resignation. “You should hate me. You should despise me for what I am, for what I have made you.”

You shook your head slowly. “I can’t, my lord.” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because I see the pain in your eyes, the way you look at me… the way you remember her. I can’t hate you for that. I just… I wish things were different.”

He turned to you sharply, and for a moment, there was something raw and desperate in his gaze, something that spoke of a longing he had buried deep within himself. “Different?” he repeated, almost scoffing. “There is no ‘different’ for us. This is the world we have been given, and we must live in it.”

You felt your heart clench painfully, knowing he was right, knowing that no matter how much you wished for it, you could never truly reach him, could never become more than what you were—a shadow, a reflection of a woman long gone.

But you could not stop yourself from caring, from hoping that somehow, someway, he might see you, truly see you, not as a ghost or a replacement, but as a person in your own right.

You sighed, turning your gaze to the blossoms above. “I know, my lord.” you murmured. “I know that better than anyone. But I still… I still want to understand you. I still care, even if you don’t care for me.”

He was silent, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much, crossed a line you could never return from. But then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand in his, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You are a strange one, little one.” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “To care for a monster… to care for a man who has nothing left to give.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you did not bother to hide it. “Maybe I’m just a fool, my lord” you whispered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t help but care for you, even when I know you can’t care for me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for some answer he could not find. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it took your breath away.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”

But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”

And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

══════════════════

TIME FLEW BY AND WITH THAT, YOU AGED TOO. Slowly, like the steady drip of water carving its path through stone, Ryomen Sukuna began to accept your presence as something constant in his life. At first, it was subtle—the way he no longer sent you away when you appeared by his side, the way he allowed you to linger in his chambers or the garden without a word of complaint.

Over time, it grew into something more. He began to call for you, not often, but enough that you noticed. Sometimes, it was just to sit in silence while he read or stared into the fire, and other times, he would speak to you, his voice low and distant, as if he were speaking to himself rather than you.

He did not love you; you knew that much with painful certainty. His heart belonged to another, to a woman whose name he whispered in his dreams, whose memory seemed to haunt his every step. You were not her, and you never would be. You were a shadow of what he had lost, a pale reflection of a love that had burned too bright and consumed itself in the flames.

But he tolerated you, and in this dark, twisted place where fear ruled and love was a forgotten dream, that was enough. You had learned to find solace in the little things—the way his gaze would occasionally soften when he looked at you, the rare moments when his voice held a note of something other than indifference. 

You knew you would never escape Hiromi’s shadow. Her ghost lingered in every corner of this place, in every whispered word and hushed breath, in the way his eyes darkened whenever he spoke of her.

You were not foolish enough to think you could ever replace her in his heart, nor did you wish to. You had come to terms with your fate, with the cruel twist of destiny that had brought you here, to this palace where the walls seemed to whisper her name.

For the finite years of your mortal life, you would be what you were to him—an echo, a shadow, a living memory of something lost. You could have fought against it, could have railed against the injustice of it all, but you chose not to. You chose to make peace with what fate had given you, to find what small joys you could in the fleeting moments he allowed you to be near him.

There were times when the weight of your existence threatened to crush you, when you longed to scream, to demand that he see you for who you were, not for the woman you resembled. But those moments were few and far between, and you had learned to push them down, to bury them deep within your heart where they could not hurt you.

Instead, you found contentment in the little things—in the way his presence filled the room, in the rare, unguarded moments when he would speak to you of things he had buried deep within himself. You listened to his stories, the ones he told in quiet tones when he thought no one was listening, and you treasured them like precious gems, tiny fragments of the man he had once been.

You learned to be grateful for what you had, even if it was not what you had dreamed of. You accepted that you would always live in the shadow of Hiromi, that you would always be the "other woman"; the one who was not loved, but merely tolerated. And for as long as you had breath in your lungs and life in your veins, you chose to find peace in that.

You sat beside him by the fire, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression thoughtful. He did not look at you, but you could feel his presence, warm and solid beside you, a reminder that you were not entirely alone in this world.

You turned your gaze to the fire, letting the heat warm your face, and you whispered, almost to yourself, “I do not ask for more than this. I am… content with what I have.”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand your words. “Content?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “You are content being nothing but a shadow?”

You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Contentment is a choice, my lord.” you replied. “I chose to be content with what fate has given me. It is not happiness, but it is enough.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are wiser than I thought now, little one.” he murmured. “To find peace in a place like this… it is no easy feat.”

You nodded, knowing he spoke more to himself than to you. You had accepted that you would never be more than a shadow in his life, but even shadows had their place, their purpose. You would be content with that, for as long as your mortal years allowed.

The days passed with a creeping heaviness that settled into your bones, a fatigue that no amount of rest could cure. You began to feel the strain in every step, the way your breath came shorter, the way your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. At first, you dismissed it as exhaustion, a lingering effect of sleepless nights and endless thoughts that twisted in your mind like shadows.

But then came the coughing fits, each one more violent than the last, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a sharp pain in your chest. You ignored it at first, waving away the concerned glances of the servants who attended you. You kept your back straight and your face serene, refusing to acknowledge the way your body seemed to betray you.

Yet it grew harder to hide. The pain became more frequent, stabbing through your lungs like a knife with every breath, every step. The first time you coughed up blood, it was a shock—a bright, vivid red staining your hand. Your heart raced as you stared at the crimson stain, panic rising like bile in your throat.

You quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, you were alone in your chamber, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. There was no reason to be afraid, you told yourself. It was just a momentary lapse, nothing more.

But it wasn’t. It happened again, and again. You found yourself waking in the night, gasping for air, your throat raw and burning. The servants began to notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you would clutch your side when you thought no one was looking, the way you moved a little slower, a little more carefully.

There was a day that you sat in the garden, trying to find solace in the soft petals of the cherry blossoms, a violent fit seized you. You doubled over, coughing hard, and felt something wet and warm splatter against your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and saw the unmistakable smear of blood.

A sharp gasp came from behind you. One of the younger servants had seen, her eyes wide with fear and concern. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady you.

“My lady, oh my!” she whispered, her voice filled with worry. “You’re… you’re bleeding.”

You shook your head, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “It is nothing.” you said, your voice hoarse. “Do not worry yourself over me.”

The servant looked unconvinced, her brow furrowed with concern. “I must tell Lord Sukuna.” she said quickly, glancing toward the entrance of the garden as if she expected him to appear at any moment. “He must know—”

“No, no…..” you cut her off sharply, your voice firmer than you had intended. “There is no point in that.”

She hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. “But, my lady… you are unwell. He should—”

“He would not care, little girl.” you said softly, looking down at your blood-stained hand. “There is no use in troubling him with this. It would make no difference. Sukuna does not love me, nor does he care for me in that way. Do you think he would be moved by something as trivial as this?”

The servant bit her lip, clearly torn between her duty to you and her fear of Sukuna’s wrath. “But… if he knew, he might—”

“Might what?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a quiet resignation. “Send a healer? Take pity on me? No, he would not. I am nothing more than a reminder to him, a shadow of a past he cannot let go. He tolerates me, yes, but that is all.”

The servant looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, but she nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words. She knew as well as you did that Sukuna’s heart was a barren, desolate place, filled with ghosts and haunted memories. There was no room for you there.

“Promise me, little girl.” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I promise, my lady.” she murmured, though you could hear the doubt in her voice.

You leaned back against the tree, closing your eyes and letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. You knew there was no point in hoping for more than what you had. Sukuna had given you a place by his side, but it was not out of affection. He had lost the woman he truly loved, and you were only a semblance of her—a shadow he tolerated, nothing more.

You were dying, that much was clear. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way to free yourself from this liminal existence, to escape the torment of being a living reminder of what he had lost. You could find peace in that, you thought. At least, you could try.

You would not burden him with your illness, with your slow, inevitable decline. You would carry it quietly, with dignity, for whatever time you had left. After all, what was one more life in the grand, cruel scheme of his world? You were just another fleeting moment in the endless march of time—another sacrifice, another offering to a man who had already lost everything he had ever cared for.

══════════════════

YOU DECIDED TO LET FATE RUN ITS COURSE. You let time pass by, letting the illness be hidden in the shadows of low whispers and painful tears in your long suffering days and nights. And sure enough, Ryomen Sukuna had returned from his long and exhausting trip within the next few days.

He had been famished from his trip and sent word that he would be having supper with you that night, which you had obliged without another word. You dressed in your finest, watching the servants prepare the table in your chambers and calmly thanked them one after another as they left.

The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, with the two of you sharing dinner in the dimly lit chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and simmered vegetables filled the air.

It was a routine you had come to accept with a resigned sort of familiarity, a ritual that offered a small measure of normalcy in your otherwise constrained existence.

You sat across from Sukuna, picking at your meal with an absent-mindedness that spoke more to your weariness than any lack of appetite. His presence was imposing, yet tonight, he was unusually subdued, his attention focused on the food in front of him rather than on you. And somehow, you were a bit more grateful for it.

As you took a sip from your cup, you looked up at him, your expression earnest. "My lord, do you not think you should be more understanding of your subjects?" you began, your voice gentle but firm. "I must implore you once more to be more lenient with the people. The fear you instill is one thing, but mercy could win you their loyalty and respect."

Sukuna's eyes, dark and inscrutable, met yours. He did not respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing your words. This was not the first time you had made this plea, and it was not likely to be the last. You had grown accustomed to his silence, to the way he would listen but rarely act upon your suggestions.

"It is not for me to coddle them, little one." he said finally, his voice low and dismissive. "Fear is a more effective tool than mercy. It ensures obedience."

You sighed softly, knowing well that your words often fell on deaf ears. Still, you persisted, driven by a conviction that even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference. "I understand your perspective, my lord,  but sometimes even the harshest rulers find strength in showing compassion. It can—"

Before you could finish your thought, a sudden, sharp pain gripped your chest. You gasped, doubling over slightly, and a violent coughing fit overtook you. You struggled to steady yourself, but the force of it was too strong. Blood splattered onto the table, the vibrant red stark against the white of your kimono and the pale wood of the dining surface.

Your heart raced as you quickly wiped the blood away with your sleeve, hoping to hide the evidence of your distress. You tried to maintain your composure, but your hands were trembling as you looked up at Sukuna, who had gone still, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain.

For a moment, there was a silence so thick it felt like a physical presence. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze was heavy and unyielding, his red eyes locked onto the blood that had marred the table and your attire. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his silence, a heavy burden that pressed down upon you.

"It's nothing, my lord." you said hurriedly, forcing a weak smile as you tried to brush off the incident. "Just a momentary lapse. Please, continue with your meal."

Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He did not speak, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or concern, or something deeper that he quickly masked.

You could feel the tension between you, an invisible thread connecting your quiet plea to his unspoken thoughts. It was clear that your condition had not gone unnoticed, even if he chose not to acknowledge it openly. You had always been a presence in his life, but tonight, the reality of your fragility seemed to cut through the usual indifference.

He took a deep breath, his gaze finally shifting away from you as he turned his attention back to his meal. The silence that followed was filled with the soft clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversation from the servants who hovered at the edges of the room, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed concern.

You ate in silence, each bite of food tasting like ash in your mouth. The pain in your chest had subsided, but a deep weariness remained, a lingering reminder of your deteriorating health. You glanced at Sukuna from time to time, but he was absorbed in his meal, his expression unreadable.

The conversation you had tried to initiate was now buried beneath the weight of your illness, and you knew better than to press further. The battle for his leniency would have to wait for another day, another time when you were not so overshadowed by your own suffering.

As the meal drew to a close, you felt the oppressive silence settle around you once more. Sukuna’s gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly occupied with matters beyond the confines of the dining room. You could only hope that, in some small way, your presence had made a difference, even if it was not the kind you had hoped for.

When the servants cleared away the dishes and the room began to empty, you excused yourself, retreating to your chamber with a heavy heart. You knew that your time here was growing shorter, that the end was approaching with each passing day. But for now, you would carry on, finding what small measure of peace you could in the fleeting moments you had left.

And as you lay down in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you could not help but think of the blood you had tried to hide, of the way Sukuna’s eyes had lingered on it. You could only hope that someday, he might see you not as a mere shadow or a reminder of what he had lost, but as a person who had tried, in her own way, to make a difference in his world.

The next morning, you awoke to a disorienting cacophony of shouts and harsh reprimands. The once-familiar silence of your quarters was shattered by the sounds of chaos from the courtyard. Your heart sank as you stumbled out of bed, a sharp pain reminding you of the night before.

As you made your way through the hallways, the noise grew louder, mingling with the harsh, angry tones of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice. Your mind raced, dreading what you might find. You knew it already. You have seen it in the other households of the other concubines. And you can only know what had caused such a commotion. When you reached the courtyard, the scene before you was both startling and terrifying.

Your servants were gathered in the center of the courtyard, their faces pale with fear and their postures crumpled under the weight of Sukuna’s wrath. He stood at the center of the commotion, his expression thunderous as he raged at them. His anger was palpable, his words a relentless storm of fury directed at those who had failed to inform him of your condition.

Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The courtyard fell into a stunned silence as Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

"My lord, please." you began, your voice trembling as you bowed deeply, your forehead nearly touching the ground. "This is my fault, not theirs. I beg for your forgiveness and mercy for my servants."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took in your contrite posture, his anger momentarily faltering. He regarded you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, his dark, unforgiving, gaze sharp as he assessed your sincerity.

"It was my decision to hide my illness, my lord." you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to trouble you or cause unnecessary concern. Please, spare them your anger. They were only following my wishes."

Ryomen Sukuna remained silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The servants, though still shaken, dared to lift their eyes to you, their expressions a blend of relief and apprehension.

Finally, Sukuna's gaze softened, a hint of resignation creeping into his expression. He took a deep breath, his anger dissipating as he looked at you with a new intensity. "You would take the blame for them?" he asked, his voice low and edged with incredulity.

You nodded, maintaining your bowed position. "Yes, my lord. It was my choice, my responsibility. I could not bear the thought of them being punished for my actions."

Sukuna’s expression hardened slightly, but the fury in his eyes had dimmed. After a moment of consideration, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. You will accept any punishment I shall put upon you.”

You swallowed the bile down your throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then I will call for healers. You will see them immediately." He says, as though it was the final verdict. “You will see them, all of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes…yes, my lord.” You whispered back to him.

He turned away from the servants, his gaze now fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity. "Go." he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "See to your health, you foolish girl. Your servants too can go. They will tend to you, no matter what you ask.”

You straightened slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over you. You dared to look up at Sukuna, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to address the servants.

"Thank you, my lord." you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude. "You have done nothing wrong. Please, return to your duties."

With a final, respectful bow, you turned and headed back toward your quarters with the help of your servants. As you entered your quarters, you felt like you had lived a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. Your servants were bowing at your feet, asking for your forgiveness. But you had all but shooed them away, telling them it was your duty as their master.

You wanted to be alone right now. At least when you still had the chance. When the healers arrive, you would have a life to yourself any longer. You would be stuck in their mercy, with their potions and their whims.

You must prepare yourself for the arrival of the healers. You groaned lowly as you clutch your chest, a wave of pain hitting one after the other. It will be over soon, that’s what you hoped. That’s what you want. You want to be free from this pain. You wanted nothing more than to be free.

══════════════════

THE PAIN WAS RELENTLESS. The days dragged on in a relentless cycle of pain and futile hope. Despite the best efforts of countless healers, none seemed able to bring you any real relief.

If anything, your condition worsened, each new treatment only seeming to accelerate your quick decline. Ryomen Sukuna’s frustration was palpable; his anger had become a regular presence, casting a long shadow over the already bleak atmosphere of the estate.

You had heard the whispers of the fate that befell each healer who failed to improve your condition. It was a grim reminder of Sukuna’s volatility, a dangerous mix of desperation and rage. The once-bustling quarters were now filled with an air of fearful tension as new healers arrived, only to face Sukuna’s wrath when their efforts proved ineffectual.

On one of the rare days when you felt well enough to leave your bed, you chose to sit by the garden. The fresh air and the sight of the vibrant blooms were a welcome distraction from the constant ache in your body. You had managed to position yourself on a stool under the gentle shade of a cherry tree, finding some small comfort in watching the birds flit about, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the turmoil that had become your life.

Sukuna appeared in the garden, his presence as imposing as ever. He walked with a deliberate pace, his gaze scanning the surroundings with an air of detached observation. As he neared, you looked up and greeted him with a smile, though the effort felt heavy, as if each movement was a strain against the burden of your illness.

“My lord.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The skies are beautiful today, aren’t they?”

Sukuna stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your serene expression. The silence stretched between you, an unspoken tension that lingered like the heat of a summer day. He said nothing in response, his gaze fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity.

After a moment, he broke the silence. “How is it that you can accept death with such… calm?” His voice was low, edged with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, taken aback by his question. A laugh escaped you, soft and brittle, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Accept death, my lord?” you repeated. “I haven’t accepted death, in truth. But there is no way to avoid it.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained on you, his expression unreadable as he listened. You continued, your voice tinged with a philosophical resignation. “Death will come for all of us, eventually. It’s a natural end to this life. We all must face it in our own time. In that way, we are all freed from the burdens of this world.”

He studied you with a mixture of skepticism and something akin to contemplation. “You speak as if it is an inevitability you embrace, little one.”

“Not embrace, my lord.” you corrected gently, sighing. “But acknowledge. It’s a part of life, as much as the beginning is. We can fight it or we can accept it, but it will come regardless.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He seemed to be weighing your words, his usual fierceness replaced by an unusual quiet. “And you are not afraid, then?”

“Fear?” You tilted your head, considering the question. “I suppose I am afraid of the pain that might come before the end. But fear of death itself? Not so much. It’s merely another step in the journey, my lord. That is what I believe, at least.”

For a moment, there was a stillness between you, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. Sukuna’s eyes flickered to the sky, perhaps contemplating the vastness of existence you had spoken of. The anger that had once seemed so consuming in his presence now appeared subdued, replaced by a contemplative silence.

“I see.” he said finally, his tone carrying a trace of grudging respect. “Your words are… unusual.”

You smiled faintly, a tired but genuine expression. “Perhaps. But sometimes, facing the truth can be a way to find peace, my lord.”

Sukuna stood there for a while longer, his presence a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the garden’s tranquility. Finally, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his demeanor less harsh than before. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded as he walked away, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As you sat there, watching the birds and the shifting clouds, you felt a small measure of contentment. Sukuna’s visit had brought a moment of introspection, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death. Even in your suffering, you found a semblance of peace, understanding that acceptance was not about surrendering to fate but about finding a way to live with it, even as the end loomed ever closer.

And just like that, the day you had dreaded finally arrived. And truly, you were left feeling an unbearable weakness that signaled the end was near. The once-familiar confines of your quarters now seemed like a distant world, and the pain of your illness was a constant, gnawing presence. Each breath was a struggle, each moment of consciousness a battle against the encroaching darkness.

To your surprise, your lord Sukuna appeared by your side as you lay on your bed, his imposing figure contrasting sharply with the fragility of your own condition. He had not been a part of your daily existence in the past weeks, his visits sporadic and his presence usually marked by anger and frustration. But now, he was here, seated beside you in a rare display of stillness.

You looked at him through the haze of pain and weakness, your voice a mere whisper. “My lord, it seems this is my time to part from you.”

Sukuna’s eyes were steady, his gaze betraying an emotion you could not fully decipher. “I know, little one.” he replied simply, his voice holding a note of finality.

A pained laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with a shuddering breath. “I only wish… I could avoid being reborn into such misery again. To be the other woman, to be nothing to you.”

Sukuna’s silence stretched between you, a weighty pause that seemed to deepen the divide between you. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were something.”

You shook your head, the effort to move even slightly causing a fresh wave of agony. “You lie easily, as you breathe, my lord.” you said with a faint, sorrowful smile.

The silence that followed was heavy and palpable, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship. As you lay there, the end drawing closer with each passing moment, you found a strange clarity in the finality of your situation.

“I love you, my lord.” you said softly, the words carrying a weight that transcended the physical pain. “As sad as it is, I do. But I have no intention of having it returned. I hope that, in the next life, I never meet you again.”

Sukuna’s expression remained impassive, but there was a softness in his gaze that belied his usual stoic demeanor. As you took your final, labored breaths, his sigh was a mix of resignation and something deeper, something that spoke to the complexity of your intertwined fates.

“I hope so too, little one.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare touch of vulnerability.

With those words hanging in the air, you felt a sense of release, the weight of your suffering beginning to lift. As your consciousness faded and the pain finally ebbed away, you left behind the world that had been both your prison and your refuge. Ryomen Sukuna looked at your lifeless body, pursing his lips into a flat line.

“Live on in a better life, little one.” He whispered, his fingers brushing against your hair. “May you be loved by someone who loves you. May we never meet again, my other woman."

[justanotherlifeff]

See, this is the kind of fanfic I love. Nothing beats some good angst

The Curse of Remembrance

Before Sukuna died, he had a thought… or rather, a memory of someone, something he once had. He was born starving, screaming—a curse that had been discarded. He knew they were all right to fear him. Not in a way of self-pity, but in a way that acknowledged the truth: yes, he was a curse. He was not ashamed of who he was. Yes, he had four eyes, yes, he had four arms, and yes, the side of his face was burnt and monstrous.

But he had someone once. He had forgotten her face, or the child they had together, but he had never forgotten her voice. And now, he could hear it.

"Sukuna, love, it's okay… just let go… we are waiting for you…"

Sukuna didn't have any weaknesses; he would eliminate them from the root.

You were ten, and Sukuna was thirteen when you two first met. Just like him, you were different. You had boarded a ship that came to Japan for trade, and they left you there. You learned the language rather quickly and started working, but you were still a child.

You worked as a cleaner in a geisha house, but they didn’t let you stay, so you were homeless—and so was he. He always covered half his face and wore strange clothes. You could tell he was hiding something, and if you looked closer, you could even see red, demon-like eyes.

Many of the kids stayed away from both of you because he was considered a demon, and now you were a witch, his “wife.” You were rather calm and never affected by their comments, but he was not. He was hot-headed, angry, and now flustered that you were considered his wife.

He would chase them around and hit them, but nothing changed.

As you both grew into your teenage years, your madam began training you in the ways of the geisha and womanhood, as she saw you were beginning to attract many men. You had grown into a very beautiful woman, and being a foreigner, the men were curious.

By this time, you and Sukuna were very close and lived together, both homeless and saving money. He found himself a job building houses and doing manual labor. You knew Sukuna's secret. You had once walked in on him naked and saw everything—his extra arms, his large stomach. You had asked what he was, and he told you everything. But he insisted that he was still human and would never become what he feared.

When you told him you would be moving out to live in the geisha house, he lost it.

He screamed in your face that you would be a whore and no one would marry you if you did that, accusing you of selling your body. By this time, you were furious. No man wanted to marry you anyway. Yes, they were curious, but they saw you as nothing more than a fantasy. At least with this life, you would be comfortable and taken care of.

He had said nothing after that, just breathed heavily, looking down at you from his towering height. He had grown up so much.

He dragged you by your neck. It was night, raining, and mud covered the ground. You were both soaked to the bone, and you screamed at him to let go.

Then he stopped at a dark shrine, still dragging you up.

"You will marry me, and that is the end of it."

There was nothing you could have done. But you did love him; otherwise, you wouldn’t have felt this giddy and blushy.

Sukuna had loved you since he first saw you. You had always been very mature and responsible, even if he was older. Every time someone would point out how close you two were, he would get mad and flustered, but that was really to hide his weakness. He knew the world was cruel, and he did not expect you to love him. If his own mother had thrown him out the minute he was born, why should he expect a strange woman to love him?

He got a good job just so you could be a little safer and live with him. You two were always outcasts, so it was natural for you to be close. He didn’t want to scream or yell at you, but in his mind, it was the only way to get your attention. If he could help it, he would have you quit that job and find something else. He knew what went on in there; he knew the men, and he knew how they thought.

You two were already living together without being married, which everyone thought was scandalous, but since you lived in the forest, out of sight, it was bearable.

So imagine his surprise when his love, his heart, decided that she was grown and could think for herself. The horror he felt was unimaginable. Once you went into that house, you would never come back. So why not marry you? He loved you, and over time, you would come to love him. He would take care of you and any baby you might have. It would be a nice life, really.

And so, in the pouring rain, under the dim light of the shrine, he made a vow. His hands were firm but gentle, and his eyes, for once, weren’t filled with anger but something softer, something almost like fear.

By the time you were seventeen and he was twenty, the two of you had married. Not too long after, you found out you were expecting. Just as he had promised, he made you quit your job at the geisha house, much to the madam’s displeasure. Once you were pregnant, you stayed home. The house wasn’t quite a home yet, but it was getting there. Every day, Sukuna would come home, kiss you on the forehead, and talk a little about his day. Sukuna couldn’t have been happier; he had married the girl he wanted, she was carrying his child, and they were living a quiet life.

He was a surprisingly affectionate man, and even after being married, there was still so much love, tension, and shyness between the two of you. You could feel his gaze linger on you, his touches tender but hesitant, as if he was still unsure if he deserved to hold you this close.

Your first pregnancy gave you twin boys—two fat, healthy babies who came unexpectedly but were full of life. They were copies of Sukuna but with your hair texture, with wild, curly pink locks that framed their small, chubby faces. The boys were loud and mischievous, just like their father, but there was a softness in their gaze that reminded you of yourself.

Your second child was a baby girl, a little bundle of fierce energy who you loved more than life itself. She, too, looked just like Sukuna, even inheriting his temper, but she had your hair color. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and filled with the same intensity that he carried, but when she smiled, she softened just like you did.

Just when you thought you were done, Sukuna couldn't keep his hands to himself. He was insatiable, always pulling you close, whispering things in your ear that made your heart race. He couldn’t get enough of you, and it wasn’t long before you were pregnant again.

Despite the chaos of raising young children, he remained loving, never straying far from you. There was a sense of fulfillment in his eyes, a contentment you had never seen before. He would hold you close at night, his large hands resting on your belly as he dreamed of the future. You would fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, feeling safe, loved, and cherished.

Sukuna might have been a curse to the world, but to you, he was everything—a husband, a father, and the man you loved more than words could ever express.

--

And then they came.

Sukuna had warned you and the children never to wander off and, if they saw anything unusual, to run straight home. He knew you could see curses, but you didn't have the energy or power to fight them. His children, however, were different—they had inherited some of his strength and abilities. He also knew that if someone ever exposed him, then all of you could be hunted down.

The day they came into town, they arrived with a purpose. Rumors had spread of a curse living among them, and they claimed they were there to eliminate the threat. The townsfolk, always wary of monsters and strange things, became skittish, whispers of fear and suspicion spreading like wildfire.

Sukuna was terrified for you and the children. He even told you it might be best for all of you to leave the village. But you were defiant; for the first time, an argument erupted between you. You refused to abandon your home, the life you had built together. "If we leave suddenly," you reasoned, "it will look even more suspicious."

At first, he was furious, unable to see past the immediate danger. His heart raced at the thought of losing you or the children, of being hunted down like animals. But as he listened, he realized you were right. The eyes of the village were already on you both—your foreign looks and his strange appearance had always set you apart. They had asked him countless times about his red eyes and why he kept half of his face covered. He had lied, saying it was a birth defect, a disability, but he knew they didn’t believe him.

He knew, deep down, that their suspicions were growing.

The night it happened, Sukuna might have forgotten the details, or perhaps his mind chose to bury them, as if the memory was too great, too painful to bear. Sometimes the brain does that—it takes away the privilege of remembering what hurts the most.

You were all sleeping soundly, the children nestled on the opposite side of the room. Sukuna always wanted to hold you close, to kiss you goodnight before sleep. The days were often chaotic with the children, but at night, in the quiet, it was his time to feel your warmth and presence, to have you to himself, if only for a few moments.

Then, the fire started.

How he didn’t wake at the first sign was a mystery he would never solve. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe the flames crept up too silently, too deceptively. By the time he noticed it, the smoke was thick, suffocating. He bolted upright, a frantic urgency coursing through his veins, and shook you awake. You were heavily pregnant, but you grabbed your daughter immediately, eyes wide with panic. Sukuna rushed to the boys, scooping them up, and darted toward the door, every muscle in his body taut with fear and desperation.

But the moment he reached the door, he saw them.

They were already there, waiting. A ring of figures, their faces shadowed in the flickering light of the flames, surrounding the house like a dark, suffocating noose. They stood, silent and menacing, ready to finish off whatever or whoever remained inside.

Trapped.

The realization struck him like a physical blow. There was no way out. They were surrounded, and he knew what this meant. They had come for him, for the curse they believed lived among them. Sukuna’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with frantic thoughts. He could feel the heat closing in, could hear the crackling of the wood as the fire consumed their home, their sanctuary. He felt you gripping his arm, your eyes filled with terror.

He would not let them take you. He would not let them harm his children.

He felt truly helpless. And it was this feeling of helplessness that drove him to where he is now. That night, something in him broke—something essential and human. He had erased his humanity, severed it from himself to never feel this way again. He vowed to never be weak, to never allow himself to be vulnerable. Even if the memory of what happened had faded, the emotion never left him. It lingered like a shadow over his soul, fueling his hunger for power, for dominance. To never be cornered, to never be looked down upon—he would be the one who stood above all, untouchable.

He had screamed, fought, and cried his very soul out when they killed you. He remembered the sound of their laughter—those heroes who saved the town from a supposed curse, as they tormented him, believing he was incapable of feeling, of grieving. But oh, he felt everything. The agony tore through him as they dragged you away, your screams mingling with the terrified cries of your children. He felt his heart being ripped apart, torn from his chest. The things they did to you, to his children, were unforgivable. But to them, they were saviors, champions of righteousness.

He remembered throwing up, the bile burning his throat as he choked on the rawness of his grief. He could still hear your voice sometimes, your soft, gentle voice, and the cries of his children. It echoed in his mind, an unending torment.

Even now, he found himself in tears, wracked with emotion he couldn't place, couldn't understand. How could a curse—a being born of hatred and fear—feel so deeply? He was supposed to be beyond such things, yet he found himself on his knees, broken by the memory of a life that was taken from him.

The truth was, he had never stopped feeling. His curse was not his monstrous form or his power—it was his heart that had been shattered beyond repair, a heart that still remembered love, even after all this time.

--

He still sometimes yearns to return to that forest, to the house where you once lived. He dreams of finding you there, waiting for him—still pregnant, the kids running to him with their joyful laughter. Maybe, just maybe, you’re still there.

He wants to ask you if the kids are doing well. Are they behaving? Are they happy?

Are you happy?

Do you still love him?

<^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^>

i am literally crying like I'm going to miss him so much. my heart hurts. this is how I see sukuna background ig.

[justanotherlifeff]

Fleeting Vestiges of a Thousand Sakura Petals

[Trueform Heian Era Sukuna x Reader]

[Trigger Warning: Sukuna is a red flag, mentions of sex, mentions of killings (its Sukuna so duh), borderline abusive relationship in the middle. Also, be prepared for the angst because I love the pain.]

1,2,3,4,5…

Ryomen Sukuna never got married in his lifetime. Nor did he fall in love. He was the king of curses after all, a being incapable of love. However, it was known that he kept many concubines, lived a debauched lifestyle at his prime during the Heian era. You were one of those concubines. Your beginnings were humble, you were but a mere gift given to Sukuna by your father, the chief of a village he conquered in return for sparing the lives of the people. Sukuna was not a kind person, but he was fair. He allowed those who were able to run away from the village within a given amount of time to leave with their lives.

You never saw your family again, being stuck in Sukuna’s lavish palace, being an abandoned concubine after he merely spent one night with you to enjoy taking your innocence. You were not particularly gorgeous after all, and you did not meet his standards. You were 18 years old when you were given to Sukuna and the first time, he truly noticed you was when you were 20. You had nothing better to be spending your time on, so you decided to help the servants with their chores. You were never the type to flaunt your status as concubine, specially given you did not have Sukuna’s favor. So, you made the decision to live a humble life in the palace. You were drying the laundry at the gardens where concubines normally go on walks to enjoy the view. It was spring, and Sakura season, and Sukuna noticed you while taking a walk around the estate himself. He found a curious target to alleviate his boredom.

87,88,89,90,91…

Sukuna did recognize you. He had great memory after all, he remembered that you were one of the worthless concubines he had, the ones who normally waste his resources. He did consider asking Uraume to cook you into a decent meal, however, you had piqued his curiosity. “Why are you doing the chores designated to the servants?” he asked you. Watching you flinch was amusing, it was obvious you didn’t notice him approach you. Your words were more than interesting as well as you stammered out a response, saying something about making yourself useful and alleviating your boredom. Immediately, he assumed that you were the resourceful type. He could respect that, no matter how lowly you are.

He left without further words that day, though it seemed that fate had different plans in motion as he kept finding you in his way more frequently. It was always an awkward interaction on your part and more of an annoyance on his. However, he found the way you acted intriguing and somewhat amusing. He even let out a chuckle the other day, when he saw you choke on a Sakura petal while yawning while feeding the koi at the koi pond. By the end of the Sakura season, he called you to bed for the second time. It was a mere curiosity after all, one that could be quenched through carnal means.

172,173,174,175,176…

By the end of the next few months, by some miracle, Sukuna found himself more eager for your presence in his bed. You were different from the other women he had. The way you scrunched your face when he pounded into you, the unadulterated gasps and moans that left your lips, it was all surprisingly raw and pleasing. There were no words of praise from you, no honeyed words of affection, none of those schemes to curry favor with him that even his favorites were guilty of. In terms of beauty, you didn’t hold a candle to them but… You were convenient. Somehow more pleasurable as you didn’t have unrealistic expectations from him. These days, he enjoyed you far more than the most beautiful women in his harem. With you, it was all about pleasure, and not politics.

Besides, you were oddly endearing. Whatever conversation he had with you were mostly about your interests, which was surprising. Most women try to be “understanding and caring” with him, letting him rant about how much he enjoys war or killing and pretends that’s normal, however you were different. You ranted so much about yourself given the opportunity that he barely had the space to speak. It was somewhat nice though; your voice was pleasing to the ear and your interests were… somewhat useful. You were well versed in the usage of herbs and had a good amount of knowledge on poisons. It seemed your hobby was collecting herbs and gardening, something he decided to spoil you with. You did seem rather bored in the palace. So, he gave you a section of the gardens to plant whatever you wanted in. Of course you turned that into an herb garden.

245,246,247,248…

Was it just him or were you always so vibrant? Why did your smile look brighter than the sun when you explained the use of the new foreign herbal plant that he acquired for you? Did he not almost abandon you because you seemed dull? Was he truly that blind? These questions plagued Sukuna’s mind at that moment as you cheerfully showed off your little garden to him. It was so mundane, yet surprisingly tranquil. Perhaps he should spoil you more, give you more of these useless plants if it makes you as happy as a child with mochi.

Rumors spread around the palace lately that you were on your way to becoming the king’s new favorite. Then again, Sukuna never paid mind to such things. Who cares if the other concubines are green with jealousy? He rather enjoys the squabbles over who gets his attention. He wondered how you would deal with it.

524,525,526,527…

Five years passed and it seemed like your radiance had no intention to dim. In fact, it only seemed to be brighter in Sukuna’s eyes. You were like the sun, like a source of light in his dark life, like a moment of respite amongst the constant need of violence that dictated his life. For the longest time, he hated this weakness, and it reached a boiling point. For days, lately, he sat awake in his bed, watching you sleep, convincing himself that it would be so easy to choke the life out of you. Yet, his hands felt weak when he wrapped them around your throat. His fingers didn’t move, he only felt the softness of your skin, and not the crack of a broken larynx. His hands had never shaken at the thought of taking a life before, so why now?

Some days, he felt the need to be cruel. He left you alone for days, yet he would find himself calling for you like you were a drug he was addicted to. He was brutal during sex. He wanted to hurt you, physically, emotionally. He wanted to break you, break this vicious cycle of weakness that wasn’t befitting of him. Yet, through the tears flowing from your eyes, you looked at him like he was his lifeline. Was this love? How dare you love a monster like him? Did you have no self-preservation? You should die for this crime of putting yourself in danger, for placing yourself so deep within his rotten heart. Yet, he could only hurt you, mark you as his own with all the bruises and bites littered onto your body. Even when he lost control, he could only almost choke you to death. What curse did you have on him that prevented him from being done with you?

690,691,692,693…

You were 29 years old when the king of curses came to terms with this weakness. He did not love you. No, of course he did not. He was incapable of it. You were simply important to him. Like how breathing is important to him. His brutality towards you came to an abrupt stop the day the palace healer announced that you were expecting his child. Yes, only you were deserving of giving him an heir. Only you were the one with any worth in this palace other than Uraume. Perhaps he could use a queen as well? That thought was quickly abandoned though. It would make you a target after all. He wouldn’t allow that.

Turned out, showing you the importance that you deserved all along made him learn more silly things about you. You were the sentimental kind after all. Why else would you store a jar full of Sakura petals from the day he first spoke to you all those years ago when you were doing some menial chores? He didn’t even remember that interaction till you mentioned it. “I saved a petal for every day of spring, to remember every Sakura blooms I spent by your side”, was what you told him with that soft smile of yours. How foolish, how endearing. He hoped his heir would not inherit this trait from you. He needed a strong heir after all, one who could protect you alongside him.

756,757,758,759,780…

Sukuna always took pride on his ability to see through people. He was a very intelligent person after all. It was as he expected, you were targeted, despite him never making you his wife. Even the fact that he allowed you to carry his child spoke volumes about your place in his life, aside from the fact that he rarely spent time with the other concubines these days. He took the precautions, he really did. Starting from the extra guards, having you sleep in his chambers every night, having Uraume oversee your food, he did put all the stops. However, he knew he underestimated the human capacity for evil, despite he himself being evil incarnate. He knew jealousy was a powerful motivator but managing to swap the food Uraume made for you with a poisoned bowl of rice? The severed heads of his concubines were hung at the palace entrance for months. While you managed to survive thanks to his reversed cursed technique, the child did not.

He did not care much about the death of his unborn child. How was he supposed to love something he never met? Yet, it was a painful realization when he saw the lifelessness in your eyes that you loved that thing. Why were you simply not happy about surviving? Was he not enough for you to live for? Why did the endless plethora of gifts, the rare plants he bought for you not make you give that idiotic smile to him anymore? The Sakura always dimmed in beauty compared to you and yet, this spring, all he could notice was your lifeless expression as you sat at the gardens, thinking of your loss. The spring lost its beauty alongside your smile.

835,836,837,838,839…

You never produced a child again. He tried to have you bear him another heir but it seemed the poison had damaged your immune system far too much. He stopped trying the moment the palace doctor said you may die giving birth. He simply stopped touching you. Sukuna could not fathom the idea of breathing in a world without you. You took it personally at first, words were thrown at each other as your insecurities reared its ugly head. Arguments only lasted so long after all. You had years to live, and Sukuna had years to find a way to make you go back to your normal self. And he was partially correct. You did go back to your normal self not long later. While Sukuna never laid with you again, you were constantly present in his life. Constantly by his side. It was a learning experience for Sukuna that affection comes in non-carnal ways, even holding you brought him peace after all. Besides, he had a harem full of women to satisfy him. Why risk your safety for his selfish desires?

25 blissful years passed faster than he could imagine. It was worrying, seeing one, and then two, and many more grey hairs peeking out of your soft locks. The smile lines made him realize the passage of time, though he was glad you had reasons to smile. He himself never grew older, because he had his ways of stopping his aging. Yet, when he offered you immortality, you refused. “I wish to grow old, my lord. I wish to be one with nature someday and I wish you would mourn for me when I pass” you told him with that cheeky smile. He did not take you seriously. It was foolish of you. He decided to make you immortal anyway when the time was right. Perhaps do some ritual to turn you into a cursed spirit. He waited patiently for the day you would tire of your aging and ask him for it. He was sure you would.

994,995,996,997,998,999,1000.

A thousand Sakura petals was what you left behind in that jar you kept. All perfectly dried to retain its shape as he counted the last one. It was the result of three decades with him, the testament to the relationship you had with him. It was a beautiful way to commemorate it, a sentimental way, just the way you always were. So why did he have tears in his eyes? You never asked him to make you immortal, and at the ripe age of 50, he found you dead in your sleep in your chambers this morning. He should have noticed the signs, the way your little herb garden was not being taken care of for the past month, the way those rare plants withered. He had the head of the palace doctor for not being able to revive you. He had the heads of everyone who crossed him, everyone who even mentioned having to bury your corpse. He didn’t understand you at all. Was being his so painful that you chose death over immortality? Was it really necessary making him mourn for you? Was it necessary to bring him to his knees? Does this satisfy your pride?

No, Ryomen Sukuna never loved you. You were simply the air in his lungs, the beating of his heart, the blood in his veins. It wasn’t love at all.

[justanotherlifeff]

cw: dottore, yandere, human experimentation

dottore does not have favourites. a test subject is a test subject, and he has no shortage of those; a never ending conveyer belt of human bodies that come through his laboratory, that he uses until he can no longer squeeze any useful information from them. it is easier not to even regard them as people; merely flesh, merely fodder.

but when one of his clones had brought you in . . .

with those wide frightened eyes, with the shape of your body not quite hidden beneath the thin medical gown, with words spilling out of your mouth cleverer than he could remember mere fodder ever being . . . well, to use you on just any experiment would have been a terrible waste. not when you were so nice to look at and, too afraid of silence to let it linger on, kept asking him questions as if you cared.

so he takes your blood samples and your tissue samples, your vitals - gives you medicines and injections until every test he runs has perfect results. jerks off, even, imagining what you’d be like if he used you in his ruin machine experiments, if he decided to use you in clinical trials for his cures, thinking about you hooked up to machinery and whimpering and tossing and turning and begging. when you ask him a question with your voice all a-tremble, he takes great relish in explaining everything to you in detail.

in letting his fingers run over your flesh as he wonders aloud about all of the things he could do to you. in letting his fingers touch you bare when he ought to be wearing gloves; in using both a scalpel on you to open a wound, or sometimes even his teeth. in keeping you neatly sequestered in your own little room, with an operating table only for you, with leather straps lined with silk to keep you restrained so you don’t hurt yourself.

most of those under the doctor’s care expire in twenty four hours. that you have been his for months is merely testament to how . . . fascinating you are. no, no. a test subject is a test subject, and dottore tells himself - as he presses a cold kiss to your sweat-slicked forehead, when you have passed into exhaustion and drug-fuelled oblivion, when his fingers run over your bare skin and he imagines carving his name into you, leaving a part of himself inside you lodged in your ribcage or your spine, drilling into your pretty head until all you can think about is him - he does not have favourites.

[justanotherlifeff]

Use of an unrequited love

Sukuna x reader [Final part of “Love is Meaningless” and “Posession”]

[Trigger warning: Kinda rapey and borderline non con. Sukuna is a red flag. Sukuna has some very backdated views on how women should dress. Sukuna is the trigger warning]

You always had these vivid dreams your entire life. Dreams that seemed awfully real despite being inexplicably blurry. You remember a time before you were born, before anyone you know existed. You remember a small hut, a decent family, a village full of friendly people. You remember a cave near the forests, the smell of homecooked food in a bento box, the sound of water at a passing by stream, the feeling of wet grass on your bare feet. You remember crimson eyes, a blurry figure, and an intense feeling of love. You remember so much, the sensations, the smell, the taste, and yet, you couldn’t remember who that man was, the one that took your heart for himself. You remember helplessness, fear, and pain from being stabbed and it all goes blank each time. And then, you woke up to face reality, as you always do after these dreams. However, this time you were looking into those crimson eyes that had always existed in those unreachable dreams.

You didn’t recognize where you were. The last thing you remembered was being hit in the head while trying to fight Sukuna after he took over Megumi’s body. However, you were definitely terrified, given the fact that in the traditional Japanese room with you was the king of curses himself, waiting for you to wake up with an unreadable expression on his face.

How adorable, he thought, when you regained consciousness and had that look of abject horror. To think you of all people would look at him this way someday. Fate truly was laughably cruel. “I won’t hurt you, brat.” He chuckled, finding your reaction hilarious, and yet, more painful than any wound he had ever suffered. To think, the woman who accepted him with open arms a thousand years ago looked at him like the curse he was. Didn’t he fall for you because you never looked at him this way back then? What even was left of that love you two had? “Where am I?” You asked him, your voice full of fear and surprisingly, intrigue. He didn’t quite understand your reaction. “I wondered, how I would react if I ever heard you say these words. Whether I would chop you to pieces for acting like I was some parasite possessing Itadori for so long. But I’m afraid, whoever decided to play this sick joke towards me were right about one thing. I cannot kill you.” Sukuna sighed. That expression confused you. What was that expression in his eyes? Was it… longing? Why was there this expression of profound loss in his eyes? Why did you see these eyes in your dreams?

“Why can you not kill me?” You asked, trying to get as much information as you could. Perhaps it would help you escape, perhaps it will help you understand his weaknesses. Or perhaps, you would understand if those dreams truly had any significance. You were grasping at any opportunity at this point. “Ryomen Sukuna never took in a wife and never had children, that’s what you humans were taught in history, correct?” He asked, the frown never leaving his lips. “Yes. Was this wrong?” You asked, definitely curious. This was huge information after all. “Heh. Wrong is an understatement. I had a wife who was going to give me an heir. Before I became the king of curses, when I was just a wretch, a worthless being in this worthless world. She was weak, pathetic even. Her humanity was what killed her. And with herself, she took away the child too.” He chuckled dryly, as if he was amused by the sheer audacity of the world. He didn’t care that the wedding never happened. That you died before he could make you his, before he could give you the happiness you deserved. You were his wife in that lifetime. He didn’t accept otherwise in his mind.

Ah, that sounded, awfully familiar. Yet, somehow, when you dared to look into Sukuna’s eyes as he spoke of that past that you dreamed of, you knew exactly who you were to him. What you didn’t know was how to feel about it. “Why are you making that expression?” Sukuna asked, raising an eyebrow at the shock in your eyes. He didn’t even tell you the whole thing yet so why were you so shocked? “Was I… her?” You asked him, not knowing what else to say. “You knew? Heh, you are a tricky one huh… How did you know? Well, I suppose that’s good since I wouldn’t have to waste my breath explaining things to you. I’m sure you realize exactly what I want from you, correct?” He had a smile on his face as he told you this, pleased that he wouldn’t have to speak of those complicated emotions. You never imagined you would see the king of curses make such an expression.

Saying no to him is a privilege in Sukuna’s views, and you didn’t earn that privilege yet. How could you? After all, in his views, you owe him far too much. You owe him his heir, you owe him your life, you owe him whatever humanity he had left in him before your death. However, he owed you everything he was. He became the King of Curses because of you and he was never one to forget ones who did him a favor. His power, his influence, everything happened because of you and he wasn’t one to stay indebted. As on que, you disappointed him yet again. “I don’t want this. You stand against everything I fight for. You have killed so many, you have massacred hundreds and thousands… I.. or to be more precise, my previous incarnation did not fall in love with this. I fell for a man who was ostracized by society because of the way he was born. I fell for a man who deserved to be treated like human. I didn’t fall for a monster.” Was your reply.

“Did you truly believe I care for your opinion? You’re mine. I won’t hurt you, not physically atleast, nor will I kill you but that doesn’t change the fact that I take what’s mine. So get this ridiculous notion out of your head that what you say, or what you want, matters to me. We could do this two ways. You can continue to reject me, defy me, and I will take away everything you care for one by one. I will kill your family, kill that pet dog you like so much, kill your friends, and kill other humans right infront of you so that I am all you have left. Or you could give in, forget about those foolish ideals you live for, and I would give you the world. I will personally make sure your family is not harmed and I will even bring that mutt to you. As for your friends and other people, I cannot make promises since your friends are my enemies. However, even a child can tell what the better option is.” Sukuna snapped at you, anger evident. How dare you defy him? How dare you try to take yourself away from him after he waited for a millennia?

He was right, you knew the better option. Reality was, you were selfish. Like all humans, you had your vices. Even now, you didn’t wish for your family to be harmed, and you knew that Sukuna was the type of man who keeps his promises. So you just looked away, and nodded, trading your friends, your companions for your family. You dreamed of a life where you would meet a good man, have a family. However, those dreams seemed like childish musings. Reality was always different, cruel. Just like how Sukuna’s satisfied smile looked more cruel than anything to you.

“Using your family works to convince you, even now… Even after what happened in your previous life.. How naive.. No matter, anyone who attempts to harm you or take you away will face a fate worse than death. Your weakness wouldn’t take you away anyone.” He said with a smile, cupping your cheek. It would sound romantic in normal circumstances but it wasn’t. You knew that your friends will attempt to save you and he would kill them. “I have restrained myself long enough. You have heightened my temptation all those months, dressing like a vulgar whore after all. Then again, all women seem to dress that way in this era. Take responsibility for your actions, woman” The smug smile on his faces told you what was about to happen. “Strip”, he commanded.

“Sukuna.. I don’t… Im not ready…” You tried protesting with a shaky voice much to Sukuna’s annoyance. “Cease your incessant whining. You’re alive because of those disgusting emotions you make me feel or you would be dead already for defying my orders. I will say this one last time. Or else, I will tear those clothes off you myself. Strip.” His voice rang, full of displeasure. With shaky hands, you complied. “Just as beautiful as I remember… I must thank whoever decided to play this cruel joke on me before killing them” Sukuna chuckled, moving close to you, eyeing your bare skin, his arms grabbing your waist to pull you closer. “Look at me” he commanded, using one hand to grab you by your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. Without a word, he pulled you into a passionate kiss, savoring the taste of your lips like a starved beast. Even a millenia later, you tasted the same. Your lips felt the same, soft against his.

Yet, something was missing. He couldn’t quite figure out what as he pushed you down on the futon nearby. Something about you made this different, less pleasing, less fulfilling. The thought didn’t leave his mind even as he undressed, even as he lifted your legs up on his shoulder, spat on your cunt to make it wet and plunged his cock into you. The sounds you made, of pleasure and pain were the same. The moans, whimpers, calling his name out as you grabbed his forearms, scratched his back raw… it was all the same. Your insides were just as tight, as warm, just as pleasurable as he remembered. As he fucked into you, ramming his cock against your cervix, he ended up saying those dreaded words that he only uttered all those years ago.

“I love you. Fuck! Ill make you my queen. Ill give you the whole damn world at your feet. You feel like heaven on Earth, my love. I love you.” He groaned out in your ears, about to reach his release as the erotic sounds of your moans and whimpers of his name were music to his ears. Thats when he realized what was missing. You didn’t tell him you loved him back. Not once did you show any affection towards him. As he reached his release, filling you to the brim with his seed, he realized that you weren’t the woman who loved him despite him being a monster. You were simply someone who looked like her and shared her memories. You did not love him. Unfortunately, somewhere in his twisted heart, he desperately wanted to believe you would give in if he fucked you well enough. That you would become the woman who captured his heart and he could just continue on like nothing happened. Like you never died in that past life. However, reality was often disappointing.

Pulling out of you, he was lost for a moment as he got up and sat at the edge of the bed. After a moment, he spoke. “Leave, Y/N” he said, his voice hardened. “W-what?” You asked, panting and surprised by his words. “I will win this world first. And then I will win your heart again. So, leave. Spend time with those you care for because they may die when I conquer this world. You’re not the woman I fell for. Atleast, not yet.” Sukuna answered, not even giving you a glance. “You’re just letting me leave? Just like that?” You were shocked, wondering if this is some kind of trick. “What use do I have of a love that is not returned?” Sukuna chuckled dryly in answer.

[justanotherlifeff]

Id die happily

dismantle

[justanotherlifeff]

Just finished working on this

[justanotherlifeff]

Why am I into men who can and probably will kill me? Why did this fanfic made my brain go brr?

[ 𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 ]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. the king of curses cannot fight off his primal urges and thus you suffer the consequences.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, angst (w/ comfort), p.orn with mostly plot. mäting press. choking. rough like.. condescendingly rough. objectification. toxic relationship? yes. small hint of creampiē. double cawks. reader gets called ‘slut, girl, woman’ wc: 3.9k

“look at that slutty cunt takin’ my cock. think i wanna try fitting both at once in that lil’ hole. keh,” sukuna grunts as he looks down at you from above. your legs are burning from being folded in half—matter of fact—your entire body is aching.

any normal person would call out their safeword in a situation like this. you’re overwhelmed to the point that your brain doesn’t know what to do. you’re experiencing euphoria, yet feel like your doom is right around the corner.

you’re playing with fire whenever you’re intimate with the king of curses.

it’s too addictive to stop. being his favorite concubine has given you enough motivation to push through any difficulties. any discomfort your body feels, is automatically discarded and replaced with drowning pleasure. it’s like sukuna has put a spell on you; one that’s unbreakable.

“fffnghh—my lord,” you gasp for air as one of his big hands wrap tightly around your throat. your airway is blocked, nearly crushed by sukuna’s immense force. you get a flashback to the last time he’s choked you, how sukuna nearly lost control of his own strength.

your eyes are watery as your insides follow each thrust. back and forth, in and out. it is a simple rhythm, but you cannot get enough. the harsh and sticky echoes of skin slapping against skin are nearly ear deafening. his heavy balls bounce against the plush flesh of your ass with every move, ready to unload everything they’ve stored.

“shut up,” sukuna spits, looking down at you like you’re but a mere insect. perhaps you were exactly that to him in the heat of the moment. his red eyes show that he’s losing himself. that cruel yet greedy look only intensifies with the second, “you only speak when y’re spoken to—or did y’ forget your damn place?”

you swallow your words and resort to simple moaning after you apologise, “i’m sorry, m’lord.” your blurry vision creates a trippy illusion, giving sukuna eight arms and eyes. not only are you seeing double, the feeling of ecstasy is twice as strong. you feel like you’re being ripped apart from the inside.

you can’t speak about it. you’re not allowed to open your mouth unless it’s to moan or breathe. perhaps even the latter is too much to ask. your fingers shake as they wrap around sukuna’s wrist. you try to tug at the hand that is wrapped around your throat, but your strength is gone.

your body is shaking violently with each thrust. you can’t keep up with anything that’s happening. you’re unable to process the feeling of sukuna’s second cock trying to prod its way into your cunt as well. you’re going to break — he’s going to break you.

you want to speak up and tell him you can’t take both in the same hole at once. it’s an impossible task; one can’t even fit that easily. he’s girthy and got an immense length, an inhuman one you’ve never seen before. you swear you can feel him in your tummy. the tip feeling like it's nestled right underneath your belly button.

sukuna scoffs as you tighten up around his lower cock. you’re weak; a weak human who he can’t seem to get out of his mind. he wants to exploit that obedience of yours today—to ruin you mentally and physically.

he can’t ignore those urges to ruin that what causes him weakness. he wishes to regain the power over himself again. that can only be done by consuming you, removing you from existence.

“i can’t fuckin’ stand you,” sukuna growls, his eyes darkening beyond imagination, “y’re always in the way.” you’re scared of the king of curses, which rarely happens. the last time you were afraid of his monstrous aura was during your first encounter in the woods. his manly hand squeezes your throat until you’re genuinely struggling to breathe.

there’s an unmistakable sense of danger boiling in your guts. this is the real nature of the curse named ryomen sukuna. the man above you, who’s drilling his cock into you while you’re suffering, is the real deal.

the true face of the man you thought you knew.

“i’m gonna get rid of you, y’hear? after this, y’re nothing,” sukuna pants, sweat droplets falling onto your cheeks from above. he looks like he’s internally fighting with himself. the expression on his face tells you enough. you want to reach a hand out towards his cheek and hold it.

he looks beautiful, even when he spews such serious threats at you. your cunt is burning and holding tightly onto his cock, even when you realise it may break you.

you’ve stayed for so long with him, even when you know you’ll one day die at his side or by his hands.

locks of his pink hair stick to his forehead. sweat rolls down those black tattoos. all four red eyes are burning with a carnal desire to claim you as his property—to destroy you like his property. as is his right. that’s the only way to satiate that overwhelming feeling inside of sukuna.

whenever you’re around him, he finds himself drawn by your presence. he wants you to stay by his side all day, and if you aren’t, it’s like gravity is pulling him towards you. sukuna despises it—he craves to possess you, yet also get rid of your entire being. that way he can return to his normal self. the monster he's known as.

“i’ll throw ya away—gonna get a new toy to spend more time with,” the king of curses digs his nails into the back of your knees. the tip of his upper cock glides back and forth over your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until it’s burning. you’re losing yourself in both pleasure and pain.

the hurtful words don’t seem to affect you. you still look up at him like he’s your everything—like he’s the reason you exist. sukuna turns furious the moment he notices that his threats don’t seem to work. you’re impossible and he hates that which he cannot control.

he cuts off any air that may enter your lungs. your eyes widen and your fingers tug at his wrist so he’d let loose, but alas. you’re going to lose consciousness without a doubt. tears stream down your cheeks, though not because of the hopelessness you’re feeling.

“i do not need you anymore,” sukuna says gruffly, trying to convince himself of that statement as well. he never needed anyone else during his entire lifetime, so why would he need you? he can replace you with any another woman.

your body goes limp. sukuna’s voice is muffled as you enter a state of half consciousness. you’re at the bridge between life and death. your eyes catch a glimpse of the faint struggle in his eyes.

he looks like a monster through and through, visibly acting like one too. though you’re able to catch a glimpse of an underlying vulnerability. that part of him that always shows itself when you two are alone—making you feel special because you’re the only one allowed to witness it.

you crack a faint, weak smile. even if you perish right then and there, it’s going to be at the hands of the man you’ve learnt to love. the sorcerer who’s made you feel on top of the world, without him realising it. you’ll forever be thankful for the moments you’ve spent together.

you’ll never forget the times where sukuna has made you feel safe in those same arms that will now be your death.

a tear slides down your temple. you look sukuna in the eyes while you’re seconds away from meeting your end. you show no signs of struggle as he gives you your final command;

“die.”

you close your eyes. your fingers loosen their grip around sukuna’s wrist before you let your hand fall at your side. you’ve accepted your fate with a weary smile, honored to have sukuna be the last thing you see, “understood, my lord.”

you’ve lost feeling in all limbs and your eyelids droop. all you can do is await for death to come collect your soul. it’s dark and you can’t hear a thing anymore. you’re confused when the burning sensation in your lungs returns.

your eyes fly open the moment some oxygen is able to reach your airway again. the harsh fingers around your neck have disappeared, though not without leaving aching marks. you clutch your chest as it hurts to breathe after not being able to for the longest time.

you gasp and cough uncontrollably. you wince and blink the tears away from your eyes, refocusing your vision on the large stature detaching from your side. you’re bewildered to say the least—not realising the reason behind sukuna’s sudden change of heart. he’s sworn to get rid of you, didn’t he?

he told you to die and yet he let you live.

“fuck,” the king of curses groans after he snapped out of the dangerous state he was in. he’s panting snd staring at the hand that was once wrapped around your throat. he’s not looking at you at all.

you feel him pull out which makes you hiss. you sit up, the adrenaline helping your tired body move itself. sukuna is silent, with no emotions apparent on his face. however one thing you can conclude for sure is that he’s caught off guard by his own actions.

he can’t get it out of his head. the vision of you laying beneath him, accepting your doom as told. even on the brink of death, you oblige. you accept his every word. why? sukuna’s head is filled with unanswered questions.

you’re an enigma that he cannot solve.

“out of the way, girl,” sukuna easily shoves you to the side with one hand. he’s still not looking you in the eyes. he refuses to look in the eyes of the one woman whom he tried to kill. the sole woman who seems to accept him for who he is.

you’re the only one who’s able to understand him and yet he tried to get rid of you. perhaps he’s afraid of being understood and accepted. sukuna is fine on his own—there’s no need for anyone by his side.

you manage to get your breathing under control after a couple seconds. you’re still hyperventilating, but it’s getting better. your body shakes as you cover yourself with the sheets, your hair messily covering your vision. you reach a hand out to sukuna, curious about what’s gotten into him, “i’m, ngh- are you okay, m—”

“i said, get out,” the man raises his voice before harshly grabbing your wrist. sukuna pushes you towards the exit of his chambers. you stumble forward and manage to catch yourself by grabbing onto the nearest wall. everything is happening so fast.

you simply nod and grab your robes from the floor. you hurriedly cover yourself before stepping out of the room. you fall to your knees not two steps away into the hallway. your hand flies up to your neck, touching it as if making sure that you’re still alive.

you can’t believe sukuna spared you. if he changed his mind one second later than he originally had, you’d be a lost cause.

tears well up in your eyes as the gravity of the situation settles in. you may have accepted your fate in the heat of the moment, but now that it’s over, you’re left trembling on your own. you can’t shake off that intense look in sukuna’s eyes as he pounded you into the mattress.

he was hungry for your soul. to consume you and not leave any of your bones—to get rid of you so you’re out of his sight and mind.

you sniffle and can’t bring yourself to stand up. you’ve lost strength in your legs because the adrenaline levels in your body have dropped. you slowly crawl over the floor and hope that no one catches you in a pitiful state like this.

you manage to get a couple metres away, though soon find yourself staring at a pair of socks that come into view. you lift your head and the owner of the tabi eventually appears in sight.

“uraume,” your voice is hoarse. you make eye contact with sukuna’s personal chef as they stand before you, their expression unreadable.

the sigh they let out tells you that they’ve expected such an outcome since long ago. without a word, they reach a hand out and help you up.

. . .

it’s been a week since then. uraume has helped you recover from that unfortunate experience. the other concubines didn’t dare talk to you. they’ve noticed the change in sukuna’s behavior after that night he spent with you.

he’s gone on more rampages than he usually does. he’s been killing innocent servants who walked past him while on duty, and visiting nearby villages only to commit mass destruction. his emotions are uncontrollable at this point and no one has a clue on what to do.

the best option is to stay out of sukuna’s sight. and not to mess with you, just in case.

you’ve personally tried to approach him a couple times, but either chicken out or get totally ignored. you really want to talk it out, though it may seem impossible. you’ve evaded death once, you’re not sure if you can do that twice.

you’re currently sitting on a bench in the courtyard as uraume is applying an ointment to your throat. your neck still hurts with every move you make. the strength of sukuna’s hand is not to be underestimated, you know that.

you flinch as they rub the cold liquid over your achy skin. it helps numbing the pain, which is god sent for when you want to sleep. you can easily rest without having to suffer the unbearable discomfort in your neck muscles.

it’s a bit quiet in the garden. it isn’t unusual for uraume to be silent, but you’re aching to talk about what’s bothering you. of course, the oh-so-important subject includes no one other than the king of curses.

you sigh and start rambling about your failed attempts to reconcile your relationship with sukuna. you’re getting frustrated and sad at the situation. you want nothing more than to go back to how things were—with you receiving special treatment.

you miss his voice, his touches, his hair, his skin, his muscles, his eyes, his hugs. . . it’s all too much to bear with. you want the sukuna you know back. you don’t care if he tried to get rid of you. you’ve long understood that it was his primal, unspoken urges that had taken over his brain.

“i don’t know.. he doesn’t want to talk to me nor see me,” you shrug and pout. uraume nods and tilts your chin back gently to get the ointment in every little cranny. you stare up at the bright blue sky, the gentle breeze being comforting, both mentally and physically.

your ears pick up on footsteps behind you. heavy footsteps which you recognise as sukuna’s. you whip your head to the side, perhaps a bit too fast, causing the pain in your neck muscles to return. you hear uraume sigh as they see their hard work go to waste in under a split second.

your eyes are focused on sukuna’s large stature filling out the layout of the garden. uraume politely bows at their master after taking a few steps away from you. they don’t lift their head as sukuna walks past you both.

he doesn’t spare you a glance. it’s like you’re not there at all. you frown and pout, though know better than to make a fool out of yourself and speak up. you watch the man walk into the main building of the estate, his sharp eyes focused on the path ahead, his hands resting inside the sleeves of his black kimono.

once sukuna disappears from your vision, you sigh and slump back against the bench. you look at uraume as they move close to you again, taking a glance at your neck. you huff and cock your head to the entrance of the building, “see! that’s what i mean!”

you’re clearly fed up. you just want to make up. you don’t care about the fact that he nearly killed you in that moment. you simply desire to feel that connection between the two of you again. a complicated relationship with its many ups and downs. it may be toxic, but you crave it.

uraume hums at your worries. they radiate a sense of peace that inevitably calms you down as well. they take a quick glance at the direction where sukuna was last seen. they’ve been serving him ever since decennia back—way before you became his concubine.

they’ve never seen him this conflicted, but they don’t tell you that. uraume looks back at you with a simple nod, trusting that you’ll be fine. if your life has been spared when sukuna was in such an indescribable irrational state of mind, then there’s nothing to worry about.

you’re the only one who’s ever escaped death by his hands. that is an incredible feat by itself.

uraume rubs the oil over your neck again, getting the last spots as they reassure you with one simple sentence; “i’m sure lord sukuna simply requires some time alone.”

. . .

you take uraume’s comment seriously. if sukuna needed time, you’ll give him as much space as possible. and thus it’s been another week ever since then.

it’s a sunday night and you can’t sleep. you get up from your futon and wrap a simple blanket around your body. you can’t be bothered to brush your hair or look proper. no one will be up during this ungodly hour anyway.

you sneak out of your chambers and walk down the long hallways. you slide the door to the courtyard open and step out onto the pavement after putting on your geta. it’s a chilly night with a full moon, perfect weather to take a breather.

you walk around the familiar scenery and crouch down near a patch of flowers. they’re your favorites. sukuna had personally ordered his servants to plant them in the garden after he found out you like them. the memory brings a fond smile to your face.

such small yet meaningful actions never fail to melt your heart. it’s another reason why you want to make up with sukuna. you want to help with whatever he’s struggling with, however you know that man will never accept the aid.

you wish to support him at the very least. you want to show your devotion to him, if that already wasn’t clear to him.

you sigh and stand up. you’re caught up in your own thoughts to realise that someone’s been watching you the entire time. you walk straight forward until you reach the koi pond. you stare at the fish as they float in the clear water.

you wish you could be as carefree as them. you turn around to walk back to your room after it’s getting a bit too cold. you did not expect to bump your head against a hard surface. “ow,” you rub your forehead and look up.

there he stands; the man you’ve been dying to see and speak to. sukuna stares down at you without uttering a word, his sharp eyes finally looking into yours.

“ry— my lord,” you stammer, switching to a more polite stance. you’re thrilled, but the excitement quickly dies down as you remember uraume’s words; he needs time. you don’t want to disturb him, as much as you want to jump into his arms. you bow your head at him, “have a good night.”

your heart hurts as you force yourself away from sukuna. you step away from him and look at the ground as you walk. simply seeing him from up close again has been enough for now. though, your body yearns for more.

a simple touch will suffice. . .

you’re surprised when you feel a tug at the blanket around your shoulders. you stumble back and nearly fall on your bum if it wasn’t for sukuna holding you up. you feel an arm sneak around your waist from behind, surprisingly gentle. much gentle than ever before.

sukuna lowers his head to whisper in your ear. he lets his wet tongue slide over the shell, nibbling at the skin as if reminding himself of your taste, “stay.”

it’s an order, that you can tell. you’re weak for him and thus you obey without a single sign of protest. you feel a sudden sharp sting on the side of your neck which makes you remember what caused it. sukuna seems to notice the same thing.

it’s been getting better, but you still randomly get tingles near your neck area when you move it around too much. you silently push through the pain, which only lasts about a few seconds.

sukuna doesn’t comment on it, but takes a mental note of the sight. he’s recalling that time when you’ve nearly died at his hands. his eyes darken at the memory. he’s been trying to process the fact that he’s lost control over himself. those dark urges had taken over his mind and body, nearly consuming him whole.

they’re still hidden inside him—the desires to possess you, crush you, consume and devour your heart, body and soul. they intensify when you’re with him. it doesn’t happen with anyone else.

sukuna still cannot comprehend why you. what does that feeling in his stomach mean whenever he’s with you? it’s irritating, because it confuses him. confusing things which he doesn’t hold the answer over, annoy the king of curses.

an urge to claim someone as his forever, going as far as to want to consume them, is a new feeling to sukuna. it’s an unhealthy obsession that’s started because of you.

is that what humans call love?

he’s thought about it. perhaps, that is the case. but it must be a different type of love—one that’s so overwhelming that it’s dangerous. for both parties involved.

sukuna sighs. thinking about emotions and feelings isn’t his forte—it never really was. it’s stupid and foolish. and yet sukuna feels like a true king whenever you’re with him. your devotion to him sends shivers down his spine in a good way.

it showed two weeks ago. he saw how you accepted your position; your death. it turns him on to see you so submissive and obedient. maybe that’s also a reason why he nearly lost his mind that day.

lust is a scary thing.

sukuna’s lips avoid your neck. he rests his forehead on top of your shoulder, simply standing still against you from behind. the chilly breeze is long forgotten as his large stature protects you from the cold air. you don’t even need your blanket anymore.

you smile in content as you finally get what you want. you don’t even need an apology. hell—you don’t even need any words. this moment is more than enough to rebuild your relationship with the man behind you.

“y’re not going anywhere, yeah?” sukuna says in a low and possessive tone. it’s another command you follow without hesitation. he’s never going to tell you directly, but the lack of your presence has definitely been felt. now that he has you, his favorite concubine, he’s not going to lose you again. he won’t allow it.

you nod at sukuna’s words with a chuckle. you’re happy to be back in his warm embrace. you know that sukuna isn’t one to talk about his own inner turmoil, so you don’t push it.

those dark urges of his are to be discussed another day, if sukuna allows it. for now, this fleeting moment is more than enough. you reply to his order as you always do, to any command that leaves his lips;

“understood, my lord.”

[justanotherlifeff]

love languages

gojo satoru

recieving: words of affirmation/acts of service. he's completely fine being far away for a long periods of time, him being the strongest takes a lot. however, he greatly appreciates direct attention to his persona, and not necessarily in a sexual way. i'd say, expecially not in a sexual way. he feels loved when you talk your literal worst thoughts to him, when you express everything that goes through your mind. the most non-judgemental person one could ever met, he would never blame someone he loves for some dark thoughts, he's all here for it. he likes when you tell him directly how much you care, and even if it's worded quite rough, he'll still take it. that way he feels like he means something. he'll never feel enough of your thoughts, and of course, he won't ever be satisfied with how much you praise him. however much, he always craves more. he also appreciates every litlle thing his loved ones do for him. it might look like he doesn't notice sometimes, with him acting this nonchalant. but knowing how perceptive he is, he really does notice everything.

giving: physical touch/acts of service. he's very touchy, sometimes it feels like he needs to touch more than he needs breathing. he literally explores the world with his fingerpads. it's his first instinct - to hug, when you feel bad, to kiss to make it better. he's just as innocent as a child when he expresses his love through touch and without thinking. he will kiss the pain away, he will do your hair and hold your hand - honestly, he's the sweetest when he does such things out of heart. he also enjoys helping his love ones out whenever he can - granted, he's often away, but he does what he can. he rarely complains about chores in his home, in some way he even loves to do them. makes him closer to the ones he loves. he's very simple in that sense, he enjoys simple things in life. do not tell him he's the strongest. he knows that already. however, you might hug him and say that you're so grateful he did the dishes today - and he will be so happy, he'll do them more often just to hear you saying it every time.

geto suguru

recieving: quality time. he feels loved when he feels welcomed, when someone wants his company. moreover, he himself is very social, caring person, who does poor job at being alone. he loves people, loves to spend time with his loved ones, it comes natural to him to care about his family and friends - he's not a loner at his core. so even when alone time are needed of course, in his case, he really lights up from inside when someone is seeking for him to specifically spend some time together. he doesn't really care how you will spend this time, you needing him and standing by his side is what matters to him. call him after midnight - and he will always pick up that call and join you wherever you want. he will be by your side at your grandma's party laughing at her stupid jokes, he'll go shopping with you. he'll help you with laundry and taxes. he will never ever turn yhis loved ones down, no matter how boring or stupid you think the whole thing is. just show him that you really want him near you.

giving: words of affirmation. he's so good, it's unfair. he has this natural talent of finding the right words. he's also great with timing, he reads the room perfectly (probably the second best). there's no such thing as 'i didn't mean to say that', he only says what he has carefully thought of. likes to give instructions, it's one of his ways to show that he cares. very verbal and talkative, when in his natural habitat. he's generous with his praise, he believes in letting people now how good they are (if he really thinks so). and even if not, he will always find something to say to you. such a smooth talker, he will now every one of your secrets without you realising. not to mention he's like an ariel the little mermaid with his sweet soothing voice, it's just nice to hear him saying things.

nanami kento

recieving: quality time. goes without any saying, he values quality time above all else. he too feels very loved when someone seeks his presence. unlike geto, he's doing way better by himself and he's really fine being alone, it's just that he prefers not to be alone (even if he states otherwise). sometimes he finds it amusing, because he often is so tired, he has no fun activities to offer, therefore he's wondering why even seek for his company. sometimes he may think of himself as too stern or even boring, he has some insecurities. but he's very happy, when you express that you want to spend some time together, he's subconsciously waiting for it. he's very unassuming and he never like... expects you to want to spend time with him. so when that happens, he's ready to do whatever, just so it lasts longer.

giving: quality time/physical touch. he just kinda wants to be near his loved ones all the time, can you blame him really. he's very chill with quality time, but sometimes he wonders if you get annoyed with him. like you know when you want to spend time with someone and at some point you'd be like okay that's enough i need some alone time - well, never happens with him. he fears to look desperate so much, he's always so quiet. like there's no possibility to get tired of spending time with him, because most of the times it's just existing in the same room, and that's enough. very laid back and casual, his whole presence if very relaxing and calm. physical touch is very sweet and comforting too - like sleeping together on a sofa on a rainy day, holding you by the shoulder when going through the crowd. it's more out of wanting to protect rather than something else.

fushiguro toji

recieving: words of affirmation. i'm actually very sad about him, his relationship with affection is rooted in such tragedy. he needs praise more than he's willing to admit. of course, him being traumatized to the core plays a crucial role in it; he'd never heard that he's doing well, that he's good. anything that is not insult or a joke in some way. i think he could get burned once or twice because of how easily he could be manipulated. he's actually very wary of people being kind to him, but he can't fight himself when it's somebody being parcticularly kind to him and being verbal with this kindness. it's his vulnerable spot, and he can't do anything about it, falling for it every time. for instance, his first wife was very good with her words, bringing him comfort and safe place withing her company. he very much needs the praise and insctructions how to do... basically anything in his life. not because he's helpless, not at all. but because that's what love is to him, to care enought to let him know what to do, and when he does it, telling him he was good. it's insane to witness what it does to him, how visibly happier he looks.

giving: acts of service/quality time. he does everything he can, that's it. what he doesn't know how to do, he'll learn. he's great with predicting what you need, the absolute best at reading the room quickly. for instance, he rarely needs to know your face expression to know that you're mad (not necessarily at him), he knows it by the way your feet stomp on the floor (yet another oh so useful skill from a loving former household). he prefers to prevent the explosion than to deal with it. he has a mental list what he can do to make you feel better. it's almost like he proves himself every time (and it's a rather sad view, especially at first). with time he relaxes. when he's not in his proving mode anymore, he still helps whenever he can, but in a more chill way. that's when his wish to just spend more time together comes. usually it's just coexisting, but sometimes he'll think of few ways to make time more fun and exciting. he's willing to spend some money on a fancy place from time to time. and he can be surprisingly creative.

ryomen sukuna

recieving: quality time. never the one to miss the opportunity to learn something new, he's actually a great companion for a good talk or sparring (not recommended, in this case you might end up dead). while he's good being all alone, he genuinely enjoys a good company. he won't seek for one himself, but he's willing to accept the offer. surprisingly, he has a lot to give, you just need to find the right words. he's extremely intelligent (probably the most out of all), and he expects from his companions the same level of intelligence, otherwise why bother? he knows a lot about art and culture, he pays his respects to literature and especially poetry. you can always learn something new from him, and he likes when someone listens to him, like actually listens and takes everything he says to heart. when in a mood, he's up for a debate: if you can handle it, he'll be amused and even glad. as long as you are interesting to him, you're fine. he doesn't like boring stuff, that's what you need to think about. the thing is, he's not the one to waste his time on someone he doesn't treasure in one way or another, so when he does accept an offer to spend time together, it already shows his rather warm feelings towards you.

giving: gift giving/words of affirmation. because of his appreciation for culture, everything he gifts is carefully thought of and has it's meaning. if he chooses to gift something, let it be the best. he won't give such treasures to anyone, he saves it for the ones he respects (basically the equivalent of care in his mind). be it some book, weapon, clothes or some art piece, it truly means something to him. and because of his erudition, he expects you to understand everything he wanted to say with this gift. it really is some sort of language to him, you can say so much without saying anything. he likes to hear your opinion on them, he expects you to discuss them with him later. another thing, while he doesn't like to express himself verbally that much, he's actually good at doing it. he's generous with praise, it's more of a deserved-not deserved case to him. becuse he's so skillfull and knowleadgeable, he's not insecure in a sense that he'll withhold praise bc he doesn't want to come off as soft. he really doesn't care. in some weird way, he almost wants you to be better than him in whatever field you discuss. so when he feels like you deserve the praise, he will give it to you. and his praise hits just right, even when he doesn't say much.

itadori yuji

recieving: physical touch/gift giving. oh, how much he loves those hugs, i can't even tell you. he loves to initiate them, but the greatest joy of his is when someone he loves does this first. he feels so loved when someone ruffles his hair, fixes his uniform for him, covers him, when he's taking naps. he literally feels warm from the inside. maybe because it reminds him of his granddad and the fact that he's still not alone. he's still so young, going through so much, and he finds that he feels secure when someone holds him really tight. it's like a heavy blanket to him, like nothing bad could happen in that moment. also, he cherishes everything that has ever given to him. no matter how trashy it is, even if it's just a candy wrapper, he'll cherish it, if it's from someone he loves. he enjoys recieving those little sometimes meaningless things. they matter a lot to him. they bring his loved ones closer, like there's some physical evidence this was real.

giving: words of affirmation. while he's great at almost everything, his greatest power is finding the right words for every person he loves. he says everything kindly, easily, in a very lighthearted manner. never ever you will hear him being rude even by mistake. he's borderline unable to hurt anybody with his words, he's just that good. he's not the one to give a long profound speech, he's very simple yet very impactful. his words would have a longlasting effect even without him realising it. never prepares anything he wants to say in his head (as yuta or geto), a force of nature. he doesn't really say much, when he's not blabbering about something silly. in a serious setting he gets noticeably more quiet. not only that, but he really knows when not to say anything. his silence is very telling. he knows how to make that silence soothing and comforting, or deeply uncomfortable, depends on a situation.

fushiguro megumi

recieving: quality time/words of affirmation. he's very simple, he likes to spend time with his loved ones, and he loves hearing them speak (especially about him). he desperately tries to hide that fact though. he wants to be cool and unaffected, but in reality he's very sensible and reactive. he doesn't understand that that's what everyone love about him. so when he gets praised, it's such a fun scene, like you can see he clearly enjoys it, but still tries to act cool about it. he also likes to just hang around people he loves, he never turns down an offer to spend time together (even when he acts like he'd rather be home than here). however, he really likes some meaningful quality time, so if not you, he'll think of some ways himself. he doesn't like doing 'stupid things', it takes a lot to convince him to participate. it's good for him though, it relaxes him a lot more than he's willing to admit.

giving: quality time/acts of service. i'll be honest, he's not very creative with his ways to spend time. he's almost too serious (he has his reasons, obv), so what he suggests is usually 'let's do homework together', something like that. do not turn down that offer - he'll make it really worth it. not only is he a very comforting to be around, usually being the calmest person in a room, he'll also make it a very... nice experience. he'll prepare you the best tea he has, he'll bake you cookies to snack on while studying, he'll bring out the blankets. he'll ask you if you feel comfortable every five minutes, apparently. he'll tell some stories he never told anyone, he'll ask gojo-sensei to light the fireplace, if you feel cold. you may notice that at home even gojo also gets quieter around him - almost everything is much slower and softer. he very much enjoys these peaceful moments. and he likes to share them only with the ones he truly cherishes.

okkotsu yuta

recieving: words of affirmation/physical touch. he needs a lot of reassurance in his life, he really does. and he's not one for subtle gestures, he needs to really feel it - he needs to feel like somebody holds him safe and sound, he needs to hear that somebody understands him the way he is. he has a lot of dark, dark thoughts, and when someone is able to reassure him that these thoughts are normal, that he's still worthy, that even the best of people have something dark in them - that's when he feels appreciated and loved. he lives on praise, and, like gojo, is very openminded. he actually likes to hear everything you have to say to him, even if it's not necessarily good.

giving: words of affirmation/physical touch. has a silver tongue, never slips up. everything in his head is played so well, the words he says are always on point. bc he's so openminded, he can see everything from different points of view, so he comes of as a very understanding. nothing you say can throw him off, he'll listen to everything and he'll say his word. he knows the power he holds, actually, but he rarely uses it, because usually he's just shy. it's more of a last option to him. he saves it for the rare people he treasures the most - like his friends, sensei, etc. - around who he already feels free and appreciated. he much prefers to show his affection in more physical ways. he doesn't necessarily like to hold hands, it takes a lot to him to trust like that, but he can rub someone's back or offer a massage - and he's great at it. he also kinda subconciously usually stands or sits really close, so the shoulders are touching. he also likes to rest his head on your lap, when he's now really close to you. however, he really tries not to make other person uncomfortable, but, to be fair, almost all of his touches are featherlight and completely innocent. it's just a comfortable way to him to express himself.

[justanotherlifeff]

Possession

[Some of ya’ll wanted an alternative ending to “Love is meaningless” and guess what? There you go. Is it happy? Hell no. I just like watching the world burn lol. There will be a 3rd part with actual smut cause now Im invested in this sooo yeahhh. But yeah, there are spoilers and Sukuna is an asshole cause he’s literally evil incarnate. I put the smut tag cause there are some mentions of sex, even if there isn’t any actual sexual description]

Love is meaningless to Sukuna precisely because he knew it. It was the epitome of weakness. How else could one describe the need to put someone else above themselves? To look for validation, praise, acceptance… those are concepts that the weak search for. The strong doesn’t ask others to bow down. The strong simply kills the ones who don’t. Not because of a fragile ego but because its fun to kill. Its fun to see these miserable humans with their ridiculous beliefs of righteousness crumble apart. He knew first hand the fickle and hypocritical nature of humans after all since he was the same once. Enlightenment to him was understanding that he needs to be above that wretched nature.

However, after a thousand years, he saw something that made him laugh at the absurdity of it. He is the king of curses, the evil incarnate, the most cruel thing to exist. And yet, reality’s idea of cruel jokes seemed to surpass the king of curses himself because there you were, going to the same Jujutsu School as the brat he was possessing, or atleast, it was your reincarnated form. How did this happen? He had some idea since you were pregnant with his child after all before you died. That child must have had immense cursed energy, which made this miracle possible a thousand years later. The timing was awfully convinient too, it almost made him wonder whether this was planned by someone to subdue his reincarnation.

It was foolish, he thought. Subduing him with some fickle idea of love? How laughable. He stopped being that person the day you died, and its not like this cheap copy even had those memories. This version of you had the same personality, the same looks, and yet, it wasn’t the same because this time, he was your enemy. Not that it mattered ofcourse. He still felt the need to own you. To have you all to himself. No, it wasn’t love. It was simply his extreme desire to take what was his. His obsession with taking everything he wants.

It did occur to him, to kill you just to spite on whoever thought it would be a funny idea to make fate play out this way. However, while he never regretted a single drop of blood that was on his hands, for some reason, deep within his twisted heart, he felt as if he would regret having your blood on his hand. Besides, you were more useful alive. He could have his fun taking you, making you remember that past whether you like it or not. No one takes away his belongings from him and he wasn’t losing you, his most precious possession, again. So he waited patiently.

He decided it would be best to not create suspicion on his obsession with you. It would be best to lull you into a false sense of security by feigning a lack of interest in you. That way, you wouldn’t stay away from Itadori, that way he can keep an eye on you, watch you through the brat’s eyes. He waited for over 1000 years, he could wait a few months more. It was difficult for him, as every time you smiled at Itadori, he wanted to kill the brat. How dare you smile at a lowly human like that? How dare you smile at anyone that wasn’t him? How dare you wear that promiscuous skirt, showing your beautiful legs to the world when it was all his alone? How dare you wear makeup to look beautiful for anyone that isn’t him? Your life didn’t belong to you after all. You were reincarnated because you beared his child back then. So how dare you pretend to have freedom when you were nothing more than a filthy human that he owns?

Sukuna is evil incarnate, but despite his many vices, he also had many qualities, patience being one of them. Despite his desire to take over Itadori’s body, bend you over and fuck the freedom out of you, he stayed calm, waiting for the perfect opportunity to take you for himself for good, without having sorcerers come after him to take you away. Would a sorcerer wish to save you if he made you a cursed spirit too? If he killed you, took your humanity from you, made you immortal and tied to him with the proper rituals, would they even want you back? Perhaps he should show you how little value you have to those jujutsu sorcerers. Perhaps, he should show you that he is the only one who sees your value, the only one who wouldn’t abandon you. No, its not out of love, ofcourse not. Its simply because he owns you, he convinced himself.

[justanotherlifeff]

Love is meaningless

[True form heian era Sukuna x reader. I may have taken many creative liberties with his backstory alongside certain spoilers so be warned!] [ Part 2, Part 3]

Love is meaningless, this was something Sukuna believed for most of his life. He can proclaim it precisely because he understands it. Being born a wretched curse by his foolish starving mother was not a start to life he had appreciated, but it was what it was. Fate was that he absorbed his twin for nourishment, fate was that he was born monstrous. One can only live with fate and become stronger, after all. Of course, he had to raise himself, of course he had to get stronger to survive. The golden age of Jujutsu meant many other cursed spirits, and of course, humans were no better. Weak people shouldn’t complain about their transgressions after all. That is simply how the world is built, to please the strong.

Yet, unexpected things happen, as it is part of life as well. Some people find it in their stupid, human, hearts to love a monster. And sometimes, something as meaningless as love creeps up in a monster’s heart too if they are weak enough. Sukuna wasn’t born the king of curses after all. It was a meaningless gesture that one might call kindness, something he believed that he didn’t deserve, that started it all. Just like his mother who birthed him, this foolish girl gave him an apple from her basket when he was starving. A foolish act of kindness from a human to a cursed being. He accepted nonetheless, as a starving man would, since this was before the days when he took whatever he wanted.

The days when he was weak enough to be considerate. For some reason, you kept coming back, with food every time, and for some reason, he didn’t leave the outskirts of that village after the first few encounters. He convinced himself that it was because your cooking was amazing, not because he wanted to see that smile on your face again, not because he was getting addicted to that kindness. Why would a human be kind to the likes of him after all? Surely, he was being delusional. However, weeks turned to months, and you wouldn’t stop visiting the small cave where he was living at, since no one would give him shelter or a job due to his monstrous features. Somehow you weren’t afraid of the four arms, the four eyes, the odd markings on his body. Somehow, you made conversation with him at one point as you watched him eagerly eat whatever food you brought him and somehow, he found himself replying. Hope was something that the weak shouldn’t have and yet, he found it in you, he made that mistake.

Looking at water in streams was something he hated, because it showed him his inhumanity and made the struggles he faced his entire life be something that was acceptable. Who would care for a monster after all? And yet, one day, you looked at him and called him beautiful with a blush on your pretty little face. He didn’t know how to reply to that, as someone who never encountered a situation like that before and yet, he couldn’t sleep all night, thinking of those words. He awkwardly called you beautiful too the next day.

Small compliments turned into teasing and at one point, neither you nor he had to say it out loud that you loved each other. It was simply something that happened. However, you had to keep it a secret from the village, and he understood why. Loving something like him had its consequences as they would kill you for being with a curse. He understood the consequences but his hunger for you was far too much to ignore. It started with kisses, and then he wanted more, so much more. And you let him take what he wanted with a smile on your face, that same smile he fell in love with. Even your old kimonos started looking like ones that queens would wear, your simple hairpin was better than the highest quality jade to him. You were beautiful and you were his and that was the best thing that happened in his wretched life at the time. Or at least, he was foolish and weak enough to believe so.

During his days as the king of curses, he saw the women he fucked as no more than pieces of meat that exist for his pleasure. One might think he wasn’t capable of being gentle, of having any other expression than the ruthless and deranged smile that adorns his face. Yet, his first time was so different, as he looked upon your beauty with nothing but wonder in his eyes, not believing his own luck as you were naked underneath him, that beautiful tint of red adorning your face. Perhaps that was when he found himself loving the color red so much, it was never about the blood of the thousands he killed later in life. You looked beautiful even with your old kimonos, but you looked divine without it, and he wasn’t shy enough to keep that opinion to himself, mostly because he wanted to see that blush on your face when he says it out loud. He wanted to hear you call out his name in that affectionate and yet pleasured voice when he was deep inside you. He wanted you, all of you, even if he didn’t deserve you.

The weak gets trampled on, it isn’t something they should complain about as it is the way of life. He almost had you, the day you came to him with a worried expression on your face and told him that you may be expecting his child. For a moment, he dreamed, despite being weak. He asked you to elope with him, that he would protect you. He knew that the child he sired would be cursed too, and that you were unmarried, so of course, overall, you would be killed if he left you alone. He loved you far too much to even consider that. “Come with me, Ill take you far from here and protect you. I’ll make sure nothing hurts you or our child. I’ll get stronger for you.” He told you with that gruff tone of his. To his surprise, you agreed. However, you were a kind little thing full of hope. You wanted to see your parents one last time before leaving with him forever. He didn’t understand it, but he wanted you to be happy, so he suggested making a binding vow. A part of him felt wary as all these felt too good to be true.

The vow was simple, it was to live as long as you can. He was still new to forming binding vows, so he forgot to acknowledge the fact that breaking the vow didn’t mean much if someone else killed you. Only that your death would be far more painful. Things were peaceful, too peaceful. He ate the food you cooked him, talked with you about a future together, looked at the sun set together. Like every day, you left him after that with a kiss on his cheek. Yet, he felt uneasy enough to sneak near the village that night after hearing the commotion.

It didn’t take long to find you, as you were right there, in the middle of the village square, or at least your severed head was. The blood splattered everywhere indicated the effects of the binding vow, your entire body exploded when your head was cut. Perhaps you were weak and ended up telling your parents, perhaps somehow, they found out that you were pregnant with his child, he would never know. That village burned that night and not a single person there survived. As he stood there, watching whatever was left of you burn with the village, it was almost as if he achieved enlightenment. The weak shouldn’t complain, so he wasn’t complaining. He would get stronger so that he would be the one taking, to fill the void that was created this day. His hunger was endless because he would never eat the food you cook again. Love is meaningless, because without you, this world lost its meaning.

[justanotherlifeff]

The Summoning

Sukuna is the King of Curses, a God, an almighty being who answers to no one. But why does it feel like some divine force is pulling him towards you? -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @lucifers-baby-girl requested the song "The Summoning" by Sleep Token.

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1k Warnings: 18+, implied sexual intercourse, but no explicit descriptions. Dub-con at first (Sukuna is the King of Curses and orders Reader to give herself to him. But they gradually develop a loving relationship.) All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

He doesn't know what it is that makes him come back over and over again to this small hut in the middle of the forest. He stumbled upon it weeks ago after burning down a village nearby. On his way back to his temple, he found you. You stared at him with wide eyes before you fell to your knees and greeted him respectfully, inquiring how you could serve the great Sukuna-Sama.

And he grinned when he pulled you up and told you exactly how he wanted you to serve your King. There was fear in your eyes, but you gave yourself to him obediently, leading him into your bedroom, slipping out of your clothes, and offering your warm, soft body to him.

He came back to you two days later. And again and again, he keeps coming back.

It's like he is a hunter following a trail of blood that leads him to his prey. And maybe this is quite fitting because he is a hunter, and you, as small and weak as you are next to his huge figure, can only be seen as prey. So fragile in his four muscular arms, so helpless under his heavy body. But why is it then that he feels as if you hold a power over him he never experienced before?

Why does he come here almost every night? Why is he restless when he cannot make it to your hut because he is too busy? Why does he seek your company? Why does it feel as if he needs to be close to you?

At first, it was just a rough meeting of bodies. It was him claiming you, taking what's rightfully his because he is the King of Curses, because he is a God, and he can have whatever and whoever he desires.

But then you asked him if he would like to stay for dinner.

He had laughed, amused by your bravery that you asked the monster to spend more time with you instead of being grateful that he was finished with you and would leave you again.

But he was a man who enjoyed food, and so he stayed and sat there on the floor of your small hut, smirking as he let you serve him the meal you had prepared. To his surprise, it tasted delicious even though it wasn't made of the ingredients he usually consumed.

He let you sit on his lap afterward and petted your hair as if you were a small animal. You didn't flinch when his large hand touched your head. You didn't tremble in fear when his lips trailed over your neck. Not to bite, but to breathe in your scent and to place a possessive kiss on your soft skin.

Maybe he keeps coming back because you are such a mystery to him. Why do you treat him with kindness? Why do you not only willingly offer your body to him but also give him your food and your smiles?

You even hold conversations with him. Another thing Sukuna isn't used to. Uraume is the only one who occasionally talks to him. Really talks to him. Everyone else just grovels before him, asking him for things, wanting something from him. All of them are just begging and praying and getting on his nerves with their demands. A good harvest, protection from their enemies, mercy for their villages. It tires him.

But you hand him a bowl of soup, smile at him and ask, 

"How was your day, Lord Sukuna?"

And he tells you about holding court, about being bored while having to listen to some noblemen trying to get him on their side.

You nod and cock your head, eyeing him curiously, not even shying away from looking directly into all four of his sapphire-colored eyes.

"And did you also do something that brought you joy?"

He blinks before he laughs,

"Being the King of Curses doesn't bring the joy I thought it would. But I am having joy right now."

It is true, and the realization haunts him the whole way back to his temple. Is that it? Is that the reason he keeps visiting you? Because he feels something when he is with you?

He tries to keep his distance after this revelation, disturbed by the thought of being somehow dependent on you.

But he only lasts a week before he finds his way back to your small hut. Not feeling like a hunter following a blood trail, but more like a man pulled here by the power of fate. A man guided by some divine force. As if you are summoning him here by a magic he isn't familiar with.

You open the door with a smile, and that smile grows even bigger when he lifts you up and carries you to your bed. Your lips find his before he is able to claim yours.

It's the same again, just like the last time he met you, bodies entangled in a passionate embrace, lips moving against each other, soft groans filling the small room when Sukuna takes you, your tiny hands caressing his muscular back with a gentleness that almost scares him.

He doesn't feel like leaving your bed after you both found completion. Instead, he wraps his arms around you, all four of them, and pulls you against his broad body, laughing softly at how small you look with your face resting on his chest and your small hand tracing the firm muscles on his stomach, giggling when he lets his mouth down there open to flick his tongue over your fingertips.

"I am glad you came back to me, Sukuna. I was worried. I was scared you were injured or something like that."

His chest fills with a strange warmth. He cannot remember anyone ever being worried about him.

"Don't fear, little one. No one can defeat me."

But as the words leave his lips, he knows he isn't speaking the truth. It is right that no army can defeat him. No King, no God holds power over him. But there is a human woman, soft and warm, snuggled against his chest, who somehow touches his soul and holds his heart in her tiny hands. And for the first time in his life, Sukuna thinks he met someone who could bring him to his knees.

This was my first time writing Trueform!Sukuna and I hope you liked it aaaaah!! I just feel like the lyrics fit perfectly for a historical Sukuna story, and since I wanted to add the hunter and prey vibe, Trueform!Sukuna worked the best for me.

Thank you so much for the prompt!! I loved writing this!! Please let me know what you think.

Comments and reblogs would be sweet!!