ryosuku

[ryosuku]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 10.4k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, breeding kink (they’re actively trying to have a child), unprotected sex, established relationship (married), canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ They’re insane, Your Honor. Truly a match made in heaven.

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

Winter meanders on. Short, bleak days blanketed beneath a dusting of snow. Rising and melting. An ebb and flow of white dunes lapping at the edge of the engawa. Bitter winds howl through the valley, a vague echo of Jurina’s voice screeching through the barren treetops. The whistling sound echoes through the courtyards as the estate bends and bows with the wind, the old wood groaning as the spindly trees scrape at the outer walls. It sounds like some beast warring just beyond the shelter of the bolted shoji, scraping like a rabid wolf to be let inside. 

The chill seeps between the cracks, spilling sluggishly into your chamber as you huddle close around the amber glow of your braziers, coal burning low in a faint aura of amber light. Smoke rises in silvery ribbons from the brass pan, searing at your eyes that already sting from a lack of rest. Sleep comes fleeting in the deepest days of the winter. Every moment of leisure is accented with the sound of digging and scraping, every instant your eyes are closed is counted by the faint sound of Jurina’s voice. The voice is high and lyrical, the way she sounded in life. A stark opposition to the rattling shrill that came from her throat in death. Three, three, three. It’s mockingly sweet, ringing in your ears like the peal of a windchime. And when it isn’t her voice it’s the drip, drip, dripping of the snow and ice melting off the eaves, pattering against the wood panels below. It fills your mind with memories of black blood. Of what became of Jurina. She’d serve her purpose in death that she could not in life. A wife’s greatest honor to her husband. 

The thought skitters down your spine like a rush of freezing water and you shiver beneath the bundle of blankets, daring to lean closer to the lacquered wood stand holding the last dregs of warmth. The coal will burn out soon, firelight giving way to golden dawn. The servants will come to renew the ashes, to tend to your morning routine. For their sake, you play at perfect health. The first stirrings of wakefulness come in the sound of sliding doors and muted footsteps. Voices so low they’re only a wisp of a sound through the halls tell you to arrange yourself on your futon, feigning sleep as the maid comes to wake you. Their hand is cold as ice as it touches your shoulder, frigid enough to seep through the fabric of your nightdress. It’s like a splash of water against your skin and you shrink away instinctively. 

“You’re awake.” There’s no question in their tone. Sharp, discerning, cutting through the layer of facade with only a few words. Uraume’s voice is unmistakable at your side. A strange occurrence when you have your usual rotation of handmaidens meant to be tending to you. Of course, Uraume lives to serve their master, your husband and that servitude extends towards you in turn, but it is usually reserved for more elevated tasks. Certainly not the monotonous work of preparing you for the day. Still they go about turning down the blankets and helping you to sit up with the grace of any other servant. A chill wracks through your body, worming deep into your bones as Uraume’s fingers pull at the edge of your collar. The pad of their thumb brushes against the nape of your neck, pressing ever so gently before pulling their hand away with a displeased click of their tongue. It’s a sound of disappointment, quick and scolding. 

“You haven’t been sleeping.” Another statement as they coax life back into the waning flames of your coal. The warmth slowly renews itself, pushing the chill of winter back to the fringes as you wipe your face with a dampened cloth. 

“I slept.” A lie. One that Uraume is quick to catch. 

“If you’ve slept, your highness, then it wasn’t long enough. Your handmaiden cut you with her nail a few days ago, you’ll remember.” You did. It had been a stroke of luck that the master of the estate was away. Lord Sukuna would’ve had the girl’s hand chopped off for daring to allow it to cause harm to his beloved wife, and that was if he didn’t call for her outright execution. Servants were a much easier breed to find than suitable brides. Though even those could be replaced with time. The Ryomen estate had received its Fourth Mistress a fortnight ago on the month anniversary of Jurina’s death. The girl was dizzyingly perfect. 

Young, sweet as freshly ripened fruit, and docile as a kitten. She was any wife’s greatest nightmare. Beautiful and soft, still holding the roundness of youth in her cheeks. Her face is smooth as an egg and takes the shape of a heart with the way her hair dips at the center of her forehead in a sharp peak. But she pleases Lord Sukuna and so she must be at least tolerated. The twinge you felt in your heart when she was called to serve your husband was a new affliction. You hadn’t suffered from such bouts of envy before. Or perhaps it was something more than petty jealousy. The whole of your being was dedicated to Lord Sukuna and something about his newest wife’s saccharine demeanor chafed at you. It settled heavy and bitter in your gut like poison. But what could you do but smile and bear it. Happiness was a wife’s most important pursuit. Your hesitancy towards the beautiful woman living just down the hall was surely a clinging sense of distrust that had developed after Jurina’s attack. 

“I’m happy.” You whisper. “I’m happy.”

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Uraume quips. Any other servant might’ve been punished out of hand for speaking to you in such a way, but Lord Sukuna’s right hand was given certain allowances when it came to conduct. They’ve served your husband well, for far longer than you have. Whatever barbs they tossed at you would simply be accepted with a smile. Though it could hardly be considered cruel to take note of your wavering tone. Truly it was a reminder of your importance. Uraume had little regard for the other wives. They were extensions of Lord Sukuna in the way a well-regarded weapon was. Of all his wives, Lord Sukuna had declared you the favorite, and Uraume treated you as such. A queen rather than a concubine. 

“I’m happy.” 

“Hush,” Uraume admonished. “You’re frightened and lonely. Neither of which make a happy bride.” They guide you from your futon to your kimono stand, dressing you with quick hands before sending you to kneel in front of your vanity. The mirror reflected the low light of the room, Uraume a pale silhouette in the near darkness as they sit behind you to comb your hair. 

“You’re happiest when you’re being of service, and if you wish to serve you shouldn’t upset our careful planning.” They smooth the tangles from your hair with gentle hands. “Lord Sukuna wishes for children and you will fulfill that purpose. But to do so you must allow me to help you. Eat when you’re told, sleep when you’re told.” Uraume suddenly wraps your hair tight around their hand, pulling like a leash. The sharp show of strength sends pain pricking across your scalp and heat springs to your eyes, the kind that preludes tears. 

“This body is no longer your own. You exist as property of Lord Sukuna, and you’re presently bringing harm to his most precious belonging. Behave. Obey. You’re dishonoring your lord husband’s ambitions.” 

They leave you with the throbbing pain that trickles into numbness at the back of your skull. Your usual maid comes in shortly after their departure, tending to the tasks that Uraume had neglected. Lighting candles and properly styling your hair. She fixes the arrangement of your kimono that Uraume had fit only loosely around your form, pulling and knotting until it hung properly. If she wonders how the braziers managed to be relit, or what possessed you to dress yourself, she keeps the inquiries to herself. But you notice, as she’s straightening the obi around your waist, that her fingers are wrapped in bandages. She hisses as she struggles with the fabric, snatching her hand away to watch the way red begins to bloom at the tip of her bandaged fingers. You’d begged Uraume to be merciful in your lord husband’s absence. A mere accident was not enough reason to maim someone, but it seemed their mercy was still a bit cruel. Beneath the bandages, you’re almost sure all her nails had been torn from her fingers. She dismisses herself and another maid appears with breakfast. 

The tea is bitter. A metallic taste clings to your tongue, dredging up nightmares in the light of day. But Uraume’s words still linger in your head, reminding you to do as you’re told. No matter how bitter, you’ll swallow whatever you’re fed. Even the breath in your lungs has become a gift from your lord husband. Lord Sukuna has proven that he is not above dispatching a bride that no longer pleases him. Your life has been in his hands since the moment the ceremonial wine touched your lips, but it seems your leash has become tighter still. Even in the absence of his presence, Lord Sukuna looms heavily over you. A shadow blanketing the whole of your form. It’s him that you taste in your tea, a memory of his voice whispering in your ear. Jurina was poisoning you and here is your lord husband’s gift of apology. Drink more poison until your body can no longer be touched by such things. It takes several moments to swallow the final mouthful, the acrid taste lingering long after you force down the last dregs. Water mutes the taste as you kneel beside the door leading out onto the engawa. 

Opened only a crack, the winter air rushes in to kiss your cheeks, nipping harshly at your nose. A beam of blue-white light cuts across the room as the gray sky peeks out from under the cover of the eaves. The night’s storm has passed into only a few flickering snow flurries. They fall like pale flower petals, barely clinging to the dead grass. It’s all you can do to keep from snatching the door shut when a stray snowflake slips inside. It touches your cheek like an icy kiss, melting against the warmth of your skin in a near instant. Memories rush forward. Red and white. Blood on snow as your organs slipped from inside you. The snow had been unflinching, offering little comfort as you laid in the cold, bleeding out. Jurina was a curse then. She might’ve killed you. 

That sword now hung over your head. The blade of the unknown. Death meant little to someone with your cursed technique. But that was againsts mundane weapons. Knives, spears. A curse had weapons all their own and it made you wonder if your eyes might’ve shut forever had Lord Sukuna not helped you along the way to death. He didn’t kill you. At least not permanently. It was the fate of every sorcerer whose death might cause a curse to be killed by jujutsu, to prevent another curse from rising in their place. Jurina wasn’t a true sorcerer but she did possess a high level of curse energy. The fire that burned her and the traitorous maid had been mundane. A flint and steel to spark the tinder. Perhaps if Lord Sukuna had lit the pyre with his cursed technique it might’ve prevented another one of your many deaths. Though Jurina was hardly worth your lord husband’s expended energy. Even in death. A shiver shakes through you and you draw your furs tighter around your shoulders even as you slide the door open a bit wider. It felt like the world stopped without Lord Sukuna here. 

Things had changed since he left on his latest excursion outside the estate, but you were determined to right every wrong that arose, to make it seem as though everything was as it was before he left. Yet the snow still sent you shrinking into the collar of your kimono, hiding like a child beneath a blanket. 

“I like the snow,” you say aloud, watching the warmth of your breath curl through the air in gray clouds. I’m happy, you think staunchly, because there is nothing else for you to be. You slink out of your room, dirtying the silk of your clothes as you crawl to the edge of the walkway. At the very edge, where the shadow turns to light, you pause. Any further and the snow will touch you freely. Still, you roll up the sleeve of your kimono and stick your hand out into the open air as if offering your fingers to some ravenous beast. The first brush of snow has your hand flinching. One cold needle after another pierces your skin until your arm is shaking with the effort to keep it aloft. When you pull your hand back your hand tingles with a lack of sensation. Your fingers feel clumsy as you open and close your fist, trying to regain some warmth in your limb. Tucking your arm away into your sleeve as your lord husband so often does, you fix your posture to properly kneel at the edge of the engawa. 

The snow still pokes at you like the tips of a blade but you steel yourself against the fear welling in your mind. Jurina is dead. You watched Lord Sukuna kill her. You killed her yourself. She’s gone and the snow is only snow. The longer you sit, the more your mind thaws, slowly recognizing the truth of the matter. The fear that froze you in the face of Jurina’s new form slowly unclenches its fist, setting you free. It comes slowly. You feel like a leaf on a barren tree. Brown and brittle, wavering on the cusp of being blown loose in the wind. You’ll break free soon to float on the breeze, but for now there’s only that teetering feeling of something yet to come. Poking your arm back out of your sleeve, you blow a hot gust of air across your fingertips and wonder if they’re warm enough to play your koto. You haven’t played, haven’t sang, or danced since Jurina’s death. She’d taken so much from you and all of it she was undeserving of. Lord Sukuna had said so himself. Slowly, you regather the pieces of yourself that had shattered across the snow that day, slowly fitting them back together to resemble something of your former self. 

The only thing Jurina has truly taken was a piece of your innocence. You’ve never killed a living being before. Even if curses existed to be eradicated in the eyes of sorcerers, they were still living beings. They were your lord husband’s subjects. Yet he bid you slay Jurina without a shred of remorse. Though if the King of Curses gives you an order, you take it as law. If he told you to kill a thousand curses you would do it or die trying despite the strange feeling it left in your chest to watch that spear pierce through the head of Jurina’s new form. It left a hollowness, but it had only lasted a moment. As long as it took for Lord Sukuna to tell you that you’d done well. It wasn’t often you heard such praises from your lord husband. 

He was proud of you then, but that pride would likely wither in an instant if he saw you now. Wilted and curled in on yourself, completely soured by something that hasn’t even lasted a day. You’ve endured far worse than a chance encounter with a vengeful curse. Prickling heat fills your chest as the memory of gasping at the bottom of a well fills your head. You’d been in that damp darkness with only a distant pinhole of light so far above you that it could’ve been a star in endless black that swallowed you every few hours. You could only tread water for so long, could only gasp for so many breaths before your lungs filled and your body bloated. 

The realization comes belatedly, that Jurina was the prick of a rose’s thorn compared to the torturous training you’d endured to strengthen your cursed technique. It’s been so long since you’ve been in need of the full magnitude of your technique that you’ve forgotten what it took to get you here to begin with. You aren’t Lord Sukuna’s favorite because he favors your cooking or enjoys your talents. You’re of value. It’s innate, something sewn into your blood. This body was never yours. It always belonged to someone else. First your maiden clan and now Lord Sukuna. It’s an honor worth defending, an honor worth dying for. You silently thank Jurina for reminding you of your place in this world. 

Sitting in the doorframe, close enough to the braziers that your fingers don’t become too stiff to play your koto is how the Fourth Wife finds you. Her footsteps preceded her, the sharp black of her geta against the wooden walkway. She approaches with a gentle smile but it doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. In the gray light of the mid winter morning, her dark eyes are flat as black stones even as her rosy cheeks lift in a coquettish grin. She bows as you set aside your koto. This is only the second time you’ve seen Fourth Mistress. The first being when she was accepted into the household those few weeks ago. It had been a brief meeting stifled with ceremony. An exchanging of names and rankings, a formal introduction of her place in your lord husband’s estate. 

“Would you like to take a walk with me?��� She asks, her voice bright against the hollow sound of the wind. It’s cold but the snow has stopped, and you’re far too curious to turn the girl away. Her smile persists as she waits for you to find your shoes and a furred clock, like the expression painted on a doll. She has the face of one. Empty eyes and flushed cheeks, a face still rounded with youth. 

The servants have swept the light dusting of snow away from the pathways, saving your socks from being soaked through as the two of you walk side by side. Fourth Mistress–Momoka, though you forget her clan name–asks you inane questions as you stroll along. It feels as though she’s trying to disarm you. Her tone is light and curious, sounding almost childish in her curiosity, but her eyes lack that true spark of interest, like she already knows the answer to each and every question. Who is your maiden clan, do you have any siblings, when did you join Lord Sukuna’s household? All so tediously easy to answer, yet you remain on guard, expecting her questions to slowly slip into more intimate territory. It takes a few minutes longer before she asks anything of true substance. 

“First Mistress died recently, I was told. Were the two of you close? I imagine it must’ve been hard to lose a fellow wife so suddenly.” Momoka’s smile fades a bit to convey her empathy but you don’t miss that it doesn’t fall completely. 

“Jurina and I were never close,” you tell her truthfully. “She was Lord Sukuna’s first wife, and she and the Second Mistress were sister-wives for far longer than I was a part of the household. I imagine Second Mistress was far more distressed by her death.”

Momoka hummed sympathetically. “Yes, the maids have told me that Second Mistress scarcely leaves her rooms. I wanted to pay her a visit today but her servants turned me away. They said despite her seniority, you were the first person I had to pay my respects to. So odd, isn’t it. I hadn’t thought that a man like Lord Sukuna would have favorites. He must hold your clan in great respect.” 

He doesn’t, you know, but you don’t correct Momoka. Your clan sacrificed you to save their own skins. There was no greater understanding like there’d been with the Zenin’s allowing Jurina to marry into Lord Sukuna’s household. And such an understanding was all for naught. Their eldest daughter who they likely placed such great ambitions upon was dead twice over. It made you wonder if they had another woman waiting to be sent in as Jurina’s replacement. It wouldn’t be so unheard of. You glance at Momoka walking beside you. Her arrival was not coincidental. The household lost a wife and suddenly there’s another waiting to join the ranks. Another sacrificial lamb to appease the great King of Curses, though Momoka scarcely seems like an unwilling participant. She smiles and it reminds you of yourself. She’s happy. Though there’s no true sincerity in it. All her joy seems feigned, as if she’s simply biding her time for something yet to come. She bows again when you return to her rooms, asking you to accompany her more often from now on. 

It takes you longer than you’d like to find Uraume. Rarely does Lord Sukuna’s servant appear in their own room, yet when you knocked, you found them sitting at a small desk practicing calligraphy. It was easy to forget that someone that seemed so worldly was closer to the age of a child. Uraume was still slight, small as if they still had growing to do. You couldn’t be certain. Lord Sukuna and Uraume themselves were always so silent about the servant’s origin as if it were some mythical secret. Though you supposed their youth could just be another trick of sorcery. Truly, it didn’t matter, because when they spoke, it was with an authority beyond your years. As if you were the servant and they the master. 

“What is it now?” They ask, only sparing you a glance. Their tone is fond in a way that better suits a pet, like you are some naive thing for them to look after. It feels like an honor and a curse to be so doted upon by Lord Sukuna’s most trusted servant, knowing Uraume wouldn’t spare the effort if it wasn’t a comment from their master. It feels like an extension of your lord husband’s presence. Though a dim reflection compared to standing in the true light of the sun. 

As Uraume reaches for a blank sheet of paper to practice another character you think of what drove you to the comfort of their presence to begin with. Your maid that had been your closest companion had betrayed you and died for it and now the new serving girl–already punished for a simple mistake–held you at arm’s length. Second Mistress had no taste for your company in her melancholy and Fourth Mistress was so strange that you could hardly stomach walking beside her. Loneliness was a constant companion to a woman that shared her husband. Lord Sukuna was not only yours. He was a king that belonged to the world as well as his other wives. There was happiness in knowing your place, yet something about Momoka had disturbed you into seeking refuge beside the one person in the estate that would give their life for yours. 

“I don’t trust Momoka.” You say finally. There was pettiness in the thought but less so than if you’d said simply that you didn’t like her. She was a newcomer, a glittering bauble to distract your husband from his older jewels, but that had never been your worry. Every flower has its own color and scent, each as lovely as the last. A harem is a garden of many flowers and you content yourself that you’ll be plucked when your lord husband so desires your brand of beauty. Yet Momoka seems to be hiding thorns beneath her soft petals. It isn’t your place to question your lord husband yet you can’t help but wonder how Momoka found her way into his household. You ask Uraume as much. 

“She was an offer from her clan the same as you were. None of Lord Sukuna’s wives were handpicked by him. You’re all sacrifices if we’re speaking plainly. You were given to the man that could grind the greatest clan to dust in a matter of moments if he so pleased. For honor, for glory, or some other reason as Fourth Mistress seems to be.” Uraume says. 

“So you don’t trust her, either?” 

“I don’t trust any women more or less than I trust her maiden clan, and Fourth Mistress certainly descends from people I do not trust. Some years ago, her clan staged a rebellion against Lord Sukuna. It failed, obviously, and they were cast aside to lick their wounds. From what I’ve gathered in recent years, the old clan head has died and the new one seeks to make amends with our lord. Offering a bride is a simple enough sacrifice when clan descendants are in such ample supply. A singular daughter won’t be missed.” 

Their words scratch at some dark worry buried deep in your heart, your hands falling cautiously to your stomach. It’s empty of life for the moment, but you can’t imagine the shame of giving your lord husband a daughter. A little girl would be loved, yet you hope for a son. For the sake of Lord Sukuna’s legacy. And there’s something else in their words niggling at the back of your mind. 

“Do you trust me?” It sounds ridiculous as soon as the words leave your lips. They must trust you, and if they don’t you’d be the last to know. Uraume sets down their calligraphy brush and turns to stare at you. 

“Your ties to your maiden clan were severed long ago. You belong only to Lord Sukuna’s clan now, and its descendants will be of your blood. There is no being I trust in this world above you save your lord husband. Make no mistake about that, my lady.” There was a severity in their voice that you’ve come to expect from your husband’s greatest servant yet it still startles you. Uraume has told you of how they found their way into Lord Sukuna’s company. A story of pure happenstance that led to a lifetime of loyalty. To hear that you’re held in the same regard by your lord husband’s closest companion is strangely touching. It quells a bit of your anxiety. 

Suddenly elated, you find yourself giggling like a maiden. “It seems strange to know I hold such importance to someone so powerful.” You were born into a family of high standing, but you could’ve never expected your life to lead you here. Lord Sukuna was a king among curses, and he heralds you as his truest queen. It’s a dizzying thought. It makes your days of longing seem less senseless to know that even the smallest fraction of your lord husband’s heart felt the same. The idea that a man like Lord Sukuna could love you in the way an ordinary man might still seems nigh impossible, but there’s no doubt that he cares for you in his own way. It feels like a reward for your patience and devotion. Never have you harbored a jealous thought towards your fellow wives. There was only longing in the way that a farmer yearns for rain. It’s necessary, unselfish. 

But perhaps you should learn to be more covetous with women like Momoka joining the household. Her intentions seem anything but pure and you wanted your lord husband nowhere near her presence if it could be helped. Doubtless she’d perish before bringing Lord Sukuna to harm, but even the intent was enough to stoke your anger. Though there was no proof of ill intent other than the strange feeling twisting in your gut after only a few minutes in her presence. It isn’t enough to call her a traitor, but if even Uraume is weary, then you have reason to maintain your distance going forward.  

The moon is high in the sky by the time the estate is bustling with news of Lord Sukuna’s return. You’ve already shed the layers of your clothes in preparation for bed but a maid comes to inform you that your lord husband is in want of your company. You thank her, quickly wrapping yourself in something to preserve your modesty before slinking off to Lord Sukuna’s room accompanied by the light of a candle. It tossed golden shadows across the long halls, your silhouette dancing across the walls. A slash of light spills from the room ahead, a sweet voice slipping through the crack. Your hurried pace slows as you take in the same coquettish tone that had rung in your ears all afternoon. Momoka was there. 

Though the door is open, you still kneel beside it as you’d always been taught, knocking tentatively to announce yourself. The gruff command for you to enter comes quickly and you steel your nerves as if you’re entering a pit of snakes. It feels nearly as inhospitable as your lord husband’s cursed energy seeps through the air like clouds of miasma. It’s as wholly overwhelming as it is comforting. Sometimes you feel like a mouse making her home between the paws of a tiger. 

Momoka is there, sitting at your lord husband’s feet as he lounges on the raised dais where his futon has been prepared. He hasn’t bathed, still in his traveling clothes that will need mending and washing. Spots of blood and torn seams abound as he reclines on the silk cushions. Momoka stares as you enter, setting down your candle. You suddenly wish you’d taken the time to better present yourself to your husband. The robe you wrapped around you has slinked off your shoulder, exposing the white nightgown beneath. Still partially clothed, you feel completely naked before Momoka’s calculating gaze. 

“Sister!” Her voice is elated though the smile scarcely reaches her eyes. You work to keep your expression from sour, annoyed that she insisted that sharing a husband made you as close as sisters. Momoka was a stranger and you have no intentions of forming any familial bond with the likes of her. Still, you incline your head, nodding in acknowledgment as you wait for Lord Sukuna to address you. 

“Come here,” he says finally, holding out a hand towards you. As soon as your hands meet, Lord Sukuna pulls you into his lap, wrapping greedy arms around your waist. Below, Momoka swoons. 

“Our husband treats Third Mistress so well! I’m jealous.” She touches her cheek as if to hide an embarrassed flush, but there’s nothing but pale skin peeking between her fingers. 

“You’re still here?” Lord Sukuna asks lazily, his hands already beginning to relieve you of your meager clothing. “Get out.” Momoka’s cheeks really flush then, cheeks reddening as her eyes widen. She lingers for just long enough to draw Lord Sukuna’s attention. 

“Get. Out.” He seethes. “Before I fuck my wife over your corpse.” That gets her to move. Momoka scrambles to her feet, not even bothering to bow as she scampers from the room, slamming the door behind her. Lord Sukuna is barely perturbed as he tucks his nose into the hollow behind your jaw. 

“Allow me to pay my respects, my lord.” You say softly. Lord Sukuna chuffs against your neck, tongue tasting the steady thrum of your pulse. 

“You’ll pay your respects from right here.” He insists, pulling you closer to his chest. “Kiss me.” The command always sounds like a test, as if he expects that one day you’ll shrink from him and withhold your affections. But to do so would be a betrayal of your vows, and you’d rather die than turn your back on your lord husband. His mouth is ravenous against yours. Teeth and tongue clashing as if he wants to swallow you whole. Perhaps he does. There’s hardly breath enough left in your lungs to speak when he pulls away, but you manage a stuttered, “My lord.” 

Lord Sukuna grunts, his fingers tugging at the edge of your robe. You hear the sound of fabric tearing before you realize he’s hooked his claws into the delicate fabric. It falls away from your body in tatters. 

“Would you truly kill Momoka?” 

“Who?” He asks with diminishing interest. His face is pressed between the swells of your breast now bared to the cool air. The edge of a fanged tooth catches against the soft skin before his tongue chases the pain away. You want to run a hand through his hair but swallow the desire. He may touch you as he pleases, but your lord husband has not given you such liberties with his own body. Though some things can be forgiven in the throes of passion. When your body jerks and shakes against him, grasping and curling around him because Lord Sukuna feels like the only thing tethering you to the ground. He is. Your sun and moon. It would almost be funny that he’s forgotten Momoka’s name if you weren’t so vexed by the strange demeanor hiding just beneath the surface. A snake hidden in the tall grass. 

“Fourth Mistress,” you try to keep the tremor from your voice as he tongues at the peak of your nipple. “Would you kill Fourth Mistress?” It seems like an inane question after Jurina’s death, but Momoka isn’t Jurina. Whatever she’s doing, whatever she’s planning, she has enough sense to keep it in the shadows. No maids to deliver you poisoned tea from the main house’s kitchen. 

“Do you want me to?” Lord Sukuna asks lazily, looking up at you from where his nose is pressed flat against your sternum. He can likely feel the way your heartbeat flutters at the question, drumming like a hummingbird’s wings as you imagine passing such a judgment. Jurina’s death had been justice, vengeance. Though shrewd, your only evidence against Momoka is intuition, but it seems enough for your lord husband as he nuzzles between your breasts. Sometimes, in softer moments, Lord Sukuna seems like a cat or perhaps a docile tiger given his size. He lavishes you with bored affection. Commanding you to eat, drink, sleep with him when he so desires though never with such enthusiasm that you forget your place as another bauble for him to play with. A pretty trinket on a shelf to be admired when you catch the light, flashing desperately to remind him that you’re here. 

How long had Lord Sukuna been gone this time? No longer than usual, you know, but every day that he’s away it feels like you’re the ocean beneath a moonless sky. Tide high and grasping. Longing for your lord husband. Momoka doesn’t share in your despair. Nor does Second Mistress. But they don’t deserve death for it. The grief of marriage shaped them into different women than you. Somehow you’ve hardened into the creature that Lord Sukuna favors most. His favorite woman. Jealousy wanes for a moment and you decide that perhaps Momoka is no more than an ordinary woman with a strange temperament in a strange place. 

“No, please, don’t kill Fourth Mistress, my lord.” 

“I’ll consider your counsel.” He says and the purring tone sends your head spinning. It’s half mocking, a patronizing hum, but buried beneath it is the knowledge that, in some respects, Lord Sukuna might actually care for your opinion. Useful, your mind whispers giddily. Use me, keep me, keep me!

His teeth leave burning marks across your neck and collar, dribbles of blood dripping down your chest where Lord Sukuna’s fangs break through your skin. He hardly leaves a mess as his tongue chases every drop of blood he spilling, lapping and sucking at your skin until bruises of his attention begin to rise to the surface. He crowds you against the futon, spreading you across his blankets. There’s the sound of tearing once more as he relieves you of your smallclothes. The cold air rushes over you, legs twitching to shut as a draft breathes in through the open door. 

Momoka hadn’t closed it when she left and the braziers only do so much to heat Lord Sukuna’s chamber when the warmth is bleeding out into the hallway. Though your lord husband hardly seems bothered by the cold. He looms over you, shoulders as wide as the whole sky. Black ink draws jagged shapes across his skin, mingling with the pale scars that litter his body. A patchwork of strength and perfection befitting no man other than your Lord Sukuna. Your hands ache to trace the shapes that stitched like a tapestry across your lord husband’s skin, but he still has your wrists manacled in his grip. Even as you pull against his strength, shifting restlessly against the bedding, his hold on you doesn’t feel oppressive. There’s the strength of a hundred men looming over you yet you feel nothing but grounded. Steadied by the knowledge that the King of Curses is your lord and husband. His eyes narrow as you stare up at him, red gaze scouring every detail of your face. 

“Who are you?” He asks suddenly, leaning close until you can smell the sake on his breath. He must’ve been home for some time before sending someone to fetch you. 

“I am the third wife of Ryomen Sukuna.” It rolls off your tongue as easily as breathing, pride dripping from every syllable. Lord Sukuna gathers your wrists into one of his hands, the other coming to hold your face as if you’d ever want to look anywhere but him. His thumb traces against your bottom lip as he holds your jaw steady. 

“You are the only wife of Ryomen Sukuna,” he says tersely. “The others are brides in name only.” There was a thought in the back of your mind of how you must’ve spoiled Momoka’s wedding night. When she arrived at the estate with her bridal procession, she was greeted by two wives rather than three after Jurina shunned you from her arrival, and Lord Sukuna had spent the night with you rather than his new bride. You knew that he had taken Momoka to bed, but it was expected. If she remained untouched by her husband, she could be given away to someone else, and Lord Sukuna was possessive of even his least liked belongings. No man could touch a woman that had been given to him, least of all you. 

“Soon,” he pressed a hand against your bare stomach, “you will be the mother to the children of Ryomen Sukuna.” Then his hand slips lower, nails already cut blunt as he tests the wetness between your legs. A rumbling purr builds in his chest when he finds you slick and wanting. 

“Your blood has passed, right, woman?” He asked so casually that you can’t help but stutter over the answer, an embarrassed flush of heat prickling over your skin as Lord Sukuna so casually mentions your moon blood. It’s been ingrained in you since birth that a perfect wife is a tool not a person, to hide the things that make you human. Lord Sukuna has no qualms with reminding you of exactly what you are. A woman, his woman. His thumb presses against your clit, drawing out tight circles that have your breath hitching until you’re too breathless to speak. Instead you nod. 

“Good.” The smile that overtakes his face is nothing short of predatory. A baring of fangs as he presses his forehead against yours, forcing your eyes to see nothing but his red glare as he curls his fingers inside you. When you find your voice again it’s high and faint as you squeak out a muffled “my lord.” Lord Sukuna’s grin widens before his tongue lolls out to lick at your lips where drool is slipping from the corners of your mouth. 

“Selfish little thing,” he admonishes. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already in this state. I won’t stop even if you exhaust yourself.” Already you’re shaking your head, half nuzzling against him where his face is still pressed against your. 

“I can take it! I will accept everything my lord husband gives me!” You sound half delirious, lost in the pleasure he’s lavishing over your body, tone just short of begging. Two hands keep you still, one around your wrists and the other on your waist; another pulling you to the edge of pleasure with every thrust inside you. The last hand eclipses the bottom half of your face, his thumb pressing between your lips until you feel the stinging pain of your lip being split open beneath the untrimmed length of his nail. 

Blood spills over your tongue and teeth, wasted until Lord Sukuna presses his mouth against yours. It’s too heady and hungry to be considered a kiss as his tongue sweeps over yours, stealing every drop of blood as it weeps from the cut bisecting your bottom lip. It’ll heal by morning but you’d take even the greatest wound to watch your lord husband take pleasure from your body. When the feverish feeling building low in your stomach finally boils over, Lord Sukuna swallows every sound of your orgasm. His shadow swallows you as he looms only a short distance above your body, leaving space for you to chase his skin as your back arches off the futon. His lower tongue licks over your stomach as you press into him, body shaking as he hooks his fingers inside you, driving you further into pleasure. 

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and he licks those away too, tasting the salt of your skin. His teeth nip at the apple of your cheek, the gesture so playful that you can’t help but laugh. Affection blooms in your chest, roots digging deep and wide like a weed that you never want to pluck. Death will be the only thing to make your love for your lord husband wither on the vine. 

When Lord Sukuna is satisfied with the way you’re twitching and shaking beneath him, he pulls his hand from between your legs, grinning as he looks down at the mess shining between your thighs. He drags his thumb through your folds, petting the tender flesh as you try to squirm away from the burn of overstimulation. When he’s satisfied with your torture he brings his hands to his mouth, eyes locked on yours, to sample the taste of your arousal just as he’d done with your blood. Lord Sukuna has always been a selfish man, taking as he pleases, and the taste of your slick seems to satisfy him beyond reason. After his hand is clean he moves to stand, leaving you sprawled across his sheets. He moves to the small table where a cup and pitcher of alcohol waits. When you try to force your trembling limbs to move, keen to serve your lord husband a drink, he fixes you with a glare. 

“Be still. I’m far from finished with you, so be glad I’m giving you a moment of rest.” He sits on a cushion beside the low table and pours his own drink. He watches you as he drinks. The way your breathing evens and your limbs slowly still their shaking. By the time you’ve regained enough sound of mind to sit up, Lord Sukuna is pouring another drink. He watches you over the rim of his cup as you untangle yourself from the shreds of fabric still clinging to your sweat-dampened skin. The silence stretches on for a few moments longer before Lord Sukuna rests his chin on his fist and sets his cup aside. 

“Woman,” you look up from where you’d been working the tangles from your hair with gentle fingers. “Would you serve any man as diligently as you serve me?” 

It’s a strange question that gives you pause. The daughter of a highly ranked sorcerer family hardly has a say in the course of her life. All you can hope for is a good marriage. Perhaps without love, but, at least, respect. You always thought that you’d be wed to one of the many boys you’d seen passing through your clan’s estate when you were young. Each stronger than the last. Blood was what was most important, not affection. Your use went only as far as brewing children while your husband went out to fight. In that respect, Lord Sukuna was the same as any man. Yet his strength made him far greater than any other suitor that had been paraded through your childhood home. What would’ve become of you if you’d married a lesser man?

“I know that you would,” Lord Sukuna says dismissively, already past his curiosity. He takes another sip from his cup and watches you flounder for a rebuttal. 

“I wouldn’t–”

“But you would,” he says, condescension thick in his tone. “You wouldn’t know better.” He smiles then and it’s a cruel snarl. “You are the perfect woman, the perfect wife. Your family was wise to give you to me.” 

“May I ask a question, my lord?” He grunts his permission. “Would you sire heirs on another woman? If I weren’t your third wife, would another woman be the mother of your children?” Lord Sukuna sets down his cup and you bite at your lip, blood dripping anew. A punishment is close at hand, you fear. Lord Sukuna stands and it’s like watching a mountain rise from the sea. The candlelight dances over his face as he moves towards the raised futon once more. His movements are as poised as a predator as he crawls over you, crowding you further up the bed until your back hits the wall. There’s no expression to be found on his face as four eyes pin you in place. For a moment, he simply looms over you before leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath against your bloody lips. 

“No.” He kisses you then, swallowing your blood and elation as it bubbles in your chest. 

Regardless of the consequences, you throw your arms around his neck, selfishly pulling him closer. It would only be you. Lord Sukuna has told you countless times that you are the only wife that matters to him. He’s said it with words and action, yet only now do you truly know it to be true. No child of Ryomen Sukuna will walk the earth unless they’re of your blood. It’s a blessing from your maiden clan, all the ancestors that came before you spinning a web of probability to create you. You aren’t so ignorant to think that it is simply you that he desires to give him children. It’s your blood, your abilities; the chance that you might make a formidable heir that inherits your innate technique. The politics of jujutsu society are not lost on you, not for a moment. You are the wife of a king, after all. 

His hand moves to touch your stomach, a huge palm spread wide beneath your naval. There will be a child quickening there soon if all goes to plan. You press your hand over his, stealing every touch you can before Lord Sukuna draws away and scorns your lack of manners. His hair is soft between your fingers as your hand moves up the length of his neck to brush against the back of his head. The whole world is within your grasp. Your world. Your lord husband. When he pulls back from your mouth he moves only as far as your throat, setting his teeth against your flutter pulse and biting hard. Warm spills down the column of your neck and over your breasts as he drinks from you until you’re lightheaded. A giggle spills from your lips as his hair tickles the curve of your jaw. Blood is easily given when it will replenish by daybreak. 

Lord Sukuna makes a mess of it, chasing the red rivers until you’re covered in the pinkish remains of his hunger. Skin shining with spit and sweat as he fits your breast into the palms of his hands, pinching at the pert buds until your back is bowing into his touch. He bites you again. Again and again, though not breaking skin. Just hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth on your body. Your chest, your shoulders, then lower on the softness of your stomach where his child will someday grow. He bites at your thighs before bullying his head between them, squeezing your legs against his ears as he takes in a deep breath. When he pulls back his eyes are half lidded. 

“One day I will scar this body,” he declares, nails digging into the meat of your hips. “I will bite and scratch until you carry my marks on you forever.” You nod frantically, a pitiful “please,” leaving your lips. It’s impossible given your body’s ability to heal from nearly anything, but you would wear any mark your lord husband put upon you with pride. You would let him flay you and carve marks into your bones if it meant that even in death and decay there would be no question of who your body once belonged to. And even with your death, there would be no more children calling Ryomen Sukuna their father. You reach to touch the inhuman part of his face where his skin is raised and gnarled. 

“I love you.” You tell him. 

“I know,” he hums, pressing a kiss against your clit. He drags his tongue between your folds like he’s trying to swallow you whole. You twitch when his tongue flicks against your sensitive bud, tremors already starting in your thighs as Lord Sukuna hooks one set of arms over your thighs to pull you closer to his greedy mouth. It isn’t often your lord husband offers you this pleasure, always more preoccupied with sinking his twin lengths inside you. He’s been strangely neglectful of his own pleasure tonight but you allow yourself to be selfish while the offer still stands. Your hands sink into his hair again, nails scratching at his scalp. Lord Sukuna purrs, nose bumping against your clit at his tongues at your fluttering hole. 

The sounds he’s making between your legs are loud and lewd, leaving nothing to the imagination if someone happens upon the open door. It sets your heart fluttering, the idea of being watched, but your lord husband would let no creature see you like this and live. Even Uraume isn’t privy to the vision you must be tossing your head back and moaning out praise for the king buried between your thighs. Just as you’re starting up that begging mantra, pleading with your lord husband to let you come, he pulls away. A web of wetness strings between his mouth and your pussy, wet streaks shining on his nose as he licks the taste of you off his lips. He stands for a moment to toss away his pants, pausing as you admire his form. All thick muscle and black ink. His dicks stand between his legs, bobbing heavily as he moves to rejoin you in bed. 

Without thinking, you reach out to touch him, dragging down his chest before settling on each turgid length. He didn’t give permission, but Lord Sukuna doesn’t admonish your boldness and your hand wraps around him. Your touch is light, unintentionally teasing as you feel him throb against your palms. Lord Sukuna wraps a massive paw over your hand, forcing your grip tighter. 

“Do not play with me, woman,” he growls. The sound of skin slipping against skin fills the space between you as your hands fist the dual weight of your lord husband’s arousal. He’s wet with his own slick, the first spurts of it beading at the head of his cocks before spilling over onto your fingers. Lord Sukuna’s face remains neutral even as you feel him throbbing in your hands with each drag of your fists. 

A phantom ache pulses through your jaw as the memories of previous nights wash over you. The weight of him between your lips as his taste washes over your tongue. Your desire has become instinctual, bent to the will of your lord husband. He brushes his thumb over your parted slips, gathering a sheen of spit off the delicate skin to draw circles over your nipple. It’s an idle touch, seemingly thoughtless as Lord Sukuna’s eyes stay locked on where you have his dicks drooling against your navel. It looks like he’s trying to mark the spot. Every inch of your body belongs to your lord husband, but that place is special. He shifts his hips, bucking against your hands until he’s pressed against the softness of your stomach already wet with sweat and precum. Something in his expression changes. 

A faint flicker of something beneath the hard exterior. It’s there for only a moment, so quick that it might’ve been a trick of the light. But then he’s knocking your hands away and digging his lower hands into your hips. Pain prickles through your body as claws pierce your skin as easily as a knife through fruit. The metallic tang of blood fills the air once more as Lord Sukuna pulls you down the ruined sheets. Another hand slips between your legs to spread you open. One finger turns to two and then a third, your hips grinding down against the heel of his hand as he works you open. It lasts for only a moment, just long enough to ensure that you won’t break around him, before his fingers are being replaced by something bigger. He shushes the noise you make as he slowly presses inside you. 

“Hush, brat,” he scoffs, “I know you can take it. My perfect wife. You can handle your husband, can’t you?” He’s only halfway inside, his neglected dick twitching against your clit. You nod emphatically, tongue tripping over the same word again and again. “Yes, yes, yes!” You’re insistent in your enthusiasm. Of course you can take him. Of course you can handle your lord husband. He could cleave you in half in a lustful haze and the last words on your lips would be thanks for his attention. It feels like you’re breaking, cracks forming between your hips, as he pulls back only to thrust in deeper. When your hips meet, it feels like he’s hollowed out everything inside you save for himself. 

“Good wife,” he presses a strangely doting kiss to your throat. “My pretty bride.” It’s half teeth as he nips at your pulse but you can feel the tenderness behind it. A scant show of affection from the monster that made you his bride. Lord Sukuna seems like nothing short of a king as he uses your body to please himself. Each hint of pleasure as his cock grinds against your clit is purely coincidental, a side effect of Lord Sukuna’s own desires. 

“Do you know what today is?” He asks suddenly. It feels like a distraction as he pulls back just far enough to bully the head of his second cock inside you. The stretch is a burning sort of pleasure as your body yields to the familiarity. When you shake your head, he smirks knowingly. There are few things that occupy your thoughts now that you’ve been made a wife of Ryomen Sukuna. The date is not one of them. Nothing important happens in the winter. You’d married into the Ryomen estate in the spring. The new year comes for you with the fluttering of cherry blossoms, not the falling snow. And no date holds more significance than that. Not even your own birthday. Which you’re almost certain isn’t today. 

Lord Sukuna quiets your mind with a hard thrust that drags against that spot deep inside you. Your hands twitch to grab at him, to pull him closer as you had before, but you remember your manners at the last moment. The brief lapse of judgment isn’t missed by your lord husband’s gaze, however. He frowns at you and shifts his hold on your hips so he can slide deeper inside you. His other set of hands find your wrists, drawing them forward until your hands are resting on his shoulders. When he feels your nails digging into the rippling muscles of his back, he seems satisfied. 

“Two weeks since your blood.” He says pointedly. Suddenly your knees are pressing towards your chest as Lord Sukuna crowds you into the sheets, his entire weight bearing down on your body. Your thighs ache with the stretch but it only pushes him deeper inside you. 

“Your body waited for me, waited for your king.” He sounds approving. As if it’s a secret that you would wait for him until your body turned to dust. But you turn back time in your head and note that the cycle of your moon blood had somehow coincided with your lord husband’s coming and going from the estate. Two weeks. It was when medicine men visited your mother and aunts with tonics and elixirs promising heightened fertility. Weeks had elapsed since Lord Sukuna showed you the onsen of black blood. Time enough for Uraume to adjust your diet and allow your body to acclimate to the changes. Lord Sukuna slides a hand against your stomach, ghosting over the place where your body is stretched around the shape of him inside you. It only makes the dizzying heat building inside you grow hotter. You’re on the precipice, about to crumble, crying out vague pleas and promises as your lord husband lavishes you in his attention.

When you come, it’s hard and blinding. Pleasure shatters up your spine like a bolt of lightning, back arching until your chest to chest with Lord Sukuna, his lower tongue lavishing your breast in its drooling attention. Everything is soft and sharp all at once. Teeth and claws scratch against your skin in tandem to the velvet warmth of Lord Sukuna’s skin. He’s far from done with you, grunt as you twitch and squeeze around him, thighs wet with slick. As you stare up at your lord husband, the way the candlelight outlines him in gold as he looms above you, it feels like seeing behind a curtain. His face is void of any inkling of his inner machinations, but his actions lay his intent bare across your sweat-soaked body. 

Every scratch of his nails clawing some abstract shape into your soft skin, every flare of pain where his fangs cut through your body as easily as a knife through water, you understand your lord husband a bit more. The deep concepts are still a mystery, but the broader strokes are imprinted upon your body with reckless abandon as Lord Sukuna’s hands drag you closer by your waist. Close still isn’t close enough when you’d tear open your chest to make a warm place for him to lay his head. He spills inside you with a gritted growl, teeth bared as he glares down at you. There’s reverence somewhere in his ruby eyes. An understanding that you are something more precious than anything else he’s ever held in his hands. 

“Who do you love, brat?” He demands, hips still churning your insides over his softening dicks. It’s all you can manage to draw in a shallow breath and whisper, “you.” He reaches up to grab your jaw with sudden strength, so tight that your teeth feel on the verge of cracking. 

“Remember that when the first one comes. And the next, and the next. I am your king and your husband, above all others in your heart. Love no one more than you love your lord husband.” With those words, Lord Sukuna pulls away and you feel his seed being wasted on the sheets as it seeps between your thighs. A thick finger comes to pet your puffy folds, smearing through the mess and swirling over the sore bud of your clit. When you gasp and shiver, trying your hardest not to shrink away from your lord husband’s touch, Lord Sukuna laughs. Deep and loud like a roll of thunder. Far kinder than his usual mocking chuckles. 

He’s still half hard as he dons his soiled pants, wetness leaking through the white fabric as he gathers your limp body into his arms. His robe swallows you whole, collar tucked up to your nose as he wraps the long swathes of silk around your trembling form. The fabric smells like blood and your lord husband as your eyes flutter shut in the sudden cocoon of warmth. Each of Lord Sukuna’s swaying steps lulls you closer to sleep even as he steps into the cold blackness of night. The breeze is a haunting whistle through the bare trees as you allow yourself to be taken wherever your lord husband wills it. In the end, it’s the oppressive amount of amassed cursed energy that gives away your destination. 

The onsen of black blood is lit as if prepared for your arrival. Two weeks, you remember. They’ve been preparing for this very moment. Your hand touches your stomach beneath the folds of Lord Sukuna’s robe. Soon your body will no longer be your own, if truly it ever was. A willing sacrifice to please your lord husband. And yourself. Some secret, selfish part of your soul delights in the thought of being Lord Sukuna’s chosen wife. The one to carry a piece of him inside you, to give birth to the future of the King of Curses. He regards the small smile playing on your lips with narrowed eyes, teeth nipping almost playfully at the roundness of your cheek. 

Lord Sukuna strips the two of you bare once more and carries you into the black water. It’s warm and thick, clinging to your skin in inky rivulets. Lord Sukuna slips back inside you with an ease of familiarity, your body stinging with the burning pleasure of overstimulation. His hold on you is far more careful now, his touches idle as he guides you to grind against him. A finger traces over your face, wet lines streaking your skin. You lavish in the attention, only vaguely recognizing that the shapes he’s drawing across your body mirror the black marks adorning his skin. It’s an act of possession. Marking you in an unmistakable way. You hope they stick, as proof of how utterly and irrevocably you belong to Lord Sukuna, the King of Curses. 

[ryosuku]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.1k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ SFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, established relationship (married), major character death, canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The canon will begin to matter less and less as this story goes on it seems, but it will all make sense I swear!

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

There are two bodies to burn. The sparse tinder is laid by careful hands. In the deep cold of winter the earth has so few things to spare, only the thin branches of a fledgling tree bowed over by the blistering wind. The wood is dead and brittle, splintering like breaking bones where it’s been bent into curving shapes. Tied with twine in a braided wreath of ashen wood to surround First Mistress’ body. She’s laid over a fine fur in her most sumptuous clothes and most lustrous jewels, the broken parts of her carefully placed where they’re meant to be attached to her body. Beneath her clothes, parts of Jurina are missing. A bit of flesh flayed from her ribs, a gouge taken out of her thigh. There’s a thin square of white silk laid over her face, hiding the claw masks and the fissure where her head was nearly torn from her body. The wound flutters in and out of sight as the wind stirs the edge of the white sheet, flashing the curving groove where Lord Sukuna fit his teeth into her flesh and tore. 

The fire catches quickly after the priests say their rites, burrowing like red mice through the wood. Burning tongues leapt from wood to fabric, outfitting Jurina’s body in a brilliant, golden shroud for only a moment before her clothes are burning away and the fire takes to skin. The perfumed wood dampens the scent of burning flesh but it will soon become overpowering as the small crowd gathers to pay their respects before the pyre. There’s weeping for mistress and servant alike as Jurina’s personal maid chose to continue serving her in the afterlife. There was little attention given to her body. She’s simply laid beside Jurina with her collar of bruises from the white silk that had choked the life from her throat. Her name escapes you and you wonder if she has a family that needs to be informed of their loss. A raven was already sent out by Uraume to inform Jurina’s clan of her demise at the hands of the King of Curses. 

It’s your hope that Uraume elected to omit the extent of the damage done to Jurina’s body so that her family might have some peace in their ignorance. The winter winds snuff out lives like blowing out candles, ravaging weaker bodies with boiling fevers and gasping coughs that never seem to pass. It’s just the right season for pneumonia and illnesses of that ilk. Let them think that she went with some semblance of peace. It’s a selfish sort of wish as you watch the snow hiss and turn to steam over Jurina’s funeral pyre. It would absolve you of blame, remove the hand you had in her death with your careless words. Poisonous tongue spelling out her death. She’d been staring at you when she died, or perhaps she was dead before her glassy eyes rolled towards you standing at the edge of the engawa, snow dotting your lashes and melting into moisture when the tears wouldn’t come. You hadn’t wanted her death but you can’t find it in yourself to be saddened by the loss. 

Even so, you clasp your hands in prayer along with the remaining Mistresses. Still three despite Fourth Mistress’ arrival. Now Second Mistress is the wife with the most seniority and yet she stands to your right, a subtle show of deference that hadn’t been there only so many hours before. The night has stretched on for a small eternity, bleeding into daylight without reprieve as the household scrambled to deal with Jurina’s death. Messengers were sent out in the waning storm to fetch priests from the village, servants were dispatched to clean Jurina’s chamber and erect a platform for her to be burned upon. Tatami mats were changed and floors were scrubbed. The blood soaked courtyard has been renewed with another layer of downy snow to cover the splatters of blood where Lord Sukuna dragged Jurina outside to make a spectacle of her death. He tore at her with a deranged sort of satisfaction, grinning when he saw you watching, as if he’d only been waiting for a moment to tear her apart. She burst open between his teeth and claws like a ripe fruit, spilling across the snow in a brilliant spray of crimson. And all you did was watch, trying to remind yourself that Jurina wasn’t like you. She was still human in a way that you weren’t. 

Her dedication was to herself above all else, perhaps her clan came second. Lord Sukuna wasn’t a priority in her mind. Her world was vast, reaching far beyond the bounds of the Ryomen estate. During meals she would tut over letters she received from her clan, bemoaning the poor marriage of a cousin or cooing over the news of a new baby. She needled the servants for gossip whenever they returned from an errand outside the estate. Jurina was just a woman and she died as a woman would at the hands of a being like Lord Sukuna; screaming. She’ll be happy to know that he isn’t in attendance to watch her flesh and bones be rendered to ash, her favorite maid beside her. When the smoke clears they’ll be swept into urns or perhaps tossed out with the dirt swept off the engawa. It’s your hope that she’ll be sent home. It’s clear she never belonged here and it would be cruel for this forbidden corner of the world to be her final resting place. 

There’s also a piece of you that thinks she doesn’t deserve the honor of being laid to rest here. Though you suppose decisions like this will be left up to you now that there is no First Mistress to lead the household. Lord Sukuna has made it plainly clear that those responsibilities and honors are now yours. So when a servant comes to ask what should be done when the fire is quelled you send them to find some proper urns of expensive material for Jurina and her maid to be gathered in before being sent off. It doesn’t escape your notice that the servant stopped quite a ways away from you. In fact everyone seems to be giving you a breadth that borders on excessive. As if so much as breathing a breath of air that passed through your lungs will have their body burning next. Everyone that already treated you like a piece of glass is suddenly too fearful to even raise their head in your presence. It’s only Uraume that speaks to you as they had hours ago, entering your chamber with only the lightest knock on the shoji. They find you plucking tunelessly at the strings of your koto with only candlelight as your company. 

The midday sky is gray and dim, still choked with the clouds of the breaking storm. Dull light bleeds through the thick paper of the shoji leading outside. The faintest firelight as Jurina continues to burn. 

“Have you slept?” Uraume asks, coming to sit beside you. You haven’t. There’d been no time to sleep. Hours have passed since Lord Sukuna returned home, since he took you in the bathhouse, since he tore Jurina apart. Hours spent making arrangements and delegating tasks so that this funeral could be held in a timely manner. It’s doubtless that if Lord Sukuna had presided over the proceedings he would’ve simply sent Jurina to the kitchen and used her bones to pick his teeth when he was through with the meal. It would’ve been an honor to be so wholly consumed by her husband but Jurina likely wouldn’t have seen it as the blessing it was. To be so desired that Lord Sukuna wanted to devour every bit of her. To use her body as a means to bolster his own. A shiver trickles down your back as Uraume gathers your hair to comb, the chill of their skin cutting deep. 

“The raven you sent to her family… Did you say how she died?” You ask carefully. 

“She died serving her king.” They say evenly. Of all the people bowing to your lord husband, it is only Uraume that understands you completely. The servants were wailing and whispering about the cruelty of their lord but what cruelty was there? A doll doesn’t despair when the owner breaks it. Jurina’s porcelain face was cracked and her straw body torn open, but what higher purpose is there than to serve the whims of something greater than yourself? Jurina was ill fit to be Lord Sukuna’s wife. She didn’t understand duty or sacrifice. She didn’t understand her place beneath him. Not in the way that you did. A flower doesn’t question the might of a tree nor the warmth of the sun. 

“How do you feel?” Uraume asks, leaning closer than any servant would dare. If they were anyone else, you might stifle at the audacity, but it feels as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth. As Lord Sukuna’s wife, you are an extension of his being. And no one would dare to touch him so intimately without permission. No one except Uraume. They chuckle and ask, “Are you happy?”

“I’m happy. Always.” The feeling is innate. Whether Jurina lived or died, your happiness would remain the same. There’s no great pleasure taken in her demise, nor is there the pang of loss. It feels like something akin to relief. A thorn finally removed from your skin. The itching, burning sting of her presence has been removed at last and you’ll only be strengthened by it. It’s already begun. The servants had come to you for guidance once the house physician had declared Jurina dead. There was no need for the commotion of an official declaration. She looked like a butchered animal by the end. And when the fire dies, nothing will be left of her but ash and memories. She’ll be swept up and sent away, forgotten with the melting snow. 

“Did Jurina serve her purpose? Truly?” 

“No,” Uraume answers without hesitation. “I don’t think any of Lord Sukuna’s wives have served their purpose. Certainly none more so than you, sweet girl.” There were never any honorifics between you and Uraume, at least not in private. They saw you as an equal, perfectly matched in your standing with Lord Sukuna. 

It feels like an honor you’ve yet to earn. Uraume would wage war for your lord husband. You could do no such thing. Even with your cursed technique, you’d be useless in battle. Uraume was lethal, a blade in Lord Sukuna’s hand where you were simply a plucked flower. A blade can be sharpened and polished, but sooner or later a flower would wilt and wither, and your time as a person of importance would pass. Whether it be by death or age, you’d soon be without purpose and Lord Sukuna would likely do away with you as he had Jurina. You can only hope he’ll honor you with consumption. To know that, even in death, you’d been of some minuscule use would soothe your soul. 

Sometimes you find yourself wondering if you’d become a curse, though the only thing worth cursing in this life would be Lord Sukuna. It wouldn’t be so unimaginable that you’d cling to your lord husband even after death. You pledged yourself to him in this life and the next. To go to a place where he cannot follow would be to abandon your vows. And you’d loath to be an unfaithful wife. 

“You’re tired,” Uraume said, though you hadn’t acknowledged the lethargy yourself. They finish the careful task of combing through the last section of your hair before urging you to lay down. 

“Shall I prepare your tea?” You shake your head. It’s become a nightly ritual to have tea before you sleep, but there is no strength left in your body to wait for Uraume to prepare it. Usually the task was left to your personal maid but she is nowhere to be found. Uraume has made the offer but you imagine it to be a simple courtesy rather than a genuine offer. They aren’t your servant to be ordering about. That honor is reserved solely for your lord husband no matter if they offered the service themselves. 

“Sleep for now,” they hum, “I’ll wake you if there is a need for your presence.” Which is to say, if Lord Sukuna calls for you. No other task would be worthy of rousing you from your rest. They tuck you into your futon and blow out each candle before leaving you alone in the darkness. There’s still the faint flickering of the pyre crackling in the courtyard, but it’s easily ignored as fatigue settles over you. 

It seems as though no time has passed at all when you rouse to wakefulness, yet you feel perfectly rested. The light slipping in from outside is that same pale orange glow that sent you to sleep; reminiscent of firelight, yet there is no crackling of burning wood and smoldering flesh. Instead there’s the faint whistling call of the wind and the strangest sound of scratching. At first you imagine it to be a wayward branch scraping against the eaves or the sound of geta scuffing against the wooden walkway. But the sound is too close, too concise to be an untrimmed tree or heavy-footed servant. It was closer to the sound of woodwork. The same noise that preceded Jurina’s pyre as branches were cut and stripped of the snow-sodden bark so the fire would not pittle and hiss over damp wood. The faint whittling noise comes from outside. The sound of scratching sounds nearer still. 

In the gray-gold light, you see the edge of something shift like a shadow dancing between flickering candlelight. But there are no candles burning. No shadows dancing. The shape in the corner of your room seems far more tangible than any trick of the light. It twitches and writhes like an overturned beetle, wriggling between the seam of the adjacent walls like water leaking through a crack. 

Waves of cursed energy surge from the corner like miasma, permeating the room. The scent of it stings your nose and clings to your tongue with the acidity of poison. The curse moans deep and haunting. An almost lyrical sound, as if a dozen voices are folding over each other, like plucking every string of a koto at once. A discordant whimpering undercut by the sound of digging and clawing as it peels away the planks of wood to make space for itself. The walls begin to squeal and splinter, tearing away to allow the winter morning and the curse inside. 

Its bulging eyes wriggle, protruding like those of a frog, and twitching as though it’s a hardship to focus them both so singularly on something. One arm falls away from its scratching and three more follow. The weight of each limb hitting the floor sounds much like a bag of peaches tumbling in a cart. It twitches, body contacting inward until it’s a thick bulging ball of pale flesh before it flattens and drags itself forward on its four arms. It moans again, bearing its long, blunt teeth. Again, it moans, and you think you hear the number three. Then again with more clarity,

“Three, three, three.” It whimpers ceaselessly as it drags its bulging body towards you. Its skin is shapeless and loose like a boiled dumpling, contracting into a thick mass before stretching thin as it drags itself towards you with the agility of a caterpillar. Its face is snow white with red horns peeking out from beneath a hood of pale flesh. For a moment, you consider a monster trying to hide its true face, laughing at the absurdity of it. The sound of hysteria bubbles from your lips louder than any other had, and it only seemed to incense the creature. It dragged itself closer with more ferocity. The moaning chant of “three, three, three,” only gets louder. 

When it’s close enough, it slashes at you, slow and clumsy like a child playing swords with a stick. The morning chill overtakes you as you leap from the futon in a cloud of silk and fur. The curse hisses, then tries again, and when it misses once more the noise it makes is something like a wail. It sounds far too anguished, far too human. The sound sinks beneath your skin, deep enough to rattle your heart and you shiver in your hakama. Your own voice is lost somewhere in your throat, tangled between your quickened breaths and thundering heartbeat. 

Curses aren’t meant to speak, they’re incapable of it. And yet this one reaches towards you with taloned fingers, groaning “three, three, three.” 

It lumbers through the room, weight knocking over side tables. It swings its thick arms, claws grasping to rend your flesh from your bone as it chases you. Needles prick at the soles of your feet as you stumble through the hole torn through the wall, splinters of wood stippling through your socks as the curse herds you onto the engawa. The prickling of wood shards gives way to something wet, though far too warm to be ice melting off the eaves. Your eyes are far too intent on the creature dragging itself out of the hole it burrowed into your room to spare a glance at the ground, and you go from staring at the pale creature to looking up at the light sky. 

The cold is immediately, stabbing into you like a dozen blades as snow clouds your lashes. A cloud of it drifts down around you, stirred through the air as you land. Gray clouds roll by overhead as you make a wheezing noise. The air rattle inside your lungs as you try to regain the breath that had been knocked from your chest in the fall from the engawa. It hadn’t been a far drop but you hardly had breath in your lungs to start, too startled to take more than shallow gasps of air. The curse comes poking over the edge of the walkway, tossing itself into the snow beside you. 

“Get back.” Your voice is as thin as the wind whistling through the courtyard. “Stay away from me.” The curse wails again. Deeper as if it meant to give the toneless sound meaning. “Three, three, THREE!” It says it as if it’s your name, reaching towards you through the snow. Belatedly, you realize that it is your name. You are Third Mistress. Third, Three. The curse bellows the word again, moving like a slug through mud as it drags its malformed body through the bank of snow. Still on your back, steeped in the chill seeping through your thin robe, you watch as the curse reaches towards you with grasping claws. There’s a pondering to your gaze as your eyes watch the dull glint of the morning light wink off the edge of its claws. Jurina had always been so preoccupied with her perfect nails. A talon finds your cheek, scratching a burning line across your face before the connected limb bursts like a crushed melon. 

Hot viscera replaces the frigid kiss of the wind as bright purple blood and bits of white flesh rain down over your face. It’s nearly warm enough to scald, made worse by the shrieks of pain ringing in your ears as the curse writhes in the snow. Clouds of frost dance around its wriggling body though it doesn’t seem to move far. With muscles tensed and shivering, you shove yourself onto your elbows to see over the veil of churning snow. The curse is pinned to the ground with spears of ice. Wailing and thrashing to be free. The stump of its arm still reaches for you, joined by the three that remain. You find your knees, then slowly your feet, only to be knocked into the snow once more as a pillar of ice shatters and a flailing hand reaches towards you in another spray of violet blood. The feeling burns hot as fire, spreading through your body like sparks through a dry brush. Warmth blooms through your side, seeping over your hip and down the length of your thigh as blood weeps from the wound torn through your side. 

The feeling of warmth blooms between your fingers as you press your hands against the gouge taken from your torso. It’s a strange, hollow feeling. As if your body has yet to accept the prospect of pain just yet. It comes in waves, lapping over you in an ebb and flow as your vision begins to swim. Everything is hot as fire and cold as ice. The world looks as though you’re seeing it through a cloud of steam, rippling and fading as you blink through the blood loss. This feeling isn’t new and yet the feeling hasn’t lessened in its intensity. There’s a sound that you find familiar. Frantic and sharp as a bird chirping at the rising sun. It grows colder still, though there’s comfort in the chill as you recognize the shape of arms wrapping around you. It hurts as they squeeze at the hole gaping in your side, still weeping red tears of blood through the silk of your hakama. The chirping turns to feral growls, a wolf bearing its teeth, and the curse wails anew. It sounds like Jurina if only vaguely. Shrill and bitter. The ground had only just been dusted with a cover of snow, hiding the place her blood had been spilled. Now it was your turn. 

Dazedly, you blink up towards the sky, lashes shining with tears or melting snowflakes as a face swims through your periphery. The soft chirping returns and you try to piece together the sounds over the weeping curse. A voice that you recognize. It soothes your fluttering heart, lessens the flames still burning where part of your body is missing, and more is still spilling onto the snow. A red puddle blooming over a sea of white. It reminds you of Uraume’s hair, and reminds you that their voice has always been melodic like birdsong. It must be them holding you so gently, speaking soft words to you though your hearing has faded to the sound of your blood and breath, like hiding your head beneath a pillow. Something cold and soft brushes over your face and you imagine it might be the gentle fingers of your protector, but your eyes can’t find anything other than the vaguest shapes. 

Everything has melded into a light wash. Gray sky, white snow, ivory-skinned curse. Everything is white until it isn’t. A sudden burst of color as a shade of sunset pink appears overhead. So far above that, for a moment, you truly think it to be the sun. But the sun has no teeth to bare, no eyes to watch those beneath its shining face. But, perhaps, he can be considered your sun as Lord Sukuna sneers at the curse still sniveling a few paces ahead. It’s pinned and bleeding. Pierced with long shards of Uraume’s ice formation. Lord Sukuna’s towering form stoops to look at the creature before his sights are set on you. He reaches out and for a moment you expect the gentility of a caress against your frigid cheek. Instead his hand closes around your neck, choking the last dregs of air from your lungs as he lifts you from Uraume’s arms. His height leaves you dangling far above the ground, legs too numb to kick though you have no reason to protest such rough treatment. Punishment is in order. 

How shameful you are. The daughter of an unimpeachable sorcerer clan unable to defend herself. The wife of the King of Curses being maimed by the hands of another. Your life was not for anyone but your lord husband’s to take and yet you feel the familiar feeling of your body giving out. Made worse by the way Lord Sukuna’s fist is closed tight around your throat. Your head feels swollen, vision darkened as the pressure bursts the capillaries in your eyes. Lord Sukuna regards you with vague interests. His four eyes dance over your face, likely taking in the way your lips must be deepening to an asphyxiated blue as the veins in your face lift to the surface of your skin. You can’t bring yourself to fight against him, hands doing little more than holding his wrist as he keeps you aloft with one hand. Another comes to stroke against the wound in your side, claws raking over the ragged flesh. It feels more like pressure than pain as the feeling fades from your body. Lord Sukuna says something but it’s only a dull rumble in your uncomprehending ears. All that’s left is a ringing, then a sound like a branch being torn from a tree. Then nothing. 

A lingering hollowness haunts the light floating before your eyes in clouds of flickering red. It burns through your eyelids as your lashes flutter, eyes disobeying your intentions to open them. It feels like pulling a string with no tension and expecting the puppet to move even still. No part of your body wishes to do more than twitch as you claw towards consciousness like climbing a mountain. First your toes begin to move as intended, then your fingers. It feels like filling an empty cup, bit by bit the water rises until it’s spilling over the brim and your eyes flutter open at last. 

The warmth of wakefulness is nearly overwhelming. Hot as the stifling heat at the height of summer as your eyes watch the glow of the braziers flickering across the walls. Sweat trickles over your skin beneath the layers of bedding pulled up to your chin, gathering between your breasts and at the nape of your neck. It’s made worse by the tackiness in your throat. It’s hard to swallow as you shift in your nest of blankets, moving with the grace of a newborn fawn. This isn’t the rising from a fitful sleep but the emergence of a newly formed butterfly escaping its cocoon. You move with a practiced delicacy, wings still soft against your back as you strip the layers away from your sweltering skin. How long have you been asleep? 

The light blooming outside the shoji gives nothing away. It could be early morning or midday and the faint glow of the winter sun remains the same. You turn away from the doors leading outside and regard the inner shoji with vague interest. There’s faint hints of knowledge in your mind. It drifts just beyond comprehension like fish dancing just below the surface of a pond, bright and fleeting as you try to grasp at the thought that won’t form. The walls around you are unfamiliar yet you can’t be certain of why. The scent in the air is foreign in a way you can’t place. Everything is wrong. A frightening sort of foreignness as you try to rattle any modicum of knowledge loose from the haze of unconsciousness. The tatami is cold underfoot, your bare toes pressing into the woven mats as you wobble towards the door on the tips of your toes. This much you know. 

There’s the broadest strokes of understanding. The door slides open when you pull, red light giving way to darkness as the halls stretch out in either direction almost endlessly. The embers burning in the braziers only reach so far into the yawning blackness so you set forward blindly. One hand trails along the left wall, fingertips grazing along the screens painted with falling leaves. The halls twist and turn, darkness fading to gray as your eyes adjust to the sinuous corridors. At each corner you turn left with the vague knowledge that it will eventually lead you somewhere. The last hallway doesn’t end so much as an obstacle appears in your path. A slim figure cuts across your vision, a burning stroke of white standing out in the dimness. Their face is familiar as is the word they whisper into the darkness. The dulcet sound knocks something loose in your head. Your name. As if you’d been underwater since your eyes opened, the broad strokes of knowledge rattling about in your head are slowly refined. Returning to life is always jarring. Without guidance it takes some time for you to realize yourself, to reclaim your memories and mannerisms. Your mother had said you were like a puppet brought to life before your mind returned, always the last thing to heal from the ordeal of death. 

“Lord Sukuna will be glad to hear you’ve awakened.”

“How long was I asleep?” A gentle way to ask for how long your body had been dead. Faintly, you remember the wound in your side, Lord Sukuna’s hand about your delicate throat. From the inside of your body, breaking your neck always sounds like a tree being cleaved in two. A thick tearing noise that echoes dully in your ears before the unknown sound of death swallows you. That you never remember. A small miracle considering how often you’ve found yourself being relieved of your life. Drowning, choking, burning. And yet your body mends itself without fail, becoming stronger for the pain you endured. You touch your side and wonder what it will take to pierce the skin there in this lifetime; because there have already been so many. 

“A fortnight.” Uraume tells you. Usually a broken neck would not take so long to heal. But the damage is rarely paired with the viscera of a curse attack. It had been a lucky thing that Lord Sukuna had honored you with death at his hands. The first since you’ve entered his household as his third wife. If the curse had taken your life, you imagine there might not have been another life to live. No death had ever come at the hands of a curse or anything imbued with cursed energy. If it can keep a sorcerer from becoming a curse, it can likely keep you from reviving with more strength than before. It would’ve been a great shame to have been killed by a curse when your lord husband was so near. An insult to allow anyone other than him to determine what happens to his wife. His third wife. His favorite wife. 

Uraume leads without much grandeur, simply walking a few steps ahead of you. The path becomes clearer now. Still dark and unlit but there’s a familiarity to it that hadn’t been there only moments ago. The air is chilling as Uraume leads the way outside, meandering along the engawa until they jump from the edge, their landing softened by the clouds of snow still blanketing the ground. It seems less than it had been when your eyes had last opened, as if it hadn’t snowed heavily since the night of Jurina’s death. Yet it was still winter and you clutch the folds of your hakama closer around your shoulders as Uraume trails ahead. Clouds like wisps of smoke puff from between your lips as shivers tremble through your renewed body. If they feel the cold, Uraume doesn’t acknowledge it. The cold is something intrinsic to your lord husband’s most favored servant. Even in the height of summer there’s a slight chill to their presence. Likely a consequence of their cursed technique. 

Uraume leads the way past the unattached buildings that are only frequented by servants, towards the far bounds of the estate. There’s never been any reason for you to be this far from the main house. You imagine these are places where things you never think of are stored, preserved foods and wagons for trips into town. The armory is the only building you recognize. A haze of cursed energy looms over the building like a shroud. It’s the same for the building that Uraume seems to be leading you towards. The air around it is thick with the presence of great power. Both auras are familiar in different ways. Just as each person seems to carry their own distinct scent, cursed energy has an element of individuality. Even with your eyes closed and ears plugged, you’d know the approach of your lord husband by his cursed energy alone. He is inside. As is another being that you imagine must be the curse that had attacked you. Their energy is recognizable in a fractured way. Like a dream slipping away as soon as you wake. 

Uraume announces your arrival as they open the door. The room is bathed in gold, lit by dozens of lanterns all flickering in tandem. The room is modest in size and made smaller by what must be hundreds–if not thousands–of talismans hanging from the walls and ceiling. All in various sizes and written in different hands. Some of the ink has the neatness of a learned scholar while others have the shakiness of illiteracy, though the quality of the script hardly matters to what is written. Each tag holds the power to bind. As do the thickly woven ropes wrapped right around the pale curse that attacked you all those days ago. It gurgles and strains within the ropes hung with more binding talismans, bulging eyes bobbing in its head as it tries to fix its gaze towards the sound of your approach. You hardly notice, eyes fixed on the vision of your lord husband standing over the creature with his spear in hand. 

Lord Sukuna takes over your vision, eclipsing everything with his daunting figure. He takes his eyes away from the curse bound at his feet with an unhurried sort of interest, and the weight of his gaze makes you bloom like a flower beneath the kiss of the sun. Red eyes piercing as burning iron stab through you, pinning you in place so absolutely that your knees buckle. He sees the weakness before you can fall and catches you by the waist, pulling you against him. Your eyes fall away from his face, head bowing as you try to find the words to apologize for your mistake; your death. He silences you before you can find enough words to express the deep rooted feeling of inadequacy. 

“The misstep has already been punished.” When you dare to look up, Lord Sukuna is looking towards Uraume. With a sharp nod of his head he dismisses his right hand attendant to leave the two of you alone with the curse that tried to take your life, tried to claim something that belongs to your lord husband alone. Not even you have such control of your life. You’ve heard tales of unhappy concubines seeking death in the face of neglect and mistreatment. Though you’ve always found yourself spoiled in your marriage, you can’t imagine that you could ever take your own life even if you were set aside and forgotten. Lord Sukuna will always be your world. The sun doesn’t cease to exist simply because it has set. The darkness of night must be endured to enjoy the light of day. You’ll suffer anything at the hands of your lord husband if it pleases him. Your life is his to manage as he sees fit. 

“My Lord,” you try to speak, but you’re silenced once more. 

“Don’t start. I’ve already told you you’re forgiven. Besides, words are useless without action. If you truly seek forgiveness then prove it.” He takes his hand away from you and nods towards the curse still squirming in its bonds. Its eyes wheel this way and that until one finally finds its way into a position to see you. The aborted struggles seem to renew with the vigor you’d seen upon its arrival into your chamber. The ropes burn red welts into its pale skin where it writhes and strains, spittle dribbling from its mouth as its empty whining turns to hissing yowls. 

“Three, three, three.” The creature spits, straining towards you with the singularity of an arrow launched from a bow. Lord Sukuna stands behind you, a pillar of strength and a post keeping you from turning away. One of his hands finds yours, pressing his spear against your palm. It’s heavy and your arm trembles with the strength it takes to hold it. His intentions are clear. Kill the curse. It takes great strength and both arms to lift Lord Sukuna’s spear. All of your weight pitches forward as you drive the three-pronged blade through the curse’s head. Blood sprouts like a fountain as the creature screams. The sound pierces through your ears, ringing in your head as you drive the weapon further through its head in a rush to silence the noise. It chuffs and squeals, thrashing against the ropes with slowly waning strength until, at last, it goes still and silent. 

For a moment the pale lump of bleeding, bulging flesh takes on a shimmery red glow like flames burning within ash and ember. It grows then fades as the creature sags in a haze of dissipating cursed energy. The only movement left is the blood dripping from the spear still lodged in its head, forming a puddle on the dirt floor. Perhaps a flower will sprout from the soil wetted with purple blood though you doubt something so delicate could spring from the death of such a violent creature. Kneeling next to the puddle you touch the spot of dampness and ask the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue since the curse first spoke. 

“Was this First Mistress Jurina?” It had to be. It would explain the vague familiarity about the curse’s energy. Like the scent of someone lingering in their clothes after they’ve worn them, Jurina’s cursed energy tainted the new signature of the cursed spirit. Lord Sukuna barks out a laugh. 

“There’s no need to be so respectful of the dead. Jurina is no longer my wife, nor was she ever worth your deference.”

“She was your first wife,” you mumble, lowering your head against the admonishment you expect to meet your stubbornness. It doesn’t come. 

“They are wives in name only. Perhaps I laid with them, but there has been no woman above you since we wed.” 

The wedding had been something of a formality performed in the absence of your lord husband. The vows had been spoken before your family and the deed was done long before you completed the arduous journey from your home to Lord Sukuna’s estate. You were his wife for some time before you met and, truly, you will be his wife forever. Not even death could sever your allegiance. It makes you wonder if one day you’ll become a curse too. Some amalgamation of your grief and anguish. The dark, rotted feeling of failure as you abandon your lord husband in death. It’s unthinkable when your body has been blessed with such resilience and yet you know that there may come a day when death is no longer like sleep, your eyes will close forever, the butterfly dead at last. It brings a mournful feeling to your heart. 

“Would you let me curse you, my lord?” Jurina had become a vengeful spirit fueled by her hatred of you. She’d cursed you in her death and you can only hope to be so attached to your lord husband, even in death. It’s the dividing line between you, the gate guarding you from the rest. In her last moments, Jurina hadn’t been thinking of Lord Sukuna. Her husband, her murderer. Instead he eyes had looked to you and her soul had screamed to tear at you the way Lord Sukuna had shredded through her body. It was with no small amount of pain that Jurina had lost her life and even in the midst of death she had found it in herself to hate you with such passion that it burned even after she died. If she had hatred you wished to burn with love in your afterlife, to be so consumed by the flames of your desire that your essence will cling to Lord Sukuna even in death. 

“Would you curse me?” He asks sardonically. 

“I think I would.” There’s a bashfulness to your voice as your eyes stay towards the ground, watching Jurina’s purple blood seep into the soil. Lord Sukuna places a finger under your chin, sharpened nail digging into the soft skin beneath your jaw. When your eyes lift towards his face he’s smiling, a stark baring of fanged teeth. He smiles like a wolf and you’re the rabbit a hair’s breadth away from being bitten. 

“You’ll have to die first.” His tone is peculiar. There’s a hint of humor though it’s colored with something darker, as if Lord Sukuna is angered by the prospect of you abandoning him in such a way. 

“I will someday.” You remind him. Your Chrysalis technique may revive you from traumatic deaths, but a gentle departure, a final breath gasped in the night, is likely to go unrenewed. A winter frost through which no spring flowers will bloom. Nature cannot be denied and to live is to die. 

Lord Sukuna cups your face in his hand, clawed fingers digging into your cheeks. “How little you know, woman.” 

He says no more and you decide that he must know something that you don’t. He is leagues more worldly and likely does know things beyond your understanding. It isn’t your place to pry if he won’t tell you freely. He must see a thousand questions behind your eyes but he neglects to answer any of them. Instead he pulls his hand away from your face and the warmth of his skin against yours is replaced by the winter cold. There are no burning coals in this room. A shiver snakes through your body, and that Lord Sukuna acknowledges. He removes his outer robe and drapes it around your shoulder. Immediately you’re drowning in the warmth of his body still lingering in the silk. It’s far too long for you and you gather the massive swathe of fabric into your arms to keep it from dirtying on the ground. Lord Sukuna tuts and picks you up, easily keeping his clothes from dragging along the dirt. Cradling you in one arm he pulls his spear from Jurina’s second corpse with another. It comes loose with a sound that reminds you of chopping vegetables. 

Lord Sukuna calls for Uraume and they appear in an instant as if they had been by his side all along. There’s an unspoken order that passes between them and your lord husband’s servant accepts it with a resolute nod. Then he says, “come, woman,” as though you could go anywhere else while still held aloft in his arms. It’s so different from the last time he held you, his fist locked around your delicate throat. Now his arms cradle beneath your knees and across your back as you lean against the warmth of his chest. The light of the sun is a bright wash of hazy white after spending some time in the dimness of the talisman room. You expect that Lord Sukuna will take you back to the main house, but he continues off in the direction nearing the furthermost bounds of the estate. 

“What will happen to Jurina now?” You dare to ask. Her human form had already been burned, but you weren’t sure what would become of her cursed form. It would be cruel to send it back to her family and burning wasn’t meant for curses. A human body could be purified in flames in preparation for the next life, but a curse could not shed the truth of its nature even in death. 

“I’ll show you,” Lord Sukuna said cryptically, still walking towards the building that stood alone on the outer reaches of the estate. Like the talisman room and the armory, there was a heady cloud of cursed energy blanketing the structure, though it was far more potent than anything you’d ever encountered aside from Lord Sukuna. His cursed energy seemed as deep and unending as the ocean and this strange building was just as unfathomably thick with traces of cursed energy. It was nearly overwhelming despite your constant exposure to your lord husband. It was ominous. Terrifying in its foreignness. Were you not held by Lord Sukuna, you might’ve run from this place. But there is an inherent safety in his arm. Your lord husband wouldn’t take you to a place that he could not protect you. 

“What is this place?” You ask quietly, as if speaking too loudly would rouse something from the aura of darkness. 

“An onsen of sorts.” It had the warmth of a bathhouse though the sound of babbling water was traded for that of rain, like a rushing waterfall as Lord Sukuna opened the door. It seemed just like the onsen of the main house. Stone floors around a deep pool, yet there was no water here. Instead the pit where a hot spring might’ve been was filled with something black and vicious. The dripping sound came from the strange hammock hung far above the pool. That same dark liquid seeping through the large patchwork of fabric. And when you look closer, there are those same talisman symbols painted on the bulging material. 

“This is where Jurina will be taken,” Lord Sukuna told you, “so that she might finally be of use.” Just as Uraume said, none of his wives have served their purpose. It makes you wonder what purpose Lord Sukuna would have you serve. You dare to ask. 

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” he says vaguely. “You’re my wife, and I expect that you’ll serve me as a wife should.” 

His words send a shock down your spine. What task have you been neglecting? You were raised in an affluent household as the daughter of a large and prosperous clan. The ways of womanhood have been stitched into your brain from the moment you were born. The proper way to act and speak, the things a wife must pay heed to if she wishes to keep a well run household. Though you’re only the third in line of authority–second, now–you’ve taken up most tasks to do with the household. Jurina hadn’t the patience and Second Mistress was always sequestered in her room. Such a sad girl like a flower wilting at the height of spring. She cried at Jurina’s funeral where few others could find the fondness for it. It was you that the head household maid reported to and the cooks asked about which meals should be prepared on which days. At first, you simply thought it was the convenience of receiving prompt answers, but now you know that it was simply expected. You were the favorite, the de facto lady of the house. So what could there be that you weren’t doing to your lord husband’s standards?

“My apologies, my lord. Whatever I’ve been lacking I will–” His hand covers your mouth, ear to ear. 

“Enough,” he groans. Then he says, “Children. A wife should give her husband children. You’ll serve this purpose for me.” There’s a fleeting hint of fondness in his voice that sends a twinge through your heart. Lord Sukuna is asking you to bear his children. You weren’t married into the household as his main wife and yet he’s given you the highest honor of being the mother of his heirs. A warmth blooms across your cheeks and down your neck, a flush of excitement igniting through your body. 

“As many as you’d like, my lord.” It’s what’s expected of you though you; an expectation rather than a choice, but you’re excited to fulfill the role even still. Though, part of you had considered it an impossibility. Lord Sukuna had been human once but something in him had changed, gone beyond that of an ordinary man. But he is a man even still. Desiring progeny, a legacy beyond his own being. To know that he wants to use your body for such an honorable purpose washes you in a great sense of pride. It will be your womb that births the King of Curses his heirs. Little pink haired babies with your nose and their father’s four eyes. But pride slowly turns to contemplative anguish. 

If you were meant to give Lord Sukuna his children, it is nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t conceived in the year that you’ve been married. Lord Sukuna did nothing sparingly. He indulged to his heart’s content. In blood and carnage, in food, and in bed. He laid with you often enough that a child should’ve come long ago and yet you’ve yet to feel the stirring of a baby quickening within you. 

The room dips and swoops around you as your eyes lose focus, lost in thought. What was wrong with you that you hadn’t yet fallen pregnant? Your hands clutch at your stomach, empty beneath the layers of your clothes. A hidden fragment of your heart wonders if it’s truly your fault at all. Lord Sukuna had three wives, and while you were most favored there were times when he took the others to bed, a time before you entered his household. And yet the estate remains empty of heirs. Though you don’t dare to entertain the thought longer than a moment, it flashes through your mind as quick as an arrow. Perhaps it was Lord Sukuna that was obstructing the blessing of a child. Still, your hands remain on your stomach, caressing the place meant to bear the fruits of life. Since birth you were told it would be your only honor in this life. To give a man a son to further his glory and continue his legacy. Lord Sukuna isn’t in need of such a successor, yet he’s asked for them even still.  

“You are truly too valuable to die,” Lord Sukuna says, lifting your eyes towards his. They’re piercing as red flames, burning into your face with such intensity that it makes you want to wither in his arms, like a flower left with no water. “Jurina was poisoning you. Every night. And yet your body was kind enough to preserve itself for me.” Because what other reason would you have to defy death so vehemently? If Lord Sukuna says the purpose of your cursed technique is to keep you by his side, then who are you to deny it?

“You like tea.” Lord Sukuna says, passing the pad of his thumb over your lips. “Dark tea. Dark enough to mask the color of anything added to it. Jurina was bribing your little maid to slip poison into your tea every night before bed. Nothing lethal. She meant to poison your womb and purge any seed I might’ve planted inside you.” He laughs scornfully, “I thought it was jealousy, at first, but she was drinking it, too, and feeding it to the second one. Likely the work of her family urging her to cripple my reign by blocking the chances of an heir.” 

Another hand brushes against your stomach, sweeping away your desperate grasping. 

“I chose you well, woman. Though the poison did as it was made to and purged your body of any child that might’ve grown, you healed. What made Jurina and the other barren hardly touched you. As soon as you closed your eyes your body repaired itself. Uraume thinks you might be close to building a tolerance for it since your technique heals as well as strengthens. I might start feeding you poisons to fortify you against future attacks.” It was so terribly wonderful that you knew as soon as he said it that you’d gladly eat anything your lord husband asked without question. The poison might even taste sweet on your tongue if it was prepared by him. 

“Things will be different now. You will give me children. Strong children.” He says it with an air of finality, as if you’d ever deny him anything, though you’re uncertain of how strong any child of yours will be. Of course, your maiden clan is a powerful one, but you’re hardly a descendant of the three elite sorcerer clans. Jurina had been a Zenin. Her blood would’ve given him strong children. Second Mistress is a Kamo and her children would carry that superiority in their blood. As a humble Hoga, you were the least desirable of his brides to have his children with. Unless Fourth Mistress was of a lower clan than even you. 

“If I may, my lord,” he grunts his annoyance but allows you to continue. “If you want children, why did you not have them with Jurina? Certainly a Zenin would be better suited to creating a powerful heir. My cursed technique is unheard of even within my own clan.” You remind him. It would break your heart to disappoint him with a child that couldn’t even do you the service of inheriting your technique. And there likely would be no second chance to amend the error. 

“I don’t want your technique, woman, though it would surely be of great use. That’s what this place is for.” He sweeps his arm towards the pool of darkness gathered in the center of the room. The longer you look the more it begins to turn from black to deep purple. Slowly, the immense level of cursed energy sufficing the air begins to make sense. The staccato waves that don’t seem to match any singular signature aside from Lord Sukuna’s. It is blood. The blood of curses. And Lord Sukuna had called it an onsen of sorts. Did he mean to bathe you in the blood of those he’d slain? To give your child over to these tainted waters to imbue them with its power? 

It made you fear for the child that had yet to be made. Of course, their purpose in life would be an extension of your own. To serve their lord father in any way that he asked, yet they’d still be a piece of you. A terrible selfish piece of your heart began to crack and splinter, breaking away in revolt of turning your baby into a monster. But what was Lord Sukuna if not a monster? Adoration did little to cleanse the crimes of the King of Curses. Any child you gave him would be heir to that title. With a few measured breaths, you resigned yourself to it. Your child would know no other way of life and you would love them as proudly as a mother could. They would always be a manifestation of the love you bear for your lord husband. His flesh and blood joined with yours to create a life. It felt like a privilege to even consider the thought. 

[ryosuku]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.9k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I got a bit carried away with this one. My love of psychological horror was clawing to be free but I think I kept it pretty contained…

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ✦ ⋆˙ engawa ┈ a hallway-like path surrounding the house ⋆ shoji ┈ a sliding door/divider ⋆ koto ┈ a Japanese zither/stringed instrument

The winter storm has leached everything into bleak shades of black and white, like ink on parchment. The trees are thick black strokes against the deep gray clouds, dusted with a thick layer of snow as flurries fall like stars through the courtyard. In the moonlight each snowflake shines like pearls, soft and lustrous as they dance on the wind. From the edge of the engawa it almost looks like staring into the great gaping mouth of a beast that’s swallowed the world, spears of ice hanging like jagged teeth from the edge of the roof, the wind shuddering through the estate in howling gusts. The cold night is scented with dreams of spring, sweet smelling coal burning in braziers, wafting gray wisps of floral-scented smoke into the wind. 

It’s quiet aside from the sharp whistling of the wind and the hissing of snow melting over hot coals, then, somewhere within the estate, a bell tolls for the Hour of the Rooster. Nightfall, despite the veil of darkness already laid out by the storm clouds. Suddenly there’s the sound of footsteps soft as summer rain, pattering through the estate and the shoji begin to blossom with the warmth of firelight as candles are lit throughout the sprawling house. More snow gathers in soft sheets over the courtyard before there’s a gentle knock to announce a soft-footed servant coming to renew the braziers and light the lanterns. The scent of lavender is renewed as the coals are sifted and replaced and the engawa is streaked with blushing shades of gold as the pink-tinged paper lanterns are lit in turn. 

Of all the rooms in the vast estate, yours is the most adorned. Which is to say, it looks as though your room is used for more than sleeping. There’s a modest desk with inks and paper, a small table for combs and perfumes, and a trunk for miscellaneous things beside the chest of drawers filled with kimono. When she’s lit the last lantern, you ask the girl to send for your personal maid. A dowry servant, though not originally one of yours. Life in this estate is fleeting in that way. 

An unbalanced teacup had been the undoing of the girl your father sent to accompany you in your marriage. Stained silk and scalded skin, later soaked with splatters of blood. But the tatami were changed and the kimono and girl were replaced. Your new maid is a bit older–a few years your senior–originally belonging to a woman that came before you. Certainly not First Mistress because she would loathe to see you even look upon anything of hers. No, she served a less honored concubine that wasn’t worthy of the title “wife,” even if it’s a hollow honor in itself. Still, your maid had belonged to the unknown mistress before she perished. It all happened before you were brought to the estate, but the haggard weight of the loss still sits heavy on her shoulders. Her face always looks like a crumpled piece of paper that someone tried to smooth flat, creased with hidden worries. She arrives quickly, kneeling to await her orders. 

“I’m happy,” you tell her. “A new Mistress is joining the family tonight, isn’t that right? Happy news.” The maid hums something to the tune of affirmation, long since grown used to your unflinchingly jovial disposition. She once asked if you wear a smiling mask throughout the day and take it off once you sleep. It’s a silly question, of course, but you like to imagine that you smile even in your sleep. There is nothing to be sad about. Living a life such as this is no different than a deer grazing in a meadow. There is nothing beyond the grass. Nothing farther than the horizon or higher than the tallest tree. What is there to be sad about when the world has been folded into something small enough to hold in your hands, a piece of origami meant to be appreciated and not pondered. There’s happiness in the simplicity that this life provides, though you seem to be the only one to realize it. 

The other two Mistresses of the house say that you should be locked up in a rice chest and left out to die. That it’s cruel to let you live in such a state of delusion. How little they know, yet it’s still too much. At times, it seems that they are far deeper in their minds than you’ve ever been. Caught up in worries and tribulations that haven’t plagued you in a long time, since you let go of your humanity. What use is pretending to be human when you’re treated like a pet. Treasured and pampered but still inferior to the master of the house. Because your husband has no true use for human brides. In keeping the three of you, he has honored each of your families with the knowledge that their blood has produced something too intriguing to kill off just yet. Perhaps if he desires an offspring to assume his legacy he’ll have a true use for one of you. 

Other brides have been offered and had their families culled like squashing bugs. It made you feel some air of superiority, knowing that you were chosen from a dozen women to be honored as a new wife to the King of Curses. It only took a few months for you to realize your place in all this and the last thread of your humanity snapped like a frayed koto string. Thinking of yourself as a person is useless when the person that holds your life within his hands sees you as no more than a doll to be toyed with as he sees fit. 

“I’m happy.” You always mean it when you say it. Happiness is all you have left when faced with the truth of how finite your existence is. There is no world beyond the walls of this estate. No people beyond its residence and staff. No purpose outside of serving your husband with unwavering loyalty. In that regard you are the most precious of his wives. The others, their devotion wavers. You’ve seen it in the way they still hesitate to follow simple instructions, still tremble and shrink in Lord Sukuna’s presence even as you bloom like a flower in the light of the sun. He is your sun. There is no life without him. Which is why you are happy to simply exist in this small world that he’s made for you. 

His power has greatly uncomplicated your existence, turned it to something purposeful, something that will end when you’re no longer of use. And Lord Sukuna will always tell you when you serve no further purpose to him. How many underlings has he executed because they were no longer of use? You imagine they must’ve felt great pride in the moments before their demise at the hands of their King. Pride in knowing that they did what they were made to do. As a child you had scoffed at the idea that your only purpose was to be wed and serve your husband as a proper wife should, but that was when the husband of your future was set to be someone unremarkable. Lord Sukuna is greater than any man that’s ever lived. Perhaps even ascended beyond the concept of a man to become the strongest sorcerer to ever live. As the daughter of a highly regarded family known for birthing remarkable sorcerers, you take pride in your small but purposeful place in all this. The culling of clans, the clashing of factions trying to unseat your husband. History will remember you because you will play your part until the very end. An end you’ll greet with a smile if it should come by your husband’s hand. 

“Will the Fourth Mistress be here soon?” A new deer to join the herd, a new flower planted in the garden. 

“By the Hour of the Bird, the last message said.” Your maid agrees. Soon, a new Mistress will be here. It’s been so long since another woman has joined hands with Lord Sukuna. The last being yourself nearly two years ago. First Mistress had been collected three years ago, and Second Mistress came along only a short few months behind her. Lord Sukuna had waited half a year after that to marry a third wife, and you must’ve served him well because there’s been no need for another until now. It makes you wonder if death is close at hand. A raven had come earlier in the day, before the snow began to fall, announcing that Lord Sukuna would be returning from his excursion by nightfall. Perhaps he wanted to arrive home in time to greet his new bride. 

Fourth Mistress. Unlucky number Four, terrible number Four. Blowing into her marriage with a snow storm. It’s all terribly inauspicious, but Lord Sukuna has reason for everything he does. Nothing is without purpose. Even death has cause when dealt by his hand. Even if it comes tonight you will go towards it fully satisfied. The snowfall looks beautiful, and the cold isn’t so terrible with the legion of braziers burning around you and the thick furs draped over your shoulders. It’s a wonderful night to die if it should come to that. 

“Shall we go welcome her?” 

“First Mistress insisted that you need not be present for Fourth Mistress’ arrival, your highness.” First Mistress, Jurina, whose hatred towards you cannot be quelled by any manner of platitudes. 

When you first arrived, you’re sure it was mere jealousy that compelled her to act out against you. A multitude of wives is not uncommon among high ranking men, but rarely is it expected that they should all live together. Most wives are left in their parents’ homes to be visited whenever their husband deems it fit. To walk the hall of your home and come across the woman your husband sees when he is not with you must be jarring to the first woman he married. Jurina seemed adamant about dispelling you from the family upon your first arrival. Now, her animosity isn’t borne of jealousy, but discomfort. 

Your happiness makes her nervous. She’s said it herself. Snapping and raging at you for your unflinching smile even as she and Second Mistress have slowly begun to lose themselves in the monotony of this life. Sitting and waiting, then serving when Lord Sukuna comes home. To them, your complacency, your happiness, is something eerie and othered. Akin to the curses your families seek to eradicate. Unnatural. Inhuman. Though it hardly matters what they think of you. They are not your reason for being, and Lord Sukuna seems to find your smile charming. 

Despite the chill, you find yourself reaching for a fan. A gift from Uraume. They’re strangely doting towards you in a way that they aren’t to Lord Sukuna’s other wives, bringing you gifts when they accompany Lord Sukuna on long trips away from the estate. A set of calligraphy brushes, a jade bracelet, a new kimono. You’ve amassed quite a collection of possessions by Uraume’s spoiling, though the fans are your favorite. All made a beautifully lacquered wood, some painted with gilded designs, the folded paper painted by the hands of careful artists. Crashing waves and blossoming trees decorate each of your fans and you take great pride in keeping them all in pristine condition because you’d hate to perform a dance with a damaged fan. 

Of all of the things filling your room, your koto is the most precious. It had belonged to your mother and she offered it with teary eyes as your wedding gift, absolutely bereft that she had to marry her daughter off to a monster to appease the head of your father’s clan. But such was your purpose in being born into a highly acclaimed sorcerer clan. Take your blood and lend your body to another clan so that you might make more powerful jujutsu users. Your father had complained of the waste in sending you off to quell the King of Curses, insisting that sending you to Lord Sukuna would be a waste of a bride. Curses have no use for brides nor, truly, does their King. Still, Lord Sukuna keeps all of you alive and well in his home. To what end? It’s hardly your concern. 

“Bring my koto,” you hum. “I want to dance.” 

The maid goes about carrying the large stringed instrument to the edge of the room where the opened shoji separates the warmth of your room from the chill of the engawa. It is a happy coincidence that your maid had been taught to play the koto some years ago when she was still an eligible maiden. But her father grew ill and when he passed her mother sent her off to find work to support herself because she couldn’t afford a dowry to marry her off properly. So she sits and serves, waiting for you to name your song of choice with her fingers poised over the strings. The song you choose is one of comfort, the first your mother ever taught you when you were learning to dance and play. There’s a practiced grace to your movements, smooth as a flowing river as you dance with your fan. The song is short but it is always your favorite to perform. 

A rare beauty in the north, she’s the finest woman on earth. A glance from her, the city falls. A second glance leaves the nation in ruins. There exists no city or nation that has been more cherished than a beauty like this.

Flecks of snow melt against the bare nape of your neck, so cold it feels like burning, but you want to keep dancing. The weather has no bearing on your mood. Rain or shine you are happy to sing and dance, amusing yourself as you wait to be of use to your lord husband. Perhaps he has already returned home along with his new bride but without the order to accompany him you will stay in your room, performing to your heart’s content. Your maid begins to pluck out the notes of your next song request, fingers stuttering over the strings as if she’s forgotten how to play the melody. That’s alright, you will dance even without proper music, swinging your fan with practiced poise as your voice contests with the howling of the storm. It’s a song of longing and melancholy. Fitting for a woman separated from her husband. 

Are you going away? Leaving me alone? How could I live if you’ve gone away? Are you going away? Leaving me alone? I want to keep you unhappy with me. I fear you may never return. Sadly, I will let you go–

“Stop whining, I’m here.” A voice interrupts your singing, a smooth timbre that rumbles like a roll of thunder. So please, come back soon after you leave. In a heartbeat you’re on the floor, kneeling before your husband. Lord Sukuna is soiled from his travels. Kimono stained and torn, the scent of blood lingering heavily around him, along with the buzzing aura of excess cursed energy leaking into the cold air around him. 

“Welcome home, Lord Sukuna.” He purrs at how you prostrate yourself at his feet, always so satisfied with your absolute submission. He once told you your lack of fear was something intriguing, your unwavering adoration far more interesting than submission borne of fear. It’s something he’s found in so few of his followers and you imagine it’s why he shows such preference for Uraume’s company. Of all of your husband’s subordinates, they are by far the most devout. Perhaps even more than you because they know what Lord Sukuna is trying to achieve with all the calamity he causes. Your lord husband has never made you privy to that knowledge, and as a good wife you remember it is not your place to ask. If you are meant to know something, he’ll tell you. 

“Get out.” His voice is thick with something akin to revulsion, though you don’t bother to raise your head. Lord Sukuna hasn’t spoken to you so gruffly since you first proved your devotion to him. Behind you there’s the sound of frantic movements as your maid assumedly makes herself scarce in the presence of her master. When she’s gone Lord Sukuna gives you permission to lift your head. In the low light, you can hardly see his face. It’s hard to tell Lord Sukuna’s mood even in bright lighting. He hardly changes from his stoic expression unless there’s blood being spilled, then a smile–more like a deranged baring of his fanged teeth–finds its way onto his face. 

“Come bathe with me.” He doesn’t wait for you to react, already halfway down the engawa by the time you gather yourself enough to stand. Lord Sukuna traverses the estate with practiced ease, as if this was his childhood home and not all place of residence usurped from some affluent family. Though the perks of Lord Sukuna’s minions commandeering such a luxurious home for their leader and his family are the accommodations afforded to only the highest nobility. Because only families with more money than time to spend it can afford to build their home large enough to encompass a hot spring along with all the other necessary land. The air is humid around the bathhouse, curtained with steam as clouds of warm air seep out of the secluded space. 

Lord Sukuna stands expectantly at the edge of the rocks surrounding the steaming pool, waiting for you to fulfill your wifely duties. With great haste you begin to undress him. His kimono is ruined beyond repair, delicate white silk tattered and stained with browning patches of blood. Still, you take great care in folding each article as it’s removed from his body. There’s no added layers despite the inclement weather, no added underclothes beneath the outer layer of clothing. Your hands reach skin sooner than you expected, flinching away from the warmth of his muscles as if his skin were an open flame. Despite your status as his wife and your consequently intimate knowledge of his body, you still err on the side of caution when it comes to touching Lord Sukuna. He had only asked you to undress him, not to run your fingers over the corded muscles of his arms. Luckily, your husband seems unconcerned with the wayward touch. Instead of snapping at you he rolls his shoulders as if the layers of clothes had been restricting his movements. In all likelihood, they probably have. 

Lord Sukuna is something that is no longer human. A higher being ascended beyond the physicality of a normal man, as if his body could no longer handle the brunt of his power and needed to evolve to fit the newly emerging shape of his soul. Once, before you first laid eyes upon him, Lord Sukuna had the appearance of a mere man. An unremarkable face and body. But now he has become something beyond the shape of a human. “A two faced demon with four arms,” as the members of your clan had called him when talks of appeasing the great King of Curses began whispering through the halls of your maiden home. Of course his rumored differences held no bearing on whether or not the clan would be willing to sacrifice a bride to satisfy the Disgraced One. His four eyes and black markings make no difference to your devotion. He is still the husband you’ve dedicated your life to. 

Tentatively, you try to strike up a conversation as Lord Sukuna settles himself in the warm pool. “Has Fourth Mistress arrived yet?” 

“Yes, she arrived before I did. I expected you to be with the others, fawning over her. Why weren’t you?” His tone is calculated as if he is trying to decide if there is cause for punishment. Your next words are chosen carefully. 

“First Mistress did not think–it was requested that I not attend to Fourth Mistress’ arrival.” 

“Are you not my wife?” Lord Sukuna asks, annoyance thick in his tone. Of course you are. In this life you are nothing if not his wife. “I expect that you’ll act your part. The lady of the house is meant to greet guests upon their arrival. I don’t care what Jurina says. You’re of noble birth. You know the rules on how to conduct yourself. Act like it.” 

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lord, but I am not the lady of the house. That is First Mistress Jurina’s title.” To go against your husband’s word is wrong, reason enough for him to lash out at you, but it is the truth that Jurina is always reminding you of. She is First Mistress, the matron of the estate. It is you that is a lowly concubine in comparison to her status as a legal wife. Lord Sukuna bristles at your insolence and you duck your head to receive your reproach. He’s a short distance away, submerged to his waist in the warm water, but Lord Sukuna can move like a striking snake. It would only take half a beat of your heart for him to reach you and tear it from your chest if he so desires it. 

Tonight’s admonishment is far less violent. Coming in the form of a disparaging growl before he snaps at you to undress. You do so with the same care that you disrobed your husband. As his wife, you are an extension of him, and you dare not mistreat his items in his presence. Once your clothes are folded you approach Lord Sukuna with hesitant steps. You’ve discovered that drowning and burning are the worst means of death and the boiling water of the hot spring is a combination of both. Still, if tonight will be wasted on death, at least it will come in Lord Sukuna’s arms. He reaches to help you into the water, drawing you close while his second pair of arms stay splayed on the rocks behind him. He moves you as he pleases like a doll being perched on a shelf, positioning you to straddle his thigh. 

“Look at me, woman.” His tone doesn’t sound angry, but that has never been a successful way to guess at Lord Sukuna’s intentions. He can execute someone with a smile. You hope he’ll offer you that same cruel grin when he pushes hot beneath the bubbling water. 

“I do not care what order I married any of you in. It should be clear by now that you are the woman of this house. First or third, it doesn’t matter. Jurina’s words hold no weight over you. Do I make myself clear?” There’s a franticness to the way you nod your head, chirping out a pinched “yes, Lord Sukuna!” as he holds your chin to keep your eyes on his. 

“You’re the only wife that matters to me, stupid woman. The rest,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t spit down their throats even if their lungs were on fire. Even the new one. Jurina is nothing and no one. I will kill her right now if it will please you.” 

And that had been the original crux of Jurina’s jealousy. The priority with which Lord Sukuna always seemed to treat you. There were always rumors about the estate that you are the favored wife, the one that truly matters, but it is hard to believe rumors when Lord Sukuna hardly does anything to validate them. Though his constant quelling of his temper in your presence should be evidence enough. It’s a rare thing for your husband to lash out at you, but you always assumed it was simply because you were careful with your actions. Never giving him any reason to turn his ire against you. It’s plain to see now that the reason for your persisted well treatment is simple. You are his favorite wife. 

Possessive as he is, Lord Sukuna has favorites in everything. Cursed weapons that he favors over all others, and servants that he calls on more often than the rest. To know you hold weight among his most precious possessions is dizzying. Of course, to Lord Sukuna, a favorite thing is a useful thing. It’s easy to imagine that you’re the most useful of his four wives. Neither of your seniors have remarkable cursed techniques despite hailing from quite notable families in the hierarchy of the jujutsu world. And any technique they do possess is woefully untrained as is expected of women in the world of sorcery. Women of jujutsu-laden clans are meant to be vessels from which the next generation of male sorcerers are born, not taught to be sorcerers in their own right. 

It was only by a terrible coincidence that you were able to train your own technique. A jealous cousin and a well. A harsh push to your back after she whispered about how she should be the one to marry first despite her inferior talents as a homemaker. She got her wish, the husband she so covetously desired. Last you heard she’d been returned to your family’s estate after being set aside for a more fitting woman. 

When she pushed you, falling felt like flying and dying felt like burning as your lungs filled with water. In the end you’d spent nearly a week at the bottom of that seldom used well, floundering for your life as your cursed technique kept you in a constant loop of dying and reviving, bursting back to life stronger than when you died. Chrysalis is what your family had taken to calling your ability when you were finally fished out with a bucket of water. Death was something impermanent to you, though the manner of which you passed holds bearing on how long you’ll be stuck in your “cocooned” state. You imagine being killed by means of jujutsu would kill you properly, forever, but no one has been bold enough to try. Certainly not now that you are a treasured wife of the King of Curses. Though you’re sure Lord Sukuna will kill you eventually, when your purpose has been served. For now, it seems your purpose is to provide him with the comforts a wife can offer her husband. 

“Kiss me.” He commands, hand on your jaw already pulling you towards him. There’s never been anything delicate about Lord Sukuna as far as you could tell. He’s always had an air of harshness to him, something wild and untamed that bleeds into his every movement. You’ve decided it must be because he lives the same as you, unimpeded by the world around him. The King of Curses bows to nothing and no one, so why should he govern himself by the laws and morals of humanity. Kindness, restraint, it doesn’t seem to exist to your lord husband. The same way fear no longer exists to you. So when Lord Sukuna’s hand–large enough to hold your head in his palm–pulls you towards his fanged mouth, you feel nothing but unadulterated lust. It’s unbecoming of a woman to find herself so lost in her bodily whims but you’re no longer just a woman. You’re Lord Sukuna’s woman, and within the walls of his home, shame no longer exists. You melt against him as his sharp teeth find the softness of your lips. Blood spills between your open mouths, dripping down your bodies before dripping into the water with a soft tinge of pink. 

“Sweet,” he hums. 

It’s no secret that Lord Sukuna is prone to fits of bloodlust so blinding he’ll tear his teeth into anything soft he can find, no matter the origin of the flesh. Animal or human it’s all the same when he’s tearing his claws through a warm body. He’s mentioned sampling your body once. How he’s thought about tearing off bits and pieces of you to taste. Of course, he told you that he would only maim you in such a way as punishment for misbehavior–it hardly matters when death would only find you mended and made anew–though it hasn’t stopped him from sinking his teeth into you when he’s wrapped up in another kind of lust.

Usually imperceptible if you aren’t looking for it, the only sign of Lord Sukuna’s arousal stands proudly between your legs, so large they breach the surface of the water as he holds you steady in his lap. His upper arms are still splayed out on the stone behind him as he reclines as if he is seated on a throne. He’s shown you what a throne fit for the King of Curses would look like, but only once. In his domain. An infinite wasteland bathed in blood with a single shrine standing at its heart. A corrupted chinjusha of flesh and bone. All gaping maws and cracked skulls. A shrine dedicated to the only higher power Lord Sukuna will ever respect; himself. The strange mouth splitting a seam between his muscles always reminds you of his Malevolent Shrine, of the four grotesque mouths that stand where the four doors of a shrine would be. Its tongue is strangely textured, like that of a cat’s as it lolls out of his stomach to lap at your skin. Sometimes you find yourself wondering if Lord Sukuna has control over the appendage or if it acts of its own volition each time the grainy feeling drags over your body, but it isn’t your place to ask. Who has control or not, it doesn’t matter. Lord Sukuna is your husband and you relish even the smallest touch whether it’s intentional or not. 

“Are you going to please your husband?” He asks. The answer is always simple. Yes. It is your sole purpose now that he’s taken you as his wife and torn your world into the smallest pieces until only this single scrap remains. It’s becoming so precious no matter how small and defaced it becomes. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you stepped out of line. Tried to leave the estate, tried to defy Lord Sukuna. In truth, you’ll never know. Your husband is your world and your world is your husband. Of course you will do everything within your power to please him. He seems satisfied with just the look in your eyes as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. If it would please him you’d slash yourself open, spill your innards into his lap and watch him feast on your flesh. His true wish is far more gentle, something a more humble husband would ask of his bride. 

“Touch me.” His clawed hand is already guiding yours to his stiffness, wrapping your fingers over the length of him. It’s so strange that curses can bleed, but Lord Sukuna isn’t exactly a curse nor is he a human. He’s something more but his heart beats just the same. You feel it in your palm as his cock twitches in your grip, thick veins thrumming under his skin. Perhaps it’s the water or more likely it’s something innate to your husband because he always feels hot to the touch, his skin is nearly scalding as you wrap your hands around his twin cocks, fingers spread too wide to touch around his girth. Lord Sukuna looks pleased as he leans back, eyes watching you as if to catch a flaw in your presentation. A rogue frown or unintended scowl that would prove your supposed dedication false. 

Even after so long he’s waiting for you to break, to truly realize what you’re doing and be disgusted enough to shrink away. The only thing you feel at this moment is heady arousal. It pools like molten lava deep in your stomach, seeping between your legs and into the water. There’s been no permission given so you remain still, but your hips ache to shift against the strength of Lord Sukuna’s chiseled thigh, to relieve a bit of the tension his lingering gaze has caused. But his hand hasn’t strayed from your hip, in fact his grip has tightened with each stroke of your hands. There’s a stinging bite as his claws dig through your skin, burying deep enough to draw blood despite the composure still set in stone on his face. He is still a man in some regard. Still a husband enjoying the touch of his wife. The thought blooms sweetly in your chest, lifting a soft smile to your lips. Lord Sukuna notices in an instant, four eyes still trained on your face. He snatches your chin up, straining your neck with how quickly he guides your eyes towards his. 

“What are you smiling about, brat?” Another attempt to catch you in a lie, to find some falsehood in your contentment. Even your lord husband finds himself questioning if your happiness is true. You thumb over the head of one of his cocks, bringing the taste to your lips. And because he is watching you so intensely you make a coquettish show of dragging your tongue over the pad of your finger, gasping when Lord Sukuna’s fingers bury deeper into your delicate skin. There will be cuts and bruises when he’s done with you. There always are. Then your maid–or, on some occasions, Uraume–will come to tend to your body marked by your husband’s touch. You like the way your body burns when he’s through with you, memories of his touch simmering in your mind. He scoffs when you wrap your lips around your thumb. With a cruel smile he hooks his own thumb into your mouth, talon scraping against your tongue as he pulls your jaw until your mouth is as wide as you can bear with only the slightest twinge of pain. 

Drool pools in your mouth, dripping out of the corners as they sting with the strain of Lord Sukuna’s strength. He sneers, looking pleased with the mess you’re making as he leans down to lick it up before spitting it back into your open mouth. You nearly choke and rush to swallow with a rattling cough. It tastes like blood, likely your own though you wonder if your husband sank his teeth into something before coming to you. The blood on his clothes looked dry, though you can never be certain with Lord Sukuna. You banish the thought, thrilled with the way he no longer seems to be dividing his focus. 

Before he had looked uninterested, as if his mind was elsewhere even as he looked at you servicing him so happily. Now he’s leaned in close enough for you to see his eyelashes, a rare treat with his immense stature. He’s nearly all you can see, all you can feel and you revel in it as your world shrinks to this tiny pinprick. There’s nothing outside this bathhouse. Only the infinite nothingness that surrounds a domain. The world could come apart outside these four walls and you wouldn’t care as long as Lord Sukuna keeps you in his arms. As if he knows your thoughts, the very deepest desires of your heart, Lord Sukuna drags you up his leg by the hand still embedded in the fat of your hips and the feeling sings through your body as your clit catches against the firmness of his thigh. Your hands tighten around his cocks still pulsing in your hands, though his only reaction is the slightest twitch of his lip. 

“Am I doing a good job, Lord Sukuna?” You ask around his thumb, truly desperate for approval. If you were any more pitiful he might’ve pet your hair like a loyal hound. Instead he laughs, something short and sardonic as his teeth nip at your cheek. Warmth blooms then drips down the curve of your face and you know he’s broken skin once more. 

“Enough with the stupid questions. If you want my praise you know how to earn it. Show me how badly you want it and I might reward your efforts.” You slip from his lap, mourning the loss of his leg pressing between yours as you kneel in the water. It’s up to your neck as your knees meet the bottom of the pool, steam billowing like a veil in front of your eyes as you center yourself at the apex of Lord Sukuna’s thighs. He’s spread out above you like a proud effigy, a statue meant to be worshiped. You feel a transcendent kind of devotion kneeling at the feet of your lord husband. The taste of him lands heavy on your tongue as your lips tease at the head of his dick, swallowing him in slow increments. Despite the harsh preparation of your mouth, you still wish to savor every moment spent servicing your husband. 

His face is clouded in shadows again as he leans back, head tilted towards the ceiling. The lanterns flicker playful shadows across his body, highlighting and shrouding pieces of him as you bow to take him into your mouth in earnest. Your jaw still aches from the way he nearly unhinged it, but it works in your favor as your lips wrap around his length. 

There’s nothing dignified about the way you’re swallowing his dick, little focus being allotted to your own comfort as you take him as deeply as his size will allow. His body is strange, of course, but it’s all you’ve ever known of a man. Aside from Lord Sukuna you’ve never seen any man bared beyond his chest, although you know innately that humans aren’t meant to have the endowments he does. His second cock presses against your cheek, dribbling over your skin as you hollow your cheeks until Lord Sukuna’s thighs twitch. Muscles seizing tighter as the head of his cock meets the tightness of your throat. Breathing is far from your mind, a need secondary to pleasing your husband. It’s a messy endeavor and you loathe to think of how terrible you must look. It’s always been a point of pride to preen yourself to perfection because husbands like their women to look beautiful when they arrive home, or at least Lord Sukuna seems to prefer it. Though he never seems bothered by what is surely a horrid display as split slicks down your chin and tears dot along your lash line as you gag around his dick. 

Lord Sukuna flicks your forehead after a while, likely drawing another scratch between your brows. It’s a fraction of his power. It’s likely he could take your head apart as easily as squashing a peach under his heel yet he hardly puts effort behind the reproach. Only enough to draw your attention as he drags you, coughing and drooling, off of his cock. They’re both gathered into one fist so he can drag the taste of his leaking precum over your parted lips. 

“You know better.” Lord Sukuna does not take things in half measures. His intentions are clear. If you’re going to pleasure him, do it right and do it well. Your jaw pops open again, wide enough to take his twin cocks into your mouth. He stretched and strained your mouth but there’s only so much that can be done with the sheer size of him. And while he does well to shield his thoughts at the best of times, you imagine he must be gleaning a fair bit of pleasure from your messy sucking as his hand remains in your hair. His claws scratch against your scalp, gentle enough to keep your skin intact as he keeps your mouth wrapped around him. A burning type of exertion settles painfully in your jaw but you’ll endure. Lord Sukuna never likes to keep you like this for long. With both of his weeping cocks tangled between your lips you can hardly take more than the head of each. In the end, his preference will always be the wet heat brewing between your legs. Another bout of pain sings through your scalp as Lord Sukuna pulls your mouth away from him, leaving threads of spit dripping between your bodies. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pressing against the grooves where his teeth bit into your skin until they begin to bleed anew.

He manipulates your body as if you’re merely a puppet dancing on strings. A flex of his arm and you’re lifting off your knees, hips stretched wide to accommodate the width of his body between them. His spit-laden cocks are pressed between your bodies, grinding into the soft expanse of your stomach as he pulls your bleeding mouth to his. He suckles at your torn skin, humming at the taste of your blood seeping onto his tongue. His hands find your hips, pressing into the marks he’s already left there as he hikes you higher against his body. The tongue lolling out of his stomach finds its way between your thighs, lapping at the mess that’s left after the water washed away the first wave of your arousal. It’s nearly too much with how textured the wide appendage is but you welcome any type of relief you can find as Lord Sukuna pulls your head to the side quick enough to send a stinging twinge up the column of your neck. The pain is only intensified as he noses against the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder, as if he’s looking for something. 

His tongue sweeps over your skin before his fanged teeth make a home in it. There’s a rippling groan that thunders in his chest as a true taste of your blood spills into his mouth. Before long, your head is spinning from blood loss. Lord Sukuna must feel the change in your pulse as it turns slippery, harder to catch beneath your skin. He pulls away with a satisfied groan as his hands press your hips deeper into the expanse of his lower tongue. 

“Enjoying yourself, brat?” Lord Sukuna sneers, and because you have no sense of shame you find yourself nodding earnestly. He’s hardly touched you and what touches he’s shared have been steeped in equal parts pain and pleasure, yet you’ve enjoyed it all the same. It’s awkward and teasing because there’s no tact to the way his lower tongue moves between your legs. It’s like striking a flint without starting a fire, dull sparks of teasing pleasure that leave you wanting more. You’d rather have his face between your legs and a more dexterous tongue teasing you to the edge, but it would be presumptuous to make any kind of demands of your husband especially when he’s a man like Lord Sukuna. 

In most regards, your pleasure is incidental. Secondary to his own. So when his teeth snap over his claws, biting the sharp points into flattened nubs, you feel your excitement growing. He’s learned from experience that his rough treatment of your body should not extend to certain places. After only a few times he pressed his clawed fingers inside you, Lord Sukuna learned that it would better serve him if his nails were dulled before he went poking them inside you. And they’ll be grown back to full length by night’s end. He can manipulate the shape of his body as easily as fire melting snow. His hand smooths over the side of your body, sliding against your ribs and hips as he makes his way between your legs. His fingers plunge inside with little warning, forcing you open with a swiftness you could almost call desperation. If something so undignified could ever be said about the King of Curses. 

Lord Sukuna is a behemoth, dwarfing you in every regard, and his hands are no different. His fingers reach deep inside you, stroking over the place that has your back bowing as he makes space for himself inside you. He hums at how easily you take his fingers, sounding somewhere between amused and approving. It flutters through your chest and settles atop the arousal already building inside you. 

“Give your body to me, woman. Open yourself to your king.” You try to say something as he slips another finger inside you but it comes out as little more than a breathy whine. This is already too much and yet it can’t compare to how full you’ll feel when he gets his cocks inside you. His fingers are a luxury offered in preparation for his true reward and you take it happily. He smirks at the way your thighs strain as you try to grind against his touch. The heel of his hand is pressed tight against your clit and you buck your hips against the feeling. Lord Sukuna’s skin is thick, nothing like the softness of your own and it feels just the right amount of rough against your clit. One of Lord Sukuna’s hands finds your hair again, yanking hard until you’re looking up at him with tears shimmering in your vision. 

“There’s my spoiled brat. This is how you act. This is how the wife of a king is meant to be. Take what you want, woman, take everything I give you.” A dark laugh booms through the room as you whine and paw at Lord Sukuna’s chest. He adds another to the litany of scratches decorating your skin as his teeth nip at your neck, distracting you from the sting of another finger finding its way inside you. 

“You were made for this,” he reminds you. “Made to be mine. My bride. You can take it.” He sounds almost patronizing, voice softening to a teasing lilt as his thumb presses against your clit. Like with everything, Lord Sukuna is harsh, forcing you to the edge quicker than expected. Each curl of his fingers yanks at the string tightening inside you, pulling you closer and closer to the edge as he moves his hands with inhuman speed inside you. Everything is hard and fast and your thighs start to tremble in his hold, body shivering as Lord Sukuna all but wrings the orgasm out of your body. You clench hard around his fingers, pussy dripping down your thighs as you try to steady yourself with your hands on Lord Sukuna’s shoulders. He allows it, revels in it as he pulls you into another bloody kiss. But even as you tremble in his arms, Lord Sukuna doesn’t stop. His thumb is still circling your twitching bud even as you try to whine out a plea for mercy. It only brings a fanged smile to his lips. 

“Take it,” he grunts, “I know you can.” It really feels like you can’t. The tension brought on by your orgasm hasn’t dispersed and you feel like a knot being pulled ever tighter, back curling until your face is buried against his chest. He smells like the bath. Like sweet oils and wildflowers as your nose is buried against his scalding skin. With your forehead pressed against his chest your eyes have nowhere to look but down. Down at the way his cocks are straining to be touched, flushed and leaking just out of reach. You look up to distract yourself with the black markings etched into Lord Sukuna’s chest. Your kisses are sloppy, wet and open-mouthed as your tongue peeks out to trace the shape of each tattoo. It’s not until your teeth begin to nip at his chest that Lord Sukuna scruffs you once more. 

“Trying to leave a mark on me, brat?” As if you could. Your teeth are likely no different than trying to pierce his skin with a blade of grass. “What a greedy little bride I have. So eager to defer to another wife’s authority when you’re this possessive of your husband. Isn’t that right, woman?” You try to shake your head. Of course, you aren’t possessive of him, you know your place. You are the Third Mistress. Perhaps you are his favorite but there is a hierarchy that must be upheld in the household. To so brazenly try to claim full authority over your lord husband would be lunacy. There is no higher authority than the King of Curses himself. You’re simply a pebble lingering in the shadow of the highest mountain. 

“Yes you are,” he grins. You whine as he pulls his hand from between your legs. “Look at the mess you’ve made trying to mark me up like a bitch in heat.” There’s no sense of embarrassment welling at his degrading words. What sense is there in hiding how well your husband pleasures you? And Lord Sukuna seems proud as his tongue licks up the mess you’ve made on his hand before pressing a kiss to your parted lips. You taste yourself on his tongue. Your blood and your pleasure. 

“You’re going to take me so well, aren’t you?” It’s hardly a question. Simply an ordered phrased as if you could deny yourself the feeling of being split open on Lord Sukuna’s cocks. He starts with one, always. Dragging the leaking head through the mess he’s made of your cunt, tapping against your clit until he finally presses inside. His body is a marvel and you’re blessed to be so acquainted with it as the length not pressing inside you grinds against your clit as he makes you take him as deep as your body will allow. Lord Sukuna has been known to be rash and unpredictable, a being of pure chaos when the mood strikes him, but when he’s with you like this everything he does is deliberate. 

He’s rough but not destructively so. Yes, you’re bleeding as he bounces you in his lap, drawing a litany of breathless sounds from your lips, but he’s always intentional when drawing blood. You’ve been trained well in these years of marriage to take him. To weather any storm Lord Sukuna throws at you. His hands are bruising on your hips as he drags you up and down his length, hands that could shatter your bones with the slightest bit of effort and yet he only uses enough strength to hold you close. You’re not deluded enough to think that Lord Sukuna loves you, certainly not in the way a lover should, but he cares enough to treat you with a level of gentility. 

“Thank you,” you babble it like a prayer, over and over. Worshiping at your husband’s altar for even the briefest thought given to your safety, your pleasure. It can never be said that Lord Sukuna is a neglecting lover, at least not with you. He’s everywhere all at once. Hands on your hips and at your breasts, pinching at the aching peaks of your nipples. His face is buried against your throat, teeth surely raising welts as his tongue laps at the taste of blood and sweat dampening your skin. You cling to him in turn, nails digging into the thick muscles of his arms with no hope of ever drawing blood. Still, he grunts out a laugh as you drag your dull nails across his skin, leaving nothing but the whisper of claw marks behind. An arm slips out from under your grasp, unbalancing you, but Lord Sukuna is quick to steady your boneless body as he reaches between you to take hold of his second cock. It’s thick and straining, leaking against your skin as he presses it in beside the first. The stretch is harsh, a stinging pinch between your legs soothed only in part by his thumb drawing shapes against your clit. He hushes you when your whining gets too loud, hands clamping tight to your hips to keep you from squirming away from taking all of him.

“Be a good wife and accept your reward.” Lord Sukuna hisses as he presses deep inside you. The weight of him settles like molten heat inside you, his hand pressing over the shape of himself through your stomach. “Hush, you can take it.” He hisses, biting at your cheek as tears well in your eyes once more. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a strange feeling to be so full all at once. 

“My pretty wife.” He’s only this sweet when he has you close to breaking, teetering on the edge of insanity from the way he’s taking his pleasure from your body. “Look at me, woman. Keep your eyes on your king.” It’s hard to look anywhere else. He isn’t sweating, this is hardly more than a leisurely stroll for him, but the humidity has left his skin beaded with moisture. It makes him shimmer in the torchlight like the divine being that he is, wasting his time on a creature as lowly as you. It’s your blessing that he’s so enraptured with you at the moment. Your eyes slip shut, tears streaming down your cheeks as every corner of your body feels lit aflame, the heat only made worse as Lord Sukuna’s hand finds your jaw. 

“I said, eyes. On. Me.” He growls. With a bit of resistance, your eyes flutter open, white light swimming at the edge of your vision as Lord Sukuna drags you to the precipice of insanity. He’s close. Far less careful and coherent as he drags you up and down his lengths with startling strength. He’s pressing against every sweet spot inside you, igniting a thousand flames at once that threaten to swallow you whole. There’s a pitchy mantra of “wait, wait, wait” playing on your tongue but it only seems to further entice your husband. 

“You gonna sing for me, woman? Go on, let me hear something pretty when you come for your king.” He’s taunting you, laughing at how shrill your voice sounds. It nearly does sound like you’re singing as you wail his name, back bowing as he rips another orgasm from your spent body. It’s as quick as a lightning strike and nearly as blinding, eyes clouding white for a moment as you fight to keep your eyelids from fluttering. From taking your eyes off Lord Sukuna for even a moment. You feel yourself clawing at him, clinging and grasping to keep yourself grounded as pleasure shatters through your body. Vaguely you can hear Lord Sukuna laughing, something tinged dark with amusement as he works you through your orgasm. He has no patience to wait for you to regain your breath, to see the light of coherence return to your eyes. Instead, his hands grip tighter to your waist, nails biting into your skin as he works you faster over his cocks. His voice dips low, a rasping gravel as he grunts, squeezing every bit of his own pleasure from your body. It’s barely a change, just the slightest shift, but you’ve done this so many times that you can almost sense when he gets close. 

Lord Sukuna gathers your loosening muscles back into some semblance of an embrace, holding you tight to his chest as he pushes your hips low enough for your bodies to meet in earnest. The feeling is a wet slide of skin against skin, the mess of your joined pleasure slicking up your bodies. It nearly feels like choking as he holds you still, the shape of him pressing every so slightly against the softness of your stomach. He’s more gentle now, but only by a hair’s breadth, as he thumbs over the shape of his body making a home for itself inside yours. There’s always a hint of softness at the edges of moments like this. A bit of the darkness bleeds from Lord Sukuna’s eyes as he guides your hips to grind against him, thumbing where he sees himself beneath your skin. Lord Sukuna has always been smart, his intelligence far exceeding that of your woefully undereducated mind. 

There’s never been a time where you were certain of his thoughts, but in moments like these you think there’s a hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Something desirous of the unknown and intangible. He moves in shallow thrusts, thumb dancing lazily over your puffy clit for only a moment more before he’s spilling inside you with a satisfied groan. But, still, he keeps you there. As if forcing your body to take to everything he’s given you. If it were up to you, your womb would quicken to give him a child; proof of your devotion. But even the fantasy sounds impossible. Lord Sukuna has shed his humanity and with it, you assume, his ability to continue his legacy by way of heirs. Though he hardly needs them. 

Lord Sukuna is a shining beacon of the height of jujutsu, proof of what greatness can be achieved when you’re willing to go beyond the standards set out by society. He’s immortal, indomitable. Children would only be another jewel in his crown, more pawns to serve his greater will. And it’s unlikely such children of greatness will ever come to pass. In all your years of marriage, there’s never been a single moment where you thought for even a moment that Lord Sukuna’s seed took. And it likely never will. It’s wasted as he lifts you off of his softening length, everything he gave you dripping out into the spring water. The light flickers and for a moment it almost looks like there’s a spark of disappointment in his eye, then the torches shift again and the shadows are gone.

“You did well, woman.” He hums, running his hands over the length of your body. The heat of his palms and the babbling water works to soothe the aches and pains of being so thoroughly used by your behemoth of a husband. “Who do you love, wife?” He asks after the breath finally returns to your lungs. Of course it’s him. There is no one else. No man could compare, like a pebble being compared to a shining jewel. 

“Good girl.” He says when you’ve finished your babbling. Like a true king, Lord Sukuna loves to hear his own praises and you’re more than happy to sing them. Sometimes it’s startling how perfectly the two of you exist together. He’s the sun and you’re a flower turning your face to gaze upon him always. Which of his other wives could ever share in a fraction of your devotion? No one will ever love Lord Sukuna as you do, save for maybe Uraume. Perhaps they don’t love him, but there is a fine line between love and admiration. The loyal servant comes bustling into the bathhouse after Lord Sukuna has had his fill of soft caresses and breathless praises. 

The fact that both of you are bare makes no difference to Uraume. They lift you from Lord Sukuna’s arms with startling strength, hands frigid against your skin as they guide you to sit and go about drying your body and combing your hair. It’s always strange to be tended to by someone other than your personal maid, more so when it’s by the hands of Lord Sukuna’s most trusted servant, but it seems Uraume sees you as an extension of Lord Sukuna as much as you do. They dry and dress you, sending you back to your room so that they may speak privately with your husband. Some time later when the bells of the estate are tolling for the Hour of the Dog, the strumming of your koto is interrupted further by screaming. Something bloodcurdling terrified as it rings through the house, echoing into the snow speckled night. Vaguely you think of how the screaming sounds like First Mistress Jurina. 

[ryosuku]

I’ve reread The King multiple times already because it’s so so sweet and captivating and I’m so in love with this fictional couple 🥹 How long does it take for them to get married? I can see sukuna buying a ring like a month into their official relationship and not wanting to wait a second longer

(minors / ageless / blank blogs dni)

hi, nonnie! I would love to answer this question! I think it's so cute how many comments/asks I got about these two and when they might get married! thank you so much for reading this work! I am really proud of this fic (personally, it's one of my favorites that I have ever written) and I was originally very worried that sukuna was ooc, but it makes me so happy to see that you all enjoyed this story! I am very much in love with them as a pair and writing out the progression of their storyline was so fulfilling! xo I am so happy you all felt the same way too.

shortly after he retired, you and sukuna chose to move into together. he bought a house in a rural part of the country, surrounded by lots of green and some much needed quiet. sukuna didn't even hesitate on the decision, especially after the news of you both being together finally broke out to the public.

for you both, moving in felt like a real step. the two of you didn't need boundaries to understand one another in a relationship, because you've always been tangled in the other person's life. moving in together just gave you the luxury of exploring your intimate sides with more freedom.

and it progressed so naturally. so...seamlessly. like you were always lovers who were just waiting for this very moment.

about seven months into your relationship is when it happened.

you were getting ready for bed, standing in front of the bathroom mirror and applying your skincare. sukuna approaches the bathroom door, raising his hand overhead as he used it to lean against the frame.

he took up the entire space with his large stature.

you smiled at him from the mirror, "you're back. how's uruame?"

"good," he answers calmly, looking at you (and only ever you) with such soft eyes it makes you want to melt into a puddle on the bathroom tile.

"that's good," you answer, as you pick up your lip mask and slowly dab the sticky, silky balm on your bottom lip. "I wasn't sure what time you were getting in. I was a little sleepy waiting on the couch-"

sukuna's face remains firm, his attention on your mouth which makes him subconsciously bite his own.

your cheeks warm when you notice the reaction.

he just has the ability to make butterflies swarm in your belly without even trying.

"what?" you question a little shyly, though you aren't sure why.

sukuna steps into the bathroom, his hands find your waist, and deliberately slips underneath your pajama top so he can touch your skin. he bends down to kiss the top of your head.

"I have a question," he states.

"which is?"

"when am I allowed to actually propose to you? and I am not talking about the stupid game we used to play when we were kids..."

it catches you so off guard, you drop the pot of your lip mask along with the cap into the sink. the shock makes sukuna huff out a laugh, but all he does is squeeze your side and tuck you into him, pressing your back firmly against his front.

"propose?" you repeat, like the word is foreign. you reach into the sink, to grab your lip pot and the cap, your fingers shaking as you try to screw on the top before placing it gently on the counter.

"yes, propose. as in marriage..."

you suddenly spin on your heel to face him. sukuna actually has to cock his body back a little to ensure you don't slam your forehead into his chest.

"marriage?! but...but we only just started dating...we've only been together for a short period of time..." you ramble, your mind short circuiting at the thought.

your heart hammers so hard in your chest, but all sukuna does is reach for your hips and pick you up. he perches you onto the bathroom counter, then finds your wrists which he brings to circle around his neck.

"we have not been together for a short period of time," he clarifies as he leans down to kiss your parted lips.

you invite him eagerly, because you love kissing him. because it's your favorite thing to do. his statement lingers on his tongue, and it makes your heart and chest expand as he deepens the kiss further.

he snags your bottom lip between his teeth, tasting the berry flavored mask that you just put on. "now that's all cleared up, let's go back to my question..."

" 'kuna," you sigh.

"listen, I'm being a "gentleman" by even asking, princess. if I had it my way, I was putting a ring on your finger the second you let me stick my dick inside you..."

you grip his shirt, and tug at the fabric. "must you be so vulgar?" you say with a sarcastic pout.

"answer my question," he replies sternly, though the tone contrasts the gentle touch of his hand caressing your lower back.

you gulp down your nerves, "I-I don't know, whenever you would like to propose, I guess?"

he arches one brow suspiciously. "and you would say yes?"

that makes you your nostrils flare in offense.

your face grows even hotter.

"of course, I'd say yes!"

he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, the smug bastard. acting like what he was saying isn't even a big deal at all.

he leans forward to kiss you once more, "I'm just making sure..."

your body whirred with anticipation that night, and when you both made love later on, it somehow felt even more intimate than usual.

like your bodies were answering an age old question that it already knew.

six weeks later, he popped the question again just as you were both getting ready to go visit his step-brothers. after you finished getting dressed, sukuna pointed out that you forgot something, and when you asked him what it was, he responded by standing in front of you and slipping the ring on your finger casually.

your eyes were glossy with tears, your attention on your hand that was now anointed with a sparkling diamond.

you sniffle as you stare at him with affectionate disapproval, "you know, men usually get on their knees for this part, right?"

""I get on my knees for other reasons, sweetheart..." sukuna chuckles, capturing your wrist and placing a kiss on the inside. "and I'm not treating this like a song a dance the way your shitty ex did. this is a matter of fact. a long time coming. and besides, you already told me you were saying yes..."

you shake your head at him, but your heart feels so full. even now, despite how nonchalantly he placed the ring on your finger, you feel like you're walking on clouds. your bring your hands to his jaw as you lower him towards your lips. "I love you," you sigh, "I love you so much I don't even think saying it is enough..."

sukuna returns the kiss, one hand sliding behind the back of your neck. he traces his lips along your jaw and down the column, before dragging it back up to your ear. he holds you so close, keeps you there to murmur his adoration over you. to profess his deep love for you in return. "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me..." he whispers deeply, meaningfully, his voice ever so rich and smooth. "I love you too."

[ryosuku]

₊ ⊹ . ݁ THE KING  ₊ ⊹ .

(boxer!sukuna x reader)

⊹ tags: ryomen sukuna x female reader; childhood friends; character mentions: uraume - satoru gojo; unresolved tension; sukuna is oh so in love; fluffy but a mix of angst/smut/fluff; domestic; non curse au; p in v sex; unprotected sex; dry humping; making out; oral sex;

:about: you've known sukuna before he was a world boxing champion, when he was just a scrawny kid who used to hide behind your legs when you were both in kindergarten. sukuna is growing tired of the fame and fortune, and all he really wants is to fall into the arms of the one person who he's always considered his home.

this fic is one shot. I'll happily answer any lore questions regarding boxer!sukuna x reader, but there will not be a part two or more parts of their story. It is a standalone.

wc: 19K+

Sukuna steps out of the shower, his body wound up in a tight coil after the night's fight. He presses the bridge of his nose together to relieve his throbbing head, but his brow is searing with pain. When he opens his eyes he catches a reflection of his self in the bathroom mirror- a split on his bottom lip, a cut on the arch of his right eyebrow and a slight bruise on his left cheek. 

It's rare for him to look this battered after a match. 

He's been untouchable for years, he's almost forgotten what it's like to take a few good hits in the ring. 

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" 

His eyes flicker up toward Uraume, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.  

He shakes his head at his manager. "Nothing happened, I won. Isn't that a good thing?"

Uraume narrows their gaze, sharp like a sly little fox. They can read Sukuna like a book, but Sukuna chooses to play ignorant and brushes off their knowing stare. 

He knows that the inquisition isn't about the sponsors, the money, or the win. 

He also knows that Uraume never asks questions that they don’t know the possible answer to. 

Thankfully, his manager just sighs. 

"The limo is outside waiting to take you to the party," they state, their heavy exhale indicating that they know Sukuna won't own up to what they are trying to prod out of him. 

"Fuck," Sukuna grumbles. The towel hangs low on his hips, and he throws the one that is around his neck onto the ground. He steps outside to the locker room and proceeds to change. He dries off, puts on his boxers and picks up his black t-shirt before pulling it over his bare chest marked with ink. He then tugs on his jeans, and secures his belt around the waist. "Do I have to go to that?" 

Uraume shrugs, "Don't you want to parade your big victory over Satoru Gojo to the rest of the world?" his manager adds, slipping both hands into their pocket as they stride casually toward Sukuna who is merely trying to gather the rest of  his things. 

The last touch is his signature silver chain necklace. He hooks the accessory around his neck, while mentally preparing himself for the crowd waiting for him outside. For the voices that would be screaming out his name, and the obnoxious paparazzi who can't seem to grasp the concept of personal space. 

They all gawk at him like he's a endangered animal at the zoo.  

His chest seizes at the thought. 

He used to gloat over being in the spotlight. He took to stardom with an extreme sense of pride, but the thought of it right now just makes his skin crawl uncomfortably. 

The only thing that Ryomen Sukuna wanted at this very moment, is to go home in fucking peace. 

He’s given the fans and the world what they wanted. 

"Little shit got what was coming to him," he blurts out in response to Uraume. "It'll take him a while to lick his wounds and get over his broken pride..." 

Uraume chuckles, "and I was worried that he might have actually had an advantage over you..." 

Sukuna swallows the sudden lump in his throat. 

God he was fucking tired. His whole body is aching, begging him to get some much needed rest. He hadn’t trained this hard in a long time. The strict diet, the isolation, the strenuous days in the gym and in the training ring slowly started filtering into him in doses. 

"Almost," he admits quietly, a little bitter over the reality of the situation that he was close to losing. "He's good for his age. Really good actually." 

Uraume's face falls at that. "You don't sound like yourself, my king," they tease half-heartedly, addressing Sukuna by yet another title which he earned in the ring. 

"The King", "The Beast", “The Champ”, “Monster of The Ring”…

There was a time when he was younger, when the fire for the fight burned inside him with such intense conviction, that he found dignity in the titles that he's earned from every match. The thrilling sensation of him standing in the middle of the ring, his hands raised with victorious joy as he looked down at his opponent while the crowd would cheer for him like he was a figure of the divine, used to mean a great deal to him. 

But those titles feel…hollow. An old skin which Sukuna unknowingly shrugged off without even realizing it. 

"I'm just exhausted," he breathes with a hint of frustration, giving Uraume a reply after allowing his mind to drift for a few seconds. "I've got a raging headache and my shoulder is killing me." 

He slings his bag over his good arm, before turning to face his manager. 

The pair walk down towards the end of the hallway, and Sukuna can already hear the muffled voices from the press that have slowly gathered inside. He elongates his spine naturally as he holds a domineering pose. He quietly huffs out a breath and tries to steady the uneasiness coursing through his veins. The second the press lay their eyes on him, they stampede towards Sukuna like dogs off their leash. A flash of white and blue flickers around him, disorienting him for a single moment. 

"Hey, champ! How does it feel to knock out Satoru Gojo after everything he said this season?" 

"Way to prove that you're still The Beast of the Ring! What's next for our King?" 

"You've held your championship title for ten consecutive years! How do you go up from here?"

"Sukuna! Sukuna! Is it true that you've just locked in a multi-million dollar deal with Nike?"  

Uraume steadies the crowd, protectively standing in front of Sukuna as they gesture everyone to calm down. 

Despite the sheer difference in their size, Uraume has a natural way of commanding a room. 

That's one thing Sukuna has always been grateful for regarding his manager; Uraume always looked out for his best interest first.  

"Hello, everyone," they politely speak, their voice calm and pleasant. "While we appreciate the enthusiasm; our champion, Ryomen Sukuna, will only be making a single statement. He's had a long night and needs his rest," they announce, before looking over their shoulder and giving Sukuna a nod of approval to say what he needs to say. 

The man is thankful for Uraume every single day. He already informed them earlier that he wasn't interested in any post-match interview or conversations with the press, and Uraume happily obliged by accepting the privacy that he desperately needed. 

Sukuna tightens his grip around the gym bag over his shoulder. He stares at the small audience before him before clearing his throat to speak. "Young fighters like to run their mouth. I know because I used to be one of them. It's easy to be all bark and no bite. But in my case, I came out teeth first-" he states with a patronizing tone, noticing the press eagerly hang onto his every word and even laughing at his snide remark. 

They are waiting for a brutal comment from the badass himself, for him to add the cherry on top of all the shit-talk he’s already dished out. 

But Sukuna acknowledges that there is no place for it now. 

He doesn't need to add more to the hurt he's already caused to Satoru Gojo. 

Everything was settled in the ring, and now it was over. 

"However, I have to admit that this was one of the best fights of my career. I had fun. He's been a thorn by my side but I respect Satoru, and I know he has a brilliant career on the horizon. That's all I have to say about that for now. Have a good night." 

He steps away from the press, who trail at his feet like a pack of rats rattling off question after question as Uraume tries to console their demands. His manager delays their footing, all the while Sukuna finds the rest of his entourage at the arena exit. 

A string of bodyguards help him get through the second crowd of loyal fans who have gathered. They are waving phones in the air, begging for photos and videos. Sukuna obliges with a few, trying his best to fight off the shakes that's starting to make his hand tremble slightly. People lift up their shirts, flash their cleavage and pull out posters, bras and clothes for him to sign. He does so, his signature faltering from a clean string of letters to a fast doodle of his name. His fans offer him flowers, art, and mementos which he takes, and whatever extra he can't carry he hands off to one of his guards. When he's finally had enough of giving himself to the fans, he bids everyone a wave as his bodyguards escort him to the private parking lot in the back of the arena. 

Sukuna doesn't even realize how hard his heart had started hammering until he's embraced back into the quiet again. He feels incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and he isn't sure if it's the apprehension or the adrenaline wearing off from the fight. The phone in his pocket buzzes, probably Uraume wanting to make sure he's made it safely to his vehicle, but he can’t bring himself to answer the call. 

"Sir," one of his bodyguards states, "There's a VIP who is expecting to see you..." 

"So?" Sukuna scoffs, the black Mercedes in the distance a sanctuary. "I don't want to fucking see them." 

"Well, you see, they insisted. They weren't taking no for an answer." 

"And you would be shit at your job if you just let them roll over you like that," Sukuna begrudgingly replies. 

Sukuna wasn't particularly fond of the VIP guest lists. A majority of them were people who wanted to fawn over him, or simply weasel their way into his pants. The other half were people with deeper pockets trying trying to bargain him into fixing fights so that they can win big bucks on their bets.

Sukuna did not have the time or patience for the latter, and even the former as well. 

Especially tonight. 

"Actually, Sir, she's waiting for you as we speak-" the bodyguard stammers, having to look up when he addresses Sukuna. 

The champion stops abruptly to give him a puzzled stare and a piece of his mind over his bodyguard’s stupidity, but his attention is sharply drawn back to the car when he notices a figure step out of the Mercedes. 

You're wearing a denim skirt, a fitted white top and a pair of black boots. Sukuna’s heart skips a beat, noticing that your hair looks a little different from when he last saw you. A sparkle of silver glitters on your neck that matches his own chain, and you beam at him with a bright smile that steadies his soul.

  The click of your heels echo a little louder from the distance as you approach him, waving your fingers delicately in his direction to say your first hello. Sukuna's feet moves faster than the rest of him. He drops his bag off his shoulder, the gifts in his hands splay across the concrete ground and he scoops you up in his arms before spinning you in the air the second he wraps his arms around you. 

You giggle at his greeting, your body trapped in a blanket of muscle and cologne. Your fingers thread between the strands of his red hair, tears pricking your eyes at the sight of your best and oldest friend. 

Sukuna squeezes you tightly, "they should have just told me it was you by name," he exhales with a hint of annoyance, then carefully places you back down to rest your feet on the ground. 

You laugh under your breath, "Don't worry, I gave them hell for it. I told them that I'm the only VIP who mattered considering I have been on that list the longest...." 

You try to loosen your grip but Sukuna tenses up, so you ease back into his hug. 

He didn’t want to let go just yet. 

And truthfully, neither do you. 

"Hi, princess," he whispers in your ear, his voice deep and thick with fatigue. 

"Hey, 'kuna" you reply softly, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as your heart beats heavily against his now relaxed chest. 

₊ ⊹ .

The light from the car's backseat illuminates Sukuna's ruggedly handsome face. You cup his jaw between your fingers, and lightly trace your thumb over the cut on his swollen lip. Your eyes track upward and you wince at the gash across his brow. 

"He got a few good hits on you didn't he?" you point out, not as a question necessarily but more as a statement of the obvious. 

"A few good hits doesn't mean shit..." 

"When was the last time you got hit this bad in the ring?" you press. 

"I fight for a living, someone was bound to land a punch someday. Besides, it's not a concern. I had my good luck charm tonight without even knowing it..." he responds with a wolfish grin. 

You jab him playfully in the chest. "You're not made of steel you know? You had me concerned for a second..." 

"I roughed him up too," Sukuna states with a pout, "you're all acting like he walked away completely unscathed..." 

He slings an arm over your shoulder, his strength pushing your body weight to lean closer against his side. You shake your head with disapproval as you press the button to switch off the light above you both. 

The city moves past you in a haze, but you can't stop taking in the man before you. 

Ryomen Sukuna. 

The first time you met him was on the playground of your old kindergarten. You were all outdoors, and you noticed that these two bigger kids were knocking him around. The kindergarten teachers weren't anywhere to be seen. At the clear imbalance of power and with your sheer sense of goodwill, you decided to go over there and help. 

Sukuna had just joined your class only three weeks before that. He was the smallest kid, and had a hard time keeping up with everyone else. Everyone made fun of him and called him "chili crisp"  because of his hair. They teased him constantly for how he looked, how he dressed, and how he spoke and simply refused to play with him. 

Being young and impressionable, you never engaged. But you didn't do anything to help Sukuna either. It made you ache seeing him treated this way, and this time you weren't just going to let it slide anymore. 

Sukuna did nothing to deserve this treatment in the first place. 

However, despite his small stature, Sukuna was a fighter even then. 

He kept getting up even if it meant that he would just be shoved down once again. 

You remember walking up to both those kids and grabbing them by the collar. You yanked them off, placing yourself in between them and Sukuna before scolding them both for their terrible behavior. 

"I'm gonna tell!" you squealed with a furious point of your finger, threatening them with snitching words. "And if I ever see you hurt him, I'm going to make sure everyone knows how bad you are! And you’ll get into so much trouble with the teachers!”

You sharply kicked them both in their heels, and watched the kids scamper off, a little more intimidated now that someone they deemed as an equal threat entered the playing filed. Once they were gone, you turned toward Sukuna who was planted on the concrete ground. He was wiping away his snotty nose and trying to hide his tears. 

You scratched the back of your head nervously, your throat all itchy and tight from the sight of him. 

"You're-you're not a chili crisp," was all you could think of telling him in that moment. You gave him a small but kind smile, before offering him both your hands and helping him on his feet. 

He was a whole head and shoulder shorter than you were back then. His clothes barely hung onto his body. He had to fix up his t-shirt and readjust his shorts. 

"I know that," he answered with irritation, and a scowl that never seemed to have left him. 

You assisted in brushing the dust off him. 

"Your name is Ryo-men Su-ku-na?" you asked, breaking down the pronunciation of his name to make sure you said it correctly. 

He nodded his head quietly. 

You gave him another tender grin, and reached out for his hand before introducing yourself. 

"I know who you are, I'm not stupid." 

You frowned at his sharp response. "I never said you were." 

The two of you stood there facing one another in awkward silence, unsure of how to proceed from the moment. 

You shifted your weight from one foot to the next, kicking a random little rock on the ground. "Those kids are stupid." 

"Yeah, they are." He grumbled through gritted teeth. 

"So, if I'm not stupid and you're not stupid, why don't we be friends?" 

Sukuna's eyes widened slightly at your words, like he couldn't believe what you said. 

"Friends?" 

"Yeah!" you squeaked with a little more excitement. "You'll have someone to sit next to and play with every day!" 

He nervously gripped the hem of his tee. 

He never gave you a real response, but the next day he showed up and took a seat right next to you in class.

You were both six years old, and have been insuperable ever since. 

₊ ⊹ .

You press your cheek against his broad shoulder, and Sukuna sighs as his body melts into the leather seat underneath him. His hand gently rubs your own shoulder, with the two of you sitting in silence together as you have done many times before. He instructs the driver to take you both back to his penthouse, disregarding some after party that he's expected to attend. 

At the call, your heart flutters with anticipation because it was a clear sign indicating that he wanted to be alone with you. 

You shivered thinking of the last time that happened. 

It's hard to believe that this version of Sukuna co-exists with the person you've known for a majority of your life. 

The day after he sat next to you in kindergarten, everything changed for the better. 

Sukuna still grimaced at everyone else, but kids no longer picked fights with him and he had a warming smile that was reserved for you alone. 

Whether in class or outside of school, you both spent every spare moment that you could together. You were glued to the hip like two peas in a pod. Your parents adored him, doted on Sukuna despite him resisting their affection. It was only one night, when he was having yet another sleepover at your place, where you finally asked him how is he able to hang out with you all the time. 

Sukuna revealed a truth that broke your heart entirely. 

“Here is better than being home. Usually it's just me..." 

"Just you?" you whispered innocently, "but your mom and dad?" 

You watched him shrink into his blanket with uncertainty. "Don't know. I live with my Grandpa. He works a lot..." 

It's only later in your life where you learnt the full story. 

Sukuna’s parents abandoned him, leaving him with his grandfather to pursue reckless adventures together. At the time Sukuna was only three years old. His grandfather worked hard to provide for the boy, but he was an aging old man and didn’t expect to be responsible for such a young child. Sukuna's grandfather always showed deep gratitude to your parents for helping out and providing Sukuna with another safe space that gave him some much needed stress relief on his end. 

His daughter eventually returned, in tow this time with Sukuna’s half brother Yuji. His dead beat dad was gone for good. But by then Sukuna was already fourteen. 

He’s always had a complex relationship with his family, but things seem to be better with his brother. The two of them could pass off as identical twins, it was almost scary how alike they looked. 

You loved Yuji; he was a living antithesis of his older brother. Always perky, smiling so bright it’s like the sun follows his footsteps. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, carried the shadow and gloom of a waning moon. 

Your childhood and early adolescent years were precious, cherished moments and memories that solidified the strength of your relationship. But despite everything, you were the only person who saw how bright Sukuna's own light could shine. 

The driver finally parks the car in front of one of the most expensive buildings in Tokyo. Sukuna gets out first, and extends a hand into the vehicle to help grab yours. The touch sends tingles up your arm, but you do your best not to read into the reaction just yet. 

The two of you enter the building, passing the security who simply tilts their head in acknowledgment, but from your peripheral vision you notice Sukuna’s eyes shifting around his environment.

“No cameras,” you reassure him with a squeeze to his bicep. “No paparazzi…” 

Sukuna was aware of what he signed up for with fame, but that did not mean that you had to be subjected to the aggressive violation of privacy. 

And after everything that happened, after the horrific clashing of both your worlds, he felt himself breathe a huge sigh of relief. 

“They probably think I am showing up to the victory party,” he answered with gratitude.

The elevator rings, the doors opening as you both step inside. 

Sukuna hits the button to the penthouse suite, and from the way his shoulders slump you can tell there is something off about his demeanor. 

This isn’t the Ryomen you knew who walked away from a fight with the buzz of the winner. 

He’s dimmed. 

A bulb that’s flickering. 

Something’s wrong, you thought, looping your arm around his and keeping your eyes on the numbers increasing as you swallow your concern. 

₊ ⊹ .

Puberty didn’t hit Sukuna; it struck him like a brick over his head. 

At sixteen years old, Sukuna was no longer the loser kid that everyone picked on. He was a tower, a watchful pillar that looked down on those around him with an intimidating stare. All of a sudden this scrawny boy shot up like a tree, his body springing into a new version of himself. His voice broke, dropping octaves lower than the soft tone of what it used to be. His shoulders broadened, lean muscle forming since he spent most of his time wrestling and boxing.  

He became the bad boy that everyone blushed and fawned over. 

The athlete that people admired.

His coaches loved him - called him a prodigy, and a star of the future.

Sukuna carried himself with plenty of self respect, and was extremely well spoken. Outside of his athletics he enjoyed reading and learning history, and his venture into sports only happened because it kept him busy and gave him some much needed space away from his home. He was readjust to a new life with his mom back in the picture, and a brother who was five years younger than him. At first it was simply an escape, but once he settled into the atmosphere of it all, it gave him a sense of structure. Sukuna was diligent about his training and academics, outsmarting and outplaying almost everyone around him. His motivation was fueled with every game and competition, and you quickly saw that Sukuna only had the expectation of being a winner and nothing else. 

Navigating your teenage years was a bit tough for both of you. 

It began with one sleep over just a year prior, the moment where you both recognized that things couldn’t progress as casually as they used to. You woke up tangled in each other’s arms, hyper aware of your bodies and the parts that were blooming. 

Sukuna slept on the sofa every sleep over after that. 

Thanks to your eruptive hormones, the both you bickered often and frequently. As you and Sukuna started understanding your own senses of selves, a hint of distance started to grow. For a long time the two of you only ever had each other, but with Sukuna now a part of the athletic group and you falling in line with your own little clique, the both of you were finding some time away from each other and identifying who you were without the other person around. 

However, you always came back to one another, like two little magnets seeking each other out. 

It’s all you’ve ever known since you were six. 

One afternoon, while hanging out in the school’s basketball court, Sukuna turned to face you as you paced behind him while he was throwing some shots for fun.

“They think you’re my girlfriend,” he casually stated, referencing his new set of friends who always studied you with intense curiosity. 

Your face burned multiple degrees hotter than it should. 

“W-what?” You stammered. 

“Yeah,” he answered nonchalantly, and you watched him dribble the basketball as the awkwardness settled.  

“That’s…that’s weird…” was all you could think of adding on. “You told them I am not, right?” 

Sukuna furrowed his brows and hummed. But he nodded his head. 

“Just because we are friends that doesn’t automatically mean that we are “boyfriend and girlfriend”,” you insisted, using air quotes to emphasize your statement. 

Sukuna turned so his back was to you, and tossed the ball directly into the ring. 

“That’s what I told them…” he reassured, but something about his tone didn’t sit right with you. 

The summer that followed - Sukuna’s grandfather, mom and brother took a trip away. Sukuna declined to join since he was participating in a tournament. After his wrestling team came out victorious, he decided to throw a secret bash at his place to celebrate. 

You were there helping him hide away all the fragile items, before staring at him in shock when he placed a few beer cans on his kitchen counter. 

“How did you get that?” You asked in a low whisper, afraid that you both might somehow get caught for doing something that you aren’t supposed to. 

He just gave you a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, Princess…” 

That nickname stuck on you like glue. It’s something Sukuna called you with annoyance when you were both kids, and you used to call him an angry dragon in return. Even though you stopped using that silly term, for some reason Sukuna’s pet name morphed into one of endearment and affection which he kept using. 

“It’s just the team and a couple of girls that the guys have been trying to get with…” he ensured, “The guys wanted the beers, so I managed to sneak some from my grandfather’s stash…” 

“And what if he finds out?” 

Sukuna laughs, “that old man can’t even remember what day it is. I’m sure he won’t notice a few beer cans missing…” 

That night you had your first secret party, your first sip of beer and your first kiss; it was one of those core memories that lingered that was reminiscent of the adrenaline rush from living out the freedom of being young with no responsibilities. You don’t remember who it was who called out the idea of playing seven minutes in heaven, but suddenly all of you were sitting in a circle spinning an empty bottle on Sukuna’s grandfather’s worn rug. Your heart sat at your throat, your eyes fixated on the piece of twirling glass, half wondering who it would land on. You watched as couples disappeared into Sukuna’s room, everyone snickering in a circle thinking about what the potential couples could possibly be doing. 

The boys were crude with their commentary, and the girls giggled with feign disgust. 

Some people came out looking displeased, clearly unamused by what they experienced, while others had a look of euphoria on their faces. 

When the bottle landed on you, the first person you found yourself seeking out was Sukuna. 

However, the other end of the bottle wasn’t pointing to him, but to one of his teammates. 

His friend’s eyes widen with intrigue, a cute smile forming on his pouty lips. 

Your own cheeks warmed with curiosity. 

He helped you onto your feet, but the two of you were struck with an abrupt question that had you pausing your movements. 

“Do you want to do this?” Sukuna pointedly asked, his focus on you alone and no one else. 

There was a grave but serious look resting firmly on his face. 

Something about his stare made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t place why. With the eyes of everyone else on you and his teammate, you instantly wanted to divert the intense attention elsewhere. 

“Of course!” You said with a casual shrug, then grabbed his teammate’s hand and led him into Sukuna’s bedroom. 

You’ve been in here countless of times, never once feeling uncomfortable in this space. But this time, you were quite aware of the state of his bed, of the slightly rumpled sheets that were tugged from edge to edge. Your mouth went dry, your body suddenly trying to recollect every movie, book and comic that explained or depicted the intimacies between two people. 

Two hands touched your waist, spinning you on your feet. 

“Time’s ticking,” his friend said. “We shouldn’t waste it…” 

“I’ve never done this before…” you blurted out. 

“I haven’t either…” he answered kindly, and that made you feel better. 

“Okay…” you said, before placing your hands awkwardly on his shoulder. 

“Let’s just start with a kiss…” he suggested and then leaned forward. 

You were frozen then, unsure of what to do. You stood there with wide eyes as you felt his lips on yours, the sensation making your belly tingle. 

He pulled away. 

“That wasn’t too bed…” you admitted and he laughed. 

“Do you want to try?” He asked. 

Your first initiated kiss wasn’t magical, nor was it horrendous as some of your other friends experienced. Even now when you think about it - the only memory that hits you is one of innocent exploration. It took a minute for you to get comfortable with his prodding tongue, to figure out the clash between lips and teeth, and to allow his wet muscle to access our mouth and glide over your own. The sensation reminded you of sticky, tacky popsicles that clung to your lips in summers past. 

It was fun…until a loud bang startled you both, making you split from each other’s arms like opposing forces. 

“Time’s up,” Sukuna growled, before barging in without even so much as asking if you were decent like he did with the other pairs. 

The look he gave his teammate was terrifying, even you couldn’t help but gulp. 

His friend let out a nervous giggle, scratching the back of his head as he scurried his way out. “Damn, that was fast!” He tittered nervously, his voice cracking slightly towards the end. 

Sukuna narrowed his gaze as he watched him leave the room. Meanwhile, you both stood there facing each other, noticing his nostrils flaring as your breath rose and fell. 

“What?” You questioned, returning his hard stare with an even stronger glare. 

He huffed out a breath through his nose, “are you okay?” he asked, in an attempt to compose his clearly frazzled state. 

“Yes!” You blurted back, a little shaken. “Was that even seven minutes?” 

Sukuna grimaced, holding onto your eyes before he stormed out of his room, scoffing with annoyance at your response. 

Neither of you really spoke about the awkwardness of that moment, and instead carried into the heat of that summer like nothing even happened. 

But, what did hurt you after that, was that Sukuna never invited you to any of his “parties” again. 

He fibbed and said it was just “a team thing”, but you eventually heard about the other attendees at the party, and only through the grapevine found out about Sukuna’s first kiss.

It felt like a betrayal in its own way, this sudden shakiness in your friendship as uncertain as tectonic plates waiting to crash into a shattering earthquake. 

You called him one night to confront him, asking him why he wouldn’t tell you about his first kiss when you both should be able to talk about everything. But that conversation just resulted in an argument, a blow out that felt like a collapse in your world. 

You both didn’t speak to each other until the end of that summer, when Sukuna finally waved the white flag by crawling to your front door late one evening with some ice cream as a peace offering. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, while you both sat on the sidewalk, scooping wooden spoons into the tub of vanilla with chocolate chips. 

It’s the first time he’s ever apologized to you. 

Even when you were kids, Sukuna refused to ever say he was sorry. 

He would just pout angrily before over compensating with his sweetness to show you that he didn’t mean it. 

But not this time. 

You licked the vanilla off the spoon, biting down on the rich chocolate chunks, and hoping that the tears wouldn’t fall from your eyes from how your chest swelled at his remorse. 

Sukuna draped an arm around your shoulder, “I hate that things have been weird between us.” 

“You made them weird…” you mumbled and he just sighed. 

“‘Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted, “yes, I did…” 

You turned to look up at him, and he gave you a solemn smile. 

“I’m a little possessive of you, I realize…” he explained, his lips forming into that small frown, mirroring his childlike expression. 

“A little?” you answered back with a snarky tone. 

“You’re my best friend,” he admitted, his eyes downcast with regret. “You have always been my person.” 

“You’re my person too, ‘kuna…” you murmured, “but…but being best friends means that we have to trust each other. That we can’t just…hurt each other. That we should stop being honest or talking to one another when things get bad…that we can’t face things that make us…I don’t know, feel weird and stuff…” 

He rested his chin on the top of your head, the two of you finally bridging the gap of what seemed to be the first real challenge of your friendship. 

“It was a shit kiss…” he sighed, “I was just too fucking embarrassed to tell you.” 

You gazed up at him from underneath your lashes. 

“Why?” You said with a light laugh.  

Sukuna’s attention dipped to your mouth for a split second and back to your eyes again. “I don’t know. You just seemed to have enjoyed yours in comparison. I felt like I lost a game or something. I didn’t want to admit that mine was awkward and wet and just…not fucking good…” 

You laughed at that. 

“Everything with you is a competition…” 

“Not everything…” 

You nudged his stomach playfully with your elbow. “Do you remember when we played Mario Kart for the first time? When you lost three rounds in a row and nearly ripped my head off?” 

“How was I supposed to know you are freakishly good at that game?” 

You laughed, “I stay the reigning champion of rainbow road!” 

“You stay a pain in my ass…” 

You rolled your eyes, “a pain in your ass that will never leave you, so stop complaining about it…” 

Sukuna exhales, “It was…a bad kiss,” he admitted shyly, “She was so damn skittish, and I think I was too. I didn’t…I didn’t think it would be so…ugh. It was just not the right person…” 

“Or maybe you were just nervous…” you answered honestly. 

Sukuna shook his head. 

“No, I know it wasn’t the right person…” he said with confidence. 

You unraveled from his hold for a moment to look deep into those heated eyes. 

“Can I say something?” he questioned, the tips of his ears turning slightly red, a blush you’ve seen before but never realized how adorable it actually looked on him until this moment. 

“Anything”

“I don’t want you to think I am being weird or take this the wrong way…” Sukuna explained, pausing for a single breath before continuing. “I just thought the first person I would’ve kissed would have been…well, you… 

The world went still in that moment. All you could hear was the soft rustle of the trees in the distance, and all you could see was the open vulnerability of Sukuna’s heart resting on his face. 

It’s incredibly rare for him to even show it, your friend guarding that part of himself with such conviction. 

“Oh…” 

“But then I realized that you’re not supposed to be kissing your best friend,” he added on, stomping on the spark that flickered between you both before it even had a chance to even light. 

“No,” you agreed quickly, your eyes darting to the tub of ice cream. You pressed the back of your spoon into the creamy texture, doing your best to ignore the sudden pulse in your chest. 

“My second kiss was a lot better that’s for sure…” Sukuna rambled on, digging his spoon around yours as he scooped himself another serving of ice cream. “Way better actually…and on round three I think I got the hang of it…” 

You swallowed the tiny lump in your throat. “I don’t need to know the gross details, please,” you implored, though your stomach rolled with a hint of nausea at the reality that he’s kissed more people than you expected. 

You never admitted it out loud, but the confession made you a little jealous. 

If you were an option in his head…why didn’t he just ask? 

₊ ⊹ .

. 

Sukuna lost his virginity to a freshman college student a year later when he snuck into a party with two of his former teammates. You lost yours on the night of your graduation party to the same boy you kissed for the first time. You and Sukuna were expected to attend the same university (with him obtaining a full scholarship for academic excellence), but your friend had deviated from the shared path after being scouted. The two of you commuted to see each other often, with you visiting him when he was training and him stopping by the campus whenever he had free time. 

You and Sukuna knew about the other person’s intimate lives from the stories you shared, and despite continuously being plagued with constant accusations of being “more than friends”, you both agreed never to allow that discomforting prospect to intervene with your friendship again after that terribly awkward summer.

Rather than ignore the fact that you were growing to be even more beautiful by the day, Sukuna just became extremely blunt around you. He didn’t hide his eyes checking you out, noticing how your curves were starting to fill out and how you began to mature into your own features. He confidently spoke about how attractive you were, and often boosted your ego in ways that only enhanced your own confidence. 

You enjoyed reminding him that once upon a time he thought “girls were disgusting” and “looked funny”. 

“Let’s not forget I am the first guy to marry you,” he joked, recalling a game you both used to play where you pretended to be characters from a fantasy realm. 

“Actually you were the first dragon to marry me,” you clarified, because Sukuna loathed the prospect of playing a prince. “I don’t really think it counts…” 

“Maybe not - but all these guys fawning over you are going to find out you’re some kind of monster fucker and start running in the other direction…” 

It was safe to say that the banter between you both never changed.

You on the other hand, were recognizing just how handsome Sukuna was becoming too. You’ve seen him shirtless a million times up until this point, but something about watching the definition of muscle build into his new physique, and noticing the way manhood slowly enveloped his body, began to hit you in different ways. This was especially noticeable when you would watch him train in the ring, paying attention to the fact that Sukuna wasn’t built just like any average person. It didn’t even occur to you how incredibly strong he had become until he would lift or move your body around like you were weightless and not a living, breathing human with physical mass. 

One evening, while you both were walking back to your dorm from a dinner at a cheap ramen bar, Sukuna had the audacity to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder because “you couldn’t keep up with his pace”. 

All of a sudden, you were acutely aware that the scrawny boy that you used to protect was now all grown up. 

Sukuna morphed into brick and stone, while you were merely glass. 

For some reason, it put a strain on your heart. 

You guys really weren’t kids anymore. 

This was only solidified a year and a half into his career when Sukuna fought in his first professional tournament at twenty years old. The man dominated the ring against his opponent. He broke the record of the most knock outs and became a household name almost overnight. 

“The King”

Time moved at double speed after that. 

Your fingers that were clinging to bits of nostalgia weren’t able to keep them from it slipping between your grasp. Things were happening in a blur, and the sudden shift in Sukuna’s world felt like a birthing black hole in your own.

The night before Sukuna was flying off on his first world tour, the two of you were cooped up in your dorm room, snuggled underneath the blanket like you used to be when you were both kids. 

This time, it wasn’t awkward. 

You had both experienced love and lust in different ways up until that point. 

You knew that being this close didn’t have to mean anything risqué. 

You were comfortable with yourselves far more than you were five years ago.

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you all the time,” you whispered with a sniffle, while Sukuna traced the shell of your ear. 

Two silver chains mirrored one another, one on your neck and the other on his. It was your parting gift to him, a reminder to keep a piece of each other around when you couldn’t be together. 

You assumed Sukuna would find it stupid, but instead he clasped the necklace around himself before doing the same for you in silent contemplation. 

“I’ll keep in touch, brat” he soothed, but you could hear the ache in his voice too.

You circled your arms around his neck, eagerly clinging onto him as closely as you could for the little time you had. 

“I am really proud of you though,” you spoke, your shaky breath against his collar bone, a tear rolling down your cheek as you inhaled the herby scent of his soap. 

“I’m paying off your loans when the money really starts rolling in,” he chuckled against your temple. 

You shook your head with disapproval. “Just buy your grandpa something nice,” you insisted. “And make sure to spoil Yuji…” 

“That kid’s already spoiled…”

“But he’s a sweetheart,” you emphasized, “and I know he’s probably going to miss you more than me…” 

Sukuna hummed. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

You tilted your chin up as he dropped his head down, your noses merely inches apart. You relaxed the muscles on your face, your thumb reaching to smooth the crease from between his brows. 

“God knows what would have happened if you didn’t save my sorry ass back when we were kids…” he said with an easy smile. 

“You would have eventually fought back,” you giggled, “besides, you don’t need me protecting you anymore…” you pointed out, your voice a little breathless, and your anxious mind running on the concern of if you might even fit into Sukuna’s new life after this. 

He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into the seam of his frame. 

“I always need you,” he confessed, and those words were enough to make you break as the pain of his departure finally collided into you. 

₊ ⊹ .

Sukuna went off to having an extremely successful boxing career. 

At twenty-two, he had turned into one of the hottest sports stars the industry has ever seen. 

He had win after his win under his belt, and the second he partnered with Uraume it was a match made in heaven. 

He was insanely good, and with Uraume by his side, he was now unstoppable. 

You were provided tickets to any of his fights, accompanied with private transportation and accommodation if necessary. Sukuna always made sure that you were well take care of, and you always accepted because it was the only time you were able to actually see him. Those few days were precious together, before you had to depart and return to the real world once again. Each of Sukuna’s fights was a mesmerizing experience. There was something about his flow in the ring that managed to make everything else around him blur. 

He was strong, but agile. 

Brutal but swift with his movements. 

He moved with regal precision, a dancer that understood the rhythms of strength. 

Everyone challenged him, but all of them failed. 

Ryomen Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with. 

Despite the distance, you and Sukuna always made a conscious effort at keeping in touch with each other. You may not be physically there in each other’s presence, but not a day went by without a phone call or multiple texts.

At twenty-seven, Sukuna was at the peak of his stardom. Your best friend found himself tangled between the world of fame and fortune, alongside his old life of normalcy and humble peace. He made good on his promises; setting up a trust fund to ensure that Yuji was well taken care of in every capacity. He paid off all your loans in secret because he knew you would never accept it from him upfront. He bought his grandfather a home in Osaka for him to retire to. And his peace offering to his mom was renovating their old, broken home into something new and vibrant for her to live her life happily now that she seemed to have finally settled down in her third marriage. Sukuna even offered to take care of his step brother, Choso. They may not have been personally close, but he was grateful that Choso was keeping a watchful eye on Yuji. 

Your own life was starting to unfurl as well - you had graduated university, were experiencing your first serious relationship, navigating various friendships and landing your first job. It all felt normal compared to Sukuna, but the man never minimized your experiences. 

When you were together, it’s like nothing had even changed, but the moment your realities bled into each other, it was a constant reminder of how just how far apart your lives actually were. 

You were harassed by the paparazzi who constantly overstepped. 

Sukuna’s boundaries were crossed by the people you knew because everyone wanted a moment with the star. 

You found yourself in environments with the rich whose beauty, wealth and status seemed far out of your reach. 

Sukuna found himself being treated more like an object than a person. 

And yet, you both seemed to be settling down into your own versions of the life you were creating - always weaving the other person in no matter the obstacle.

At twenty-eight, Sukuna had earned more money than he could even imagine, and was still somehow only moving onwards and up. He was plastered on every magazine cover, was the the center of attention on social media by his most dedicated and loyal fans. He was stalked and obsessed over, admired and feared. Networks wanted to feature him on shows, movies and every talk show. The man was a composition of everything that people were projecting onto him. 

He had become an untouchable to the eyes of every living mortal. 

But to you, and just you - he would always be the little boy who was far too small for this big world. 

After years of flings with influencers, models, and high end socialites - it seemed that Sukuna was finally settling down with one of the top actresses in the industry. The moment the two of them were caught kissing at a party, their secret was revealed to the public. 

You, however, knew all the details of the ways in which Sukuna was slowly wooing her. 

At this point you’ve both grown tolerant of hearing about the other person’s love life. And at this time especially, you weren’t affected by Sukuna’s first serious relationship because you and your boyfriend were discussing the possibility of marriage which felt close on the horizon.  You had just bought your first house, and was considering the big gesture of having him move in with you. You had gotten an incredible promotion at work, and for the first time you felt a sense of stability that you had never really experienced before. 

“We should have dinner together!” You offered one night to Sukuna over the phone. 

“The four of us?” He questioned. 

“Yeah, I mean…you know Sousuke really well…” 

“Yeah, and he hates me…” 

“But I haven’t met Mei yet…and no, Sousuke doesn’t “hate you”…”

“I hate to break it to you, Princess. But the guy can’t stand me…” 

You glanced towards your boyfriend who was sitting on the sofa, his attention on the television show he was watching. You stepped away from the living room, and quietly made your way to the bedroom. 

“’kuna…” you spoke, your throat catching, “I think…I think he might propose…” 

“What?!” He exclaimed and you had to pull the phone away. 

“Jeez! Don’t shout! You’re going to make me pop an ear drum!” 

He groaned. 

You sighed, “we’ve been talking about it…and I just…I just really want you guys to get along is all.  I just think you guys are just not seeing eye to eye…” 

Sukuna remained oddly quiet on the phone. 

“Can you say something?” You begged. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, “we can do dinner at my place. The paparazzi have been hounding me trying to get any shot they can find of me and Mei. I would rather we don't go anywhere public...” 

You smiled, “dinner is perfect!” 

At first glance, the dinner seemed like a complete success. 

The four of you chatted and enjoyed your night like you were all old friends, especially after Sousuke got over his starstruck moment when he met Mei. You and Sukuna told stories of your years together, inviting your partners to the pieces of your lives that you both shared. You could see that Sukuna was clearly attracted to Mei, and in turn he could see that you were happy with Sousuke. The night felt like a convergence without an implosion - an easy going settlement on the two roads that you and your friend had taken. 

That’s why when your boyfriend called things off with you three months later, it took you completely by surprise. 

Nothing in this world could have prepared you for that heartbreak. 

It was a grieving period, a dark time of mourning that had you glued to your bed most days. This life that you had been carefully piecing together toppled like dominos. After breaking the news to Sukuna, you spent two weeks isolating yourself from anything and everything else. 

Your best friend couldn’t stand seeing you in this state, and showed up at your door out of the blue one evening.

You burst into tears at the sight of him.

He was there to mend your broken heart, and he never left your side. He told his team that he was taking a much needed break, and during that time made sure that you were fed and comfortable. He handled any extra chores, slept on the floor in your bedroom every night so that you weren’t alone. He spent hours with you in silence while you wept, listened to you angrily vent your frustrations on how your ex could treat you this way. 

One night, he woke up and realized that you weren’t in bed. He searched for you, finding you in the kitchen staring at a small pile of bridal magazines. 

Your clothes were rumpled, you hadn’t changed or freshened up since that morning. 

Sukuna didn’t say anything, just placed two hands on your shoulders and turn you away from the painful memories. 

You gasped and hiccuped into his chest. 

“I couldn’t sleep…” you explained, “I r-remembered that I still had these, and just…just wanted them gone…” 

Sukuna tenderly stroked the back of your neck. “You know,” he said, his voice deeper than the ocean itself, the tone the texture of velvet. “I can always break his fucking legs…” 

The comment made you choke out a laugh. 

“It’ll ruin your career,” you whimpered. “It’s not worth it…” 

“For you,” he soothed, his thumb lightly tracing the space where the base of your neck and spine connected. “It’s always worth it” 

₊ ⊹ .

The blunder in Sukuna’s career hit early last year, when his relationship with Mei fell apart and resulted in one of the worst break ups that people have ever seen. Mei released a public, viral video that had millions of views and thousands of shares. She accused Sukuna of cheating for the entirety of their two year relationship, crying crocodile tears on camera over how she was simply another trophy that he could successfully claim while his heart always belonged to someone else. 

That video made your blood boil. 

You knew Sukuna wasn’t perfect - but if there was one thing you would never doubt about that man it was his loyalty. 

You saw it towards grandfather, to Yuji, to Uraume, and even yourself. 

That man scoffed at the prospect of cheating, believing it to be a cowardice act. 

And Sukuna was no coward. 

Even in prior relationships, he was always clear about where he stood. If he couldn’t commit to something, he made it perfectly known. You still didn’t know what it was about Mei that had him finally let his walls down. But when they were together, he looked perfectly content. Every desire and every fantasy he dreamt up in his youth had finally been accomplished. But all you knew about their break up was that things weren’t working out, and Sukuna wasn’t willing to share more than that. 

You were being respectful of his privacy, understanding firsthand how tough this kind of heartbreak can be. 

He called you when the Mei's video first broke out, his voice strained. 

“You know it’s not true, right?” He questioned before even saying hello. 

“Ryo, of course I know that-” 

“I’m not a little bitch who would cheat. I would never do that. Nor am I that fucking stupid thinking I would ever get away with it-”

“I know…” you reassured, hearing the apprehension laced through his words. “Ryomen, I know you. I know you better than anyone else in this world.”

He breathed a long sigh of relief. “I was just wondering if you might have been convinced otherwise”  

Your stomach tightened. 

“But if you believe me, then I don’t give a fuck about anyone else.” 

Something about that conversation clung onto you, it sat like a weight on your shoulders that you couldn’t quite possibly shrug off. The tabloids, news outlets and social media accounts were throwing ingredients upon ingredients into the rumor pot that was bubbling and boiling over. On top of that, a new rising star had just entered the boxing world, and Sukuna was suddenly dealing with brutal comparisons to the younger, hotter talent that was Satoru Gojo. 

You were the one who offered to take him out to dinner to get his mind off of things, not realizing just how bad it actually was for him. 

When a gossip magazine posted the photos of you both huddled together (as you have done many times before) while having an ordinary dinner, it spun your world inside and out. Though the pictures were quite blurry, there were a few people who were able to recognize you. You were being harassed at your work, interrogated by your friends and were even being accused of being “the other woman”.

The worst part is was when Mei fed into the chaos, making a follow up post and stating that “a woman always knows, and is always right” in regards to her break up situation with Sukuna.

She may not have explicitly said it, but her fingers were pointing at you.  

You don’t know how your address got leaked, but when you started finding paparazzi stalking you in your own home it became far too much for you to handle. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, was infuriated. 

This whole time he was disengaged by what was going on, but once you were caught in the mix of this mess, it seemed that he was suddenly ready to cause equal destruction. 

He sued his ex for defamation, sued multiple media outlets for harassment. He had Higuruma Hiromi, one of the top lawyers in his field, at the helm of this take down, and the second he shot back, it had everyone scurrying in retreat. 

The tabloids, blogs and magazines all redacted the photos of you, reducing your digital footprint. 

His ex, under pressure of Sukuna’s threats, came out with a public apology so that he would drop the charges against her and help her avoid her own PR nightmare. 

The rest of Sukuna’s anger was taken out on the ring, with people seeing another side of what The King could unleash. 

His match against Hajime Kashimo was one of the bloodiest in boxing history, his opponent left crimson and defeated despite seemingly holding a strong front in the beginning. 

They dubbed him: “The Monster of The Ring” after that. 

The damage was already done, and the stress of it all was starting to hurt Sukuna’s focus. When he nearly got disqualified in a match, that is when Uraume intervened, and felt it was necessary to include you in the discussion. 

You’ve always had a complicated relationship with Uraume. They respected you, but you know it’s only because of your mutual relationship with Sukuna. Uraume, however, has made snide remarks  towards you when you were both alone - about how you were merely a distraction when dangled in front of his champion’s eyes.

“I think some time apart would do you both good,” they said. “They are never going to stop hounding you because they think there is something more going on, and besides…we can’t have Sukuna fucking up with Gojo now in the mix. We need to show the world that he’s still as strong and as relevant as ever…” 

“It’ll die down,” Sukuna stated with frustration. 

The both of them bickered over it. It was the first time you have ever witnessed them in a heated exchanged. Your heart started to hurt because you were aware how all of this was only making your best friend see in shades of red. 

He wasn’t himself. 

He wasn’t thinking clearly. 

This was impacting him.  

You getting involved in this was impacting him. 

“Ryomen,” you said seriously, placing your hand over his. “I think Uraume is right…” 

The man turned to you, his fingers lacing between your own subconsciously as he squeezed it tightly in disbelief. 

It was the first time you’ve ever seen him hurt. 

“It’s just a short time apart,” you said with a comforting smile, “once everyone gets bored we can resume our lives in peace. But right now, I can see this taking a toll on you…” 

He furrowed the front of his brows. 

“Uraume is looking out for you, and I think what they are saying makes sense. Don’t you?” 

“No, I fucking don’t…” he snapped, his eyes glaring at his manager who remained stoic as ever. 

“Don’t let your emotions get the better of you,” they remarked, “I know a part of you agrees with what I have to say.” 

“You’re not in the right state of mind, and you need to be” 

“It’s for your own good,” Uraume insisted. "You are gambling with your career. With your legacy"

The decision was mutual but entirely heartbreaking all the same. Sukuna drew the circus away, and it broke you when you realized that in order to protect you, he had to sacrifice something in return. 

The comfort of your friendship, the sanctuary of your company.

It was the price of fame, and one that he was willing to keep paying. 

As a result of this tough decision, Sukuna had grown cold. Not because he was being mean or cruel, but because he thought he was offering you some peace of mind. Because he thought that by withdrawing from you, it would make the pain of the separation easier. He wanted this distance to be a clean break for the both of you, and while he honored keeping in touch, it was just at the bare minimum because his calls and texts were few and far between. 

The most you saw of him was on a screen, and you could see that Sukuna was miserable. 

He was turning into something vicious in the ring, a violent machine that people glorified. He wasn’t moving with the fluidity of an artist that you used to admire when you first started watching him fight. There was a sense of brutality that was now a part of his make up. 

Sukuna was no longer a man, he was a beast. 

His persona was dwindling into only intimidation. Every interview, every guest appearance, and every social occasion was met with detachments or disinterest. He was growing snarky and irritable, no longer willing to charm the people around him. 

Satoru Gojo was the first to shoot at Sukuna with his words, dredging up his painful break up and even dragging you back into the fold with his commentary. The two of them grew to have a very intense rivalry. They exchanged heated arguments on social media, smack talked the other person in live interviews and had tense interactions in public. 

The press and the people were eating up every single second of it.

On the eve of his thirty-first birthday, you received a call from Uraume. 

“We are back in the city,” they said, “Sukuna needs to start training up for his match against Satoru Gojo.” 

You swallowed the uncomfortable lump in your throat. 

“Why didn’t he tell me he was back?” You asked softly. 

Uraume sighed, “I don’t have to tell you that he’s been in a fowl mood. The agency is throwing a huge birthday party for him tonight which he is refusing to attend…” 

“So, why are you calling me?” 

“Because…” Uraume sighed, “he’s about to fly to close to the sun, and I can see he needs an anchor to bring him down to Earth a little bit…” 

Your cheeks burned at the statement. “Are you saying I am his anchor?” 

“I am saying it’s been almost a year since he last saw you…” Uraume explained, “And I don’t want him feeling awful on his birthday. I care about him too, you know?” 

You nodded your head, “No, of course. I know that.” 

“I told him that I would stop by to pick him up for the party, but I think giving him a nice surprise might do him so good. Remind the guy to enjoy himself a little…” 

“You’re sweet,” you said with a smile. 

“As are you, my dear,” Uraume replied tenderly. 

“My, my, are you actually giving me a compliment?��� 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” they remarked playfully, and you felt a hint of ease realizing that things might not be as cold between you both as you thought. 

That Uraume was really only ever considering Sukuna's well being first, just like you.

₊ ⊹ .

Uraume made sure that you got to Sukuna’s place in one piece and without anyone knowing that you were even there. You clasped your best friend's present between your fingers, your exposed body shivering from the cold air as you rode the elevator up to his penthouse apartment.

It felt right to dress up; you wore a white mini dress with a mesh overlay that had little embroidered detailing on the fabric. There were cut outs in the back, with an adjustable strap from behind cinching the bodice perfectly to your shape. Your kitten heels clicked against the floor, the nerves suddenly tingling their way up your legs as you thought about what Sukuna’s reaction might even be. 

This year felt like a century in the timeline of your friendship. 

You knocked on his door gently, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

You could hear the trudge of footsteps from behind the frame, Sukuna’s voice bellowing as he spoke. 

“Uraume, for the last fucking time, I told you I am not going, and if you force it I will fire you on the spot-” 

He swung the door open and froze. 

“Surprise!” You squeaked lightly, awkwardly lifting the gift in your hands. “I got you a present!” 

Sukuna blinked once and then twice, his lips parting as if he’s seen a ghost. 

“Uraume asked me to come,” you explained. “They told me that you guys were back…” 

He stood there dumbfounded, for once rendered completely speechless. 

You cleared your throat, feeling a warmth rippling over your skin as the man gave you a once over. His eyes flickered down your body, hovering over all the parts of your exposed skin. Your bare thighs, your décolletage, and up the nape of your neck. 

“T-they wanted you to have fun on your birthday,” you added on with an apprehensive grin, “they actually suggested maybe a quiet night in and thought you might just want to spend it with an old friend instead of a bunch of people you probably don’t even like…” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing into a firm line. 

He looked…upset. 

Was he not happy to see you? 

“Uhm,” you mumbled, your fingers toying with the ribbon at the odd dismissal and lack of enthusiasm, “I-I don’t have to stay, but I did just want to wish you a happy birthday…” 

You took a small step forward, holding the present up as an offering. “Happy birthday, ‘Kuna…” you said with a quiet warble in your voice and feeling like a complete idiot for showing up. The disappointment of his response sat heavily on your chest.

He lifted his hand, gripping the present as he plucked it out of your grasp. You cleared your throat, anxiously scratching the back of your ear as you lifted up the strap of your dress which fell on your right shoulder. 

“I’ll just…” you added on in defeat, gesturing behind you to indicate that you were leaving. 

You didn’t even notice his arm sling behind your waist when your eyes fell downcast. 

Suddenly you were pulled over the threshold, the door closing behind you in a bang before your back was pressed up against the wooden frame. Your gaze lifted up to Sukuna, your pupils widening when you you were met with his menacing stare. 

“You know,” you said with a gulp, hoping to the ease the tension as you tried to catch your breath. “You really do look like a dragon when you scowl like that…” 

“Are you stupid?” He spat with irritation. “What if someone saw you come over? We just got the press off our backs…” 

Your pulse hit the base of your throat. “Uraume ensured that no one was around…” 

“I thought we agreed to take time apart…” he argued, ignoring your words. “You agreed.” 

“You’re mad...” You pointed out, the tip of your nose wincing as you pursed your lips. 

“I’m not mad, I’m furious…” he said with irritation. “I’m trying to keep you out of this fucking chaos and you just waltz in, in this sorry excuse of a dress, like everything is perfectly fine?!” 

You looked down at your outfit, and folded your arms over your chest. 

“I…” you spoke, your voice trailing off as your shoulders slumped. 

You didn’t even know if you should apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong and this wasn’t even your idea to begin with. You’ve also never seen Sukuna speak to you this way before, and your confidence bubbled when you recognized that this...wasn’t him. 

You straightened your back, tilting your chin up to face him with defiance. 

You’re the only person in the world who willingly challenges him. 

You don’t even have to raise a fist to watch him break. 

He was pushing you away, the same way he did when you found him on the ground of that kindergarten because that’s what Sukuna does when he’s hurting the most. 

“God, you’re just as miserable as look…” you pointed out with a quirk of your brow. 

His jaw twitched. 

“I don’t give a shit who catches me here,” you boldly claimed, “I miss my best friend…” you added before shoving his shoulder, “and you, you asshole, have no excuse for not telling me that you are back home. Just because I agreed to us spending some time apart, that doesn’t mean you get to just...cut me off like that. To not call me, to barely answer my texts, and to just push me away like I don’t matter to you…” 

Sukuna winced, taking a step closer to seal the gap of space between you both. He brought his head lower, dipping his forehead to press against your own. Your spine seized in that moment, your lips parting feeling the heat of his breath on your skin. 

You were expecting a rebuttal, but this…this wasn’t what you thought would happen. 

“You are a pain in my ass…” he whispered, closing his eyes as he circled his free arm around your waist, “and the only thing that matters to me…” 

He nudged his face closer, so close you swore to yourself that he might kiss you, before tracking his lips along your jaw and cradling his forehead in the crook of your neck instead. 

Your right hand moved him to touch his shoulder, your face contorting with a hint of concern. 

You felt it then, something wet on your skin where his forehead lay, and you took in a sharp breath as Sukuna tightened his arm around your waist. 

“You shouldn’t have come…” he took a deep inhale against your neck, smelling your skin before clearing his throat from any shakiness. 

“You said that already…” you grumbled unamused. 

“Stubborn woman, you never listen...” he breathed in once more, “God, I fucking missed you.” 

₊ ⊹ .

Sukuna opened his present once everything was settled, and once he finally embraced the reunion without questioning any other factors. He laughed at your little DIY stress kit that you put together for him. You both ordered in pizza, sitting on opposite sides of the sofa with the open cardboard box between you. You talked, and talked, and talked into the late hours of the night.  Until there were only crumbs on the bottom of the box which Sukuna placed on the coffee table. The bottle of champagne that you have both been nursing was nearly empty. 

Drunk on each other, with a belly full of food and simplistic joy settling in. Sukuna leaned against the arm rest, sprawling his long legs and patting his thigh sweetly. 

“C’mere…” 

Your heart hammered, and you bit the rim of your champagne glass before obliging. 

You stood up, swaying a little and watching his hungry eyes blatantly check you out as you sat on his lap. Sukuna adjusted his position, before dropping his palm on your thigh, his touch stroking up and down your skin. 

“What’s going on with you?” You inquired, placing your elbow on his shoulder as you rested your warm cheek against your palm. 

You were looking at him with concern, noticing his face sink. 

He rubbed one hand over the exhausted expression, an intoxicated blush painting his cheeks. 

“The press are worse than ever. After Mei, it’s been…relentless. The stories they are coming up with, the things that they are saying about me. I went from being on top of the world to being the guy everyone loves to fucking hate. And with every fight I go into, people are just waiting for me to wash up. The cherry on top of this whole fucking thing is Satoru Gojo, who won’t stop running his fucking mouth. I want cut the little shit in half…” 

You smiled, not to be condescending, but out of gratitude that you both easily slipped back into the shell of your own comfort. “Ryomen, he’s twenty-one years old. Do you not remember how you were at that age?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I had more class than he did…” 

“But you were aggressive,” you reminded, “You weren’t afraid to tear down the legends that predated you.” 

“So, what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that maybe Satoru drew inspiration from somewhere…” 

You placed the champagne glass on his chest, your fingers holding the stem as you swirled the liquid around gently. The silence hung in the air because Sukuna knew you were right, but there were other lingering questions pressing you at the same time. And thanks to the alcohol, you had all the courage you needed to ask.

“What happened with Mei?” You wondered, shifting your gaze to meet his. 

Sukuna’s index finger tapped up and down your thigh in contemplation. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head before swallowing the lump in his throat. “Nothing.” 

You quirked your brow again, taking a swig of your champagne. 

Sukuna used his free hands to wrap around your own, and he pulled the glass away from you to take a sip himself. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” 

He chugged the rest of your drink, and placed it on the ground beside him. 

“Ryomen…” 

“Don’t push me, brat…” 

“But why not?” You wondered, “I just…it just seemed like you both were so happy and then all of a sudden…” 

He dropped his head back against the arm rest and stared up at the ceiling. From underneath his black shirt you saw the silver chain poking through. 

Your heart tightened. 

You drew one hand on the locket, your finger curling underneath as your thumb tracked over the texture of the necklace. 

“You’re still wearing it…” you mumbled. 

Sukuna faced you. “I never take it off. Only when I have to get in the ring…” His eyes shifted to your exposed, naked neck, and you mindlessly reached for the silver chain that you were currently not wearing. 

“I don’t wear it on certain occasions…” you explained guiltily, “only because I am afraid that I might lose it.” 

“Plus, it wouldn’t go with this dress...” Sukuna nonchalantly added on and you laughed at his comment. 

He sighed in defeat. “The necklace was a small reason,” he opened up. “Mei hated that I wore it all the time. She would badger me about taking it off. The time I spent with you after Sousuke didn’t help…” he added, treading the delicate topic with as much sensitivity as he could, “she accused me for cheating. I told her she needed to back off because you and I had a history that predates her. I told her that if the roles were reversed, you would be there for me because you have always been there for me…” 

Your body froze. 

“She would pick fights with me over everything about you. Finally I had enough, and told her she needed to fucking trust me if this was going to work. But things never went back to the way they used to. It was always up and down with Mei. Finally, when she had enough, she told me that I had a choice to make. Either I cut you off for us to happily together. Or…she leaves…” 

You sat up, staring at him with wide eyes and shock.  

“I’m…” you gasped, “I’m the reason why you both broke up?” 

The guilt struck you harder than you expected, and you looked down at Sukuna’s torso shamefully as you recalled the state of yourself post-break up, thinking of all the moments where you might have potentially stolen precious time away from his former lover. 

“Ryomen, I am so…I am so sorry…” 

Two fingers brushed underneath your chin, and Sukuna lifted your head so you could see him. 

“I picked you,” he confessed, “I picked you.” 

“But-” 

“There is no “but”,” he said with a shake of his. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for over two decades. You are my person. You are my family. You…”, he sighed, “you didn’t deserve what happened afterwards...”

His hands trailed up until his digits caught the hem of your dress. 

“I’m keeping my distance to protect you..."

“But you loved her,” you gasped, “I saw it. I saw you both. I would’ve…I would’ve stepped aside. If I was causing any issues, I would’ve…respected your boundaries. I love you, Ryomen. I just want you to be happy, and if that means that I take a step back-” 

“I did love her,” Sukuna interjected, the heat of gaze flicking upward, the rims slightly red from the alcohol he consumed. “But I love you more…” 

He drew all the air out of your lungs with the slip of his tongue, making you perch yourself up so you were actually looking directly at him. His pupils were dilated, widening as if to give you access to the depths of his soul. In all your years you’ve known him, you don’t think the two of you ever actually exchanged those words. It was always veiled with “I care for you,”, “I adore you,” “You’re my person,” and “this is why we are best friends.” 

But love… 

That felt forbidden to say out loud, even though you both knew that the root of your friendship was only built on love, it shouldn't have come as such a shock to you for the confession to slip so naturally.

You gaze longingly into each other’s eyes, in a way that you haven’t since you were both sixteen years old. 

Wondering…

Considering…

“I don’t…” you said quietly, sitting upright as he shifted beneath you. 

You wound up straddling him, both your hands resting on his shoulders while his own continued to tease the hem of your dress. 

“I don’t know what to say…” you exhaled. 

Sukuna pinched the fabric between his thumb and index finger, allowing the silence to hang for a few minutes before switching the subject. 

“Did you dress up for me?” He joked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his devilish mouth. He slid one hand underneath your dress, making you gasp as his touch moved dangerously high up your thigh. 

“Wanted to look cute,” you murmured, your words lacing tightly together as the champagne danced across your tongue. You felt a pulse radiate between your legs, and you unknowingly clenched much to Sukuna’s amusement.  

“Cute for me?” He coaxed. 

“Cute in general,” you remarked. 

His other hand sprawled across your back, and you knew he was testing his boundaries.

“Ryomen…” you warned, but it only made him break out into a full grin. His irises were drowning in lust and inebriation, and your own were falling in suit. 

The hand on your hip dragged up further, until his fingers brushed over the string of your underwear. You scratched your nails down his chest, feeling your back arch into his palm as you mindlessly rolled your hips.

His lips moved to your ear, that mellifluous voice dangerously close. “Let’s play a game…” 

He squeezed the fat of your hip, his weight lifting you up and the entire room spun as he pinned you underneath him when he switched your positions. He locked you against the plush sofa with his thighs, a throaty laugh coming through from your sudden squeak of surprise. 

“Let’s see you try to get out of this one, Princess...” He teased, his teeth nipping at the side of your throat. “Or you’ll end up being my dinner…” 

Your body vibrated from the sensation of his touch. You gripped his jaw firmly and pulled his face towards you, your brows furrowing at the proclamation of a challenge. 

“It’s not fair to go against a boxing champion,” you argued, your spine curving as Sukuna slipped his other thigh between your legs. 

He dropped his head to the base of your throat, his teeth catching the sensitive spot just above your collar bone, “don’t worry,” he soothed over the gentle bite, “I’ll play fair…”

“Don’t patronize me,” you grumbled through gritted teeth. 

“You’re fault for waltzing into the dragon’s lair…” he alerted, quoting the very same line he used to when you would both play this silly fantasy game together. 

But you’re not wielding plastic swords and entering into the enemies domain with a sense of courage. Now, it felt like playing with fire. Your skin was burning at the contact, at Sukuna’s weight over your throbbing body. When he nibbled on your neck again, your hand gripped onto the back of his head, tugging his hair a little roughly as you pulled him away. 

Sukuna purred. 

“You’ve never been able to beat me…” you teased, giving into the world of make believe just one more time but speaking the truth regarding this fact. “I’ve always been your biggest challenge…” 

“Watch me win tonight,” he pushed with confidence, reaching for your wrist and pinning it above your head. 

“And what are the rules here exactly?” You quipped, your tongue tingling and your body buzzing with excitement and curiosity. “Am I supposed to kill the dragon and win back my castle?” 

Sukuna laughed, his eyes darkening as he pressed his forehead to yours once more. 

“No need to draw any swords. Let’s play a game of submission…” he boldly claimed, and your attention flickered to find his brazen smile burning even brighter on his face. “First person to cum loses” 

“Are you making a move on me?” You light heartedly disputed. 

“Not at all,” Sukuna maintained, but you can tell from his tone that he’s veiling the truth.

There was something hard pressing up against you, and you had a feeling it was a nudge for some relief. 

“It’s the dress isn’t it?” you giggle.

“If you even call it a dress…” 

“Can’t handle a little skin?” 

“I don’t want to shock you by telling you got me half hard just showing up,” he confessed, something unfolding in your drunken stupor. 

“I can feel you…” you sighed, and the man hummed as he molded his body into you.

You felt him twitch, and it made your thighs tremble. 

“We had too much champagne,” you informed. 

“That we did” 

“We should probably stop…” you exhaled, your lashes fluttering when you felt his thigh flex against your cunt. 

“Do you want to?” Sukuna asks, his voice growing serious. His hand on your hip tugs at the string of your underwear, and he releases it with a snap as it pinches back against your skin. 

You licked your lips, your brain too fuzzy to contradict what your heart wanted. “You know I will never back down from a challenge with you…” 

“That's what I like about you,” Sukuna adoringly praises. 

“And we both know you’re going to lose, right?” 

Your throat shrinks, Sukuna’s hand gliding over your pubis to press the drenched spot against your underwear. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Princess,” he advices ominously, “we’ve never played a game like this before.” 

₊ ⊹ .

Clothes had to stay on - that was the rule you both agreed with. 

To keep things fair. 

To keep it…playful. 

Your nipples pebbled, poking hard against the fabric of your dress as Sukuna sucked on the skin of your neck. You knew for a fact that he was leaving a mark there, and all you could do was bite back as his mouth trailed down the column and over the slope of your breast. You whimpered when he tugged at your clothed nipple with with his teeth, making the muscles in your leg seize from the sudden contact. 

You had to do something, and so you reached your hand between your legs to lightly graze over his erection pressing against his sweats. 

Sukuna groaned, and you sniggered at the reaction. 

You lifted your head and neck, bringing your mouth to his own ear. 

“You know,” you seductively stated, your fingers outlining the length of his hard member. “The first time I ever touched myself was after watching you practice in the ring…” 

Sukuna cursed under his breath, your fingers squeezed around his length. You proceeded to stroke the heat of his member, striking hard for your first blow. “And I always do whenever I watch you fight. I get so hot and bothered seeing you in the ring. I even have a a specific vibrator I use…I named it after you…” 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed when you snuck your hand underneath his waistband, bringing your touch even closer as you palmed him over his boxers. 

“I’ve never told you that secret…” you declared, bringing your own teeth to his earlobe which you tugged mercilessly. 

Sukuna lost himself for a moment, making you think this was going to be an easy win. But you heard him steady his breathing, could his muscles flexing as if to tame his own body back from giving in.  

“I heard you once…” he stammered suddenly, closing his eyes as he recollected his memories. “Back when you were living in the dorm. I came over to drop off something, and you…ugh, fuck-…you were in the bathroom…moaning. I thought you were in pain at first, until I realized…” 

Your own cheeks burned at his confession, the surprise making you ease your grip. 

Sukuna grabbed your wrist then and pulled you away from his crotch. He placed it on your breast, and you absentmindedly pinched your nipple as he slid his hand between your legs. He lowered himself down, slithering underneath you and making your ears sting with vexation. He pushed your dress over your thighs, exposing your light colored underwear. The noticeable wet patch made his eyes glitter with satisfaction. 

“I would have jacked off on the spot, but I left. I was clearly intruding on a private matter, but that didn’t stop me from blowing a load the second I made it to my place,” he carries on, bringing his nose and pressing it against your slit. “So fucking sweet…” 

You tried to push his head away, and in response he dragged his tongue over the moist patch on your underwear. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, your hips bucking from the sensation. 

“You’re the first person I think of when I touch myself,” he revealed, humming as his tongue lewdly licked over your underwear. 

Your whole lower belly tingled, your arousal only slicking the fabric. 

You needed to distract him from carrying on, but Sukuna hooked two fingers underneath your underwear and tugged them to the side. 

You sat up on your forearms, pressing your thighs against his cheeks to stop him from diving in. 

“Don’t cheat,” you sternly addressed, but Sukuna only scoffed vindictively. 

“You’re still wearing them, Princess…” he pointed out, and the loophole made your core pulse with anticipation. “This isn’t cheating…” 

With your panties tugged aside, Sukuna used two fingers to spread the lips apart. 

He was staring at your pussy, studying it like it was the first one he’s ever looked at. 

You wanted to say something, to ask what he was doing. But to your surprise he just placed a gentle kiss on your clit before murmuring sweetly into your sex. “You’re beautiful,” Sukuna complimented, as if expressing a blessing before a meal then finally dragging his wet tongue up along the slit of your exposed pussy. 

“You’re ch-cheating…” was all you could think of blubbering out in the haze of lust, feeling the vibration of his laugh as he slung one of your legs over his shoulder. 

It hits you then - the fact that this man indulges in going down on women. Though he never explicitly shared all the lewd details with his past partners, he did mention how it was “his favorite thing to do”. After all these years, you finally get to experience it for yourself. Feel how he latches onto your pussy as your arousal drips like he’s pouring honey out of the jar and slurping the sticky, creamy essence. You whine when he prods his tongue between your folds, expertly sliding the muscle as he rolls it in gentle waves to stir a budding orgasm. Your fingers intertwine around his locks, reading to yank him off until he slurps and sucks in just the right spot that has you simply massaging his scalp instead. 

“…’kuna~…” you mewl, your nails dragging over his scalp. 

The man circles his mouth over your tender clit, sucking on the bud before pressing another kiss on the nub. 

Your pussy throbs when he pulls away, but you were proud for holding back. 

It was your opportunity to distract him, and you shrugged off one of your straps to pull down your dress to expose your left breast. Sukuna’s attention flickered upward, watching you tweak at the hard nub as you gave him a shy grin. 

“The felt really good,” you breathily whined. 

He began crawling his way back up, and you used this opportunity to lift your body upright. He was distracted, wasn't even thinking about you finding a way out of this position. His lips instantly latched onto your nipple, his hands gripping the fat of your ass as he sucked on the point feverishly. 

You licked your lips, doing everything in your power not to fall back into the black hole of his gripping dominance.

When he released you, you instantly pushed his back against the couch and climbed on top of him so you were safely straddling him again. You forcefully dragged your wet cunt over his erection, leaving a little trail of you to stain the fabric of his pants. Sukuna grunted with pleasure, bucking his hips as you ground yours. 

“You’re not as sharp with me,” you giggled, languidly gliding your cunt over his begging member. 

“Because you’re fucking distracting,” Sukuna grieves, his hands clenching into tight balls by his side as he refuses to grab onto your ass and push for more friction. 

You felt him sink, using his shoulders as leverage to keep you perched in just the right position so your pussy was rubbing over his cock. You bit back a sound of pleasure from leaving you, and instead exhale softly as you continue rocking back and forth. 

“You’re big everywhere aren’t you,” you tantalized, noting the way his jaw tense as a rumble erupted from his chest in a deep groan which morphed into a slightly sinister laugh. 

“Let me show you.” 

He lifted his hips, making you pause at the sudden awkward shift. He pushed his sweat pants down just to meet the end of his boxers. The removal of the first layer was a small relief, but your eyes widened as he settled back down. His erection was tenting, pressing up against the thin black material and making you see a clear distinction of his balls and thick shaft. 

“Go on then,” he tempted. 

Your could feel yourself getting wet. The tightness in your belly only contracting further. 

You stared him down, knowing full well that he was manipulating you at that very moment. 

“Why stop there?” You rebutted. 

You helped pulled out the weight of his heavy cock from the restraint, watching his length smack against his lower belly as the tip dribbled with cum. Sukuna moaned when your thumb pressed against the slit, your touch dragging back and forth as you aligned yourself. 

The sounds of your panting breaths were far too loud in this quiet room. You hesitated for a minute before lowering yourself, pressing the fat tip at your entrance. You gulped down air from the stretch alone, your arousal enough lubricant for your take him. You sank, your attention on Sukuna’s whose eyes were honed in on the point of contact of your sexes. 

When your pelvis finally kiss his own, when your bodies were merged into one, you felt two hands seek your waist as you trembled in his arms. 

Your dress had fallen back over, covering him buried inside you. You were looking up at him now as his chest rose to press yours.

A puzzle piece finally connecting. 

He twitched inside you, and you clenched around his length, but neither of you moved. You forgot, for a moment, that this was just a game. That the two of you were probably going to wake up tomorrow morning not being able to face the other person. Your heart was racing, your body begging for movement but you couldn’t snap yourself out of the bold decision you already made. 

Sukuna was looking deep into our eyes, the sparkle behind his own irises making you think of embers on winter night. 

His hands slipped up your waist, over the curves of your breast and up on the length of your neck. He held your head between his palms, the tips of his thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks, with his fingers to the back of your neck. He tilted his head down slightly, his nose brushing against the bridge of yours and he did something that caught you entirely off guard. 

His lips were warm on yours, the kiss the softest gesture you’ve ever experienced from him. He held a firm kiss at first, long enough until you were crumbling apart. You parted your mouth, granting him entrance and he swiped his tongue to lick the inside. He was tracing your own, his wet and wanting mouth only growing more hungry as you eagerly accepted his kiss. Your heart hammered heavily in your chest, and goosebumps peaked all over your skin when you felt his thumbs gently caress the soft skin of your cheeks. 

You’ve never been kissed like this before. Never felt bursts of light erupt from behind your eyelids or your stomach explode with fireworks. This always just fun foreplay for you, but nothing that would make you quiver in heat. You almost came on the spot from this one little act that you’ve imagined since you were sixteen, the one which you thought would never occur because of an unspoken rule on boundaries. But it was finally happening, and it was far too magical for you to even comprehend. 

He swallowed your moan, tasted how sweet your desire actually was. The kiss was getting heated, your walls tightening around his cock His lips wrapped around your tongue. He sucked on it, before sliding his own back over yours. 

You felt so weak; were reminded that you truly were just a fragile thing in his arms and nothing more. 

He pulled away, a string of saliva sticking from his lips to yours but you shook your head as you circled your hands around his wrists. 

“More,” you cried desperately without thinking. 

Sukuna smiled against your mouth and obliged. 

You don’t know how long you both sat there making out. But every time he tried to pull you away you sighed “again,”, or moaned “don’t stop”. You didn’t even consider kissing to be an option on the table, but the more you were getting turned on the further your guard went down. Your hips started to bounce lightly, your pussy so bothered that it wanted some relief. You started fucking yourself over his length, your mouth battling with lips, teeth and tongue in a very heated stand off. Sukuna relaxed his body against the sofa, noticing you melt over him like you were wax. Your hips were moving up and down, your tongue languidly rolling around his mouth. You could feel Sukuna moving with you, bucking his hips in return. His jerks were growing sharper, his hands dropping back down to your hips to keep you in place. Your foreheads were touching, lips parting, panting heavily as you climbed and higher. The two of you were lost in the moment, forgetting everything else that led up to this. 

You were going to lose this one, you thought, and you didn’t even care. 

Your head was spinning, your heart bursting, and you reached to hold his jaw in your hand out of desperation, hoping that by clinging to him it meant that you wouldn’t disappear into the haze of it all. Entirely overwhelmed by the feeling, by this particular connection, your eyes started to water, with tears falling as your nose grew stuffy. 

“Ryomen~” you begged, your dulcet voice full of affection. The tip of his cock hit your sweetest spot and at that point you knew you were done for. 

But Sukuna jerked his hips, the groan that ripped out of him made your belly spasm. He pulled out fast, shooting his cum all over you. Your orgasm collapsed into you just seconds after, and the two of you were shaking against one another as you tried to reorient yourselves to the present. 

You were a mess, and so was he. 

Two hands found your thighs as your torso collided into his. You placed one hand on the base of his neck, and rested your cheek against the crook.  

“You lost,” you joked with a sniffle, because you were unsure what to say, and because you realized you had just fucked your best friend and had no idea what that meant. 

Sukuna just grinned, flashing you a knowing smile and a devilish smirk. 

He perched your chin under his fingers, tapping the end sweetly. 

“Doesn’t feel like I did,” he breathed, and your eyes glittered once more. 

You arched up to kiss his cheek, “I didn’t know a dragon could kiss this well…” 

Sukuna chuckled, bumping the tip of his nose to yours affectionately as he tilted his head down. “I’ve had time to practice.” 

You sighed into another kiss, “What did we do, Ryomen?” 

“Something we should have done a long time ago…” he responded in between. 

“You love me…” you breathed. 

“And you’re surprised?” He interrupted with another kiss. 

“I don’t know what that means…” 

He nipped at your bottom lip. “It means what it means. I love you. Fuck, enough that I nearly fucking came inside you without thinking. You haven’t been around and I feel like I've lost my goddamn mind in just a year…” 

Your nails dragged down his chest your heart leaping its way up your throat. 

“I love you too,” you revealed. “I love you, Ryomen. And I missed you too."

You both fell asleep on the sofa, waking up the next morning and replaying the events of your drunken stupor. After you both cleaned up and showered, you had a serious conversation over two cups of coffee. Though, you aren’t quite sure how "serious" it was, considering that Sukuna had you sitting on his lip while you were gently stroking his hair.

He revealed that the reason why he didn’t tell you about his return was also partially due to the fact that he was leaving that very night to hop on plane and fly halfway across the world. He couldn't bring himself to see you for only a short stint when he knew he needed far more time together after everything.

“Uraume is right,” he bitterly admitted, “You are a big distraction for me right now, and I have to be in the right headspace for this fight with Gojo” 

“You sound worried,” you pointed out with a furrow of your brows, your hands dragging back his locks as you threaded your digits between the strands to push his hair back from his forehead.

“If he beats me then I am done,” Sukuna blurted, “what I have built will diminish into nothing. I can’t lose to him. It’ll cost me my career…” 

Disappointment wrapped its arms around you just as Sukuna loosened his own grip. But you could hear the hint of tiny, tiny fear behind his words was enough to you feel hollow. Sukuna has never felt threatened, but this was a serious fight for him. He’s worked so hard for all of this, and he was not willing to give it up to some punk who just shot into the scene. 

“Why don’t we revisit this after the fight then?” You offered.

He glanced at you.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." you exhaled, "what if maybe we just need to wait a little longer before we allow ourselves to have this..."

Sukuna paused for a moment. “You’d wait for me?” He asked. 

A smile ticks at the corner of your mouth. “Yes, because you always come back to me” 

“That I do” he responds

You brush your fingers under his chin, tilting it upward once more to receive another kiss. “I’ll wait for you,” you ensure. "Because I'll always come back to you too."

₊ ⊹ .

One hand slides into the front pocket of your denim skirt, and Sukuna rests his chin on top of your head. You smile to yourself, though he can’t see it, because he’s busy watching you slice bits of fruit as you place it into one of his ceramic bowls. When you were kids, Sukuna would have to look around your arm whenever he hugged you from behind. The years show the evolution of this gesture, from him suddenly perching over your shoulder until he could simply see over your crown. 

He sighs, his other arm curling over your belly as he embraces you. 

“Don’t add the blueberries,” he mumbles. 

You oblige, your back leaning into the breadth of his chest. 

The two of you haven’t touched one another since that faithful night. 

Up until the fight, you and Sukuna simply returned back to the way things used to be. Except this time there were little alterations in your day to day conversations that indicated a shift. 

For one, Sukuna was a flirt. 

You were use to this commentary, but now that your friendship has taken a turn you find your cheeks growing heated more often around him because his words weren't gray. What he says toward you, and the way he compliments you rings very, very true.  There is also a deep tenderness for one another that you both are finally allowing to express freely. You don't dull your affection, and instead allow it to overflow. And last of all, the longing to be back together was pathetically obvious. 

You placed the strawberries, sliced peaches and peeled oranges into the bowl, your fingers a little tacky. “I need to wash my hands,” you indicate, and Sukuna begrudgingly releases you from his hold. 

You’re surprised that he didn’t pounce on you so quickly. 

The two of you only had one other sexual moment just a few months ago. 

Sukuna video called you one evening, his face tight with frustration. 

He was exhausted from training, and even more drained by the press. 

They were claiming that his new “pumped physique” was due to steroid use, and one little rumor had the representatives of the boxing association hounding him like he was a real culprit in this make believe story. Suddenly, his hard work and training was being reduced to the thing that the press claimed him to be: a cheater.

He called you to ensure you that everything was alright. That he was forced to take tests which all came out negative (obviously) and and effectively proved his innocence. 

“I can’t wait to be home,” he breathed with annoyance. “I’m fucking sick of this shit…” 

You were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, gently patting your moisturizer onto your face. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you stated, offering him only an apology because it's all you could give. “Is there something I can do to make you feel better?” 

Sukuna arched his brow, his attention hovering in front of the screen. 

“Yeah, you can take off that robe you’re wearing…” he teased. 

You jerked your head to the camera in surprise, noting his cheeky tone. 

“Ha-ha…” you remarked. 

“I’m being serious,” he answered back, his mouth dropping into an instant frown. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I can’t even do the one thing I want to help me relax…” 

You arched your brow. “And what might that be?” 

He revealed his canines, a wolfish grin brightening that handsome face. “Fucking my girl...” 

Your heart thumped, and you swallowed the sudden tightness in your throat. You picked up your lip balm and dabbed your finger into the ointment before gliding it over your bottom lip. 

“Your girl, huh?” You reiterated casually, hoping that Sukuna wouldn’t quite pick up on the catch in your throat. 

“You’re always my girl, even when you weren’t mine to call that…” he added softly, his voice pulling your attention back towards him. 

He wasn’t kidding around, with the look on his face entirely serious. The tips of your ears stung with a heat that you couldn’t explain, and you just had the sudden urge to reach through the screen and pull his face back towards you. 

You wanted to kiss him, to tell him that you always felt like you belonged to him too. 

The two of you an inseparable pair for a reason. 

Instead, you stripped down to reveal your naked form. You perched the camera towards the back for a wider shot, and allowed your body to speak to Sukuna instead. One of your legs was resting on the bathroom sink, the other grounding you on the floor. You had the camera facing your cunt, with your fingers buried deep inside. But it was nothing compared to the stretch of Sukuna’s digits, wasn’t filling you enough to reach you to the pleasurable climax you desired. 

“It’s not enough,” you gasped in between breaths, watching Sukuna passionately jerk off from he other side of the screen, “Need you, ‘kuna~” you whined, “it’s not enough with you…” 

The memory hits you, making your lower belly tighten.

You dry your hands off to face him, only to find the man standing with an expression of guilt on his face. 

The same concern you had earlier when you left the elevator reappeared once more. 

You pick up the fruit bowl from the counter, trying your best not to give the discomfort attention. You offer Sukuna a strawberry, lifting it towards his mouth but he instantly circles his hand around your wrist and pulls it back down.

“I need to tell you something,” 

You scrunch your brows, and place the fruit bowl back onto the counter. 

“What’s wrong?”

Sukuna closes his eyes, a look of shame washing over him. 

You take a step closer, wrap both arms around his waist and rest your chin on his chest. 

“What’s wrong?” You repeat, coaxing him to speak. 

“I nearly threw the fight tonight.” 

You jerk your head up in shock, your lips parting as your jaw falls from the confession. 

“You…what?” 

Sukuna rubs his tired face with one hand, using every ounce of courage to look back at you. 

“There was a moment in the ring when Satoru threw a relatively decent punch,” he explains, “I had the lights knocked out of me for a split second. When I turned to face him it hit me then...that I could fake dodging his next attack before giving him the opening that he needs to win. One more hit and I’d...collapse. Let the referee do his count, and that would be it…”

You knew the exact moment he was referring to. It was the point in the match where your ears were ringing because you truly thought that you would be witnessing a loss on Sukuna's part. The entire crowd was muttering in shock, all of them on the precipice of a potential shift in legacy. 

“I didn’t follow through because I think Satoru noticed a change in my demeanor. It was only a few seconds, but the kid is fucking sharp. He wasn't smugly determined then, he was looking at me with...confusion. I couldn't do it then. I didn't want him to get a cop out on my end. So, I carried on the fight the way I would. After the match, I thought I could just let the moment pass but Uraume tried to bring it up later and I shut it down because I didn't want to admit it. Anyway, I needed to just get it off my chest…” 

“You were going to give him that win?” You expressed with deep concern, tightening your hold around his waist as you watched Sukuna’s face to turn hard. 

It hits you then - that the Champ, The Monster of The Ring, The Beast and King Himself was…burnt out. Sukuna’s fire had been gone for quite some time, you just thought it would reignite after tonight. 

But it didn't.

You bring your hands to his biceps and caress your palms up and down. 

“Ryomen,” you speak, licking your lips with hesitation before finally asking. “Is this what you still want?” 

Contemplative eyes meet yours as his palms find both your cheeks. He drops his head down, his lips seeking yours as he takes into account the gash on the muscle, then places a careful kiss on your mouth. 

“I just want you,” he hums. 

“M’right here,” you murmur back, “Not going anywhere.” 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he adds on, “that’s all I could think about during the fight. Was just coming home to you, coming home to us…” 

A shiver runs down your back, but your body vibrates with an innocent excitement. “We don’t have to wait anymore,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere no matter what happens. No matter what comes next…” 

Sukuna looks at you then, knowing full well what your statement means. 

Once news breaks out of the two of you being an actual item, heaven knows what might happen. If the paparazzi have been plaguing Sukuna like a curse this whole time, it was only going to get even more complicated with you so intimately intertwined in his world. And now that he was back on top as the champion, he knew full well that all eyes were going to remain on him.

From when he was a child, no matter what he believed about his life that would deter you from him. His broken home wasn't enough to push you. His anger wasn't enough to push you. His detachment wasn't enough to push you. The chaos that is his world wasn't enough to push you.

You have always remained solidly by his side.

His constant. The only thing in the world that he can rely on.

“I love you,” he states under his breath, leaning in to peck you for a second time. 

“I love you too,” you repeated with a smile against his lips. 

There was no epic moment around this sober reveal, no exceptional circumstance other than the privacy of it being spoken with no one else to hear it other than the two of you.

You loved one another, in the deepest possible way you could love a person. From there your lips parted, and you carefully kissed the man before you as he scooped you up in his arms. 

He repeated the phrase again when he placed you on the kitchen counter, with his fingers buried deep within the folds of your wet pussy. 

You moaned it back to him after he carried you into his bedroom, with your fists tangled between his hair as he ate you out. 

He grunted it out one last time, with his hand gripping the headboard as he watched your body melt into the matters when he thrusted his dick in and out of you as he made love to you feverishly. 

And you mumbled it back one last time while he held you in his arms, the two of you falling asleep from a very long night of unbridled passion. 

Sukuna was the first to wake at the crack of dawn. He rolled over to grab  his phone from the side table in an attempt to turn off his alarm before it woke you up as well. As he looked at the device, his heart sank. 

A number of notifications were blowing up his phone and it was making him feel dizzy. 

News articles were already painting him in all his glory after his fight with Satoru, with his opponent looking battered in defeat. The press had finally flipped, and suddenly began to revere him the way he deserved to be. There were text messages from an influx of people, either congratulating him or wanting get his thoughts on the match. Sukuna feels the tremor in his hand build as he starts to scroll through the notifications. 

He places the device on the blanket in front of him, his eyes looking out to the large windows as he watches the sky shift from a deep violet to a lilac blue. He turns this head to gaze at you. This image of you by his side, in a position that he’s seen multiple times in his life, feels different now too. The soft glow of new daylight washes over your body, and the stillness of the hour has him believing that he actually made it to heaven. Sukuna places a soft kiss on your forehead, then carefully kicks off the blankets. He searches for his boxers, then pulls on the pair before stepping out into his balcony. 

He calls Uraume. 

Usually they pick up quick, but Sukuna counts down the rings until they do. 

“My King,” they tease, their voice a little groggy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Sukuna watches a bird fly across the horizon, the ease in his chest an affirmation to what he’s about to say. 

“I’m retiring,” he announces. “I’m done.” 

The silence hangs in the air, streaks of orange and yellow begin to tint the clouds. 

“I had a feeling you were going to say that…” 

“is that why it took you long to answer my call?” 

Uraume huffs out a laugh. “I guess I was hoping for another piece of news…” 

“Are you mad?” Sukuna asks, only honoring Uraume with his worry because he knows how much they have done for him to begin with. 

Uraume sighs, “I’m not actually. It’s the smartest decision you can make. You retire now and you basically leave the game while sitting at the top. You’ve earned that throne, and it won’t be easy for these rookies to take it from you so quickly…” 

Sukuna chuckles, “you’re right about that…” 

Uraume lets the quiet overtake the conversation. “I’ll give it a few days before I break the news to the press.” 

“And then what?” 

“There’s definitely going to be a lot of interviews, and a retirement party that you will have to attend wether you like it or not…” 

“And what about you?” 

Uraume hums, “You and I had a good run. If it’s the end for you, then I guess I can finally retire too..” 

Sukna furrows his brows, his nails scratch over the rail on his balcony. “I don’t want you doing that because of me…” 

Uraume laughs, “You’ve earned my loyalty, what can I say?” 

“Thank you,” Sukuna breathes, “For everything you’ve done for me. You’re more than just a manager, but I think you already know that...” 

“I know it,” Uraume answers back. “And I also know that this is the right decision because you sound…relieved.” 

He hears you then. 

You were calling out to him, “‘kuna, where are you?~” 

He turns his back to face the railing, missing the sun breaking through the horizon at the sound of your voice. He smiles thinking about the adorable, frustrated look on your face when you probably reached out and couldn’t find him, and he slowly begins making his approach back into his bedroom. 

“I am,” he speaks to Uraume, “I’ve got to go. Will talk about this later.” 

He hangs up the phone, and returns to the shadow of deep, restful slumber. He places the phone back on his side table, and smiles at the exact disappointed expression that he pictured when he was outside. 

The second you feel his warmth back in your presence, you snuggle up into his frame. 

“Where did you go?” You mumble with a yawn, and Sukuna wraps his strong arms around you as he nestles back into your body. 

“Nowhere,” he breathes, easing back into your embrace. 

“Heard you talking,” you add on, you eyes still shut but your arm slinking around his neck to keep him close.

It’s taken you both over two decades to get here, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to come in the way of that. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he reassures, keeping his loving eyes on you as he clutches onto his bright, new future with his favorite person.

A life that you both will now get to live in peaceful happiness. 

₊ ⊹ .

:note: hi, everyone! long form fics has been really draining for me these days but these one shots feel like a great refresher. I know this is a monster of a fic, but I hope you enjoy the story. comments and reblogs are appreciated!

tags (only tagging those who asked): @after-laughter-come-tears @not-9ok @axxk17 @sukubusss @lavenderdaydream97 @charlie-xo @kunasthiast @celestep004 @brownskinnedgirll @sukunasweetheart @kunascutie @joontroverted @emi311 @yuujispinkhair @starmapz @bellyei

[ryosuku]

Your bestfriend, Yuuji’s older half-brother Sukuna, who always had this grudge towards you and you can’t pinpoint why.

You first met him during summer break. Your couldn’t keep up with your dorm fees anymore and happened to mention it to Yuuji one time.

“You could stay with me! I have a spare room nobody’s using.”

“Are you sure Yuuji? I don’t want to impose on you.”

“Of course I’m sure. You don’t even have to pay rent or anything.”

A home that’s close to uni and has no fees? It was heaven sent for a broke college student!

“That’s the last of them. Thank you Yuuji, I really appreciate the help. If there’s anything I could do around here just let me know.” You told him after dropping your stacking your last moving box into your new room.

“No problem. Just a heads up though, my brother also lives with me. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure, it’s fine with me.” Your famous last words.

You should’ve headed the red flags when Yuuji tried to warn you about his brother.

“Sukuna can be..difficult sometimes. But it’d be nice if you two would be friends. If not, ehh, just avoid him if you can.”

You should’ve headed the red flags when Yuuji tried to warn you about his brother.

To say that Sukuna had a bad day at the tattoo shop was an understatement. His new assistant never arrived, he was dealing with a shit client plus, his ink almost ran out.

His frustration echoed throughout the two-storey house when he slammed the front door shut.

He was confused by the smell coming from the kitchen as he walked in. Is Yuuji cooking? Nah, his idiot brother would burn the house down if he even tried to get near the kitchen.

Instead, he finds a woman’s figure busy behind the kitchen counter. It made him stop his tracks.

Beautiful, he thought. But too young for Sukuna’s taste. Plus, he doesn’t like it when a stranger touches his favorite spot in the house.

So great, his bad day is about to become worse.

“Who. The. Fuck. Are you?” You almost screamed when your eyes went to the man that appeared behind you.

He looked similar to Yuuji, but the aura was very different. His build was larger, jaw sharper, and he had looked furious.

Oh, he must be Yuuji’s brother, Sukuna. You tensed up unintentionally while his eyes wandered on what you’re wearing.

“You one of Yuuji’s girls? I told him not to bring his hookups here.” He uttered, eyes not leaving yours.

You wore a tank top with cotton pajama shorts. You looked too comfortable just to be visiting.

“No! I-I’m Yuuji’s friend. It’s nice to meet you.” You said nervously.

“Can’t say the same sweetheart. I’m not so fond of strangers in my house. So open the front door and walk outside.”

What? Is he kicking you out?

“Wait! Yuuji didn’t tell you? He allowed me to stay at the spare room down the hall.”

“He what?” Sukuna was fuming. Every step he took closer to you looked like he was going to eat you alive.

“YUUJI!” His voice thundered all over the house.

“I-I think he’s sleeping in his room.” You winced at the string of curses that came out of his mouth.

“Whatever conversation you had with my dumb brother, it’s not happening. You can’t stay here.”

“But it’s the start of the semester, I can’t find a new dorm in a snap!”

“You shouting at me, girl?”

“N-No, I mean-just please, I can take care of the house. I can even cook for you. I can’t afford to leave, not right now.”

Before Sukuna could open his mouth, Yuuji’s footsteps rang out from the stairs.

“Sukuna, you’re back! Wait, did something happen?” Yuuji looks at your nervous face.

“Yeah we’ve met alright.” Sukuna muttered, arms crossing to his chest.

“Yuuji, your brother’s kicking me out.” You tried to hide behind Yuuji’s form.

“What? You can’t kick her out!”

“I can because it’s my goddamn house. If don’t want some girl in here, she’s got to go.”

“You can’t! To be fair, I did tell you that my friend’s staying with us for a while and you agreed.”

Yeah he did agree but he thought that black haired kid was moving in, not you.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Sukuna exclaimed and you could tell he’s about to lose it.

“I’ll stay out of your way all the time, I promise. You won’t even notice I’m here.” You pleaded him.

“Yeah, I doubt that. Clean up your damn mess.” He said harshly and glared at you before stomping his way upstairs.

“I’m so sorry. My brother’s not so good at making first impressions.” Yuuji pouted.

He’s an asshole, you wanted to say.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad he didn’t kick me out.” You exhaled in relief.

If that was his reaction during your first meeting then what about the upcoming months?

“He won’t. I’m sure you’ll grow on him, you kinda have that effect on people.” Yuuji tried to cheer you up but you just gave him a faint smile.

Yeah, somehow you doubt that would work on Sukuna.

——————————————————

note: Sukuna is 29 in this fic and your age gap is 6 years. I don’t like doing age gap with minors, so just think that everyone in this fic are 18+.

[ryosuku]

roommate!sukuna x reader smut

Uhhh I'm so down bad for this man. This is something I just quickly threw together ...and yes I kicked my feet the whole time you can shut up now. I'M OVULATING OKAY!? Also this is my first time ever writing smut or any fanfic for that matter so if it sucks oop- > Warnings: 18+, smut, somnophilia mentioned, fingering, sukuna makes reader clean his fingers, choking, creampie, dom-kuna/sub-reader, nothing crazy just typical sukuna behavior, it's short and rushed, there is context but it's lazy, horny ass writing, uuhhh yeah, sukuna is an asshole but what's new? reader is the shy and easily flustered type, but she's also naughty. if I forgot any lmk > Word count: 4.2k (holy shit I didn't even know I wrote that much wtf) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ roommate!sukuna x reader smut

Being Sukuna’s roommate was a nightmare.

Not in the typical “he leaves dishes in the sink” way. No, that would’ve been way too easy. Ryomen Sukuna was an entirely different kind of problem, the kind that came with a towering frame, a voice like sin, and a cocky smirk that made your stomach have those stupid butterflies in a way you’d rather not acknowledge.

He was your own personal tormentor, hell-bent on getting under your skin. And, to his credit, he was damn good at it.

It started off small: stolen food, flicking your forehead when you ignored him, ruffling your hair just to piss you off. Then it escalated. Coming up behind you while you were making coffee, his chest pressing against your back. Making lewd comments just to watch you get flustered. Walking around shirtless, knowing full well you’d glance, against your own will, before tearing your eyes away.

And when that didn’t get the reaction he wanted?

He started touching your stuff.

He’d rifle through your books, pretend to read them, then get bored and leave them open to random pages. He’d steal your pens. Your hair ties. One time he stole your tube top and wore it as a headband. Like, you can't make this shit up.

You swore up and down that you hated him.

But that wasn't really the truth, was it? Because in reality, you liked his silly antics, in a way that wasn't quite healthy.

And that's what you actually hated.

You tried to be strong, to fight it. To roll your eyes and shove him off, to pretend you were immune to his bullshit. But late at night, when you were alone in your room, the thoughts would creep in. His hands. His mouth. His voice.

You’d tell yourself it was just frustration, that it would pass. That he was just a stupid frat boy, not someone you actually wanted.

But then you started writing about him.

It was meant to be a way to vent. Or just to stop yourself from being shameless enough to masturbate to the thought of him. To get the thoughts out of your head and onto paper where they couldn’t haunt you. But what started as frustration quickly turned into confession.

Page after page, you spilled out every filthy thought, every desire you refused to admit out loud. The way you wanted him to ruin you. The way you wanted to stop resisting. The way you wanted to wake up with him already inside you, stretching you open before you even had the chance to tell him no.

That had been your life for the past few months, but now? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's like any other night, and now Sukuna was standing in your bedroom, surmising what his next ploy would be.

You were dead asleep on your bed, having been exhausted from your studies that day. He’d crept in like he had a dozen times before, purely to fuck with you. He never stole anything important. He would just rearranged your books, unplugged your phone charger, flipped your alarm clock upside down. Just enough to annoy you, to make you storm into the living room the next morning with fire in your eyes, ready to cuss him out. He lived for that look, for the way you spat his name like a curse, for the challenge that simmered beneath your irritation.

Tonight was no different.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes scanning the room for his next crime. Maybe he’d hide your laptop charger. Or dump your neatly folded laundry onto the floor.

Then his eyes locked onto something near your nightstand. A book? No, a journal.

Sukuna knew he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But you had made it too easy, leaving it right there, tempting him. If you truly didn’t want him snooping, you would’ve locked it up somewhere, right? He walked over to the nightstand slowly, careful not to wake you.

The first page was harmless; just scribbled thoughts, a few mundane entries. Boring. He nearly tossed it aside, more than eager to get back to his antics.

Then he saw his own name.

Right there, inked onto the page in your familiar handwriting, mere inches from where you lay sleeping.

Sukuna’s smirk twitched, curiosity sparking. His fingers tightened around the worn edges of the journal as he flipped the page. Then another. And another.

The more he read, the more his grin faded.

He expected to find complaints. Stuff like, 'Fucking Sukuna won’t leave me alone. I hate him. He’s such an asshole.'

But instead—

'I think about him too much.'

His breath slowed. His eyes flicked toward you.

You were still, chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths, lips parted slightly in sleep. Completely unaware of the way he stood looming over you, flipping through your darkest, filthiest thoughts.

He turned another page.

'I don’t want to want him, but I do.'

Another.

'I want him to pin me down. Hold me there. Make me take it.'

Sukuna went still for a moment.

A slow heat coiled in his gut, sharp and electric. He let out a quiet exhale, gripping the edges of the journal just a little too tight. Fuck.

He had spent months toying with you, always testing, always pushing, waiting for the moment you’d finally snap. But this? Resisting something you desperately wanted.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and unhurried.

Your delicate, exposed throat. The way your body curled slightly into yourself, vulnerable, unaware. The rise and fall of your chest beneath your thin sleep shirt.

His lips curled into something darker. You had been fighting a losing battle this entire time.

Sukuna closed the journal, exhaling a quiet chuckle with a manical grin. "Let's see how you look when confronted with this..." He mutters to himself.

Sukuna walks over to the door of your bedroom, journal in hand, and he closes it shut, pretty damn hard. Hard enough to wake you.

You wake up immediately to the sound of your door slamming, the soft lock clicking after, and you sit up instantly. As your eyes flutter open, you catch the silhouette of a man standing at the foot of your bed.

Your insufferable, cocky, completely unpredictable roommate Sukuna.

Your stomach tightens as you register the way he’s holding something... your journal. His lips are curled into a lazy smirk, fingers thumbing through the pages with blatant amusement.

“Didn’t take you for the kinky type, sweetheart,” he drawls, flipping a page. “And yet… look at all these filthy little confessions.” His eyes gleam in the dim light as they flick up to yours, predatory and unreadable.

Your heart stammers in your chest. “What the fuck, Sukuna?” you snap, scrambling to grab the journal from him but he pulls back.

He merely tilts his head, unimpressed by your flustered reaction. “Tsk. Don’t act all shy now. You wrote this for someone to read, didn’t you?” He steps closer, the air between you thick with his presence. “Or were you hoping I’d find it?”

Your pulse pounds in your throat as he reads aloud, voice dipping into a mocking purr:

“‘It would be a dream come true to wake up with him sinking inside of me…’”

Your breath catches, shame burning through you like wildfire. “You’re an asshole,” you hiss, lunging to snatch the journal from his hands.

But he’s faster.

Sukuna grabs your wrist, yanking you forward with effortless strength until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He leans down, lips grazing your ear as he hums, “I’d say you have two options, princess.” His grip tightens, just enough to remind you of how easily he could overpower you.

“One… you can keep pretending you don’t want this.” His free hand skims up your thigh, pushing the blanket away as his breath fans against your neck. “Or two…” He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, dark and glinting with something sinister.

“…You can let me make that these little dreams of yours come true.”

His lips hover over yours, waiting, taunting. Daring you to make the choice.

And fuck—your body is already betraying you. You're so turned on it must be unfair.

You shudder as his grip tightens around your wrist, his body heat pressing into you, suffocating in the best way. Your heart pounds as you meet his gaze. He’s waiting, daring you to push him away, but you don’t. You can’t.

"S-Sukuna I-" You're unable to finish as he harshly grabs your cheeks, squeezing your face a bit, enjoying the sight of a bright red, blushing idiot.

He laughs amused. "You gonna choose or what?" He says smugly, knowing full well you're already unraveling for him. Your face is on fire and the heat pooling within you is too much to handle. You'd never give into his antics so much, but under these circumstances, within his grasp, the last thing in your mind is denying him.

"I-I want the fantasies t-to come true..." You shut your eyes tight after admitting this, unable to look at him after saying such an embarrassing thing.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

The journal slips from his fingers, landing forgotten on the floor as he shoves you back onto the bed, the motion jolting your breath but leaving no time to protest. Sukuna is on you before you can even think, moving with the deliberate, unhurried confidence of a predator that already knows its prey won’t run.

The weight of him pins you down, broad and unyielding, caging you beneath him. It’s suffocating in the best way, stealing the breath from your lungs, making your head spin. You’ve imagined this—god, you’ve imagined this, but reality is something else entirely. The way his body presses against yours, the solid warmth of him, the intoxicating scent of his skin—cologne, smoke, something darker, something undeniably him and full of sin.

“You wanted to wake up with me inside you?” His voice is a lazy murmur, the barest hint of amusement lacing his words as his fingers ghost down your body, tracing over the fabric of your shirt, barely touching, just enough to make you need. “Should’ve told me sooner, sweetheart.” His breath is hot against your ear. “Would’ve made it happen every night.”

A shiver rolls through you. You can’t tell if it’s from his touch or the weight of his words... every night... As if he has no intention of this being a one-time thing.

His mouth finds your throat, his teeth scraping against sensitive skin before he bites. Not gentle, not careful. You gasp, pleasure sharp and electric, the sting of it sending heat pooling low in your stomach. He chuckles against your neck, pleased, his tongue flicking over the fresh mark, soothing what he just ruined.

“You’re already so easy,” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin as his hand slides under your shirt, his palm rough, calloused, searing against the softness of your stomach and moving up slowly and teasingly to your breasts. “Didn’t even have to try, did I?”

A flame within you still wants to fight him, to not surrender so easily, but what’s the point when your body is already betraying you? When you’re already arching into his touch, already gasping at the feeling of his fingers dragging lower, teasing, tormenting?

Sukuna shifts down, dragging the blanket off you completely, exposing you to the cool air, and to him. His gaze is molten, hungry, as his fingers skim down your stomach, inching lower, pressing between your thighs.

A pleased growl rumbles in his chest. “Fuck.” His fingers stroke once, testing, and he exhales a quiet chuckle. “Soaked just from me reading your little fantasies out loud?” His tone is mocking, but beneath it is something else, something darker, satisfaction, possession. “You’re filthier than I thought.”

You whimper, hips shifting, desperate for more than just his teasing touch. The tension is unbearable, the fire in your veins turning molten, burning for something only he can give. You grab at his shoulders, nails digging in, frustration boiling over. “Sukuna—”

“Say it.” His voice is firm, a command rather than a request. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and expectant. “Tell me you want it.”

The words catch in your throat, not from embarrassment, but from sheer need. Because he knows. He knows you’re already too far gone, already wound too tight, already at the mercy of whatever he decides to give you.

Your pride wants to fight it. But your body is already surrendering.

Your breath shudders as you exhale, the last of your resistance slipping away. “I want it.”

Sukuna’s grin turns sharp, feral. “That’s my girl.”

He rewards your honesty by pushing two fingers deep within your throbbing cunt. Your moans are already lewd and embarrassing and this is just the start.

His pace with his hand is maddening as he works on you like he's done this for over a thousand years. The pressure building up within you is already immense.

He pulls his fingers out suddenly, forcing them into your mouth, making you taste. As soon as he orders it you're obediently sucking all your lewd juices off of him. He finds it cute the way you're submitting to him so soon.

Suddenly, his hands are on you again, gripping, claiming. The fabric of your shirt bunches in his fists before he tears it upward, dragging it over your head in one swift motion. His gaze drops, raking over your newly exposed skin, and something dark and hungry flares in his eyes.

A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Look at you.” His fingers trace the lines of your body, slow, possessive, making you shiver beneath his touch. “Been hiding this from me all this time?”

Heat sears your cheeks, but before you can retort, his mouth is on you. Hot, demanding, teeth scraping against the delicate skin of your collarbone before his tongue soothes the sting. His lips trail lower, claiming more of you, sucking new bruises into your skin, marking you as his.

His hands move with ruthless efficiency, unclasping, unzipping, removing layers of clothing vanishing between gasps and stolen breaths. Every inch of exposed skin is met with his touch, his mouth, his teeth, until you’re left bare beneath him, your body trembling with anticipation.

You should feel vulnerable like this laid out under his gaze, utterly exposed, but the way he looks at you? Like he owns you already? It only sets you on fire.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, as his hands roam, fingers digging into your hips, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin. His voice is lower now, rougher. “You’re perfect.”

Your breath catches, but Sukuna doesn’t give you a moment to recover. His lips crash against yours. Hard, devouring, leaving no space for air, no space for thought. His tongue parts your lips, claiming your mouth the same way he’s claimed the rest of you, making you feel just how much he wants this.

One of his hands slides lower again, teasing over your thigh before gripping it, yanking your legs open so he can settle between them. His fingers toying with your soaked clit, it's not enough for you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your hips arching up in silent demand.

He chuckles against your mouth, breaking the kiss to murmur, “Impatient, aren’t we?”

You glare, but the effect is ruined by the way you whimper when he presses his knee between your thighs, applying just enough pressure to drive you insane.

“Fuck you,” you manage, breathless.

“Oh, I intend to.” His smirk is pure sin, and then his fingers are back on you, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him. His voice drops to a low, taunting whisper. “But I like watching you squirm first.”

And god, he does exactly that. He doesn't let up on your clit, flicking and pinching your sensitive bud in a way that makes you shamefully moan into his mouth. His mouth finds your throat again, trailing lower, his tongue flicking over your pulse before he bites, harder than before. You’re a mess beneath him, every nerve alight, every teasing brush of his skin against yours making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

“Shit,” he mutters, as if the feeling of you slick and desperate around his fingers is enough to test even his patience. His other hand tightens on your thigh. “You’re so fucking ready for me.”

You whimper, rocking against his hand, your body begging, pleading.

And then he’s shifting, positioning himself against you, his weight pressing down, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

A smirk curls at his lips as he watches your expression—the anticipation in your eyes, the way your breath hitches, but then he pauses. Not to tease, not to be cruel, but to strip away the last barrier between you.

He takes his shirt off in an effortless motion and then his fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats, dragging them down with an unbearable slowness, the fabric slipping past his hips, down thick, muscular thighs, until he’s finally bare before you.

And god you think he’s perfect. Cause, I mean, he is.

The room feels impossibly hot as your gaze rakes over him, over the sharp ridges of his abs, the inked patterns that stretch across his skin, bold and carnal. The tattoos that you’ve seen glimpses of before, from his moments of teasing you while shirtless, are now on full display, and they only make him look more dangerous. More like something you were never meant to touch, but desperately want to.

Your eyes dip lower, and- fuck.

A shiver runs through you at the sheer size of his cock, thick and intimidating. The breath catches in your throat, thighs instinctively pressing together, but Sukuna notices. Of course he does.

His smirk turns downright sinful. “What’s the matter, princess?” He leans in, his lips ghosting over yours, reveling in the way your body reacts, the way you squirm beneath him. “Having second thoughts?”

You shake your head, barely able to form words, because no, this is exactly what you want, what you’ve wanted for so long it hurts.

That’s all he needs.

Without warning, he aligns himself with you. You can feel the tip pushing teasingly against your needy pussy. You're impatient, but feeling how massive he is against your tight hole makes you second guess again. "W-Wait 'Kuna-AAH!" You choke on your words as he starts pressing inside, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you, filling you completely.

A strangled moan rips from your throat, your fingers digging into his back, your body aching from how deep he is. Your face bright red and eyes starting to water, you beg for mercy.

"'Kuna f-fuck ss'too much!" You whine against him.

Sukuna groans, his head dropping for a fleeting second. “Fuck-” His voice is rough, strained, as if even he wasn’t expecting you to feel this good.

He pulls back slightly, just to thrust in deeper, forcing a whimper from your lips.

“Been thinking about this, haven’t you?” His voice is a low murmur against your ear, his pace slow, torturous, drawing out every sensation. “Fantasizing about me fucking you like this while you lay here, pretending to hate me?”

You bite your lip, refusing to answer, but Sukuna isn’t having that. "Aww don't wanna talk? That's okay." You think for a moment you'll catch a break from him, that he'll slow the pace a little, but you're so wrong. Oh so wrong.

"Guess I'll just—have to—make you—talk—" He says between thrusts, bottoming out into you each time, and oh does it work. You're practically screaming his name now. "Ah, mmph! Ah-! Su-ukuna f-fuck umph- ah!" Your desperate moans are music to his ears. He grins devilishly as he enjoys every moment of you like this.

As you try to suppress your moans out of embarrassment, Sukuna's eyes flicker with a cruel look.

His fingers wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a silent reminder of his control. His thumb drags over the delicate line of your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burn into you, daring, demanding.

“Don’t think you can hide your sounds from me.” His grip tightens, just enough to make your pulse race, just enough to make your breath hitch in anticipation. “Do you really want this?”

Your head tilts back, surrendering. “Yes—fuck, yes.”

His smirk is pure satisfaction. “Good girl.”

And with that he ruins you.

His pace turns brutal, merciless, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, forcing broken moans from your lips. His name spills from you in gasps, in desperate, helpless cries, and he devours every sound, every reaction, like they were made just for him.

“You take me so fucking well,” he groans, his teeth grazing your jaw before biting down again, claiming you in every way possible. “Just like you wanted, huh? Just like you wrote in that filthy little diary.”

Your mind is unraveling, your body helpless against the overwhelming pleasure. His cock slamming into you relentlessly makes your head feel dizzy. You swear you can feel the tip bullying your cervix. It’s too much, too good, too consuming, winding you tighter and tighter until you’re on the verge of shattering.

"'K-Kuna please-"

Sukuna feels it. Senses it. His smirk deepens, sharp and knowing.

“Come on, princess,” he rasps, his fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing just the right way on your clit as he continues to rut into you. “Cum for me.”

And you do. Would you really disobey him now?

The pleasure crashes over you in violent, blinding waves, your entire body tensing, trembling beneath him. A cry tears from your throat, your vision going white, your nails digging into his skin as you fall apart.

Sukuna doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, drawing it out, making sure you feel every second of your unraveling. And when he finally follows, burying his cock deep within your poor aching cunt as he groans into your neck. The warmth of him flooding you only makes the pleasure linger, dizzying and all-consuming.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy rhythm of your breaths. You cling to him lazily, your mind and body still in a whirlwind from moments before. Then Sukuna chuckles, low and satisfied, his lips tracing lazy, possessive kisses over your shoulder.

“Guess I should sneak into your room more often,” he muses.

You groan, too spent to shove him off. “You're still an asshole 'Kuna”

He smirks, pressing a kiss to your jaw, smug as ever.

“And you love it.”

[ryosuku]

Sukuna yearning for you back.. (part 1)

“Sukuna, that's your 6th shot. I think you're drunk enough” Urames worried voice hit Sukuna like a drum constantly going with no end in sight.

“I want to be black out drunk before she comes to get me” Sukuna downs another shot. His tab is only getting longer and pricey. Sukuna had one simple plan.

have you back in his arms where you belonged.

He lost you. That’s his fault and his alone. He was too dumb and immature to see that his angel truly was his only saving grace in this cruel world. First, sukuna thought that getting you gifts upon gifts and just bugging you would do something. It didn’t. So he started spam calling and texting you like you guys had never broken up. Though he knew he deserved the cold shoulder, it still hurt to see what his words and actions could do to his sweet angel.

So started the operation ”play the hopeless maiden.” (In yujis words)

A simple plan, really. Get Sukuna so drunk to the point he can barely see or think about anything else, but call you so you can take him home so Sukuna could talk to you and bring you back home. Easy, right? WRONG Sukuna got way too drunk way too fast. His sight blurry as you shuffled him into your car and drove off. He was practically seeing stars in his drunken state. But Sukuna knew that he only had one chance or else you would be gone like the wind again.

Fast forward to know…

He saw the panic in your eyes. Gloss painting over them. That’s when he knew he had you in the palm of his hand. All his again.

“Listen angel.. I know I was cruel, but these past months made me realize so much” sukuna thumbed at the tear that was already escaping your glassy eyes. How Sukuna missed this. Not being broken up or your tears, but the intimacy of it all. You sat there practically holding your ribs open, letting him see your heart. And so was he. Sukuna was never known for being gentle and vulnerable. But right now? He was letting you cut his chest open for dissection. He didn’t care at all because you deserved it. All of him is yours. His body, his mind, and soul.

“If you don’t want to be with me, okay.. you deserve better. But I, Ryomen Sukuna, will never leave you alone. Even if you get married to someone else, have kids and a house on the hill” His admission made you giggle through your tears and sniffles. “I’m ready to give you that and all more angel. I’m ready to bare myself out to you. I just want another chance.”

“Jeez kuna, you always knew how to make me cry” Even at a time like this, you tried joking.

“So.. Do I get another chance?” Sukunas sly smirk told you that he already knew the answer. But he meant it when he said that he was changing.

“Shut up and kiss me kuna”

MADE BY LIVINGGXD3ADGIRL

omg guys thank you so much for 1k likes. That genuinely warmed my heart so so so much. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

[ryosuku]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ You were always meant to be nothing. A servant, a shadow in the grand halls, another soul swallowed by his world. And yet, he sees you. Knows you better than you want to be known. When you stop running, was it ever a chase at all?

PAIRING ᯓ trueform! Sukuna x fem! reader

WARNINGS ᯓ fem! reader, throat fucking, Sukuna is murderous, choking (barely), oral (m + f receiving), two cocks (one hole), second mouth, he's lowkey down bad for you, stomach bulge, he cries, choking on it, he wants everyone to hear you, you're lowkey jealous because he fucks you so well.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.4k

SERIES ᯓ GOJO ⋮ GETO ⋮ CHOSO ⋮ SUKUNA

No time for anything but duty.

Dawn was yet to break when you stirred from your thin, pearl white bedding, the distant toll of a gong signaled the start of another day to service the King of Curses. Frigid air coming from your open window causing goosebumps to kiss your skin, fingers stiff while you pushed upward to swing your feet off the bed.

The grand hall awaited.

Moving quickly through the dim corridors, your footsteps slapped against the stone. Other servants were bouncy, murmuring among themselves as they hurried to their own tasks. For some reason, Sukuna preferred you. That fact alone ensured you were allowed no leisure, no freedom, no pleasure.

The grand hall was vast, towering pillars with gilded braziers. It was your responsibility to rekindle them, to sweep away the remnants from last night’s indulgences. Scattered bones, wine stains, the destruction Sukuna left wherever he went. You worked in silence, sweeping, scrubbing, making sure to leave not a trace of mess before he entered.

By midday, your monotonous duties led you to Sukuna’s chambers. A cavernous space lined with dark silks and the ever-present scent of blood. You moved with your usual practiced efficiency, wiping down the lacquered surfaces and straightening furnishings. All while listening, there was always something to hear.

Today it was Uraume’s voice, calm and collected.

“They begged for mercy.”

Sukuna chuckled, low and amused. “Did they?”

“You slew them anyway.”

“Their supplications did but offend me,” he spoke, tone laced with disdain, waving his hand dismissively. “To levy demands upon one such as I… how unworthy the breath spent.”

Uraume didn’t argue. They never did. No one did.

It was always like this, he destroyed for no reason. No one dared to question it.

A heavy presence filled the room as you straightened the last piece of furniture. A kind of presence that made the hairs along your arms raise before you turned. You knew what was about to happen.

“You are slow today.”

His voice was smooth. You kept your eyes down, focusing on the task at hand.

“I am thorough,” you corrected, wringing the cloth in your hands over the soapy water bucket.

“Hm.”

A single sound. You’ve been here long enough to hear his smirk.

You swallowed the sharp retort that rested on your taste buds and moved toward the door when you finished your last task. Before you could reach it—

“Woman.”

You stopped, not by choice but because it was a command. Even if it wasn’t meant to be.

“Do you find my chambers displeasing?”

You blinked once, face expressionless. “I find them filthy.”

Another pause, then a laugh. Though not cruel, but entertained.

“Good.”

He merely watched as you turned on your heel and left.

You hated him.

You hated everything about him.

His arrogance, his amusement of suffering, the way he looked at you as though he were waiting for something, like one day you might offer him more than disdain.

You hated being here at all. That all your life was to serve him. Losing all purpose and reduced to serving a homicidal monster who thought himself a god.

And yet, he preferred you. That was the worst part.

He would never let you be. That's why you were the only servant allowed to perform duties inside his personal chambers. It made you wonder why you were always given the task of cleaning up after him, it was like he wanted you to see what he did.

It had been weeks of the same grueling routine of your new schedule, of enduring his presence and feeling the unwieldy weight of his gaze even when you weren’t looking. You should have expected it, that sooner or later he would grow tired of the silent treatment.

Your summons came at dusk. One of the lesser servants palpitating as they spoke.

The lord has requested you.

His chamber was dimly lit, braziers casting shadows against the silk-draped walls. Sukuna was reclined, one arm against the curve edged atop his throne.

“Woman.”

You stopped a few paces before him, reluctantly bowing to the floor.

“Lord.” The word seared your tongue, burning like embers from a growing flame.

A slow smirk grew on his lips. “How obedient.”

He studied you for a moment, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. Exhaling through his nose like he was disappointed, “you hate me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Is it amusing to state the obvious, my lord?”

He chuckled, “I find amusement in many things.” A pause, then quieter, more deliberate, “you, most of all.”

Your fingers twitched, brows furrowing slightly as your eyes narrowed. “Then find new entertainment.”

His smirk widened. More certainty than mockery from before.

“You loathe me,” he mused. “And yet, here you stand. When I call, you come.”

“I am a servant.”

“A servant whose words do not wane. And yet, you do not leave.”

You swallowed, no response to give. Truth is you took up being a servant for added protection and the free rent. Beforehand, you had been struggling to make ends meet for years. Now, you are one of the longest lasting servants Sukuna had the pleasure of employing. You could leave, sure, at the expense of your life. But you already gave your life up to serve him. It was this or death.

Sukuna leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Is it duty that keeps you here?” His eyes flickered, “or something else?”

Your breath caught halfway down your throat.

There it was, the shift. The shift you refused to acknowledge, the one he stoically waited for you to realize.

The thing is, he didn’t demand it. He didn’t ask. He simply made it inevitable.

And you hated him for it.

The silence between you stretched. You should have scoffed and turned on your heel already, leaving without another word. But here you were, feet remaining on the polished floor, fingers gripping the inside of your sleeves.

Sukuna only watched, an unreadable expression you’ve grown to detest. He had no smug grin, no sharp amusement. Only patience. He was waiting like he always did.

Your jaw clenched while your eyes darted to the floor. “You are mistaken if you think—”

He shifted and rose to his feet in one shift motion. The space between you disappeared too quickly. His presence was overwhelming, looming over him the thousands of innocent lives taken for the sake of amusement. Entertainment. One clawed finger reached forward, catching the edge of your chin and tilting your face upward.

“Am I?”

His voice was low, deep. Something sent heat crawling through your blood vessels, blaze threatening to set your skin on fire.

“You assume much,” you bit out. Resisting the instinct to pull away, resisting the urge every cell in your body was screaming at you for to pull away. After all, he would win if you did.

“I assume nothing.” His thumb brushed the curve of your jaw, cocking his head back to truly look down at you. “I see.”

Your breath was uneven, rage and something else twisting in your chest creating the perfect mixture of rage, uneasiness, desire? “And what is it you think you see?”

A deliberate smile spread across his face slowly.

“A human who does not flinch.” His fingers traced lower, skimming your throat before resting his fingers around the back of your neck and thumb resting lightly in the curve between your collarbones.

“A human who has spent years writhing over a hatred that wavers.”

“No.” You answered, “you’re wrong.”

He hummed, stepping back and releasing the hold around you. Giving you just enough space to breathe, but not enough space to release you from the metaphorical tether he tied, binding you both together.

“Perhaps,” he pondered. “Or perhaps you are afraid of what hatred becomes when it festers too long.”

There was an invitation, a challenge in his tone. Something else entirely different from the usual amuse present in his gaze.

You should leave.

Walk away.

Turn and never come back.

But you didn’t.

That was all the answer he needed.

The worst part was he never saw you as weak, he didn’t dismiss you like he did other servants. He knew you would kneel before him willingly so there was no point in asking. Instead, he lured, pulled, and twisted until you were the one standing too close.

He leaned in, breath ghosting over your ear and down your neck. “Tell me, human,” he murmured. “If your hate is so pure, why is it that you linger?”

You could only shake your head, will your heart to stop its swift pace.

Moments of silence pass, Sukuna feeling you through his eyes, arms crossed across his chest while you kept your gaze low and head slightly bowed.

“What is it that you want?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Ah,” he said, tilting his head and bringing his hand up to his chin as if he was in great contemplation. “Finally, the right question.”

“You know what I want,” he continued, his voice nothing over a small rumble. “The real question is, what is it that you seek?”

Your breath stilled, he was doing it again.

Twisting, digging, forcing you to see something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You hated him.

And yet—you wanted him.

He hummed and walked away, turning around half way to curl his finger at you, petitioning you to follow. You did just that, unsure of how this all happened. How had you got here in the first place? Your own feet brought you here, yet you barely remember the journey. Here you remain, following your lord where his bed lay.

It’s then that he grabbed your body whole, whipping you around to face him while he sat on his bed as you stood between his legs.

“Well?” He began after moments of stillness and silence. “On your knees.” While he gripped the crown of your head and pushed you to the floor.

You didn’t resist. In fact, you obliged without hesitation.

You skillfully opened his robe to reveal his rock hard length. Holding back a gasp at the sight before you—two cocks. Nimbly gripping both with each hand, choking each while you lapped your tongue on both tips, spitting and letting it drip to his base, giving each equal treatment.

He watched before you, an expressionless face as you loved on his cocks, reacting indifferently.

You gazed up with inquisition to watch his reaction as you dragged your tongue down one and began pumping a steady rhythm with the other in hand.

He let out a quiet hiss, almost too quiet for your dept ears to hear when you completely enveloped him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his length while his cock head grazed your uvula, causing you to gag. You coughed around his cock, letting dribbles of spit mixed with his precum drip from your mouth to his base. You sucked and sucked, pinching your cheeks around his thick veiny circumference.

You only popped! your mouth off him when you felt his hips jerk in attempt to throat-fuck you. It wasn’t now that he was allowed that control. Not after the nauseating consciousness he forced upon you earlier.

Lowering your lids while you traced the veins up and down his second cock, using your free hands to jerk his other, twisting in tandem, squeezing tightly when you reached his angry red tip. You pointed your tongue and circled his tip and opening, as if to tease the one you serve.

You watched as his eyes narrowed, you saw the way he held back his moans. You saw the way he had to fight his body going limp by positioning his arms to brace his upper body behind him.

You embraced his second cock in your mouth, this time letting one hand pump the length your mouth couldn’t reach. He brought his hand out to smack yours away, gripping the back of your skull and pushing you down.

You choked, coughed, gagged. Tears brimming the corner of your eyes when you moaned and adjusted to the sensation of his cock in your throat.

And he was so deep you were sure he could see the outline of it. His breath quickened for a moment before he pulled you off. “Enough.” He said calmly. He wasn’t calm.

He grabbed your forearms to pull you atop him, forcing your clothed pussy to graze his spit covered, sloppy cocks.

“Your garments. Remove them at once.” He demanded.

You did as told, taking your time in attempt to mock him. Pulling your shirt over your head slowly to reveal your braless chest. You watched his blank face, not missing the way his pupils dilated ever-so-slightly when your rotund tits bounced out from the fabric holding them back. He gripped one firmly in his large hand, letting the plush tissue of your breast pillow between his fingers as he massaged with greedy desire, letting out a quiet hm like he was deciding something, or rather, coming to a conclusion.

He wanted this just as much as you.

When you removed your pants and panties he grabbed your waist tightly to position you so your pussy would grind against his cocks that lay on his naturally-defined abs.

“Hah,” he laughed. Feeling your dripping cunt coat him in even more of your sweet fluids. “Ready for me already, are you?” He still gripped you with two hands, using an extra hand he slapped your pussy. The sound of it squelching filled the empty room as he kept slapping it, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull.

You splayed your fingers on his chest for support, looking up at him with a distressed look on your face when he positioned his first cock at your entrance.

“Human, can you not handle me?” It was a rhetorical question. Not that you’d give him the pleasure of hearing your answer even if it wasn’t.

You furrowed your brows and sat down as if to prove a point, filling yourself up immediately with one of his cocks, ignoring the pain, the sting you felt while he nearly tore you apart.

He gritted his teeth, “I see now.” He smiled, “you are too inexperienced.”

You stuffed yourself repeatedly, almost seeing stars every time your hips descended at the limited capacity your small body had in comparison to him. “Inexperienced?” you huffed out between breaths, tears rolling down your cheeks and eyes pinched shut. “My lord… should you… expect me to… lay with more men?”

“I never said such a thing.” He growled, seeking the strength to resist stuttering his hips from your painfully languid pace. He didn’t want to hurt you too much.

You felt your walls begin to flutter around his cock already, your clit hitting the wet tongue of the mouth on his stomach every time you filled yourself with him. It had been only a few minutes of this, and yet your body still hasn’t adjusted. He had a good two inches that wouldn’t fit. His tip was already kissing your cervix, the ache that rang through your entire body like a bell when your poor pussy couldn’t keep up with even a slow pace. He was painfully large.

“Make haste, human.” He spoke, lowering his lids and sucking an inhale through his lips. “Hasten your pattern. Reach your precipice.”

You felt the building pressure in your stomach when he spoke, the coil tightening in your abdomen as you lost composure and came from a single one of his cocks alone when you felt him internally grunt and muscles tighten beneath your palms. Your body nearly went limp, as when you went to collapse forward he caught you, switching positions quickly so you lay on your back with him between your legs, now pulled out from your entrance.

“Inadequate,” he voiced, gripping both cocks with either hand, centered at your entrance. “This shall be rectified at once.”

And before you knew it, he was inching both of his cocks inside you. It burned, it felt as if he was searing you apart, like you were a fly compared to an elephant. The throb you felt radiating through you that started at your center, the sweet, sweet throb.

You saw the way he looked up at you, looking for permission to continue. You threw your head back whimpering, gripping the sheets at your sides with your mouth agape. Looking at him once more to see him avert his concerned gaze turn into a more nonchalant one.

“You must take this.” He looked down, having the tongue on his lower stomach dart out to lap at your folds, caressing your clit with care as if to soothe your pain.

He took the hint when you linked your ankles behind his sculpted back, pulling him in. He gripped your thighs, threw your ankles above his shoulders and pulled your body to him. Letting him fill up as much as possible before hitting the limit.

Getting in another inch or two, he began his erratic pace. Grunting as he thrusts, he held a wicked, evil smirk on his face while he gripped your waist like you’d run away.

“I… I still hate you,” you reminded him. Sukuna made you drunk. It was the pain, the pleasure, the agony from losing this fight with him. He only let out a demented laugh in response.

You panted loudly, clenching around his length as if it were a lifeline. You’d gotten somewhat used to his size with just one cock, and now he fucked you apart with both. It was truly a transcendental experience, pain morphing into pleasure, hate turning into a reluctant passion.

He removed one cock and began fucking you at an erratic pace with the other. His other cock slapping your stomach each time he snapped his hips, rutting into you and grunting like an animal.

You were still so tight, and now his one cock could fit fully inside you, like he really did stretch you out to fit him. He saw the bulge of himself outlining your lower abdomen, giggling to himself.

“You humans,” he huffed out, voice low and gritty, “are so fragile.”

Your moans only became louder when he pounded faster, deeper. At one point deciding to cover your own mouth in attempt to lower your voice from being heard, he smacked it away.

“You must not.” He commanded. “The estate must be apprised of our connection.”

He then brought his calloused hand to rest at the base of your neck, teetering on the edge of just barely gripping you but still keeping you in his hold. Your fingers linked behind his neck, beckoning him to come closer.

Your lips met, kissing for the first time and sharing breaths, moaning in his mouth. And fuck, was he a good kisser. You wondered if he’d ever done this before… and with who.

His lips devoured yours like he’d been waiting years for your arrival. Like he could never get enough. It was such a stark contrast to his usual bloodthirsty demeanor. He was ruthless in having you, lying in wait for you to realize what you already knew. The festered hatred splitting in two to create something new. The fire burning in your chest with hate wasn’t so different from the fire in the pit of your stomach as his cock alone made you cum for the second time tonight.

Sukuna rarely demanded, and he never chased. He simply stood, watched, and waited.

When the moment came, and years lying in wait for the moment when you turned toward and not away, he would not gloat. He would only smirk, as if to say, finally.

For all his taunting, smug certainty, he was just as bound to you as you were to him, your lord. Something about you was different than the rest of the servants. The care and precision you put into your duties was different than their usual mindless acts of submission. Your defiance was sharp and deliberate. You may serve him, but you never belonged to him.

And that was what he sought most from humans and rarely found. Not a servant, not obedience, but you. Entirely and willingly consumed by something stronger than hatred.

That’s why he gravitated towards you, and that’s why he picked you to be the first human to ever become intimate with him.

Therefore he waited. He waited for the moment you’d stop resisting the inevitable. For the moment you were his just as he, in the depths of his cruel, stubborn heart, was yours.

Which is why when he expended himself, painting your walls with thick ropes after ropes of cum, room filled with the slowing slap of skin, grunts, panting, smelling of shared sweat and sex, you just had to ask,

“My lord, are you crying?”

[ryosuku]

your heart is breaking in real-time. you can feel it—splintering apart, piece by piece, with every second that passes between you and sukuna in this dimly lit room.

neither of you says it out loud, but you both know this is the end. the weight of it sits between you, heavy, suffocating.

sukuna exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop to his side. his eyes flick over you, unreadable, yet somehow still so familiar. even now, even here, he still looks at you like you’re something worth keeping.

but you can’t stay.

you open your mouth to say something—anything to fill the silence, to make sense of the wreckage between you—but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

sukuna steps closer. not enough to trap you, not enough to change your mind. just enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, the scent that’s woven into your skin after all this time.

“let me kiss you,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, rough around the edges. “one last time.”

you shouldn’t.

but when he reaches for you, fingers curling against your jaw, you don’t pull away.

the kiss is slow, aching, like he’s trying to make you remember. like he’s trying to tell you all the things he never said—the things he never will. his hands are firm on your waist, grounding you, but there’s no force behind them. no desperation. just him.

you kiss him back just as softly, just as painfully, as if you can press all your love into this one moment before it disappears forever.

when you pull away, his lips linger against yours for a second longer, like he doesn’t want to break the connection. then, finally, his hands slip from your body.

he doesn’t say anything when you step back.

and this time, neither of you stop it from ending.

[ryosuku]

Sukunas staring problem ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⊹₊⟡⋆ Thinking about Sukuna whose second pair of eyes never leave you… .

It doesn’t matter if you’re across the hall or right in front of him, he’s always sneaking glances at you. His eyes could be glaring at someone else or have the most disinterested look, but the pair below them would always remain on you with a look you could never fully uncover.

If you ever pointed it out he’d deny it, offended you could even consider that he doesn’t have full control over his body, especially for something so ridiculous.

Yet as soon as you turn away, without missing a beat, you can feel that sharp gaze landing on you again. This had to be on purpose now ..

It had started out a little unsettling, but it had grown to be a comforting feeling you were accustomed to by now. He refused to admit it, but it was the same for him. Always knowing you were safe and hadn’t run out on him.

Whether it be to give you a curious glance, a loving gaze, or just to be sure you were still there with him, Sukuna always kept at least one pair of his eyes on you no matter what—consciously or not.

જ⁀➴ tw:violence

.ᐟ when you walk in on him slaughtering someone, his eyes crazed as he slashes his target with terrifying precision, those bottom eyes flicker to you with a warm gaze so opposite from the one above them that it makes your head reel.

[ryosuku]

What would the reader do if their bf parents didn’t accept them? How would they react? What would the jjk men do when they found out what their parents said ? (i totally understand if you don’t do fandom ships)

Not enough.

A/N: (i have no idea what a fandom ship is, im so sorry)

Warnings: angst, misery for gojo, some happy endings, some not, but yeah mostly angst, i think a couple usage of Y/N. Also i am unsure if this was what was wanted, but i did my best, maybe a bit of ooc. Maybe a bit short too.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

It started small.

Almost unnoticeable at first—subtle shifts in your demeanor that Nanami Kento would have overlooked had he not known you so well.

The way your texts became shorter. How you took a few extra seconds before answering his calls. The lingering hesitations before meeting his gaze, as if something heavy sat on your chest, pressing down on words you refused to say.

Nanami had always prided himself on his ability to read between the lines. But this time, it wasn’t just about reading between the lines—it was about why you were even drawing them in the first place.

He tried not to push too hard. Maybe you were just tired. Work had been stressful for both of you lately, and life itself had a way of pulling people in different directions. But then came the excuses.

“I’m busy tonight, sorry.”

“I don’t feel well, maybe another time?”

“I just need some space.”

That last one had been the final crack in the illusion that everything was fine.

Nanami wasn’t the type to let things fester. He needed answers. He deserved answers.

So when you canceled yet another dinner, he made a choice. He didn’t go home. Instead, he went to your apartment.

When you opened the door, looking exhausted, eyes slightly puffy, Nanami felt something in his chest twist painfully.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to figure it out myself?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a warning.

You hesitated, looking anywhere but at him. “Kento, I—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I’ve given you space, I’ve given you time, but I refuse to stand here and watch you slip away without an explanation.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the hem of your sleeve as if it could anchor you. And then, finally, you spoke.

“It’s your parents.”

The words landed like a physical blow. Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but you saw the way his jaw tensed.

“What about them?”

You exhaled shakily.

“They… they don’t approve of me. They told me I wasn’t good enough for you.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed through. “That I was just a phase. That you’d realize it eventually and leave me. That I wasn’t—wasn’t worthy of you.”

A heavy silence filled the room.

Nanami closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling deeply, as if trying to reign in the storm brewing inside him. But when he looked at you again, his expression was anything but calm.

“They said that to you?” His voice was eerily quiet, but the fury in his tone was unmistakable.

You nodded, eyes burning.

“I—I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come between you and your family. I know how important they are to you, and I just—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply. “Don’t try to justify what they did. Don’t try to protect them.”

You flinched at the intensity of his words, but Nanami immediately softened. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“How long have you been carrying this alone?” His voice was softer now, but still filled with frustration—not at you, but at the situation. At them.

“For a while,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

Nanami let out a slow, measured breath before shaking his head.

“You are the only thing I refuse to lose.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting in surprise.

He let his hands fall from your face, stepping back, pacing the room as if trying to contain the sheer rage rolling off him in waves.

“My parents—” He let out a bitter laugh. “They have no right. No fucking right.”

You had never seen him this angry before. He was always so composed, so controlled. But now? Now, he was livid.

“I don’t care what they think,” he said finally, turning back to you. “If they refuse to respect you, then they don’t deserve a place in my life.”

“Kento, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “They hurt you. They tried to make you feel unworthy of my love. And that? That is something I will not forgive.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. They were from the overwhelming, undeniable love you felt for the man standing in front of you.

Nanami took your hands in his, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry you went through this alone. I’m angry that you felt you had to. But never again, do you hear me?”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And nothing—not them, not anyone—will change that.”

You melted into him, finally allowing yourself to believe it.

And as he held you close, you knew—Nanami wasn’t just choosing you. He was fighting for you.

And he always would.

Toji had a bad feeling about this.

Bringing you to the Zen’in estate was never something he wanted to do. The clan was full of nothing but rotten, power-hungry bastards who thrived on status and bloodline. They had never given a shit about him, not really, and he had never given a shit about them. But you? You were important. And unfortunately, that meant crossing lines he had spent years erasing.

He had prepped you beforehand, though. Told you exactly what to expect.

"They’re not gonna like you," he had warned, stretching lazily on the couch while you fiddled with your outfit. "Doesn’t matter what you say, what you do—none of it. You’re not ‘Zen’in’ enough, and that’s all that matters to them."

"Then why are we going?" you had asked, exasperated.

He had shrugged, looking away. "‘Cause you’re serious about me, right?"

"Of course I am."

"Then I need them to know that. Even if they don’t like it."

And so, here you were, standing in the grand dining hall of the Zen’in estate, stomach twisting in knots as you exchanged pleasantries with men and women who were only barely holding back their disdain.

The dinner had started off… bearable. Not pleasant, but not outright hostile either.

Toji had taken his usual approach—leaning back in his chair, silent, arms crossed as he let you do most of the talking. You were polite, careful with your words, trying your hardest to make a good impression, even though it was obvious the elders weren’t particularly receptive. Naoya was the worst, as expected, shooting smug little smirks at Toji whenever you spoke, clearly waiting for the moment things would turn.

And they did.

Because at one point, Toji excused himself to go to the bathroom. And when he returned?

All hell had broken loose.

You were standing now, hands clenched into fists at your sides, face red with anger as the elders—his own family—hurled accusations at you.

"A leech."

"A gold-digger."

"Trying to take advantage of Toji’s power."

"Manipulative. Weak. Useless."

And worst of all:

"A distraction."

The moment he heard that, Toji saw red.

"The hell is going on here?" His voice was low, but it cut through the shouting like a blade. The entire room went dead silent.

You turned to him immediately, eyes wide, desperate, like you had been waiting for him to come back.

"Toji—"

"You brought this outsider into our home, and now you’re surprised?" One of the elders sneered. "She’s nothing. You can do better."

Toji exhaled sharply through his nose. He had been expecting some resistance, but this? This was worse than he had anticipated.

You were still standing your ground, though, voice steady despite everything.

"I came here to be respectful," you bit out, glaring at the old man. "I didn’t come here to be insulted."

"Respectful?" Naoya laughed from across the table, arms folded. "What, by parading in here like you belong? Please. Women like you always have an angle. You think you’re special just because Toji—"

He didn’t get to finish that sentence.

Because Toji moved faster than anyone could react, snatching up a knife from the table and hurling it straight at Naoya.

It embedded into the wooden post just beside Naoya’s head with a sickening thunk.

The entire room tensed.

Naoya had gone pale, barely breathing as he turned to look at the blade lodged in the wood.

"The next one won’t miss," Toji said flatly.

No one dared to move.

Then, without another word, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the door.

"We’re leaving."

"Toji, wait—" one of the elders started, but Toji wasn’t listening.

He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, didn’t give a single damn about whatever else they had to say. Because none of it mattered. He wasn’t going to sit there and let them rip you apart. Not when he had spent his whole damn life clawing away from them.

By the time you reached the front gates, you were shaking with anger, chest heaving.

"I—Toji, I—" You swallowed hard, trying to catch your breath. "I don’t know what I expected, but that—"

"Forget them," he interrupted, voice still tight with barely restrained rage.

You looked up at him. "Toji—"

"I mean it," he said, turning to face you fully. "You don’t need their approval. You don’t need their acceptance. You got me. That’s enough."

And for the first time since the night had started, your expression softened.

Because Toji wasn’t one for flowery words, or promises, or reassurance. But this? This was enough.

You exhaled slowly, nodding, and when you finally reached for his hand, he squeezed yours tightly.

"Let’s go home," he muttered.

And just like that, the Zen’in estate was nothing but a memory.

Satoru Gojo had never been one to care much about rules. Or tradition. Or what the elders of the Gojo Clan thought about his choices. But when it came to you—his girlfriend, his person—he figured he could at least attempt to play nice.

He knew what kind of whispers would follow. He wasn’t stupid. The Gojo Clan had expectations of him, the strongest sorcerer in the world. He was meant to align himself with power, to marry within their absurdly selective standards, to bring in an heir who could carry on the Six Eyes and Limitless.

But you?

You weren’t from a powerful clan. And to them, that made you unworthy.

Still, Satoru had brushed off any concerns. His parents were long dead, and while the elders had influence, they had no real control over him. He was the head of the clan. And besides, they’d love you once they met you—how could they not? You were warm and kind and strong in a way that had nothing to do with clan lineage.

He was an idiot to think it would be that simple.

The Gojo estate was massive, intimidating even. High walls and sprawling gardens, the air thick with centuries of power and pride. Satoru had held your hand the entire way through, fingers warm against yours, squeezing gently as if to say I’ve got you.

The moment you stepped inside, though, you felt it. The weight of judgment. The elders sat in a semi-circle, faces impassive but sharp, eyes assessing you like you were something offensive just for existing beside their heir.

Gojo introduced you with a grin, one hand still lazily draped over your shoulder, as if he could physically shield you from their scrutiny. “Alright, old-timers. This is my girlfriend. Be nice.”

Silence.

Then, a scoff.

“She has low cursed energy,” one of them stated, as if announcing a crime.

“Didn’t realize that was a requirement to love someone,” Gojo shot back immediately, unimpressed.

Another elder sighed, as if he were a child throwing a tantrum. “Satoru, you are the strongest. You cannot expect us to approve of…this.”

Your stomach twisted, but you said nothing. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say.

Gojo clicked his tongue.

“Approve? Approve?” He laughed, but it was sharp, dangerous. “I don’t need your approval.”

A woman, her voice clipped and cool, leaned forward slightly. “Then why bring her here? If not for our blessing?”

For the first time, Gojo hesitated.

And that was when you realized it.

A small part of him had wanted them to accept you.

Not because he needed it. But because he loved you. Because, despite all his arrogance and defiance, Satoru Gojo still had a thread of hope buried deep in his heart that the people he’d grown up with—the people who had shaped him—could see you the way he did.

But they didn’t. They wouldn’t.

“She’s after your name,” another voice cut in, older, raspier. “Your money. A pretty face looking for a free ride.”

Your breath hitched, your hands curling into fists.

Gojo’s entire body stiffened. His sunglasses, which had been lazily perched on his nose, slid down just enough for you to see the sharp gleam of his Six Eyes.

“Say that again,” he murmured, voice low, almost amused.

The elder held his gaze. “You are blind, Satoru. She is beneath you.”

The words cracked something inside you.

You weren’t weak. You weren’t some fragile thing that needed saving. But right then, in that moment, surrounded by cold stares and accusations, you felt small.

You stepped back.

Gojo’s hand instantly reached for you, but you shook your head. “Satoru,” you whispered, barely audible.

His eyes snapped to you, confusion flickering behind them.

And then you turned.

And walked away.

You barely made it past the outer gates before you felt his presence behind you.

“Hey. Hey—wait.” His voice was sharper than usual, edged with something he didn’t often let himself feel.

Desperation.

You didn’t stop.

He flashed in front of you within a heartbeat, cutting off your path. “Where are you going?”

You scoffed, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Away, Satoru.”

He flinched. You never called him that. Not like this. Not with that distance in your voice.

“They don’t matter,” he said quickly, too quickly. “You know that, right? I don’t care what they—”

“You don’t care,” you cut in. “But they do. And they’ll never stop seeing me as some…some pathetic outsider trying to leech off you.”

His jaw clenched.

“Who gives a shit what a bunch of bitter, old assholes think?”

“I do!” you snapped, voice cracking. “Because it’s your family, Satoru! And they hate me.”

Silence.

He swallowed.

“I don’t want to come between you and them,” you whispered, looking away. “I don’t want you to resent me for it later.”

His fingers twitched at his sides. His Six Eyes studied you, saw the way your shoulders were drawn tight, the way you were biting the inside of your cheek to keep from completely breaking.

“You’re not coming between anything,” he said, voice quieter now, but firm. “They were never really my family.”

That made you look at him.

He huffed a dry laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You know what they did when I lost my dad? When I lost my mom? Nothing. They didn’t comfort me. They didn’t take care of me. They just saw me as the next head of the clan.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’ve never belonged to them. But you—”

He stepped closer, gently cupping your face, tilting your chin up. His touch was featherlight, almost hesitant.

“I belong with you,” he murmured.

Your vision blurred. “Satoru…”

“Please,” he said, forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t walk away from me.”

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

And then, slowly, you wrapped your arms around him.

He melted into you.

The Gojo Clan would always be there, lurking in the shadows. The disapproval, the judgment, the endless expectations—they wouldn’t disappear overnight. Maybe not ever.

But as long as you had each other, maybe that was enough.

Maybe it had to be.

The stares were unbearable.

It wasn’t the kind of scrutiny that came from curiosity or admiration—it was judgment. Pure, unfiltered disdain that clung to the air like humidity before a storm. You could feel it in the whispers that passed between the cult members as you walked by, the way their eyes lingered on you a second too long before flicking away like you were something they could barely tolerate looking at.

You had known, of course.

You weren’t stupid.

You knew that Suguru Geto’s followers—his "family," as he called them—would never truly accept you. They revered him like a god, hung onto his every word like scripture, and to them, you were nothing but a disruption.

A weak, non-special girl who had somehow captured the attention of the strongest.

You weren’t a sorcerer with an overwhelming cursed energy- well yo had some, but.. not a lot. You were barely useful to their so-called cause.

And they hated that.

They hated you.

You’d dealt with side-eyes and cold shoulders for months. The occasional passive-aggressive comment. The not-so-subtle reminders that you didn’t belong.

But this time… this time it was different.

It started with a sneer.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

The voice was sharp, laced with cruelty, and for once, it wasn’t whispered behind your back—it was said right to your face.

You turned, heart thudding, and saw a group of Geto’s most devoted followers standing in the temple hall, their expressions openly hostile. A woman—one of the more powerful ones, someone with a technique you never quite understood—crossed her arms and scoffed, looking at you like you were dirt beneath her feet.

“She’s useless,” another chimed in, an older man, his lip curled in disgust. “A weak little outsider. What does Lord Geto even see in you?”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you bit out.

Wrong move.

“See? She has no respect.”

“She’ll only make him weaker.”

“She doesn’t deserve to stand by his side.”

“Do you think he actually cares about you?”

That one stung.

The words were venomous, but it was the laughter that followed that truly made your stomach twist.

You felt your throat tighten, your chest constricting with the sharp pang of humiliation.

They knew you weren’t one of them. They knew you didn’t have the strength, the power, the abilities that they did. And in their eyes, that meant you weren’t worthy of standing next to someone like Suguru Geto.

You could have walked away. Should have.

But you were tired. Tired of pretending like it didn’t get to you.

Tired of being treated like you weren’t enough.

“What the hell is your problem?” Your voice wavered, but it didn’t break. You refused to let it break. “Geto chose me. He did. Not you. Not any of you.”

The woman scoffed, stepping closer. “You really think he chose you? You’re just a passing distraction. A plaything. When he’s done entertaining himself, he’ll throw you away like the pathetic waste of space you are.”

You felt your breath hitch.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to say something, anything, but before you could even open your mouth—

“Is that so?”

A slow, steady voice cut through the air like a blade.

Silence.

It was immediate. It was suffocating.

And when you turned your head, your stomach twisted with relief and something far, far darker.

Geto stood at the entrance of the hall, arms crossed, his presence commanding in a way that sent a ripple of unease through the room. His golden eyes were unreadable, but the air around him felt thick, suffused with a quiet, simmering fury.

The woman—so smug just seconds ago—visibly stiffened.

“L-Lord Geto,” she stammered, the arrogance in her tone gone.

Geto took a step forward. The temperature of the room seemed to drop.

“You seem to have a lot to say about what I do,” he mused, voice deceptively calm. “Interesting. I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

Nobody dared to speak.

Nobody moved.

Geto’s gaze flicked to the others, expression unreadable. “Since when did I need permission to decide who is worthy of standing by my side?”

No answer.

The woman lowered her head, gritting her teeth. “I just—”

“You just what?” Geto’s voice turned sharp. Dangerous. “Decided for yourself that you could speak on my behalf? That you knew what was best for me?”

The tension in the room was suffocating.

You could hear the shift in his tone, the way his patience was slipping, unraveling thread by thread.

“Forgive me, Lord Geto,” she finally muttered, barely audible. “I overstepped.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he turned to you.

You could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy, searching. His expression softened, just slightly, but the anger beneath it still burned.

“Did they touch you?” His voice was quieter now, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“No.”

It wasn’t a lie. But that didn’t make it better.

His jaw tensed.

Geto turned back to the group, his posture still relaxed—but the threat radiating from him was unmistakable.

“I won’t repeat myself.” His voice was steel, cold and sharp. “If any of you ever disrespect her again…”

He trailed off, but they didn’t need him to finish.

The threat was clear.

Loud.

Final.

And when Geto reached for your hand, pulling you gently toward him, his grip warm and steady, you knew one thing for certain—

No matter how much they hated you, no matter how much they whispered behind your back—

Suguru Geto had already made his choice.

And he wasn’t letting you go.

Where demons roamed alongside men, where the strong ruled and the weak were nothing more than fleeting whispers in the wind. And at the pinnacle of it all sat Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses—a being both revered and feared.

And you—his human lover—were the greatest controversy within his domain.

Once a mere servant, tending to the grand estate where his court of curses resided, you were a fragile thing in the eyes of those who lurked in the shadows of Sukuna’s power. You had been plucked from obscurity, from insignificance, and placed by the side of the most feared entity in existence.

And they hated you for it.

*-*

The first threats were subtle.

"Human bones snap so easily," murmured a multi-eyed, spindly-limbed curse as you arranged an elaborate meal for Sukuna one evening. "I wonder how long before yours crumble?"

A second one, its serpentine tongue flicking through rows of jagged teeth, chuckled lowly as it passed you in the halls.

“You smell… delectable.” A long, cold claw traced the delicate skin of your arm before retreating. “Do you think you’d scream like the others did?"

Sukuna's court of curses, his most trusted and ancient followers, despised you. You were weak, a mere human, and to them, that was the greatest insult.

You did your best to ignore them. To withstand.

They wanted a reaction from you. They wanted fear. And you refused to give it to them.

But ignoring them was not enough. The threats became more direct.

A dagger, thin and wickedly curved, appeared on your pillow one night. The message was clear.

Another time, as you walked the narrow wooden corridors of Sukuna’s estate, you felt a strange pull—an invisible force—and before you could react, you were dangling over the edge of the balcony, the long drop below promising death. A curse smirked, its shadowy form blending into the night.

“How careless,” it whispered before releasing its hold. You barely managed to grip the wood in time, pulling yourself back over the ledge.

And still, Sukuna said nothing.

*-*

It wasn’t as though Sukuna was unaware.

No—he was always watching, always listening. He could hear the curses whispering when they thought he was absent. He could sense their malice. And yet, he did not stop them.

You knew why.

Sukuna did not tolerate weakness. He had chosen you, yes, but that did not mean he would coddle you. If you were to stand by his side, you had to endure.

So, you gritted your teeth and endured.

Until you couldn’t anymore.

*-*

One evening, after another long day of tending to the estate, you returned to your chambers—only to find them ransacked.

Your clothes, torn to shreds. The delicate trinkets you had collected, smashed against the walls. Scrolls you had spent months painstakingly transcribing for Sukuna, obliterated into scraps.

But it was what lay in the center of the room that shattered your resolve.

Your favorite kimono, the one Sukuna had gifted you—stained crimson, soaked through with fresh blood.

Your knees hit the wooden floor. Your hands trembled as you reached for it, the metallic scent filling your nose.

Something inside you broke.

That night, you did not go to Sukuna’s chambers. You did not eat. You did not sleep. You sat in the wreckage of your room, silent and empty.

When Sukuna arrived the next morning, crimson eyes narrowing at the state of you, you simply looked at him and said, "I can't do this anymore."

For a moment, silence.

Then, a scoff. “You would leave?”

You lifted your gaze. “What choice do I have? If you won’t protect me, who will?”

Sukuna’s expression did not shift. Not at first. But then, slowly, his amusement faded.

And something colder settled in.

*-*

The next evening, the court gathered.

Sukuna sat upon his throne, clawed fingers lazily drumming against the armrest. His eyes—deep, fathomless pits of crimson—swept over his domain.

“You have all grown comfortable,” he mused, voice like thunder before the storm. “Too comfortable.”

A tense silence followed.

Then, Sukuna’s lips curved into something predatory. Something cruel.

“I hear whispers,” he continued, leaning forward. “That my belongings have been tampered with.” His gaze darkened. “That those beneath me have forgotten their place.”

A curse, braver—or stupider—than the rest, slithered forward. “My Lord, the human—”

CRACK.

In the blink of an eye, the curse’s head was no longer attached to its body. Blood sprayed, painting the wooden floors.

Sukuna let out a low, amused laugh, licking the stray droplets from his fingers. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

Silence.

Then, another whisper of power.

And another curse was gone.

The air grew thick with fear. Even the strongest among them—the ones who had whispered the most, who had tormented you the worst—took a step back.

“Did you think I would not notice?” Sukuna drawled, tilting his head. “That I would not care?”

One of the oldest curses, voice trembling, dared to speak. "You did not intervene, my Lord. We assumed—"

Sukuna's grin widened. "Ah. You assumed."

And then, suddenly—he was there.

Fingers wrapped around the curse’s throat, lifting it effortlessly off the ground.

“I do not intervene,” Sukuna mused, his voice now dripping with malice, “because I do not waste my time with insignificant insects.”

The curse clawed at Sukuna’s grip, gasping.

“But,” Sukuna leaned in, voice now barely above a whisper, “if you truly wish to know what happens when you touch what is mine…”

He squeezed.

A sickening crunch. Then silence.

The curse collapsed at his feet.

Sukuna turned, surveying the rest of them. The message was clear.

Untouchable. You were untouchable.

As he descended from his throne, his steps deliberate, his power radiating in crushing waves, he stopped before you.

He reached out, tilting your chin up with a clawed finger.

“I am not kind,” he murmured. “And I will not coddle you. But you are mine. And if they so much as breathe in your direction again—” his gaze flickered toward the trembling masses before landing back on you, “—there will be none of them left.”

You swallowed.

And for the first time, standing beside him, you felt it.

Safety.

Even if it came bathed in blood.

*-*

From that night forward, the whispers stopped. The lingering glances vanished.

The curses kept their distance.

And Sukuna—true to his nature—never spoke of it again. He did not ask if you were alright. He did not reassure you.

But later, as he traced the faint bruises on your arms with the lightest touch, as he let you curl into his side in the dead of night, you understood.

This was the closest thing to protection a demon could offer.

And it was enough.

For now.

The moment Choso told you he wanted to introduce you to his brothers, you knew things wouldn’t go smoothly.

It wasn’t that you doubted his love for you—if anything, Choso was one of the most devoted partners you could ever ask for. He always looked at you like you were the only light in his dark, battle-worn world.

But his brothers? That was another story entirely.

The Death Painting Wombs weren’t an ordinary family. They weren’t human, not entirely. They were cursed beings, created through unnatural means, forged in pain and resentment. And you, a jujutsu sorcerer, were walking into their den.

Still, you agreed. Because you loved him. And because Choso, in his own quiet way, needed this—needed you to be part of his world, to prove to himself and his brothers that his heart wasn’t some weakness.

So here you were.

The abandoned building they called home was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and something metallic—blood, probably. Choso walked ahead of you, his hand firm in yours, his grip tightening slightly as you approached the main room.

“Stay close,” he murmured, and though his voice was calm, you could feel the tension in his body.

You did as he asked.

The moment you stepped into the room, three pairs of eyes locked onto you.

"Who's this?" Eso sneered, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

Kechizu’s head tilted at an unnatural angle, his beady red eyes fixated on you like you were prey.

And the last one—his presence wasn’t as immediately hostile, but Noranso was watching you with a skeptical glare.

“A sorcerer?” Eso’s voice dripped with disgust. “You brought a sorcerer here?”

Choso’s hand flexed in yours. “She’s not just a sorcerer. She’s my partner.”

Silence.

Then, laughter. Harsh, mocking laughter.

“That’s cute,” Eso scoffed. “You think we’ll just accept her? That we’ll sit here and smile while you lay with someone who hunts our kind?”

You clenched your fists. “I don’t hunt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“Oh?” Eso’s grin widened. “And who decides that, little sorcerer? The jujutsu higher-ups? The same people who would have wiped us out the moment we were born?”

“Enough.” Choso’s voice was firm, but you could feel the storm brewing behind his eyes.

But his brothers weren’t done.

“She doesn’t belong here, Choso,” Noranso said coldly. “She never will.”

“Maybe we should get rid of her before she turns on us,” Kechizu giggled, a manic glint in his eyes.

That was the last straw.

Choso moved before you could stop him, his fist colliding with Kechizu’s face so hard it sent the younger curse flying into the wall.

"You will not threaten her," Choso growled, his voice lower than you had ever heard it.

Eso clicked his tongue. “So you’re really choosing her over your own brothers?”

“I’m choosing someone who actually cares about me,” Choso snapped. “Someone who doesn’t just see me as a tool for revenge.”

That set everything off.

Eso lunged.

You barely had time to react before the room exploded into chaos.

Choso was immediately locked in a brutal clash with Eso, their cursed energy flaring dangerously as they exchanged vicious blows. Kechizu, still recovering from Choso’s earlier attack, set his sights on you, a feral snarl tearing from his lips as he rushed forward.

Your instincts took over. You dodged at the last second, spinning around and delivering a sharp kick to his ribs. Kechizu shrieked, stumbling backward, but you didn’t stop—your hands moved quickly, summoning your cursed energy and striking him with an explosive blast that sent him crashing into the debris.

Noranso tried to intervene, but Choso, despite fighting Eso, noticed and redirected his attack mid-motion, slamming his knee into Noranso’s stomach.

For a moment, you thought you both had the upper hand.

Then, Eso unleashed a torrent of his own cursed energy, sending Choso sprawling to the ground, blood splattering across the floor.

Your heart clenched.

“Choso!” You ran to his side, but before you could reach him, Eso grabbed you by the collar, yanking you backward.

“I should kill you,” he hissed, his fingers tightening around your throat.

A dark aura exploded around you before he could finish.

Choso was on his feet, his eyes burning with fury.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Eso faltered for just a second. Just enough for you to drive your knee into his stomach, breaking free from his grip.

Choso didn’t hesitate.

He lunged at Eso, fists flying with such force that even his brother couldn’t keep up. It was brutal. It was personal.

Blood splattered across the floor—Choso’s, Eso’s, all of it mixing together in a crimson mess.

When it was finally over, Choso was standing over Eso’s battered form, his chest heaving, his knuckles raw and bloodied.

Silence settled.

Kechizu and Noranso didn’t move. Eso, defeated, merely glared up at him.

“She’s my family now,” Choso said, his voice low but steady. “And if you can’t accept that, then you don’t deserve to call yourselves my brothers.”

With that, he turned to you, his dark eyes scanning your face, searching for injuries.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft now, trembling with worry.

You exhaled, nodding. “I should be asking you that.”

Choso swayed slightly, and before he could collapse, you caught him, wrapping your arms around his battered form.

That’s when he saw it.

His blood—so much of it—staining your clothes.

Choso stiffened.

“Oh—fuck—” He pulled away, eyes wide with panic. “I got blood on you. I—shit—I’m so sorry—”

“Choso.” You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. “I don’t care about the blood. I care about you.”

His breath hitched.

Then, slowly, he melted into your embrace, his forehead resting against your shoulder as his body finally relaxed.

“I love you,” he murmured, so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

But you did.

And as you held him, surrounded by the remnants of the fight, the weight of those words settled deep in your heart.

Because despite everything—despite his past, his brothers, the blood and violence—Choso had chosen you.

And you would never let him regret it.

Shiu Kong had never been the kind of man to introduce anyone to his mother. His life didn’t allow for that kind of vulnerability. But for you, he was willing to make an exception.

You weren't just anyone. You were his.

And that was a dangerous thing to be.

*-*

When Shiu first told you about dinner with his mother, you’d laughed. “You have a mother?” you teased, stretching out across his bed, your bare skin catching the moonlight through his penthouse window.

He had given you a flat look, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Unfortunately.”

That should’ve been your first warning.

Shiu Kong’s mother was a relic of a time long past, an elderly woman who believed in manners, propriety, and the illusion of a proper career. Of course, she had no idea her son was the head of a mercenary organization, nor did she need to know that the woman he was bringing home wasn’t just his girlfriend but a damn good hitman.

He insisted on calling you a florist.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate. You did arrange things. Just… not flowers.

You should have said no. You should have spared yourself the hellscape of meeting the woman who raised Shiu fucking Kong. But when he had looked at you—silent, guarded, pleading—you had sighed and agreed.

For him.

Always for him.

*-*

The house smelled like jasmine tea and dust. It was a small, traditional place, cluttered with old furniture and faded pictures from decades ago.

Shiu’s mother was a frail thing, wrinkled hands that had once been strong gripping a teacup like it was the last thing tethering her to this earth. But her eyes—dark and sharp—were as piercing as her son’s.

The moment the introductions were over, she narrowed in on you like a hawk.

“A florist?” his mother echoed, setting down her teacup.

“Yes,” Shiu answered smoothly, cutting you a look that said play along. “She has her own business.”

“Interesting,” his mother mused, clearly unimpressed. “At least it’s respectable.”

You swallowed back the retort threatening to spill from your lips and settled for a polite smile.

Dinner was tense.

Shiu was stiff, his jaw tight as he sat beside you, his fingers lightly brushing against yours under the table—his only silent reassurance.

His mother was nice enough, but there was a judgmental edge to her words, a disapproving glance every time she spoke. And it only got worse as the night went on.

Then, the conversation took a turn for the worst.

Shiu’s mother, with all the casual cruelty of an old woman reminiscing, brought up his ex.

“She was such a lovely girl,” she sighed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Smart. Well-mannered. Knew how to dress properly. And she made the best soup—”

Shiu’s entire body tensed.

You clenched your fists under the table, your nails digging into your palm.

“She was too good for him, of course,” his mother continued, oblivious. “I always said he would never find another like her.”

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

Then, a slow, mocking chuckle from Shiu.

“Good thing I’m not looking for another like her.” His voice was low, dark, a warning.

His mother huffed. “I only mean that some women know how to handle a man like you.”

That was it.

You stood, the chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor.

“Thank you for dinner, ma’am,” you said, your voice level despite the fire in your veins. “But I think we should leave.”

Shiu didn’t hesitate. He rose immediately, his hand finding the small of your back as he all but guided you out the door.

His mother called after you, but he didn’t look back.

Neither of you did.

*-*

The car was silent.

Shiu’s hands were gripping the wheel tightly, his knuckles white. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel the rage rolling off him in waves.

“She’s old,” you murmured finally. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

His laugh was hollow. “Don’t make excuses for her.”

“I’m not,” you admitted. “I just don’t care what she thinks.”

That made him turn to you, his jaw clenched. “I care.”

That was the problem.

You reached out, running a hand through his dark hair, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek. “Shiu,” you whispered.

And then he was kissing you.

Hard.

(The car had swereved a bit, but hey- Shiu was used to driving with only one hand.)

It was desperate, raw, like he was trying to pour every unsaid thing into the press of his lips against yours.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy.

“You’re the most important woman in my life,” he murmured. “Not her. Not anyone else. You.”

Your heart ached.

You kissed him again, softer this time, trying to tell him what words couldn’t.

You didn’t need his mother’s approval. You didn’t need anyone’s approval.

You just needed him.

And he was already yours.

You always tried to keep a low profile, doing your job well, interacting kindly with your students, and never asking for too much. Being a teacher at Jujutsu High, you didn’t expect anyone to look at you with anything but respect—well, except for some of the students who found you either too strict or too kind.

You didn’t mind.

It was all part of the job. But with Hiromi, things were different. The quiet, intelligent man who would watch the world pass by, silently observing, had drawn you in with his steadiness and his calm. Slowly, over time, you began to see glimpses of his own frustrations—his deep desire to be understood.

Everything about your relationship had been understated. Quiet dinners, long walks around the city, private moments where words weren’t necessary.

But tonight, he wanted to introduce you to his family. You had hesitated at first. Family? That was a lot. But Hiromi insisted, and you couldn’t deny him when he asked with that almost timid excitement.

You agreed, hoping for a peaceful evening where you could get to know the people who had raised him, the people who had influenced the man you had come to care about.

His house was grand, understated yet undeniably luxurious. His parents were wealthy, influential in certain circles, but Hiromi had always kept his distance from the trappings of that world.

You walked in beside him, feeling the cool, formal air of the home seep into your bones. The house smelled like expensive wood polish and fresh flowers, the walls lined with portraits of people who seemed far older than you had expected.

Hiromi’s mother greeted you first—warm and eager, while his father gave you a curt nod. You smiled politely, feeling a strange sense of unease gnawing at your stomach.

Dinner was served in a lavish dining room, a chandelier hanging above the large oak table, its surfaces gleaming in the ambient light. Hiromi took a seat beside you, and his parents sat across, their eyes keenly watching you.

At first, everything was calm. Small talk. The clink of fine china. His mother asking questions about your work, your background, your hobbies. You responded kindly, your hands steady in your lap, doing your best to make a good impression.

Then, it came.

"So," his father began, his tone cold yet pleasant. "What is it you do for a living?"

You froze for a second, just long enough to catch the shift in Hiromi’s body language. He tensed beside you. It wasn’t a surprise—he had warned you that his parents might question you about your job. He had never been the kind to flaunt his profession, and he knew his family wasn’t exactly fond of the teaching profession.

You swallowed your discomfort and replied, "I’m a teacher. I work at Jujutsu High School."

His mother smiled, her expression still kind, but there was an edge to her words when she spoke.

"Ah, yes, I’ve heard of that place. But, of course, not quite the same as, say, running a corporation or working in politics."

The smile she gave you felt more like a mask than genuine warmth. You tried to ignore the subtle judgment in her tone.

But his father wasn’t as diplomatic. He looked at you, a flicker of disdain crossing his features.

"A teacher?" he repeated, a harsh edge in his voice. "You’re just a teacher?"

The words hit you like a slap to the face. The table fell silent, and you felt a sudden heat rise to your cheeks. Hiromi’s hand tightened against the table, and you saw a flicker of anger in his eyes, but it was quickly masked by a deep, almost suffocating calm.

Your pulse quickened, but you weren’t about to back down. You had fought hard to get to where you were, to be seen for your intellect and your strength, not for your gender or your job.

You weren’t about to let them belittle you without a fight.

You lifted your chin, meeting his father's gaze directly.

"Yes, I’m a teacher," you replied, your voice steady, but there was a steeliness to it now. "And I take my job very seriously. I help guide young people to understand their place in the world and grow into who they are meant to be. That’s a responsibility I take pride in."

There was a long, tense silence. His mother looked to his father, as though expecting him to continue. His father, however, seemed to grow increasingly frustrated by your words, his brows furrowing.

"A teacher," he repeated, almost to himself. "And you think that’s enough to be with my son? What exactly do you think you can offer him? Someone like you…"

Hiromi finally spoke, his voice cold. "Stop."

His tone wasn’t loud, but it was sharp enough to make the entire room go still. You turned to him, but his eyes were fixed on his father, his jaw clenched tightly.

"You don’t get to talk to her like that," Hiromi continued, his voice rising with the tension in the room. "You don’t get to make her feel small."

His father opened his mouth to retort, but Hiromi was already standing up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.

"Hiromi," you began, your voice quieter, unsure if you were ready for a full confrontation. "I’m fine. Really."

But he was already moving. He grabbed your hand firmly, pulling you up from your seat. His eyes were wide with anger now, no longer holding back.

"No, you’re not fine," he shot back, his voice filled with an intensity that left you momentarily stunned. "You’re not fine when they treat you like that. I won’t stand for it."

His mother rose to her feet, her face flushed with both anger and disbelief. "Hiromi! What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Hiromi replied, his words clipped, harsh. "I don’t need to sit here and listen to you belittle her. I’m done."

He tugged at your hand, and you followed without a word. His father shouted something, but it was drowned out by the sound of Hiromi’s steps.

You heard the quiet clatter of silverware, the murmur of confusion and anger from the family, but it was all background noise as Hiromi marched you through the house, out the front door, and into the cool night air.

You didn’t speak for a moment, still processing what had just happened. The weight of it all hung heavily in the air, the atmosphere still thick with tension.

Finally, Hiromi stopped walking, turning to face you. His breath came in shallow, rapid bursts. His eyes were intense, angry, and yet there was something fragile in them too.

"I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice breaking slightly. "I didn’t… I didn’t expect them to be like that."

You shook your head, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

"No, Hiromi. Don’t apologize. You… You did the right thing."

But his face twisted in frustration. "I can’t believe I let them speak to you like that. I should’ve defended you sooner."

You stepped closer, placing your hand gently on his arm. "You did defend me," you said softly. "In the only way that matters."

His eyes softened then, and he exhaled slowly, the weight of the night finally starting to lift.

"I’m sorry," he repeated, but this time there was a deeper sincerity behind the words.

You smiled up at him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "It’s okay. It’s over now."

Hiromi’s hand found yours again, his grip tight. "No," he said, his voice determined, "It’s not over. I’ll never let anyone treat you that way again."

You didn’t need his family’s approval. Not anymore. You had Hiromi, and that was more than enough.

A/N: hope this was even half decent, i tried different 'styles' for each (actually mostly hiromi), just to try smth out, hope this was okay.

Masterlist.

:)

[ryosuku]

Sukuna is the type of husband who NEEDS to hold you when he sleeps.

Before he started being in a relationship with you Sukuna had trouble finding sleep in most nights, probably due to his bad working routine and messy habits that got fixed after you came into his life. And now he can't sleep unless his wife is safely wrapped in his arms.

You could be watching TV after a day at work and Sukuna will come home next probably tired as hell and in need of a nap. He is quick to wrap his arms around your hips and gently take you into his arms as he carries you to the shared bedroom, Despite your endless protests asking him to take a shower first,

"Kuna you stink, go take a shower first"

"Calling your husband stinky? You wound me darling"

"Sukuna please.."

"Fine then, but we shower together"

"But I just showered-

"Too bad brat"

When it's time for sleep, he patiently waits till you're done with your skincare routine. And if you take way too much time for some reason, like your friend calling you at the last minute to spill the hot gossips of the day Sukuna is there to remind you he's ready and set for his bedtime by scoffing loudly enough for you to hear. Petty man.

Taking a pee at night? Grabbing a late night snack because you're hungry? Those are impossible to do without waking Sukuna up. The moment you sit up in the bed, he's already awake, grumbling in his sleep and asking what the hell are you doing before pulling you back to his arms.

That one time you managed to sneak out of the bed without waking Sukuna up. You mentally praised yourself for the victory as you snuck in to the kitchen to eat the last piece of the chocolate cake. Before you can even take 3 bites you hear footstep behind and when you turned to look, it's half awake and half asleep Sukuna with the blanket hanging by his hips like a toddler who ran out of their bedroom searching for their mom. He's scrutinizing his eyes at you, trying to figure out what the hell are you doing. Then he sees the chocolate cake and the icing around your lips and his face instantly takes a betrayed expression.

"Kuna-"

"So you left your husband, all alone, in this fucking cold weather just for chocolate cake?"

"We have a heater-"

"That's not the point, the point is how a chocolate cake worth more than your husband"

"okay now you're being dramatic"

"This is straight up gluttony"

"Sukuna!!"

It's gotten bad to the point where you can't even sleep one night away without feeling guilty because you know this man is wide awake and restless without you in the bed. Yet you wouldn't change a single thing. The way Sukuna's strong arms wrap around you, keeping you warm and safe while soft hum of his snores disappearing into the crook of your neck, it's everything you will ever need.

And you hope it never changes.

[ryosuku]

Mr. Sukuna teaching religion. part 2

The last week of school was a joke. Finals were over. People were either skipping or spending every class on their phones. Teachers had given up.

And you?

You kept sneaking glances at the back of the classroom, where Sukuna sat at his desk, flipping through one of those old, worn-out books of his.

Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just casually wrecked your entire existence. The worst part? He knew you were looking.

Every time you glanced his way, he’d flip a page slower than necessary, smirking like a complete menace. By the third day of this, you were ready to start throwing things.

So, naturally, you did the most logical thing possible.

You texted him.

You’re being a little shit.

A second later, his phone buzzed.

His smirk widened. You watched as he picked up his phone, tapped something out, then set it down without looking at you once.

Your phone vibrated.

And?

You nearly threw your entire desk at him.

AND I HATE YOU.

Another buzz.

No, you don’t.

You glared at your screen, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Yes. I do. I am filled with an unspeakable rage. I am—

Before you could finish your sentence, your phone was snatched right out of your hands.

"What the—!"

Sukuna tossed your phone onto his desk like it was a piece of trash and finally looked at you.

"Come here."

Oh.

Your stomach did something stupid.

You hesitated, just long enough to convince yourself you weren’t dying inside, then stood and walked toward his desk.

His gaze followed you the entire way.

When you reached him, he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, chin resting on his hand.

"You hate me?"

You crossed your arms. "Yes."

He hummed, amused. "That so?"

You nodded.

A slow smirk spread across his face, and you immediately regretted everything.

He stood to his full height, towering over you, the air between you shifting—charged, dangerous.

You barely reached his chest.

Your breath caught as he reached out, fingers brushing against your neck before settling there, warm and firm. Not tight, not rough—just there. Holding you in place.

His thumb traced slow circles against your skin.

He leaned down, close enough that you could feel his breath ghost over your lips, close enough that your pulse betrayed you, hammering against his touch.

"You really hate me, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing, but there was something else underneath it. Something darker.

His gaze flickered—lips, eyes, lips again—like he was debating something.

Like he was testing you. You could barely think. Could barely breathe. All you could do was nod. Like a complete, brainless idiot. His smirk deepened.

"Liar."

You swallowed hard, but no words came out. He liked this.

You could see it in the way his fingers flexed slightly against your skin, in the way his smirk softened—just a little, just enough to make your stomach flip.

"You say you hate me," he continued, his voice a slow drag of heat against your skin, "but you’re standing here, letting me touch you."

You opened your mouth—to say what, you had no idea—but before a single sound could leave your lips, the classroom door slammed open.

The both of you froze. Sukuna didn’t even move his hand. Didn’t even flinch.

Your classmate—some poor, unsuspecting soul—stepped in, took one look at the scene in front of them, and immediately took a step back.

"Oh—uh—" They blinked rapidly, eyes darting between you and Sukuna. "Am I—interrupting something?"

You jerked away so fast you nearly tripped over yourself. Sukuna didn’t even try to look guilty. If anything, he looked amused.

Casual. Like he hadn’t just been an inch away from ruining you.

He tilted his head toward the door. "Yeah. You are."

The classmate gawked.

You smacked his arm. "No, they’re not—"

Sukuna sighed, ignoring you completely. "What do you want?"

The student shifted awkwardly. "Uh… the principal’s calling for you."

Your stomach dropped.

Sukuna grinned. "Is that so?"

The classmate nodded. "Something about skipping the teacher’s meeting… for the third time."

You turned to him slowly. "Sukuna."

He just shrugged. "It was a boring meeting."

"You are so getting fired."

He smirked, eyes flicking back to yours. "You worried about me, sweetheart?"

You wanted to die.

The classmate cleared their throat, clearly desperate to leave. "So… should I tell them you’re coming?"

Sukuna stretched lazily, completely unbothered. "Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there."

They gave you one last, confused look before bolting out the door.

You turned back to him, arms crossed. "You need to take this job seriously."

He smirked. "And you need to admit you don’t actually hate me."

Your face burned. "I do."

Another hum. Another smirk.

"Sure, princess. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

And with that, he strolled past you, heading for the principal’s office like he owned the place. Leaving you standing there. Heart racing. Skin still burning where he had touched you.

----

Graduation day was a mess. A beautiful, chaotic, suffocating mess. There were too many people. Too many speeches. Too many fake smiles from classmates who had never spoken to you before.

And then there was your family.

Your mother, fussing over your gown. Your father, giving you the classic dad nod of approval. Some extended relatives who had suddenly remembered you existed now that you were officially Done With School™.

It was fine. It was all fine. Until he appeared. You didn’t see him at first. You felt him. That heavy, familiar weight of someone watching you.

And then—there he was.

Sukuna.

Standing a few feet away, looking like he had absolutely no reason to be here, yet somehow, the entire event had been designed around him.

Your mother noticed him immediately. Because how could she not?The tattoos. The hair. The sharp, inhumanly perfect features. The sheer size of him compared to the sea of normal, non-intimidating parents and faculty.

“Oh,” your mother breathed, clutching her purse like she was about to faint. “Oh, my.”

Your father, ever the man of few words, squinted at him. “Who’s that?”

You wanted to lie. You should have lied. But Sukuna’s eyes were locked on yours, intense and unrelenting, and you were so caught.

“…My teacher,” you said, already regretting it.

Your mother made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. “That’s your teacher?”

“Former teacher,” you corrected quickly, as if that made this any less ridiculous.

Sukuna, the absolute menace that he was, took that as his cue to step closer. Your mother went rigid. Your father’s expression remained unreadable, but you swore he was evaluating whether or not he needed to intervene.

And then Sukuna did the worst possible thing he could have done.

He smirked. At you. Like this was your problem to deal with. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Your mother, bless her, tried to recover. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “It’s… lovely to meet you, Mr.—”

“Sukuna.”

He didn’t offer a handshake.

He didn’t even blink.

Your mother let out another nervous laugh. “Oh, just… Sukuna?”

“Just Sukuna.”

Your father’s squint deepened. “What kind of teacher were you, exactly?”

Sukuna ignored the question completely, still looking at you.

And you…

You couldn’t look away.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, taking in the graduation dress, the cap and gown barely staying in place, the way you were trying to look like a normal, functioning human being instead of someone who had spent the entire year getting a little too attached to her definitely inappropriate former teacher.

“I like the dress,” he said.

Your mother reached out blindly, either grabbing your father’s hand for support or bracing herself in case she actually fainted. Your father, still squinting at Sukuna like he was trying to solve some unspeakable equation, didn’t react.

You, on the other hand?

You were trying not to combust on the spot.

You glanced down, suddenly self-conscious, fingers twitching at the fabric of your dress. Calm down. Breathe. He’s just a guy. A guy who—

"Thanks," you murmured, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some sense of normalcy, before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again. "You don’t look too bad yourself. Shouldn’t you be wearing a suit, though?"

Sukuna huffed a quiet laugh, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I'm saving that for our special day, sweetheart."

You choked on your spit and started coughing violently, doubling over as your mother gasped and your father took an instinctive step closer, probably wondering if he needed to intervene.

This might have been the most emotion either of them had ever seen from you.

Sukuna just stood there, grinning.

Your mother clutched her chest. "Our… special day?" she echoed, eyes darting between the two of you like she was piecing together a crime scene.

You waved a frantic hand, still coughing. "That’s not—he’s just—don’t listen to him!"

Sukuna chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself. "You’re being dramatic."

"You’re being insufferable!"

His smirk widened.

Desperate to steer the conversation anywhere else, you straightened up, swallowing hard before forcing out, "Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be off ruining someone else’s life?"

Sukuna tilted his head, pretending to think. "Miss me that much?"

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Not a chance, mister. Not a chance."

And yet—when you looked up at him, at those red, fire-bright eyes, he was still smirking, like he knew something you didn’t.

"Aw," he said, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flip. "And here I was, trying to ask your parents for permission to take you out for dinner."

Silence.

Pure, deafening silence.

Your mother’s hand tightened on your father’s arm. Your father’s expression darkened, muscles in his jaw visibly tensing.

You...

You wanted to die.

"Sukuna," you hissed under your breath, glaring at him like you could somehow will him into shutting up. He looked completely unfazed. Amused, even.

Your father finally spoke. "Dinner?"

You immediately jumped in. "It’s not—it’s not like that—"

"Then what’s it like?" Sukuna cut in smoothly, deliberately making things worse.

Your mother let out a tiny, distressed noise.

Your father inhaled sharply. "Young man, I—"

You didn’t let him finish.

With all the force you could muster, you grabbed Sukuna’s arm and yanked him away, practically dragging him across the lawn before your father could decide whether he needed to call the cops or a priest or a lawyer.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you whisper-yelled, face burning.

Sukuna only grinned, effortlessly keeping pace with you. "What? I thought it was a nice idea."

"You thought asking my parents’ permission—on my graduation day—was a nice idea?!"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You’re cute when you’re flustered."

You groaned, shoving a hand through your hair. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again to glare up at him. "You’re the worst."

Sukuna smiled and tilted his head , and damn him, he looked good doing it, reaching for your hand, his usual smugness fading into something quieter, something serious. "So, is that a no for dinner then?"

Your heart stuttered. People were looking, and you had never been the type to enjoy attention.

"Are you not worried…?" you asked, voice quieter than before.

Sukuna’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, grounding. "I’m not a teacher anymore, Y/N," he said, his tone even. "Yeah, I might be older, but I don’t mind if you change your mind. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll drop it. Just be honest with me. Feelings change. You’re still young—"

You cut him off with a groan, already knowing where this was going. "Oh my god, stop. Don’t give me the ‘you’re young’ speech."

Sukuna blinked, caught off guard for once.

Instead of answering his question, you crossed your arms and smirked. "Do you remember telling me I was gonna get married young and have a bajillion babies?"

For the first time in your entire existence, you saw him be the one to hesitate.

His brows furrowed slightly, eyes narrowing. "...I did say that, didn’t I?"

"You did." You nodded. "Very confidently, I might add."

Sukuna clicked his tongue, looking off to the side as if actually thinking about it. Then, with a slow, almost lazy smirk, he looked back at you.

"Well," he mused, squeezing your fingers just a little, "still got time to prove myself right, don’t I?"

Your face went up in flames.

"Sukuna!"

His laughter was loud, unapologetic, and way too pleased with himself.

---

You never could have imagined it back then—sitting in that empty classroom, watching as he casually read your tarot cards, his eyes never leaving yours, that infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips. But somehow, against all odds, he had been right.

You did get married young.

And he did give you a lot of kids. A lot.

He proposed to you in the ruins, except he had shoved a supposedly haunted ring into your hand with that same cocky grin and said, "You're stuck with me now, sweetheart. leave me and I will hunt you down."

And you, hopelessly in love and exasperated beyond belief, had still said yes.

Now, years later, he ran a tattoo and remnant shop, a place as chaotic and unpredictable as the man himself. Your family still hadn’t fully recovered from the shock of him, and they were definitely still scared shitless of him. But they couldn’t deny how he treated you—like you were an angel, like you were something he had never quite believed he would be lucky enough to have.

You still bickered like crazy. He still had a habit of flustering you beyond reason.

And yet, despite all of it…

Your ridiculous, impossible schoolgirl crush on your former teacher had worked out in the end.

Somehow.

and you guessed wrong. he was 26 not 28.

<><><>

@linaaeatsfamilies , @missthatgirl , @catladythoughts , @kodzukenie333 , @kissforyouu , <333

[ryosuku]

Pov you’ve stopped at a red light and you randomly check your rear-view mirror

[ryosuku]

sukuna hates it when you're mad at him.

because, frankly, how dare you be mad at him? he does no wrong, so you have no right to be so upset with him for absolutely no reason.

okay, maybe you did have a reason, he was just too stubborn to admit it.

sukuna was no mere man, he was a curse for god's sake, a powerful king of an entire realm and a fierce being, he could slaughter you for even just looking at him funny if he wanted to.

and yet.

he couldn't find it in himself to do so, something about you was just so…unbelievably enslaving, like no other before — those measly concubines that he slaughtered couldn't compare to you in any sense.

you were simply a goddess in his eyes — his queen to be sat on his throne. his equal.

nobody was ever his equal, until you came along.

he doesn't know what you did to him, perhaps you put a hex on him that made him so infatuated with just the mere thought of you.

or perhaps, it was an emotion, something foreign to the king of curses yet prominently there.

an emotion…such as love…perhaps?

no, that's ridiculous. sukuna doesn't do love, you definitely put a hex on him.

he stands in your shared bedroom, looking like an awkward school boy (something he definitely isn't) as he contemplates how to get you to stop being angry with him.

“y/n.” he finally speaks, his voice stern and powerful, commanding attention, attention that you don't give to him, instead, you continue to focus on your book, completely ignoring his presence.

frustrated, he grunts. he hates it when you ignore him like that.

“petal.” he tries again, this time his voice softer and gentler and he's using the nickname that he knows makes you weak in the knees.

you stiffen and he can practically hear your heart flutter.

“what do you want, sukuna?” you speak, shutting your book with a loud thud as you look at him, your expression uninterested.

“no,” he says, shaking his head, “it's not sukuna to you, you know that.”

you roll your eyes, “you lost ryo privileges the moment you decided to put yourself in danger like that.”

“petal.” he coos, approaching you slowly and sitting on the edge of the bed near you, “nothing can kill me, you know that.”

“yes it can!” you exclaim, “you may think you're invincible but you're not sukuna, you may be the king of curses but that doesn't make you immortal, you can still die or get gravely injured!”

sukuna's heart breaks, or at least something close to it — the moment he sees the tears well up in your eyes and hears the concern in your voice, something inside him breaks.

you really, truly cared?

“oh, petal,” he coos softly, shuffling closer to you and cupping your face in his hand, wiping away a tear that falls with his thumb.

“i understand your…concern.” he speaks, his voice gentle, “but know that no matter the battles i fight, or the sorcerers who dare defy me, that i'll always come back to you — nothing will get in the way of having you in my arms.”

your eyes widen slightly at his uncharacteristically gentle and reassuring words and your heart flutters in your chest.

your lips wobble and tears fall freely from your eyes, “oh, ryo.” you sob, burying your face in his chest.

sukuna's eyes widen — he had gotten used to your touches and so called ‘cuddling’ yet having you sob in his chest was so…foreign to him.

nevertheless, his hand comes up unsurely to pat your back in a way one would assume comforting.

“i don't think i can bear the thought of losing you,” you say, sniffling as you pull away from him for a moment, looking at him with glassy eyes.

sukuna stares at you for a moment, and he gets the sickening heart flutter in his chest that he oh so hates so much, yet he’s unable to make it stop.

sukuna hates it when you're mad at him, but he hates it even more when you're crying because of him, so he makes it a point that as long as he's here, he'll never have you shed a tear, ever.

“and i don't think i can bear the thought of not coming back to you, petal.” he says, his hand coming up to grip the back of your neck gently, and his fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer to place a soft peck against your lips, so uncharacteristically soft.

sukuna is an asshole, an irredeemable one at that, but he'll never make you upset with him again.

[ryosuku]

cw: truform sukuna x reader, heian au, fluff

wc: 1.2k

a/n: wrote this to procrastinate on the neuroscience lab that i have to complete...

Sukuna simply does not understand.

He's given you the largest chambers, second only to his own, the best of anything to provide you with whatever comforts you could ever want.

However, you choose to sleep with him at night. This is still fine, considering his futon is so incredibly large that it could fit him while giving you more than enough space to sleep.

And still, even with this ocean of bedding beside him, he finds himself pushed to the fucking edge of the futon till he's nearly on the floor.

Why?

Because you insist on sleeping by him, sticking yourself next to him as close as possible.

Not in a normal way either, no, just body contact is simply not good enough.

You'll wrap your upper arm and leg over him so that you can cling to him as tightly as possible like a koala hanging onto a tree branch. Sometimes you'll even shift up in your sleep till you're basically wrapped around his head, pretty much holding him in a headlock to keep his skull secure against your chest.

Sukuna runs hot, he always has. So naturally he starts to get even more overheated with the warmth of your body pressed right next to him, rendering him unable to sleep comfortably.

He shifts away out of your hold while he's half asleep, still right beside you, but leaving just a little bit of room so he can cool off.

And somehow, even though you're literally sleeping, you instinctively shift right into that little gap to glue yourself to him again.

This cycle continues, him getting hot, moving away, you moving closer. Like this, you effectively herd him like cattle till he feels the uncomfortable edge of his futon and finally wakes up fully to realize that he's about a centimeter away from sleeping on the fucking floor.

Sukuna looks at you and then at the remaining expanse of the futon right next to you.

Unbelievable.

He tries to push you back into the Great Plains of bedding beside you but you grumble when he disturbs your beauty sleep, eyes still shut.

"Move, brat. I've got no fuckin' room."

Sukuna cannot believe that a human woman who is like a third of his size, has him sleeping at the corner of his own bed like he's the family dog.

You don't move.

He sighs and forcefully picks you up, placing you in the center of all that empty room.

This wakes you up, and of course the very first emotion you feel at having been disturbed is irritation.

"What are you doing?!" You whisper, scowling at him like this is all his fault.

Sukuna blinks at you incredulously, this creature that he could finish off before she could even make a noise, with an attitude that levels his own.

"Me? You keep pushing me to the side like we don't have this entire fucking bed. I will not sleep like a peasant in my own chambers."

"What does that even mean? You're just being classist."

One of Sukuna's eyes twitches.

"That's not the point. Just...sleep on your side of the bed, okay?!" He growls before turning away to go back to sleep.

You mutter some expletives under your own breath as well before also falling asleep.

It can't have been more than forty-five minutes when he finally fully wakes again to find himself once more at the edge of the futon.

Strangely though, he doesn't feel you stuck onto him like usual.

He turns to find you sleeping horizontally in that wide open space after having cornered him to the edge of the bed.

All in your sleep.

Sukuna has had just about enough of these antics, further agitated from the lack of rest. He moves over to flick your forehead with one hand, almost feeling bad about it, if it weren't for the current circumstances.

"Wha-" Your eyes shoot open before you glare at him. "Do you have some kind of problem?"

Well, that does it.

If you were anyone else he would've murdered you on the spot, but you're not, so your punishment is limited to him angrily telling you that if you do it again he's going to make you sleep in your own room.

In response you drop your mouth open, staring at him in complete offense like he's personally cursed your entire bloodline. "You do not mean that."

"Try me."

That's enough to have you huffing, getting up off the bed and storming towards the door.

Sukuna frowns. "Where the hell are you going? I said if you do it again, I'm not telling you to leave."

His words fall upon deaf ears, because honestly, he should know by now how stubborn you are.

You leave his room, and go sleep in your own bed.

Sure it's not nearly as nice, but it works just because you're fueled by pure spite, and soon you're fast asleep.

Sukuna, on the other hand, finds himself not able to sleep at all. He tosses and turns until sunlight peaks over the horizon and those damn birds start making a racket outside.

And though he's a bit miserable the whole day, he figures it's fine as you'll come sneaking into his room to sleep with him again tonight, like you always do.

Except you don't.

He waits, night falls, and still you don't arrive.

Finally with a sigh he gets up to go to your chambers, telling himself this is for practical purposes, and practical purposes only because apparently his body can't fall asleep without you right by him.

You're laying in your bed when he enters your room, seemingly asleep.

"Stop pretending to be asleep." He states flatly.

You, with your closed lids, wonder how he knew that. Either way, you don't respond, continuing to feign sleep.

Sukuna remains unimpressed. "I know you're awake, woman."

He's slept with you enough nights to know that there's no way you would sleep so normally, laying perfectly straight in your bed, on your back, blankets tucked neatly around you.

Sukuna groans and simply walks over to your futon, bends over, and slings you over his shoulder like a burlap sack.

And just like he knew you would, you immediately start squirming as he hauls you back to his room, throwing insults at him that he's never even heard before, not even from you.

Still, there's not much you can do, and eventually he gets to his chambers, dropping you on his futon.

You land flat on your butt, before crossing your arms to glare up at him.

"I don't want to sleep with you." You hiss.

"Don't care."

You grumble some more before resigning to sleep at the opposite edge of the bed from him, back turned his way. You feel the futon dip under his weight as he gets in and settles down.

A moment of silence and then-

"Come here." He orders.

You don't move, and when you don't, he does, shifting over till he's pretty much spooning you.

"Asshole." You mumble, though you let your body melt into his touch. "Move, I have no room."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

But really it doesn't matter, because he'll wake up on the opposite side of the bed anyway in the morning, with you wrapped around him like usual.