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jezebelblues · 5 months ago

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la vie en rose | h.s

summary: lovey sunday morning in bed that ends with him buried inside her.

cw: smut18+ - penetration (p in v), unprotected sex, smidge of daddy kink, fluff, fem!reader, unedited. tried to be grammatically correct by using upper case if that makes u go wild

word count: approx 2.2k

| ladies forgive me this is like my 2nd time writing smut! building the skill brick by brick fr. mwah :*

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

The morning light slipped through the curtains in soft streams, casting a gentle warmth over the room. The air was still, the kind of quiet that only existed in muted peace with a lover, when the world outside felt distant and time seemed to stretch endlessly. Harry lay on his back, his arm lazily draped around YN’s waist, nestled comfortably into his side like a bear seeking habitat for hibernation. His skin was warm and solid against her, a tingling heat that could have her melt in him.

She stirred first, not fully awake but aware of the weight of his arm holding her. The familiar scent of him - something faintly earthy and sweet - wrapped around her like a second blanket, and for a long moment, she didn’t want to move. His curls smelt like his lavender bergamot shampoo, locks disheveled from letting his hair dry in his sleep. The simplicity of waking up next to him was entrancing, before the world rushed in with all its noise.

He shifted beside her, his nose nuzzling into the crook of her neck, curls tickling her skin. He mumbled something incoherent, half-awake, and then murmured, “Morning, love.” His voice was low and raspy from sleep, the sound of it sending a current through her.

Her eyes fluttered open, but just barely. She didn’t need to see him to know the expression on his face - the soft, lazy smile that always greeted her in the mornings, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, even when he was half asleep. His fingers trailed absentmindedly along her side, tracing little patterns that sent shivers up her spine. The scent of home and freshly washed sheets stuck to her skin like melted sugar, and Harry swore she was hypnotizing.

“Could stay like this all day.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, then her cheek, his lips lingering just enough to make her want more. There was something about the way he held her, like she was the most precious thing in the world, and she could feel that tenderness in every touch, every kiss. His fingers grazed her arm, barely there, as if he was savoring every inch of her skin.

She smiled sleepily, her voice still thick with the dreams that lingered faintly in the back of her head. “You say that every morning.”

“Mean it every time.” Harry hums, his tone playful but full of affection. He shifted slightly, pulling her closer, as if he needed to feel her heart beat against his. There was a raw intimacy in the way he held her, not just the physical closeness, but the quiet comfort of knowing that this was where he belonged.

For a while, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other, neither of them willing to break the spell of the morning. Outside, the world moved on without them, but in here, time seemed to pause. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with his breath, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the soft fabric of his t-shirt. She felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, a sound more comforting than any lullaby.

His gaze lingered on her face, his eyes tracing every detail, like he was memorizing the way she looked in the morning light. Her features were soft from sleep, cheeks flush and eyes a bit puffy. In that moment he wished he had the talent to paint, encapsulating her beauty in delicate watercolors. “Y’look so pretty when you sleep,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like an angel.”

She opened one eye, catching the adoring smile on his face, that lopsided grin he always gave her when he was in one of his affectionate moods. “You’re such a sap, Styles.” YN teased, though her voice held no real bite.

His smile widened, the dimples in his cheeks deepening as he laughed softly. “Maybe. But you love it.”

She tried to roll her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. There was something about him, the way he could make her feel completely at ease, completely loved, that always got to her. She parted her lips to speak, but in one fluid motion, Harry rolled her onto him, making her squeal in surprise. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her against him as he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. His fingers traced along the curve of her waist from underneath his shirt that hung loosely around her frame, his eyes softening. They basked in the sounds of their breathing, the girl rising and falling atop him from every breath he took. He trailed his hand upward, combing his fingers through her hair. "She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning against the balcony railing, holding the universe together." He smiled gently, his voice airy and dipped in honey.

Her giggle was breathy and melodic as her fingers reached for his cheek, pinching it ever so slightly with a delicate shake. The two had a thing for randomly quoting literature, and she couldn’t believe he beat her to it this Sunday morning. An excerpt that made her cheeks tinge a shade of pink, the love he felt toward her dripping from the borrowed words. “Shut up.” She smiled, poking his nose.

His expression didn’t change as he adjusted his large hands back under her shirt, brushing up her back, the pad of his index right along her spine. His heart fluttered with the sight upon him, every inch of her skin the tips of his fingers touched belonging to him. His movement slowed to a halt at the top of her waist, gently guiding her down to let his lips meet hers.

The kiss was slow, lingering, a quiet promise in the way his lips moved against hers. His hands continued their exploration over the familiar land as he deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of her. When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath cool on her skin.

His lips grazed her neck, the softest of kisses, but enough to send a shiver through her body. He mingled there, his exhales ticking her skin, goosebumps cascading down her body, as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear - making her sigh softly. The weight of her body straddling his felt comforting, grounding, but there was something electric in the way his hands moved, slow and teasing.

Her own fingers responded instinctively, running her fingers along his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the tautness of the muscles under her touch. She could sense his heartbeat quickening, matching the growing pulse she felt in her core. She let her hand roam across his torso, her fingertips tracing the lines of his chest and abdomen, delighting in the way he shivered slightly under her touch.

Harry's breath hitched as her fingers brushed lower, and he let out a soft groan, pulling her down beside him. He gripped her waist, her leg tightly looping around his as their lips met again.

Everything about the moment felt slow, deliberate - like they had all the time in the world, yet neither of them wanted to wait any longer. His lips left hers to trail down her jaw, over the sensitive skin just below her ear again. His voice, soft and hoarse, whispered against her, "Turn around.” The sheets rustled with her compliance, the arm that lied beneath her head bending as he placed a light hand around her throat.

YN’s breath hitched, a heat pooling her inner thighs and drenching her sunshine yellow panties. His lips brushed against the crook of her neck, bunching the hem of her shirt up a bit as he pulled her underwear down to her knees. His sigh was heavy, the length of his cock slapping against the small of her back as he freed himself. He mumbled something under his breath, lips skimming along the space where her shoulder and neck met, his hand finding itself between her legs, pulling her thigh upward and hooking the bend of his elbow around her knee. He shifts his hips to line himself with her cunt, YN reaching down to keep him in place. A groan tumbles from his lips as he pushes past her wet folds, filling her completely. She gasps at the feeling of his cock stretching her, Harry tugging the hand on her neck roughly to force her between his head and shoulders, tightening his grip ever so slightly while he keeps his thrusts at a tauntingly slow pace. “Such a good girl.” He murmured absentmindedly, too lost in the pleasure of her walls enveloping him completely.

Her eyes fluttered shut, soft moans emitting from her as he moves his hips quicker. Her arousal doused his cock, wetting her inner thighs - allowing for the noise of wet skin slapping against one another to reverberate off the white walls of their bedroom. She turns her head, peppering sloppy kisses along his jaw as she reaches her arm back to tangle her fingers in his curls.

All their noises combined made a symphony of pleasure, the coil in YN’s core tightening with every push of his hips. Harry’s breath came and went in short gasps, a gleam of sweat slicking his skin. The grip that held her leg up slipped inward and past where he pounded into her, fingers stretching up to the spot where the head of his cock bulged the space beneath her bellybutton from inside, a moan escaping him at the feeling of it. “Daddy-“ She whimpered, tightening around his length while his chin dipped slightly, teeth sinking into the fleshier part of her shoulder. Her head pulled back further into him, his bite light enough to not break her skin, but harsh enough to leave an indent.

He removes his touch from her belly, slapping the bottom of her thigh harshly before holding it up again. She was unable to form anything coherent, her face becoming a shade of red from how much air she lost from her moans. He hummed, low and airy, “Y’pussy is so tight for daddy.”

He selfishly pushed deeper into her, not wanting any void of space left inside of her. He could feel her walls flutter around him, her back barely arching from his chest behind her. He lightened the grip on her throat, holding onto her chin as he forced her to look at him, her lips pouted from his grasp. “Baby-“ He groaned, eyes burrowing into hers. “Fuck- y’gonna come, hm?” He tried to coo through his grunts, his girl’s eyebrows in a furrow from the knot in her belly. She nodded into his hand, eyes wide in desperation. He pulled her chin upward a bit more, his nose brushing against her top lip as he gazed at her through his eyelashes. “Look at me, bunny, don’t move.”

She whimpered, her bum and thighs a flush of pink from the force of his thrusts. YN kept her eyes open, even if they fell half-lidded - knowing Harry would stop if she didn’t listen.

Her legs threatened to close from the pleasure, but Harry forced them to open wider - intentionally teetering her breaking point with a lazy smile spread across his lips. His eyes never left hers, watching every twist and scrunch of ecstasy dance upon her features. Her moans and whimpers were messy, his curls between her fingers tight as she jerked his head back. YN forced her eyes wide, lips parted and unable to close as her release built intensely. His smile turned into a smirk, gazing down at her pretty face through a half-lidded gaze. His cock twitched as she tightened around him once more, her orgasm evident in her expression as she came greedily over his length. He rode out her high, forehead falling against hers while guttural groans made his chest vibrate. His thrusts were sloppy and quick, a small whimper falling from his lips as he shot white ribbons of come inside her.

A beat of heavy synchronized heartbeats and rapid breaths befall them, Harry gently pulling her leg down to finally rest - his length slipping out, nestled between her thighs. She lets out a light sigh as the brunette draped his arm over the curve of her waist, pulling her closer as he presses delicate kisses against her temple.

YN hummed, eyes fluttering to a close as the rhythm of her boyfriend’s chest rising and falling abutting against her - lulled her to the brink of slumber. “For nothing, not the sun, not the rain-” She paused, voice raspy from her previous moans and the sleep that loomed over her. If she didn’t love this book so much, she would’ve forgotten the excerpt entirely. “not even the brightest star in the darkest sky, could begin to compare to the wonder of you.”

Harry was rested into the crook of her neck, and she could feel the way his lips spread into a smile. His thumbs rubbed circles along her hip bone, his breathing slowing. He let out an airy giggle before he parted his rosy lips, "I shoot hot bolts into you. I make your ovaries incandescent."

They both rippled with easy laughter, feeling his belly flutter against her back with every giggle. The sun rose higher as the morning continued to pass by them, birds chirping and cars rolling down their street. They lay intertwined, bodies melting into each other and moulding into one being, each breath in perfect harmony. And in that moment they both could swear this is what heaven must feel like.

#harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #famous!harry #harry x you #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles concept #one direction imagine #one direction #one direction smut #hs1

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amuromi · 1 year ago

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 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.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #★ mine!

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veerbles · 26 days ago

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Pynch Fic Rec Wrap-Up

35 fics you would be doing yourself a favor by reading. divided into 5 (+1) neat categories for your convenience.

GOATs

the best to ever (ever ever) do it.

Free as a Bird by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 31k (10 chapters) | musician au this fic is at the very top of this top tier list not because my heart was pounding and I was giggling and teary-eyed and overwhelmed and emotional throughout it - although it's all true; but because I obsessed over it non-stop for a week after reading it, and still think about it with alarming frequency. this is, truly and embarrassingly, my roman empire. if you ever read an au from this fandom, please dear lord: let it be this one.

Ronan is the lead guitarist of the Ravens, and Adam is a roadie. Romance ensues.

Friends We Keep by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 56k (10 chapters) | non-magical future this section of the list only has three recs, and this is the second one by pinkhorizon. this is not by mistake. in this case, ronan and adam are occasionally friends with benefits but continuously deeply in love; this fic gives you the kind of good pain that puts a lump in your throat but keeps you so, so hopeful for that happy ending because it earns it. for bonus points, it deals with mental health issues and trauma and just all the heavy stuff from canon in a truly superb way.

Adam doesn’t know what he wants, and Ronan wants whatever he can have.

Fall Back by flightspath rating: E | wc: 14k (6 chapters) | college au unlike free as a bird, I didn't fall into obsession with this fic immediately. I read it once and enjoyed it, found myself craving a reread shockingly soon thereafter, and loved it more and more each time. I only noticed how special it was when I easily passed the 10+ rereads. much like adam and ronan in this fic, friends with benefits whose feelings creep up upon, my deep pure love for this fic creeped up on me.

Adam, at the library, scanning books with a pen behind his ear. Adam, trudging across the quad in the snow. A recurring dream, all throughout fall semester, a bright spot in Ronan’s days.

Canon Compliant

* compliant with the original series; I tend to ignore td3's existence.

Of Being the Tenders of Gardens by shaenie rating: E | wc: 85k it's honestly beyond my comprehension how this fic isn't its own classic in this fandom, if only for its arguably unparalleled focus on the magic system and adam's powers and the connection to cabeswater. in short, it's a post-canon take on adam and ronan trying to bring cabeswater back, but not by dreaming a new one.

It's Adam Ronan takes to what he thinks might be a remnant of Cabeswater first.

Rock Me Like by zephfair / @zephfair rating: E | wc: 6k I read many fics about different aspects of adam and ronan cohabiting during the summer after high school, but I specifically liked how this fic alludes to their different upbringing in the more practical ways.

When bad weather threatens the Barns, Adam does his best to take care of his loved ones.

negative capability by smileymikey / @smileymikey rating: G | wc: 3k the general consensus is that these two find it easier to communicate through touch than through words, so I really liked how this tackles the way touch may present its own issues as well.

If Adam were poetic, he and Ronan would be spinning planets, constantly drawn together by gravity and the sheer power of the universe, sometimes aligning so they would be both at the furthest points of their orbits at the same time with millions of miles of emptiness and dust between them, but sometimes aligning so they would be at the other edge of their orbits, hovering inches away from one another, the dust between ionised and pulsing with tension. But he’s not. So they’re just assholes.

lavender and burning skin by deathlessaphrodite rating: E | wc: 8k very early in their relationship, spending time in the barns with the lynch brothers and fumbling around sex and communication the way god intended.

To: Adam Parrish From: Ronan Lynch Subject: (no subject) come round tonight? not if you’re working obv r. Adam stared at the email for several seconds before he could even begin to comprehend it. Ronan Lynch and email did not belong in the same sentence.

Between Eternities by BeautifulSoup / @thebeautifulsoup rating: T | wc: 12k (10 chapters) actually fucking brilliant vignettes of moments from the year after trk ended.

The world is waiting for them. Not the world they saved last night, but the other one. The solid, undreamt and undreamlike world of Aglionby and Ganseys.

Wringing Out the Hours by quietcoast / @sentimentalspiders rating: T | wc: 8k one of the very few future fics which gave me that exactly-right feeling.

It felt irresponsible to leave. He had willed the thought away, and breathed in the sleep-sweat of Ronan’s neck instead. He thought about the scratch of Ronan’s jaw, and the soft fury of his mouth. He thought about how far into the drive his first exit would be. He thought about Opal, who had hidden herself in the enthusiastic buttonbush that grew alongside the house; she had taken to crouching there whenever it looked like Adam and Ronan were doing things related to Leaving, and had gnawed an entire branch clean. She watched them as they swayed and whispered, and Adam had thought she would stay in the bush and not come see him at all, but he was wrong: at the last minute she had been unable to stand it, and had burst out to wrap herself around his legs. It was impossible to leave them. He had gotten in the car.

The hang of being alive again by Goshen (applecrumbledore) / @goshen-applecrumbledore rating: E | wc: 13k I can say with a good amount of authority that I've read every single iteration of immediately-post-canon pynch, and every single take on their first time, and this is just the most heart-stopping and disarming and gorgeously written one of them all.

Falling for Ronan had felt like going to speak at the same time as someone else after a long silence, two people bumbling over their words to say, no, sorry, go ahead before one of them says what they were going to say.

Roses in Between My Thighs by orphan_account (*) rating: E | wc: 6k I marked this with an asterisk because technically speaking, it's not canon compliant - it was written before the series was completed. but its grasp on the characters is so good that it's honestly impossible to tell it wasn't written post-trk, so I'm counting it.

Four things that could have ruined them but didn't.

Canon Divergence/Non-Magical

where the setting is close enough to the original universe, with minor changes.

Never Knock by burn_it_slow / @burn-it-slow rating: E | wc: 28k | non-magical adam goes off to college and unintentionally loses touch with his best friend ronan, all the while realizing he's in love with him. a summer later they meet again. also: all the emails adam never sent, but probably should have.

“We good here?” Ronan sweeps a knuckle across his lower lip and glares at Adam as if daring him to say something about… any of this whole situation. Whether it’s the destroyed car, the forgotten phone number, or the gratuitous kiss from a super hot dude with an expensive motorcycle, Adam can’t exactly determine.

A Strange and Complicated Thing by ungoodpirate / @ungoodgatsby rating: T | wc: 39k (12 chapters) | non-magical a retelling of select parts of a non-magical canon if adam and ronan started sneaking around to hook up first and became friends and boyfriends later - with a slow and excellent build of emotional intimacy.

Didn’t Adam Parrish deserve nice things? Didn’t Adam Parrish deserve to be pushed against the back wall of Boyd’s and be kissed like he was addictive by a boy who had the cheekbones of a model? Didn’t he deserve hands grasping at his waist with an eagerness to be held close that Adam had never known? Adam Parrish didn’t have many nice things in his life, and he wasn’t going to question this one that had happened unanticipated this one random, Saturday afternoon.

every dream i've ever had has been of myself by cloverspies / @parrishh rating: T | wc: 8k a different version of how their first kiss could've gone that literally had me breathless and kicking my feet.

Chasing down a mysterious address left behind by a dead psychic was much more attainable than getting ice cream, which was all sorts of messed up but also the truest thought Ronan had had all day, so he shifted into reverse and peeled out of the two spots the BMW had been taking up without even bothering to glance at his mirrors. He was already burning rubber, practically drifting around the corner of the parking lot exit, when he asked, "Where to?"

Every Stupid Little Thing by Diana_Dreams / @diana-dreams rating: M | wc: 10k a canon-divergence vaguely placed in the timeline in which floundering teenagers struggle through expressing their emotions. more importantly, this has a first kiss car scene that still lives rent free in my brain.

Courting. Jesus. It sounds like an awful joke. Parrishs don't court. They get girls knocked up and beat the shit out of the people they're supposed to love.

Alternate Universe

A Moment in Time by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 132k (20 chapters) falling in love, getting together, breaking up, pining, getting back together, all crafted by pinkhorizon's masterful hand. if you're still not convinced to read all of their works: why, and also, do.

Ronan likes being alone. Adam's looking for summer work.

(i’ll clean up) the mess that you are by ecoterrorism / @bartskull rating: M | wc: 5k there's just something about baseball au's and soulmatism.

It will work because Adam willed it so. Even when Ronan doubts God, he still knows better than to doubt this.

go running by thesehands / @ahotknife rating: E | wc: 72k (5 chapters) emotionally unavailable rich professional adam starts having kinky sex with his co-worker's brother ronan and somehow convinces himself there are no feelings involved. then it blows up in his face.

most of the time, ronan takes his crucifix off when they have sex. sometimes, he doesn't. sometimes, adam thinks he might be ready for a relationship. most of the time, he doesn’t.

light by paintedpolarbear rating: T | wc: 3k a paramedic au with the tangible sort of attraction that makes you want to read meet-cutes in the first place.

When the tones drop at four in the morning, Adam briefly entertains the fantasy of rolling over and getting more sleep. Then he puts his boots on.

seek ye the living by charactershoes / @charactershoesfic rating: T | wc: 40k (9 chapters) a fleabag au that I enjoyed with all my whole ass self despite committing the cardinal sin of not really enjoying fleabag. this deals with grief and religion and god-slash-magic and purpose versus autonomy in a way that changed my interpretation of trc forevermore.

Ronan says, “What’s the church’s stance on fratricide?” “Frowned upon,” says the almost-priest. He’s got a remote, orphan-eyed face like something off a prayer card, but his voice is as Henrietta as cicada song. “Although there’s precedent.”

gets late early by charactershoes / @charactershoesfic rating: G | wc: 18k I've already made my point about baseball au's and soulmatism, so let me add this: there is just something about authentic depictions of teenage boys and their repressed emotions. also, like, essentially everything by this author is gold.

That year, Ronan was Declan Lynch’s Little Brother, The Kid With The Dead Dad. That year Adam Parrish was The Public School Kid. That year Adam Parrish was God’s Gift To Southpaws. That year they went to the league championship and blew it badly. Next year, Ronan was Academically Ineligible. Next year, Adam Parrish was gone. Now, Ronan is a senior and starting catcher on the Aglionby Ravens. Now, Adam is back on the clubhouse bench, tightening the ragged laces on his cleats.

A stillness at once awful and sublime by Wisteria_Leigh / @purrincesscatitude rating: T | wc: 18k adam experiences a crisis and applies to be a fire lookout on an isolated mountaintop in montana. this is a truly remarkable lesson in interweaving canon into a completely alternate setting, which manages to be both beautiful and poignant.

It’s a momentary lapse of emotional regulation, if one is generous. An absolute fucking meltdown, if one is honest. When Adam comes back into his body, he’s lying on his bed, empty styrofoam staining his duvet with red chili oil, blank-eyed scrolling through his LinkedIn feed of job openings at Harley-Davidson for motorcycle engineers. He doesn’t want to work for Harley; he’s got brand loyalty to Honda. Also, being a mechanic again would be backsliding, and he is absolutely, most certainly, not backsliding. No, he just needs a sabbatical. A break from reality. Something temporary. Remote. Far from Virginia. Then he sees it: "Fire lookout."

The Course of Certain Stars by quietcoast / @sentimentalspiders rating: T | wc: 9k truly an exemplary take on adam's characterization and the existence of demons and the catholic church.

Once upon a time, Adam Parrish had not - if you’ll pardon him - given a good God damn about God or the devil. At eleven, Adam took for granted that praying did not mean an answered prayer. At twelve, he understood that devil was just another word for the man who lived in his house and shared his eye color. At thirteen, Adam realized that, actually, he was fucking wrong, that the devil was literal and maybe so was God. He knew this because one day, a demon crept into his parents’ trailer. As an adult, unmaking the rules of good and evil consumed Adam Parrish. Proving his experience was the undercurrent to everything he did. That was why it was so absolutely fucked up that when he did finally encounter a demon for the second time, he wasn’t even trying to do it.

Careful the Tale You Tell by shinealightonme rating: T | wc: 26k (4 chapters) if there's one thing I like, it's trope subversion. this had that misty, fairytale-like grimms vibe and incredible relationship development, but more notably, it managed to not be at all what I was expecting.

Ronan makes a deal with a witch. It's okay, though. He'll never have to go through with his end of the bargain.

This Is Canon To Me

a collection of short fics-turned-headcanons that you could not pry from my cold dead hands.

How To Train Your Fire-Breathing Reptile by pinkhorizon rating: T | wc: 1k if you weren't hoping for this during the end of tdt, idk what is up with you.

If you asked Adam, Ronan's latest dreamthing is absolutely not a dragon. (If you asked Ronan, it totally is.)

worship by ssstrychnine / @oneangryshot rating: T | wc: 1k do you ever remember that ronan canonically worships adam like his god. because I sure do.

ronan dreams stained glass.

oreos and peanut butter by lizpaige / @lizpaige rating: G | wc: 1k this is actually bronan in a pynch disguise, and I fully mean that in a complimentary way.

Adam shows up at Monmouth after work and Gansey is breathing into a paper bag while Blue pierces Ronan's ear with a sewing needle and an apple Parent Trap style.

Dog Days by cheeryos / @cheeeryos rating: T | wc: 1.5k I legitimately wondered about this while reading trb and was sad it never came up again.

Ronan picks up a surprise for Adam.

Unfold Me by cherishadamparrish / @cherishadamparrish rating: N/A | wc: 1k the idea of ronan pulling embarrassingly mushy things out of his dreams, especially after they have sex, is so important to me (you can also find this scenario referenced in another fic on this list, and it's great both times).

The entire bedspread was covered in a canvas of rose petals.

like a dog with a bird by charactershoes rating: G | wc: 3k so many attempts have been made at what this conversation would be like, but none have stuck with me quite as much as this one, so this is the Canon one to me.

The bruises at Ronan’s neck are fading, the pools of dark green and purple dispersing. Adam knows intimately the phases of a bruise, how the brutal press of fingers washes out dingy and yellow. Still, if he looks, he can discern where his nails bit in, where his thumbs pressed hard against Ronan’s windpipe. “I’m sorry,” he says. His hands shiver. “Don’t start,” Ronan says.

out of the dark day, into the brighter night by York / @ellipsesetcetera rating: G | wc: 4k I always wished we'd seen more of their st. agnes sleepovers and their burgeoning friendship moments.

"Blink and you'll miss it. I'm not doing this shit all night, so when it does happen, don't be fucking daydreaming and gripe about it later like some —" "I won't miss it," Adam promised. "It's not a circus act." "Ronan. I won't miss it."

Honorary Mentions

made me laugh / surprised me somehow.

i told the moon about you by broyals rating: T | wc: N/A (10 chapters) mixed media fic, told through fake social media images

ronan lynch and adam parrish grew up together on the set of the strange case of jane armstrong, and as their careers took very different paths the media couldn’t help but compare them every step of the way, creating a rivalry that wasn’t quite there. as they accidentally feed into the rumors, they must now get along publicly to dispel them, and get to know each other once again.

vanitas vanitatum, omnia (pro Adam) by JayJEx rating: T | wc: 11k in a truly unhinged post-canon universe that somehow almost feels plausible, ronan becomes instagram famous.

“You can’t really blame him,” Ronan hears Adam shifting on the other end of the call, like he’s moving into a more comfortable position. “You’re using your phone. Willingly. That’s gotta be, like, a sign of the apocalypse, or something.”

should've left my phone at home ('cause this is a disaster) by shinealightonme rating: T | wc: 4.5k the only thing you need to know is that I laughed out loud through the vast majority of this fic.

Most of the interesting customers that Adam meets are terrible interesting rather than fun interesting. The hot guy who can't keep a cell phone alive might be both.

#pynch #trc #the raven cycle #pynch fic rec #I finally did the thing!!!#let's play a fun game where I give you all these banger recs and you tell me what you learned about my taste in fic :-)#spoiler alert: when you're a seasoned reader you can usually tell within 10 secs of reading the summary and maaaaybe the first sentence #if it's a work you're going to enjoy #I am by my nature predictable in the things I like #v:text

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