#an unseen king au

[madamechrissy]

Cursed Promises

Pairings: Sukuna x Fem reader

CW: This chap, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, Sukuna calls you little bunny lmao, soft Sukuna in places, reader is a lil innocent thing, gonna get A LOT freakier as we go, true form Sukuna

Summary: You have been promised to Ryomen Sukuna, King of curses, for as long as you've been alive, ostracized from your village, 'special'. Now you are to marry him, sight unseen. People everywhere fear him, but will you find yourself intrigued by him. Just who is the King of Curses to his new wife? Arranged marriage au

A/N: Finally writing Sukuna oof I'm nervous aha- SMUT with feelings. Gonna be like four parts to this, so a short fic! Monsterfking and fluff lol- Taglist open <3 Comments/ reblogs appreciated ❤️

Part Two>>>

Part One

Today, you are to marry King Ryomen Sukuna, the demon king of curses, you’ve known this your whole life, this is what you were chosen for. The special girl in your village raised to one day be his bride, however you did not feel special growing up, if anything you were just different. You could not even play with other children normally, you had to have special care taken, and others whispered of you.

You were now twenty years old, the wedding was supposed to be a couple of years ago, but was put off due to Sukuna being away during a war, battling and being gone for long. He was now back, and claiming what was his, though you had never even met him, you had heard the tales, the frightening ones of him, how he ransacked villages, ended lives.

Your village was protected and saved because of you, as if you’re a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter, a thing to be whispered of, because you alone possess energy, energy you truly have no clue of, but it makes you special. You now are standing in the most beautiful and elegant robes, everyone was speaking of your beauty, smiling at you, but you saw it, the fear in their eyes.

The tears in your mother’s eyes, and the sullen look on your father’s face, even your terrified little siblings, and you have to wonder, is he so terrible and cruel? And is your life over already? You take several breaths, clutching the flowers in your hand so tightly a thorn pricks your finger, crimson blood dripping down.

You peer at the finger, sighing now, inside the high castle walls of the king, contemplating how everything had happened so quickly. Even knowing your life belonged to him, you still lived relatively normal, until that royal emissary had come, and told you now was the time, the great honor bestowed upon you.

The way they speak of him… Would you even survive?

Your steps feel heavy as you walk through the halls of the palace, your heels clicking on stone floors, decked out in royal, beautiful robes, guards on the other side of you, for if you choose to run you will be captured. You knew that, and had no intention of running, for you want your family and the village to be safe, even if they seemingly threw you to the wolves.

Or, wolf that is.

Your heart beating a frantic rhythm in your chest, you try to stop your heavy breaths, to slow them, as the guards open the ornate doors, revealing the enormous room before you, where many have gathered to see. You look down at the floor beneath you, trembling at the thought, feeling his immense presence before you even look upon him.

It was as if the entire room trembled in fear from him, and you could feel it, his gaze upon you, as you continued to step slowly, one foot in front of the other, now the eyes of everyone in the room were on you. You feel the weight of this arranged marriage heavy on your shoulders, the fate of so many depend on it.

You finally get closer and look up slowly, studying his form in his white robes, thick and muscled and so tall, so big he towers over everyone. You trail your gaze up his broad chest, to his four broad arms, the veins wrapping around each forearm, huge hands on each one with long black nails, like daggers. You nearly trip then, and one of his large hands grasps your waist, taking it over like you’re nothing.

You’re shaking now, eyes darting up to his face, an arrogant smirk on it, and ruby red eyes staring down at you. Four of those eyes, assessing you in that gown, his long fingers curling at the nip of your waist, burning you through the robes. His presence is so intimidating and intense, but…

You’re not scared?

His hand feels so… you cannot describe it, the burn of his touch, the insane feelings you’re having all at once, like you can’t breathe. He’s so huge everyone has to crank their necks, you feel so small in his grasp, next to him, barely reaching his chest, which you see somewhat from the opening of his robes, the strong muscles and taut skin, before darting back to his face.

“Tch, clumsy girl.” He huffs, setting you in front of him now, and you curtsey low in your robes, eyes down.

“Forgive me, my King.” You murmur, trying to be obedient, it’s what you were taught, right? He scoffs, crossing one set of his arms, tilting his head at you, he has shockingly light pink hair, a color you’ve never seen, raising a dark arrogant brow, the candles are flickering and casting shadows in the grand hall, making him look even more intimidating.

“Hmm.” Is all he responds, taking your hand in one of his, it absolutely swallows yours, and you both turn to look at the orator, who now will start the ceremony, and you stand and bow your head, as he locks you both together.

You are now Ryomen Sukuna’s bride.

You look up as he is supposed to kiss you, it would be your first kiss, he leans so low, bending at the waist, and you prepare for it, shutting your eyes, how would it be, to kiss the King of Curses? However he merely brushes his lips against yours for a brief moment, before stepping away, and announcing you as his bride.

The anticipation kills you every moment, as you watch his concubines dance for him, but his ruby eyes keep flickering back to you, constantly, even as he drinks from his golden goblet, and even as several women run their hands on his chest. You think that’s for the best, perhaps he will have no interest in you, for you’re a simple village girl, many speak of your beauty, but you’re not worldly or experienced like them.

Perhaps he will not do more than what is necessary, and spare you from supposed cruelty. You’ve heard so many tales of what he has done, however you did not feel any cruelty when he held you, when he brushed his lips upon yours, but maybe you’re a bit naive, so sheltered to be the perfect wife for him.

You’re taken to your new chambers now, they are luxurious and beautiful, regal and fit for a Queen. You are a Queen, aren’t you now? It’s insane to take in, while your lady’s maid begins undressing you, you take in the surroundings, the red and gold ornate decorations, the low bed that has a canopy above it, draped with the same white and gold Sukuna himself wears.

Your peer in the looking glass, draped in a thin red yukata, with nothing underneath, your breasts are apparent, the opening exposing the valley between them, making your cheeks heat up. You feel the silk against your bare skin, floating across your body, knowing you’re naked under it makes you so nervous, as you know your duty will be to give the King his heirs.

You have very little knowledge, your mother had said to lay there and endure it, and that you would love your children, so that would get you through. The thoughts about that are purely horrific, you do not know anything aside from that, that he would lay on top of you and give you babies. You also know men seek pleasure elsewhere, not with their wives.

You don’t know what to think, but your heart falters when the door to your chamber opens, and Sukuna’s standing in your doorway, so massive he takes it over entirely. His eyes glint as he studies your body slowly, his sharp tongue darting to lick a lower lip, you fiddle nervously with your hands as he shuts the door behind him with a resounding click.

“My king, I hope I please you.” You say, dipping obediently, and he laughs then, the sound booming, a snarky look on his face.

“You’re trained to say everything right, perfect little thing huh?” He walks to you, one of his hands tilting up your chin, the sharp black nail pressing under it.

“I am meant to bear your children. It’s my duty.”

He scoffs now. “Your duty, hmm? Tell me, are you afraid of me little bunny?” You glare then, earning his chuckle.

“Little bunny!”

“A lamb for slaughter, surely, but also a little bunny frozen, afraid of the big bad wolf hmm?” His hands trail down the edges of your wrapped kimono, you struggle to keep any composure.

“You need not tease me, I know how it’s done.”

He’s grinning now with his sharp teeth, his two bottom eyes squinting to almost lines, the top two crinkling at the corners. “Oh, show me then, wife.”

You stomp over to the bed now as he laughs, taking several breaths and laying on your back, staring up at the canopy. Now he’s laughing louder, and you peer your head down. “What, you’re supposed to… give me babies.”

“Holy fuck this is rich.” He snorts now, walking to you, hovering over you.

“Well I know I… here.” You slip the knot of your robe off, baring your body then, and watch his breath catch, desire flaring in his eyes. “I’m supposed to be naked for you… do I displease?” You ask, as he backs away then.

“Displease… foolish brat.” He looks away for a moment, before exhaling and sitting you up on the bed instead, eyes drinking in every bit of your body slowly, tantalizingly, you’re breathing even faster, knees knocking from your nerves. “You’re terrified.”

“I am not! You may… do it.” You spread your thighs, eyes shut now, and he sighs, two of his hands slipping up your thighs now, the other two cupping your face, surprising you.

“You think it will be so terrible, your duty?” He speaks through gritted teeth, you keep your eyes shut, staying still.

“My mother said I shall endure it.” He sighs now, tracing your jaw, his huge hands surprisingly delicate, then you gasp as his other hands sliding up your thighs grow tongues. “Ah! What!?”

Your eyes lock onto his, and he’s so close you can inhale him, this musky heady scent that makes your tummy clench. “You think I, King of curses, don’t please those who enter my bed?”

“I… you mean all those girls?”

He tilts his head, the tongues lapping at your skin again. “I’m in here, aren’t I?”

“But you’ll find pleasure with them, I am only your duty.” You murmur, looking down, he hums to himself.

“Tch, you are… your body…” He trails off then, sighing. “I will not sleep with you tonight.”

“So I do displease!” You blink back tears.

“God you’re quite annoying. Just… shut up.” You glare now, and he grins. “I like that angry look, little bunny.”

“I am not a bunny! I… ah!” Sukuna’s hands are slipping up your thighs further, his other two sliding to your breasts, exhaling as he squishes them, black nails pressing into tender flesh, but it feels so good. You’re getting wet between your thighs, confusing and embarrassing you, making you pull away.

“Ah-ah, brat. Where do you think you’re going?” He’s moaning now, kneeling between your thighs, the King is kneeling before you!? It seems like insanity, his hot breaths now between your thighs, his eyes drinking you in. “Fuck, look at you.”

“Y-you said you will not lay with me tonight? Please don’t look at me there like that, I’m all…”

“Soaking wet.” He slides his long tongue against your soppy wet cunt now, licking a stripe up your slit as he moans. “Fuck you taste good.”

“What are you doing! I… ah… mmm!” Sukuna has two hands shoving your thighs wide, as you go to pull his head off you, the sensations of his wicked tongue are so overwhelming, only for him to moan when your fingers entangle in his pastel locks, two eyes glaring up as his tongue flicks on your clit, making you gush. “My king… I…”

“I want you to cum all over my face, be good for me bunny, would you? If you do a good enough job, I’ll reward you tomorrow.”

“A good job!? This is wicked… it feels… s’good- ah!” Your head is thrown back now, and you’re shoving his face against your cunt, you gasp then, realizing your folly. “I’m so sorry-”

“Shut your mouth, I only want to hear your cries.” His head dips back between your thighs, tongue lavishing your velvety walls, you’re gushing honeyed arousal all over his handsome face, yes he is handsome to you. You’re not afraid of him right now, especially as he’s touching you everywhere.

You’re crying out and shaking, thighs struggling to close, but he holds them firm, his other hands squishing your breasts again, tongues on his palms lapping at the sensitive peaks of your nipples. His tongue is fucking into you, one of his rough fingers rolling your clit now, making you go fuzzy, your walls are pulsing around his wet muscle, clit twitching under his fingertip.

You feel tension pooling in your tummy, feel yourself getting hotter, on edge, like something is ready to explode, overwhelming you, you’re sobbing almost, tears flowing but they’re from the insane pleasure. How his big hands grip you so tight you’ll bruise, how his tongue’s devouring you, you can hear yourself, how wet you are, mixing with your hoarse moans.

You never knew your duty would feel like this, you never knew you could crave a demon king’s touch, and you certainly never knew his tongue could bring you to the brink of ecstasy, or that he would want to give you pleasure. His eyes glint up at you, as he flicks his tongue faster, his hands pinching your nipples, the pleasure making your eyes roll back in your skull.

Your toes curl, draped over his broad shoulders, as he works you more and more, everything is heightened, you can barely see, hearing the squelching wetness, hearing him drinking you. “Ngh- my King-”

“Cum, let me feel you. Drink you.” He whispers, and you have no clue what he means, he sees it clearly. “Release, now. An order.” There’s the military leader, the demanding king, but it just makes you wetter for him, makes your hips arch up for more of his caresses.

You nod weakly and he groans, his tongue lapping you up, his hands massaging your breasts, making your back arch, so filled with pleasure, and for the first time in your life you feel desired, you feel alive. Your first orgasm rocks through your body, your cunt clenching around his tongue, your body shaking, your heart racing, your eyes blurry with the intensity. 

“Oh my god… oh my!” You’re soaking his face, taut nipples lavished by his tongues, and he’s smiling against your cunt, you feel his lips curve, tongue sliding out to flick up to your sensitive clit, watching you shake violently, walls fluttering around nothing as you breathe in heavy pants. “I… we… you…”

Sukuna pulls back then, smiling smugly up at you, licking his lips clean, your juices glistening on his tongue, even the strong jut of his chin is coated in you. “Good girl, now how is your duty going?”

“I… I cannot think.” You whisper, he leans up over you, his heavy, tattooed chest weighing on your soft breasts. Your hand touches his chest tentatively, feeling the burning hot skin, the strong muscles, his steady heart beat.

“You taste so sweet, little prey.” He kisses you then, not a kiss like the wedding, no it was brutal, taking you over, and you embarrassingly taste yourself, surprised at how the flavor is. His tongue darts in your mouth, his four hands gripping your waist and hips as he presses you into the bed, you gasp as you pull back. “Ah, those eyes, already drunk off me.”

You look at his lips, tracing them with your finger tips, his quiet moan does not escape you. “Do I do it back? The…”

He’s chuckling at you, making you angry again, a sarcastic look on his face, a brow raised. “What a slutty virgin, you wish to suck my cocks?”

You blink. “Cocks!? Two!?”

He’s laughing now, kissing down your jaw, moaning against your ear as you tremble under him. “You’re so tiny, it would be so easy to break you. So fun to break your pretty little head.”

That only serves to make you wetter, and he notices, moaning as you feel hardness between your thighs, under his robes. You tentatively raise your hips, earning his hiss, him pinning your hips down, thumbs pressing into your pelvis. He looks down at you with four dilated eyes, tongue licking his lower lip, one of his other hands brushing back your hair.

“Mmm, you will go to sleep, and tomorrow, I shall show you how much more there is to your duty than just bearing my children.” He says, you nod carefully as he stands up, leaving you on the bed, breathless, overwhelmed.

“And will you… lay with those concubines?”

He raises a brow, eyes trailing down your body. “Will that anger you, little bunny? Should I be afraid of your little paws?”

“It would upset me.” You say, pouting now, and he glares, clearly irritated. He then rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Tch, already annoying me. Fine then.”

“Really?” You sit up, hopeful, suddenly craving more of him, your hands slipping up his strong biceps, you watch his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Yes, irritating creature. Now go to sleep.”

“Will you sleep with me?”

“Sleep in bed with you? No, I need to care for my precarious situation, caused by a bratty new bride.” You giggle and he glares, sobering you up. “You’re giggling at me, the king?”

“N-no. Sorry, my King. I shall see you in the morning.” You say softly now, he scoffs once more, eyeing your body lustfully as you slip back on your robe.

“Tsk.” Is all you get, as he leaves you alone in your chambers. You hesitantly touch yourself, seeing the sticky, glittering wetness still left, from your arousal and his tongue.

Lay there and endure? More like lay there and beg for more and more, blinding fucking pleasure from his tongues. Perhaps everything you think is completely wrong? What more is there to your duty, if you can call it that? You simply must know… and you’re very curious about his… cocks, fuck just the thought makes your pussy clench.

You’re snuggling up to a satin pillow in your new bed, lewd insane images flitting your mind, and for some reason you’re able to shut your eyes, and fall fast asleep, still feeling his touch on you.

Part Two

[ateezlibrary]

𝔯𝔲𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔢 (m) • 𝗃𝗒𝗁

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: noble!yunho x princess!reader

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌/𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 18+ (mdni), smut with plot, historical au, forbidden attraction, forced proximity, power dynamics, loooots of tension, arranged marriage to mingi (we don't like him)

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 4.8k

synopsis: with your kingdom at risk, your parents devise a grand plan to have you arranged to be wed to the rival kingdom's son. in an effort to demonstrate peace, you and prince mingi are required to attend a ball (spoiler alert: it doesn't go well). a desperate need to escape sends you straight into yunho's arms.

notes: hi y'all. haven't been on this account for a while and i do have a handful of requests to get through, but i did want to get this up here for a friend of mine! feel free to continue submitting scenario/fic requests that i can ponder on. :-) enjoy!

The hand in mine is cold, unfeeling as fingers lace around mine in a feeble attempt to demonstrate some semblance of a happy couple. The gesture is robotic, one that leads me to roll my eyes as I nimbly clasp his hand in response. At the bottom of the staircase, the grand hall is filled to the brim with nobility from across the kingdoms, each of them striving to out-dress the next as they glide around marbled floors in decadent gowns and suits. My free hand dangles at my side, fingers clenching and unclenching in an attempt to release the nerves of entering with my suitor for the night.

“Let’s go,” is all he says, his voice devoid of any affection as he pulls me along with him to notify the guard of our arrival. The younger uniformed man nods once, capturing the attention of the parties beneath us as he bangs his staff against the ground twice.

“His Highness, Prince Song Mingi, along with the Princess of the Southern Kingdom of Jeonsu.”

And so, the whispers commence. Hushed voices commenting on what we were wearing, on how we looked together, how Song Mingi held my hand in his. Along comes a certain myriad of comments on how our kings and queens despised one another and how I was a stranger in their territory. Like clockwork, Mingi utilizes his court training well, guiding me down the grand staircase with my hand now on his arm. I hold my head high, against the scoffs from the foreign nobility and keep my eyes fixated on a particularly dazzling chandelier.

From the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar presence standing watch from a towering marble pillar near the far end of the room. A head of tousled brunette hair, wide brown eyes, a tall frame donning a well-fitted sapphire suit. He offers me a small smile of encouragement, one that makes my heart flutter for the slightest of moments before I follow Mingi’s guide to the bottom of the staircase. We bow before the crowd expecting us, the orchestra returning to its waltz.

Mingi looks down at me, and I blink back up at him in silent question.

Despite the lack of love, there was an understanding between us. Neither of us enjoyed the arrangement we’d found ourselves in. Neither of us enjoyed being born into kingdoms split into centuries-long rivalry, or being used as political pawns to secure peace between lands. Yet, here we were, dressed to the nines in an attempt to save face.

“I’m going to speak with Lord Taeho,” he states. “Will you be—”

“I’ll be fine,” I interrupt, bowing my head and gliding to a corner of the room where I could remain as unseen as possible. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed me. I was no stranger to public scrutiny, but it was more apparent coming from people that were not my own. I settle into one of the gilded chairs at the end of the room where a handful of women were gathered to gossip. They seemed to be close in age, not much older than I was.

“I can’t imagine how Prince Mingi has gotten into this predicament,” one whispers all-too-loudly, her kohl-lined feline eyes darting between her friends and where I sat. “I knew Jeonsu was suffering from trade route closures, but a marriage?”

“I agree, it’s a dramatic attempt for them to claim our power as their own.”

“And, our prince.”

I roll my eyes, gratefully taking one of the champagne flutes from the offering waitstaff that floated by. Focusing more intently than ever on the bubbles that cling to the glass, I try to block out the sound of their scrutiny when a friendlier voice interjects.

“All by your lonesome?” he asks, and I turn to a bright-eyed Yunho that is looking down at me with hands in his pockets. His smile is charming, etched across his face in a warm welcome much unlike the others around him.

I shrug in response with a smile of my own, gesturing to the room with a wave of my hand. “I believe my betrothed is working the room, it would seem.”

Yunho’s gaze follows Mingi around the hall in a shared silence. Ever since the arrangement had been made between the kingdoms, Yunho had served as the prince’s right-hand man in assisting with my move to their palace. Unlike the rest of the awful personas in this kingdom, Yunho was a breath of fresh air. He spoke with emotion, passion that was unrivaled by the cold, harsh demeanors of the rest of the palace staff scared straight and the royal family that was all-too-hard to read.

“Look, now she’s quick to seduce the rest of our nobles,” another scoffs from the circle adjacent, the rest tittering in response.

“I can worry about myself,” I snap at them, already tired of their comments despite only just arriving. “I’d suggest you not gossip. It’s awfully unbecoming of you.”

Each of them grow pale, wide eyes blinking back at me in surprise that I refused to take their harassment in silence. They leave their seats almost immediately, hurrying deeper into the hall where other socialites awaited. Beside me, Yunho stifles a laugh as I rub at my temple.

“Oh, is this funny to you?” I scorn. Swallowing down the rest of my drink, I’m about to wave over the waitstaff to receive another when Mingi approaches me with a raised eyebrow.

“What just happened over here?” he asks harshly, eyes narrowed into slits.

“What?” I ask, gesturing to the gaggle of women that crowded near the refreshments table where Mingi once was. “The socialites of this kingdom can’t be told that they have no right to criticize another royal?”

“These are my people,” he barks, and I roll my eyes.

“As if they’re not practically about to be mine.”

“Hey,” Yunho attempts to interject, sensing the rising tension between the pair of us as he nervously runs a hand through his brunette hair. “Let’s not—”

“I’m not the one forcing you to marry me,” Mingi snaps in a hushed whisper, his jaw clenched as I rise from my seat to meet his glare.

“And yet, you find it your duty to parent me while we’re here.”

“Just leave,” is all Mingi replies, turning his back to me. His shoulders rise and fall with every measured breath, glancing over at me one last time with daggers in his eyes as he returns to mingling with his people.

His people. They would never be mine. This would never work.

My people would continue to suffer.

Suddenly, the room felt much too small. The towering pillars were suddenly too large, the floor too slick. The orchestra playing its waltz fought with the barrage of thoughts running through my mind, leaving little space for me to hear the muffled sound of Yunho asking if I was all right.

It was getting harder to breathe, the corset of my gown growing tighter with each breath. In desperate need of fresh air, I ran straight for the tall oak doors at the far end of the ballroom and into the courtyard with heaving gasps. My skin crawled from the desperate need to get out of sight. Glancing wildly around the gardens, I opted for the observatory at the other end of the palace grounds and hiked my gown with my hands as I darted across the cool grass.

* * *

I’d been sat in the glass-topped dome for what felt like an eternity, mindfully observing each star above and the rows of books that lined the walls around me. Much unlike the ballroom, the observatory was quiet. I’d not been familiar with the kingdom’s palace, only having visited a few times. Nonetheless, I remembered the observatory clearly, recounting it from when Yunho had first guided me on a tour of the grounds. I admired it for its exclusion from the main palace halls, tucked away in its own solace—much like I needed in this moment.

As my mind cleared, I sighed with the recognition that I’d have to answer a lot of questions when I’d returned—where I went, why I left, why I abandoned Prince Mingi in such a public setting. Questions I refused to think of answers for right this second.

The gilded iron doors to the observatory creak open and I turn in a panic, eyes wide as I prepare to back into one of the rows of bookshelves and make myself small.

Taking sight of Yunho, relief washes over me and I sigh, lowering my hand that clutched the front of my corset and slumping back into the sapphire velvet sofa that sat under the stars. He raises an eyebrow, almost as if he’s surprised to have found me here.

“Well, this is one place to hide,” he answers, his voice low as he locks the door behind him and saunters over to me. I look up at him wearily, silently grateful for his company in such a lonely palace. “Mingi asked that I look for you.”

“I don’t imagine that he asked you to do so right when I stormed off.”

“Well—no,” he replies, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “He actually hadn’t noticed for quite some time. I would have come immediately, but I assume you needed the space.”

A sudden bout of thunder rolls through the skies above, causing us both to crane our heads up towards the flashes of lightning that follow soon after. 

“Great. Now even the heavens hate me for being uncooperative.” I bury my face in my hands with a muffled groan, and Yunho lets out a laugh—a strange sound in a place like this. He lowers onto his haunches before me, gently taking my hands away from my face and holding my chin in his.

“Chin up, now,” he scolds, and I offer a feeble smile in response. “It’s a lot of responsibility weighing on your shoulders. Both you and Mingi. There’s a lot of change happening, and I imagine it’s not easy.”

He stares at me for just a second too long, something that doesn’t go unnoticed as I shift my gaze back to the now turbulent weather outside.

“Seems like you brought the rain with you,” I joke evasively, gesturing to the glass panels and settling back into the sofa, knees hugged to my chest beneath the billowing gown. Yunho glances up in response, nodding once as he leans against the desk across from me with his legs crossed. Large hands crane over the edge of the desk, drumming his fingertips to fill the silence amidst the storm brewing.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get back for a while,” Yunho admits. “Though, at least you’re accounted for.”

“I suppose,” I nod and reach before me to pat the plush velvet. “No need to stand around. Come sit.”

As Yunho sits beside me, legs outstretched before him and hands behind his head, I take the opportunity to drink him in silently. He’d been my only real companion throughout the arrangement with Mingi so far. The only one that didn’t look at me with distaste or treat me as an inconvenience in a larger political ploy. We’d grown to become friends of sort in the past several weeks, able to joke and tell stories and simply be … human, if only for a little while.

Given the circumstances, I’d be a fool to not find him attractive in the grand scheme of things.

The thought instantly churns guilt at the pit of my stomach. I had no right to be attracted to him. He was the prince’s right-hand man. He was kind and amenable, qualities that were needed for such a job. He knew the predicament I was in with the arranged marriage. He was no stranger to playing his part.

“You’re really lost in thought tonight, aren’t you?” he pokes, chuckling as I blink the thoughts away and struggle to come up with a hasty excuse.

“Trying to find something to do to pass time while we’re in here,” I utter, averting his gaze that now seemed darker under the thunderous sky. “Maybe we should look at these …”

And so, time passes with us prodding through ancient maps, travel journals and court documents that span across the walls of the library. The storm rolls on, growing stronger and sealing the observatory off from the rest of the palace. Enough time goes by where I begin to feel constricted by the corset of my dress, and I refuse to mention it to Yunho until he notices for himself.

“Are you all right?” he asks, setting aside the journal in hand and taking note of the way that my breathing had grown labored. “Do you feel well?”

“I-I’m fine,” I lie, absentmindedly craning a hand behind me to tug at the lacing unsuccessfully. “Just—ah …”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, standing before me as his eyes scan over me oh, so slowly.

“It’s just—the corset,” I admit finally, cheeks flushed from a combination of remorse and the restriction of the boned fabric. “It gets uncomfortable after a while.”

“Oh,” Yunho answers, and realization dawns on him. “Oh.” He raises his eyebrows, stammering for a moment before forming a coherent sentence. “If you need to loosen it, please don’t feel ashamed. I rather you not pass out on me than worry about your dress being improper.”

“Thanks for that,” I reply hastily, struggling to reach a hand to the lacing crossed at my back. “I would have if I could reach the fasteners.”

“I can help,” Yunho volunteers almost immediately, and I can’t help but scoff at his enthusiasm that he quickly corrects. “I-I mean, if you need me to.”

“I do.”

With a soft smile of my own, I keep as calm as possible as he approaches me from behind, fingers outstretched and awaiting permission. The warmth from his body radiates onto mine, melding any coherent thoughts in my mind as I silently punish myself for noticing the feeling. Yunho requires no guidance as he threads his fingers through the lacing, unweaving the tight restraints as I finally feel the pressure release from my chest.

The corset expands loosely around my ribcage, forcing me to grip at its hem to prevent it from slipping. I turn, suddenly realizing that Yunho is much closer than I’d realized. He looks down at me, hand still lingering on my waist from where he finished helping me to come undone. The light in his eyes is gone, replaced with a kind of hunger I hadn’t seen in them before.

“Is that better?” he asks in a hushed voice. His voice crawls along my skin, and suddenly I’m all too aware of every inch of my skin and every hair that stands on end. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his, watching as his trail down to my lips, my waist.

“Yes,” I whisper under the sounds of the storm outside.

The storm that isolates us from the rest of the kingdom. From any judgment, from our roles as bride-to-be and the prince’s confidante.

Yunho seems to notice this as well, his hand moving from my waist to lift my chin. He brushes his thumb against my cheek tantalizingly slow, a gasp slipping past my lips as I lean into his touch. An unspoken attraction dances around us, one that he fights against with great restraint as he pulls his hand away with a sigh. Even so, his lips are just mere inches from mine.

“We can’t,” he scolds softly, an obvious strain in his voice.

My mind races with filthy thoughts, suddenly wild at the idea of succumbing to the most carnal desires that ran between us in that moment. To hear him moan, have his hands around my throat.

But we can’t.

“Why not?” I urge in what almost sounds like a cry for help. My hands release the corset, the fabric now slouching dangerously low. Yunho’s eyes dart to the way it slips lower and lower, sitting just beneath my cleavage as a strangled breath slips past his lips.

“You are to be my princess,” he answers, “and I answer to the prince. There are lines I can’t cross.” He swallows. “No matter how tempting.”

Realization dawns on me as I arch an eyebrow, backing onto the sofa again just behind us. Crossing my legs, I pretend to not notice his hungry gaze as the fabric of the dress billows around me, eyes locked onto his as I let out a dry laugh.

“So, you are at the whim of the prince? Is that correct?” He nods once, eyes unmoving. “And I am to marry the prince, am I not?”

He nods again.

“Then you are under my command as much as you are under his.” His gaze shifts frantically to meet mine, confusion etched onto his face for a brief moment as he finally understands my suggestion. The thought of wielding power over the man before me ignited a certain kind of flame under my skin, one that crept along my veins and churned at my core. I leaned back into the plush velvet as a newfound confidence overcomes me. “Won’t you be a loyal subject to me?”

“I—” Yunho seems to wrestle something within himself for a brief moment, lowering himself onto a knee and bowing before me. As he lifts his head, his eyes sparkle with a desperate, silent plea. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then ruin me,” I command, taking his chin in my hand the way he did mine not long before. “Ravage me as if I were a common whore, right now.” My words are breathless, betraying the way I yearned to exercise control over the man on his knees before me.

“Is that what you want?” he asks tentatively, pressing a hand over mine as he lowers his gaze to the ground.

“That is an order.”

Save for the rain that thrums against the confines of the observatory, the room falls silent amidst the sound of our breathing. Yunho slides his hand down to my wrist, pausing for a moment before tightening his grip around it and shoving me back into the sofa. He’s almost unrecognizable, the gentle playfulness in his features completely replaced by a maniacal desire. His grin is lopsided as his other hand reaches for my waist, urging me against the cushions as he hovers over me.

Lowering his head to the crook of my neck, the breathy laugh that escapes from him sends a vibration down my spine, breath hitched in my throat. He traces the tip of his tongue tantalizingly slow from my collarbone to just behind my ear, and the sensation forces me to arch my back against his restraint with a soft gasp.

“Ruin you?” he asks, fingers pressing deeper into my waist. “Have you drunk off of my cock and writhing at the way it feels when I touch you, fill you up?”

My breath comes in shallow, ragged breaths as my eyes flutter shut. Whatever had overcome Yunho was unlike anything I’d ever seen from him—the gentle, kind boy I’d come to befriend. This was a monster of sorts, ravenous and insatiable. His hand snakes to my hair, pulling it back with a forceful yank so that I was forced to look at him.

“Is that what you want, princess?”

“I—” Words escape me as I pant, eyebrows furrowed at the ache rising between my legs.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I finally manage to get out, meeting his gaze.

“Good girl.”

Releasing his grip on my now tousled hair, Yunho presses his fingers into my cheeks, forcing my lips apart as he lowers himself to spit in my mouth. I gasp as the string of saliva slides down my tongue, swallowing it with an obedient whimper. His thumb brushes over my lower lip, every touch from him electrifying. The way he causes me to react earns a scoff as he straightens himself to pull the restrictive gown off of my body.

The night air caresses my skin, every pore raised from the cold mixed with hungry anticipation. His face is flushed, his chest heaving with each breath as he reaches to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt. Lowering himself back onto his knees, he yanks me towards the edge of the sofa, now bare before him. Color creeps to my cheeks, something that doesn’t go unnoticed as he tuts at the sight of me already dripping under his touch.

“Shy now, are we?” he lilts, broad hands holding my thighs apart as he drinks in every sight of me. I whimper under his touch, weak in my attempt to pull my legs back together. “I want to see exactly how I make you feel.” Extending a hand upwards, he pries my mouth open again with two fingers, relishing in the way I latch onto them like clockwork. Now coated with saliva, he groans at the sound as he slips them back out of my mouth and towards my cunt.

“Hold steady now, pretty girl.”

With painfully slow pressure, he presses his fingers against my clit. The sensation overwhelms me, and it’s only then that I realize how desperate I was to be under his touch. He traces circles languidly, peppering kisses along the inside of my thigh. My body jerks and quivers under him, and I bite my tongue to conceal the lewd plea that was about to escape me. In one swift motion, he dips his tongue between my folds in long, greedy strokes.

“Oh—” I cry out in surprise, grabbing at his hair as he buries his tongue deeper into me. Yunho hums in disapproval, pinning my wrists to either side of me as he quickens his pace. A familiar knot begins to build at my core, one that ebbs and flows as he flicks his tongue against my clit. Pleasure clouds my mind as my vision blurs, my chest heaving with the impending climax.

Just as I’m about to surrender, he stops.

My protests are silenced before they escape, Yunho finding a seat beside me on the sofa and pulling me towards him so that one of my legs is draped over his, on full display for him once more. He slides his fingers back between my folds, pumping them vigorously as I let out a string of moans. His free hand slips around me, wrapping around my neck so that I was pressed firmly against his chest.

“You sound delicious,” he mewls, his grip tightening around my neck as I struggle to maintain my posture. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to hear those noises come out of that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“P-Please, Yunho,” I beg—actually beg—as the wave begins to rise in my stomach for the second time. “I’m going to—”

“Not yet,” he coaxes, pulling me back against him with his hand still firmly wrapped around my neck. Slipping his fingers out of me, he brings them back to my mouth. Craning my head to the side, my eyes lock on his as he relishes in the way I taste myself off of his fingers.

He lifts my leg off of his, opting to pick me up and spread me across the desk across from the sofa with an animalistic groan. Yunho’s eyes never leave mine as he unfastens the buckle on his belt, leaning over me again to wrap my wrists between the leather and loop it through the latch on the desk drawer above my head. I raise an eyebrow at how quickly it was done, leaning into the observation.

“I take it you’ve done this before?” I pry, and he lets out another dark chuckle.

“I’ve had a bit of practice,” he admits, lips curling into a sensual grin. He reaches to pull his cock free from his trousers, gazing over at me with hooded eyes. I watch as he runs his hand along his length, the sight fueling a burning pain between my legs. Friction did little to ease the ache, earning a scoff from Yunho at the way I pathetically fought to rub my thighs together.

“So eager,” he chides, his hand’s pace quickening as his own breathing grows ragged. “Can’t I look at you for just a while longer? You look so pretty like this.”

“Just fuck me,” I order, knees lifted as I drag my heels on the desk’s surface. He raises an eyebrow, dropping his hand so that he could place his palms on either side of my head. His voice is low, alluring as I feel the weight of his erection press into my core. The thought of his cock covered in me causes me to groan, wrists jerking against their restraints.

“How do you think your prince would like knowing that I defiled his darling bride-to-be?” he asks, biting down on my collarbone and earning a drawn-out moan in response. “Begging me to fuck her?”

“I don’t care,” I plead hastily, nearly at the brink of tears out of sheer frustration from waiting to be filled. I’m about to protest further when he shoves himself into me in one swift motion, our bodies jerking forward as a collective groan fills the room.

Yunho’s lips finally capture mine in a passionate kiss, a fight of tongues and teeth as he grips onto the edge of the desk with white knuckles. He thrusts into me relentlessly, pleasure and pain thrumming against my veins as I cry out against his lips. The tension of weeks of gentle touches and subtle glances finally crescendos in a messy union.

He finally pulls his mouth away from mine, gulping down air as sweat slicks his hair. I wriggle against the belt around my wrists, desperate to drag my nails down his back and feel every muscle move against mine. Yunho notices my impatience and lets out a ragged moan, shifting off of me just long enough to turn me over so that my wrists were now twisted in their binds. I gasp for breath and will myself to keep my climax at bay as he spreads my legs open for him again. Thrusting back into me, his pace grows erratic and heavy as he glides a hand down my back, a fistful of hair forcing me to crane my neck back.

“You take my cock so well, princess,” he manages to get out between groans, and I can feel him twitching at the sight as he buries himself deeper into me. “Every last bit of me.”

I let out a whimper at the thought of what a passer-by might have seen, the way Yunho had me bound to the desk and on display for him as he continued to fuck me senseless. He mutters sweet nothings between his strokes, reminding me that he had me bare before him exactly as I’d asked—like a common whore. The force of his thrusts causes me to fall onto my elbows, eyes rolling back and mouth hanging open as his twitching grew more noticeable.

The heat in my stomach becomes unbearable as I gasp for air, my hearing growing muffled and vision blurred as my climax finally approached its brink. Yunho picks up on this, thrusting even more forcefully into me as I cry out his name in a long, languid moan. He slows to a stop, pulling out of me and urging me to flip back over as I face him for the final time.

The sight of him towering over me satiates an endless craving, the way his deep brown eyes were filled with a raging lust as he positioned himself back at my entrance. His hair stuck to his forehead and his clothes were disheveled, soaked with sweat and clinging to his skin. He looked absolutely delectable.

He reaches for his length again, pumping as fast as he possibly could with a hand still clinging to the desk for support. I watch as he edges himself to the brink of orgasm, struggling to catch my own breath as he squeezes his eyes shut with a pathetic moan. With one final stroke, he releases himself onto me, the spoils of his efforts covering my abdomen in thick, white streaks.

We both stay like that for a moment, fighting to gasp down air and return to baseline. When we do, Yunho looks at me with a sudden realization, reaching to unfasten my binds and loop his belt back into its loops. I sit up with a sore grunt, Yunho brushing the hair out of my eyes with a gentle stroke of his thumb. He offers a strange smile, one that I mirror as we both understand what just happened.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, princess,” he finally says, earning a raised eyebrow from me—as if he weren’t filling up every inch of me just moments prior. “Would hate for the prince to find out that you’ll be thinking of me every time he fucks you from now on.”

With a lewd smile, he reaches for my gown.

[ccazimi]

The Contendings

cw: incest (sister!reader x brother!sukuna), noncon/dubcon, ancient egyptian mythology au, period typical sexism, blood/violence/gore, degradation, angst/tragedy, purposeful intoxication, coercion, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, creampie, etc., DDDNE wc: 8.1k a/n: so. this is kind of based on the myth of horus and set - in this story, reader plays the role of horus and sukuna plays the role of set

songs i listened to while writing:

the world is not enough - garbage

push the limits - enigma

You suppose you were created to be Sukuna’s antithesis from the very beginning.

He is the desert storm—violent, chaotic, unrelenting. You are the sky left in its wake, all sunlight and silence, casting light where he once tore through.

So perhaps, when he finally did the unthinkable—murdering your parents to seize the throne—it was inevitable that you’d end up here, shaped by nothing but the need to oppose him.

And despite the blood he spilled in his lust for power, the Great Ennead did not strike him down. They couldn’t.

Because it’s true: Sukuna—merciless, monstrous, insatiable—was the only god fierce enough to stand at the prow of Ra’s boat and face the serpent each night.

Without him, the sun would not rise.

And so, his destruction became divine necessity. His violence, a pillar of balance.

And you?

You never asked to be here, never wanted to stand as his rival.

Because despite the blood he’s shed, he was, once, your older brother. The one you admired as a child, the one who taught you how to fight.

He made you what you are, made you his equal whether you ever wanted it or not.

Yet fate had it so that in the end, you were reduced to your existence as a woman. And on that fact alone, the so-called ‘Great’ Ennead of Heliopolis hesitated.

Because how could a woman be king? And it was a king, they claimed, that Egypt needed to flourish.

Sukuna’s sin was a divide patricide and matricide, while yours was your femineity. He tore the world apart for a chance to sit at the table, and you were made to bleed for simply daring to sit beside him.

Numerous trials and proceedings just to deliberate over this—all culminating in a competition between you and Sukuna—who could last the longest underwater within the Nile River.

Three days of slipping in and out of consciousness, drowning in those murky depths where the water felt like the belly of the world itself, suffocating and closing in on your lungs. Nothing existed except his blood-red eyes, glowing like the hellfire of some ancient beast, watching, waiting beneath the surface.

But tensions had been rising long before this. The debate had gone on for so long because no one could agree. Some of the Ennead still believed Sukuna, with his raw chaos and brutal force, was meant to inherit the kingship, while others—like Shu and Tefnut—insisted you, the righteous daughter, the rightful heir, should rule Egypt.

When the copper harpoon pierced the murky waters, sinking deep into Sukuna’s flesh, and the river ran red with his blood, you knew without a doubt that someone had grown impatient and made their choice. It was one of the gods, you imagined, growing desperate as they watched Sukuna fight the current, staring those glowing eyes into the darkness as if the river could be conquered by will alone.

Three days of drowning just for that competition to be annulled because of tensions. How exhausted, enraged, frustrated you were when you’d learned that another sort of competition would have to be held — especially since you were sure you had a good chance of winning.

In your rage, you stalked off West, leaving the gods to bicker among themselves, seeking reprieve from the tangle of emotions threatening to choke you.

Soon enough, you came across it.

Waves of gold and bone-white sand stretched out like something alive, the very landscape seeming to breathe. And there, rising from the earth as though summoned by some unseen hand, was the oasis. It shimmered before your eyes, unreal and green, like something out of a dream.

A cluster of date palms swayed in the hot wind, their long, thin fronds casting graceful, almost hypnotic shadows on the ground, like dancers caught in a moment too perfect to last.

The pool of water below them was so still it seemed a part of the sky, glinting under the oppressive sun like liquid glass. It smelled faintly of minerals, and life—distant and ancient, like the memory of something lost.

Birds nested in the palms, their calls soft and muted as if hesitant to disturb the peace. Tiny insects buzzed lazily over desert flowers that seemed to bloom just for this place, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze.

Here, the earth was darker, fertile in a way the desert had long since forgotten. Reeds and grasses grew thick around the water’s edge, some trampled under the soft prints of foxes or jackals that came to drink at dusk. The air was cooler here, quieter, thick with the scent of dates, salt, dust, and something sweet.

It was a fragment of paradise.

So, under the shade of a date palm tree, you lay down to rest.

Just a second to escape it all.

The weight of your parents gone, their lives ripped from you by the one person you had always trusted—your brother.

You try to recall the days before the bloodshed, the times when you had convinced yourself that they were away, tending to some business, something important. You had been worried, of course, but you asked Sukuna and he told you it was fine, assured you they were likely attending to something important, that all was well.

It was only when you found fragments of their butchered bodies—your mother’s severed hand, your father’s disfigured nose—floating down the Nile, the very river that had once been a lifeline, that you started to piece together the truth.

The truth you had been so blind to, the truth that had never let you see him for what he truly was.

But right now? You rest. Soon enough the idyllic atmosphere of the oasis lulls you off into a calm, dreamless sleep.

You awake to pain, sharp and stinging across your cheek, your eyes opening to find Sukuna above you, his face contorted in rage.

A gaping wound mars his side, the linen of his kilt stained red from the spear he must have had to pull out himself.

He grabs you by the collar of your dress, shaking you violently as his breath hisses through clenched teeth.

“You fucking bitch. You goddamn cheater—” he spits, his words venomous.

“I had no idea, I didn’t fucking ask anyone to do that! You think I’m scared to take on you myself, Sukuna?” you yell back, thrashing beneath his grip, feeling the soft grasses beneath you being crushed under the violence of his rage.

He sneers, his grip tightening. “Wretched, shitty fucking sister. Why won’t you just accept your goddamn place?” His eyes burn with an intensity that’s almost palpable. “You? Fit to be a ruler? The land needs someone strong, someone willing to spill blood and get their hands dirty—”

He shakes you again, his teeth bared like a wild animal. “Not some stupid, righteous ass bitch who’s too blinded by her ideals of ‘good.’”

The words hit like a punch to your gut, but before you can retort, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your face. You can feel the weight of his eyes, flitting about in anger as if searching for something to destroy. The collar around his neck flashes in the midday sun, the gold carnelian stones catching the light. It almost burns in its brilliance, as if a symbol of his twisted arrogance.

“Egypt needs a man,” he growls, the words spat like acid. “Not a dickless woman to guide it.”

His voice dips lower. “Do you hear that, sister? You’re just a little girl with ideals. And you know what? It makes you weak. Weak.”

His height and strength to tower over you, trapping you in the shadow of his rage, and soon his hand moves from your collar to the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you towards him.

“You were always so perfect in their eyes, weren’t you?” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “So pure—so fucking untainted—but that's not what this land needs. The gods don’t want some innocent little girl playing queen. They want a king. Someone who knows how to take what they want.” He leans in closer, his lips just grazing your ear. “Someone like me.”

The words feel like daggers, the way they cut through the fragile remnants of your self-worth.

“You think you’re fit to rule? Hah.” He scoffs, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to remind you of his power. “You’re not a king. And you never will be. You’re just a fucking woman with delusions of grandeur.”

His body presses into yours in a twisted mockery of intimacy, and every word is like a blow to your chest, one that’s impossible to block.

His eyes never leave yours, full of anger, of jealousy, of a deep-seated need to tear you down. And in that moment, you feel something shift—something cold and terrifying. You are no longer just his rival —you are his target.

"Do you get it now?" His voice is a low rasp. "You don’t get to be the one they admire. I am the one who will rule this land. Not you. Never you."

You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, his grip tightening with every word, and your pulse quickens with the panic that rises in your throat.

And the bile, the disdain, the bitter resentment you hold for him flows from the tip of your tongue as you stare him dead in the eyes.

“You should be glad that they annulled that competition because of someone else’s interference," you hiss, your voice sharp with venom. "Without it, they would’ve seen you lose to me, without any fucking excuse."

There’s a momentary calm, an unsettling stillness as he just stares back at you, silent and unreadable. His hands lock around your face with sickening force, and then—

Pain.

Henna-stained claws dig into your right eye first, the agony so intense it clouds your mind. For a split second, your vision goes completely red, and the world is swallowed by a violent haze. There’s a horrid squishing, squelching sound as he digs deeper, and fire bursts through every delicate nerve in your eye, making you scream, shriek, thrash under his hold.

The pain seems endless, the air thick with it. For a second, there’s just him, and the sharp, unbearable pressure.

And then half of your vision goes black.

Plop.

One of your eyes is thrown on the ground, splattering against the grass like a plucked fruit, turning the vibrant green into something sickening and red.

Your screams are raw now, desperate. But he's beyond rage. His fury has cooled into something worse— a detached, calculated cruelty. This isn't about justice anymore, or any twisted concept of right.

There is one goal here, and that goal is breaking you.

You, the only one who could ever challenge him. His only equal.

His voice is flat and detached as if he's already moved past any semblance of empathy. As if he’s done this before, as if it's nothing personal. Even as chaos rages around you, the blood rushing to your head, the heat of the desert sun scorching your skin, Sukuna’s presence is chillingly calm. His bloodied claws dig into your second eye. "I’ll take your eyes. I’ll take everything. You were never meant to challenge me."

You scream again, but it’s different now—please, just stop Sukuna, I’m your sister—the words barely form, the panic choking you as your face twists in agony. Your body jerks with the instinctive will to escape, but it’s futile. The world is consumed by pain, your mind reeling, each second lasting an eternity.

Then—nothing.

He leaves you there, your cries echoing, but fading into the soft rustle of the palm trees above you. The oasis is no longer an oasis., nothing more than a mirage.

It’s an emptiness so complete, so suffocating, that it steals away everything you were holding onto. There’s no darkness, no light. There’s nothing at all.

And you’re alone, under the palm tree. Blood running down your face, dripping into the earth that once seemed alive with peace.

Only the sound of your ragged, broken breaths fills the nothingness.

In the relentless heat of the desert, the world has never felt so cold.

You don’t know how long you’ve been lying there, crumpled in the sand, crying, screaming — drowning in the void where your vision once was.

Sukuna takes. It’s all he knows.

The most painful part is that despite your rivalry, despite the fact that he orphaned you, you would never do this to him. You would never mutilate him like this.

And then you hear it.

Soft footsteps in the sand — gentle, even, like something divine. The faint smell of incense, the warmth of her presence wrapping around you like an embrace.

Hathor.

She’s merciful, pitying you. With her hands, she catches a gazelle, milks it, and kneels beside you.

“Uncover your face,” she commands softly.

Warm milk drips onto your wounds, and instantly, the pain begins to dull.

“Open your eyes,” she says, a quiet command.

You do, though your swollen, torn lids barely lift — revealing the hollow, empty sockets underneath. With delicate hands, she pours more milk into them, running into the raw flesh, and you feel the sting of it, like a faint echo of life.

The nothingness is gone, and though you blink, the world is still dimmed — but before you, her face: a serene mask of compassion, golden headdress catching the sun’s dying light.

It’s a miracle. You have your eyes back, but no magic can repair what’s truly broken within you.

The taste of his cruelty, the memory of his hands ripping into your face, lingers on your tongue like bitter ash.

When Hathor returns to the encampment and tells the Ennead what Sukuna has done to you, the ruling is immediate. He is disqualified for violating sacred conduct — his assault is seen as a disgrace not only to the competition, but to the gods themselves.

Ra summons you both before the assembly. You stand in the golden light of dusk, your wounds still fresh beneath the miracle of Hathor’s healing, while Sukuna stands opposite you, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“This feud ends now,” Ra declares, voice echoing like thunder through the gathering. “The throne belongs to you, daughter of Osiris.”

A hush falls over the gods. The battle is over.

But Ra is not done. His gaze hardens. “For the sake of Ma’at, balance must be restored. The war between you must cease. And to prove it—” his eyes flick between the two of you, “—you will share a tent tonight. There are many gods, not enough shelter. Let this be a symbol of peace between siblings.”

You want to protest, you want to scream. But before you can speak, Sukuna gives a small, sharp smile.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “We’re family, after all.”

He looks right at you when he says it, eyes gleaming like blood in the light.

The celebration of the feud’s resolution begins at sunset.

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, but the desert air still hums with warmth as the banquet begins. Beneath a canopy of linen and woven reeds, the gods gather in finery—lapis and turquoise glint at their throats, sheer linen robes perfumed with rare oils, gold flashing in the firelight.

At the entrance to the pavilion, basins filled with warm water and aromatics are set out—infused with blue lotus, crushed jasmine petals, and moringa blossoms. Attendants pour it over the hands of each guest, steam curling upward like incense, purifying and sweet.

Perfumed cones of scented fat—jasmine, blue lotus, and blossoms of myrrh—rest atop the heads of revelers, slowly melting in the heat, releasing their fragrance in soft trails of smoke. Lilies are handed out, and the air thickens with the rich sweetness of flowers, clinging to skin and linen like a second perfume.

Musicians play—low, slow notes from harps and flutes, tambourines trembling like windchimes in the desert breeze. Dancers move barefoot on the sand, anklets chiming, their hair braided with golden thread. Low tables are spread with roasted fowl, honey-glazed dates, pomegranate seeds like rubies in alabaster bowls. Jars of dark, spiced wine are passed from hand to hand, their scent mingling with cinnamon and thyme.

But you taste none of it.

On Ra’s orders you sit by Sukuna, on finely crafted linen cushions atop a thick, embroidered mat that separates you from the dusty earth beneath.

Sukuna lounges with a casual air, his legs stretched out on a cushion, dressed in his finest— the large gold wesekh with carnelians against his throat like drops of blood, golden cuffs on his arms and wrists, the girdle draped around his hips holding the soft linen kilt. He holds a cup of wine, sipping and watching dancers with those sharp eyes rimmed with kohl as dark as the tattoos that adorn his body, looking like every bit of the god that he is.

You suppose you must look the part too — winged kohl lining your malachite powdered eyes, lips painted a deep ochre, your linen dress falling around you and cinched at the waist by the beaded girdle, accented by your gold jewelry, the wesekh around your neck inlaid with deep blue lapis lazulis — a direct contrast to Sukuna’s fiery carnelians.

Then Sukuna claps his hands once, sharp, commanding. “Bring us something worth watching,” he drawls, eyes never leaving yours. “My sister and I have earned it.”

Dancers appear moments later — veiled, gliding like whispers across the sand, golden bangles clinking faintly as they move. They sway their hips in time to the music, spinning in slow, sinuous circles, bodies glowing in the torchlight.

“Relax,” Sukuna says, nudging your cup closer to you. “Why so tense? You’ve won, haven’t you?” He leans in, voice low and smooth like honey over steel. “There’s no need to be afraid of your own brother.”

His smile is all teeth.

You refuse to look at him as you reply coldly, “You tore out my fucking eyes. ‘My own brother.’”

He only grins wider, laughing softly. “My apologies, sister. I got… carried away. But you did get your pretty little eyes back, didn’t you?”

He moves closer. You instinctively shrink back, but his hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in.

“And you got the throne, too. So relax,” he says, lifting his own cup to your wine-stained lips. “Drink a little more. For tonight, let me just be your big brother.”

You’re still stiff, your body pressed against his sun-warmed skin.

But you did win. So you part your lips just enough for the rim of the cup, letting him pour the wine into your mouth.

“There you go,” he murmurs, feeling you begin to soften against him. “My good little sister…”

The wine seeps into your veins as the sweet incense and rhythmic music lull your mind into a haze.

Just for a second, you let yourself forget the crown, the violence, the mutilation.

Just for a second, you are not the Daughter of Osiris. You are only Sukuna’s younger sister.

After all—despite it all—he’s the only one you have left.

You finish drinking, and he lifts the cup away, passing it to an attendant for a refill before settling deeper into the cushions—pulling you with him.

“Remember when we were younger?” he asks, almost wistful. His hand skims your waist, nails brushing softly along the cloth, a gesture that might’ve once been fond. “The way you used to look at me—all wide-eyed, like I was your protector.”

His fingers trail lower, resting on your hip. “You followed me everywhere. Mother and Father used to call you my tail.”

At the mention of them, your throat tightens as you reply tightly, “You don’t get to speak of them.”

He laughs, soft and mocking. “Why not? I killed them, didn’t I? Surely that makes them mine to remember however I please.”

You breathe deeply, chest rising with the effort of not crying. The stinging behind your eyes only sharpens your voice. “Don’t… I can’t do this. Not with you. Not—”

You push against his chest, trying to get up. “Not after what you’ve done.”

“Now, now, sister,” he croons, yanking you back down into his side. “Wouldn’t want to upset Ra, would you?”

Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as you refuse to look at him.

Sukuna sighs, caressing your cheek before gently turning your face to him. “Do you think I’m evil because of what I did to them? I didn’t have a choice. You know that.”

You shake your head. “No, no I don’t know that brother. Of course you had a choice.”

“I never wanted to be the monster you think I am.” His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your lips. “I did it for us to rule together. I thought…maybe you’d understand. Maybe you’d want it too.”

You look at him incredulously through your glossy eyes. “Want it? Why would I ever want that?!”

Sukuna sighs again but this time it’s a bit harsher, like he’s getting exasperated. The hand on you hip tightens a bit as he presses his thumb into your mouth. “Father and mother didn’t have what it takes to rule. They never had the power to turn this land into what it can really be. So much potential, wasted.”

You watch him silently, brows pulling together a bit when the look on his face changes, eyes shifting to something like sparks in the fire.

“They did do one thing right, though…” he murmurs.

You peek up at him through your lashes, feeling warm all over, perhaps not just from the alcohol.

“And what’s that?” you whisper.

“They made you…” His hands dip lower as he gazes at you with that sultry look in his eyes. “And this perfect body.” He leans forward, hand finally trail down to settle on your rear. “Have I ever told you what a lovely ass you have, sister?” He abruptly gives your butt a sharp squeeze.

You stiffen, shame burning hot across your face as a soft, involuntary sound escapes your throat. You hate the way he smirks at it.

You try to pull away again, but his grip holds fast, fingers splayed possessively over your flesh.

"Don't touch me like that," you whisper, but your voice trembles—too thin, too breathless to carry the weight you want it to.

Sukuna leans in closer, nose brushing along the curve of your cheek, his breath warm with wine and smoke. "You didn’t seem to mind a moment ago," he murmurs, the words dripping with mock affection.

The attendant returns silently, head bowed, presenting the freshly filled cup of wine in both hands. Sukuna takes it without a word, his fingers brushing the rim as he turns back to you, expression unreadable.

“Thirsty, little sister?” he asks, voice syrupy and low.

You don’t answer. Your lips are still parted slightly from the last time he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering on your skin like the fading sting of a bruise. But the moment your eyes meet his, the glint behind them gives you away—fear, confusion, a flicker of something darker.

He smiles again.

“Drink,” he says, the cup already at your lips, the sweet scent of spiced wine thick in your nose. “It’ll help you relax. We still have the whole night ahead.”

You hesitate, breath hitching as your gaze drops to the cup, then flicks back to him. He’s waiting. Expecting. His other hand still rests heavy on your body, fingers drumming lightly as if keeping time with the music, a quiet reminder of who’s in control here.

Your body tenses… then loosens. Just enough to part your lips. The wine flows into your mouth—rich and heady, cinnamon and sun-ripened fruit, darker than blood.

You swallow.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tipping the cup higher, making you take a second, deeper drink before pulling it away with a satisfied hum. “See? Much better.”

The alcohol burns slightly on the way down, but it also dulls the edge of the terror thrumming in your chest. The haze thickens, and for a brief moment you forget where you are. Who he is.

He pulls you closer again, your back pressed to his chest now, the cup held lazily in his hand. His breath brushes your ear.

Your mind muddles further, confusion, shame, anger, affection and desire pulsing through you all at once.

Because part of you remembers the boy you’d followed like a shadow as a child, who’d carried you through reeds on his back, who smiled like the sun itself lived in his chest. Part of you still sees him in there under the blood, gold, his chaos and perversions.

You shift slightly, realizing his hand is still splayed across your rear.

“Sukuna,” you breathe nervously, uncertain about anything right now.

You try to move his hand up from its inappropriate placement but he grips your flesh tighter.

“Hm? What’s the matter, sister?”

You tense at the question, blood thrumming in your ears. His tone is light—mocking, as always—but there’s an edge behind it, something darker curling beneath the surface like smoke.

“I told you not to touch me like that,” you say again, trying to make your voice firm. It only comes out soft.

Fragile.

He hums low in his throat, hand still firmly palming the curve of you. “You keep saying that,” he murmurs, “but your body doesn’t quite agree, does it?” His thumb strokes over the fabric of your wrap, slow, almost absentminded. “Or is it just the wine making you honest?”

You flinch, but the heat in your face betrays you. You hate that your body reacts at all—to the wine, the music, his warmth pressing behind you. You hate the way his presence scrapes against your memories, dredging up things you buried long ago.

“I haven’t changed,” he murmurs into your ear, as if reading your thoughts. “Not really. You just stopped looking.”

You swallow, feeling a certain hardness forming under his kilt, perfectly aware of what’s happening right now, caught in it. Yet you don’t resist, not really.

Unsure.

Torn.

Your brother’s potent sexual appetite is well-known, a characteristic of his that adds to his reputation of chaos, sin, and darkness.

“I was never looking” you want to protest. But maybe the alcohol isn’t letting you hide from uncomfortable truths anymore — there’s always been a sort of tension between you, one that’s only grown as you both became older.

His lips twitch, amused at the emotions warring on your face, before skimming his fingers upwards along your leg. “Or maybe… you tried. How successful has that been, sister?”

You don’t answer, you don’t have to.

He sees it—drinks it from the flicker of emotion in your eyes, the way your thighs press ever so slightly together, the way your shoulders tense and then slacken, like surrender dressed up as fatigue.

Your head swims in a haze of heat, the thick scents of incense and perfumes — resinous, floral, sweet, redolent in the air, but deceptively so with a certain bitterness underneath, like something sacred that’s rotting away. Time is melting at the edges, and somewhere beyond in the large expanse of the desert stars twinkle over ancient truths, yet here in this circle of shadow and perfume and indulgence, there’s only you and him.

Only the now.

Sukuna leans down, brushing his nose along your temple, lips grazing your skin without ever really kissing it.

“Come,” he says, voice saccharine sweet.

A single word. A command cloaked in gentleness.

He rises from the cushions and offers you a hand—not rough, not demanding, just… expectant.

You stare at his hand for a moment, hesitating.

And then you take it, fingers intertwining with his as he helps you to your feet, the ground swaying a bit underneath them.

He leads you through the dark, past the veil of hanging beads that shimmer like bones, past attendants who bow without looking up.

The tent is not far, but it feels like you walk forever. The moonlight bathes the sand in silver, and the torches flicker like dying stars. Your heart beats like a war drum in your chest.

You finally arrive, passing through the parted flaps of the tent. The inside is rich with silks and shadows, oil lamps casting golden light over thick furs and gilded ornaments. It smells like rosewater and something deeper—metallic, almost coppery. The smell of old blood beneath perfume.

He guides you in.

The tent flap falls shut like the seal of a tomb and the air shifts immediately—warmer, heavier, laced with incense, myrrh, and the faint animalic musk of fur and smoke. Outside, the celebration dulls to a ghostly thrum.

In here, there is no music. No sound at all, save for the soft crunch of sand underfoot and your breathing—too fast, too shallow.

Your vision tilts as though the floor beneath you has changed shape. Before you can protest, your knees give, and you collapse onto a bed of cushions. They swallow you whole—thick, perfumed, decadently soft—exotic furs brushing against the backs of your thighs as your linen tunic rides up. Cool air grazes your exposed skin, but you feel flushed, burning from the inside out.

You look up at him through lidded eyes, your head swimming. The wine sloshes inside your stomach like something alive. You don’t feel drunk—you feel poisoned.

Sacredly, intimately, poisoned.

He stands above you, quiet. Watching. His silhouette haloed by the flickering oil lamps that make everything shimmer—walls, skin, memories.

Too much. It’s too much.

Nothing has happened, but it’s too much.

Your body feels like it’s floating wrong—limbs light, head heavy, the edges of your mind curling inward like paper in fire.

“I’m sleepy,” you murmur softly.

He kneels beside you.

The motion is slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before striking. The warmth of his body presses against the cool of the cushions, the space between you charged with something utterly sinful.

His fingers brush the loose strands of your hair back from your face, tender, a strange sort of gentleness in his touch. His thumb skims over your cheekbone, his voice a murmur, smooth and low, “Sleepy, sister?”

You nod lazily, the exhaustion in your body making you feel like you’re sinking deeper into the cushions, deeper into the fuzziness of the wine. His hand travels lower, tracing the curve of your jaw, a gesture too soft for the man you know him to be.

For a brief second, you think it’s genuine. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the haze around your mind, but his touch is soothing—comforting, even. You almost let yourself close your eyes and sink into it, but then his grip tightens around your wrist, pulling you back to the present, to him.

"You won’t sleep yet." His voice is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it, like the steady pull of a rope around your chest. “Not until you understand.”

You blink, the words unclear, the room tilting again. But you can’t tell if it's the wine or his gaze that makes your pulse quicken. He shifts, moving to straddle the cushions beside you, looming over you like a shadow. The scent of wine and smoke clings to his skin, intoxicating you further.

His fingers dip beneath the fabric of your tunic, fingertips brushing the exposed skin of your thigh, a trail of heat left in their wake. The gentle, almost affectionate touch makes your stomach lurch—some part of you wants to pull away, but the alcohol and the weight of your exhaustion make you too heavy to move, too willing to stay.

"I know you’re confused," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “You’ve always been confused—but you’ll understand soon enough.”

Your body stiffens, dread rising in your chest like something sharp, but before you can voice your protest, his other hand is gently cupping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“Just relax, little sister. Relax, and trust me.”

You want to shout at him, tell him that this is wrong—that he’s wrong—but your voice catches in your throat. The words seem so distant, so irrelevant in the face of the suffocating pressure in the air. You don’t want to feel this, but you do.

"You always wanted to trust me, didn’t you?" He smiles, a cold, knowing smile that twists at the corners of his lips. "You always followed me, always looked up to me."

His words echo in your mind, fragments of the past slipping through the fog. The boy you followed. The brother you trusted. But you know now—he’s no protector. He’s everything they say he is.

You shiver, but it isn’t from cold.

You try to pull away, shaking your head as your breath hitches.

"Stop," you whisper hoarsely, but even your voice seems distant, swallowed by the heavy air of the tent. Your hands, trembling, push weakly against his chest, but the motion is futile.

He doesn’t budge. If anything, his grip tightens, steady and unwavering.

Sukuna’s eyes glint but his tone remains smooth, almost tender. "You’re the queen now, sister. The new queen of Egypt," he murmurs, almost coaxingly, as if the words themselves hold some sort of spell over you.

"Look at you." His fingers trace the line of your collarbone, like he’s memorizing you. "A queen should be revered, adored, …worshiped."

You close your eyes, a choked sob catching in your throat.

You want to argue. You want to tell him that this—this isn’t the kind of reverence you wanted, that this is a mockery of everything you’ve worked for. But it’s hard to find your voice, hard to even summon the strength to push back.

His hand moves lower, brushing against the curve of your breast, squeezing it slightly, and you suck in a sharp breath, heart racing. "You’ve earned your crown, sister," he repeats, as if that should somehow excuse everything. "And the crown must be honored... mustn’t it?"

You can’t find your words. You can’t even find your strength.

His fingers slide beneath the fabric of your tunic, the soft pressure of his touch spreading heat through your skin. And still, he coaxes, his voice a low hum in the back of your mind, urging you to let go, to surrender to the moment.

The tips of his fingers caress your inner thighs, and you twitch just slightly, suddenly feeling more and more unsure.

“I don’t know about this, brother,” you protest softly.

Then, you try and pull away from him.

Instantly, his hand clamps around your thigh, eyes swimming with something cold, and dangerous.

The feeling of being held down activates the panic that bubbles up through you and your eyes widen a bit, trying to thrash about. But your body is weighed down with alcohol, and all you do is flail futilely.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know soon enough,” he says calmly, before bunching the hem of your tunic.

You suck in a sharp breath, trying to crawl back away from him, but it’s too late, the cloth is yanked up, exposing your glistening sex to him.

“S-Sukuna!” you cry out, squirming as he just manhandles you effortlessly, laying down in the cushions and draping your legs over his broad shoulders.

“I’ll show you what it means to be a queen,” he murmurs lowly and then his mouth is on your inner thigh, kissing and biting as he makes his way up, ignoring your pleas for him to stop.

Suddenly a new sensation shoots up your spine — his tongue on your folds, licking a strip across your clit.

“Oh!” you squeak, instinctively trying to jerk your hips away as he begins lapping at your cunt with the most lewd noises.

You want to tell him to stop again, but with the alcohol in your veins and his tongue on your clit, the words fall away in favor of a breathy moan.

He hums against your slit, eyes closed as he eats, really eats you out like a man starved. Your pussy feels simultaneously hot from his tongue, and cold from the air brushing on the slick mess of fluids dripping between your thighs.

You’re not fighting him anymore, just drowning in the sensation of him, and you cum soon with an arch of your spine and incoherent words falling from your lips.

The fog in your mind is even thicker now, as you lay there just half awake while he pulls away, chin and lips glistening with your juices.

Sukuna licks his lips, eyes admiring the mess he’s made between your legs and soon he’s pulling his kilt down to reveal his length hard and leaking at the flushed tip, while a golden band glimmers at the base of his cock.

“Just lay there and relax.” He pumps his cock before positioning it in front of your dripping entrance. “Let me take care of you.”

You watch as he holds your hip in place with one hand, the other pushing the tip of his cock into you. There’s a stretch, even a bit of pain from the sheer size of him, and you wince softly as he continues sliding into you, splitting you open on his length.

“Shh. Almost there, sister,” he coos, voice a bit ragged as your heat envelopes him until he finally bottoms out.

For a second he looks at you, at your cunt stretching to accommodate his cock.

Then he leans forward, lips pressing into the hollow of your jaw, and starts thrusting his hips. You gasp as you feel him move, the fullness disappearing for a second and then coming back as he slides inside you again, brushing against a spot that makes you whimper.

In and out, in and out.

He looks into your eyes as he fucks you before leaning down to capture your lips in an almost tender kiss.

You wish that it was dirty, hard, rough — but it’s not. It’s disturbingly intimate, which is worse.

He begins fucking you harder, the ring around his cock sliding in and out of your cunt as wet sounds of skin hitting skin fill the tent.

“Good sister,” he pants against your skin, lips sucking and nipping at your neck as you moan his name. “You’ve always wanted to be a good sister to me, haven’t you?”

“Not like this”, you want to say.

But you don’t.

Instead you just nod desperately, hands crawling up his muscled back as tears start to well in your eyes for some reason.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and in a twisted way it’s true — you haven’t felt this close to your brother in years, especially not since he did what he did.

“I know you did,” he breathes, wet, open mouthed kisses trailing up from your neck, across your jaw and cheek.

Those hands roam your body, hands that murdered your parents. Tears flow from your eyes, dripping down your face.

“I miss Mother and Father too,” you sob pathetically, burying your face into his neck. “Wh-Why did you do it, brother? Why?!”

Something in him shifts.

His hands tighten their hold on your body and suddenly he’s thrusting into you faster, harder, the tip of his cock ramming into your cervix over and over again, making you wail and your whole body rock with the motion.

“God do you never stop thinking about them?” he hisses, “I told you — I did what I had to do. You don’t get it, do you, sister?”

“They wanted you to rule the -hah- world, but me?” He leans down, folding your legs up to hit the deepest spots inside of you, knocking the breath from your lungs as he nips at your lobe. “They wanted to chain me to its side.”

You just cry harder as he keeps going, words now laced with bitterness.

“Osiris, Isis. Saints in your mouth, rotting in mine,” he growls in your ear.

Sukuna's hand tightens, almost possessively, as you tremble beneath him, still clinging to his body despite the growing hatred within you. Your sobs turn ragged, breath coming in sharp bursts.

"You think I did it for them? For you?" His voice lowers, becoming cold and venomous. “Silly girl. I did it for myself. I earned it. I deserved it." His grip on your waist tightens painfully, as he fucks you so hard it almost hurts, pain blending with depraved pleasure.

You gasp, eyes blurred with tears, but your voice shakes with defiance. "And what about me, Sukuna? What about what I deserve? I never asked for this... I never asked for you to take everything away—”

“Stupid sister!” he snarls, “You got the goddamn throne and you’re complaining about everything being taken away?!” He leans down to murmur darkly in your ear. “And this…this is why I’m going to take it back. Show you what it really looks like when I take everything…”

Horrid realization dawns on you, making your eyes widen and your mind clear with disturbing clarity. Realization on what he’s really doing.

Because there is one thing he has that you never will — a cock. The corrupting power only a man can have.

He’s going to defile you with his semen, desecrating you so that you can no longer have the throne.

You scream, trying to push him off with all the strength in your limbs still lethargic with alcohol — that goddamn wine he filled you with.

“Get off me, get the FUCK OFF ME YOU DISGUSTING BASTARD—”

He keeps you pinned down effortlessly, one hand forcing your neck to twist, smushing your cheek into the fur beneath you as he fucks you harder and harder, with brutal intensity.

“Don’t -hah- think so sister,” he snickers, leaning down to stick his tongue out and lick a long wet stripe along the tears streaming down your cheeks, leaving behind dark stains with the messy kohl. “What’s the matter now? I thought you missed me?”

You thrash under his hold, nose wrinkling in disgust when you feel his warm saliva on your face. “D-Don’t cum inside, you c-cant—”

“Don’t cum inside?” he repeats, that horrid, evil smirk on his lips as he thrusts turn messy. “Aw, but I want to, sister. Don’t you think I’ve earned that much?”

He ignores your threats of murder, the way your walls clench trying to push him out, and it only gets him closer. “You know how long I’ve thought about this? How many times I’ve imagined filling your little cunt with my seed?”

“You’re sick, don’t you fucking dare do it—”

To your horror, those words seem to push him over the edge, and in one suspended moment his hips still a bit.

And then, warmth.

You scream and cry as you feel his hot, potent cum flooding your hole, ropes and ropes of white liquid just continuing to spurt into you. And somehow the sensation sends you over the edge and you cum along with him as you curse his name, cunt gushing and clenching as your eyes roll back.

By the time he’s done, all the fight has faded from you. You’ve given up, just crying softly as he collapses on you, his softening cock still plugged up inside you.

“Why, why, why…” you sob over and over.

And then the bastard kisses you, swallowing your broken cries as he pulls out of you, sitting back on his haunches to look at you. You lying there like a broken creature, body still twitching, skin flushed, his cum dripping out from your hole.

“It’ll all be okay sister,” he murmurs. “You’ve been so good, I might even let you sit beside me as I rule…”

“Go to hell!” you spit, between cries.

The humiliation is unbearable the next morning when Sukuna brings you forth before the Ennead, proudly announcing that he has “performed the labour of a male” on you.

And of course, the wise gods of Egypt, they look at you with revulsion and disgust, cursing you and spewing words of venom.

Ra denounces your spot from the throne, and thus Sukuna is instead hailed the next successor of Egypt.

The words of the Ennead echo in your mind as you kneel before them, the weight of their scorn pressing down upon your chest. The gods' looks are unforgiving, their expressions twisted with contempt as Sukuna stands at your side, his presence cold and domineering.

“See?” Sukuna boasts, a dark smirk spreading across his lips. “I’ve taken what was destined for me. And now, I’ll have it all. Even you, sister.” His voice is triumphant, but there's a coldness in it—a void where his humanity should have been.

Maybe where it once was.

You can barely lift your head. Your spirit, your hope, has been shattered. The world you knew is gone, replaced by a reality you never asked for, never wanted.

What’s left of you? What’s left of that girl who once dreamed of ruling with honor, with grace? She is gone, replaced by the woman kneeling in front of gods who now turn their backs on her.

Ra’s voice booms through the chamber, harsh and unforgiving. “You are no queen. You are no heir. You are nothing but the vessel of corruption.”

The gods, those who once represented the promise of divine order and protection, now curse you. Your bloodline is tainted, your destiny undone. Sukuna, the one who betrayed you, who stained your very soul, stands beside you, unrepentant.

And you realize the truth—the thing you’ve been denying all along.

There is no redemption. There is no reclaiming what was lost. Sukuna has taken everything from you, including your place in the world, your identity, your purity.

You are a shadow of the woman you once were.

The gods will forget your name. The people will never speak of you again. But somewhere deep within, you remain. The queen who was never crowned, the ruler who was never allowed to reign.

But as Sukuna stands triumphant, his form casting a long shadow over your broken body, you feel it—the faintest stir of something within you. A flicker, a breath of life that refuses to be extinguished.

He may have the throne now, may have destroyed everything you held dear, but there is something wild within you, something that cannot be chained, cannot be broken.

Even if the world has turned its back on you, even if the gods have forsaken you, one thing remains undeniable: You are still his sister.

And that bond—however twisted, however corrupted—can never truly be severed. Not by a throne, not by power.

Your gaze flickers upward, meeting his once again. He may see only a pawn now, a symbol of his victory, but you know better. His eyes are filled with ambition, yes. But they are also filled with something else. Something darker, something that feeds on the struggle between you, something that still needs you in his own twisted way.

You feel it in the air, a tension that will never dissipate. He is not your king.

Not yet, not ever.

“Enjoy it while you can,” you murmur, your voice quieter now but still filled with the weight of defiance. “You’ll never have peace with the throne. Not with me still here.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a sneer “You think this ends here, sister?” His tone is dripping with mockery, but there’s a flicker of something deeper, something undeniable between you both.

“No,” you whisper, feeling the last vestiges of hope slipping away like sand through your fingers. “But it will never be what you think it is.”

And with that, you silently vow that your battle is far from over. Not as a queen, not as his pawn—but as something else entirely, as what you were always meant to be.

His equal.

For as long as the desert storm rages, the promise of clear skies will endure.

a/n: some context - in ancient egyptian mythology, semen was considered such a corrupting substanc, that it was likened to poison or venom

in the original story when set cums in horus, horus actually catches it in his hands, so that it only touches his hands. when he goes to show his mother afterwards what set has done, his mother screams and chops off his hands and throws them into the nile river (because that's how bad the defilement of semen was considered). anyways, after that she jerks him off and collects his cum and then puts it on some lettuce (set's favorite food), which set then eats. the next day when set tells the ennead that horus cannot rule because set has "performed the labour of a male" on him, and the ennead basically cuss out horus and spit at him. but horus just laughs and says that his cum is in set's stomach. so they sort it out by calling out to the semen, and it responds from inside set - humiliating him, and making horus the ultimate winner.

[this-life-was-amazing]

Polites froze, his lips lingering near Odysseus's cheek as the words registered, echoing in his mind. For a moment, he was utterly still, caught off guard in a way he hadn't anticipated. Somehow, the kisses hadn't flustered him - but those three simple words did. "I…" Polites began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words. His gaze softened, his voice quiet but earnest as he finally spoke. "I… I love you too, Odysseus."

P...Polites...?

Odysseus couldn't believe it. His friend, the one he thought he lost to the lotus, was here.

It's me, Od-- Right. The curse, it made... Polites wouldn't recognise him.

I-... Nevermind. I'm... I'm Ulysses.

- @unseen-king

"Hm?" Upon hearing his name, the ghost turned his head, giving the 'stranger' a warm smile. "Well, hello!" Polites momentarily looked 'Ulysses' up and down, gears clearly turning behind his eyes. There was a familiarity there, but one he couldn't quite place. There was a warmth in his now normally cold chest that he only ever felt when thinking of one person... but something kept him from making everything click, from connecting the normally obvious dots. And that fact, knowing something was wrong but not being able to place what frustrated him. Polites shook his head to get himself out of his thoughts, realizing he was staring while trying to figure things out. "Apologies, I didn't mean to stare- I'm not normally so rude, I promise-" "Have we met before?"

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Loving Arms

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part I: An Important Guest

A/N: No pairings as of right now as I want to focus on the familial and platonic relationships with Greens when they're still quite young. This is possibly only the beginning (credit for the divider goes to @kawaii-lau)

126 AC

Some months after the funeral of the Lady Laena Velaryon, wife of the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen there was much clamor in the Red Keep. For the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower had been summoned to court after more than a decade away from the intrigue and politics that surrounded the throne and her family. Not much was known about the sister of the Queen apart from what had been known from her previous shorts visits in the early years of her sisters marriage and births of the younger royal children. The elder Hightower girl had been married two years prior to Alicent's own marriage to the King.

Hoping for a future alliance with the house of his eldest daughter's husband, Otto had the girl married to the younger brother of Qoren Martell who served as the reigning Prince of Dorne. But upon the death of his son by law, it was expected by the Hand of the King that his daughter would return to follow her filial duty of remarrying once more upon her return. Only... the man had not accounted for how his grandchildren would come to react to the arrival of their long unseen aunt.

--------

Aemond was positively annoyed with his older brother Aegon, "You could not think to ready yourself for our guests arrival ahead of time? Must you always make the lot of us appear inadequate because you choose to drink yourself into a stupor?"

Halaena, Aegon, and Aemond were specifically told to prepare for an important guests arrival but because of the elder amongst the three not being ready on time, it appeared that they would be late in their greetings. In his haste to reach the throne room faster, Aemond almost stumbled over his own feet and he cursed quietly to himself as he attempted to avoid tripping.

"Need help walking, do you Aemond?" Aegon giggled.

"I can walk just fine," Aemond mumbled. "I simply need a bit more time to recover my sense of balance on account of my... my eye."

The younger Targaryens response quieted his brother and the elder turned his attention to their sister.

"Were you told anything about who our important guest is meant to be?" Aegon asked. "One would think that if they were such an important person, we would all have to be alongside our mother and grandsire by the entrance."

Halaena shook her head, "I think we've met them before, but I cannot be certain if it's who I think it might be."

"Oh and pray tell, wise Halaena. Who could it be?" Aegon mocked.

"Didn't mother happen to receive a raven some weeks ago that our uncle the second prince of Dorne, the husband of our aunt had passed from the sweating sickness."

"Why on earth would that woman come?" the eldest asked, "I don't think she has come to visit King's Landing since the birth of our dear Aemond. Not that I could begrudge the woman, I heard that it was a miracle our grandsire married her to a Dornish prince since she apparently was deformed and all found her a lost cause."

"Perhaps if you listened when Mother informed you about who our guest would be, then we would all know, now wouldn't we?" Aemond huffed. "And don't speak of our aunt that way! Show some respect!"

"It doesn't matter, we will know soon enough if it truly is her or not, and it's not as if our aunt will ever know, I doubt it could be her" Aegon grumbled.

The doors to the throne room were opened upon their arrival and all but one turned to look at the trio that had come into the room quite late. The children could see the frown that their mother wore clear as day when she looked upon them, her disapproval apparent at their actions. While their grandsire had a near equal downturn of his lips but it was more in his eyes that one could see the disappointment at the trio.

"Ah, so good of my grandchildren to finally make their appearance!" said ser Otto. "We had all wondered when you might grace us with your presence!"

Aegon merely rolled his eyes at the words of his grandsire, while Aemond and Halaena looked down in embarrassment.

"Oh come now Father, I am sure that my nephews and niece meant no harm and tried to make haste. They couldn't have expected that I would be the one to arrive."

Three sets of eyes were quick to look over at the person who spoke.

They could only see her profile, but it was apparent that the person could be no other person than their elusive aunt. The eldest daughter to Otto Hightower and his wife Alyrie Florten, widow of Prince Doran of House Martell, the Lady (Y/N) Hightower.

She wasn't an imposing figure, in fact, compared to her father and younger sister. Their aunt was not much, but... that is actually something that they appreciated about the woman. All their lives, the siblings had such imposing men and women that surrounded them or directed them at all times, but not (Y/N). She stood out in a gentle way, a steadiness to her presence. Unlike the prim and elegant hairstyles of the court, it was loosened and decorated with a few blossoms. Her gown was a pale green and embroidered with the symbols of both her own house and that of her late husband, with towers and suns. But most of all, there was no dismay in her gaze as she looked at them from the corner of her eye, rather she smiled affectionately and warmly.

"Come children," Alicent guided them closer. "Come and greet your aunt." And in a harsh whisper to Aegon said, "And don't even think about commenting on her appeareance!"

When their aunt fully turned to them, all held back a gasp when they saw her full countenance. A glassy grey eye stood out on the left hand side of her face that had obviously been burned. Carefully she stepped toward them and the three were ushered forward until they stood only a step away from her.

Unwaveringly she smiled at the trio and approached Aegon first, "You have grown much in the time since I last saw you."

Hesitantly, she reached to cup his face in her hand and the boy flinched, this stopped her movements and made her smile drop slightly. Carefully she waved her hand and asked, "May I?"

Tentatively, Aegon nodded and allowed his aunt to softly cradle his face in her hands. Her one good eye flickered across his face and she smiled at him once more, "Such a handsome young man. Must be the Hightower in you, because you and I seem to share the good looks."

His aunt's comment seemed to release the breath that the group was holding, because Aegon, Halaena, and Aemond couldn't help but giggle. A soft warmth settling in their bodies as they attempted to stifle their uncontrollable laughs.

Alicent saw their laughter as rude and intended on scolding them, but a raised hand from her sister was enough to have her hold her tongue.

Stepping away from her elder nephew, (Y/N) noticed how Halaena's gaze shifted away from her own and understood. She simply curtsied to the girl, "I look forward to getting know you more Halaena and perhaps you could show me your things of interest."

Halaena timidly smiled and curtsied in return, "I like all sorts of insects."

"I am sure you do, sweet girl."

And lastly, her gaze turned to her younger nephew that was shuffling nervously where he stood.

Quietly he asked, "Does it still hurt you?"

Her smile never wavered as she answered, "Thank you for your kind consideration, nephew. Sometimes, it does ache but I am fine now."

A gentle calm settled amongst them, but it was disturbed when ser Otto cleared his throat. "Come, dinner has been prepared and we have dallied long enough. I am sure you have needed a hearty meal."

"Of course, Father" (Y/N) agreed. "I am sure we can continue with pleasantries over a delicious meal."

The Hand of the King, carefully led his daughters out the room and so everyone else took this as a sign to clear the area. But the siblings stayed behind, a clear look between them that there were things they would need to talk about.

Tag List:

@minaxcarter, @hotleaf-juice, @pikomin, @deltamoon666, @cococrazy18, @firefairy, @dracaryxzs, @snowbunny58, @lacherrysouldy, @only4thefics, @queen-luna-007, @ambrivertenergy, @kayllineb12

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: we vibing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Jazlene comes to with a wispy sigh. You back up and stand as her mother helps her to her feet. The king is back at the table, unbothered by the overcome maiden. Lord Dustan hovers between, torn by loyalty to his liege and his family. New liege, that is. Only yesterday, he was toasting to good King Waleran. 

“My apologies, your highness,” Jazlene fans herself with her hand, “I was only surprised. I didn’t... How could I expect this? To marry a king?” She reaches down to grip her mother’s arm, shakily stepping forward towards the king who doesn’t even glance up from the table of maps, “I promise to you, your highness, I will be a good wife to you.” 

The king tilts his head, tracing a finger along a ridge of mountains, then leans in to examine the riverbeds below. Jazlene looks at her mother, an expression of concern on her pretty features. She is rarely ignored, if at all. She will make sure that she isn’t. 

“Lord Dustan, I expect the dowry will be served along with your men and my kingdom,” the king declares, “but now, I find myself fatigued. A hard day’s ride sees me in need of bath and a bed.” 

Dustan bows his head, “and so you will have it, your highness. I will send down for water--” 

“Have the maid see to it,” the king waves his hand vaguely in your direction, “certainly a servant is a servant.” 

“Yes, your highness, how wise,” Dustan simpers, as he often does to men with titles above his own. “You,” the duke turns and snaps his fingers, “you heard the king. He requires hot water in his chamber.” 

You keep your head down, “yes, my lord.” 

You spin without hesitation. You’re all too happy to be free of the noble intrigue. It is rather easier to be unseen and unthought of. It has ever kept you from envying these ladies and their silks and these lords and their golden signets. 

Your flight is fleet. You rush down the corridor and to the wide stairwell. You descend with your mission and pass Merinda as she paces listlessly outside the kitchens. She stops you with an arm across your path. 

“There are whispers,” she says lowly, “of who visits. Is it true?” 

You look at her. You don’t know if you should say. It isn’t her place and you don’t know what they say. There is rather much gossip in castles. 

“It is,” she hisses, “you don’t need to say it. You are a poor liar and when you say nothing, I know that is the reason.” 

Your lips pinch and you give her a look, “I have been sent to draw a bath.” 

“Oh, is the lady in need of her evening boil?” Merinda snickers. 

“Not her.” 

Merinda quiets and tilts her head, “...him?” 

“The king,” you answer thinly. 

She nods and steps closer, “is he... I don’t understand. His soldiers, they mill about with our own, they cavort together. Not as enemies. Are they not invading? Do they not mean to take the castle?” 

You tear your eyes away. She’s right, you are a poor liar. You lean in, lips right by her ear, you whisper, “Lord Dustan has new allegiances.” 

She claps her hand over her mouth as you back up. She stares at you with wide eyes. She slowly drops her arm and her lip quivers, “he means to get us all killed.” 

You push your shoulders up, “think only of today. It’s all we can do. Oh, do you know where the king’s chambers would be?” 

“Mm, they took his saddlebags to the ivory room. I think there,” she answers, “do you require assistance?” 

“Stay here,” you gird, “he is a brusque man.” 

That only seems to worry her more as her face twists. You can’t help but feel the same inside but you do your best not to let it show. You leave her and carry on to your task. 

You put the kitchen hands to boiling water and send a few others to find a tub to bring to the king’s chambers. You help where you can and take the first bucket up. You pour it into the large tub in the ivory room and return for second, a third, a forth, and fifth. There will be many more even as your arms ache and your nap slickens with sweat. 

Upon the eight, when the tub looks near halfway, the chamber is not empty. You’re surprised by the king’s presence as the door remains ajar. You pour the water with a low apology and diligent ‘your highness.’ He doesn’t respond. 

There is much to go still. Back down, up again, hot water splashing on your sleeves, singing beneath, dumping it over the edge as you keep your eyes on your work. Do not be more than a piece of furniture. You are only air. 

At the last bucket, you pour slowly, careful not to slosh over the edges. As you right the empty pail, you hear a metal chink. The king growls into a long exhale. You turn towards the door. 

“Close it,” he commands, “you will remain.” 

You’re happy he cannot see the look on your face. You obey and close the door. You turn back, standing by the pillar of the door frame, as you often do, and begin your vigil. It should not be unexpected that he may require you to fetch something further for him. 

Your eyes catch the bottom of his mail as he lifts it over his head. No, don’t look. He undresses, leather creaking, fabric rustling, pacing as he strips away each piece. You grip the rope handle of the bucket. He circles the long tub and nears you. You cower, bracing. You are not noticed, you are not approached, unless it is for rebuke. 

He grabs the bucket by the brim and tugs. You let it go. He turns and sets it on the floor away from you. You push your hands together, stilling a tremble. He wears only his breeches and you catch a glimpse of the thatch of hair along his thick stomach. You gulp and twine your fingers through each other. 

He turns away and crosses the room. You listen to the fabric fall from around his hips. Your eyes bore into the floorboards. The water shifts as he climbs into the tub and you listen to him groan as he lowers himself into the depths. The steam mingles with the tension of his silence. 

He sighs and stirs the water. The lull persists as you wait. He will need wine or food.  

“Come,” he bids and your eyes flick up. The tub conceals much of his lower body as his thick shoulders and arms stretch around the brim. “I have a knot.” 

You approach hesitantly, unsure where to aim your eyes the closer you get. He gestures around his head, “stand behind me.” 

You do as he tells you. 

He sits up slightly and bends his head forward, lifting his white hair out of the way, “here.” 

He points along the muscle beside his neck. It’s thick, just like all of him. You’ve never seen a man built like that. There are stringy barn boys and tubby cooks.  

You stare and raise a hand, hovering it over his muscle. Are you supposed to touch him? He is a king and you are a servant. You are a servant sold out of pig shit into servitude. 

His large hand reaches for yours and he guides it down. You shake before he lets you go. You feel the muscle, almost curious, and rub lightly. He makes a noise but you’re unsure of its tenor. 

“Harder,” he demands, “squeeze,” he shows his hand, making a kneading motion, “you cannot hurt me.” You do as he says. You squeeze and he rests his hand against the tub, “harder,” he repeats. 

You obey. 

His head hangs as his long strands touch the water. You bring your other hand up as your efforts make your tendons sore. He lets out shallow breaths and hissing groans. Your chest thumps at the sounds that rise from him. 

“Your master has broken his oath and sworn a new one to me. And you, does that make me your master as well? If I am your master’s master?” He asks slyly. 

You focus on your hands, “your highness?” 

“Answer, don’t be afraid. Liars bore me.” 

You sniff and mull your reply. You don’t know. You don’t have much of a choice in the matter. 

“Lord Dustan is my master. I am bound to serve him.” 

He snorts and lifts his head. You rescind your touch but he reaches back to latch onto your again. He tugs you forward, placing your hand back on his shoulder. 

“Softer now,” he instructs. You rub his damp flesh as he bends a leg, his knee poking above the water. “You, a servant, so low, and you are more loyal than any man with a title.” 

“Your highness, I must serve.” 

“As he must. Did he not swear himself to the old king? Eh? War does muddy the waters,” he muses, “coin does test old ties.” 

You say nothing. Your comment isn’t warranted or wanted. You know better. Jazlene taught you only to answer when asked. 

“Very well,” he taps your fingers, “I feel better. You have a kind touch.” 

You back away and wipe your hands on your apron. He hangs his head back and puffs. He closes his eyes. You watch the white waves made wilder by the humidity of the bath. 

“I hate sleeping in strange places,” he says, “you will stay for the eve.” 

You tuck your chin down and fold your hands together. Your scalp sweats beneath your cap, your shorn locks itchy with the heat. You wet your lips and force out the air trapped in your chest, “yes, your highness. As my master bid, I will serve you.” 

He says nothing more as he leans back against the tub completely. His large arms frame the metal and his hands wrap around the edges. He closes his shining eyes in recline, the water still and steaming. He stays that way until the damp heat dissipates. You stand locked in his thrall. 

He sits forward suddenly, the water stirring with his movement. He turns his hand and beckons with his thick fingers. 

“A bath sheet,” he demands. 

You go to the chest in the corner and open it. You retrieve a folded swath of fabric and bring it to him. He stands as you unfold the length of linen to obscure his form. Your eyes are on the ceiling as the water slakes from his figure and he looms large above you. 

He steps out, close to you, and puts his hands over yours. He pulls the sheet around his body, your arms too. He releases you only as he adjusts the fabric around his waist and you retract with humiliation nipping in your cheeks. You lean back on your heel as you shrink in his shadow. 

“Your highness, do you require refreshment? Wine? Sweetmeats?” 

“I did not ask for it,” he says, “I am tired.” 

“Apologies, your highness.” 

“Do not apologise for doing your duty. Would be a fairer world if more were so diligent.” 

He turns and strides away. There’s a knapsack and bedroll against the wall. He keeps one hand on the sheet and unbuckles the flap, reaching within and tugging out a bed shirt. He drops the sheet away and your eyes flit away from his nakedness. He has no shame but you are merely a servant. He shouldn’t care for your witness. 

He swipes the fabric over his head and it falls just to his thighs, concealing just enough to have him decent. His thick legs are trimmed in dark hair and the muscles are taut beneath his skin. He faces the bed and pulls back the quilt and linen. He pauses and looks up at you. 

“Will you sleep afoot then?” He wonders. 

“Your highness?” You wince. “I must...” you peer around, “empty the bath.” 

“Must you? Stagnant water can wait,” he insists. “Come.” 

You waver, skirts rippling around your legs. You step forward and stagger. 

“The lantern, your highness?” You inquire. 

“Douse the light if you will,” he allows. “And come.” 

You do as he bids and snuff out the flame. Your vision is left blackened and formless. You reach out blindly, realising your error too late. You can’t see much as you walk warily towards the bed. The heavy curtains are shut and block out the sliver of moonlight. 

Your knees hit the bed and you gasp. You catch yourself before you can fall forward, leaning against the mattress. You’re stuck like that, uncertain if you should go forward or back. Something wraps around your wrist, a stolid heat. 

“I often sleep with my horse,” the king says as he draws you onto the bed. “I need a warm body close.” 

You go rigid as you let him command your body. He guides you to lay down and tugs the bedclothes over you. The damp specks on your dress and apron cling to your skin. He leads your head over his thick arm as he lays on his back neck to you. You stare into the endless void of the canopy. 

“The horse smells much worse and snores,” he muses, his arm curling around your shoulders, offering a more comfortable rest for your head and neck. You quiver at being so close. It is an odd request but you daren’t decline it. “Be still,” his other hand comes to touch your sleeve, “and sleep. I only mean to ease my own unrest.” 

You close your eyes and exhale. Your heart is pounding and your body is tingling. You don’t think you can sleep with the surge flowing through you. He sighs and shifts slightly. You lay there, in silence, only the noise of his breath and yours to fill the castle walls. 

“I am awake,” he says. “Speak to me, maid. Tell me, where do you lay your head on nights where a king does not trouble you?” 

You wiggle slightly. Your spine is uncomfortable at the flatness but not worse than your usual fare. You bring your hand over your chest and fist your fingers tight. 

“On a bag of hay with Merinda,” you utter smally, pushing your legs together as you arch your back slightly. Your hips are tight. 

You’re startled as the bed jostles and he grips your hip. He rolls you onto your side, his touch lingers as he pulls you against him. He is as hot as a hearth. 

“Merinda?” He repeats. 

“Another handmaid, your highness.” 

He hums and drags his hand away from your hip. He blows out a great heavy and grunts. His arm curls around you snugly. 

“I hope I am preferable to that bag of hay,” he mutters and the tension seeps away from his form. “Though perhaps just as prickly.” 

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Phantom of the 141

Pairing: Task Force 141 x Reader

AU: Phantom of the Opera 141 x reader

Warnings: Dark themes, obsession, possessiveness, stalking, implied violence, minor horror elements, yandere undertones, romanticization of toxic behavior, power imbalance, emotional manipulation.

Author's Note: This is a Phantom of the Opera AU where each member of 141 embodies a different version of the Phantom, haunting the opera house in their own way. Some are gentle protectors, others are dangerous lovers—but all of them are utterly devoted to you. Inspired by gothic romance, dramatic declarations of love, and an all-consuming need to claim one's muse. I’ve been obsessed with the PotO for so long and I see a lot of people have Simon as the phantom but what is all the boys were Phantoms?

Masterlist | Part 2

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Simon "Ghost" Riley – The Haunting Shadow

The darkest, most untouchable Phantom—a presence that lingers in every corner of the opera house, watching, waiting.

- You never see his face—only the silhouette of his bone-white mask reflected in the grand mirrors of your dressing room.

- He moves in absolute silence, appearing and disappearing like a specter. The air shifts when he’s near, the candlelight flickers. Your heart pounds, knowing he’s close, even if you can’t see him.

- His voice is deep, smooth, and inescapable—it comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It seeps into your mind like a melody you can’t unhear.

- “Sing for me, songbird…” he whispers in your ear, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. You spin around—no one is there.

- “Only for you,” you find yourself murmuring back, entranced.

- You wake up to handwritten sheet music left on your vanity, unfinished compositions waiting for your voice to complete them.

- “You are my inspiration,” the note reads, inked in his bold, elegant script. “The only one worthy of my music.”

- You press your fingers to the parchment, your heart aching at the devotion woven between the notes.

- When another man dares to get too close—a suitor, a fellow performer— they vanish.

- No one dares speak of it. A freak accident, the stage crew whispers.

- But that night, Ghost’s voice is different—less controlled, more desperate.

- “No one will take you from me,” he growls, the faintest trace of vulnerability bleeding through.

- His gloved hand caresses your throat before tilting your chin up. “You are mine, love. Say it.”

- And God help you, you do.

---

John Price – The Mastermind

The true ruler of the opera house, its unseen king. Price is not just a Phantom—he is a powerful, possessive force who ensures that you belong to him, whether you realize it or not.

- The lead role is yours before you ever auditioned. Your name appears at the top of the cast list, as if fate itself placed it there. You never saw who made the decision—only a lingering wisp of cigar smoke in the director’s office.

- He watches your performances from his private balcony, an unreadable expression on his face.

- His eyes never leave you, burning with something dangerous yet reverent.

- When the crowd erupts into applause, his lips barely part: “Good girl.”

- You shiver, unsure if you imagined it.

- He visits your dressing room after each performance, inspecting you like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

- “You’re extraordinary, love,” he murmurs, adjusting a loose strand of your hair. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

- His voice is warm, smooth like velvet, but his touch is possessive—lingering, unwilling to let go.

- You never question why the doors always lock behind him.

- When you try to leave—when the opera house begins to feel like a cage of velvet and gold—you find yourself unable to escape.

- The doors don’t open. The carriages won’t take you. The world outside seems to bend around his will.

- “You trust me, don’t you?” he murmurs, standing behind you, hands resting on your shoulders.

- Your reflection in the mirror looks lost, trapped between love and fear.

- “I’ve given you everything,” he breathes against your ear. “Why would you ever leave?”

---

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – The Passionate Phantom

Unlike the others, Soap doesn’t want to frighten you—he wants to win you.

- Your dressing room is filled with roses, their petals soft and blood-red, their scent wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace. Each one is accompanied by a handwritten letter, signed only with J.

- “You make my heart race like a drum in an orchestra,” one reads. “Sing for me, bonnie—I want to hear how love sounds.”

- You press the letter to your chest, feeling the weight of his devotion settle into your bones.

- One night, when you hum a tune absentmindedly, another voice joins yours from the shadows.

- It’s warm, rich, full of love—a perfect harmony.

- “You sing so beautifully, lass,” he murmurs. “But you already knew that, aye?”

- The warmth of his presence envelops you, a stark contrast to the cold loneliness of the opera house.

- When he finally reveals himself, he doesn’t threaten you—he kisses you, hard and desperate.

- “I’ve loved you from the moment I heard you sing,” he confesses, his forehead pressed against yours.

- “Let me love you. Let me be yours.”

- And when he looks at you like that—like you’re the only star in the night sky—you almost want to say yes.

---

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – The Gentle Phantom

The most human, the most tragic—the Phantom who loves you but fears you’ll never love him back.

- He doesn’t send roses or whisper threats—he leaves music.

- Late at night, the soft notes of a piano drift through the empty theater, melodies that make your heart ache.

- They sound like longing, unspoken words, a love that will never be returned.

- And yet, you still hum along, feeling his presence lingering in every note.

- You catch glimpses of him—a face half-hidden behind a curtain, warm brown eyes watching you from the rafters.

- When you turn, he’s gone. Always gone.

- But his presence lingers, like a ghost that refuses to leave your heart.

- One night, he steps into the light, mask in hand. His hands tremble.

- “If you knew me,” he whispers, his voice raw, broken, “would you love me?”

- Your breath catches—because for the first time, you realize…

- Maybe you already do.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[r0-boat]

Mirror Mirror

Whb!Lucifer X Gm!Reader X Obeyme!Lucifer

AU where MC somehow as access to both dimensions... I don't know some ch16 Barbatos bullshit

Porn with plot... So this is part one

Part two

You wander around hell a lot...

It is common knowledge that despite the danger of you wandering around with dangerous devils and even more dangerous angels, it is very difficult to get you to stay in one place.

But they didn't know that sometimes you won't even be in their game of existence.

You had no idea how or when you got this power... You were suddenly summoned to an unknown place at an unknown time.

The refined gentleman before you who shared the name of the familiar devil from Hades profusely apologized but explained where you are and why you're here. His handsome face, horns, and split tails were all too familiar to you, So when his silver-tongued, refined voice told you that his world needed your help, You blindly listened to him.

After all, devils don't lie, right?

So there you were, balancing the existence of two worlds on your shoulders, spending time with the kings and going to meetings at the same time, rushing into the world of The Devildom to make it in time for class.

It was hard yet fun... Time moved a lot slower in Hell than in The Devildom. The seven in this world are much different yet somehow similar to the Seven you know of. It was so hard not to get attached. And they seem to like you too!

But over time, certain devils started to notice little things.

The sharpest devil in the Devildom Lucifer.

Your late arrivals have begun to increase lately. What was more confusing is that Mammon or any of his brothers didn't seem to know where you were, and then it was the strange scent he picked up when he held you close.

It was a late night, and you would come in with a cup of coffee and place it on his study table. He smiles, his eyes asking you for a hug, and you know exactly what he wants. He buried his nose into your neck, and that's when an unfamiliar scent shot through him. It was about a couple hours old and mingling with your natural human scent and the shampoo body wash you use. But he'd memorized your sense to know this one was alien; even more strange was the way you reacted when he pointed it out, and all he said was. "Are you trying new colognes with Asmodeus?"

He saw your face turn white, or you stumble over your words for an excuse... Odd... Very odd.

On the other side, Lucifer's wisdom and intelligence are almost unrivaled. He is a doctor, after all. He knows your body in and out. However, you tried concealing your packed marks with magic during an exam. You don't know how, but Lucifer could still sense something on your skin. Angels could sense when a human is connected to a devil. It is not only weaker now that he is no longer an angel but also quite useless since he has not been with humans since the Garden of Eden. But somehow, he could feel that you had pact marks...

They felt different. They were not like Solomon's... They were yours... At first, he thought he was feeling things, So he said nothing. But He noticed you're strange need to be alone and be gone for hours.

As much as he was more relaxed than the other kings, Lucifer took your safety more seriously than any king could be , But if you were doing something dangerous, he had to know... You are not only important to all of hell but to him as well.

It was night on both sides. Everyone went to sleep in the house of lamitation, and Lucifer retired from his studies. You were still awake, stepping quietly to reach the back garden so you could disappear to Hell. You are so caught up on making yourself quiet You had no idea a demon followed you using a spell to make himself unseen.

His eyes went wide as you stepped through a portal... He knew that magic...

Barbatos

And it was coming from something around your neck.

Whatever it was, You were going somewhere that he did not know or approve of, And he had to follow you to drag your ass back and demand an explanation. You jumped when he felt a gloved hand on your shoulder the moment you traveled through.

"Lucifer!"

Startling you so much, you stumbled backward into the chest of another. His red eyes widen, and he stares into the shining gaze of his mirror self.

You looked up to see those eyes looking down at your platinum blonde hair, which made your heart go into cardiac arrest as you started to breathe heavily, which was not good when you were in a place where the air was like poison!

Lucifer had no idea where the two of you were seeing the unfamiliar demon. He could feel his power rivaling that of himself, so his first instinct was to cradle you in his chest to protect you, but when this mysterious demon spoke your name and came to your aid. He said as if he knew you; he spoke as if he was close to you.

His heart squeezed. A possessiveness overcame him as he growled, an arm holding your shoulder, pulling you to him. "Don't touch them! Who are you?"

The usually calm and collected Lucifer's eyebrow twitched. This black hair devil's hold seemed protective; He was not just any devil. He could feel the power radiating from him, rivaling that of himself. His wings were feathered like an angel's; instead of white, they were pitch black...

Whatever he was, He was an unknown devil with his hand on you, and if he were a threat, then he would be eliminated.

The two Lucifers glared each other down, and your hands shook. Your vision was practically spinning. The fear of this situation, the stress of days before, and the feeling of your lungs squeezing and your body growing weak. You didn't know who you grabbed, but you grabbed someone's shirt as you called out, "Lucifer, please!"

[fancyfeathers]

Burn It All Down

(Yandere!Justice League & Yandere!Young Justice)

Based on Yandere!Justice League with their darling!children AU

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Four, The Odyssey -> Next Chapter

This chapter is told from the perspective of Wonder Woman's Son!Reader

Each chapter will be the perspective of the reader but as the different children since when I originally had this concept, they were all darling/reader characters.

“Hey, I’m going out, do you need anything?” You called out to your former classmate as you grabbed your backpack from the table of the vacation apartment the two of you were staying in. Saying you were former classmates is the wrong word to use, you were a criminal justice major and she was a chemical engineering student, but you both had to drop out due to unseen and sudden circumstances. 

“No, if I need anything I can run out by myself.” She replied and you heavily sighed at her words, knowing what exactly she meant by those words. 

“Absolutely not, that will attract attention and we can't afford that right now.” You snapped back at her as you opened the front door of the apartment. “I’ll be back later, I’ll pick up dinner while I’m out.”

You were around six when your birth parents died in an accident, it was not even just your parents, it was your older sisters as well, your baby brother. You were supposed to be on a family trip to Europe, a final farewell to your older sister who had just graduated from Georgetown University with a major in anthropology and she was going to spend a summer in Greece for an internship. You were on a boat destined for the island of Ithaca, you knew in myths that it was the home of the legendary king and hero, Odysseus, and you knew once upon a time when that king was trying to return home to his wife and son he was stopped by Posedion’s storm. Your birth mother told you that it was just like in the story and you would get through it just like Odysseus did, in a way she was right, you did make it out alive but they did not. You remember when the boat capsized and you can still hear your family’s screams as if it was yesterday, you remember seeing your birth mother’s throat slit by a stray piece of metal that broke off the boat as the back of your head hit a rock and you were knocked out cold, drifting through waters you thought you would die in.

You remember being held when you somewhat came to, you certainly had a concussion, but someone was holding you as you were all wrapped up in a blanket, and the person noticed that you were awake and she rocked you and hushed you back to sleep. It is only when you woke up fully almost a week later after your rescue that you realized what had happened, you had washed up on the shore of the island known as Themyscira, the home of the Amazons. The woman who found you was named Diana, the Princess of the Amazons, the Wonder Woman, and a member of the Justice League. She rescued you from the waves and nursed you back to health, she told you that you were a gift from the gods, she had prayed and hoped for a child with her wife and then you washed ashore. She took you in, raised you, living two lives, traveling between the states and the island you never thought existed, living as the son of Diana Prince and her stay-at-home wife in the United States capital, and then you were the son of the Princess of the Amazons and her bride on Themyscira. You learned how to fight, trained by the Amazons, but they never looked at you differently, after all, you were a male but raised by them, a beloved son, a blessing from the gods to answer Diana’s prayers.

But her blessing means you lost everything you ever had, you remember waking up crying in the middle of the night, remembering what happened to your family, their bodies would never be found, stuck at the bottom of the sea forever more in a watery grave. You remember your other new mother, Diana’s so-called wife coming in when you woke up crying, holding you through it as if she had been through this all before, and eventually you found out that she has been through this exact same thing before. She was a librarian once upon a time, she worked at a small library on the island of Malta, just south of Italy, having moved there to look after her grandmother who fell sick and eventually died, but she stayed, it was her home until it was taken from her. She had fallen into the waters of the sea while trying to ride her bike on a rocky path during a storm, she had woken up in Diana’s arms just like you did, stranded on the island of Themyscira, she was trapped just like you were, Diana’s dream comes true, the sweetest and most gentle person to stand by her side as her wife, and most adorable little boy to raise as her own.

You hated thinking about the past, so you made yourself focus on the future and what needed to be undone.

You now walked the streets of Pittsburgh, keeping your head low and keeping to yourself. You just needed to get what you needed and get back to the apartment before anyone, even in the slimmest chance, recognized you.

“You’re the son of Diana Prince, correct?” You felt like you were going to vomit when you heard someone say that, your first instinct was to run, but you made yourself look. The woman who called out to you was not someone you recognized, she was a beautiful woman, and she somewhat reminded you of the Amazon women you trained in your youth. She just stepped off a motorcycle that she parked on the street corner, her helmet tucked under her arm and another woman stepping off it as well, though she was slightly less put together than the one who spoke to you. She reached out her hand to you to shake, greeting you with a smile. “My father is Bruce Wayne.”

“Wait… you’re… oh my gods.” You knew who she was, you remember Diana speaking about an unfortunate accident where the daughter of one of the members of the Justice League went missing around five years ago, the daughter of the Batman. You took her hand, shaking it with a firm grip. “My apologies, I was worried for a moment.”

“That is understandable, but we are here to help you.” She spoke, shoving her hands into her coat pockets and glancing around the busy street before gesturing to her friend with her. “She’s a Kent, Supergirl.”

“Like Superman?”

“His daughter.” She leaned in closer, whispering into your ear. “We don’t have much time, they are on your trail, Wonder Woman and Captain Atom were spotted on the west side, apparently there was a bomb threat, but I doubt that was the main reason they were here.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am, extremely so.” She replied as she walked back to her bike, dragging along the girl she called Supergirl with her. She jumped back on along with her friend and put her helmet back on. “Get out of sight and stay out of sight. I’ll be in touch when it’s safe.”

Before you could respond, she was already speeding halfway down the road. You knew that you did not have the time to run the errands you needed to, you just needed to get back to where you knew it was safe. You started walking down the streets but soon walking turned into running and soon you were in a full sprint down the street, something pushed you forward, it was to the point where you felt like someone else was guiding you. 

“Look, it’s Wonder Woman!”

“Mama, mama, look! Wonder Woman is here!”

Panic set in as you reached an intersection of the road that a crowd was gathered around, and by the shouts, you knew what was going on. You could barely see through the crowd of people but through the cracks in between shoulders, you spotted a glimpse of raven black hair and the all too familiar shimmer of gold. You turned on your heel, maneuvering your way through the other people on the street joining the crowd.

“Please, I am looking for a young man, he is my son, he has been missing for weeks, I…” You heard her loud voice through the crowd and your heart sank when you heard her hesitate in her words, she spotted you, even with your back turned. You immediately booked it, running full speed down the street, causing a commotion in the crowd when they caught onto what was happening. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you knew that you were being chased, just like back when you were training in Themyscira, but then it was for fun, you never thought you would need to put those skills into motion in the real world, especially being chased by your mother of all people. “Stop! Get back here this instant, young man.”

You kept on running despite her words, you knew that now that you disobeyed her you would get punished if you were caught, maybe a year isolated from the outside world on Themyscira, or maybe she would tie you up in the Lasso of Truth and compel you to tell the location of your friend, and then you would probably also let it slip of your recent interaction. You mentally caught yourself praying, praying to any god who may listen…

Apollo never once answered a single one of your prayers…

Why would Hera even bother with you?

Aphrodite never made herself known to you…

You dashed into a back alley, but you felt the vomit rise in your throat as you realized it was a dead end. You felt the sob about to slip from your lips as you turned around to see your mother turning around the corner after you, you expected her to say something, anything, but she did not even look at you like you were not even there. You saw a pained look in her eyes, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath in and out before turning away and walking off down the alley. You glanced around, finding a tin trash can and you did not even see your own reflection until a few moments later when it reappeared. You had turned invisible. You glanced around, no one else was in the alley, but you spotted an owl resting upon a window ledge, there was one problem with this, it was the middle of the day. Your eyes narrowed at the owl and you took a step forward, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“...Lady Athena?” Your question felt like what a fool would ask or a child playing pretends, so you were only more shocked when the owl nodded, actually nodded. “You… you saved me… tell me, why did you come to my aid?”

The owl took off flying, but it was over the building, not a direction you could go even then you could not follow now, you would be seen. You sat down behind a dumpster, curling your knees up to your chest so that no one walking past the alley could see you…

“Mama, can you tell me about our ancestors again?” You asked your birth mother, you were sitting on the front porch of your old house, a cottage up in Maine. “The ones from your side, from Greece.”

“Not just Greece, my love.” She spoke, her fingers running through your hair as she corrected you. “Our ancestors are from Ithaca, it was once a powerful kingdom, home to some of the most famous heroes in our history.”

“Heros? Do you mean like the ones in the Justice League?”

“No, I mean like the ancient heroes, ones who are more human like us.” She replied, pulling you up onto her lap and pointing up at the clear night sky, all the stars you could see without fail due to the isolation of the area. You followed her finger as she pointed at a set of stars, a constellation. “Those stars there, those from the constellation of Orion, he was set into the stars by his lover and friend, Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and the moon after her brother Apollo grew jealous of his abilities and tried to kill him.”

“And what about us, who are we descended from?”

“A man who loved his wife and son so dearly, he would do anything to get back to them.”

“If something like that happened to you, would you do anything to come back to us?”

“Anything.”

You snapped awake when you felt hands shaking you awake, your eyes opened to find that girl kneeling before you, it was the so-called daughter of Batman you met earlier today. It was dark out when you woke up and you felt as if you were getting over a hangover. 

“You alright, I found you passed out here when I came looking for you.” You felt her hands help pull you up from the ground, but you felt something slip down your lap before you fully stood up. “Doing some light reading?”

“Huh… I…” you looked down at the thing in your lap, it was a book, a book you remember well from your childhood before Themyscira. “The Odyssey?”

“Seems sort of funny, ya know?” You stared at the daughter of Batman with a blank and confused expression. “I mean your mom and The Odyssey is an epic about… ancient Greece… never mind.”

“I do not exactly find it amusing, especially given the circumstances.” You had no idea how this book got here, but when you glanced up at the windowsill where the owl was before you fell asleep she was there again, staring at you with eyes that looked wiser than any you have ever seen before. “My family… both of my families have always taken that sort of story seriously… I wonder…”

“You wonder, what?”

“Don’t worry about it… just some memories about some stories about my ancestors.” 

“Alright, c’mon, we have some work to do.” She patted you on the back as you stood up and you could not help but glance back at the owl, but when you did, the owl flew down landing on your shoulder. Both of your eyes were wide with surprise, but hers merely narrowed at the owl after the moment. “Does the owl have to come with? I don’t exactly like owls.”

“I think she wants to come with.”

“Well at least give her a name-”

“Athena, her name is Athena.”

“Like after the goddess?”

“You… you could say that.”

[urdnotstxrm]

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen & Reader

AU: The Targaryen family dynamics are a blend of political intrigue and personal emotions. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the strong-willed and fiery daughter of King Viserys, is caught in a dilemma. Her father has decreed that for her to secure the Iron Throne, she must marry your brother, a match designed to solidify alliances and secure her claim. Despite this, Rhaenyra's heart belongs to you.

The evening was lively as Rhaenyra Targaryen graced your family's household with her presence. Laughter and conversation filled the air inside the grand hall, where your family and Rhaenyra's entourage were gathered. The warmth of the fire and the clinking of goblets created a vibrant atmosphere. However, Rhaenyra's mind was elsewhere. Excusing herself from the festivities, she made her way outside, her steps guided by an unseen force. In the cool evening air, she walked towards the stables, drawn by a feeling she could not ignore. The sound of hooves and the gentle whinnying of horses filled the silence. There, she found you, brushing down one of the horses, the lantern's light casting a soft glow on your face. She paused, watching you for a moment before stepping forward.

"I thought I might find you here," she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of relief and longing. "The celebrations inside... they feel so distant compared to this." You looked up, surprise flashing in your eyes before it was replaced by a warm, welcoming smile. "Rhaenyra," you greeted her, setting aside the brush. "I didn't expect you to come out here."

"I needed some air," she admitted, moving closer. "And perhaps... I needed to see you." She reached out, gently touching the side of the horse, her fingers brushing against yours. The simple contact sent a thrill through you both. "You should be inside, enjoying yourself," you said, though there was no real conviction in your voice.

"I don't want to marry your brother," she whispered, her hand moving to rest on your chest, her voice trembling. "I can't imagine a life with him when my heart belongs to you. Please, go to my father and ask for my hand. It's the only way we can be together." She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. Her words struck a deep chord within you, the longing in her eyes mirrored in your own. But you knew the truth, a truth that weighed heavily on your heart. "Rhaenyra," you began, your voice soft but firm, "I wish I could. More than anything, I wish I could ask your father for your hand and be with you openly. But I can't." She frowned, confusion and hurt flickering across her face.

"Why not? If we love each other, why can't we be together?" You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you had to say. "I yielded my right to the leadership of my house, Rhaenyra. I chose the path of knighthood, entrusting my younger brother with the role of leader. He is the one destined to lead our house, and I cannot undermine that decision. It would bring dishonor to my family and chaos to our house." Rhaenyra shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "But you are the one I want, the one I need. Surely there must be a way..." You took her hands in yours, holding them tightly. "I would give anything to be with you, Rhaenyra. But our world is built on duty and honor. If I were to go to your father now, it would not only betray my brother but also bring great strife to our families. I cannot do that to you, or to the realm." Her tears began to fall, and you gently wiped them away with your thumb.

"So, what are we to do? Live in secret? Love each other in stolen moments?" You nodded, your heart breaking with the truth of it. "For now, that may be all we can have." She leaned into you, seeking solace in your embrace, and you held her close, wishing that the world were different, that duty did not stand in the way of love. But in that moment, all you could do was hold on to each other, cherishing the time you had, however fleeting it might be.

[madamechrissy]

Cursed Promises

Pairings: Sukuna x Fem reader

CW: This chap, fingering, sucking both Sukuna's monster c*cks, Sukuna calls you little bunny lmao, soft Sukuna in places, he's falling fast tbh, reader is a lil innocent thing, stomach tongue says HELLO, all his tongues say hi, lil bit of degradation, true form Sukuna

Summary: You have been promised to Ryomen Sukuna, King of curses, for as long as you've been alive, ostracized from your village, 'special'. Now you are to marry him, sight unseen. People everywhere fear him, but will you find yourself intrigued by him. Just who is the King of Curses to his new wife? Arranged marriage au

A/N: This is ALL fluff and SMUT lol, it's just our king falling for y/n <3 Gonna be like four parts to this, so a short fic! Monsterfking and fluff lol- WC this chap-5.8k

Comments/ reblogs appreciated ❤️

<<<part one part three>>>

Part Two

“Good day, my Queen.” You’re greeted by Uraume, Sukuna’s right hand, they are so ethereally lovely, you think, their white hair and pale silky skin, along with their honey brown eyes were something to behold. They’re donned in white robes, hands hiding in their long sleeves, bowing just so.

“Good morning, Uraume.” You say softly, you are dressed now in another set of purple and gold robes, it seems to be Sukuna’s favorite coloring, if he chooses your wardrobe, nearly all of it was reds, purples and golds. “Um… where is the King?”

“You wish to know where he is?” They ask curiously, tilting their head. You nod then, feeling your cheeks heat up, remembering last night with him, he’d been on your mind all morning now.

“I’m afraid I’m quite lost in this castle, and I also fear to disturb him if I do find him.” Uraume nods now.

“The king sent for you, actually, it is why I came here. Come along now, my Queen.”

You eagerly follow, and you think the serious Uraume gives a little turn of their lips, but your mind must be playing tricks. You met them before King Sukuna, they were part of the group that led you on the long trek from home, a calming presence yet so powerful with their energy.

What exactly was your power, your energy? Your clan had made sure you never explored such things, no one has taught you anything about it, but it must be special if you’re destined to bear Sukuna’s heir. You still have much to learn, you fear, you are following their swishing white robes as you descend through the massive halls. You pause when you hear a slam against the door.

“What is that?” You ask, frightened, and Uraume just sighs.

“Foolish fucking mortal. Aaha!” You hear booming laughter now, when you enter Sukuna’s throne room, he’s grinning like crazy as a man is picking himself up, holding his stomach.

“My king…”

“Any last words? Should I give you any?” He’s chuckling with an insanely huge grin now, red eyes landing on you, raising a dark, arrogant brow. “Ah, it’s my beautiful bride. Come on now, have a seat.”

You’re looking at the room filled with people, guards and lords and commoners alike, all bowing down to you now. You start to walk up to his throne, the dark black throne filled with what appears to be cow skulls. You gulp nervously at it, taking over so much, Sukuna takes over so much, and he’s just perched on it with a smirk, patting his thigh again.

“Come on, little bunny.” You glare now, and he chuckles in delight, as you stomp on over, gasping as he pulls you to his lap, one of his four hands on your thigh, the other brushing your hair back to reveal your bare shoulders. “Uraume, you did superb with these gowns.”

“I’m pleased you enjoy, my King.” Uraume now stands with the council, as Sukuna’s long dark nails press into the delicate silk of your gown, his hands are so huge he takes you over entirely, you’re so overwhelmed, but also…

You feel him pressing between your thighs, against your slick heat, and he leans close, lips against your ear. “Soaking wet in front of everyone? Slutty bunny.”

“Oh you-” You go to stand now, sure everyone can see your embarrassment, your flushed cheeks.

“Ah ah, I’m your husband, you’ll sit here on my throne with me, wife.” He sets you back down now, hands firmly holding you in place, against the strong, muscular thigh that is making you throb.

You remember last night vividly even moreso now, being pressed like this, he rests his stubborn chin on one of his tattooed hands now, bored expression on his face. “And you, what is it you wish to plead for?”

A nervous man comes up to the throne, trembling before the two of you, “M-my King, my wife, she’s been taken by the demons of the East, please, I beg for your help!”

“We’re too busy, mortal, go bother someone else with your woes, I’m busy with more important things.” He says, his hand now reaching up to grab your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point, and you realize he’s playing with your body’s reaction to his touch.

“My king… we should help.” You murmur, he leans forward, two of his eyes glinting angrily at you now.

“The bunny speaks?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, earning a raised brow. “Yes, the bunny speaks. Why am I here if not-”

“Insolent brat.” Sukuna sighs, cutting you off. “Not here.”

You nod then, realizing your folly, his hand is squeezing your hips so tightly, but it only makes you more intrigued, the duality of him. “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh thank you, thank-ah!” Sukuna has thrown him into a wall now, waving a hand and rolling all four of those eyes.

“Enough, out.” The man stumbles backwards, and Sukuna and you listen to the next few people, he seems to enjoy hurting them, finding great amusement, you wonder at his sadistic nature and big grin at it.

Suddenly a young girl comes and he does not treat her as such, he listens a bit more attentively now. He orders for help for her village, surprising you somewhat, but Sukuna did indeed protect those that had agreements with him, like your village for example. But the girl you notice he doesn’t fling for amusement, making you contemplate him a bit.

“What are you looking at, brat?” He says now, as you study him carefully, tilting your head.

“You’re rather sweet sometimes.” You tease, earning his anger.

“Sweet!?” He demands, and you suppress a giggle. “And you’re laughing at me? And here I am, being benevolent.”

“I apologize, my King, I don’t know what’s come over me.” He glares now, setting his jaw, and then suddenly an insane amount of energy pools right in one of his hands, he’s holding it up, a bright ball of dark purple and red, so intense the entire room stands still now. “My king…”

“Should I show you who I really am, brat? Since you find me amusing.” You shake your head then, feeling your body start to tremble, but not in fear of him, for fear of everyone in the room. “No? How about him first.”

“Stop!” You snatch his wrist then, to the gasps of everyone in the room, and the shocked look of the King himself, as you nullify his energy to nothing, little puffs of color is all that’s left. “I… I…” You’re gasping, opening your mouth and closing it over and over again, as the room is so silent you could hear the smallest pin drop.

Sukuna scowls at you now, and you know you’re in for it, whatever that was… what was that!?

“Uraume, see them all out. Now.” He orders, and they quickly obey, soon you’re left in a giant empty throne room with a furious king, their footsteps echoing through the halls, the giant doors slamming shut, and your heart races faster than ever before, alone with him.

You can feel his anger, his power, but there’s something else now, something new. His eyes are on you, the room spinning with his energy as he releases it, you can see it like a tornado of purple and red circling around him, but it’s not coming towards you, earning his anger as he stands, looming so big over you. You stand up, trembling but not backing down.

“What on Earth… what the fuck… you’re…”

You smile then. “Does this mean I’m more powerful-ah!”

“It means you’re an annoying little brat.” He says, grabbing you by your hair with one hand, another grabbing your ass, the energy dissipated.

“Why are you like this?” You ask, and he laughs, a low, deep, terrifying sound really, but it doesn’t scare you.

“Like what, bunny?” 

“So powerful, yet so cruel. You could help so many but you choose to just watch and enjoy their suffering instead!”

“It’s the way of the world, my world.”

You step forward, his hand still firm in your hair, but the pain is noticeable, the pull of him drawing you closer. “So you enjoy this cruelty.”

“You mean to understand me? You just met me, bride.”

You slide your hands up his bare chest then, so much of the broad, muscular chest on display, the black lines running down it. “Will you let me actually get to know you?” You ask softly, he sighs then, something softening for a moment, before he’s back to a tense stance.

“I’ve never met anyone who could do that to me before. You’re a puzzle I want to solve, and I will solve you, one way or another.” He stands now, his robes sliding down his shoulders, his muscular chest bare, then you see him, naked, his two cocks already standing at attention, you gulp at them. He’s chuckling now.

“You think this scares me?” You ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking, his cocks are so thick, so long, veins wrapping them. You’ve never seen anything like it before, but you’re not scared, you’re more intrigued than anything. “I can handle you, King of Curses.”

“Oh really, brave little bunny?” He steps forward, the energy surrounding you like a cloak, yet you’re untouched, in fact… you enjoy it.

“You cannot hurt me. And you do not want to, do you?” You ask softly, his brows lower over narrowed eyes, as he steps closer, his hard cocks touching you through your robes now.

“Tch, you really think you’re a match for my power? You’ve barely seen any of it, any of me.”

“So show me then.” Your hand drifts down his rippled body, blushing as you remember the pleasure he brought.

“You dare challenge me, brat?” He whispers, and you just nod, and then Sukuna slams his lips against yours, kissing you, hard and brutal, and you kiss back just as fiercely. For your second real kiss with him, you catch on quickly, because you are craving him, more and more every moment.

His hands are everywhere, ripping your gown off, revealing your naked body to the room, his cocks pressing against your stomach when he pulls you back against him, hot and heavy. You moan into his mouth, feeling yourself getting wetter as his other hands grip your bare ass, squeezing and pressing you against him now, you’re crying out, head falling back.

“Here?” You whisper, looking around, and he grins.

“You’ll service me here, like a good girl.” And then he’s dropping you down onto his throne, his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down to sit, and his cocks are directly in front of your face. “All that talk, time to shut your bratty mouth, hmm?”

You look at him defiantly, hand grabbing the top cock, stroking up and down tentatively, he moans, and you relish in it, leaning forward, licking the sticky white substance at the tip of each cock, pooling in the slits. He wraps his hands in your hair, pulling hard, making you even wetter, his other two hands bracing on either side of the cold, hard throne, tummy clenching in desire.

“Which one will you service first?” He says with a wicked smirk, and you lean down and take one of his massive cocks into your mouth, sucking and licking like you’ve never done before, your hand reaching down to stroke the other one, feeling the heat, feeling him so hard.

Sukuna groans, his hand in your hair, guiding you as you suck and kiss and lick, his energy swirling around you like a storm, but instead of being afraid, it’s like it’s feeding you, filling you up, urging you on, as you now start to suck his other cock, looking up at him the entire time. He’s surprisingly gentle when it comes to his thrusts, not pushing too far, letting you sink your mouth on him.

You’re so wet and aching you whine now, vibrating around his cock, and he sucks in a breath, brushing your hair back. “Does my needy bunny need her cunt played with?”

“Please, my King.”

He scoffs, but his hips stutter, his hand grabbing your hair as you lap your tongue on him. “My king? I have a name.”

“S-Sukuna?”

“I have a name.” He says again, and you pull back from sucking, one of his hands grips your throat, squeezing now. “I could break you, bunny, like you’re nothing but a little doll. Use you for my pleasure.”

You’re shaking with need, somehow every damn thing he says and does just makes you want him more, this insane need that’s clawing through you, made worse when you taste more of his salty liquid dripping from his tips. “You could break me, do you want to, my King?”

“Sukuna. You are my wife, you may.” His voice is so soft, even as a tattooed hand is choking your throat.

“Are you sure?” You ask quietly.

“You question your husband, your King?” He demands, and you enjoy his name on your lips far too much.

“Sukuna.” He moans now, taking your hand and putting it between your thighs, you squeak, pulling it off, earning his laughter. “I cannot do that!”

“You can, and you will.”

You gasp at his audacity. “You have four hands!”

“Mmm, I do, but I want to see you do it. Come on, don't be shy, bunny, feel how wet you are sucking my cocks.” You touch yourself as one of his hands is urging your finger on, pressing it against your neglected clit, in little circles that feel far too good, his nails delicately pressing into your scalp as he shoves a cock back inside your mouth, you’re drooling all over his length, onto his other cock now.

He’s feeling your slick as he guides you, only serving to make his thrusts more insistent, there’s a hand guiding your clit, a hand on your breast, the two pulling your hair, taking you over entirely now your fingers are weak, slipping. He takes your limp fingers now, bending down to suck your juices off them. You’re gasping as he goes deeper, as you take more.

“Pathetic, can't you even touch yourself?” He taunts, you glare again, yanking your right hand back, sinking a finger into your slick heat, moaning at the stretch of it, and he falters then, staring at you, lust dilating his eyes, droopy as his mouth is wide open. “So needy you’ll finger yourself?”

“You talk overmuch.” He glares, shoving his cock further down your throat now, grunting as he fucks your throat, making your throb around your own fingertip, urging him on.

“Insolent girl.” He drags your mouth down to his other cock, before shoving both tips in your mouth, tears pour down your eyes, jaw locked open. “What can’t handle them both? All talk?”

You glare up at him under your lashes again, sucking harder, then you watch him, his head falling back, as your hand leaves your entrance, instead working both his cocks. He’s sucking in a breath, rippling muscles tensing, and that is when you see it, opening now…

A mouth on his stomach!?

You shriek, when it laps against your cheek. “What on…”

“Did you think those were all my tongues? Be good and I’ll let you ride it tonight.” He says, you bite your lip now, stroking his cocks with both of your hands. “And you want it so bad, don’t you slutty bunny?”

“I am not a bunny.” But you do find yourself insanely curious, he retracts it and allows you to finish sucking him, and he’s groaning then, huffing, jutting his hips as the tongues on his hands are lapping at your breasts.

“Fuck, sucking them better than any concubine, look at you.” He whispers, his other hands gripping your head. “Could crush you like this.” You’re crying out now, grinding on the leather plush of the seat below you. “Making a mess of my fucking throne, hmm… F=fuck…”

Sukuna shoves his thick cocks as deep as they can go in your open mouth, you’re gagging and crying, slobber and spit leaking everywhere out of your mouth now, body trembling with need as he’s thickening against your tongue, your cheeks hollow as you suck. Then he’s pulsing, and so much cum starts to pour inside, shocking you, the hot liquid coating your mouth, your tongue.

“Swallow it all, brat.” He orders softly, you gulp it all down, lapping at the tips of his cocks, sucking every bit, feeling his thighs tense under you, his body trembling from aftershocks, leaving you so needy you can’t take it. “Open.”

You do as your king and husband commands, his pastel pink hair is falling just so over his face as a hand wracks through it, spiking it up, and he sees you’ve swallowed it all. He moans now, caressing your cheek, leaning forward. “Did I please you, my king?” He gently smacks your cheek, but his hand is so huge and he’s so strong it stings.

“What was my name again, bunny?”

“Sukuna.” Your voice is hoarse, and Ryomen Sukuna exhales, thumb pressing on your lower lip.

“Open again.” You do as he says, only for him to spit saliva, dripping it into your mouth, shocking you, but you swallow obediently. “That’s a good bunny. One more thing…”

He flips you over now, making you sink to your knees. “What…”

“Clean that mess up.”

“No!” You glare up at him, he kneels down with you, two hands on your breasts, tongues lapping all over you, his free two hands on your waist, pressing you towards the slick on his throne. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it, slutty little virgin. Go ahead, lick it, if you want me to get you to cum at all. Or I’ll leave you, just like this.” You shake your head, and he grabs your hair, wrapping it around a fist, as your nipples perk up, sensitive and aching, your body covered in goosebumps. “Don’t you want to cum later? All over me?”

“N-no… ah!” Sukuna sinks two thick, long fingers in your cunt then, filling you for the first time, you scream out, walls fluttering around him, dripping down his hands, earning his satisfied groan. “Your nails!? I… ah!”

“You think I’d cut your perfect little cunt?” He laughs now, yanking his fingers out, the nails temporarily gone, only to shoot back out, as his teeth are biting your nipples, you’re a sloppy, drippy mess in front of him. “Lick it, and I’ll come please you in your chambers tonight.”

“You’re even more cruel than they know.” You say, he just laughs now, shoving your head forward, you barely lap it up with a tip of your tongue, to his amused laughter, and you look back and glare.

“You really did it!” He’s holding his stomach in laughter, and now you stand, shoving at him as he’s at level with your tummy, he keeps laughing now as you feel tears prick your eyes.

“Don’t bother coming to my chambers.” You say through tears, overstimulated, humiliated, and suddenly as you’re grabbing your robe he grabs you, yanking you against him. “Leave me alone, go… get a concubine to amuse you.”

Sukuna’s face drops then, as you slip on your robes hastily, he grabs your waist, you try to wriggle free to no avail. “I did not… you…”

“Leave me be.” You’re sobbing now, you don’t know what’s overtaken you, but instead of mocking you further he pulls you close, letting you cry against his chest, holding you with all arms. “Don’t touch m-me.”

“Sad little bunny. Sensitive little brat.” He sighs, stroking your hair now, it feels far too good.

“Are you comforting me?”

He huffs. “No!”

“No?” You look up through watery eyes, Sukuna’s jaw sets now.

“No. Just… it gives me a very irritating feeling when you cry, I do not enjoy that feeling, so I order you to stop.” You shake your head in confusion, hiccuping through your tears. “I said stop, brat.”

“I c-can’t… I want you… and you…”

“Shut your mouth.” He slams his lips on yours, lifting you up like you’re nothing, kissing you over and over. “It was a joke. Do not cry again.”

“I can’t make promises.” He swipes your cheeks with his thumbs, kissing your cheeks now, tasting your salty tears. “You were mean to me.”

He sighs now, brushing the rough pads of his thumbs on your cheeks. “I’ll have to baby you, hmm? Stupid baby.”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, turning, but he brings your back against him, bending low to whisper in your ear.

“I’ll be in your chambers tonight. Understood?” Your heart starts faltering now, you manage a little nod, and he sighs, holding you so tightly you can’t breathe for a moment, but you relish being in his arms, resting your head against him. “You’re using whatever powers you have over me.”

“I do not even know what my powers are!”

“Hmph. Go.” He kisses your neck and then shoos you away, but you’re pouting. “Do not use those eyes on me.”

“What eyes?” You ask, curiously.

“Do not act so… just… I’ll please you tonight, I have business to attend to. Out.” You bite your lip nervously, pulse thrumming in your ears now, you glare one more time at him, making him run a hand across his face, now back in his robes. “Do I need to shove both my cocks in both your holes right now?”

Your mind whirls at that, as you blink rapidly. “Both my-”

“Out.” You stomp away now, he almost laughs at how adorable you are, but he’s too fucking confused. And luckily you are missing the look of confusion and longing on Sukuna’s face, as he wonders just what are you and why can he not stand your tears when he massacres people!? What sort of damn magic do you possess?

How can the King of curses be so entranced by some little brat!?

He hates the fact that he’d do anything to put a smile on your face after upsetting you.

*****

There is a knock on your door as your maid prepares you for dinner with the King, you’re still so confused by him, so angry at what he thought was amusing, and wonder why you are so desperate for him. Just yesterday you had no clue what pleasure was, now he’s left your body on edge, you’re so eager for him again, he hadn’t barely even touched you.

You shiver just thinking of those fingers sinking into you, how they glistened when he yanked them out, dripping down his long nails. He’d hidden those nails not to hurt you, he cared when you cried… there was more to him then he let on, surely, more to this cursed sorcerer.

You want to know more.

Uraume comes now, holding a delicate white box, opening it and revealing a breathtaking gold and diamond necklace. “What is this!?”

“The King asks that you wear this tonight.” Uraume says, your hands tremble just so, it’s already so opulent living here, but the way it glitters under the soft lights pouring through your window.

“It’s too beautiful.” You whisper.

“King Sukuna has ordered it. Shall I put it on you?” They ask, you nod eagerly, looking in the mirror as Uraume comes behind you, placing the necklace on your throat as you lift your hair out of the way.

“Thank you, it’s so lovely, I adore it.” You touch it gently, one of the many baubles along your collarbone now.

“Do not thank me, it’s the King.”

“Uraume… tell me. Do you… is he… the King is…”

Uraume tilts their head. “My Queen?”

“Do you find the King to be… kind?”

“Kind… hmm. I suppose he can be at times. He is indeed the most powerful. Why do you ask?” Uraume helps finish your hair, taking over for the maid.

“I find him very interesting.” Uraume lets out a little smile that you don’t see.

“I see. Let us go, he does not like to wait.” You follow them now, and are led to the dining hall, where there’s a plethora of food, and instead of your seat on the opposite end as is done, he has it pulled next to him. One of the servants pulls out a seat now, but Sukuna yanks you on his lap.

You gasp, clinging to his neck for stability, muscled, thick and veiny, making you heat up as you think of all of him. He fingers the necklace curiously, tilting his head as one hand holds you down on him, another lifting a fork and stabbing a bite of food, guiding it to your mouth.

“Open.” You do as he says, Sukuna puts a morsel on your mouth. “Chew it up, you’ll need your strength.”

“Strength for?”

He grins now, shifting you on his lap, to where his cocks are pressing against your ass, you feel so tiny on him, his huge body overtaking you, arms all barring you against the dining room table. “Strength for me making you break under me.”

“I… um…” You look up at him, he’s shoving another bite into your mouth, you gasp when he slides a hand up your inner thigh.

“My feisty little bunny has nothing to say?” He taunts, but you truly can’t think, eyes fluttering, moaning when he slides another bite into your mouth, something sweet that bursts as you chew.

“Yummy.” You finally speak, and he sighs, fingers now running under the gems that decorate your chest now, exhaling, holding you just a little tighter, his embrace is addicting, everything about him draws you in, when it should scare you. But as you brush your hand on his face and he tenses, scowling.

“Will you… do that… thing, human?”

“What thing my King?” You ask, and he squishes your cheeks, pressing your lips up on either side, ruby eyes glinting under the chandeliers that hang. “Smile?”

“That. It’s an order.” You giggle then, you can’t help it, Sukuna exhales as he sees you, watches you smile, lighting up your face.

“Is that adequate, my King?” You tease, he is cupping your face tenderly, your heart starts racing, pounding in your chest as you turn toward him, straddling him carefully, leaning close. His hands tense, and you could swear they tremble just a bit, this huge monster of a man, weak for you. “I quite like you, when not being so nasty and cruel.”

“You like me?” He grabs your hips, pulling you against him, until his cocks are pressed on your heat. Your head falls back, a moan escaping, he starts nipping at your breasts harshly with his teeth, leaving bite marks, wet spots glistening. “You’re a foolish girl, perfect prey.”

“I think you like me too.” You grind against him now, fuck it feels good, your neglected clit begging for more. He grips you tightly then, shoving things aside to lay you on the dining table, you take up such a small part of it, laying there so pretty for him, your robes falling apart, revealing your soft skin.

“You’re an impetuous, annoying creature. Have you no sense of self preservation?” He slips his hands up your thighs as they tremble, sliding the silk up your legs, baring you to him, he audibly groans when he sees your cunt again. “Already wet, too?”

“You promised, you know.” You arch your hips up, pouting, and he laughs at you, undoing his robe, you gasp out when his tongue opens from his abdomen, stretching the skin, lapping your pussy up completely, so huge and hot and wet. “Ngh!”

He pulls his tongue back, laying over you, barring you with two strong arms, as the others hold your thighs apart. He leans down so close, and all you ache to do is kiss him more, he’s intimidating, gigantic, he has his stomach licking at you, but you keep thinking how his full lips would feel, smirking on your own. Your hands reach up and you pull at his hair.

“Excuse me, brat.” He swats your hands, and you pout again, earning all four eyes rolling. “Don’t give me that look. Ah, I like that expression, stupid fucked out face.” You’re helpless, when a hand grips your wrists, slamming your bound hands above your head, and his tongue is working between your folds. “Taste s’good on all my mouths.”

“S-Suk-ah!” He’s grinning now, sharp white canines glinting as his tongue slips inside your entrance, it’s so thick your walls are stretched, as he devours you on the dining room table, right next to the dinner that’s falling and clattering to the floor. “M’gonna… gonna…”

“That’s it, let me drink you, bunny.” He leans so close, but he won’t kiss you, he is drinking up all your soaking wet arousal, that starts gushing when he reaches a hand down, pinching your clit as his tongue fucks deeper, only for the tongue on his hand to now flick over your clit.

It’s all too much, your orgasm pours over you until you’re blinded, all while your husband, the king, is grinning, watching you avidly, as drool seeps from your mouth, while you’re shaking, struggling to close your legs, but he doesn’t let you. Your eyes roll back as your cunt throbs around his stomach tongue, and he’s lapping every bit of it from you.

“Please… please…” You whine now, he laughs as he watches.

“Pathetic, look at you. Pathetic, puny little bunny. Please what? Greedy thing, need to keep cumming?” He lets his tongue slide back in his abdomen, but now he’s sinking two fingers in you, pressing on that spot, you whine out, tears falling from pleasure.

“Please… k-kiss me.”

“Kiss you? You’re so odd, you know that?” You scowl, struggling to release your wrists, breasts slipping out of the robe, much to his pleasure and delight, he bends down and sucks on one, sharp teeth biting it, as his cocks press on your tummy.

“Kiss me, w-want it.”

“Demanding little…”

You free your wrists then, much to his surprise, yanking on his hair now, dragging his mouth to yours. He hesitates, but then passionately kisses you, brutal and rough, bruising your lips with his bites, with the force. You wrap your thighs around his thick hips now, rolling up for more and more.

He pulls back for a breath, fingers back in, pumping you so good, you’re cumming again, getting weak from pleasure, soaking his hand, soaking the table, you hear the sound of it, the squishing, your moans echoing in the chamber. You’re sure everyone in the damn castle can hear, but you really don’t care, you’re crying out so much your voice breaks.

“M’ready.” You whine now, reaching down, stroking him, he groans as you do, as he’s straining so hard.

“You’d lose your innocence on a table?” You’re blinking sleepily now, as the third orgasm hits, and you almost lose consciousness, it’s too much, his tongues all over, his hands everywhere, fingers in your cunt, fingers around your throat. Hands on hips, hands on your thighs, tongues lapping you every inch they find. “Slutty, sleepy brat. You will not sleep on me.”

“M’not… sleeping… c-can take it. Want it.” You’re a mess now, as he looks down at you, you’re so fucked out your eyes are fluttering to stay open, you’re covered in marks from his hands, from his mouth. Your pretty face has streaks of tears and drool that’s pooling out the side of it.

He should fuck you now, you’re pliant and ready, but you’re also exhausted and weak, still a human despite whatever energy you have. You’re lazily kissing him, why does he enjoy those kisses this much!? It's not something he even did, but with you… he can’t stand how good your lips feel. He felt horrible all day for hurting your feelings earlier.

Him, wanting a human to smile.

You have wetness glistening on your puffy cunt, glittering with your cum and his saliva, he can taste you everywhere, you’re all over, your scent, your face in his visions every time he blinks. It’s been two days but he’s finding himself obsessed, he wants more and more of you, so much so he can’t focus. You’re getting weaker in his arms, clearly the orgasms have taken their toll.

“You will rest for tomorrow, then your slutty cunt can have my cocks, is that understood? I will not deal with this weakness.” He says, and you giggle, the sound far too good to his ears, you’re grinning even, which is so pretty… and insolent. “You laugh at me? Want a demonstration of punishment for such a thing?”

“S-sorry. I feel s’good.” You’re clearly cockdrunk, and he hasn’t even gotten to slide a cock in you yet. He can’t stop the annoying affection from starting.

“To bed.” He hoists you up now, carrying you, and you snuggle to him, he’s so warm and he feels so good. He’s carrying you up the stairs, and you want more of him, more of this fucking amazing feeling, but you can barely function, eyes heavy, fading in and out. Soon you feel it, the softness of your bed. “Annoying brat.”

“C’mere.” You pull on him, of course he doesn’t budge, he’s pure muscle, but he lets you pull him close, you cup his face, yawning.

“You insolent-”

“Sorry!” You kiss him again, fuck you enjoy it. “I don’t want to displease you… I know we should consummate… I wanna be with you in…”

“Just go to sleep. You don’t displease me, just annoy me.” He says, surprisingly soft, and you look at him curiously, taking in his face as it’s above yours.

“Will you stay in bed with me tonight?” You ask, pleadingly, he sighs, jaw locking now.

“You’re so needy and endlessly aggravating. I have more to do, I cannot just sleep because you’re cock drunk.”

“Cock drunk! Ugh. Fine then.” You sigh, turning over, and when you feel a blanket cover you, you can’t stop the smile on your face. “Will you lay with me for a bit?”

“No, brat.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Go to bed. Now.” You giggle again, and hear his annoyed sigh as he walks out for the night, leaving you to snuggle, still smelling him, feeling him everywhere.

You just want more of him.

taglist Sukuna- @mistygrovesarchive @mima0127 @janrcrosssing @thejujvtsupost @clp-84 @makingtimemine @silvarys @after-laughter-come-tears @vantedaes @liivzen @just-lilita @jdevilmadness @lixern @spaceeyhem @thisisew @bozos-r-us @zwr1tx @slootbear @pamemoonlight @xxyaoi-nationxx @jschlattsgff @alessdramawouldbenice @sukunasfavgroupie @1emma1 @nanamjai @1-800-blues-clues @watashiwasohidesu @vynwan-cbq  @mouseyboo @imbacklovie @cyberket @chuuminn @diannana @hanham10 @arilxup88 @urgirlraven @sillymortalblob @yv-ania

part three>>>

[yorsgirl]

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬! 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚! 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐬!

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: On the foremost, you should have seen the red flags in yourself. Dropping this charade at the right time was the right decision. Yet, one look at his crimson tinted eyes and you found yourself wearing your rose colored glasses.

Tropes: Taboo relationship, explicit smut

Warnings: profanity, possessive themes, explicit smut, praise, light degradation, fingering, fellatio+handjob, semi public, unprotected, rough, hair pulling, nipple play, choking, undertones of - angst, attachment issues, insecurities, mentions of neglect, no curse AU, adultery, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 4.4k

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

A/N: forgive me, I was supposed to complete something else but instead this had me on a chokehold. Nothing can stop me from writing smut with my king. Hope you enjoy <3

Your reflection stared back at you.

Although the skilled work of your makeup artist showed itself on your rather decked up mien, the very chance at being delighted by your appearance eluded you.

Never did you think that you'd tolerate cheating in your marriage. Yet, here you were - celebrating the anniversary with your husband.

A black tie gala and when he exited the penthouse with you, anyone could say he was indeed looking forward to it. The customized blue Armani suit looked gorgeous upon him. Although you made sure to pass a compliment to him on your way out, the same treatment wasn’t returned.

Of course, he wouldn’t.

What else did you expect?

From the looks of it, tonight would and should mark one of the greatest days of both of your lives. However, neither of you had the guts to confront the elephant in the room. So, once again the charade would have to play. The cover pages of Forbes and Financial times would certainly make this night, a talk of the town. He must be busy with preparations of that, obviously he held little concern over your whereabouts. If not, the scandal wouldn't have stretched on this far.

On what basis did you even think that this relationship would anywhere be successful? Of course it wouldn’t when on the fore front it was always meant to end in shambles.

Besides, sparing him a subtle glance only minutes ago had you clear out of all your doubts. Leaving you to realize two facts: 1 - you wouldn't had been surprised if he would have confessed to have simply forgotten about tonight. 2 - the very same husband had been transfixed by a woman which wasn't you.

With the workaholic of a man he was, it wouldn't astound you if he said that he needed to be away to look into urgent matters. It wouldn't astound you one bit if he just needed his PA to accompany him to that urgent matter. As a good, ideal wife, what did you do? Obviously, leave the room. No matter how long did you stretch the lengths of your restraint, certain glances could never be unseen. Even then, the sharp glares bestowed upon you by everyone in the room rendered you breathless. Rumours seldom held the truth. This instance it did. Almost everyone knew about the scandal, considering the affair wasn't so discreet after all. Evidently, all those glares told you that you were being a nuisance there.

You glanced at the girl again; beautiful. Obviously, she was trying to impress someone. And from the looks of it, from the tiny smirk shot her way, she knew she was successful. Honestly, you can't blame her. He was quite the man with the flames burning in his crimson eyes and that charismatic smirk which even had you put on your rose tinted glasses.

With all the reasons screaming at your face to leave the main venue; you did.

Hence, now, standing afore the basin in the women's room - you could finally let yourself be free.

The black dress clung to your body tenaciously and the red diamond pendant resting on the juncture of your collarbones seemingly did little to cure your case. The jewellery was certainly a gift. Currently, you found the giver of the same gift in the same room as you.

You sharply craned your neck to the side, "What are you doing here?"

A languid smirk rested upon the curve of Sukuna's lips as he leaned against the door of the restroom. "I could ask the same, doll. What are you doing here?"

"Should not be your concern," Reverting your attention back to the mirror, you pushed some fringes of hair before your ear. "I can be wherever I want."

On cue he pushed himself from the door, sauntering over to you. In the limited lapse of time, you sure did make out how the door had been locked shut from inside. Sukuna towered over you, one hand of his rested beside yours on the counter; his breath fanned over your neck, instinctively you tightened your grip on the cool tile.

“Sure, you can doll.” He whispered near your ear, lifting his hand to push the same tendril of hair behind your ear. “However, to me it seemed, you were waiting for someone.”

“Certainly,” You affirmed, shooting a pointed look up at him. Although the close proximity, you refrained from letting your eyes wander over his frame clad in the black Zegna suit which fit him almost perfectly. “I was waiting when my husband will notice that I’ve left his side and come looking for me.” He grasped your arm, forcibly turning you around, though the hold was firm – the venomous pressure was nowhere to be found. “But that’s too much to ask from him, now.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “What a bastard of a husband to leave such a pretty thing like you all alone.”

“Sukuna-”

“Still I am here,” The undertone in his voice was too loud to ignore. Besides, did you really want to?

You reached up, straightening his crooked tie like a dutiful wife. “I didn’t call you here.”

“Now, now doll-” A Cheshire grin slipped into his lips, free arm looping around your waist as he pulled you close. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how you looked at me there?”

It wasn’t clear cut lie; you did find your eyes wandering over to him even though you knew he would be up to no good. However, it was still funny. Funny how he took notice of it when all he seemed to be captivated by the other woman in the room. Did he think you wouldn’t find out or did he think that getting someone new would only make this charade all the more entertaining?

With the three of you present in the same only minutes ago, filled with family, friends, rivals and acquaintances, only a handful remained oblivious to the ongoing show. Now, with two of you gone, the few PR team members that lurked around the corner would certainly not pass up the opportunity to highlight this in the internet next day. Just how much they loved stirring the drama and how much the netizens loved consuming it.

You looked up at him from underneath your lashes, “Notice?” You scoffed with a bitter smile. “How laughable. The last time I checked you were rather pouring your attention on someone else, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Jealous?” He tipped his head forward, “And what if I was?”

“Nothing,” You let the strain of the situation reign in your two seconds of silence. “Enjoy your night. If you excuse me now-” You pinched your lips. “I have to call a friend to get me home, now.”

Like a chain reaction, it started.

First, Sukuna’s grasp on your waist tightened. The flicker of a vexation much akin to a match starting a forest fire, burnt in his eyes. “And who might this friend be? Someone I should be worried about?”

Second, with a soft graze of your thumb against his jaw, your question commenced. “Jealous?” A halt of five seconds settled down. Yet, you were more than eager to be the catalyst in this chemical reaction. “What if you should?”

Third, he threaded his fingers into your open hair; knotting the digits in your luscious strands. He tersely tugged them back, inciting a groan from you. Leaning down, his lips brushed against your own, “Then I just have to crush some pests for looking at my woman.”

Last, but certainly not the least – his lips locked onto yours.

Though the kiss was sudden, you found yourself fluttering your eyes shut as you delve into this passion only he can bring. You held his shoulder to bring the needed balance, the coarse fabric of his coat contrasted against your smooth palm. Sukuna angled your head to his comfort, nibbling on your bottom lip and once you give him access, he didn’t miss a second before pushing forth his warm tongue in your mouth. The spicy cologne of his mingled with the slight lime scent of the bathroom and with the way he worked on your mouth, your knees were weakening.

On the foremost, you knew you shouldn’t give in, you knew continuing a relationship built on lies would only end in shambles. Yet, when he pulled back – leaving you breathless for the first time tonight (and all the previous other nights), you again gazed into his red-tinted eyes. Ah! How stupid of you? Still, you found yourself putting on your rose coloured glasses.

“Aren’t you being too brave for your own good, doll? What gave you the fucking right to think of someone else when I am right here?” With delicate measures, he held your chin with his thumb and forefinger; sharp contrast to the, not so empty threat bespoken seconds ago. “Still, it wouldn’t stop me from teaching you a lesson, here and now.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Here and now?”

“Here and now.” With that, Sukuna’s lips crashed over yours once again.

His mouth ransacked over your own as he glided his hand over to your bottom and on your thighs to lift you up and place you over the countertop.  Now, on a levelled height with his, you didn’t hesitate from indulging more into the fiery exchange by tracing your manicured nails from his nape to his roseate strands. That surely did incite a groan from him and you could feel the smirk curving into your lips.

Despite the heated encounter, you were left pondering upon your thoughts. What was the point of staying in a marriage where the love given wasn’t the love reciprocated? However, with the way his moulded with yours so perfectly, all the guilty feelings just had to fade away.

Both of you parted once again, though Sukuna was a far from letting you take a moment’s rest. He latched onto your neck, leaving hot, open mouth kisses over your skin. A rather salacious moan erupted from you once he bit into the sensitive part of your skin. “Ah- you can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. You are mine.” The guttural growl of his voice near your ear sent a pulse to your core. He tipped your face up to meet his eyes, “Say it, love. Who do you belong to?”

The diabolical possessiveness of his had always been so disastrous... as well desirous. What was it with him that something so wrong just felt so right? Although you knew you shouldn't give in to him, that this shouldn't continue any longer. Needed to tell him that you couldn't bear the neglect anymore, you knew we were way past thee point of return. As if a scripted play, you found yourself acting again. “You. Only you.”

For a second, his frame went rigid. The next, he was pushing your back against the mirror, hoisting up the longer end of your dress till it decked around your hips and pressing his calloused palm over the soft fabric of your panties. Ah. He sure knew what he wanted tonight and he was going to have it.

While his pupil was dilated with desire, he didn’t fail from passing a knowing smirk when he felt the dampened spot on the garment. “With the way you are wet for me, no one would believe anything else.”

Oh god…

You feigned innocence, “Do you want anyone else to know?” That obviously didn’t end well. Without warning, Sukuna peeled off the cloth and pushed two of his digits inside your slick folds. “Nghh- Sukuna-”

“Everyone already knows, love.” He murmured, lips hovering over the shell of your ear. “Everyone knows that you are mine.”

He curved his fingers inside your cunt, velvet walls clamping around him in a tightness which had his cock straining against his briefs. Scissoring his way through, he stretched you out into a V. Even then, he was ruthless, letting his thumb press over your swollen clit as the juices of your arousal flowed out of your folds. The torturous onslaught over your cunt surely was too much to handle; the barbaric, loud sounds of your moans mixed with curses were like music to his ears. “Ah- Ahh Su-Sukuna… f-fuck.”

“Shh, darling,” He hushed you with a chaste kiss on your parted lips. “You don’t want an audience, do you? But if you do-” He pinched on your clit and involuntarily, did you elicit a loud squeal. One enough to have caught the ears of anyone who might be lingering in the corridors. “I am more than ready to make all of your dreams come true.”

“N-No, ahh- no-none of those are- nghh- my dr-dreams.” You managed to stumble out the few words in your lust drunk state, gripping into his biceps to restrain this torment. Although the treacherous smirk rested upon him, you knew that he was more than serious. Knew that if given the chance, he wouldn’t shy away from indulging you into exhibitionism. One act which repelled you so much. Your image was already tarnished enough among the socialists and elites. Another spot at that and you would be crossing the line of no return. No way were you letting that happen. Or so you thought.

Despite the repugnance, one glance at the man before you, one touch of his skin against yours, one praise of his – calling you his good girl, fell on your parched ears, you just might let him. To imagine it was more the arousing as much as it was perilligious. While on the base level, the act itself repelled you so much when the fleshed out play conjured before your eyes, it was rather difficult to deny it. However, that was a thought for another day.

Sukuna reached his free hand over to the neckline of your dress, pulling it down – stretching it, ruining the material beyond repair and that was the least of your concern. All you wanted was him. His hands, his mouth, his touch. All of him. The cool air of the night hit your nipples, making them stand erect as the man indulged in like a predacious beast attaining his meal after days. He squeezed and kneaded your breast, while latching onto the other as he swirled his tongue over your hardened bud.

With all the added stimulation over your body, you were sent over the end. Your walls twitched around his fingers and you bit into your lips to stop the traitorous sounds, “Su-Sukuna… I- I am-”

“Not yet.”

“H-Huh?” You buckled your hips against his fingers, arching your back for he just mercilessly lessened his pace.

“You won’t cum until I say so,” He leaned back up fully to his original height, knuckles brushing against your cheekbone before they drop to your hips. “Do you get it, love?”

You snapped your eyes shut, toe curling up as the protest marked itself on your features, “Su-Sukuna, it-its…”

“Won’t you do it for me, love? Won’t you please me?” It was so damn painful to momentarily halt your climax when all you wanted was to let go. Yet, like clockwork, you nodded. “There’s my good girl,”

Words were funny. How did he just managed to get the flutter out of your chest with a single praise?

Sukuna again increased the pace of his fingers inside your cunt, curving and coiling them up to his wish and just enough to provide you with the needed pleasure. “Not yet,” He murmured, brushing circles over your clit. “Not yet,” He twisted the digits inside, hitting your sweet spot causing you to sink your nails over the hardened tile. He stretched his finger to the maximum, observing how your cunt throbbed while sucking in air and then he grinned. “Now.”

And like the night the string holding your sanity snapped, this wasn’t so different.

You spasmed around his digits, the climax washing over you like a thunderous wave hitting the shore. Eyes squeezed shut and a trail of drool running down your mouth, certainly you were a sight for his sore eyes. He pulled out his fingers from inside you, wiping it clean with the tissues on the rack as you came down from your high. Your bare chest heaved up and down while you inhaled the copious amount of air.

After you did and once your breathing was levelled, you were more than eager to return the return by yourself. So, when you sank down to your knees – Sukuna liked it a lot. Liked it more when you unzipped his pants, letting his cock spring out free and God… he was huge. The sheer girth and length was enough to put you into a moment of stupor. However, you broke out of it, ejected your spit on your hand, pumping his shaft to lubricate the length.

“Fuck- love, that’s hot.”

“Just returning the favour,” Said so, you placed a soft kiss over his tip before delving your mouth on its length. The salty taste of precum fell over your tongue – lapping it up, you swirled your tongue over the glans penis. Keeping your eyes on him, you forced more of his length into your mouth. Christ. The sheer girth of it stretched your mouth in a painful way yet that wasn’t your concern. For you were too much preoccupied with the throaty moans of Sukuna.

“Shit- you’re so good, lo- ahh- fuc-fuck, just like that.” He wrapped his fingers around the loose ends of your hair, pulling them in a ponytail as he guided you on his length.

His satisfaction rang in your ears and it pushed you further to make this experience hell of a memorable one. After all, when will be the next time this would happen? Or will it happen again? The overthinking was pushed out of your brain when you gagged on his cock – eyes fluttering shut as a tear prickled your eye. Recoiling soon after, you started to bob your head in the same rhythmic manner which he liked while you pumped the rest of his member. The way he grunts out your name again causes your cunt to throb with anticipation. Oh, how much you just wanted him to fill you up to the brim.

Trails of drool run down your lips to your chin and you pull your mouth back from his cock. A string of spit connected your glistening mouth to the tip and just from the sight of it, Sukuna could have climaxed then and there. “Ah- Fuck, doll… you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Hmm?” You hummed, not bothering to respond to that. Drunk on insatiable lust must have the courage take over. Cause the next thing you did was, pump your fist over his drool-coated cock with such a rhythm that had him throwing back his back. “Shoot your cum in my mouth.”

Despite the burning ache in his abdomen added to the stimulation and the sight of you on your knees, he still managed to keep up his cocky attitude. “Feeling bold today, are we? I wonder why…”

“Sukuna-” The warning this time was cleared out in your voice. “You know I can just leave you here and you will have to take care of this by yourself. Want that?”

“No.”

How easy was that? You smirked, darting out your tongue as you licked over the tip and took him in your mouth again. Sucking and lapping at his cock, the wanton grunts of his certainly contended you. You eagerly indulge him, coaxing him into the needful climax. His cock twitched inside your mouth. You knew, he was close. He knew, he was close.

Only a second later, he was shooting his cum inside your mouth.

You knew better than to let the aftertaste rest on your tongue. So when the copious amount of liquids started to pour in your throat, you were quick to gulp it down like a good girl. Once done, with the treatment, you let out his flaccid cock with a pop. A short trail of his ecstasy ran down your lips and Sukuna reached down to wipe extra liquid off your mouth.

“Fuck it, love.” He quivered out almost breathless. “How do you manage to be so beautiful always?”

You shrugged in a non-committal manner. “I don’t know, you tell me. A lot many people don’t think so.”

On instance, he grasped your arm, pulling you up from the floor. Holding you via the hips, he didn’t waste a second before locking his lips with yours again. However, unlike the first two times, this time, it was a lot softer. A tender gesture shutting you up from all the self-depreciating words, you must have been telling yourself.

Parting a hair’s breadth away, he muttered, “You should know by now that I am not most people.”

You snickered with a sour smile, “I know.”

With that, this time it was you initiating the kiss. You pulled him closer, holding his collar, it felt almost humorous how he still had his clothes on while yours were sliding off your body. The last thing you wanted were words o affirmations about the situation. It’s a distraction. You told yourself. All of it to keep your mind off the true matter at hand; Veiling the truths of a neglectful husband who was repulsed by his wife. You didn’t keep the previous tender tempo, instead engaging in a lascivious dance with his tongue, beckoning back the lustful desire that garnered the both of you.

Of course, it worked.

Of course, the roughness of his actions returned.

Of course, he was feasting upon your mouth as he stepped up and your buttocks hit the counter again.

Only a second later, Sukuna was flipping you on your back – assisting you into his favourite position. Both of you stared back at the reflection of the erotogenic position with your ass lined up with his crotch. Both of you shared the same mind – you nodded and he followed up with shoving his cock in your needy folds. He hit you till the brim, fleshy walls clamping around his member tenaciously, coaxing him to build up another climax.

“Doll, ahh- fuck! You just keep g-getting better- nghh- everytime, ahh-” He groaned from above you, his pelvix smacking against your ass as he continued to fill you up and pull out, just till the tip and inside again. “Fuc-Fuck! Did no one fu-fuck you this time round?”

“N-No.”

“Good,” He struck a rough hand over your ass cheek. “This cunt’s fucking mine.”

He increased the pace of his thrusts, giving you just enough. Just how much you wanted. Needed. And only this experience would ever count. His cock hit till your cervix and you arched your back, tears running down your cheeks. You muffled your whiny screams by pressing your face down on the cool tile. Obviously, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. The next second, he was pulling your head up gripping onto your hair strands as he jerked you face to meet the mirror. Your makeup was barely intact with the eyeliner smudged and the lipstick smeared over.

“Sh-Shit, Sukuna… ahh- to-too fast! Nghh-“

“Keep your eyes on me as I fuck you like a good little slut,” Tugging both of your hands back, he used them as a leverage to keep you up.

Now, with your cheek pressed against the mirror, you were forced to witness this unmaking. To keep his words, you did keep your eyes on him – meeting the burning lust filled irises. The diamond neck around your neck swayed in the air as he kept on shoving in-and-out of you.

“Damn it, I knew this would look good on you.” He traced his fingers over the jewel before his hand clamped around your neck – restricting the air supply. He was ruthless in this session tonight and it showed. Was it due to the fact that you were wearing the jewellery he bought you that sparked the need to claim you as his once again? Or was it because you had been bolder in your statements than usual?  

Your lips parted as you tried to take in as much air as he would allow. Pulling you back, Sukuna let your back rest against his hard chest, still drilling into your hole. While you were on the brink of letting go with the pleasure, pushing you over the edge, he was mindful to keep his eyes trained on you. You. Not the reflection. The real you. He watched the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he deepened his thrusts. He watched how your eyes rolled back as he worked you into your second orgasm for the night. He watched how you gripped onto his elbow for support when you milked him dry.

An amalgam of emotions passed through his eyes while you were fixed on the daze of your after your climax. All of it flickering to none when he saw you gaining sense. And after a few thrusts, he finished himself inside you.

The next few minutes were a passage of silence. A silence which if used properly would clear up so much things between the two of you. Yet, with the room reeking of recent sex and the sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies, both of you knew this confrontation wouldn’t happen soon enough.

“What now?” You questioned, choosing to be the mature one amongst the two.

“What now?” You hummed in affirmation and Sukuna found himself, trying to conjure up the proper response for this situation.

Whoever it was, that said – more than the event, the aftermath mattered – were certainly wise. For you and Sukuna, the aftermath would never be fruitful. An unspoken fact both of you could agree upon. Yet, was it just too wrong to let this charade continue for a little long?

“What do you suggest?” He gazed down on you, a softer tone coating his words as he pushed off the matted hairs from your face. “What do you want to do?”

“Mhm, well-” You slightly rotated your neck towards him. “Its my anniversary, after all. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh, you won’t be alone,” He helped you get down from the counter, fixing the neckline of the dress to cover your skin as much as it would offer. “What say, want to get out of here?”

With a know-it-all smile and the thrill of peril daunting over, you answered him.

Meeting his lips for only a second. “Yes.”

___

CBN @/cybernetizens ◦ 3h ago

Wife of Satoru Gojo, have been spotted to leave company’s thirtieth anniversary with business rival Sukuna Ryomen in a scandalous outfit.

9.2k likes | 5.8k comments | 4.5k retweets

-

Buzz @/buzzfeed ◦ 5h ago

New image of Mrs. Gojo with Sukuna Ryomen in indecent outfit and appearance leaves netizens shocked!

2.2k likes | 1.7k comments | 0.6k retweets

-

GJNewz @/generaljapannewz ◦ 10h ago

Elitist and wife of Satoru Gojo spotted to have entered Hotel de Elysium with Sukuna Ryomen. Is this a public statement to announce divorce against husband?

5.6k likes | 2.1k comments | 1.3k retweets

[spacequokka]

Nobody But You

Pairing: Crown Prince! BamBam x Reader Genre: Royalty AU, Fluff Rating: M (sorry children) Summary: You're paid to kill the young king and learn your contract wasn't exclusive. So naturally, you switch teams. Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: language (it's me after all), violence, blood, minor character deaths

A/N: Well, this one ran away from me. The urge to write for Assassin's Creed found me again but oops wrong fandom? I hope you enjoyed my little royalty au with Got7! <3

It isn't often that you go against a paid contract. You're good at what you do and it's easy money. Good money. So when you were approached for a high-profile kill, you anticipated all the ways you'd spend the money afterward. It was more than enough to take a vacation, maybe even retire and start life anew following your dreams.

Sure, it was at the expense of the newly crowned King, but it was a lot of money. And you happened to like money.

The night was crisp with a chill that quickly settled in your bones. Your breath lingered in the air as a cloud with each soft exhale. At three in the morning, the castle grounds were as still as death. Nothing moved and no one made a sound. You leaned against the cool stone wall of the castle, heart racing with excitement. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over everything, illuminating the path ahead. A week of recon suggested the job would be simple--slip in through the hidden entrance, go up to his chambers and quietly end his life. The guards on duty would likely be asleep, but you had tranquilizer darts just in case. Sneak back out and come morning you'd collect your paycheck after the body was discovered by his maids.

So then, why did you hear whispers and rustling noises ahead of you?

Peeking around the corner, you spotted a couple of figures creeping along the wall using the shrubs as cover. They were dressed in dark cloaks, not so quietly discussing their plans.

"That idiot has no idea what's coming," one sneered.

Exhibit A on why you needed to vet your employers before taking a contract. The desperate ones with money to throw away tended to hire one too many people for the job. You would think your reputation and immaculate record would be all the reassurance needed that the job would get done. But no. Being a woman seemed to wash away all of those accolades.

Unfortunately, besides being skilled and competent, you were also extremely petty. No one steals your contract or the cash associated with it. If anyone was killing the King, it would be you or no one at all.

You unsheathed your dagger, eyes set on a new prey. The night might be a bust, but you wouldn't go home without taking your anger out on those responsible. An unseen leaf gave away your approach seconds before you drove your blade up to the hilt through one of their backs.

"What the hell?" The other one looked on in horror for a solid second before thinking to draw his own weapon. He moved too slow. You shoved his dying friend forward and off your blade, striking quickly with a slash across his throat. The resulting blood splatter spiked your ire up another notch. You should've known better. Now you needed a bath, too. With a huff, you cleaned your blade off on one of their cloaks and went to sheath it when you heard a shout followed by the sounds of a fight.

Nope. Don't do it. Don't go in there and get involved. Go home, shower, get in bed and try again tomorrow.

Ugh, but what if he doesn't live to see tomorrow?

You stomped your foot and groaned, stepping over the bodies and through the hidden entrance.

Inside the castle was consumed in chaos. Royal guards and knights were engaged in battle with all sorts of mercenaries and assassins, most of which you knew personally. Just how many people were hired to kill the King?!

"Arrrgh!" Some poor, misguided guard saw you and took it upon himself to deal with you. He would've stood a chance had he not announced his intent with his little war cry, allowing you to dodge his sword and clip his feet. He lost his balance and fell into the wall beside you, knocking himself out in the process. Because of course, he would. Surely the King would have better, daresay smarter, fighters defending him, right?

Right?

You wanted to kick your own ass as you picked up the guard's sword. There'd be no sleeping tonight if you didn't make sure your target would make it through the night. It wouldn't be too hard to make it up to his room, check on him, then disappear amidst the chaos. Just a peek, that's it. Nothing more.

You headed for the corridor leading to his chambers and cursed when you saw another person in black tiptoeing through the dimly lit hall. Just what in the Julius Caesar hell was going on around here? The idiot didn't even notice you following him, too busy avoiding being seen by the guards rushing about in search of intruders. 'Amateurs.'

To top it off, there were no guards stationed by the king's bedroom door! You'd thought of Julius Ceasar as a joke earlier but the situation was closer to that than you'd imagined. The man hadn't been on the throne for more than a few days and already someone had gone through so much trouble to ensure it wouldn't be longer than that.

Just as the man reached the door, you made your move. "Not so fast," you hissed in his ear. He yelped as he turned to face you only to have your sword shoved into his chest. Flailing wildly, he fell back against the door with enough force to break the hinges, falling through the doorway.

The king and the assailant he was fighting off both stopped for a moment to look at you.

"Another one?!" BamBam shouted at the same you groaned.

"You've got to be kidding me. Did he hire everyone in the damned kingdom?" You yanked the sword out of the body as you stepped into the room. "I'm trying not to take this personally, but it's beginning to be insulting."

"Is that you, _____?" The attacker kicked BamBam away using his foot on his chest. "He's my kill. Get out of here."

You rolled your eyes. "Have you not seen the state of things outside? Everyone's here to kill him." You gave the King an apologetic smile. Grimace? "No offense, Your Majesty. Nothing personal."

"None taken, I suppose." When he tried to get to his feet, the man lunged at him again with his weapon poised to drive through BamBam's chest. You moved swiftly, tackling him and grabbing the dagger. Someone yelled out--it wasn't you--as the struggle resumed, this time with you driving your elbow into the man's ribs, weakening his hold.

The minute he realized you had the upper hand, he used his free hand to grab your throat and squeezed with all his might. Being the brute he was, his grip was incredible. The urge to let go of your weapons in favor of yanking on his hand was strong, but you knew it'd be the last thing you'd do if you did. Your grip on his dagger weakened as you became light-headed, air and time running out.

There was shuffling that sounded far away to your ears before a heavy book dropped down on the man's face making him jerk and let go of his weapon. It was the break you needed, as you turned the dagger in your hand and jabbed it through his ribs and up into his chest. He cried out with a wet cough, blood coating his lips as his hand left your throat. You drew in a deep breath, making your vision blur as you rolled off him, but not before driving your dagger into his heart.

"Holy shit!" There was what sounded like a stampede at the doorway before two men appeared at the King's side, helping him up to his feet and away from you and the dead assassin. "Your Majesty, are you hurt?"

"Nothing more than a few bruises, Eunwoo." He forced a laugh. "Thanks to her."

This was the opposite of being unseen. You groaned as you rolled over, blinking to force your vision to clear while breathing deeply. The quicker you pulled yourself together, the quicker you could escape before the guards tried to deal with you.

"No doubt she's here to collect on the bounty on your head as well. Take her to the dungeon--"

"No! Wait, Mingyu. She saved me!" BamBam pulled away from his knights. "She put herself in harm's way to keep him from killing me."

"Because she can't claim money for someone else's work." Mingyu looked at you, mouth set in a sneer. "She didn't do it out of the kindness of her heart, Your Majesty."

Yeah, this wasn't looking good for you. Using the sturdy oak dresser as a crutch, you pulled yourself to your feet. "Don't mind me. I'm just gonna go home and hopefully sleep off this nightmare." You touched your throat delicately and tried to clear your throat. "I'll be on my way."

One of the knights cut off your path to the door, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. "Not so fast. You heard him. You're not going anywhere."

"For heaven's sake, will you two listen to me?" BamBam pushed his way over to you and stood between you three. "She saved my life! I owe her for that, no matter the reason she's here." He turned to you, eyes going to your throat. He reached for you and you flinched but when you didn't move to stop him, his fingers traced the marks left behind from the struggle. "Your beautiful skin..."

You shrugged and gave him a shy smile. "I've had worse. It'll heal."

His gaze flicked up to yours and he bit his lip. "Are you really here to kill me too?"

"Was. I don't like competition."

"Wait," Mingyu looked at you with an expression you couldn't decipher. "You took out more than just these two?" He pointed at the two dead bodies.

Your mouth opened and closed as you contemplated admitting to more crimes right there in the King's face. When you didn't answer, BamBam tapped your cheek to bring your attention back to him. "How much were you promised?"

"Um," you licked your lips and wished you had your weapon on you. That other knight looked jumpy. "One hundred thousand."

BamBam nodded as the curious look in his eyes morphed into something dangerous as the wheels in his head turned. "I'll triple that if you agree to be my bodyguard."

"Your Majesty!"

"That's insane!"

You gulped and he noticed seeing as his hands were still on your neck and cheek. Why hadn't he let go? Why was he still so close? "I don't think your men will let that fly."

"Your fate is not up to them. Clearly, I need more skilled fighters on my side if I'm to remain on the throne. And it wouldn't hurt to have such a deadly, beautiful woman at my side. So what do you say?"

[googleitlol]

Sooooooooo @rovobeam and I have been cooking up this lmk au we've been calling the False Hero AU. It spawned from the question of what would have happened if Macaque never died during his fight with Wukong. What if he had won and sealed Wukong away under his own mountain?

The answer: Wukong never gets to be happy :D

There's a few things we've talked about, ocs we have for the au, and so I thought I'd share a lil smth I wrote.

Rain soaked the ground and the crackles of thunder accompanied lightning that briefly illuminated the gorgeous mountainside. Without the storm’s vicious light, it’s beauty was cast in the shadow of night. It mattered not, even in the darkness, the ochre-furred simian knew where to go.

Sun Wukong breathed heavily as he marched up the trail to his home. He pulled at wisteria and moss that had buried itself into his head and stubbornly refused to unroot itself. Some of his own hair came out in the process, but he could care less at the moment. He could only remember one other time he had felt this restless concoction of energy and exhaustion.

He’d nearly given up hope that he would ever get out from under that painful burden. He’d gotten so used to the weight of his own mountain that when it suddenly lifted, he could hardly believe it. He had to destroy part of the mountain to free himself, sure, but the structure of the prison built into his own home didn’t concern him when it came to his freedom. Now, all he cared about was making it past the waterfall, seeing his people again– gods, how he missed the comforts of his home. The warmth of a fire, someplace to stay dry and out of the elements that clung to his hair and dripped to the muddy ground, the softness of a blanket that could comfort much more than the stone that encased his body, he had almost forgotten what they felt like. Once he was back in the security of his home beyond the waterfall, he could regain his strength and take care of the one who locked him away in the first place.

That traitor deserved more than what he did to his eye. The thought that Macaque would put him in the same prison the celestial realm did– he can feel his anger seething under his skin over the notion. It was lucky that his old friend-turned-enemy slipped up, why else would he be free now? Nevertheless, he’d finish what he started.

The world needs to know the Monkey King was back.

Wukong huffs slightly as he hikes up Flower Fruit Mountain, his tunnel vision fading as he noticed a small monkey further up the path. The sight of another made his face light up, how long had it been since he’d seen one of his subjects? Not an unseen bird mocking him with its song, nor a centipede crawling over his face– it was one of his own.

There’s more pep in his stride as he approaches the young monkey. He didn’t recognize her as one of his older monkeys he’d saved from mortality, but perhaps she was a young descendant. “Hey there, bud. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of you…”

The young monkey jumped once she saw him, and before he could get any closer, she was running up the closest tree to hide amongst the leaves. “…guys?” Wukong frowned, put off by her reaction. He wasn’t used to having his people run from him, but then again, he hadn’t recognized her. Maybe she didn’t recognize her king, it has been many years after all.

Unfortunately, the king’s confusion only grew the more of his subjects he came across. The further he pushed up the mountain, the more it happened. He had no clue what was wrong. Sure, he smells right now, he hadn’t had the opportunity to take a proper bath in forever! He can’t stink that bad, right? Actually, it felt better to believe it was his hygiene, why else would they all be avoiding him like this. Unless another demon king had decided to claim his land, or hunters were terrorizing his monkeys again, wouldn’t they all be overjoyed to see their king after so long?

When Wukong finally made it to Water-Curtain Cave, he expected to find it not all that different than when he’d left it, but that would be wishful thinking. Instead, what he found shook the sage to his core. If his immortalities didn’t keep his heart from giving out, it certainly would have as he studied the murals that defaced his home. They show himself and his friends– twisted versions of their adventures and events that hadn’t been there before when he last visited the cave.

His heart sunk as he stumbled further into the cave, leaving behind a trail of the water that had soaked him to the bone. The murals continued on the walls, his friends disappearing one by one until he became all that was left– they never finished the pilgrimage without him, they failed. He failed them.

Hot tears pricked his eyes, grief threatening to swallow Wukong whole. Not one of them made it. His brothers, his master… they were all gone. He couldn’t protect them. All that stood, with their blood on his hands, was a reflection of himself.

It made no sense! How could this have happened?! He’d been sealed away, why would he be in these murals with them? They couldn’t be real, it was all lies! What made them worse was how he was depicted in each one, each interpretation of him more demonic than the last. Some even showed himself in his monstrous three-headed form, destroying settlements and uprooting villages. Several questions drowned one another out in his mind, but one stayed afloat among the raging storm of confusion and heartache. What happened?!

Wukong pushed further into the cave, determined to find a semblance of an answer. Instead, he was only confronted with more questions by the house he finds where his stone palace once resided. The rain from the storm came down through the large opening above and tapped against the roof of the strange home. It looked nothing like the smaller houses of commoners who gathered in those human villages, but it wasn’t as large or elaborate as the palaces and grand estates of the wealthy he’d seen during his journey. Who the hell could have made this? Who could have settled here while he was gone?! The entrance was still protected, allowing only his monkeys and their king passage into his home.

Now with the possibility of another being inside, the sage approached the home with caution. He walked past the large stone that held bittersweet memories of himself and the person he thought he could trust, and entered the house without any trouble.

Inside the home was even more confusing than its exterior. Its decor appeared foreign to Sun Wukong, his years under his rocky home doing no favours in regards of understanding this new era of life. He had no clue what the reflective black screen on the wall to his left was, nor why so many cushioned seats and chairs were turned towards it. The small paintings behind glass that sat on the walls and various furniture in the halls were remarkably detailed, he’d never seen anything like them! It was as though the painter had trapped the very souls of their subjects on paper. The one room that he had any hint of recognition for was what looked to be a possible dojo. A rack of weapons lined one of its walls, strange mats laid on its centre with dummies sitting by another wall.

What took Wukong’s attention the most were the strangers in those paintings. He took note of a young man wearing a bandana, a woman with green in her hair often accompanying him. Some of the paintings portray them in what appears to be a kitchen with a chef that bore a painful resemblance to Zhu Bajie. In one picture, he saw the chef shouting at another that looked strikingly similar to his master. Another painting put these people on the seaside with another familiar face, one that looked too much like Wukong’s youngest brother, Sha Wujing.

The kid in the bandana appeared to be in most of the paintings Wukong saw, some showed him with another young man with white hair and purple eyes in what looked to be a strange indoor market. There were other paintings with a short curly haired woman wearing a brown jacket. With them was a young boy that bears resemblance to her, though he wore a shirt that matched the man with the bandana. They both wear a symbol on their shirt of a monkey with a wide smile, a scar adorning its right eye.

The longer he observed each of the paintings, the more his confusion and anger grew. Of all the people on those walls, only one made it clear who this house belonged to. The white-furred simian that locked him away appeared in a handful of the paintings, smiling and apparently playful with many of the strangers depicted with him. Seeing him laugh with these people made Wukong’s stomach twist painfully. Everything he saw, it all felt wrong, none of this was right!

“Welcome home, Bud.”

Wukong’s head snapped to the voice, down the end of the hallway he stood in. Making his way down the rest of the hallway led him to its owner, his jailor. In the middle of a gathering area, in a cushioned chair he sat on like a throne with his staff leaning against it, Macaque faced him with a lazy smirk. His elbow propped himself up against the chair’s armrest, his head resting in his hand with one leg crossed over the other. He no longer kept his fur dark, but his extra ears remained hidden. Despite that, the warrior didn’t bother hiding what Wukong had done to his eye. “You gave my subjects quite the scare with the mess you made when you broke out.”

“Your subjects?!” The sage hissed, barely able to hold back his anger. The sheer gall, did he have a death wish?! Those were his people!

Macaque didn’t seem all that phased by his hostility, and uncrossed his leg to stand, picking up his staff as he did. “Of course. This is my mountain, after all.”

“Like hell it is!” Wukong growled, his fist clenching as Macaque moved to circle him slowly.

“Look around for yourself.” He hummed, gesturing to the home he built over what once belonged to Wukong. He narrowed his eyes at the sage’s circlet as he spoke, a grin showing his canines. “You may be wearing your… crown… but Flower Fruit Mountain has been doing quite well for itself with its new Monkey King.”

That sent him over the edge. Red clouding over his vision, Wukong lunged at the demon he once shared his home with. Macaque was ready for the attack, blocking the sage’s fist with his staff. “Hohoho! A couple hundred years under another mountain didn’t calm you down at all, did it?” He laughed, pushing his attacker back before charging after him to strike.

The two sent each other flying with every collision, their strikes so swift no human eye would be able to process them. Between transformations of hawks and snakes, claws and jaws, they sent each other flying through walls and grappling on the ground before taking off into the sky through the opening above the cave.

Amidst the rainfall and strikes of lightning, Macaque pinned Sun Wukong against the muddy ground with his staff, the simian hissing a whisper through gritted teeth. “You should have stayed buried under the mountain.”

Wukong glared at the warrior, shouting out in a rage before kicking him off and jumping back to his feet. They continued to clash, their clones colliding with one another and vanishing before Wukong was able to throw Macaque to the ground. The light-furred simian looked up to see his other half hurtling down towards him and tried falling into a shadow-portal, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Sun Wukong grabbed him just before he could get away, lifting him into the air by his throat. His nails dug into his skin, allowing no room for breath. “To think I thought of sparing you then.” He snarled, his teeth fully bared and his glare burning hotter than the sun itself. “I should take your other eye–!”

Macaque’s eyes widened as Wukong raised his fist, but before he could land the hit, something cold and metallic swung into the sage’s side. He dropped the simian in surprise, the blow sending him flying. Wukong hit the ground with a thud, his ribs cried out in pain as he laid there, stunned. He let out a shout in pain once he managed to sit up, and when he managed to see whoever had come to Macaque’s aid, he froze.

“Are you okay, Monkey King?” It was the young man from the paintings, the one with the bandana. Wukong’s eyes went wide as he heard him, the kid reaching down to help the traitor up. A pit opened up in his stomach hearing someone call him that, it wasn’t Macaque's name– it was his!

The pit in his stomach grew wider as he saw that the kid wielded a staff– not just any, but his own. There were spikes encircling the ends now like Macaque’s own staff, but Wukong could recognize his own weapon. He’d wielded it in more battles he could count– it was unmistakably his own! How did this kid have the power to lift it? Who was he?!

Macaque coughed as the boy helped him rise to his feet, and he reached up to massage his throat before giving him a warm smile. “I’m alright, kid.” He reassured him before looking back to Wukong, the warmth his eyes held for the young man vanishing the second Wukong fell under his gaze.

The kid followed his line of sight before stepping forward. He shot Wukong an angered glare before readying his own staff against him. “Stay back!”

Wukong could hardly believe the sight before him. “What? No, no– this isn’t what it looks like, I’m not the bad guy here!”

“I know exactly who you are, Corrupt Sage.” He hissed, the name sending a pang through Wukong’s chest, his heart shattering. Gods, this was all wrong!

From behind the kid, he could see Macaque watching, the smug bastard stared him down with a grin. Thunder crackled through the sky as Wukong glared at his once sworn brother, his fist clenched so hard, his nails threatened to break skin. Outrage boiled in his veins, but there was nothing he could do with it. Even with his adrenaline racing, he felt beyond tired. Even if he could finish Macaque off in his current state, his little friend would get in the way and Wukong had no clue how powerful the kid really was. If he could lift his staff, he must be strong enough to pose a challenge.

Taking on the both of them could result in Wukong getting sealed away again, and he couldn’t depend on whatever dumb luck he had to free him from his rocky prison a second time. With a frustrated shout, the sage turned on his heel and leapt into the sky.

Everything had all become so wrong. Macaque had his story so twisted and mangled– is this how the world saw him? Those murals, the hate in that man’s eyes, even the fear on the faces of his monkey subjects! It made his skin crawl. How could the world forget who he really was? He had to fix this. Wukong refused to live in a world where nobody knew who Macaque really was, who he really was!

That monster took everything. His home, his people, his legacy– but Wukong was going to get it back.

[jaimexbrienne-fic-finder]

I would like to read more Braime fics in the style of "Brienne, Plain and Tall" of greenmtwoman (Historical AU with angst but much fluff and romantic smut too)✨✨✨

In Better Light by winterkill

Perhaps Cersei was right, and every ounce of sense and bravery Jaime possessed was lost with his hand. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor. He really said that to her? Brienne latched onto the sentiment like a hunting hound to the scent of its quarry. 

Before dawn, Jaime rises from his bed, wide awake and with a sense of renewed purpose.

I’m going to go with her.

Yearning by doomedchickyn

Try a Little Tenderness by dreadwulf

Found Wanting by dreadwulf

Brienne is still convinced that the entire affair is a joke on her. Surely there is a real bride somewhere in the castle, who will be brought out once the crowd has had a good laugh at the cow in a satin gown. When she said as much to her intended, he said it was surely a joke on them both. Let them laugh, he said. What’s funnier is that Queen Daenerys made the match in the first place – she must have thought them intolerable to one another. The Beauty and the Kingslayer. Surely Brienne could see the humor in it?

you who know what love is by cardinalgirl75

In order to secure his brother's happiness, Ser Jaime agrees to remarry someone his father deems suitable for a man of his station. His neighbor's spinster daughter, Lady Brienne, is not one of his options.

The Rancher and the Mail Order Bride by ShirleyAnn66

For two hundred years, Medietos, the fifth continent discovered west of the Sunset Sea, was used as the dumping ground for Westeros' unwanted prisoners. The desolate and unpopulated land was intended to be a death sentence...only some prisoners survived and thrived. Now they've gained their independence and need more women to help turn the fledgling country into a home.

Brienne Tarth can find no place or purpose in Westeros and no man to wed her. With a hostile stepmother and two young sisters to protect, she agrees to marry Ronnet Connington, sight unseen, in one last attempt to find a home. With equal parts hope and fear, she sets out for Brandywine Hill, a small settlement in the western plains of Medietos.

Jaime Lannister, transported at the age of 17 for killing Mad King Aerys, may have staked a claim in Brandywine Hill but he still yearns for the woman he loves and the life he left behind, and he's willing to move all seven heavens and all seven hells to return home.

...home isn't always what one expects.

Run Mad As Often As You Choose by brynnmck

Faced with the untimely death of her brother and the resulting threat of losing her guardianship of her wards, Sansa and Arya Stark, Lady Brienne Tarth determines that she has no choice but to dress and act as Galladon until such time as she can see Sansa safely married. Enter infamous rake Jaime Lannister, Lord Casterly, sent to secure Sansa's hand on behalf of the marquess Aerys Targaryen. It should be a most fortunate arrangement, except that much as Brienne's present is not all it seems, neither is Jaime's past, and--quite inconveniently for both--they find themselves wondering whether they might have a future together.

Or: five times Brienne refused Jaime's proposal, and one time she proposed to him. (And also she's wearing 19th-century men's fashion because of reasons and fuck the patriarchy.)

The Shooting Party by sea_spirit

Scotland, 1921. When Brienne finds out her father is bringing an unwelcome guest from her past to join a shooting party at Winterfell, Sansa suggests that she ask her friend Lord Jaime Lannister for his assistance. Part 1 of The Shooting Party verse

The Arrangement by tarthiana

Recently widowed, Lady Brienne Wagstaff does not have many options. Without an heir, she will be forced to give up her home and cannot protect the staff from her late husband's cruel cousin. Brienne enlists the help of her new rakish neighbor, Lord Jaime Lannister, to help secure her future and provide a Wagstaff heir.

Heat by goldstraw

Summer, 1956. An unexceptional town, somewhere in the middle of America.

“I saw a doctor.”

“Down a back-alley? You in trouble, or something?” He shifted again, hand resting on his hat, as if he was about to run. Unease flared in her stomach. He was definitely trouble with a capital T but she didn’t want another dead person on her conscience. “Let me see your arm.”

Updates every few days.

Under My Left Ribs by SeeThemFlying

He shone. He smirked.

He's despicable, Brienne would tell herself, just so she did not forget.

Despicable.

A Jaime/Brienne Jane Eyre AU.

[yoonkinii]

Echos of Desire

Pairing(s): Choso Kamo x Reader

FantasyAU!, Guardian!Choso, Royalty!Reader

Part 1

Synopsis: Choso is one of the few to possess abilities that transcend human limits. His family was taken away from him and he was given to serve the king. He was trained in nothing else but to kill and follow orders. He was a man made weapon. His name whispered in fear- the kingdom's boogeyman. He hates it though. Hates how his freedom was ripped from his hands. Hates how his ‘gift’ is more like a curse. He is offered a deal he can’t deny- transport the princess to safety in a neighboring kingdom. The only problem is, she’s the daughter of the man that took everything from him and she is being hunted down by unknown forces. 

-

Warning(s): character death, self loathe, burning alive, mentions of abuse, mention of death, blood. (if I am missing any. Please let me know)

Note(s): as I deal with college finals, I have not been able to write for my Sukuna AU. I felt bad and had the first part sitting in my files so I chose to share it. You will notice that in this story, there are mentions of abilities and skills that are in JJK but are changed to suit the story plot.

No one talks about how the stench of burning flesh can be so unnervingly similar to roasted meat. The thought alone churns Choso’s stomach as his face is ground into the dirt, his tear-blurred eyes forced open to witness his home devoured by flames. Every crackling ember, every surge of heat feels like an accusation. He doesn’t look away though, though the sight tears at his soul. He deserves this torment- it’s his fault.

He should have fled the moment the cursed mark marred his face, carving a jagged path across the bridge of his nose and spreading like a sinister brand. They warned him to leave, told him what would happen, but he stayed. Why? Because he was selfish. Because he clung to a fragile hope, a desperate dream that he could stay with his mother and brother a little longer. 

Now their screams haunt him, slicing through the crackling fire. The agony in their voices etches itself into his very being, a scar that will never heal. His fault. All his fault.  

The grip on his head tightens, rough fingers yanking his hair until he’s forced to look up. Through the haze of pain and tears, Choso meets the gaze of the man who orchestrated his ruin, the king’s general, Lu. 

Lu is a vision of ruthless efficiency, his reputation as blood-soaked as the battlefield itself. His silver eyes, cold and unnatural, pierce through Choso like a blade. His grizzled features speak of age, but nothing about him suggests weakness. Even the streaks of gray in his slicked -back hair only add to the aura of relenting brutality. The deadliest man in the realm, staring down at him like a predator savoring its prey. 

Choso meets the general’s eyes, unable to stop his quivering lips and the sobs that shakes his shoulders. The general tuts his lips, suddenly releasing Choso. Choso falls limply into the dirt, curling in on himself as he cries and cries. He cries until it hurts, until the general says something to another and walks away, until he dry heaves out cries, until the flames die down and all that remains is the ash in the air. 

Choso’s lips tremble as sobs wrack his body. He can’t stop them, no matter how much he wishes to. The general clicks his tongue in disdain before abruptly letting go, letting Choso crumple to the ground like a discarded rag. 

Curled into himself, Choso cries until his chest burns, until his voice is reduced to raw, aching gasps. He cries as the general mutters orders to someone unseen and strides away, as the inferno that consumed his life finally dies down, leaving nothing but as and ruin in its wake. 

“Come on, kid.”

The voice, female and startling gentle, cuts through the oppressive silence. Choso’s bloodshot eyes flutter open, squirting against the harsh brilliance of the rising sun. 

Before him stood a woman whose weather face seemed to carry the weight of a thousand stores. Her sharp brown eyes, set beneath furrowed brows, scrutinized Choso with an intensity that made him feel as if she could see through to his very soul. Her tan skin, toughened by years of hardship and streaked with crisscrossing scars on her face and knuckles, was framed by well-worn leather armor. Her dark, untamed hair was tied back at the nape of her neck, though rebellious strands curled free, softening her otherwise severe appearance. 

“You’ve cried enough. It won’t bring them back. All you can do now is move forward,” she said, her voice roughened by years of barking commands and enduring countless battles. It carried a measured tone, steady as a ship braving stormy seas. Though she appeared to be the same age as his mother, her demeanor was anything but nurturing - her presence was as unyielding as iron. 

“Follow.”

She didn’t glance back to see if he obeyed, confident that he would. Her boots crunched against the dirt path as she strode toward the dense forest ahead. The sound of Choso stumbling to his feet confirmed her certainty. Without protest, he trailed behind, his tattered clothing clinging to his thin frame, his bare feet scraping against the rough ground - another mark of this abrupt, harrowing awakening that murdered his family. 

For a while, the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the distant melody of early morning birds. Then Choso broke the silence, his voice barely rising above a whisper. 

“Who are you? Where are we going?

She didn’t pause or turn, but her keen ears caught the words. “My friends call me Shara, but you will call me ‘ma’am’. We’re going to a palace that will shape you into what you were meant to become.”

Her answered stirred unease in Choso, but he hesitated to press further. Something about her presence made him reluctant to question her. Still, curiosity gnawed at him, and after a few moments, he couldn’t stop the strained words from slipping out. 

“What am I?”

His voice trembled, raw from the grief and cries that had hollowed him out. 

Shara finally glanced over her shoulder, her scarred face unreadable. “A weapon.”

“Are you listening, Kid?”

“I’m always listening ma’am,” Choso replied, his voice steady but low. 

Shara scoffed, leaning back into the creaking wooden seat of the carriage. Choso shifted uncomfortably. It was his first time riding in one, and the enclosed space made him uneasy. He couldn’t keep an eye on his surroundings or listen for the out-of-place sounds that might signal danger. 

“Sure you are,” Shara mused, her tone laced with skepticism. She was more than just his mentor - she was the one who had taken him in after the fire razed his life to ash when he was ten. Albeit, she was most likely instructed to take him in. Thirteen years had passed since then, but the scars of that night still clung to him like a second skin. They didn’t fade; they lingered, shadowing him in waking hours and haunting him in dreams. 

Most nights, he woke drenched in sweat, the bitter taste of ask still fresh on his tongue. On the nights he didn’t sleep, he trained relentlessly - pushing his body to exhaustion, carving discipline into his muscles until it became second nature. Until it felt as permanent as the sins etched onto his soul. 

“Repeat what I just said,” Shara commanded, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. 

Choso tore his gaze from the window and met her unyielding stare. She hadn’t changed much over the years. Her gaze was as sharp as the day he’d first seen her, her voice as firm and unwavering. The only visible differences were the silver streaks threading through her dark hair and the faint lines creasing her weathered face. 

“I am to escort the princess to the kingdom of Vatish via a route prepared by the king’s advisors,” Choso recited with precision. “Upon delivering her safely, my services to the crown will be terminated - permanently.” 

“You understand what that means?” Shara’s eyes narrowed, her finger tapping rhythmically against her bicep as she studied him. 

“It means after this, I’ll no longer be bound to the crown,” he replied, his voice calm but weighted with finality.

She hummed softly, a sound of approval as she nodded. “Do you accept?” 

“Did I ever have a choice?”

“Good.”

The carriage fell into silence once more. Choso turned his attention back to the window, watching the tree blur past in a haze of green and brown. He supposed he should relax, maybe even enjoy the ride - but he couldn’t, years of relentless training had hardened him beyond comfort. His body, forged into a weapon, was always tense, always braced for battle. Relaxation was a luxury he no longer remembered how to afford. 

“Didn’t I tell you to cut your hair?” Shara’s voice sliced through the quiet like a blade. 

“I did,” he replied, not bothering to look away from the passing landscape. 

“Oh, really? What’d you cut  it with? Your teeth? It’s still long?”

Absentmindedly, Choso’s fingers drifted to his hair. The black locks fell to his nape, and a few rebellious strands often slipped into his vision. He couldn’t deny it got in the way sometimes, but the thought of cutting it shorter rarely crossed his mind. 

“It grew,” he muttered.

Shara’s laughter rolled through the carriage, deep and loud, like a crash of distant thunder. When it subsided, she let out a sigh and leaned slightly to peer out the same window as Choso. 

“You’re lucky the king is merciful enough not to kill you for looking like some wild animal.”

“Truly merciful,” Choso replied without thinking, his tone dripping with sarcasm. A scornful look twisted his face as the words left his lips.

The carriage slowed to a halt before a sweeping staircase of polished stone, flanked by guards who stood like statues, their gazes as sharp as their weapons. Choso felt the weight of their eyes, trained and unyielding, tracking his every move as he stepped out. His black fighting leathers, thick enough to ward off the biting wind yet supple enough not to hinder his movement, creaked softled with the effort. It was a rare sight to see him in anything else, even during the fleeting moments when he attempted to sleep.  

The hair on Choso's neck stood on end at the eyes trailing after him. One glance casted at Shara showed that she was not bothered by the eyes, if she was then she didn’t show. Shara and Choso were met with a castle attendant, a wordless exchange happening between his mentor and the attendant before they were led through the castle.  

The hair on the back of his neck prickled under the scrutiny. A quick glance at Shara revealed her usual calm demeanor, unshaken by the piercing stares. If she felt the tension, she gave no indication. Without a word, a castle attendant approached, exchanging a subtle nod with Shara before motioning for them to follow. 

As they were led into the castle, Choso’s gaze flitted restlessly. He cataloged everything - the twists and turns of the corridors, the placement of each window, the number of doors lining the walls. Years ago, such a task would have overwhelmed him, but not it was instinctual, each detail committed to memory with ease. 

The castle’s interior was stark yet imposing. Ornate stone walls rose on either side, their austerity broken only by the blood-red carpets that stretched across the floor. THe absence of frivolous decor gave the space an air of cold efficiency, every inch designed to intimidate rather than comfort. 

Ahead, two massive, intricately carved wooden doors creaked open by guards, revealing the castle’s main hall. Choso’s footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone floor as his eyes took in the towering stone walls, adorned with heavy tapestries. Each one depicted the kingdom’s bloody history - scenes of conquest, kneeling enemies, and wars won through sheer brutality.  He looked away, the oppressive imagery stirring unease in his chest. 

The soaring ceiling drew his gaze upward, a masterpiece of vaulted arches painted with frescoes. Even here, the scenes spoke of violence: victorious kings, battlefields littered with the fallen, and rivers of crimson streaking the skies. Shafts of golden light poured in through high, arched windows, softening the grim narrative etched into the hall.

At the far end, a dais of white marble steps elevated the throne - a striking symbol of the kingdom’s might. Forged of deep mahogany, the throne’s high back was carved with the kingdom’s crests, its armrest shaped into snarling lions frozen mid-roar. The maroon velvet cushioning glinted faintly in the light, as though even the throne itself basked in authority. 

A crimson carpet with golden thread stretched the length of the hall, guiding the eye to the footsteps of the foot of the throne. Guards stood rigid along the walls, their halberds gripped so tightly their knuckles shone white. The air was thick with tension, a palpable miz of nerves and uncertainty as Shara and Choso took their place before the throne. 

The heavy silence deepened as another set of guards entered the room. Unlike those stationed along the walls, these men moved with a hardened precision that sent a chill through Choso’s veins. Their faces, lined and unyielding, spoke of brutal training and unrelenting discipline. THey took their places, three on either side of the throne, their presence amplifying the oppressive atmosphere. 

Choso’s stomach churned as he watched the man he despised most stride into the room. 

As the king entered, a profound silence blanketed the room. The air grew heavy, suffused with the weight of authority and history, as though the stones themselves acknowledge his power. Each of his measured steps reverberated through the vast chamber, a reminder of dominance etched into every corner. Ascending the dais with unhurried grace, the king seated himself on the throne, and the room seemed to collectively hold its breath, awaiting his command.

But it was not the king who spoke first. 

Shara, ever swift, dropped to one knee, her movement fluid and precise. Choso followed a heartbeat later, lowering his head as her voice rang out with unwavering conviction.

“All praise the mighty sun of the kingdom.” 

The guards responded in perfect synchronization, slamming the butts of their halberds against the marble floor. The sharp, rhythmic sound echoed twice, its force reverberating  through Choso’s chest. They froze in that posture, returning to their statue-like stance. 

Each passing second gnawed at Choso, his chest tightening with suppressed annoyance. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply, Shara’s lessons repeating like a mantra in his mind: Diminish it. Emotions are humanity’s worst weakness. You do not feel. You are not human.

He wasn’t human- not anymore. He was a tool, forged for the kingdom’s will, his humanity burned away alongside his home, his family, and his hope. 

“You may rise,” the king’s voice finally broke the silence, deep, and commanding. 

Choso and Shara stood, Shara’s posture unwavering, while Choso’s eyes shifted to the man seated on the throne. His lips pressed into a thin line as he studied the king. The monarch’s lips curved into a knowing smile, faint wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, a picture of composed authority. 

“It’s good to see you, Shara. You’ve been away for quite some time,” the king said, his tone smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of power.

Shara inclined her head, her voice noticeably softer than the one she reserved for her scolding of Choso. “Indeed, my king. Training your soldiers is no small task.”

Soldiers. The word grated against Choso’s nerves, though he willed himself to remain motionless. Not people, not citizens - just soldiers. Children torn from their families, molded into weapons through the harsh hands of death and submission. His jaw tightened, but his gaze remained fixed on the wall behind the king, a single act of restraint in a room heavy with unspoken tension. 

Then, something white caught his attention. 

Standing beside the king was a figure, still as stone but  coiled like a predator ready to strike. Arms rested at his sides, but his posture betrayed his readiness. What struck Choso most were the bandages covering the man’s eyes, pristine and stark against his skin. Choso felt his brow furrow, confusion threading through his thoughts. Why was he blindfolded? How could a man seemingly devoid of sight carry such as air of awareness?

The figure’s lips curved into a smirk, almost as if he could sense - no, see - Choso’s inquisitive gaze. Embarrassed by his own curiosity. Choso quickly averted his eyes, fixing them once more on the wall, though the image of the smirking man lingered in his mind. 

The king hums at Shara’s response, a casual nod indicating her answer sufficed - for now. Choso’s stomach tightened as the monarch’s sharp gaze shifted to him, scrutinizing every inch as though peeling back his lawyers for weakness or deceit. A single wave of the king’s hand broke the tension. 

“This is him? Your best soldier?”

“Yes, my king,” Shara replied confidently, her hand settling on Choso’s shoulder like a claim of ownership. “His drive is unmatched. His skills surpass even my most seasoned warriors.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, probing Choso for signs of falsehood in Shara’s words. The room hung in silence until a faint smile tugged at the corner of the king’s mouth, more a predator’s curl than an expression of approval. 

“That so?” he drawled. “Do tell - what is his gift?”

Choso exchanged a brief glance with Shara. Her silent nod was the only encouragement he needed before she stepped back, relinquishing the stage. Without a word, Choso moved with practiced ease, his hand darting to his forearm to unsheathe a dagger hidden within his leather sleeve. 

The blade was slender, unassuming, crafted for precision rather than carnage. Its edge glinted under the light as Choso drew it across his palm. A sharp sting bloomed, but he didn’t flinch. The first dorp of crimson appeared, and with it, a subtle shift began. 

The mark on his face - a single line running across the bridge of his nose - morphed, elongating and multiplying. Two lines extended from his brows, curving down to the corners of his mouth, their pointed tips adding an air of menace. The original line grew thinner and sharper, dividing his features like an ominous sigil. 

All eyes in the room fixed on the blood pooling in his palm. Yet, before it could drip to the floor, it stopped, hovering midair as if caught by invisible threads. With a flick of his wrist, the liquid twisted and contorted, bubbling before stretching into a blade of solid crimson. 

The weapon shifted again, reshaping into a halberd, its deadly edges gleaming. The halberd dissolved, reforming as an arrow, then fractured into countless droplets that spiraled upwards like a violent rainstorm suspended in time. The blood hovered, then shifted once more, transforming into countless razor-sharp needles. 

Without hesitation, Choso releases them.

The room tensed as the needles descended, slicing through the air with lethal precision - only to dissipate a hair’s breadth from the onlookers. The blood lost its form, splattering harmlessly onto the marble floor in crimson pools. Despite the harmless finale, unease rippled through the guards. They shifted on their feet, knuckles whitening in their weapons. 

The king leaned forward slightly, his grin widening. He regarded Choso as though he were a rare and fascinating beast, the amusement in his expression tainted by something darker. Choso finally met the gaze of the man who had unraveled his life, and for a fleeting moment during his display, he considered letting the blades find their mark. Just for a moment. 

But that feeling passed, and the blood was reduced to harmless stains on the polished floor. 

From the corner of his eye, Choso caught the smirk of the white-haired figure standing near the throne. Though his eyes were obscured by pristine bandages, the man’s grin felt as though it pierced directly through Choso’s defenses. Choso forced himself to look away, his gaze landing on Shara. 

Her expression was not one of pride in him, but her creation - a jewel she had honed, shaped, and perfected. 

“My, my,” the king mused, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He clapped slowly, the sound echoing mockingly in the chamber. “Where has someone like you been hiding all this time? And how considerate of you not to paint the room red - it would’ve been…unfortunate for you.”

The threat was as clear as the gleam in his cold eyes. Choso stiffened but said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line as the king’s attention shifted back to Shara, who now stood proudly at his side, her posture rigid and expectant. 

“He’s perfect.”

-

Taglist: (open)