#elsian | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phyx-m · 14 days ago

Text

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 28: Fingertips To Flesh

Content warning: Violence, murder, vomiting, blood, angst, light body horror (?).

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Slow Decline - Elsiane We Are Shadows - Kittie Changelings - Gazelle Twins

* * * * *

Chapter 27 | Chapter 29

* * * * *

Your ability has always come with its flaws. It’s not just that you hate using it or the sick aftermath it leaves behind, but that it requires closeness—skin-to-skin contact, your fingertips pressed against something alive—for it to work.

It’s a disturbingly intimate way to kill.

And now, it seems, you may have no choice but to use it once more.

Each sedate step the armed Kasai takes toward you sends your mind spiralling for a plan—a way to slip past him, find your father, and end this before he flees.

But because of the cool weather, the approaching figure is well-covered, leaving only his hands, neck, and face exposed. You’ll need to close the distance without arousing suspicion and without giving him the chance to draw his weapon.

Charming him is out of the question—you’re sopping wet in blood, garment-tattered. You’re certain pieces of someone’s skin are tangled in your hair from your husband’s brutality. So, playing the damsel is your only option. You just hope Sukuna was being an ass when he said you’re a terrible liar—because you’re going to need one hell of a performance.

Sweat licking its way down your palms, you’re surprised when your gloves peel away smoothly. You tuck them into the back of your obi before letting your shoulders fall inward. With the man already halfway down the empty corridor, you take a breath.

Inhale.

At least being a woman, you can lean into everyone’s perceived helplessness of you.

Exhale.

“Please!” You stumble forward, pitching your voice higher to sound desperate. “You have to help me! The King of Curses, he’s—he’s killing everyone down in the main hall.” A hitch in your breath. A glance over your shoulder. "He’ll come for me next."

The smile on the man’s face reams up into a sneer, and he stops walking to take you in. His eyes carefully drag to your bare feet and then to the tattered hem of your garment before he laughs.

“And his wife, barefoot and blood-soaked, escapes without so much as a scratch on her skin? You must think I’m stupid?” He cocks an eyebrow before he continues walking, that one hand on the hilt of his weapon tightening.

Your mouth dries out.

Shit.

Not the reaction you’d hoped for.

Stay calm. Keep going.

You take another staggering step and raise a hand to touch your chest to appear docile. Not a threat.

“I—”

Below, in your lowered vision, you catch on your fingers. Discoloured veins creeping from the fingertips to the knuckles just like they were last night in the rocky overhang. But you shove the worry aside, hoping the blood smeared all over you hides the unnatural hue.

Another step forward.

“I admit, I was lucky to escape,” you say, forcing a pathetic wobble into the words. “But I’m afraid for my life. He’ll come for me.”

Hopefully not.

“Please.”

Two more steps.

Closer.

Another.

You stop just within range—close enough that he could unsheathe and strike with his katana if he wanted to.

Then, suddenly, you can’t think.

Soft vibrations, followed by stronger tremors, roll along the floor and travel into the soles of your feet. There’s a surge of dark energy, his energy, a distant swell and then a dull boom that makes your whole body shudder.

For a moment, feeling it even this far away gives you comfort but is quickly chased down by a searing ache inside your chest.

When did it start to feel this way? This longing. It hurts. Too much.

Forget him.

Clinging to what could have been will only bring heartache. This is the right choice. Leaving Sukuna was the right choice. Because beyond this cage, these shitty walls, and his shrine is liberation and a life with your sister. Her promise to take care of you—something you’ve had little of and yearned for.

You cut your eyes to your shoulder as strong, unwelcoming fingers grasp around their curve, and the distant sounds of fighting are swallowed into the background.

“Fine. This way,” the Kasai grunts, his hand leaving his weapon only to drag you back down the corridor from where you came from. Not what you wanted.

“Shouldn’t we be going the other way?” You bite down on your tongue when your voice doesn’t sound as fragile as it should.

His eyes dart down to your face, letting them wander before his grip turns choking, making you wince.

“You’re safe with me,” he smirks, teeth and gums flashing while he drags you along.

Liar.

You get the feeling you’re not, and at this angle, your reach is off, no skin to tamper with.

Mind scrambling for a new plan. You remember your blade hidden inside your obi. If you can stab him, there’s a chance you can get away without needing to use your gift.

Maintaining pace with his long strides, you discreetly shift your hand to your sash, angling the sheath just enough to grant you better access while keeping it out of his line of sight. Your fingers slip inside, brushing over the hilt. Feeling the engraved markings, you steady yourself. Slowly, carefully, you begin to slide it free.

The man’s gaze remains fixed ahead, though his eyes flick to the side whenever the walls creak and groan under the constant rising pressure of Sukuna’s energy.

He’s distracted.

Now’s your chance.

Do what needs to be done.

Blade in hand, jaw set, you swing the weapon toward his abdomen and lunge.

The metal punches in. It disappears into fabric, through flesh, and sinks deep between the bones of his rib cage until the hilt meets resistance. Blood coaxes over your hand, and more splashes free when he frantically turns, releasing your shoulder and accidentally tearing open the wound.

“What the fuck?!” The man’s shriek contains such fury it feels like it punctures your skull.

Yanking the tantō free, you step back on trembling feet, pivot, and run in the opposite direction.

“You traitorous little bitch!” he roars from behind, voice rattling along the corridor. “Get back here!”

You don’t look back. You can’t. You keep running.

The blaze inside the floor lanterns dance and bend as you race past, your arms pumping wildly, breath tripping into the next.

You’re fine. Keep going.

Plunging down the vacant passage and nearing the corner, you’re nearly at the turn when another armed Kasai steps into your path.

Shit.

His brow furrows softly as he sees you coming, his eyes scanning your dishevelled form, landing on the bloody blade clutched in your palm. You realize he looks younger but bears a resemblance to the man you just stabbed.

“What’s happen—”

“Please!” you interrupt, stopping in front of him. You lower your weapon in a placating manner, though the tremble in your fingers is real. “You have to help me! The King of Cur—”

“Brother! Don’t listen to her!” Staggering footsteps thud close behind. “The lying cunt just stuck a blade in me!”

Your attention shoots to the younger man, eyes catching on his face as it flips through a wave of emotions—sympathy, regret, apathy… anger.

Anger.

A sibling’s anger. Lots of it.

You understand it too well.

A need to protect.

Before you can react, he moves, and his fist crashes into the side of your face.

You let out a cry of pain as firm knuckles crack into your cheekbone with enough force to send black spots spilling into your vision.

With a strangled cough, your hand slips, and you drop the blade to the floor, the clattering of it mingling with your gasping breaths.

“Don’t drop your weapon. It’s your lifeline. Without it, you have nothing—you’re dead.”

Uraume’s words tiptoe into your mind.

Agony pushes through your face as you drop low, crouching and blindly groping for the hilt.

But before you can grab it, his foot connects, kicking it out of reach.

The metallic rasp of a katana being drawn follows, cutting into the air. Then, the creaking of the floor as he shifts into a killing stance.

You tilt your head back, looking up at him.

But his hands tremble, hesitating—like yours once did with Sayuri.

This is your chance.

Do it.

Now.

You have to. You need to. Because if you don’t, you’ll die here.

It’s either you or him.

Him or me.

No.

What did she say?

Everyone.

You roll your eyes forcefully upward and reach inward, clawing for the power you despise. It feels distant, like trying to grasp something buried in thick mud.

So much untapped potential lodged so deep within you.

But then, your grip catches. You pull it closer, feeling energy hum at your fingertips.

A dull recognition crosses the man’s face, and he starts to bring down the weapon.

Do it!

In a burst of speed, you dive forward, fingertips targeting the soft, exposed flesh at his throat where the panels of his kimono overlap.

The world shrinks to a single point.

Somewhere in the background, the injured brother shouts a warning, but it barely registers. For once, everything has gone so perfectly quiet inside your mind. All that matters is your hand stretching, reaching closer.

Closer.

Closer…

Then, contact.

All that raw, solitary power, and it’s yours.

The weapon’s descent halts.

The man freezes, standing so still, it feels as if the world has paused. He blinks down at you, your bodies close, both locked in place.

Your eyes meet.

His face crumples in confusion.

“I’m sorry…” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

And finally, you release it.

There’s a pulse. Skin ripples. You pull back.

His katana clatters to the floor, and his hands tremble before clawing desperately at the spot you touched.

But it’s too late.

The skin darkens, turning mottled grey from the point of contact, spreading like an old stain.

He falls, knees buckling into the floor.

You know what’s happening below the surface—his insides rebelling, twisting, succumbing to rot. The stench of it already chokes the air sour.

His body starts to bloat as swollen innards fight to break free. You step back, your stomach rioting, fully aware of what’s about to happen.

The worst part of it.

The sick part of it.

The rotten part of it.

Something cracks inside. Bones. He screams. Loud and frightened.

At that moment, you think of your mother.

Shame crashes into you, and you turn your head away at the last second. The sound giving you a vivid image of his body rupturing, fluids spilling onto the floor. A hiss of air and the horrible warmth trickling into the passage tell you the body has torn open.

Breath held, it falls silent—until you hear the other brother’s wet, howling cry.

You turn to face him and see everything. His hurt, his agony, the anguish of what you’ve done.

What I did.

His expression grows darker, and tears brighten his eyes, but they don’t fall.

“You fucking witch!” Snarling and spitting, he turns his gaze from his sibling’s broken carcass to you.

He advances, teeth bared, and you scramble backward.

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

His weapon is out, and he’s on you immediately, the blade arching down toward the floor.

You dodge, only saved by the stab wound you inflicted earlier. It slows him, making his movements sluggish. As he pulls back the katana, it takes him a moment to recover—but a moment is all you need.

Stepping close, you slip your palm up, cupping his face.

It really is a disturbingly intimate way to kill.

And this time, as you watch the slow, putrid decay trace across his features, your lips shape the word “sorry,” but no further apology comes.

* * * * *

Out in the garden, the cool night air touches the warm sweat and dried blood clinging to your body, the sticky stench of rot still lingering in your nostrils. For a moment, there’s relief—but it doesn’t last.

Where the hell are you?

Heart pounding, you sprint down the stony path, your weapon tucked back into your obi, gloves still stripped off.

There’s no sign of him—your slinking, cowardly bastard of a father. Nowhere to be seen on the compound grounds. The passage you took should have cut him off unless he’s already reached the stables. But he couldn’t be that fast.

Unless…

You stop.

Unless you’re hiding.

Just as you once did when you were younger, hiding whenever he came for you. But why would he hide now? Unless he’s afraid. Afraid of what you’ve unleashed upon this place. Or perhaps he’s running from something deeper—his own regrets. Regrets over how he’s treated you, your sister, and even your mother, like nothing more than cattle.

You hope he’s hiding. There’s something satisfyingly sweet about that idea.

A breeze rolls over you. You look up. Let your eyes sweep across the area, scanning the mounds of shrubs. Their squat, plump forms make it easy to hide against the darkness.

You take a step forward, bare feet tapping against stone.

But you pause when you hear it coming from behind—footsteps.

Rushing. Urgent.

They melt into the ongoing fight at your back, the rolling booms of explosive energy.

You turn, but it’s too late.

A sharp blow lands on the back of your head. The ground rushes up to meet you. Your hands claw frantically at the air, grasping for something but finding nothing.

Knees slamming into the rigid path, pain shoots through your legs. You try to get up, but before you can react, a kick to your stomach folds you inward. The cold, hard ground presses to your cheek.

“This feels familiar,” a voice drawls from behind.

Groaning and clutching at your abdomen, you watch a pair of feet step into view. A tongue clicks, drawing your gaze upward to meet your father’s hollow-faced scowl.

“Don’t be so dramatic. You should be used to this by now,” he says, circling you like a vulture. “Now get up.”

Feeling the blood drain from your face, you force yourself forward, but his foot slams into your side, punching a second breath from your lungs.

“I said get up, girl!” he shouts. “No one’s here to protect you now.”

He’s right. There’s nothing between you, no one standing at your side. There never really had been—until recently.

Sick with rage, you slowly push yourself to your feet, and something flashes sharp from the corner of your eye. Righting your balance, you see him and the tachi he wields—a sword designed for combat on horseback. It’s long and curved in its reach. Perfect to keep you and your fingertips at a distance. A spineless tactic.

Slipping your hand into your obi, it closes around the sheath, and with a quick motion, you draw your tantō free and point it at him.

His lip curls back, nose wrinkling with disdain as his eyes flick to the smaller weapon.

“Did the creature truly teach you how to wield a blade?” he laughs as if the sight of you armed is the most absurd thing he’s seen all day.

“No.” You swipe away some blood caked to your upper lip. “Uraume did. And they’ve been more of a guardian to me these last two months than you’ve ever been!”

It’s something you’ve never considered until this moment, and regrettably, you’ll never have the chance to thank them. There’s also the realization that you’ll never see Ren again, either. But for now, you shove that all aside.

Focus.

Footwear scuffing along the path, your father widens his stance, keeping his presence guarded and watchful.

“Hmm, a pity neither of them knew about that.” His gaze drops to your shaking hands, the colour staining them. “It might have been something to see them try to teach you discipline—what you could’ve been if you weren’t so shamefully usele—”

Stupid. Useless girl.

“Shut up!” The words emerge as a snarl, your mouth tightening in anger. “I don’t know why I haven’t done it, but I should have killed you years ago.”

There’s a beat of silence before he bursts into heavy laughter.

“I know why!” he chuckles, alighting his free hand to his temple. “There’s no clarity up here for you.” He pauses, and he smiles. “The answer sits right in front of you. It’s been sitting with you for twenty-five long years.”

What?

Nothing he says makes sense. Nothing.

It’s all nonsense. Gibberish.

Sneering, he continues to laugh.

And he doesn’t stop laughing.

You need him to stop laughing.

Need him to stop breathing.

You want him gone.

Everyone. Gone.

Just like she said.

“But you’re too broken and naive to understand,” he adds after calming himself. “Too desperate for scraps of affection to see the truth.”

“Desperate?” You take a long step forward, the broken edges of your kimono swaying with the movement.

Your father’s eyes narrow, the grip on his weapon shifting defensively.

“I’m glad I was desperate enough to witness the downfall of this clan. Everything you’ve built, all the power you’ve fatted on, is about to be taken in one single, glorious, fucking night.”

You let the words settle, let them crash and reform as you watch his face turn rigid.

“And it’s all because of me,” you add, mouth twitching into a smile that doesn’t fully settle.

He stares at you, his eyes betraying uncertainty for the first time, as though he doesn’t recognize the person standing before him—neither his daughter nor his victim.

Good.

You didn’t want to be either. You want to be your own person—not something your father can twist into a means to an end.

Your own fucking person.

Free to be greedy. Selfish.

To want things you’ve never allowed yourself to want.

And god, you think, you knew what that was.

Through slitted eyes, you watch him carefully.

Waiting.

The corner of his mouth curves. The veins in his neck bulge. His fingers loosen briefly on the hilt of his weapon, only to tighten again.

Then, with a sudden burst of motion, he uncoils, charging straight for you.

You lift your weapon in preparation.

Your father might be older, but his experience shows. He’s lived through battles, he knows how to fight. You are running on reckless adrenaline. And your blade is no match for his reach.

But all you need is one touch.

Which leaves you only one choice.

Pulling back your arm, you aim, and you throw. The tantō spins through the air, curving as it tumbles toward him. And while it flies, you run.

You should be thinking—recalling everything Uraume taught you about footwork and intent. But you’re angry. So fucking angry. And in your rage, you’re almost mindless.

Distracted by the incoming projectile, he swats it aside. The weapon clatters to the ground, the sound bouncing off the stones.

It’s enough.

In the next instant, you slip past his guard, lunging for the exposed skin of his wrist where his sleeve has rolled up.

Terror flashes across his face as your fingers make contact, his weapon too long to angle back in time.

Do what needs to be done!

You heave, and you pull all your power into you, feeling its scurrying energy at your fingertips. Pulse quickening, you prepare to end him, to watch the life drain from his eyes as you release it.

And you do.

And you wait.

Ready.

But nothing happens.

No rippling flesh. No rot. No torn body. No satisfying end.

You glance down.

Panic stiffens you.

The discolouration of your hands is gone. But that shouldn’t matter—it should have worked. Why didn’t it work?

You press harder, frantically digging your fingers into his skin, pushing so forcefully the flesh indents and puckers.

A little more.

Nothing.

Please. Please?

Still, nothing.

You look up and find furious eyes looking back at yours. Furious eyes you’ve seen looking back too many times.

A snarl explodes from your father’s throat as his knee drives into your stomach, sending you sprawling backward. Your feet catch on the uneven path, and the next thing you know, you’re on your backside, blinking up at the inky night sky.

He steps forward, his outstretched shadow falling over you.

“You think by sicking that thing on us, you can destroy everything I’ve built?” he hisses, flicking the blade tip across the top of your left hand to draw blood. “Enlighten me, girl, what part of yourself did you give to him in return?”

The blade flicks again. You hiss at the bite of metal cutting through flesh. Watching him carve a wider, deeper trench from your wrist to elbow.

“It doesn’t matter what I gave him,” you spit, your eyes wandering to where your tantō lies paces away.

Not close enough.

Your eyes wander back.

Another swipe.

More blood trickles down, soaking into the fabric of your kimono sleeve.

“Ryomen Sukuna does what he wants,” you breathe, trying not to move while the monouchi glides to coax out more red. “He always has, and he always will.”

As exhausting as that is.

But he is untamable.

A force. A menace. A monste—

A pressure prods against your skin. A pressure that is familiar. A pressure that feels as if it’s searching and looking for something.

“... and besides,” you continue, ignoring Sukuna’s aura, even when it’s strong enough to lift every hair on your body. “What I give to my husband is none of your fucking busi—”

That tendril of energy suddenly bursts, shattering your sentence.

Your head turns. Your father’s does as well.

Gaze sweeping toward the compound, you focus on the distant main hall at the estate’s center.

From deep inside, energy gathers, pulling inward, tighter and tighter—

And then it snaps.

Every part of you freezes.

For one heartbeat, silence, save for the distant sounds of screaming.

The air feels thin, suffocating under the King of Curses’ hold.

The earth trembles.

And then…

...

BOOOM!

A detonation of raw energy erupts.

The force spirals upward into a towering column before expanding outward in an uncontrollable wave.

Unseen slashes tear through the air, eviscerating everything—the compound, trees, rocks, wildlife, everyone still inside.

It’s both mesmerizing and horrifying to witness.

You can’t look away.

The shockwave rolls forward. Rubble shoots skyward, curling and tumbling like an angry plume before raining down.

There’s no time to shield yourself as the aftershock bursts past, slamming against your body, throwing your hair back, and peppering your skin with sharp, stinging debris. Dust fills your lungs, carrying with it the faint taste of blood.

Squinting your eyes, you realize that it isn’t stopping. It keeps coming and coming, devouring and pushing forward faster and faster.

Fear spears through you as you brace yourself to be torn into tiny pieces.

But then, all at once, it stops—just shy of your bare feet, your toes nearly severed.

The barrage settles, the power flickering and fading into a sudden, deafening silence.

You blink.

A shaky exhale escapes you as your eyes take in the destruction—the massive crater where the estate once stood.

The corner of your mouth pulls up.

The other fight has been decided.

No one can survive that. Not anyone but one.

You keep looking, but not for long.

Quickly, you pull away.

With your father distracted and gaping at the devastation, you throw yourself across the ground toward your weapon.

Reaching, you grab it and whirl.

In a blink, you surge forward, driving the blade deep into the muscles of his thigh.

He lets out a pained grunt as his legs buckle, his body collapsing into a tangle of exhausted limbs.

Teeth bared, he struggles to push himself up, but you don’t let him.

With a burst of strength, you lunge at him. Your injured hand grabs his wrist, pinning his weapon hand to the ground.

Another surge, and you’re face-to-face, the tip of your blade pressing into the hollow of his throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

Your breath catches.

Then you freeze.

And you look.

And the face staring back is your father’s.

His eyes meet yours, frail and tired-looking.

You both remain like this.

Quiet. Waiting.

“Once…” he starts, his chest heaving with shallow, laboured breaths. The rhythm pulls at threads buried deep within you, grounding you, like you’re a child again, as if he’d once loved you.

“Once, I think I cared for you, just like your mother had, but—” He blinks like he lost his train of thought in mid-sentence. “But I forgot what that felt like.”

Something inside your chest twists, hollows out, dissolves.

Forget?

How could he forget?

Your head falls back, and a raw, animalistic laugh rips through you while tears shimmer as glass in your eyes.

You squeeze your weapon.

“You think I care?” you exhale.

But maybe you do, because you think back to yourself as a child and how knowing this might have broken you even further.

“All I care is that Yuna and I will be rid of this.” You nudge the blade harder into his skin. “Rid of you.”

His breathing stills. Your gaze drops back to him.

The sharp angles of his face, his eyes—everything is the same. And yet, all at once, it’s not.

“Yes… your sister,” he murmurs. “Kasai’s most radiant and perfect gem. Flawless on the surface, isn’t she?”

You don’t answer him.

He laughs, low and bitter. And he doesn’t stop laughing.

You need him to stop laughing.

Need him to stop breathing.

You want him gone.

For years, you’ve endured. And endured. And endured.

No more.

Everyone. Gone.

“Next time you see her,” he says, his voice cracking, “ask her...”

Something wet rolls down your cheek.

His eyes lift and fill with an emotion terribly close to pity.

“Ask your sister how your mother—”

You drive the blade into his neck, a half-cry tearing from your throat.

In the secluded garden, his eyes bulge, the whites so bright in the dark that it’s unbearable to look at.

With a short twist of your arm, you push the metal in until the hilt grazes skin and meets resistance. He coughs, and blood bubbles up, flecking his bottom lip. Red weeps in fine tracks down from the wound, and he flails.

You let go of his weapon hand, giving him space to shudder in his final death throes.

Where his feet lay in the garden, they twitch, his heels digging into the dirt and pushing up small piles as if trying to crawl away.

You won’t let him.

After years of trying to escape, he finally understands what it feels like—what he made you feel. Powerless. Hurt. Unloved and unwanted.

No more.

Your eyes follow your hand as you pull the blade free. But instead of sheathing it, you drive it in again.

Hot liquid spurts out, spilling over your bare, trembling fingers.

Then, you pull it out, then push it in again.

You think of your mother.

Then out, then in again.

You think of your sister.

Out, then in.

Again.

And again, until nothing remains but a dark red hollow where his neck once was—just like the gaping crater Sukuna made into your home.

Home…

You have no home.

Your father stops moving, and you pull back. The gurgling in his throat falls silent, eyes rolling soft and distant.

Gone.

For a long moment, the world falls quiet, filled only with the calming sounds of a soft and gentle breeze rustling overhead. But as you sit there, panting and straddling the body, the metallic tang of blood and the weight of death wander into your nostrils.

Three times you killed tonight. Three lives taken. Three lives never coming back. And there is also the heavy knowledge of what you asked the King of Curses to do for you.

Wiping your brow, you feel the adrenaline slowly ebbing and falling away from your body. Then, leaning over, face angling toward the dirt, you vomit.

Feeling empty would be easier. Better. You want to feel nothing at this point so you force it all out.

Watching the sick and bile seep into the earth, you slowly gather yourself, your stomach emptied, and your trembling eased.

There is still more to do.

Blade in hand, you bend down and cut a strip of clean cloth from your father’s kimono. Quickly, you tie it around the wound on your arm to staunch the bleeding. Without Sukuna’s healing, it will scar.

Pushing up to your feet on unsteady legs, you tuck the weapon away and take one last glance down at the body lying half on the path, and half on the darkened soil.

Freedom—yours and your sister’s—stares lifelessly back at you.

Safe. Finally.

Hopefully…

You shiver. A pulse beat inside your head throbs.

Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

You need to leave. Now.

Slowly stepping away, you turn, and you run.

* * * * *

Scattered pieces of debris from the King of Curses’ destruction crack and shift underfoot as you pick your way toward the stables. You don’t allow yourself the chance to pause or look at it. You just keep moving.

As you near the edge of the garden’s soil, your escape route comes into view. Then you stop.

You hear them before you see them—voices.

Sinking low, you flatten yourself against a shadowed shrub for cover.

“—the hell is taking so long?” someone grumbles.

Tilting your head for a better view without exposing yourself, you spot two armed men standing outside the stables. From their appearances, one is Kasai, the other a Zen’in.

Odd. Because you thought the Zen’in clan had left after they were rejected in favour of Onishi.

You shuffle closer on your haunches, feet pressing into the dirt.

“The aberration should have tired by now,” one of them—likely the Kasai—says.

“Doubtful,” the other replies. “He’s probably already wiped out the entire Kamo clan. And if that’s the case—” A disgusted sound rises from his throat. “We can only hope that psychotic fuck doesn’t become their next clan head.”

A pause.

Silence.

The other man says nothing.

In the distance, the thunder of hooves suddenly tears through the night.

You lift your head, listening. A nervous twist forms in your stomach. You don’t know who’s coming, but something feels wrong. Just like this whole harvest festival has felt wrong.

Muscles tensing, you prepare to run for the stables and retrieve your mount.

“What about Lord Kasai’s daughters?”

You freeze in place.

“I heard Lady Yuna took a horse and rode west. Apparently, the other one slipped away.”

“Don’t we need her?”

“So I’m told.”

What?

A chill drips down your spine.

“And ordered to remain untouched and unharmed. If not, well...”

Your heart pounds at their words and the approaching sound of hooves and baying horses, each second narrowing your chance to escape.

You can’t get caught.

But should you risk slipping past these two and whoever is coming, or turn back and find Sukuna?

No.

You’re on your own now.

Turning your head to the left, you know of the private door at the back of the stables—the one you and your sister used to sneak through as children. It’s your best option.

Breathing deeply, you pull away from the shrub and steady yourself. If you don’t move now, the delicate sense of freedom you’ve killed for will slip through your fingers.

You rock back and forth on your heels, tuning out the voices and hoofbeats.

Inhale.

You can’t get caught.

Exhale.

You launch forward.

Feet digging into the dirt, they barely leave the ground before a hand clamps around the side of your head. A panicked scream rises up your throat, but the hand shifts, a palm pressing hard over your mouth to smother it. Another arm snakes around your waist, dragging you backward into deeper shadow. You stumble, colliding with solid warmth.

Even with your strength drained, instinct takes over. Your right hand flies up, clawing at the stranger’s grip—but a third hand catches your wrist, pinning it to your side.

Three.

Three hands.

No.

Injured arm exploding upward, you make a desperate attempt to break free. Why you thought that possible, you’ll never know. His fourth hand locks around your other wrist, rendering both arms useless.

One wrench backward, and you go still. Another pull, and so does he.

Caught.

In the darkness of the garden, quiet, shaking breaths pass between you two.

And with your back flush against the strong planes of his abdomen, he cages you in so close.

It’s an embrace of sorts—one you can’t fight as your bruised body goes limp against.

A dark part of you aches with relief that he’s found you, and you can feel the steady pulse of his heart.

But you know you can’t stay. You need to be gone—from here and from him.

You need to leave him.

No—

Pain sizzles along your spine, only to burst behind your eyelids.

Yes.

Leave him.

The words circle endlessly, strangling your thoughts.

You start to squirm, start to thrash, but his grip tightens. Soft breaths turn shallow, escaping your nose as the hand covering your mouth tilts your head back, forcing your gaze upward.

The King of Curses’ face swims into view. Short strands of pink hair pull away from his forehead, crimson eyes glowing bright in the darkness.

“Going somewhere?” he hisses, flashing a grin.

Red paints the inside of his mouth and teeth. He reeks of death. Of fire, and broken bodies—the aftermath of what he’s done for you.

For me.

Before you can even react, your hair crashes wildly across your face as he suddenly moves, spinning and pulling you away from where you stood moments ago.

From the corner of your eye, the stables—your path to freedom, to your sister—begin to slip away.

Panic surges in your chest.

You fight.

Kicking your legs wildly into the air, the momentum has you writhing and squirming while the mantra in your head builds, rising in desperation louder and louder.

Leave him!

Without loosening his grip, you bite down hard on the hand covering your mouth, enough to draw blood. It piles and flows onto your tongue in streams, hot and metallic.

Sukuna tenses, exhales softly, unfazed, and doesn’t let go.

“I was wondering when the little snake would finally show her fangs,” he growls with excitement.

Feet dangling uselessly in the air, you watch the surroundings blur, his strides quickening as he moves toward the limestone barrier. Using his shoulder, he pushes through a side gate, passing into a cluster of cypress trees. Only then does he set you down.

Cold grass presses against the soles of your feet, and you stagger back, putting space between you. You quickly wipe your mouth and spit out the blood sitting on your tongue.

You turn.

For the first time, you both stand before each other, drenched and covered in splashes of red and gore. No. That doesn’t feel right.

Why doesn’t it feel right?

Taking in your appearance, Sukuna’s mouth twitches.

“Wife,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing a languid path over every part of your blood-soaked body, heating as they roam. The intensity matches the warmth steadily rising in your chest.

“Look at you…” His voice drops, turning low and raspy. “You’ve gotten even filthier since the last time I saw you.”

Fuck.

That voice.

It almost makes you forget everything that has just happened. Completely wiping away what you’re meant to do, where you need to be.

When his hooded eyes return to yours, they darken, and the red around his pupils nearly disappears. You wish they wouldn’t do that. Want them to look elsewhere because your heart skips a beat a thousand times over and slams so hard into your chest that you edge backward.

“Blood red.” He steps closer.

Your knees threaten to tremble inward as his bare upper body moves with fluid, unnatural grace.

“Just like a flower.”

He stops before you, head dipping low and levelling you with a stare. Your pulse quickens to an unbearable high.

“It suits you,” he whispers softly into your face.

“Lord Sukuna.” You exhale, then swallow, his lower eyes flicking to track the movement of your throat. “You found me.”

He smirks—but then he blinks.

His expression darkens.

“You’ve always been easy for me to find…”

Snapping branches and the whining of horses burst into your ears, breaking the spell.

You look away, glancing toward the source. There, Ayana and Sukuna’s mount stand, tethered beneath a tree. Your brow furrows in confusion. They shouldn’t be here—you were just about to barrel into the stables to retrieve her.

But cypress. You noticed the scent of cypress on Sukuna’s kimono. That’s where he had been. He had moved them earlier in the evening—while you were dressing.

Turning away from you and stepping closer, the King of Curses begins untying the animals.

“It seems you’ve misplaced something,” he remarks cooly over his shoulder, casting a glance at your hands.

Your eyes dart downward.

Gloves.

You say nothing, your fingers twitching before reaching into your obi to gather them. The effort takes a moment; the blood and sweat clinging to your skin make the leather stick as you pull them on. Once encased, your gaze lingers there. The gloves remind you—it’s over. There’s no longer a reason to end his life.

Your mind settles back, watching Sukuna prepare the two mounts. The reins creak with each move of his four hands, the fastenings of the saddle’s buckles clicking into place. When he’s finished, he pats both horses on the neck.

All while you watch, your mind chases down reasons to find a way out.

“Lord Sukuna,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “What are you doing?”

Above, the wind stirs the leaves.

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” he mumbles, annoyed. “You have eyes. Use them.”

He doesn’t turn as he guides the mounts forward, their hooves parting the crackling grass.

“That’s not what I mean,” you murmur, stepping closer to Ayana, who is tucked near his side. Just a simple slip past him, and you could mount her. “My father’s dead, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s bottom hands slide down both reins as he turns to face you.

“What of it?”

What of it?

Does he not understand?

You exhale quietly, straighten your posture, then lock eyes with the man, who is your husband in name only.

“The Kasai clan is gone. Your arrangement was with my father—” You motion between the two of you. “This thing between us… it’s over.”

There's no purpose to this anymore.

The treaty is void. It’s done.

“So please,” you continue, your voice quieter now. “I wish to be released from this union.”

The space between you grows still.

Sukuna studies you for a long moment. His eyes soften, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze shifts, tracing every detail of your face, starting with your hair, gliding to your lips, then your nose, before finally settling on your eyes.

Then, he cocks his head slightly.

And laughs.

The sound is as loud as it is cruel, and you feel another cage closing around you.

“Is that what you thought?” He arches his slitted eyebrow, taking a step closer, guiding the two flanking horses by their reins.

“After what I just did for you. You thought this was over?”

The air seems to grow thin.

“After what I did, in which you now owe me.”

Another step.

“After I’ve told you time and time again that you belong to me.” The tone of his voice shifts, turning low and threatening. “You thought this would be over? ”

Another step, longer in length.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You step back. He stops.

“I—” You hesitate, unsure of anything anymore. “Yes?” you manage, the word barely holding together. “Neither of us ever wanted this, did we? So… what’s the point?”

His eyes turn dark as they narrow to slits, and he’s moving again.

“Point?” he spits. The sound is broken glass. “You’re asking me if there’s a point? Even after I heard you cry out so desperately for me?”

Another step.

Your eyes dart to your mare.

“When I’ve seen how those once-timid eyes now look at me?”

One last step, and he’s before you. He dips his head, his gaze locking with yours.

“This thing between us is not over,” he hisses.

Another feeling claws its way into your chest.

“Then… what is it that you want from me?”

Sukuna tilts his head, his four red eyes fusing onto yours. The question seems straightforward, but his expression suggests there’s more to it.

In the distance, shouting voices. It snaps both of your heads toward the commotion. Along with it comes a faint, dull pressure. You recognize that pulsing energy now, the signature of someone like you. Someone like Sukuna.

“It’s time to go,” the King of Curses growls.

You pull away from him, darting toward Ayana, but he grabs your wrist and lifts you up, placing you into his mount’s saddle.

The moment he touches you, something hurts. Pain stabs into your skull. That same chanting mantra tripping over itself again and again.

Leave him. Leave him. Leave him. Leave him. Leave him.

“Please, just release me from this!” you breathe, trying to slip off, but his hand clamps down on your thigh, keeping you in place.

“No.”

Gripping his horse’s mane and swinging his leg over, he positions himself behind you—a solid wall with no chance of escape. His lower hands slot around your waist and take Ayana’s reins with his upper left hand, and his mounts in the other.

“Say goodbye to the north, wife. You won’t be seeing it again. But I’m sure you’ll find it comforting when we return home.”

Home.

Home…

The shrine.

“No!” You lurch forward, your battered body thrashing in his grip, setting both horses on edge as they toss their heads with alarm.

“Yuna!”

The name tears from your throat. A desperate plea. The last fragile hope you cling to—wherever she is.

Was she safe? She has to be safe.

She’ll come for me.

Won’t she? To protect you. She has to. She promised she would.

Sukuna’s hands tighten. He lets out a frustrated breath.

“When will you learn?” he growls, his mouth close to the crest of your ear.

One of his hands releases your writhing frame, moving to the side of your head.

You freeze, sucking in a tight breath as his energy suddenly spikes.

Leave him!

“Sukun—!”

Flick!

His fingers snap against your temple.

A sharp pain erupts behind your eyes. An even sharper pulse eats its way through the fragile tissue of your skull like fire, devouring a blight that was never meant to be there. All at once, it silences that screaming chant into a whisper, and clarity comes in the form of a heartbeat. The rhythm of two heartbeats, yours and his, the one knocking into your back.

Your lips part, weakly moving to form words. They try to tell him you’re grateful for what he’s done. Try to say you never wanted to leave him. Try to tell him more. Try to open that bottled-up jar and show him things still tucked safely inside.

But no words come. Just slurred mumbles, your eyes swimming, your head sagging until it rests against his sternum.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he coos against the side of your face, his voice mingling with the creaking of leather.

Black rots the outline of your vision as the mount sways into motion.

You feel your husband's hand trail from your temple to your scalp, softly combing his fingers through your tangled hair.

It feels nice.

You want more.

I want you, Sukuna.

The shadows come closer, swallowing the last of your consciousness.

I need you, Sukuna.

Eyes collapsing shut, your body becomes weightless, but he doesn’t let you fall.

His lower hands slide down, steadying you. One braces your hip, the other presses firmly against your waist, holding you securely as though you might shatter if he ever let you go.

The warmth of him spreads through you, filling you up. You feel safe, protected. Feelings you haven’t known in years… decades… a lifetime… ever.

You want more.

You need more.

I think… I know… my heart is yours… Sukuna.

Like sinking into honey, you lose yourself to the weight of exhaustion until, at last, you surrender to the dark embrace.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 29

#sukuna x reader #beneath the silk #sukuna x you #heian sukuna #dark content #true form sukuna #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #sukuna fanfic #jujustu kaisen fanfic #ryomen sukuna

63 notes · View notes