(Sorry for the tags) No because a mini rant but can we as smut authors agree to not be writing about the "reader's" genitalia as "pretty pink" or whatever because
1. We have a diverse fanbase and readers are from all over over the world
2. Not everyone has a pink pussy hello?????? I thought we knew that as grown ass women writing about sex????
Its genuinely so awkward and sad for me personally because it completely takes away from the experience of reading a good smut, no my pussy isn't pink and I'm sure most of us don't have a pink pussy this isn't hentai guys. Let's just refrain from giving colors to the reader's body thank you
SYNOPSIS 𓏲𝄢 Being a blind girl in a bustling village is not easy— especially when nobody was willing to be of help. You've heard stories about a curse frequently roaming around the outskirts of town. A folklore passed down from generations to generations of family inside the village, though nobody has seen this "curse" in person before, the stories were still told like it first surfaced. However, the night when the said curse finally emerged from the thick trees and vaporized the village, you were left behind to fend on your own.
PAIRING ✶ trueform! sukuna x blind! reader
CONTENT ✶ sukuna is a dick, what's new . uraume is also . . . mean here, but they will change . no smut . long oneshot . ik it is said that sukuna doesn't have concubines nor sexual partners, but there will be mentions of concubines in this fic . uraume cameo . ik sukuna probably doesn't eat human food too but it's said here that he does (begrudgingly) . reader gets hurt a lot (minor wounds like a cut or scratch) . mentions of blood . mentions of sex . derogatory terms for women . sukuna gets soft but denies it . a little angst if u realize . fluff ending (gosh im not one for angst rn)
NOTE ✶ divider creds to @/mieluno . it's been so long since i posted here omg. my first draft is almost done, surprisingly. saw how my blind! reader and trueform sukuna fic previously got so much love, i thought why not make another one. probably gonna dip again after this for a bit, then come back again. also, thank you so much for 4k while i was gone, i appreciate it so much. and i hope you guys like this one mwhehe :>
"My mother told me the curse arrives every decade to choose a woman of his choice," this is stupid, you thought.
Your ears twitched lightly at the gossip— the folklore has been around for many decades and it was still spread around like wildfire. Frankly speaking, you didn't think it was right, just something made by worried parents to get their kids tucked safely behind doors on time as the sun falls under the horizon.
For many years, you've heard people speak of the same curse around; but never did the curse showed itself to anyone also over the years, you've heard many different things about the curse:
One, it was said that the "curse" comes by every decade to choose a woman of his choice to be a concubine, or even worse, a wife. However, none of the women here has been chosen by him, nor did the curse ever did come by.
Two, it was said that the curse marries a woman, make her conceive a child, then eats her. Which . . . makes absolutely zero sense at all to you, do curses even engage in . . . bodily intercourse at all?
Three, it was said that when the curse comes, he chooses, and vaporizes the others, and leave. Which also . . . makes absolutely zero sense!
Clearly this was something made by people who felt like it was fun to be passed down for generations. You were born with no vision, so the wonders of the world are all held back in blotches of black, it wasn't the most handy in this life where you do labor for everything.
"Do you think he has disgusting features . . ? Maybe two heads . . . Oh, or four legs, like a deer. Maybe he's a deer curse since he ventures the forest," you wanted to chuckle hearing them speak— it has always been them, you had no sense of time which was pretty horrible in a way you'd need someone to actually remind you it's night while you were out.
And by "someone" it's the owl hooting and hollering loudly, announcing the beginning of its hunt. Along with the crickets by the evening. Oh, don't forget the sounds of doors clicking harshly into their locks or the windows slamming shut in fear that the "curse" would get them.
You have felt intense fear in life. For example, recalling back to the time you'd lost footing in a stream and had the ladies there help you from drowning only to receive a lecture on how you should be more careful. Second, this was pure hypocrisy, however when you tend to stay out after dark, the rustling that comes behind trees and snaps of branches sent shivers down your spine.
Because as much as you try to deny the possibility of the curse roaming around the outskirts of the village, somewhere deep inside you, a little part couldn't help but to indulge into the folklore like these people.
Your eyelids slammed open, the drumming in your heart was getting louder and louder. This wasn't a dream, you were sure of it. So, why the hell were people screaming and hollering outside? Your fingertips grazed over the wooden desk as you guided yourself out of bed, heart racing and the impending doom bubbling right under your chest— people don't scream like this unless something was happening.
Was there another break in? Or were the Shakkin-tori back? They weren't supposed to be back until next year (or so you heard).
Your fingers curled on the door handle and you twisted it slowly, the lock clicking under your command. The air outside felt humid— no, hot even. It felt like the sun had decided to come a little bit closer.
And it smells . . . Awful. Utterly, awful. It smells like charcoal. Were the kids burning wood again? The second your foot stepped out, you were on the ground. Someone had sped past you frantically, screaming bloody murder, and hence, you decided that this wasn't just Shakkin-tori nor a normal forest bandit visit— this was actually real. And you weren't sure what to make do of the lack of information.
"Hello—" Your voice was futile, drowned under the crackles of wood and the mix of agony wafting around.
Your head turned frantically, hoping for anyone, anyone to just notice you this one time. But to no avail, nobody came to your aid as they were also busy with themselves. Families running, clutching onto their little ones as they fled the village only to be a cluttered, lifeless mess the second they try to escape any further.
The smell of metal whiffed into your nostrils, it doesn’t take two and two to conclude that it was blood that you were currently smelling. Especially with this whole fiesta, you’d think blood might have been the first thing you could smell instead of burning wood.
You could make out kids crying beneath all the terrified screams and crackles of burning wood growing louder. It was bound to happen to your safe haven so you stopped yourself from getting back inside— navigating your way outside all based on pure memories and instinct. Your movements were ran by adrenaline at this point, and you disregard the bumping made to the corner of your shoulders, refusing to let it push you down this time.
“Anyone?” You call out, your fingers grasping the air, quietly hoping for someone’s hand to hold yours and bring you to safety.
But nothing came. And you were left to be alone, walking down with your arms stretched out, you felt like a fool.
You stumbled over the hem of your kimono slightly and cursed under your breath, using one hand to grip the fabric and pulling it up slightly so you could step better. However, the lack of stretched arms to navigate your way only allowed you to crash into a wall— no, it sure felt like a wall, but you aren’t stupid enough to know that walls don’t make noises.
“Hello?” Your voice comes out meek and careful, a bit relieved that this was someone you could ask for help from, “What is happening? Hello?”
“Uraume.”
Who is Uraume? You don’t recognize that name anywhere and you surely don’t recognize anyone with that name inside the village. You staggered back, they must be the perpetrators. You turned on your heels and tried to rush away, only for a force to tug you back by your forearm.
“My Lord?”
“Seize her.”
Seize? You try to pull your arm away— keyword: try. When it failed under the touch of the person named “Uraume”, you reason out, “I’m afraid I do not understand what that means, what is happening right now?”
“My Lord, she lacks the knowledge of seizing. She is quite unlettered,” your jaw dropped in offense at the words strewn about you, “shall I discard her away and search for a different woman for you—?”
“I am not unlettered! Forgive me for lacking the vision to see what is revolving around me right now,” you muttered under your breath.
“Seize her. Drag her back to the shrine.”
“Ow,” you wince out, your hair pulled back roughly.
“Hold still,” you didn’t dare move at the annoyance lacing in her tone— you still have yet to know what was happening and who “Uraume” and “My Lord” is.
They had dragged you here without much fight from you. As much as you tried to stop them, their touch roughly screamed out strong and you weren’t brave enough to fight back. Not currently, to keep it short, “Uraume” had commanded a woman to hurl you into a quick bath so you’d look presentable.
“Why have they decided to bring in a blind girl? This is so troublesome,” she spat out, despite that, her fingers worked inside your hair, scrubbing it roughly, pulling the strands back.
Your wince and hisses of pain had gone unbothered by her. And you’d assume she worked under “Uraume” and “My Lord”. By her complaints, she’d rather be doing something else rather than bathing you. Mind you, you had the ability to clean yourself without help!
Don’t even start with the drying. She had used a rough fabric you couldn’t make out, it prickled your skin like needles; you try not to rip the fabric out of her grasp to do it yourself, but the curses she spat under her breath made you endure it. She had dressed you in a kimono, you assumed. The process equaled to the one you do everyday.
Although she had pulled the obijime tighter than how you do it, deliberately cutting the air slightly that you struggled to walk.
She pulled you along. No, she dragged you along her side and you complied. Before then, you’d stumble over wooden stairs she doesn’t inform you of until the sound the traditional shoji door sliding made you shudder. Once the door opened, the aura from the other side made your body felt lightweight.
The woman, you assumed, dragged you inside the room. Her hand lands on the top of your head, pushing it down. Your forehead kissed the rough tatami mat harshly at the force, and she murmurs under her breath; all hostility from before dissipating into one of fear and caution, “My Lord, she has been cleaned up like you assigned.”
“You may leave.”
Her hand disappeared from the top of your head and the footsteps fled, you internally screamed for her to bring you along. But, she doesn’t. The shoji door slid shut and you were left inside the room, on your knees. Slowly you brought your head back up from the mat, palms growing clammy at the silence.
“What is happening—?” Your question doesn’t vary from when they had found you roaming around like headless chicken.
“Silence. You are as of to shut your mouth when not given the permission,” someone solicited.
Again. You were offended. Surely they could have said it in a nicer manner, you fisted your hands on top of your lap. First, they had dragged you here. Second, made you shower with a woman who clearly doesn’t want to do it. Third, tell you to shut it when you needed closure.
“I have been stolen against my will,” you told in a matter of fact tone.
“Kidnap, I believe is the right term.”
“Yes. This is a crime. A felony. You will be severely punished for this,” you mutter under your breath, furrowing your brows, “they will put your head up on spikes and present it to the whole village!”
“Surely they wouldn’t go against someone who had vaporized your village,” you gasped in surprise, “and I made sure to leave the adults choked on their own blood. Who will have whose heads on spikes? I’d say not the adults.”
“I can’t tell if your naivety is laughable or pathetic,” the new voice, deeper, and hoarse made your head cast down slowly, “why so scared now? Where has that courage gone off to?”
The words were blown out of your mind. Whoever this was right in front of you smells of great danger and you weren't ready to deal with this until you've gotten your way around. A low chuckle escaped his lips at the sight of you so meek, "Uraume, show her the chambers."
Chambers? Your head snapped up, "Chambers? I will be detained?"
"Sleeping chambers," Uraume clarify.
You felt Uraume brush against you as they walked, you stood up slowly, trying to follow their footsteps; only to plant your face into the shoji door. A heads up would have been wonderful, you mumbled to yourself internally. Uraume kept his silence, watching you struggle with the fact that the Shoji door was on your way— they pushed the door wider for you to step out, and you did. our foot caught onto the sill of the door and your body jolted forwards slightly.
You would think that Uraume at least had the basic decency to guide you to follow them, but they had took a few steps ahead. No worries, you'd rely on your hearing for so long that you have grown accustomed to this kind of behavior. Your fingers laced against each other, following their steps and making sure that you hadn't lost them along the way.
"When you address him by 'My Lord', what is he? King of the forest? Head of village? Owner of a shrine?" You questioned in confusion, "And who was that lady? She could have been nicer to my hair."
"We do not do nice here. Be glad that My Lord has decided to spare your measly life unlike the adults there . . ." Uraume muttered back, turning around the corner.
Which you didn't hear. Hence, the loud 'thud' your body made as you fell off the end of the engawa, unknown about the sharp corner. Your palm dug onto the ground, little pebbles irritated the surface of your skin, digging into your flesh. A loud hiss escaped your lips at the sting and Uraume's footsteps close in, "This is quite troublesome."
"It would not have been if you had told me about that corner, Waraume."
"Uraume," they corrected.
"Uraume," you fixed.
They didn't help you up. You kept yourself stranded on the ground, one of the zori sandals you wore came off when you took a tumble and you had no idea where it had landed. After seconds, you brushed your palms onto the fabric of the kimono, tapping the ground to find the missing piece of footwear. This is humiliating.
When your fingertips grazed over it, you cheered internally, placing it upright. Uraume grunted, "Be quick, I do not have all the time in this world to wait for your tardiness."
"Tardiness? I am not being tardy. I need help, and nobody is willing to give me the help I needed," you grumbled under your breath, putting the sandal back on begrudgingly.
Uraume shuffled back onto the engawa, letting you climb back on yourself. This time, you try to keep quiet and put all ears up to listen to their footsteps, and you did. Horribly.
Uraume stopped right in front of a shoji door. Their fingers gripped onto the back of your obi, pulling you into a halt. They slid the door open widely this time, "This is where you will reside. You are to consume three meals a day —breakfast, lunch, and dinner— in the Ooku with the other concubines. They can be . . . distasteful, so keep your mouth shut at all times."
You stood there, "Ooku? Concubines? Surely your Lord wouldn't want a blind concubine, no?"
"He has not said anything about you being a concubine, a command is a command."
Uraume ushered you inside the chamber, "But I do not know when breakfast, lunch, or dinner is," your voice was timid, but Uraume isn't there anymore— They had walked away the moment you stepped inside the chamber, with your arms stretched out, you try to find your way around the room. It was spacious, maybe even bigger than your house in the village.
There is the cabinet. A dresser. A few tokonoma hung on the walls. An ikebana vase rested on the cabinet gingerly, and you hummed. Your fingers touched a circular handle and you slid it open— the oshiire, this was where the fluffy futon was tucked inside. And you touched the soft cotton based bedding, this was better than the thin mattress you used back at home.
Walking around the room, your shin bumped onto a small desk by the corner, a loud groan escaped in between your lips and you rubbed the area in the middle of your leg, "Who puts a table in the corner?" What a poor planning.
Like the usual, you only recognized it is nightfall by the time an owl began hooting right outside your chamber. The gargling in your stomach made you huddle down in pain, when was dinner? Right as you began laying down on the tatami, the door slid open.
"You are late for dinner."
"I don't know what is night. Or day. Or time at all. For one, the owls have been my night radar for . . . ever now," you muttered out, clutching on your stomach, "and I have no sense of direction. I do not know where the Ooku lays beneath all these walls and engawa. Nor do I know where the engawa ends," the reminder of the fall you took earlier made you grow annoyed.
Uraume blow out a soft sigh, they walked inside and lit the lantern by the corner of the room, "My Lord is requesting for your presence. The other concubines are not allowed to eat unless your presence is there."
"Is he supposed to eat with the concubines?"
" . . . Not usually," Uraume grappled onto your bicep, tugging you up, "it is an exception just for today."
"Why isn't he dining with his empress—"
"My Lord has no empress."
"Consorts?"
"No."
The walk to the Ooku is quiet. Uraume walked with purpose, often stopping to make sure you hadn't fall off the engawa like earlier— every time you fall back, Uraume stepped their foot once to notify his presence. You followed them down. And when the two of you reached the Ooku, Uraume took a good look at you.
"Make yourself look presentable."
"Do I not look presentable?"
"You look a mess."
"I am still presentable, am I not here to dine? I have no wants to woo your Lord," you smooth down the fabric of your kimono, puckering your lips slightly at how harsh their words are, "I am starving. I hope you served deer meat."
"Fish."
"Fish is delicious as well."
Uraume pulled the shoji door open, and the smell of food immediately caressed your nostrils. The smell made your stomach gargle even more, but you don't dare step inside— not when the whispers of the concubines made your stomach drop in a way not even the dread from the village did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, waiting for Uraume's next command.
"Step inside."
"Where?" Your whisper made Uraume grunt, they slowly grip the corner of your fingers, dragging you along the room. The tatami mat seemed to dig under your foot more as you walked. Before you could process it, they had helped you sit on the fluffy zabuton, right behind the table full of plates and bowls.
Sukuna's eyes watched you cautiously. He kept his mouth sealed, eyeing the way you sat on your knees on top of the zabuton, tucked to the right where a high ranked concubine should have been sitting. Instead, he had requested for you today. And his request was accepted in begrudging acceptance from the concubines.
Inside the Ooku, you sat there awkwardly. The whispers continue and you grumbled under your breath, you just wanted to dine in peace. A low voice came from your left side, "Eat."
The same voice you heard before. 'My Lord', you mumbled inside your mind. Bowls clanked, and you look around, tapping the table in search of your utensils. This was already humiliating as it is, but the fact that all these people have to wait for you to finish eating before being able to leave was even more humiliating— you end up discarding a lot of food just to make it all stop.
Uraume guided you back to your chambers under Sukuna's command.
You guessed a month passed by in a whim. You kept track of it, every single time the owls made their noise, you try to carve the walls of the chambers with a piece of sharp wood. The deep carve helped you counted the days you have been sitting here inside the chambers. It was ridiculous— the days passed by and every single thing in a day was always the same. Wake up, try to fold the futon, shove it back inside the oshiire as much as it could fit, shut the door and hope it doesn't bust, wait for Uraume to bring you to the Ooku for breakfast, bathe, dilly-dally, lunch, more dilly-dallying, dinner, bathe, bed.
"Dinner is served."
The walk to the Ooku was no longer awkward, you had accepted the fact that this will be your life from now on. 'My Lord'— or Sukuna Ryomen, you heard has made no attempt to talk to you at all, and you were glad. He was clearly occupied with the higher rank concubines, or that's what you assumed.
Exception for tonight, Uraume said. And Sukuna had been dining in the Ooku since you arrived here. Also, that explains why these ladies haven't been the nicest to you. By all means. Bath time was the worst, you wouldn't be surprised when one of your kimono pieces go missing, or your sandals, your socks. Even the soap. Or the wooden bucket you use frequently for water.
The constant bumps on your shoulder when you walked by the engawa, or the way you constantly trip on someone's foot as you walked by. They were doing a pretty damn good job at making you feel like chopped liver, not that you feel at home here anyways. You had no plan to get them to stop, nor do you want to be involved with the higher ranked concubines.
"Eat," Sukuna muttered like the usual.
Your fingers grasped the wooden chopsticks. You weren't a food connoisseur, but the cooks seemed to be in a mood to get married today— the salt made your throat ache, but you swallowed it nonetheless. At least the rice was delicious and it killed the over salty . . . everything.
"Uraume."
Every movement inside the dining hall collapsed. The silence is deafening and your movements stopped along with the others when Sukuna suddenly piqued out for Uraume, "Yes, My Lord?"
"Call the dokumiyaku."
The woman to your right speaks up, "Is there a problem with the food, My Lord?" her soft voice was wonderful— one of the kind you'd expect from a noble woman, although it would have been nice if her attitude matches the softness of her voice, "I'd say it tastes quite exquisite today."
Uraume went off and hoisted a dokumiyaku into the Ooku; you sat there, ready to shove your face inside the food, but your chopsticks were stolen right from your grasp at the last second, "I had not command you to eat, did I?" Sukuna's voice glowered.
You couldn't see his expression, but you stayed quiet. Sukuna faced the poison taster standing in fear right by the shoji, and he spoke out, "Taste this woman's food," he commanded.
And by woman, he meant yours. Everyone's eyes panned towards your platter of food. The only thing about this was somehow you were the only one unknown of all this, but you waited. You felt a presence right to your side and you scoot away in response.
"My Lord, there seems to be no problem with anything . . . Though," and then it hits you that the man was trying your food, your food. Sukuna had called a poison taster for your food for whatever reason he believed, "it is quite salty. A little more than . . . usual, and too much salt can cause complications to the body—"
"Hence, it is poison?"
" . . . If digested too much, yes."
"Uraume, discard the platter."
"My food," you mumbled, "surely I will be getting another platter, right?"
Sukuna grunts. He took a look at Uraume, gesturing to his platter as a hint to hand it to you, Sukuna hates human food anyways. Uraume complied, moving the platter onto your table. The concubines brows furrowed at the sight of his generosity— this was the first time Sukuna had done something as humane as this. The jealousy that had been brewing inside their heart boiled even more at the sight, the silence was there, but their hearts were noisy; sending knowing glances at each other as if to make sure every single one of them inside that room saw what just happened.
After Sukuna's command to continue eating, everyone continued. You chowed down the better tasting food and finished everything. How come he had notice something was wrong? Were your expressions saying too much?
Deespite that, you were thankful enough to finish the platter. Also, why does he have a poison taster? Aren’t curses immune to them?
A few months passed by slow, the concubines were being miserable. Especially the higher ranked ones, you would have thought mentions of them being pure evil were just myths— but they were right. You had been miserable all these months.
It started off small like a few months ago. Bath time problems. Missing clothing. Then it escalates to tampered foods, light framing. For example, last month, you had gotten framed for breaking one of the concubine's priced jewelry she custom made from one of the rarest gem in all of Japan. You took the judgement like a rock, with pointed fingers at you, you don't bother at all. Sukuna dismissed the problem, he doesn't sound like he cared enough to be bothered by a broken gem.
Or the other time another high ranked concubine told Sukuna about you somehow being a spy sent by your village to put an end to him. Sukuna blatantly shut down the ridiculous statement by saying he had killed every single person in that village and the said concubine was sent to the chamber . . . not for sleeping ones.
Sukuna doesn’t bother with measly troubles as this. Perhaps it’s the fact he was bounded to these women with lust— he has no problem throwing them away when they get too troublesome. Although, he did have to admit, you had done nothing but be troublesome for him.
Yet, you piqued his interest to the brim. Perhaps it is also the fact that you couldn’t see him that you were not spewing out words of disbelief. Most of his concubines fear him, they feared death. But you? You act like this was another trip around the village and lived life to the fullest.
He loathes dining in the Ooku, the concubines there —most of them— acted insufferable. The tone of their voice differ from the way they spoke to people of lower ranks. Now, Sukuna doesn’t bother with how they acted to the shrine maids or the workers, though his ears twitched every time he overhears them talking about you like you were just a hindrance to them.
The first time Sukuna laid his eyes upon your figure, he had been itching to kill you. To just slice you open and watch the crimson paint the ground like he did to every other people in the village that night, it took him by surprise that he had even commanded Uraume to bring you here.
These concubines were chosen by him, personally. Either that or . . . They had rightfully given themselves by their own want. Sukuna fixed his black hakama as he sat down inside his chambers, the darkness consumed him; and the only light were from the lanterns Uraume had forced inside the room.
“Uraume.”
“Have the concubines been giving that woman a hard time?” Sukuna questioned, shutting his eyes, “They will stop at nothing to get rid of that woman from the shrine.”
“Seems like the concubines are a bit . . . Envious.”
“Envy?” Sukuna questioned in amusement, he stared up the ceiling of his chambers, “Of what?”
“You seem to be favoring her.”
“That blind wench? Favoring? I’m just merely toying with her.” He scoffed.
“Mm.”
Sukuna grunted, “There will be time when I get rid of her— she’s utterly irrelevant and useless.”
Uraume hums softly, “She has no manners, no class, is never on time, takes long baths, mismtaches her outfits often, unable to take care of her looks, and is just . . . Terrible to look after. She is quite troublesome, I’d appreciate if you do get rid of that woman,” they finished in annoyance, “she go on about falling off the engawa and blamed it on me. How rude.”
“She lacks the vision.”
“And common sense.”
Sukuna leaned his chin onto one of his knuckles, his thought reeled back to the way you seemed to be all smiles despite the wrong-doings of the other concubines. He was right, you put no mind into the stuff that revolved around you right now and lived life like you always do— clearly, it shows how much you had been through to be able to accept these kinds of doings with open heart.
Uraume grumbled under their breath, “She lacks the knowledge of time. She lacks the knowledge of etiquette. She is quite the messy eater that even the maids get tired of scrubbing her outfits, it is about time that you get rid of her, My Lord.”
“It will come.”
A sliver of smile appeared on Uraume’s lips and they bowed their head down, “I will be waiting.”
You held back a light sneeze, idle on the futon. Your sleepwear tangled lightly, wondering how you were supposed to be sleeping in such complex materials— you thought of discarding them and sleep with just your skin on, but it would be shameful for Uraume to see first thing in the morning if you hadn’t wake up.
Your eyes were wide open, blinking. The darkness that covered your vision felt suffocating, and you breathe in softly and let the air back out loudly. Your back ached as the rough tatami dug into the futon. Today had been a bad day, you had managed to fall off the engawa once more when one of the concubines, you assume, had tripped you while you walked by.
Two, you spilled your grilled fish and didn’t get another one as change. You tried to complain to anyone. And three, someone had taken your obijime during bath time and you had nothing to hold your obi up. So, you walked towards your chambers holding up the piece of clothing your limbs turning into a makeshift obijime.
This was childish, you thought.
You stood up, the kosode faltering a bit and the oversized hakama Uraume gave to you were annoying. Not only were they too big, they had refused to change anything to fit you.
You slowly slid out of the room, tapping on the walls to navigate your way out. In all honesty, you were not supposed to be roaming out after dark. Uraume frequently goes on to check, but they stop after a certain amount of time— you walked down the hall, finding your way turning corners after corners trying to remember the directions to the garden you came across while exploring alone the other month.
“Running away so soon?”
You stumbled over your foot at the sudden voice and fell face first onto the wooden engawa, the pain registering seconds later into your nose and forehead. A hiss escaped your lips as you scoot aside, sitting on your knees, “Who is speaking?”
“Your Lord.”
“Sukuna?” You confirmed.
The no answer was an answer and you sighed, “How may I be as of help, My Lord?” You murmured out, rubbing the tip of your nose.
“You? Think I need help?”
“You might, which is why I am asking,” an amused scoff went past your lips and he raised a brow at your words, nobody dared to say that to him. Not even Uraume, “I was . . . Heading to the restroom.”
“Wrong direction.”
You freeze. He owned this place, of course he knew everything, a nervous laugh rumbled from the deepest part of your body, “Oh, it seems like I have made a mistake. Please, excuse me then, My Lord.”
He drawls out again, “You are quite the bad liar, wench.”
You retaliate, “Excuse me?” Had he just insulted you? Wench? Oh my goodness, if he weren’t so powerful, you would have your fist all the way up his bottom that it shows up when he opens his mouth! “Do not address me as such. I am not a wench.”
He scoffed, “You’re pitiful.”
“I am not.”
“All smiles under peer pressure, my concubines are giving you a hard time, are they not?” He hummed in amusement, adjusting his black colored kosode hanging by his broad shoulders, “I do not know whether you are being brave or foolish. You are a mere toy for me to enjoy, and until that enjoyment ends, I am to keep you alive and breathing.”
“And once it ends?”
“You will be discarded like every other person,” he spoke with such ease that it made vomit pile in your throat, you were kept here for the sake of his amusement while you were trying to stay alive, “nobody would choose a blind wench, not even humans. You would serve as nothing but a toy to anyone out there, surely you’d be appreciative of the royalty I give you?”
You gasped in horrid, “Appreciative? Over this?! You are insufferable, and terrible. Yes, you are terrible and disgusting.”
He barks out a rancid laugh, “That so?”
“Disgusting!”
You lift your hakama to prevent tripping and walked forwards only to step over . . . Nothing. And the tumble sent you face first into the ground below. Damn that engawa!
“Fool.”
Sukuna’s heavy footsteps began echoing as he walked around the corner, leaving you to complain on your own, blaming the hakama over your fall. The soil stuck beneath your nails as you pushed yourself up, holding the hakama in embarrassment. All that talk and you fall after, shame!
You stood there. The tremble in your legs stood you up there for a moment, graveling in your own shame. After a moment, you found yourself climbing back up onto the engawa, sauntering down the hall in continue to find the garden you accidentally came across some time ago.
Unlike the other concubines, you don’t care about that fiend. Fiend is the right word, he is now a fiend since you are a wench to him. How dare he degrade you like that? Even if nobody was there to witness it— still, how terrible of him. Maybe the folklore was right, maybe he is as terrible.
Ugh. You stomp your foot down on the engawa in annoyance. Not only did he manage to foul your already foul mood, you also did not find the garden even after an hour of roaming around endless corners, slowly lowering yourself onto grounds just to pat over the ground seeking for the familiar feeling of the bushes you touched and seeking for the slick rock that stopped you from toppling over the small pond.
You end up tangled under the blankets of your futon, angrily tugging on the warm sheet like your life depends on it. No, actually, you were channeling your anger towards Sukuna to the poor thing, cursing it under your breath as you kicked your legs in annoyance.
Before then, you had fallen asleep in fits of rage. The crease in between your brows deepened in your sleep, Sukuna plaguing your dreams. You woke up early like a fresh bucket of water had dampen you, earlier than usual. You slip out of your room with a towel and a change of kimono the maids had packed in sets so you wouldn’t mix the colors up— a warm bath without any of the concubines up felt like a breath of fresh air, you tied the obijime just right.
No missing sandals. No mismatched socks. You walked back to your chambers, tidying up the futon and shoving it into the oshiire as much as it could fit in. A low rumble of hunger reverberated and you held your tummy, sitting on your knees, waiting for Uraume to come fetch you.
And when they did, they were fairly surprised to see you up and dressed well. You feel their fingers curl around yours, pulling you out of the chambers. You trudged alongside them, entering the Ooku proudly. Chest puffed up, like you hadn’t been loudly cursing the pink haired curse into the sheets of your futon.
Sukuna’s many eyes panned to you, scoffing under his breath when you sat on your usual spot. Already reaching out for the chopsticks, “Had I given permission for you to eat?”
“I do not need anybody’s permission to eat,” yes, that was great, you thought already poking on the white fluffy rice in an attempt to rile him up.
And you sure did.
His brows deepened, “You dare defy me?”
“I dare!”
His concubines gasp in shock, surely Sukuna wouldn’t let you out of this alive. His maids and servants have died for various reasons— even the little ones, his outfit folded in a wrong way. Death. His room slightly dirty. Death. Caught shit talking him. Death.
Sukuna stared down at you, riled up. All while you were blissfully feeding yourself the warm rice. A delightful moan vibrating inside you, “This is delicious rice.”
Uraume blinked their eyes in surprise before actively trying to stop you. However, Sukuna waves one of his hand towards them, “Leave us.”
Uraume wastes no time ushering out the other concubines— some of them stifling laughter of satisfaction knowing you were in deep trouble after your stunt. They walked out elegantly, bowing down to Sukuna. You were blissfully unaware of the tremble on his shoulders, the way his nostrils fumed at your action.
“You dare shame me in front of my people?”
“In no way am I trying to shame you, I was just simply dining and appreciating how delicious this food is,” his arm swerved, hurling his platter of food aside. The loud crash echoed in the dining hall and you froze.
What the fuck just happened?
Your chopsticks hovered over the pickled radish on the side, the air blown out of you at the noise. Sure you were planning to rile him up, not to this extent though. You couldn’t see but the ominous aura he pushed out of him made you shudder in fear, the pressure on your shoulders added tenfold when his hand lands on your nape.
Oh, no. Is this the moment he crushed your neck and you die? Or is the moment he hurled you like he did to that platter? Or—
“You have the guts for someone who lacks the vision,” he spat out in annoyance, tone deep and brooding, “do you understand the position you are in? Know your place.”
“Respect is earned, if you do not respect me, I will not respect you,” you muttered out through gritted teeth, your chopsticks trembled from how hard you were holding it and you breath in heavily, “you dare address me as a wench, you do not know me.”
“I said, know your place.”
“I refuse.”
His hand clamped tighter on your nape, pulling your head back. You widened your eyes, “You dare—?!”
“Shut your mouth.”
You clamped your lips tightly shut at his command, briefly realizing how overpowerful this man is. You weren’t sure even 100 men could go against him. Sukuna leans in, his lips touching your earlobe, “You dare defy me?”
“ . . . No, My Lord.”
“Know your place.”
You stayed silent because you weren’t sure if you were to agree, you’d be able to keep your mouth shut next time. He’d surely have forgotten about this in a bit, no?
No. He doesn’t forget.
Patience and Sukuna don’t make a great pair, he has no time for patience. If he doesn’t like something, he gets rid of it quickly. Including humans, he has no single care for them. For him, they’re useless.
It was unnerving every time meal time rolled in because he has no idea what kind of stunt you’re planning. The concubines were surprised to see you still standing, they had even prepared tear works and nicely arranged compliments after the news of your death pass by. But, it never came.
Much like you did the other day, you continue to test his short string of patient. Sukuna waved at Uraume to drag you out of the dining hall before he takes a leave to blow his own steam off. Gosh, how can one measly human be so infuriating?
You have continuously succeeded in making him a fool out of himself. It was frustrating, at the same time, Sukuna couldn’t kill you. Not now anyways.
Hence the reason why he had arranged your meal time privately with him from today on. The concubines weren’t elated at the fact that Sukuna has yet again retracted back from eating with them— the reason he came in the first place was to keep his eyes on you anyways. None of the concubines mattered to him.
You were guided into his chambers, “Uraume? Are you sure you are guiding me to the dining hall? The walk today feels longer.”
“Shut it.”
“No. This is a felony.”
“What about everything in here is not?” Uraume snaps, sliding the door open and Sukuna was already inside, one leg up and his hand leaned onto his knee
You were sat next to Sukuna, reaching out for the chopsticks. Once again, that devious smile on your face plays out, “You never cease to annoy your Lord.”
“I do not understand you.”
“You are very stupid that you make animals look smart to me,” Sukuna rumbled, he watched you shove rice into your mouth happily in an attempt to rile him up, “you do understand that from now on you are to dine under my watch and my watch only?”
You froze. And he smiled in satisfaction, “Nobody would be there to assist you.”
A few moments pass by and you suddenly scrambled up, only to be tugged back down, one of his hands clamped onto your wrist, the other onto your ankle. They tugged you back ominously slow into a sitting position, you try to calm yourself in that fleeting second, “Why so scared now? Surely the courage is still left there as when you always shame me in front of the concubines?”
“Fiend!”
He rolled his tongue behind his lips in victory, “What is new?”
“Monster!”
“I have heard worse.”
“Ugly!”
“You are blind,” he deliberately copied a yawn out of people, leaning back to relax himself.
“I don’t need to see to be able to judge that you are ugly!” You point your finger accusingly towards him— no, to the space beside him that Sukuna coaxed himself to look at the space you pointed at slowly. A lopsided grin forming onto his lips, “You are wretched!”
One of his lower eyes shifted towards you, unnerving. And even if you couldn’t see, the shudder strikes you down once more, “Please, kill me now.”
“Careful of your wish, little wench.”
“Do it.”
“I’ll be your guest.”
You waited for the pain to hit, shutting your eyes. But it never did, and you looked around, it was still dark everywhere, of course. Had the action been so quick that you couldn’t decipher the pain before dying? Or had he not done it?
“For someone who dare to defy me, you seem pretty intent on dying, huh?”
How dare he! You narrow your eyes, “You are pulling laughter out of this,” he scoffed at your hypocrisy, he was doing what you were doing, “shut your mouth.”
“Or what?”
“Wretched fiend!”
He hums, “I heard you the first time you told me.”
Sukuna wanted to keep you for the fun of it longer, this was amusing.
“Uraume, does Lord Sukuna eat humans for a meal?” You questioned them.
“Yes.”
“ . . . Is blood equivalent to water for him?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
“What a disgusting fiend,” Uraume’s head snapped so fast towards your way that they could only let their jaw clench as they guided you down the hall, towards Sukuna’s chambers.
Nothing had change much for the past few months, you continue to pull at his string and he continues getting angry. But he has made no attempts to kill nor to get rid of you, “My Lord,” Uraume greets softly, sliding the door open for you to walk in.
You no longer fear Sukuna. Sure, he was a menace at times, testing your waters of fear. But strangely, you had gotten used to that practical that it doesn’t bother you anymore— he can try all he wants to be scary, it will never work.
“Tell me, are you a virgin?”
You sputter out the rice towards . . . God knows where. Cheeks warming at the sudden question, “What kind of indecent question is that? I suggest you to shut your mouth this instant,” you scolded in embarrassment.
“I have two. Which one?”
Two!? You would have thought that a curse being not so folklore was shocking enough, but he has two mouths. No wonder he eats humans for a living and slurps blood like a vampire, “That’s . . . Odd. In a very displeasing way.”
Sukuna grunt, “I have four arms.”
“Four!? What else? Two heads and nose?”
“Four eyes.”
“What?”
He grumbled, “You are not deaf, no?”
“So you are a monster,” it wouldn’t have been the first time Sukuna has heard the term, he could care less about it, because he himself agreed to it. He is a monster, what is there to be ashamed of?
“That is right,” he boasts out, chest puffed out.
“You sound proud.”
“I am proud.”
“Nobody would be,” you mumbled, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your kimono in a way that made Sukuna groan out, “what are you groaning about?”
“Even I, a monster, have better manners.”
“I don’t care.”
“You are doing terrific at pulling the end of me,” he tells you, watching you eat your food soundly like another walk around the estate. Your eyes shut in delight as you took a bite out of the grilled fish, Uraume serves them everyday but you don’t seem to be bored of it— unlike the concubines who has the time to complain about it every time Sukuna was not around.
Every single one Sukuna has heard. He doesn’t bother to indulge in it.
“Also.”
His ears twitched, already annoyed, “Speak.”
“Why do you have a poison taster?”
“According to the name—” you cut him off immediately.
“I understand what they do, though, I’m curious because are you not immune to poison?” Sukuna blinked, you were right. He is indeed immune to poisons, he has no idea how long that poison taster has been living inside the estate.
All he knew was that he had one. Apparently, Uraume had hired one to look after the concubines, it would be a nuisance to get rid of every single body all at once.
“I leave Uruaume do the estate handling.”
“So,” you conclude, “you are lazy.”
Sukuna raised a brow, your appearance has trained him patience. Something he has not been fond of for as long as he lived, the way your words nonchalantly flow out as you cocked your head to the side, “No. I simply cannot be bothered to do all that, why should I do such things when I can lay back?”
“Lazy and deluded.”
“Virgin.”
You stammer out, “I did not answer that!”
“You are defensive enough to tell me the truth,” he plays your game, “virgin.”
“Stop saying such things!” You slammed the table, letting the dishes clatter against each other in unison, “And why are we speaking of my sexual experience!?”
“Curiosity.”
You angrily asked, “And if I am not a virgin?”
“No man would want a blind significant other, not only are you a burden— you are too deluded to realize you are a burden,” he points out and you got offended at his words because clearly it hits close to home. Once realizing the effect, he smirks, “and no infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours.”
You clenched your fists. “If I am such burden, then I should leave. Have a good day, My Lord.”
The lack of “terms of endearment” from you made Sukuna wonder, has he finally pulled your strings? He smiled in victory watching you stumble out of his chambers like a chased fugitive, walking away, even leaving the shoji door open widely. How adorable.
You walked down the engawa in annoyance, the indescribable ache in your heart bloomed even more. No infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours. How could he say that? If he were to talk about your lack of vision, you would have retaliated because it is something you couldn’t change— but to say something so harsh.
It was to be expected from someone like him. Still, it aches.
A few days pass by. You blatantly refused to come out of your chambers, Uraume doesn’t bother, less work for them to do. You sat there facing the doors, you had been doing some thinking. Maybe if you declined meals, Sukuna would eventually get tired and throw you out. Or even better, end it all for you!
Despite the growing hunger, you kept yourself sane. Sitting on the same spot, dressed in the same kimono, not moving an inch. Days go by, you’d go out every once in a while to fetch water and leftovers to feed inside the privacy of your chambers. Sukuna hasn’t said a thing about the lack of your appearance.
Of course he hasn’t. He’s a monster, he cares of no one but himself! What were you expecting, (Name)? For him to come by, drop to his knees, and start apologizing for his wrongs?
He’s a curse for gosh sake.
You crossed your arms over your chest. And you hear the shoji door to your room slide open, you part your lips, speaking the default sentence you have told Uraume for the past few days, “Uraume, I do not want to—”
“I am not Uraume.”
You blinked, “You don’t sound like them.”
His voice trickles calmly, “You don’t wish to dine in my chambers? As you wish. From today on, we will dine right here in your chambers,” your jaw slacks and clenched over and over at the conclusion he made, “any denial?”
“I refuse. This is my chamber.”
“This is my estate.”
“Still!” You complained like a petulant little brat, “I do not wish to dine with a monster. I wish to dine in this humble abode myself.”
“Denied.”
You gasped, “You selfish—”
“Uraume, dinner,” Sukuna commanded boredly with a yawn, waving one of his arms.”
“Uraume, no dinner!”
Anxiety tightens in your body. He had blatantly ignored your request and you felt assaulted, your safe space was getting bombarded by his ruthless tendency! You stood up, “I command you to leave my chambers this instant,” you point your finger out, body taut.
Sukuna glowered, “You dare command your Lord?”
“You are not my Lord.”
Sukuna stepped towards you, his fingers curled against your wrist into a lock. And your facade falters against his touch, this was back to square one in a flesh— when you had anger him for the first time. The heaviness weighing in your throat grew and then you blow into fits of coughs, all the words caught up in a second. Sukuna pushed your wrist away from pointing at him, “You will dine with me, whether you want it or not. I will force feed you like a bird.”
“No.”
“You are confident the second my touch disappear,” he points out, his hand already hovering right above your throat, ready to pounce, “have the courage to say something with my touch.”
“I can too.”
And his fingers curled over your throat, pressing the sides of it tight enough for you to start gasping for air, “Let me go,” you manage to choke out before he lets go of your throat with a low chuckle, “you are sick in the head, Sukuna.”
“My Lord,” he corrects.
You blurt out, “You are no Lord of mine.”
Sukuna again, chuckles at the answer. Never in his years of life have he ever met someone as stubborn as a mule like you— oddly enough, he couldn’t find the heart to slice you open like he does to anybody else. The heart. What an odd thing to say, he doesn’t have a heart at all.
He’s utter crazy. If crazy had a definition written out, you’d see his name as an example. You stood there before sitting down on your knees. Sukuna sat down next to you; awfully close to you, the musky smell of earth clung onto him, and for once, you wondered if he bathes constantly or if it is just how he smells daily.
No men could smell that good with no bath. Right?
“Are you going to feed yourself or do I need to do the feeding for you?” He questioned, too daring. You know everything that comes out of his mouth was practically something he would do, and you somehow tested the waters once more.
“I am not hungry.”
“I can hear your stomach growling from three rooms away.”
“Do you have four ears too?” You annoyedly asked him, keeping your hands glued onto your lap.
Sukuna shuffled slightly on his spot. He notices the devilish crinkle by the corner of your eyes, as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, “Do I?” He hums softly. Puckering his lips, Sukuna stared down at you.
The way your feet shifted constantly under your weight, the way your fingers curled and uncurled. Or the way your eyelids flutter slowly, lashes batting against your skin. Your lips pucker and pulled back, waiting for his next move.
Gosh, Sukunq has never felt this annoyed. He’s a curse, he shouldn’t have feelings. For a mortal at that— he wiped his palm over his face, sobering himself up from the plaguing thoughts of you, “Eat or I will force it in you.”
“I said, I am not hungry.”
Your lips part to utter more complaints to him, but before the words could leave the tip of your tongue, Sukuna shoved a piece of radish into your mouth. Your jaw clamped shut, and you began crunching on it. The sour sensation bursts in your mouth like an explosion, it’s been days since you took a bite out of the pickled radish.
“It’s . . . Delicious.”
Sukuna scoffed, “Uraume is a good cook.”
“You made them cook?”
“For us. The concubines has too much time to tamper on your food,” he muttered under his breath, “are you going to dine yourself or do I have to feed you?”
“I don’t know,” you tease, “I do not feel like eating myself.”
Sukuna scowled, “You are making a fool out of me.”
“You gave the choice. I answered. You made a fool out of yourself,” you nonchalantly replied, “also, oh no, I struggle with my chopsticks. I think I will need help.”
“Uraume,” Sukuna calls out.
You stopped him, “I can eat by myself, My Lord.”
“I thought so.”
The fact that you’re still alive right now is a miracle. Sukuna had been stuck to your side for ages now— counting 6 months, according to Uraume. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem to mind your presence at all.
Meals have been more relaxed. The teasing added up (on your side). Sukuna hadn’t let his concubines get away with fucking with you, his four eyes have come in handy with keeping tabs on you. Especially during bath time. He doesn’t follow you in, you had reprimanded him once for trying and he stopped.
Surprise.
From then on, he stood outside the bathe house. Arms crossed, concubines wonder what business he had waiting here. And were quite surprised when they find out you were the one he was waiting for— Sukuna commanded Uraume to get you the finest jewelries from all around, the finest fabrics to tailor into home wear, and the finest dine in experience.
“My Lord, do you not think that you are giving too much attention to that blind bitch?” One of the higher ranked concubines questioned in a sultry tone, her slender fingers rubbing Sukuna’s shoulder in a way he doesn’t enjoy.
In fact, he hasn’t been in bodily contact with any of his concubines even if they had indirectly suggested so. He brushed them off like they don’t matter more than a leaf on the ground, “Dare to repeat that?”
“We are neglected,” the other spoke, red kimono flowing elegantly along the tatami mat, “it is quite unfair for her to receive all your attention, and she isn’t even a concubine. Surely, you wouldn’t want to make love with . . . That.”
The way they spoke of you made his blood boil, but he kept his composure calm. Sitting there with two of them latched by his side, fingers tracing the shape of his chest languidly— their eyes screaming ‘make love to me, My Lord’. However, he paid no interest to them. Their fingers traced lower than he liked them to, and with a simple shrug, they were strewn off.
“I have no interest in making love with any of you.”
“My Lord—”
There was one thing he hates more than humans and that is weak humans like such. With a flick of his hand, the hall was blood filled. No screams of agony were fit in before these women’s lifeless bodies dropped loudly. Sukuna brushed his outfit, the splatter tattered his hakama, eliciting an annoyed grunt.
He wastes no time walking out of the chaos, Uraume eyed the condition of the room and instantly understood, “Get rid of them.”
“Understood, My Lord.”
“Inform me of (Name)’s presence.”
“She’s currently in her chambers, she had requested to be brought to the garden today . . .” Uraume bows his head down, retreating into the bloody hall. It wasn’t the first time they had to clean over Sukuna’s mess, and they know it wouldn’t be the last. To think that his Lord would do such things for a mortal was surprising, even surprising is an understatement.
“I will assist her,” Sukuna grabbed the napking Uraume offered, “get rid of the living concubines as well, I have no need for them anymore.”
“Get rid of them?”
“Kill them all.”
Sukuna took the fabric in between fingers, scrubbing off remnants of blood that etched onto his skin. His thundering footsteps echoed along the hall, the engawa shuddered under his weight as he sauntered down towards your chamber. He cleared his throat, sliding the door open.
There you were, sitting in the middle of the room. On your knees and fingers laced against each one of the other, he huffs at the pitiful sight, “Do you await for Uraume’s presence in that position?”
Hearing his voice made a small smile pop up on your face, your head bobs slowly, “I occasionally bump onto the furnitures here, and it doesn’t leave the most un-painful marks. I would rather sit here and wait.”
“Surely, you could have said something.”
“And bother Uraume? As much as I love bothering them with my constant nagging, I do feel somehow . . . Emphatic,” Sukuna blinked, his bottom pair of eyes looking around the room. Neatly made up, he had commanded Uraume to have the maids clean your room every morning during breakfast, “where is Uraume anyway? They are supposed to be assisting me to the garden.”
“Uraume is caught up in . . . An important matter as of currently,” the lie smoothly rolled out, “so, I will be assisting you today.”
“Really? I do not take you for a garden type of person— curse,” you correct yourself last second with a teasing smile.
Sukuna couldn’t hide the tug of his lips, he cleared his throat, “Shall we then?”
The invitation elicits a question, “Do you have your hand out? Because if I must remind you of the lack of vision once more, I will walk out by myself into the garden.”
“And fall off the engawa again?”
“I haven’t fall off in a long time,” you rolled your eyes, trying to find his hand, “and nobody cared to give me precautions over the estate’s turns. Am I supposed to learn everything by a miracle?”
“I would not let you fall.”
“How can I trust a curse?”
“By letting this curse prove you so,” you hummed when the warmth of his hand engulfed yours, slowly pulling you up onto your feet, “shall we?”
“I am unused to you acting so . . . Humane, it is quite odd,” you whisper out so softly that you couldn’t even hear it, almost.
His hand, so rough. Used to kill, used for the negatives of the world, now felt so little under your touch. The lingering warmth he felt under your fingertips made his chest flutter— he is a curse, he should not be getting attached to a mortal. In a way, he was signing up for heartbreak and heartbreak means weakness.
Sukuna and weakness don’t sit well together.
He averted his gaze out to the greens of his estate, guiding you around the corner, making sure your steps aren’t overlapping each other. Despite the brewing dilemma, he still handled you with care. Care. Odd feeling, his lower pair of eyes discreetly pan towards your form. Your dull eyes staring forward. If he thought about it, somehow be would love to thank your lack of vision.
Sukuna isn’t entirely attractive. To humans, at least. Two pair of eyes, two pair of arms, two mouths? For all he knows, even the concubines spoke ill of his appearance— they fear for their lives, and in his eyes they were just a flock of chicken prying for safety by going with the flow. The disarray look they had when he chose them proved enough. Pathetic.
"We have arrived," he announces out loud, "watch your step."
You took small steps on the wooden stairs leading down into the garden, his fingers curled against yours as guidance, "My Lord."
"Yes?" So soft, so unsuiting. He thought to himself, but the sight of you just made it come out.
"I do not know much about curses and their . . . Bathing schedules, do you not realize that you awfully smell of . . . Blood today?" Ah, yes. He swallowed slowly, his thumb caressed the back of your hand unconsciously, "do not get me wrong, usually you reek off earth and incense. Today however?"
"I heard you the first time, do not elaborate further," he hushed you in annoyance, "I killed the concubines."
You freeze. "Why?"
"That is what I do," he lied again, looking up at the sky. It was already a big blow to his ego that he dissected his concubines because they spoke ill of you— he does not need to elaborate further than that, no?
"I am sensing lies," Sukuna tightened his grip on your hand, "I don't want to pry."
Curse this. "They spoke ill of you," he fessed up, looking around the estate, "nobody speaks ill of you, but me."
"You are weird." So weird.
Sukuna grunt, "Am I now?" The teasing in his voice echoed softly into your ears. This is so unlike him at all that it scares you, the warmth in his voice differs from months before and you inhaled softly.
"I am a bit scared."
"Of me?"
"The new you."
Sukuna watches you step deeper into the garden, his steps followed behind yours slowly. Two pairs of eyes constantly looking left and right for any danger that lurked even in the estate, "Why do you attract yourself to such places as this? Quite boresome."
"It smells nice in here."
"Nice?" The sweet smell of flowers made his throat ache, it us anything but nice in here. But he held himself back from ruining the moment, arms crossed tightly.
You took small steps along the path, limbs stretched out to touch every single thing around the garden. Even if you have been here so many times, you were still one curious being, "Do you know what flower this is? Any knowledge?"
Sukuna spared a glance at the flower, "That is . . . A pink flower," he answered.
"I understand if you do not know the name of it, it has a funny shape," you touched the soft petals of it, and Sukuna's jaw slacked at the shame of not knowing his own flowers, "I like this one. I like this flower. Uraume is also quite clueless about the flowers around the estate. And they get pretty annoyed when I ask about it all the time."
You inhaled close to the flower, "Although I find it odd that it has no particular fragrance like other flowers."
Sukuna watched you from a good distance, the delicate touch against those flowers. And he took a good look at himself, the bloodied hakama, the way he looked. Surely, you wouldn't like how he looks . . . He remembered the shock on your face when he told you about the extra features. Monster. Fiend. Disgusting. It should have not bothered him that much, it didn't back then. But now that he's seen you in a different light, it does bother him to no end.
"My Lord."
"Mm?"
"I am ready to head back now, I think I'll ask Uraume to plant more of these flowers," you mumbled the first part to him and the rest to yourself, trying to find yourself back to him.
Sukuna lets you navigate on your own. And when you grasp his girthy arms, he felt himself relax, "Then we shall head back," he muttered, hiding the lower pair of his arms behind his back.
“Uraume.”
“My Lord?”
Sukuna looks out the window, grunting out softly, “I need a re-decor on that woman’s room, she keeps getting herself into trouble,” he muttered out, his eyes tracking down the birds flying around the estate, “and that pink flower in the garden. Plant more of those.”
Uraume raised their brow, “A re-decor?”
“A re-decor is what I said,” Uraume nods their head, unable to fight back. They had felt the softness that shaped around Sukuna gradually along the months, and as much as Sukuna tries to keep his sharp facade around you, Uruame isn’t stupid. They didn’t need long to put two and two together.
The curse, Sukuna Ryomen is in love with a mortal. Sukuna and love don’t go together, everyone knows that.
“I understand, I will have someone do a re-decor on her room,” they retracted away from Sukuna’s chambers, “and the flowers.”
Uraume lifted their gaze, the estate has been serene. Sukuna has not been furious once ever since you, he has been . . . Patient. Everything Sukuna isn’t— well, he is now. And it’s extremely odd! Swallowing back their words, they walked down the hall, feet slowly bringing themselves towards your chambers.
Following Sukuna’s orders, they had got rid of any living concubines from the estate. So, the estate was void of anyone besides the maids and well . . . You. Though, you were clueless of it. But you do wonder where all the concubines have went since you haven’t been exactly losing anything in particular.
Uraume slid the door open, expecting you inside. However, your chambers void of your figure, usually sat neatly in the middle waiting for them. Uraume furrowed their brows, “(Name)?”
“Uraume?”
Your voice came from outside. They tracked you down immediately, finding your form hunched over a bush, “I have fallen and I need help,” you tell them. Uraume took a good look at you hunched over the thick bush, green leaves stuck to your hair and outfit, you were a mess.
“How long have you been stuck there?” Uraume swallowed back a laugh.
“I do not know,” voice ripe with sheepishness, you wiggled your legs, “I cannot tell, I have lost count of it. I felt the need to guide myself to the garden alone today, but of course, this happens.”
“How have you managed to take a tumble?”
“I have fallen off the edge of the engawa yet again.”
Uraume had wasted no time informing of the matter to Sukuna right after they helped you up, brushed the leaves off your kimono, and made sure you spent a good time in the garden.
“(Name) has taken a tumble.”
Sukuna’s head panned up. He was quiet briefly, “The engawa, again?”
Uraume hums softly. “Yes.”
“Re-decor the whole estate,” he bluntly spoke, surprising Uraume mildly, “as fast as possible.”
So the whole redecorating begins, and as much as the maids and Uraume tries to keep their mouth shut about it. There will come the time when you find out the strongest curse has told the whole estate to shut their mouth about redecorating everything to favor you.
“Uraume,” you call out. Oddly enough, Uraume had moved you to a different chamber, much emptier, futon neatly folded and there weren’t any sharp corners at all. However, they did tell you this would be temporary.
It all started making sense when the maids would announce you about being careful around new things around the estate you do not remember anything of, “Mm?”
“Why has the estate change?”
You started the interrogation slowly, wanting Uraume to think you were this stupid and clueless woman asking innocent questions. Uraume grunted softly, “My Lord thought it needed some . . . Changes.”
“It is very (Name) friendly.”
“There is no point in fooling her anymore, she is not stupid.”
Mustering all the courage, Uraume turns their back to face Sukuna. His black hakama hung loose. Bare body, thundering footsteps, “Fooling me? You have been fooling me?” You gasped dramatically, throwing your hand over your mouth.
Sukuna glances towards Uraume, signaling for them to leave. And so leave they did, rushed footsteps leaving you behind. Sukuna’s hand brushed against the small of your back, guiding you back to your chambers. Your newly re-decorated chambers— very you, very carefully made, “I assumed you have done something to my chamber?”
“You assumed right.”
You blinked, “Tell me what is new.”
Sukuna’s eyes traveled around the new chamber, “Everything is new.”
“Which are . . ?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw before he spoke, “I made them rid of what could have been dangerous for you. Which were everything, the oshiire stays in the same place— I have made the maids search for the finest futon. They installed cabinets right here,” Sukuna’s hand brushed against yours, pulling your hand to touch the cabinet, “the corners are dull, hence, you would not hurt yourself,” he was right, the corners are dull, so dull that it made you stood there in awe.
“I had them move further into the chamber, so you would bump into them less, I hope.”
“You are quite kind.”
“Kind?” He scoffed, only to you.
A hum came from you, less convinced. You began making your way around the chamber, “Why?” Your one word question managed to rent the curse speechless, because he was internally asking himself the same thing, “Why do you go out your way to do this for me?”
“Courtesy.”
“Since when do you care about courtesy?” You questioned slyly, “The Sukuna caring about courtesy? I would think that you are excusing yourself, but truth to be told, I had not expect to still be alive by now.”
“Why would you think as such?”
“You said so, once I put up no use— I am a gone woman.”
The atmosphere shifts, he remembers clear as day. The words. Everything he told you in the past, “I misjudged you then,” he spoke, clearing his throat awkwardly, “it feels odd . . . Doing such things for a mortal. Believe me.”
“I believe you.”
Sukuna lets out a low chuckle, “Fool.”
“The garden has changed as well.”
“I commanded Uraume to plant a lot of the flowers you seem to like,” Sukuna replied, “I have learnt about it. They are called camellia. Do not question where I inherited that information.”
“Where have you inherited that information from, My Lord?” You asked him anyways.
“From the scrolls.”
“You ventured the scrolls for me,” your conclusion made his body jolt. His fingers tightened a fraction around yours, “that is very nice of you.”
Sukuna huffed, “I am a monster, I am not nice.”
“Did they tell you that?”
Sukuna raised a brow, “I announce myself as such,” he dragged his hand up towards your arm, “I am quite glad that you lack the vision to see me. I am hideous.”
“Do you announce yourself as hideous too?”
“The mortals address me as such,” he scoffed, “at least I am powerful.”
Your smile faltered. For a beat, you were quiet, unknown of what to say. But you start parting your lips, “May I touch your face? I’d like to feel what my kind concludes as hideous.”
Sukuna freezes. He contemplates, but at the end, he hunches himself in front of you slightly, “I suppose,” it comes out a timid whisper and you pat down his hair first— the thick strands of his hair, the maids spoke of how thick they are and how beautiful his hair is. It is soft under your touch, and your fingers grazed over his forehead.
“Big forehead,” you bluntly spoke, “people of my village wanted their offspring to have big foreheads because they symbolized high intelligence. I suppose they are right about it.”
Then your fingers grazed over his shut eyes, you remembered his revelation about having four eyes. Two of them smaller than the others and located on a hard structure protruding from the right side of his face . . . A bone? Or wood perhaps, “What color are your eyes?”
“Red.”
“I do not know, but it sounds suiting,” you comment again as bluntly as possible, his warm breath pushed into your palm. And your fingers traced the outlines of his lips slowly— tugged into a frown, typical of him, “I think you should smile,” and the corners of his lips began tugging upwards slightly.
Your hand pats down his face, down to his neck, “Thick neck, okay,” you remind him, “very muscle filled. That’s nice, you must work out a lot.”
Do not even start, his muscles were just wonderful. The outline of his bicep that you trace slowly made your stomach flip, “Are you shirtless?”
“I am always shirtless.”
“Creep.”
“You seem to enjoy touching my muscles,” he teased, letting your fingers traced onto his wrist, “what about my wrist now?”
“Big arms. Signifies strength,” and then you began patting the air around him.
Which for a bit, confused him, “What is it you are seeking for, woman?”
“Four arms.”
Ah. Sukuna tried his best to hide the two pair of arms but now that you had asked for it, he couldn’t help but to help guide your hands onto the bottom pair of arms, “It feels odd, no?” You elicit a giggle out of you, “What is so worthy of a laugh right now?”
“I can only feel two arms.”
Sukuna begrudgingly tucked the collar of your kimono neatly, covering your collarbone, and your hand shoots out to grab his hand, “Three.”
With the last hand, he grabbed your free hand, “Four. It feels disgusting, no?”
“You have an extra pair, where is the problem at that? I’d say you would work faster labor,” you whisper, wiggling your fingers gently as his fingers circled around your wrist, gently stroking your skin like a delicate glass, “I do not find any monstrosity on you, hence, you are not hideous.”
He stares you down. He isn’t hideous to the only human that matters, that is more than anything else. Sukuna swallowed the rest of his unknown insecurities inside. How funny, the curse, proclaimed strongest. Never had he felt insecure about his look until you— a blind mortal decided to drop by out of the blue, all of a sudden everything mattered more than usual.
“That so?”
“Mhm.”
He released your hand, “Then you are blind—” he stops himself, looking down at you. Who currently had a cheshire smile on your face, “Apologies. I seemed to have forgotten.”
“You? Apologized?” Only to you. Only to his woman.
“I did. We speak no more of that.”
“I will speak of it to Uraume.”
“Especially not Uraume.”
“I want to venture beyond the estate.”
Sukuna eyed you incredulously, you were safer behind the gates, right here with him. Why would you choose to venture out straight into the dangers of the world? He has made it clear to everyone that you belonged to him, here you were tucked inside the safety behind his arms, and you were asking such . . . Odd questions.
“Beyond? Elaborate.”
“I want to go outside and have fun,” you spoke out with such happiness that his heart swaggered, “I can take Uraume for precautions. I want to explore the world more, I do not want to be stuck here like a bird in a cage.”
“Why take Uraume when you can take me?”
“Uraume seems more loose on schedule.”
“I do not have schedules.”
You coaxed yourself to look up, “You do not? I would have thought royalty—”
“I am no royal.”
“You are king of curses, that is royalty,” your opinion flows out like an argument, he sighs at your stubborn tone, “victory is mine yet again.”
“Yes, yes. Why would you possibly want to put yourself in danger beyond the estate when you are safer in here?” You were stuck in the belly of his shrine, cringing from how frequent you walked down the engawa that you had remembered every route by now. You wanted more. The thrill of it, the fun, “I am not letting you step foot out of the estate.”
His lower pair of arms curled around your torso, pulling you back onto his chest. You sulked, “It is not the same, you are being selfish.”
“I am protecting you.”
“From what?”
“Humans. Predators. You do not know what is out there,” he spoke, tone laced with impatience, “I do not wish for you to get hurt, is that too hard to understand?”
“I will be fine, I am always fine.”
He should have known you, you have always been a rebel since the first time he commanded Uraume to drag you back here. So, it wasn’t a surprise when Uraume told him that you were not located in your chambers, “Locate her, Uraume. Surely she hasn’t gone too far.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
Sukuna stood up, a black haori hanging on his shoulders loosely. He stood up, should have known, you don’t back down. That’s one of the reasons why he had gotten so attached to you, “Prepare to set out, Uraume.”
You had taken a broom out, using the stick as a navigator. So far, you had successfully entered into biomes of trees outside the estate and you couldn’t tell how far you had gotten. The stick of the broom prevented you from bumping into the rough tree barks and tumbling over bushes. Uraume should make a stick like this for you, how could you not think of this?
A soft tune echoed in a form of a hum from you, curious fingers touching every single thing. Burying your nose into different things you could touch, “Mm,” you moaned, plucking the wild flower and shoving it into the obi of your kimono to show Uraume later.
What a vast mistake this is. No sense of direction, you should have brought a maid along with you. Every turn you took seemed the same, trees and bushes. Occasionally wet patches on the ground made your sandals sink slightly. When the owls began sounding their loud horns, a wave of panic washes over you.
The itch on your arms made you groan, fingernails digging to cease the feeling. Your brows pinched together, trying to find anything that could be of help, “Hello?” You call out.
But the trees are endless, every time you call out for anyone, your voice bounced back to you. And you were beginning to grow restless, the feeling of uneasiness creeping into your body. Your kimono felt heavier, and your sandals felt wobbly now. You cursed, you should have listened to Sukuna. You should have asked Uraume to come along to guide you.
On the other hand, Sukuna walks calmly through the trees, Uraume walking ahead. The darkness was his forte, he loves it. But he had lost track of the hours he spent walking around what seemed to be similar places, “Where has that woman off to? I tell her one time that she is safer inside that estate and she flees.”
“There are bandits residing in this forest, we should locate her quickly, My Lord.”
Bandits. Sukuna scoffed, they could never compare to him— but you? You were as defenseless as a newborn calf. And now that it was dark, the bandits were surely on the move to find income. And God knows what they could do to you. Sukuna grunted, crossing his arms.
You ran into the trees. Unknown of what was currently chasing you deeper, the adrenaline striking inside you made you lose your broom and all you could rely on was your limbs. You could make out the crude laughter from . . . People? Or were they animals?
A loud yelp escaped you when your foot dug into what seemed to be a trap, the pain dug into your ankle. No, no, no. You chant, this couldn’t be happening right now, your fingers dug onto the wet soil, trying to find the power to continue running, “There!” Ah, so they were humans.
Bandits. You assume. Back when you lived in the village, bandits frequently dropped by and chaos ensued. But there were so many people fighting back, now? It was just you.
“She’s dressed grand, surely she has a few dimes on her,” one of them spoke, the bushes rustling to your right and you clutch onto your hands in fear. Moving slowly backwards, crawling on the ground hopelessly, “her necklace looks pricy.”
“Just get anything that looks grand. We’ll get a price outta whatever.”
You shook your head, “Please,” your plead fell into deaf ears when you feel someone pull on the necklace Sukuna made for you, the string snapping under the force and you grasp the air, “no, anything but that. It means a lot to me, please.”
Your head snapped to the side, your cheek seared. Had one of them just striked you? You whimpered in pain, muddy hand flying up to touch the burning spot. They laughed. How could they laugh at the expense of you!?
“Get the hairpin. Looks like gold.”
You grabbed it before they could, “No,” you clutched it into your chest, another one of Sukuna’s gift from not too long ago, “this is precious to me.”
“Unfortunately, we do not care.”
The gems ripped into your skin when they forcefully grabbed it. You lunged forwards, grabbing onto whatever belonged to them you could hold onto, “Give that back to me,” you mutter out.
“Let go of me, you blind bitch!”
The hits delivered to you were relentless. Then again, these were bandits, they don’t care about anything but money. You held onto one of them tightly, the pain slowly registering into every place they hit— punches, kicks. One of them tried to wiggle their leg out of your grasp, pulling your hair back in annoyance, “I’ll kill you, you prude!”
And then just like that. Silence ensued.
You felt the leg go limp and you breathe heavily, what was happening? Sukuna emerged from behind the trees, annoyance written on every crease on his face as he approaches you. And the second his eyes landed on your battered figure, he glowered out, grabbing your arm tightly, “Why did you not call for help!?”
The surprise from before lingered, and you stuttered out, “My Lord—”
“Look at this,” he loudly said, clamping your jaw tightly, the cuts on your face registered into his mind, “and this,” he pulled your leg.
“I . . .”
“Shut your mouth.”
Once you were settled back inside the estate, Uraume helped you draw a warm bath. Scrubbing the mud stuck to your hair, your kimono was left for the maids to scrub, your wounds were taken care of quickly. The bandages wrapped around your ankle a constant reminder of your stupidity, and once all of that was settled, Uraume helped you into Sukuna’s chambers.
He was not happy. He was far from that.
The door slid shut softly and Uraume walked away. Sukuna steps closer to you, “I give you everything you wanted. You ask me for a bigger garden, I commanded them to reconstruct it,” he drawls out calmly, his fingers thrusting to your shoulder gently, “you ask me for deer meat and I commanded Uraume to hunt the finest deers. I have complied to you every single time.”
“You ask me for the finest fabrics and I have the maids venture out from village to village to earn it, you ask me for a new hairpin and I have provided, you ask me for everything I have complied,” his voice grew louder, “I ask for one thing. For you to stay inside the estate, in safety, and you chose the danger outside.”
Your head fell in shame, “I just . . .”
“You are stupid.”
Your brows pinched, “I am not . . .”
“You track back on what had happened, is it not caused by your stupidity? You claim to be smarter than a curse and here I am saving you from a scenario you created on your own,” he shook your body in anger, “and if Uraume and I hadn’t been there on time? You would have died!”
You snapped back, “Why do you care!? You are just a curse, you do not have feelings!”
“To hell with that!” He yelled back, “I hate admitting but I do care for you. Only you, haven’t I made it clear?”
“You’ll get rid of me nonetheless!”
“Do not put words into my mouth, woman,” he muttered out, clenching his fists in anger, “don’t you dare say I do not care because every complies I did was for you. I did this for you. I lowered my ego for you. Is that not enough? Tell me then, tell me what makes it enough for you to digest that I, king of curses, Sukuna Ryomen do care for a human.”
You stammered, “I . . . You are lying.”
“I lie occasionally to people, yes. Have I ever lied to you?”
“Probably!”
“Mention it to me,” Sukuna growled, “mention one time I have spat out a lie to you.”
“I . . .” You left the gap open.
And Sukuna filled it in, “You do not know? Because I have never done that to you,” he muttered, releasing your shoulders. His heart burnt in anger, but he kept his mouth shut.
You clenched your fists, your anger turned into tears. The crystals slowly dribbled out and you sniffled, “I just wanted to explore.”
“Alone? You are out of your damn mind.”
“You wouldn’t have agreed.”
Sukuna scoffed loudly, “You have a habit of putting the words into my mouth,” he scowled under his breath, looking down at you. The harder your tears fall, the more he becomes annoyed, “stop crying. I command you to stop crying this instant, your tears won’t stop my fury.”
Sliding your arm over your eyes, you striked a hand blindly towards his presence. Which managed to land along the side of his neck, “You dare strike me?”
“I hate you!”
Sukuna hummed, “You are angry.”
“I will never be able to love someone like you, you are a monster. You do not let me do anything, I feel like a prisoner here,” you sobbed. The feelings were not like that— his words made the ticking time bomb blew and you were pulling at his strings, “I hate you. I loathe you. I wish for you to disappear.”
Sukuna stepped back, his hand hovered over his lips. He wanted to say much, but stopped. And he shuts the conversation down, “Understandable. Get out of my sight.”
As the night draws on. You laid on your futon, your chest heavy, you had been lying awake there since . . . hours ago. Your own words eating you up, knowing they weren’t right. The anger speaking for you, just for the victory because he made you angry. But now it was eating you alive.
Your emotions were divided. One side, you were angry at yourself for saying that. And the other part of you just felt sad that you had pushed him away; to think that you told him he was a monster too. Another tear slipped from your eye, and you sat up.
You brought yourself to the front of his chamber, for a bit you wondered if he was in the mood to see you right now. But, you shook your head, clamping your hand onto the shoji door before sliding it open, “What business do you have in here?”
You try to pinpoint his position. Teeth sinking onto your bottom lip, “I need to apologize.”
“For speaking the truth?”
“For speaking of lies.”
Sukuna grunts, “Does not sound like lies.”
You stomp your foot, “Those are lies, you are not a monster. And I am too immature to realize that you were just protecting me . . . I was too prideful to admit my own mistakes. I do not hate you, I do not loathe you, and I do not wish for you to disappear . . .” Your voice cracked at the end and you pursed your lips tightly.
Sukuna turns to look at you. How pitiful and small you looked right now, “That so? You spoke of not being able to love a monster like me—”
You cut him off, “I still love you anyways. I do not care if people view you as one, I love you. I have always do,” your voice broke into wrecked sobs, fingers dug into your own hakama, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for saying that.”
Sukuna watches your body tremble from the sobs, one of his hand tugged on your arm and you fell into his lap. He huffs loudly, “Watch your tongue next time.”
You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He lets you have your time, sitting there, unmoving.
Sukuna blows out a sigh, “Are you finished with the waterworks?”
“If it means that you will stop holding me like this, no I am not done,” you muffled out. Sukuna held your nape, peeling you gently away from your hiding spot. Snotty nose, red nose, tear stricken. You looked terrible, he thought, “what?”
He leans in, his tongue stretched out scooping a tear and his lips touched your eyelids. Sukuna shuts his eyes, “You say that but I never stopped you from touching me, do I?” His lips moved against your skin.
“You . . .” You began to say, but he stopped you, lips tracing down your cheek and he stopped right at the corner of your lips, “do not tease me.”
“Your reactions are amusing.”
“It is not,” you whisper in shame, brows already drawn together in embarrassment. Sukuna cuts the embarrassment short, his lips molded into yours slowly— you slowly relaxed under his touch, brows relaxing and you shut your eyes, leaning into the kiss.
For a curse, his movements were gentle. Like he feared that his own hand would hurt you, one of his hand tucked right behind your head gently tangled into your hair as his lips moved against yours slowly. He pulled back briefly, muttering out, “We do not speak of this to Uraume.”
“I will tell them all about it.”
“Is that so?” Sukuna asks, you nodded.
“Then tell them all about this, yes?” He sealed back the kiss, lips moving with fervor that you whimper into his mouth. He swallowed your noises, tongue caressing your plump lips slowly that you couldn’t help but to part them in a trance, his arms held you so close that your chest pressed against his, but Sukuna pulls back the moment he realized you sucking in a breath, “I have gone too far. Apologies. Are you alright?”
You bob your head, covering your face. He used a set of his hands to peel your hands away, “Surely Uraume would not mind the details, no? Or shall I elaborate more?”
“N . . . No, that was enough details.”
Sukuna’s thumb traced over your lips, his iron hands used to do all the wrongs in the world. Now, clasped in sets of velvet gloves, just for you.
a little birdie told me that my works have been copied, word for word, by user @leonsbunni . she has me blocked, so i couldn’t find out on my own, but two of ‘her fics’ on her masterlist are my works—copied by the exact letter—except it’s changed to ‘leon’ from the game resident evil.
i have no idea what this person thought they would achieve with this. maybe they loved the little attention they’re getting by copying my fics and getting 1k+ notes on them, people praising and supporting them unknowingly . . . whatever it is, this behavior is absolutely unacceptable. plagiarism is never okay.
that’s why i decided to make this little announcement so other writers don’t have to go through this with said account & to prevent this from happening again. for the readers to know that she has not written anything herself & to spread this so no one will unknowingly support a copycat.
please spread the word and block / report her. thank you !
below are the screenshots;
i have yet to find out who the fic ‘midnight cravings’ is from / if they actually wrote it themselves bcs im sceptical of everything. if anyone has read it before and knows who she copied that from, if she did, let me know.
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
Summary: Feelings are finally confessed, but Leon doesn't give you the reaction that you desire, creating a short-lived tear between the two of you. Sherry begs you to come help prep her wedding, as everything has seemingly fallen apart, and of course, he is there too.
Note: If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know in these comments rather than my inbox it gets lost unfortunately :'(
part 7 of this
Song: You're the One - The Vogues
“I—I’m tired of people deciding what I want,” you shook your head, trying to find courage to say the words, “I didn’t want it to be this way. Not like this. It isn’t fair.”
You looked up at him with an exhausted sadness. His dark eyebrows were slightly furrowed; both of you were trying to search for answers in the other.
The alcohol tainting his breath left a shameful dig in his heart, but he knew that his sober self had been thinking, dreaming and wanting you for so long that it wouldn’t be miserably forgotten in the morning.
“I don’t want you to leave,” you said, your voice so vulnerable and stripped that it cracks. You were too used to having people place the seeds of your future for you, telling you what was best for you, and you obeyed. You wanted to grow in your own way.
His expression softened, his eyes looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. If you said you needed minutes, hours, days, weeks—he would wait for you.
“I won’t.” his hand slipped around your cheek, his thumb rubbing slowly. His fingers were rough and calloused, far opposite to the softness of your skin.
“Promise?” you leaned into his touch, your fingers tracing the hem of his jacket, “You’re happy to make this… unsimple?”
“You know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this,” he whispered, his face so close to yours you could count every eyelash of his.
You both lean in a little further, testing the space between you both. You shook your head, looking down at his shoes.
“I can’t kiss you while you’re drunk, Leon,” you whispered, so close to his lips you could feel your warm breath against his skin. You let go of his jacket in near-defeat.
“I’m not that drunk. You know this is something I would never regret,” he told you, his hands holding you a little tighter to bring your eyes back to him.
“You won’t know that in the morning,” you searched for his presence in his eyes, and you were met with those pale blue eyes that had softly anchored you in your first weeks with him.
“I will,” he mumbled, his hand brushing your arm, before placing it lightly on your hip, “I’ve wanted this for so long. I’m not making an impulsive decision.”
Your heart fluttered at the sudden contact, mirroring his touch by slipping your hand around his back. His head leaned in, his lips brushing and slotting against yours. His grey stubble tickled your chin as his lips adjusted themselves, pulling away slightly before tilting his head to press them against yours again. The drip of the sink, the hum of the fridge, the ticking of the clock had all disappeared, you only heard the sweet light exhales from his nose as he kissed you in your kitchen. You slid your hand further up his back, his grip pushing you firmly closer to him like kissing you was putting oxygen in his lungs.
And then he stopped, the hesitation was too obvious to ignore, and his lips pulled away from yours. His eyes weren’t passionate for more, they were stripped naked with fear.
Your hips stung with the cold absence of his hands and his scent faded as he stepped back.
And when he saw the way your face contorted into hurt, like you were some kicked puppy, all he saw was just the beginning of the true hurt he would put you through if you got any closer. Being your boss was only a miniscule amount of wrong, because everything else to come was far, far worse. He had ripped apart every moment the two of you shared just to taste your lips, just to feel you for one second. Alcohol had let him slip, letting him be driven by his true desires without the cold stone walls that he usually had around the fortress of his heart.
Your lips were parted, and he swore he saw a faint tremble in your eyes, the way your lashes looked so soft and the faint dazed look on your face. What if you were just another thing that was going to slip out of his fingers again? He felt so safe cocooned in this habit of not letting others too close, and without realising he had let you slip in. His vulnerable heart displayed in your hands, and it twisted something in his rigid body to have you in control of his feelings. That same ugly guttural pull on his chest that he was too familiar with came rushing back.
He wasn’t used to this, he wasn’t used to you and the warmth that you brought, the undeniable tug that you were to him to get up in the morning. There were isolated moments, too many, in his lifetime where just standing at the mere beginning of the wreckage left by the loss and grief, he had pushed himself through was too much, and he wished for nothing more than to be able to disappear. The impulse of being selfish, in his mind, was to have you all to himself. To see you at your desk, biting at your lip while you typed away happily, soothed his mind. Something so simple, something so easy. It was selfish to him.
And all he wanted to do was run before he could either further twist the knife into himself or you.
“Leon?” you managed to stammer out, your hands gingerly retreated to your sides. You felt hideous, the shame coating your cheeks and the feeling of his lips still lingered on yours. The rough sensation of his stubble still coating your chin.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” his hands clenched, like he was physically trying to stop his body from feeling you again. His head hung low and his hair hanging in front of his face as he stepped back.
“What do you mean? I just—I thought you wanted this,” you said, trying not to let cracks slip through in your words. Your eyes darted across his hidden face, his expression pained and confusing.
The one man who had accepted you, without judgement, was now rejecting you out of his life. Your stomach was twisting and your chest was tightening simultaneously. You couldn’t let this slip out of your hands like you always let things, your mouth always being a barricade to the things you desired the most. You weren’t going to let Leon become another one.
“I do, but not when it’s going to ruin you.”
“You can’t keep deciding things for me! I’m part of this too, I—I want this with you, Leon,” you felt a stone forming in your throat as you tried to understand the man who stood in front of you, engulfed by the shadows of your unlit hallway.
You stepped forward carefully, like if you got any closer you could walk right through him as if he were a ghost.
You always felt too much, attached yourself to an idea or a possible concept just for it to shatter in front of you, inevitably hurting yourself more than you should.
“You don’t understand,” he started, his eyes focused on the floor, “This shouldn’t—we shouldn’t be… I can see so many different ways in how this could hurt you and I can’t let that happen.”
“You don’t—you don’t get to kiss me and then decide for me, like I didn’t choose it too! You said you weren’t going to make things simple anymore,” your throat tightened.
“I know I said that.”
“Then why—”
“It meant something. This means a lot to me,” he whispered, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw his lip quiver, “And that’s exactly why this is a problem.”
“And you think walking away fixes it?” you asked, trying to understand him. Like you had the wrong piece to his incomplete puzzle.
“No, I don’t,” he said quietly, pausing and exhaling, “But it’ll stop it from getting worse.”
“So this is it?”
He stared at you. Nothing left his mouth. It trembled for a second, as if he were trying to find the words.
“It’s not. I just—if I stay… I can’t stop. I won’t stop,” his hands relaxed before forming fists again, his head lifting slightly so you could see his eyes trail over your lips and drag back up to your eyes again.
“Then don’t stop with me.”
Looking at your pleading eyes was a mistake; he could feel his chest physically twist further into the steel knot that had formed over the years. He stepped back.
“You’ll get hurt, I can’t do that to you,” he said, his voice breaking, denying himself of all his desires.
“Don’t go,” you murmured, your eyes glassy.
“I can’t be the man you want me to be,” he whispered, his piercing eyes silver in the moonlight.
He turned to the door, his hands that were once touching you, now touching the cold metal of the doorknob.
“I meant what I said,” he added, “About this meaning something to me.”
And he slipped out of the room, leaving you in complete, utter silence.
You wished you had never met him.
You hated him.
You wished you denied the job opportunity and left the damn color-coded folders back on Sherry’s desk and snatched back your hand when he touched yours and refused to go out for coffee with him. You wished you told him you hated how loudly he breathed and that his flask of whiskey was pathetic and his refusal to listen to anything other than the rock genre gave you the ick. You wished you didn’t conveniently have your break at the same time as him so you could speak to him more personally and you didn’t tidy his desk for him before he came into the office.
Disgusting, from the inside and out, it felt to be used.
It was Friday, and you had to go back to the office on Monday. A dreadful pit was swirling in your stomach; you didn’t want to see Leon’s face. The deep crease in his eyebrows and the faint scar on his jaw. You didn’t want to see any of it. None of his subtleties, none of his prominent features.
Sherry’s wedding was tomorrow and you already tried on your bridesmaid’s dress. Despite her saying it was a small wedding, she still wanted everyone to look sweet, so she had booked some makeup artist for tomorrow morning. You were a little excited to see what the artist would do with your face, but also horribly anxious that your face had little to no potential for any glamour.
“I’m sorry but the decorators just bailed last minute and I’m seriously stressing—the cake, oh my god, the cake!” Sherry exclaimed, rustling heard through the other end of the phone.
“Sherry, I’ll be there. It’s okay,” you assured her, already slipping your shoes over your heels.
“Jake is trying his hardest with calling them up but—” she paused and then, “Just. Please come.”
“Yeah, of course I can.” You laughed lightly and grabbed your keys.
“Thank you so much, you’re an angel. I’ll see you there.”
You stepped into the wedding venue, just a small bar in a local village with a tiny hall attached. The perfect location for a small, quiet wedding. The bar was covered in a thin beard of ivy, a golden glow seeping from the windows. It was the type of place you would end up in after a hike amongst the countryside that would surround the village. The roof sank in on itself a little, the windows small with stained glass. The soft sound of piano seeped through the door, as people entered and exited the place.
Outside the door was a wreath of flowers and ribbons, all white and pale pinks. You walked inside, people shuffling chairs and flowers. All seemed very orderly, people marching and walking around with a clear purpose, exchanging greetings or offering their opinions on placements. You could hear Sherry’s soft yet firm voice ordering everyone around, and you follow it like a duckling to its mother. Soft vintage songs were buzzing through a radio placed on the side but was blurred out by the pianist practicing on the grand piano placed in the hall. As you passed the bar and stepped into the hall you were entranced, the high ceiling held by beautiful stone pillars, small floral engravings woven into them. A multitude of flowers were pinned and gathered around the room, politely twirling around the white beams. Despite Sherry mentioning there were no decorators, she had definitely done a good job with what she had.
“Watch out, Miss!” a voice says behind you, breaking you out of your moment.
“Oh—“ you stepped out of the way, people holding a sign passing by you, accidentally knocking into something tense and solid.
“L-Leon?” you stuttered like an idiot, not even needing to see his grumpy face, you could rely on his leathery, metallic scent alone.
Every hateful thought you had about him left your head, floating away like a collection of balloons.
His hands instinctively steadied you, before you clumsily stumbled into him. His sleeves were rolled back, and his hair was slightly out of place, like he had already been put to work. A slight glimmer on his forehead; Sherry probably had him lifting things.
“Careful,” he muttered, like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. His hands shot back into his pockets, quickly stealing glances at you before his eyes were glued to the floor. “You’re here.”
“Yeah, Sherry called,” you replied, your gaze drifting to your shoes, “Something to do with everything falling apart.”
He nodded slowly.
“Sounds about right,” he huffed, glancing towards the end of the hall where voices overlapped and something clattered.
There was a pause, long and stretched but not obvious. People continued to move past the two of you in a rhythm, adjusting and placing and carrying. You two seemed to be the only static people in the hall.
“She’s in the back,” he added. “Near the storage room. Something about a sign.”
You nodded, pressing your lips together. “Right.”
You both moved at the same time—then stopped, a half-step into each other’s space again. That same almost-collision, like neither of you quite knew how to move around the other anymore.
“You go,” you said quickly, gesturing for him to step forward.
Leon shook his head once. “It’s your thing.”
“Alright,” you said, walking down the hall to Sherry without turning back.
“No, the table should be placed more to the right—” Sherry had one hand on her hip and another pointing a man with a long scar down his cheek around. “Oh, y/n! There you are,”
She gave you a small smile, far different from the originally tense expression she had tied on her face.
“Aw, thank you! It doesn’t feel that way. The decorators just left us with the decorations, and they wouldn’t help us put it up! And Claire should be coming with the cake tomorrow. Everything has been so painfully last minute,” she sighed.
“It looks great. Trust me,” you assured her as she tilted her head to rest it on your shoulder, your hand sliding around her back to squeeze her shoulder as you felt her frame deflate, “Now, what do you need help with?”
She pulled her head off your shoulder and went back to placing her hand on her hip, looking up as if her list of things to do was written on the ceiling.
“Okay, there’s some bunting that needs to be hung around with the flowers. It seems like a two-man job, so Leon has gone to grab the box and ladder,” she pointed towards Leon, who had disappeared behind the door.
Your stomach dropped.
“Ah. Right,” you nodded, “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Of course she paired you with him. It was like the opposite of divine intervention. You were being punished.
“Thank you so much. You’re the best, I owe you, truly,” she thanked you as her fingers began to rearrange the flowers; her mind unable to settle.
“Anything for you Sherry, it’s your wedding.”
A presence was felt behind you.
“…Where do you want this?” Leon asked, his t-shirt tight around his shoulders as his arm held onto a ladder, and his other arm tightly holding a box full of bunting with thick veins showing through the veil of his skin. His eyebrow was slightly raised, and eyes lingered on you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. You did.
“Ah, perfect. There you are,” Sherry turned around, “I need the two of you to string it around with the flowers—does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” he replied and you nodded, feeling dumb like it was your first day on the job, and everyone knew what to do with themselves apart from you.
“Great. You two are always so reliable,” she clapped her hands together, smiling bright as she went back to the man with the scar, completely oblivious to the tension between you and the emotionally constipated middle-aged man who stood next to you.
“Higher,” you said clearly, sitting cross-legged on the floor cutting up ribbon and running it along the blade of the scissors to curl it. You were looking up at Leon who was adjusting the bunting on his ladder.
You squinted your eyes and then shook your head.
“Lower.”
He shifted his hand.
“That good?” he asked, awaiting your opinion.
“A little higher,” you said, and he adjusted accordingly, “There we go.”
The ladder shook a little as he shifted himself, and you quickly rose up, your hands steadying it.
“I’ve got it.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, an anger beginning to boil within you. Not even a thank you. You saved him from falling on his ass.
“I know—I just,” you stammered, your hands loosening a little around the ladder, “So you don’t fall.”
“Right,” he said in a tone that wasn’t cold, but wasn’t exactly warm either. He pulled one of your ribbon pieces from his pocket and tied the bunting up.
There was no logical reasoning for his behaviour towards you. He tells you he wants things to be simple, turns up on your doorstep drunk, kisses you and then leaves again. You should be the one acting like an asshole because you had every reason to, but he beat you to it.
Throughout the day his hand would brush against yours before snapping it back like he got burnt, catching glances of you and always staying within your proximity. He didn’t even feel himself do it consciously, it was as if your presence just soothed him. However, he continued to ignore the tension that hung in the air between the two of you. Maybe if he ignored it better, everything would fall back into how it used to be.
The patient, gentle yearning, safely held within the office.
The sun began to settle into its golden curtains of sunset and people began to clear out of the hall.
“Hey, I was just wondering if you two, or either one of you could just check the wedding arch? It seemed to be a bit… lopsided,” Sherry asked and began to walk away, “I just gotta check with the bar owner one more time about something! Thanks, you two!”
“I’ll go check it,” you murmured, not even waiting for Leon’s response to follow. You were sick of his fake nonchalance, and you weren’t pretending that you didn’t notice how he kept himself close to you all day.
The wedding arch was beautifully wrapped in ribbons and flowers, small floral details painted onto the wood. You smiled a little, entranced by the little details that Sherry had paid attention to, and how everything had her touch on it. Jake was an extremely lucky man, you thought. The idea of commitment, marriage, was almost overwhelming, having to be there for someone every day. Was the idea of marriage even on the horizon for you? You hoped that the less you thought about it, the quicker it would come.
You gave the arch a few small taps to ensure its sturdiness and it began to lean to the right.
Too far to the right.
Gasping, your hand quickly grabbed the side of it before it hit the floor, but it was too late. The whole thing crashed, petals bursting into the air in a helpless flurry and the wood split with a splintering crack. A cold wave of guilt ran through your body, too ashamed to turn around and see the whole hall staring at you.
“Well, that was hardly stable,” Leon mumbled, walking up behind you, trying to lift the thing back up.
You dropped down beside him, attempting to help him, but the thing just collapsed into itself again.
“What am I going to do? Sherry is going to kill me; she’s worked so hard on this and—“ you rambled, feeling sick with horror.
“It’s fine. We’re going to fix it. I’ll fix the wood and hammer the thing back together,” he assured you calmly, observing the scuffed paint, assessing the damage, “You can paint, right?”
You nodded shyly, humiliated enough already, “Yeah. Yeah I can,” hoping that you could fix it before Sherry sees but it was too late.
“What happened?!” she exclaimed, sharp with alarm, her eyebrows raised as she saw the two of you huddling over the heap of fractured wood and flowers.
You opened your mouth to speak, but Leon did it for you.
“I underestimated a gentle shake,” he lied, but then corrected with a hopeful truth, glancing at you briefly, “It’s okay we’re going to fix it.”
“Before tomorrow? They’re closing the place now, oh my god what am I going to do?!” Sherry gasped, turning her head to the door and then to the what-once-was a wedding arch. Panic began to settle into her voice.
Her helpless and panicked state made you want to cry with guilt.
“Sherry, we’ve got this. When have we ever failed you?” Leon said, the same firm, calm tone he used with you, standing up before the situation spiralled.
“Okay. It’s going to be fine and there’s going to be a wedding arch tomorrow in perfect condition,” she nodded frantically, voice breathy and light, trying to convince herself. You had never seen her this panicked before, she was always so composed and calm at work.
“Yes, there will be a perfect wedding arch for you tomorrow,” Leon smiled, his hand rubbing her shoulder.
“We’ll bring it to you tomorrow,” you said, exchanging a small smile.
“You guys can’t fix it here. They’re locking up,” Sherry looked at the two of you, Leon dragged a hand back through his hair. He was already thinking ahead.
“My place is closest,” Leon huffed as he began to pick up the pieces of the arch.
“That’ll have to do then,” you murmured, without second-guessing it, scooping up the ribbons and flowers and scrambling after him.
You followed his Porsche in your car, anxiety building up once again. The last time you were in his apartment, he cared for you so gently. Like you mattered.
Your grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel as his car slowed ahead of you, his indicator blinking as he turned into a familiar street.
You hadn’t forgotten the way.
You wished you had.
He opened the back of his car, collecting the pieces effortlessly. You bit your lip, unsure what to expect from him.
When he unlocked the door, he stepped aside to hold the door open for you, a habit clearly not forgotten. Your arms brushed against each other as you walked past him.
Neither of you commented on it.
Everything was still the same. The same smell, the same couch, the same records. Your eyes flickered to the alcohol cabinet. It was all gone. The glasses, the liquid.
Gone.
Instead, he had replaced it with the framed photos.
He let out an exhale as he placed the pieces on the floor and disappeared into the kitchen, clattering soon followed. You patiently waited on the floor, fiddling with the ribbon just to keep your fingers busy, something to keep yourself occupied. His sighing was followed by drawers opening and closing and then the run of the tap.
He returned with a plate and some tin of paints and a few paintbrushes.
“Didn’t know you painted,” you mumbled, taking the paint from his hands, your fingers brushing.
There was a pause, too long of a pause to not notice, but too short to comment on.
“Some old hobby. Didn’t last long,” he told you, fiddling around with his different tools laid out on his table. He then picked up one of the parts, “Can you hold this while I nail it into place?”
“Sure,” you stood up, holding up the wooden piece.
You could feel the warmth radiating off his body. A slight sweaty smell clung to him after a day’s work of carrying and holding, his arms clearly telling you so from the veins that were popping from his skin.
“Higher,” he ordered, a slight gentleness softening his tone. He pondered shifting you closer with his own hands to have you put it in the exact position he needed. His hand raised and hovered over your lower back, but it retracted within itself as he decided not to be a creep.
You shifted your arm; it was already beginning to ache. “Like this?”
“Yeah.”
Your eyes flicked up and he was already looking at you. You both pulled away at the same time and he continued hammering.
You two continued like that, him hammering, you holding. Both stealing curious glances, working together, not admitting that one another’s scent was actually soothing over the bumps in their brains. Bodies close enough that if either of you moved wrong, your skin would touch.
You watched his hands work, the way his grip tightened as both of you recoiled from caught glances, like he was putting all his focus into fixing this, so he didn’t have to think about fixing the mess between you two.
“Done,” he said with a relief, shaking the frame. He stood back, admiring his work.
“Painting next,” you eagerly, too eagerly, grabbed the paint, crumpling under the pressure of being around him. You felt like that stupid shy girl who entered his office for the first time. He sat down on the couch, his legs close to your body as you sat on the floor. Your foot brushed his.
You dipped the brush in the paint, and hesitated before you placed down your first stroke.
“You still got it?” he asked, his voice quieter.
“Well, it’s not something you exactly forget,” you muttered, gliding the paintbrush along the wood with care as you refused to look at him.
As you finish up the gentle leaf of a flower, you try to catch a glance of Leon, but yet again, he’s already looking at you.
“You’re good at it,” he observed, watching how delicate you are with your hands.
“You’ve seen me do about five strokes,” you said, swirling the brush in the cup of cloudy water, too many times, hiding the small smile on your face and the heat growing on your cheeks.
“Enough to know you’re good at it," he said with no hesitation, like he had already filed this away.
Your hand stilled over the water for longer than necessary as you dunk it back into the water.
“You always do that,” you stated, now glaring at him, your eyes narrowing, making him straighten his shoulders.
“Do what?”
“Decide you know enough.”
He went quiet, his eyes leaving you and drifting past your hand, jaw tightening.
Silence stretched between you before Leon spoke in the only language he knew. Practicality and safety.
“You should let it dry before the next layer.”
You set down the brush as you let out a quiet exhale, preparing yourself for battle.
“Yes, Leon,” you said, looking up at him. “I usually do.”
His body stilled, his fingers no longer tapping on the arm rest, not used to your confrontational style.
“You don’t have to turn everything into something it’s not.”
A short, disbelieving laugh left you, as you watched him dismiss every moment between you. The moments that you would replay in your mind and convince yourself that they were just friendly before you went to sleep. “That’s funny.”
“What is?”
“You saying that.”
“Alright, then explain it to me.”
You held his gaze determinedly.
“You don’t get to act like nothing happened,” you said. “Like this—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “—is normal.”
“I’m not acting like that,” he insisted, pouting ever so slightly.
“You are.”
“I’m trying to fix the arch,” he stated, like he was stating fact, because he was, but he knew the arch was just a good blanket to chuck over the mess of his relationship with you.
“And I’m trying to understand how you can just—switch it off like that.”
“I didn’t switch anything off,” he shot back, sharper now, his voice so strained it began to splinter.
“You walked away.”
“I had to.”
“You decided to.”
“I was protecting you. I was protecting us,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his mouth, pressing harder than necessary, “You act like this is easy for me. Like I walked out not feeling anything.”
“I know you feel it, but you just don’t stay,” you leaned closer, your chin almost resting on his knee.
“Because staying gets people hurt. At least when I leave, I can make the damage stop before it worsens,” he explained, his hand lifting as if he was going to reach out to you, but it dropped back onto his lap.
“Yeah. It hurts,” you said coldly, holding the same pained expression when he pulled away from kissing you. Everything made him want to look away from the hurt on your face he caused.
“I know it does.” his fingers gently slipped around your jaw, guiding you to look at him. His thumb, testing how much of you he was allowed to touch, running along your bottom lip.
“Then why are you okay with this? We’re both hurting and you just—you’re just sabotaging it because you don’t believe you deserve any happiness!” you shook him off your face, furrowing your brows.
“You think I don’t think about being with you? Seeing what happens?” he grew louder, a desperation clinging to his voice.
It was true. He thought about it every day; you haunted his every thought. He thought about having you here, safe, in his arms, in his apartment. He thought about you laughing at his jokes and watching you get ready before he would take you out on a date. And if his thoughts drifted to more lustful desires, he would curse himself for being such a pathetic, touch-starved man.
“I know you do! You’re just scared because this is something that you can’t control!” you begged him to see the truth, knowing he was used to the logical and precise feeling of his gun’s metal, rather than the unexplainable emotions of his complex brain.
“I don’t want to go to my office and see that you aren’t there. That I have hurt you or- or someone finds out about this. About us. I’m not ruining you or your career. I refuse to,” he explained, his eyebrow crease deepening, staring in front of him, rather than at you.
“You’re not ruining me, Leon— you’re hurting me by leaving,” your hands slowly reached out for him, holding his wrist, and his head slowly turned to you.
“I just… just don’t want to ruin us,” he whispered, his eyes darting across your face, admiring how pretty your features were under the moonlight that filtered through his windows, wanting to burn every detail to memory, “You don’t… you don’t get it. You mean so much to me, I can’t—"
“Then stop walking away!” you cut in, noticing how his eyes would fall to your lips and force themselves back up, like he hated himself for it. And then you noticed how smooth and soft his lips looked, framed by his grey stubble and how his lips pressed together like he was holding himself back.
“If I do this…” he whispered, “I’m not stopping.”
“Then don’t.”
Note: Okay, I thought this was going to come out way later but I ended up feeling super headachey so I just stayed at home and wrote this instead and I wanted to get this out before my busy weekend. You will be glad to hear that the next part will be smut, unless i change my mind LMFAOOO. Thank you to everyone who has waited veryyy patiently, I've been super busy lately. The support makes me so happy, so thank you again <3.
MDNI 18+ 〃 Ryomen “beefin’ with my chick while I’m in jail” Sukuna.
A/N: it's finally here oh rejoice i am free flies away
Criminal!Sukuna who’s scary as fuck. He’s so jacked it borders on obscene – muscles stacked on muscles and veins crawling beneath tattooed skin, shoulders stretching at the seams of his uniform. He’s got this sorta unperturbed vibe. Real musky and muscular, stalking around like he’ll beat up the first guy that looks at him wrong.
Criminal!Sukuna who got locked up for some undisclosed highly illegal bullshit nobody ever gets a straight answer about. Speculations are thrown around the prison yard – drug dealing. Drug trafficking. Body-part-trafficking. Cannibalism (yay!).
He doesn’t bother to correct anything. Just sits in the corner with an arm slung over one knee, brooding, grumbling “King of Curses, they used to call me..” beneath his breath. The nutjob.
Criminal!Sukuna who has the whole wing convinced there’s no way in hell he’s got a girl on the outside. Surely not. He’s so immature and ill-natured – even more so than his cellmate, Gojo. Which is saying something.
To the little lady who might end up having to deal with this brutish man, well.. Gojo extends his sincerest condolences. He’s fairly certain any sane person would run for the hills.
You are not sane. He supposes this is why you and Sukuna get along.
Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.
Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.
He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.
Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.
𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸
Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.
There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.
“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”
Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.
“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”
“Maybe.”
The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.
“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”
A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!
You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”
He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.
Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds.
He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.
He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.
He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?
He’s excited. Very. In many ways.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.
Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.
God, he’s missed you.
“You’re staring.”
“..you’re breathing.”
“Yes, that tends to happen.”
His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.
He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.
Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.
He likes you a lot.
The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.
Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.
His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.
He can’t be bothered to care.
He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.
Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.
“Hold still, woman.”
“I am holding still, you dolt–”
There’s a sharp crack!
All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.
Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.
Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.
“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”
“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”
He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”
Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.
Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.
Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.
It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.
The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.
Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.
Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.
His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.
“..say you love me.”
Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.
“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.
“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”
His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.
Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.
You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.
“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”
Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.
Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –
“..missed this pussy.”
He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.
But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.
Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.
When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.
Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.
He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.
––––
Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–
.
Where the hell are you?
Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.
Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.
DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–
You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.
“Hi,” you sniff.
His eye twitches.
“Woman.”
“Yes?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.
Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.
He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.
“You told me you were seeing someone.”
You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”
“Maybe means yes.”
“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”
“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”
“Our apartment.”
“Same difference.”
You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.
Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.
What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.
It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.
And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?
You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.
“There is no guy,” you snort.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”
“You know where the apartment is.”
“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”
You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.
It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.
“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”
He glares down at you. You smile back.
And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.
“Missed you,” he murmurs.
You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.
“You big baby.”
Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.
Still, the itch never leaves.
Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.
“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”
You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.
Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.
But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.
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