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• 민규의 여친 •

[ciy0]

☆*:.｡.DIRECTORY.｡.:*☆

ciyo. 24. she/her. i write jus 4 fun!. simp 4 mingyu (๑･̑◡･̑๑)☆彡———————————————————————☆ - Recent works (pls heed to content warnings!)

FIXATION [Kim Mingyu]

ONLY YOU [Kim Mingyu]

FANCALL [Kim Mingyu]

MINGYU DRABBLES [1]

[sukunahs]

cover my eyes | ryomen sukuna

pairing: sukuna x blind courtesan!reader

summary: once in a lifetime you'll switch bodies with your soulmate and see the world through their eyes.

sukuna is initially frustrated when he's plunged into darkness in the body of a weak and blind woman, only to discover that there's more to her than he was expecting, leaving him on a mission to locate the shogi-playing courtesan whose soul called out to his.

word count: 11k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, soulmate au, heian era, initially rude sukuna, soft!sukuna, true form sukuna, courtesan reader, sickness, blindness, depiction of violence and death, happy ending, hurt/comfort, honestly its mainly fluff, devoted sukuna, piv, cunnilingus

a/n: after doing my satoru soulmate au i desperately wanted to do one for sukuna so here it is! inspired somewhat by komugi and meruem in hxh and ALSO by lakan and fengxian in apothecary diaries (as someone requested that from me!)

At one point in every person’s life, they will awaken in the body of another.

They will spend their day seeing through strange eyes, living out hours as a person they may have never met, trapped within their new form until sleep takes them and they are released back into their own body.

Those meagre hours are the only chance a person will have to find their other other half, to learn all they can about the body they’ve awoken in. There’s no second chance, no opportunity to swap for a second time.

If one cannot locate their soulmate after the day they’ve spent as them, they can find no further help. All they can hope for, is that they might stumble across their destined lover by mere chance one day.

Or, that their beloved did a better job than they did at piecing together the puzzle.

Sukuna found himself in another’s body in his mid-twenties, awakening one morning in complete darkness, even though he’d been certain his eyes were open. It was a strange feeling at first, a resignation to a suspicion he’d held all his life that there was no destined person for him, giving in to the belief that he’d spend a day floating in nothingness with no other half for his soul to cling to.

His assumption was broken swiftly, at the realisation that he still held some manner of awareness even if his sight was impaired. There was a breeze blowing against his body, chatter sounding off in the distance, and soft sheets were pressing up against skin which surely wasn’t his.

This person, whoever they were, had a body that was exhausted. He ached in places he’d never ached before, his shoulders and upper back straining, like their owner had been carrying a weight beyond their capability. He felt desperately weak in that form, suddenly aware that he only had a human number of limbs to control, and lacked the strength and size he was used to commanding.

In the darkness clouding his vision, he was surprised to find that the blackness wasn’t as deep as he’d originally thought, able to make out fuzzy shapes in the dark which he could only assume made up his surroundings. His hand reached for his eyes, setting his lips into a grim line at the confirmation they were open.

His destined lover was blind.

Disappointment settled into his chest. He had never taken much stock in soulmates in the first place, didn’t really believe in love, but this just furthered his confirmation that the whole matter was a farce. He found respect for the strong - strength was the only thing that truly mattered to him, and yet here he was, in the body of a blind woman.

A feeble little thing hardly able to fend for herself.

What good was she to a man like Sukuna?

A knock on the door startled him. “Are you awake? The madam wants me to help you get ready.”

Sukuna said nothing, trying to figure out why it felt like your body wanted to draw in on itself, your pulse quicking in a seemingly innate reaction to the voice at the door.

“Please, I know you’ve been ill but he’s been calling every day for the past week, the madam doesn’t want to keep him waiting any longer. He’s been bringing forth all manner of threat, and if you’re not careful he’ll buy you out. I know that isn’t what you want. Just let me tend to you and allow him a visit. Keep his temper at bay.”

Sukuna frowned, attempting to piece together what was happening. It was hard without the visual clues of his surroundings, but based on the snippet of conversation he concluded that you were likely a courtesan of some form. Once again, his view of you, and the soulmate system in general, dropped through the floor.

Blind and a whore.

Perfect.

“One moment.” He called out, taken aback by the lovely feminine voice that fell from his lips. It was a soft, delicate sound, one which wouldn’t sound out of place accompanied with a harp. He found himself shocked at how much he enjoyed it, considering saying something else just to hear it again.

Finding the door proved to be a more difficult task than he’d been expecting. He’d already stumbled standing up from your bed, thrown off by his lack of vision and by feet that were ridiculously small compared to what he was used to. His centre of gravity felt all wrong, and his body felt generally unbalanced without his lower set of arms.

Moving at a snail's pace, he made it across the room, impressed that he didn’t run into anything on his journey over. He was grateful for the shadowy outlines present in your visionless gaze, certain that the situation would be made harder without even that as a guide.

Fumbling for the handle, he slid open the door. “Morning. Oh honey, you look like a ghost.” A hand pressed against his skin, and he was ushered over to another part of the room, grateful for the guidance. There was the sound of a chair being moved. “Take a seat.”

Sukuna hesitated, not quite sure where the chair was. He reached out nonchalantly with his hand, trying to feel for it while the other woman’s focus was elsewhere, seemingly rifling through a bag of something. Able to just about make out a black splodge in the centre of his vision, Sukuna took a seat, only to thud down onto the floor.

It hurt. It hurt significantly more than pain Sukuna was used to enduring. He’d experienced all manner of injury - he’d had his blood and guts pouring out onto the floor in the midst of a fight, but somehow this was worse. How fragile was this body of yours? He was glad that he wasn’t born as some weak human, grateful that the abominable aspects of his body increased his strength rather than weakened it.

How could you live like this?

“My lady?” The woman seemed immediately panicked, reaching down and easily hoisting you up by the arm, aiding Sukuna onto the chair. “I’m sorry, you usually tell me you don’t need assistance, I wasn’t expecting-” she cut herself off for a moment, leaving Sukuna in silence and struggling to read the room with no visual cues. “You don’t seem like yourself at all this morning. You’re being very quiet.”

Sukuna said nothing, certain that he could hear the hint of a smile in the woman’s tone.

It was said that when soulmates swapped bodies, you could not under any circumstance tell someone that you were a different inhabitant to usual, else the spell would be broken and you’d both be immediately sent home.

It was an option Sukuna had contemplated the moment the woman walked in, eager to return to his own healthy form. However, he was also a man of great curiosity and it wasn’t like he had much going on at his estate that day anyway. So he opted for silence, figuring he’d at least see, or hear, how the day played out.

There was no harm in that.

Regardless, the woman had seemingly sensed it immediately based on her sudden change of demeanor, but being likely as aware of the rules as Sukuna was, she kept her suspicions silent.

“It's Officer Sugawara who’s set to see you today,” she explained, soft hands running through your hair with a comb, giving Sukuna a shiver of pleasure. “You usually play shogi with the guy for a while and let him get drunk. He’s a proud man who’s desperate for a legitimate win, so you always give him your best and he refuses to give up until he’s too pissed to think anymore. So be on your best game, or he might want to pass his time in another way.”

The warning was clear and Sukuna found himself disgusted. If that man tried to lay a single hand on you while he was inhabiting your body, he’d make sure Sugawara wouldn’t walk out of the establishment alive.

Fortunately, Sukuna was an avid shogi player. He held a great love for the game and was self-assured where his skill was concerned. No one in his estate could beat him, so he was certain he could beat some Officer of the Shogun.

Although, he’d never played it blind - a fact that mildly concerned him.

He hoped the pieces were skillfully made with deep indents, else he’d be completely lost.

“Even though you’re usually talkative with me, you’re not all that chatty with regulars, so it’ll be fine if you stay quiet. On account of you not feeling yourself and all,” she said with a knowing giggle.

It took an ungodly amount of time for that woman to get you ready, and Sukuna wondered how you could bear experiencing such a thing day after day. It seemed such a waste to have so much effort devoted to doing your hair and make-up, and dressing you up, when you couldn’t even see the end result.

For all you knew you could look like a clown.

But Sukuna quickly became certain that wasn’t the case when he was led into another room, your helper grasping his arm in a steadying manner and making sure he was settled down on a pillow before introducing him to a man sitting opposite him. Sugawara wasted no time with greetings, letting out a gasp of awe at your radiant appearance and reaching out to kiss your hand.

Sukuna wanted to reel away at the feeling but remained still all the same. He hoped he didn’t have too much of a scowl on his face.

Even if he didn’t have any interest in you, he didn’t really want to ruin the life of some random blind girl. He loved cruelty, but even for him that felt like an unnecessary slight to a person who was supposed to hold the other half of his heart.

“You look gorgeous. Not sickly at all, might I add. I hope the madam hasn’t been telling lies.”

You were sick - outside of the blindness - Sukuna could feel it. At first he’d brushed off your frailty as something normal for puny little humans, but since rising from your bed he’d become aware that your quivering legs, aching bones and hummingbird heart were far from normal.

“I haven’t been well,” he said simply.

“Oh you poor thing, it's always the most beautiful ones who suffer the most.”

Sukuna found himself wondering what you looked like. He had a vague knowledge of Official Sugawara - he wasn’t an ugly man, certainly not one lacking in prospects by any means. He was powerful in his position in the government, and wasn’t the type who would visit some woman out of pity.

You must’ve been genuinely gorgeous to earn such affection from him.

It was a shame Sukuna would never know.

He wouldn’t look for you once he was back in his own body. He’d move on with his life and that would be that, leaving this day as nothing more than some distant dream.

The games of shogi went by quickly, and Sukuna found that it was easy to slip into your body without arousing suspicion. Once he’d gotten over the original barrier of having to feel each piece for their indents as he picked them up, he fell easily into the flow of it all.

This man across from him seeked little conversation once the games had started, and Sukuna was pleased at how well he was playing that afternoon. He didn’t let the man win once and, as your attendant had mentioned, Suguwara filled himself up with more and more drink. It felt nice to play someone outside of his estate, most of his servants were too afraid to face Sukuna in any sort of test.

It was equally nice to completely destroy a government official with his skill. He was certain this man was having the worst game of his entire life, unaccustomed to this treatment from the lovely courtesan he’d frequent.

But it was at the end of the seventh game, when Sukuna was feeling at his highest, that a disastrous hit would come to his ego.

“You’re really off your game today. I see you really aren’t feeling well,” Sugawara said. There was the sound of shuffling fabric, as if the man had leant forward.

“What?” Sukuna asked, the low disbelief coming out strange in your small voice.

“Your plays are much sloppier than usual. It feels like you’re going easy on me, given you usually destroy me before I can even think about what to do next. Today you’ve been giving me proper games. I don’t like it. You know I hate being pitied.”

Sukuna had to stop his mouth from falling agape.

He wasn’t playing bad games by any means, on the contrary, he was certain that he was playing better than he had in a while, happy to have a new opponent for once. Was this man really saying that you, the normal you, was more skilled at shogi than he was? He really found that hard to believe.

What would some blind courtesan know of tactics?

“Perhaps you’ve simply improved,” Sukuna mumbled bitterly, unwilling to accept that your mastery was greater than his.

Sugawara laughed. “How polite of you, my dear. I can assure you that isn’t the case, and we both know it.” There was some shuffling, and Sukuna sensed that the man was climbing to his feet. It was frustrating to have such limited vision, and he was glad to know that he’d wake up the following day able to see the world once more - he couldn’t imagine living like that all the time. “I’ll leave you to rest. When I return in a few days you best have returned to form, or perhaps the nature of our meetings will need to change.”

A heavy hand rested on your shoulder, wet and clammy against the silk you were draped in. Sukuna wasn’t sure if the disgust was born from his own thoughts on the matter, or from an impulsive response from your body. From your attendant’s words it was clear that you would never sleep with the man, likely keeping your shogi skills sharp to ensure he never won.

Once he was gone, Sukuna sat there in silence, thinking on the man’s parting words.

Were you really so talented?

Part of him wanted to convince himself that he’d been playing worse than usual on account of not being able to see the board, making it difficult for him to think out moves in advance, taking more time than normal while he grazed the pieces with his fingers.

But deep in his soul he knew that wasn’t the case.

He’d played expertly, and still that man knew his opponent wasn’t the real you. All on account of how amateur Sukuna’s ability had seemed compared to yours.

And as his day drew to a close in your body, he realised that he had to know. He had to play you, had to see firsthand just how dramatically your skill exceeded his. He wouldn’t believe it until he’d seen it.

The soulmate thing didn’t matter.

But he needed to meet with you all the same.

Just to sate his interest. That was all.

—

Months had passed since the day you’d swapped with your soulmate. Since the morning you’d awoken to a world of light of colour you’d never seen before, and would never see again.

It was a day you’d never be able to forget - the image of the grand estate you’d awoken in seared permanently into your mind, just like the face of your soulmate who had stared back at you in a bronze mirror. You’d gazed upon his body for longer than you should admit to, wondering for a brief moment if you’d misunderstood how humans looked.

That thought didn’t remain for long. It took no expert to understand that the man you’d been paired with was something unique - the very four armed monster who had half of Japan living in fear.

And as such, you wished you could forget your experience in his body, wished you could see anything but his oddly charming face, because your promised beloved was a monster of the highest calibre. But with only one singular day of vision under your belt, what you’d seen wasn’t so easily displaced, and you found yourself thinking of him often with a longing that you knew to be wrong.

You had told no one of the experience, not even your handmaid, who had outright asked what your body swap experience had been like, what your soulmate had been like, claiming that whoever they were had presented themselves as rather reserved when possessing your body. You’d brushed her off with a shrug, claiming him to be some soldier and nothing more.

No one could know the truth. If they knew you to have any link to such a terrible man they might view you as an associate, and someone deserving of death for something you hadn’t asked for.

The workings of fate seemed strange to you. Was it not enough punishment to be born blind? Why would you also be paired with a monster who seemed to view the human race with general disdain? You were certain he cared little for love, his servant had made that clear when you were in his body, so any hopes of having a soulmate had been stolen from you as a result of this pairing.

Part of you wondered if a man so vile as him might even take things a step further and track you down to put an end to your life, insulted by fate to suggest that it could control him in any capacity. Perhaps he would be further insulted to be paired with someone so damaged rather than some untarnished beauty.

You’d always heard he held great hatred for weakness.

Even so, despite your fear and desire to conceal yourself from him, you couldn’t forget him, couldn’t stop the flicker of longing in your chest you were certain all people held for their destined lovers. Because while he was unquestionably a monster, with a throne of skulls you had witnessed through his very eyes, he also seemed to be more than that.

He was a man of great loneliness, living in grand halls with only a handful of servants for company - and all but one of them would scuttle out of the way when he approached. He seemed to hold a great love for art, with his estate packed with paintings and tapestries and great vases, all kept in pristine condition. For a cannibal, he seemed to take great pride in the cleanliness of his surroundings, in the neat nature of his gardens and springs.

Even in his own appearance, he seemed to take great care, for there was no denying him to be a handsome man even with his unique features. He had a voice to match that beauty, one that you could hardly peel from your mind any more than you could forget his image.

His body was hard to maneuver, too big and confusing to control his many hanging limbs. In a way, it felt akin to your blindness, something different to the way humans were built to be, leaving him to struggle with an issue that no one else could relate to. You wondered how it had been for him in childhood - if he’d felt as isolated and scared as you had to know that everyone else was normal in a way you’d never been.

You pitied him, even through all his sins. You felt you could understand at least a piece of him from a day buried within the confines of his skin.

But still, you would never reach for him - wouldn’t poke the bear even if you could understand why it might bite. You were certain that someone like him would be unwilling to hear you out, unwilling to love or reflect on how he became the way he was - he would swipe your head from your shoulders just like everyone else, and that would be that.

So you would stay away, keep your dreams of him locked deep within your chest, and accept that distance was for the best.

There was more to life than soulmates.

Unfortunately, that choice wasn’t yours alone to make.

The madame had knocked on your door early that morning, with the golden light of the sun only just starting to peek in through your window. Lately you’d been having longer lie-ins and taking less clients as the cold of winter gripped the region. Along with the blindness, you’d been born with a particularly feeble body as a result of complications with your mother during her pregnancy, ailments which were always worse for you in the colder months.

Your bones strained as you pushed yourself up to a sitting position, calling for the woman to enter. As much as you longed to slip back into your dream of red eyes peering back at you with fiery desire, you were still beholden to the will of your employer, even in your months of weakness.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” She asked, as she slipped in through the door. You felt her weight dip the bed as she took a seat beside you, a gentle hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Mornings are always the worst but I can manage once I’m up and about. Has Sugawara come calling again?” Most regulars were understanding enough of your condition, and those that weren’t would generally be chased off by the madame or unloaded onto another of the courtesans. Sugawara was one of the few that generally wouldn’t accept such treatment, with only eyes for you.

It didn’t matter too much since the man only ever wanted to play shogi, and that was manageable enough even on your worst days. It seemed that he had no intention of laying with you until he’d beat you in a game fair and square, claiming that if that ever happened he’d buy you out and take you home for he would’ve earned your heart.

That talk always made you uncomfortable, for you had little interest in the man, but you were more than certain he had no chance at ever defeating you at shogi, and could therefore never lay claim to you - assuming he kept his word.

“Not Sugawara…” There was hesitation in her voice. “We’ve received a request for our finest shogi player to be sent to the mayor’s home this evening. Apparently the other courtesan houses have received the same request.”

“I didn’t think the mayor cared much for shogi.”

Again, there was a moment of silence. “No, he doesn’t. A rather unwanted guest has taken up residence in his home, and this is the demand that has come of it.” Immediately your blood ran cold, thoughts drifting away from the madame’s continuing chatter to the red eyes that sat so prominently in the darkness of your mind.

There was no question in your mind as to who this guest was.

And to call for shogi players had you certain he was looking for you. Would he execute you when you walked into a room so clearly lacking in vision? Put an immediate end to the one person who could potentially stir his cold heart if fate were to be believed?

It seemed like the only reasonable explanation

The request to send another in your place died on the tip of your tongue as you once again tuned in to what the madame was saying. “...make sure you’re in top form, I’ve heard any who lose to him are immediately disposed of, but I’m sure that man will be no match for you.”

You wouldn’t send another to face their death. You were the only courtesan in the house who was any good at shogi, anyone else would certainly perish. This was a meeting dictated by fate and you had no opportunity to run from it. You would face him head on and deal with your death graciously, greet your end alone in the dark just like everything else you’d ever faced.

“I’ll do my best,” you said to the madame, and that was the final moment you had for yourself, your sacrifice sealed by your words.

The rest of the morning was spent in a frenzied rush, dressing you up and perfecting your makeup, turning you into a sparkling beauty ahead of your presentation to a monster. Based on the quiet nature of your handmaid, the experience felt more like she was dressing your corpse for burial.

Neither of you spoke such a thing aloud, but tears dripped from sightless eyes all the same when she led you out to the carriage, the madam trailing behind her, sending you off with a soft farewell filled with a sense of finality.

—

Sukuna had undergone an annoying few months.

Steadily, he had made his way, region by region, up to the north of Japan in search of a blind shogi player whose skill allegedly eclipsed his own. In each area, he would call upon all shogi-playing courtesans to meet with him and join him in a game, in the hopes that one day it would be you sitting across from him.

So far, he’d been unsuccessful, and had left a growing pile of bodies and burnt villages in his wake, utterly irritated that the thing he was seeking still evaded his grasp. No one had beaten him. A few had come close but none of them had been blind, so he could be certain that they weren’t you.

He was beginning to wonder if you’d gone into hiding somewhere, forsaking your courtesan life entirely in a bid to avoid him. It wouldn’t surprise him - you’d been in his body, you’d seen he was a monster, a fragile little thing like you was probably terrified at the idea of ever crossing his path.

Either way, he’d still persevere. He’d kill every shogi player if that was what it took to get to you.

He’d recently found his way into the mountainous region of Miyagi, where winter was in full spring. Taking up residence in the mayor’s home in one of the more populous towns in the prefecture, he once again started his usual process of gathering the shogi players. Word spread fast and droves of them appeared swiftly, waiting to be called before him.

It went much as usual, with boring girls presenting themselves before him and providing him with equally boring games of shogi. These people were painfully predictable with no appreciation for the art of the game - really it was a gift for him to steal their lives from them, because he couldn’t imagine living while being so pitifully unskilled.

The pool of Miyagi courtesans was gradually running dry and Sukuna was preparing himself for another disappointing journey further north when his luck finally shifted.

He knew he’d found you the moment you walked in through the door.

You’d stumbled in meekly, eyes averted down to the floor as you bowed low and shuffled towards the centre of the room. You were taking care not to raise your head for him to look upon, and he quickly realised you were making your best effort to conceal your blindness from him, like you could keep your identity secret that way.

It was a futile attempt, for the very atmosphere around you felt charged, his heart picking up inexplicably at the very sight of you.

To say you were beautiful was an understatement. Everything about you was gorgeous, from your soft hair to the striking intensity of your unseeing eyes. You wore the finest silks and they hung off you well, complimenting your figure. He found himself eager to touch you, to rid you off your lovely gown and have his fingers against your smooth skin.

But that wasn’t the reason he had come, and he would play you before entertaining any other matter.

“Sit,” he ordered, taking great amusement in the shiver that seemed to run through you at the sound of his voice.

You dropped to your knees on the cushion before the board, hands pressing against the edge of the table. It was the first chance he got to take a proper look at your eyes, expecting them to be clouded over, but taken aback by the lovely colour your irises still held beneath that mist.

“You’re blind.” He observed aloud, taking note of the way your teeth caught your lower lip anxiously.

“I see more than enough,” your response was guarded.

He hummed, a sly grin settling on his face. Idly, he wondered if you could sense it, because you seemed to tense up a little, fidgeting across from him in a way his traitorous brain seemed to register as endearing. “Is that so? Do you see enough to know my strategy before we commence? Or will you disappoint me like the others?”

“You tell me.”

Your words had his heart stirring against his will, impressed by your serenity before him, still sitting up straight and calm despite the fear he could sense within you. You were a woman who held confidence despite it all, harboured strength even in the face of your obvious weaknesses. He wondered what you were thinking, if you believed he was there to execute you for the mere transgression of being his soulmate.

It wasn’t a foolish assumption.

He would kill you without a second thought if you were uninteresting to him.

But he’d reserve that judgement until after you had played. He had been promised someone exceptional and that was what he wished to see, anything less and your blood would stain the floor just like every other woman who had sat before him. Would you still be so calm if you could see the bodies littering the room? He assumed not.

He wondered if you hated him, if you cursed fate itself to be paired with a man like him. Nothing about you gave anything away, all your focus fixed on the board in front of you, your hands moving steadily against the wood of the board, as if centring yourself.

“Shall we begin?” He asked.

“Yes.”

Sukuna couldn’t quite comprehend what had transpired in that first game he played against you.

He had approached things in much the same manner that he always would when playing shogi - opening strong and attempting to completely overwhelm his opponent, and yet somehow he found opportunities snatched from him at every turn.

Nothing seemed to catch you off guard. Any attempted play was greeted with an easy answer from you, as though you were battling a child. You were always three steps ahead of him, never hesitating in the shifting of a piece, moving with a certainty that had him transfixed.

He found that he couldn’t draw his eyes away from you, his struggle on the board forgotten at the realisation he’d been well and truly defeated. There was no point in struggling further - you had swatted him aside in the way that he usually defeated others, and you had done it with no glee or brag, nothing more than passive indifference once the games finally came to an end.

Your shoulders were raised, as if awaiting something you wouldn’t be able to see coming. A strike from him, perhaps? Or the neat removal of your head from your shoulders? The same fate of all others he’d played across the last few months.

But he wasn’t in the position to do anything at that moment, lashes fluttering as he stared at you, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

There had been no lie told about your skill - on the contrary, you had exceeded his expectations spectacularly. He wanted to play you again and again, wanted to witness the beauty of the way you played, wished to spend hours lost deep in thought considering how he could even begin to pick you apart in a match.

He could spend years sitting across you, gazing upon your lovely form while you worked away in silence with such unquestionable mastery.

No wonder Sugawara had been disappointed in Sukuna’s ability. He couldn’t hold a candle to what you were.

“How?” He asked, unable to think of another word to offer.

Your head was still lowered, eyes fixed elsewhere. He wished you’d look at him, allow him a clearer view of your face, but it occurred to him that such a request may not be easily granted with your lack of vision. You would never be able to lock eyes with each other - it would be something entirely meaningless for you.

“You aren’t all that good,” you spoke softly, a smile playing on your lips.

Sukuna disagreed with your sentiment, considering he’d never been beaten before, but perhaps you’d consider all his previous opponents to be genuinely pitiful at the game.

“So, will you take my life now? Or is that reserved for the losers?” You asked.

“To take the life of someone I could not best would be cowardly and pointless,” he said with a snort. “How would I ever grow to be better than you if I extinguished you from the world? Don’t be foolish. We will play again.”

And again you played.

Game after game until the sun began to rise in the sky, and Sukuna could sense exhaustion drifting through your fragile form. You were shivering from the cold, and he had Uraume bring in a robe to wrap around you, keenly aware of how sickly you seemed to look beneath all the beauty. You were setting up the board for your tenth match when Sukuna finally put an end to things.

“Enough. I would take no joy in defeating an exhausted opponent.” He rose to his feet, stretching as he moved. He wasn’t keen on remaining still for long periods of time, but you seemed accustomed to it, staying deathly still upon your cushion, uncertainty evident in your posture.

“Then, you will send me to my home?” You asked.

“No.” The word escaped him before he could stop it.

He did not wish for you to go anywhere, lest you slip from his grasp never to be found again. It was because he wanted to play you more, that’s what he told himself, but there was more to it than that, and in his soul he knew it.

He never wanted the image of you on your knees before him to slip away, never wanted to lose the pleasurable feeling of warmth that swelled in his chest with you there within his gaze.

“You’ll accompany me to my home, and we’ll play until I’m satisfied.”

—

Weeks had passed since you’d arrived at Sukuna’s estate in the Hida Mountains.

You’d been given no time to bid goodbye to the women at the only home you’d ever known, swept off in a carriage down south where you had to relearn your surroundings in a totally new environment.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d been in the estate, but that experience made little impact on the ease of traversing around with no vision. You had to move slowly, fingers brushing on blurry objects shadowed in the darkness, hoping you didn’t trip over something or walk into a screen door.

For the most part, you were left to your own devices. Sukuna had spoken little to you on the journey home, opting to ride on his horse rather than in the carriage with you, and he’d been equally elusive in his own estate, leaving you in isolation for days at a time.

You couldn’t complain, for your days were spent in peace and serenity.

You would take long walks in the breeze of his garden, have his servants read aloud to you, and practice playing the erhu. On days where it was particularly cold and the chill seeped into your bones, you would remain in the grand bed he had provided and find greater comfort than you ever had in the old bed you’d laid upon in the courtesan house.

The only obligation you ever had to fulfill were shogi games. And during the times that he wasn’t absent from the estate, those would take place every evening, in Sukuna’s own private quarters.

It was an odd decision, considering that the servants played shogi out in the garden, where a proper table was set up for that purpose. But it seemed that Sukuna took care in ensuring your meetings were private - a decision you didn’t dare read into too deeply.

You didn’t dare read into any of his behaviour too deeply, lest you rip your own heart from your chest.

That first meeting with him had been like nothing you’d ever experienced - genuine desire overcoming you at the deep tone of his voice. Even knowing that he could cause your death with little effort, you couldn’t bury the lust within you, a fire that only burned stronger with each encounter with him.

It was hard to hold it together, to pretend that you wouldn’t fling yourself into his arms given the chance, but you tried all the same, keeping yourself distant and cold, like you didn’t dream of him between your legs each night, imagining the sound of his voice whispering sweet nothings against your ear.

Whether he felt the effect to the same extent you did, you weren’t sure. You were certain you’d never know. His interest in you was surrounding shogi, and shogi alone.

One evening, you were sitting across from him having played a handful of games, finding victory had fallen into your hands even more easily than normal. Sukuna seemed distracted by something, the sound of fidgeting settling in your ears. He hadn’t moved to start a new game, and based on the shadowy shapes in your vision, you could only assume he was leaning forward upon the table, bringing him close enough for his breath to fan your face.

“I killed today,” he said. Those were the first words he’d spoken to you that evening - you always followed his example with conversation, if he was feeling chatty you would indulge him, if he wished for silence you would give him that too.

You weren’t exactly sure where he was going with that statement, nor were you certain what type of response he was seeking, so you offered him a hum of acknowledgement and little more. You didn’t wish to think of the death that stained his hands, but nor did it build your animosity towards him.

To some extent you could understand lashing out at the world when you were someone so desperately lonely as he was. Part of you believed that if you hadn’t been so frail perhaps you’d lash out at the world for your own condition. His primary servant had told you he’d been despised throughout his life, and when you find only cruelty in humans it's difficult to cling to kindness.

Sukuna wasn’t so simple as a mere monster. You’d understood that in the day you’d spent in his body, and had only further confirmed it by the intelligence he displayed when you’d speak over games of shogi. He had a great admiration for art and skill, and had seemed rather taken when you’d recited poetry, responding with verses of his own.

He was a multi-faceted man, and much of what you saw only seemed to further your attraction to him, even knowing it was wrong, even knowing you’d be hated for it. For once, you felt you’d found someone who understood what it was like to be you, to be cut off from the easy lives lived by most others.

A soul that entwined so perfectly with yours, even if he’d never be aware of such a thing.

“Do you wish to know who I killed?” He asked.

“I know few people, my lord. I doubt a name would mean anything to me.”

“This one might. I’ve heard you’re familiar with Officer Sugawara? He’s one of the Shogun’s men?”

Thoughts of your regular flickered through your mind. If you were being honest with yourself, you were glad to not have to see him anymore - him or any of the other clients you’d been forced to take. Courtesan life had been difficult for you, forced into it thanks to the conditions of your birth and kept there by a disability that made it hard to escape the life for something better.

Life in Sukuna’s estate had been easier, especially as the weeks passed and you grew more comfortable in the belief that Sukuna wasn't going to steal your life from you. You’d lived in fear of Sugawara buying you out, of being forced to live like some doll in the house of a terribly boring man whose voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to your ears.

“I know him.”

“Knew him, would be more apt. His body lies at the foot of the mountain.” Sukuna spoke matter-of-factly. “He came to claim you from me. I refused and we couldn’t reach an amicable agreement, so I dealt with it another way.”

You weren’t sure how to react, struggling to process the words. That Sugawara would follow you down to Hida already came as a surprise, you hadn’t known how deep his devotion ran. But somehow, you found yourself rather taken by Sukuna’s decision, by the certainty in his choice to keep you.

To kill a man whose death could cause him issues with the Shogun might as well have been an outright confession of love.

Sugawara’s death meant little to you. Men like that died all the time, and they saw women as little more than pretty objects to own. Sugawara had seen you as an impressive party trick, a clever cat rather than a human with depth and desires of her own. You hadn’t wanted to be his, wouldn’t have liked for Sukuna to surrender you to him.

“Are you irritated with me? When I controlled your body you seemed repulsed at his presence. Perhaps you have a heart too soft for blood and death.”

“No- I-” You hesitated. “Did you do this to protect me?”

There was silence for a moment, and you longed to see his facial expression, but were forced to settle for the hint of confusion in his tone. “Of course. I’ve protected you since bringing you here. You can hardly protect yourself.”

You couldn’t find it in you to be offended - he’d been in your body, he knew of your frailty better than anyone.

“Why? Just because you enjoy shogi so much?”

“Somewhat. Though I must confess, lately I have been losing interest in the game. I feel I’ve come up against an insurmountable wall.” Panic filled you immediately, mind running at a million miles a minute as you analysed his statement. If he was growing bored of playing would he cast you aside? What use did he have for you if not shogi?

But then again, why would he kill Sugawara if he was moments from disposing of you?

“Perhaps it is the fault of my own discipline, for I’ve found it hard to focus on the game for quite some time now.” He hesitated, and you found yourself flinching at the feeling of a soft hand caressing your cheek, leaning into it once you overcame the initial shock of touch. “It is difficult when you have a beautiful woman sitting across from you. It’s even harder when my soul calls for you whenever you're near, drowning out any thoughts I might gather of strategy.”

“Oh.” You weren’t sure what to say, wondering if you should pinch yourself, for many of your dreams centred themselves around such a confession. But the touch had never felt so real before, large fingers brushing against the soft skin of your face.

“I wonder if I’d be more focussed if I admitted fate might make some sense after all. I have never denied myself anything before now, and I’m tired of denying myself you. You have captivated me thoroughly, and I believe the hole in my chest was carved out to allow you to one day settle there.”

The words were by far the most romantic statement anyone had ever uttered to you. In your time as a courtesan you’d heard plenty of cheesy and affectionate lines, ones you’d brush off and forget by the time the client was done with you. Sukuna’s words would burrow into your heart and remain there for as long as you drew breath.

Could anyone fault you for loving a monster who would speak such beauty to you? Could you be hated for finding one who had been cursed by the world just like you had?

“I have no care for the Shogun’s men,” Sukuna continued, “in my eyes they are little more than flies most of the time, an annoying thing to be ignored unless they brush too close. Would it amuse you to know I killed Sugawara out of jealousy? To hear that my chest tightened at the idea of you being taken from my side?”

“Because you enjoy having such a capable rival in intelligence?” You asked, a wry smile creeping onto your face.

“Because I enjoy you.”

It was clear he was waiting for you to say something. The words that had poured from his mouth were unlike any he’d spoken before, and although you couldn’t see him, you could feel the sense of restlessness that gripped his body.

You would not leave him in uncertainty.

“I have only ever seen the world through your eyes,” you confessed shyly, “the only face I see in the endless darkness is yours, and I dream of it every night.” Sukuna’s fingers twitched against your face. “If you’ll have me, I am yours.”

“Even though I’m a monster?” He asked. There was no remorse in his tone, nothing to suggest that he was pained over who he was, it was just an honest question for you to answer as you wished. “You were scared of me when we met. I know you hid yourself from me after discovering our connection, eager to ensure our paths would never cross.”

“Because I believed you would kill me. I thought you to be a man who would stamp out any notion of love and eliminate me along with it.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, failing to deny your statement. You knew it to be true - if you had lost your shogi game on that first meeting, he would’ve done exactly that. It was in his nature to love only that which piqued his interest.

“Especially to be paired with someone so weak, I thought you would consider it an insult.”

He scoffed. “You are far from weak, I’ve found it impossible to best you.”

“I meant physically,” your voice went small. “I did not imagine the King of Curses would favour a sightless woman, nor one so easily broken.”

He was silent for a moment, seemingly processing your words. “I was small and frail once. Perhaps frailer than you. I wish someone had valued me then for my other virtues. I’m big enough and sharp enough to make up for your failings and you are clever enough to cover mine.”

Your mind was reeling at the idea of him admitting to having failings. Your heart stirring at his affection, and his easy desire despite your condition.

“I had not imagined a soulmate to be so well suited to me, for my tangles with fate have always been cruel,” he said. “But you’re something different, something I need at my side, and I will be your eyes, your protector, whatever it is you want in order to keep you there.”

“Oh.” You were positively blushing, whole body trembling beneath the weight of lovely words spoken in that deep voice of his.

Your soulmate wanted you.

A man hated by the world and filled with hatred in return had a space carved out for you, a space for love you hadn’t known him capable of.

You’d loved him from the first time you’d met him, drawn to him by an inexplicable force which seemed to grip him just as hard.

Soulmates really were wonderful.

Silence had settled between the two of you, only broken as the table screeched across the floor, the barrier between you removed. Sukuna shifted forward and an arm came to rest around your smaller body, pulling you towards him. His lips pressed against yours in a kiss you could only describe as sweet.

He didn’t dominate you in the manner you believed a man like him would, instead he took his time, mapping out your lips and drawing you closer to him, letting you bathe in the warmth of his body against yours. It was almost like he was trying not to scare you, aware that you couldn’t see anything he was doing and trying to move slowly as a result.

You wouldn’t have minded either way, your fingers clinging to the biceps of his upper arms, desperate for more of a touch you’d only ever dreamed of.

People always said that to finally touch your soulmate was a euphoria like nothing else, and you truly believed them to be right. Your head felt like it was swimming, chest swelling as if Sukuna’s own soul had wriggled beneath your skin to intertwine with your own.

It was a little overwhelming.

“How I long for you,” he murmured against your ear, breaking the kiss. “I was foolish to have not had you the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve ached for your touch longer than I care to admit.”

His fingers moved down to your robes, and your breath hitched at the touch. You were no stranger to sex, your job had required it, but the feeling as he undressed you wasn’t like any previous encounter you’d had. What regulars thought of your body was insignificant to you, sex was nothing special with them, just something you had to do if you wished to make a living wage.

This was the first time you’d ever been touched for free by someone you desired, and you felt suddenly nervous at your frail body being judged beneath his crimson gaze - especially when you couldn’t look upon him in the same moment. There was no distraction in the darkness to keep you from worrying about how his gaze might burn through you, imagining discontent on his handsome face.

A cold chill caught you once your robes fell, leaving you kneeling and exposed in front of him. A soft breath fell from his lips, fingers moving delicately from your shoulders down to your breasts, as if checking you were truly real and there before him. More heat flooded you as his finger brushed over your peaked nipple.

“Beautiful. If I didn’t despise the idea of sharing you with another I would paint you like this. Your body is worthy of that reverence.”

“I think my mind is probably more splendid.” You confessed. You had no eyes for awareness of your appearance, and had subsequently never really relied on it. People had said you were lovely, but you could never quite believe it, assuming that they were taking pity on you for your blindness.

“Your mind is exceptional. If I cannot beat you at shogi soon I have half a mind to ask you to assist me with real life strategy,” he said with a chuckle, fingers still trailing a slow path down your body. “But it doesn’t make your body any less lovely, and you cannot deny such things since you’ve never seen yourself. Let me be your eyes and tell you that you are breathtaking.”

A shyness overcame you at those words, head angled downwards as if it would hide your blushing state from him. He raised your chin with a finger, his nose bumping yours before capturing your mouth in a kiss once more, bringing you close against his bare chest. You were so lost in the comfort of the kiss, that you found yourself completely caught off guard when something wet swiped against your stomach and breasts.

Flinching in surprise, you drew yourself back in an attempt to understand what was happening. Sukuna laughed, a hand moving into your hair comfortingly. “It's my tongue,” he spoke easily.

Frowning, you found that his answer didn’t make sense, because still the wet appendage explored your breasts, sending your heartrate flying as it flicked against your nipple with impressive accuracy. How could he be speaking but also doing that?

“There’s a mouth on my stomach. Perhaps you didn’t notice when you controlled my body.”

You were ashamed to admit you hadn’t noticed such a thing. Sukuna had been naked when you’d awoken in his body, and you’d been quick to dress him up in robes, feeling rude to intrude upon the body of another without consent. You’d very intentionally not paid too much attention to the workings of his body, not when the first thing you’d seen was the oddity he sported between his legs.

The memory that he had two of what most men only had one, suddenly had you feeling a little nervous in your position. You had no time to voice such nervousness before he was picking you up, allowing his second tongue to continue its onslaught while he carried you over to the bed, depositing you down upon the silk.

His weight moved on top of you, and he swallowed a gasp with his lips as his monstrous tongue shifted its attention from your breasts down to between your legs, dexterously finding a path between your things and lathering your pussy with attention while Sukuna consumed your mouth. Tears pricked in your eyes at the sensation, unaccustomed to a feeling like that.

In all your years as a courtesan, you’d never been eaten out. Men didn’t come to brothels to serve women, they came to have their own needs attended to, and you’d done that in whichever manner they desired. You were grateful to have never experienced that feeling before, because it was a blessing to have Sukuna be your first.

Pressure built in your stomach over a series of minutes, overwhelmed by the way he seemed to be everywhere. A tongue between your lips, another between your thighs, hands squeezing your breasts, tweaking your nipples, more hands gripping your hips, pulling you up onto his secondary tongue to allow it a better angle to overwhelm you.

For the first time, you started to understand how Sukuna must feel whenever he played you at shogi - stumbling blindly in the dark whilst overcome from all angles with no means of knowing what was going to come next. It was pleasure in its highest form, and you were quick to cum with a yelp of his name, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes.

Sukuna broke the kiss, breathing heavily against your ear. It was a sound you enjoyed, one you could listen to all day if he’d allow you. “I have imagined you beneath me like this every night this week,” he mused, “my imagination is hardly as pleasant as having the real thing. You taste much sweeter than my mind could conjure.”

Again, you were flushing red. “Y-you can taste me through…that?”

“Of course.” You were certain he was grinning, “And I’m glad that I can.” His secondary tongue was still moving slowly through your folds, lapping up the remnants of your first orgasm, teasingly flicking against your clit and making your shudder.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, breathing quietly together. You weren’t sure what Sukuna wanted to do next, but for a moment you were happy to savor the warmth of his heavy body, twitching while he lazily continued his attention to your body. How you longed to see him, eager to witness the expression he was wearing while he attended to you.

All you had to go off was the erratic beating of his heart where his chest was pressed against you.

“Let me have you,” he murmured against your ear. “Let me make you mine.”

“I’m already yours.”

“Is that so? Then let me make it official.”

He shifted atop you, withdrawing his secondary tongue. In the absence of that heat between your thighs, you grew suddenly aware of a heavy pressure against your leg. Your mind jumped to the image of his cocks that you’d filed away in the back of your mind, gut twisting at the thought of either one of them pressing into you.

Sukuna chuckled from above you, a hand coming to stroke your hair. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

“I can tell, you’ve got that scared little look on your face. It’s fascinating, when you play shogi you’re unreadable, but outside of that? You’re practically an open book with your emotions always written across your face.”

Pouting, you let humiliation wash over you. Nobody had ever told you that before. It was hard to guard one's emotions when you had no measure of how the faces of others looked. That was something you’d have to work on. At least you had the good sense to give nothing away when you played shogi.

Another laugh echoed from his lips. “Even now I can see your panic. It’s very endearing.”

Any protest or response you had for him faded away into the recesses of your brain as he shuffled on top of you. He maneuvered you carefully into a new position, raising your legs and placing them up atop his broad shoulders. You were grateful for your flexibility in that moment, because the size difference between the two of you made that no easy task.

Sukuna was watching you from above while he positioned one of his cocks between your legs, running it steadily through your wet folds in a way that had you shivering with desire, still not fully recovered from the actions of his tongue. You were quick to discover that his focus was on his lower cock, as the upper one bumped pleasurably against your clit.

“You know,” he mused, stilling his movements. “I’m surprised you struck no deal with me. It is what I had imagined you would do.”

“What?”

“I’d assumed I would ask for more and you would refuse me. I’d thought your respect was tied to shogi, that you would refuse anything from me unless I was capable of beating you.” Your mind moved to Sugawara as you connected the dots. Sukuna believed you’d made that deal before, as if that tiresome Official hadn’t dictated those rules of his own choosing.

Shogi was a game you adored, mainly because it was an activity you could excel at even without sight, unlike many other courtesan pastimes such as painting, which would forever be an impossibility for you. But it was by no means something you made all your decisions on, nor were you particularly interested in the skill of others.

If someone could defeat you, you would congratulate them for their win and move on, it would ultimately mean little.

To you, it was little more than a game. To various men, it seemed to be something held in much higher regard - a true mark of intelligence rather than a game for which one could learn and remember strategies to allow them a win.

It mattered little to you whether Sukuna could defeat you or not. Your affection for him wasn’t tied to it in any manner.

“To make such a demand would be wasting my own time. Why would I turn down a man I desire over something so trivial? Besides, my bet with Sugawara was made to ensure I never had to lay with him, that is not the fate I want for us.”

“So you believe I am incapable of winning?” He asked, with greater disappointment than you’d been expecting.

“I do,” you said with a giggle, “just as I am incapable of emerging victorious in a battle. We all have our strengths.”

A yelp fell from you as he pushed the tip of his cock into you, catching you unawares. “Yeah?” He asked, pressing deeper into you, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair. “Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again - even in the midst of the dull pain of him driving into you, there was something so endearingly pathetic about his words.

“I am. But you’re free to challenge me whenever you like.”

He was silent as he bottomed out inside of you, his face falling to your neck and leaving a trail of kisses and bites along your skin while he allowed you some time to adjust. You were grateful for his consideration of your wellbeing, fingers digging into his skin, your gut aching as he leaned forwards over you, pushing your legs higher on his shoulders.

There was no question that he was the largest man you’d ever had inside you, practically tearing you apart with his intrusion, but after a few minutes of stillness you found yourself able to relax, the panic exhibited by your body slowly dissipating as you accommodated his size.

“I will challenge you whenever I like,” he whispered against your ear. “After this, the cloud of lust you’ve placed in my mind will be thinner, and I will beat you with ease.”

“Oh, I’m sure-”

Your snarky response was promptly cut off as he withdrew himself from you, only to swiftly fill you up once more, pulling a desperate cry of his name from your lips. There was no second adjustment period given, instead you found yourself clinging on for dear life as he filled you over and over again with swift and deep thrusts that had your eyes rolling back.

One of his hands moved to your stomach, pressing down against the bulge where his cock would press up inside you. It was clear he was fascinated by it, finding great enjoyment in you being claimed by him. You were certain he was no virgin, but it seemed that you were the first woman who meant something to him, the first one who was worth something beyond carnal pleasure.

Legs quivering beneath the weight of his thrusts, you appreciated the way two of his hands came to rest on your thighs, keeping you steady with each brutal snap of his hips. You were crying and whining, your hands blindly reaching for him but finding him just out of range in this position. Seemingly to appease you, he leant further forward, really testing the flexibility of your legs as he practically folded you in half.

Lips pressed against your forehead affectionately, and you enjoyed every single second of his attention, mind floating off on a cloud as your gut tightened with each careful stroke, your walls flexing around his cock. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, a feeling only heightened by the erratic contact of his higher cock rubbing up against your clit.

“You feel so good, fuck. I can’t last like this,” he grumbled, never losing pace. It stroked your ego to know of his desire, to understand just how much he’d been holding back since your first meeting. It was everything you imagined the joining of two soulmates would be - desperately euphoric and overflowing with pleasure.

Sex had never felt so good, it had never really felt good at all, and yet you could spend eternity with Sukuna buried inside of you, your bodies and souls joined just as they were always meant to be.

He was yours and you were his. It was just as fate had decreed.

There was nothing stopping the scream that ripped through you as you finally teetered over the edge, your body convulsing in pleasure and clamping down on Sukuna’s thick cock, eager to milk him for all he was worth. You were sobbing his name and writhing against the silk sheets, your hands gripping them desperately in an attempt to anchor yourself to something in the throes of pleasure.

Sukuna couldn’t hold on long after that either, spilling into you with a warmth that only heightened your pleasure. His other cock found its release at the same time, cum dripping down onto your stomach in a manner that you’d usually find disgusting, if it weren’t your soulmate who was doing it to you. He groaned your name quietly, and let your legs fall from his shoulders.

Without the barrier of your thighs, he settled himself down on top of you, pressing kisses all over your face, his cock still twitching inside your exhausted pussy. You let him lather you with affection, still trying to come to terms with this side of Sukuna. It had been what you’d wanted, what you believed he was capable of, but you hadn’t dreamed it would truly happen.

The most you believed you’d get from him was a lifetime of shogi matches, in which the two of you would remain close but never cross the line you’d been so desperate to leap across.

“Has the fog of lust lifted?” You teased. “Do you believe now you can defeat me?”

Sukuna let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Perhaps we will have to do that a few more times for it to fully ease.”

“Oh is that so?” You giggled, reaching out for his hair. He gripped your wrist and moved it into position, allowing you to play with the soft locks you’d been so eager to touch since the first time you’d seen them upon his head.

You wished you could gaze upon that lovely shade of pink once more, but it was enough to know he was there before you, yours to touch as you pleased.

“Mmm, I think it would help,” he purred.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

You’d give him whatever he wanted. You were his and he was yours for as long as he’d have you.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this one! thinking about doing one soulmate au for each of the jjk men because I find them so enjoyable to play with <3

anyway, for any crazy in love fans, the next chapter will be out towards the end of this week!

perma taglist: @calicatzz @suzunu @winkii @sukubusss @bobis-notmylover @tetsuski @torupilled @brattyxackerman @r0vena @chaos-4baby @moonlitreveri3 @feyrinnn @strawberryrosey @creamofsneky-blog @zeeseekay @p1nkfl0wers @apricityn @keiiiluv @dogggggggblog-kaye @duckie3801 @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich

© sukunahs

[indiewritesxoxo]

HIS PRETTIEST PEACH!

the only thing softer and sweeter than you is…sukuna?

synopsis: being captured by the king of the koopas would be horrible — if he didn’t have such a big dick. when you see the opportunity to save yourself from his clutches and claws, will you take it? or be his bride? (follow up to this!)

pairing: bowser!sukuna x princess peach!reader

wc: 5.2k

content: MDNI, smut!!, porn with plot, technically kidnapping but reader doesn’t really mind, yandere!sukuna, oral sex (f! receiving) unprotected piv sex, mating press, pulling out, manhandling, restraints, biting, they’re both freaks for each other, teasing, mocking, mario!gojo slander, bratty reader and brattier sukuna, dual pov

art cred: @numbuh666

“Don’t you think this is a little overkill?” 

What, since when were ropes and restraints frowned upon in a relationship? 

Couldn’t you just see it as another form of foreplay? 

“No?” He grunted, heavy footsteps echoing across the floor as he studied the ties binding you to his bed. 

His pretty princess sprawled out in his sheets, your once perfect pink dress wrinkled and ruffled from all your squirming. The mushroom kingdom might miss you, but they didn’t appreciate you anyway. 

Didn’t adore you enough to memorize every tiny detail of your routine and make sure no one like him would be able to snatch you straight from underneath your weak guard’s noses. 

What else was he supposed to do when you let a couple lousy plumbers hang around your castle? 

“Just take some of them off. It’s uncomfortable,” you complained, pushing out your bottom lip in a pretty pout, chest heaving against the ribbons wrapped around them, bows his claws clumsily tied earlier to make you look like a present he wanted to save for later. “Please?” 

That was Sukuna’s problem.

How the hell was he supposed to say no to you? 

His own mouth twitched down, eyes narrowing as he exhaled hard. 

There were meetings he meant to attend tonight. Plans to be made to make sure no one from your old life would show up to cause problems for your current one. 

All derailed just because he couldn’t resist the way you batted your lashes at him. 

He walked over to your bedside, feeling even more like a beast with his lumbering steps before he bent over to examine the ties keeping you here. 

“Can’t you just wait an hour?” He gruffly asked, dragging a claw over your stomach, itching to sink it in just enough to tear your clothes clean off. 

“It will take you two to come back,” you quickly retorted, tilting your head to the side – as if you held the power here instead of him. 

You were supposed to be his hostage. A prisoner he pined for. 

But the second you even hinted that perhaps you wouldn’t mind being his lover, whatever shred of his sanity he’d retained had unravelled at the first taste of your body. 

It wasn’t enough that you would be his bride soon. 

And even up in his air ship, where no one should be able to reach you, there was the discomforting fear someone might steal you from him the way he saved you before. 

“You could take me with you,” you hummed, giving him your best set of pleading eyes as he felt the once shriveled organ he called a heart squeeze at how sincere you looked. 

“I-” 

“Shouldn’t I be there anyway if it’s about our wedding?” You insisted, and despite his reservations, the only thing he was weak to was you. 

So he dragged his finger over the ribbon, slicing through it and the thick fabric easily as he cleanly cut each and every restraint keeping you tied to his bed. 

You had requested your own chambers when he first abducted brought you here, but these days, you rarely even stepped foot in them when you’d taken to staying up sleeping in his sheets. He liked your little scowl when you peeled off the now torn dress from your body, getting out of bed and rubbing your wrists with a haughty huff befitting your status. 

His future queen. 

“Happy?” He grumbled, shoulders rolling back as his greedy eyes dragged over the shape of your breasts, mouth watering enough he had to swallow his own spit. 

“No,” you sharply scoffed, striding over to your now-shared closet as you swiped through the selection of outfits he had made for you. “That was my last pink dress from home.” 

“I think these suit you much better,” he dryly replied, having to keep himself from snarling at your disdain for the clothes he’d chosen. So what if they showed a little more skin? “But if you wish, I’ll kidnap your dressmaker.”

“Can’t you just hire him?” You asked, giving him that look, like he was somehow testing your patience. 

Personally, he found that most prisoners, or well, workers only did their best after some time in the dungeon. 

But he didn’t mind bickering with you about it. 

Not when it made him almost feel like you were already married. 

“I guess,” he begrudgingly grunted, making a mental note to send a koopa down to find him tomorrow for you. 

Watching you get dressed was nearly as intoxicating as seeing you strip, studying the lines of your body, the way you moved your limbs as you squeezed into the tight outfit he was absolutely correct in assuming would look fantastic on you. Eyes glazing over as he committed and etched the image of you in his head, content to capture you like this in a painting later, frame it and hang it up in his private study as a new permanent fixture. 

Sukuna was not accustomed to compliments. 

But he found himself awkwardly clearing his throat, reaching out for you right as you glanced over your shoulder at him. 

“My bride is beautiful,” he muttered, his voice coming out all low and gravelly as heat creeped up his neck and threatened to color his cheeks in an obvious blush. 

Forcing himself to look back at the barred windows, biting the inside of his mouth until it drew blood. The thick taste of iron on his tongue as a delicate digit tapped his much larger hand. 

“Thank you,” you softly said, tempering your tone as you laced your fingers through his. “Shall we go?” 

He wasn’t stupid enough to assume you truly loved him back. Not the way he loved you, at least. 

Knew damn well that this could just be some attempt to get his guard lowered enough for you to escape. 

You might just want to know what their plans were. Where he’d send his troops of koopas to claim the land that used to be yours. Figure out any weak points. 

It didn’t matter. 

He wasn’t going to give you the chance to take advantage of it. No matter how much he might loosen your leash. 

Still, the walk through the air ship was rather peaceful. 

The warmth of your palm pressed against his, your skin brushing against his, those quick glances you’d steal up at him when his shell bumped into you. 

The koopas were already waiting for him there, crowded around the table and chattering before they all froze at the creak of the door swinging open. 

Turning to bow down before him, his ego inflating at their easy obedience while he caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes to his right. 

“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “It appears there aren’t enough chairs.” 

It would be easy to have a koopa scramble to fetch one for you. But just lazily walked over to his throne and sat back in it, spreading and patting his thighs while you stared at him with an adorable attempt at a stern expression. 

He could picture you presiding over meetings like this back in your own Kingdom, addressing those morons in your dominion as if they even deserved to speak to you at all. 

And now here you were, climbing on his lap in a tiny outfit, looking more like a concubine than a dignified princess. 

“You did this on purpose,” you muttered, not that you actually seemed mad. More like you were pretending to be – acting out a role you knew you were supposed to fill.

“How?” He dryly mocked. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Well, sure, perhaps part of him suspected you’d protest being all tied up and ask to tag along. But the chairs were just a coincidence. 

You shuffled on his lap, trying to get comfortable like he couldn’t feel the way you were quivering already. 

That was the part you were horrible at hiding. Because despite that sweet mask you liked to wear of a proper lady, you couldn’t disguise your attraction to him, couldn’t pretend to be distinguished when he’d seen how much you craved his cock every night. Derived a certain degree of pleasure in him ruling over you instead of the other way around. 

“You’re cruel,” you half-whispered, as if he somehow humiliated you when he could smell how horny you were. 

You were cute when you were trying to be strong. 

What would that plumber of yours think of you on his lap like this? 

He supposed he’d take care of that business after the wedding. Once he had bound you to him for good. 

“Lord Sukuna, we received a report from the koopas stationed-” 

He waved it away, shaking his head before he could even finish. 

“We’re discussing the wedding tonight,” he interrupted, running a calloused palm across your waist, feeling the way you shivered at his touch. “Since my bride is here.” 

It would all belong to him soon enough anyway.

Your heart. Your home. 

He’d conquer it all. 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

You hadn’t meant to fall for him. 

He was meant to be the monster in the tale. 

The scary villain that needed to be slain. 

A beast you were supposed to hate by the end of the story. 

You’d grown up with plenty of fairytales. Romances spun about princesses who were saved by brave knights and lived happily ever after. 

You had always thought you would marry a guy who wields a sword instead of spewing fire, someone steadfast and pure hearted. 

Sukuna was stubborn. Strange. Hot-headed with that horrible temper of his, with claws that looked made for slashing rather than clumsily clutching the stems to bouquets you could hardly believe he picked for you. 

You stared at his sleeping figure. The tattoos inked against his tanned skin as his chest slowly rose and fell. 

His mouth parted, the low roar of his snore starting up as you untangled yourself from his heavy limbs. 

The meeting had run far longer than either of you had anticipated, heavy eyelids drooping from exhaustion with you still on his lap. And even when it ended, he just yawned and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you back to your room with one hand while the other rubbed his exhausted eyes. 

He didn’t even try to fuck you. To your disappointment. 

Just plopped you down in bed and joined you there, strong arms wrapping around you before he promptly passed out. 

But no matter how many sheep you counted in your head, or how hard you shut your own eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep.

Your brain was buzzing, hyperaware of his touch, of his breath, a big ball of tension coiling tight in your core as you tried to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs. 

For a guy who kinda kidnapped you, the least he could do was have a smaller dick so you didn’t have to think about how good it felt to be fucked full of him constantly. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, shuffling off the bed slowly, stare still trained on him as you avoided waking him up. 

Usually though, once he was out, he wouldn’t stir until the sun was slipping through the cracks in the porthole he called a window. 

Now, there were only a handful of candles lit to illuminate the dark, your engagement ring glittering in the low light. It was big, and well, a bit gaudy, a ridiculously large pink sapphire glinting in the middle surrounded by small diamonds embedded into a gold band. 

Something that screamed you were taken from a mile away. 

He’d gotten down on one knee, the spiky shell on his back seeming even bulkier when he was all bent down like that, popping open a velvet box to propose to you like you were a normal couple. 

A year ago, you would have scoffed at the idea of him bowing to anyone. Laughed that someone might say yes to him.

But your own affirmation had come a bit too easily for even you to conceal your own crush. 

Could you call it that? 

Shrink your feelings down to something more comfortable to swallow? 

He rolled over, and you froze, throat constricting as you waited for his body to realize you weren’t there and wake him up. 

Instead, he grabbed the pillow, squeezing it tight as his nostrils twitched. Sniffing the scent of you left there before he let out a soft sigh and settled back into dreamland. 

When you watched him like this, all peaceful and pleased, you could almost trick yourself into thinking that this could last forever. 

But your feet were creeping closer to the door, heart thumping rapidly as you tried to quell your troubled mind with reassurances that you wouldn’t get caught. 

This could be the only opportunity you ever got. Your only chance to just leave. 

Your parasol had just been lazily stashed in a storage closet by one of the koopas, so it wouldn’t even be hard to snag it and slip off the ship. 

All you’d really have to do is find the courage to jump and float down. 

Of course, you’d need to hope that you weren’t drifting over anything dangerous. 

But considering you were sharing close quarters with someone as feared as him, who had enough strength to probably split your former plumber in two, you supposed whatever was below couldn’t be much scarier than what you’d be leaving behind. 

Were you scared though? 

Truly? 

Did his pointy teeth hold any terror anymore? When was the last time those sharp claws of his inspired even a sliver of apprehension? 

You had started to see them differently. Him differently. 

Anticipating the next time he’d sink his mouth on your skin and leave love bites. Fantasize about him scraping his claws down your back. Intoxicated by the weight of the restraints he liked to tie you down with. 

Was it fucked up to be horny instead of frightened? 

Yes, but that wasn’t exactly something you wanted to unravel while you were tiptoeing across dim hallways thinking about the logistics of an escape plan. Where would you even run to? 

Find some tropical island to take shelter in and hope none of the ape-ish men there would make things worse? 

You couldn’t just abandon the mushroom kingdom either. 

Leave the land you’d sworn to protect behind for him to seize in your absence. 

If you stayed, you could still rule over them. Ensure their safety – and your own. 

Although, you were sure it was only a matter of time before a certain someone attempted to take you back. 

Gojo seemed to think simply saving you was enough. 

He was always busy with Suguru or racing karts or doing other stupid shit that made you feel more like a second thought than a lover who was special to him. 

Sacred.

You wanted to be worshipped. 

Not strung along or simply sucking it up to see how long you could suffer. 

You were a princess after all. 

What purpose did you have if you weren’t born to be revered? 

Perhaps that was why when you opened the door you stopped in front of, the first thing you saw wasn’t your parasol staring back at you – but your own face. 

A hundred of them. 

Canvasses of different sizes, some hung up on the walls and others lined up against each other, one still on the easel in the center of the room as you stepped on the crinkly plastic tarp laid out and covered in paint splatters on the floor. 

Who said a villain couldn’t have hobbies? 

You hesitated as you gazed at his latest portrait of you, the soft strokes, the delicate touches that seemed incapable of coming from his massive hands. Each one was deliberate. This painting captured you in a candid moment, your head turned to the side as you leaned over the edge of the ship, the sky behind you and the sun on your face. Some of the others featured a…more flattering version of him next to you. 

Ones that made him look more regal.

More like a man instead of a monster by your side. 

Gojo would have scoffed. 

Said it was cheesy or stupid or came up with some other cheap insult to diminish his work. 

But it made your heart stutter. 

Slam faster into your ribcage the longer you stared at yourself. 

This was how he saw you. 

And it was how you wanted to be seen. 

You could blame it on reason. 

Say you had a responsibility or you were just doing what was rational. 

But you simply didn’t want to run away. 

Would it truly be so horrible to marry him? To be his wife and rule two kingdoms instead of one? 

Maybe give him a Sukuna Jr.? 

A loud bang exploded in the distance. 

The sound of wood splintering and faint crashes that seemed to get closer by the second. 

Oh well. 

It seemed your groom-to-be had woken up. 

You didn’t budge though. 

Just folded your arms across your chest as a chill ran down your spine and waited for him to find you – even as his gruff voice barked orders for his koopas to start sweeping over the ship for any sign of you. It didn’t take him too long to find you, the door thrown open so fast it hit the wall behind it and made an awful noise. You stilled, only throwing him a bored look over your shoulder.

“You’re making a racket,” you commented, pretending to be casual as you returned your attention to your own portrait. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded to know, stomping over and grabbing your wrist to spin you around. It was hard to hide the hint of a smirk your lips attempted to curl up into, but you managed, fixing him in your most unamused stare. “You’re trying to fuckin’ run away, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t know whether to deny it or offer the admission that you at least changed your mind.

The feral scowl etched into all his rough features was pretty hot.

“I’m admiring your art,” you murmured softly, wondering how difficult it would be to make him melt for you. 

“Liar,” he accused, thick brows pinched together tightly. “You left me.” 

“How could I leave you if I’m right here?” You pointed out, tilting your head to the side. 

For all his fire, he faltered when you offered him a small smile, his own mouth curving down to form a disgruntled frown. 

“Stop playing dumb,” he hissed, barring his teeth as if it would work on you now. 

“Are you calling me dumb?” You asked, arching a brow up as if you believed he was. 

His free fingers curled into fists he immediately shook out, jaw clenching as his red eyes seared straight through you. 

“I am not-” He stopped himself, maybe realizing he was falling into your trap before angrily shaking his head. “You little-” 

“Little what?” You dared him to actually finish his curse, but he had clamped his lips shut. Pulling you closer to him before unceremoniously scooping you up bridal style, muttering to himself as he stormed back in the direction of your now shared bedroom. 

“Thought that fucking idiot came and stole you,” said the man who stole you first. You had to hold in your snort, keeping your head down as you tried to not let him see you roll your eyes. 

But his intense stare was fixed on you, his nose scrunching up, lips parting in an annoyed scoff. 

“You think this is funny,” he grunted. 

“Is it not?” You asked, tempted to test just how crazy you could drive him. 

“You are-” Sukuna grimaced, biting down on the inside of his own cheek so hard you knew he probably drew blood.

“You’re really having trouble finishing your sentences tonight,” you commented, pushing your luck further. The vein bulging across his forehead ready to burst at your trivial giggle was a cute perk to pissing him off. “Tell me, my king, what exactly were you going to do if I had run away?” 

“Get you back,” he grumbled, as if you somehow could miss the glint in his eyes when you called him your king. 

You wondered how long it would take for him to ask you to say that in bed. 

And got your answer a lot sooner than anticipated. 

The moment you had crossed the threshold, he was ripping the barely-there clothes off of you and pinning you to the bed. 

Bites buried into your skin as he travelled from your stomach up to your breasts, teeth skimming against every available inch of skin until he was sinking the deepest ones into your throat, a low growl rumbling from his chest as you squirmed underneath his heavy weight. 

His tongue dragged over your neck, leaving a lewd line over the sensitive spots he’d just been sucking on until his mouth was positioned right by your ear. 

“Say it again,” he commanded, all husky and hot as your stomach found a way to tie itself in an even tighter knot. 

“Say what?” you played just as dumb as he accused you of, the tension just building on top of itself as his warm breath fanned over your skin, claws sinking into your hips just careful enough to not hurt, but to make you feel the pressure. 

“You know what,” he hissed, too prideful to admit what it was he really wanted.

“You want me to call you my king?” You hummed, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, softening your voice. 

Sukuna might not say it. But his heavy cock pressed up and throbbing against your thigh surely told you the truth. 

“I want you to mean it,” he murmured, his defined jaw catching the candlelight while you watched the lump in his throat bob. 

You hesitated. 

Considered giving up this charade the two of you had been embroiled in. 

Him dutifully playing your captor while you pretended to be a damsel in distress as if you hadn’t been having sex like partners instead of just lovers.  

He might not know the difference. 

But you did. 

Because even after he came, he didn’t just roll over and conk out. And when you woke up together, he didn’t just abandon you to handle his own affairs. 

He took care of you, fed you only the best foods and offered the best baths, pampered you in luxuries and made sure you wouldn’t want for anything when you were with him. 

What else could a girl ask for? 

So what if he was a little…sharp around the edges? 

You could love him and all his spikes. 

It wasn’t like you were ignoring him, but you’d been so swept up in your own thoughts you were caught off-guard when he abruptly buried his face between your thighs. 

Mercilessly shoving his tongue inside you, diving in without a sliver of reluctance, with a single obvious goal in mind. 

Making you moan what he wished to hear if you wouldn’t just outright say it. 

Swirling his tongue around with the precision of someone who was determined to drag you to an orgasm. The thick muscle working you open ruthlessly, his fingers pressing down and pulling you into his mouth. 

Groaning into your cunt to make your body unhelpfully spasm, giving into those maddening patterns he was painting inside you as those reverberations traveled up through you. 

Resisting felt pointless. 

Holding back was so much harder when the pleasure he was providing was overwriting all your common sense. 

You were tugging hard at his roots, hips arching off the soft surface of the bed to drive him in even deeper. But it simply wasn’t enough. 

He made you just as greedy as him. 

“M-more,” you moaned, swallowing hard as the heat started to get to your bed, the warmth he was radiating making beads of sweat roll down your forehead. 

He pulled out, laughing crudely as he looked up at you with wild eyes. 

“More?” 

Ah. 

Maybe that was a mistake. 

But you couldn’t find an ounce of regret when Sukuna was roughly flipping you over onto your stomach and nudging your thighs further apart with his knee next. Making sure you were properly spread as he climbed back on top of you, trailing the sharp edge of his claw up your spine before grabbing the nape of your neck. 

You couldn’t look back. 

Could barely breathe. 

Stuck there with your face pressed against the smooth blankets as you waited for him to make his move. 

“You want more?” He echoed his previous sentiment, disbelief still ringing in his tone. 

“Do I have to ask again?” You teased, even if your question came out half an octave too high. 

You would. 

But only if he made you. 

“Say it then,” he growled. 

“My king is mean,” you wryly mocked, knowing that he would fuck you harder for it. 

“I’ll show you mean,” he muttered, the swollen tip of his cock pressing right up against your slick entrance as you tensed up. 

You used to think you were smart. 

But considering how soaked you were waiting to have sex with him, you supposed you weren’t half as intelligent as you’d been before. 

And the moment he was sliding in, you were losing even more IQ points you didn’t know if you had to spare. 

Thoughts getting all fuzzy as they faded away to be replaced with mantras of his name, desperation bleeding into each one as you ached to be full. 

He was still gracious enough to ease you into the first thrust, slowly splitting you open on his length before pulling out and doing it again. 

Walls clamping down and straining to get accustomed to all his ridges, to his sheer size. 

But he was bottoming out before you could get your sanity back in check, all your rationality dissolving in a puddle of raw need as he hit a spot that made you jolt. 

“Not running from me now,” Sukuna snarled, pulling your hips back down as he plunged his cock even deeper, grinding it up, up, up for you to practically feel him in your lungs. 

Air squeezing out with each one of his rough thrusts no matter how desperately you tried to quickly suck more back in. 

A snarky piece of you wanted to argue that you hadn’t technically run away at all, but you didn’t think he had any reason left in him either. 

This was just about you and him and fucking until he felt better. 

Until you were both so enmeshed you would never want to leave him again. 

The connection between his cock and your cunt driving you nuts as he drove it in again and again. 

“Being real quiet now,” he taunted, and you just scoffed back at him, unable to form any coherent words to bicker back. 

But before you could try to find him, he was pulling back out right as you were getting edged closer. 

He flipped you over in a second, impatient fingers digging meanly into your thighs as he folded them against your chest. 

Sukuna didn’t have to verbalize it. Mutter a word for you to understand the why. 

He wanted to see your face when he made you cum. 

Cock sheathing itself back inside you as if it was the most natural fit in the world. 

His other hand reached for your throat, big fingers wrapping around it like your own personal necklace as he squeezed just enough to steal some of your air. “You just like punishing me,” you breathlessly moaned, gripping onto his muscled biceps as his thick cock stretched you to the limit, rubbing just right on all those sensitive spots. Contrary to the filthy words he was spewing, he was still fucking you precisely how he knew you liked. 

“You liked being punished,” he retorted, thumb rubbing over your tendon, feeling the faint indents of his teeth he’d left behind. 

Was that what you liked? 

Or was it simply him? 

“What would your plumber do if he saw you like this?” He grunted, gritting his teeth as he fucked you harder, hips smacking into your skin in harsh thwaps. “Panting and begging me for more.” 

“Probably ask to join?” 

Sukuna froze, brows furrowing as he opened his mouth to snarl something nasty before he changed his mind and decided to just fuck that thought out of you instead. 

Letting go of your throat to move his big hand south, his thumb finding your clit to toy with that too. Drawing more practiced circles over the sensitive bud, keeping a steady rhythm of pounding into you as he dragged you towards a cliff. 

You wanted him to throw you off. 

To jump off with you and fill you up. 

The pressure mounting higher, your thighs tensing and toes curling in anticipation as your limbs began trembling. 

You weren’t sure what the last straw was. Whether it was his warmth or his touch or the way his mouth crashed into yours for a messy kiss right as he pressed just right on your clit, but you crumbled. 

Cumming with his name on your tongue, shuddering as the pleasure wracked through you – just for him to pull out midway through, cum leaking out all across your skin. Steady drips falling on top of you as he stroked his shaft, your vision hazy in the corners before you shut your eyes and let go of the tension still lingering in your bones.

“Fuck, you’re so-” He started to groan, his head tilting back to expose the seductive line of his collarbone, the tattoos standing out across his chiseled chest. Your husband-to-be. 

“Perfect?” 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

What good was a wedding without a bride? 

Sukuna touched your hair, unable to wipe the scowl still lingering on his face while he huffed and puffed over your disappearing act a full hour after you fell asleep post-sex. 

He didn’t believe you. 

Even if he wanted to.

You were as clever as you were cute. Crafty. 

There was a chance for you to go. To get as far from him as you could. 

But he found you standing there in your own shrine. 

Unbothered by the commotion and the chaos, just staring at yourself before throwing him that annoyingly attractive glance. 

Were you trying to piss him off? 

Had you simply come to your senses and realized fleeting would be futile? 

He didn’t know. 

And you wouldn’t tell him. 

You were still wearing your ring though. 

It looked rather good – especially when you weren’t wearing anything else. 

Sukuna sighed, chewing his already bitten raw bottom lip as he tasted the iron in his mouth. 

Fingers flexing as he possessively held you tight, unable to loosen his grip in fear you’d just slip away again. 

You had made him a fool. 

And he didn’t think there was any way for him to undo it. 

He didn’t think he made a noise, but you began to stir, sleepily blinking up at him and yawning as you started to pull away, wait no, snuggle closer? 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest as you draped a lazy arm around his side, your scent invading his system and frying all his synapses. 

“Just go to sleep,” you murmured, delicate fingers decisively patting him. “M’not going anywhere.” 

Yeah, not under his watch. 

a/n: this was a super fun commission i did and i really hope you guys enjoyed it too!!

[opiodistic]

your boyfriend ragebaits himself and then fucks it out in you!

hey, satoru never claimed to be very sensible when it came to you.

it had started long before you had even agreed to go out with him. back when he still had a big, fat and very poorly concealed crush on you. his mind was his biggest opp, truly.

sitting down in class, staring at the back of your head as he imagined scenarios of some other douche asking you out - and his biggest nightmare - you agreeing.

or, the thought of there being someone else who would snatch you right up before satoru built up the courage to ask you out.

back then, these thoughts gave him the push he desperately needed. he asked you out, you agreed, and he's been living his blissfully happy life ever since.

except...

satoru had his weight pinning you down in a mean mating press, his thick cock particularly hard today as he thrusted inside you like a mad man.

"'t-toruuuu-" you sobbed, your fingers digging in the skin of his back as you held on for dear life as your boyfriend pounded in you. the bed was creaking under the weight of satoru's hurried thrusts, making sounds that were lewder than the symphony of moans and cries leaving your mouth.

"y-y'belong to me," satoru panted, bringing his head to the side of your neck. he bit down on it, making your arch up and cry out.

"p-plea- hngh- haaah," you moaned, trying to twist your neck off his jaw, "s-slo- p-pleas-"

he brought his hand under your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder. the angle made you gasp out as satoru's weeping cock hit that particular spot, over and over again.

"say it," he gripped your jaw, turning your face towards his. his cock twitched at the sight of your fucked-out expression, his pupils dilating as he felt a surge of pride.

i did this, he thought, turning his hips up a notch. mine, she's mine.

"s-say it," he repeated, releasing your jaw, "you're mine, ngh-"

you moaned out some gibberish, too far gone to concentrate on what your boyfriend was saying as you tried to survive his relentless thrust, mind more focused on your oncoming orgasm.

"baby," he dipped down, taking your open mouth in a sloppy kiss before biting down on your lower lip, "y'r mine, baby, please, say it."

you nod, tears streaming down your face as you clench down hard on his cock, “‘m- m’yours- hic- youurs—”

“atta girl,” he presses a kiss on your calf, gripping your hips as he slams inside of you, grinning when your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as you cum all over his cock, fists gripping the sheets as you arch off the bed.

“s-so- fuckkk… so pretty,” he doesn’t slow down, fucking you through the orgasm as he bends down, “so pretty.. ngh- a-and all f’me.”

“satoruuuu,” you garble against his mouth as he kisses you again, pressing his entire weight on top of you, “slow down— please— hic!”

“we’ve got a long night ahead, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your tear stained cheek, licking up the salty residue, “need to make sure this pussy moulds to the shape of my cock.”

[seoyue]

murder, your grace?

synopsis: You die completely at random and wake up in the manhwa you were reading… as the villainous wife of the Duke of the North, no less. The same woman who spent the last six months giving her husband the cold shoulder, ruining their marriage, and basically speedrunning her own execution. Now you have exactly one job: fix this disaster of a relationship before your husband decides to finish what the original plot started.

pairing: villainess!reader x northern duke!sukuna

mdni | warnings: smut, fem reader, rough sex, size kink & size difference, possessive/jealous behavior, degradation, dirty talk, marking, spanking, creampie, multiple positions

word count: 14.3k

a\n: longest fic i’ve written so far. nearly lost my mind, almost scrapped it entirely, questioned every life choice that led me here, but somehow, against all odds… it’s done. so glad its over LOL

You died while reading a manhwa.

One moment you were curled up in bed at 3 a.m., a blanket pulled up to your chin, the only light in your dark room coming from your phone screen. Your eyes were glued to the latest chapter of The Duke’s Black Heart, thumb hovering over the final panel as frustration and reluctant longing twisted in your chest. The illustration was breathtakingly brutal: Duke Ryomen Sukuna standing tall amid swirling snow, pink hair tousled by the wind, crimson eyes empty of mercy, black tattoos stark against his skin as he looked down at the broken body of his wife.

The page loaded one last time. The panel filled your screen. Then your vision blurred, the room spun violently, and everything went black. No pain. No final breath. Just sudden, heavy nothing.

And then you woke up somewhere else.

Cold air rushes into your lungs, sharp and biting. Your eyes flutter open slowly, lashes feeling unusually heavy. You’re lying in a massive four-poster bed, the canopy above you made of thick crimson velvet that drapes down like heavy curtains. The silk sheets beneath you are cool and slippery against your skin in a way that feels far too expensive, far too unfamiliar. Thick blankets weighted with fur press down on your body, carrying a faint scent of woodsmoke and aged iron. Your limbs feel wrong — too slender, too delicate. When you lift your hands, they are smaller, with smooth palms and perfectly manicured nails that catch the dim morning light filtering through tall, frost-laced windows.

You push yourself up into a sitting position. The silk nightgown slips off one shoulder. A large, ornately framed mirror stands across the room, reflecting the lavish bedchamber: dark wood furniture, heavy tapestries on the walls, a fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cold stone that sends a shiver racing up your spine.

You turn toward the mirror.

The face staring back at you is not your own. It is strikingly beautiful in a refined, aristocratic way that feels both alien and intimidating.

You have transmigrated.

You are now the villainess.

Duke Ryomen Sukuna’s wife of exactly six months.

The realization slams into you like ice water. Memories that don’t belong to you flood your mind in vivid, unrelenting flashes. The forced marriage ceremony under the Emperor’s decree. The wedding night where her body had lain stiff and unresponsive beneath his, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she called him a beast under her breath and swore she would never allow him to touch her again. Six agonizing months of total, deliberate silence: never speaking a single word directly to him, never sharing his table, never sharing his bed. Only curt notes passed through servants, hidden schemes whispered to outsiders, and a cold, hateful distance that grew sharper every day. Sukuna’s contempt had hardened into something lethal.

In the original story, he kills her. Publicly. Brutally. Before the year is out — dragging her into the courtyard and ending her life with the same large, scarred hands you’ve fantasized about for months.

And now I’m her.

Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.

The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.

“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”

You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”

The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”

The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”

You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”

The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.

Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”

They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.

They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.

The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.

There he is.

Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.

You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.

His knife stops mid-cut.

The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.

Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.

You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”

The words hang in the air.

Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.

“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”

He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.

“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”

Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.

You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.

The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.

By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.

You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.

Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.

A gruff “Come in” came from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.

The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.

Then his crimson eyes flicked up.

The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.

You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.

“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”

He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.

“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”

His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.

“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.

“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.

“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”

He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.

You didn’t argue.

You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.

Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

That went badly.

You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.

Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.

You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?

If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.

You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?

It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.

You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.

The next morning arrived quietly.

You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.

You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.

You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.

About an hour later, the door opened.

Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.

For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.

“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”

You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.

“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”

Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.

“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”

You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”

He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”

You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”

Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.

“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”

But he didn’t ask you to leave.

You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.

It wasn’t much.

But it also wasn’t outright rejection.

You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.

Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.

“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”

You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.

“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”

The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.

You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”

Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.

“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”

He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.

“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.

You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.

This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.

But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.

You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.

Tomorrow it is.

The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.

You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.

You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.

They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.

You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.

“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.

A firm knock sounded at the door.

“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.

You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.

Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.

His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.

“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.

“I said I would,” you replied simply.

He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.

You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”

You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.

The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.

When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.

Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.

“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.

You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.

“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”

The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.

The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.

Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.

You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.

Tonight was different.

Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.

A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.

“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”

Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”

The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”

You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.

“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”

“I thought she hated him…”

“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”

Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.

Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.

For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”

You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”

Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.

A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.

“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”

Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”

You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.

Suddenly, you were alone.

You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.

A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.

“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”

You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.

“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”

His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”

Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”

The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.

Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”

You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Sukuna.

His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.

Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.

“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”

Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”

You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.

Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”

Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.

“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”

Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.

He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”

The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.

You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.

“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”

You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”

Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.

“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”

His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.

“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”

His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.

The music swelled again around you.

Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.

“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”

Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.

He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”

You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”

The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.

As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.

“Sukuna…” you started softly.

He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.

“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”

The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.

When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.

“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”

He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.

Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.

The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.

When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.

When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.

“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.

“Wait…”

Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.

You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"

The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.

Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.

“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”

He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.

“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.

Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.

“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”

He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”

He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.

The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.

His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.

Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.

“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”

He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.

“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.

He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.

You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.

You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.

Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.

You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.

For a long second he just stared.

Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.

You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.

The silence was heavy.

“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”

He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”

Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.

The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.

Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.

“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”

He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.

Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.

For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.

Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.

“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.

Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.

“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”

Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”

Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.

God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.

He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”

You didn’t make him wait long.

You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.

“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”

A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.

Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.

The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.

Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.

“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”

You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.

There was no point in holding back anymore. 

“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.

“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”

You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.

“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.

“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”

His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”

His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.

“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”

The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.

Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.

You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.

“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.

“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”

His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.

“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.

Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.

“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”

He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.

“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”

His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.

Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.

“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”

You didn’t hesitate any longer.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.

Then he took control.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.

You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.

“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”

He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.

“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”

He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.

Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.

“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”

You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.

“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”

His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.

You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.

He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”

One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”

He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.

He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.

“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”

He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.

The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.

You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”

He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”

His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.

It snapped.

You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.

He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.

He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.

“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”

His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”

You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.

“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”

He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.

You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.

Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.

He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.

“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”

He pushed forward slowly.

The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.

“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”

He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.

You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”

He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.

“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.

You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.

“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.

“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.

You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.

“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”

“Good girl.”

He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.

The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.

“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”

“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”

It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”

He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.

“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”

Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.

Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”

He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.

Sukuna went feral.

He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.

You were cockdrunk almost immediately.

Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.

He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.

“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.

Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”

You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”

Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.

“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.

Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.

“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.

He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.

“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”

He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.

You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.

Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”

You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”

He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”

He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.

You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.

“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”

He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.

Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.

But he didn’t let go.

a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

All rights reserved © 2026 seoyue. No part of my work may be copied, reposted, modified, translated, or claimed as your own on any platform.

[reignpage]

૮ ․ ․ ྀིა In which Toji’s pretty fucking clingy

It starts with his early morning routine — whether he’s waking up before the sun for a “job” or heading out for a run, he peppers kisses all over your face along the way. A kiss the moment his eyes open, before he’s even turned his alarm off. A kiss when he gets back from the bathroom. A kiss after he’s gotten changed. A kiss before he leaves for work. Then another when he returns a second later because he feels like he didn’t give you a strong enough one to wish himself good luck.

“Mm, Toji, you’re gonna be late,” you groan groggily.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replies, rough hands brushing your hair back. “Made coffee and breakfast. Make sure you eat...Alright, one last kiss...No, kiss me like you actually love me, woman...Yeah, that’s a good one. Give me another, ma....Don’t be a pain in the ass. Might die out there. Want me to bleed out without a proper goodbye kiss? Yeah, thought so...Thanks, doll. Always so good to me.”

He always has his hands on you. Besides the possessive, sexual ways, he plays with your lips as you rest your head on his chest, feels the sharpness of your teeth, pokes your belly button for warmth, traces lines from freckle to freckle or mark to mark along your back, or even curls your damn pubes as you watch a movie.

Toji doesn’t even realise what his hands are doing. Not until you bring it up. He genuinely doesn’t know why he does any of it. “Oh,” he says, blinking. “Weird.”

Does he take his hand away from your bush?

No. Of course not.

It’s like he can’t sleep or rest or focus on what you’re watching if he’s not touching you.

He also follows you to the bathroom like a kid or a puppy. If you’re doing your makeup or brushing your teeth, his big self takes up most of the reflection in the mirror. Toji simply leans against the doorway and nods along to whatever gossip you’re sharing. And if you’re showering, he’ll sit on the toilet lid and watch. “Yeah? Why d’you think she does that? Childhood trauma, maybe?” he suggests, voice rough with sleep.

“Dunno. Some people are just born like that, I think,” you reply. With a groan, you make known how you can’t reach a spot on your back with your washcloth. He’s opening the shower door a second later. 

Toji takes over, making sure to scrub you even better than you would yourself, uncaring of the water splashing all over him. He grunts. “I blame her parents for not loving her enough. That’s why she needs all that attention.” A pause. “Trust me — I know.”

And he does all of this whilst pretending you’re the clingy one. As you’re laying on him, he’ll huff and complain, “Fuck, it’s warm. D’ya have to be clinging to me like some kinda koala? Can’t you go back to your side of the bed?”

Already used to his bullshit, you mumble between his meaty pecs, “You dragged me on top of you, Fushiguro. Every time I move back, I always find myself back here, so quit your yapping.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, dismissing you with a frown.

You begin rolling off his chest. Only to be halted by heavy arms which tighten around your body. Heavy silence passes.

Beneath you, Toji grumbles:

“Don’t say a word.”

Wario and Toji give off the same vibe to me... rip my taste in men

[indiewritesxoxo]

THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL

nothing's fair in love and war

you died for ryomen sukuna. you refuse to live for him this time.

synopsis: you weren't supposed to survive. but when you're given a second chance and wake up from death's door years in the past, you're left to decide whether to stay in sukuna's shadow and repeat history or carve out a new path for yourself. when the latter leads you to falling for a pretty dark haired boy, you quickly discover that your history is a lot harder to run from than you thought. will choso help you through it? or will sukuna haunt you forever?

pairing: heian era!Sukuna x f!reader, Choso x f!reader

wc: 12.7k

content: mdni!! angst and fluff and smut!!!! character death, regression, reader dies and accidentally turns back in time, blood/violence, true form sukuna, he's a real asshole guys lmfaoo, sukuna has ISSUES, abandoment issues, trauma from death, emotional hurt, BUT COMFORT THIS TIME !!, moving on from toxic relationships, courting, choso is obsessed with her, garden dates, mutual pining, falling in love, kissing/making out, marriage proposals, accidental pregnancy, pregnant sex, oral sex (f! receiving), choso loves to eat out his wife (he just loves his wife in general), unprotected piv sex, doggy style, nipple play, creampie, sukuna being miserable and mourning what he could've had, VERY happy ending for reader

a/n: this is a commission by my sweet amazing angel @martianzmars and part two to this!!! ADORE you cutie pie :3 the sukuna art is by @alukaforyou <3

How long had red eyes haunted you? 

Carved themselves into the deepest recesses of your mind, always present, always there, even when he wasn’t. Watching you chase after him, waste away days and years yearning for him to look back and realize you couldn’t catch up. 

You clung to your last breaths like you’d clung to him. 

Where had your love landed you? At death’s door? 

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret a single second of it. Even if the last time you spoke to him, you told him you wished you never met him.

Sucking in broken gasps, tasting blood on your tongue as your hand traced over your stomach, making one last wish as you felt the faint kick of your child stirring inside of you. 

That they would live.

It was a fool’s hope. Bargaining with the universe that they’d get a life you never got the chance to give them. 

But wasn’t that what every mother wanted for their baby? 

The best? 

You knew you were going to die. 

Could feel your strength slipping, heart slowing as your body grew painfully heavy. A hand was holding yours, the man who’d done this to you regretting his decision, maybe, no matter how much he resented Sukuna. 

You weren’t stupid. You’d always suspected some day he’d be the death of you. Undo everything he’d built simply by being him. Pissing off the wrong person or pushing past his own limits until you were caught in the crossfire. 

And now your baby would pay the price. 

Something damp was on your cheek, and it took you a second to realize it was your own tears. 

It was too late to cry about it.

But they weren’t for you.

Picturing a chubby-cheeked baby, fingers wrapped tight around one of yours as you cradled her against your chest, yawning as she blinked and revealed a pretty red pair of eyes you’d already spent your life loving. 

Maybe in another one you’d get to adore hers too. 

Dying wasn’t quite as cold as you dreamed of. No, it was surprisingly warm. 

Almost like you were being held, squeezed softly as you drifted into the dark – only to blink and discover the ceiling wasn’t blood-stained. 

The ceiling wasn’t the same at all, actually.

Belatedly realizing someone was shaking you, struggling to piece together your fractured surrounding until a flash of your former favorite color snapped you out of it. 

You heard yourself say his name, a raw croak that came out more like a squeak. A completely different pitch than it had been before. 

And the Sukuna in front of you was not the same one who left you locked up in his estate. 

All scrawny, starvation etched features standing out in the dim lighting, just a fucking kid, your stomach dropping as you quickly glanced down to see that it was gone. What the fuck was this? 

He told you to sleep, just as grumpy and gruff as you remembered. 

Were you reliving your life in your last moments? 

He shoved your face back into his chest, the scent of smoke hanging onto it as you squirmed in his hold. 

“What’s happening?” You asked, unable to not sound like you were pleading. 

You didn’t even know for what. 

Confusion complicating the heavy feelings curdling in your core, loss choking you up as you tried not to cry on him. 

And despite the bone-deep sorrow slicing through you, there was a faint sense of comfort too, body relaxing as you let him hold you, convinced it would be the last time. That the universe was listening and granted you one more night with him. 

Brought you back to some of the best days of your life, where you were both still children, where the only thing you had to worry about was what you’d eat next and what the weather was going to be. 

Before Sukuna became the monster everyone said he was. 

You supposed you could pass on semi-satisfied falling asleep on his chest. 

But the morning came again, and you were still stuck in your much younger body. 

It was bittersweet. 

You survived. 

Got a second chance to go down a different path. 

And still, you found yourself following your own footsteps. Treading softly after Sukuna, appreciating more than you had the first go-around. He might not admit it. Would probably never be able to see it himself, scoff at even, but Sukuna was kinder than you’d given him credit for. 

He didn’t use soft words. Didn’t have it inside himself to offer you comfort in the form of gentle touches or genuine reassurance. 

But he shared his food. Protected you even at the expense of himself. Giving you the thickest blankets even if he’d spend the night shivering when the wind whistled through the barely-standing hut you both holed up in. 

And it was enough. 

He had always been enough for you. It was him who wasn’t happy with what you had. 

Who craved more and more and more. 

It was only a matter of time before you were left behind again.

You waited. Sat by his side and nursed his wounds, using your experience from all the years you already lived with him before to help him heal faster this go-around. He never spoke of the past. Either of them. 

Pretended to only be interested in the present while you wondered if he remembered his last life too. It would be a lie to say you weren’t tempted to ask. But you were scared to pry, to acknowledge what happened. What became of both of you. 

You thought he knew. 

Suspected it in the strange way you’d occasionally catch him staring at you, how he’d rip you back the second he sensed danger since you couldn’t properly see curses yourself, shove you behind him and scoff if you complained about getting covered in dirt. All four eyes narrowing like he wanted to tell you that you’d survived worse. 

On rare occasions, when he wasn’t wearing a shirt or robes, you’d catch the corners of his stomach mouth twitching up when your hands swept over the scratches and burns that often ended up littering his body after battles. 

It was one of the few things that made you hesitate. 

If he did remember, if he knew, why wouldn’t he just heal himself? Was he not strong enough now? 

He certainly was making fast work of forcing himself forward, of carving himself into the familiar shape you’d watched him whittle and warp his body into before. Muscles slowly growing as he scavenged harder, spread out further to find fish, although he usually only managed to snag a couple at a time. 

You still preferred picking off the boney parts and gnawing at what was there to him grave robbing. 

It was easy to find a new rhythm with him. 

You stole. He fought. You both survived. 

Often holding onto a single finger from his second left arm as you followed everywhere he went. Through the fields and forests as he spat out rants you heard so many times before. 

He hated this place. Hated this world. Hated every wretched thing in it. 

You had told yourself he didn’t hate you. Whispered it to yourself in the dark, kindled it until you were convinced that it was true. 

Sukuna wouldn’t tolerate you if he didn’t. 

Wouldn’t let you stay in his space if a tiny sliver of him didn’t at least hold some affection for you. 

But lately, you weren’t so sure anymore if you could believe he truly loved you. That his heart beat for yours, his existence swirled and stood still the way yours did for him. 

You knew how this story ended. 

And no matter how much you wished the page wouldn’t turn, the weeks bled into months and the years started slipping by as you shrank more and more in his growing shadow. 

You still thought of her. 

Or well, you supposed your baby could’ve been a boy, but it didn’t really feel like one. Hand absentmindedly drifting over your stomach when you’d allow yourself a few somber moments to daydream about what could’ve been. 

Of what your life would have looked like if Sukuna had just fucking stayed back then. 

But no, even now, it seemed he retained that infuriating habit of running away. 

“I’m going.” 

He wasn't supposed to leave you yet. 

Not now. Not for another few years. 

You felt like you’d been stabbed all over again. As if someone had dumped a bucket of freezing cold water over you, ice forming in your bones as you choked on the rock his announcement had practically pushed down your throat. 

A voice in your head tried to scold you, screaming that you should’ve seen it coming. 

“You’re leaving,” you heard your own voice, but it seemed like someone else’s. Your own body was foreign, limbs that wouldn’t work, a heart that still kept beating even when it should’ve stopped a long time ago. A living corpse. 

“There’s nothing for me here,” Sukuna grumbled. 

Nothing. 

That was all you were. 

It wasn’t the worst part. 

Wasn’t what gutted you the most. 

No, what felt the worst was how badly you wanted him to ask you to go with him. You’d follow him anywhere. Go where he wanted. Do what he wanted. 

You just wanted him to fucking ask.  

To say it out loud that he didn’t want to live without you either. 

All you ever got was silence. 

His heavy stare, those eyes that you were pretty sure you’d still be seeing when you shut your own until the day you died again, his mouth twitching down into an irritated scowl as you stood your ground for the first time in your life. 

And you accepted it the same way you accepted him, for what it was. 

He would never ask. And you wouldn’t waste your life waiting for him to. 

“I was happy,” you managed, refusing to let yourself crumple and cry as you watched him walk away from you again, feet glued to the ground as he disappeared into the daylight. 

You just hoped that somewhere along the way, you had made him feel the same.

The simple days where it was just you and him, where you were sweating under the sun or shivering under the moon, were still your favorites. The moments where you weren’t worried about what there was to eat or how to make it through another day, when you managed to make him laugh or felt his touch linger against your arm. 

And somewhere in the handful of weeks that followed, living in the empty hut you could hardly call a home anymore, you were forced to face the harsh reality that it was never the same for Sukuna. 

That if he ever truly loved you, he never would have left you. 

In the last life or this one. 

Was it pathetic that you were pretty sure you’d never be able to move on? 

Sad that you sat there for months, barely even managing to force yourself to get out to eat?

Scrounging for half the amount of food you usually did since you were all alone now, dealing with the painful awareness that it didn’t feel all that different to being with Sukuna. 

It wasn’t like he even spoke that much when he was here. 

But his absence was still heavy. Still weighed you down, tangled in an invisible string that kept trying to trip you up, tied to a place that smelled like him, felt like him. Clinging to tattered blankets you used to share, drifting off to dreams where he’d say the things you knew would never leave his lips. 

It didn’t take long for you to give up on seeing him again. His path wasn’t yours anymore. 

The village changed without him. 

Felt smaller somehow. 

All those strangers who simply existed on the periphery before slowly became more prominent. 

It took time. But once they realized that the pink-haired curse that plagued the outskirts of their world, they slowly began to warm up to you. 

You learned their names. Occupations. Families. Their histories. 

Eventually began to exchange what you foraged for food and ingredients, used the skills you learned in your last life to start making a few home remedies for some of the children who got scuffed up running and chasing after each other in the fields. Word got around, and somehow you ended up studying under the only apothecary there, trading in the husk you called home for a warm bed roll and three actual meals a day. 

They used to be villains to you. 

Faceless bodies you demonized for how they ostracized Sukuna. 

But it was hard to see them the same when you were being welcomed. When for the first time ever, you didn't feel like you were hanging on by a thin string, dangling over a bottomless pit waiting for the frayed rope to snap and let you fall. 

It was good. 

Particularly fulfilling? 

No. 

Still better than starving and scraping by? Very much so. 

You bided your time. Appreciated that you didn’t have to spend your second chance surviving entirely on bugs and rotted leftovers while you honed the skills you already acquired. Saved up the meager money you made, held onto it tight as you tried to picture what you could make of yourself. 

And when you were of age, you were surprised to actually receive proposals from a few of the other villagers, boys you’d never really see as men despite them being a couple years older than you here. Lingering around and pestering you with promises of a future filled with whatever you wanted. 

The problem was, without Sukuna, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore. 

Just that it wasn’t here. 

It wasn’t until a group of merchants passed through that you made the decision to start searching for the answer somewhere else sooner rather than later. Regardless of how dangerous it felt to venture past the safety of your village on your own.  

All from a casual suggestion made by one of them who said that you’d be better paid for your apothecary services by one of the clans in the south as you treated a burn on his arm. Slipping you a few coins and a rusted dagger under the table while the apothecary you technically worked under was preoccupied bartering with his friends for ingredients you couldn’t find here. 

The universe seemed to agree with him when you stumbled on an orphan on the edge of the village two days later while you were scavenging for more herbs, her skin stained with filth, dirty nails clawing at the ground to pick out bugs. 

Her legs were covered in scratches, but she had managed to make her own balm to cover them in. 

You’d barely been able to get any information out of her.  

Honestly though, she reminded you of well, you. 

No family. No home. 

Nothing but the clothes on her back and the cold look in her eyes that said she didn't want to die yet. 

And you weren’t going to let her either. 

Bringing her back with you, faintly aware that you were just shoving someone in the spot you were supposed to be occupying. 

“Give it a couple years,” you murmured, nudging her forward, letting her take your place as one of the few people who’d shown you kindness skeptically raised an eyebrow. “She'll be even better than me.”

It wasn’t like you set the bar particularly high. 

Living here felt like lingering in a graveyard. 

The ghost of Sukuna haunting you as you walked away, deliberately heading in the opposite direction as the one you watched him storm off in all those years ago. 

Once upon a time, you thought it was fun to travel. To find new places, etch the shape of the landscape into your memory as you explored how vast everything was outside the village with a protector by your side. 

You knew Sukuna was still alive. 

Heard stories and rumors spread from the handful of traveling merchants passing through during the warmer seasons. The man with four arms. The one who could wield fire. 

He was already making a name for himself. 

Carving out a reputation for being ruthless. 

Maybe age had granted you a wisdom you lacked before, but you were surprised to discover that the open wound in your chest that typically throbbed at the simple reminder of him had started to close. It certainly wasn’t sewn shut. 

But it wasn’t infected. 

Didn’t seep poison into your blood stream as you travelled through terrain you’d once walked by his side and fell asleep to sunsets the same shade as his hair. 

Wherever he was, you still hoped he was well. 

That he was satisfied.

Would it be too much to wish for the same for yourself?

You picked up tidbits of information from the villages you trekked through. Asked around for directions, fishing for rumors about where you were headed. 

The Kamo clan. 

You didn’t remember much about them. 

Only what the guards had admitted to you when they offered you meals during your pregnancy, discussing Sukuna’s alliance since he’d hardly been speaking to you. 

And of course, the man you met in the garden that night. 

You didn’t even get his name. 

Knew nothing about him except the warm tone of his voice through the trellis, hidden from your sight as he awkwardly stammered out an admittance that he’d gotten lost. You had laughed at him, lips curling up at the joy of someone actually talking to you like a real person.

You offered him instructions on how to get back to the main hall, face flushing when he softly requested you join him on the way back to continue speaking, murmuring that you had a pretty voice.  

Before him, you hadn’t even realized how sweet a compliment could taste. 

How comforting he could feel to be seen. 

Even if he technically didn’t. 

You assumed he was a worker. Maybe a distant relative to the Kamo’s. 

Would he be there? 

It wasn’t like you knew him. Didn’t even have his name to poke and prod around for details on. 

But you’d still like to take him up on a walk. Have that conversation from before, no matter how late it was. 

How were you supposed to know you’d run into him when you’d least expect it? 

You estimated you were only a day or two out from the Kamo estate – one of the outlying villages you just passed through directing you to a winding path carved into the land by horses or oxen. 

Readjusting the bag you’d made yourself over your back, huffing as your muscles strained from the use, the last of your food eaten the night before, but you were used to being hungry. Treading forward just for you to feel a familiar buzz in the air. 

The invisible thrum of something ridiculously strong, almost oppressive as you froze in place. You knew it wasn’t Sukuna. 

But you were terrified it was one of the curses he used to slaughter. You were never able to see them. Couldn’t do much more than vaguely sense them, pick up the faint changes in the air before he made fast work of the things he used to scoff at. 

Were you about to be picked off? 

Devoured by a monster you couldn’t even see? 

You were sure your second death had arrived – until you heard a man’s lazy laugh, casual voices conversing while you stood stunned. 

“Can’t hit me? Come on, wound me a little,” one of them chuckled, baiting the other as your feet finally began to move. Just, well, in the wrong direction. 

Your head was telling you to run. To sprint back to the relatively safe space of the last village who let you sleep there, but no, your body had decided to go towards the noises, flinching at the loud sound of a tree splintering somewhere nearby. 

“I’m trying,” a man murmured back, and you stilled again. 

Stopping as it struck you what was drawing you there, at what your mind had recognized before the rest of you. 

It was him, wasn’t it? 

The guy from the garden? 

He wouldn’t recognize you, wouldn’t remember, but perhaps he’d still have a sliver of the kindness he previously spoke to you with. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, your breath catching at the sight of his bare chest, a few scattered scars over his abs, but far cleaner than Sukuna’s. 

You continued, stepping off the path and into the grass as you lightly treaded over to the treeline, peeking through the foliage to find two quickly-moving men training in a man-made clearing. Both too distracted with each other to notice you creeping along the edges, avoiding the twigs and fallen branches. 

“You’re still weak,” the first one teased, and the terrifying realization dawned on you that you recognized his voice too. 

The heir to the Gojo clan. The one who killed you. 

White hair falling in his face before he raked it back, blue eyes glittering in the sun as he dodged an attack too fast for you to see, pink lips curling up into a cruel smirk before he rattled off another taunt your ears refused to process. 

Nausea curdled in your stomach. Fingers trembling as you barely managed to stifle an unexpected sob, throat constricting tight enough that you knew no puke would come out no matter how badly it felt like you wanted to get sick. 

Your sweaty palm pressed against your stomach as you stumbled back.

It felt like you were about to die all over again. 

Even if he had no reason to deliver the death blow this time. 

His voice was in your ear again, apologizing softly when it was too late, holding your hand as he tried to justify what he’d done, half-whispering that Sukuna’s child wasn’t supposed to live as if his remorse could make up for murder. Offering that he thought you were like him.

Not his prisoner. 

Locked up just because you committed the grave crime of loving him. 

You still offered a warning. Told the man about to kill you that Sukuna was going to come back. That he was only signing his own death warrant by enforcing yours. 

It didn’t change anything. 

You guessed you’d never get to know what Sukuna would’ve done. 

If your end would have mattered much to him. 

“Oh?” His voice lilted up curiously, and you knew somehow that he’d noticed you, but before you could run, a sharp slice of pain pierced through your shoulder, a strangled gasp escaping as you realized you’d been hit by something. 

Glancing down to realize your arm was bleeding, pain immediately radiating across your body as you bit your lip to contain another sharp exhale.

You stumbled back, losing your balance as you nearly hit the ground. Someone caught you before you could, a strong arm wrapping around your waist and hoisting you upright. Panic overrode the pain, fighting the hold as the memory of bright white hair and burning blue eyes surged to the forefront of your mind before you looked up and found the opposite. 

“I’m sorry,” that soothing voice apologized, thick and low, and you stopped squirming, actually practically slumping in his arms as he supported your weight. “I, uh, wasn’t exactly paying attention.”

You assumed it was some innate ability he possessed, a sorcerer like Sukuna. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t fully understood all of it, only ever taking the few tidbits of information he would give you as the truth – the rest shielded from you. 

“You wanted a show, sweetheart?” His company called out, your blood running cold as you recoiled further back into the warm chest of the man whose name you still didn’t know. 

“I was looking for the Kamo estate for work when I heard-” You started, unable to finish when you felt his stare on your skin. 

It felt like he could see straight through you. 

He didn’t remember, did he?

“Work?” That gravelly voice resumed in your ear, and you forced yourself to look up at him, pretending the other one didn’t exist. 

“I'm, um, an apothecary,” you muttered, your head feeling remarkably fuzzy as his dark eyes searched yours. 

“I’m Choso,” he awkwardly answered, remorse bleeding through his tone as his stare drifted down to where you were wounded. 

Choso. 

Something inside you clung to it, committed it to memory as you hazily studied his face. He was far more handsome up close. A clear complexion, harsh features standing out on his pale skin. Intense eyes that simmered instead of seared through you. Pretty lips that curled down not in condemnation, but concern. 

“There's poison in that,” he frowned, finger tips brushing over where your skin had split open. 

And before you could recite common herbs and flowers that you would need to detoxify it, he was abruptly placing his mouth over your shoulder, sucking hard on the wound like he was trying to draw out the poison seeping into your bloodstream. 

Gojo laughed behind him, as if this whole thing was amusing to him, and you were once again struck by that dizzying sensation, abruptly aware of how lightheaded you were – and how heavy your lashes suddenly seemed to be. 

“Shit,” Choso cursed, pulling back with his thick brows all scrunched together before putting his lips back on you. 

You were busy thinking about how surprisingly soft they were when your vision blurred into black, and your body gave in, strength sapped before you could even realize what was going on. 

Waking up in a bed roll sometime later, harsh sunlight shining down on your face forcing you to immediately scrunch your eyes shut again. 

Had it been twenty minutes? Twenty hours? 

Sitting up ached, groaning as your palms pushed up. Someone was helping you, an unfamiliar hand on your back assisting as you blinked and struggled to clear the fog from your head. 

Looking to your right to find a relatively quaint room, bed rolls set up and a few dried herbs hung up on the walls, the translucent paper doors pulled back to let fresh air in, the faint scent of flowers carried in on the breeze. 

“How are you feeling?” A quiet voice asked, and your head snapped to the side, heart stuttering when you realized it was just him. Choso. He was sitting on the floor next to you, face all scrunched up.

You turned your attention past him, giving the room a onceover to make sure you were really alone. 

No Gojo. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, rolling your sore shoulder back to make sure it was truly fine too. 

“I think I’m okay,” you mumbled, tempted to peel back the bandage covering your shoulder and see what you were working with. 

“Again, my apologies about that,” he murmured, and you didn’t know how to deal with…that. The genuine regret glittering in his stare, the one that hadn’t seemed to so much as turn away from you once since he’d accidentally struck you. “I feel awful.” 

“No need,” you shrugged. 

You had no interest in dealing with debts in this life. 

Sukuna had once felt like he owed you. And in his own screwed-up attempt to save your life, he got you killed. 

The fingers on your back twitched, and when you glanced back up at his face, you couldn’t really decipher the strange expression he was wearing. The tilt of his head, the way his bottom lip was slightly pushed out. 

It reminded you a bit of a small puppy you’d once seen at Sukuna’s estate. 

A stray that had wandered into the garden in search of food. 

You’d snuck into the kitchen to collect some scraps, but by the time you returned, it was gone. Disappeared back into the surrounding woods, you supposed. 

“So you’re, ah, in need of a job?” He pressed, and you nodded slowly. 

It was odd to be speaking so casually to someone else. This close. 

“I heard that I could find work from a merchant passing through my village,” you explained, examining the bandage on your shoulder, waiting for him to remove his hand from your back – but he didn’t. 

“We could use another apothecary,” the pretty dark-haired man not-so-subtly pouting at you as you hesitated. 

Wasn’t this what you wanted? 

But now that he was freely offering it, you were reluctant. Scared that you were once again about to accept a path that would only lead to another ending. 

It took everything inside you to shove down your fear, bury it in the same grave the old you slept in, and nod again. 

“I’ve got quite a bit of experience,” you added, and the corner of his mouth twitched up, offering you a small smile that seemed to infect you too. Catching yourself almost smiling back at him, chest all funny and tight as he jutted his thumb back towards what you assumed was the rest of the estate. 

“Do you need a place to stay as well?” 

One thing was certain. 

This life would not be the same as your last. 

And maybe, you never truly needed Sukuna at all. 

Your strengths weren’t the same as his. But you had still carved your own way out of the village he used to call wretched and wicked. 

Found a future where you weren’t scraping by to survive. 

You thought Choso felt bad for accidentally hurting you. That this was his form of an apology, giving you employment, a place to stay where you wouldn't need to worry about missing meals. 

But he began visiting you every day. 

Inviting you to walk through the gardens with him or join him for meals. Shy at first, avoiding your gaze and stammering a little when he addressed you formally. After a few months though, it had settled into easy conversations, your mood lifting just by the sound of his voice behind you on the duller days. 

He’d sometimes drag you out, surprise you with picnics out by flowers, always asking you which ones you liked the best, seeking your opinion on even the smallest matters. Showing you small scrapes it looked like he only obtained five minutes before he showed up outside your room. 

Occasionally, you’d wake up to a bouquet of clipped flowers, neatly tied together with bits of ribbon you began collecting, setting aside and saving. You started drying them too, pressing them in between pages of apothecary books that he just happened to have laying around, all in suspiciously good condition. 

He'd been ecstatic when you told him you could read and write, leaving you notes tucked under your door during the day when you weren't expecting it. Asking if you'd help his younger brothers to learn the same like they didn't already have a tutor, simply to spend more time together. 

It took you an embarrassingly long time to realize he was trying to court you. 

And even then, it was only because you overheard some of the estate staff whispering about their young master trying to woo the new apothecary and realized what had been right in front of your face the entire time.

At first, you told yourself that it couldn't be true. 

But after two weeks of studying his behavior, sneaking glances at him over lunch only to discover he was already staring at you, picking up on all the little ways his touch lingered, his fingers constantly grazing against yours and his hip bumping into your side, you started to think that perhaps it meant more. 

His presence seemed to envelope you even without him there. His words clouding your head and things he'd given you filling your room. 

Frankly, you didn't know what the fuck to do. 

A man like that deserved better than someone as damaged as you. 

Choso was soft.

You were used to rough. Hard edges and sharp corners that cut into you when you tried to get too close. 

He made your heart flutter. Soar up into your throat and choke up all your words. You had done your best to ignore it. To wring it free of all those fickle emotions, but all it would take was one of those low laughs of his or his hand to skim over your skin, and it would inflate again. 

The idea that he could possibly return so much as a sliver of those feelings was terrifying. 

It only got harder to handle when you sent a letter back to your village to relay that you were working as an apothecary and could possibly send supplies only to receive one back a month and a half later informing you that there was no one there to read it. 

Nothing there. 

Only ash and dust. 

The entire village had been razed in your absence. 

It didn’t say if any survivors made it out, or even what started the blaze that burned it down. 

But you knew. 

Some small part of you convinced that it had to be him. 

That Sukuna had returned – and left no trace of where you both came from behind. Was he coming back for you? And to save or slaughter? 

You didn’t know anymore. 

All you could really think of was the people who had opened their doors for you. The man who taught you the skills that helped you get here. The girl you’d brought to him to take your place. 

Were they gone too? 

Reduced to corpses at the hands of the monster they’d all been scared of? 

It took every ounce of strength to not fall apart. To hold back the tears that wanted to fall and focus on working. On living since they couldn’t. 

Choso tried to ask what was wrong. Expressed his concern no matter how many times you told him you were fine. Even bought you a silk kimono when he caught you staring at one of his father’s concubines passing by, clueless that you were just distracted and not wishing for something similar. 

You didn’t know how to explain the guilt that laid inside your stomach, coiled there like a snake, waiting for you to let yourself relax to strike and remind you that nothing was going to be easy for you. 

Even if being with him felt like the easiest thing in the world. 

“What are you thinking about?” Choso murmured, holding out a small piece of fruit in front of your mouth, watching your lips as you parted them for him so he could pop it in. It was fresh. Juice dribbling down that he had to wipe away, the sweet taste lingering on your tongue. A rarity even in an estate like this – something special that was somehow reserved for you. 

You wondered when this intimacy had become normal. Natural for you to be sitting just a few inches from him, letting him feed you as the spring sun warmed your skin. 

“Can I ask you something?” You spoke softly, a little scared that just by letting the words leave your chest, this would all crumble into dust and you’d realize it was a dream. 

Your brain conjuring up something wonderful in your final moments to cushion your death blow. 

“Always,” Choso murmured. 

“Are you courting me?” 

He stared at you, brows scrunching together tightly as you held your breath. Would this be the rejection? The moment-

“Was it not obvious?” 

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized how much it had felt like you were breathing underwear until you sucked in air that wasn’t weighed down with a lifetime and a half of hurt. 

“I thought you’d choose someone…different,” you carefully spoke, swallowing hard as he frowned at your statement. 

It was true though.

You assumed he’d be in an arranged marriage. Perhaps with a proper lady from another clan. Or from a wealthy merchant family. Maybe he’d fall in love with a kind woman – one that bore no wounds or scars. 

“You’re the one I want.” 

Everything you ever wanted wrapped in a pretty package. A dark-haired man who could say it out loud without having to scoff or shrink his feelings down to next to nothing. 

It hurt as much as it healed.

Felt like he was strangling your heart with his sweet words. 

You hadn’t realized you forgot to reply until his face scrunched up. 

“Does that mean you don’t like me?” He asked, and panic you hadn’t expected burst in your chest, your hand reaching out to lace your fingers through his before you could stop yourself. 

All your attempts not to get attached had clearly failed. 

“I do,” you half-whispered, even when it made your lungs strain to force the two syllables out. It went against what you knew. You were used to swallowing your feelings. Bearing the burden of them alone. 

You didn’t know what to do when someone wanted to carry them for you. 

He exhaled, lashes fluttering as he leaned in like he was about to kiss you before hesitating, waiting for you to meet him halfway there.

And you did. 

No matter how wrong it felt to kiss a man that wasn’t Sukuna. 

You used to think you were soulmates. Tied together by some string of fate, bound by an oath of survival. 

It wasn’t until Choso’s gentle lips pressed against yours that you realized that might just be stupid. Sentimentality that only you were clinging to all this time. 

He tasted tender. Softness you could sink into. 

His fingers cupped your face, slowly slipping back into your hair as you sucked a little on his lower lip, teeth skimming over the unbroken skin.

Pulling back for air first as you forced yourself to retreat, studying his face for any sign of regret only to find stars in his eyes. The look of craving more you knew was reflected back on your own. 

“Can I kiss you again?” He asked, close enough he could brush his nose back against yours. 

“You truly want to?” 

“I've been dreaming about your lips from the first day we met,” he confessed, as if it was as easy as taking a breath. “I suppose I'll spend the rest of my life dreaming about them.”

Your face felt hot, growing warmer by the second as you struggled to find something to say to his open declarations.

“You can’t just-”

Voice faltering when his face abruptly fell at your surprise, unable to finish your sentence if it would disappoint him. 

He scratched the back of his head as if he was replaying the last few moments too, tilting his head to the side before sighing, “I'm not very good with tradition.” 

It wasn’t like you were. 

He was the eldest son of a clan head. You were an orphan who had clawed through death to get here. 

Your mouth fell open, but you weren't very good at answering with what any woman in your position should say. Unsure where he was trying to go with this, what he wanted from you until he spelled it out and left no room for doubt. 

“Will you be my wife?” 

This wasn’t how it was meant to happen. 

He was supposed to go visit a woman in their home. Do the whole three days of back-and-forth. Hell, he could even have multiple wives. 

But no, here he was, proposing to you without even the promise of sex. Asking for your hand in marriage despite your low status, watching you like he’d be wrecked if you didn’t say yes. 

“Yes,” you murmured, nodding slowly as pure hope you weren’t acquainted with pushed up to the surface. 

You liked him. 

But even if you hadn’t, you knew you still would have the same answer. Choso offered security you weren’t accustomed to. Real safety in his strong arms when he picked you up and squeezed you, his soft laugh reverberating through you and giving you something to hold onto. 

You were engaged. 

He wanted to build you private quarters on the outskirts of the estate, something that would solely be for you and him, one that overlooked the little pond and garden you walked so often together. A place where you wouldn’t have to worry about the servants judging your status, away from the main houses that were always bustling and busy, preoccupied with clan politics. 

Rather than it just being a pretty dream, he put it into action, hiring local laborers to start construction immediately, murmuring that as soon as it was finished, his father assured him he would make your marriage official.

And for once, you let go. 

Released everything you'd been running from. 

It was too late to change any of it. And you were tired of your regret ruining your second shot at happiness. 

Falling in love with Choso came quickly when you realized you had been doing it all along. 

Just in small increments, pieces of your heart slowly chipped away until it belonged entirely to him. 

A year slipped by before you could even grasp it, floating on a cloud that never held any rain, no storms to weather through when he occupied your time. 

Your schedule wasn't built around his – still keeping up your apothecary work while he found every excuse he could to interrupt.

People still whispered. Wondered what exactly he saw in you. 

But it didn't bother you. 

Because he was yours and you were his, and belonging to someone had never felt better.  

Once your quarters were finished, he proudly showed you a tour of every room, kissing you at the threshold as you started your new life as husband and wife. 

Telling you that you were his family now. 

Pledging that you'd be his first priority, the pillar of his heart and soul while you tried your hardest not to break down and sob. 

It didn't matter how many times he said things like that. Pieced together all those romantic, poetic words that you once never thought you would hear. Thought no one would ever feel for you.  

But now you just accepted you'd been looking for them in the wrong place before. 

Choso loved you. And you believed him. 

Sukuna had never been capable of it. 

It was rare that you thought of him. 

Only on cold nights where the blankets didn't seem to warm your bones. Waking up from bad dreams where you were back in that tiny room when he locked you away. Sometimes when a breeze would pass by, and it would carry the scent of something burning on it. 

You thought you saw him once. 

In the garden while you and Choso had been tangled together, his eyes locking into yours for a handful of seconds before he was suddenly gone. 

A ghost coming back to haunt you only seconds after you confessed you had moved on. 

It couldn't have actually been him. The Sukuna you knew would have pulled Choso off by his hair, perhaps slaughtered him on the spot for the crime of touching something he once considered his. 

Not leave without a word. 

You told yourself it was just your guilt. 

Resigned yourself to leave him behind in your memories the way he once left you.

Of course, you should've known better.

His father had informed both of you of their finalized alliance with the feared monster with four arms over dinner one day, both of them oblivious to the way you froze in your seat, knuckles straining against your utensil as you listened to them discuss strategies for strengthening the clan in this time of peace. 

Their conversation continued casually, and you could only think of how much your wine looked like blood in this light. 

Of what his reaction might be if you actually bumped into him again. 

Would he be mad you married another man?

Or had he moved on too?

Replaced you with someone stronger? 

You wouldn’t be surprised. You always wondered if he got tired of taking care of you. Sick of you lapping at his heels and tugging on his sleeves. 

What actually caught you off guard was how little jealousy you felt imagining him with a wife, or even taking a concubine in the same bed he used to bury himself inside you in. No simmering coals or even flickering flames of hurt or anger flashing through you. 

Because in spite of everything, you still wished him well. Content with how his new life had turned out. 

All you wanted now was for your paths to not cross again. 

You could appreciate what his place in your heart used to be from afar. 

That was enough. 

You never told Choso about him. Only about the boy who helped you survive once upon a time. A fellow outcast from your childhood who left for a different path. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t spoken of your younger years much at all with him. Vaguely reminiscing about the rare good memories you had when he’d relay cute stories of his siblings, playing the proud big brother while you were ashamed to admit to what roles you’d put yourself in. 

The girl pining after a boy who let her die. 

Who left her again and again. 

At least you weren’t her anymore. 

At least, with Choso, you were loved. 

“You seem nervous,” he murmured softly when you were back in bed that night, your soft thigh slotted between his muscled ones.

It would be a lie to say you weren’t.

But you didn’t like to lie to him. 

Even if you omitted the truth sometimes. 

“Won’t the Gojo clan try to take action against us or him?” You tentatively asked, letting him sift his fingers through your hair as he sleepily snuggled closer. You couldn’t remember the last time you said Sukuna’s name. 

“He’s a threat, but he’s still a man,” Choso muttered, craning his neck down to plant a tender kiss on your finger where you were slowly drawing stars on his chest. “He has no wife, or even concubines. Maybe it’d be a different story if it appeared he was planning on having children, but-”

He was still speaking, reassuring you that there was nothing to worry about, reminding you that he was on friendly terms with Satoru, clueless at how casually he was throwing around the name of a man who once murdered you and Sukuna’s heir. 

Was it your fault then?

Were you really the one to blame for the attack on Sukuna’s estate – simply for having his baby? 

No. 

You were sick of blaming yourself. 

He was the once that shuttered out the rest of the world. Turned his back and decided it was him against everyone else. Made himself the villain without any regard for who would be collateral damage for his cause. 

It appeared he had once again decided he’d prefer to be alone. 

“What do you think?” Choso asked, dragging you back out of your dark thoughts.

“Mm?” You murmured, making yourself look back up at him. Your husband. The man who hadn’t hesitated to marry you. Who happily called himself your other half. 

“Would you like a baby?” He spoke softly as he changed the grim subject, brushing your hair back from your face. 

“Someday,” you shrugged slightly, struggling to swallow the pit pooling in the back of your mouth at the idea of actually going through that again. “Maybe.”

It was hard to stomach the idea of having another baby when you were scared you would look down at him or her and wonder what could've been. 

You never planned on someday meaning you would miss two periods in a row a matter of months later. 

Perhaps you should have seen it coming. 

You supposed you should've tried harder to avoid it. Taken more care to not conceive. 

It slipped your mind that this body of yours was in much better condition than it had been before. Not so many years of starving and subsisting on meals you had to share with Sukuna, a much less strenuous and stressful lifestyle when you had the support of more than one person. 

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to tell Choso once your suspicions only appeared to confirm themselves in the coming weeks. You knew you should just say it. That he wasn't Sukuna. Wouldn't lock you up and leave you. 

But getting the words out felt impossible. 

A lump in your throat as familiar symptoms began showing up. Breasts swelling, nausea stirring, exhaustion settling, all while you tried to act like everything was normal with your husband. 

Keeping up with your apothecary work while your body ached and begged you for naps, craving snacks throughout the day just to devour whatever Choso brought for picnics for lunch. 

Until he happened to bring fish, and your stomach immediately revolted in protest at the smell. 

You were bending over the closest bush, puking up the few bites you managed before as your husband immediately panicked. Holding your hair and rubbing your back, asking if you were alright while you coughed, hot tears forming in the corners of your eyes. 

Crying wouldn’t help, but it was just another thing you couldn’t stop, damp streaks on your cheeks as you knew that you couldn’t keep this to yourself anymore.

“I think,” you paused, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as another wave or nausea passed, gagging before you were able to clear your throat and speak again. “I may be pregnant.”

You waited for your world to fall apart once more. 

Trembling as you snuck a tiny peek over at him, but he was already leaning over to pull you against his chest for a hug as if you hadn't just tossed up your lunch in a bush. His entire face lit up, eyes glittering as he squeezed you tight. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, unmistakable excitement in his voice as he started decorating your face with kisses. Lips messily pressing all over your cheeks, against your jaw, grazing over your forehead. 

“Not completely,” you murmured.

Maybe that was more like you didn’t want to believe it. To accept that you would spend months worrying that you’d meet the same fate you had before. 

Some sliver of you was grateful that you wouldn’t have to experience it on your own. That, even if history repeated itself, and you didn’t get to have this child either, you’d at least get to spend the last of this time with someone who genuinely wanted you and your baby. 

“Still,” Choso grinned, wide and rare, his usually dark eyes opened all the way for once as his hand reached for your stomach. “We might be having a child.” 

“You’re not scared?” You asked, and he immediately shook his head, a lopsided smirk forming as he pressed his palm against your robes. 

“A baby with you is the greatest gift I can imagine,” he answered without hesitation. Without a pause or a flinch. Raw honesty in the low rumble of his voice. Sincerity that bled into his dark eyes, boring into you under his thick brows as he pulled you against him for another hug. Murmuring in your ear that he’d make sure the chefs would start preparing you a special diet, one that would be good for the baby, talking about building baby furniture because he refused to hand them over to nannies and nurses for days at a time. 

And his confidence was enough to quell your own concerns. 

For a little while. 

Every month brought more changes to your body. 

Created new worries in your mind when you’d overhear his father discussing their alliance with Sukuna or see Satoru visiting from across the estate. 

It didn’t take long before you couldn’t hide your pregnancy from anyone, a noticeable bump present no matter what robes you wore, although Choso had pretty much bragged to every member of the estate already about his wife and his baby. 

Your hand drifted back over the growing swell of your stomach, feeling the faint kicks beneath your stretched-taut skin, mind refusing to slow down as your husband dozed off into dreams next to you. His own palm placed below your belly button, resting there gently as his back pressed against your spine. 

Was it normal to be afraid? 

For the fear to sink into everything you did these days, head snapping at every little sound, panic pulsing through your veins when Satoru came to visit, despite the fact he’d been nothing but nice to you this time. 

He even sent a gift for the baby. 

Tiny silk robes in that familiar shade of blue, attached to a note rambling about his own life before adding a line about hoping the three of you were doing well.

It took everything inside you not to burn it while Choso wrote a letter back thanking him for his generosity. 

You knew it was wrong to hold it against him. 

That he had no clue what he’d even done to you. No memories of your death at his hands. Even the version of him that did it had felt bad about your death. But it didn’t erase what happened. 

Sure, the events were changed, but the effects lingered.

He was friendly now, but what if he decided that this child was a threat too? 

You couldn’t protect your baby before. You couldn’t even protect the village who helped you get here. They all died. 

And you could talk yourself in and out of circles about it, but it was hard to convince yourself all this time later that you didn’t bear some responsibility for it when simply looking down at yourself reminded you of everything you lost. 

Choso noticed your distance. 

But he just held fast anyway, supported you when you didn’t know how to get any of the stuff in your head out of your mouth. 

Showering you with affection like he was trying to show you he was sturdy enough to weather any storm for you. 

“Will you be disappointed if our child is a girl?” You found yourself asking him late in the evening one night, and Choso’s mouth twisted into a stiff pout. Brows scrunched together as his palm paused over your stomach where he was massaging lotion into your skin with the hopes the baby would kick or shift, a glob of it slowly starting to slip down without him rubbing it in. 

You never got the chance to have this conversation with Sukuna. 

Although, it probably would have been a pointless one. 

If he was to have an heir, he'd only want a boy. Someone he could harden. Mold into a miniature version of him. 

Of course, maybe you were just being bitter. Making assumptions from the scars he'd left you with. 

“Do you truly think it would make any difference to me whether our baby is a boy or girl?” 

No. 

Not him. 

But you wanted the reassurance anyway. 

The comfort that came with hearing the words out loud. 

You were instinctively leaning into him, trying to take some of his warmth for yourself while he shook his head at the mere idea of being disappointed by your child. 

“Besides,” he hummed, letting you lace your wrists around his neck and bury your face against his chest, cradling you closer. “We can always make more if you wish.” 

Like he wouldn't blame you for preferring one or the other. 

“We have not even had one yet,” you softly scolded him, and he was abruptly moving his hands around to your back, easily lifting you despite how far along you were, carrying you back to bed as he forgot the task at hand. Your open robe fluttered around you as he laid you flat on the bed, his soft hands hastily rubbing the last of the lotion in as he leveled you with his serious stare. 

“I'd have ten with you if you let me,” he murmured, like he had last found his real purpose in life being a father. 

“We are not having ten,” you giggled a little, making a conscious choice to release the tension you were used to clinging to. 

“Five?” He proposed, making you laugh harder just so your mouth would be open for him to kiss. You were so distracted by the heat behind it, how he immediately began to suck softly on your lower lip and pull you into his tide that you hadn’t realized he was trying to distract you from turning down his compromise. 

And honestly, when he was on you like this, you wouldn’t really mind giving him five kids. Having a family. 

You broke away for a second to breathe, but he just used it as an opportunity to start trailing kisses lower down your throat while your fingers ran through his soft hair. 

“Maybe we can practice making them,” you muttered, and that was all he needed to hear. 

He helped you sit up enough to get your robe off you entirely, striping you bare before removing his own barely-there nighttime attire. His chest had somehow gotten even broader in recent years, tapering down to his pretty waist, defined muscles carved into them as his pretty cock sprang up, tip swollen and pink like your permission was enough to summon an erection. 

Sex wasn’t quite the same with a huge bump in the way. 

But it didn’t stop him from throwing your legs over his shoulder and burying his face between your thighs. 

Eagerly licking and lapping you up, dragging his tongue over your entrance before shoving it in. Swirling it around as if he would die if he didn’t savor you, pleased to rut against the bed as long as some part of him got to be inside of you. 

He always ate you out like he was dying of thirst, the thick muscle of his tongue working in-and-out with a desperation that couldn’t be matched. Raw need in the way he whimpered as if he was on the receiving end, forcing it in as deep as he could while your thighs clamped down on his head. 

His intensity was intoxicating. It made you feel drunk, dizzy on his affection as the heat in your core grew hotter and hotter with each sweep of his tongue. 

“Fuck, my angel, you taste so goddamn good,” he groaned into you, the reverb of his voice ricocheting around in your chest as you made some keening sound in return. 

Unable to form the words to express how he made you feel despite how long you’d been together, how many times you’d been in this position for him. 

“C-Cho,” you whined, thighs tensing as you tried to tug him up by his hair. 

Painfully impatient, your body pulsing as your pussy ached for more. And honestly, your husband would probably spend the entire night buried in you only to come up for air if you let him. 

“Mm?” You didn’t know if it was actually meant to be a question, but it sounded like one all muffled between your thighs. 

“I want you,” you huffed, wiggling your hips like it would make your point. 

“Say it again,” he dared you, having to peek up at you from above your baby bump as you rolled your eyes at him, pushing out your bottom lip in a pout. 

“I want you,” you echoed, emphasizing it more this time as his lips curled up in a crooked smirk. 

“I love you,” he said in the next breath, and it still made your heart flutter. 

Squeeze tight as he lavished that love on you openly. 

Loving him back was the best thing that ever happened to you. 

You let his big hands flip you around onto your hand and knees, nudging them further apart as he readjusted behind you, making sure you were supported by his grip before he even slipped his cock between your slick folds. 

“Look at this,” he muttered, his naturally gravelly voice making you clench around nothing, the faint click of his tongue leaving you latching onto every tiny sound he made as he stared at you. “How lucky am I.” 

Was it luck? 

Or were your fates tied together too? Was this second life of yours always going to lead you to him? 

You hoped so. 

Hoped that you were always meant to be his. 

But if you weren’t, you were still happy you got to choose him. 

His cock slipped inside you slowly, taking his time to push through despite the lack of resistance. Like he appreciated every inch that got to experience your warmth, loudly groaning your name. 

He didn’t fuck you like Sukuna. 

He didn’t slam you into the bed or manhandle you into whatever position he was feeling like. 

Choso was soft. 

Slow. 

Deliberate in a different way. Treated you with consideration, making sure you were comfortable every step of the way, checking in sometimes when it wasn’t even necessary. 

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, reverence in each stroke of his hips as they hit your skin. Not rough, not pounding into you with reckless abandon, but in a steady rhythm, his cock filling you up in all the right spots, nudging against all those sensitive spots inside you without letting the pleasure venture into pain. 

“You’re even prettier,” you whispered back, nails digging into the blankets underneath both of you, glancing back over your shoulder to see what sort of face he was making. 

His head was tilted back, scrunched up in pleasure, the lump in his throat bobbing wildly as he grinded deeper. 

One of his hands groped at your breasts, squeezing and groaning at how swollen they’d become, although your milk had yet to come in. You supposed once the baby was here, he’d probably be battling her for who got to have them more. 

He rolled a nipple between his thick fingers, his cock pumping in-and-out as you gasped at the sensation, the peaked buds extra sensitive these days. One hand still firmly planted on your hip as the rest of his body leaned forward, his hard and chiseled chest against your much softer back. 

“My beautiful wife,” he purred, pressing kisses across your bare shoulder blades, playing with your nipple as his cock throbbed inside of you. 

You probably could cum just from his words alone. 

Body reacting to every little thing he did reflexively, burning up from the inside out as the filthy sounds of him filling you up replayed in your ears. 

“You’re everything to me,” he mumbled, half a moan, and truthfully, that was all you had ever wanted. 

To matter that much. 

The hand on your hip readjusted, slipping down so he could rub your clit like it was something to worship, his endless adoration present even in the way his thumb swept over the bundle of nerves. He didn’t try to push you to your peak, or drag you to an orgasm, no, it was more like being gently guided there, each steady motion bringing you closer and closer as he praised you with soft reassurances. 

“Cho, m’getting close,” you whispered, head falling forward as your body began to tremble. Shutting your eyes and focusing on all the places where you were connected. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he murmured back. 

It was that easy with him. 

Words backed up by his actions. 

Finishing fast, crying out his name as his thrusts started to stall out, his fingers twitching over your clit as he tried to hold out a few seconds longer to soothe you through it. But then he was right there with you, warm ropes of cum filling you up since he couldn’t get you pregnant again anyway. 

Both of you shivering and shuddering as you came back down from the pleasure before he was helping you roll over onto your side, murmuring that he’d go get you a washcloth when he forced himself to pull out a few minutes later, leaving a little kiss on your arm as he got up. 

Your hand drifted to your stomach as you yawned, eyes threatening to shut again, to drift off into dreams as you traced over the physical proof of how much Choso loved you. The baby you made together.

Although the thought made you pause, your mind conjuring up something you’d silently been considering. 

You and Sukuna had regressed. Souls saved and offered a second chance. 

What if your child had been given one too? 

You didn't have an explanation. 

But you faintly felt a growing certainty that the baby inside you was one that had been there before. Granted another opportunity for a different future – this time with a father who wouldn't be scared to love her. 

“You're just hoping to see her, aren't you?” 

Sukuna scoffed at Uruame’s not subtle suggestion. 

“Weren't you the one that said we should keep an eye on our allies?” He grunted, glaring at the books in the library as he waited for Kenjaku to join him for this impromptu meeting. 

In the four years since he'd seen you in that garden, sprawled out and squirming for another man, he hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of you in the sprawling estate he started to hate visiting. 

And yet, here he was again, with a weak excuse of discussing defenses neither he nor his ally needed. 

“My apologies, my-” 

“Go see what’s taking him so long,” Sukuna dismissed his servant, waving them away as his foot tapped the floor. Slouching in a chair that was too small for him, shifting his bottom set of arms in his robes as his skin itched with discomfort. 

Today would likely be no different than the rest of them. 

Another long one without any sign of you. 

His loneliness only led him to wondering whether or not you truly remembered your last life together. 

Sometimes, he was certain. So sure when he'd think of the words you left him with, the way you looked at him, that you knew. But then he'd let the doubt creep in that you had never actually admitted it, as if it would absolve him of the guilt of your death as long as you didn't remember it. 

It wasn’t like you were wasting away mourning him. No, you moved on. 

You had married that boy. 

Although, he guessed the Kamo heir was technically older than both of you, despite lacking the extra years of experience Sukuna’s past life had granted them. 

He had the displeasure of meeting him a few times, barely able to contain his irate scowl every time he spoke. All quiet, the tone of someone who never had to go through anything remotely terrible. 

What was it you saw in him? 

Softness? 

Someone you could take advantage of for safety? 

He’d like to think that. Water your relationship down to something you’d done out of necessity rather than believe any of it was real. 

There were days he considered waging war, ripping every building of this estate apart until he found you. Imagined himself stealing you away from here, running off to some other shithole village and taking it for just the two of you. Live like the old days. 

Free and unburdened from the rest of the world. 

But every time he got close to actually doing it, that face you made when you told that asshole you loved him and he ended up going out to rip apart curses to take his rage out instead. 

“You look funny.”

A squeaky voice snapped him out of it. 

Both his mouths immediately curved down into deep grimaces, brows pinching together as he glanced up to see-

Oh. 

A ghost was standing in front of him. 

Tiny hands and chubby cheeks. Hair that looked just like yours and a face that has haunted too many of his nightmares for him to ever forget. 

And a set of red eyes that reminded him of himself. 

His throat closed up, constricting at the thought of this toddler looking exactly like the child he had desperately spent decades attempting to scrub from his memory. One that had never been born. 

That he failed to protect before she even sucked in her first breath.

She stepped closer, not scared of him, just blinking up as she stopped just shy of his robes, familiar features scrunching up in confusion as her finger reached out to poke him.

No. 

It couldn’t be real. 

She-

“Sweetheart,” your soft voice called out, and it felt like someone was strangling him. All the air sucked out of his lungs as your daughter turned around, scampering over to the sound. 

He couldn’t stop his head from swiveling towards you too if he wanted to. 

Everything he’d been running from hitting him all at once at the sight of you, immediately noticing all the little changes that somehow made the heart he was sure had shriveled come back to life. The cute smile lines etched by your mouth, your face softer now, no hurt lingering in your eyes as you met his stare, only a brief second of shock registering before you immediately released it. 

And then, you surprised him again. 

You smiled. 

“Sukuna,” you said his name the same way you did in his dreams. Without judgement or fear. Accepting him and all of his atrocities later. “How have you been?” 

“I see you’ve been busy,” he grunted, still incredibly stiff as you let out a small giggle, stroking your daughter’s hair softly. 

“Yeah,” you agreed in a quiet hum, glancing down at her with easy adoration. “Was she bothering you?” 

“No,” he huffed, a little too fast to seem normal. 

His eyes flitted back down to her, a heavy weight settling in his stomach as he started to consider how it was even possible for her to have those eyes if she was a Kamo. 

He didn’t want to consider the alternative. 

To accept the chance that perhaps her soul was half his after all.

“He looks funny,” she repeated, innocently batting her lashes as she pointed a finger back at him. 

“You can’t say that,” you scolded her, mouth falling open as you apologetically glanced back in his direction, exhaling like you were used to wrangling her. 

“Come here,” he grunted, and she was already scampering over before you could grab her.

Your lips pressed together, but you didn’t tell her to stop. 

Some part of you trusted him despite all that he’d done. Held out that stupid hope of yours that he changed. 

Maybe he could’ve. 

If this was his. If you and her belonged to him instead of someone else. 

But he doubted it. 

He didn’t know how to treat children. Not when he’d only been treated poorly himself. 

“Are you going to eat me?” She questioned, rightfully assuming he was a monster. 

“He’s not-” 

“I might,” he dryly said, parting his robes just enough for her to see the mouth on his stomach, earning a laugh from her as you resisted one yourself. 

“Do you have to brush those?” She pointed at one of the teeth inside it, and his eyes betrayed himself by looking back at you, trying to silently ask what he suspected.

Did you think she was his? 

Before he could reply, she was already leaning in, sticking a sticky finger to poke a sharp canine while you huffed at her to stop. 

“Don’t be a brat,” he muttered, jaw clenched tight as he tried not to smile. “Listen to your mother.” 

It nearly sounded natural coming from his mouth. 

You made a small noise of surprise, but you didn’t tell him to stop either as your daughter returned to you again. 

“Is he your friend?” She asked, although in her voice, the words were barely pronounced correctly. 

“We actually lived in the same village together when we were children,” you answered, smiling at the memory as if it was something you were still fond of while you poked your daughter’s nose. “Like you.” 

This reunion wasn’t awkward. 

No, it almost felt how it used to. 

The fog he’d been living in parting for a few clear moments, your face filling a void he’d been ignoring for so many goddamn years. Emptiness he’d convinced himself was normal suddenly occupied, re-coloring his entire world in a handful of minutes spent in your presence. 

But the door to the library opened, and the man you’d chosen over him interrupted. 

“There’s my girls,” he huffed, casually hugging you from behind, his dark eyes only flitting up to notice Sukuna at the last second. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were visiting today.” 

“Your father is late,” Sukuna snapped, his voice tight and laced with a bitterness he wished wasn’t so obvious.

“Did you know mommy and S’kuna were friends?” Your daughter asked your husband innocently. Sukuna honestly wanted to know too.

“Hi, Cho,” you spoke softly, breaking the tension easily. Giving him those eyes that would make a man melt, turning in his grip to place a hand on his chest. “It was back when we were kids. In the village.” 

Judging by the surprise flickering across his pale features, Sukuna would guess your husband had no knowledge about your history together at all. 

But then it disappeared, and he was already accepting it. Looking at him with new respect.

“You should join us for meals more often then,” he easily said. 

“M’hungry,” your child whined, yanking on his robes, looking up at the only father she'd ever known. 

He let go of you to scoop her up like it was nothing, laughing as he hoisted her on top of his shoulders as she squealed. 

“You just want something sweet,” he teased her, unfazed by her pulling and playing with her hair as you smiled at the little family you made. 

The one that was supposed to be Sukuna’s. 

Before he screwed everything up. 

“What about you?” Choso asked you, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

“We ate two hours ago,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes as you brushed your fingers against his hand.

“You need nourishment,” he firmly spoke, not hiding his glance down to your stomach. Sukuna felt a particularly uncomfortable shift in his own, rage prickling as he pieced together the obvious clues. You were pregnant. With a baby that had absolutely nothing to do with him this time. “What about-” 

“I just want to say goodbye to Sukuna first,” you promised, ready to leave him in the past this time. 

“Okay,” your husband agreed, as if Sukuna wasn’t even a threat. Not sparing him a single consideration, simply that confident in your marriage. Trusting your judgement without worry.  “We’ll wait for you outside.” 

Sukuna wanted to scream. 

To take you and her with him even if it meant he’d be the one raising another man’s child. Watching him carry her out and listening to her giggle and call that bastard daddy while his blood silently boiled. 

“It could’ve been us, huh?” You said once the door shut behind them, not even wistful. 

No regret. No remorse. 

And Sukuna knew that he had no reason to be angry about it either. Had no right to wish for you to want him instead. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, swallowing his pride as he shrugged. Told himself that none of it mattered. 

He didn’t need your love.

After a life of lying to himself that it was worthless, it wouldn’t do anything to long for it now. 

Your eyes lingered on the doorway your husband just walked out of, adoration that was no longer reserved for him glimmering in them. 

“Are you happy now?” You asked, tilting your pretty head to the side. 

Sukuna wasn't selfless. But you made him wish he was. 

“Yeah,” he lied, crossing all four of his arms across his chest and acutely aware that you were the only person who had truly never seen him differently because of them. “I am.” 

[satoruined]

18+ mdni

of all the degenerate kinks you’ve discovered in toji, you had never—not once—imagined a praise kink would be among them.

it only surfaces in missionary. huge, beefy forearms braced on either side of your head, his weight bearing down, forcing you into direct eye contact. an setup that is, by itself, a dangerous provocation for your pretty, expressive face and complete lack of filter have always had a way of pushing him a little feral.

most of the time, he feigns indifference to your rambling accolades of—“haah—you feel so good,” “ohmygod, you’re s-so big-”—are nothing he hasn’t heard before. the distinction, of course, is that it’s your voice, not just any previous one-night-stand or sugar mommy. toji can still tolerate it, more or less, provided he turns his face away during these moments.

unfortunately for him, the evidence is blatant: the slow crimson bloom creeping up his ear and neck, the pale scar that bisects his lip twitching. and worse—far worse—the telltale jerk of his dick inside you.

but its the “ngahh toji—oh iloveyou i love you!!” that serves as the final nail in his coffin. he spills with humiliating haste, a shuddering groan torn straight from his chest as he comes hard. a thick pulse of cum filling you up. proof of exactly how badly your words fuck him up.

all because you told him you loved him.

afterward he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder like he can hide there, hips still moving with renewed, almost vindictive force. as if he can’t decide whether to fuck you into silence or force you to keep talking.

[yenayaps]

if u think i’m pretty

pairing: frat boy!gojo x mean!reader

content: the notorious fuckboy suddenly stopped sleeping around and nobody knows why. its totally not because he’s been secretly running around with someone that’s almost a decade older and is embarrassed to be seen with him in public || MDNI, fem!reader, age gap (gojo’s 20-21 readers late 20s), smut, porn w/ plot, fuck buddies, secret relationship(?), gojo plays rugby 🫦, readers lw so embarrassed to be seen with him LMAO, date crashing, he also calls her drunk to tell her he misses her, he's an unhinged little shit

notes: hiiii im so sorry to the ones that asked to be tagged, ive been swamped with schoolwork and im exhausted 😭 11.9k words today, enjoy the read 🙂‍↕️❤️

Satoru has lived his life quite simply these past few months— just school, training, and games. 

Everyone’s gotten on his case about it— mainly just questioning him, but there are moments like yesterday, when he got accused of going through a crisis of some sort over his sexuality. Or last month, when the entire frathouse got together in the living room and tried to have some intervention, thinking he had depression or some other shit. 

He doesn't. He’s also not very worried about his sexuality. 

It’s crazy because he really hasn’t changed that much. He just hasn’t brought anyone over. Or gone out on dates. Or made out with anyone at parties. Anything related to girls, he hasn’t taken much part in. 

But that’s it! That’s all!

He still goes to parties, still has good grades, still goes to practice, and still wins games. He’s just as present— he’s just not fucking anybody, and now everyone thinks he’s dying because of it. 

Assholes. 

He’s fucked half the school, for all they knew, he could’ve just been giving his dick a break! He wasn’t— but he could be, and that wouldn’t be anybody else's business but his own. He’s a grown man, despite many individuals begging to differ.

Whatever, fuck them.

Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions. 

Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret. 

That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place when he’s not around, he’s pretty sure— just not when he’s around.

The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it. 

There’s a view, but it’s not the city. 

“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”

He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing. 

If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you. 

He wears you out. 

Yet still, at the end of every night—

“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.” 

You are so fucking mean.

The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know. 

Now he’s a little less emotional and more… 

“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”

You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?” 

“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it. 

Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.

“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.” 

He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door. 

“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”

“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out. 

“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two. 

You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”

“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”

“Yup! Bye Gojo.”

He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face. 

Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21. 

You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better. 

Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life. 

He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.

It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of. 

You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids. 

Spoiler: It didn’t work. 

He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.

Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.

He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself. 

It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth. 

Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process. 

You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.

He still opened his mouth.

“Great sauna, isn’t it?”

Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.

The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh. 

“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it. 

It wasn’t. 

“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.

You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks. 

“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile. 

You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame. 

“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”

He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up. 

“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”

You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”

“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”

Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does. 

You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”

“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?

“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.” 

“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.” 

Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16. 

“Oh wow.” 

You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless. 

From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once. 

Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??

You: typing…

You: 

You: typing…

You: turn 21

Unknown Number: bet

You read that response and immediately regretted it. 

He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in. 

And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position. 

You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you. 

And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less. 

He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again. 

He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past. 

It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public. 

It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up. 

He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public. 

Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.

You: Do not fucking embarrass me.

You: Don’t even come near me.  

S. Gojo: fine .

It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.

The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty. 

He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.

Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours. 

That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit. 

He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head. 

“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”

“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”

“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.

“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”

“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious. 

To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.

“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”

“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”

“Stop. Talking.”

He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.

You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.

With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.  

On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there. 

Truly.

Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home. 

You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.

It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him. 

There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though. 

There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.

Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on. 

—

S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:

You: what do u want

S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔

You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it

S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please

S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today

You: im not even home

S. Gojo: ik i have a key

You: you took my spare key?

You: give it back

S. Gojo: today? (:

You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess

S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess

You: what do you even wanna come over for

S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later

You: why

S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me

You: why

S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years

S. Gojo: they’re not over it

You: pig

S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!

You: please don’t

You: but ya, no. go to the library or something

S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE

S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs

S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE

You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with

S. Gojo: BRO???

You: kiddinggg

You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed 

S. Gojo: i got u

S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want

You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak

S. Gojo: ):

You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway. 

Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone. 

You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”

“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen. 

“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place. 

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”

“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”

He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”

You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”

“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?” 

“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”

“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted. 

Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him. 

You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look. 

“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists. 

“Hungry enough.”

“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks. 

You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?” 

“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”

“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.” 

“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.” 

“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck. 

“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”

Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.” 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.” 

He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display. 

“No?”

“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”

And distracted you were. 

Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.  

He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”

“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?

He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up. 

“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. 

“Were you thinking at all?”

“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”

“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”

“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him. 

He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck. 

It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?

The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself. 

He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach. 

“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear. 

“What are you–” 

He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.

“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.

He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them. 

You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him. 

He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.

“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you. 

“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.” 

“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again. 

You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.

“I know— M’sorry, baby.”

He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear. 

“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced. 

“T-too much,” you sputter out.

“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”

“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”

He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles. 

His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock. 

And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it. 

“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?” 

You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”

“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”

“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”

“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”

“Get me my fucking food.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face. 

. . .

He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine. 

“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.

“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one. 

You crack it open as you turn to look at him. 

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”

“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”

“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink. 

You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”

“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself. 

The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”

The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”

“No— appreciate you asking, though.”

“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”

He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next. 

You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.

“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”

“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”

“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment. 

He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”

“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”

“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time. 

You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.” 

He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”

There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”

“I am,” he scoffs. 

“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.

You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you. 

“I am your friend, right?” he asks. 

You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer. 

“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”

“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?” 

“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”

There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.

He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”

You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”

You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”

. . .

Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight. 

For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong. 

The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.

It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.

Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth. 

“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.” 

Mind you, they were in the same year. 

She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”

He shortens it. “M’not interested.”

“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull. 

And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you. 

“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”

You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face. 

Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).

“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”

The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.

“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.

Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”

“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”

Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”

Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go. 

“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair. 

Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”

Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face. 

The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit. 

It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night. 

He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight. 

After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.

“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything. 

He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”

“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”

“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.

“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”

“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly. 

“No.”

He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer. 

“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”

He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”

“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”

Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face. 

“Maybe.” 

He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”

At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.” 

“So you can fuck with my sleep?”

“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”

“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”

“I don’t have any!” 

“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”

“No, wait—”

“Good night~”

Click.

Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up. 

The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh. 

“Fuck this.”

. . .

Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off. 

Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality. 

“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.  

You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever. 

“What are you doing here?!”

Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”

He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.

Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”

“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”

“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.

“Thank you.”

Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy. 

The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him. 

“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”

“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers. 

You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.

But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice. 

“Good night.” 

. . .

Satoru wakes up twice. 

Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep. 

Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him. 

He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?” 

You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.” 

“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.

There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”

“That’s mean as fuck.”

“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.” 

“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”

“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”

“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view. 

As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone. 

Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the  pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever. 

It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”

“M’not,” Satoru mumbles. 

Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.

“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all. 

“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”

He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”

At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”

“I will.”

Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you. 

Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect. 

One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek. 

. . . 

It’s been several. 

Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes. 

His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful. 

Boring as fuck. 

He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations. 

It's like he just expects you to talk to him. 

He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date. 

And also your last.

. . . 

Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper. 

He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved. 

He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.

Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you. 

After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you. 

You’re not sure, honestly. 

It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion. 

You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels. 

At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex. 

You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him. 

. . .

Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.

And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head. 

At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him. 

As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him. 

He’s still a safe choice.

You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future. 

You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.

Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better. 

You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there. 

You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?” 

He slowly shakes his head, humming  indecisively. “Not yet.” 

You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?” 

He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.” 

It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch. 

“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?” 

You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. 

“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.” 

Why the fuck would he take you here?

“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade.  “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?” 

“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest. 

“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.” 

It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop. 

You can absolutely check other places out.

Does this guy not understand free will exists? 

“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?” 

“Exactly,” he proudly nods. 

“There you two are!” 

…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is. 

At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine. 

He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze. 

You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection. 

“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.” 

Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction. 

Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand. 

“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?” 

Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru. 

“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.” 

“Wait— really?” 

Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere. 

He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet. 

“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.

“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur. 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.” 

“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.” 

His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring. 

“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.” 

Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”

“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.” 

Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy. 

And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.

He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him. 

Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too. 

Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him. 

Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?” 

“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.

“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.” 

“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!” 

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”

“Not everything is about looks—“

He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”

Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.” 

“Yet?!” his voice broke. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.

“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”

Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?” 

“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says. 

“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”

“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath. 

“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”

You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”

“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”

You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has. 

“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”

He gets up.

There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet. 

“Where’s your car?” you ask. 

“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it. 

“Ow—”

“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder. 

“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”

You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go. 

“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”

“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”

“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”

“Because you—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”

gojo when reader said she hasn’t seen it “yet”:

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[lemxnns]

THE TERMS OF OUR UNION.

── synopsis .✦ married as a truce, you are bound to emperor suguru geto, a man who keeps you at a careful, infuriating distance. when your patience finally snaps, an argument forces the truth into the open: his restraint was never indifference, but love he believed was unreturned.

── contains .✦ emperor!suguru, arranged marriage trope, princess!reader, fem!reader, light angst, miscommunication, or lack of, brat taming, hair pulling, spanking, doggy style, missionary, belly bulges, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cockdrunk!reader, whipped!suguru, pussydrunk!suguru, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink, oral (f!recieving), aftercare, suguru might be a little crazy about reader, obsessed!suguru?, mdni!

── word count .✦ 4.1k!

You had always known that your life was not entirely your own. 

As the daughter of a beleaguered king from a small, resource-strapped kingdom on the fringes of the empire, your existence had been shaped by the whims of politics and survival. 

Whispers of war had echoed through the marble halls of your family’s palace for years, growing louder with each passing season as the mighty Empire of the East expanded its borders like an unyielding tide. 

Your father, a man whose crown weighed heavier on his brow than on his head, had exhausted every diplomatic avenue, every tribute of gold and grain, to appease the emperor who loomed over all like a shadow.

And then came the proposal – not a request, but a decree. 

The emperor, Suguru Geto, would spare your kingdom from conquest if you were offered to him in marriage. 

It was a bargain struck in desperation, your hand traded for the lives of thousands. You had no say in the matter, of course. Your protests fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the clamor of relief from your father’s advisors. 

“It is an honor,” they told you, their voices laced with false cheer. “The emperor himself has chosen you.”

But honor felt like a chain around your neck as preparations for the wedding consumed the kingdom. 

Servants bustled about, draping your chambers in silks imported from the imperial capital, fitting you for gowns that whispered of elegance and submission. And through it all, the stories about him painted a portrait that chilled you to the bone. 

Suguru Geto was no ordinary ruler; he was a force of nature cloaked in imperial robes. 

They said he was cold, his precision in governance as sharp as a blade. He commanded entire rooms without uttering a word – his mere presence enough to silence dissent and bend wills. Always serious, never one for frivolity or warmth, he ruled with an iron fist wrapped in velvet gloves. 

Rumors swirled of his unyielding stare, capable of stripping away pretenses and exposing the raw truth beneath. You imagined him as a statue come to life, beautiful perhaps, but devoid of the spark that made men human.

The journey to the imperial capital was a blur of guarded caravans and endless roads flanked by the empire’s vast armies. 

Your heart pounded with a mix of dread and resignation as the towering spires of the palace came into view, piercing the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast. 

The wedding itself was a spectacle orchestrated to perfection, a union of power and sacrifice under the watchful eyes of nobles, generals, and foreign envoys. You stood at the altar in a gown of crimson and gold, the colors of the empire, feeling like a lamb adorned for the altar.

And then he appeared.

Suguru Geto stepped forward from the shadows of the grand hall, his presence rippling through the assembled crowd like a stone dropped into still water. 

He was taller than you had envisioned, his frame lean and commanding, clad in robes of deep black embroidered with silver threads that caught the light from the chandeliers above. 

His long, dark hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, framing a face that was both strikingly handsome and profoundly unreadable. High cheekbones, full lips pressed into a firm line, and eyes – those piercing dark eyes – that seemed to hold the weight of empires within them. He moved with a deliberate grace, each step measured, as if the very ground yielded to his will.

You expected the coldness, the precision, but not this... politeness. 

As the ceremony began, officiated by a high priest whose voice echoed off the vaulted ceilings, Suguru turned to you. His gaze met yours for the first time, and there was no disdain, no indifference – just a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. 

“It is an honor to stand before you today.” He said, his voice smooth and low, carrying the weight of formality without the edge of cruelty you had feared. The words were polite, scripted perhaps, but delivered with a sincerity that surprised you.

When the time came for the exchange of vows, his hand reached for yours. His touch was firm, fingers encircling your wrist with a possessiveness that sent a murmur through the onlookers. 

To them, it must have looked like a claim, a silent declaration of ownership over the bride offered from a conquered land. His thumb brushed lightly against your pulse point, a fleeting contact that lingered just a moment too long, possessive in its subtlety. 

But to you, it felt restrained, as if he were holding back a tide of something deeper. He didn’t squeeze or demand; instead, he released your hand with a gentle precision, stepping back to allow the priest to continue.

The feast that followed was a whirlwind of opulence: toasts raised in crystal goblets, platters of exotic fruits and roasted meats, musicians playing melodies that wove through the air like silk. 

Suguru sat beside you at the high table, his posture impeccable, engaging in quiet conversations with his advisors. He turned to you occasionally, offering a nod or a brief question about your journey, always polite, always reserved. 

“I hope the capital treats you well.” He commented at one point, his eyes flicking to yours before returning to the room. There was no overt possessiveness now, just that careful distance, as if he were navigating an invisible boundary.

You nodded, murmuring your thanks, but inside, confusion swirled. The man before you was not the monster of rumors; he was serious, yes, but his politeness disarmed you. 

Yet, as the night wore on and the guests departed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was merely the beginning of a life tethered to a stranger.

The first weeks of your marriage unfolded in a haze of adjustment. 

The imperial palace was a labyrinth of grandeur: endless corridors lined with tapestries depicting the empire’s triumphs, gardens that bloomed eternally under the care of silent gardeners, and chambers that dwarfed anything you had known back home. 

Your days were filled with the quiet routines of a new empress: lessons in court etiquette from stern-faced tutors, audiences with the emperor’s inner circle where you were introduced as a symbol of unity, and solitary afternoons wandering the palace grounds, trying to find your place in this vast, impersonal world.

Suguru, true to the tales, was a phantom in your shared life.

 He rose before dawn for council meetings, his days consumed by the machinery of empire – decrees on trade routes, strategies against border skirmishes, audiences with vassal lords. 

You saw him at meals, formal affairs where conversation was sparse and laced with protocol. He would inquire after your comfort with that same polite detachment: 

“Have the seamstresses provided suitable attire?” or “Does the library suit your interests?” 

His touches, when they occurred, were minimal: a hand at the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hall, fingers that rested there with a firmness that bordered on possessive, drawing sidelong glances from the courtiers. 

But he never lingered, never crossed into intimacy. He was trying, you sensed, not to overstep, to respect the boundaries of an arrangement born of necessity rather than choice.

Nights were the hardest. Your shared bedchamber was a masterpiece of luxury, with a canopied bed draped in silks and a balcony overlooking the city lights. 

But Suguru retired late, often after you had feigned sleep, slipping into the adjoining study to pore over scrolls by candlelight. 

When he did join you, it was with a quiet efficiency – he changed into night robes, bid you goodnight with a nod, and turned his back, leaving an ocean of space between you on the mattress. No overtures, no attempts to bridge the gap. 

You lay awake, staring at the ornate ceiling, wondering if this was to be your existence: a beautiful cage, shared with a husband who treated you like a fragile artifact.

Months slipped by in this rhythm, the initial novelty of palace life giving way to a creeping isolation. 

You threw yourself into diversions to fill the void: studying the empire’s history in the vast library, where shelves towered like ancient trees; tending to a small herb garden in the secluded east wing, the soil grounding you in something tangible; even hosting modest teas for the wives of nobles, though their conversations often skirted around you, laced with curiosity about the “foreign bride.” 

Your kingdom’s tribute arrived regularly, reports from your father assuring you that peace held, but the letters were tinged with gratitude that felt like another layer of your sacrifice.

Suguru’s routine remained unchanging. He commanded the court with effortless authority, his presence alone quelling debates in the throne room. 

You observed him from afar during public sessions, noting how ministers straightened at his approach, how his rare words cut through noise like a scalpel. 

He was precise in everything – his edicts fair but unyielding, his gaze assessing without cruelty. Yet, in private moments, when your paths crossed in the halls, his politeness persisted. 

A slight bow of the head, a murmured “Good morning,” and that occasional touch – a brush of knuckles against your arm as he passed a document, possessive in its intent but withdrawn before it could unsettle.

But the distance gnawed at you. As a married woman, you were expected to embody grace and companionship, yet your husband barely acknowledged your existence beyond duty. 

Whispers among the servants reached your ears: “The emperor is reserved,” they said, “but perhaps he finds the arrangement... unappealing.” 

It stung, fueling a frustration that simmered beneath your composed exterior. You were no longer the sheltered princess; you were an empress in name, but a ghost in practice. 

Nights alone in that vast bed amplified the loneliness, the silk sheets cold against your skin, the silence broken only by the distant toll of bells marking the hours.

One evening, after six months of this silent coexistence, the weight became unbearable. 

The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the palace in hues of amber and shadow. You had spent the day in the gardens, pruning roses that bloomed defiantly despite the chill in the air, but your mind wandered to the man who shared your title yet not your life. 

Dinner had been a solitary affair in your chambers, the food tasteless on your tongue. Suguru was late again, his study door closed against the world.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Straightening your shoulders, you crossed the room and knocked firmly on the study door. Silence, then a quiet “Enter.”

Pushing it open, you found him at his desk, surrounded by maps and ledgers, his hair slightly disheveled from hours of work – a rare glimpse of vulnerability. He looked up, surprise flickering in those dark eyes before it was schooled into his usual composure. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked, setting down his quill.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a decisive click. The room smelled of ink and parchment, a masculine scent that mingled with the faint trace of sandalwood from his robes. 

“No,” you began, your voice steadier than you felt, “everything is not alright. We’ve been married for half a year, Suguru, and you treat me like a stranger in my own home. You command empires with a glance, yet you can’t even look at me without this... wall between us.”

He rose slowly, his height unfolding like a shadow lengthening. For a moment, he was silent, his expression unreadable. 

Then, he moved around the desk, stopping a respectful distance away. 

“I apologize if I’ve made you feel unwelcome,” he replied, his tone polite as ever, but there was a tension in his jaw, a subtle shift in his posture. “This marriage was arranged for the good of your people. I did not wish to impose upon you more than necessary.”

“Impose?” You laughed, a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet space. “We’re husband and wife, not distant allies. You leave me alone to wander these halls, doing ’your own thing’ while I do mine.” 

Your voice rose, laced with the bitterness that had been festering for months. “Months have passed, and I feel more isolated here than I ever did in my father’s palace. Do you even see me? Or am I just a symbol to parade at court?”

Crossing your arms, you glared at him, your cheeks flushed with the heat of confrontation. “I gave up everything – my home, my freedom – for this sham, and you can’t even pretend to be interested? It’s humiliating. Everyone whispers about the distant emperor and his unwanted bride. If you hate this as much as I think you do, just say it. End this farce.”

Suguru rose from his chair in one fluid motion, his height towering over you as he rounded the desk.

His expression shifted, the polite mask cracking to reveal a glint of something wilder, more intense: a slight craze flickering in his eyes, like a man on the edge of unleashing what he’d kept chained. 

He closed the distance between you in two strides, backing you against the wall with his body, not touching yet, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in, his face inches from yours. 

Those dark eyes bored into you, pupils dilated with obsession, his breath coming a touch quicker.

“You think I ignore you?” His voice was low, a growl edged with that controlled madness, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes – eyes that burned with possession. 

“Gods, woman, you’ve been driving me insane. I love you– obsess over you. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jerked my cock to stop myself from bending you over the nearest surface?”

His words hit you like a wave, raw and unfiltered, his body pressing closer now, one hand sliding to your waist in a grip that was firm; unyielding. 

You opened your mouth to retort, frustration still sparking. “You could’ve just—” 

But he cut you off by crashing his lips against yours, the kiss fierce and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim every inch. 

It wasn’t gentle – it was a release, his obsession pouring out as he devoured you, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back.

When he pulled away, both of you breathing hard, his forehead rested against yours, eyes wild. 

“No more waiting,” he murmured, voice husky with need. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

Before you could protest or process, he scooped you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carried you out of the study and down the dimly lit corridor to his private chambers. The palace was quiet at this hour, servants dismissed, leaving only the echo of his boots on the stone floor. 

He kicked the heavy door shut behind you, the sound final, and deposited you on the edge of the massive bed, its linens rumpled from his earlier retreat.

You glared up at him, heart pounding, a mix of anger and something hotter swirling in your chest. “You think you can just manhandle me like that? After ignoring me for months?”

Suguru’s eyes darkened, that slight craze sharpening as he loomed over you, shrugging off his outer robe to reveal the taut lines of his chest beneath a simple tunic. 

“Oh, I think I can.” He mused, his tone laced with something dark. “And I will. You’ve been a bratty little thing, haven’t you? Snapping at me like you don’t crave this as much as I do. But don’t worry, I’ll fix that attitude.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet and spinning you around with surprising gentleness despite the command in his movements. His hands worked quickly at the ties of your robes, peeling them away until you stood bare before him, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. 

You shivered, trying to twist back to face him, but his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down onto the bed on all fours. 

“Stay.” He ordered, voice firm. “Ass up, like the needy wife you are.”

Heat flooded your face, frustration bubbling up as you shot a glare over your shoulder. “Needy? You’re the one who’s been—ah!”

The first spank landed sharp on your ass, the sting blooming into warmth that made you gasp. His hand soothed the spot immediately after, rubbing circles that contrasted the correction. 

“Watch that mouth.” He warned, though his voice held a thread of praise. “Such a pretty slut, thinking you can talk back to your emperor. But you’ll learn.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold onto the fire, but another spank followed, harder, jolting you forward. “Suguru, you can’t just—”

He tugged your hair then, pulling your head back gently but insistently, forcing you to arch as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. “I can, and I will. You’ve teased me for months without knowing it. Now, spread those legs wider. Show me how wet you are from this.”

Defiance flickered, but so did desire, your body betraying you as you complied, thighs parting to reveal the slickness between them. 

Suguru groaned low in his throat, shedding the rest of his clothes until his hard cock sprang free, thick and veined, the tip already glistening. He positioned himself behind you, the head nudging your entrance, teasing without entering. 

“Look at you, dripping for it. Such a good girl under all that attitude, aren’t you? Or do I need to spank this greedy pussy to remind you?”

You pushed back against him, bratty even now. “Just put it in already, or are you all talk?”

His chuckle was dark, obsessed, as he yanked your hair again, the pull sending sparks down your spine. 

“Eager wifey.” He murmured, degradation mixing with the way his free hand praised by stroking your hip. “But you’ll beg properly soon.”

With one thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching your walls around his girth.The sensation was overwhelming – full, burning, perfect – and your attitude shattered in an instant. 

A moan tore from your throat, your arms buckling as you melted beneath him, body going pliant, obedient. No more fight; just surrender to the cock that filled you so completely.

Suguru stilled, buried deep, his hand releasing your hair to grip your hips instead. 

“There it is…” He teased, voice smug as he rocked shallowly, letting you feel every inch. “One push of my cock, and the brat disappears. Look at you, melting like the cockdrunk wife you were meant to be. So obedient now, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, nodding into the sheets, the words hitting harder than any spank. “Y-Yes... please, Suguru...”

He laughed softly, starting a slow rhythm, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in, dragging against your inner walls. Each thrust built the pressure, his hands roaming: one spanking your ass lightly now, more for emphasis than punishment, the other tugging your hair to keep your back arched. 

“That’s better. My perfect little whore, taking it so well. You’ve been begging for this without words, haven’t you? Strutting around, making my cock ache every night.”

The pace quickened gradually, his hips snapping forward with precision, the slap of skin on skin filling the chamber. 

You pushed back to meet him, lost in the drag of his length, the way he hit that spot deep inside over and over. Dialogue flowed between thrusts, his voice a constant tease. 

“Tell me how it feels, wife. Does my cock shut that smart mouth of yours?”

You tried to respond sassily at first, the remnants of frustration lingering. “It– it’s good, but you could—oh fuck—go harder...”

Another thrust, sharper, making your ass jiggle and your pussy clench tighter around him. 

“Harder? Greedy– n-ngh, greedy brat.” He growled, tugging your hair to pull you up slightly, his chest pressing to your back. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t talk back if you don’t learn to beg f’me.”

“Please,” you gasped, the word breaking free as pleasure coiled tight. “Harder, please, Suguru...”

He obliged, pounding into you with relentless force, his cock bulging your belly slightly with each deep plunge – you could feel it, the outline pressing against your skin from inside. 

“Good girl.” He cooed, dragging out each syllable in an almost childish manner. “Look at that – my cock reshaping your pretty pussy. You’re mine now, all mine.”

The first orgasm crashed over you without warning, walls fluttering wildly as you cried out, soaking his length with your release. 

But he didn’t stop, thrusting through it, his hand slipping around to rub your clit in firm circles. “Holy shit.” He murmured, obsessed edge in his voice. “Cum again for me, show me how much you need this.”

You were a mess, babbling incoherently as he dragged it out, the overstimulation making your thighs quake. “Suguru—ah!—too much... can’t...”

“You can.” He commanded, spanking once more for good measure, the sting pushing you higher. “Be my lovely wife and cum on your– mmf, your emperor’s cock.”

The second climax built slower, deeper, his pace varying: slow grinds that let you feel the belly bulge, then fast snaps that had you seeing stars. 

When it hit, you squirted, gushing around him in hot spurts that drenched the sheets, your body convulsing as you wailed his name.

Suguru groaned, his control fraying. “Fuck, yes—take it all.” 

With a final, brutal thrust, he came, flooding your pussy with thick ropes of cum, his hips jerking as he painted your insides white. 

He stayed buried, grinding to push it deeper, whispering, “Gonna breed you, fill you up until you’re swollen with my child. My pretty girl, carrying my heir.”

He pulled out slowly after, cum leaking from you, but he wasn’t done. 

Flipping you onto your back with ease, he settled between your thighs in missionary, sliding back in with a wet squelch. Your legs hooked around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as he loomed over you, eyes locked on yours: wild, loving, crazed.

Now, with him face-to-face, the teasing shifted.

You were fully cockdrunk, mind hazy, body pliant as he rocked into you languidly at first, letting the sensitivity build anew. 

“Look at you,” he cooed, mixed praise dripping from his lips. “So fucked out already, but still greedy for more. Pussy milking me like it never wants me to leave.”

You nodded hazily, not really processing, just agreeing on instinct. “Uh-huh... more...”

He chuckled, low and affectionate, thrusting deeper to emphasize the belly bulge again, his hand pressing on it. “That’s right, just agree. You’re not even listening, are you? Too cockdrunk to think, huh?”

“Mmh, yeah.” You murmured, eyes half-lidded, lost in the sensation as he picked up speed. 

Conversation turned to moans and affirmatives from you, while he teased relentlessly. “Such a good girl now, no more brattiness. Just my pliant girl, taking every inch. Gonna cum inside again, ’kay?”

The rhythm dragged on, his cock stirring his previous load inside you, the slick sounds obscene. 

He kissed you deeply, swallowing your whimpers, then trailed bites down your neck as he angled to hit your g-spot. “Feel that? Yeah? Tell me you’re mine, sweetheart.”

“I’m yours…!” You breathed, the words automatic, mind adrift in bliss. 

He laughed again, the sound vibrating through you. “Damn right you are. Fucked so stupid, aren’t you? But you love it.”

The final orgasm built like a tidal wave, shared this time. Your walls clamped down, squirting weakly around him as you shattered, crying out. 

Suguru followed seconds later, groaning as he emptied another load, hips stuttering. “Hngh, fuck! Take it…!”

Spent, he eased out, but instead of collapsing, he kissed down your body, settling between your legs. “Gonna clean you up.” He promised, voice soft now, obsessed tenderness shining through. 

His tongue lapped at your folds, gathering the mix of cum and your juices, sucking gently on your clit until you twitched oversensitive. 

“M’kay…” You mumbled, too tired to do anything but agree, especially when he talked so sweetly.

He hummed approval, delving deeper, fucking you with his tongue to scoop out his seed. “Can’t let it go to waste. Taste so good mixed with me.”

You carded fingers through his hair, boneless, as aftershocks rippled. 

When he finished, he crawled up, pulling you into his arms. Your bodies tangled, his chest to your back, hand splayed possessively over your stomach. 

“Sleep now, my love.” He whispered, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “Won’t avoid you anymore.”

Exhaustion claimed you both, drifting off in a cocoon of warmth, the months of distance forgotten in the intimacy you’d finally claimed.

a/n: can you guys tell when i started rushing this.. i also tried to get fancy i dont know if it worked i just hope you guys like it..

dividers by @/uzmacchiato!

[indiewritesxoxo]

IT'S KNOT ME, IT'S YOU!

oh my god, they were roommates!

synopsis: you thought you were doing a good deed by taking in the biggest problem resident at the hybrid rescue you work for! but now you're stuck waking up to a six foot plus tiger hybrid who steals your panties and snores on your chest. good thing it's only temporary...right?

pairing: tiger hybrid!sukuna x f!reader

wc: 4.7k

content: mdni, smut smut smut!, porn with plot, hybrid au, he's got fuzzy ears and a tail, he's handsy and huge, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected piv sex, knotting, mating bites, shower sex, sukuna packing a massive cock what else is new, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, possessive sukuna, mates

a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @stardust-sprinkler hehe <3 KUNA ART BY THE AMAZING @alukaforyou !

“Can you please come in? Sukuna’s…” 

Bitten another staff member? Clawed up their calves just because they brought him the wrong food while he was in heat? Threatened to slice one of the other hybrids in half? 

You’d gotten enough of these phone calls since you started working at your local hybrid rescue to take a guess at what would come out of your coworker’s mouth next, already rolling out of bed and rubbing your eyes as you flicked on your lamp, internally groaning and grumbling as you listened to the latest issues that always seemed to surround the most feral resident of the shelter. 

But still, twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the parking lot in pajama pants and a hoodie, shutting your car off and spinning your keys around your finger as you walked down the dimly-lit sidewalk, bracing yourself for whatever you’d find inside.

Shoko was standing by the front door, white vet’s coat swaying in the wind and a cigarette delicately placed between her lips as she puffed out a little ring of smoke. Nodding at you as you drew near, one corner of her mouth curling up all crooked before she plucked the cigarette back out, “Good luck.”

Great.

You already knew you’d need it.

It wasn’t like you knew when you took the job that you were basically signing up to play Sukuna whisperer – you hadn’t even wanted anything to do with the bulky beast that was technically still mostly human when you saw him through the thick one-sided glass during your initial interview. But from the first evening you shyly stepped into his room to feed him, anxiously glancing at his broad frame curled up in the corner while you offered him dinner and softly introduced yourself, he had given you a quick glance over and apparently decided you were the most tolerable staff member. 

There didn’t appear to be a rhyme or reason. 

He just picked you. 

A miracle, your boss said. Like you didn’t hear your coworkers whispering to each other that they were so glad it wasn’t them. 

The halls were empty, oddly quiet as your footsteps padded down various corridors, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as you scanned your keycard to get through to the section that was reserved for the more…wild hybrid variants. Bears, wolves, snow leopards, not your typical bunny or cat most people would choose to take home. These days, some hybrids even lived and worked on their own, had the same rights as humans. 

But a few couldn’t help their more, ah, animalistic instincts. 

With Sukuna? 

You couldn’t exactly tell what was his hybrid half and what was just his personality. 

Sighing as you found yourself standing outside his room, pausing to peek through the now cracked window, watching Sukuna sitting on his too-small bed, back against the concrete wall with his muscled arms folded across his chest, completely fucking naked as his furry ears bristled in irritation. 

He was attractive, annoyingly so, enough to remind you every time you saw him why the hybrid population kept increasing every year, but you as quick as the thought floated up, you shoved it back down. 

You knocked twice on the door before scanning your card again, peeking inside before stepping in, feeling his stare on you before you looked up at the man of the hour. Or well, tiger of the hour. 

“Took you long enough,” he tch-ed, a low growl escaping his throat as he sauntered to his feet. 

“What did you do this time?” You wryly asked, nose scrunching up as you let your eyes scan the rest of his room. Someone must have tried to toss some toys in, as if he was a cub instead of fully grown, the remains of a plush mouse scattered across the floor. 

“The blonde tried to bathe me,” he indignantly scoffed, head held proudly up. You were tempted to tell him that he had a perfectly good bathroom already attached to his room – complete with a shower and tub he could use to wash himself, if he wasn’t so high and mighty to insist on being babied. Or, according to his perspective, treated like the king of this place he frequently insisted he hated so much.

You exhaled, shutting your eyes for just a second to massage your temples in an attempt to stall the headache brewing behind them only to open them and find him standing six inches away. Looking down at you. 

“I told her you’re the only one that can touch me,” he muttered, low and almost lethal. His hand reached out to skim over your bicep, barely touching but still enough for you to feel the pressure behind his fingertips. “She sent in the fucking vet to try to sedate me.” 

“And how did that go?” You sarcastically asked, as if you didn’t have a pretty decent inkling. 

“Well, they called you, didn’t they?” He sharply retorted, cocking his head to the side, jaw clenched as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. 

He got what he wanted. 

And you got to scrub a ridiculously oversized man in a tub for twenty minutes while he complained about not having enough bath salts, rubbing a sponge over his ridiculously ripped back muscles as he muttered about how awful everyone else here was. Grumbling with gritted teeth while your hands ran over his spine, damp sleeves rolled up over your elbows as you traced shapes along his strong arms, his slightly musky scent still invading your nostrils no matter how much soap you used. 

It wasn’t bad, even if it was strong. 

All masculine and warm, whatever pheromones he was putting off having a funny effect on your head the longer you knelt so close to him, sighing as you reached into the water and pulled up the drain. 

“Bath time’s over,” you muttered softly, standing up and grabbing a thick towel to hold out for him, making a point to not look past the thick patch of his happy trail when he wrapped it around his waist, even if you couldn’t not notice the way his damp tail dripped water behind him after he got out. 

“Where are you goin’?” He growled when you started to walk back out, his claws poking out in protest as your hand paused just before you could scan your key card to get out.

“Home,” you muttered. “You better have some clothes on when I come back.” 

The shelter sure spent fucking enough on custom robes big enough to fit him. 

He snarled, two seconds from making a snide comment, but you slipped out before he could. 

You were ready to crawl back into your own bed, curl up and get some sleep, maybe message your boss before you passed out that you’d be a little late in the morning since you had to come in overnight. Let yourself get an extra hour or two of rest before you had to deal with him again. 

Except, uh, your boss was already waiting for you in the lobby, Yaga leaning back against the receptionist desk and grimacing at the fluorescent lights as you stopped and stared. 

“Is everything okay?” You blinked a few times, just for him to fix you in a solemn stare.

And still, while your brain scrambled to come up with a reason for him being here too, you didn’t expect what left his mouth now as he jutted his thumb in the direction you came from. 

“Do you think you could foster him?” 

No. No, there was no way-

Except, um, apparently, there was a way when they offered you a hefty bonus and a few days off, and Shoko slipped a strong sedative in his breakfast so you could transfer him from his room back to your place – which you promptly had to Sukuna proof. 

You expected him to throw a fit when he eventually woke up, to try and break through your front door and escape. 

But he just sniffed the air slowly before he even lazily opened up his dark eyes to glance around your apartment, a crooked smile curling up as he centered his stare on you. 

“So I’m your problem now?” 

Was it too late to take him back? 

Trade in your annoying tiger hybrid for a fluffy housecat? 

In your personal experience, all felines were funny in that they could listen perfectly fine – they just didn’t care. 

And Sukuna was no exception. 

Shredding your curtains when you went out without telling him, sinking his sharp teeth into your pillows after you made him floss between them, turning your couch into his personal little nest and dragging your clothes from your closet into it. Judging the comfort of your blankets and commenting on how boring it was being here, acting like he’d rather be back at the shelter as he ate half the food in your fridge in a few hours. 

He was insufferable and spoiled and a million other awful adjectives you could assign him, but it wasn’t totally terrible to come home from your shifts to someone warm. Who’d begrudgingly let you scratch behind his ears and stroke his pretty, pink hair. You took him to the park as much as you could, ignoring the pointed stares you’d receive and the people who muttered that he should have a muzzle on while he begrudgingly stayed by your side. 

It wasn’t like you had a backyard he could stretch his limbs or lounge in. 

And two months in, you hadn’t exactly envisioned starting off your mornings with fur in your mouth and the weight of a full-grown man on your chest, but you guessed there were worse things. 

You might even miss him when all this came to an end, which, according to the text message you woke up to from Yaga, might be sooner than you think. Some rich guy had apparently called asking about him, claiming he owned thirty acres of land he used to house exotic hybrids and wanted to add Sukuna to his collection. 

Now you just had to figure out how to tell him that he might have a new owner. 

You tried to sneak over to the bathroom after carefully extracting yourself from underneath him, bare feet padding out while you glanced over your shoulder at the slumbering mass in your bed, a little bit of drool leaking down his lips as he snored on your pillow. 

He almost looked peaceful like this. 

As if you hadn’t gotten back from work last night to discover a stash of your panties underneath the daybed he’d currently taken over in your spare room. And the, um, dried substance they seemed to be coated in you’d desperately been trying not to think too hard about. 

Okay, perhaps he was closer to a perverted roommate than a pet. 

But you couldn’t scrub out the guilt that seemed to cling to your skin in the shower, hot water running over your body as you sighed to yourself and debated on how you’d break the news when he had started to settle in here. 

At least there he’d be able to have the space he needed, time outdoors, probably better nutrition than what you could afford to keep in your fridge and pantry, even with the added provisions your work provided for him. He was about as antisocial as it came – but there might be other hybrids there that he could actually stand being around. Closer to his spot on the food chain instead of the other ones he usually sneered down at. 

His new owner might even treat him like the king he thought he was. 

The shower curtain was abruptly pulled back, your arm rushing to cover up your tits, but his eyes were just on yours, his sharp nose scrunched up in a familiar scowl as he grunted good morning, his clothes already stripped off as he stepped in after you. 

“What is your problem?” You huffed at him, but he just yawned, toothpaste stuck to his bottom lip as he reached past you to grab the bottle of specialty hybrid shampoo you bought for him. 

“Didn’t you tell me yesterday we have to conserve water or some shit?” He grunted, lathering up his hair like his rock hard dick wasn’t out and poking you in the thigh. 

“I didn’t mean-” You started to groan, lips pressed together in a flustered frown. Swallowing hard as you struggled to keep your stare somewhere appropriate. You’d like to pretend your relationship was entirely platonic. That it fit perfectly in the boundaries of what it was supposed to. 

Where the only spot of your heart he occupied was pure. That the growing intimacy you’d been ignoring was innocent. 

It was getting a lot fucking harder to believe it when he felt more and more like a person to you every day. More human. 

“You were takin’ too long,” he added, moving over to bump his hip into yours to start hogging the hot water for himself. 

You stepped back, goosebumps trailing down your arms once you were out of the stream, holding your breath as you debated on ripping the bandaid off while he was washing himself for once. 

“Someone wants to buy you,” you heard yourself say, unsure of what emotion it was in your voice as he suddenly went still, tail twitching as his shoulders straightened. “Um, adopt, I guess.” 

He turned his head, just barely, enough for you to catch his nasty side-eye and locked jaw. 

“That’s not fucking funny,” he growled. 

“Yaga texted me,” you continued, careful to keep your tone steady. “Said some guy with a ton of acres wants to take you in. Guess he like, collects rare-” 

“No.” 

“No?” You incredulously repeated. “You can’t just-” 

“I’m not going to be some fucking breeding stock for an asshole who wants to stick me in an enclosure,” he declared, your mouth hanging open at the wild assumption he jumped to just from a couple sentences. 

“Who said anything about breeding?” You gaped, eyebrows arching up as you stopped yourself from stomping your foot. 

“You’re delusional if you don’t think that’s the only reason someone would want a problem hybrid like me,” he half-glared at you, molars grinding as you tried to come up with a reason to argue with him. 

“I-” You stopped yourself, blinking too hard and fast. 

“Tell them no,” he spat the word back out, thick brows furrowed together tightly as he shut off the water. 

“What if someone else wants to-” You started, and his whole body twisted around, his arms suddenly caging you in as you shrank back against the cold walls of the shower, all the air in your lungs ripped from you as he pinned you in. 

“I’m yours,” he hissed. “You can’t just toss me out like I’m some fuckin’ stray.” 

You were pretty sure you were gawking, grasping at straws to push him away when heat was pooling and simmering in the pit of your stomach. 

“They’ll be able to give you a better life than-” 

His mouth crashed into yours, fingers tangling in your hair while he shut up your stuttered gasp with his tongue slipping past your lips. 

He didn’t ask for permission. 

But maybe it was because he didn’t need to. 

Because when it boiled down to it, you’d let him into your home. Your shower. Let him slice and carve out half of your heart, even when you knew he’d probably just chew it up and spit it out. 

“Mmph, S’kuna,” you tried to breathe, placing a damp hand on his bare chest, fingers pressing down as he just kissed you again, struck by how strange it was to taste your own toothpaste on him, smell your soap on his skin and see the strawberry-scented shampoo suds running down his chiseled chest. His cute fuzzy ears standing up straight between his wet strands of pink hair. 

“You want me to stop?” He dared between kisses, moving down to your jaw, painting your skin with greedy wet sucks as he dragged his rough tongue across the sensitive skin. “Wanna keep pretending that I’m just your pet?” 

He wasn’t. 

And when your eyes skimmed down his pretty chest and his dripping cock, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no. 

“You know you’re not,” you whispered, as close as you could come to a confession. 

Let him grab you by the ass next, hoisting you up as his mouth returned to yours, matching his starving fervor, wrapping your wrists around his neck as he groaned into the kiss. And maybe it was how wrong it was, but you didn’t think any kiss before this had ever felt so right. 

His fingers dug into your soft flesh, dimpling it as he tried to claim you with his tongue and teeth, a low growl ripping from the deepest part of his chest you felt his cock catch right at your entrance. 

You sort of expected him to just cave into the desires you knew were hardwired into hybrids like him. Just jam his cock in and breed you until he had his fill, or uh, filled you up. It wasn’t like he could even get you pregnant, not when you’d been on birth control far before you met him. 

But before you could brace yourself for the burning stretch that was surely coming, he was ripping free from the kiss to lift you up higher. Like, a lot higher. 

Using that ridiculous strength of his to balance your weight as he pressed your damp body against the cold wall of the shower, ignoring your squirming until his your cunt was presented right in front of his mouth. 

Dragging his rough tongue across it, worming his way in before you could so much as mumble the probably needed what the hell was he doing. 

You guessed you already knew what the answer was. 

He was always starving, after all. 

You’d just become his breakfast. 

Your head leaning back against the shower wall while his hands steadily supported your weight, keeping your thighs spread enough to make room to bury his head between them. Sloppily swirling his tongue inside you, using the thick muscle to map you out, explore you with an expertise you hadn’t expected. An attention to detail you hadn’t thought he was capable of when it came to something that didn’t benefit him. 

Although, judging by the feral moans reverberating through you from his mouth, you guessed he was getting some pleasure in eating you out. 

Fingers digging in possessively to your soft flesh, his tongue flicking in-and-out fast, your chest straining to contain your rapid heartbeats as little jolts of electricity raced through the rest of you. Arousal and anticipation bleeding into each other as they overwrote your anxiety over what you were letting him do.

Just when his tongue slid back out, traced a messy line up to your needy clit, and you foolishly thought he was about to make you cum for him, his head turned up, looking up at you almost accusatory through half-lidded eyes. 

“You’re soakin’, brat,” he scoffed, and you could make out a hint of a crude smirk on his lips. 

“We’re in the shower,” you tried to retort, like heat wasn’t flooding your face – and between your legs. 

“Water’s been off for like, five minutes,” he reminded you. 

Your mouth fell open, but you couldn’t come up with a reply sharp enough to shut him up. 

It didn’t matter though. Because his hands shifted, and you were falling, a scary second passing before he grabbed you and pinned you back in the first position, chuckling with amusement as he lifted your thighs up, pressing them against your chest and squishing your tits as you tried to wiggle in his renewed grip. 

Stupid. 

He was too strong, his hold too tight, the tips of his claws teasingly pressing into your skin as you whined, more aware of the emptiness in your pussy than you’d like to be. The ache he’d left you with desperate to be soothed, stuffed. 

“You should go dry off,” he mocked, your heart stopping at his suggestion, playing right into his hand. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?” 

“Can’t you just shut up and fuck me already?” You hissed at him, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of your throat instead of stomping your foot like you instinctively wanted to. A little swish, a flash of orange caught your attention in the corner of your vision, a smile curling up on your lips when you realized his tail was wagging. 

He could play coy. 

Act sly and in control. 

But his body gave him away. 

And while you were distracted, he’d taken the chance to line himself up, angle and all, just to slide himself in like it was nothing, his saliva acting as lube as he shoved inch after inch in. His rather, ah, large girth barely able to make it through, your thoughts immediately fizzling out into a chorus of holy fucking shit, how much more is there only for it to keep going. 

His mouth returned to your face, leaving messy kisses all over your cheeks, down your jaw, wherever he could reach, like it could coax you through the mean stretch of his cock spearing you open. 

“So fuckin’ tight, brat,” he groaned, teeth gritted, his breath warm on your skin as you whined at the intense sensation of his hips moving, rolling up while you were struggling to even manage breathing at all. 

“Not my fault you’re so-” You couldn’t even finish, lips clamping shut as you realized you were about to stroke his ego. 

“M’so what?” He dared you to finish anyway, stalling inside you, making it obvious he wouldn’t move a muscle until you said it. 

Biting your lip as you begrudgingly murmured, “Big.” 

You were wondering who was really the pet here when it felt like you were being rewarded for good behavior after he pulled his cock out and pushed it back in, quickly picking up a steady rhythm – one that seemed specifically designed to unravel you. 

Pull you apart until you were reduced down to your basest instincts. 

Until you were like him. 

And even worse? 

It was working. 

A babble of syllables that sounded like his name falling from your mouth when he kept grinding into the soft, spongy spot in the back, pressing into it over and over again like it was a button built for breaking you down. Your sanity slowly dissolving into something he could swallow, his sharp teeth glinting when he bared them at you in a crooked smile. 

“You love me rutting into you like this, huh?” He growled, your head bobbing uselessly as his cock split you open deeper, grinding meanly into your cervix like it was his to claim. 

You did, and it, you were his, even if you sold yourself some other story to make yourself feel better. 

“A-asshole,” you groaned, grabbing a fistful of hair to try and find something to pull on, holding onto the slivers of rationality you had left by threatening to rip some of his hair out of his scalp. 

“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” he half-spat out, kissing you again so you couldn’t argue with him. His tongue returning to your mouth as he thrusted up faster, fucking you so full you were pretty sure you felt him in your lungs. Whining into the kiss until he pulled back, his dark red eyes glinting in the warm yellow lighting of your bathroom as he smirked, “What would your friends think if they knew you let me fuck you like this?” 

Pushing his lips out in a dramatic pout, but you just pulled his hair harder, trying to make him wince to match the weird feeling he kept stuffing down your throat, the hint of humiliation at knowing what he was trying to imply. 

That everyone you knew would judge you for sleeping with Sukuna. Say that you shouldn’t fucking have sex with the hybrid you were literally fostering. For good reason, too. 

But how the hell were you supposed to say no when his hands felt like they fit you? 

When every ridge of his swollen cock stretched you open just right? 

“I-I don’t care,” you protested, puffing out your chest despite your sore thighs being pinned to them. Muscles aching, straining as the rubber band you were currently clinging to threatened to snap hard the longer he rutted into you. 

But then, right as his fat tip grinded up against your womb, he stopped, ignoring your irritated huff for him to continue. 

“Kuna,” you started, but before you could form another syllable, you felt it. Him. 

The base of his cock slowly ballooning, his knot trying to take hold and work its way up inside you, to lock himself in. You made some strangled noise you didn’t even know you were capable of, a guttural sound torn from the deepest part of your throat as the pressure built and soared, feeling yourself getting molded and practically reshaped by his size. 

“C’mon,” he growled, just as raw and rough as you expected from him, one of his huge hands slipping between your thighs, a calloused thumb covering your clit as he started rubbing mean circles over it. Distracting you from the fact you were being destroyed, remodeled around his cock, flames of lust licking over your sensitive bundle of nerves as he sent another set of shudders down your spine. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it.” 

You could. 

You would. 

Just as stubborn as he was, even if you were shutting your eyes and biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood, the pain of the stretch melting into white-hot pleasure as he began kissing your collarbone, trailing up higher until his lips were pressed against the crook just above it. 

His teeth sank into your throat, your entire body shivering under the sheer force to it, something inside you pulling tight as you gasped some broken cry of his name. But he didn’t let go. Didn’t retract. Just bit down harder, feeling you spasm and squirm around him as he held on, the knot at the base of your entrance somehow managing to inflate more. 

You dragged your nails down his back, probably shredding the skin there, leaving long scratches of your own to mark him as yours too. 

“Mine,” he growled, licking the sore spot while your brain struggled to process what was happening. What he’d just done. 

You couldn’t exactly drop him back off at the rescue when he’d made you his mate. 

Left a huge fucking hickey you’d be stuck living with, a bond forged from baths and breakfasts and boring movies. 

You knew it was a bad idea. 

But you didn’t want to break it. 

He was yours, wasn’t he? Wasn’t it only right that you were his too? 

Letting all those negative thoughts fade as you gave into how fucking good he felt, his mouth on your neck and his thumb massaging your clit and his cock filling up every crevice until you weren’t sure where you started and he ended anymore. 

“Say it,” Sukuna gruffly grunted, his thumb hesitating, knowing just how close you were and still teasing you anyway. 

“I’m your mate,” you admitted, your weak voice coming out in a whimper as he dragged you to a climax with just a harsh swipe of his thumb. White stars splotching and staining your vision, heat simmering through you as your thighs trembled, muscles begging for relief as his heavy breathing undercut the drone of the bathroom exhaust fan. 

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hissed, cumming right after you, still rubbing your clit through it, warm ropes of cum filling you up and getting plugged inside by his knot. Not even able to leak down your thighs as it held fast, your thoughts distant and dreamy as slowly floated back down to earth. 

Hesitantly meeting Sukuna’s dark eyes only to find them already focused solely on you, clouded with something that looked an awful lot like love up this close. 

“I’m staying here,” he grumbled, nose scrunching up as his tail wrapped around your leg. 

You didn’t think you’d be able to get rid of him even if you wanted to. 

Now how the hell were you supposed to tell your work? 

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3

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[polaroidsex]

ᓚᘏ𑄝 nanami hates when you push on his hips slightly cause of the overstimulation he’s fucking you into . .

nanami’s already so deep when it starts getting too much for you.

his cock’s thick and hot, stretching you open with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips, and you’re shaking underneath him, thighs trembling, breath hitching into little broken sobs. he’s been fucking you steady for what feels like forever, patient, controlled, whispering soft praises against your temple even while he’s splitting you apart.

but the second your hands slip down to his hips and push—just a tiny, desperate nudge to get a break from how intense it feels—he freezes.

his whole body locks up.

then that low, dangerous voice right against your ear.

“hah… fuck.” he exhales hard through his nose. “where do you think you’re going?”

before you can even stammer out an answer his weight drops.

full. heavy and pinning. chest crushing your tits flat to the mattress, thick arms caging your head, forearms bracketing your face so you can’t turn away. his hips snap forward harder than before, burying every last inch so deep your eyes roll and your mouth falls open on a silent scream.

“you don’t get to run from this,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, still soft in that awful, loving way that makes your cunt flutter around him. “you take it. all of it.”

one big hand slides up, covers your mouth completely. palm warm, fingers splayed wide so your muffled whimpers vibrate right into his skin. he doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t hurt—just holds. keeps every needy little sound locked behind his hand while he starts fucking you in long, punishing strokes.

the wet slap of his hips meeting your ass fills the room. loud. obscene. you can feel how soaked you are, how your slick’s dripping down your thighs, coating his balls every time he bottoms out.

his other hand snakes between your bodies.

two fingers find your clit immediately: swollen, oversensitive, throbbing and he doesn’t tease you, just rubs firm, tight circles.

your man is mean.

your whole body jerks under him, back arching uselessly because there’s nowhere to go. he’s too heavy, too deep, too everywhere. the overstimulation hits like a freight train and you’re crying into his palm, tears slipping down your temples, thighs trying to snap shut but his knees keep you spread wide.

“there she is,” he breathes against your cheek. “that’s it. let it happen.”

he grinds in deep, pubic bone crushing right against your clit while his fingers keep working merciless little circles. your cunt clamps down so hard he groans—low, wrecked—and his rhythm stutters for half a second before he fucks you even harder.

“gonna cum again for me?” his voice is velvet dragged over gravel. “even though it’s too much? even though you’re shaking?”

you can only sob into his hand. nod frantically. thighs quivering, toes curling, whole body wound so tight you think you might break.

he presses his forehead to yours. eyes dark, pupils blown. watching every twitch of your face while he ruins you.

“good girl,” he whispers. “cum on my cock. soak me. make a fucking mess.”

his fingers speed up. relentless, and you do.

you shatter so hard your vision whites out, back bowing, cunt spasming violently around his length while you scream into his palm. he doesn’t stop fucking you through it—keeps that same brutal pace, drawing it out until you’re limp and twitching and drooling against his hand.

only then does he finally slow.

still buried to the hilt.

still heavy on top of you.

he lifts his palm just enough to let you gasp wet, shaky breaths.

then he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and almost tender.

“you’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “not until i say so.”

and he rolls his hips again—just once. slow and deep.

making sure you feel every inch.

just to remind you who’s in charge.

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒  𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. after you escape your own thoughts, you return to the courtyard and resume your feast with the others. perhaps your overthinking was justified, when suddenly your world - and simultaneously that of the ryomen sukuna - turns upside down.

tags. true form!ryomen sukuna x concubine!female reader. heian era. angst ((no) comfort). mentions of anxiety, cannibalísm, dēath, detailed gōre, bloōd. main character death. open ending. reader gets called 'woman, brat'. part one here! wc. 8.1k

the estate halls stretch silently around you, polished wood gleaming under paper lanterns. your footsteps echo softly on the floorboards, a sharp contrast to the frantic beating of your heart. the heavy silk of your robes drags against your skin with each layer a suffocating reminder of the assembled crowd waiting back for you in the garden.

your heartbeat is loud. too loud.

you walk with hurried steps down the corridor. you just need to get somewhere cool and quiet to calm down. to escape your own thoughts.

the scent of your own perfume - sakura and amber - is now cloying. your hairpins clink faintly with each movement of your head and you curse the weight of them. everything is too much. too tight. too heavy.

you clutch your chest and press your back against the wooden wall once you’re far enough from the courtyard. you try to breathe properly, but your breaths come out in shallow and sharp exhales. you resort to fanning yourself, but none of it seems to help.

your thoughts spiral again; what did that attendant whisper about? why did she look so unsettled? are they planning something? are you truly overthinking it?

you clench your fists against the fabric of your robes. it’s going to be fine; you try to convince yourself. you’ve survived worse.

but today it feels different. those smiles the other concubines wore weren’t like before. they were tighter. sharper. almost. . . predatory.

“oi, woman.”

that deep voice makes you freeze. you don’t need to turn around to know who it is. that deep, gravelly timbre soaked in barely contained fury. the sound of his heavy footsteps follows and you can’t help but stiffen before slowly turning your head.

sukuna stands at the end of the hallway, his figure broad and imposing as always. his black and red robes sway around his tall frame like shadows and all four of his eyes burn with something unreadable.

yoy try to speak, but not a word comes out.

sukuna takes his chance and closes the distance with long and purposeful strides. “you think y’ can walk away from me in front of everyone?” he grits his teeth. his tone is sharp. not really shouting, but it’s enough to make your breath catch.

“i didn’t mean—” you begin, but he raises a hand to silence you. you flinch. not because you think he’d put a hand on you out of anger, but simply because you’re just too scared. of everything.

“did i permit you to leave?” sukuna snarls, his voice low and dangerous. his large hand comes to grab your wrist. his grip is tight enough to make you let out a pathetic whimper. one he enjoys hearing.

you instinctively bow your head. “forgive me, my lord. i was feeling unwell and i just needed a moment.”

the pink-haired man pauses. his expression is unreadable, but his hand moves from your wrist to your chin. large, calloused fingers seize your jaw and force your head up. his crimson eyes rake over your features. they’re searching, dissecting and calculating.

he doesn’t know what to make of it, but he knows that it’s probably one of your humanly emotions - nay, weaknesses – that are messing with you. the tremble of your bottom lip, the glassy shine your eyes hold and the quickened way you breathe reminds him of the countless times you’ve been. . . sad? panicked? anxious?

sukuna snaps out of it, clicking his tongue.

“y’ look ill,” he mutters finally, as if stating an inconvenient fact. “your hands shake,” he continues as his thumb brushes the edge of your jaw slowly. he lets out a huff before concluding his own thoughts. “pathetic. ‘re you frightened?”

you swallow thickly and force the words past your tightening throat. “i. . . i am just unsettled. nothing more.”

sukuna’s mouth curls faintly—not in amusement, but disdain. “lies,” he growls and you know you’ve messed up.

he hates it when you lie to him, as if he won’t immediately notice. the grip on your chin tightens a fraction before he lets go with a scoff. he towers over you menacingly.

all four arms are folded across his chest, the silk of his robes shifting with the movement. “humans and y’r pitiful little emotions. always quiverin’, always tremblin’. i should rip ‘em out of you just to silence it all.”

the words sting, but you know better. behind the gruffness, the disgust and coldness lies something he will never admit. you see it in the way his gaze lingers. in the slight crease of his brow.

it’s concern, twisted into anger because that is the only language he knows.

you can only bow deeply again, not wanting to bother him anymore with your own thoughts. “my apologies, my lord. i meant no deviance.”

sukuna stares down at the top of your head for longer than a moment. he then exhales sharply through his nose. a sound like a growl held back by the thinnest thread, “enough of this nonsense. you will return with me. now.”

there’s no room for argument. reluctance coils in your belly, but you do as told. you take a deep breath to ready yourself for what’s to come. you hope it’s just your anxiety spiking again, that you’re simply overthinking. you fall into step behind sukuna as he makes his way back to the courtyard, expecting you to follow. his strides are long and furious, forcing you to hurry up, but you don’t stumble.

sukuna’s presence is suffocating but oddly grounding to you—like being caged by a monster that would kill anyone else who dared to approach you.

. . .

when you and sukuna step back into the courtyard, silence crashes down like a hammer. all eyes dart towards you immediately. you feel uneasy the second you realise you have to be back here.

the concubines, seated with perfect posture at the long table, paste polite concern cross their faces. their fans cover their mouths and their eyes are lowered demurely, though you catch the faint glint of triumph in their stares.

“ah, my lady,” one of them says softly with a staged tone. you can sense the strain in her voice as she utters that word. like you didn’t deserve to be called a ‘lady’.

“we were sooo worried for you.”

another one chimes in, her voice dripping with honey. “are you unwell? yoy seemed quite… sick before you left.” it’s all so fake that you can’t help but internally cringe yet also worry why they’re suddenly acting stranger than usual.

al of the assembled women glance towards sukuba, as if to display their care for you in front of him. as if they could win favor by pretending. though they’ve long come to realize that none of it works anymore.

as expected, sukuna ignores them entirely, striding back to his seat at the head of the platform. his presence alone silences any more of their whispers. he lowers himself onto the mat, his silks pooling darkly around him. without looking at anyone else, his eyes flicker towards you and he urges you wordlessly to resume your place near his side.

you simply nod at the other concubines. you don’t bother responding to their ‘worried’ comments. you hurry to obey the king of curses and sink onto your own cushion. you arrange your own robes neatly and keep your head slightly bowed. you’re squeezing your hands together to keep yourself sane throughout the rest of this afternoon.

it’s almost done.

moments later, maids appear with trays of food. their movements are precise and graceful as they set lacquered dishes across the long table. steaming bowls of rice, platters of delicately sliced fish and simmering stews rich with fragrance. each dish is prepared with careful preparation. your eyes dart from the concubines to the food, up to the maids and then to sukuna.

nothing looks off, but something feels off.

as always, the food tasters step forward. they bow low before kneeling at the table’s edge. they take measured bites from each dish, chewing thoroughly and swallowing under the watchful eye of the king of curses.

silence stretches taut and tense until at last, each one of them bows again and declares the food safe to consume. sukuna waves them off impatiently, as though the entire ritual is a nuisance.

the food tasters retreat as silently as they came, not daring to speak without being spoken to in the presence of their lord.

sukuna is the first to pick up his chopsticks and eat. he’s got his own variety of dishes. though there is one plate prepared for just him which is filled with fried food and topped with vegetables and sauces.

it looks appetising, though you’re sure it’s anything but tasty. it’s human flesh, probably from one of the prisoners he keeps around just for his special cravings.

you glance back down at your own plates. you poke and prod at your food idly with your own pair of chopsticks. you nibble on your bottom lip out of the lingering anxiety in your system. the man beside you notices almost immediately. he always does, and so his voice cuts through the tense silence like a blade.

“eat.”

you freeze and your chopsticks tremble slightly in your grip. your body tenses up. you know that tone very well. he isn’t messing around. and yet you can’t seem to gather the courage to actually eat. the pit in your stomach grows and your earlier suspicions claw back up.

something is wrong and you can feel it in your bones.

sukuna notes your hesitation and his eyes cut to you like knives. he doesn’t understand where your sudden anxiety is coming from. it seems illogical to him—humans always think with their emotions instead of their rationality. if there is any real danger or threat bothering you, he would’ve known. he would’ve sensed it.

one thing he can’t do is fight your own irrational thoughts.

“don’t test me, brat,” he growls and his jaw clenches as he notices you’re still not eating.

sukuna can’t understand why, but your anxiety is rubbing off on him. he hates what he can’t understand and immediately wants it gone. by doing so, he needs you to go back to your normal self again.

you slowly nod and pick up a small bit of rice, bringing it up to your lips. your stomach knots as you wrap your lips around the flavorful bite, forcing yourself to chew and swallow.

it tastes… the same as always.

perfectly seasoned, nothing off about it. maybe you’ve actually been overthinking everything. the food tasters seemed just fine after eating the same dishes. there’s nothing wrong at all.

you take a deep breath and start eating properly. everyone around the table does the same. hushed chattering echoes between the concubines as per usual, though they seem to cast furtive glances at sukuna every now and then.

you try to ignore it and brush it off as them simply seeking his attention. you pick up a piece of what looks like tofu from a small red bowl and start eating it. the texture is surprisingly chewy and the oily substance on it throws you off a bit, though it’s not unwelcome.

everything is going well and you start relaxing, slowly but surely.

minutes pass and the dishes are slowly emptied. sukuna finishes first and tosses his chopsticks aside with a grunt of satisfaction. he leans back slightly on the palms of his lower pair of hands. his crimson eyes scan the table and rest on you longer than anyone else. he lifts an eyebrow up as he realizes you’ve finished your tray of food.

“tsk. seems like y’ were just hungry,” he notes with a huff, an attempt at humor and downplaying your human emotions.

you can only smile and nod. a small sigh of relief leaves your lips as you realize that perhaps you’ve been stressing yourself out over nothing, just like sukuna’s implying.

the maids return to clear the table. bowls clink softly on the trays as they’re lifted and taken away. you sit there and simply enjoy the breeze in your hair. your hands are folded in your lap and you close your eyes to take it easy. you need to have a moment after tiring yourself out.

you only straighten up when you hear sukuna’s voice cut through your thoughts. he says something about taking a walk around the estate. you open your eyes and gaze up at him with a polite smile.

“that sounds like a great idea,” you respond with a hum.

the other women around the table seem to grow suspiciously restless. their whispers to each other don’t seem to stop. you don’t pay them any mind to keep yourself sane, not wanting to panic about nothing again. you lift yourself up from your cushion once sukuna does the same.

a sudden wave crashes over you once you stand on your own two feet.

heat. blinding, unbearable heat.

it blooms in your chest.

at first you think it’s just your nerves, or maybe you stood up too fast and your body needed to get used to the change after sitting for too long. then your breath catches and your throat feels like it’s tightening up. your surroundings seem to sway faintly and your vision starts to get blurred at the edges. you rub your eyes and tr to blink rapidly, however nothing works.

something is terribly wrong. you don’t feel right at all.

your hands tremble uncontrollably at your sides and the heat spreads across your skin like wildfire. you’re burning up from within, you can’t breathe, you’re dizzy, you’re nauseous, you feel like you’re going to die—

no.

not here. not now.

you press your palms into your knees to try and steady yourself. no one must see. if you falter now, if you collapse, you’ll be seen as weak. as a burden.

you can’t.

you bite down on your lip and try to swallow the bile rising in your throat. your vision is swimming and you can barely keep your balance.

“mph,” a small whimper escapes your lips before you can withstand it.

the endless whispers finally die down. the other concubines all turn their heads to you. the guards around follow. even the chirping birds around the courtyard seem to have fallen silent as the atmosphere changes and tenses in a split second.

your fingers tighten around your fan, knuckles whitening before it drops to the ground. your heart stutters as a sudden spike of panic stabs through the shallow calm you were trying to hold. the world tilts even more now.

you force yourself to blink, hoping the darkness will recede, but it only deepens. the periphery of your sight turns to a hazy swirl of reds and golds—the same colors of your jūnihitoe.

suddenly, a hot and metallic taste floods your mouth. it’s sharp and bitter. you cough softly and try to hide it. but the cough turns into a rasping wheeze that shakes your entire frame.

your stomach clenches violently, nausea coiling like a snake through your gut. your knees threaten to buckle, but instinctively, you grip the table’s edge. the wood presses into your palms which grounds you briefly, but not enough to stave off the overwhelming dizziness that crashes over you like waves.

. . . that’s it.

sukuna moves in the blink of an eye.

that unblinking gaze of his sharpens into something more. the calm, cruel detachment that always seems to linger in his eyes vanishes for a fraction of a second, replaced by raw, unyielding fury at the sight of your suffering. his crimson eyes blaze, pupils narrowing as his towering form moves toward you with terrifying speed that nearly knocks you down.

“woman!” sukuna’s voice booms across the courtyard. his tone is a mix of anger and disbelief, each syllable heavy enough to make the concubines flinch and the others around freeze in place.

you try to take a step towards him.

everything hurts.

it feels like you’re being burned alive from the inside. you want it to stop—you need it to stop.

the only thing you can find comfort in is the blurry image of the king of curses rushing to your aid. the corner of your lips tugs upward for the fraction of a second before you cough up another gush of blood.

your body is weak and your knees buckle. you can’t keep the act up anymore. you can’t deny the reality of what’s happening to you. your legs give up on you and the entire world tilts as you give up. the concubines around shriek softly, feigning shock and concern, but their eyes are filled with something else: confusion, curiosity and disbelief that the poison hasn’t harmed sukuna himself.

before you can fall, sukuna’s large hands wrap around your waist and under your legs, lifting you effortlessly against his chest. his grip is firm but precise, holding you as if you were weightless, yet preventing even the slightest tremor from throwing you to the ground.

sukuna’s grip tightens slightly to steady you, his other hand pressing against your back. his usual stoicism fractures which reveals a raw edge of concern—though it is simply terrifying in its intensity.

he lowers you slightly onto his lap, forcing you to meet his gaze, and the air between you feels charged with an almost tangible current of fury and panic.

“speak. talk.”

it’s a command you normally would’ve followed without a second of hesitation and yet this time you find yourself unable to. you part your lips to speak, however the only sound escaping your throat is a garbled moan of pain.

one of pure agony.

the curse of a man doesn’t shout nor panic. his face remains unreadable—but there’s a palpable violence in the way his fingers dig into you. his chest rises and falls with controlled breaths, although the hum of raw power around him tells everyone present exactly what’s running through his mind.

“uraume!”

his voice booms like thunder once more, vibrating through the garden. it carries both command and barely contained fury, sharp enough to make everyone flinch and their knees weaken of fear. no one dares to breathe too loud.

that maniac glint in his four eyes, the fury in his tone of voice and the terrifying aura lingering around sukuna all point at one thing.

death.

murder.

no one will get out of this breathing and well. no one will take another step out of this courtyard alive.

the command is heard from miles away. his loyal subordinate appears out of thin air and glides forward without hesitation, their pale features as unreadable as ever. they immediately bow as deep as possible, their forehead touching the ground. the others around instantly follow and gravel before their lord that’s slowly yet surely losing it.

—slowly yet surely letting his true nature take over.

sukuna doesn’t look at them yet. he can't bother to—not when you’re convulsing in his arms, hanging on to dear life by a thread. he’s trembling himself, not from fear, but from the pure rage coursing through his veins. he wants to lash out, to get rid of everyone present, to torture whoever had dared to put a hand on you.

a low growl escapes his lips as you let out another pathetic whimper. the painful sounds leaving your throat make him angrier. he crushes you against his chest, forcing your face against the crook of his neck.

as if simply holding you would make this any better.

in any other situation, it would. sukuna remembers those moments where you’d be weakend by a sickness. all you’d ask of him was to be in his arms. he refused many times, but had slowly given in to your requests the more time you spent together.

it slowly developed into a habit. sukuna would allow you to rest against him, to pull him into hugs when others weren't around, to be clingy. he’d grumble and protest, but would never push you off with force.

and now here he is, holding you close. secretly hoping you would straighten up and laugh. to tell him you’re feeling fine. like the many times you did before, when you’d tell him that you’re ‘suddenly’ feeling better because you’re in his arms.

those stupid, human jokes that he never understood.

how can you feel comfort being held by a monster? being held by arms that could easily snuff your life out? being held by arms that have killed many like you?

ryomen sukuna never understood and he thought he never would.

until this moment.

your fingers are weakly holding onto the collar of his robes, as if he could help you out of your misery. as if he could undo the effects of the poison you’ve ingested.

poison; that's what it is.

there could be no other explanation to your sudden suffering after the meal. but who dares to poison what’s his? who has the guts to disobey him so openly? to try and take his concubine?

his... woman.

your eyes are barely open anymore. the light that usually glimmers in your irises is nowhere to be found, replaced by an empty and vacant look.

sukuna grits his teeth. the only thing holding him back from turning the entire estate into a bloodbath is your body in his arms. you’re still breathing.

for now.

sukuna’s grip tightens on you as he glares over your head at his personal chef. his voice drips with restrained violence. “explain. now."

those two words are enough to convey what sukuna wants to know. what he needs to know.

the weight of his anger is unbearable. uraume bows deeply, composed as ever, but there is no mistaking the edge of tension in their frame. “my lord, the food tasters reported nothing. each dish was tested and deemed safe—”

the words are cut short by a flick of sukuna’s hand.

a servant standing to the side—one who had carried in the lacquered trays—lets out a strangled scream as her body twists unnaturally, bones snapping audibly before she collapses lifeless against the gravel. blood pools instantly beneath her, stark against the delicate garden floor.

chaos erupts.

the concubines gasp, hands flying to their lips. The brown haired one dares to murmur quietly—to try and calm him down, “my lord, surely—”

another classic mistake.

another flick of Sukuna’s fingers, and the woman is sent flying across the courtyard. her body smashes against the wooden wall, crumpling into silence. the other women keep their foreheads pressed against the small stones beneath them, too terrified to breathe too loud.

“do not,” sukuna growls, his voice low and dangerous, “speak unless i command it, you useless fools.”

yet another flick of his hand. yet another concubine, who dared to flinch, is seized mid-breath. she’s sent flying across the garden, her body smashing into a pillar with a sickening crack. she collapses in a heap and remains unmoving.

gone.

the remaining ladies freeze, horror painted across their faces, but no one dares move to help their fellow concubines.

you wheeze faintly in his arms, your lashes fluttering and your body feverish and frail. sukuna’s attention shifts instantly back to you, his hand cupping the side of your face with a roughness that would have bruised you if you weren’t already weak and slick with sweat.

“breathe,” sukuna orders as though his command alone could force air into your failing lungs. his eyes scan your face, noting every flicker of pain, every tremor of your lips, every bead of sweat glistening on your forehead.

whoever did this to you shall pay dearly.

his fingers dig into your skin roughly once he notices that you’re starting to lose consciousness. you try so hard to keep yourself grounded, but you cannot. you grasp at his robes desperately, even as your hands tremble uncontrollably and your heart feels like it’s going to stop any time.

“don't you fuckin’ dare.”

the words leave in a strangled growl. a sound sukuna didn’t know he could make—one he never made in his entire cursed lifetime. a desperate and furious command.

your chest still moves, a shallow, ragged thing. you count the movements in an attempt to keep yourself awake. for your sake—no for his sake. even through the blur of your vision, you can make out the face of the king of curses. that expression you’ve never seen on his face before.

fury, anger. . . despair. almost humanly so.

one. two.

the third inhalation is thin; the exhale is a little slower and then there is nothing but a faint tremor. the shiver that runs through you is not from the cold. you fingers fall entirely slack, and your arm falls away with an inaudible thud. you cannot register the pooling crimson at the corner of your mouth.

the world keeps spinning, but you are not in it. everything slowly fades away. your hearing is the last to go.

your lids flutter once,

and then they close.

when sukuna’s arms tighten around you—not in panic but as if grasping an inevitability—he registers the absence first in the small, clinical ways he always notices: the way your pulse under his thumb thins and then thins again until it is only a whisper; the breath that fails to meet his ear; the stillness of the little muscles at your throat.

for a fraction of a second there is a slow, stunned unspooling in him, an animal tilt of the head that is not quite human.

you are as weightless as a memory in his arms.

sukuna’s mouth opens, and the sound that comes out is not merely a shout but the tearing of the heavens—part animalistic howl, part command that shivers the plates on the low table. everyone flinches, their faces purpling with genuine terror. servants stutter and scatter as if the air itself has turned to knives. their bodies betray their rational thoughts to stay still and not move an inch.

out of pure fear, they try to escape the wrath they know awaits them all.

“no.”

the word is not just spoken. it is ripped out of him like a piece of bone; rough and violent. a word small and useless against the tide of his rage and yet it contains the nine hells.

sukuna clamps you tighter to him as if by crushing your body he can force life back into it. “open y’r fuckin’ eyes!” he growls loud enough to shake the walls of the estate. his rough hands move with brutal efficiency, fingers clawing at your throat, your chest, trying to find the pulse that has fled.

he presses his ear to your heart and then slams his forehead against yours, breath hot and ragged. for a second there’s something else under the rage: a raw, thin thread of disbelief that pierces his being. as if none of his long existence prepared him for the small, fierce catastrophe of losing you.

sukuna’s hands tighten where they hold you. for an instant he looks like he might fold—might cradle you and simply vanish with you—but that is unlike him. his face fractures into a different expression entirely: not sorrow, not merely rage, but a cold, incredible focus that narrows on the idea of retribution.

of vengeance.

he becomes a force, a blade honed to a single dark purpose. the monster that he’s always been. not the mellowed version that he’s been around you.

no—the dreadful curse that even the heavens fear.

only sukuna moves. it is slow at first, deliberately cruel: he holds you a fraction of an inch from his chest, eyes burning as if by focusing hard enough he will force you to draw breath.

“this is not the time for y’r stupid jokes. look at me properly,” he snarls and slaps your cheek slightly, shaking your head by your jaw afterwards.

he’s expecting you to listen. just like you always do, just like you always have been doing since the moment he found you—

it’s futile.

you continue to lay there quietly, your eyes barely open and your body unmoving.

that’s when something inside him finally snaps.

the first violence is small and immediate—so small that it is easy to miss until the body hits. with the casual contempt of a god wiping away an insect, he flicks two fingers.

a servant who had dared to step forward in shock is hurled like an unwanted scrap of paper; his body slams into a pillar and he does not move again. the sound is horrible and sharp.

sukuna’s chest heaves once and then twice. the tide of his temper pulls and then surges. he does not quake with grief in the way humans might; grief for him is different. his face is a statue carved from iron, but the raw, animalistic heat beneath it roars.

he lowers his head and his voice, when it comes, is a thing that makes the air vibrate;

“who dares do this?” he asks, but it is no interrogative; it is a verdict.

the concubines, the women who had sat prettily with knives hiding behind silk smiles, fold in on themselves. their practiced masks crack and crumble. they try to weep prettily, but the sound in their throats is the whimper of trapped birds.

no one dares to answer. whoever replies, innocent or not, will meet their end. though their silence is futile as well—no one would leave this place alive either way.

not after daring to mess with the ryomen sukuna; to take away the only human who he tolerates.

sukuna stands as though the world has become a thing to be crushed beneath his heel. you rest awfully still in the crook of his muscular arm, your head tucked against his ribs. he cradles you with one arm and with the others he rends.

objects splinter, screens shiver and collapse, lacquerware explodes into a rain of shards, walls crumble.

the names of the culprits are not necessary. everyone will suffer like you had.

the king of curses looks and people break. he lifts a hand and your head lady-in-waiting’s breath stops mid–sentence; her face turns ashen and then slack when her spine buckles under an invisible force.

she had it coming, as she failed to keep her lady safe.

another flick—a food taster collapses, blood blooming from nose and mouth as if his insides have been unstitched with a thought.

the concubines cry out for mercy, their sudden confidence replaced with ugly despair. their pleas are words that mean nothing.

“. . . you want to play at power in my presence?” sukuna raises his voice a notch. he moves through the courtyard like a predator, taking, breaking, extracting confession without speech.

someone grabs for him—too brave, or merely stupid—and sukuna bends toward them, fingertips grazing their temple. their eyes explode into milky white, death sliding in like a whisper.

the compound’s gates seem to shudder and the gardens’ ponds reflect nothing but the crimson of his rage.

“you dare. you dare to touch what’s mine. you dare to touch my woman?! you fools.”

even those who aren’t guilty are not merely extinguished; sukuna makes examples. he tears down their names, their histories; he forces them to watch one another die in ways that twist the meaning of “lesson.”

the estate becomes a stage for his wrath: servants hung, walls shredded into pieces, precious lacquerware ground beneath boots. the gardens—so calm earlier that day—become a ruin of splattered red and shattered material. blood slicks the stone.

all the while, he returns to you. between executions, between horrified screams, he readjusts your precious body in his arm. he wipes your face with his sleeve, his fingers thick with other people’s blood and your own.

he speaks no prayers; his words are not for gods. they are small, carved syllables meant for no one but the human lying unmoving in his arms.

“they will all pay for this,” sukuna breathes heavily with fury, “they fuckin’ will.”

“damn them all.”

sukuna eventually halts before the cluster of women trembling at the far end of the courtyard. his damned concubines.

he knows they’re the ones behind it all. behind the treason, the betrayal—the poison.

their silken robes, once meant to entice, are mottled with dirt and sweat, their elaborate hairstyles loosening as they bowed and clung to one another like frightened children. their wide eyes reflected his four burning pupils, terror freezing them in place even as their lips stumbled over pleas.

one crawls forward onto her hands and knees, pressing her forehead to the blood-slick floor again, her voice high and desperate as she cried, “my lord, i had no hand in this—i swear, i would never harm her!”

another followed. the arrogant blonde, now reduced to a pitiful mess. “please, i truly meant no harm. it was supposed to be a joke—”

their words tumble over one another, frantic and hollow, the sound of cowards who had seen death draw near.

sukuna’s steel gaze cuts through their trembling forms like a blade. for a heartbeat, he sees not their tears but the memory of the woman they had sought to poison.

he remembers the times they had whispered behind your back, their sharp tongues dripping venom. he remembers how they had mocked your gentleness, sneered at your presence, tried to make you shrink into silence when you first entered his estate.

your eyes—soft and patient—had met his multiple times after enduring cruel treatment, and though you had smiled, sukuna had noticed the hurt flash across your face.

those moments return to him now, clear as firelight in the darkness of his rage, and it fed his wrath until it boiled over for the nth time.

sukuna takes a step closer, the ground beneath his feet quaking faintly with his cursed energy. “you dare cry for mercy now?” he spits, his voice a thunderclap in the suffocating silence.

one of the concubines scrambles to grab his robes, her nails scratching the fabric as she sobs, “i can change, i can be loyal—please don’t kill me, my lord! i will do better!”

sukuna’s lip curls in pure disgust. without a warning, he presses two fingers to her brow. her body convulses once before her skull splits under the weight of his power and she drops lifeless to the ground, her blood pooling around her like spilled ink. the others scream as they realise that none of them will escape their deaths.

sukuna only advances, his hand slicing through the air without pause.

another woman was torn in half at the waist, her agonising shriek cut short, the silk of her robes fluttering to the ground like discarded wings. he moves among them like death incarnate, unhurried and unstoppable. every plea is drowned beneath the crack of bone, the wet rip of flesh, the hiss of cursed energy burning the air.

one concubine tries to crawl beneath the table, but he drags her out with a flick of his wrist. her body slams against the ground before he crushes her chest beneath his palm. another clasps her hands and begs for forgiveness, her tears streaking through her makeup.

sukuna seizes her by the throat, lifting her until her legs kicked uselessly and her pleas are reduced to choked gasps. he leans in, his voice a low growl against her ear: “you treated her like she was less than you and so shall i, you fuckin’ insects.”

with a squeeze, her neck snaps, and he tosses her aside as though she had never mattered.

in the meanwhile, uraume’s presence is irrelevant in the epicenter of the rage. they do not flee. they do not scream. they simply kneel, expression as blank and unreadable as ever. as the bodies fall and the air thickens with the metallic tang of violence, uraume keeps their bow steady. they are not surprised by the rampage occuring before their eyes.

it was bound to happen, one way or another.

they know sukuna is capable of much more. he is capable of creating hell on earth and they have seen examples of it with their own eyes before. this is nothing compared to the real wrath he is going to unleash on the world outside this estate for stealing the one being he tolerated.

when the last of all (once alive) humans lay broken at his feet, the courtyard was silent except for the drip of blood onto the stones. the garden that had once been a stage for laughter and whispers is now a graveyard, littered with bodies in shredded silk, jeweled hairpins scattered like offerings to a vengeful god.

sukuna stands in the center, his chest heaving, his claws flexing, his eyes burning with lingering fury. he looks down at the carnage, at the women who had thought themselves untouchable in their schemes, and a bitter smirk twists his mouth.

“i should have gotten rid of you bunch sooner,” he spits into the silence, his voice laced with contempt. “you cunts were never worthy to breathe the same air as her.”

the words hung heavy in the night, a vow and a condemnation all at once.

uraume watches, still calm, still unblinking. no one else moves—there is nothing left to move. even the animals that usually wander the grounds of the courtyard have either been caught up in the slices or have fleed long before.

the slaughter is complete. blood covers the garden like a grotesque offering to a god. bones and silk and lacquer are strewn in careless, dreadful patterns. the sound of the wind seems small against the enormity of what has happened.

sukuna pauses over the final person alive and studies the face as if memorizing it. then, with slow and theatrical finality, he opens that person’s chest with little more ceremony than one opens a book and draws out the heart, spectating the instant the life blinks out and it stops beating.

it’s a brutal and merciless demonstration that what belongs to him will be defended with a ferocity that is more blinding than anything else.

after that, the estate is a husk. bodies are scattered everywhere. blood covers every surface.

“useless. each and every one of them,” sukuna mutters harshly to himself as he stands amidst the chaos. human blood soaks his entire frame, dripping from his clothes and limbs. his grip on your still body never falters nor weakens.

when the sun dips low and the gardens smell of smoke and iron, sukuna finally decides to lie you down gently upon a clear patch of grass beneath a large oak tree. the same tree you loved to sit underneath while reading your favorite novels.

he smooths your hair with bloody hands that could crush mountains, and for the first time since the violence began, the sound of his breath breaks—not with fury but with something like emptiness.

sukuna bends close and presses his forehead to yours. the motion is small. it’s private and almost intimate. he does not weep in the way humans might—tears are useless and he’s never cried in his life. although he cannot deny the faintest ache in his chest.

it’s an unpleasant feeling he’s never experienced before.

the pink-haired man stays quiet for a good while. he takes in your still form with an unreadable expression. his rampage had taken most of the fury out of the system, replaced by a feeling of emptiness.

the ryomen sukuna, who had slaughtered armies and turned shrines into tombs, found himself emptied by the stillness of one fragile body lying against the earth.

a shift in the air tells him that uraume had approached. they did not speak nor did they move without permission. despite that, sukuna can feel the tension coiling in their frame and the faint vibration of intent held tightly in check. a lesser man would not have noticed.

sukuna’s eyes slowly opened and with the smallest - almost imperceptible - tilt of his head, he gave them a sign.

uraume knows that that’s the permission they were looking for. they move soundlessly toward the remains of the long table. much had already been cleared away before your collapse. servants had scurried to remove the trays and cups in frantic half-measures before sukuna’s wrath turned the courtyard into a slaughterhouse.

but one tray still lingered, left almost untouched: yours.

uraume’s sharp gaze swept over the plates and bowls. their delicate hands move alongside the fragments of ceramic to inspect what is left of the food inside. then they freeze.

the meal inside a specific red bowl is one they had prepared. which couldn’t possibly be, because . . .

uraume is in charge of sukuna’s meals only.

not yours. not the other concubines’.

the other kitchen maids and servants—no, everyone around the estate is very well aware of that fact. so how come sukuna’s meal had somehow landed in your bowl?

uraume’s eyes narrowed, a faint frown cutting across their face. they lift the bowl and inspect its rim, tilting it against the fading light to catch any residue that clung to its residue. a faint shimmer - oily and unnatural - clings stubbornly inside.

poison.

uraume brings the edge closer. not to consume but to smell. it doesn’t necessarily smell of anything and could easily be mistaken for a simple dressing.

still, they guess that the culprits have planned this way ahead of time. researching into the silent killers—the most powerful poisons to mix into one that would go unnoticed. the effects seem to have a delayed response on the victim as well.

clever, in its simplicity, but utterly useless against a already cursed existence like that of sukuna.

realisation falls heavy on the white-haired individual.

the concubines, servants and even the food tasters. they must have all conspired together to pool their malice into this desperate act. they knew striking sukuna directly was impossible, so they had settled for poison, thinking the strongest one available in the country would do. they had severly underestimated his immunity.

their plan has failed greatly, uraume thinks.

they thought to strike sukuna down first, which would have granted them free reign over the estate and probably over you as well. they would have made your life a living hell for the mistreatment they had endured from their lord.

and yet in their blindness, they struck down the wrong person. the wrong victim. the one person whose death ensured their own annihilation.

with slow and deliberate steps, uraume returns to the old oak tree. sukuna still sits beneath it, your body now cradled against his chest. the aura radiating from him is no longer raging fire but something colder, more suffocating and terrifying.

uraume halts a respectful distance away and waits. they do not speak until at last sukuna shifts his gaze upwards, a single flicker of movement which is permission enough.

“my lord,” uraume says softly, their voice low so as not to disturb the fragile quiet. “i investigated the remains of the meal. a bowl i had specifically prepared for you was not where i had intended it to be placed. it had been . . . exchanged with the original dish on the lady’s tray.”

they take a deep breath before continuing, feeling a surge of rage at the audacity of whoever had done such a thing, “the one dish meant for you was placed on her tray instead. the two meals must have been mistaken by the kitchen maids, as they had looked almost the same."

uraume hesitates but resumes, “the dressing inside is unmistakable. a poison crafted by human hands. added to the meal when i had turned my back. weak. foolish. the concubines and servants must have conspired together, thinking they could end you with it.”

the silence deepens. the weight of sukuna’s gaze bore down upon them. uraume’s voice drops to a whisper, the faintest tremor betraying their usually unshakable calm. “i should’ve seen it, my lord. i should have anticipated such treachery. i underestimated their desperation. i failed to protect—”

“enough.”

uraume freezes before bowing deeply again.

“you think i did not expect this?” sukuna’s words are cold and measured, yet carry a heavy weight. “you think this is the first time worms have schemed behind my back, thinking of themselves as clever?”

his gaze flickers down to you, softer for only the briefest heartbeat before hardening like stone again. “it was inevitable. humans are weak, foolish creatures. this is what they do.”

sukuna’s rough hand smooths your hair once more. uraume’s words still linger in the air, but he has already dismissed them. he gives no answer to their apologies, no further acknowledgment.

instead, he keeps his focus on you.

his hand pauses, his thumb brushing over your temple before curling against your cheek. for a long moment, sukuna says nothing. when he speaks again, he addresses you and only you.

“do you agree with me now, you little brat?”

sukuna says the last three words with a surprising calmness. you would always scrunch up your nose or duck your head in embarrassment whenever he’d call you that.

but now, you do not move a single muscle.

he gives a short, humorless laugh as he remembers the way you used to smile up at him. the way you looked at him like he wasn’t a monster. like he didn’t mistreat you most of the time.

perhaps he’d taken that for granted—taken your presence for granted

“y’ laughed at me once—do ya remember?” sukuna scoffs before continuing, “when i told you that humans were nothing but vermin, you dared to smile and say ‘not all of us.’"

he squeezes your jaw, pressing your cheeks together. something that used to scrunch up your face in an annoyingly endearing pout.

“i should have torn y’r throat out for daring to contradict me. but instead, i let you live. i let you stay.”

sukuna lets out a heavy breath through his nose. he cannot believe he’s here talking to a corpse. he never sat with the dead, always moved on and thrown everyone aside who leaves his side at the end of their lives. but for some reason, he cannot seem to do the same with you.

“in the end, i got proven right by your own kind. the one you so pitifully defended until your last breath. . . tsk.”

the king of curses clicks his tongue and his jaw clenches. the crimson light of the setting sun glins off the blood-slicked stones and lacquered fragments of the estate. his eyes do not leave your still form, his jaw rigid and his fingers tightening against the soft weight of your body.

uraume lingers a careful distance from him. their gaze flicks between your body cradled in sukuna's arms and the endless stretch of devastation around them. they do not breathe too heavily nor do they dare make the slightest noise. they wait for another indication, another flicker of permission to speak again.

they wait. they wait for that sign—a subtle twitch, a shift in posture, a breath given in permission. hours, or perhaps just mere minutes, seem to stretch infinitely until a shift of sukuna's shoulders gives them the faintest permission.

uraume exhales silently.

“lord sukuna,” they murmur carefully, “is there truly. . . nothing we can do for her? nothing at all?”

sukuna’s upper red eyes flicker to them, his lower pair still on you. he knows what they mean by it. knows what they're subconcsciouly questioning.

reverse cursed technique.

“do y’ think a mortal’s life can be saved after such a violation to their body? hah.”

uraume stays silent for a while before shaking their head. their eyes flicker downwards to the ground beneath their knees. they don’t understand why they’re so adamant on trying. even when they know that there is no chance that anyone would survive such a poison.

no human would.

if those traitors made a poison so strong that they think could take a powerful and immortal curse out, then a regular human like you would not stand a chance.

sukuna huffs before he speaks up again. “i had begun the process the moment she fell,” he reveals gruffly, speaking of his ability to use the reverse cursed technique on others, “but she was gone before it could reach her.”

uraume swallows as they try to reconcile the fact that even sukuna, unyielding and almost godlike in power, had been unable to shield you from your own mortality.

the silence stretches as sukuna finally moves to lift you. he holds your body bridal style gainst his chest. he readjusts you in his arms with a jostle of your form before speaking up in a low grumble;

“. . . i truly despise the weak.”

it’s a well-known fact that sukuna despises mortals for their various vulnerabilities and their lack of power.

but just this once, he uttered that sentence with different intent.

he hates your morality, simply because it ripped you away from him. and for that he won’t forgive you, nor himself for letting you become his one and only weakness.

as much as he would never admit it out loud.

. . .

ryomen sukuna eventually starts to walk. he takes slow and deliberate steps through the carnage of the courtyard. every step crushes splintered wood beneath his feet, every motion sends droplets of human blood scattering.

the estate is hushed. even the wind seems subdued, as if its mourning the scene. pools of blood glisten in the dying light which reflect the chaos. sukuna’s robes trail through the debris without a single ripple of hesitation.

uraume follows behind without as much of a word. no matter what happens, they shall always be loyal to their lord.

the king of curses moves without haste. he steps inside the main building of the estate. his slashes from earlier had cut through every structure, even killing and dismembering every being that fled or had been inside.

no one had escaped unscathed.

sukuna carries you further into the remnants of the estate. the one that was once filled with your voice, your laughter, your presence—now filled with nothing but death.

they pass the broken windows and shoji doors. for an instant, the moon tears a thin silver line through the gloom. sukuna’s face is a study of stilled fury and something that might, if a softer world existed, be called sorrow.

he does not look back. uraume does not speak.

yet sukuna’s thoughts are chaotic. thinking of his next steps, of all the ways he can release his anger against the world and humankind itself.

now that the only human he cared about has slipped through his fingers, he can set the monster inside of him free.

and that the king of curses will do. he’ll make this earth a living hell and make everyone suffer for taking what is his.

in the meantime, your limp body sways lightly with each step sukuna takes. the world had stolen your breath, stilled your heart and drained the warmth from your skin. nothing will be the same after what happened on this fateful day.

. . . yet even in that silence, something stubborn and almost indomitable lingers.

sukuna and his subordinate remain oblivious, their eyes fixed ahead and unaware of the impossible unfolding right in front of them. they do not notice the faintest shift—the smallest stir.

it’s then that - against all odds - your finger twitches.

just once.

[yenayaps]

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: on the rare occasion that sukuna takes his nephew out to the park, he notices another kid with blush pink hair— a baby to be exact. he tries not to stare too much, but it’s hard not to, it’s a rare hair color. it’s not until the baby’s mother takes her out of the swing set and back into her stroller when he realizes why you ghosted him almost 2 years ago.

genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst (toxic relationships, fighting), fluff, smut, mood board

notes: im very excited to announce this upcoming one-shot as a part of @indiewritesxoxo friday night flicks event! the release date is still tba and im limiting the tag list to 50, but i’ll definitely be giving updates throughout the writing process ❤️

taglist is now closed

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six deep dives 1-6

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

extras:

sukuna and yomi art

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[yenayaps]

The Parasite | serial killer!sukuna x yandere!reader

synopsis: after so many years of trying and failing, you’ve finally found the one for you. he’s handsome, hardworking, and keeps to himself— sukuna’s perfect. well, in your eyes, he was. you're sure his victims would say otherwise. you're not supposed to know about them, by the way. your boyfriend still has no idea that you snooped through his belongings while he was at work. let's hope it stays that way.

cw: toxic relationship, serial killer sukuna, obsessive reader, joe and love vibes tbh lol, smut, fluff, angst, more to be added

notes: ik i said this would be for kinktober but this is taking over my brain lol. this’ll be a one shot! lmk if you’d like to be tagged

one: better than i ever even knew | do it for the thrill of the rush

two: master of none

three: the devil's hand

four: i loved her too much

epilogue: i think she took my soul

side story: ryu gets bullied at school

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[swearimnevergivingup]

EMERGENCY CONTACT 

ex-boyfriend!nanami kento x reader ─ one shot

sypnosis: when a hospital visit leaves you too weak to go home alone, you don't think twice before agreeing to let the nurse call your emergency contact. only... the person who shows up isn't who you expected. you thought nanami had walked out of your life for good three years ago – so why is he here now?

content: MDNI, exes to lovers, long-term relationship in the past, just two people hung up over each other, yearning, so much yearning, reconciliation, fluff, non-detailed references to mental health struggles, explicit smut, nanami kento has a big dick…., hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending!! porn with plot, makeup sex (but it’s 3 years in the making) word count: 10k

a/n: i've been sitting on this work since last year so i'm really happy it's finally done! i hope the nanami girlies enjoy <3 ALSO uh i’m kinda obsessed with the idea of nanami not being with anyone else for the entire period of the break up because he’s just loyal like that. this man loves you so much… i love men who yearn and this particular man yearns hard. ao3 link

you sit on the edge of the bed, the discharge paper crumpled in your hands. your body aches, your head throbs, and the bright fluorescent lights are way too harsh on your eyes.

you kick your feet idly, letting the sound fill up the quiet of the hospital room. you’ve been waiting for the nurse to come back and give you the all-clear to leave. she had asked if you would like her to call your emergency contact first – advising that you were still weak and would be much safer with someone to help you get home. exhausted and bleary-eyed, you had simply shrugged and agreed without much thought. 

your mom would probably rush over, give you a stern lecture about taking care of yourself better, though her worry would be evident in the way she’d sneak side glances at you the entire drive back to your apartment.

“i told you not to overwork yourself,” she would chide, her brows furrowed. “you can’t keep living like this.”

guilt presses down, heavier than the fever pressing at your temples. she’s right, of course. you’re just not sure what else to do. your industry treats burnout as a badge of honour, and slowing down means falling behind. you’ve already sacrificed so much, so what’s a few skipped meals, a few dizzy spells?

a knock on the door draws you out of your reverie. your eyes flicker up to find the same nurse from before at the door, clipboard in hand.

“it says here that your emergency contact is a person named…?” she squints at the papers in her hand, “…nanami kento?” she peers up at you from her clipboard, offering you a kind smile.

your stomach drops.

nanami… kento? 

you haven’t heard that name in months, much less seen the man himself in two years. the sound of his name reverberates in your ears, a familiar ache washing over you once more. 

“we actually tried to get in touch with him earlier while you were unconscious, but he didn’t pick up.” she continues, her tone cheerful, oblivious to the distraught expression on your face. “good news though, i just managed to contact him and he’s already on his way h—”

“wait, no!” you cut her off, your voice sharp with panic as you frantically wave your hands in front of you.

“oh…?” the nurse blinks at you, now startled by your sudden outburst, as you scramble to explain yourself.

“t–that won’t be necessary. i’ll uh– i’ll call someone else right now,” you say quickly, standing up to grab your phone from your bag. “he’s– he’s…”

my ex-boyfriend. 

“…he doesn’t live in tokyo anymore,” you finish, voice softening in panic-soaked whisper. “he definitely won’t be able to come.”

and he probably doesn’t even think about me anymore.

“thats odd,” her eyebrows lift. “it’s just… when we called him, he said he would be here soon, and he sounded quite worried, actually.” she eyes you with a gentle concern.

oh god, no. 

you sit down just as quickly as you stood up, clutching the sides of the bed frame like an anchor and feeling like you might be rapidly cycling through the five stages of grief. 

stage 1, denial: because there’s just no fucking way. nanami kento, who hated you so much he quit his job and disappeared to kyoto to get away, a whole train ride away from tokyo, is supposedly coming to pick you up? 

step 2, anger: why the hell did you let them call him? what were you thinking? why is he still listed as your emergency contact? which puppy did you kick? what god did you offend?

step 3, bargaining: maybe you can hobble out of here and call a taxi before he arrives. no wait, the nurse had said it wasn’t advisable with your condition. is hiding in the toilet or under the bed a feasible option instead? you can’t help but peer down the edge of the hospital bed. no, too much space underneath. he’d spot you instantly. fuck.

you’re about to progress to the next stage: existential crisis when someone clears his throat at the door. 

you know instantly who it is without having to look up.

you really don’t want to look up.

how many seconds is a reasonable time to spend staring at the ground below your feet?

taking measured breaths to steel yourself, you count to three before slowly raising your head to look at him.

you swallow hard upon doing so, your voice instantly dying in your throat. 

standing right in front of you, it's undeniable that he’s just as handsome as ever. the same chiselled jawline and hollowed cheekbones, the signature blue dress shirt, and the same calm, steady presence that used to make you feel so incredibly safe. his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and you have to try really hard not to notice the way his biceps pull the fabric tight against his arms. 

and.. he still smells entirely familiar, the distinctive smell of the cologne you gifted him on your second anniversary being hard to miss. you wonder if he’s finished the bottle, or if he went out and repurchased the same one. you wonder if he thought of you while doing so, if he remembered the night you shared together the night you presented him with the gift. 

you wonder if he knows you still think of him – when you pass by his favourite bakery, when you cook a dish that used to be enjoyed together, or when it’s late at night, and the bed’s far too cold, and you find yourself missing the warmth of a certain ex-lover.

he was more than your ex-lover, though. he was your best friend, your home, and… you’d always thought he’d be your husband one day. 

you quickly shake off that thought before it cracks your heart right open again.

there’s a tired look in nanami’s eyes that mirrors your own, and his tie is slightly loosened – he must have rushed over.

there’s a brief moment of quiet. neither one of you speaks, the silence thick with unsaid things from the past that come rushing back in an instant for you. shared memories – the laughter, the promises, and the pain, that you’ve tried to block out with one too many drinks alone or with friends. 

he doesn’t ask if you’re okay. he doesn’t ask why your emergency contact list still has his name. he doesn’t ask anything.

“come on,” he says simply, not meeting your eyes. “let’s get you home.”

he can’t even look at me. 

so why did he even bother to come?

he just takes your bag from the side table, slings it over his shoulder, and holds the door open for you like it’s been no time at all.

thankfully, the car ride home is short and traffic is smooth, ensuring your suffering isn’t needlessly prolonged. after giving nanami your address, you simply opt to stare out the window, pretending to take great interest in the passing blur of trees and headlights. anything to avoid looking at him.

“thanks for coming,” you mumble, voice stiff and rigid. “i’m sorry about the inconvenience.”

he glances over at you. “that’s alright. i work nearby.” he’s straight-faced as he stares ahead, and the tone of his voice is imperceptible. you can’t get a read on his emotions at all, even if you tried.

you ignore the part where he just revealed that he’s back in tokyo. working. it shouldn’t hurt you that you didn’t know. he came to pick you up when he didn’t have to, when he didn’t want to, and that should be enough.

“still,” you say quietly, shifting in your seat. “thank you.” 

you know this man like the lines on your palms – every freckle, every sigh, every scar he never let anyone else touch. you know the exact way he takes his coffee and how he prefers to fold his shirts. you have his initials inked into your skin, for goodness' sake. he used to trace over them absentmindedly when he thought you were asleep.

and yet.

here you are.

he was the love of your life, and you’re reduced to exchanging cheap pleasantries like strangers. 

“it– it was an accident,” you attempt to clarify, sitting up straighter. “the nurse asked if i wanted to call my emergency contact, and i wasn’t thinking so i said yes, and she tells me she’s just called uh– you, and i must have forgotten to change my–” you cut yourself off, wincing when you realise you’ve started rambling.

“...thank you,” you say again stupidly, for lack of anything else to say to fill the space between you. “i… i appreciate it.”

it’s almost laughable how awkwardly you’re sitting, with your entire body turned away towards the window, like you’re trying to squeeze yourself towards the door and as far away as possible from the driver’s side. you might as well be trying to climb out of it.

“you’ve thanked me enough tonight,” he makes a sound that could seem like a bit of a laugh escaping him. you want to reach for it. to capture the precious sound with both hands and never let go. 

“so…” nanami asks, softer now. “do you feel alright?”

“y–yeah.” you mumble, looking down at your hands. “just the usual, you know. it’s really not a big deal.”

“the fainting spells?” his eyebrows raise and he glances at you as he takes a right turn. you’re close to home. “you still get them?”

you nod, surprised he remembers. “uh huh,” you reply absentmindedly. “it’s just work. i guess i’ve been overdoing it lately. but i’ve got the weekend off so… i’ll use that time to get some rest.”

“i was really worried when i got the call,” he says quietly. “you should take better care of yourself.”

you turn your head to look at him, caught off guard. but his eyes are still fixed on the road, focused and unreadable as he pulls up to your apartment complex. there’s not a flicker of emotion on his face – nothing at all to tell you what he’s really thinking. 

“yeah,” you mutter. “tha—” you quickly stop yourself. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

the engine clicks softly as he shifts into park, but neither of you move.

you stare out the windshield at the streetlights glowing against the pavement, casting long shadows that stretch like ghosts between you.

you bite your lip.

you should let him go. you know you should. thank him again, close the door behind you, and leave this buried in the past – right where he left you those two and a half years ago. 

but your thoughts are moving too fast, resisting another dreadful goodbye. this can’t be it. not after everything. the way his voice cracked slightly when he said he was worried – that was real, right? there’s still so much you want to say. there’s so much you never got to tell him.

so blame it on the hospital meds, or the adrenaline, or the fact that he still smells like that stupid cologne you bought him, but before you can talk yourself down, the words are already tumbling out of your mouth.

you don’t look at him when you say it. your fingers twist painfully in your lap, breath caught in your throat. 

“do you… want to come up for a bit?” 

a pause.

you’re beginning to wish you could take it back. to laugh and say nevermind, to play it off like it didn’t mean anything. you glance at him, mouth opening to offer some half-hearted apology, but he speaks before you do.

“yeah. okay.”

it takes a second for the words to register. then another to believe he really meant them. 

you nod once, then without looking at him again – because you can’t bear to see the look in his eyes – you reach for the door handle and hurriedly step out. 

the ride up to your apartment is quiet, awkward in that strange, brittle way that only two people with history can manage. you shift uncomfortably next to him, fidgeting with your sleeves, whilst he stands a little too still. the elevator walls seem to be caving in on him, trapping him with everything he’s tried to run from. you mumble something about the weather, how cold it’s been lately, how you miss the sun in the mornings.

nanami gives quiet, polite laughs in return. tells you about his recent promotion. it feels strange, to speak of something so mundane after everything that’s passed between you. but he’s not sure what else to say, and you don’t press. you nod, your eyes somewhere else, and he can feel the way your thoughts spiral even in the silence.

when you finally reach your apartment, nanami takes the opportunity to look around while you change out of your clothes, taking in the details of your life scattered around the modest place. it’s cute and cosy and has clearly been lovingly decorated. the same warmth and care that used to fill your shared space together – he finds it existing again here. 

he sees traces of familiar items – small, quiet things that tug at him.

there’s that piece of artwork you used to hang on your old bedroom wall, now on the wall of your living room. and hanging above your couch, is the sanrio alarm clock he had gifted you on christmas all those years ago. 

he’d thought it was silly at the time – a childish gift – but your eyes had lit up like he’d handed you the world. he remembers the way you squealed and tackled him on the bed, calling him “the best damn boyfriend ever”. he didn’t particularly feel like it – in fact he had spent most of the relationship feeling wholly undeserving of you – but you announced it like it was gospel.

he moves further into your space, careful not to disturb anything. his fingers brush against the handmade cushion covers on the couch – your mother’s handiwork. the same ones that used to sit on the couch in your shared apartment. back when things were still good. 

when he had the world in his hands. 

on one side of the wall, there are framed pictures of you and your friends. he recognises some of them, like your brother, and some of your friends, shoko and utahime. there are others he doesn’t recognise though, like in one polaroid picture where a guy with weird bangs and too many tattoos has his arm swung over your shoulders as you laugh and strike a peace sign for the camera. you guys look close, perhaps a little too close. 

he winces at that thought. 

he has no right to feel that way. not anymore. 

and he knows that, he knows what he walked away from, the vast expanse of everything he gave up, but it hits him all the same – how much of your life he’s missed. how much you’ve lived and grown without him.

nanami can’t help but feel a little out of place. standing in your apartment and seeing these snapshots of your life makes him realise how little he knows about you now. the life you evidently worked hard to rebuild after your breakup with him.

he observes how happy you look in all the photos, your smile bright and beaming – nothing at all like how you looked in the final few months of your relationship. exhausted, dull eyes, and always one breath away from breaking down. 

back then, he felt like couldn’t reach you no matter how hard he tried. or maybe he stopped trying, because the guilt of failing you became too much.

your relationship hadn’t been in a good place, with his frequent travelling for work, your mother falling ill abruptly, and the both of you trying to stay afloat in the middle of weathering separate storms. he knew the love was still there – it was still loud and palpable – but the space between you only stretched wider and wider. 

his love didn’t feel like it was enough to hold you together.

nanami remembers that last night like it was yesterday. maybe he had replayed it in his head too many times, like a form of punishment he wanted to inflict upon himself. a thousand moments of disconnect, of mutually failed bids for affection, and of pent up frustration boiled over in a single fight. he said things that couldn’t be unsaid. you had done the same. 

when you told him to leave, your eyes red and glassy, pushing uselessly against his chest as he stood frozen in your doorway, something in him just snapped. it could have been the exhaustion. or it could have been the unbearable guilt of watching the person he loved look at him like he was the thing hurting her the most. 

he thought you might have been better off without him. 

so he listened.

he had done exactly that for the past two and a half years, even packing up his life in a suitcase and taking a new position in kyoto, so he could honour your wishes. sure, tokyo’s a big city, but there’s no place far enough to run to when you’re nursing a broken heart. 

god, what was he even doing up here? 

he’s beginning to regret agreeing to come up when you suddenly reemerge from the bedroom, your work clothes now swapped for an oversized t-shirt that barely covered your upper thighs. he catches himself looking for a fraction of a second too long and quickly averts his gaze. 

“all done,” you call, padding down the hallway. “sorry for the mess,” you say sheepishly, gesturing vaguely around the apartment. “i wasn’t expecting anyone over.”

“no, i should be the one apologising. i’m the one imposing on you,” nanami mutters.

“it’s really okay! i don’t have any plans for tonight anyway,” you reassure. “do you want anything to drink?”

“just a glass of water, thanks.”

he drags out a chair and takes a seat at the kitchen counter, leaning forward and watching as you quickly wash up some leftover dishes in your sink. the scene feels awfully… familiar. too familiar.

it’s a strange feeling, comforting, yet unsettling all at once. there’s an undeniable domesticity to the moment and he feels a heavy ache making its way back in his heart. 

it calls him back to shared laughter around the dinner table, the comfort lovingly infused in homemade meals, late nights spent draped over each other on the living room couch. two lives intertwined with each other, and the promise of forever that was so close to coming true.

(“kentooooo,” you would tease, nuzzling up close against him. “i love you the most in the whole wide world.”

he would say it back, just as earnestly.

and silently, he’d swear to god to let him die a cursed man before ever breaking your heart.)

it hurts.

he wonders if it hurts you too.

he peers at you, your head down whilst you remain concentrated on the last few dirty plates. if it does, it hasn’t shown on your face at all. besides your initial shock of seeing him, he hasn’t been able to get a read on your emotions.

he knows he should probably say something of substance, something meaningful. try to address the elephant in the room. 

he clears his throat. “how… have you been?”

you pause for a moment, setting a glass of water down in front of him before meeting his gaze. “i’ve been okay,” you say earnestly. “things have been a little hectic at work, but it should calm down a little once the busy season is over. what about you?”

nanami takes a sip of water, nodding slowly, his mind turning over what to say. 

truthfully, things have never been the same for him since the breakup. he’s always been a man of routine - a man who thrives on structure, a man who finds comfort in the predictability of his day-to-day life. he hated change, avoided it wherever possible. you leaving forced his world to change in a way he couldn’t control, and it had killed him a little inside.

of course, he had tried to distract himself. he buried his nose into work, something entirely out of character for a man like him, dedicated himself to the gym, said yes to more invitations from friends, and tried his best to forget. 

so far, none of that has ever worked.

there’s a tear in his heart that bleeds like a fresh wound every time something reminds him of you. it rips open at the seams even at the most mundane things – a song, a smell, a dog he saw on the street that looked like the one you always talked about wanting after settling down.

sometimes, he tries to wrap it up in bandages, crafted out of routine and distraction, praying that one day it’ll finally scab over, so that all he’ll be left with is a vague scar in the shape of you. 

but then other times… he picks at it. agitates it on purpose, just to feel closer to you again. a man who can’t help but run back into the blade, the reflection of you on the knife’s edge is what he tells himself he has to be content with. 

“the same as usual,” he shrugs, struggling to keep his face carefully blank. “you know how it can be.”

you hum in understanding, tiptoeing to open a cupboard to rummage for something. your shirt rises up your thighs and he quickly looks down, setting the glass of water down with too much force.

“yeah, work can be like that, huh?” you say empathetically. 

his mind is drifting, barely catching your words. it goes quiet again and the silence stretches between you, heavy and unresolved.

then, before he can stop himself, wincing as soon as the words leave his mouth, he blurts out, “are you seeing anyone? would he… be okay with me being up here?”

your eyebrows raise, and you seem taken aback by his sudden question. “no,” you laugh lightly, shaking your head. “that hasn’t really been a priority for me lately.”

“really?” self control has abandoned him. he shouldn’t be asking you this, he has no place in your life, but he can’t help himself.

“when we were younger, you used to say that you wanted to be married by 26.”

“things change, i guess. i was a lot younger, and a lot more naive,” you shrug, looking away. nanami tries not to take that personally. 

“what about you?” you turn to face him, eyes searching his. “any lucky lady?”

he shakes his head, “hasn’t been a priority for me either.”

again, nanami studies your face carefully, searching for any hints of creeping resentment, anger, hurt, of anything, towards him. after all… he had ruined that for you, hadn’t he? if the break up hadn’t happened, he’s sure the both of you would have been married by now. 

he comes up empty-handed. no anger, no blame, no bitterness on your face. just… nothing. maybe you got better at maintaining a facade, or maybe you had just fully moved on from him.

he isn’t sure if he likes either possibility.

he should be happy, he tells himself, to see you living a full life, even after him. it’s all he had wished for – for you to find true happiness, even if it meant him no longer being a part of your life. but it’s standing here, in your house, looking at your face, hearing the sound of your voice after so many years, that makes his conviction waiver. the sight of you is too painful to bear.

his throat feels unbearably tight, and there’s a twisting, gnawing ache in his stomach that refuses to let up. 

“hey, which one do you prefer?” you ask then, holding up two different flavours of instant noodles. “sorry, i would whip up something better, but i haven’t done the groceries y–”

god.

he isn’t strong enough for this.

he can’t sit here and pretend that everything is okay. not with the reminders of what he once had, of what he could have had, scattered all around him, mocking him. 

the chair scraps against the floor in a sharp, screeching sound as he abruptly stands, heart pounding against his chest. 

“–i’m sorry. i should go.”

your lips part, and your hands slowly lower to rest on the countertop, staring at the noodles you’d just gotten out. he sees it – shock, then confusion, then something pained flickering behind your eyes, but before you can say anything, he’s already moving toward the door.

you remain completely silent. 

he doesn’t even leave a moment to take a last glance at your face, trembling fingers already reaching for the doorknob to yank it open. but just as he’s about to turn it, your voice stops him cold. 

“you’re leaving again.”

the bitterness in your tone cuts through the air. nanami turns to face you slowly, his movements stiff and hesitant.

“w–what?”

“you’re leaving again,” you repeat shakily. 

“i…” his eyes are trained on the floor, avoiding your gaze. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have come up.”

at that, you let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. “you shouldn’t have come?” you echo, shaking your head. “i never pegged you as such a coward, nanami.”

feeling impending tears prick at your eyes, you quickly turn your back towards him, not wanting him to see you crumble. 

you feel as though you’ve been punched in the gut, nails curling into the table edge with a desperate, white-knuckled grip as you try to steady yourself. 

“okay. leave then. that’s what you do best anyway.” 

you try your best to sound uncaring, cold – just as he had. like it’s nothing more than a passing inconvenience, but the last few words come out chipped and cracked as the facade you’re been maintaining all night finally breaks.

you loved him.

no, you think bitterly. you still love him.

none of it matters though, because he intends to walk out on you the same way he did three years ago. once that door shuts, you’ll never see him again. it’s so cruelly final, so devastatingly familiar, and it steals the remaining composure you have out of your body. 

your gaze lands on the noodles on the counter. they mock you now. a pitiful reminder of your own foolishness. a stupid, stupid girl who somehow thought that inviting him up here might lead to something real, something redeeming. anything more than this unbearable almost. 

the hope that had been slowly building behind your ribs, that had appeared like a weak flicker of candlelight the moment you saw him in the hospital, and had hesitantly grown the entire car ride home, with every glance, with every nervous exchange, extinguishes in your chest. 

none of it matters, and the reality of it all is so damning that all you can do is sob miserably into your hands, feeling like your chest might collapse in on itself from the grief. 

you hear nanami taking a step towards you. “you think this is easy for me?” he questions, voice strained.

you laugh through your tears, though the sound is hollow. “it must be,” you snap, refusing to turn around as you angrily wipe at your face. “i already know how this goes. so just walk out on me, run away like you did before.”

you hear him take a deep, drawn out sigh. “that’s not fair…” he says defensively.

“fair? you want to talk about fair?” you whip around to face him, eyes burning red. “you ran away, kento! you ran to kyoto, you ran so far off and changed your number and disappeared from my life like it was nothing! four years together, and you vanished without a trace? do you know what that did to me?” 

the words pour out. the anguish, the hurt, the sheer betrayal of it. 

“do you hate me that much? you can’t even sit across from me for ten minutes before having to leave?”

“you begged me to leave you alone! you screamed it to my face!”

“no!” you gasp, the pained sound ripped from you against your will. “i didn’t mean it, you asshole! i wanted you to fight for us! not run away! we could have worked things out if you stayed!” 

“i knew we could have worked things out,” your voice crumbles pathetically, shaky and cracked, and you turn away from him, rubbing at your eyes furiously with your palms. “because it was us. us against the world.”

nanami opens his mouth again, seemingly about to say something. then, it closes and he simply stares at you, his demeanour visibly deflating. his shoulders lift, tense and rigid, before falling in defeat. 

then, without warning, he closes the distance, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to him. 

there’s desperation in the way he clutches you, the way his fingers fist the fabric of your shirt, his hands trembling against your back. his breath is sharp and uneven and he holds you tight as you sob into his chest.

for a moment, you hate him for it. 

the unexpected physical contact – his warmth, his scent, the way his hands fall right into place, the way it still brings you comfort – it sends an impulsive wave of bitterness through your body. anger overtakes you for a split second, and you thrash against him, uselessly trying to push him off. 

“let me go!” you cry out, the sound fractured, torn between rage and grief. 

his grip only tightens.

“leave!”

his arms only curl themselves around your shoulders, a steady hold, an unwavering anchor. 

“you abandoned me!” you shout. “y–you let me love you, and then you left. you left!” 

you continue to curse, cry, and shout at him, letting your words beat and tear at his chest with years of unexpressed anguish.

“fuck you, kento,” you sob through heaving breaths, clutching at fistfuls of his shirt. “fuck, fuck, you fucked me up good, i hate you, god, i wish i hated you–” another wave of grief ripples through you and you bury your face in his shirt.

and yet, he continues to wrap his arms around you, silent through it all, his grip tighter than ever, his breath hot and heavy down your cheek. you fight against his hold until you have no energy left, until your voice goes hoarse and your chest burns.

when the veil of anger finally subsides, all that is left is hurt and betrayal in its place. “i thought you stopped loving me,” you croak, voice barely a whisper. “i thought… i thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

you slump to the floor defeatedly.

that rush of anger is out of your system, and now you just feel broken. you hate how small your voice sounds, but it’s true. 

when you finally peer up at him, the sight stops you cold. 

nanami’s crying.

you’ve never seen him like this before – tears are brimming in his eyes, threatening to overflow as he squeezes his eyes shut to restrain himself. his hands are curled into tight fists by his sides, lips pressed in a thin line, barely holding himself back. 

“i’m sofuckingsorry,” he chokes out, dropping down to his knees to pull you in. “that couldn’t be further from the truth. i promise you that.”

you can only watch in shock, taking in his words.

he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“i always wanted you. i never stopped. i just–“ he pauses to steady himself, voice low and quivering. “–when you told me to leave that night… i was just so tired of seeing you hurt and not having any idea how to fix it. i wanted you to be happy again, i really did. so i just… i thought you wouldn’t want to see me again. i thought me leaving would be the best decision. i thought it would make you happy again. maybe not at the moment but… eventually.”

you’re about to speak, but nanami shakes his head quickly as he continues on.

“i came back. please… you have to know that. please.” he looks at you desperately.

this man… he was like an unyielding rock, always so calm and steady, no matter what happened. you were the crier. he had always kept it together. your heart aches to see him breaking down like this, with his brows pulled tight and a tremble in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

“three months after, do you remember when i called you that night?”

hesitantly, you nod. twenty missed calls from him that night, and then… nothing. you never heard from him again. he changed his number, moved to kyoto, and distanced himself from your shared group of friends.

you had never been able to understand why.

“three months. i took three months to get my shit together and reflected hard on our relationship. i… i didn’t want to lose you, but my life was falling apart and i knew i just needed some… some time. i couldn’t think clearly. i was in a bad place. we both were. i didn’t want to keep hurting you,” nanami says, his voice strained. 

“i came back looking for you, i wanted to apologise for everything. i was ready to do anything to get you back. fuck, i was prepared to beg if i had to. i parked my car outside our apartment that night and i…” he trails off again, looking away from you.

you see more tears spill from the corner of his eyes and your gut wrenches.

“i saw you with some man…” he continues quietly, the words catching in his throat. he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s both reliving it and trying to forget all at once. “i– i remember how you got out of his car and he kissed you on the cheek and you– you laughed. i don’t blame you… i wasn’t angry. not at all,” he swallows hard. “you had every right to move on.”

“–but seeing you like that… you just looked so happy. i hadn’t seen you smile like that in such a long time, you know? you’re everything to me. you still are. who am i to interfere with your happiness? i thought that even if it wasn’t that guy, someone else would come along, and i–” he runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, voice cracking.

“i don’t know– i wasn’t thinking– i just felt so defeated at the time,” he sighs, covering his face with a hand. “but then i regretted not doing something more, hell, i regret it every day– but then some time passed, and i… i thought i was too late– i thought i had missed my chance. i thought i had no choice but to let you go.”

a sharp pang of realisation cuts through you. 

“–kento,” you choke out. you push yourself up on your knees, your arms wrapped around his neck.

“you got it all wrong… that night… aiko begged me to go on a double date with a guy she kept saying would be perfect for me,” you rush to explain, stumbling over your words. 

“i didn’t even want to go, but you know aiko… she wouldn’t take no for an answer. that guy, he was sweet, but… i didn’t even want to be there. i barely talked to him. fuck, i– i cried in his car on the way home, i made a fool of myself– i couldn’t help it. nothing ever happened. nothing. it was just that one date.”

nanami’s face collapses in grief. “i should have tried harder,” he says hoarsely, shaking his head. “i wasn’t thinking straight. i should’ve called again. i should’ve showed up the next day and every day after that.” he takes another deep, shuddering breath. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

nanami holds you against him for what feels like an eternity. his touch is tender, grounding – his hand rubs small circles on your back, his lips pressing soft kisses to your forehead. he waits, silently patient, as your breathing steadies itself and the sobs fade in quiet shudders.

you lap it all up. in his arms, it feels like he takes up your whole world; the centre of your universe once again. an enveloping, encasing, and all-encompassing warmth that has you forgetting everything beyond the haven of his embrace.

you have no idea how much time has passed, although the sun has completely set, its brilliant hues no longer colouring your living room the way they did when you both had first entered. the sky has darkened, and the gentle glow of your lamp is the only thing illuminating the space.

you sit huddled up to him on the couch for a long time, his arms around you, your knees tucked into his sides. drinking him in. afraid to let go, afraid he might slip away again, like sand through your fingers. terrified that you would wake up and find out it was only a dream.

eventually, you shift to climb on his lap, your chest facing his. he doesn’t speak, but his arms adjust instinctively, holding your waist. 

“kento,” you finally murmur, voice soft, achingly vulnerable. “i’ve missed you.” 

that last line comes out a little shakily. it feels terrifying to admit out loud, especially after all this time. you lean your forehead against his, his lips just a touch away. the distinctive smell of his cologne faintly hits your nose – it‘s aromatic and woody, a unique blend of amber and nutmeg. you used to love smelling it on him. 

he doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t reciprocate your movements either, and you freeze, suddenly afraid that you’ve misread the situation.

you lock eyes for a moment, before yours shamefully darts away, suddenly feeling very, very small. you realise his body is tense under yours, and although one hand is lightly pressed against your waist, the other is curled into a loose fist by his side, as if restrained.

deep, burning humiliation floods you, and you feel your gut twist. have you managed to misinterpret the situation this badly? you feel the stinging sensation of tears building up again and quickly wipe them away, not wanting to embarrass yourself further.

“i’m sorry, i–”

frantically, you start to shift, attempting to pull away from him and perhaps look for a hole in the ground to hide in, but before you can stand fully, nanami’s grip on your waist tightens, anchoring you back in place.

“don’t.”

you stiffen completely, staring down at him, your expression twisted in a mixture of discomfort and confusion.

“i’ve missed you too,” nanami says quickly. “but i need– i need to hear you say it,” he admits. “i don’t want you to regret anything. i don’t want you to regret me.”

(nanami is aware that this is awfully uncharacteristic of him.

he’s hesitant, for one, and he doesn’t want you to think he only agreed to come up because he wanted to drop a few sorrowful words to get in your pants. and then there’s the confrontation you just had – were you even in the right state of mind to be doing this? was he taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state? 

would you regret it after? kick him out of your bed, saying it was no more than a moment of weakness?

and… and he’s tried so hard to move on, but he doesn’t even think it matters when you’re right here in his arms, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your skin. your burning touch, your longing gaze, the smell of your shampoo lingering in your hair. 

you had always been the kind to wear your emotions on your sleeve. he sees it now too, with your reddened eyes refusing to meet his, the way your lip has started to tremble with self-doubt.

he wants you. he wants this. god, he craves it more than anything in the world. he detests the idea of you thinking otherwise. 

but nanami knows deep down, after everything, the choice has to be yours. he has to hear it from your lips before he succumbs to his deepest desires.)

“i want you,” you breathe. there’s something frantic in your quiet admission, a desperate bid for connection. “all i’ve wanted is you. i assure you. no regrets.”

“good,” a tug on your waist has you falling back down onto his lap. “because i want you too.”

the admission stirs something primal within you. you lean in, lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. it feels good. like returning to a place you once called home. nanami’s reaction is immediate this time, his hands threading through your hair, returning the kiss slowly in a hesitant rekindling of lost love. 

he cups your cheeks, you wrap your hands around his neck, letting unsteady kisses gradually grow confident between you two until you’re both left gasping for air, completely lost in each other.

you moan into his mouth, your hands hungrily trailing across his body, from his chest, down his abs, and across his strong arms. you know nanami’s always been a well-built man, and he definitely takes care of himself, but he’s a lot… sturdier than you remember. 

your hands run appreciatively down his upper body, taking in the changes. it’s an intoxicating mix of both the familiar and the new, and you find yourself captivated, trying to commit every contour and plane of his body to memory.

you’re tasting him – just as he’s tasting you, your eyes taking the other in, palms sliding across what has been untouched for too long. the years of distance feel like they’re evaporating like vapour with every frantic open-mouthed kiss.

your fingers rush to unbutton his shirt, almost yanking them open as you hastily make your way down towards his hips to undo his belt. it’s hard to focus though, because his hands have travelled under your shirt, palms warm and rough against your skin.

it’s impossible to contain your moans as his hands trail up and down your waist for a moment, before moving to squeeze at the fullness of your breasts. pulling your bra down at the front, his thumbs graze over your nipples, whilst his palms knead at your flesh ravenously.

you manage to get the front of his shirt open, eagerly pushing the fabric aside. it’s still tucked into his pants, but it falls open at either side, exposing his toned chest and a blond trail of hair that leads downwards.

nanami’s face is flushed, swollen lips red and messy from your kisses. he’s panting slightly too, and the sight of his bare skin sends a rush of heat through you.

“your turn,” he growls softly, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

you lift your hands to help, and it’s quickly taken off and discarded onto the floor. your bra follows next, unhooked and tossed aside without hesitation.

how long has it been since he last saw you like this? your hands shoot up to your chest, wanting to cover up, but nanami’s hands encircle your wrists, gently stopping you.

“don’t hide,” he murmurs, reaching forward to press another kiss to your lips. “you’re as pretty as ever.”

instinctively, you shoot him a sceptical look. 

“it’s true,” he hums, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “you take my breath away.”

his smile is gentle, fond, the one you know was only reserved for you. you want to believe that hasn’t changed. 

nanami’s eyes flicker down your upper body, stopping when he finds what he’s looking for. “you kept it,” he murmurs. “the tattoo.” a finger runs back and forth on the ink, like he’s trying to see if it’s really still there. “i figured you might have gotten it lasered off.”

it’s a subtle piece. 

but it’s undoubtedly all for him.

after his surname in kanji: 七海; meaning seven seas, you had gotten a small, fine line tattoo of the ocean’s wave under your ribs.

“i’m still yours,” you confess quietly. “...if you want me to be.”

i’ve always been yours.

tattooed into my skin and down to my very bones. i was always meant to love you.

he cups your jaw with one hand, pulling back to look at you. “i’ve never wanted anything more.”

his tone carries so much sincerity it makes your heart stutter, so you push that shyness aside and slowly let your arms drop to your sides, allowing him to maneuver you until you’re splayed out on the couch beneath him. 

the world blurs around you.

all you can think about is this very moment.

the significance of what you’re doing is entirely palpable to you. you’re inviting him in, not just to your house, but into your heart again. 

breathing heavily, your eyes follow his every movement in anticipation as his fingers dance across your inner thighs.

nanami’s hands slip underneath the waistband of your panties, two fingers sliding in between your slick folds. you tense a little at the sensation as he parts them, the rough pads of his fingers prodding the sensitive bud of nerves that make you shiver and whine.

“god,” he groans. “i’ve fucking missed this pussy.”

you let out a little laugh at the foul language that slips from his tongue. it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice like this, and even longer since you’ve felt his touch.

“missed your cock too, kento,” you murmur, eager to show that you’ve been equally longing for him, if not more. you want to hear more of him, so you reach your hand out to palm at his erection. he’s rock hard, and there’s a little wet spot on his pants from the precum.

“fuck,” he mutters, hips pushing up to meet your hand. “it’s been a while.”

you giggle at that, “it’s been a while for me too.”

“n-no, you don’t understand,” his grip on your waist tightens as he struggles to maintain his composure. “you were the last.”

oh.

your eyes widen at that revelation, stopping your movements to fully look at him. “w–why haven’t you–”

you find yourself in complete disbelief. you were the last person he slept with? that had been more than 2 years ago – way more than enough time for things to change, for someone else to come along.

but then again, nanami’s always been a serious man, and by extension, that applied to his love life too. never one to seek out casual hookups, that man dated to marry. 

he exhales quietly through his nose, almost like the answer to the question is too simple, too earnest. “i didn’t want anyone else.” he says. “only you. that hasn’t changed.” 

and then, as he shifts to tug his pants the rest of the way down, he mutters, almost begrudgingly, “and besides… how the hell would i explain this?”

you glance down instinctively and your breath catches.

just above his hip, etched into the skin of his v-line, is a tattoo. it’s faint, but deliberate. 

it’s your birth flower. 

you used to doodle in the margins of your notebooks all the time as a college student, and sometimes the back of his hands became an unwilling canvas. he used to grumble and complain, but he never washed any of it off.  

those silly little drawings. you’d drawn your birth flower once, on his wrist. pointed to it and batted your eyelashes real pretty at him, jokingly asking if he’d ever consider getting a tattoo of you. he’d said no with a resolute shake of the head, told you he wasn’t the type to get inked, and then gave you a kiss and chuckled at your pouting face. 

and now, that very flower is tattooed on him. 

you blink, stunned. “kento…” you whisper. “what… you– you got a tattoo of me? when?”

he huffs out a small laugh, head tilting back to rest on the couch. “call me a masochist, i guess,” his voice turns gentle when he admits, “i wanted something of you to keep.”

your heart clenches. 

“besides,” he continues, poking you lightly at your ribs, where your tattoo lies. “you were stuck with this reminder of me, too.”

it isn’t just desire that curls in your gut now. it’s… grief. love. the ache of lost time. and the devastating realisation that he never stopped being yours, just as you never stopped being his. 

“say it again,” you whisper. “i want– i want to hear you say it again.”

“i only want you.” nanami must have realised how much you needed to hear that, the same way he had needed your confirmation earlier, because his voice is more resolute this time.

“i need you to know that i’m not the same person i was before,” he says, voice low and laced with urgency. “after we broke up, i took a hard look at myself. if you… if you do give me a chance, i promise it won’t be the same way. i’ll never let you go again.”

you nod your head, blinking away fresh tears and hoping he sees your answer written plain as day on your face. he leans up to kiss you, and there’s nothing rushed about it this time. he takes his time, kissing you like you’re something sacred, thumbs brushing along your jaw with a reverent touch. 

he’s kissing you the way he should have for every lost second with you.

a kiss goodbye when he leaves for work.

a goodnight kiss on your forehead, right before he turns out the lights.

a kiss on your cheek, just to see you smile.

a slow, languid kiss down the column of your throat, pressing into the spot just beneath your jaw – the one that always made your breath hitch. he remembers. of course he remembers.

“this–” his hand moves to cup yours, guiding your movements as he slowly drags your hand over his cock. “–s’all for you, sweetheart.”

a breathy moan involuntarily leaves your mouth, further spurred on by his words. he feels so big, his erection pulling the fabric tight across his boxers. and he called you sweetheart. it’s a simple word, but it kind of leaves you feeling dizzy, like a schoolgirl with a crush, nervous and blushing.

“you want my fingers?”

you whine and nod your head eagerly. 

“use your words, love,” he coaxes. “you know i’ll give you anything you ask for.”

love. there it is again.

you squirm a little, trying to evade his gaze. “w–want your f–fingers, kento. want them inside me.”

“that’s it,” he purrs. 

one hand reaches for the back of your neck, holding you tenderly as he peppers kisses on your lips and all over your neck.

the other hand, though, moves deviously between your thighs, a singular digit plunging into your soaked cunt. one quickly becomes two as he stretches you out with his fingers, the expert movements leaving you gripping the sheets and gasping.

“let me make up for lost time…” you gasp when he drops to his knees in front of you, hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. his mouth finds its way to your sensitive clit, drawing quick flicks with his tongue. 

your thighs involuntarily squeeze around his head, and he simply groans into your cunt. the sound vibrates across your core, and you cry out, tipping your head back as pleasure washes over you.

“k–kento. kento, fuck–”

his fingers continue curling upwards, brushing against your sweet spot, never letting up for even a split second. he doesn’t show signs of stopping, even when your fingers tangle in his hair and your thighs quiver around him.

(and when you cum undone on his fingers, shaking and mewling, nanami relishes the way you gasp into his mouth, back arching off the couch as all sorts of pretty sounds drip from your flushed lips.

i love you.

i still love you, after all this time.

he doesn’t say it out loud – no, it isn’t the right time. 

but he repeats it loudly enough inside his head, hoping that somehow, you might hear it too.)

hungry for more, you tug him upwards, off his knees and push him back down onto the couch. you capture him in a heated kiss, his mouth still wet with your slick, and he makes quick work of his boxers, the urgency and hunger growing.

“kento,” you beg, dizzy with need. “i– i want it so bad. give me everything.”

nanami audibly groans when he hears you say that, his voice low and raspy. 

when you pull back to glance down, your breath catches.

“fuck.”

he cocks his head at you, amused. “you act like it’s the first time seeing it.”

“w-well, no… but–” like you said, it’s been a while.

nanami pauses, mistaking your reaction as a sign of hesitation. “do you still want to do this?” he asks, dutifully seeking your confirmation.

ever the gentleman. truly, it was endearing. if you weren’t so frustratingly desperate for him, you would have scoffed or huffed a laugh. 

“kento,” you plead. “i appreciate you asking, but i need you to fuck me. i might… die if you don’t.”

you pull him down by the shoulders so you’re beneath him, his arms holding himself up by your head. the couch isn’t the most comfortable, but you don’t want to pause to move to the bedroom, hating the thought of having to stop for even a second.

nanami actually laughs at this, an amused smile on his face. you can’t help but return a dopey smile of your own, but that’s quickly wiped clean off your face when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing briefly against your entrance before starting to ease in, inch by inch. 

“–fuck!” a drawn-out whine escapes you, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggle to accommodate to his size. “oh god, you’re really f-fucking big. wait– wait–” 

“you can take it, can’t you? doing so good for me,” nanami rasps, eyes trained downwards where his cock is stretching your tight hole out. “didn’t you say you wanted everything?”

you whimper in response, trying to force your body to relax for him. your dazed eyes meet his, and his pupils are dilated so wide that they seem to swallow the hazel rim around them. 

he gives you a few moments to adjust, panting from exertion, before delivering slow, shallow thrusts as your breathing gradually evens out and your body relaxes under him. 

“o–okay. y–you can go deeper,” you pant.

at your words, he pushes himself all the way to the hilt, hips snapping against your thighs. your face contorts in pleasure, mouth hanging open as your eyes roll back while he drives into you. you’re trying to say something, but your words are lost in between airy breaths and quiet curses.

“you look so pretty like this, baby,” he grunts.

(you can’t see it, but he can. the creamy ring of arousal at the base of his cock as he pulls out, the slick coating your inner thighs, the way your warm, wet hole seems to be sucking him in with no reprieve. your fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, eyes shut as you struggle to take him.

it makes him want go harder, deeper - wants to see your face as you lose yourself in pleasure and cry for him, only him.)

“it’s all for you,” he rasps. he’s pressing your thighs down and wide open, and you couldn’t run from his cock if you tried. from your position, you can see the way he drives into you, pulling out all the way before pushing his entire length back inside you. 

“every. inch. s’all for you… only ever been for you. so take me good, yeah?”

“y–yes, god,” you babble. “s–so good, feels so good–” 

he’s stretching you open, moulding you to his shape, and most of all, he’s yours. he’s yours again, yours to hold, to have, to never let go. 

your moans are getting breathier and breathier as nanami thrusts into you, soft little gasps that escape your mouth as you buck your hips up to meet his cock.

“fuck,” he curses loudly, screwing his eyes shut. “you’re s–so fucking tight.”

nanami lowers himself down onto you, sucking on your neck as his hand cups your breasts. you groan loudly when he delivers a particularly deep thrust, wrapping your arms around him as you moan. 

“look at me baby,” he rasps, holding himself up with one hand. “wanna– wanna see your face when you cum–”

he’s hitting all the right spots, and it’s not long before you feel the buildup of heat in your lower stomach, but you can’t even warn him before your orgasm rushes over you rapidly, a full body sensation that ripples through your twitching body. 

“kentokentokento, m’ coming–”

your own release has your walls clamping down on him, clenching him in a vice grip. “fuck, fuck– y–you feel so good,” he gasps.

there’s unmistakable pleasure written in every strained breath and trembling motion as his own arousal reaches a fever pitch and he delivers one, two, three final thrusts into you. then, he hisses as he pulls out, spilling on your stomach with a groan.

“fuck,” nanami pants, collapsing back down on the couch. “sorry. give me a second.”

you giggle loudly, feeling how shaky your legs are when you tense them. “that good?”

he pokes you in the side and you yelp. “being celibate for two years will do that to you.”

you laugh again, softer this time. the room is quiet now, save for the slow rhythm of your breathing and the distant hum of the city through the windows. nanami shifts beside you, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. 

“wait here,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he stands and disappears to the bathroom.

when he returns, he kneels beside you with a warm cloth in hand and a look in his eyes that makes your throat tighten. “let me take care of you,” he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice is almost enough to undo you completely.

when he’s done, he lifts you, arms wrapping around your back and under your knees. the bedroom creaks open as he steps inside – it’s not the same as the place you used to share, that tiny apartment you lived with him when life was just starting out for the both of you – but in the dim light and the hush of the moment, you can close your eyes and pretend.

nanami sets you down gently, helps tuck you inside the covers, and slips in beside you. his hands reach to envelop yours, the pads of his fingers tracing over your knuckles gently. the movement is familiar; sentimental. it’s what he used to do when you would cuddle in bed, your body draped over his.

the world shrinks to just this. you and him, as though no time has passed. it’s almost like you’re still in your shared bedroom, tangled up in each other, and unbeknownst to you, there’s a little blue box with a sparkling stone tucked away in his side of the wardrobe, waiting for the right moment to be revealed.

you turn your head to see him already gazing at you. there’s a trace of a fond smile that forms across his lips, and he raises a hand to trace the curve of your nose, down to your lips. 

that’s when you realise this truth: that the ache you carried for him – all this unexpressed love-turned-grief – had never truly left you. you’d simply pretended it didn’t exist, drowned yourself in work, shared the occasional bed with shitty men who could never compare to him, and nursed a bottle or two of wine on lonely nights, but you could never undo his presence in your life.

how his love changed you.

how it made you. 

you’d be lying if resentment and bitterness hadn’t crossed your heart at multiple points in time after the breakup. but the years have whittled away any semblance of that initial sourness, leaving behind only regret and the desire to make things right again, if ever given the chance.

and it’s right here in front of you, the man who was on his knees with his head dipped in between your trembling thighs. this silly man, who permanently inked a reminder of you on his skin even though he had already resigned to living a life without you. who now lies beside you, looking at you like you’re the only light in his world.

your love for him was never a ghost that haunted you.

it was a dream come true. 

so is it enough? is it enough to just be two people, who have somehow found their way back to each other, both yearning for another try?

whatever that answer might be, your heart has already spoken: you don’t want to miss your second chance. 

there are apologies to be made, lost time to reclaim, and parts of each other waiting to be rediscovered. 

and yet, you know him like an old song. you know every single word, carved into the lining of your skin, you know the melody, a soft hum that echoes in the chambers of your heart. you know the pauses, the quiet lulls where the music fades, only to swell again with aching familiarity.

nanami kento is that lingering rhythm, that pained harmony, existing deep within the cracks of memory and longing – an unfading symphony in your soul. your heart was always meant to be his.

you desperately want it to be enough. 

and maybe, this time, it might be. 

a/n: this was fun but also so, so exhausting to write man. like there are were so many emotions happening… but i can't stop myself i like the hurt/comfort trope too much. my favourite part was the tattoo bit like PLEASEEEE THIS MAN?????? nanami yearns 4 u the way i yearn to know your thoughts on this!!! so please let me know what you think! <3 i love reading the comments n tags they make my day

if you're interested, check out my upcoming arranged marriage!nanami fic here. taglist is open <3 oh, and honeymoon drabble of them is here :) because they deserve to get married

taglist: @perqbeth @mierins @francesca-the-1st @mylilsodapop @riellanami @rjreins @b-is-obsessed @aotdump @sukunasbedwarmer @aaaaslaaaan @coolgirl6996 @berry-marys @yokotsu @kamuihz @jjknanamin @bbysredhearts @kyluskaye @tyvalon @expreissionism @aureamediocritasorsmt @shibataimu @chiikasevennn @p1nkfl0wers @obsessedalpaca @nanananaminshi

[yenayaps]

defiance masterlist | king!sukuna x servant!reader

summary: a psychic shares her vision with the king, saying that his soulmate would replace all 5 of his concubines one day. he had her banned from the premises for that absurd prediction. it wasn't until months later when he started believing the old bitch, after one cute yet disobedient servant started working at the shrine. TL;DR: sukuna's a sorcerer in this one, still ooc but not too much. mc pretty much ran away from home for being a hoe, and went to work at sukuna's shrine lol.

genre: female reader, heian era au, 18+, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, smut, crack, angst, no he wont have two sets of arms, and no he wont have two dicks, i'm really sorry

fic warnings: profanity, explicit smut, graphic depictions of violence, death, pregnancy, war

wc: 106k (complete)

side stories: delicate

Ko-fi link for those who are feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❤️

One: Did I give you permission?

Two: Flower festival

Three: The King of Curses

Four: Temper

Five: Depraved

Six: My Little Dove

Seven: Counting the Rings Inside of the Willow Tree

Eight: White Silence

Nine: Say Yes to Heaven

Ten: Hidden Letters

Eleven: A True Blessing

Twelve: Energy Shift Part One

Thirteen: Energy Shift Part Two

Fourteen: Prelude

Fifteen: A Sharp Turn

Sixteen: Dream’s Over

Seventeen: Beneath The Lotus; A Devils Cleanse

Eighteen: I Can Clean Impurity

Nineteen: Climbing up the Walls

Twenty: Sumire

Twenty One: Sayomi

Epilogue

extras:

king!sukuna headcanons

dovey’s style

what ryuko looks like

the concubines

playlist

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