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
heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna fluff | drabble | 1k words
♡ looking for more sukuna? here you go!
♡ continuation of this here
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“You know, one day I’m not going to be around.”
Sukuna’s breath hitches so quietly you almost don’t hear it, but you do anyway. A slight pause, and then his first set of crimson eyes flickers up to meet yours. The scroll in his hand is set down onto the tatami with a soft thud.
Outside, the branches of the willow tap lightly on the shoji; the sun sets just a little earlier today. The sound is so quiet but still enough to fill the silence before the King of Curses speaks.
“What do you mean?”
Of course, he knows exactly what you mean.
You hum, “I’m not a sorcerer, or a curse, or have any cursed energy. I’m just me.”
“You’re my wife.” Sukuna says simply, though his tone is firm, his words lack bite. “That’s enough, no?”
“I’m unlike you–” you say, a little quieter this time, “my time on this plane is limited.”
Your salmon-haired husband casts his red eyes to the open fusuma; in the garden, the last of the sunlight spills low across the pond. Orange fractures into ribbons of gold and amber by the slow circling of the koi beneath the surface. Beyond the garden walls, the world is not so gentle: The mountains in the distance rise unevenly, with their silhouettes jagged and like ridged teeth threatening to tear the fabric of the sky. Sukuna thinks about the abundance of unfettered curses swarming in the dark and damp at the foot of the mountain – the ones he hasn’t subjugated yet.
He thinks about the fact that they will probably live a hundred years longer than something as pure and good as you will.
He thinks about how many more sunsets and winters he will see compared to you; he thinks about the fact that one day Uraume will stop making mugwort tea simply because you are the one who drinks things like that and he does not.
One of his four gigantic hands crawls over the tatami and rests atop of yours. His warm yet calloused skin completely covers yours. Nothing is said but a light ‘hmm’, though his fingers curl a little; his grip is not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you feel like he understands what you have just said.
You peer at his face through your lashes, lips pressed into a tight line. “Husband?”
All four eyes are focused on the orange sun setting outside. Sukuna does not cry. That stupid word isn’t even in his lexicon; there has never been a single tear shed over anything – but his chest remains tight and heavy as he thinks that one day, a lone tear may spill in your permanent absence.
The sharp planes of his face are set as they always are: Unyielding and severe. Yet, in the orange glow, the faint downturn of his lips can almost give it away; only in the quiet stillness of early evenings like this does the cruel exterior strip completely. You feel his thumb shift a little over your hand and he rubs a gentle circle over your soft skin.
"Have I upset you?"
You think about how you must look to his court and subjects – completely insignificant as a mundane mortal, yet you are the very woman who has managed to turn a heartless monster into someone who is capable of small, gentle notions like resting a hand over yours and rubbing absentminded circles on it. You, indeed, are so insignificant in his presence, even now, where his shoulders are broad enough to block out the fading light when he shifts.
“I will not accept that,” Sukuna says quietly.
Your soft laugh slips out before you can stop it. “I don’t think even you can change something as unmoveable as fate, my heart.”
His mouth twitches a little at the sound of the nickname but he does not relent.
“Fate,” he repeats slowly, the word laced with quiet disdain. “I will not relinquish what is mine to something I cannot see or touch.”
When he finally turns away from the garden, all four eyes settle on you. You smile teasingly, though the usual gleam in your eyes has been dulled a little by mere acceptance.
“You think my turmoil is funny, wife?” He asks, though his words lack bite. An eyebrow quirks when you exhale another soft giggle.
You shake your head, taking your hand from under his and shifting closer to him. He stills, unsure of your intentions until you stop in front of him and rest your palm on the side of his neck. Sukuna almost melts into your touch but he merely sucks his teeth a little and narrows his eyes.
A sigh slips past your lips. “I’m merely speaking the truth– one day you will have to find yourself another annoying woman–”
“I’d sooner be celibate.”
“Impossible for you.”
This earns a light scoff from him.
Sukuna dips his head, just barely, so he leans a little more into your touch. You can feel the powerful pulse beneath his skin, and for someone like him, this is the most vulnerable he will ever be with anyone else. His red eyes lower to you, the gaze of a man completely smitten with someone he would have once smited on the spot many years ago. Deep in his heart, he knows that he would rather tear the world apart with his bare hands until a wasteland remains if you dared to leave his side.
“You speak too lightly of your absence,” Sukuna murmurs, his eyes coming to a close as your palm shifts to cup his face. “I have no use for a world that does not have you in it.”
technically a sequel to these?, just think that reader's experiment was 95% successful or something
dottore x gn!reader, cw swearing (just a few f bombs)
Deep within the confines of his lab is a strange mechanism that no one is allowed to touch.
That isn't strange on its own; equipment is delicate, and the Regrator quite dislikes having to deal with paperwork because someone's subordinates got too curious for their own good.
What's odd is how...useless it seems. To the untrained eye, it seems like some kind of toy, a prototype cobbled together by a Kshahrewar an hour before their thesis defense. To a Driyosh, it seems like an instrument designed to measure Elemental Energy, and a Spantamad Dastur might recognize the speakers built inside to replicate the auditory hallucinations caused by Ley Line Disorders. A Herbad familiar with all six Darshans may even be able to get the thing working for a few seconds before it sputters to a halt.
But Il Dottore's muscle memory guides his hands around the contraption, and as something crackles from within, he says, "Tu fui, ego eris," and waits.
The crackling swells, like dried wood tossed into a blazing inferno. After a moment, it fades, and out comes a quiet, "What you are, I was. What I am..."
"You will be." Dottore huffs and taps the outer shell. "You sound...scattered."
"Oh, forgive me," you sneer, voice now far sharper, "but there's been quite the disturbance on my end due to someone's interference."
Dottore scoffs, though his amusement is palpable in his voice. "And who was it who assisted you in achieving such a state in the first place?"
"...Fuck off." Your voice still ripples with amusement, as it did centuries ago. If he still had any doubts it wasn't you, it would have vanished at the swear. "Now what do you want?"
"How has your memory been?"
"As well as it can be, all things considered. Why?"
The scientist smirks and begins sorting through the binder of papers he'd brought with him today. Much of it contains historical accounts of Inazuman politics Post-Cataclysm, broken up by handwritten entries of Sumeru's own Post-Cataclysm period of academic darkness. He spreads the former across his desk in neat rows as he says, "I believe someone's been replicating your research."
"Oh my, how flattering." The device crackles, a stack of papers rustling as if someone had brushed them aside. It shifts from pile to pile, pausing only when he sets down an old clipping of the Akademiya's newsletter about the disaster at Tataratsuna. "And concerning. What the fuck did you do?"
Dottore scoffs and glares at the open air. "You know how I felt about our replication assignments."
"You always were a little baby about them," you sigh. "Still, I can't believe someone managed to pull a stunt like this. I thought the Sages burnt all of my records after my trial."
"They did."
"Then...the Greater Lord's doing?"
There is a hint of awe in your tone that makes the researcher's eyes roll. "So many years spent beyond the veil and yet you're still so taken by her stolen authority?"
"Yeah, because I don't have my head up my ass. I know how to respect my peers, unlike you." Another stack of papers ruffles, this one covering blacklisted thesis topics. "How else does one become a genius without reading the works of others?"
Dottore huffs again, tidying up the scattered sheets. "If you're hoping to fish a compliment out of me, you're wasting your time."
"Oh, trust me," you sigh, "I have nothing but."
Something grazes his arm, so featherlight and gentle he would have ignored it in any other case. Instead, he turns to his side and makes out the faint outline of your form. In the centuries since your experiment, you'd never figured how to conjure a fully corporeal form. You're already pushing your luck, reaching through your domain and into the Ley Lines to interact with this decaying world.
And yet here you are, standing at his side, poring over information like you had when you and he were mere students.
As 'enlightened' as you've become, Zandik can't help bit think you're still too eager to respond to him whenever he turns on your anchor. But he knows you. You'll just say you took pity on his small mind and deigned to bless him with your infinite wisdom.
At that, Il Dottore retrieves the last key report from the confines of his coat: a weathered journal, treated to maintain its integrity. There is no reason to have it - he's memorized its contents centuries ago. It still makes your laugh ripple from your anchor.
"Compliment received," you say as your spectral form sharpens. "Now, what do you need help with, Zandik?"
To hear his name in your voice makes his lips curl, and he thumbs open your journal to one of your first entry. "Let us review what we know of Irminsul's constitution..."
⭐WooHoo!! All aboard the Eenymyni Express!! ⭐I'm so excited to share my new shop on @acggoods!! ⭐Come check it out!!! ⭐ If you like collecting cute things this is the place.
My collection is still growing so stay tuned for more to come!!!🌱
⭐shh..WORKS IN PROGRESS..sshh➜ TADC, FNAF, Kingdom Hearts, Deadlock, Final Fantasy, Resident Evil, Alien Stage, etc. ⭐
content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor.
[tw: MDNI, longfic, angst/fluff/smut, slowburn apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head]
notes: this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance?? lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
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