🇿🇦(🇮🇳) 19 How have I never mentioned that I’m literally the biggest spider-man enthusiast wtf I’m using this account for anything and everything I’ve got free will damn it
In honour of the men’s World Cup finally starting (don’t chat to me about Bafana Bafana, Mexicans) I would like to provide Blue Lock writers with a new writing idea.
Imagine being your fav Blue Lock character’s girlfriend, except you’re not Japanese so you wear your home country’s jersey. It mildly pisses him off because even though it’s not his jersey specifically, but he can’t shit on you for repping your country (He’ll rep it with you if Japan isn’t playing dw 💖).
Unless you’re wearing anything from the Premier League that isn’t the team they rep, then that’s a different situation that nobody is saving you from my sista 🫡
If I were my own Spider-person I’d love to be the origin one in my universe but I choose to imagine myself as Peter’s predecessor because I suck at physics
However,
I do think that the concept of me being the only Spider-person of my story would be really funny if I was in No Way Home situation and just went “ARE YOU TELLING ME I’M A WHITE MAN IN THREE DIFFERENT UNIVERSES????”
I can’t lie, from the moment I watched Sinners to any time that I now choose to rewatch it I turn into a puddle of tears whenever I watch the scene of the opening night of the juke joint. My breaking point was definitely when they brought in a Chinese opera singer for the Chows.
I’m in no way, shape, form, or essence American—I’m as South African as I can be—but yoh, that scene fucks me up so bad it was so stunning and moving
pairing: god!sukuna x priestess!reader (+ a hint of god!gojo x reader)
summary: greek myth au. being sukuna's priestess is all you've known, and you've spent a lifetime alone in his temple, devoting yourself solely to him and his needs.
when a different god appears at your door one day with promises of more than a life in the darkness, both you and sukuna find yourselves in uncharted territory
word count: 10.7k
content: 18+ mdni, greek myth au, smut, dubcon/noncon elements due to power imbalance, loneliness, rejection, devotion, abuse, worship, violence, mean!sukuna, piv, attempted cucking, fingering, biting, rough sex, hurt/comfort, sukuna is bad with feelings and satoru is a little shit
a/n: in honour of this blog's one year anniversary I wanted to pay homage to one of the first fics I wrote on here: this blindness I'm condemned to! so here's another god!sukuna fic with a florence and the machine title hehe
also i want to give a big shoutout to @liahcharms for reigniting my passion for myth fics with all her brilliant works! please go and read everything she's written asap
Sukuna always smelt of blood, drenched in that metallic scent that would infest your nostrils, sticking around long after he’d departed your side. He’d always appear in the dead of night, whenever the temple would fall silent, looking more like a beast than a god. He’d take up the whole doorway with his mighty stature, four arms hanging loose at his side, his twisted face laden with mania.
It was you that he’d come to see - his sweet, devoted priestess. He’d waste no time with niceties, for you both knew what it was that he wanted, appearing before you to ensure that you honored your oath of service in whichever manner he deemed appropriate.
Things always played out the same way, with his crimson soaked hands wrapped firmly around your slender neck, sharp fingernails drawing blood while his fingers left pretty little bruises against your skin. He’d grunt as he bent you over his altar, guttural sounds of pleasure leaving his lips as he pressed his mouth against your ear.
You’d sob and shake beneath him, hands raking desperately against the marble beneath you, tears dripping down your cheeks as you let him sink deeper into you than you’d ever allowed any man to go.
He’d give you a taste of divinity, of real purpose. He was your god and you served him well, offering yourself fully for his own pleasure and entertainment, and he ate it up every time, filling you up with his seed and leaving you there once he was satisfied, with no regard for your own gratification.
And there you’d remain in the oppressive silence, shivering at the foot of your shrine to him, awaiting his next visit with rapt enthusiasm. That was your role in this world, your only genuine purpose - you were to give yourself to him and in the times between you were to yearn for his return.
You were to tend to his temple, greet his worshippers, and provide him with offerings. You were to sleep on the cold marble every night just in case he required your services, you were to have no family, lay with no man, for you were his in every sense of the word.
Even if he would never be yours.
Maintaining your oath had never caused you much trouble, for it was the only life you’d grown to know. You had been raised to be a priestess, had tended to the temple since you were eighteen - Sukuna, and your devotion to him, was the only thing that existed in your narrow worldview.
That was how it was supposed to always be.
Until one morning a different deity appeared at your door.
It was a pleasant spring day, and the forest beyond the temple’s walls was brushed with rays of gold, so filled with life in stark contrast to the confines of your shrine. It was always cold in there, tainted with the vague scent of blood and death that followed Sukuna wherever he went.
Even though you had never seen another of his temples, nor met another of his priestesses, you were certain that the uneasy darkness lingered in any place where he was worshipped.
And yet, that darkness, which usually extended to your patch of woodland, seemed woefully absent on that temperate morning. On the contrary, the forest seemed more alive than you’d ever seen it, teeming with colour and life - a beauty that felt utterly foreign to your eyes.
The cause of the change appeared without warning, manifesting between the trees, blue eyes alight with mischief as he strolled towards your humble temple. He had an otherworldly glow about him, a power akin to that of your own god, but rather different in nature. The air around him felt light and airy, like his mere presence could strip away any sense of despair.
You didn’t know him. You didn’t know any god but your own. You weren’t supposed to.
Nervously, you’d flinched back, stepping over the threshold back into your temple, peering past the open doors at the figure who came to a halt on your doorstep, a pleasant smile lighting up his handsome face.
“Good morning,” he hummed, his tone chipper. “I hadn’t expected to find any humans out here - especially not a beautiful woman.”
“Are- are you here to make an offering?” You asked, struggling to find your voice. You’d found yourself captivated by his ethereal beauty, your eyes skimming over his toned body and the beautiful white toga that adorned it. There was nothing monstrous about him like your own master, he was gorgeous in the most conventional of ways.
“An offering? To him?” The god snorted as he gestured to the carvings littering the outer walls of the temple. “Absoultely not.”
Fear fluttered in your heart as you took yet another step back into the comfortable darkness of your home. It felt like Sukuna was draping himself over you, keeping you safe from the stranger before you. For him to so casually put down your god was the gravest insult in this setting, and you wondered if Sukuna might strike him down where he stood.
Perhaps he’d strike you down too, for even allowing yourself to bear witness to such heresy.
“I don’t think you should be here.” You tried to sound as confident as you could, to turn this god away before he could cause any issue. You didn’t want any trouble, didn’t want to find yourself breaking any of Sukuna’s rules.
“You don’t need to sound so afraid, I mean you no harm.” He took another step forward, his toes brushing against the threshold, peering into the darkness at you. “Come and step into the light, so that we can talk properly.”
Even though you knew it was wrong, you found your legs obeying his command. There was something about the way that he spoke which commanded the same authority that Sukuna did, filling you with a terrifying desire to do as you were told no matter what your brain truly wanted. This god didn’t wield his authority with the darkness that your own master did, but the underlying implication was still there.
He would have what he wished, and would employ any method to get it.
Your legs carried you back outside, eyes wide as you observed the man before you. His blue eyes dragged over your form and you caught the way that they seemed to light up with glee. “You’re a gorgeous creature, aren’t you? Typical of Sukuna to keep such secrets to himself. What do you call yourself?”
You told him meekly, averting your gaze down to the floor. Now that you were standing before him you found your heart racing unfathomably quick, oddly taken by his immense beauty. You’d allowed your mind to wander, to wonder what it would be like to have his delicate hands hold you.
It was a thought that you were quick to chase away, for fear that Sukuna could hear every one of your deepest desires and punish you for the slightest deviation away from him.
“How lovely. You can call me Satoru.” The name meant nothing to you. You’d been raised largely in isolation, taught by your parents your role at the temple and abandoned to silence at eighteen. If Satoru was some well-known god, it meant nothing to you.
He didn’t seem offended by your lack of knowledge. Perhaps he’d expected it.
“Are you out here all alone?”
You were, the people in the closest town would bring supplies to you once a fortnight, and beyond that you were left purely to your own devices. It probably wasn’t wise to tell a strange man such a thing, but you got the sense that he’d know if you were lying.
“I am.”
“Oh, how I abhor the cruelty of your master, always keeping his poor worshippers in the worst of conditions. If you were my priestess you’d get to live in the most lavish quarters in some lovely city, surrounded by like-minded folk. No woman should have to linger alone in some dark forest.”
“It suits me here,” you whispered. “I’ve always been here.”
Satoru scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Then you simply don’t know any better than what your master has taught you.”
You were certain that you didn’t need to know. With Sukuna the rules for your life were clear, what more could there be? It was an honor to serve him in the way that you did, it was what you were made for. You didn't need pity from some stranger.
“Look at you, all confused by my words.” A hand reached out for you, your body shaking as a finger tapped the centre of your furrowed brow before withdrawing. “You can’t even begin to comprehend the unfairness of your life.”
“It's not unfair,” you bit back, quietly. You mostly believed your words, but you’d be lying if you were wholly satisfied. You had no qualms about living in this place, or about serving your lord, but in the times between Sukuna’s visits you were hollow, desperate for him, caught up in wondering what he was doing, wondering how many other priestesses he treated just like you.
You wanted him to be yours just as you were his, wanted his devotion to you.
An impossible ask.
“It is, but you can’t allow yourself to see it,” he said with a sigh, fingers dragging through his soft white hair. “You’re a great prize of his, you know. One of his favourites. He always likes to brag about your beauty but never wishes to share - he isn’t a man who likes others playing with what belongs to him, even when he has so much.”
“Oh,” you mumbled, not sure what to make of that. You wanted to be flattered but your joy was unraveled by the use of the phrase ‘one of his favourites’. For now he treasured you, saw you as something valuable amongst all he had. One day you’d slide down that list, once your looks started to fail you.
“I’m here because I had to gaze upon the one that even a monster would desire so deeply.” Your eyes widened in surprise, studying the look on his face. You could sense no trace of dishonesty, his expression open and welcoming, his thoughts written across his face.
The complete opposite to Sukuna’s perpetually guarded frown.
“You were certainly worth the journey,” he continued, when you offered him nothing but silence. You should’ve told him to stop when he reached for you once more, but you remained frozen, completely dumbfounded as his hand traced along your soft cheek. It was a caress gentler than any that Sukuna had given you.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured, terrified of what the consequences for his actions would be. You were surprised to find that you didn’t want him to stop, your heart battering against your ribcage at being shown such careful attention for once in your lonely life.
It was a dangerous feeling.
“I would provide you so much more than he ever could,” he whispered, leaning forward. “I’d give you a place in the light, a place at my side. Beauty like yours doesn’t deserve to be hidden away, it should be celebrated.”
Your breath hitched as he closed the gap between you. His nose brushed against yours, lips inching closer, and for a second you almost gave in, almost allowed temptation to win out over the oath that you’d bound yourself to. But you had lived a life of discipline, and when you pushed him back with all of your strength, it was your body acting on instinct.
Kissing him wasn’t right. It would be a betrayal of everything that you lived for. Besides, your parents had warned you about schemes of other gods, warning that if you were to ever encounter one, you would find that they took great enjoyment in playing with humans.
That was what this was. This man didn’t know you, didn’t care for you. You could feel the dislike for your master rolling off him in waves. He was here to humiliate his opponent, to claim something of his.
You would be no pawn in his game.
“I wish for you to leave,” you said as firmly as you could, your heart still fluttering in your chest. “My master would not want you here."
There was a flicker of hurt in Satoru’s eyes, but he dropped his hands to his sides all the same, stepping back with a somber nod. “He wouldn’t, you’re right. But you should not wish to be here either, for you deserve more than the darkness he shrouds you in.”
“It- it is what I have chosen.”
“It is what has been forced upon you,” he countered, offering you a sad smile. “But when you one day choose to free yourself of it, I will be waiting.”
And just like that, Satoru disappeared, taking the brilliant light of the morning away with him. For some reason you felt cold, an empty emotion not unlike that which would plague you whenever Sukuna would leave you broken and naked on the temple floor. It had been nice to talk to someone, nice to feel the sun on your skin.
Even if it was all just trickery from some malicious man hellbent on separating you from your duty.
It was a week after that encounter that Sukuna darkened your door again, in the manner he always would.
Your encounter went much as usual, speaking no words of greeting as he approached, his hands tearing at your clothes, fingers holding you with a bruising grip as he took you beneath him. He was as rough as ever and you enjoyed it all the same, soft whimpers echoing around the temple as you chanted his name like a prayer.
But when he was done, he didn’t leave in silence as he usually would. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, towering over your frail body which he’d discarded so carelessly on the cold floor. His red eyes were fixed on you with an unusual intensity, two of his hands resting on his hips while the other two crossed firmly over his chest.
“You had a visitor this week. Didn’t you?” The question came out as a deep rumble, sending fear coursing through your vulnerable form.
“Yes.” You kept your eyes down. You weren’t supposed to look up at him without his permission, he was too divine for your eyes to gaze upon openly.
“And what did you think of him, this visitor?”
You weren’t quite sure what to say. If you were to tell him the truth, to suggest that you found Satoru captivating in any way, you feared the punishment that may follow. On the other hand, if you tried lying only for him to realise that you were attempting to deceive him, that could land you in even deeper trouble.
The last thing you wanted was to disappoint him.
“He was…strange. He was like you but not.” You chose your words carefully, omitting your feelings on the matter.
Sukuna let out an amused huff. “There is no one like me, little priestess. But to your untrained eye I can understand what you’re trying to say - he held a power beyond your comprehension, and by extension you find us to be similar.”
Disagreeing with him would be foolish so you simply nodded in agreement, your gaze still trained upon the ground, even as you heard him shifting before you. He crouched, one of his lower hands pressing against your chin and raising your face to look at him.
“What of your opinion on him? Did you enjoy his visit? Do you yearn for him to return with all his foolish light and greenery?”
“No.” The lie slipped out before you could stop it, before you had the chance to truly consider your answer.
He blinked, a slow grin spreading across his tanned face, his canines pointed and sharp, still dripping with blood he’d withdrawn from your neck minutes prior. “No? Such a well trained little thing,” he hummed, a hand coming down to your hair and stroking it with something akin to affection, like an owner praising their pet. “Though, I thought you’d know better than to lie to me.”
The grip in your hair tightened, strands pulling at your scalp. A soft yelp left your lips, eyes welling with tears, your gaze still fixed on him as he’d commanded.
“I can hear your heart fluttering, your blood rushing through those delicate veins of yours. I think you wish to see him again, perhaps you yearn for him to visit you in the way I do.”
You shook your head as best as you could while still confined within his firm grip. Even if you were curious about your visitor, infatuated by the light which he seemed to bathe himself in, you had no desire for his visits to be even remotely similar to Sukuna’s. The humiliation of being taken and abandoned by one god was enough, your heart would not cope with a second.
“I’m loyal to you, master. Only to you.”
There was a soft tremble to your voice, your skin prickling with fear. The look on Sukuna’s face was manic, like it always was when he’d fuck you, or when he’d dump a corpse on the temple’s doorstep. There was an electricity to him that told you he had little tolerance where Satoru was concerned, and as his hand twisted in your hair, you felt certain he’d tear your head from your shoulders.
“Is that so?” He asked, his booming voice echoing around the temple. For a moment, a look which seemed almost conflicted flickered in his red eyes, but it was gone before you could truly verify its existence, replaced by his usual hardened gaze.
“Yes. I take joy in nothing but serving you.”
You were starting to grow cold, the chill of the temple’s marble seeping into your exposed skin. He’d seen you in this state time and time again, but to kneel naked before him and talk was different to being fucked by him, it felt too vulnerable, building an urge within you to cover yourself from his gaze.
Fortunately, your mind stopped you from attempting to draw your arms across your breasts. You were his property and he could gaze upon you as he pleased, you had no right to obscure what had always been his.
Releasing his grip on your hair, he let you crumple down before him. He then brushed the strands tenderly over your bare shoulders, gentle enough for you to mistake it for the touch of a lover. The coolness of his tone dispelled any such illusion as he whispered in your ear.
“Make sure to remember it. Lie to me again or find comfort in that fool, and I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your pathetic little life.”
And just like that, he was gone, the warmth of his breath still hot against your ear, your stomach churning with guilt beneath the weight of his bitter disappointment.
Satoru visited again the following day.
He was already waiting for you outside as you threw open the doors to the temple at dawn, leaning against a tree, skin glistening beneath the sun’s gorgeous rays. Doves were flittering around him, whistling away with some merry tune that seemed so out of place within the shadow of your temple.
Once more, you found yourself faltering, glancing back towards the safety of your temple and wondering if you should barricade yourself inside, your master’s threat hanging heavy in your mind.
But the warmth and comfort that the god before you exuded was attractive, pulling your feet towards him just like the first time, a moth to his brightly burning flame. He seemed overjoyed at the sight of your nervous figure before him, shuffling about and avoiding his gaze, jumping at every shadow in the forest behind him, as if Sukuna would emerge from the trees.
“So nervous.” Satoru commented, blue eyes skimming over your form. “You have nothing to fear from me, lovely priestess.”
“It is not you who I fear.”
“Ah, of course not.” Pushing the subject no further, the god offered you a soft smile before lowering himself down onto the grass before you, sitting cross-legged on the ground. A flicker of confusion registered within you, for service to Sukuna had taught you that he was never to be beneath you, it would always be him towering over you.
Satoru seemed to hold no such views, looking up at you easily.
“Sit with me.”
Glancing around once more, you shook your head. “I cannot. I told you before, you should not be here.”
Satoru scoffed, a playful glint in his cerulean eyes. “He doesn’t know I’m here. We’re not all-knowing, and he’s off dealing with some war right about now, his attention couldn’t be further from you.”
“He knew you were here before.” You pointed out, shuffling your bare feet awkwardly in the grass, pretending to find interest in the way your toes wrapped around the blades to avoid meeting the gaze of the being before you.
“That was my error. I had been callous in my approach here the first time, unbothered by the idea of him knowing that I’d gone to look at what was his. For that I apologise. I had not realised the way in which it would impact you.” Satoru seemed genuinely sorry for his actions, worry creasing on his otherwise perfect face.
Part of you wondered if it was an act, but you didn’t linger on the thought for too long. You hadn’t experienced kindness in a very long time, and that alone had your resolve wavering.
“Please sit. I brought you an offering.” He patted the grass beside him, and you hesitated for just a moment before doing as he asked, intrigued at the thought of a god bringing you an offering. Sukuna had never given you anything, why should he? And yet, Satoru snapped his fingers and a whole spread of food appeared on the ground before you.
It was a feast for Kings, an exorbitant amount, the likes of which you’d never witnessed in your lifetime.
Stale bread and the odd bit of cheese had become the staple of your diet over the years, that was all the people from the nearby village were willing to spare for a priestess of a war god, especially when your region had been experiencing peaceful times for as long as you’d lived.
“This is too much for you to offer me,” you said politely, trying to decline. You were concerned that indulging in wines and meats would be apparent to Sukuna on your breath, perhaps even on your body, for it might stop your skin from stretching uncomfortably over your bones like it did currently.
Satoru shook his head, beaming at you. “This is nothing. Eat. You’re such a frail little thing, he clearly doesn't feed you enough, so let me help you.”
You knew it was wrong, knew that you should turn down his offering just like Sukuna would want you to. After all, if your master believed your diet should be so limited, you were in no position to question his judgement. But your piety did little to override the desires of your body, and humiliatingly you could feel yourself starting to salivate.
He didn’t have to know. You’d eat just enough to sate your hunger and that would be that. You didn’t need to overindulge.
Hastily stuffing some grapes into your mouth, the pleased look on Satoru’s face emboldened you to continue. Even if he wasn’t the god you were supposed to serve, there was something about him that led you to desire his approval in the same way you desired Sukuna’s. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he could kill you just as easily as your own master could, if he so wished.
“That’s it,” he chirped. “Enjoy it.” You grew so preoccupied with your feast, luxuriating in a range of flavours that you’d never known, that it came as a surprise to you when a warm hand brushed your neck, long fingers trailing delicately down your nape.
You withdrew quickly, jumping like some frightened stray cat, eyes wide and worried, unsure of the god’s intentions. He remained unfettered, dropping his hand and studying you like you were a matter of greater interest than some common priestess.
“Are you sure you’re no nymph? Perhaps some forgotten daughter of another god, cast out into the fringes of our minds?” The honeyed words had your pulse racing, unsure what to make of the compliment. It felt pleasant to be praised, but he was not the man you should be seeking praise from. “You’re so fair, it makes me want to hide you away from Sukuna.”
He spat out your master’s name like a curse, something dark and unbefitting of his light and lovely voice. You said nothing, peering back at him as you remained crouched in silence. There wasn’t a chance that you’d even acknowledge such a statement, for you knew acknowledgement tended to count as consent amongst gods.
Satoru shuffled closer once more, “this mark on the back of your neck, he left it on you?” His fingers were back on your skin now, pressing down on what you assumed must be a bruise. You hadn’t kept track of the marks on your body in a long time, aware that Sukuna would often leave them in his wake. They had never really bothered you.
And yet, Satoru looked concerned.
“I suppose so,” you mumbled.
Scoffing, he shook his head. “What a barbarian.”
Again, you found yourself glancing into the darkness of the trees, despising the idea that Sukuna might potentially be listening in on the exchange, waiting for you to slip up. If he was, you wanted him to be certain that you weren’t going along with Satoru’s complaints towards him.
“He’s not…a barbarian,” you whispered. Despite Sukuna’s treatment of you, it wasn’t so easy for you to cast aside your master. You loved him, you’d always loved him, it was practically built into your body. If he wanted to use you, he was free to do so, if he wanted to kill you, that was up to him.
Satoru looked sad, carefully withdrawing his hand and dropping it into his lap. It was evident that he’d thought this conversation would go a different way. “Do you enjoy my company?” He asked.
“I do.” There was no point in being dishonest. The green, airy atmosphere that he brought along with his presence was pleasant, and the opportunity to speak aloud to someone for once in your lonely life felt freeing, even if you knew it to be wrong. But that was where your rule-breaking would stop. You could dip your toes in the pools of possibility, but there were lines you would never cross.
“I was here last night, you know.” He spoke.
A chill ran through you at his words.
“Is that how your visits from him always play out? Letting him have his way with you without so much as a hello? Receiving everything he could possibly want and then leaving you cold and shivering on the floor, praying for a sliver of his affection?”
You wondered if Sukuna had known that Satoru was watching, if he’d revelled in the idea of an audience. Perhaps he simply didn’t care at all, why should it bother him if there was someone watching him lay claim to what was his?
“That’s my role,” you said mechanically, upon the realisation that Satoru was waiting for an answer.
“And again I must ask, you’re happy with that role?”
“Yes.”
“Happy for him to leave you in solitude? To take you with such violence and then berate you for talking to another, all while he’s free to do as he pleases?”
“Yes.” You lied, more than happy to pretend that you didn’t spend your nights dreaming of more, fantasising about a life in which you could stay in Sukuna’s embrace, rather than wrapped in the cool emptiness of his temple.
“And when you grow older? When your looks start to fail you and he ceases his visits, how do you think you'll feel about your role then?”
The anxiety gripped your heart like a vice. The thought of Sukuna discarding you entirely was something you’d often considered, seeping into the cracks of your mind on your loneliest nights. There was nothing you could do to stop it, for time would march on and you would age, and he would find some new beautiful priestess to have as his favourite.
“You’ll miss him.” Satoru said, answering the question for you. “You’ll lament and suffer and wish that he’d given you something to keep. You’ll realise that all your faith and devotion meant nothing to him, while he meant everything to you.”
Tears began to stream down your cheeks before you could stop them, and you found yourself recoiling away from Satoru, feeling suddenly cold.
“There will be no worth to your life, no honor given to you for your devotion and service. He’ll discard you, just as he discards everything that no longer qualifies as interesting to him. If your loneliness is strong now, it is nothing to what it will be when he’s gone for good, fascinated wholly with another while you wither into obscurity.”
A whimper escaped you, tears dripping onto the grass below as the god before you laid out the future that you’d never wished to consider. Perhaps he was the god of prophecy, witnessing your fate even before it could play out, but he didn’t need to be for your path to stand clear - it had always been obvious to you that things could only end one way.
Sukuna would cast you out, and that would be that.
“I don’t- I can’t-”
“Shhh.” Satoru moved closer, curling around you in a gentle embrace. “Not all is lost.”
Shoulders shaking, you let him hold you, overwhelmed by such a lovely show of warmth and affection that you’d lacked your whole life. He was cooing quietly, stroking your hair with one hand and wiping your tears with the other. It was like he’d ripped your broken heart from your chest just so he could prove to you that it was in pieces, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with that.
You shouldn’t have huddled up against him, shouldn’t have allowed his comfort, but what was a mere human supposed to do? Whether you obeyed Sukuna or not, the outcome of him casting you aside one day wouldn’t change.
At least for now, if you disobeyed him, you could experience comfort for once.
The two of you stayed there for a long time, long enough that by the time Satoru was pulling away, you felt like you’d almost melded into his slender form. “I can make you my priestess, I can make you my world. Beauty like yours is rare, and would never cast it aside like he does, not in old age. I would leave you not in solitude, but keep you in the warmth of my arms for eternity if you’d allow me.”
“I can’t, I’m his, I want to be his, I-”
“He’ll never be yours.” His blue eyes were sparkling as he regarded you with a serious look, one filled with desire. “But I can be. I have gazed upon you for longer than I should admit, have stalked about in these woods and watched Sukuna mishandle beauty that deserves more. Let me give you more.”
Your stomach was churning with anxiety, not sure what to do. Your mind and heart were screaming away about your loyalty to the only master you’d ever known, to the god that you loved, reminding you of the consequences for even hearing Satoru’s offer to completion.
But there was no denying the desire in your body.
You felt warm for the first time in eternity, and you didn’t want the softness of Satoru’s touch to leave you. If you couldn’t be held by the one you loved, then it was better to be held by another than abandoned to loneliness when Sukuna grew tired of you.
Satoru’s fingers were grazing your cheeks with the utmost care, so gentle compared to your master’s rough hands. You mewled softly under his touch, pathetic in the way you leaned up against him, letting him pet you affectionately like you were some treasured cat.
You’d never had much of your own autonomy, always reliant on gods to tell you what you needed to be. You supposed whether that god was Sukuna or Satoru made no real difference. But if one’s light would stay, allowing you to bask in its warmth for a time, that was preferable to one who would leave you to starve in the dark.
As Satoru pulled you up from the floor, you allowed yourself to be cradled within his strong arms, too distraught over the matter of your master to register the peril involved as the god crossed the threshold into the temple, a domain where he was surely not welcome.
Seemingly unphased, he took a seat on one of the marble benches just before the altar, holding you carefully in his lap and drying away the last of your tears. “There, there,” he soothed. “Let me look after you.”
Allowing yourself to melt into his arms, you did nothing to prevent the slow brush of his pink lips against yours, mouth parting for his tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You supposed that in a way, it was, Sukuna had taught you nothing but obedience, so with Satoru’s grip so firm and welcoming, what were you supposed to do if not obey?
Satoru’s lips tasted surprisingly sweet, the faintest taste of cherry lingering upon them. One of hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth in a manner that was more curious than domineering. Your fingers gripped at the fabric of his clothes, anchoring yourself to him, like you might lose yourself in his kiss.
There was no attempt made to prevent his other hand from wandering to the shoulders of your dress, slipping the loose fabric down your arms and allowing it to pool at your waist. Your nipples were perked, whether from arousal or the cool air of the temple, you weren’t quite sure; any thoughts on the matter fled your mind as Satoru broke the kiss and hoisted you up a little, letting his lips find one of your nipples, his tongue flicking against it before taking that sensitive bud into his mouth.
It pulled a pathetic little whine from you as you clung desperately to his shoulders. This wasn’t something that Sukuna had ever done. His focus had never been on your pleasure, but on meeting his own needs - to experience such devoted touch felt strange, but not unpleasant by any means.
One of Satoru’s hands moved up your leg, pushing beneath the remaining fabric of your dress and finding itself in the space between your thighs. His long fingers navigated carefully over your pussy, with a gentleness that your master had never possessed, moving slick through your folds and circling a spot which had you whimpering.
For a few minutes, you were lost in it all. You were off somewhere else in your mind, in some lovely field that befitted Satoru’s pleasant atmosphere, where the two of you could lay beneath the sun and make love amongst the flowers for all eternity.
It was an illusion that shattered quickly.
Satoru was just in the process of repositioning you. He’d discarded your white dress entirely, carrying you over to the altar and lifting you to sit atop something that you’d previously only ever been bent over. He’d spread your legs and knelt down before you, peering up from his place beneath you with an expression laden with desire.
His breath had fanned over your exposed core, your body trembling at his proximity, in desperate anticipation of what it might feel like to have his tongue pressed up against you.
But the moment he leaned in to give you what you’d been awaiting with bated breath, a large hand found its way into your hair and dragged you violently to the ground. You yelped desperately, struggling beneath an unwavering grip, your shoulder aching where it had bashed against the marble.
“Stay still.” The voice was cold and bone-chillingly familiar.
Sukuna wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were fixed evenly on Satoru, who was carefully picking himself up off the floor. His neck and chest was stained with a gold liquid, flowing from a cut which was swiftly closing itself up on his pale neck.
Blinking, panic began to rise up in your chest. You wanted to fidget, to beg Sukuna for mercy and forgiveness, but such an action would be foolish, so you stayed deathly still in his grip, a rabbit accepting its fate within the jaws of a wolf.
“I suppose you find this amusing, an attempt to defile what’s mine within my own temple. Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Sukuna’s voice was calm, with a dangerous edge to it. He was addressing Satoru alone, still not bothering to spare a glance at you.
Satoru shrugged, an impish grin spreading across his face. “I thought you were busy.”
Sukuna scoffed. “If I broke into one of your frivolous brothels that you refer to as temples, you’d know the second I took a step over the threshold. So what was this? An attempt to upset me?”
“Why would you be upset?” Satoru asked, pleasantly.
“You know I don’t like to share,” he said, his grip on you tightening.
“You have any number of lovely priestesses, where’s the harm in letting me have one?” Sukuna’s red eyes flickered with annoyance, and for the first time he looked at you, a mix of fury and disappointment present on his terrifyingly beautiful face.
“And you. How dare you?” He asked, dismissing Satoru’s question entirely, his full attention fixed on your quivering form. “Speak.” He barked when you failed to answer swiftly.
“He- I- I’m sorry-”
There was no explanation for your lack of loyalty, nothing beyond admitting that you were afraid to be alone, that you loved Sukuna so deeply that you could no longer bear the nature of your relationship. But telling him that would make him just as angry as telling him nothing.
You weren’t supposed to want anything. You were nothing more than a servant to him with no will of her own.
You yelped as he slapped you hard across the face, ears ringing at the force of the blow. “I should kill you for this, rip you apart for offering yourself to another. To receive what I give you is an honour, and you’re too much of a whore to be thankful.” He spat.
“I am, I am thankful.” You were mumbling as you tried to sit up, stumbling over your words as one of Sukuna’s hands came to press down on your delicate neck. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to- I was scared-”
“Scared?” Sukuna’s tone was mocking, his eyes alight with fury. “Scared of him?” He asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of Satoru, who was watching on with detached curiosity. The sight made your stomach churn, because that man’s honeyed words had moved and confused you and now he seemed unbothered by the whole matter.
Such was the way of gods, as your parents used to say. Mortals were little more than ants to them.
“Not scared of h-him.” Your answer was honest, because you didn’t truly believe Satoru to be a threat to you. Had you turned him down outside you were certain that he would’ve left you be, the issue was that he’d understood exactly what to say to get you to give in.
You were a fool, falling for nothing more than a silver tongue.
“Then what? Because there is nothing you should fear more than my wrath, little priestess, I thought you were smart enough to understand at least that.”
His grip was tightening as he leant more of his weight atop you, keeping you helplessly still. Your lungs started to burn, fingers reaching up to grapple at his wrist to no avail.
You could hardly fend off a human man, let alone the god of war himself.
“I fear- I fear your absence.” You confessed honestly, humiliation filling you at the sheer patheticness of your words. It was an insult to voice such things, to expect that you’d be worthy of his time or attention in any capacity.
Sukuna’s red eyes flew wide at your words and his grip faltered ever so slightly. “My…absence?”
“Yes,” you whispered. “One day you’ll leave me alone in the dark for good and I’ll h-have nothing.”
For a moment he was silent, brow furrowed as if in thought, before seemingly regaining his composure, his expression hardening.
“So you thought to whore yourself out to this fool instead?” He spat. “Forsake everything I’ve taught you, the very vow that you should live by, because you’re afraid of being lonely?”
You nodded as best as you could beneath his grip. “I’m sorry-“
“Pathetic. I’d thought of you as one of my best. I suppose I misjudged you.”
The disappointment in his tone had tears prickling at your eyes, filled to the brim with guilt. In the heat of the moment, Satoru’s points had made sense, had tugged at all your deepest fears. But now, with Sukuna’s weight pressing down upon you, all you could think about was how much of a fraud you were.
How spectacularly you’d failed at the one thing that gave your life meaning.
“Are- are you going to kill me?” Your voice was tiny, for beneath the judgement of your cherished master you were nothing more than a scared girl who understood little of gods and their whims.
Again, there was a flicker of something uncertain on Sukuna’s face, like he hadn’t anticipated those words to fall from your lips. You barely tensed as his fingers tightened around your throat once more, leaving you certain that he was moments from squeezing the life from your fragile body.
Part of you hoped Satoru would step in, but it was clear that he wouldn’t, simply lounging on one of the marble benches, watching the exchange with rapt attention. It was becoming apparent that he hadn’t had your best intentions in mind, no more of a friend to you than Sukuna was.
Perhaps all he’d wanted was to have some fun with some poor, hapless mortal.
Letting your eyes flutter closed, you sank back against the marble, accepting the fate Sukuna had deemed befitting of your crime. But before the sweet release of death could find you, the grip on your neck disappeared along with the weight of his body above you.
“You’re not even worth that,” Sukuna hissed, leaving you crumpled and gasping for breath, utterly confused and broken by his decision. “Drown in your sorrow, for I’ll give you nothing.”
It was the perfect humiliation, a suggestion that you weren’t even worth attention in the form of death, and before you could stop yourself you were sobbing openly, your cries bouncing around the marble walls.
Sukuna paid you no mind, heavy feet slamming across the floor in the direction of the doorway, only to freeze at the sound of Satoru’s calm voice from behind him.
“Like you’ve ever given her anything.”
“What?” Sukuna hissed, peering over his shoulder.
“You heard me. She told you what she feared, why she did this, and you still don’t understand. You’ve always been a fool,” Satoru chirped.
Sukuna remained frozen to the spot as the white-haired god approached you, crouching down behind you and pulling you carefully into his grip.
“How many times have you visited this temple, Sukuna?” Satoru’s fingers were toying with your body, running across your soft skin. His fingers brushed over your nipples and you flinched ever so slightly, your breathing picking up as his hand moved between your legs. Despite the situation you could feel your arousal growing, the sensation only heightened by the crimson eyes fixed fiercely onto your figure.
“What does it matter?”
“Do you remember?” Satoru purred against your ears.
You nodded, struggling to find your voice. “Eighty-three times.” You whispered, meekly. You could remember each visit with staggering clarity, no matter how similar each one may have been.
Satoru whistled. “That’s a lot. How often do you visit your other temples, Sukuna? Once? Twice? Never?”
The fingers dancing over your skin didn’t stop, and you felt that familiar pleasure building beneath Satoru’s touch, a pleasant comfort buzzing through your veins and chasing away the desperate fear which had plagued you moments ago. You saw Sukuna’s throat bob, a flicker of something deeply unhappy in his eyes as Satoru slipped a finger into you once more, all for him to see.
“I don’t see why it's any of your concern,” he said, finally.
“No? I suppose you don’t mind then, that I’m doing this to your favourite priestess. I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I made her one of mine, fucked her over my altar just like you used to.”
“I suppose not. She’s nothing. Just some pretty mortal who can’t even follow rules.” Sukuna’s tone was even, but still he didn’t move. His eyes were watching Satoru carefully, as if assessing his next steps.
“Great.” Satoru picked you up, and sat you down on the altar once more, back in the position that he’d put you in so carefully before Sukuna’s arrival. “I won’t waste any time then.” Discarding his own clothes, he dropped them down onto the marble. Your eyes scanned his form nervously - you were accustomed to being with Sukuna, familiar with his size, and found yourself glad to see that Satoru was smaller.
Not that you meant that in any sort of disparaging way.
He had a pretty cock, still thick and girthy, but the type that would bring you pleasure rather than stretch you out to the point of pain. Satoru smiled as he gazed down at you, a reassuring look that had your heart fluttering. Carefully he cupped your face, running his thumb over the purple bruise blossoming over your cheek.
Fingers clinging to his shoulders, you sucked in a breath as he ran the tip of his cock through your folds. And yet, you couldn’t keep your attention fixed on the man before you, your gaze instinctively drifting to the hulking god standing in the doorway. His red gaze met yours, and there was a moment of terror in which you wondered if he’d kill you for looking at him without permission.
Instead, he held your stare, your heart beating harder as Satoru started to push into you, imagining that it was Sukuna holding you so tenderly, pushing into you with care and desire beyond animalistic need.
“Stop.” Sukuna uttered the word in such a low tone that you weren’t quite sure you’d caught it, figuring it was a hallucination born from your own need for the god. When he repeated it a second time, there was no mistaking its reality, for it came out as a bellow, a new deep cut appearing across Satoru’s back.
And then another.
And another.
Until the white-haired god was covered in a litany of slashes, pulling back from you swiftly, leaving you cold in your propped up position upon the altar. Your body began to tremble, hardly noticing the way Satoru was cursing off to the side of you, desperately trying to heal the damage Sukuna had caused to him.
You were too transfixed by your master storming towards you, wondering if Satoru’s slight had led Sukuna to change his mind about killing you.
With your breath picking up desperately, you were sure that you looked utterly terrified as he came to a stop before you, towering over you just as he always did. His shadow completely eclipsed you, and the hairs on your arm were standing on end, the desire to run overcoming you. But you’d seen what had happened to Satoru, a being who couldn’t be killed - one singular slash would spell your end.
“Tell me,” Sukuna said calmly. “What is it that you want? Do you despise me? Do you long for him and his temples of light?”
“No.”
“No?”
You shook your head again.
“Then what?”
“I told you already.” Your voice was soft and small. “I love you, and I want- I want you to love me.” It felt pathetic to say out loud, to give voice to a request so selfish and impossible. What were you to your master?
Nothing more than a mortal priestess.
And yet, after a moment of thought, he answered your question seriously. “I am no god of love. It is not something I could give to you even if I wanted to.”
Before he could say anything further, he was interrupted by the sound of Satoru’s laughter. The sound came out a little odd, making a gargling noise like he was choking on his own blood as he desperately tried to heal his wounds. “You’re such a fool, Sukuna.”
Glaring at him, Sukuna’s brows furrowed and another slash appeared across Satoru’s chest. It didn’t seem to phase him - in the time that you’d spent with him, you’d come to realise that few things did.
“Why do you visit her so frequently? Why indulge in her flesh when you have countless others? What reason can you give?” Satoru pushed. “I have seen you murder for matters most frivolous, but when you find her, your most devoted little thing, in the arms of another you let her go free? Cause her no more injury than a mere strike?”
“I do as I please, I need to offer you no explanation for my actions.” Sukuna hissed, still pinning you beneath his gaze as he dismissed his peer.
“No, but maybe you should try offering yourself one.”
Sukuna was frozen, his expression unchanging as he stared down at you. You weren’t sure what to make of the glimmer in your eye, feeling completely exposed beneath his gaze. You wanted to sink into the floor, didn’t want to endure any further humiliation or dismissal. You understood your place with great clarity, you needed no further confirmation.
“I’m sorry, please, there’s nothing wrong with our arrangement. I’m wrong to be upset. It's my role to serve whatever you desire. I’m sorry.” You chanted out apologies like a prayer, unsure as to what was going through Sukuna’s mind. You were shifting about awkwardly on the altar, feeling too vulnerable beneath his gaze.
“Oh stop, you. That’s not what you really think.” Satoru cut in. “I’ve been watching you long enough to know your mind, and I’ve always known his. I’d appreciate it if you both stop wasting my time.”
“Stop wasting…?” You faltered, falling silent, struggling to understand Satoru’s words. He ran a hand carefully through his hair, gaze flickering between you and Sukuna.
Sukuna's brow furrowed further, finally pulling his gaze from you to look at his fellow god. “I knew you were playing some kind of game.”
“Oh please, you constantly go off to some poxy little temple on an island forgotten by all of us and expect me not to notice something odd? I had to take a look at what had captured your attention, and to see how you were handling it made me feel embarrassed. I figured I’d give you a push in the right direction. Now go on. Stop lying to yourself.”
For a moment, it seemed like Sukuna might make a move to attack Satoru, clear rage smouldering in the crimson of his eyes. But by some miracle, his attention turned back to you, and that anger dissipated, giving way to an expression which you were unfamiliar with.
Shaking, your breath hitched as his fingers trailed beneath your chin. You couldn’t follow what was happening, struggling to piece together the role that Satoru had played here, unclear on whether Sukuna had forgiven you, half convinced that he’d behead you for the annoyance that Satoru had caused him.
Instead, he leant forward, breath fanning against your face.
“Do you even know how to kiss?” Satoru interrupted. “She likes that, you know, seemed desperate for it when I-”
“Silence.”
Sukuna’s thumb stroked along your jaw, and you blinked nervously, eyes darting anywhere but his face. This was uncharted territory, unaccustomed to facing him like this at all, let alone being treated with such tenderness. Anxiety swirled in your stomach, conscious that this act of warmth might be something final.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and you did, staring directly into the deep crimson of his eyes.
The kiss that followed was slow, stealing the breath from your lungs as his lips pressed against yours, almost tentatively. It was in stark contrast to his usual vigor and aggression, the contact careful in nature.
His tongue pressed into your mouth, dominating you as was always his way, but not devouring you completely as he usually would. The exploration was more like a dance, his tongue flicking curiously against yours as one of his hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him.
The warmth of his body was new to you, accustomed solely to the weight of him taking you from behind, completely detached from heat and affection. To feel his chest against yours, radiating heat against your smaller form, had your heart racing.
“Not so hard, is it?” Satoru quipped, only for Sukuna to pull away for a moment and fix him with a glare.
“I will chop you into pieces.”
“Pretend I’m not here.” Satoru raised his hands defensively, and that seemed to be good enough for Sukuna, his attention turned back to you. Your lashes were fluttering, legs pressing against his waist, the sweat forcing your skin to stick against his.
“What-”
“You should stay quiet too.” He spoke, albeit more softly than the sharp tone directed to Satoru. “Lest I change my mind.”
You took his order as gospel, clamping your mouth shut and deciding that you didn’t need an explanation at that moment, despite your confusion. If he was going to treat you with reverence, you’d rather experience such a thing firsthand than force an explanation out of him.
There was no way you’d take the risk of disrupting whatever was currently taking place.
Leaning in once more, you instinctively closed your eyes at his approach, a little surprised as he stalled just before contact, the skin of his lips ghosting against yours. A hand went to your cheek, brushing over the flowering purple bruise. Wincing, you found yourself watching him carefully, like a deer assessing a new being in the forest, one whose level of threat remained unclear.
Caressing the bruise, he let out a heavy sigh before a lovely sense of warmth spread through your face, emitting from his hand. Moments later it was gone, along with the throbbing pain in your cheek, like he’d undone the damage he’d caused.
Before you could question it or thank him, his lips were on yours once again, soft and enticing, pulling you against him in an embrace that felt reserved for lovers, rather than one of a god getting his fill of a servant.
His four hands started to roam over your body, brushing your breasts, squeezing your thighs, feeling you as if it were the first time his hands had touched your flesh. One of his hands moved between your legs, experimentally moving the slick through your folds, a thick finger dipping into you.
Such attention had you whining against him, a sound that was swiftly swallowed by his lips. His finger was thicker than Satoru’s had been, working you open carefully, an action he had never thought to take in the past. You couldn’t understand the effect that Satoru had created within him, unsure as to how he’d gone from hitting and rejecting you, to offering you affection he’d never allowed before.
He slid another finger into you, stretching you out until he was satisfied, his lips locked against yours until he was pulling his fingers back. “Suck.” He ordered gruffly, a trace of his old self present in the way his fingers pressed against your lips, forcing their way into your mouth.
Satoru made a sound of disapproval in the background, reminding you of his presence, but if Sukuna heard, he paid the man no mind. He seemed too focused on your body spread out before him, your wide eyes looking up at him nervously.
He shed his clothes in a single action, letting the fabric pool on the floor beside yours. Your eyes instinctively moved down to where his cock hung heavy between his legs, the monstrous size never failing to steal your breath away. You could hardly believe the number of times he’d sheathed the thing within you without any effort of preparation, your body adapting because it was what he required.
This time was different.
Mirroring the treatment that Satoru had given you earlier, Sukuna carefully ran the tip of his cock through your folds, red eyes fixed on your face. You felt shy, eager to turn your face away. It was easier to do this in the manner he usually would, with you bent over while he took you from behind. Gazing upon him so openly felt too vulnerable for your liking, even if the lust in his eyes had your heart racing.
“You are my favoured one.” Sukuna’s voice was deep, “understand that, because I do not wish to speak more on the matter.”
Lips parting, the question of what that meant dangled on your tongue. To you it suggested the situation was the same as before - for now he favoured you, in a few years time the matter would be different.
He seemed to understand your concern before you could voice it.
“I will not toss you aside for something as trivial as old age. To attract my attention is something significant, not a matter of simple youthful looks.” A yelp fell from your throat as he pushed himself into you, easily filling you to the brim, just like he always would.
You had a million questions running through your mind, wondering where his true feelings towards you lay. It was clear that Satoru understood him better than you did, pushing him to some sort of conclusion that he wouldn’t have stumbled upon on his own.
“Do not betray me again.” He huffed in your ear, breath warm against your skin. “Do so and I will not forgive you, you’ll receive no more mercy than my enemies would. But cling to your loyalty and I will give you what you seek. You’ll have my attention, my affection, for as long as you deserve it.”
“I’ll offer you everything.” The words came out breathy, your body twitching as he withdrew himself from you only to fill you up once more, rewarding you with long deep strokes that held far more affection than the frenzied fucking that you’d usually receive from him.
You found your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, drawing blood and marring his perfect form with each brutal thrust, simply trying to cling onto him. Your cries were loud, echoing within the marble just as they always had, but the nature this time was different, for your cries were ones of pleasure rather than desire for more.
Sukuna’s breaths were heavy, rasping hard against your ear with each smooth movement of his hips. The passion had your eyes rolling back in your skull, babbling out his name pathetically, demonstrating your loyalty to him in your ecstatic reaction to his actions.
This was all you’d ever wanted.
An opportunity that had once seemed impossible.
His fingers were bruising your thighs, pulling you closer with each stroke, and as your thighs tightened around his hips, one of his hands slipped down between the two of you, rubbing that sensitive nub that he’d never deigned to touch before, always too focussed on chasing his own gratification.
Lights danced in your eyes at the contact, a desperate cry of his name ripping from your throat as you squeezed around him, cumming on his cock. It felt almost humiliating to find pleasure before him like that, something that he’d never been interested in witnessing in past visits.
If you ever came with him inside of you before, it was an accident rather than intention.
This time, he seemed to have driven you to it, nipping at your neck and circling your clit carefully, even after you’d gushed all over him.
Of course, his hips still didn’t let up, fucking you fast and deep until he reached his own release, his arms wrapped tight around your smaller form, pulling you as close as humanely possible as he poured his own seed into you, finding satisfaction in the way that it dripped down your sweaty thighs and onto the altar below.
Past experience led you to believe that he’d pull away immediately, dropping you down unceremoniously onto the ground, with little regard to the damage it might cause your fragile body.
But this time he did no such thing.
He lifted you carefully, cradling you within his muscular arms and sitting down upon the cool floor, keeping you warm within the confines of his lap. Your heart was speeding at one hundred miles a minute, your fingers pressing against his chest, clinging to him as if he’d disappear if you let go for even a moment.
A hand was brushing your hair, another stroking your thigh, while two were wrapped firmly around your midsection. All four of his eyes were fixed on you too, no distractions in the manner you’d come to expect from him, his focus was on you alone.
You were his, and at least to some extent, he was yours.
“How sweet.” Satoru’s saccharine voice sounded from across the room. The god was leaning his face on his hand, blue eyes sparkling as he watched the exchange. Sukuna straightened up ever so slightly, fixing him with a glare.
“Leave,” he commanded.
“Aw, not even a thank you? You’re so ungrateful.” The white-haired god stood up, a pout fixed on his pink lips.
“A thank you for doing your job? No one thanks me for starting wars, so why would I thank you for orchestrating a union? Love is nothing special.”
“I could’ve sabotaged your love. Kept that pretty little thing all to myself.” He pointed in your direction, offering Sukuna a toothy grin. “In fact, if you cross me I still might. I can make people fall out of love too if I so wish, irritate me and I’ll put a curse on your favoured mortal.”
Sukuna’s face was stormy, his grip tightening on you in a manner that felt almost protective. “Meddle in matters of my heart ever again and I’ll cut you to pieces and spread them across the corners of the globe. I’m sure no one would miss a few centuries without you.”
“So prickly.” Satoru rolled his eyes. “I hope you’re kinder to her. How she could ever fall for you is beyond my reckoning.”
Sukuna peered down at you, and through the centuries of malice lining his ancient, war-scarred face, you could see it - the soft twinkle in his eyes as he met your gaze. The sharp edges of a god of massacre, tempered only for you.
He would keep his promise.
His affection would not be altered by lines of age on your face. Despite all his shortcomings, he was loyal to his word, and he had offered you a piece of his heart no matter how shrivelled and blackened it may be.
And you would cherish that gift for as long as you drew breath.
a/n: NEED HIM BAD <3
anyway to any crazy in love readers I'm currently working on the next chapter and am planning to have it up in the next week or so
thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3
pairing: god!sukuna x priestess!reader (+ a hint of god!gojo x reader)
summary: greek myth au. being sukuna's priestess is all you've known, and you've spent a lifetime alone in his temple, devoting yourself solely to him and his needs.
when a different god appears at your door one day with promises of more than a life in the darkness, both you and sukuna find yourselves in uncharted territory
word count: 10.7k
content: 18+ mdni, greek myth au, smut, dubcon/noncon elements due to power imbalance, loneliness, rejection, devotion, abuse, worship, violence, mean!sukuna, piv, attempted cucking, fingering, biting, rough sex, hurt/comfort, sukuna is bad with feelings and satoru is a little shit
a/n: in honour of this blog's one year anniversary I wanted to pay homage to one of the first fics I wrote on here: this blindness I'm condemned to! so here's another god!sukuna fic with a florence and the machine title hehe
also i want to give a big shoutout to @liahcharms for reigniting my passion for myth fics with all her brilliant works! please go and read everything she's written asap
Sukuna always smelt of blood, drenched in that metallic scent that would infest your nostrils, sticking around long after he’d departed your side. He’d always appear in the dead of night, whenever the temple would fall silent, looking more like a beast than a god. He’d take up the whole doorway with his mighty stature, four arms hanging loose at his side, his twisted face laden with mania.
It was you that he’d come to see - his sweet, devoted priestess. He’d waste no time with niceties, for you both knew what it was that he wanted, appearing before you to ensure that you honored your oath of service in whichever manner he deemed appropriate.
Things always played out the same way, with his crimson soaked hands wrapped firmly around your slender neck, sharp fingernails drawing blood while his fingers left pretty little bruises against your skin. He’d grunt as he bent you over his altar, guttural sounds of pleasure leaving his lips as he pressed his mouth against your ear.
You’d sob and shake beneath him, hands raking desperately against the marble beneath you, tears dripping down your cheeks as you let him sink deeper into you than you’d ever allowed any man to go.
He’d give you a taste of divinity, of real purpose. He was your god and you served him well, offering yourself fully for his own pleasure and entertainment, and he ate it up every time, filling you up with his seed and leaving you there once he was satisfied, with no regard for your own gratification.
And there you’d remain in the oppressive silence, shivering at the foot of your shrine to him, awaiting his next visit with rapt enthusiasm. That was your role in this world, your only genuine purpose - you were to give yourself to him and in the times between you were to yearn for his return.
You were to tend to his temple, greet his worshippers, and provide him with offerings. You were to sleep on the cold marble every night just in case he required your services, you were to have no family, lay with no man, for you were his in every sense of the word.
Even if he would never be yours.
Maintaining your oath had never caused you much trouble, for it was the only life you’d grown to know. You had been raised to be a priestess, had tended to the temple since you were eighteen - Sukuna, and your devotion to him, was the only thing that existed in your narrow worldview.
That was how it was supposed to always be.
Until one morning a different deity appeared at your door.
It was a pleasant spring day, and the forest beyond the temple’s walls was brushed with rays of gold, so filled with life in stark contrast to the confines of your shrine. It was always cold in there, tainted with the vague scent of blood and death that followed Sukuna wherever he went.
Even though you had never seen another of his temples, nor met another of his priestesses, you were certain that the uneasy darkness lingered in any place where he was worshipped.
And yet, that darkness, which usually extended to your patch of woodland, seemed woefully absent on that temperate morning. On the contrary, the forest seemed more alive than you’d ever seen it, teeming with colour and life - a beauty that felt utterly foreign to your eyes.
The cause of the change appeared without warning, manifesting between the trees, blue eyes alight with mischief as he strolled towards your humble temple. He had an otherworldly glow about him, a power akin to that of your own god, but rather different in nature. The air around him felt light and airy, like his mere presence could strip away any sense of despair.
You didn’t know him. You didn’t know any god but your own. You weren’t supposed to.
Nervously, you’d flinched back, stepping over the threshold back into your temple, peering past the open doors at the figure who came to a halt on your doorstep, a pleasant smile lighting up his handsome face.
“Good morning,” he hummed, his tone chipper. “I hadn’t expected to find any humans out here - especially not a beautiful woman.”
“Are- are you here to make an offering?” You asked, struggling to find your voice. You’d found yourself captivated by his ethereal beauty, your eyes skimming over his toned body and the beautiful white toga that adorned it. There was nothing monstrous about him like your own master, he was gorgeous in the most conventional of ways.
“An offering? To him?” The god snorted as he gestured to the carvings littering the outer walls of the temple. “Absoultely not.”
Fear fluttered in your heart as you took yet another step back into the comfortable darkness of your home. It felt like Sukuna was draping himself over you, keeping you safe from the stranger before you. For him to so casually put down your god was the gravest insult in this setting, and you wondered if Sukuna might strike him down where he stood.
Perhaps he’d strike you down too, for even allowing yourself to bear witness to such heresy.
“I don’t think you should be here.” You tried to sound as confident as you could, to turn this god away before he could cause any issue. You didn’t want any trouble, didn’t want to find yourself breaking any of Sukuna’s rules.
“You don’t need to sound so afraid, I mean you no harm.” He took another step forward, his toes brushing against the threshold, peering into the darkness at you. “Come and step into the light, so that we can talk properly.”
Even though you knew it was wrong, you found your legs obeying his command. There was something about the way that he spoke which commanded the same authority that Sukuna did, filling you with a terrifying desire to do as you were told no matter what your brain truly wanted. This god didn’t wield his authority with the darkness that your own master did, but the underlying implication was still there.
He would have what he wished, and would employ any method to get it.
Your legs carried you back outside, eyes wide as you observed the man before you. His blue eyes dragged over your form and you caught the way that they seemed to light up with glee. “You’re a gorgeous creature, aren’t you? Typical of Sukuna to keep such secrets to himself. What do you call yourself?”
You told him meekly, averting your gaze down to the floor. Now that you were standing before him you found your heart racing unfathomably quick, oddly taken by his immense beauty. You’d allowed your mind to wander, to wonder what it would be like to have his delicate hands hold you.
It was a thought that you were quick to chase away, for fear that Sukuna could hear every one of your deepest desires and punish you for the slightest deviation away from him.
“How lovely. You can call me Satoru.” The name meant nothing to you. You’d been raised largely in isolation, taught by your parents your role at the temple and abandoned to silence at eighteen. If Satoru was some well-known god, it meant nothing to you.
He didn’t seem offended by your lack of knowledge. Perhaps he’d expected it.
“Are you out here all alone?”
You were, the people in the closest town would bring supplies to you once a fortnight, and beyond that you were left purely to your own devices. It probably wasn’t wise to tell a strange man such a thing, but you got the sense that he’d know if you were lying.
“I am.”
“Oh, how I abhor the cruelty of your master, always keeping his poor worshippers in the worst of conditions. If you were my priestess you’d get to live in the most lavish quarters in some lovely city, surrounded by like-minded folk. No woman should have to linger alone in some dark forest.”
“It suits me here,” you whispered. “I’ve always been here.”
Satoru scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Then you simply don’t know any better than what your master has taught you.”
You were certain that you didn’t need to know. With Sukuna the rules for your life were clear, what more could there be? It was an honor to serve him in the way that you did, it was what you were made for. You didn't need pity from some stranger.
“Look at you, all confused by my words.” A hand reached out for you, your body shaking as a finger tapped the centre of your furrowed brow before withdrawing. “You can’t even begin to comprehend the unfairness of your life.”
“It's not unfair,” you bit back, quietly. You mostly believed your words, but you’d be lying if you were wholly satisfied. You had no qualms about living in this place, or about serving your lord, but in the times between Sukuna’s visits you were hollow, desperate for him, caught up in wondering what he was doing, wondering how many other priestesses he treated just like you.
You wanted him to be yours just as you were his, wanted his devotion to you.
An impossible ask.
“It is, but you can’t allow yourself to see it,” he said with a sigh, fingers dragging through his soft white hair. “You’re a great prize of his, you know. One of his favourites. He always likes to brag about your beauty but never wishes to share - he isn’t a man who likes others playing with what belongs to him, even when he has so much.”
“Oh,” you mumbled, not sure what to make of that. You wanted to be flattered but your joy was unraveled by the use of the phrase ‘one of his favourites’. For now he treasured you, saw you as something valuable amongst all he had. One day you’d slide down that list, once your looks started to fail you.
“I’m here because I had to gaze upon the one that even a monster would desire so deeply.” Your eyes widened in surprise, studying the look on his face. You could sense no trace of dishonesty, his expression open and welcoming, his thoughts written across his face.
The complete opposite to Sukuna’s perpetually guarded frown.
“You were certainly worth the journey,” he continued, when you offered him nothing but silence. You should’ve told him to stop when he reached for you once more, but you remained frozen, completely dumbfounded as his hand traced along your soft cheek. It was a caress gentler than any that Sukuna had given you.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured, terrified of what the consequences for his actions would be. You were surprised to find that you didn’t want him to stop, your heart battering against your ribcage at being shown such careful attention for once in your lonely life.
It was a dangerous feeling.
“I would provide you so much more than he ever could,” he whispered, leaning forward. “I’d give you a place in the light, a place at my side. Beauty like yours doesn’t deserve to be hidden away, it should be celebrated.”
Your breath hitched as he closed the gap between you. His nose brushed against yours, lips inching closer, and for a second you almost gave in, almost allowed temptation to win out over the oath that you’d bound yourself to. But you had lived a life of discipline, and when you pushed him back with all of your strength, it was your body acting on instinct.
Kissing him wasn’t right. It would be a betrayal of everything that you lived for. Besides, your parents had warned you about schemes of other gods, warning that if you were to ever encounter one, you would find that they took great enjoyment in playing with humans.
That was what this was. This man didn’t know you, didn’t care for you. You could feel the dislike for your master rolling off him in waves. He was here to humiliate his opponent, to claim something of his.
You would be no pawn in his game.
“I wish for you to leave,” you said as firmly as you could, your heart still fluttering in your chest. “My master would not want you here."
There was a flicker of hurt in Satoru’s eyes, but he dropped his hands to his sides all the same, stepping back with a somber nod. “He wouldn’t, you’re right. But you should not wish to be here either, for you deserve more than the darkness he shrouds you in.”
“It- it is what I have chosen.”
“It is what has been forced upon you,” he countered, offering you a sad smile. “But when you one day choose to free yourself of it, I will be waiting.”
And just like that, Satoru disappeared, taking the brilliant light of the morning away with him. For some reason you felt cold, an empty emotion not unlike that which would plague you whenever Sukuna would leave you broken and naked on the temple floor. It had been nice to talk to someone, nice to feel the sun on your skin.
Even if it was all just trickery from some malicious man hellbent on separating you from your duty.
It was a week after that encounter that Sukuna darkened your door again, in the manner he always would.
Your encounter went much as usual, speaking no words of greeting as he approached, his hands tearing at your clothes, fingers holding you with a bruising grip as he took you beneath him. He was as rough as ever and you enjoyed it all the same, soft whimpers echoing around the temple as you chanted his name like a prayer.
But when he was done, he didn’t leave in silence as he usually would. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, towering over your frail body which he’d discarded so carelessly on the cold floor. His red eyes were fixed on you with an unusual intensity, two of his hands resting on his hips while the other two crossed firmly over his chest.
“You had a visitor this week. Didn’t you?” The question came out as a deep rumble, sending fear coursing through your vulnerable form.
“Yes.” You kept your eyes down. You weren’t supposed to look up at him without his permission, he was too divine for your eyes to gaze upon openly.
“And what did you think of him, this visitor?”
You weren’t quite sure what to say. If you were to tell him the truth, to suggest that you found Satoru captivating in any way, you feared the punishment that may follow. On the other hand, if you tried lying only for him to realise that you were attempting to deceive him, that could land you in even deeper trouble.
The last thing you wanted was to disappoint him.
“He was…strange. He was like you but not.” You chose your words carefully, omitting your feelings on the matter.
Sukuna let out an amused huff. “There is no one like me, little priestess. But to your untrained eye I can understand what you’re trying to say - he held a power beyond your comprehension, and by extension you find us to be similar.”
Disagreeing with him would be foolish so you simply nodded in agreement, your gaze still trained upon the ground, even as you heard him shifting before you. He crouched, one of his lower hands pressing against your chin and raising your face to look at him.
“What of your opinion on him? Did you enjoy his visit? Do you yearn for him to return with all his foolish light and greenery?”
“No.” The lie slipped out before you could stop it, before you had the chance to truly consider your answer.
He blinked, a slow grin spreading across his tanned face, his canines pointed and sharp, still dripping with blood he’d withdrawn from your neck minutes prior. “No? Such a well trained little thing,” he hummed, a hand coming down to your hair and stroking it with something akin to affection, like an owner praising their pet. “Though, I thought you’d know better than to lie to me.”
The grip in your hair tightened, strands pulling at your scalp. A soft yelp left your lips, eyes welling with tears, your gaze still fixed on him as he’d commanded.
“I can hear your heart fluttering, your blood rushing through those delicate veins of yours. I think you wish to see him again, perhaps you yearn for him to visit you in the way I do.”
You shook your head as best as you could while still confined within his firm grip. Even if you were curious about your visitor, infatuated by the light which he seemed to bathe himself in, you had no desire for his visits to be even remotely similar to Sukuna’s. The humiliation of being taken and abandoned by one god was enough, your heart would not cope with a second.
“I’m loyal to you, master. Only to you.”
There was a soft tremble to your voice, your skin prickling with fear. The look on Sukuna’s face was manic, like it always was when he’d fuck you, or when he’d dump a corpse on the temple’s doorstep. There was an electricity to him that told you he had little tolerance where Satoru was concerned, and as his hand twisted in your hair, you felt certain he’d tear your head from your shoulders.
“Is that so?” He asked, his booming voice echoing around the temple. For a moment, a look which seemed almost conflicted flickered in his red eyes, but it was gone before you could truly verify its existence, replaced by his usual hardened gaze.
“Yes. I take joy in nothing but serving you.”
You were starting to grow cold, the chill of the temple’s marble seeping into your exposed skin. He’d seen you in this state time and time again, but to kneel naked before him and talk was different to being fucked by him, it felt too vulnerable, building an urge within you to cover yourself from his gaze.
Fortunately, your mind stopped you from attempting to draw your arms across your breasts. You were his property and he could gaze upon you as he pleased, you had no right to obscure what had always been his.
Releasing his grip on your hair, he let you crumple down before him. He then brushed the strands tenderly over your bare shoulders, gentle enough for you to mistake it for the touch of a lover. The coolness of his tone dispelled any such illusion as he whispered in your ear.
“Make sure to remember it. Lie to me again or find comfort in that fool, and I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your pathetic little life.”
And just like that, he was gone, the warmth of his breath still hot against your ear, your stomach churning with guilt beneath the weight of his bitter disappointment.
Satoru visited again the following day.
He was already waiting for you outside as you threw open the doors to the temple at dawn, leaning against a tree, skin glistening beneath the sun’s gorgeous rays. Doves were flittering around him, whistling away with some merry tune that seemed so out of place within the shadow of your temple.
Once more, you found yourself faltering, glancing back towards the safety of your temple and wondering if you should barricade yourself inside, your master’s threat hanging heavy in your mind.
But the warmth and comfort that the god before you exuded was attractive, pulling your feet towards him just like the first time, a moth to his brightly burning flame. He seemed overjoyed at the sight of your nervous figure before him, shuffling about and avoiding his gaze, jumping at every shadow in the forest behind him, as if Sukuna would emerge from the trees.
“So nervous.” Satoru commented, blue eyes skimming over your form. “You have nothing to fear from me, lovely priestess.”
“It is not you who I fear.”
“Ah, of course not.” Pushing the subject no further, the god offered you a soft smile before lowering himself down onto the grass before you, sitting cross-legged on the ground. A flicker of confusion registered within you, for service to Sukuna had taught you that he was never to be beneath you, it would always be him towering over you.
Satoru seemed to hold no such views, looking up at you easily.
“Sit with me.”
Glancing around once more, you shook your head. “I cannot. I told you before, you should not be here.”
Satoru scoffed, a playful glint in his cerulean eyes. “He doesn’t know I’m here. We’re not all-knowing, and he’s off dealing with some war right about now, his attention couldn’t be further from you.”
“He knew you were here before.” You pointed out, shuffling your bare feet awkwardly in the grass, pretending to find interest in the way your toes wrapped around the blades to avoid meeting the gaze of the being before you.
“That was my error. I had been callous in my approach here the first time, unbothered by the idea of him knowing that I’d gone to look at what was his. For that I apologise. I had not realised the way in which it would impact you.” Satoru seemed genuinely sorry for his actions, worry creasing on his otherwise perfect face.
Part of you wondered if it was an act, but you didn’t linger on the thought for too long. You hadn’t experienced kindness in a very long time, and that alone had your resolve wavering.
“Please sit. I brought you an offering.” He patted the grass beside him, and you hesitated for just a moment before doing as he asked, intrigued at the thought of a god bringing you an offering. Sukuna had never given you anything, why should he? And yet, Satoru snapped his fingers and a whole spread of food appeared on the ground before you.
It was a feast for Kings, an exorbitant amount, the likes of which you’d never witnessed in your lifetime.
Stale bread and the odd bit of cheese had become the staple of your diet over the years, that was all the people from the nearby village were willing to spare for a priestess of a war god, especially when your region had been experiencing peaceful times for as long as you’d lived.
“This is too much for you to offer me,” you said politely, trying to decline. You were concerned that indulging in wines and meats would be apparent to Sukuna on your breath, perhaps even on your body, for it might stop your skin from stretching uncomfortably over your bones like it did currently.
Satoru shook his head, beaming at you. “This is nothing. Eat. You’re such a frail little thing, he clearly doesn't feed you enough, so let me help you.”
You knew it was wrong, knew that you should turn down his offering just like Sukuna would want you to. After all, if your master believed your diet should be so limited, you were in no position to question his judgement. But your piety did little to override the desires of your body, and humiliatingly you could feel yourself starting to salivate.
He didn’t have to know. You’d eat just enough to sate your hunger and that would be that. You didn’t need to overindulge.
Hastily stuffing some grapes into your mouth, the pleased look on Satoru’s face emboldened you to continue. Even if he wasn’t the god you were supposed to serve, there was something about him that led you to desire his approval in the same way you desired Sukuna’s. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he could kill you just as easily as your own master could, if he so wished.
“That’s it,” he chirped. “Enjoy it.” You grew so preoccupied with your feast, luxuriating in a range of flavours that you’d never known, that it came as a surprise to you when a warm hand brushed your neck, long fingers trailing delicately down your nape.
You withdrew quickly, jumping like some frightened stray cat, eyes wide and worried, unsure of the god’s intentions. He remained unfettered, dropping his hand and studying you like you were a matter of greater interest than some common priestess.
“Are you sure you’re no nymph? Perhaps some forgotten daughter of another god, cast out into the fringes of our minds?” The honeyed words had your pulse racing, unsure what to make of the compliment. It felt pleasant to be praised, but he was not the man you should be seeking praise from. “You’re so fair, it makes me want to hide you away from Sukuna.”
He spat out your master’s name like a curse, something dark and unbefitting of his light and lovely voice. You said nothing, peering back at him as you remained crouched in silence. There wasn’t a chance that you’d even acknowledge such a statement, for you knew acknowledgement tended to count as consent amongst gods.
Satoru shuffled closer once more, “this mark on the back of your neck, he left it on you?” His fingers were back on your skin now, pressing down on what you assumed must be a bruise. You hadn’t kept track of the marks on your body in a long time, aware that Sukuna would often leave them in his wake. They had never really bothered you.
And yet, Satoru looked concerned.
“I suppose so,” you mumbled.
Scoffing, he shook his head. “What a barbarian.”
Again, you found yourself glancing into the darkness of the trees, despising the idea that Sukuna might potentially be listening in on the exchange, waiting for you to slip up. If he was, you wanted him to be certain that you weren’t going along with Satoru’s complaints towards him.
“He’s not…a barbarian,” you whispered. Despite Sukuna’s treatment of you, it wasn’t so easy for you to cast aside your master. You loved him, you’d always loved him, it was practically built into your body. If he wanted to use you, he was free to do so, if he wanted to kill you, that was up to him.
Satoru looked sad, carefully withdrawing his hand and dropping it into his lap. It was evident that he’d thought this conversation would go a different way. “Do you enjoy my company?” He asked.
“I do.” There was no point in being dishonest. The green, airy atmosphere that he brought along with his presence was pleasant, and the opportunity to speak aloud to someone for once in your lonely life felt freeing, even if you knew it to be wrong. But that was where your rule-breaking would stop. You could dip your toes in the pools of possibility, but there were lines you would never cross.
“I was here last night, you know.” He spoke.
A chill ran through you at his words.
“Is that how your visits from him always play out? Letting him have his way with you without so much as a hello? Receiving everything he could possibly want and then leaving you cold and shivering on the floor, praying for a sliver of his affection?”
You wondered if Sukuna had known that Satoru was watching, if he’d revelled in the idea of an audience. Perhaps he simply didn’t care at all, why should it bother him if there was someone watching him lay claim to what was his?
“That’s my role,” you said mechanically, upon the realisation that Satoru was waiting for an answer.
“And again I must ask, you’re happy with that role?”
“Yes.”
“Happy for him to leave you in solitude? To take you with such violence and then berate you for talking to another, all while he’s free to do as he pleases?”
“Yes.” You lied, more than happy to pretend that you didn’t spend your nights dreaming of more, fantasising about a life in which you could stay in Sukuna’s embrace, rather than wrapped in the cool emptiness of his temple.
“And when you grow older? When your looks start to fail you and he ceases his visits, how do you think you'll feel about your role then?”
The anxiety gripped your heart like a vice. The thought of Sukuna discarding you entirely was something you’d often considered, seeping into the cracks of your mind on your loneliest nights. There was nothing you could do to stop it, for time would march on and you would age, and he would find some new beautiful priestess to have as his favourite.
“You’ll miss him.” Satoru said, answering the question for you. “You’ll lament and suffer and wish that he’d given you something to keep. You’ll realise that all your faith and devotion meant nothing to him, while he meant everything to you.”
Tears began to stream down your cheeks before you could stop them, and you found yourself recoiling away from Satoru, feeling suddenly cold.
“There will be no worth to your life, no honor given to you for your devotion and service. He’ll discard you, just as he discards everything that no longer qualifies as interesting to him. If your loneliness is strong now, it is nothing to what it will be when he’s gone for good, fascinated wholly with another while you wither into obscurity.”
A whimper escaped you, tears dripping onto the grass below as the god before you laid out the future that you’d never wished to consider. Perhaps he was the god of prophecy, witnessing your fate even before it could play out, but he didn’t need to be for your path to stand clear - it had always been obvious to you that things could only end one way.
Sukuna would cast you out, and that would be that.
“I don’t- I can’t-”
“Shhh.” Satoru moved closer, curling around you in a gentle embrace. “Not all is lost.”
Shoulders shaking, you let him hold you, overwhelmed by such a lovely show of warmth and affection that you’d lacked your whole life. He was cooing quietly, stroking your hair with one hand and wiping your tears with the other. It was like he’d ripped your broken heart from your chest just so he could prove to you that it was in pieces, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with that.
You shouldn’t have huddled up against him, shouldn’t have allowed his comfort, but what was a mere human supposed to do? Whether you obeyed Sukuna or not, the outcome of him casting you aside one day wouldn’t change.
At least for now, if you disobeyed him, you could experience comfort for once.
The two of you stayed there for a long time, long enough that by the time Satoru was pulling away, you felt like you’d almost melded into his slender form. “I can make you my priestess, I can make you my world. Beauty like yours is rare, and would never cast it aside like he does, not in old age. I would leave you not in solitude, but keep you in the warmth of my arms for eternity if you’d allow me.”
“I can’t, I’m his, I want to be his, I-”
“He’ll never be yours.” His blue eyes were sparkling as he regarded you with a serious look, one filled with desire. “But I can be. I have gazed upon you for longer than I should admit, have stalked about in these woods and watched Sukuna mishandle beauty that deserves more. Let me give you more.”
Your stomach was churning with anxiety, not sure what to do. Your mind and heart were screaming away about your loyalty to the only master you’d ever known, to the god that you loved, reminding you of the consequences for even hearing Satoru’s offer to completion.
But there was no denying the desire in your body.
You felt warm for the first time in eternity, and you didn’t want the softness of Satoru’s touch to leave you. If you couldn’t be held by the one you loved, then it was better to be held by another than abandoned to loneliness when Sukuna grew tired of you.
Satoru’s fingers were grazing your cheeks with the utmost care, so gentle compared to your master’s rough hands. You mewled softly under his touch, pathetic in the way you leaned up against him, letting him pet you affectionately like you were some treasured cat.
You’d never had much of your own autonomy, always reliant on gods to tell you what you needed to be. You supposed whether that god was Sukuna or Satoru made no real difference. But if one’s light would stay, allowing you to bask in its warmth for a time, that was preferable to one who would leave you to starve in the dark.
As Satoru pulled you up from the floor, you allowed yourself to be cradled within his strong arms, too distraught over the matter of your master to register the peril involved as the god crossed the threshold into the temple, a domain where he was surely not welcome.
Seemingly unphased, he took a seat on one of the marble benches just before the altar, holding you carefully in his lap and drying away the last of your tears. “There, there,” he soothed. “Let me look after you.”
Allowing yourself to melt into his arms, you did nothing to prevent the slow brush of his pink lips against yours, mouth parting for his tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You supposed that in a way, it was, Sukuna had taught you nothing but obedience, so with Satoru’s grip so firm and welcoming, what were you supposed to do if not obey?
Satoru’s lips tasted surprisingly sweet, the faintest taste of cherry lingering upon them. One of hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth in a manner that was more curious than domineering. Your fingers gripped at the fabric of his clothes, anchoring yourself to him, like you might lose yourself in his kiss.
There was no attempt made to prevent his other hand from wandering to the shoulders of your dress, slipping the loose fabric down your arms and allowing it to pool at your waist. Your nipples were perked, whether from arousal or the cool air of the temple, you weren’t quite sure; any thoughts on the matter fled your mind as Satoru broke the kiss and hoisted you up a little, letting his lips find one of your nipples, his tongue flicking against it before taking that sensitive bud into his mouth.
It pulled a pathetic little whine from you as you clung desperately to his shoulders. This wasn’t something that Sukuna had ever done. His focus had never been on your pleasure, but on meeting his own needs - to experience such devoted touch felt strange, but not unpleasant by any means.
One of Satoru’s hands moved up your leg, pushing beneath the remaining fabric of your dress and finding itself in the space between your thighs. His long fingers navigated carefully over your pussy, with a gentleness that your master had never possessed, moving slick through your folds and circling a spot which had you whimpering.
For a few minutes, you were lost in it all. You were off somewhere else in your mind, in some lovely field that befitted Satoru’s pleasant atmosphere, where the two of you could lay beneath the sun and make love amongst the flowers for all eternity.
It was an illusion that shattered quickly.
Satoru was just in the process of repositioning you. He’d discarded your white dress entirely, carrying you over to the altar and lifting you to sit atop something that you’d previously only ever been bent over. He’d spread your legs and knelt down before you, peering up from his place beneath you with an expression laden with desire.
His breath had fanned over your exposed core, your body trembling at his proximity, in desperate anticipation of what it might feel like to have his tongue pressed up against you.
But the moment he leaned in to give you what you’d been awaiting with bated breath, a large hand found its way into your hair and dragged you violently to the ground. You yelped desperately, struggling beneath an unwavering grip, your shoulder aching where it had bashed against the marble.
“Stay still.” The voice was cold and bone-chillingly familiar.
Sukuna wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were fixed evenly on Satoru, who was carefully picking himself up off the floor. His neck and chest was stained with a gold liquid, flowing from a cut which was swiftly closing itself up on his pale neck.
Blinking, panic began to rise up in your chest. You wanted to fidget, to beg Sukuna for mercy and forgiveness, but such an action would be foolish, so you stayed deathly still in his grip, a rabbit accepting its fate within the jaws of a wolf.
“I suppose you find this amusing, an attempt to defile what’s mine within my own temple. Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Sukuna’s voice was calm, with a dangerous edge to it. He was addressing Satoru alone, still not bothering to spare a glance at you.
Satoru shrugged, an impish grin spreading across his face. “I thought you were busy.”
Sukuna scoffed. “If I broke into one of your frivolous brothels that you refer to as temples, you’d know the second I took a step over the threshold. So what was this? An attempt to upset me?”
“Why would you be upset?” Satoru asked, pleasantly.
“You know I don’t like to share,” he said, his grip on you tightening.
“You have any number of lovely priestesses, where’s the harm in letting me have one?” Sukuna’s red eyes flickered with annoyance, and for the first time he looked at you, a mix of fury and disappointment present on his terrifyingly beautiful face.
“And you. How dare you?” He asked, dismissing Satoru’s question entirely, his full attention fixed on your quivering form. “Speak.” He barked when you failed to answer swiftly.
“He- I- I’m sorry-”
There was no explanation for your lack of loyalty, nothing beyond admitting that you were afraid to be alone, that you loved Sukuna so deeply that you could no longer bear the nature of your relationship. But telling him that would make him just as angry as telling him nothing.
You weren’t supposed to want anything. You were nothing more than a servant to him with no will of her own.
You yelped as he slapped you hard across the face, ears ringing at the force of the blow. “I should kill you for this, rip you apart for offering yourself to another. To receive what I give you is an honour, and you’re too much of a whore to be thankful.” He spat.
“I am, I am thankful.” You were mumbling as you tried to sit up, stumbling over your words as one of Sukuna’s hands came to press down on your delicate neck. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to- I was scared-”
“Scared?” Sukuna’s tone was mocking, his eyes alight with fury. “Scared of him?” He asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of Satoru, who was watching on with detached curiosity. The sight made your stomach churn, because that man’s honeyed words had moved and confused you and now he seemed unbothered by the whole matter.
Such was the way of gods, as your parents used to say. Mortals were little more than ants to them.
“Not scared of h-him.” Your answer was honest, because you didn’t truly believe Satoru to be a threat to you. Had you turned him down outside you were certain that he would’ve left you be, the issue was that he’d understood exactly what to say to get you to give in.
You were a fool, falling for nothing more than a silver tongue.
“Then what? Because there is nothing you should fear more than my wrath, little priestess, I thought you were smart enough to understand at least that.”
His grip was tightening as he leant more of his weight atop you, keeping you helplessly still. Your lungs started to burn, fingers reaching up to grapple at his wrist to no avail.
You could hardly fend off a human man, let alone the god of war himself.
“I fear- I fear your absence.” You confessed honestly, humiliation filling you at the sheer patheticness of your words. It was an insult to voice such things, to expect that you’d be worthy of his time or attention in any capacity.
Sukuna’s red eyes flew wide at your words and his grip faltered ever so slightly. “My…absence?”
“Yes,” you whispered. “One day you’ll leave me alone in the dark for good and I’ll h-have nothing.”
For a moment he was silent, brow furrowed as if in thought, before seemingly regaining his composure, his expression hardening.
“So you thought to whore yourself out to this fool instead?” He spat. “Forsake everything I’ve taught you, the very vow that you should live by, because you’re afraid of being lonely?”
You nodded as best as you could beneath his grip. “I’m sorry-“
“Pathetic. I’d thought of you as one of my best. I suppose I misjudged you.”
The disappointment in his tone had tears prickling at your eyes, filled to the brim with guilt. In the heat of the moment, Satoru’s points had made sense, had tugged at all your deepest fears. But now, with Sukuna’s weight pressing down upon you, all you could think about was how much of a fraud you were.
How spectacularly you’d failed at the one thing that gave your life meaning.
“Are- are you going to kill me?” Your voice was tiny, for beneath the judgement of your cherished master you were nothing more than a scared girl who understood little of gods and their whims.
Again, there was a flicker of something uncertain on Sukuna’s face, like he hadn’t anticipated those words to fall from your lips. You barely tensed as his fingers tightened around your throat once more, leaving you certain that he was moments from squeezing the life from your fragile body.
Part of you hoped Satoru would step in, but it was clear that he wouldn’t, simply lounging on one of the marble benches, watching the exchange with rapt attention. It was becoming apparent that he hadn’t had your best intentions in mind, no more of a friend to you than Sukuna was.
Perhaps all he’d wanted was to have some fun with some poor, hapless mortal.
Letting your eyes flutter closed, you sank back against the marble, accepting the fate Sukuna had deemed befitting of your crime. But before the sweet release of death could find you, the grip on your neck disappeared along with the weight of his body above you.
“You’re not even worth that,” Sukuna hissed, leaving you crumpled and gasping for breath, utterly confused and broken by his decision. “Drown in your sorrow, for I’ll give you nothing.”
It was the perfect humiliation, a suggestion that you weren’t even worth attention in the form of death, and before you could stop yourself you were sobbing openly, your cries bouncing around the marble walls.
Sukuna paid you no mind, heavy feet slamming across the floor in the direction of the doorway, only to freeze at the sound of Satoru’s calm voice from behind him.
“Like you’ve ever given her anything.”
“What?” Sukuna hissed, peering over his shoulder.
“You heard me. She told you what she feared, why she did this, and you still don’t understand. You’ve always been a fool,” Satoru chirped.
Sukuna remained frozen to the spot as the white-haired god approached you, crouching down behind you and pulling you carefully into his grip.
“How many times have you visited this temple, Sukuna?” Satoru’s fingers were toying with your body, running across your soft skin. His fingers brushed over your nipples and you flinched ever so slightly, your breathing picking up as his hand moved between your legs. Despite the situation you could feel your arousal growing, the sensation only heightened by the crimson eyes fixed fiercely onto your figure.
“What does it matter?”
“Do you remember?” Satoru purred against your ears.
You nodded, struggling to find your voice. “Eighty-three times.” You whispered, meekly. You could remember each visit with staggering clarity, no matter how similar each one may have been.
Satoru whistled. “That’s a lot. How often do you visit your other temples, Sukuna? Once? Twice? Never?”
The fingers dancing over your skin didn’t stop, and you felt that familiar pleasure building beneath Satoru’s touch, a pleasant comfort buzzing through your veins and chasing away the desperate fear which had plagued you moments ago. You saw Sukuna’s throat bob, a flicker of something deeply unhappy in his eyes as Satoru slipped a finger into you once more, all for him to see.
“I don’t see why it's any of your concern,” he said, finally.
“No? I suppose you don’t mind then, that I’m doing this to your favourite priestess. I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I made her one of mine, fucked her over my altar just like you used to.”
“I suppose not. She’s nothing. Just some pretty mortal who can’t even follow rules.” Sukuna’s tone was even, but still he didn’t move. His eyes were watching Satoru carefully, as if assessing his next steps.
“Great.” Satoru picked you up, and sat you down on the altar once more, back in the position that he’d put you in so carefully before Sukuna’s arrival. “I won’t waste any time then.” Discarding his own clothes, he dropped them down onto the marble. Your eyes scanned his form nervously - you were accustomed to being with Sukuna, familiar with his size, and found yourself glad to see that Satoru was smaller.
Not that you meant that in any sort of disparaging way.
He had a pretty cock, still thick and girthy, but the type that would bring you pleasure rather than stretch you out to the point of pain. Satoru smiled as he gazed down at you, a reassuring look that had your heart fluttering. Carefully he cupped your face, running his thumb over the purple bruise blossoming over your cheek.
Fingers clinging to his shoulders, you sucked in a breath as he ran the tip of his cock through your folds. And yet, you couldn’t keep your attention fixed on the man before you, your gaze instinctively drifting to the hulking god standing in the doorway. His red gaze met yours, and there was a moment of terror in which you wondered if he’d kill you for looking at him without permission.
Instead, he held your stare, your heart beating harder as Satoru started to push into you, imagining that it was Sukuna holding you so tenderly, pushing into you with care and desire beyond animalistic need.
“Stop.” Sukuna uttered the word in such a low tone that you weren’t quite sure you’d caught it, figuring it was a hallucination born from your own need for the god. When he repeated it a second time, there was no mistaking its reality, for it came out as a bellow, a new deep cut appearing across Satoru’s back.
And then another.
And another.
Until the white-haired god was covered in a litany of slashes, pulling back from you swiftly, leaving you cold in your propped up position upon the altar. Your body began to tremble, hardly noticing the way Satoru was cursing off to the side of you, desperately trying to heal the damage Sukuna had caused to him.
You were too transfixed by your master storming towards you, wondering if Satoru’s slight had led Sukuna to change his mind about killing you.
With your breath picking up desperately, you were sure that you looked utterly terrified as he came to a stop before you, towering over you just as he always did. His shadow completely eclipsed you, and the hairs on your arm were standing on end, the desire to run overcoming you. But you’d seen what had happened to Satoru, a being who couldn’t be killed - one singular slash would spell your end.
“Tell me,” Sukuna said calmly. “What is it that you want? Do you despise me? Do you long for him and his temples of light?”
“No.”
“No?”
You shook your head again.
“Then what?”
“I told you already.” Your voice was soft and small. “I love you, and I want- I want you to love me.” It felt pathetic to say out loud, to give voice to a request so selfish and impossible. What were you to your master?
Nothing more than a mortal priestess.
And yet, after a moment of thought, he answered your question seriously. “I am no god of love. It is not something I could give to you even if I wanted to.”
Before he could say anything further, he was interrupted by the sound of Satoru’s laughter. The sound came out a little odd, making a gargling noise like he was choking on his own blood as he desperately tried to heal his wounds. “You’re such a fool, Sukuna.”
Glaring at him, Sukuna’s brows furrowed and another slash appeared across Satoru’s chest. It didn’t seem to phase him - in the time that you’d spent with him, you’d come to realise that few things did.
“Why do you visit her so frequently? Why indulge in her flesh when you have countless others? What reason can you give?” Satoru pushed. “I have seen you murder for matters most frivolous, but when you find her, your most devoted little thing, in the arms of another you let her go free? Cause her no more injury than a mere strike?”
“I do as I please, I need to offer you no explanation for my actions.” Sukuna hissed, still pinning you beneath his gaze as he dismissed his peer.
“No, but maybe you should try offering yourself one.”
Sukuna was frozen, his expression unchanging as he stared down at you. You weren’t sure what to make of the glimmer in your eye, feeling completely exposed beneath his gaze. You wanted to sink into the floor, didn’t want to endure any further humiliation or dismissal. You understood your place with great clarity, you needed no further confirmation.
“I’m sorry, please, there’s nothing wrong with our arrangement. I’m wrong to be upset. It's my role to serve whatever you desire. I’m sorry.” You chanted out apologies like a prayer, unsure as to what was going through Sukuna’s mind. You were shifting about awkwardly on the altar, feeling too vulnerable beneath his gaze.
“Oh stop, you. That’s not what you really think.” Satoru cut in. “I’ve been watching you long enough to know your mind, and I’ve always known his. I’d appreciate it if you both stop wasting my time.”
“Stop wasting…?” You faltered, falling silent, struggling to understand Satoru’s words. He ran a hand carefully through his hair, gaze flickering between you and Sukuna.
Sukuna's brow furrowed further, finally pulling his gaze from you to look at his fellow god. “I knew you were playing some kind of game.”
“Oh please, you constantly go off to some poxy little temple on an island forgotten by all of us and expect me not to notice something odd? I had to take a look at what had captured your attention, and to see how you were handling it made me feel embarrassed. I figured I’d give you a push in the right direction. Now go on. Stop lying to yourself.”
For a moment, it seemed like Sukuna might make a move to attack Satoru, clear rage smouldering in the crimson of his eyes. But by some miracle, his attention turned back to you, and that anger dissipated, giving way to an expression which you were unfamiliar with.
Shaking, your breath hitched as his fingers trailed beneath your chin. You couldn’t follow what was happening, struggling to piece together the role that Satoru had played here, unclear on whether Sukuna had forgiven you, half convinced that he’d behead you for the annoyance that Satoru had caused him.
Instead, he leant forward, breath fanning against your face.
“Do you even know how to kiss?” Satoru interrupted. “She likes that, you know, seemed desperate for it when I-”
“Silence.”
Sukuna’s thumb stroked along your jaw, and you blinked nervously, eyes darting anywhere but his face. This was uncharted territory, unaccustomed to facing him like this at all, let alone being treated with such tenderness. Anxiety swirled in your stomach, conscious that this act of warmth might be something final.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and you did, staring directly into the deep crimson of his eyes.
The kiss that followed was slow, stealing the breath from your lungs as his lips pressed against yours, almost tentatively. It was in stark contrast to his usual vigor and aggression, the contact careful in nature.
His tongue pressed into your mouth, dominating you as was always his way, but not devouring you completely as he usually would. The exploration was more like a dance, his tongue flicking curiously against yours as one of his hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him.
The warmth of his body was new to you, accustomed solely to the weight of him taking you from behind, completely detached from heat and affection. To feel his chest against yours, radiating heat against your smaller form, had your heart racing.
“Not so hard, is it?” Satoru quipped, only for Sukuna to pull away for a moment and fix him with a glare.
“I will chop you into pieces.”
“Pretend I’m not here.” Satoru raised his hands defensively, and that seemed to be good enough for Sukuna, his attention turned back to you. Your lashes were fluttering, legs pressing against his waist, the sweat forcing your skin to stick against his.
“What-”
“You should stay quiet too.” He spoke, albeit more softly than the sharp tone directed to Satoru. “Lest I change my mind.”
You took his order as gospel, clamping your mouth shut and deciding that you didn’t need an explanation at that moment, despite your confusion. If he was going to treat you with reverence, you’d rather experience such a thing firsthand than force an explanation out of him.
There was no way you’d take the risk of disrupting whatever was currently taking place.
Leaning in once more, you instinctively closed your eyes at his approach, a little surprised as he stalled just before contact, the skin of his lips ghosting against yours. A hand went to your cheek, brushing over the flowering purple bruise. Wincing, you found yourself watching him carefully, like a deer assessing a new being in the forest, one whose level of threat remained unclear.
Caressing the bruise, he let out a heavy sigh before a lovely sense of warmth spread through your face, emitting from his hand. Moments later it was gone, along with the throbbing pain in your cheek, like he’d undone the damage he’d caused.
Before you could question it or thank him, his lips were on yours once again, soft and enticing, pulling you against him in an embrace that felt reserved for lovers, rather than one of a god getting his fill of a servant.
His four hands started to roam over your body, brushing your breasts, squeezing your thighs, feeling you as if it were the first time his hands had touched your flesh. One of his hands moved between your legs, experimentally moving the slick through your folds, a thick finger dipping into you.
Such attention had you whining against him, a sound that was swiftly swallowed by his lips. His finger was thicker than Satoru’s had been, working you open carefully, an action he had never thought to take in the past. You couldn’t understand the effect that Satoru had created within him, unsure as to how he’d gone from hitting and rejecting you, to offering you affection he’d never allowed before.
He slid another finger into you, stretching you out until he was satisfied, his lips locked against yours until he was pulling his fingers back. “Suck.” He ordered gruffly, a trace of his old self present in the way his fingers pressed against your lips, forcing their way into your mouth.
Satoru made a sound of disapproval in the background, reminding you of his presence, but if Sukuna heard, he paid the man no mind. He seemed too focused on your body spread out before him, your wide eyes looking up at him nervously.
He shed his clothes in a single action, letting the fabric pool on the floor beside yours. Your eyes instinctively moved down to where his cock hung heavy between his legs, the monstrous size never failing to steal your breath away. You could hardly believe the number of times he’d sheathed the thing within you without any effort of preparation, your body adapting because it was what he required.
This time was different.
Mirroring the treatment that Satoru had given you earlier, Sukuna carefully ran the tip of his cock through your folds, red eyes fixed on your face. You felt shy, eager to turn your face away. It was easier to do this in the manner he usually would, with you bent over while he took you from behind. Gazing upon him so openly felt too vulnerable for your liking, even if the lust in his eyes had your heart racing.
“You are my favoured one.” Sukuna’s voice was deep, “understand that, because I do not wish to speak more on the matter.”
Lips parting, the question of what that meant dangled on your tongue. To you it suggested the situation was the same as before - for now he favoured you, in a few years time the matter would be different.
He seemed to understand your concern before you could voice it.
“I will not toss you aside for something as trivial as old age. To attract my attention is something significant, not a matter of simple youthful looks.” A yelp fell from your throat as he pushed himself into you, easily filling you to the brim, just like he always would.
You had a million questions running through your mind, wondering where his true feelings towards you lay. It was clear that Satoru understood him better than you did, pushing him to some sort of conclusion that he wouldn’t have stumbled upon on his own.
“Do not betray me again.” He huffed in your ear, breath warm against your skin. “Do so and I will not forgive you, you’ll receive no more mercy than my enemies would. But cling to your loyalty and I will give you what you seek. You’ll have my attention, my affection, for as long as you deserve it.”
“I’ll offer you everything.” The words came out breathy, your body twitching as he withdrew himself from you only to fill you up once more, rewarding you with long deep strokes that held far more affection than the frenzied fucking that you’d usually receive from him.
You found your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, drawing blood and marring his perfect form with each brutal thrust, simply trying to cling onto him. Your cries were loud, echoing within the marble just as they always had, but the nature this time was different, for your cries were ones of pleasure rather than desire for more.
Sukuna’s breaths were heavy, rasping hard against your ear with each smooth movement of his hips. The passion had your eyes rolling back in your skull, babbling out his name pathetically, demonstrating your loyalty to him in your ecstatic reaction to his actions.
This was all you’d ever wanted.
An opportunity that had once seemed impossible.
His fingers were bruising your thighs, pulling you closer with each stroke, and as your thighs tightened around his hips, one of his hands slipped down between the two of you, rubbing that sensitive nub that he’d never deigned to touch before, always too focussed on chasing his own gratification.
Lights danced in your eyes at the contact, a desperate cry of his name ripping from your throat as you squeezed around him, cumming on his cock. It felt almost humiliating to find pleasure before him like that, something that he’d never been interested in witnessing in past visits.
If you ever came with him inside of you before, it was an accident rather than intention.
This time, he seemed to have driven you to it, nipping at your neck and circling your clit carefully, even after you’d gushed all over him.
Of course, his hips still didn’t let up, fucking you fast and deep until he reached his own release, his arms wrapped tight around your smaller form, pulling you as close as humanely possible as he poured his own seed into you, finding satisfaction in the way that it dripped down your sweaty thighs and onto the altar below.
Past experience led you to believe that he’d pull away immediately, dropping you down unceremoniously onto the ground, with little regard to the damage it might cause your fragile body.
But this time he did no such thing.
He lifted you carefully, cradling you within his muscular arms and sitting down upon the cool floor, keeping you warm within the confines of his lap. Your heart was speeding at one hundred miles a minute, your fingers pressing against his chest, clinging to him as if he’d disappear if you let go for even a moment.
A hand was brushing your hair, another stroking your thigh, while two were wrapped firmly around your midsection. All four of his eyes were fixed on you too, no distractions in the manner you’d come to expect from him, his focus was on you alone.
You were his, and at least to some extent, he was yours.
“How sweet.” Satoru’s saccharine voice sounded from across the room. The god was leaning his face on his hand, blue eyes sparkling as he watched the exchange. Sukuna straightened up ever so slightly, fixing him with a glare.
“Leave,” he commanded.
“Aw, not even a thank you? You’re so ungrateful.” The white-haired god stood up, a pout fixed on his pink lips.
“A thank you for doing your job? No one thanks me for starting wars, so why would I thank you for orchestrating a union? Love is nothing special.”
“I could’ve sabotaged your love. Kept that pretty little thing all to myself.” He pointed in your direction, offering Sukuna a toothy grin. “In fact, if you cross me I still might. I can make people fall out of love too if I so wish, irritate me and I’ll put a curse on your favoured mortal.”
Sukuna’s face was stormy, his grip tightening on you in a manner that felt almost protective. “Meddle in matters of my heart ever again and I’ll cut you to pieces and spread them across the corners of the globe. I’m sure no one would miss a few centuries without you.”
“So prickly.” Satoru rolled his eyes. “I hope you’re kinder to her. How she could ever fall for you is beyond my reckoning.”
Sukuna peered down at you, and through the centuries of malice lining his ancient, war-scarred face, you could see it - the soft twinkle in his eyes as he met your gaze. The sharp edges of a god of massacre, tempered only for you.
He would keep his promise.
His affection would not be altered by lines of age on your face. Despite all his shortcomings, he was loyal to his word, and he had offered you a piece of his heart no matter how shrivelled and blackened it may be.
And you would cherish that gift for as long as you drew breath.
a/n: NEED HIM BAD <3
anyway to any crazy in love readers I'm currently working on the next chapter and am planning to have it up in the next week or so
thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3
au celebrity vampire remmick x reader
summary : you've been interviewing the world's favorite vampire for over a decade and this time, remmick is taking his chance
(gif by : @just-jack-oconnell)
You adjusted your earpiece and glanced down at the cue cards in your hand. Another premiere, another sea of camera flashes, another night spent balancing charm and professionalism while celebrities swept past in designer gowns and tailored tuxedos.
The red carpet stretched before you like a river of gold light.
"Thirty seconds until we're live," your producer's voice crackled through your earpiece.
You smiled automatically. "Got it."
The entertainment world had changed a lot in the last decade.
Not because of streaming. Not because of social media.
Because vampires existed.
Or rather, because one vampire had stepped into the spotlight and told the world the truth.
Remmick.
Actor. Producer. Singer. Philanthropist.
Ancient vampire.
The first supernatural celebrity to publicly reveal himself.
The revelation had happened twelve years ago during an awards show acceptance speech. One moment he was accepting a lifetime achievement award despite looking barely thirty years old. The next he was calmly explaining that he had actually been born sometime during the late Roman Empire.
The internet had broken for three days.
Now, over a decade later, humanity had mostly adapted.
Mostly.
You certainly had. You'd interviewed him dozens of times.
Unfortunately, that seemed to be the problem - because Remmick had apparently decided he liked you.
A lot.
"You're up."
The camera light flashed red. You instantly switched into broadcast mode.
"Good evening, everyone! We're here live at the premiere of Midnight Kingdom, where Hollywood's biggest stars are arriving right now—"
A roar erupted from somewhere down the carpet. The crowd surged.
You didn't even need to turn around. You knew exactly who had arrived.
Remmick.
The vampire walked onto the carpet surrounded by security and photographers. The effect was immediate.
He was impossibly handsome in a way that felt almost unfair. Black velvet suit. Silver embroidery. Dark hair swept back from sharp cheekbones.
The cameras adored him. The audience adored him. And judging by the grin spreading across his face when he spotted you—
You were in trouble.
"Oh no," muttered your cameraman.
"Yep."
Remmick ignored three reporters.
Then four.
Then an entire international press crew.
And walked directly toward you.
Live. On television. Again.
The crowd immediately began screaming.
"Looks like we have Remmick joining us!" you announced professionally.
Remmick took your hand.
Instead of shaking it, he lifted it and pressed a kiss against your knuckles.
The audience lost its collective mind.
"Good evening," he purred.
You smiled through years of practiced media training.
"Remmick. Great to see you."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"You don't sound convinced."
The viewers at home were eating this up.
You could practically hear social media exploding already.
You laughed politely. "So tell us about the film—"
"You look beautiful tonight."
The crowd screamed louder.
You closed your eyes briefly. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"About the film."
"The film is wonderful."
"Wonderful."
"Though admittedly I was distracted."
"Oh?"
His crimson eyes sparkled.
"You were standing at the end of the carpet."
The crowd practically ascended into another dimension. You maintained your composure through sheer force of will.
"Remmick—"
"Yes?"
"We are live."
"I know."
"Millions of people are watching."
"I know that too."
The grin widened.
"That's what makes it fun."
The audience behind the barricades began chanting your names.
You wanted to disappear. Remmick looked delighted.
After a decade in the public eye, the vampire had become notorious for exactly one thing.
Not drinking blood. Not being immortal.
Flirting. Specifically, flirting with you.
No one knew why. Not even you.
At first everyone assumed it was a joke. Then it continued. For years.
Every premiere.
Every awards ceremony.
Every charity gala.
Every interview.
Every time.
The vampire found you.
And flirted shamelessly. Publicly. Without fear.
You eventually learned that being pursued by an ancient vampire on live television was surprisingly difficult to escape.
"So," you said firmly, "your character—"
"Would also think you're beautiful."
"That's not the question."
"No, but it's true."
The crowd erupted again.
Your producer was laughing so hard through your earpiece she could barely breathe.
Traitor.
You finally managed to steer the interview back toward the movie.
For approximately forty seconds. Then disaster struck.
A photographer called out.
"Remmick! Are you taking her to the after-party?"
The crowd gasped. You froze. Remmick didn't.
"Only if she says yes."
The reaction was immediate. Screaming. Cheering.
You stared at him. Remmick stared back. Completely serious. The smile remained.
But there was something genuine underneath it.
Something that had always been there.
And suddenly you remembered all the little moments over the years.
The way he always sought you out first.
The way he remembered details from conversations months earlier.
The way he never flirted quite like this with anyone else.
Not really.
Not consistently.
Not for twelve years.
You swallowed.
"That's a dangerous question to answer on television."
"Why?"
"Because if I say no, the internet will riot."
Remmick laughed.
The sound was rich and warm and surprisingly human for someone who had witnessed empires rise and fall.
"And if you say yes?"
You raised an eyebrow.
"The internet will riot."
"Fair point."
For a moment neither of you spoke. The cameras remained fixed on both of you.
Waiting. Watching.
Then Remmick leaned slightly closer. Not enough to invade your space. Just enough that only you could hear his next words.
"I've been asking in increasingly obvious ways for years."
Your heart skipped. "Years?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve years?"
"Immortality teaches patience."
You stared. He looked entirely sincere. Which was somehow more alarming than the flirting. Because suddenly all those years made sense.
The interviews.
The attention.
The ridiculous public declarations.
The impossible consistency.
He hadn't been entertaining himself.
He'd been courting you.
Like some ancient romantic trapped in the body of a Hollywood superstar. Your earpiece crackled. The producer sounded hysterical.
"Oh my God, ask him out. Ratings are through the roof."
You ignored her. Professionalism. You still had professionalism. Mostly.
"Remmick."
"Yes?"
"You realize you're saying this on live television."
"I've lived for nearly two thousand years."
He smiled softly.
"At some point, embarrassment stops mattering."
The crowd collectively melted. And to your horror, you felt yourself smiling. Really smiling.
Not the polished red-carpet version.
The real one.
Remmick noticed immediately.
His expression softened. The teasing vanished. Leaving behind something unexpectedly tender.
The cameras caught everything.
"So," you asked quietly.
"So?"
"You still interested after twelve years?"
The vampire's eyes never left yours.
"Ask me again in another thousand."
For the first time in your broadcasting career, you completely forgot the next question on your cue cards.
For one horrifying second, your brain stopped functioning.
Not professionally.
Not romantically.
Not even biologically.
Just completely.
The crowd was screaming.
Your producer was screaming.
The internet was almost certainly screaming.
And standing in front of you was an ancient vampire who had just admitted, on live television, that he'd essentially been courting you for twelve years.
Waiting.
For your answer.
You laughed.
A short, nervous sound that escaped before you could stop it.
"Oh my God."
The audience immediately got louder.
Remmick's smile softened.
Not triumphant.
Not smug.
Just hopeful.
Which somehow made this worse.
You pressed a hand to your forehead.
"This is not how I imagined my evening going."
"No?"
"No."
"What was your prediction?"
"I was expecting questions about your movie."
"The movie is excellent."
"Remmick."
"Yes?"
"Focus."
His grin returned.
"You're asking the impossible."
The crowd practically howled.
You could feel heat rising to your face.
Fantastic.
Millions of people were watching.
Your coworkers would never let you live this down.
Your family would absolutely be sending screenshots.
And social media was probably already creating edits.
You took a breath.
Then another.
Remmick waited patiently.
After twelve years, apparently he could spare a few more seconds.
Finally, you looked up at him. Those crimson eyes were fixed entirely on you. Not the cameras. Not the crowd.
You.
The realization made your stomach flip. You laughed again, quieter this time.
Nervous.
Disbelieving.
And maybe— Maybe a little charmed.
"You're serious."
The vampire tilted his head.
"I thought that part was obvious."
"You flirt with everyone."
"I absolutely do not."
The response came so quickly that you blinked. Remmick looked genuinely offended.
The audience burst into laughter.
"You do."
"I flirt recreationally."
"That's not helping your argument."
"It should."
"No."
Remmick sighed dramatically.
"You see what I deal with?"
The crowd cheered.
You couldn't stop smiling now. This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
And yet...
Twelve years.
Twelve years of remembering your favorite coffee order.
Twelve years of seeking out your interviews first.
Twelve years of sending flowers after difficult broadcasts.
Twelve years of finding excuses to talk to you.
You'd always dismissed it as part of his personality.
But now—
Now you weren't so sure.
The vampire watched you carefully.
Not pushing.
Not pressuring.
Just waiting.
For someone who had conquered centuries, he suddenly looked remarkably vulnerable. That was what finally did it.
Not the charm.
Not the flirting.
Not the fact that he was arguably the most famous man on the planet.
The vulnerability. The sincerity.
The fact that after all these years, he seemed genuinely uncertain about your answer.
You shook your head, laughing under your breath.
"This is insane."
"A little."
"The entire world is watching."
"They are."
"My producer is probably having a medical event."
Through your earpiece came a strangled noise that confirmed this.
Remmick laughed. You looked at him. Really looked at him.
Then you made what was almost certainly the most reckless decision of your professional career.
"Well..."
The crowd immediately quieted.
Waiting.
Every camera on the carpet focused on you. Remmick didn't move.
You could almost see centuries of patience holding him perfectly still.
And despite yourself, your smile widened.
"Yes."
For a second, nothing happened.
The crowd seemed frozen.
The photographers seemed frozen.
Even your producer seemed frozen.
As if nobody had expected you to actually say it. Then chaos erupted. The screams were deafening.
You covered your face in embarrassment.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes," Remmick replied.
You peeked through your fingers.
The vampire looked stunned.
Actually stunned.
After everything you'd seen from him over the years, that might have been the biggest surprise of all.
For a brief moment, the ancient, confident celebrity disappeared.
And in his place was a man who looked genuinely happy.
The expression transformed him.
Softened him.
Made him look younger despite being older than entire civilizations.
"You said yes," he said quietly.
You laughed.
"Please don't make me repeat it."
"I've waited twelve years."
"Remmick."
"I deserve to hear it twice."
The crowd agreed enthusiastically.
Traitors.
Every single one of them.
You pointed at him.
"One date."
His smile became positively radiant.
"One date."
"And if it's terrible—"
"It won't be."
"You don't know that."
"I've had two millennia to prepare."
The audience lost their minds again.
Your producer's voice exploded through your earpiece.
"BEST RATINGS OF MY CAREER."
You winced.
Remmick looked delighted.
Of course he did.
Then, before you could recover, he offered his arm.
Elegant.
Old-fashioned.
Straight out of another century.
"Would you do me the honor," he asked, "of accompanying me to the after-party?"
The crowd collectively held its breath.
You stared at the offered arm.
Then at him.
Then at the sea of cameras documenting every second.
There was absolutely no escaping this now.
Tomorrow's headlines were already writing themselves.
You could practically see them.
INTERVIEWER FINALLY SAYS YES TO VAMPIRE HEARTTHROB.
TWELVE-YEAR RED CARPET FLIRTATION ENDS IN DATE.
INTERNET COLLAPSES.
You laughed helplessly.
Then slipped your arm through his.
The roar from the crowd was so loud it echoed off the buildings.
And as Remmick guided you down the red carpet beside him, looking absurdly pleased with himself, you realized something.
For the first time in twelve years—
You weren't interviewing Remmick.
You were his date.
And judging by the look in his eyes, the ancient vampire intended to make that one date very memorable indeed.
MASTERLIST
requests are open, reblog and likes are much much appreciated x
summary: you've never let him in. Not once. And still, every night without fail, he comes crawling back to your doorstep. Thirteen centuries old and rotting with want, Remmick worships you from the porch, drooling thick onto the floorboards, begging for permission to taste. And you? You watch. You love the power. Love the ache in him. Love the way he weeps when you deny him again and again.
But the night you finally say come in—he breaks.
Now that he’s inside, he’s never leaving. Not quietly. Not gently. And not until he crawls all the way inside you and makes a cathedral of your skin.
wc: 5.4k
a/n: based off this prompt that blew up!! It's been exactly one month since I released my first Remmick fic Mercy Made Flesh so it felt fitting to release something today, as a thank you for the tidal wave of love and support I've received since!! Seriously it's insane!! So, as a further thank you, I'm hosting a giveaway for followers here if you're interested, as a way to give back to all of you <333 thanks to @ddlydevotion for finding the photo refs for the banner!! and thanks to Liz @fuckoffbard for once again beta reading for me!! credit to Diana @hyoscyxmine for the photo of Remmick she initially edited <333
warnings: vampirism, blood kink, obsessive behavior, feral begging, oral (f! receiving), sub!remmick, somno-adjacent sleepiness, religious undertones, predator/prey dynamics, begging kink, worship kink, voice kink, monsterfucking, marking, blood drinking during sex, degradation, dark romance, possessive partner, crawling kink, aftercare, bite kink, creampie, power imbalance, bodily fluids (drool, blood, etc), control kink, manipulation by omission, mildly blasphemous themes
likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, please enjoy!!
Masterlist
You've never let him in. Not once.
And still, every night without fail, he shows up like clockwork—barefoot and bloodstained, wife beater stained and torn, revealing a sliver of lean muscle beneath, reeking of smoke and obsession.
Slouched on your porch like a dying dog, scratching at the threshold with dirt-caked nails, mouth open and drooling thick, almost foamy, like hunger’s rotted him from the inside out. His voice is raw from begging. But tonight? Tonight he’s feral.
You've got one leg draped over the door frame, robe hitched up just enough to taunt, a cool glass of iced tea sweating in your hand while he writhes just inches from your feet.
“You cruel little thing,” he rasps, drawl dragging slow and syrupy, his tongue catching on the words like they hurt.
“Y’gon’ make me crawl again, huh? ‘Cause I will. I’ll fuckin’—I’ll get on my belly like a damn animal, just for a taste. Just for a breath of you, sugar.”
His jaw’s slack, saliva roping down his chin, staining the porch dark beneath him as he grips the floorboards hard enough they creak.
“Let me in,” he whimpers, voice cracked and desperate, eyes blown wide.
“Please, I—I cain’t stand it no more. I cain’t fuckin’ breathe without you. Let me in. I’ll behave. I’ll worship you. I’ll—I’ll starve if you don’t.”
Your just watch him, tilt your glass.
“You've lived thirteen centuries, and you're on your knees for a girl in a nightgown?”
He nods, drooling harder, trembling.
“Yes ma’am. I’d beg for thirteen more if it meant you’d finally say the word.”
You don’t answer him at first.
Just lift your drink—slow, lazy, like the heat has made you sun-warmed and lethargic—and watch the ice swirl against the cylindrical sides. Your lips part only enough for a sip, sharp and cold on your tongue, as his voice frays at the threshold like an unraveling thread.
The porch groans under his weight when he shifts, mouth still hanging open, chin wet with the thick rope of saliva that’s already puddled beneath him. He doesn’t even wipe it away anymore. Doesn’t flinch at the indignity. If anything, he leans into it. As if the sloppier he gets, the more beastly and broken, the closer he’ll be to what you want.
Not human. Not civilized. Just yours.
Your bare toes flex against the doorframe—propped up, exposed, painted peach—and his breath stutters when he sees them. His jaw works open wider like he might sink his teeth into the wood instead, like he’s fighting the animal thing in him that wants to bite something until it bleeds.
“You gone quiet, sugar,” he drawls, voice like gravel scraped against wood. “You plannin’ to kill me out here?”
You hum. Just a little. Low in your throat.
Then finally, finally, you lean forward just a bit, letting the hem of your robe fall loose from your thigh, letting him see the curve of it where the porchlight catches golden on your skin. You know what you’re doing. You always know.
“You look like shit, Remmick.”
He moans—moans—like the insult made him hard.
“I—I know, baby. I know,” he gasps, crawling an inch closer on his knees, voice choked with some terrible, trembling reverence. “I’d tear out my fuckin’ ribs if it meant you’d give me one more breath. Just one. I’m—I’m so close to bein’ bones out here.”
His hands drag slow across the floorboards, smearing blood and spit as he chases your shadow like it might feed him. His claws are cracked and dirty, black at the edges, clacking like dull knives as he reaches for you.
But he won’t cross the threshold. Can’t.
Not unless you say the word.
You drag one foot down, let it press lightly against his chest, the ball of it nestling into the place where his heart doesn’t beat. You feel the way he flinches at the touch like it hurts him, like your skin is too holy for his body to bear. He makes a sound deep in his chest—part growl, part sob—and his head drops forward.
He presses his forehead to your ankle. Worships it.
“You’re a goddamn sickness,” you whisper, soft and cruel.
“I am, baby,” he breathes. “You made me sick. Ruined me good, didn’t you?”
And oh, how he sounds ruined.
You tilt your glass again, watch the last ice cube swirl and crack, watch his tongue dart out as if he could taste it from the air. His pupils are blown, wide and dark and endless, and his mouth keeps trying to form the word please like it’s the only one he remembers anymore.
A breeze rolls over the porch, stirring the trees, carrying the scent of you—hibiscus lotion, clean skin, cool linen and blood beneath it all—and Remmick shudders like a dying thing. His hips roll into the floor like he’s fucking the air, like scent alone could push him to the edge.
“Let me in,” he begs again, softer now. “Let me in before I do somethin’ wicked.”
You lean closer, dragging your foot up his chest and under his chin, tilting his face up toward you like a command.
“You already are wicked.”
He smiles, wild and ruined.
“Yes ma’am. And I’d be worse for you.”
You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch.
Then you pull your foot away and stand, letting the robe slip an inch lower on your hips as you do. He tracks the movement like an animal locked on prey, hands gripping the wood, teeth bared like he might bite the air between you.
But you say nothing.
You turn, walk back into the house, and the door swings shut with a slow, echoing click.
And Remmick?
He stays there on the porch, slack-jawed, drooling, whispering your name like a prayer he wasn’t meant to know, his muscles flexing as his arms come up over his head in desperation, thick and defined, his face pinched in pain, fractals of dying light dancing off the worn gold of his chain, off the sweaty creases highlighting his biceps.
| six months ago |
You didn’t move here expecting silence.
You expected a little mold, sure. Some creaky floorboards, maybe a wasp’s nest under the porch or a possum in the crawlspace. You expected the gnats. You expected the heat. You expected the isolation.
But not the silence.
Not this bone-deep, split-the-world-open kind of silence. The kind that settles between your ribs and listens to your heartbeat like it’s trying to time its own.
The house—your house now, left to you by some long-dead aunt you don’t remember—is old and sagging at the edges. It leans a little to the right. The paint is peeled and sun-faded, the porch boards bow like a tired back, and the front screen door barely stays shut unless you wedge a rock into it.
But the bones are good. The land is wild and wide and humming with secrets.
And the silence? You’ve started to like it.
Until one night, it breaks.
It’s not thunder. Not a tree branch. Not the slam of a car door or the high bark of a neighbor’s dog. It’s slower than that. Heavier. Like footsteps made of velvet and grave dirt, deliberate and soft, but too certain to be harmless.
You hear it just past dusk, when the sky is soaked in pinks and bruised purples, and the porch light buzzes weakly behind you. You’re sitting on the front step, knees up, the sweat from your lemonade collecting in droplets between your thighs. Your robe’s open at the chest. The heat has stuck it to the small of your back. You haven’t seen a soul all week.
And then—
“Evenin’, darlin’.”
You look up.
There’s a man standing just past the gate. Barefoot. Broad-shouldered. Dressed like a memory from somewhere you’ve never lived—boots slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a face that looks like it’s been carved from heartbreak.
You can smell weathered leather. Wet pennies. Something faintly intoxicating.
You don’t move. Neither does he.
He’s handsome, you think, in a way that feels off. Like he walked out of a photograph too old to be yours. His hair is a mess, dark and sweat-matted at the temples. There’s a thin scar along his throat. He looks...starved. But not in the way that makes you pity him.
In the way that makes you want to keep your distance.
Still, you don’t get up. You don’t speak. The air between you thickens, trembles.
He tips his head slightly, a crooked smile cutting across his face.
“You look like you could use some company.”
You don’t invite him in.
You don’t say much at all.
Just glance toward the horizon, murmur something about supper, and let the screen door slam behind you before he can take a step forward. You watch through the curtains as he lingers at the gate, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying to look harmless.
But you saw the way his eyes followed your legs. You saw how he noticed the sweat beading at your neck. How he inhaled when you passed him.
You lock the door that night. And the next. But he keeps coming.
First, it’s flowers.
Not from a store. Not anything wrapped in plastic or tied with ribbon. Just a bundle of wildflowers laid gently on your porch, still dusted with dew. You find them in the morning, no note, no explanation.
Then it’s peaches. Sun-warm and soft, their fuzz still clinging with bits of leaf and dirt. You bite into one and taste sweet nectar.
Then it’s a knife. Clean. Sharp. Ornate.
Then a book of poetry. Tattered, spine cracked, pages dog-eared with a name you don’t recognize scribbled inside the cover.
Then the sound of humming—just past the treeline. Low. Gentle. Almost...worshipful.
You don’t see him again for a week.
And when he returns, he stands on the bottom step like he’s been summoned.
You sit in the doorway this time, robe slipping off one shoulder. You’re not afraid. Not curious, either. Just...ready.
Ripe.
He keeps his eyes low. His voice is softer.
“You ain’t said my name yet.”
“I don’t know it,” you say.
He smiles like that hurts him.
“You don’t need it,” he says. “You already own me without it.”
It’s hot enough to peel the paint from the porch railing.
The air hums with crickets, thick as syrup, the kind of Southern heat that presses down on you like hands. Nothing moves. Not the trees. Not the wind. Not even the birds. The silence is alive—dense and waiting, like the breath before a confession.
And there he is. Again.
You hear him before you see him: the soft scrape of skin on wood, the faintest creak of a loose board under bare feet, the hitch in his breath when your scent hits him like perfume and punishment all at once. You left the door open tonight—not all the way, just ajar—and the porch light off. A single candle burns on the windowsill.
He doesn’t knock.
He never does anymore.
Just leans his weight into the frame, like even that much closeness is enough to tide him over for another day. But it’s not. You know it’s not. You can feel it in the way his fingers twitch. In the way he shifts his hips. In the way the wood creaks beneath his knees when he starts to lower himself.
You don’t speak.
You just watch.
The hem of your robe rides high on your thighs, your legs bare and smooth against the old floorboards, one knee bent, one foot outstretched. You could shut the door. You don’t. You could invite him in—but that’s not the game.
You’ve seen how he suffers.
And you love the way he suffers.
He’s filthy tonight. Shirtless and sweaty, streaked with soot and dry blood that canaled in the defined avenues of his abs, a bruise blooming along one side of his ribcage. His hair’s a mess. His eyes look hollow. His lips are parted, pink and trembling, like he’s been mouthing your name into the dirt all night long.
When he drops to his knees, it’s not a performance. Not anymore. There’s no seduction in it. Just ache. Just need.
He whispers something you don’t quite catch—your name, maybe, or the shape of a prayer that lost its way. You hear him drag his nails against the porch, slow and rhythmic, like he’s trying to carve your initials into the floor.
“I dreamed of you again,” he rasps.
His voice is shredded. Used up.
“You were wearin’ that white thing. The one with the lace at the top. You smelled like vanilla and thunder. You called me darlin’ and I almost cried.”
You breathe through your nose, slow and even, but your thighs shift. You don’t think he notices, but he does.
His eyes flick to the motion and he moans—soft and low, broken at the edges. He presses his forehead to the floor like it’s consecrated ground. Like maybe if he can just touch it long enough, you’ll take pity.
“Please.”
The word is wet in his mouth. He says it again.
“Please, I—I don’t care what you do to me. Don’t even have to let me in. Just talk to me, sugar. Just say somethin’. Let me hear your voice. Let me see you.”
You shift in the doorway.
Then you speak—finally—voice quiet and even, your glass catching the candlelight as you raise it to your lips.
“Why do you keep coming here?”
He whimpers.
“‘Cause I cain’t not. ‘Cause you’ve got me chained up in here—” He presses a palm to his chest, hard enough you can hear the bones creak. “—and I like it. I fuckin’ like it, baby. Ain’t that sick?”
You don’t respond.
Instead, you lean forward just enough to let your fingers curl over the frame of the door, letting your robe fall slightly open at the neck. His mouth opens wider. His pupils blow black like a hungry shark.
“You want to come in?” you murmur.
His breath catches.
Then he nods. Frantic. Wild.
“Yes. Yes ma’am. Please.”
You tilt your head.
“Why?”
He blinks. He’s confused by the question. Then hurt. Then desperate.
“Because I—I need you. Need what’s inside. I cain’t smell nothin’ else but you. You’re in my fuckin’ blood, sweetheart, and I ain’t never tasted you but it’s killin’ me just knowin’ you’re behind that door.”
He leans forward, mouth brushing the frame. His tongue darts out—not quite licking it, but close—and you see the briefest flick of the forked tip, glistening and trembling with restraint. He pulls it back like he’s ashamed of it, like he wasn’t supposed to let you see that part of him.
Your stomach flips.
You almost say it. Almost.
But then you pull back.
And he breaks.
He wasn’t always like this.
You remember that. You remind yourself of it often—because it makes this part better. Sweeter. Sicker.
Because once upon a time, he tried to play it cool. Casual. Almost charming. Leaned against your gate with that low, lopsided smile, said things like ma’am and pleasure to meet you and you sure keep to yourself, don’t you, sugar?
Now?
He’s a wreck.
On all fours.
Spit roping from his lips in long, trembling strands as he drags himself toward your feet like a dog that’s been kicked too many times but still comes running. His pupils bleed red, eclipsing the black. His shirt is gone. His nails are cracked and black at the edges, scrabbling over the porch boards in slow, shivering motions that match the tremble in his voice.
His mouth hangs open. Tongue wet. Forked.
You can see the way it splits when he pants—like he can’t decide whether to speak or taste or crawl inside you and live there forever.
He looks up at you through his lashes, and it’s not seductive.
It’s pleading.
Pathetic.
Eyes wide and glossy, like something half-feral and half-forgotten, a kicked-puppy expression clinging to him even as he drools down his chin. He’s shaking. His knees have long since gone raw from dragging over your porch, and he presses his forehead to the step just beneath you.
You tilt your glass. Take a sip.
He moans. Loud. Unfiltered. Buckling at the sound.
“God, please,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and slurred like he’s drunk on the smell of you. “Please, I can’t—I can’t take it no more, baby. You’re killin’ me. Killin’ me soft and slow and I fuckin’ love it.”
You shift, just enough for your robe to slide up one thigh.
His hands curl into fists. He bites down on a sob.
“I’ll be so good to you,” he whimpers, dragging himself another inch forward. “You don’t—you don’t know what I could give you. What I wanna give you. What I think about every night with my hand on my cock, prayin’ for a dream of your fuckin’ voice.”
You raise an eyebrow. But you don’t stop him. And that’s all the permission he needs.
“I’d eat it for hours,” he blurts, voice breaking. “I’d keep my tongue on you till you forgot your own name. I’d fuckin’ cry for the chance, darlin’. You don’t know what I’d do just to smell you on my face. Let me clean you up with my mouth. Let me keep you sweet.”
He pants like a sinner, sweating through the knees of his jeans, forked tongue slipping past his lips as he mouths at the space near your ankle. Never quite touching. Never daring.
“I’d make it good for you,” he groans. “Better than anyone. I’d hold you down or let you ride. Whatever you wanted. However you wanted. I’d tear my fuckin’ throat out if it made you wet.”
You stay silent.
Let him spiral.
Let him beg.
Let him drown in everything you’ll never give him.
His jaw hangs slack again, saliva pouring freely now, staining the porch with slick, twitching need. He doesn’t even seem to notice. His hips rock forward once—pathetically—like he’s rutting against the air just from being this close.
Then—
“Say it,” he croaks, wrecked and delirious. “Say the word. Just the once. Just once and I’ll die happy. I’ll let you ruin me every night. Let you bleed me dry, fuck me dumb, use me up ‘til I’m nothing but bones and thank you for it. I’ll be your thing. Your pet. Your meal. Just say it. Say it and let me in.”
You watch him twitch.
You don’t speak.
And that silence?
It undoes him.
He presses his face into the porch and sobs—one sharp, cracked sound that makes your thighs clench—and you think, maybe next time.
Maybe.
But not tonight.
It’s late.
Later than you usually sit up for him.
The air outside smells like wet bark and heat lightning. You’ve just bathed—skin still damp, robe clean, lips glossy with something sweet and sticky you let melt over your tongue before you opened the door.
The floorboards are still slick from the storm earlier, and the moon’s a thin thing, half-ash and half-bone. Somewhere in the trees, something howls.
But he’s louder.
He’s already there when you pull the door open, sprawled out like roadkill—on his side, one cheek pressed against the porch wood, arms limp at his sides, knees bent in. Like he dragged himself here and died at the edge of your mercy.
But when he hears the door creak, he moves.
Head jerks. Eyes flash. His nostrils flare, and he moans—low and open-mouthed, like he’s just caught your scent for the first time all over again.
“Sweetheart,” he gasps, trying to sit up and immediately wobbling, weak from hunger or lust or both. “Sweetheart, I—I dreamed you were gonna open it tonight.”
You say nothing.
He drags himself upright, kneeling again, hands in his lap like a penitent priest waiting for permission to sin. His thighs are slick with drool and sweat and something darker—something old. You don’t ask. He’s trembling.
You step forward.
And he growls.
Low. Feral. Possessive. His shoulders hunch, his nails dig into the wood, his tongue flashes out—forked, twitching—and he presses his forehead to the threshold like it burns him.
“You smell like soap,” he whimpers. “Like you’re clean and warm and wantin’. You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You always do.”
You kneel in front of him, robe gaping where the sash has gone loose.
He chokes.
You brush a knuckle down his cheek. He shudders so violently you think he might break apart at the seams.
And then you whisper it.
Soft. Small.
The word.
“Come in.”
He doesn’t believe you at first.
His body goes very still. Breath caught. Eyes searching your face for the trick. His mouth parts around a sob so sharp it cuts his throat on the way out.
“Wh-what?” he croaks.
“You heard me,” you say, voice low. “You can come in.”
And that’s all it takes.
He lunges.
Not with violence. Not with fury. But with such pure, starved need it knocks the breath out of your lungs. He collapses forward into the doorway like a beast finally slipping its leash, dragging himself across the threshold like it hurts—but in a way he wants.
He weeps.
On his knees again. Hands clutching your thighs. Mouth open and dripping against your bare skin as he repeats your name over and over, shaking, whispering thanks like a dying man kissing dirt.
And he wails—the sound muffled against your flesh, trembling like a man who’s tasted Heaven and is terrified he’ll be dragged back to Hell. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you down with him, until your knees hit the floor and you’re seated right there in the doorway with him cradled between your legs like a body in prayer.
“I’ll be so gentle,” he babbles, licking a stripe up your inner thigh. “I’ll be good. I’ll be sweet, sugar, I swear it—I won’t bite unless you ask. I’ll eat and eat ‘til you shake and sob and soak my chin and then I’ll fuckin’ beg for seconds.”
You let your head fall back, lips parted, robe slipping.
He sees it.
And loses what’s left of his composure.
He goes slow at first—painfully, reverently slow.
Tongue pressed flat to your cunt, hands gripping your thighs like lifelines, the tip of that sinful, split tongue tracing soft, teasing figure-eights just to feel you tremble.
And you do.
Every flick, every moan, every whimper he pulls from your throat drives him deeper into madness. He cries as he eats you. Cries. Big, open-mouthed sobs against your pussy as he whispers nonsense:
“So sweet—so sweet, fuck—never tasted anything like you—please, let me die here—let me drown—let me be your floorboard, your shadow, your fuckin’ leash, baby, I’ll be anything—”
You come on his tongue once, and he doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t even pause.
Just whimpers like your pleasure is sustenance, like your slick is water and he’s been crawling the desert for years.
You tangle your fingers in his hair. Tug. He moans into you. Grinds his hips to the floor.
“Can I fuck you?” he begs against your cunt. “Please, can I? I’ll go slow. I’ll go soft. I’ll make you feel worshipped. You want it rough? I’ll give you rough. Want it sweet? I’ll make you sob. I’ll bite your throat open and make you scream my name ‘til the walls crack.”
He looks up at you, face wet, chin slick, forked tongue flicking out like a serpent sensing the heat of your body. His eyes are glassy. Wild.
“Tell me I can fuck you.”
You nod.
He breaks again.
And then—
He crawls forward, palms flat on the floor, reverent and quiet. His cock is hard, flushed and weeping, twitching against his stomach. You see the way his hands shake as he guides himself to you. The way he groans—choked and low and obscene—when the head of it brushes against your entrance.
He looks up at you, panting. Lips parted.
“You sure?” he whispers. Like he’s asking permission to live.
You nod again.
“Then hold on to me, sugar,” he says, voice raw and trembling. “I ain't never comin’ back from this.”
And he pushes in—
Slow. So slow. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish beneath him. Like your heat is swallowing him whole. Like the walls of your body were carved centuries ago to hold only him.
He moans into your neck, hips stilling halfway through.
“Fuck,” he whimpers, voice shattered. “You feel like—like you were made for me. I’m—I’m not gonna last. I ain’t—please don’t let go of me.”
You clutch his shoulders.
He bottoms out with a sob, every inch of him buried in you, shaking like a man who’s finally come home. His forehead presses to yours. His hips roll once, reverent, like worship.
He doesn’t move at first.
Just stays buried to the hilt, mouth slack against your throat, breathing like a dying animal in your ear. You feel him twitch inside you—thick, hot, leaking—and for a moment you think he might cry again.
Then he growls.
Low. Deep. Possessive.
And moves.
One slow pull out—almost all the way—followed by a brutal thrust that slams your back against the floorboards hard enough to rattle the doorframe. You gasp. He moans. Loud. Open-mouthed. Obscene.
“Fuck,” he chokes, already shaking. “Oh, sugar. Oh, baby, you—you don’t know what you’ve done. What you let loose.”
He doesn’t wait for permission anymore. Doesn’t need it. You gave it the second you said come in.
Now he’s fucking like it’s all he knows how to do.
His hips snap forward over and over, wet slaps echoing through the open doorway, sweat dripping from his brow, tongue lolling out as he pants like a rabid thing. He braces one hand beside your head and the other beneath your thigh, holding you open, dragging you into every thrust like he wants to feel himself hit the back of you.
You’re soaked. Wrecked. Clawing at his back and gasping his name over and over like it’s the only prayer you’ve got.
“You wanted me like this, didn’t you?” he snarls, his drawl thick and guttural now. “Wanted to see me come undone. Wanted to see the monster in me. Well, here he is, sugar. Here I fuckin’ am.”
He grinds down. Deep. You cry out.
He smirks, wild and broken and high off the sound.
“You feel that?” he whispers against your mouth. “That’s me in you. Deep as I can go. You’ll feel me for days. I’ll make sure of it.”
And he does.
He fucks you until your legs tremble, until your voice is raw, until the only sounds are slick, messy, filthy. He presses his chest to yours, forehead to your jaw, panting through clenched teeth as he drives into you like he can’t stop. Like if he slows down, he’ll die.
You feel the sharp tips of his fangs graze your throat. His voice is wrecked.
“Let me taste you,” he begs. “Let me drink while I’m inside you. Let me be full, sugar. Let me be whole.”
You nod.
He doesn’t even hesitate.
His mouth opens wide and you feel the bite—sharp, electric, perfect—right where your neck meets your shoulder, and suddenly his hips are slamming into you harder, messier, feral, rutting through your orgasm as he drinks, drinks, drinks.
It hits you all at once. Heat. Pain. Pleasure so sharp it blinds you.
You come hard, clenching around him, and he sobs into your throat like it’s sacred, like he’s breaking apart inside your body.
You feel him twitch. His breath goes ragged.
“Gonna come,” he warns, voice slurred, tongue lapping at your skin between frantic, messy thrusts. “Gonna—fuck, sugar, I’m gonna fill you—gonna mark you—make you mine—mine—mine—”
And he does.
Hot and thick and endless.
He spills inside you with a guttural cry, hips stuttering, teeth still buried in your skin. You feel it pulse into you—claiming you, over and over, like his body doesn’t know how to stop. Like his need has no end.
He finally stills, trembling.
Still buried inside you. Still panting. Still moaning your name into the crook of your neck like he’s worshipping it.
And then—
He kisses the bite.
Soft.
Gentle.
His hands cradle your face like you’re glass, and for the first time all night, his voice goes quiet.
“You saved me,” he breathes.
And for once, you don’t correct him.
You don’t know how long you lie there.
Could be minutes. Could be hours. The air has gone still, heavy with sweat and sex and iron and him. The storm’s long gone, but you can still smell the rain—sweet and earthy, mixing with the blood drying at your throat.
You feel it when he finally starts to move.
Just a shift.
The slow drag of his hand up your thigh, fingertips curling into the dip of your waist like he’s reminding himself you’re real. His body is still flush against yours, cock soft now but still inside you, holding you open. Keeping you full. Like he’s afraid pulling out will make the whole night unravel.
You reach up, bury a hand in his tangled hair.
He makes a sound—small, shattered—and curls tighter against you.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of something too heavy to name. “Don’t make me leave. Not after that. I’ll—I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”
You don’t answer. You don’t need to.
Your fingers stay in his hair, stroking gently. His body softens against yours.
There’s blood smeared across your neck, your chest, down your ribs. His bite still stings, the skin pulsing, raw—but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. It burns. Like a seal. Like a signature.
You glance down.
He’s watching you.
Eyes half-lidded. Glazed. Glowing, almost—faint and strange, like he’s lit from within. There’s a little blood on his mouth. More on his chin. But he doesn’t wipe it away.
You wonder if he’s ever looked more peaceful.
“You taste like sunlight,” he murmurs, dream-drunk. “Like nectar. Like the end of the world.”
You huff a laugh, quiet and breathless.
“Don’t get poetic on me now.”
“I ain’t,” he slurs, eyes fluttering. “Just honest.”
He nuzzles into your collarbone, forked tongue flicking lazily against your skin like he’s still trying to memorize it. His hands roam—slow, aimless, like he doesn’t know how to stop touching. One settles on your hip. The other slides beneath your spine and pulls you closer.
“I ain’t lettin’ you go,” he mumbles. “Not after this. You said it. You let me in.”
You nod. You did.
And you meant it.
He presses his nose to your pulse point, breath fogging across your skin. His lips ghost over the bite. He presses a kiss there, reverent.
“I’ll be good,” he repeats, softer now. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. You want a house? I’ll build it. You want blood? I’ll bring you the whole fuckin’ town. You want me to rot on the floor again? I will. Long as I’m yours.”
“You’re mine,” you whisper.
And he moans.
Like the words filled him with something he’s never had in thirteen centuries.
You feel him soften completely then, sinking into your body like sleep. One leg slung over yours, one arm anchoring you to his chest, his cock slipping free with a wet noise that makes him groan as you shudder. Your body aches, raw and sore and claimed, but you don’t move.
Neither does he.
Eventually, he sleeps.
You know because the grip he has on you loosens—but only a little. He still breathes you in. Still holds you like something holy and fragile and violently his.
And you?
You stay awake a while longer, staring at the door still cracked open, the threshold now crossed, the air inside heavy with what you both became tonight.
The blood on your neck has dried.
The slick between your thighs has cooled.
But his body stays warm against you.
And outside, the sky hasn’t yet begun to lighten.
No birds. No blue.
Just that inky pre-dawn blackness pressing soft against the windows, holding the night still around you like a secret.
Because he can’t survive the sun.
And tonight, for once, you don’t want the morning to come either.
You have a bit of a habit when it comes to picking Cursed Spirits up from the forests...Sukuna is not a fan.
- warnings : just a lil reference to ripping eyes out but its affectionate, also a reference to one of my other fics when uraume and sukuna r talking that may not make sense but its literally just two lines
Sukuna paced through the halls of his estate, his four arms crossed in frustration. The sounds of chaos littered each corner of the place—curses bickering, objects crashing, and an incessant chattering paired with chittering that grated right on his nerves.
"Where is that woman?" He muttered to himself, referring to the way that you, his ever-absent companion who had a peculiarly annoying habit of adopting stray cursed spirits willy nilly.
Uraume was diligently scrubbing the floors close by and looked up at his mumbles, "Master, perhaps she went on an errand? You are running low on fruit."
"She always tells me when she's leaving," Sukuna growled, "This is unacceptable. Have you seen how many of these...creatures she's brought home now? Seven. Seven! Seven cursed spirits of varying yet useless power levels and I'm the one stuck dealing with them while she's off doing who knows what."
A particularly loud crash from the courtyard made Sukuna flinch in annoyance, "That's it. When she returns, we're having a serious discussion about her silly little 'adoption' habit."
"But Master, didn't you..." Uraume began, actually staring up at him now.
"You're different Uraume. She practically forced me by sobbing to me the night before about poor homeless orphans. I don't– shut up. Clean the floors."
Hours passed and Sukuna's patience was wearing thinner with each moment. He had to break up three different fights between the spirits, prevent one from devouring the other, and now one was attempting to build a nest in his favourite meditation space.
Finally, finally, alas the front door slid open and you stepped inside, attempting to be as quiet as possible.
"Where have you been?" Sukuna demanded, appearing before you with his arms crossed, "Do you have any idea what kind of chaos you've left me to manage? I swear, I am exhausted at these cursed spirits invading my home. If I see you bring one more–"
He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed how you were standing, with your hands behind your back and looking as guilty as a child on trial for stealing bread.
"What are you hiding?" He asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing.
"I'm not too sure what you're on about, Ryomen," You offered weakly.
Sukuna sighed, running two hands through his hair, "Let me take your hands, then. I've missed them so. I never got to chew on them this morning, you left before I had even awoken."
With a groan, you slowly brought your hands forward, revealing a tiny creature no bigger than your palm. It had large, innocent eyes, soft fur, and was currently trembling in your grasp. It let out a small squeak as it made eye contact with the King of Curses and nuzzled against your thumb, making you visibly fold in awe.
You looked up at Sukuna with pleading eyes, hands preoccupied with keeping it safe and secure in your arms, "It was all alone and looked scared. I couldn't just leave it..."
Sukuna took a moment to stare at the tiny creature, before reversing his gaze back to you, and then looking back at the spirit. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, letting out a looooong exhausted sigh.
"Stupid little eyes I'm gonna rip them out," He muttered, turning and walking away before you could ask who he was on about.
"Hmm, keep them in a jar so I can gaze at them as I please. But then she can't look at me. Hmm," He continues to mutter as he walks past Uraume who had just finished cleaning and wanted to greet you back.
Now they're just wondering what level of affection that was in Sukuna's handbook, they'll have to ask you.
a/n : i've missed writng sooooo much but i've been so busy with exams and stuff 😪 I literally have nothing else to say but tysm for reading this far !!
I'm currently on a horror movie marathon and just finished Nope (2022). It's an incredible movie I loved it so much and I just want to ramble about one of the incredible story details I noticed even though I'm sure everyone else has.
I love how the whole Gordy incident was set up to be a parallel to the actual story of the movie itself, basically already telling us how the story ends before the end of the movie.
At the beginning of the movies we first see Gordy as he basically tears into the cast from the show he was on. We see this from a perspective on stage where we know that we're hiding under a table before Gordy looks directly at us before the camera goes black and we switch scenes.
Now, Gordy is a chimpanzee, of course. But he's in human clothing and wearing a birthday hat on the set of a television show. He's not supposed to be there. That's not his natural environment. So it's not surprising when we find out later in the movie that he was set off by a popping balloon, where he then began to brutalise anyone he made eye contact with which, might I add, is a generally standard behaviour for most primates and other animals. (This includes us humans to some degree).
Near the end of this scene where we're given more context to the beginning of the movie we find out that we're looking at Gordy from the perspective of a young Ricky Park. Gordy doesn't seem to agitate when they make eye contact and even goes in for a fist bump with his bloody hand, but not before Gordy is shot down by someone off-screen.
This entire segment parallels the movie's events. Gordy represents the alien we know as Jean Jacket and I like to believe that the set of the sitcom represents earth. Similar to how the set wasn't Gordy's natural environment where we was comfortable and knew how to navigate life, I can imagine that earth must have been the same for Jean Jacket, hence why it was just eating and destroying whatever make eye contact with it.
I see Emerald (Keke Palmer's character) represented in the person that shot Gordy off-screen mostly because they were both the one's to put an end to either story. This can be further paralleled with the act of the final shot, the person who shot Gordy in a literal sense and Emerald "shooting" a photo of Jean Jacket by the end of the movie.
I'm hoping to see anyone who can help me interpret Ricky Park's role in this parallel if it hasn't already been cited!
Listen, I'm not black, right? I'm ethnically Indian, and born and raised South African but if I understand anything it's how so many–but not all–white fellows think like this when it comes to people of colour.
I think Indians can also resonate with the message from these two films about how white folks (not all white folks, but somehow always a white folk yk) want our culture, but not us.
I'm fairly sure that message flew over many people's heads, yoh.
sukuna doesn’t know what it is like to receive a touch that is gentle.
sukuna has spent his life being a man who lived up to every bit of his reputation—terrifying, horrific, menacing, everything befitting a king. a lord. a curse.
everything he’s been on the receiving end of has been tainted with violence, hatred and malice. he is deserving of every bit of it, he’s sure.
but you, his queen, the lady he’s sure he’s conceived from his feverish nightmares, you touch him as if he was a prize.
you eye him like one would eye diamonds, something precious, not a curse. and that has his heart beating a rhythm dangerously akin to a person in love. but a curse’s heart cannot beat for cause other than violence, now can it?
he has you by his side because it’s convenient. because it’s an advantage—or so he tells himself, as he paces around his chambers in the dead of night, staring at your sleeping form, hoping to get close enough to touch you, but he never does.
but once you get to touch him? your hands are gentle, softer than his own calloused palms, as you glide them across his beastly body, slowly making way to his face.
sukuna feels his eyes well up with a sensation he’s never felt before, while you stood before him, studying him, your arms prodding, prying, your nails grazing his skin before they came up to cup his face.
tracing his jaw while your eyes met his, one of your hands finding their way into his hair, slowly brushing past the knots with the gentleness one would use only with something, someone that was adored.
the way your eyes softened as they met his face, your touch indicating nothing but reverence had his eyes pool with the unfamiliar sensation of tears. they pricked at his eyes shamefully—he was a king. he didn’t, nay, never cried, he never had that privilege bestowed upon him.
but before he could swallow the tears, they slid down his cheeks, meeting your palms that cupped his face oh so tenderly—you didn’t question it. it wasn’t your place. you swiped them away with your thumb, his tears pouring out his four eyes while a pair of his arms held on to your waist.
burying his head in your chest while you slowly pet his head—he should’ve had you killed for that. treating him like a common dog. but with his breath unsteady as he fought off tears that’d never left his eyes before, his heart swelled with an emotion he thought he had never possessed—he was grateful.
as the tears that were shed left behind salt tracks to make their presence known, you lifted his head only to plant the softest kisses against them—the saltiness coating your lips while he looked up at your form like you were a goddess that descended before him.
you held him in your arms like you would a baby—and sukuna held himself close to your heart, listening to the sound of your blood rushing through your veins just to make sure that you were here. that you were really before him, holding his cursed heart in the palm of your hands while you softly sighed against his head.
he would stay here, frozen in time if he could. ryomen sukuna didn’t know what it meant to shed tears, he didn’t know what it meant to have your heart swell merely in the presence of someone. he didn’t know what it meant to be held close to a heart without having to rip it out with his bare hands. but maybe, he’d finally be deserving to have this. to have you.
maybe, he was finally deserving of being held by a pair of arms that didn’t wish to tear him apart.
repost from liliklei :p. i loved this fic. @yoonsucks @yorikae @satorusdreamer @kireampie ok bai.
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
You had been trying to tell Sukuna for three days. Not because you thought he’d be angry, but because every time you looked at him, the words got stuck in your throat. It felt strange saying it out loud. Sukuna wasn’t a normal man. Nothing about your life with him was normal. The idea of him being a father still sounded unreal even in your own head.
It didn’t help that he kept disappearing for hours dealing with clan matters and coming back irritated and covered in blood like usual. That evening, he was sitting near the open doors of his room while two servants fixed the torn sleeve of his robe. One of them looked terrified the entire time. You stood there quietly until Sukuna finally looked up at you. “What?” “Nothing.” “Hm.” He already knew something was wrong. You could tell by the way he dismissed the servants without looking away from you.
The second they left, the room went quiet. “You’ve been hovering around me all day,” he said. “Speak.” You crossed your arms immediately. “You make everything sound hostile.” “Because you’re stalling.” You hated that he was right. Sukuna watched you walk closer, waiting with that impatient look on his face, fingers tapping once against his knee before stopping when you finally spoke. “I’m pregnant.”
The tapping stopped completely. Sukuna stared at you for a second like he was making sure he heard correctly. “You’re certain?” “Yes.” Another pause. Then he leaned back slightly and looked at you again, slower this time. Not shocked exactly. Just caught off guard. “You hid this from me?” “I found out recently.” “How recently?” “A few weeks.” His brows pulled together immediately. “And you waited weeks to tell me?” You frowned. “I was trying to find a good moment.” “There’s no such thing.” “That’s easy for you to say.”
He exhaled through his nose, still staring at you in that intense way that always made you nervous. Then his eyes dropped briefly to your stomach before looking back at your face. “You’re frightened,” he said. “I’m not frightened.” “You are.” “I just didn’t know how you’d react.” That seemed to annoy him a little. Sukuna stood up and walked over until he was right in front of you. “Why would I react badly?” “You hate noise. You hate people touching your things. You threatened a servant for breathing too loudly last week.” “He was irritating.” “You see my point.”
That actually made him laugh once. Short and low. “You think a child of mine will irritate me?” “I think your child will probably bite people.” “Hn. Better than crying all day.” You snorted before you could stop yourself, and some of the tension finally disappeared. Sukuna looked calmer after that too. Still serious, but not distant. One of his hands rested against your waist, pulling you a little closer while he looked down at you. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he muttered. “You’re not angry?” “No.” “Not even a little?” He looked genuinely confused now. “You’re my wife.”
Like that explained everything. Honestly, with Sukuna, it kind of did.
For a moment neither of you said anything. The evening air moved through the open doors, and somewhere outside you could hear servants talking quietly in another part of the estate. Then Sukuna’s hand moved from your waist to your stomach, resting there carefully. The movement was so unusual coming from him that you immediately looked up. He noticed. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Surprised.” “You are being surprisingly normal about this.” “I kill sorcerers, not my own family.” “That’s not exactly comforting.” “Hm.”
You smiled despite yourself. A few seconds later, Sukuna glanced down at you again. “If it’s a boy, the clans are going to become unbearable.” “And if it’s a girl?” His expression flattened instantly. “That’s worse.” You laughed immediately. “Why?” “Because then I’ll have to deal with men looking at her.” “You’re already acting possessive over someone that doesn’t even exist yet.” “She exists.”
You went quiet after that. Sukuna noticed immediately, of course. He always noticed things when it came to you. His thumb brushed against your side once before he spoke again. “You’re overthinking.” “I know.” “You’ll be fine.” The way he said it was simple. Certain. Like there wasn’t even another possibility. And somehow that was enough to make the nervousness in your chest finally settle.
After his attempts to kill your handmaidens in jealousy, you decided to spend some time in the northern provinces. Sukuna seemed indifferent when you brought it up, brushing you off with a mere huff. But the letters soon start to arrive.
Wife.
Return at once.
-Lord Sukuna
This is handed back to the shaking messenger and returned. Several of the serving women whom you brought with you giggle at his commands, knowing their lady would not yield so simply.
Wife.
How dare you ignore your king. Return at once or I shall burn the gardens you adore so much to ash.
-Lord Sukuna
His empty threats only make you scoff. Still no response is written, yet the previous messenger remains alive - highly unusual considering his volatility.
Wife.
I have made you angry. For such trivial reasoning too. You are being ridiculous. Rise above your incessant whining and return to me.
-Lord Sukuna
Still, his insolent behaviour warrants no reply.
Wife.
You are very persistent. Typically, I find this trait admirable. Now, I find it insufferable. I grow restless, and so perhaps I should apologise. Very well, I am sorry.
-Lord Sukuna
Despite knowing he actually means it, for the king of curses being so sincere is rare, you decide to torment him a little longer.
Wife.
Your absence distracts me. Please return.
These insipid pests
Cannot match your competence —
Nor your radiance.
R. Sukuna
This one. Now this one warrants a response. He has resorted to composing poetry. A haiku. You spot the nature word, "pests" which you suppose counts. Sukuna gets very finicky about poems and the correct composition. It's quite adorable.
Stupid man.
Your letters amuse me. Continue and I might forgive you.
-Your still very infuriated wife
The next morning, bright and early, a new letter has arrived.
Beloved.
You vex me beyond what others think possible. But I shall continue.
An invasive plant
You overgrow within my heart —
I endure it still
R. Sukuna
Another that afternoon.
Beloved.
I can imagine you reading this. Tittering away at my pathetic begging. These actions are beneath my station, but you have a way of making me do that.
A thorn in my side
Such pain you bring inside me —
My poisonous rose
Perhaps you should consider watching my desperate endeavours in person.
Ryomen
This one comes with a second letter.
My Lady.
I implore you to return. Lord Sukuna is not himself. I believe he requires your return to function. He has taken to eating steak over human flesh. This is starting to concern me. In addition, he is not the best diplomat. To maintain the stability of your domain, it might be best for you to step back in.
Your loyal servant
Uraume
P.S I will prepare braised pork for your first meal back.
Delighted by the promise of food, you organise for a quick trip back. The messenger seems awfully excited at having some good news to return with, leaving with a speed unlike any other.
Pale white light glistens on the wrought iron gates as they swing open for your small procession. It's dark already, having left at dawn on your arduous journey. Nevertheless, in the courtyard, he stands waiting. Intimidating without effort, he lets out a wide, somewhat sinister grin.
"Finally. You return to me"
"Oh, I didn't come back for you, I came back for Uraume. They said they were making braised pork belly. I'm still rather mad at you"
"Either way, I found your absence deeply unpleasant."
"I missed you a bit. But only a small amount."
"I would expect nothing less"
He pauses, staring up at you on horseback.
"The glowing moonlight
Makes it easier to see —
How divine you are"
Did yall catch the reference on that last one? I've seen some others do this concept but i wanted to try it with haikus for my sukuna au lol bc its his secret hobby!! He's so cute gng
Matches with these headcanons and this oneshot. Also I'm looking for fic writer mooties so hmu!!
