SYNOPSIS: Sukuna sends letters to his wife after he angers her.
Trueform!Sukuna x Wife!reader
Word count: 5k
AN: Inspired by tiktoks I saw of letters he’d write you. I love love love simpkuna. This also took wayyy longer than I thought it would. - J
TAGS: Heian Era Sukuna x Reader, Fluff?, Big simpy Sukuna
• • •
The frames of the heavy, sliding fusuma doors rattled as they slammed open with force. Despite the CRACK! of the wood, the low but brazen giggles that echoed slightly across Sukuna’s central hall continued uninterrupted. Only the soft biwa music faltering as servants snapped their heads towards the entrance. The two that trailed behind you quickly sliding it shut before scrambling to follow you with lowered heads. The attendants that lined the sides of the large lantern-lit room quickly plastered foreheads lower from their already bowed position as you entered, sensing the waves of anger rolling off your form.
The air was thick with a mix of heavy, floral perfumes, spilled sake, and incense. The combination of strong scents only irritating you further as you marched across the hall. Your bare feet slapped across the polished wooden planks towards the dais, the bottom of your kimono whipping against your ankles from strong strides.
Surrounded by screens decorated with depictions of himself was your husband, still oblivious to, or blatantly dismissive of your presence. He sat lounged on tatami mats and soft cushions. Three women draped over him in revealing silks with breasts spilling out almost in competition—young tributes from nearby provinces, offered in an attempt to gain the King of Curses’ favor.
One of the women worked his muscular form from the back, rubbing oils onto his tattooed skin, arms around him like the front of a cape. Another kneeled by him to press a saucer full of sake to his lips. When some dripped down his chin, she would wipe it away with a small cloth, giggling into his ear as she moved unnecessarily close.
The last woman pressed her whole body against him, strewn on his lap with one of his four arms lazily around her waist. She held a half eaten persimmon in her hands, juice sticky as it dripped down her arms and onto Sukuna’s chest, closer to the mouth of his belly. Her head lay on his shoulder, smiling up at him with eyes full of adoration.
“Sukuna.” You called out firmly when you reached him. He finally turned his head to you before the women gently pouted and sulked, his arrogant smile widening as they fought for his attention before turning back towards them.
You tightened your fists at the lack of acknowledgment in an attempt to control your already flaring temper.
“I believe,” you started, your voice calm but dripping with annoyance, “I explicitly told you I do not enjoy finding my home turned into a playground for every ambitious court stray looking to elevate her status. My patience runs thin.”
The women snapped their heads at you, offended by the insult aimed towards them. You ignored their glares, waiting for your husband’s reply. Sukuna barely shifted, only one pair of his ruby eyes drifting towards you, smirk still pulled at his lips.
“They were offered. And it is a ruler’s right to collect his due. Why let a feast go to waste because my wife has a delicate temperament?” The women giggled and nestled themselves closer to him. He continued, voice dismissive, “Do not try to dictate what enters my halls.”
You stepped closer to him, servants backing themselves towards the walls like mice. “I am your wife. If you wanted to enjoy a harem of pathetic whores, akin to the dreams of a common young boy, you should have killed me with the rest of my clan instead of dragging me here.”
Sukuna’s smirk vanished. The music stopped abruptly as the temperature in the room dropped, cursed energy now flooding the space and heavy enough to choke on. Sukuna slowly sat up, all eyes on you now and narrowed in a glare. The women frowned as his movements displaced them from around him.
“Careful.” Sukuna’s voice dropped, losing it’s earlier arrogant tone. “It seems you forget who you are speaking to. You are my wife because I allow it. If I desire to fill this estate with a hundred women, I will do so, and you will sit quietly and watch.”
The women around him didn't flinch. In fact, one of them leaned closer to his ear, whispering something that made a dark, arrogant chuckle rumble in his chest, smirk reappearing as he moved to lean back down, four arms opening to welcome the women around him to resume draping his chest. They felt untouchable under his shadow. You were the only living creature who looked at the King of Curses and saw only an infuriating, stubborn man.
“Next time you dare to insult me, I’ll have your tongue ripped from your mouth.” He threatens with a chuckle, turning his head to take a bite of the fruit held up to his face.
“Do it, then.” You challenged coldly. He froze. In shock? In fury? But you continued, “But since I am clearly entirely unneeded here among your collection, I will be residing in the secluded Northern Estate from now on."
Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel. Your robes swept across the floor as you walked away, your spine perfectly straight, chin high, refusing to look back. A beat of utter, suffocating silence fell over the hall when the doors shut behind you. Even the cicadas that chirped outside in the morning warmth seemed to quiet. The servants stopped breathing entirely waiting for the pin to drop.
“INSOLENT WENCH!”
He surged upright in one fluid motion, the girl on his lap tumbling to the cushions with a yelp. All four arms flexed. The tattoos across his chest and shoulders seemed to writhe in the low light. The mouth on his belly bared its teeth in a snarl that matched the one on his face.
“Of all the wretched women in this miserable era!” The entire estate shook from the boom of Sukuna’s voice, “I shackle myself to a disrespectful viper, a sharp-tongued plague I call my wife!”
His chest heaved. Painted screens and tapestries now lay flat next to trembling servants as they pressed hard against wood to avoid Sukuna’s wild slashes. Teeth chattering as Sukuna paced like a caged tiger.
One of his offerings, the one who had assumed herself to be his favorite, crawled toward him and placed her hand on one of his lower forearms. “My Lord…” she purred. Her voice delicate and purposefully sensual. “Do not let your wife’s temper sour our time. You have us now to—“
“Get off me!”
Sukuna shoved her away with the arm above the one she held. The force sent the woman tumbling off the elevated platform and onto the wooden floor. “Let her freeze in that rotting estate. See if I care! She'll come crawling back on her knees!", Sukuna let out a final grumble before he stormed away, his women scrambling to follow after.
You demanded to leave immediately, servants rushing to prepare your journey, a day’s worth at least. Before noon, your palanquin waited in the courtyard. Strong bearers stood ready beside polished deep crimson and sheer black curtains. Along with them stood a small group of guards and servants.
Behind them, wooden chests and lacquered boxes were loaded into carts: your belongings. Silks, jewelry, scrolls, perfumes and oils, and the heavier chests containing more… personal items you refused to leave behind for mere indulgences to use.
He hadn’t come to the courtyard to see you off, the engawa standing empty—not that you had noticed. Your nose pointed high towards your entourage as you waited to leave.
With a nod from the head attendant, you stepped into the palanquin. The interior was plush; thick tatami layered over cushions, a small low table for tea or writing during the journey, and soft pillows arranged exactly as you preferred. The faint scent of your preferred incense lingered inside.
You settled in gracefully, arranging your robes around you as the curtains were drawn closed. The world outside muffled slightly. You heard the bearers lift the poles, the creak of wood, the shuffle of the procession forming up.
“Move,” you commanded quietly. The palanquin swayed as they began the long journey away and the main estate faded behind you.
—
For the first three days, Sukuna made a show of not caring. In fact, he acted as though your departure was a great victory for him. He declared the main estate liberated from your incessant nagging before he fully indulged in the hedonistic excess he claimed to deserve.
He spent days crueler towards the village heads and provincial governors, demanding more offerings—food, treasure, or virgins—to keep him from razing their lands. The halls echoed with the sound of breaking pottery, raucous laughter, and the sighs of his new women. He drank his fill, took them to his bed with violent enthusiasm, and allowed them to drape themselves over him around every area in the estate, exactly as you had hated.
He was the King of Curses. He needed no one, least of all a stubborn, overly proud wife who dared to turn her back on him. He had enjoyed the years he ruled before you, he will enjoy more years again in your absence.
But by the fifth day, the cracks in his indulgent paradise began to show.
The novelty of the new flesh wore thin, replaced by a hollow boredom. The concubines were eager to please, agreeing with every word he said and offering no challenge, no fire, no bite. They were utterly exhausting in their subservience. Pliant and easy.
Then, the tangible effects of your absence began to appear.
It started with small, grating inconveniences that chipped away at his already short temper
Sukuna took a sip of his morning brew and immediately spat it across the tatami mats, roaring at the trembling servant. "What is this swill!?" The servant bowed so low their forehead scraped the floor. "M-My Lord, that is the standard brew.” Sukuna threw the cup to the floor, the pieces shattering around his feet. The servant trembled. “The spiced blend you prefer... her Ladyship personally foraged and blended those herbs. She took her supply with her."
When he sought his quarters to escape the incessant giggling of his new toys, he found the furs scratchy and the pillows completely wrong. When he demanded his favorite woven silk blanket, Uraume had to quietly inform him, "That blanket was woven by her Ladyship's grandmother, Lord Sukuna. She packed it into her carriage when she departed."
Every tiny inconvenience only reminded him of the spaces you left empty. Even the incense burning in the halls was cloying and cheap, lacking scent of sandalwood and plum blossom you always ensured was lit.
Every time he barked an order or complained about a missing comfort, the answer was always the same: She took it with her. That was her duty. That was her recipe.
It became agonizingly clear that the luxury and comfort he had taken for granted were not the result of his fearsome reputation, but the meticulous, unseen labor of his stubborn wife. However, all these petty annoyances were nothing more than to highlight how much he simply missed your presence.
By the end of the week, Sukuna was a walking thundercloud.
The estate staff moved in absolute terror, tiptoeing around his explosive temper. His harem, sensing his shifting mood, tried to soothe him with physical affection, but he violently banished them from his quarters. Their cheap perfumes made him nauseous; their simpering voices made his head pound. He wanted the plum incense. He wanted his spiced tea.
He wanted his wife.
Sitting alone in his dimly lit chambers, listening to the agonizingly quiet estate, his four eyes glowed with a mixture of immense irritation and defeated pride. He snatched a piece of fine parchment, aggressively grinding an ink stick against the stone before grabbing a brush.
He refused to apologize. He was a king. But he would absolutely not endure another day of this miserable, unbearable inconvenience.
He pressed the brush to the paper, his handwriting sharp, jagged, and aggressive.
To the Resident of the Northern Estate,
The servants here have grown lazy and incompetent in your absence. The food is inedible, the estate is in disarray, and I am entirely out of patience.
Your pathetic temper tantrum has gone on long enough. You have made your point, and I am bored of this game.
Pack your belongings. You are to return to the main estate immediately. I expect your arrival by tomorrow evening. Do not make me come retrieve you myself.
— Sukuna
He shoved the freshly sealed scroll into the chest of a terrified messenger curse, his voice a lethal, vibrating threat. "Deliver this to the Northern Estate. Return with her. And if she refuses to come back, tell her I will burn that rotting manor to the ground with her inside it." The curse whimpered once and bolted out into the sky, blurring into the distance with desperate speed.
—
The Northern Estate was a sanctuary you had made your own. You spent days enjoying little things. You’d read scrolls of poetry, maybe even writing your own about infuriating kings. You practiced the biwa or koto to fill your halls with music. Your favorite was bathing in the hot springs, warmth unraveling your tense muscles while the cold air bit at your cheeks. It was peaceful and quiet—at least until Sukuna’s messenger curse arrived, trembling violently as it presented the sealed scroll.
Your face dropped as you saw the intruder. Rolling your eyes before grabbing the slip. You unrolled the parchment, your eyes scanning the jagged, aggressive strokes of ink. A cold, furious laugh escaped your lips as you read his words. Pathetic temper tantrum? Incompetent servants? The absolute, unmitigated gall of the man to demand your return without a single shred of remorse.
You crumpled the fine parchment in your fist and tossed it directly into the crackling hearth.
"Tell your master," you said, your voice dripping with absolute venom, "that until he learns how to swallow his massive, bloated pride and apologize, I do not care if he’s inconvenienced."
The messenger curse paled, dropping to their knees in sheer panic.
"M-My Lady, please!" It begged, pressing its forehead to the floorboards. Its voice high pitched, distorted, and rough, only making it irritating to listen to. "I cannot tell him that! He will slaughter me before the words fully leave my mouth!"
"Then say nothing!" you snapped, eyes glaring at the creature before turning your back on them, your patience entirely exhausted. "Return to him empty-handed. Tell him nothing. Now get out of my sight!"
—
By dawn back at the main estate, Sukuna was pacing the length of his chambers. He had already mentally prepared himself for your arrival later that day, smugly anticipating the moment you walked through the doors. He had even—though he would slit the throat of anyone who mentioned it—ordered the kitchens to prepare your favorite meal for dinner.
But the doors slid open, interrupting his thoughts, the messenger curse was alone, and far too early.
Sukuna stopped pacing. The oppressive weight of his cursed energy instantly slammed down onto the room.
"Where is she?" he demanded, his voice a lethal, vibrating growl. "Why are you here?"
"S-She... she..." The messenger curse shook so violently it could barely speak. "She sent no reply, my Lord! Nothing! Not a single word!"
Silence stretched for one horrifying, drawn-out second.
And then, the King of Curses snapped.
“NOTHING!?"
With a roar that shook the foundations of the estate once again, Sukuna unleashed another wave of raw, violent cursed energy. The sliding shoji doors splintered into matchsticks. The low wooden table in the center of the room was cleaved cleanly in two, sending tea cups shattering against the walls. The renovations to the just recently ruined central hall nearby crumbling back down to piles of wood and paper.
"The absolute insolence!" he bellowed, his four eyes wide with manic fury. "She dares to ignore a direct order from her King?! I will drag her back here by her hair!"
Hearing the commotion, two new women hurried into the room, their faces pale with fright. One of them, thinking she could play the soothing savior, stepped forward and reached out.
"My Lord, please, do not stress yourself over one disobedient woman," she cooed, her voice trembling. "We are still here. You can have many wives. We would never ignore—"
Sukuna’s head snapped toward her, his gaze so utterly devoid of mercy that the woman froze in her tracks, the blood draining from her face.
"Get out."
"M-My Lord?"
"GET OUT!" he roared, his voice echoing like thunder. "All of you! Pack your pathetic belongings and leave this place immediately! If I see a single one of your faces within these walls by nightfall, I will paint the courtyard with your blood! Leave!"
The women shrieked, gathering their skirts and fleeing down the corridors in absolute terror, sobbing as they ran.
Sukuna stood alone in the wreckage of his chambers, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack his own teeth. The estate was finally entirely empty, but it brought him no peace. It only highlighted the glaring, miserable fact that the only woman he actually wanted was the only one refusing to be there.
Gritting his teeth, he stormed over to the remains of a writing desk. He snatched a fresh scroll and brush. He was Sukuna. He did not apologize. He did not beg.
But he was going to get his wife back.
His brush tore across the paper, the second letter a masterpiece of aggressive bargaining disguised as royal magnanimity, grumbling as he wrote:
To the Pestilent Woman in the Northern Estate
Your silence is an insult I would punish with death in anyone else. Count yourself fortunate that I am in a merciful mood.
I have grown completely bored of the vermin infesting the main estate. They were loud, useless, and reeked of cheap perfume. I have expelled all of them. The estate is empty.
I am willing to overlook your previous disrespect, as I recognize the main estate requires a firmer hand than the current staff can provide. Your presence is required to restore order.
You have won this trivial battle of wills. Do not push your luck further. I expect you by tomorrow morning.
— Sukuna
He sealed it with a vicious slam of his fist, glaring at the trembling servant who had peeked out from behind a surviving pillar. Calling it over to all but spear the letter through its chest.
"Take this to her," he snarled. "And if you come back empty-handed again, I will wear your skin as a cloak."
—
The messenger servant arrived at the Northern Estate looking as though it were walking to the gallows. It knelt before you, hands shaking so violently that the second seal nearly cracked before you even took the scroll.
You read the jagged characters, your eyes narrowing at the words. The curse already slumped after seeing how your eyes burrowed.
"Unbelievable," you muttered, throwing the scroll onto the floor. It was a thinly veiled peace offering, certainly, but it was buried beneath layers of his insufferable ego. He had kicked the women out—good—but he still couldn't bring himself to actually say the words I was wrong.
"M-My Lady..." the servant whimpered, tears spilling down its deformed cheeks. "Please. I beg of you. If I return to him empty-handed again, he will surely flay me alive. Please come back!"
You felt what could have been a pang of pity for the terrified thing, but your resolve was absolute steel. If you caved now, Sukuna would never learn.
"I am not a dog to be called to heel just because his other toys have bored him," you said, your voice ringing with finality. "Tell him that expelling his concubines is a start, but if he thinks that this pitiful excuse for a letter is enough to summon me back, he is losing his already simple mind, if he has not already lost it. Leave."
The servant wailed, but the icy glare you shot silenced it quickly and sent it scurrying back outside, thoroughly convinced he was about to die.
—
When the servant returned to the main estate alone, it immediately threw itself onto the floor before the platform Sukuna waited at despite the late hour. It squeezed its eyes shut and awaiting the inevitable, agonizing sensation of being sliced into pieces.
"Speak," Sukuna demanded. His voice was dangerously quiet.
"S-She... Her Ladyship refuses, my Lord," the servant sobbed out. "S-She said expelling the women was a start, but the letter was not enough. Spare me, please!"
The servant braced. It waited for the roar of rage that became a regular where the subject of his wife was involved, or the crushing pressure of cursed energy that would slice through him, the swift strike of death.
But it never came.
Instead, a heavy, exhausted sigh echoed through the massive chamber.
"Leave," Sukuna muttered.
The servant blinked, eyes opening wide but fixated on the floor just inches from its face, convinced his ears were playing tricks on him.
"M-My Lord?"
"I said leave, before I change my mind," Sukuna growled, though the fire in his eyes was entirely gone, replaced by a dark, brooding shadow.
The servant scrambled out of the room, completely bewildered. The entire estate staff whispered about it by morning—the King of Curses had been defied twice, and not a single drop of blood had been spilled. It was entirely unprecedented.
But behind closed doors, Sukuna was undergoing a torturous unraveling of his own pride.
Over the next week, the messenger curse made frequent trips to the Northern Estate. And with every scroll delivered, the jagged, aggressive ink strokes of the King of Curses grew softer, the demands slowly transforming into requests, and the threats and insults vanishing entirely.
To my Wife,
I have procured the cedar incense you prefer. I had to threaten a merchant in the southern provinces to part with his entire stock, but it now burns in the halls.
The kitchens have been restructured. I removed the head chef for burning the fish, and Uraume has taken over your dietary preferences.
The estate is exactly as you left it. There are no other women. There never will be again. I find them entirely repulsive.
Return and claim your rightful place by my side.
— Sukuna
• • •
[Name],
The estate is maddeningly quiet.
I have not slept properly in days. The silks are cold, and the furs do not smell like you. I find myself reaching for you in the night, only to grasp empty air. It is a pathetic weakness that I would allow no one else to inflict upon me.
Your grandmother's woven blanket is missing from my bed. Bring it back.
Uraume's spiced tea tastes like ash. They try, but they do not know the exact ratio of the herbs you use.
I miss the sound of your voice. Even when you are insulting me.
Come home.
— Sukuna
Letters remained ignored. However, though you would not admit it, the letters had softened some of your anger.
The final letter arrived unsealed, the parchment folded gently rather than rolled tight, and left by your chambers. Still, you were ready to throw yet another piece of parchment into the fire. Shoulders square and nose pointed as you opened it. But the words faulted your stern posture a crack.
The handwriting was smooth, lacking the harsh, pressed strokes of his usual temper. It was the handwriting of a man who had finally exhausted his own ego.
My Love,
You were right.
I am a gluttonous, arrogant fool. I thought my title meant I could take whatever I pleased without consequence, but I failed to realize that the treasure I truly cared to keep was the one I was driving away.
The expanse of this estate feels like a cage if I must reside in it alone. My pride is entirely worthless compared to your absence.
I am sorry. For the women, for my words, and for disrespecting you.
If you require more time, I will give it to you. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive your senseless husband... please. Tell me I am permitted to come get you.
Yours,
Sukuna
You stared at the letter, the strokes of ink blurring slightly as your vision swam.
My Love.
He hadn't called you that in months. Not since before the women had started arriving as offerings, not since his ego had swelled to overshadow his devotion. Reading the raw, unfiltered surrender in his words, the last remnants of your anger quietly shattered, replaced by a profound, aching twist in your chest.
He was infuriating. He was arrogant, deeply flawed, and possessed a temper that could level mountains. But he was also your husband, and beneath the terrifying mantle of the King of Curses, he was a man entirely undone by your absence.
You carefully folded the parchment, pressing it flat, and tucked it into the sleeve of your kimono. Moving with sudden, decisive urgency, you called upon servants to pack your belongings. You watched as they pulled your travel chest from the corner of the room.
It was time to go home.
You wrapped a thick, fur-lined shawl around your shoulders, preparing to face the biting winter chill. The Northern Estate was situated high in the mountains, and a heavy snowfall had blanketed the grounds since early morning. You walked down the quiet, shadowed corridors, intending to instruct the estate staff to ready what was needed for the long journey down the mountain.
You slid the heavy front doors open, the freezing wind instantly biting at your cheeks.
"Prepare the—"
The words died in your throat.
The attendants were gone. There were no terrified servants, no messenger curses, and no guards.
There was only him.
Ryomen Sukuna stood in the center of the snow-covered courtyard, a massive, solitary figure amidst the gently falling white flakes. He wore a simple, dark yukata, entirely inappropriate for the freezing weather, exposing the familiar, dark markings that mapped his broad chest. A dusting of pristine white snow rested in his spiky pink hair and clung to his broad shoulders, indicating he had been standing out there in the freezing cold for quite some time.
He didn't look like a fearsome King, nor an arrogant god. As his four crimson eyes locked onto yours, he just looked like a man who had finally found water after wandering through a desert.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the low howling of the mountain wind.
"Your letter," you finally said, your voice soft, cutting through the frosty air. Part of you still too stubborn to forgive him, "It explicitly stated you would not send for another messenger. And that you would wait for my permission."
"I didn't send a messenger," Sukuna rumbled, his deep bass carrying effortlessly over the wind. He took a slow step forward, the snow crunching heavily beneath his boots. "And I tried to wait. I wrote that letter at midnight. By dawn, the walls of the estate were driving me insane."
He crossed the courtyard, his massive strides eating up the distance between you until he was standing at the base of the wooden steps. You kept your lip tight, but up close, you could see the dark circles under his eyes—proof of his sleepless nights—and the tension bracketed around his mouth.
"I am not a patient creature," he murmured, looking up at you. "You know this."
"I know."
Sukuna slowly ascended the steps, his imposing frame blocking out the biting wind. He stopped just inches from you, hesitating in a way you had never seen him do before. He raised one massive, scarred hand, his fingers hovering just a breath away from your cheek, as if waiting for you to flinch or pull away.
When you didn't, he exhaled a shaky, steaming breath, gently cupping your face. His skin was impossibly warm against the winter chill.
"I am sorry," he said, the words heavy and absolute. There was no hesitation, no pride to mask it. "I was a fool. The estate is a tomb without you."
You looked up into his crimson eyes, seeing the raw, unmasked devotion burning there. The anger that had kept you warm in the mountains finally melted away completely.
You stepped forward, closing the final inch between you, and wrapped your arms around his waist. You pressed your face against his chest, right over his beating heart, inhaling the familiar, intoxicating scent of ash, cursed energy, and the faint, lingering trace of incense.
A shudder ran through Sukuna’s massive frame. With a desperate, crushing grip, his arms wrapped around you. He pressed face onto the top of your head, inhaling deeply into your hair, his four arms holding you so tightly it was as if he feared the wind might steal you away again.
"I have you," he breathed again, his voice thick with relief. "I have you."
"You do," you murmured, your hands resting flat against his back. "But if you ever try to replace my tea with that cheap swill again, or bring another woman within a mile of our home, I will move to the Southern Estate next time. And it’s much further away."
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled deep in his chest—the first genuine sound of amusement he had made in weeks. He pulled back just enough to press a deep, lingering kiss to your forehead.
"Never again," he swore, his eyes burning with absolute certainty. "Let's go inside."
Without waiting for another word, he bent down, effortlessly sweeping you up into his massive arms. Giggles fell from you as he threw you over his shoulder, your hands pressing against his back to steady yourself, “I thought you were bringing me home.”
Sukuna’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smirk. The exhausted, humbled shadow in his four crimson eyes was suddenly replaced by a very familiar, dangerously mischievous heat.
"The journey down the mountain is long," he purred, his voice dropping into a dark, vibrating register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "And as I mentioned, I have been freezing in an empty bed for weeks. The main estate can wait. And it is being repaired."
He began walking down the hallway toward your bedchambers, his grip on you tightening possessively. Setting you down as you reach your doors, but keeping one strong arm around you.
"I think it is only fair we stay here a little longer," he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "So you can thoroughly... thaw me out before we travel."
A sudden, breathless giggle escaped your lips despite yourself. The sheer audacity of the man was returning in full force, but this time, all of that intense, overwhelming focus was directed entirely at you.
"You're impossible," you laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He walked you backwards, one arm sliding the doors closed.
"I am starved," he corrected. "And I fully intend to spend the next few days showing you how much I’ve missed my wife."
Tags: nanami x afab!reader, jus some run of the mill v penetration, breeding, dubcon?(if u squint), heat, rut, MATING PRESS YUM, big strong dada nanami
Word Count: 2,272
AN: first time writing smut. hope u enjoy. ik i did - J
1:38 PM
Nanami watched the hands on his watch tick away another minute before ultimately deciding to leave the table he sat at, the ring of the bells on the cafe door blurring into the sounds of the street outside. He checked his phone again. No new notifications.
[11:56 AM] Kento: Hey I’m here. Let me know when you’re on your way.
[12:23 PM] Kento: Got a coffee. Do you want me to order you something ahead?
[12:45 PM] Kento: Are you okay?
It wasn’t out of character for you to be running late. Nanami had known you almost 6 years, it wasn’t a surprise when you’d walk in still zipping up your boots almost 15 minutes after you’d agreed to meet. However, he knew how seriously you took your monthly meet-ups. It became harder and harder to align schedules for a casual hang out after graduating and joining the workforce. And so begun your monthly routine to have at least one day for each other. He was your best friend after all.
Your no-show naturally worried him. Something must have happened for you to not, at the very least, leave a text. He followed the usual route to your apartment building, checking his phone again every few minutes, until the elevator opened to your floor.
Before even making it to your door, the scent hit him like a sledgehammer.
Saccharine. Thick. You.
It was a scent he knew well enough. He’d been around you in heat before. Occasionally you’d ask him to bring you pain killers or leave food at your door. He’d catch traces of the smell of your skin when he did, but it was always dulled by suppressants — light, like a woman’s perfume lingering in a room she’s left.
But this?
The sweetness was so concentrated Nanami felt like he was choking on air. The taste of honey coated the back of his throat and sent shockwaves straight to his cock. His slacks tightened and the fabric strained against him. His hand shot down instinctively, palming his crotch to relieve the pressure of the knot starting to swell. His other moved to cover his face.
“Fuck.”
He felt his mind start to fog. His skin tingled under his dress shirt, and sweat pricked his temples. He nearly ran to your door, still telling himself he’s only there to check on you, even with his tie loose and collar unbuttoned.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
“Open the door.” His voice came out rougher and more demanding than he had intended, clearly on edge. He felt the frustration creep up his neck, knuckles white from the grip he had on the doorknob.
Nanami prided himself on his self control. An alpha who was best friends with an omega, and able to keep his instincts at bay? He was a man, not an animal.
All out the window when he heard a whimper from inside.
His cock jerked and he jiggled the knob again, door rattling at the strength. He pressed his forehead to the wood and breathed deep. “Baby, open the door for me.” His free hand reached down to squeeze his length, eyes shut. “I can help you.”
You tried to tell him to leave, that you were okay. That you hadn’t realized your suppressants were expired and just needed some time. But between the fingers furiously rubbing at the bud between your legs, slick dripping down to your ass, and your other hand kneading at your breast, all you managed to let out was a weak whimper.
“Ken- to~”
Nanami snapped. He slammed his shoulder into the door once. Twice. Every pound sent a wave of slick pouring out of your cunt and you cried, rubbing yourself faster trying to chase your high.
BANG!
Your teary eyes opened at the sound of splintering wood and your metal lock clanging onto the floor. Nanami stood at the doorway heaving. Wide shoulders blocking the light, letting in enough to highlight the tense muscle of his jaw.
The sight of you nearly dropped him to his knees.
You were on the bed, blankets and pillows thrown messily around you, coated in slick and the lingering scent of him from nights over. Your skin was flushed and glistening with sweat. Your legs were spread wide, fingers alternating between frantically rubbing your clit and slipping inside for quick shallow pumps. Your other hand had let go of your chest. Now clutching the only piece of fabric you wore; a dress shirt Nanami left behind, part of the small wardrobe he keeps at your place in case, pressed to your nose and stained with slick.
“Ken… no. Please.” Your head fell back as the last word left your mouth. Fresh slick poured out around your fingers and hoarse moans filled the room.
He crossed the distance between you in long strides and yanked your hand away from your pussy. The loss made u cry out and your body protested by attempting to sit up. He quickly shoved u back down with a force that surprised you. Held you down with a hand flat on your chest as the other brought your fingers up to his lips.
Your eyes opened to see him sucking on the fingers you had inside you. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hips bucked against nothing.
He let go of your hands and crawled over you, caging you in with his bigger body. His one hand grabbed your thigh to anchor your leg onto his hip and he settled himself between your legs. The other cradled your head as he dipped his face into your neck, inhaling deep. He groaned and pushed his still covered cock against you, your pussy staining his slacks. “You smell so fucking good.”
He started so suck bruises onto your skin, hips still grinding into your core. Desperate for more friction you pushed your hips up to meet his. Your clit rubbed deliciously on the fabric of his pants. He sucked bruises onto your skin, then lower. His mouth closed over one nipple and sucked hard. You arched with a cry, both hands tugging at his hair.
“Alpha,” you whined, desperate and needy. Mind now completely gone.
Nanami’s eyes shot open hungrily. He sat back to shove his slacks and briefs down and his cock sprang free—thick and flushed and leaking, knot at the base angry and swollen. His head fell back and his hand moved to pump himself quickly until a whimper pulled his attention back to you.
His arms moved under yours to grab your shoulders from behind, pressing you against him. His groans now straight into your ear. His hips jerked blindly until the head of his cock nudged your entrance, catching on the slick rim. He growled, and with one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, knot bumping at your stretched hole.
You cried out at the burn, tears slipping down your temples. He didn’t give you time to adjust to the fullness. Nanami bit your shoulder and quickly started rutting against you, using his grip on your shoulders to push your body down to meet his movements.
He pulled back and slammed in so strongly your mouth fell open and whines pushed out at every thrust back in. Your slick squelched obscenely and your shoulder bloomed with pain as Nanami stayed clamped down.
He let go to pant in your ear, “You want my knot, baby? You want me to fill you with my cum?” Each thrust knocked the spongey head of his cock against your cervix painfully. deliciously.
You couldn’t think, you just nodded. He responded with a groan.
Without interrupting his pumps into you, he moved back to hook your legs onto his arms. He pushed his body back onto you, folding you in half into a deep mating press.
A groan left your mouth and a rough ‘yesss’ followed. The new angle gave him more movement and the new snap of his hips rocked the bed. You clawed at his back as he set a new, punishing rhythm.
“Your pussy was made for me. Made for my pups,” he gasped, voice wrecked. Struggling to form sentences in between his thrusts
“‘m gonna pump you so full…” SNAP! “every alpha knows you’re claimed.”
Tears streamed down your face from the overwhelming pleasure. He pressed down harder against you, pushing your knees closer to your chest, so he could reach out and lick the tears away.
Your legs started to shake, both from the strain and from the heat coiled in your stomach. “Yes—Alpha, please—knot me. Breed me—”
The words snapped the last thread.
He fucked you harder, faster, the wet sounds filthy and loud. His knot swelled thicker with every thrust, catching harder on your rim, stretching you wider each time it tried to push in. When it finally popped past the tight ring of muscle and locked inside you, a half-scream half-moan ripped out of your throat.
Your walls clamped down on him, gushing slick around his knot. The pressure on the swollen gland at the base of his cock triggered his release like a gunshot. His hips jerked. Thick, hot ropes of cum pumped deep, flooding your womb in heavy pulses. His knot throbbed and pulsed, ensuring every drop stayed locked inside you.
He collapsed partially over you, still rolling his hips in tiny grinding circles, working his knot deeper, drawing out every last spurt.
When you met his eyes, his mouth crashed onto yours, tongue immediately slipping inside. He let your legs fall and you wrap them around him, your hips now grinding in sync. You suck on each other’s tongues, mind still hazy, and pulses of pleasure still pulling moans out of the both of you.
For long minutes you stayed locked together, panting, sweat-slicked skin sliding. His scent and yours had merged into something new—something that smelled like mate.
But one knot wasn’t enough. Not with both of you this far gone.
As soon as the knot deflated enough to slip free, he was already hardening again inside you. You groaned into his mouth and he broke away. He flipped you onto your stomach, yanked your hips up, and mounted you from behind in one smooth thrust. One hand fisted in your hair, pushing your head down as he pounded into you. The other gripped your hip, sure to leave bruises by morning.
“You take me so good,” he groaned, before leaning down. He pressed his chest against your back and reached down to rub circles against your clit. His teeth grazed your neck. “My perfect girl.”
You whined and pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with the little movement you were able to get.
He fucked you through a second orgasm, then a third, before his second knot swelled and locked you together again. This time he stayed buried deep, grinding slow and deep while he filled you, whispering against your sweat-damp shoulder.
“Let me mate you,” he breathed, still slightly panting. “I can take care of you.” He nosed along your neck until his lips brushed over your scent gland, hot and sensitive from the heat. His teeth grazed the spot but didn’t bite. Not yet.
His hips gave a slow, grinding roll, his swollen knot tugging gently at your rim and making you both moan.
“Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady. “I’m yours.”
The pain was bright and sharp for half a second—then it melted into white-hot pleasure that slammed through your entire body. You cried out, back arching hard and pushed yourself back against him. Your walls clamped down viciously around his knot, another orgasm ripping through you so intensely your vision blurred. Nanami groaned long and low against your neck, his cock jerking in shallow thrusts as he came again, flooding you with more thick cum.
When he finally pulled his fangs free, he licked over the fresh claiming mark with slow, soothing strokes of his tongue.
The night stretched long and filthy after. Chair pushed up against the broken door to keep your neighbors from reporting you.
He took you in the shower—pressed you against the tile, one leg hooked over his arm, knot swelling under the spray while he growled praise and filth into your ear. Then back to the ruined bed, you riding him while he held your hips and made you grind down onto his knot until you sobbed with overstimulation. Then mating press again—deeper, slower, his hand pressed low on your stomach like he could feel himself inside you.
“Gonna put a baby in you,” he rasped during one particularly deep thrust. “Gonna make you a mama. Until you’re round and glowing and everyone knows I fucked you full.”
By the time dawn crept through the blinds, you were both wrecked—both bodies marked with bites and bruises, sheets destroyed, the air thick with the scent of sex. Nanami’s rut had finally eased. Your heat had broken into something softer, manageable.
He pulled you into his arms, still buried inside you, knot half-swollen and keeping you plugged. One big hand stroked slow circles over your back while he purred—low, rumbling into your hair.
“You should have called me. I would have come sooner.”
You smiled sleepily, tracing the lines of his chest, the faint scars from missions. “Don’t think this falls under best friend duties.”
He huffed a quiet laugh and kissed your forehead, then your lips—soft, lingering, nothing like the desperate frenzy from hours ago.
“More than that now,” he said quietly. “You’re stuck with me.”
You nuzzled closer, content and full and finally, finally his.
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