with eyes to hear - r. sukuna
❦ heian trueform!sukuna x hard of hearing concubine!reader
❦ oneshot
❝ sukuna doesn't care for you. not just you, but any of the concubines. yearning for more in life, you don't fear the king as you venture through the halls to occupy yourself. taking notice of the bold concubine cooking at all hours of the night, you capture the curse's attention. as your hearing fades and communication becomes increasingly challenging, sukuna surprises you by rising to the occasion to ensure you never feel isolated. ❞
❦ cw ; 18+ only. mdni. f!reader. (kinda) soft!sukuna. heian era with historical inaccuracies. hurt/comfort. kinda slow burn. jealousy. fluff. mentions of violence & death. mentions of cannibalism. explicit smut. (outdoor) p in v. sukuna has 2 dicks. oral (f! receiving). handjob. fingering. size kink. biting. marking. the slightest bit of choking. pet names ([little] chef, concubine, dove, queen). sukuna calls reader small but he's sukuna. based on my personal experiences with hearing loss and may not reflect other experiences.
❦ words ; 13.3k.
❦ a/n ; hello!! for those who don't know, i struggle with tinnitus and am hard of hearing. i wrote this as a mini self-indulgent piece and next thing i know it's 13k words, so i figured i'd post it regardless <3 i hope you enjoy!
masterlist || ao3
To say that the King of Curses paid you little mind would be an understatement. For all you could tell, he didn’t know you exist. It’s not only you, either. Sukuna doesn’t seem to spare a glance at any of his concubines, too preoccupied with his own business to bother with any of you.
You often find your fingers trailing the pristine walls of his estate as you ponder why he bothers taking you in at all. Most of you come as offerings from wealthy families looking to make an alliance.
Whether Sukuna was valuable to be in an alliance with, you can’t be sure. In your short time here, you’d witnessed the curse lob a head clean off of someone’s shoulders for what you can only assume was a well-intended suggestion. It had happened on more than one occasion, sending a chill up your spine as you chose to walk in a different direction or remain in your quarters should you feel the vibration of his footsteps approaching.
But you can only avoid him for so long.
With so little to do as a concubine, you find yourself growing tired of the four walls that make up your quarters. It’s the same across the rest of the concubines, but they busy themselves with gossip and activities you don’t wish to take part in, too difficult to make out what they’re saying with everyone speaking over one another.
In such a large group, you often find yourself feeling alienated. The other concubines aren’t cruel by any means, but they don’t seem to pay any mind to your needs. You don’t hold it against them, despite the loneliness you find clinging to your heart. It’s difficult to convey what exactly it is that you need when every day is different.
It comes and goes, the ringing in your ears. Some days it’s dull and you find yourself easily distracted by the chatter of servants and other girls. Other days it’s piercing and headaches come easily, along with that sinking feeling of being terribly alone. Despite your explanations, few make any effort to speak slower, louder, or allow you to read their lips.
It’s not something they do purposefully, but it makes the days where the ringing is loud seem to drone on longer than ever.
So, you find yourself frequenting the kitchen.
You don’t bother the servants throughout busy meals, but they allow you to come and go as you please during downtimes. Uraume doesn’t seem bothered by it either, as your food never goes to waste.
Though you find yourself avoiding a majority of the meat- you had the horrific pleasure of figuring out what it was one late night- you’re able to make yourself some nice meals otherwise. You know you don’t have to, but you’d never grown up under the impression you would be treated to meals by servants at any point, certainly not as your hearing began to fade and the shrill screeching increased. You had always assumed your mother’s teachings would go to use as a servant yourself.
So, you chose to use those skills for yourself.
Grilled vegetables and fish, rice and some sort of wild fowl, elk soup- it varies by the day, but you’d grown fond of your afternoons within the kitchen, long after lunch service is over.
It doesn’t matter how loud or piercing the noise in your ears gets, you can drown it out by busying yourself. Unfortunately, it’s for that very reason that you aren’t privy to the approaching footsteps, nor the way they pause at the doorway.
“Woman.”
You do hear that. His deep baritone voice causes you to jolt and drop your wooden spoon. You spin to face him as it clatters to the floor, standing with your spine ram-rod straight as your lord’s eyes narrow.
That four-eyed gaze, careful and concise, rises from the spoon, quietly observing your garments as if confirming his evaluation of you. “Are you not a concubine?”
Your throat runs dry as you read his lips. “Yes, My Lord, I am.”
“Are you unsatisfied with the servants’ food?” He narrows his eyes as his chest slowly rises and falls. As far as you can tell, there’s no bite behind his words.
“No, My Lord. I simply enjoy cooking.”
He shifts, standing straighter as his gaze flicks across the dishes you’ve amassed in making your current meal. Eventually, he steps through the threshold, making his way closer as he observes what ingredients have been used, the smell of elk and bone broth luring him closer.
Despite the way that he dwarfs you, he doesn’t seem quite as imposing this way. His expression is stoic, completely neutral as his chest rises and falls evenly.
“Would you like to try some?” You offer, having just taken the soup off the fire mere moments ago.
Those crimson eyes that strike fear to the very core of many fixate on you for a moment. “Very well.”
You pull a bowl from a shelf above, grabbing a ladle to spoon a portion of broth into the dish. “It’s hot,” you warn.
The king casts you a glance, unreadable as he holds the bowl within one hand. He brings it to his nose, smelling the broth before taking a sip. Contemplating for a moment, you find yourself holding your breath in the silence, staring at him as you curiously await his review.
Surely he wouldn’t kill you if it was bad.
Right?
His eyes slide from the dish to you, letting out a grunt somewhere between surprise and satisfaction. Within the silence of the kitchen, you can easily make out the approval in his tone as he states, “you are quite the chef, concubine.”
Your eyes come alight with his approval. “Thank you, My Lord.”
“You may carry on,” he brushes you off, bringing the soup along with him as he turns to make his way back out the door. “Do not let the food go to waste,” is his final request, thrown over his shoulder just loud enough to make out. His satisfaction makes the day’s noise seem just a bit quieter.
–
Following that day, you don’t find his presence quite so scary. You’ve beared witness to his anger on bad days, but the most you ever receive, whether caught in the kitchen, or passing him in a hall, is a glance. You can’t discern exactly what his thoughts are on you, but your presence doesn’t seem to irk him quite like some of the other concubines.
That’s something you come to realize on another particularly bad day.
Whether it’s a worse day for you or Sukuna, you can’t be sure.
You’re rarely all summoned at once, let alone even one of you, however theft has been rampant at the estate lately. It would seem for all of the blood spilled across the last few days for this very reason, Sukuna still finds himself unsatisfied with the results. One of the concubines had been kind enough to relay this information to you before you all found yourself bowing before his imposing figure.
This is the first time you’ve found yourself to be a witness to his rage. The tension within his jaw alone could snap necks, you don’t want to know what he could do with the two pairs of burly arms crossed over his broad chest. His robes have been discarded in favor of only a pair of garments covering his lower half. His chest is bare, and you have half a mind to think it’s only to strike fear into the lot of you, given his sheer size.
Any other day, you may have gawked at his impressive display of muscle and tattoos. Today, you follow suit with the other servants and keep your head low.
“Do one of you have an eye for my belongings?” The king snarls. You don’t need to read lips to hear his bellows, his anger ripping straight through the piercing drone.
You remain calm, having no interest in whatever valuables the curse is going on about. You have a feeling he doesn’t much care for the riches within the estate either, it’s simply the principle of it all.
With no reply apart from a couple of whimpers from other concubines, Sukuna takes a step forward, imposingly leaning over the group of concubines. “Shall I ask each of you individually?” he hisses, fire behind his glare that’s unlike that you’ve seen in even the warlords who reside in your village.
He’s unlike any man you’ve ever known.
Uraume stands a short distance away, observing quietly, though they rarely weigh in. You’ve spoken to them on occasion when they had caught you in the kitchen, though much like Sukuna, they allowed you to carry on.
Each concubine quakes when Sukuna paces from side to side, save for you. This life was not unkind to you, given the way your worth had been treated within the village. You don’t fear Sukuna’s rage, for he’s only ever shown you that you aren’t unworthy of fair treatment.
He pauses his pacing directly in front of you, his feet visible from where your gaze remains evenly on the ground.
“Little chef, do you have any insight?” He murmurs in a searing hiss, quiet.
Too quiet.
Oblivious to his words, it all blends into that drone within your mind.
Your lack of reply displeases him. “Concubine,” he snarls, finally drawing your attention. You blink, raising your head. Wide-eyed, you find yourself barely a breadth from the two-faced curse.
And this time, that rage is directed at you. “My Lord?” You quietly reply, uncertain as to what you’ve missed.
“Do you dare not to reply?” He hisses, low. Too low, with too little movement given his snarl. You can’t make his words out.
Your lips open and close as you try to make sense of what you’ve missed, but the words die in your throat as suddenly you’re faced with a fear you had stopped harboring for Sukuna. It chokes you, unable to admit that you’re hard of hearing. The concubines at your side don’t care to risk their lives for you.
Sukuna, unimpressed, stands straight with narrowed eyes. “I expected more of you,” he snarls, his lip curled in disappointment.
“My Lord, I can’t-” you shake your head, peering to either side for help as you’re unable to make his words out again.
It’s at this point that you lock eyes with Uraume, who’s had a revelation cross over them at your strange behavior and the way you carry yourself. “Lord Sukuna, if I may,” they interrupt.
Sukuna’s head whips towards them, the fire in his gaze undying.
“Are you unable to hear?” Uraume queries as they approach you, a curious lilt to their tone. They’re careful to clearly enunciate and keep their tone louder.
“I’m able to hear only when it’s quiet and with louder voices,” you explain, keeping your gaze on Uraume. “I can make out words through watching lips otherwise.”
The curl to Sukuna’s lip slowly lowers as the revelation dampens his rage (towards you, anyway). As you turn your attention from Uraume to face Sukuna once more, you find yourself relieved to see that unreadable expression spread across his features once more. The one that makes you think that he doesn’t mind your presence, even if his eyes narrow in contemplation for a moment.
His tone evens as he addresses you next, loud and with eye contact. “Do you believe any of your fellow concubines to be a thief?” He queries, that piercing gaze now carefully following the way your gaze lowers to read his lips while you listen, as he comes to understand what it is exactly that sets you apart from the rest of the estate.
Unafraid of the king as his wrath is quelled, you glance at the women to either side of you. “No, My Lord.”
“Very well. Consider yourselves grateful,” he growls as he turns, whatever rage he’d had no longer of interest to him.
Why your word was worth so much to him, you can’t be sure. Still, you’re careful to shoot a thankful nod in Uraume’s direction.
–
You run into him more often following that encounter. He’s a man of few words, but somehow it makes him easier to be around.
He doesn’t pay much mind to you one way or the other, but the little things add up.
Passing him in the hallway, you aren’t oblivious to the way that he lets you meet his gaze where others cower.
He even seems unbothered when he finds you picking herbs from his garden. They aren’t intended for your use, and by all accounts could be considered theft, but if he finds it to be such a thing, he doesn’t speak his mind.
In fact, it’s that same night that he finds himself drawn to the kitchen by the smell of seasoned and grilled wild fowl, caught fresh earlier that morning. It’s long past the time that you’re intended to be asleep, but even the guards don’t bother themselves with you anymore. They get food out of it, who are they to complain?
These days, you have more free reign than most of the employ of the King of Curses, but you’ve never considered it to be special treatment.
Maybe you should, in reality.
You don’t hear him approaching, lured to the smell wafting from within the kitchen.
Caught up within the clanking of dishes and crackling of the fire, you aren’t privy to his footsteps. He’s not a quiet man in his movements, but he is a man of few words, and once again he catches you off-guard.
“What are you cooking so late, little chef?” He inquires, his voice loud enough to gather your attention. You shriek in surprise as your spoon is once again sent flying, clattering across the ground.
With one hand on your chest, you tear your gaze from the spoon to face Sukuna. If it were anyone else, you might have chastised them for sneaking up on you, but you don’t dare around the king. “Apologies, My Lord. I didn’t hear you,” you bow your head slightly, though when you meet his gaze, the amusement held within those usually piercing irises tells you he may have done it on purpose.
Asshole.
Something of a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips as he turns his attention to the meal atop a fire. “Wild fowl, correct?” He speaks up.
You nod. “With rice. I used herbs from the garden, I hope you don’t mind.”
He doesn’t grace you with a reply, even as a pair of eyes flicker away from the dish, towards you. You don’t take it personally, he’s never been all that talkative.
“It’s not quite done. Would you like some once it’s finished?”
He nods. “I would.”
You offer a small smile, picking the wooden spoon up off the floor before grabbing a new, clean one to continue cooking the fowl.
“Why do you cook so late into the night, concubine?” He speaks in an even tone, one that breathes curiosity over disdain, close to your ear.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Is that so?” He hums, pondering your revelation. “Are your quarters unsatisfactory?”
You turn to face him with intrigue, continuing to grill the wild bird. “Not at all. Some days are simply worse than others.”
Having piqued his curiosity, you’re surprised when he inquires about you beyond surface-level questions. “How so?”
“I hear ringing. Some days it’s louder than others,” you explain, “but it’s the worst at night, when there are no other sounds. Sometimes I’m unable to drown it out.”
He hums, though you miss the sound, as he straightens. “Is there a remedy?”
You offer a smile, appreciative of the strange kindness he bears. Turning back to the nearly-finished meal, you put out the fire and begin plating the meals. “No, My Lord. There isn’t.”
He takes the portion of food you offer him, smaller than the previous one given that no one else is awake aside from the occasional guard. Hell, you hadn’t expected Sukuna to be awake either.
As he tries the dish, his brow raises only slightly, a warm gleam within his eye that just barely gives away his satisfaction.
You find yourself smiling before you can help it, finding comfort within the shared meal.
He quickly finishes his portion, setting the dish aside as he stands over you. “Had you the option, is there another outlet you might seek over cooking?” He inquires.
“Do you not like the dish?” Your head tilts, but there’s a lilt to your tone that suggests teasing, testing the boundaries of what the king is willing to put up with.
His eyes narrow, and although you don’t hear it, you see the way his chest rises and falls in one heavy motion, a huff. Mild irritation at worst, toleration of your teasing at best. He doesn’t bother dignifying you with a reply, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
You clear your throat. “I used to like reading, if I couldn’t sleep.”
“Do you not enjoy it any longer?”
“I do! I’ve read everything we have, however.”
His brow twitches as he considers your words. He nods finally, blinking slowly. “Very well. You may carry on.”
You’re not sure why that seems to be his chosen words of departure every time he leaves the kitchen, but it’s not the last time you hear it, either.
–
Once or twice a week, he visits. You never know when to expect him, though your own times within the kitchen are equally erratic. Each time, he startles you. By now you know it’s definitely on purpose when you catch a smug smirk on his lips, and find yourself looking over your shoulder every so often.
For that reason, you notice him several weeks later before he can catch you by surprise.
“Keen senses, little chef.”
“Just luck,” you smile in greeting like he isn’t a monster with a low tolerance for others, continuing to stir another bone broth.
“I rather enjoy startling you.”
“I’m sure you do, My Lord,” you agree.
He hums, something of a pleased noise, although it escapes you. His silence brings with it a strange sense of comfort that you can only find within a man like him. Those watchful eyes, ever-observant, don’t breathe of safety like that of a friend, but your strange connection to the man does mirror somewhat of a camaraderie.
He no longer questions when the food will be ready, and you no longer ask if he wants a portion.
He stands over you, never imposing nor in the way, moving when you turn to grab a utensil and retaking his position when you begin ladling it into two bowls.
He rarely even asks what you’re cooking anymore, simply enjoying the taste and allowing you to tell him, should you choose. If you don’t dignify him with an explanation, he’s fine to enjoy the small pleasure.
There’s a small clank as he sets his bowl down, and you expect him to leave without a word. To your surprise, he fixes you with a calculating stare.
“My Lord?”
“You have read everything within the library provided?” He queries out of the blue, his tone deep although he speaks loud.
Your lips purse, blinking. “I have.”
A pair of crimson irises takes in the state of your bowl, nearly finished, scanning the kitchen briefly. Once satisfied with whatever it is he finds, he raises one of his many strong biceps, his robes draping from them as he whisks you away from the kitchen with a hand placed on your lower back.
He’s surprisingly gentle, given what you know of him. Hell, you’ve seen him tear head from body with the simple flick of a wrist for the smallest of errors. You’ve always chalked his kindness towards you up to a good meal and a little bit of luck, but it would seem at some point you earned his favor, too.
He leads you down long winding hallways, long past the point where the rest of the concubines are allowed. Your steps falter when you reach the barrier in which Sukuna scarcely allows people, but his large and steady hand remains in place as he pushes you along.
You’re allowed to peer up at him rather than bow, another perk of having his favor. He dwarfs you in every manner of the word. The markings that trail along his jaw serve to accentuate just how broad and sharp his edges are, equally so to his personality, though you rarely see that side of him.
Coming to a halt at a door down a corridor you don’t recognize, you await his guidance as he pulls a key from within his robe, unlocking the grand door. Pushing it open, he awaits your movement as he holds the heavy door well above your head. You don’t even need to duck to walk under his arm, entering the dimly-lit room. You don’t make it far inside, unable to make out much of anything in the darkness.
Sukuna confidently moves past you, waving a hand over a candle. Your eyes light up with intrigue as it sputters to fiery life suddenly, unaware that the king had any influence over fire. With your path lit just enough to ensure you don’t bump into anything, you trail after him, awaiting any sort of instruction.
Reaching his destination, Sukuna waves a hand once more over a larger bundle of candles and a candelabra, which bring the room into a greater light. As you’re able to take in the room, Sukuna watches with quiet intrigue.
Books surround you on every side, rising far beyond your height into the ceiling. A small window overlooks a garden you’ve never seen with a cushion at its base, while a much larger chair- the perfect size for Sukuna, one might think- sits at the base of a ladder intended to reach the higher annexes. The room has a homely smell to it, one of old paper and melted wax that doesn’t resemble the rest of the estate.
Bringing your gaze back down to meet Sukuna’s, you’re perplexed as to why he’s brought you here.
You’re no fool, you know he’s allowing you access to more books. You know you share something of a connection to him, whether he simply puts up with you or enjoys your presence more than he lets on, but this goes beyond that. Why is he extending so much kindness to you?
He takes a step forward, satisfied with your exploration and silent question. Holding out one hand, he awaits your own, dropping a key into your palm. “You may make use of this area when you are unable to rest.”
Your thumb brushes the length of the brass key, deftly wrapping your fingers around the peripheral. “Thank you, My Lord,” you breathe, turning to take in the sights again as your attention settles on the large chair. “Is this your personal library?”
“It is.”
You can’t help the wonder within your expression at what seems to be every book anyone could ever need, all held within the walls of a library that you’ve been given what you assume to be exclusive access to. Words are beyond you as you slowly approach the wall, your finger brushing the spines of old woven books and fresh prints alike, as though Sukuna keeps an eye out for what might interest him.
“Have you gotten sick of my cooking?” You tease as your fingers brush along the spine of a poetry book, peering back over your shoulder at him.
The king’s eyes narrow at your jest, lips pressed into a thin line as he doesn’t grace you with a reply.
Your smile widens at his disdain for your teasing, as you thank him once more. “Thank you, Lord Sukuna.”
It’s the first time you’ve addressed him as such. As you turn back to the wall, slipping a poetry book from a shelf to flip through, Sukuna finds himself growing fond of the sound coming from your lips.
–
In the weeks that follow, Sukuna never truly knows where he’ll find you. More often than not, it’s tucked into the nook of his personal library, overlooking the garden designated only for him and a couple of servants he tolerates. As weeks turn to months, he finds you in the kitchen on occasion as well.
There’s quiet camaraderie held within the curse’s movement throughout the estate. There are weeks where he’s gone, while those where he’s within the walls of the large property, it’s said that he can be heard bellowing orders.
You never see that side of him..
Sukuna can’t be sure what always seems to lead him through the halls late at night, but if he isn’t drawn to the alluring smell of whatever concoction you have on the fire, his feet still seem to subconsciously carry him to the library.
You always perk up at the sight of the monstrous man, even on the days where he manages to catch you off-guard.
He’s never had the pleasure of seeing another’s eyes light up at the sight of him.
Perhaps he enjoys that about you.
Sometimes, he even finds himself indulging in reading alongside you. He’ll splay out on his own chair as neither of you pay any mind to one another. An unspoken agreement hangs in the balance between you, though on occasion you both find ways to break that agreement.
Your brow twitches. Minute, but not unnoticed.
“Is that book not to your satisfaction?”
Surprised to find him breaking the unspoken agreement, you let the book rest on your lap, blinking at him. “No, that’s not it, My Lord.” You don’t know the way his chest burns as he longs for you to address him by Lord Sukuna once more. “I’m simply contemplating the meaning behind the words.”
His gaze carefully trails to the book in your lap. Slowly, he reclines further as one of his elbows rests on the arm of the chair, if it could even be deemed as a chair, rather than a throne. He rests his jaw on his fist, lazily regarding you. “Indulge me,” he waves another hand, a strange air of relaxation to the king like a cat in the sun.
And so you do. You find that Sukuna can be rather insightful, surprised to come across the fact that he’s actually already read through the entire library, each one held within the walls of this room merely out of the fact that he enjoyed it. Over the months, you even find books that you don’t recognize from before, as though he’s adding to his otherwise dusty collection.
Your conversations pull a smirk from him more often than you care to think about. You chalk it up to that same camaraderie, but as night after night you find yourself engaged in discussion with Sukuna, there’s warmth to be found within the sanctuary he offers only to you.
Although a curse now, Sukuna was once a man. He claims to see humanity as a sign of weakness and if you dare ask, he would proclaim that to the world. But he’s no fool. It’s been months now since he’s shifted his sleep schedule to revolve around these quiet meetings, regardless of whether he’s met with a late night snack or quiet literary discussion.
He may not be entirely familiar with the feelings it stirs within him, but he’s learned to navigate the unfamiliar on his own over the years.
Even if it frustrates him to no end that his mind and body seem to seek you out before he has the sense to reconsider.
Slowly, as the months pass and the phases of the moon greet you from the window each night like a dear friend, he begins to notice your chatter dying. You don’t look up as often from your book when he sighs, and your eyes rarely stray from the page at the sound of him shifting in his seat. The orders of guards well outside the walls that surround you are lost on you, too.
When he approaches you in the kitchen, you’re no longer amused as he startles you, but instead seem frustrated. Your disdain seems directed towards yourself, however, rather than him, and you soften when he finds his usual place beside you.
Some part of him understands that it’s getting worse. That you strain more and more to put pieces of sentences together, even when reading lips.
So, just as he had on the day that he discovered your disability, he adapts.
You don’t know it, but he stomps into the kitchen when you’re cooking. You assume he’s just heavy on his feet, or that maybe you’ve grown better at sensing the vibrations now that your focus falls into your other senses.
He’ll never tell you he’s simply stomping about and bothering the rest of the staff all for your convenience.
But it’s only the first of the changes he makes.
Setting your brass key atop a small table, you shut the door behind you within the library. It’s dark as usual, but you’ve come to know where the sulfur matches await you. You softly sigh as you take the wax stick of the first candle and use it to begin lighting the rest until the room has a soft glow to it.
It’s darker than usual for summer, but your ability to sleep has gotten worse over the months. You know those around you can tell, between the fact that you miss breakfast and you’re often found wandering the halls at odd times of the night. No one dares to question you, not when Sukuna himself lets you be. Done staring wistfully out the window, you go to take your usual spot when you realize the layout of the room has changed.
Sukuna’s chair has disappeared, while the spot where you usually curl up has grown in size, more cushions precisely placed by the windows, many of a larger size. You curiously peer at them, wanting to brush it off as Sukuna being done with his time with you and granting you a larger space for yourself...
But that would be a foolish assumption, when the cushion across from you is so clearly Sukuna-sized.
Your suspicions would be confirmed when you feel the rumble of heavy steps as he approaches the library. Your gaze is already on him when he opens the door, clad in his usual white robes. He doesn’t seem particularly alarmed, let alone bothered, by the fact that his chair has been removed, leading you to believe that it was him, after all.
He takes his time choosing a book, before sitting directly across from you. His mass takes up a large space of your cushioned nook as he leans back against the shelf behind him. Bathed by soft candlelight, his expression seems calmer than usual as he gradually relaxes into the spot, his large limbs tossed haphazardly across the floor at his sides. You smile, returning to your book.
Maybe he just needs the companionship you offer more than you realized.
That’s what you assume, until-
“Do you not sleep anymore, little chef?”
With a hand holding the careful binding of your book open, you sit straighter, blinking as you realize he’s figured you out. The lack of sleep and the worsening of your fifth sense. He’s moved closer so that you can hear him better.
Sukuna is a particularly tough man to read. He constantly wears a neutral, if not disinterested, expression and doesn’t often have much to say, so the fluttering within your chest feels forbidden. You’re a concubine, and you’ll admit you have privilege where others don’t, and yet… he’s never shown an interest in any of his concubines. You have no reason to see yourself as anything beyond another inhabitant between the walls of the estate who bows to the king.
The butterflies in your stomach don’t seem to agree, though.
“I hear ringing,” you begin, “it’s gotten louder recently and makes it harder to hear anything else.”
He grunts, something you piece together only through the way his adam’s apple bobs.
Those are the only words he speaks to you that night. It’s some of the very few he shares with you at all, these days. Your conversations always remained formal, but they still came easily, once upon a time. Now, silence surrounds you.
Yet, the ringing reminds you that you don’t know true silence.
It’s funny; how you long for both true silence and the noise that comes with being able to hear all at once. Instead, you’re granted neither, dulling your sense further and the world with it.
Sukuna can see it killing your spirit.
Simply moving closer, speaking louder, walking with more intent; it isn’t enough.
So he’ll take it a step further.
–
When Uraume’s knock outside your door is met with silence, they quietly enter your quarters, figuring you haven’t heard them. “I apologize for the intrusion,” they loudly proclaim, but there’s not a single sound to greet them. Scanning the room, they return to Sukuna to inform him.
He straightens, scowling as he makes his way to the kitchen, first. He supposes given your sleep schedule that it’s not an unreasonable time to have a meal, but preparations for dinner are already underway and you’re nowhere to be found.
As a couple of wide-eyed servants cower at the sight of Sukuna, he turns on his heels and makes his way to the only other place he can think of to find you.
He supposes maybe he should have started here. With light flooding in through the window above, you resemble a cat basking in the sun, curled up around whatever you were reading last night, still asleep mid-afternoon.
The curse frowns to himself as he stands over your sleeping form. He wonders how often you sleep here, rather than your own quarters, though he’s never caught you until now.
He contemplates leaving you be, though the way that you’re curled up doesn’t look particularly comfortable and it’s mid-afternoon. He huffs, scowling at you as he lowers himself to a seated position, resting an upper hand on your shoulder. He lightly shakes you, rousing you from your sleepy state.
“Lord Sukuna?” You murmur groggily, your hair and clothes disheveled as you sit upright.
“I sent Uraume for you. You weren’t in your quarters,” he spares no time explaining, still scowling. There’s a twitch in his steady composure when you call him Sukuna, that you can’t quite discern.
Whether he’s upset with you or just wearing that expression, you aren’t certain. Like you said before, he’s a tough guy to read. “Apologies, My Lord. I suppose time got away from me.”
“Simply because you have a key does not mean I will allow you to rest within these walls,” he loudly grumbles, his tone strained as he struggles to balance his frustration with something akin to… concern?
Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you shift to sit on your knees. “It won’t happen again, My Lord.”
He scoffs, if the way he exhales dramatically is anything to go off of. “What led to this?”
Raising an arm to block the sun that cascades through the window, you squint out at the garden. “Is it midday?”
Sukuna doesn’t reply, awaiting your response to his question first as he continues to scowl at you.
“I…” you trail off, but there’s no reasonable answer to it. You’d just gotten carried away in what you were reading, and you suppose by the time the sun came out and the bustling of the estate drowned out a modicum of the ringing, you just… passed out. “I suppose my late nights caught up to me,” you excuse yourself with a sheepish smile.
You’re sure he huffs based on the way his chest rises and falls in one quick motion.
Getting to your feet, you brush your robes off as your muscles adjust to the waking world. Sukuna follows suit, standing over you with that same knit in his brow that a part of you longs to smooth. Perhaps too bold for someone in your position.
“You sent Uraume for me, My Lord?”
Pulling Sukuna from his glowering stupor, he nods, ensuring he’s visible when he says, “come.”
A hand from his lower pair of arms settles on the small of your back as he leads you past guards that don’t even take a breath as Sukuna turns down a long corridor. You peer through the threshold of a room towards the end of the hall, lips pursing at the realization that you’ve reached his chambers.
As far as you’re aware, no one besides Uraume and the occasional servant have ever so much as witnessed these halls and lived to tell the tale. You have half a mind to think he could kill you for just being here, and yet… the way his hand has settled on your back, maybe not.
A few steps further, Sukuna opens a door towards the end of the hall, one in which some sort of white noise drones from, one that drowns that constant ringing, just a bit. It’s a large room with a bed in the center and a door out to what you assume must be Sukuna’s private gardens. The white noise comes from an indoor waterfall installation, water cascading over an artificial bamboo precipice that loudly trickles into a pool below.
You don’t want to make assumptions, certainly not one that places your personal quarters beside Sukuna’s, but…
What other assumption is there to make?
At a loss for words, you wrap your arms around yourself. “My Lord, is this…?” You can’t even bring yourself to say it. The mere suggestion feels like blasphemy on your tongue.
His hand leaves the small of your back, replaced with one on your shoulder as he takes a step closer when you barely enter the threshold of the room. His body heat radiates against your back, his chest brushing the back of your head when you lift your gaze to peer up at him.
Certain that you’ll be able to read his lips if necessary, he replies in a low tone. “You will sleep here from now on. Uraume will move your belongings. The guards will not stop you.”
You blink up at him, glancing back at his bulky chest as heat rises from the back of your neck to the apples of your cheeks. “Thank you, Lord Sukuna,” you breathe, unable to convey the sense of relief it is to have something to drown out the ringing.
He straightens, a gleam of pride held within those ever-fiery irises. When you turn to face the fountain once more, a giddy smile overtaking your features, Sukuna glides a thick finger along your jaw, pulling your attention back to him. “I will not catch you asleep in the library, do you understand?”
Your eyes widen at the close proximity of his form as he leans close to you, his gaze piercing yours. It pulls the air straight from your lungs as his presence wraps around you, bathing you in his very essence. Your gaze flickers wildly across his face, lingering on his lips, much to his amusement.
“Do you understand?” He repeats himself, a lilt of mirth caught in the air between you.
You nod, unwilling to trust your voice as the very King of Curses that everyone fears gives to you a portion of his soul.
“Good,” he purrs, standing upright. He drops his hand from your chin, stepping back to head back to his daily duties. He pauses before he leaves. “Get some rest,” he instructs. “I would like to request a salmon dish when you are well.”
You have to press your lips into a thin line in order to prevent your smile from breaking through.
–
By some sort of miracle (or maybe the kindness of the man normally seen as a monster), sleep no longer evades you. Throughout the week, your time in the library adjusts to an earlier schedule, and with Sukuna sitting alongside you, it becomes easier to communicate again.
There’s a saccharine affability to Sukuna’s ability to flip on a dime from the rough ruler of the estate, barking orders and noting incompetencies, to the man who sits across from you and shares his favorite literature. You keep your promise not to fall asleep in the library again and even serve him the salmon dish he requested and in return, you find more and more robes and jewelry of increasing quality popping up in your quarters.
It’s overwhelming in a sense, even more so as the other concubines alienate you more and more. At times, you’re grateful you can’t hear their mutterings, but the green gazes that are shot your way are an adjustment.
Still, you keep your head up and continue wandering the halls day after day, busying yourself with whatever piques your interest from moment to moment.
Passing by the throne room, Sukuna’s voice bellows loud enough that you pause at the entrance, casting a glance in his direction. Although you didn’t catch what he said, you’re surprised to find his gaze trained solely on you, his eyes traveling the length of the new robes you wear, a stunning white with vibrant red stitching.
You cock your head questioningly, leading Sukuna to beckon you over with two fingers.
Only once have you ever been a witness to the king’s throne room. He sits atop a massive cushioned seat, one that positively screams of power and strength, at the end of the room, with Uraume and a pair of guards near the doors. Before him, a woman trembles on her knees, an offering laid out in front of her on a cloth.
In spite of the room’s size, with high ceilings and intricate ornaments decorating the edges, the room is stifling.
At least- that’s how it felt when you stood where the woman now is. When you were an offering. You had heard the stories of the warlord with two faces, but the grandeur of his presence felt understated within the lines of texts about him.
Now, standing with your head bowed at Sukuna’s side, the air no longer seems to close in around you. It may not be customary within the library, but you don’t dare act out of line within his own kingly chamber.
His robes rustle as he reaches a hand out to brush your elbow, gathering your attention without a word. “Lift your head,” he instructs, beckoning you closer with two fingers once more, before adjusting his position to leave room for you.
On his lap.
Your cheeks warm, but you find comfort tucked between two bulky biceps and his peck. With your legs thrown over Sukuna’s legs and one forearm lazily settling atop your thigh, you find it easy to get comfortable.
He lowers his head to your level, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. “Does their offering satisfy you, my little chef?” With your body pressed into his, you can feel the deep vibrations that his voice carries, the sensation making understanding come easier.
You straighten slightly as he calls you his, blinking off the surprise as you stare down at the necklace before the woman. The gold has dulled, but polish will bring the shine back out. “It’s gorgeous,” you comment, curious as to what she’s requesting.
Sukuna eyes you on his lap for a moment, straightening to face the trembling woman. “Very well. I accept your offering.” He lazily waves a hand through the air. “Uraume.”
His most trusted ally steps forward, lifting the cloth and jewelry and setting it aside with other accepted offerings. As you look over the assortment, it seems to range from rare foods and herbs to books and tools with expert craftsmanship.
“Your farm will remain in my territory under my protection, however-” His tone darkens, something you aren’t used to with him. “Should your husband choose to defy me again, an offering of this type will not suffice.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the woman trembles, not daring to look up at him.
“Leave,” he growls dismissively, reclining as he leans his jaw on a fist.
With a simple flick of the king’s wrist, Uraume is bringing in another group. A man, a woman, and who you can only assume is their daughter, a gorgeous woman around your age who clings to her mother whose head is ducked in shame.
“Lord Sukuna,” the man bows, though brimming with confidence unlike the last woman. “In exchange for the protection of my village, I offer my first-born as a concubine.”
You can’t make out a majority of his lowly spoken words from where you sit, but you don’t need to given the context. You’ve been in the very position of the woman who seems to be silently begging her parents not to sell her off as a bargaining chip. Your stomach churns, something between disdain for the man, and something far greener at the prospect of Sukuna accepting a concubine when now is certainly not the time.
While you may not have heard the man’s full statement, you do feel Sukuna’s huff. “Oh?” Sukuna leans forward at your side, his head beside yours with a much darker expression than you’re accustomed to.
The man’s confidence wavers, but he puffs out his chest, proceeding to list the tasks his daughter excels at. You have half a mind to question if she’s being offered as a concubine or a servant, or whether her father simply doesn’t care.
A chill runs coolly up your spine, uneasiness prickling at the back of your neck. As the man drones on, Sukuna turns his attention to you, stiff within his grasp. He quietly observes your scowl, using one gentle finger to turn your head to look at him. “Is your uneasiness due to my duties, or the offering?”
You purse your lips, casting a sidelong glance at the offering in question. “The offering.”
“I see.”
“Why do you take concubines, if you don’t spend time with any of them- us-” you correct yourself, “- My Lord?”
Sukuna’s chest rumbles dangerously behind you. “Are you jealous, little concubine?”
Your mouth opens, closes, and opens again before you steel yourself. “No,” you murmur.
“No?” He parrots, amused. “Then to what do I owe your envious questioning?”
You hesitate again, struggling to come up with anything reasonable as a reply. There’s no way out of his question that doesn’t show the true color of your inquiry.
Sukuna laughs lowly under you again, lowering his head to your ear. “Let me ask you something,” he begins, his eyes trained viciously on the man ahead of him. “Had I not taken you, where would you be now?”
Your brow furrows as you consider his question. “I don’t know,” you admit.
“Your lives are nothing more than bargaining chips to these warlords and wretches. Were you not my concubines, you would be another’s, or perhaps a servant, and not of your own accord, correct?”
“You’re… sparing us?” You query, turning your head incredulously to face him. As much as you’ve grown to earn his favor and even learned to admire the king in response to his kindness, you’ve never known him to be benevolent. You’ve turned your head up at the screams of those damned by Sukuna, and you’ve seen his rage over something that’s purely principle. You know what meat lies within the kitchen every night. So… “Why?”
Sukuna shifts beneath you, his arm wrapping around your waist with possessive intent. “I am not fond of humanity, nor their intentions,” he explains close to your ear, his voice in a near-growl. “However, I am less fond of the idea that some deem their own spawn to be lowered to nothing more than a gift.”
You blink, peering up at his sharp jawline.
“I have no interest in those who don’t come to me of their own volition,” he dismisses your question. “You are all free to live here, so long as you stay out of my business,” he gruffs.
“The concubines are free to leave?”
He hums, felt under the weight of his arm. “That is correct.”
You blink, having never considered leaving, as if there’s some unspoken rule that you quietly and quickly internalized. “What about the servants?”
His gaze flickers down to you, otherwise unmoving. “They willingly offered their own services in exchange for one thing or another.”
You nod in understanding, turning your attention to the man who holds his daughter’s wrist firmly, shuffling under Sukuna’s harsh stare. He hunches forward, a dark grin lifting his lips as he finally has a response for the sleazy man.
“Do I appear to be in need of any concubines?” He challenges, low and slow, almost serpentine in the way he oozes condescension and disdain.
The man’s gaze shifts to you, his brow quirking. “There is value in more than one concubine.”
Something between a grunt and a growl rumbles deep within Sukuna’s chest, predatory in the way he regards the man like a small animal. The curse looks at him like something meant to join the ranks of the kitchen- and not in the way you often do.
“There is value,” Sukuna hisses, “in keeping your mouth shut.” You can feel the rage burning from the surface of his skin, searing in the spot where his arm remains firmly around your waist. “Uraume.”
This isn’t Uraume’s first brush with this situation. The white-haired curse-user moves gracefully through the room, not a shred of evidence as to what they’re thinking written within the creases of their neutrality. They lead the new concubine past the guards and into the depths of the estate, the entire scenario reminding you far too much of your arrival here.
Sukuna’s gaze follows, and once he’s certain they’re out of earshot, he faces the concubine’s parents once more. His eyes slide from one parent to the other, reading the mother’s fear, and the father’s pride.
He raises a hand, and without a word, the sleazy man sputters, blood spurting from his mouth, before his body slumps to the floor, dismembered from his head. You go rigid at the sight, your breaths coming faster at the suddenness with which the man is no longer a thought for Sukuna. He shifts his attention to the woman, whose hands cover her mouth as she panics, falling to her knees as she begins pleading with Sukuna. Not for her husband’s life or even her own, but her daughter’s.
“Silence,” Sukuna bellows in a snarl. The trembling woman bows her head sharply. “You will bring his head to your village and advise those in charge that I do not desire more humans, lest you wish to sacrifice the meat off their bones,” he growls, eyes narrowed.
“Y-yes, My Lord,” she whimpers. “My daughter, will she-?”
“She may return, should she so choose,” he mutters dismissively, sitting upright as he returns to a lazily seated position, sprawling himself out once more. “Though I have yet to bear witness to a concubine leaving my estate.”
“Of course, M-” She chokes on a fearful sob. “My Lord.” With a final bow, she shakily takes her late husband’s head and retreats in a flurry of limbs and cheap fabrics.
As Sukuna instructs Uraume to grab servants to clean up the mess and bring the man to the kitchen- something you do not want to think too hard about- you chew on your lip. Once the room is clean and the smell of iron has been replaced with that of incense, Sukuna dismisses everyone save for the guards at the door.
Leaning back in his chair, he briefly shuts his eyes, waiting a solid few moments before he lets out a breath, his attention given in full to you. With one arm still firmly holding your waist, he raises another to glide along your jaw, pulling your gaze to him. Crimson irises examine your expression as he lets his thumb slide up to your lips, pressing down on your lower lip and sliding it off.
Deep within your chest, you shudder at the feeling of his calloused skin sliding across yours. His lidded eyes follow the movement of his thumb. “Speak your mind,” he murmurs, shifting his hand to grip your waist with more fervor. There’s curiosity for him in the fact that you seek his touch despite watching him kill someone with a flick of his wrist.
“Why did you kill him?”
His lip curls into a smirk. “I will not be offered meek humans.”
“Is that not what I am?”
“Human, perhaps,” he leans closer, “meek, no.” He purrs. “I would never have caught you in my kitchen without permission, were you meek,” he scoffs, but there’s amusement caught within his tone, woven into the syllables. You aren’t loudly defiant, but a quiet and respectful sort of bold that he enjoys. You don’t fear the king, so you feel no need to seek permission where others do.
It’s that fearlessness and the freedom you feel to challenge him that draws him to you.
You’re strong, not because of what you’ve been through, but in spite of it.
Although heat rises to the tips of your ears, you still question the king. “Did he need to die to prove that point?”
“Does it bother you that I killed him?” Sukuna queries, eyes narrowed as he carefully inspects your expression. Your brows knit, deep in thought as you internalize his question, considering the new revelation that he had likely done the same with your own family.
Does it bother you that he killed that man? That he killed your father, if you had to guess?
Does it bother you that he sent the head of a man who tried to sell you like cattle back to your village?
“No,” you reply with finality, something gleaming within your eyes that makes Sukuna grin, a wild look igniting within his own gaze.
“I expected as much,” he hums, more to himself than you as a simple observation. “I am pleased to find that’s the case.” His hand brushes the apple of your cheek with just the slightest tremor. Not one that suggests he’s scared, for the King of Curses doesn’t feel such a thing, but one that suggests he’s holding back.
You test that theory as your sultry gaze finds his lips.
He inhales a long breath, recognizing your temptation. “I have duties to attend to,” he hums, “I will find you tonight.”
–
After having been dismissed, you wander the halls with more authority than you’re accustomed to. Although you’ve never been stopped before, you don’t usually have heads ducking and bowing to you, either. You wonder what Sukuna mentioned to change such a thing, or whether there’s simply been a shift in the atmosphere that comes with sitting atop the throne.
It’s a strange sensation, but what’s even stranger is coming across Sukuna in the courtyard, discussing something with Uraume, when his newest concubine, the one he just accepted, shyly strolls over, bowing to thank him. He doesn’t seem too interested, waving her off with an unoccupied hand, when she suddenly tugs on the front of his robe and grabs his attention.
Although somewhat irritable when he replies, you watch his attention turn to her again when she places a hand on his abdomen, running it up his chest. Unable to make out what they’re saying, you slip away with a frown, moving through the halls with that same authority that you aren’t quite sure what to do with.
The unheard conversation with the new concubine invades your mind against your will. No matter how much you tell yourself you have no business being jealous, and no reason to be jealous, it would seem the devil on your shoulder whispers otherwise.
For someone with poor hearing, that devil is awfully loud.
As the bustling of the estate begins to die down and the ringing grows louder, you retreat to your room, but your restlessness remains. Moonlight pours through the sheer curtains that face Sukuna’s private garden, and when the guards don’t stop you from entering it, you figure you’ll ask for forgiveness from Sukuna later, should he be bothered that you’re in his garden.
His personal gardens consist of less herbs and more personalized plant choices, each one piquing your curiosity. A small creek runs from the edge of the estate to the outer walls of the garden, protected in the shadows cast by tall hedges that close it in. At the end of the garden is what you assume to be a small hot spring given the region, and a gazebo next to it.
Taking notice of it and enjoying the sounds of the running water that doesn’t make everything seem so quiet, you take a seat at the edge of the gazebo,watching the way water flows from the creek into the edge of the bubbling stone pool.
It almost feels silent. As close to true silence as you may ever feel, relieved from the ringing by the white noise of water.
Yet that damn little devil on your shoulder. You want to swat at it, but there’s no use.
You can’t count how many minutes, maybe even hours, that you sit by the creek, but Sukuna doesn’t look pleased when he finds you.
Your head whips around as the boards beneath you shift, finding a frustrated Sukuna standing with two pairs of crossed arms. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch, but your confused expression seems to soften his disdain.
He frowns as he stands above you, speaking in a bellow he’s certain you can hear. “I thought you left the estate.”
“No, My Lord.” But you give him no explanation for disappearing from your two regular spots without a word.
“What has drawn you to my private gardens, then?” He makes a point of emphasizing your defiance.
“Would you like me to leave?” You query, eyes narrowed just enough to tell Sukuna you aren’t afraid of him.
“Speak your mind. I will not tolerate your questions,” he hisses loudly, the wrinkle of his nose suggesting frustration that runs beyond the regular teasing you take part in.
Your brow twitches as you turn your head from him, denying him from knowing if you can hear him. It forces him down to your level so that he guarantees that you do. To your shock, he doesn’t simply command you to give him your attention while you speak, but rather takes a seat behind you, with one leg bent and one knee raised. He rests an arm atop his knee, huffing irritably given that you can’t hear it.
You still face away as you speak. “What did the concubine want?”
It takes a moment for him to reply, loud and even. “She wished for my bed.”
You don’t reply.
He huffs again, his own outlet before he faces your envy. He states your name, successfully pulling your attention to him as your head whips around at the use of your given name. Before you have the chance to process what’s going on, his massive form slides forward as he places one leg on either side of you, pressing your back into his chest as his lower hands roam from your hips up to your waist, settling possessively there. “If I have not made myself clear,” he begins, a low drawl in your ear, “I have no interest in taking new concubines. I have no interest in having any at all.”
As if the ringing wasn’t enough, your heart beats in your ears, your blood running cold at the revelation. Slowly, you lift your head to peer over your shoulder where the king’s gaze looms as he examines your expression.
“I do not share this wing of the estate with just anyone,” he tacks on. “Or had you not noticed the way the guards bow to you, too?”
“I had, I just…”
When you trail off, Sukuna continues. “My favor is not easily earned. I do not wish for the attention of concubines.”
“But you want mine?”
You know he does.
He knows that you know that.
He also knows that you’re playing a little game to get him to admit it.
“I do,” he concedes, pleased with the giddy smile you try to hide. One hand slides from your waist down to the top of your thigh, which he squeezes. “Join me for dinner tomorrow.”
“I won’t eat what you do,” you warn, only half teasing.
“I would expect no such thing. I know your preferences, the kitchen will be made aware.”
“I don’t sleep very well,” you warn again, as though serving him a laundry list of baggage will dispel him.
“I am aware of your tendencies,” he chides, lifting an upper arm to graze your collar, sliding up to rest along the column of your neck. There’s something equally tender about the action as it is possessive, seeping in everything Sukuna embodies to the very core.
“I might not always be able to hear you,” you tack on quietly, your vulnerabilities breathed into the limited air hanging between you.
Sukuna inhales, long and deep, as those crimson eyes take in the way you expose your self-doubt to him.
There’s strength held within the ability to speak to a man like Sukuna about thoughts that plague your mind. His brow knits in that way that you’ve come to recognize, as though he’s truly seeing you. All of you. In a deathly serious tone, he replies, “there is much more to communication than words.” He leans in closer, his lips barely a breadth from your jaw as he spares a moment to allow your mind to mull over his words.
You glance over at him, but find no reason to doubt him. Sukuna isn’t one to beat around the bush or waste time. It’s as he said, he wants to make his intentions clear. After months of spending time with one another, he’s grown more than just fond of you, the connection that you share something much deeper.
As Sukuna patiently awaits for your thoughts to catch up, you find yourself mindlessly stroking the marking on his wrist that’s settled on your waist with your thumb. Slowly, you nod.
“See? No words needed,” he hums, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. When he pulls back, he’s smirking as he feels your pulse increase beneath his palm on your neck. “Cute,” he hums, tilting your head closer to him as he leans in more hungrily this time. His lips move against yours eagerly and for once you feel like you can melt into him. There are no doubts held between you, and no questions unanswered.
It’s not adoration or care that you would use to describe the kiss. It embodies everything that Sukuna is, searing and all-engulfing. To your surprise, Sukuna tastes strongly of tea, the one he often brings with him to the library. Strong, and green. It’s pleasant as his tongue invades your mouth, but what’s more pleasant is the way your core heats up as he squeezes your neck just the slightest bit.
Your tongue dances with his when the action pulls a small gasp from you.
God, is he ever right when he says that there’s more to communication than words. He reads you like a book. He acts on every little twitch and gasp, repeating movements that cause you to react.
No longer satisfied with just kissing, he separates from you with heavy breaths and moves over you, his knees caging you onto the planks of the gazebo. “Let me show you what I can do without words,” he growls, piercing and hungry eyes boring straight into you, like you’re the only thing he can see.
You don’t so much as hesitate as you breathe out, ‘yes,’ taking his face between your palms and pulling him back to your lips. His tongue swipes your lower lip, granted access as the muscle plunges into your mouth. He’s not gentle, in spite of the way he usually acts with you, he’s rough, claiming. While two hands hold him up, the other two dip beneath your robes, exposing your shoulders and breasts to him.
He parts from your lips to drink in your appearance. Unable to hold back, he dips down to plant rough and dominant kisses atop the smooth skin. “Beautiful,” he mutters. He knows you don’t hear it, but the way his voice vibrates against your skin, he knows you get it.
He’s right to assume you understand nonetheless when your breath stutters under the weight of his lips latching to your skin, decorating and painting the landscape in hues of blue and purple.
He pauses at the bow tied delicately at your waist, a silent question searing within his eyes. When you reach down to undo it for him and reveal your skin, his breath is as warm as the fire that burns behind his darkened eyes. You cling to his biceps that hold him over you for purchase as he takes his time exploring the expanse of your skin, lingering on your hips as he nips at one experimentally.
You let out a small yelp, your nails leaving crescents in the dip of the muscle of his forearm. Chasing the way that your reaction makes him feel, he smooths his tongue over the spot he bit, savoring your whimper.
“My dove,” he murmurs as he makes his way down to your thighs. You part them for him, his hungry exhale hot on your soaking core. His upper pair of arms hold your thighs down, pressed into your chest as an unoccupied hand slides down to roughly grope your ass. He may not say a word, but his eyes speak volumes as he soaks in the tantalizing sight before him.
Moving up from your ass, his two middle and ring fingers glide through your folds. The simple motion is enough to send your heart racing, but despite the way the blood roars in your ears and the tinnitus screams, your entire attention is focused on that feeling. You don't need to hear as the world narrows down to just the two of you in the moonlit private garden.
The king brings a hand up to his mouth, licking the pad of his thumb before pressing it into your clit, rubbing firm circles against the sensitive bud. He isn't gentle by any means, but he’s careful. There's meaning behind the way his fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as you squirm under the pleasure he rubs into you.
It’s your shaky exhale that sends him to heaven, though. He grunts, involuntary and with no clue if you've heard it. Unable to wait a moment longer with you laid out beneath him so gorgeously, he splits his gaze, eyeing both your face and your pussy as he buries his tongue within you.
It pulls a gasp from the depths of your chest as you reach out to cling desperately to anything, your fingers catching on the ridges between planks of smooth wood. Your back arches as you ride Sukuna, his tongue delving into you before being pulled out to roll over your clit. The stimulation has your body trying to push him away involuntarily, all too much, but Sukuna drags you back with a muttered growl of, “don't run.” You may not have heard, but you feel his fingers flex into your skin as he pulls you closer and presses you into the gazebo to keep you in place.
He doesn't need words. He’s a man of very few as is, so he puts his focus into shutting out the world for you.
Desperate for purchase, your hand finds his hair, burying within it as you press him harder into you, so close, teetering on the edge.
“Patience,” his hisses against your folds, the vibration held within his throat reaching your core as heat pools at the base of your abdomen.
As you moan softly at the sensation, he pulls away and pins your arms down, using another hand to press down against your stomach when a finger prods at your slit. He gathers your slick on the pad of his finger, using it as lubricant to push inside. One digit alone and you're already feeling the burn of your walls adjusting around him. So slowly it's almost downright painful, he curls his finger and carefully watches your reactions.
Your body twitches and jerks each time he prods the gummy part of your walls, leaving a smirk on his face as his length tents beneath his light robes.
Once your walls begin to give and let him move his finger freely within you, he presses another one in alongside the first. The stretch takes more time to adjust this time around, and with each small pump of his fingers to allow you to get accustomed with the size difference between you, the curse grows impatient and reaches down to fist one of his cocks.
A whimper parts your lips as he curls his fingers in tandem, prodding your g-spot. It's experimental at first, but the vicious curl of his lips that follows tells you all you need to know about Sukuna. Leaning over you, he presses his lips to yours, hungry and with intent while he bullies the walls of your cunt.
The way your stomach coils isn't slow or gradual, it hits you all at once, and suddenly. Your walls clamp down around his fingers as you hit your climax and your head falls back. Moaning loudly, Sukuna grins as he’s sure the whole estate can hear your pliant scream. He works you through your orgasm with purposeful and rhythmic thrusts of his fingers, the sensation rocking you as your thighs tremble in his hold.
“Satisfied, little dove?” Sukuna whispers darkly into your ear, pulling back barely a breadth so he can have you watch the way he licks your essence from his fingers. Your chest rises and falls quickly, breathing labored from the taxing sensation of an orgasm ripped from you with masterful precision.
If you had another life before this one, you're certain Sukuna knew you then and remembered how to please you.
You wouldn't put it past him, given what you know of his nature.
Finally coming down from your high, you nod in reply to him.
“Good,” he hums, glancing back behind him before untying his own robes and letting them fall to the grass as he steps off the gazebo. He circles all four arms around you, lifting you gently and with ease as he backs into the hot spring and lowers himself.
It’s deeper than you expected, warm and relaxing on your muscles. Slumping into the embrace of the spring, you rest against Sukuna.
His watchful eyes drink you in, lingering on your shoulders as he gazes sidelong at your face buried into his neck.
“I wasn't aware you felt that way, My Lord.”
“No more formalities,” he grunts, ignoring your statement altogether. “You will call me Sukuna.”
He can feel your smile against his skin. “Sukuna,” you test out the name without any mention of the term ‘lord’. He hums in approval, his stoic gaze watching with interest as you raise your head. “Am I to assume you don't want me to return to my village, then?”
His brow knits tightly, scowling before he has time to process your bait. “You would return after our night together?”
You giggle to yourself, shaking your head as you further antagonize him. “No, I just wanted to get a rise out of you.”
He huffs, if his dramatic eye roll is anything to go off of. “You test my patience,” he mutters though the very act of teasing him causes his cocks to twitch between you.
Smirking at the sensation, you lower a hand to return the favor, when you come to realize that there isn't one, but two awaiting you. Both thick, twitching, and hard with prominent veins. Like the rest of Sukuna, he continues to surprise you. Your lips part as you stare down at the water beneath you, barely lit by the moon high above.
As it stands, his fingers were a lot to take. Everything about the lord of the estate is monstrous in size, but he couldn't possibly expect you to take both, right?
“Look at what you do to me,” he purrs, one hand on either of your biceps as though he fears your still-quaking thighs won't hold you upright even with the water’s support.
Swallowing hard, you peer up at him, something between uncertainty and eagerness swimming within your irises.
“Show me what you would like, dove.” He motions for you to take what you want from him, watching expectantly as your hands, tiny in comparison to him, fist both shafts, stroking in a long up and down motion.
He inhales deeply, head falling back slightly though he never takes his eyes off you.
“Will you continue to take concubines?” You ask suddenly, a hint of jealousy within your tone.
Sukuna, occupied by the pleasure of your soft palms, takes a moment to reply. “I will allow unwilling offerings to stay within the estate,” he replies steadily, fixing you with a serious stare when your movement slows. “They will no longer be concubines, however. They will be residents only.”
Pride floods your chest. “I’ll be your only concubine?”
Sukuna looms over you, taking both wrists in his hands. Perhaps a scary sight to others, it puts you strangely at ease to see him stalking over you, slowly pressing you into the stone wall of the hot spring. “You,” he states, lidded eyes drinking in your expression as he ruts both cocks against you. “Will be my Queen.”
Thank god for him taking the time to stretch you out, because you fear the sensation of being pulled down on his length may very well have killed you otherwise. He lines his top cock up at your entrance and pushes in slowly, pausing at the first ring of resistance as you cling to him. He splits you open, despite how slow and gentle he is. His kisses on your neck are gentle, reassuring, and yet they sear with need, claiming you.
As he bottoms out and grunts against your skin, biting down lightly, you find yourself clinging to him out of desperation. He’s the only thing keeping you upright as your legs tremble around his girthy shaft. He fills you entirely, and you’re barely left with the ability to think straight. Everything about him is all-encompassing, the world unable to provide a single distraction when your entire body screams out for him, him, him.
“Would you like me to move, my queen?”
Eagerly, you nod as your nails rake his back when he does so. Every thick vein, every twitch, every jolt, it all speaks the words so that Sukuna doesn't need to. At some point, you became his obsession. His nightly escapades began as little more than curiosity and grew into something consuming. Turned him into something consuming.
As you feel him expertly gliding against your walls at a restrained pace, moans and whimpers pour from your mouth, feeding his desperation until he’s slamming his hips into you with fervor. He relishes in your sweet noises, when you suddenly feel something prodding your clit. Your body jolts at the unexpected stimulation before melting entirely when his stomach tongue flicks the nerve again.
Never have you experienced anything so intense and animalistic, yet so passionate as he shows you how little he needs words. He figures out the language of your body so quickly, turning your muscles pliant as you bounce on his cock.
Your orgasm doesn't sneak up on you this time, you ride the sensation of being on the edge as your nails rake his back, until he feels you clamp around him. “So tight,” he hisses to himself, his speed ramping up as he uses his second mouth to suck on your clit, sending you straight over the edge with a scream of his name. This time, he’s mean as he fucks you through it, chasing his own high as you cling to him with shaking limbs while your orgasm rocks you like a wave.
Gasping when he brushes your g-spot just right, you shudder and clamp down around him again. His pace stutters and gives out as he spills deep within your cunt, holding you tightly to him as his own chest heaves. His cum is warm in your sensitive pussy, as you’re thrown into an overstimulated sensation that makes you whimper when he pulls out slowly.
He holds you tight against his body as you breathe in the shared glow of one another, his body slumping back against smooth stones with you slumped on his chest.
“You’re right,” you murmur between pants. “We don't need words.”
He hums as his fingers brush your shoulder and a surprisingly soft kiss is pressed to your neck.
–
Just as you warned him, your hearing fades entirely.
For a long time, it frustrates you. You long to hear your husband’s baritone and grumpy voice, you long for the whispers of guards deep in discussion about the servant you wouldn't allow Sukuna to kill for a mundane hiccup.
He knows. He sees the way you eye whispering guards, confusion rife across your features as you attempt to read their lips and dissect their phrases, but no matter how good you get at it, you never quite seem to get the full story.
But like he always does, Sukuna adapts.
He lets his hand linger on your cheek on the days you struggle with self-worth, he nips playfully at you in jest when he catches his queen cooking her own meal out of stress. Sometimes, he writes little notes. Sukuna, the King of Curses, writes you notes.
He’s rarely around to see you find them, so you think, but quietly from around the corner, he watches with relief as your eyes light up and you go in search of him. He watches you bound off in the wrong direction, wondering what God presented him with someone so benevolent and kind.
You share small signals with one another. A hand sign for slipping away when you’re overwhelmed, a squeeze of your hip to let you know your king is needy, or a careful hand on your cheek to wake you up without startling you. He still stomps around, he moves loudly and with purpose to make sure you can always find him just by the movement of the estate, and rarely does he speak without facing you, giving you the opportunity to understand, even if the matter doesn't concern you.
He loves you, in a silent sort of way. A way that works because your connection runs deep.
Only one time, many moons after being plunged into constant ringing, he made a loud show of affection, reserved only for you.
A book. Simple, elegant, bound with precision. Within, a series of notes. Each one dated right down to the phase of the moon, documenting little moments. Jokes shared between you, things you may have missed.
He denies it, claims he bought it from a merchant, as though you don't have hundreds of well-crafted pages of notes to compare the handwriting to.
But you let him have that claim, because you know the truth. You know that within the way Sukuna places you at the center of his world, he will be your ears when you can no longer hear.
masterlist
❦ a/n ; i wanna lick him
writing & format © starmapz. dividers © saradika-graphics & cafekitsune.
