satoru’s thought long and hard about how intimacy with you would go, enough times that it borders on embarrassing. with you being the more experienced one in every way that’s relevant, the proposition coming from your end makes the most sense. that or him working up the courage to bring up the benefits part to his first (and only) study partner with benefits. every version of the latter that he envisions ends in him bumbling and stuttering over his words like an idiot. bringing it up and embarrassing himself is the last thing he’d want.
“let me see your cock, satoru.” this isn’t a scenario he thinks his own imagination could’ve ever conjured up. the grin splitting your lips isn’t like any expression he thinks he’s seen you make before, too giddy with the events unfolding. you’ve been teasing the man for the better half of an hour: touching him under the guise of being cold, shoving your tits up against his warm side. playing with his fingers, kissing his neck. kissing him.
somehow both your attention strayed from being productive—escalating to swapping spit while making out and sliding your fingers through his hair, notes previously pulled up all but abandoned on your laptop.
your study buddy proves once again to be too much of an easy teasing target, and maybe you’re terrible for playing into it but god...it’s just so fun.
he’s blushing, again. he always seems to do that around you. soft, kiss swollen pink bottom lip caught like prey between his incisors, nails digging into his jeans. jeans that don’t do much to hide his steadily growing erection.
the sight sends a rush of heat down south, own imagination fueling your arousal and drawing a giddy giggle out of you. you lean back on your palms, huffing out a soft sigh. “you know I don’t bite. no need to be shy.”
you watch a full body shudder wrack through him, hand shoving his glasses up into his hair before both stray to his belt. “i’m not shy.”
your nails graze over the leather belt, fingertips pressing into the cool buckle. “oh yeah?”
you’re hooked, eyes following the way he undoes it himself with his shaky fingers, tugging and pulling, tossing the belt aside. undoing the button and his zip, not even taking his pants off fully before he’s hooking a finger on his briefs. “yeah. but like…y-you’re sure? you want to see it?”
“it?” your head tilts as though confused. “you mean your cock?” you shift to sit higher on your heels, peering down at the newly exposed skin. the coarse trail of white from his navel that disappears into the tight band of his briefs. the taut lines of his lower abdomen. “yeah, satoru. I wanna see ‘it’.” and touch it, and hold it.. “if you still want to, you know..let me see it. obviously.”
his eyes bore into yours for a few seconds, something nervous there as the tips of his ears glow with how red they are. your lips part to reassure him—you’d been fine with just kissing the other times, this time wouldn’t be any different. but he’s tugging his briefs low and your thoughts instantly empty. it’s almost funny how the sight robs your lungs of the air it so desperately needs, gaze fixed on what he’s just unveiled for you. slapping against his tee as its freed from its confinement, bobbing slightly with its weight.
satoru’s hard as diamond, thick and flushed. cock a pretty, ruddy shade of pink. pearlescent droplets bead near the head and you instantly feel saliva pooling warm under your tongue. you take in everything—from where the trail leads to an equally neat patch leading down to his base, the way he's half hard and steadily getting harder just from you looking—
“what the hell?”
he feels like he’s gonna die. first time you’ve ever seen his cock and you exclaim ‘what the hell?’ — what exactly is he supposed to take that as?
“oh my god, you hate it.” his hands fly down to hide it uselessly, tremor in his fingers not missed. “is it ugly? you think it’s ugly.”
his face is scarlet, lightly painted over pale skin. just when you think you can’t like him any more than you already do, he just fuels your affection towards him.
“no! no, I don’t hate it.” you’re quick to make the words said in awe clearer, scooting closer to him on your knees, “ugly? never.” your hands reach up to slide his glasses back down so they’re perched on his nose again and not in his hair, lightly thumbing at the apples of his cheeks. “I really like it, trust me.”
you let your gaze drop back down. deliberatecan, slow, dragging over every inch of him before finding his face again with the most innocent expression you can manage.
"why are you hiding?" the playful pout comes easy, head tilting. your hands lower to smooth up his jean covered thighs, gently squeezing, fingers grazing bare skin when you get to his upper thighs. his eyes follow your path, fixed on your fingers now hovering over his shielding his length, “can I touch you?”
his nod comes fast, and your hands move once you have the okay. prying his away, getting your fill again just from looking at it.
with his hands gone you can get a proper look - thick with a flushed, glistening tip, another bead spilling free from your attention alone. the vein and the side taunts you, gusset of your panties growing uncomfortably slick and plastering itself to your folds. you press your thighs together instinctively—you’re not sure what you’d expected but you do know that this far surpasses it. sitting on his lap had clearly been an inaccurate way to gauge his size because…how would you even begin to take him if you guys got that far? “…god.”
your fingers wrap around him and he shivers, a shaky moan punching out of him as his head pitches forward. he’s warm and thick in your grip, heavier than you expected, thumb immediately finding the precum welling near his tip. you smear and spread it, hand slowly stroking downward once, cock steadily becoming slick the more you play with him. “so pretty, satoru..”
you’ve barely done anything and he feels like he’s close to embarrassing himself. you’re just so pretty and nice to him and he’s been thinking about doing something like this for ages…he doesn’t exactly have it easy right now.
“satoru, are..” your voice sounds distant, his mind somewhere far away. all his brain power is focused on the point of contact between you and him, cock throbbing in your grip. heat pools low in his gut, sharp and insistent - the kind that makes his brows furrow, jaw slackening around shaky moan. his hands grip at the sheet on either side of him, bunched in his hold like it’ll help him maintain any semblance of his sanity.
“..’toru? are you listening?”
a squeeze to his base does a quick job of bringing him back, gasp warming you to the core as his hips buck upward. his hazy, half lidded gaze fixes on you again, giving you a quick nod. "i’m—yeah. sorry, i’m listening.”
you smile at the brief distraction, hand finding a gentle rhythm. up down in firm, even strokes that spread every glossy bead gathering at his tip down his rigid shaft. you pick up on the change of his breathing, the rising pitch of his moans, curses muttered under his breath.
you’re closer before he can process it, thigh on either side of one of his with your hand never slowing, nosing at the side of his jaw. “wanna kiss some more..?” his head turns and his lips meet yours before the question can even land, desperate and entirely too eager to continue where you’d left off. his hands finally leave the sheets to slide into your hair, angling your head, pulling you closer. your mouths move together, something wet and urgent - lips smacking, tongues mutually probing at each other’s lips for access. one slide of his over yours and you’re moaning in sheer glee, getting closer because even this isn’t close enough. lowering your hips so your clothed cunt is flush to his hard thigh under you, hips rolling absently for any sort of stimulation. you’re sharing breaths more than you’re breaking free for fresh air, and neither of you seem to find issue with the arrangement.
“mm, ‘toru..’ a giggle warms his lips. you’re dizzy from the oxygen you’d deprived yourself of, kissing wetly across his cheeks, down his jaw, “god, I love kissing you.” you honestly think you could sit for hours doing just that and you’d die happy.
“I—o-oh god—me too. I love kissing you.” his head tilts, almost instinct at this point to bare his neck to your attention. your mouth finds its target instantly, instantly latching onto soft skin. you suck at the flesh slowly, feeling marks bloom hot under your lips, fist keeping rhythm along his length.
“aw, do you?”
the words leave you, muffled against his neck, but he picks up on the teasing tone despite that fact. you’d think you’re the one being touched with how turned on you are, teeth finding a new spot to bite into, moaning at the pressure of his thigh against your clit. “do you like cumming for me too? hm, satoru?”
the teasing hadn’t done him any favours in the first place but asking him a question like that all casually, calling his name that way…
“I…wait,” he feels that heat that's been settled low for the length of your teasing suddenly flaring hot, balls twitching. pulling tight.
“nng—haah. w-wait, please—” satoru’s hips jerk before he can even warm you properly.. the warmth hits your fist first, before you’re even registering anything. it seems continuous, pooling in your grip. spilling down your knuckles and his length in thick pulses.
“oh?”
by the time your brain catches up and you’re pulling out his neck to look, a strangled noise claws its way out of him, hand pulling you back in to kiss you harder. a shaky moan breaks against your lips, hips helpessly rolling up into your grip in the face of his orgasm. “‘m..shit, s-so sorry—c-cumming—” you put up 0 fight, swallowing every sound, working him higher and higher with firm strokes as he empties into your grip, shaking under you.
“that’s it, pretty boy…keep cumming.” you breathe the words into his mouth, high on his moans, his hand grabbing at your wrist that continues to twist. your stroking slows to a stop after a little, glistening strand stretching thin between your lips when you break from your kiss.
satoru’s chest is heaving, eyes squeezed shut behind the glasses as the embarrassment hits and settles post his mindbending orgasm. “..oh my god.” he wishes a sinkhole would just open up under him and pull him under.
“—toru..satoru?”
his eyes open and his eyes are instantly on yours—pupils blown but your gaze is soft, still smiling. “don’t get in your head about it. that was really hot, I promise.”
he trusts you, he really does. but finding…whatever that was hot? you can see the skepticism on his face and it only makes your heart swell, unoccupied hand reaching for his. your fingers wrap around his wrist, and he watches dumbfounded as you guide his hand right under your skirt. his fingers find the arousal damp fabric of your underwear and his jaw slackens, the skeptical look replaced by something that makes your stomach flip. “oh.”
“yeah, oh.” the smile on your lips wobbles as his fingers trace the shape of your cunt over the fabric, next words breathless as they leave you, “don’t feel bad. we’re—mm, ‘t-toru—basically in the same boat. see?”
“yeah...same boat..” barely out of his first orgasm, his arousal returns with a vengeance.
his fingers find the swell of your clit through your panties, pressing down just to see your expression falter just a little. and falter it does, your whine warming his cheeks, flutter of your eyes mirroring his own. “nng, satoru..”
the next 5 seconds feel like somewhat of a blur—one second you’re on your knees, sat on his thigh close to him. but the next? you’re on your back. sheets soft as silk under your molten skin, skirt flipped up just enough that he can see underneath it. his cock is still warm and heavy in your hand, growing thicker with his renewed arousal. satoru's fingers worm their way past the gusset of your underwear to circle your bare clit with enough pressure that your hips tilt upward, a rush of arousal pooling wetly against his fingertips as he moves down to your entrance. then back up to your clit just to spread your mess. moving like he already has his mind set on something, like he wants the same thing that you do.
"...i'll last longer this time, i promise."
author's note :: 𑣲⋆ I offer inexperienced gojo today 🧎🏽♀️added a teeny bit more than originally planned but I like how it turned out
comments, likes and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading! (❁´◡`❁)
extra : a/c - pamelachano on twitter <3
❦ 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.
taking satoru's dick for the first time in theory and in practice are two very different extremes. sure you'd felt him from grinding, from holding the weight of him in your palm under the sheets while you two were supposed to be 'watching a movie'. it felt doable for the most part—taking him.
you've heeded all his thinly veiled warnings long enough and tonight of all nights wasn't one where you two could exactly stop at just heavy petting. you'd even laughed at it beforehand, assured him that you could take him for the millionth time.
if you could slap your past self, you would. because now you're barely 2 minutes into him being inside of you. back spread on soft sheets, practically folded in half under satoru. legs slung over his shoulders, panting, practically vibrating from the effort of trying to get used to the sheer size of him.
"fuck—you gotta stop—" his fingers press harder into the undersides of your thighs where he has you held, hips rocking incrementally to get you adjusted to what he's given already. not even halfway in and you're already all noisy. "breathe for me, pretty? so I can give you the rest."
“t-the rest? ” you gasp, voice going embarrassingly high. it feels like he's been pushing in for ages now and now he's telling you that there's more? “that’s not all of it? are you sure?"
"i'm sure, trust me. just a little more." a bit more than a little, but you'd cross that bridge eventually. he presses a kiss to your knee—soft, lingering like he’s trying to ground both you and himself. "you said you could take it."
"i say a lot of things when I'm horny. you know—oh fuck—that!" you snap, voice breaking on the last word. "you're too big. this is all your fault, satoru."
"my fault?" he manages a huff despite the strain in his voice, brows knitted like he's the one struggling here. to be fair, he sort of is. "you said, and I quote—" his hips ease forward by an infinitesimal amount, just enough to have the bulb of him swabbing against your soft insides. it's enough for your jaw to go slack, toes curling near his ears. "—'please just fuck me already'. and to 'stop treating you like glass'." so here he is, not treating you like glass. not holding out on you. large hands press your thighs and knees closer to your chest, his body angled downward to drive into you with short, gentle thrusts.
"I don't even sound like that." you're clawing blindly at the bedding, airy sounds punching out of you like he's owed them.
"mhm. just breathe." he murmurs, voice rumbling low against your skin as he nudges deeper with the next roll of his hips—a slow, steady push, feeding you yet another inch. one hand leaves your thighs to slide up to your stomach, pressing in like he's trying to feel for himself there. "yeah...that's it, let me in.." the same hand settles just above where you're taking him to thumb at your arousal slick clit, your own darting to out the grab at his wrist. to no avail of course, since his thumb just keeps on moving in circle after circle.
“tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?” he whispers, hips tilting just a little deeper. new slick from his teasing helps, sliding deeper with ease. “that's right...all the way. you're doing so well."
it's soft, so sweet and encouraging that you're reaching a hand out to bring him closer to you by the back of his neck. "m'good, 'toru. you're fine."
you can't help but wonder how much more he has left to give, what kind of monstrous beast he's been hiding under his briefs. curiosity gets the better of you, eyes dropping to where you've yet to fully connect.
and boy, do you regret it almost instantly.
it's near obscene. inches of him glistening and buried, folds parted against his girth. even with how long he's been easing in (or how long it feels at least), there's still a gap. his gaze follows yours, nosing gently at your ankle, hand squeezing your thigh. "you okay?"
the glisten of his flesh, the taut flex of his abdomen like he's holding back...no, you're not okay in the slightest.
you can feel your core flutter involuntarily at the sight and god, he feels it too.
“oh fuck,” satoru's voice breaks, forehead tipping down to rest against your forehead. “baby, please don’t do that. i'll...this really won't last long.”
"oops, sorry. sorry."
the bits of soft pink that aren't inside inch in-in-in with every second that passing. it's barely anything left to give, yet, he's being so careful. too careful."
"holy fuck, just do—shit!"
you're arching clean off the bed with the way he suddenly, finally hilts himself inside. bare behind flush to his hips, groomed hairs at his base grazing against your skin.
he’s silent for a moment, breathing slow, forehead still dampened and pressed down against yours. "..okay, I have bad news."
you're a little drunk on him, just lucid enough to manage a small hm, nails scraping through the damp hair at his nape.
"there's...there's a high chance that I'll cum if I move."
even in your state, laughter breaks out of you, the heavy man above you flushing a soft pink from the highs of his cheeks up to his ears. murmuring something about it 'not being that funny' and him 'embarrassing himself here'.
"stay still then." you finally breathe when your laughter dies down just enough, smile all gentle up at him, lips brushing against the sharp point of his nose. "we'll just stay like this all night." the pain had properly eased into a dull, barely there ache at that point—more pleasure than any other feeling. with how he'd taken his time, it'd been almost inevitable.
"can't just not move," he replies through gritted teeth, hips shifting just a hair. enough for you both to feel the heavy drag, the way your walls clench instinctively. "god—I can't not move when you feel like that."
it's endearing in a way, very much flattering. your grin only widens, head lifting to angle your mouth against his with a firm kiss. "i'm close too if that makes you feel any better."
words meant to help only make him whine, throbbing inside you, hips beginning to rock slowly. "you are?"
"mhmm. very close." you let out a strangled sound when his hips angle just right and it's enough for him to give up on pacing himself. his weight crushes your thighs against your chest, pace building. "so just keep moving. please."
the sounds leaving you are a mix of 'ahh's' and calls of his name, all broken, all sending his hips into you a little faster. they stutter as he fucks into you with less and less finesse, 0 rhyme or rhythm just the need to see you cum for him like this. hips slapping against the back of your thighs, paced breaths dually filling the room. "you feel so good. taking me so well." and when his thumb finds your clit again with those same, easy circles? you're a goner. "gonna cum--gonna- oh my god, keep doing that—" he finds that spot from before over and over again like there's a target stuck to it, leaky tip wedging itself right where you need it, pleasure mounting far too quickly. you're crying out at this point, hips angling up into his thrusts. so full it hurts in that perfect, dizzying way.
“fuck, you're gonna make me—”
“shut up and cum,” you choke out. “do it inside. pleaseplease—”
his entire body jolts, pace faltering. you feel him twitch deep inside you before it hits, his hips driving in and out hard—once, twice, and then he’s moaning into your mouth as he spills. he drags you down with him, pressure in your abdomen bursting, unfurling outwards with your release—his name still falling from your lips. helpless sounds that only spur the continued movement of his hips to draw out the pleasure.
you're both shaking, sucking in breaths of air greedily for moments after that. you're still folded like a pretzel, still crushed against his weight. "...that one doesn't count."
"agreed."
-- repost from previous account ˙ᵕ˙
likes and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading!
ఌ︎. Imagine being one of the women who got kidnapped by aliens wanting to experiment on you, staging a revolt, and crash-landing on a prehistoric hellscape. Now imagine a bunch of hot, feral men who’ve never seen a human woman before declaring you guys as their respective, fated mates. Yeah. It’s that kind of story. Is it too late to go back to the alien scientists?
ఌ︎.VISUAL BOARDS
PLANET EDENX RESIDENTS:
Sa-To-Ru - The Seer
Cho-So - The Runt
To-Ji - The Carver
Ken-To - The Wise
Su-Ku-Na - The Hunter
ఌ︎. PROLOGUE
ఌ︎. Aliens and Natives
ఌ︎. Names and Invitations
ఌ︎. Girl Talk and Lunch
ఌ︎. Jobs and Injuries
ఌ︎. Treescrapers and Revelations
ఌ︎. Runaways and Stolen Goods
ఌ︎. Truths and Conversations
ఌ︎. Rivers and Munch
ఌ︎. Decisions and Bonding
Based off Ice Planet Barbarians heh
INFO:
ఌ︎. Multi-character/multi-pov style chapters (includes third person perspective)
ఌ︎. A group of readers paired with the men, much like EdenU, more closely related to the concept of OCs, just physically undescribed
ఌ︎. Will consist of fluff/smut/angst
ఌ︎. Additions to the au will be added to this masterlist and can be found using the tag: CLOTD
ఌ︎. Yes, Geto isn't included. Not even cause of my indifference to him, I just can't picture him as a barbarian
♡ summary: debuting into high society attracts a plethora of eligible suitors, but there was only one you wanted to betroth. yet his heart seems to be with another.
♡ wc: 8.6k
♡ content warnings: fem! reader, widower! gojo, regency era au (sorry for any inaccuracies), pining, jealousy, marriage, oral (f. receiving), unprotected piv, naoya zenin courting, courtship, virgin r, age gap (r is 20 & gojo is 25).
♡ a/n: this was very bridgerton inspired, that garden is in bloom, baby
Prepped, primed, and ready like a precious jewel set into a crown. Since birth, you were taught everything a young girl of high status should know, how to bag a husband.
It was an art as precise and crucial as miniature portraiture. Ladies, especially those of high status, must be prepared for the arrangements that would soon come, if they were lucky, within a year of debuting onto the marriage market.
For an event and a season so important, it is unsurprising how society pays close attention to any interaction, any glance held a moment too long, any dance that strayed from polite conversation. You had understood early that those on the instep had nothing better to do than be in others’ business.
Gossip was as rich as their pockets.
Your days, once filled with piano, language, and dancing lessons, were now consumed by ballrooms, drawing rooms, and the intricate art of conversation. It was a constant parade of oneself in hopes of catching a suitor’s eye.
It was a lot less… eventful than you had imagined in your girlish daydreams.
Instead of the engaging discussions you’d hoped for, it was boring, to say the least. Most men were not interested in what you were saying, but rather what was presented below your neckline. Their eyes would glaze over your opinions on poetry or the new symphony. Balls, at least, held a visual appeal.
People dressed in the finest of fabrics and jewels, all freshly polished to a high sheen. In a room where everyone strived to glitter, it took a great deal for someone to truly shine. And shine he did.
The moment he caught your eye, it was like fireworks blooming behind your ribs; the carefully applied rouge on your cheeks did little to hide the sudden heat blossoming beneath your skin.
It seemed you weren't the only one with eyes, unfortunately. Mothers and eligible daughters flocked to the young bachelor in seconds, a murmuration of pastel silks and eager smiles, crowding him with their dance cards and aspirations. Just as you were tempted to join the flock, a voice at your elbow intervened.
"But the Lady prefers a dance, does she not?" Lord Zenin’s tone was smooth, his offer presented as the only logical conclusion. As a lady seeking a husband, it would be madness to reject.
He was handsome, in a severe way, with dark hair and sharper eyes. But as you took his hand, your gaze strayed back to the spectacle across the room. White hair—you had never seen someone with such pale and pristine hair. Would his children inherit such a striking feature?
"I am interested in having children myself," Lord Zenin spoke. You hadn't even noticed him speaking, too distracted by the figure at least twenty paces ahead. You were sure Lord Zenin was a fascinating man, yet your eyes gazed behind him more times than you would ever admit aloud.
You bowed politely at the end of your second consecutive dance with Lord Zenin. It was so early in the season that you had not expected to attract such a remarkable suitor so swiftly. As flattering as it was to catch a Zenin’s eye, your mind did not leave the white-haired man alone. You found yourself constantly peeking over shoulders and through gaps in the crowd, seeking another glimpse of the awfully popular mystery. You were quite familiar with most of the attendees, their lineages, and prospects drilled into you. He, however, was a complete mystery.
"Gojo, I presume," a voice laced with irrefutable gossip spoke beside you. You knew them, the matrons, mothers of girls your age. As they spoke, you listened, your fan held still.
"The Duke? I did not know he had returned from the continent."
"Why has he returned?"
"Did you not hear?" the third murmured, leaning in. "He is single." Those were the only words you needed to hear, though there was suspicion about whether they were correct. For what other bachelor would they be speaking of in such tones than the white-haired duke?
Where your formal knowledge of society was lacking, gossip was readily hot and ready to serve on a silver platter.
Your skills for gathering information were not few and far between, and you certainly understood that going about in the streets asking questions about this 'Gojo', a duke nonetheless, would raise far too many eyebrows in your far too fresh debut. You would need to be stealthy in your pursuit.
This quest for knowledge, however, was not your own secret, it seemed. The entire ton was buzzing with the reappearance of the newly available bachelor. It made your obligatory teas with fellow debutants much more enjoyable than listening to them list the contents of their overflowing drawing rooms. Your own was not empty—Lord Zenin was a persistent caller—but none of them was the duke who had captured your eye with a single, distant glance. When one of the girls mentioned, with a sigh, that he was confirmed to attend the upcoming art gallery exhibition, you felt a surge of purpose. You were very assured of your own attendance.
Paintings lined the hushed halls of the prestigious gallery, many donated by those you knew, even a modest landscape from your own family’s collection. You had seen most of them before, but one, placed on a wall of its own, caught your eye. It was different from the rest. They were all pleasing, yes, but this one had a soul about it that appealed directly to yours.
"I am quite pleased with this one myself," a voice spoke beside you, his gaze also fixed upon the canvas.
"It is beautiful," you said, your voice barely above a whisper in the hallowed quiet.
"I am delighted to find us in accord." He chuckled lightly, a warm, pleasant sound. "My apologies, we have not introduced ourselves. His Grace, Satoru Gojo." He bowed politely, and you followed suit, burying the triumphant grin that threatened to form on your lips.
Looking at him up close was a revelation. His features were not just agreeable; they were arresting. Eyes of a blue so pale they seemed to hold their own light, framed by those impossible white lashes. His smile was easy, and you felt a pang of irrational jealousy for anyone who had gotten to see it before you. He was a great conversationalist, effortlessly keeping a dialogue flowing, revealing a depth of knowledge about the artists and their techniques that went beyond mere aristocratic patina.
"I see you have donated this painting yourself. You have excellent taste, Your Grace." Your fan pointed delicately towards the small golden nameplate inscribed with his title and name.
"You are correct indeed. I found this during my travels and could not help but bring such an exceptional piece back home. It reminds me of the scenery near my estate in the country," he said, his tone softening with genuine affection.
You traveled the gallery with the Duke, a step behind yet beside him, commenting on the plethora of art. The man was certainly a talker, but an enchanting one, his wit sharp and his observations kind. You giggled at a few of his jests, the sound escaping before you could temper it, remaining as reserved as possible while trying to secure his interest. You would need to make your intentions clear but not desperate. Suitors are fleeting; you must use your teachings to keep them waiting and wanting more, a delicate game.
Unfortunately, the game was interrupted when your mother’s voice called your name from across the room, whisking you away from the Duke’s side. "I must take my leave, Your Grace; it was a pleasure," you said, your curtsy perfectly measured.
"The pleasure was entirely mine," he replied, his bow equally precise.
In the swaying carriage home, your mother could not help but question you, her eyes alight with curiosity. It seemed almost everyone knew who he was except you. The burning question hung in the air between the rhythmic clatter of hooves. "Well? Is he as available as the gossipers tell?"
Your mother let out an elated, knowing giggle. "My dear, he came back to the ton for a reason. He is very, very available."
That was all you needed to know to properly begin your mission; your mother would surely have more reliable information than matrons at a ball. Not just a debutante’s duty, but a true search for happiness.
—
With Gojo in attendance at the next ball, you hoped you would have the chance to dance with him at least once. Yet, since your walk in the gallery, your drawing room, and your dance card had remained stubbornly full. A great social triumph, but none of these men, the earnest younger sons, the pompous lords, came close to sparking the connection you had felt in that quiet gallery corner.
It was, you feared, love at first sight, a notion your practical training scorned but your heart clung to.
Lord Zenin, in particular, had set his intentions very clearly upon you. He visited no other ladies' drawing rooms, his attention as focused as it was oppressive. Although you had every chance to marry well this season, the Viscount was awfully strange. A possible over-exaggeration on your part, but the man was obsessed with talking about himself—his holdings, his horses, his opinions. Boastful, to say the least. Even with him monopolizing your time, you tried to keep your options open. Yet, Lord Zenin made it his duty to ensure no other suitor would get an extra dance from you. It would not have been such an issue if his dancing skills were up to par, but you did not know if your poor slippers could survive another of his heavy, misplaced steps.
You were only able to escape by feigning a sudden, desperate thirst. Like any gentleman, he left promptly to fetch you a drink. The moment he turned, your eyes scanned the room, hurriedly searching for the man who haunted your thoughts at every outing. There he was, standing alone by a marble column, just as you had hoped. Making your way across the ballroom, you squeezed past chattering groups with polite murmurs. You found him standing idle, watching the couples waltz with a faint, unreadable smile.
"Your Grace," you bowed, coming up ever so slyly beside him. "I hope you are finding the ball pleasurable." You greeted him, your fingers nervously fiddling with the dance card dangling from your wrist. It did not seem like he had been trying to find you, or even if he had noted your attendance with half the fervor you had his.
He turned, and his eyes crinkled in recognition. "I am indeed. And yourself?"
"It is lovely. I only wish to experience the dance floor a little more," you confessed, a slight, deliberate dig at your repetitive partner.
"Is that so?" He laughed, a genuine sound that warmed you. "Would you care for a dance? That is, if your dance card is not entirely besieged?"
"I would be honored, Your Grace."
Leading you by the hand, his grip was confident but gentle. He was an excellent dancer, as fluid in movement as he was in conversation, following the tempo with an innate grace Lord Zenin lacked entirely. Your feet were safe, and your spirit soared.
"My apologies, I have not taken to the floor in some time," he said, his hand squeezing your gloved one ever so slightly on a turn.
"You need not worry, I assure you your skills are perfectly fine," you replied, squeezing back. You hoped the pressure conveyed what words could not, that you were interested, that you were open. "I can only hope you take to the floor more often, Your Grace."
"That should not be a problem," he said, his eyes flickering to a point behind you. "It seems someone is waiting to reclaim this spot as we speak." He tilted his head slightly toward the waiting Lord Zenin, whose irritation was not lost on his handsome, scowling face as he watched you.
"A gentleman should have patience," you snickered, almost enjoying the look on the other man's face.
"Some are not graced with such a quality."
"I presume Your Grace is?"
"Very much so," he murmured, leaning closer. "One must wait a long time to receive such a particularly green-eyed look from Lord Zenin." His comment, whispered low in your ear so it would not carry, was scandalously funny. You could not help but laugh, quickly lowering your volume into a whisper.
"My apologies, I forget myself," he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.
"You are quite all right, Your Grace. I appreciate such patience and honesty," you confessed, matching his hushed tone.
"And I, you, my lady." He smiled, and as the waltz ended, he bowed deeply. "It was a pleasure dancing with you."
"Until we meet again, Your Grace." You bowed, your eyes falling to the neat script of his name now inscribed on your card. Satoru Gojo.
Gossip does what gossip is, and it spreads.
Your dance with the duke circulated through the ton with the speed you had hoped for. It helped, bringing more varied men your way—thankfully, some younger, more amiable ones—which subtly deterred some of the older suitors.
At the horse races, the day was bright, the weather peculiarly agreeable for the time of year.
The ton milled about, watching the sleek horses prance in the paddock. Men gathered, placing loud bets. You, personally, had placed a small, secret wager on a horse named Simon, a purebred with incredible lineage. Making your way through the crowd, you eyed the booths set up at the periphery. One held decorative hairpins; the quality was discernibly middling, but they were charming to look at.
"My lady," Lord Zenin greeted, materializing at your shoulder. "Do not concern yourself with such inferior trinkets. You ladies, cannot be expected to discern quality as a gentleman can. You are lucky to have one such as myself to guide you," he spoke, pride lacquering his voice like varnish.
"I was simply admiring the craftsmanship, my lord. I assure you I can tell the difference in quality from my own pins," you said, trying to hide your offence at his assertion. It did not stop him from launching into a lecture on materials and worth, which subtly and then not so subtly morphed into a rant about how a woman’s discernment was, by nature, secondary to a man’s. The implication was clear, and it curdled your stomach.
"I will accompany you to view the horses. I have a sizable bet on Andrew," he said, taking your arm with an air of possession as he guided you toward the viewing benches.
"That is not necessary, my lord. I came with my family."
"All the more reason for my escort," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.
Throughout the entire race, Lord Zenin talked, disregarding any opinions you voiced, even scoffing at your choice of Simon. Andrew dominated the first quarter, and Zenin’s chest puffed out. But as the race wore on, Andrew fell behind, and when Simon began his powerful surge from the middle of the pack, you couldn't help but lean forward, caught in the thrill. As Simon pulled ahead in a final, breathtaking sprint to finish first, you shouted with the crowd, a grin of pure victory spreading across your face.
"That was an excellent race, was it not, my lord?" you asked, the thrill still buzzing in your veins.
"It was deception. The track was muddy on Andrew’s side. He should have won," he scowled, his tone souring immediately. You half-expected him to stamp his foot.
He guided you back through the booths, his mood fouling further, and he began to make loud, derogatory comments about the "common" vendors and their wares. You were praying for a glimpse of your father to effect an escape; you had had more stimulating conversations with your embroidery hoop.
A flash of your father’s hat in the distance provided the excuse. You pretended he was summoning you and extracted your arm from Zenin’s. "You must excuse me, my lord."
Making your way through the press of people, your eyes caught not on your father, but on Gojo. He stood apart, seemingly oblivious to the crowd, staring intently at a small, silver locket cupped in his palm. His expression was soft, tender in a way that made your step falter. Sneaking past your actual father, you approached him.
He did not notice you, lost in the tiny portrait. It was of a beautiful woman, her name inscribed within. He looked at the locket the way you wished he would look at you—with a love that was profound and settled. Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.
"Your Grace," you said softly. His eyes, when they lifted to yours, held a trace of sorrow he quickly masked. He hesitated for a second before snapping the locket shut with a soft click. "She is beautiful," you commented, the words ash in your mouth.
"Yes," he murmured, the single word heavy with memory. "Yes, she is."
"If you do not mind my asking… may I know who she is?" you asked cautiously, praying he would not say the words you suddenly, desperately did not want to hear.
"My late wife," he said, the words quiet but clear. "She passed four years ago."
The world seemed to be still for a moment. "I am so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. You were a beautiful couple," you confessed, forcing the word ‘couple’ out even as your own heart ached. It was painfully obvious, even in that brief glimpse, that the man was still anchored by his love for her. His heart, it seemed, would not be yours to claim.
At subsequent outings, you tried valiantly not to think of Gojo and his wife, to set your sights logically elsewhere. Yet, conversations with other suitors left your heart inert, no elation, not even a genuine smile. No one could compare to the easy wit, the surprising depth, the sheer light of him.
You had, for a foolish moment, hoped to convince him. But how could you convince a man to love you when he was so faithfully in love with a ghost?
And yet, he sought you out. He would find you wherever you stood, even when you tried half-heartedly to hide, forging a friendship that was both a balm and a torture. He stole you away for dances, shared humor, and offered effortless companionship. All your scheming to find him had caught up to you, leaving you ensnared in your own trap.
At the Bennets’ ball, you were truly amazed. Pyrotechnics and living statues, it was a spectacle unto itself. Even the punch had a spicy, intriguing taste, fitting the fiery theme. A definite step up from the previous year, where Lord Bennet had slipped and fallen into his own fountain. You stood sipping the exotic drink from an ornate glass, watching the dancers.
A soprano’s high Latin notes soared over the instruments. Your gaze, as always, found Gojo. His eyes caught yours across the room, widening in recognition, and he made his way to you with a determined grace.
"Trying to hide again?" he jested as he arrived, falling into step beside you as if you were old friends.
"Your Grace, you ought to teach Lord Bute your skills; his partner seems in dire need of rescue," you laughed, watching the woman wince with each of Bute’s clumsy steps.
"Satoru," he said, simply.
You stared at him, confused.
"My name. We are past formalities, are we not?" he prompted, a challenge in his smile.
"Satoru," you repeated, letting the unfamiliar syllables roll off your tongue. It felt intimate, scandalous, a secret shared. You enjoyed the thrill of it.
"Much better," he smiled, that sweet, tugging smile that unraveled your resolutions. He was a drug, and you were willingly addicted.
At a ladies’ luncheon soon after, the conversation turned to courtships and the swift engagement between Lady Howe and Lord Calhoun.
"And you? You are being courted, are you not?" one of the ladies asked, her eyes sharp on you.
"I am sorry?"
The table tittered. "His Grace, Gojo?" she clarified. You nearly spat out your tea. You had been so wrapped in your own conflicted feelings, you’d forgotten the omnipresent audience. You could not deny the accusation without sparking worse rumors, and since he had spoken of his wife, you hadn’t truly dared to think of it as a courtship. It was merely him, entertaining your hopeless emotions.
"I would not be surprised if there was an engagement on the horizon!" another gushed.
"Or perhaps it is Lord Zenin?" a third suggested slyly.
You demurred, letting the topic flow away from you, but their talk of ardent suitors and clear intentions highlighted what was missing. Lord Zenin made his intentions brutally clear. The Duke offered friendship, laughter, and a haunting sadness. He had not declared himself, nor could you reasonably expect him to.
The balls you once awaited with butterfly excitement now filled you with a nervous dread, afraid of seeing the man whose love was reserved for another. It was disheartening to talk to him, to push your own yearning aside to learn more about him, because every detail—his terrible jests, the way his eyes lit up when you volleyed one back—only made you love him more.
You could no longer afford to look at him as a potential partner; your future was at stake.
At the next ball, you sought solace on a deserted balcony, a glass of punch in hand, away from the crush and the music. The jewels on your gown felt like anchors. The garden below was a tapestry of shadow and moonlight, beautifully kept. The chill air was a relief.
Your solitude was shattered by a familiar presence. White hair gleamed in the ambient light as he leaned on the balustrade beside you.
"My lady, hiding again?" Satoru asked, his voice low. He leaned closer, his shoulder nearly brushing yours.
"It is quiet out here," you said. At least it had been.
"You have not danced with me once tonight. Yet I see you’ve endured two with Lord Zenin." He tried to sound light, joking, but a thread of seriousness ran beneath it.
You pushed off the railing, walking down the shallow steps into the garden proper, hoping he would not follow. He did, of course, his longer strides easily catching up.
"Must you walk so fast?" he called, a hint of amusement in his voice.
You sped up, gathering your skirts. "Why must you follow?"
"Why must you avoid me?" he countered, catching your arm gently but firmly, forcing you to stop.
You whipped around to face him. "It should not be of any concern to you," you spoke, holding your anger and hurt in check. "I have been promised to no one, least of all to you."
"Lord Zenin—" you began.
"Zenin?" he scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet garden. He had not shown a fraction of the direct interest Zenin had, but at least with Zenin, you would be married, settled, your duty done. "You cannot be serious."
"Yes, Zenin."
"Do you know that man? Truly? You will be miserable. More miserable than you could ever be with—" He paused, biting his lip hard, stopping the sentence. "The Zenins see women as cattle, as breeding stock to improve their line."
"And what do you know about treating a woman?" The words flew out, sharp and bitter, before you could stop them. "You do not know Lord Zenin as I do. And above all, you have no right to monitor my potential nuptials."
You refused to let such an opportunity—the security, the position—be ruined by a man who offered nothing but confusing friendship. He would never understand the pressure, the cliff’s edge of choice that defined a woman’s life.
"I clearly know more than you if you are considering that basket for all your eggs. He is not an honorable man."
"And you are, Gojo?"
"Far more than he, I assure you. You mustn't marry him." His voice dipped, almost pleading. But why? Why did he care so much if his own heart was entombed? His mouth opened, those lips parting as if to speak a truth, but then they pressed into a resigned line. "I… care for you. Deeply. More than you could imagine. I could not live with myself knowing you would marry into that dreadful household."
His eyes, wide and earnest in the moonlight, pulled you back into the spell. You wished, achingly, to marry for a mutual love, not to be merely cared for as a replacement for a ghost. His simple attention would not heal the tear his confession had rent in your heart.
"Would it be better to marry someone else, then? Shall I compile a list of suitors for your approval?" you shot back, offended even as a treacherous part of you trusted his warning.
"I am not your father—"
"Precisely! So please, stay out of my business—"
"I cannot do that," he confessed, his gaze refusing to release yours. "I cannot simply stand aside."
"Do you hate me so much that you would deny me any marriage?" The frustration welled up as hot, stinging tears. You blinked them away furiously.
"It is not hate," he said, stepping closer. The scent of him—bergamot and night air—enveloped you. "What I feel for you is far from hate." You could not stand to listen to him dissect your prospects while offering none of his own. You would never be her.
"I apologize, Your Grace. I must take my leave." You hurriedly bowed, your voice cracking as you fought the rising tide of emotion. "Good night."
In your drawing room the following week, Lord Zenin sat sipping tea, the silence between you heavy. He had been monologuing about estate management for twenty minutes. You had been quiet, lost in thought.
"You would make an agreeable wife, do you not agree?" he said finally, a smug, knowing look in his eye. "I thought your… talkative nature might become an issue, but it seems you have learned better. I enjoy a quiet woman." It was not a compliment; it was a mandate.
"Women today forget what a man truly wants. All this talk of opinions and equality… I do hope you do not subscribe to such modern jests." It was not a question.
You simply nodded, the disgust in your stomach turning to a hard, cold stone. Satoru’s word echoed: cattle. Naoya Zenin saw you as a decorative, quiet asset. When he left, the silence he prized felt like a suffocating corset.
You could not imagine a life as Lady Zenin. Your mother, when you finally confessed you could not accept him, looked not disappointed, but profoundly relieved. "His reputation is not… kind," was all she said.
You entertained other suitors half-heartedly. Your prospects, once bright, felt dim and dwindling. After a brief, tedious promenade with Lord Phillip, you returned home. Your lady’s maid was helping you change when she appeared at the door of your sitting room.
"You have a visitor, my lady."
"At this hour? Who is it?"
"It is His Grace, Gojo."
You met him in the garden, the spring sun dappling through the new leaves. You walked in silence, your hand on his arm, hating how your pulse leapt at his mere presence. The quiet stretched, becoming unbearable.
"The weather is very agreeable, is it not, Your Grace?" you finally ventured.
"I did not come to discuss the weather," he said, stopping beside a camellia bush, its pink blossoms vibrant against the dark green. "I came to apologize. Properly, this time. For my conduct in the garden. It was unpardonable."
"If that is all, Your Grace, the apology is not needed. You may—"
"No," he said, his hand covering yours where it rested on his arm. "That is not my only reason. If you recall, I asked you then if your heart was with another."
The memory was repetitive. "I recall."
"And I told you I would stand back if it was." He turned to face you fully, his expression unguarded, vulnerable in a way you had never seen. "I have spoken with your father."
"My father? What could you have possibly provoked you to speak with my father?"
"If you are truly smitten with Lord Zenin, if your heart is with another, please tell me now." He paused, taking one of your hands. "I mispoke then. I do care for you, but what I feel is far stronger; it is not that I hate the idea of you being married. I despise the idea of you marrying anyone else."
"What…what are you saying?"
"If it is Lord Zenin that you prefer over me, I will stand back, just tell me that what I feel for you is not to be reciprocated. And I will stand back," he spoke as though saying this pained him, cringing even at the word Zenin. "I should have said this then. Please allow me to make up for this."
You could only stare, your breath caught.
"Your grace, I do not have an engagement with Lord Zenin; it seems your criticisms were not unwarranted."
"You hand is free, I presume?"
"It is," you managed.
"But is your heart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, laying his own soul bare. "For you have utterly captured mine."
The world narrowed to the feel of his gloves on your skin, the intensity of his gaze, the hammering of your own heart. "My heart," you said, the words firm and clear as crystal, "is free."
He let out a breath that was half-laugh. He knelt there on the garden path, heedless of the gravel. He took your hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips to your gloved knuckles with a reverence that stole your breath.
"Then, if you are not opposed to a man who is flawed…would you do me the greatest honor of accepting my hand in marriage?"
—
Your marriage was steadfast, both families preparing for the union, dedicated. Satoru had not let you out of his sight, from events he was there to making sure he would be the only one you would dance with, declining anyone who came to you for a dance.
Some would come to you saying how they saw this happening, but you knew they would always say that, even if they never did.
Those who were indifferent to you before were now cozying up to the soon-to-be Duchess.
"You must set me up with one of his brothers!" you unfortunately had to give her news that Satoru did not have any siblings.
At the modist, you tried on fine fabrics and watched as your wedding gown was constructed, the decorations prepared, and your family home got set up for the reception. You were happy, but you couldn't help but become afraid.
"Your grace?" Satoru called out to you, following behind with his own horse.
"I am not your grace yet, Satoru." You murmured.
The wedding was in only a few days, and you've done all the discussions with Satoru and your future, yet it seemed so blurry. It was not like you could not see yourself with Satoru, but now that you were betrothed and your future secure, you got everything you wanted, but something was missing. Satoru was right here, yet he seemed so far.
"In a few days' time, you will be." He grinned, his horse next to yours. You smiled and nodded, satisfying his desire for your connection.
The days bled together in a flurry of silk and whispers until the morning dawned. You held up the jewels that Satoru had gifted, letting your lady's maid connect the pieces together. In a few hours, you would be a Duchess, a wife, and secure.
Tying the corsets and watching as they took your wardrobe into cases, packed it away, and took it to a new home, the Gojo estate.
You would not be staying in the city for your honeymoon, but rather at the estate in the country.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, and the dress was beautiful, gorgeous even. The dress was as white as Satoru's hair, and the sapphires as beautiful as his eyes. You felt a tear roll down your face, the excitement bubbling and building into the moment. Tears rolling down your face, you had done it. He was yours, Satoru was yours.
"My lady, it is time to depart."
The ceremony was a sublime blur of vows and vibrant stained-glass. You repeated after the officiant, your voice steadier than you felt. Satoru was more than happy, smiling at you with the same look he gave that locket that felt so long ago.
You stared into his eyes as he brought your face in for a kiss, cupping your head gently. His lips were so soft, pulling you in. It took everything in you not to dive for more; you were in a church after all.
At the reception, it was full of so many people, and Satoru followed you with his eyes wherever you went. You snacked and danced, his hand at the small of your back, until finally, it was time to change from the magnificent gown into your travelling dress.
The dread hit, a cold slickness beneath the joy. After this point, you did not know what to expect as a duchess, ruling a household.
Your mother taught you well, but it was different than experience. And the wedding night... a nebulous concept.
In the carriage, Satoru sat across from you, hand massaging yours. It felt strange touching his skin without a glove, to be away from the watching eyes of the ton; to finally be who they all wanted. A duchess.
"What does your, our estate look like?" you asked slightly, trying to get a view of what your life is looking like.
"It's beautiful, sunrise is like a painting, and it is vast, and the staff are well prepared for you, my love," he reassured. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your pulse stutter. You nodded, massaging his hand in return.
You couldn't help but be drawn to his face. Caressing the sharp line of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbone-features you had dreamed of coming close to.
You had never thought you would get to touch him like this, so freely. He leaned into your touch, letting his cheek rest in your hand, his eyes closing for a moment.
He patted the seat next to him. "Come here, Your Grace." You moved, stumbling a bit in the lurching carriage, and he caught you, his hands firm on your waist as he settled you firmly beside him. Not an inch of space remained between you.
The close confines of the carriage, the dim lantern light, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels-it all felt suddenly illicit. He leaned in, not for a chaste kiss, but to press his lips to the sensitive skin of your neckline, just above the lace of your chemise.
A shocked gasp left you, and you instinctively pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in the snowy silk of his hair. "A different love, indeed," he murmured against your throat, his breath a hot caress.
His mouth was playful, nipping then soothing with his tongue, mapping a path to your collarbone. One of his hands slid from your waist to the back of your corset, fingers tracing the rigid lines of the stays. "So many barriers, even now," he groaned.
You could only whimper, arching into his touch, your own inexperience rendered mute by a wave of pure sensation. His other hand found its way beneath the hem of your skirt, his long fingers skating up your stockinged calf. The contact was electrifying. You were drowning in him, in the scent of his soap and something uniquely him.
"Toru-" you managed, the informal name slipping out in a breathy rush.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes holdings new type of joy, darkened by what you found only described as his previous words, a different type of love. One that consumed you in every breath, yet you want to fall deeper.
"Say it again."
"Toru."
He captured your mouth, nothing like the kiss in the church. It was deep, claiming, hungry. His tongue swept against yours, and you met it with clumsy, eager desperation. He tasted of sweet champagne.
His hand on your leg crept higher, past your garter, to the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerked against him, a bolt of startling pleasure-pain shooting through you.
"You're trembling," he observed, a playful smirk on his kiss-swollen lips. "Don't be afraid. This is all for you. For us."
Before you could formulate a thought, the carriage began to slow. Satoru let out a soft, frustrated groan against your lips. "The inn," he said, his voice steadying. "We break our journey here for the night."
The interruption was a physical shock. He straightened, his expression shifting seamlessly back to one of elegant composure, though his eyes still smoldered. He helped you adjust your dress, his fingers lingering for a moment too long on the fabric covering your breast.
The inn was a respectable coaching house, and the Duke and Duchess Gojo were ushered to the best suite with efficiency. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The door clicked shut behind the retreating servant, and you were truly, utterly alone with your now husband.
The public facade fell from Satoru instantly. He prowled towards you, loosening his cravat with one hand. "Now," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very air between you.
"Where were we?"
You stood frozen by the bed, your earlier courage faltering under the sheer weight of his focused attention. He saw it and his expression softened a fraction, though the intensity in his cerulean gaze never wavered. He came to you, taking your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Let me see you," he whispered.
He turned you gently, your back to his front. His fingers, surprisingly deft for a man of his station and power, found the intricate closures of your travelling gown, working them with a patience that you once awarded to wanting him to hurry up. The gown loosened and pooled at your feet like a discarded sigh. Your petticoats soon followed.
His hands were on the laces of your corset. He worked slowly, kissing the nape of your neck, the shell of your ear, as each tug of the lace gave you more breath, more freedom.
"These contraptions are a crime," he muttered against your skin, his breath hot, finally pulling the stiff garment away and tossing it aside. You stood in your thin chemise and stockings, feeling more exposed than you ever had, the firelight painting your forms in gold.
He turned you to face him, his gaze a physical weight as it travelled over you, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
He lifted you then, placing you in the centre of the bed before stripping off his own clothes with an efficiency that left you breathless. His body was a revelation: long, lean, and built, all sculpted muscle and pale skin marred by the faintest silver lines of old battles. And between his legs, he was... considerable.
Your eyes widened.
The vague, clinical descriptions you'd heard had not prepared you for the reality of him, thick and heavy and very erect, the flushed tip beading with a promise.
He knelt on the bed, crawling over you like a predator claiming its territory. "The theory is one thing, my love," he said, as if reading your mind, a wicked curve to his mouth. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling his weight between them.
The rough hair of his thighs brushed against your sensitive inner skin. "The practice is something else entirely. And we are going to practice quite a lot."
“Practice-”
He kissed you again, swallowing your nervous gasp. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding the damp heat at your core through the thin linen of your chemise. You cried out into his mouth, bucking against his hand.
"So ready for me," he praised, his voice dripping with dark delight. He hooked his fingers in the waist of your drawers, pulling them down and off along with your stockings. The cooler air of the room kissed your skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his body on yours.
Skin to skin. The contact was electric.
He palmed your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple until it peaked into a tight, aching bud. Then his hand trailed down, over the quivering of your stomach.
"My sweet, brave wife," he whispered, his fingers parting your folds with a reverence that belied the hunger in his eyes.
He found your clit, slick and hot, and stroked a slow, circling pattern around the sensitive nub that made you arch off the bed with a broken cry. "Satoru!"
"I know, sweetheart. I know." He added a second finger, slipping inside you with a smooth, stretching pressure. The feeling was immense, foreign, but the glide of his fingers was aided by your own wanton wetness. He worked them in and out, curling them, seeking. When he brushed a particular spot deep inside, stars exploded behind your eyes. Your hips jerked of their own accord, seeking more of that shocking, delicious friction.
"There it is," he purred, watching your face with rapt attention as it contorted in pleasure. "That's it.
Make those pretty sounds for me." He continued his ruthless assault with his fingers, scissoring them, stretching you, preparing you even as he drove you to a trembling, gasping peak. You felt a coil tighten, unbearably so, before it snapped. Your climax washed over you, a wave of pure, mindless pleasure that left you shuddering, your inner walls fluttering around his invading fingers.
No wonder you were never taught such pleasure existed. Or than such pleasure resided between your legs, waiting.
He withdrew his hand, and before you could mourn the loss, he brought his glistening fingers to his lips. His eyes held yours as he sucked them clean, a low hum of appreciation in his throat. "Divine," he murmured. Then he shifted, his body sliding down the bed with predatory grace. "But I have not yet properly tasted my bride."
He hooked your legs over his shoulders, his breath a hot brand against your inner thighs. "None of that modesty now," he chided softly, seeing your instinct to close. "Let me see." And then his mouth was on you.
“That is n-not a proper p-place, ‘Toru!” he only paused for a moment, looking up at you with his eyes.
“Oh, but it is very, very, proper, my love.” he kissed the lips, his tongue licking in between experimentally. “It would be improper for a husband not to taste his wife,” he grinned, watching as you tried to keep you face calm and intact.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was devouring. His tongue, broad and insistent, laved a stripe through your soaked folds before circling that aching nub with focused precision. You cried out, your hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Very proper indeed.” He groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core.
He feasted on you as if starved, one hand splayed on your belly to hold you still while the other slid back inside you, two fingers now, pumping in time with the wicked flick of his tongue. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a riot of too-much and not-enough. You could feel the coil winding tight again, impossibly so, your hips moving of their own accord against his mouth.
"Toru, I cannot-I shall-" you babbled, a composure near shattering.
He lifted his head, his chin gleaming. "You shall," he commanded, his voice rough. "Come on, my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel you." He dove back in, his nose nudging your sensitive flesh, and that was all it took.
You shattered with a scream, your body bowing off the bed as the pleasure crested and broke, washing through you in relentless, pulsing waves. He drank you down, gentle now, lapping at you until the sensitivity bordered on pain, and you weakly pushed at his head.
He moved back up your body, his own arousal a hard, insistent heat against your thigh. He rubbed himself against your drenched cunt, the blunt head notching at your entrance, spreading the evidence of your pleasure.
His eyes locked on yours, brilliant and unblinking in the firelight.
"Look at me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You obeyed, eyes locking with his, you felt the intrusion as he pushed in.
The stretch was immense, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. You choked on a sob, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders.
"Shhh, there it is," he cooed, though his own face was a mask of exquisite strain, a vein throbbing in his temple. He paused, letting your body adjust to his girth, dropping kisses on your tear-streaked cheeks.
"Just the first stretch, sweetheart. You will take me so beautifully." He began to move, shallow, rocking thrusts that gradually deepened. The burning began to melt, transforming into something else, a deep, internal friction that sparked a new, desperate heat in your belly.
Everything was new, exhilarating, and utterly addictive.
His rhythm became less controlled, more demanding. He braced himself on one arm, the other hand snaking down to where your bodies were joined. His thumb found your sensitive nub once more, circling it, just as he drove himself deeper, hitting that spot inside that made you see white.
The sensation was catastrophic. Your back arched off the bed, a broken string of moans and his name falling from your lips. "Toru-l-it is too much-"
"It is not enough," he gritted out, his own breathing ragged, his hips pistoning with a force that shook the bed. "I will be sure t-to make it enough." His words, his touch, the relentless, pounding fullness of him—it all crested and broke again. A wave of pleasure, so intense it bordered on pain, crashed through you. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his length, and you watched, dazed, as his almost aristocratic composure now matched yours.
His eyes screwed shut, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he plunged into you one last, beautiful time. You felt a hot, flooding pulse deep inside you as he spent himself, his body shuddering with the force of his release. For long moments, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and your combined, ragged breaths. He collapsed atop you, his weight a welcome anchor.
He nuzzled into your neck, pressing damp, open-mouthed kisses to your frantic pulse.
When he finally rolled to the side, he pulled you with him, keeping you firmly tucked atop of him, his member still nestled within you.
His fingers traced idle, possessive patterns on the slight, tender swell of your lower belly. "Feel that?" he murmured, his voice hoarse with spent passion.
"That is me. Deep inside you. Marking you. Exactly where I belong." You could only hum, your body and mind buzzing with a languid, sated stupor.
He was not done. After a while, his hands began to wander again, playful and insistent. He took you twice more that night, each time with a shifting mood—once slow and worshipful, his mouth tasting every part of you until you were mindless with need, begging him in broken phrases; fast and rough, with you on your hands and knees, him driving into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave blooming fingerprints, his praises filthy and fervent against your ear.
As dawn threatened the horizon, he had you on your back once more, moving in you with a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that felt more like possession than passion. His forehead was pressed to yours, his breath mingling with your whimpers.
"I am going to fill you until you are dripping with me," he promised, his voice a dark velvet rasp. "Until the thought of anyone else is impossible. Until you carry my child here." He pressed his hand more firmly over your womb, and the thought, the sheer carnality of it, pushed you both over the edge together.
Later, as a grey light filtered through the curtains, you lay spent and boneless. Satoru propped himself on an elbow, looking down at you. His fingers, gentle now, traced the curve of your hip, then drifted through the sticky evidence of his spend that had seeped from between your thighs.
He brought his fingertips to his mouth, his eyes holding a possessive, satisfied glint as he tasted you both. "You must ride me, or I will die."
He was as much of an addict as you were becoming of his touch, of his love.
—
You sat in a chair, dressed in an elegant and ornate gown, Satoru beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Matching colors, a delicate blue. The painter took glances diligently, painting both of your features onto the canvas. You tried to stay as still as possible, but Satoru was making an effort to get a rise out of you.
It was your wedding portrait; thanks to Satoru's antics, you were late. It did not help that Satoru would continue poking, tickling, and even making crude jests; quietly enough for the painter not hear but just low enough in your ear, you could make out every word.
"You forget yourself, Your Grace, we have duties attend to." You sighed, resisting the urge to kick him in the knee.
"Well, Your Grace, I was simply remarking on the excellent skills of the painter before us." His calm face breaking for a smile. He knew what he was doing and exactly what he had said. You even noticed the way he giggled when the thought formed in his mind. Each worse than the one before it. The painter bowed, only heading the compliment, unaware of Satoru's crude comment of 'painting your walls instead'.
"I will remember that, Your Grace," you warned, keeping your soft smile.
"Please do, we must be quiet now, the painter must do his work," he paused, tapping your shoulder lightly.
"I am sure you know-" you kicked him in the shin, stopping whatever was coming out of his mouth. It was low enough for the painter to not hear, but the wince on Satoru's face did bring you an inch of joy.
You would surely tip the painter well. Satoru did make haste on his comments immediately after the painter took his leave.
There would soon be a portrait of the Duke and Duchess Gojo, replacing the former one on the wall. Although you would never be her, you would be his, and he would be yours.
❦ 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.
hiromi higuruma is your divorce lawyer, and he thinks you might be the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes on.
❦ cw ; mdni. 18+ only. f!reader. divorce themes. fluff. p in v. fingering. oral (f!receiving). slight body worship. unprotected. creampie. kinda hurt/comfort if you squint?
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divorce lawyer!higuruma who makes a point of not dating clients, but he can’t help but think that you’re gorgeous.
divorce lawyer!higuruma who feels his blood boil during the first meeting with your husband- ex-husband- and his lawyer as the asshole tries to defend himself for cheating. he can hardly bear to see the way you cover the fact that you’re holding back tears with nothing more than a glance at the table and a dejected smile.
divorce lawyer!higuruma surprises you when he suggests a more aggressive split of your belongings, favoring you of course. it wasn’t previously discussed but you don’t argue and when the opposing side agrees, you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders knowing you can support yourself.
divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t say a word when you return to his office and cry. he’s no stranger to having those recently divorced cry in front of him, but this time there’s a very real and raw pang in his chest.
divorce lawyer!higuruma offers to take you for drinks. it’s not a date, no formalities, just his way of offering you some comfort. you tilt your head so cutely as you contemplate his question, wiping your tears with the back of hand as you decidedly nod.
divorce lawyer!higuruma feels his grasp slipping on his self-imposed rule to not date clients. you’re so kind, so caring, so beautiful, that he wonders how your sleazy ex-husband ever let you go.
divorce lawyer!higuruma pays for all of your drinks and your uber, much to your dismay, insisting it’s the right thing to do.
divorce lawyer!higuruma looks forward to your next meeting, in spite of the fact that he’ll need to see your ex-husband. there’s a sort of pride blooming deep within his chest when you speak of the divorce to your ex, but look to hiromi for encouragement. he offers you nods and smiles and you relax somewhat, seeming much more at ease and confident.
divorce lawyer!higuruma who has a smile on his face walking out of the meeting with you as your ex-husband seethes over the fact that you’re squeezing more money out of him, and doing it with a smile.
divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t even think twice about accepting when you insist on taking him for dinner as a thank you once the proceedings are finished. he intends nothing more than to have a friendly dinner with you, but after several hours and his insistence to make sure you get home safe, you find yourself sharing a kiss.
divorce lawyer!higuruma hasn’t even had a drink, but he thinks he’s drunk on you. you’re so saccharine sweet and the way you sweetly invite him in with bright eyes is irresistible. he doesn’t even mind potentially being a rebound if it means getting the chance to show you what it means to be taken care of by a real man.
divorce lawyer!higuruma carries you so confidently to your guest room that you just giggle when you tell him it’s the wrong room, directing him to your bedroom. there’s something so sweet and charming about the whole situation, the way you’re able to laugh together, that he hopes he isn’t just a rebound. but for you? he will be, if that’s what you want.
divorce lawyer!higuruma spends the night practically worshiping your body. he takes his time kissing each and every inch of your skin, so gentle and caring even as his cock absolutely throbs in the confines of his slacks, because he wants to show you exactly what you’ve missed out on.
divorce lawyer!higuruma absolutely snaps when his tongue is buried in your pussy and you begin to beg him to cum as his ministrations are so slow, drawing your pleasure out. it’s like he’s a different man when he meanly strokes long fingers against your g spot while he sucks your clit until your body is trembling with pleasure.
divorce lawyer!higuruma’s words when he talks dirty send you into a spiral as he asks if your ex-husband could get you off like he is, if he knew how to make you beg and scream and shake while he pounds your poor cunt in a mean mating press. what sends him into a frenzy is the way you tell him he’s the best you’ve ever had.
divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t relent as your moans turn to babbles and your nails rake his back. he relishes in the sting, knowing he’s hitting your sweet spot with each stroke as white hot pleasure courses through your body and with a cry you hit your climax. You cling to him as your arousal coats his cock, your walls tightening around his length and with only a few more thrusts, he fills you with his seed when you beg him to cum inside.
divorce lawyer!higuruma still fears being a rebound, but there’s something satisfying in seeing him seeping from your folds and soaking the sheets beneath you.
divorce lawyer!higuruma takes his time caring for you, cleaning you gently with a towel as he asks if you enjoyed yourself before he lifts the sheets and blankets over you, comfortably holding you against his broad chest as though you belong there, and he wonders if you feel that sensation too.
divorce lawyer!higuruma who tries to leave early in the morning, as a courtesy to you, under the assumption that he’s a rebound. a delicate hand around his wrist has his eyes widening as he tries to step out of the bed, but you don’t let him, a hurt expression on your face as you ask if he’s leaving.
divorce lawyer!higuruma who realizes he’s underestimated you in every way as he comfortably holds you against his bare chest again in the early hours of the morning, basking in the feeling of being wanted. the feeling of being wanted by you, nonetheless. he wonders how your ex-husband ever let you go, how any man could possibly bear to not see the entire sun, you, each and every morning upon waking up.
divorce lawyer!higuruma relaxes into you, forgetting about your ex as he falls into a deep slumber, silent plans to take you on countless dates and spoil you rotten floating in his mind if you’ll allow him to. little does he know, you’re as smitten with him as he is with you.
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❦ a/n ; just a lil something for hiromi while i work on my last kinktober piece and my sukuna college au ♡ as always, likes, reblogs, and comments super appreciated!
❝ you've been working with shiu and toji long enough to know that they both have eyes for you and after a particularly bloody and frustrating mission, you give in to their teasing for the first time. you know two things for sure. shiu needs a bigger car, and it won't be the last time you give in. ❞
𓉸 warnings ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. threesome. spit roasting. marking. biting. slight voyeurism. rough car sex. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). manhandling. fingering. mild size kink. throat fucking. nipple play (f! receiving). mild praise. mild degradation. mild dacryphilia. mild choking. pet names (doll, girl, pretty, baby, sweetheart). use of cigarettes. toji's dirty talk is a warning in itself.
𓉸 words ; 3.9k.
masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist
Seeing Shiu’s car is a goddamn relief. Blood drips from your cheek to your sleeve and you can feel the crimson that coats your gloves and pants seeping through the material. Sure, the blood doesn’t phase you anymore, but it doesn’t make soaked clothing any more comfortable.
Toji rolls down the passenger window as you approach in Shiu’s largest car, the one he usually uses for kidnappings and hostages and the sight of Toji likely means that’s just what they’ve returned from.
“Shiu, I swear to god if there’s a person in the trunk on top of my clean clothes, I’ll lose it,” you grumble, leaning forward to glance into the back. At least there’s no one tied up in the back.
“Don’t worry, doll. He was in the back and the job’s done,” Shiu’s words are slightly muffled as he lights his cigarette.
Letting out a sigh, you nod. “Pop the trunk?”
A puff of smoke leaves Shiu’s lips as he leans down to flick the lock for the trunk of the car. It opens with a thud, revealing your duffle bag with a fresh change of clothes. You had requested Shiu pick you up in a fairly remote location, shrouded by trees on every side to allow you some privacy to change rather than painting the inside of his car crimson.
If Toji were a better man, he would keep his eyes on the shroud of trees ahead. Alas, that’s not the case as Toji’s eyes stray to the side view mirror as he shamelessly watches as you pull your black compression shirt up over your head. He shuffles in his seat, attempting to adjust his cock as it hardens at the sight of your cleavage bouncing in your bra.
You pull your gloves off and let your hair down and if Toji didn’t know you were an assassin, he might think you’re an angel. You wipe some blood from your hair and forehead with the old shirt before pulling on a new black low-cut top. Sliding out of your pants, you slip into a pair of gray sweatpants before slamming the trunk and groaning as you finally sit down in the back seat.
“How was the job?” Toji asks, clearing his throat as he brings a foot up onto the seat to hide his… problem.
“How many guards does one person need?” You groan, rolling your eyes as you slouch back into the leather. “It was such a pain, I didn’t think it would take so long.”
“Mm,” Toji hums a response, unable to keep his thoughts straight. “Stressed?” He asks, shooting a glance at Shiu. He barely manages to contain his scoff when he catches the strained look on his handler’s face as the man keeps his eyes set dead ahead. Oh he’s as bricked up as Toji is right now and it doesn’t do the assassin any favors as his cock jumps at the lewd thoughts running through his mind.
“You have no idea,” you grumble, throwing your head back as you stare at the car’s roof.
Toji takes a pause before deciding to get a bit brazen, wondering if Shiu’s noticed he’s not alone. “Y’know,” Toji begins, the smirk on his lips audible in his voice, “I have an idea that could help with that.”
Catching the obvious innuendo held within Toji’s tone, Shiu finally shoots him a glance. It’s hard not to notice the tent in Toji’s pants even with his leg up on the seat in an attempt to block it. The handler takes a long drag of his cigarette, equally unable to stop his cock from growing harder in his slacks just as he was beginning to get it under control.
Toji shuffles to get a better look at you in the back seat as the gears in your mind turn. Shiu is close behind, moving his head more subtly to stare at you in his peripherals. You’re not oblivious to the deeper meaning behind Toji’s words and you can’t deny that they’re both attractive. Both men have also made their attraction to you fairly obvious over the past few months of working with them. In fact, it’s hardly a debate in your mind whether you want to have sex with them. The real question is whether the car can handle both of them. Or if you can.
“Care to enlighten me?” You play along with Toji’s words, a sly smirk donning your lips.
The assassin grins, eyes darkening as his pupils blow with lust. “Y’know, you gave Shiu and I a bit of a show back there, n’ we both seem to be havin’ a bit of a problem.”
Your brow raises as you fight the urge to call them out for watching you, but you bite your tongue given that you were equally guilty in this scenario, having purposefully made a show out of changing for both men. Had you truly wanted to, you could have absolutely stood closer to the trunk to change but you made sure you were in view of the sideview mirrors, just as you know Toji has done in the past.
“I’m thinkin’ we could help with that stress, n’ you could help with our problems,” Toji shrugs like it’s all a simple exchange.
“You’ve been awfully quiet, Shiu. You gonna help with all my stress?” You purr, watching as he stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray sitting in the center of the car with a smirk.
He’s out of the car in a second, back door open as he slides into the back seat with you. His lips eagerly collide with yours just as you see Toji slide between the gap in the front seats with a grunt of effort. Though you can’t see him, you can hear him shuffling around, knocking both you and Shiu in his effort to slip into the back seat with you.
Shiu pulls back, ready to spout irritated words at Toji, but a single tug on his tie from your eager fingers pulls him back down to you. He gives in immediately, shoulders relaxing as your fingers rake through the short hair at the base of his scalp.
You gasp into the kiss as Toji’s large hand grips your thigh, a row of sloppy kisses planted along the column of your neck. His scar brushes against your skin as he focuses his attention at the base of your neck. Shiu swallows your whimper when Toji begins to suck on the sensitive spot at the base of your neck.
Shiu doesn’t break the kiss as he easily shuffles out of his suit jacket. The clanking of a belt cuts through the lewd sounds painting the air as he tosses that into the front as well.
“Such a dirty little thing, aren’t ya?” Toji hums, groping your breast with one hand as he covertly slips you onto his lap. His hardened length tents his pants and rubs against the swell of your ass as he not-so-subtly ruts his hips against you.
With each roll of Toji’s hips and sloppy kiss left on your neck, you shuffle and whine into Shiu’s mouth. The handler sighs, pulling back to shoot Toji a look. “Fushiguro, stop moving her around so much, I’m practically up against the seat.”
Toji clicks his tongue. “Not my problem,” he gruffs.
“It will be when you’re the one shoved up against the seat.”
“Boys, there’s enough of me to go around. You can both have your turn,” you purr, squeezing Toji’s thigh as you press a chaste kiss to Shiu’s lips. It seems to satisfy them both as Toji’s hands grip your hips while he continues to grind against you while Shiu loosens his tie and discards his shirt.
As Shiu undresses, Toji uses his thumb and forefinger to turn your chin to him, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss. By comparison to Shiu, Toji’s lips are rough and he moves against you with fervor as though he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment. He commands you with his tongue rather than moving with you. Toji wants control.
With your attention on Toji, Shiu’s hands wander over your thighs before sliding along the band of your sweatpants as he begins to work them down your legs, lifting you briefly off of Toji’s lap. Your attention is pulled to the handler as you let out a surprised yelp at being lifted so suddenly, but Toji’s having none of that as he tightens his grip on your chin and pulls you back to him.
“Ah-ah,” Toji tuts, squeezing your cheeks with his forefinger and thumb. “Eyes on me, girl.” He stares at your puckered lips, running his thumb over the lower one as you stare into his emerald eyes, obediently keeping your attention on him. Shiu pushes your thighs open, resting them on either side of Toji’s knees beneath you. He begins to kiss up your inner thighs, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin.
You bite back a moan but Toji grins as your eyes glaze over with need, growing more lidded by the second. “You wet for Shiu already, pretty lil’ thing?” Toji drawls, a puff of air leaving his nose in a dry laugh when all you can manage is a moan.
“Words, doll,” Shiu instructs, equally as pushy as Toji even as he looks up at you from between your thighs.
“Y-Yes,” you manage, lips parting as Shiu licks a long stripe up your clothed pussy.
The handler smirks, fingers digging into your skin as his tongue swipes over his lower lip. “She’s fucking soaked for us, Fushiguro.”
Toji finally lets your chin go, your head falling back onto his shoulder as he moves his attention to your breasts. Large, rough, hands knead the plush of your breasts as Shiu hooks two fingers beneath the fabric of your panties and moves it aside.
You wouldn’t know with your head thrown back on Toji’s shoulder but they exchange a look as Toji flicks your nipple and Shiu gives your clit a couple of kitten licks at the same time. A shrill gasp leaves your lips followed by a whimper as you arch your back against Toji at the sudden sensation. The assassin’s cock twitches against your ass as he hums in your ear, pleased with your moans.
Shiu occupies himself with your pleasure as he plunges his tongue into your core, lidded mahogany eyes focused on your reactions as he flicks the muscle within your gummy walls in search of what sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your lips are parted as you lean your full weight back against Toji, his hands continuing to pinch, flick and tug on your nipples. Both men’s actions send pleasure straight to your throbbing pussy but it’s when Shiu withdraws and slides his middle finger deep within your walls that you jolt and your hands go out in search of something to grab onto.
“Easy, girl,” Toji chuckles at your reaction, rutting his hips against your ass as your sudden movement teases his pulsing cock with friction. His lips attach to your neck as he sucks and bites at the tender skin, leaving behind marks that you know will turn purple in a matter of moments.
Clutching onto Toji’s thick forearm and the seat in front of you, you whimper as Shiu curls his finger within you. It’s only a matter of moments before he’s found your sweet spot and begins to rhythmically bully your walls.
“Shit, doll, you’ve got a pretty moan,” Shiu groans as he begins to palm his hardened erection through his boxers. The shuffling of fabric tells you that endeavor doesn't last long as he pulls his cock from his slacks to slowly pump himself as he reattaches his lips to your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. He moans against your cunt, the vibrations sending a chill straight up your spine as you arch your back for him.
“You close already?” Toji teases as he continues to palm your breasts with one hand, moving the other to hold your hips in place as you begin to squirm on his lap. The movement of your hips is driving him crazy, but he resists the urge to flip you and bully his cock into you right then and there out of fear of breaking you.
“Ah- f-faster-!” you whimper, legs quivering on either side of Toji’s knees as you attempt to fasten them around Shiu’s head. The handler chuckles once more, sliding a second finger easily past your folds and adding to the intense pleasure coiling in your abdomen. Your nails dig hard into the leather of Shiu’s front seat and Toji’s forearm as the digits within your walls pick up their pace, moving faster and harder.
“Cum on your handler’s face f’r me,” Toji coaxes in your ear, his voice low and sultry in tone, sending you crashing into your climax like a ton of bricks.
“Shiu-! Shit- haah-” you babble and moan as your back arches and your walls pulse around his digits. Toji holds you firmly in place with one hand as Shiu doesn’t relent, only slowing his movements to draw wave after wave of your orgasm out of you. When you slump back against Toji with a pant, Shiu finally withdraws his fingers, getting to a hunched standing position. He leans over you, gripping your chin as he slides his slick-covered fingers between your lips.
“Good girl,” Shiu praises, wiping your arousal from his chin with the back of his other hand. You suck his fingers, the taste of your climax sending heat between your thighs once more. You subconsciously attempt to close your legs again, catching Toji’s attention.
“Still horny after that, eh?”
“Don’t be a tease, Toj’,” you groan breathlessly.
“Dunno, think you might deserve it after the show you gave us earlier,” Shiu comments as he lights a cigarette.
“Open a window, asshole,” Toji growls with a huff. Shiu shrugs, a puff of smoke leaving his lips as he cracks the window behind him.
Your chest still heaves, completely blissed out as Toji easily lifts you from his lap and sets you down on all fours on the back seat. Your legs are still trembling from your orgasm as you struggle to hold yourself upright on shaky limbs.
“Still sensitive, doll?” Shiu teases as he blows a puff of smoke out the window and gives you a moment to come down from your high. You nod as you look up at him before your attention is drawn to his cock. You blink a few times as you take in Shiu’s size. His shaft is of fairly average girth, but he’s long. You inadvertently bite your lip, catching the handler’s eye. “See something you like?” He grins, holding his cigarette off to the side as smoke cascades up to the roof and out the window.
“‘M thinking we should have done this a while ago,” you purr, aiming to sit down on your knees in an attempt to tease the man, but you’re immediately pulled back up into your original position. You yelp in surprise, turning your attention to Toji, who’s now mostly undressed with his shirt tossed aside and pants pulled down enough that you can see the tent in his boxers.
“Nah, stay on your hands and knees,” he chides, getting on his knees behind you, although he’s forced to bend over your back to avoid hitting his head on the car’s roof. His breath is warm on your back as you feel him pull his length from his black boxers. The weight of his cock on your ass makes you swallow as you turn your head to catch a glimpse of the bulky man behind you.
Toji is grinning as he slowly pumps his length, eyes lidded as he watches the way you take in just how thick and long he is. A pulsing vein runs up the side of his length up to his swollen tip, dripping with pre-cum that damn near makes your mouth water.
“As much as I like havin’ you ogle me, I wanna see that pretty lil’ mouth of yours wrapped around a cock while I rail ya from behind.” Toji’s words are filthy as he lines himself up with your sopping lips.
Shiu’s fingers grab your chin as he guides you back to him. He twitches at the mere sight of you, a puff of smoke leaving him as he pushes his tip between your lips.
“Shiiit, doll,” Shiu groans as you obediently hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue over his swollen head. He leans his knee on the seat to support his weight as he slowly pushes himself into you while Toji ruts his length through your folds, covering it in the slick that still drips from your previous orgasm.
“D’ya think Shiu prepared you well enough f’r me?” Toji teases, and you half expect him to push in right then and there, but it’s his long and thick finger that slips easily into your cunt.
“T-To-!” You cry out around Shiu’s cock, but you don’t manage to finish the assassin’s name when Shiu pushes to the back of your throat, holding you in place by your chin and stifling your cry.
“Hah- Fuck.” A puff of smoke leaves his lips as he moans and throws his head back. “Bein’ such a good girl for me,” he groans, leaning over to stub out the last of his cigarette as he gives you his full attention.
He doesn’t move for a moment, his length pressed to the back of your throat restricting your breathing as tears form in the corners of your eyes.
“Too much, pretty girl?” Shiu taunts, lidded eyes admiring the look of your mouth stuffed full of him. He pulls back just enough to let you breathe and barely mutter out a no. “Tch.” Shiu smirks, bringing a finger to your cheek to wipe the first tear that falls.
Behind you, Toji slips a second finger into your cunt, curling his fingers so expertly it sends a spark of electricity up your spine and heat straight to your core. You moan around Shiu, grinding your hips back against Toji as he teases your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, but just as quickly as he begins to rub circles over the bundle of nerves, he pulls his digits out.
Your muffled whine barely hits the air before Toji sinks his tip in and forces a gasp from deep in your throat. You collapse forward onto your forearms as pain and pleasure mix and coil in your abdomen, forcing Shiu to lower himself with you, though he doesn’t mind now that his head isn’t hitting the ceiling.
Why the fuck did you decide to do this in the car?
Leaning over you, Toji moves his hips as he feeds you his length inch by inch, slowly so as not to split you in half.
“Shit, y’re tight,” he groans, one arm on the back of the seat while his other hand rests by your elbow. When Toji bottoms out, he waits for a moment as he allows you to adjust to just how full you are with his cock. Shiu doesn’t move either as both men give you a chance to take a breath before they ravage you with need. Your handler’s length twitches when you swipe your tongue over the tip teasingly as the pain in your stomach dissolves into nothing but pleasure.
“Hah, you being a tease right now, doll?” Shiu breathes out as he holds your head in place and pushes his cock deep into your throat, moving rhythmically as he fucks into you relentlessly. Toji takes that as his sign to move as well, his cock jerking as he watches you choke on Shiu’s cock.
The assassin rams into you, his length brushing your sweet spot with every thrust. Both men use you so meanly that you’re being shoved back onto each cock in both directions as though they’re competing with one another.
“Mmf-!” You barely manage to choke out a cry as your climax approaches quickly.
“Y’like being used like that, baby?” Toji mutters from above your shoulder. “Y’like bein’ a little toy f’r us?” He pulls out fully before ramming his full length deep into your cunt and pulling a cry from you again as Shiu continues to bully the back of your throat. “Clampin’ down on me, y’re close already, aren’t ya?”
You can barely manage a whimper when your high hits hard and fast, your stomach knotting and releasing in a wave of pure bliss. You see stars as neither man relents, chasing their own orgasms without giving you a break as you gush around Toji’s girthy shaft.
“Gonna make me cum with that mouth of yours,” Shiu moans, his cock jerking and twitching as your throat contracts around him with each whimper and whine that you release. He follows shortly after you, his release painting the back of your throat white as you swallow every drop, your tongue swiping his sensitive tip and pulling a moan from him as he jerks and slumps back into the seat with an arm over the back of the seat and one over the ledge of the window.
Toji becomes surprisingly quiet and although he doesn’t say much, his movements grow sloppy and imprecise and it’s barely a moment before his arousal fills you up and seeps out around his base, leaving a ring of white at the base of his cock as he pulls out.
He gives himself a couple of last pumps as he licks your back once before sitting back on the seat, mirroring Shiu’s actions.
At last, you collapse forward, curled into the seat as you pant to catch your breath. Your tear-filled eyes are blurred with pleasure as you come down from the high of being with Toji and Shiu.
Shiu rakes a hand through your hair so tenderly you almost wouldn’t know he’d just pounded your throat raw barely a minute ago. “How are you feeling?” He asks, tilting your head subtly to get your honest reaction.
You shoot him a smile. “Might be the best dick I’ve gotten in my life.”
Both men chuckle. “Good to hear,” Shiu replies, reaching forward for another cigarette. As he lights it and smoke begins to curl from the ashen tip, he turns his head to blow smoke out the window. “I think I owe you both a night at a hotel,” he comments.
“For the threesome or the job?” Toji chuckles.
“For the job, dumbass.”
You let out an exhausted, breathy laugh as you force yourself to sit up. Shiu grabs his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his cigarette balanced between his lips.
“You know, you could lie and say it was the threesome and make us feel good,” you tease.
“I think I made you feel plenty good, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes. “Dunno. Maybe you could show me what you mean at this hotel you’re talking about?”
Toji scoffs, a grin on his scarred lips. “Such a greedy lil’ thing. Already lookin’ for round two?”
You put your hands up defensively. “What can I say?” You smirk, falling back into the seat to catch your breath. “Oh, and Shiu? You need a bigger car.”
masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist
𓉸 a/n ; ugh i hoped this would come out way earlier but ended up getting sick among other things. finally starting to feel better though so i hope you enjoyed! as always likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated ♡
𓉸 taglist ; currently open. please comment here or on the masterlist to be tagged in the last of my kinktober work ♡
problem is, "head" means something a lil different to the man.
most men are happy to get anything. half-hearted tongue, a wad of spit-- hell, even hot air on their frenulum. they'll nut and cherish it, get off to the mere thought of a warm mouth around their pathetic dicks.
not toji zen'in.
he's not ungrateful. he'd never say no to a blow, even a quick one.
but he's got refined tastes.
he's used to the good stuff, spoiled for years by a wife who could spell his name backwards with her tongue.
nosing at his taint, tugging on his dick, and mouthing at his nuts are necessary.
"throat it. c'mon. throat that fuckin’ dick." a big hand pressed your head down, nose bumping pubes. "don't gag. pussy."
throats weren't made to stretch this way-- if his girth wasn’t enough, his length had your throat spasming, fighting to reject the intrusion.
"swallow."
you tried, blinking back the tears stinging behind your eyelids.
the suction of your throat coaxed a groan from him, couch creaking as his head fell back against the cushions.
“that’s the stuff.”
toji locked his big legs around your head, his fat thighs possibly the most expensive noise-cancelling headphones you’ve ever worn.
he’d clench until your ears rang and blood rushed to your head. then, slowly, he’d release.
it was dizzying.
like this, you couldn’t be focused on anything but him.
not like you could have been anyways.
he’d pull out just to shove your face into his nutsack, shiny and slick with spit.
“gentle now. nice n’ slow for me. open wide.”
he’d sit with his balls in your mouth ‘til the weight of each scrote was burnt on your tongue, until the ache in your jaw was seared into your mind.
a calloused hand stroked his length slow, base to mid-shaft. deep breaths kept him steady, enjoying the sight of you stone-still at his feet.
then, he shifted.
slow jerks of his hips, signalling for you to move.
you traced them with your tongue, wrapping and caressing in languid strokes.
his cock twitched in his grasp. veins strained against knuckles as fat fingers squeezed his base.
“suck on ‘em.”
while you slipped a nut in your mouth, his hand sped up. the firmness of his grip had his nutsack bouncing in tandem, fapping against your face.
you felt, more than heard, the groan that tore through him.
“fuck. ‘m gonna bust.”
he was no two-pump chump but christ. you’d be the death of him.
pulling his thighs open, you slipped down lower, nosing at his taint.
heavy balls slapped against your forehead as he jerked his cock harder, hissing out at the sensation.
“shit. holy fucking hell.”
two fingers prodded gently at his perineum as you looked up, sticking your tongue out to tease his nuts.
blown pupils met yours.
and he was done for.
“fuck—“
thick cum dribbled down his shaft, weaving between his big fingers in fat teardrops.
his warm seed hit your forehead, dripping down the slope of your brow, some caught by your cheeks.
spit and semen mixed on your tongue, salty and bitter, collecting under your tongue. strings of spit leaked slowly, falling to your thighs below.
green eyes watched it through, fixated on how he was painting you in his colours, in his scent.
ever wondered what valentines day dates the jjk men/women would take shy!reader on? then look no further! below is a collection of beautifully curated work by a plethora of talented authors. || mdni
in which, they see you sitting in class and decide to finally ask you out.
chemistry class with FRATBOY!SUKUNA. he's had his eye on you ever since taking chemistry as a subject. he finally plucks up the courage to ask you out on a star gazing date for valentines, and you accept! (fluff ) ! by: @sixxels
film class with FRATBOY!TOJI. toji's been crushing on you for a while, you had such a deep appreciation for film and he really admired your outlook on things. he approaches you in class and asks if you'd be down to go watch one of his favourite movies together! (fluff, smut) by: @strawb3rryhachi
biology class with BESTFRIEND!GETO. he woo's you in bio with his effortless charm, asking if you'll humor him with a date on valentines day. you, of course, say yes, and the two of you have a sweet dorm room dinner together. (fluff, smut) 18+ ! by: @fricks
psychology class with NERD!CHOSO. choso, the hot nerd in your class, awkwardly asks his project partner if you'll accompany him on a date on valentines day. you accept, and he takes you out to a bookstore to get a better understanding of what makes you tick! (fluff) by: @cassideezlife
accounting class with NERD!NANAMI. nanami can't resist the cute nerdy girl in his finance class, and with valentines day coming up soon? now is a better time than ever to ask you out on a date. he takes you to the aquarium where he tells you about all the fish and you slowly come out of your little shell. (fluff) by: @whispers-of-aurora
philosophy class with MENTOR!HIGURUMA. he's around your age, and totally into you. he'd always been attracted to the shyer girls, and your intellect mixed with your self preservation intrigued him to no end. with valentines day around the corner, he asks you out and takes you to a bistro! (fluff) by: @stellarixe
graphic design class with ATHLETE GOJO. for valentine's day, satoru decided that he should stop being a loser and ask to be your valentine. you, the shy girl from his class that he has a crush on. well, safe to say he did a good job! (fluff) by: @carienations
art class with SKATERBOY!INO ino's a little bit on an outsider on campus. so, he's a little nervous to ask such a sweet girl out in fear of seeming too forward or weird. but, valentines day is a good a time as any to try your luck, so the boy asks you out to the skate park. you agree, and it turns out the both of you had been secretly crushing on each other for ages! (fluff) by: @kixxtie
literature class with POPULAR!SHOKO. shoko had a thing for sweet things like you, so she suggests you come with her to a party that's happening on valentines to get to know you better. at said party, she finds you passed out on the balcony sofa and decides to cuddle up with you! (fluff) by: @snorlexi
music class with FRATBOY!GOJO. he'd been your childhood friend years ago. after growing distant and falling into the fratty lifestyle, gojo decides to bite the bullet and rekindle the flame that had been there all along, taking you on a date to your childhood treehouse on valentine's day. (angst to fluff) by: @rainlina
biology class with FRIENDSTOLOVERS!MEGUMI. there was always an unspoken kind of love between you and megumi, one he'd decided needed adressing with valentines day approaching. after all, he couldn't let you get snatched up by anyone else. he takes you out on a nice date and makes you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. (fluff) by: @kaekuna
history class with NERD!GOJO. you and him are one in the same, so it's safe to say you were both tremendously nervous when gojo decides to finally ask you out on valentines day. the awkward boy suggests you come over to his place to watch a movie and eat some pizza, you happily agree. (fluff, smut) 18+ ! by: @dollhousesinner
all works to be posted on the 13th of february AEST, right in time for valentine's day!
The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe
baratheonpilled
stormborns
vaporwave
prguitarman
ellievsbear
kianamaiart
