consequences for heianera!sukuna
Ryomen Sukuna was never one for restraint.
He takes what he wants with zero to no hesitation, does whatever his mind wants him to do whether it was impulsive or not.
Hates the arrangement of furniture in his chambers? Okay, he'll make his servants tweak them to his liking. Bored? The village not far from his shrine is now nowhere to be seen. Prefers new robes? Out with the old, in with the new.
He'd do everything and anything he wanted, his life a bloody, chaotic spiral.
.. That was until he met you.
You, a blind woman stranded in the sea of flames, losing your home to the results of a bored curse. Tears streaming down the plump softness of your cheeks as you stumbled and grasped at nothing, trying and failing to reach for the ashed structure that you once called a safe space.
He watched you as you pitifully fell on your knees, the tears falling to the hot dirt that you used to walk on, hissing faintly as it evaporated to the heat. He felt absolutely no remorse in the sick mind of himself at the sight of you. Hell, he enjoyed it. Watching you as if you were some mere slave performing for the entertainment of the nobles.
He found you intriguing, so much so that he picked you off the ground and dragged you back to his shrine to turn you into his personal toy. A useless little thing that he could break into a million pieces and glue back up. Or leave you at that.
He swore he'd get rid of you about a week after that, swore he loathed the likes of you. Swore he hated how pathetically weak and fragile you were, how useless and troublesome you were.
And yet, weeks turn into months and months turn into years, you're still there by his side.
He no longer wanted to rid of you, no longer craved for your absolute demise in life. It was appalling how much your mere presence had soften him around his sharp edges.
Now, he yearned to hold you, sense the floral scent of you in his used-to-be musky hallways, craved for your affection like a man starved. He'd go out of his way to protect you, perish ones that looked at you wrong.
He'd rearrange his entire estate for it to be softer for you. Assist you in every step of your walk to ensure your safety.
And that was when he learned how to restrain himself.
Because, even if he was dying to embrace you, feel the warmth of your body against his, he knew you were fragile. And he was rough; he didn't know how to control his strength, he didn't know how to be gentle.
One blow too hard towards the dandelion and the softness of it will drift away.
So he banished himself from touching you. Banished you from touching him. The only gesture he ever allowed you to do was hold his hand, that was it. Case closed.
Because he knows that if he let you feel him for longer, he'll fucking lose it. So he restrains.
Restrains, restrains, restrains.
Curiosity killed the cat, and you let your hand drift higher than his palm. His body goes taut, breath hitching, but he lets you.
That was his first mistake.
He lets you feel the thickness of his neck, the abnormality of the right side of his face, the four eyes he has, lets you trace the marks adorning his shoulder blades and spine. Lets your hand wander everywhere.
Second mistake, because then as expected, he lost it.
He threw you over his shoulder, marches to his chambers and threw you onto the futon. Climbing over you, peeling and tearing off every fabric on you before taking you with possessive fervor.
He grabbed onto your hips in a grip so strong it left the darkest bruises on your once perfect skin. Bit and sucked so deeply onto your neck blood starting pooling and threatening to trinckle down your spine. Ears bloody with bitemarks, bodily fluids mixing with the crimson liquid, a result of him being too careless to not prepare you.
And then by the time he was done, he was laying on top of you, his nose nuzzling the softness of your hair. All four arms wrapped around you as he finally gave in to his desires and held you tightly against him.
He was ignorant enough to not notice how unusually soft your breathing had become. Too ignorant to notice that the entire time, the only responsive thing she did was cry and sob in mercy. Of pain.
A temporary decision for a permanent result.
Because by the time he woke up the next morning, only one out of the two had a still-beating heart.
he was fucking devastated.
It wasn't the bed activities that killed the life out of you, no. Of course not.
But it was the fact that he let the 200lbs of his deadweight crush you while he dozed off, unaware of your dying state.
He awoke to the cold corpse of the once warm body that he held just hours ago. Awoke to a shit ton of broken ribs that seemed to make you look like somebody decompressed your body and turned you into a piece of flimsy paper.
He couldn't handle the fact that he was the cause of your ending. He hated, loathed himself for it.
And so he weeped for your loss. Weeped and weeped and weeped, until he couldn't anymore because your body was literally rotting, the decomposing stench filling his chambers as he laid by your side, your body unmoving from the day you flatlined.
He waited until he could no longer recognize you, and then disposed of you. Letting your body burn under the flames that was supposed to eat you when the both of them first met.
In honour of your death and also as his first and last punishment,
He went back to square one.
First angst... Kinda nervous 🥺
