Toji Zenin is incomprehensibly powerful due to his Heavenly Restriction, granting him superhuman abilities that reflect in his strength, speed, and even⊠senses.
Yet it isn't until he goes out on a date with his first girlfriend at the ripe age of 22 that he realizes how exceptional his prowess really is when it comes to surpassing the average human.
His nose twitches. âYou get a new perfume or somethinâ?â he inquires as you pull him back into your apartment, kicking your shoes off at the entryway impatiently and standing on your tip toes to pepper kisses along the column of his throat, teeth grazing his carotid.
You shrug absentmindedly like you canât quite hear him through the haze of your lust, fingers curling into the supple feel of his leather jacket and peeling it off of his sturdy shoulders.
As if he canât get undressed fast enough, or slip his cock into you sooner.
âNope. Shut up and kiss me,â you headily groan out, voice breathy and body emanating a heat that has him cocking an eyebrow.
Things shifted from then on, Toji picking up on the minute details.
Every couple of months, when heâd be in close quarters with you, youâd start nuzzling against him like a whiny mutt and exude a fucking scent that had him itching his scalp. Heâd barely rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes and youâd be canting your hips back against his crotch, whimpering in your groggy state at the asscrack of dawn about how he needed to "kiss your cervix."
Whatever that meant.
At first, he chalked it up to you being horned up and ready to goâbut coupled with the scent? It had him reeling.
Toji is a smart man, and he isn't incognizant with the female body. But he is still a manâone who needs to do his research and allow someone to explain whatever heâd missed out on puzzling together on his own.
r/SexEd - 3 hr. ago
tojiz
I (22M) have run into an issue of sorts with my girlfriend (22F). Her body emits this weird smell when sheâs horny and trying to mount me. Anyone know what this is?
â
sixeyesandsixabs - 1 hr. agoÂ
lmfao. sounds like sheâs in heat.
Tojiâs fingers twitch against his phone screen.
Heat? As in the fucking wattpad shit you made him read?
He audibly scoffs at the guyâs piercing blue eyes in his profile picture. No, you werenât in heat, a cramping omega in need of their fucking alpha to soothe their pains, and this wasn't fucking Omegaverse. There was no fantastical sweet scent like pastries that trickled from your glands to make his mouth water.
It was more⊠primal. A feminine musk that radiated from you when you were needy. Itâd last for around a day or so, then be gone with the wind along with your incessant need to have him stuffing you with his cock.
He groans, dragging a hand down his face, before his phone notifies him of another comment.
leopardprint - Just now
Maybe youâve just got a knack for sensing her ovulation.
âHuh,â he breathes out, mind now churning like an oiled cog in a rusty mechanism.
He tosses his phone aside noncommittally and quickly paces over to you. You have your legs tossed over the side of the couch, bleakly flipping through his ancient television with no streaming options and only droning cable. You're wearing his shirt, perky nipples pressing through the flimsy fabric. Mascara from the night before and a bare face. The kind of look he'd prefer over anything else.
âWhen was your last period?â
Skeptically, you drag your gaze up to him. âWell, hello to you, too,â you scrunch your eyebrows, squinting at him before pinpointing an answer. âUh. Like a week ago. Why?â
A quiet hum of realization hits him. That makes perfect fucking sense. Women typically ovulate about two weeks after their period starts, giving him⊠not long until your next ovulation period.
He cocks his head down at you, hungry gaze trickling over your form. Youâre in his boxers like a fucking tease.
Maybe he was the one ovulating and needing to paint his biological needs on your insides with the way blood was rushing south like molten lava.
You hadnât been pawing at him in a bit, a hint that you should be starting it up soon.
Heâd just jump the gun before you could squeeze the trigger.
Your boyfriend leans over you, splaying a hand over your lower abdomen and adding a bit of pressure. Playful intent and all, the corner of his lip twitches upwards and you feel skittish. âYou feel anything here, darling?â
His voice is gravelly and thick, the tone he reserves for the bedroom, and the timbre is sent straight to your core to pool heat in your loins.
You swallow thickly, orbs darting between his jade irises before nodding.
He inches forward, bringing his nose towards your neck and inhaling the scent covering your skin.Â
Affirmed, youâre ovulating.
He chuckles low, knowing, pressing a tender kiss against your jugular.
\( á)/ heianera!sukunaâs wife has been ignoring him, and he wonât have it
âHas she eaten?â
Uraume stands reverently at Sukunaâs side, flat gaze fixed ahead of them. âNo, My lord. She has yet to leave her quarters.â
Sukuna grunts something under his breath, then dismisses his attendant who shuffles across the threshold of the lattice frame doors and disappears past the translucent sheets.
Itâs quiet. Especially without your routine complaints or gossip of the shrineâs happenings. His breakfast tastes notably pungent this morning, the fisherman who refused to pay tribute at this monthâs offering no longer as appetizing as he looked when he begged for mercy at Sukunaâs feet. Like a petulant child, he pushes his tray away from him and gathers his kimono to hoist himself up.
You havenât said a word to him in three days. Any longer and the two of you might never speak again.
Itâs juvenileâoffering your Lord the cold shoulder like some inconsolable child. For fuckâs sake, heâs the strongest sorcerer in history. The undisputed King of Curses. Why is his attention anchored on a mere spiff? A loverâs quarrel?
No. He will sort this once and for all.
Youâve had enough time to sort out your emotions. The two of you will speak again today if he has a say in it. Which he does.
Promptly, he arrives outside your chambers. Thereâs not a sound coming from inside. For all he knows, you were assassinated in your sleep, stubborn and set on sleeping in separate rooms.
Sukuna doesnât knock. The entitled man just slides the door open, inviting himself into your space.
Sukuna quickly realizes maybe he shouldnât be as reckless as heâs feelingâonly met with the sight of two irises piercing daggers into him.
Youâre half-naked, sliding yourself into your kimono and brushing your unruly hair from your face.
But, no. Sukunaâs not focused on your pinched up and twisted expression thatâs making a show to scowl at him. His attention is fully honed in on your body. Not because he wants to tear that stupid kimono off of you and devour you like he has for the past couple of lonesome nights. Even the worst fights ended with you sprawled beneath himâtears staining your cheeks while you screamed his name in pure bliss.
His crimson slits are dragging over your swollen and perky breasts, rounded out more than normal. The slight pouch of your belly. The second heartbeat jumping behind it.
Huh.
âWhere is Furi? Were my instructions to her of not allowing any visitors in unclear?â you practically shout, working to tie your obi sash in haste. Perhaps you do not wish to spend another moment in his presence.
Sukuna slips inside, sliding the door shut and crossing his arms over his chest. He feels his temper simmer to a manageable level. If anything, your spat from the other night is inconsequential. Truly, he doesnât even remember what the two of you argued about. His long hours away from the shrine? A servant who stared at him too long? His tendency to be a brute with the people of his domain? Itâs usually one of the three.
âI was unaware that I was a visitor in my own shrine,â he retorts, head tilting as he gives you a slow appraisal with all four eyes. âHave you done something new with your hair?â he smirks, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.
âGo find a scythe to fuck yourself on,â you curse, a pout on your lips as you stare at yourself in the mirror, clearly unsatisfied with the reflection staring back.
âMaybe I should,'â he practically purrs out, a curl on his lips as he motions to leave your room.
He stops in place when your gaze flies towards him, doe eyes tinged red and filled with tears. You must have been crying all night, your cheeks swollen and eyelids puffy.
âWoman,â Sukuna starts slow, still marveled at the fact that you have domesticated him into rationality. âUse your words. I may be the strongest creature in all the lands, but what I am not is a mind reader,â he growls, gaze thinning in tepid vexation.
The corner of your lips twitch downward, before a tear slips down your cheek. You suck in a shaky breath, before staring at your reflection once again with disgust. âSomethingâs wrong with me, Ryomen,â you whisper, voice wavering. âI keep crying. Nothing tastes good anymore. I want to hit and kick you one minute, and then feel your kisses on my throat while you press me into the futon.â
You bite your lip, Sukunaâs form swallowing the background as he hovers over you from behind. Like they belong there, his lower pair of hands settle on your waist, while the other pair shift to correct the poorly tied obi.
Sukunaâs words, vulgar and rash and mean, are an absolute to his actions. Gentle. Loving. Tender.
Leaning down, he presses a kiss against your pulse point, feeling it jump under his teeth. Then, he whispers. Tone husky, a low timbre. âWeâve been fucking like dogs, little bird. When did you last bleed?â
You tense up, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you sort out your thoughts. âOh my⊠N-no, I bled when⊠when that servant tried to poison you,â you stutter out, picking at your fingernails.
Sukuna can feel your heartbeat picking up as you begin to panic. Two hands find yours, large and calloused thumbs brushing over your supple skin. âThat was well over a month ago. How incompetent are your servants that they havenât noticed?â
You turn to face him, feeling more tears well up, running across your waterline. âI prefer to tend to m-my own sheets.â
Sukuna, a beast of a human, has to hold back his laughter from his wife whose about three seconds away from a breakdown. It is comical just how asinine you can be. Nonetheless, Sukuna has a strong incentive to see you joining him for breakfast again.
âHad I known you women were so complicated, I would have rethought this matrimony,â he grunts against your ear, a hand at your waist sliding up your belly.
âWell, youâre stuck with me,â you mutter stubbornly. You lean back against your husbands broad chest, inhaling deeply, breath shaking. âUs. Youâre stuck with us.â
Sukunaâs gaze squints, ears twitching as he picks up on both the beat in your chest and the one in your belly. âI didnât think it was possible.â
The raw vulnerability in his voice takes you aback. âNeither did I. Do you think we will be good at it?â
âYou will,â he states with the utmost confidence, dragging your hair past your shoulder to inhale the scented oil dabbed on your nape. âYou are a worldâs more merciful than I am.â
You giggle, slapping his hand and allowing him to squeeze you in your intimate places, decorating your skin with short kisses. âThat is true.â
The both of you stand there in silence. You and Sukuna never needed to fill the gaps with meaningless words, simply finding comfort in each otherâs company. Heâs nervous, you can see it in the tight expression he wears. And your pulse hasnât slowed since youâd learned of whatâs blossoming in your womb.
But you have each other. In a world full of curses and strife, Ryomen Sukuna and you managed to find worshiping devotion in one another that triumphs all.
\( á)/ 18+ facesitting higuruma without showering
âDonât shower. Wait until I get home.â
Your head buzzes with the rather⊠cryptic text you received from your husband an hour ago. Today had been the trial of a high-profile case heâd taken up, and given the nature of his message, you can only assume it hadnât gone the way heâd hoped it had.
By the time you hear his keys jingle at the front door and heâs pushing himself into your shared bedroom, your suspicions have been confirmed.
âTake your panties off,â Higuruma raspily commands with the tone heâs reserved solely for you and the bedroom, shedding his crisp suit like itâs actively burning him. Heâs got a prominent crease formed between his eyebrows and darkness wears heavy below his lower lashes, enough to tell you that you shall be his stress reliever for the evening.
You obey, hiking up your nightgown and discarding your underwear, excitement unfurling low in your loins. You hate seeing your lover stressed, but you might enjoy his sexual frustration more.
Suddenly, your husband is laying on the bed, doe-eyes blown wide rolling back. âOn my face. You received my message and didnât bathe, yes?'â
Heat rushes up from your nape, bleeding into your cheeks. âY-yeah, Hiroâ. Uhm.. we havenâtâŠâ
ââŠDone this before?â he finishes your sentence for you with a slight smirk, tongue darting out to wet his lip. âFirst time for everything, darling. Now câmere.â
Itâs not long until Higuruma laps at your dripping sex like a starved dog. Sniffing and digging his hooked nose between your folds, fingers prying your thighs apart on his face. Every time your hips attempt to lift in overstimulation, he chases your wet cunt, low groans sending tantalizing vibrations against your clit and earning a strangled whimper from you.
âGod, you smell heavenly, baby,â he mumbles, tongue flicking your sensitive bundle of nerves, kneading your cheeks like dough. Your cunt clenches around his big noseâbig enough for you to fuck yourself on.
âF-feels so⊠mmmf⊠good,â you sigh, pupils dilating and rolling into your skull as your ass bounces back with a slow grind.
âYeah, princess? We should do this more, huh?â he grunts, latching his lips onto your hood and hollowing his cheeks. You squirm against him, gripping at anything for a semblance of stability, but your husband has a habit of driving you over the edge with mind-numbing pleasure. You urge yourself to touch him where heâs most sensitive, but your bliss seems to be on the forefront of his mind tonight.
As he intended, you make a mess of his face. Sticky saliva and squirt decorate his chin while he works you through your orgasm, his chiseled jaw feathering with effort as he guzzles down every drop and praises you through it. The stress coiled through his taut muscles relax once he gets a taste of your sweet nectar.
âââ
hi yes my first time writing for higuruma... do we want more guys
pairing. trueform && heian-era sukuna x wife!reader
summary. being the wife of ryĆmen sukuna, the undisputed king of curses, is a wild feat in itself, and yet you still you find yourself at a standstill with the staff of his shrine of all things to worry about. kimonoâs are left strewn and unkept across your chambers, snarky smirks whisper and persist, and insubordinate glares are now practically drilled in your routine. they all detest you, and you have no fucking clue why. but, you're sure as hell going to find outâwith or without your husband's help.
warnings. NSFW/MDNI, explicit sexual content, smut, light angst, fluff, mild gore and violence, dismemberment, jealousy, yorozu mention, canon-typical violence, misogyny, heian period, rough sex, overstimulation, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, choking, degradation, pussy slapping, some bdsm elements, spitting, sukuna is a little shit, but heâs also a pretty good husband, sukuna's extra mouths, 8.1k words. (repost) art
Cold.
Cold is what you wake up to. The shoji panel doors to your chambers are pulled wide open like some grand entryway sometime around dawn and a draft spiraling in, sharp and passionless. The biting chill nips at your skin, a wave of goosebumps pebbling over you, leaving your teeth to chatter and shoulders to shiver. You grit your teeth, curling yourself into the woven quilt resting on your shoulders, padding over the tatami mat to slide the door shut. The iron charcoal brazier has long gone cold, no coals gone replaced or tended to. You do what you must, sifting the coals and allowing the warmth to reach your hands after sometime, bent beside the small contraption.
You know why the door was slid open, and the brazier left neglected. You may be placid, but what you are not is a moron.
Before the sun kissed the horizon, Sukunaâs attendants got him ready for the day like routine. Bringing in a fresh set of clothes to your shared chambers, strips of human flesh awaiting him in the dining area for breakfast. The same before you got here, and after the matrimony. And in these very chambers do they leave a sloppy mess for you to deal with, along with a sideways glance to a brazier theyâll abandon. Clothes strewn across the floor, chests popped open and spilling with silks, partition still propped open.
All for you to deal with. The wife of the King of Curses.
âImpudent, bare-faced aides,â you mutter, expression caving inwards. And oh, do you realize how much youâre starting to sound like your husband.
It was only your first season here, and youâd been made a pushover. Initially, you hadnât thought too much on it. Theyâd been contemptuous when you were simply the lowly courtesan that Ryomen Sukuna brought to his shrine to fuck on occasion.
Not a soul in these walls had reckoned that Ryomen Sukuna would ever take on a wife, much less you, so you welcomed the transition with grace.
Youâd dressed yourself, bathed yourself, on occasion offering a hand in the kitchen to the faint servants even when your husband sneered at your docility. You had taken their adverseness as unfamiliarity, hoping that with time the tensions would ease up as theyâd gotten to know you and slowly come around. But it hadnât, they hadnât welcomed you. If anything, the mistreatment only mounted.
And their abuse can only go so far, a woman pushed to her wits end.
Propping your chest open, you dress yourself in your kimono and paint your lips red. A fierce look contrasting the serenity coloring your face than you are used to.
Your husband is out hunting. His mount galloping through the mountains as he crosses either dwellers or game, bringing back whatever he can by mid-afternoon. This winter has been rather harsh, so it isnât uncommon for him to unleash his blaze across an unsuspecting village and bring home treasures.
That gives you enough time to set things right, and if all else fails, youâll at least avoid your husbands taunts while he basks in your humiliation. It seems youâve married a cruel bastard. Heâd lounge on his chair and guffaw at the thought of you standing up for yourself and failing.
Additionally, heâs resided with these people long before heâd come to know you, so who knows if heâll take their side in such an accusation.
No, this is something you want to fix yourself.
â
âI have come to fetch you, My Lady. Is there assistance you require?â
With your posture ramrod straight, you pace the length of the serving room in the east wing of the shrine. Ages ago, it was built for guests, though Sukuna hosts nothing of the sort. It is simply ornamentation now, left to collect dust and wither.
âThese zabutons. They have been eaten away by moths,â you express, tone level. âReplace them at once.â
Tsumigi, one of Sukunaâs attendants, dips her head, arms slipped into the sleeves of her kimono. âI see, My Lady. But it seems that Master Sukuna asked to keep this room untouched.â
Your gaze meets hers over your shoulder, lips thinned. You can hear the smirk playing in her tone. âAnd I am ordering you to find replacements. Do you dare to defy me?â
By now, you would have expected her to give in. Toss aside the harsh theatrics, and obey her lady. But instead, she meets your gaze with a grin.
âIf it is to satisfy Master Sukuna, then yes.â
She excuses herself as you seethe, your eye twitching in disdain.
This is going to be harder than you thought. But you musnât give up. This is as much your home as it is thereâs, and you tend to see this through.
â
You arrive in the dining room for breakfastâthe scent of steamed rice and dashi stock broth wafting into your nose and blossoming a hunger deep in your gut. For the most part, your breakfasts are uneventful, though they can be rather lonely.
You drum your fingers across the low table youâre seated at on a cushion, taking a sip of your steeped tea and allowing it to diffuse through your frayed nerves.
A new plan. One that will assert your authority over the attendantsâŠ
Or, you can gain their favor.
Both routes are rather humiliating. Attempting to mirror your husbands attitudes, or grovel as what he despises. You can picture his mocking of you crystal clear.
The soft taps of your fingers increase, sounding into the mahogany finish, cogs and wheels churning in your mind.
The vapor from your untouched and lively miso soup curls upwards, soft tendrils billowing up before dissipating.
Your gaze thins on a partition across the room, mindlessly studying the decorative flora.
Appeasement or authority.
You turn it over a countless number of times, chalking up half-witted plans, mentally cursing yourself out. It shouldnât be this hard, seeing as youâd scavenged around half of your life for scraps before joining a brothel once youâd come of age.
Though you find yourself at a standstill with the people who call this place home.
And it is unbelievably infuriating.
Snap!
Suddenly, your chopsticks break in half in your hand, small fractures of splintered wood flinging across the table and littering the clean surface.
You mutter curses as a small girl finds her way to your side, deeply bowing her head and attempting to atone.
âI apologize, My Lady. Is the food not up to your standards?â
You find yourself stilling at her soft tone. Huh. Her sincerity is refreshing.
âUh, no. It seems I am lacking an appetite this morning, but I can assure you that the food is plenty flavorful every other morning.â
You give her a half hearted smile as she wipes the table with a rag that was tucked into her apron. It seems she is part of the kitchen staff.
A groove hooks between your eyebrows. âIâm sorry, it seems that I do not recognize you. What is your name?â you offer her a tilt of your head, the corners of your lips twitching upwards when she nearly topples over her feet and straightens beside you.
âFuri, My Lady.â
You chuckle, soft, your eyes forming crows feet from how fitting her name is.
æŻă. A shake. A tremble.
A fall.
âIt is a pleasure to meet you, Furi. Now, tell me. Why is it that I have yet to come across you? After all, we share these walls,â you express, a genuine yet perplexed smile creasing your cheeks.
She lifts her gaze from the hem of her kimono, reddened ears and hazel eyes locking with yours. âIt is a long story, but I am the chef, My Lady.â
Your eyebrows lift in intrigue. âSo you say? A girl this young with such a knack for cuisine,â you smirk, lifting a spoon to dip it into the miso soup. You bring it back to your mouth and feel yourself slacken, your tensed up muscles unkinking. A sigh of relief puffs from your lips, lashes nearly dusting shut.
âYou are too kind, My Lady.â
There is a beat of silence where she retreats to her previous spot, off in the corner. She makes herself undetectable, like how you didnât notice her while your breakfast was served. The new sets of chopsticks find their way to your hands, before you begin working away at your steamed rice.
âIf I may,â Furi starts again, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder see her. âIs everything alright, My Lady?â
âWhy wouldnât they be?â you lie through a bite, globs of chewed rice sliding down your throat.
She hesitates, swaying where she stands. âThe last thing I would want to do is overstep and upset you⊠but you seem quite⊠untuned as of late. Are you sure nothing is out of the sort?â
This young girl is quite attentive, though the intention of her actions escape you. Does she really seek to console you? Are you questioning her sincerity as itâs been so long since you felt something of that likeness?
You place your chopsticks down, turning to face her. Youâve met young girls like her during your time at the brothelâinnocent yet capturing a word of compassion. Naturally, you would beckon her to come sit beside you, however you do not want to offend not scare her. So you speak to her from where you sit.
âHow long have you been living her, Furi?â
âJust over two years now, My Lady.â
You nod, inwardly noting this information. Sheâs been here quite some time, and youâre wondering if sheâs pissed someone off for being secluded to the kitchen but out of your sight.
âAnd what can you tell me of this shrine?â
She sways again, her feet doing a sort of dance beneath the flounce of her skirt. Sheâs nervous.
âThere is no one here to punish you. You may speak freely,â you offer, eyeing as she smooths out the creases of outfit.
She is still reluctant, so you hope the silence will prompt her to speak. Swiftly, it does.
âThough I am confined to the kitchen, I am not without notice,â she begins, swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact while she twists her hands between each other. âI see the way the attendants treat you.â
Her directness makes you falter, your mouth parting to say something but words fail you. What exactly are you supposed to say? Defend your tormentors? Complain about their aggression?
âI see,â you resort to acknowledgment, biting the inside of your cheek. âFor a moment, I believed it was all in my head.â The chuckle that leaves you is dry, coating the inside of your throat like raw honey. Thick, uncomfortable.
âI apologize for it. On their behalf, you have done nothing to deserve such treatment,â she hastens her words, eyes widening as she watches you carefully. âHowever, a bit of context might prove beneficial.â
Context?
You cock your head to the side at her cryptic words, watching as she takes a tentative step forward.
âWell, then. Do tell,â you say, clearing your throat ad adjusting your posture. âIt seems I am always outside of some long running, cruel joke.â
Furi glances past her shoulder, eyes squinting when she sees a shadow pass the parchment of the sliding doors. âNot here. Not now. I will tell you everything I know in due time,â she affirms, biting the inside of her cheek.
There are far too many attendants lurking nearby, and not enough time as the allotted duration for breakfast is already coming to an end.
âVery well. I hope to speak to you soon,â you reckon, returning to your cold rice and stale tea.
Furi bows and dismisses herself, and another attendant steps into the room to replace her.
It is Tsumigi yet again, a frequent contender to your misery. Her cheeks are flushed as if sheâd been outside in the relentless cold tending to something, the hem of her skirt riding up and tucked into her sock awkwardly.
Bowing, she greets you and offers to clean the table, a snarl playing at her face. Most likely, the attendants are aware of your humiliation that unfolded in the serving room just an hour ago.
Gathering your bearings, you get to your feet, smothering a huff, and step past Tsumigi.
Wordlessly, you dismiss yourself before you offer her any more gossip for tea time.
â
The next few days, you find yourself in a bleak routine. Each morning grows colder, Sukunaâs place beside you empty every morning as he tends to foreign affairs. Scorching villages or plaguing the capital. Doing whatever he does to satisfy his insatiable hungers as the lands grow fallow.
It doesnât help that you have to tend to the brazier on your own through the night as winter harshens, but youâve endured worse.
Furi doesnât serves you breakfast personally, that day she spoke to you serving as a fluke. The attendants seemed to be understaffed and placed the catering on the chef. But it comes to your attention that Tsumigi was busy with her stableboy that clarifying morning, the whispers of gossip curling through the shrine walls easier to pick up on as you attempt to make yourself as imperceptible as Furi.
Tsumigi is making a ridicule of you, and for why? You cannot come to fathom. The two of you barely exchange words aside from repulsing pleasantries.
It is late one night when Sukuna is bathing after coming home soaked in sweat and caked in dirt when you linger towards the kitchen.
You discover Furi hunched over a large pot, dipping her finger in to taste a broth that makes your stomach growl despite having dinner a mere few hours before.
âIt smells wonderful,â you offer, tugging your obi loosely over your yukata after quickly throwing it on.
She nearly jumps out of her skin, setting her ladle down and bowing her head. âM-My Lady⊠I wasnât expecting you at this hour,â she mutters, folding her hands into her kimono.
You close the proximity, leaning over to get a whiff of tomorrowâs lunch. âIt seems you werenât expecting me at all,â you press, lifting an eyebrow giving her a slow appraisal. âIs something of the matter? I have been waiting to speak with you.â
It wouldnât be far-fetched for this young girl to avoid you after telling you such secrets, regretting every letting you in or offering clarification.
Furi cringes, her brunette bangs falling over her forehead. âI believe that one of the attendants might have been privy to our conversation.â
Your careless grin drops. âIs that so?â
She nods, again with her swaying.
You sigh, tongue darting out to wet your lips. âAre you safe? Have the attendants been mistreating you in anyway?â
Weakly, she shrugs. âNot any more than they already have.â
You deflate at her words. Her situation doesnât seem much better than yours, except she doesnât have a title to protect her. You endure passivity, while she very well may endure aggression. âI sincerely apologize, Furi. It was not my intention to get you tangled up in my troubles, but it seems that we have a lot to discuss.â
The attendants, besides the ones tending to Sukuna in the bath, have retired to their quarters, leaving the kitchen open for the two of you. Nabbing a stool, you rest beside her while she makes you a cup of tea and tends to her broth.
âThere was a woman before you,â she starts, a look painting her face as if she wants to bite her tone off, âjust three change of the seasons ago. With bushy eyebrows and hair as long as a yĆkai and believed her nudity to be a pastime.â
An ache blooms behind your ribs, but you bite it down. Itâd be foolish to think that you were Sukunaâs first anything, seeing as your occupation before this marriage had been as a courtesan.
Still, it hurts.
You smother a sigh but it escapes you.
A pang to dwell upon for another time.
You nod for her to continue.
âShe was incredibly beautiful, a sorcerer just the same. A daughter of the Fugiwara clan with a technique to their standard. ButâŠâ she cocks her head to the side, as if reliving her memories in real time. âMaster Sukuna spared no interest in her. He simply tolerated her. Her slaughter meant a headache in the capital that he had no patience to deal with.â
The broth simmers on a low kindled heat, the sound of ash sparking and wood shifting.
âShe was wildly obsessed with Master Sukuna, clinging to his side and attempting to seduce him at every corner. He pried off her pawing hands when they grew too grabby, and, unsuccessfully, I tried to warn her. Her attitudes were dangerous, and she believed she formed a friendship with me when I wanted to avoid the spilling of blood across these tatami mats.â
Ah. Benevolence had been her fall from grace.
âThe attendants here had quickly grown tired of her, irritated that her mood swings affected the Masterâs, which in turn made their livelihoods all the more difficult.â
You drop your head, a sigh wound of stress tricking from your lips. âAnd they took their grievances out on youâŠâ
Furi nods carefully, tending to the flickering flames beneath the pot.
â⊠and what theyâre doing now is all the same. I am just another disposable woman theyâve come to reject.â
She doesnât confirm your words, but her silence says enough. âThere is more, My Lady.â
You find yourself tapping your bare foot against the cold flooring.
âOne morning, she had challenged him to a fight, expressing her undying love and desire to be the individual to take his last breath.â
Her words, thick with distress, slam into you.
It is very clear how the result of the fight came out, seeing as Sukuna still breathes and she is nowhere to be found.
Your blood roars in your ears, your foot now at a bouncing cadence on the floor. You drown out her next words, but catch bits and pieces of it. It seems that following the slaughter of his past admirer, the capital had unleashed an outcry. Sukuna had no interest in hazing the capital as it brought him a plethora of benefits, but it was inevitable. The result of the achingly long war had been catastrophicâhundreds and thousands of men slaughtered by his hand before he stalked into the capital with the head of their general. The shrine itself reaped the consequences, attendants beheaded for a single misstep and food running scarce as hunting had been replaced with frequent battles.
It is a possibility that a battle near the capital had been when heâd first spotted you in your pleasure house.
âFuri, I must thank you,â you confess, running your fingers through your hair and getting to your feet. Move, you need to move. âThere is plenty that I must do now, so I will dismiss myself. But make it known, I will not let this insubordination and blustery ravage on.â
You lean forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Your heart clenches at the thought of this young girl enduring such harassment without a single shoulder to lean on.
âLeave it to me. I shall mend the divide that splinters the shrine.â
Furiâs tense expression melts away into something of relief, and you want to commit this image to memory to ensure you see this through.
âHowever, before I go, I have one last thing to ask of you.â
âAnything, My Lady.â
You release a strained breath.
âThe name of this woman. What was it?â
â
You leave Furi in the kitchen, your bare feet slapping against the narrow corridors. The sconces adorning the walls flicker, flames licking at each other and casting your shadow long and obtuse across the ground.
Once you realize youâve reached your husbands chambers, you realize how much time has passed between dinner and the present.
He will be curious as to where youâd gone off to. Often times, he grows restless in your absence.
You sigh. In all of the time youâd known Sukuna, heâd been vexingly talented at reading you and picking up on your mannerisms. You only pray that he is exhausted from his eventful day to spend his time analyzing you.
Though it seems you are woefully ignorant of just how energetic your husband tends to be, the sight you open his chambers to jarring.
Heâs in nothing but his pale sirwal, his lower pair of arms crossed behind his back while he presses himself to the floor, and back up. His upper pair of arms flex, palms splayed on the ground, hands massive enough to curl around your throat and then some.
Push-ups.
Realistically, there has to be a way to maintain such a massive physique, so it isnât outlandish that he works out. But still, you find yourself caught off guard. Innocent as ever, but heat still manages to fist low in your loins. Your gaze trails the length of his corded forearms, veins bulging across his biceps, deltoids rippling through effort.
Not the first instance to cross your mind, but youâd find immense pleasure in biting his arms.
You are well aware that he has sensed your presence ever since you found yourself in the kitchen up until you were standing outside his chamber doors, so he doesnât flinch when you gawk at him from just a few feet away.
âWhere did you run off to?â he presses through a grunt, lowering himself where his chin nearly brushes the straw mat.
Straight to the point.
âI was hungry, there were some fruits left in the kitchen,â you lie, steeling your nerves and praying you donât betray yourself.
He continues his repetition, though he finally slides his attention upwards towards you. Deep pools of blood red assess you, his brow line furrowing in thought. âWe had dinner merely an hour ago. Do not tell me you are with child and stuffing yourself for two.â
You splutter, shaking your hands, a nervous chuckle leaving you. âN-no, My Lord. Nothing of the sort.â
He finishes his workout, before standing to his feet and rolling his shoulders back, looking everything but convinced. âThat title from your lips disgusts me and you know it. Do not address me as such again,â he mutters in mild irritation, padding over to the door and peeling his socks off.
You deflate, wanting to slap yourself for how easily you squirm under his scrutinizing attention. But, you cannot tell Sukuna of your current situation. There are a number of ways it could go once it is in his orbit, and you want to avoid majority of them.
Untying your obi, you toss it on the top of your chest before making your way towards the bed when a pair of heavy arms snake around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.
âIt seems that my efforts have gone to waste,â Sukuna mutters, the lower pair of his hands settling on your waist while the others work their way towards your breasts. Melting, you toss your head back against his torso, lashes dusting shut. He leans forward, sniffing the plush of your cheeks, of your lips. He has a thing for your scent, an admission you were privy to when he had you squirming beneath him. âThis womb isnât swollen with my heir.â
Weakly, you giggle through the butterflies, scrunching your nose. âWe have yet to discuss such matters,â you deflect, reaching a hand up to grab a fistful of his silky, salmon-colored hair. âTake this up with me another time.â
Sukuna cocks his head thoughtfully, then spins you around and tosses you over his shoulder with terrifying ease. âFoolish woman. You think I do not see how you gawk at the stable hands son, how you beam with such idiocy at the thought of carrying your own?â He lands a harsh slap against your ass, punching a squeal out of your throat, before tossing you onto the bed.
âSpeaking in circles. Tch. We might as well practice tonight,â he prompts, fingers curling around the waistband of his sirwal before dropping it, leaving only his loincloth.
Two heavy cocks straining against the too-small fabric. Two cocks youâve felt slipping down your tongue, dragging inside your cunt, stretching your assâ.
You shake away the dizzy feeling mounting you, all splayed out with your parted yukata, your bare form his to feast his gaze upon. And he does so unabashedly, canines clicking as four crimson slits rest heavy on your lips, your breasts, dancing down your navel, to your spread legs pooling with arousal.
You wonder if heâs looked at her this way.
Inwardly, you cringe. You shouldnât be thinking of her when youâre about to be taken by him.
The mouth rending his stomach grins with earnest, drool coating its lips in a sheer shine. The tongue hangs out limply, desperate for a taste of your sex.
âCome,â he mutters, two arms folded across his chest with the other two propped at his hips. His voice, impossibly deep and raspy, sends heat prickling over your skin, coupled with a flush that suits you.
You crawl to him, slowly and allowing your hips to sway freely beneath your yukata, not once tearing your gaze from his hardened stare. His pectoral muscles shift, a muscle in his jaw pulsing like heâs holding back from pouncing at you.
You come to a slow before him, lifting off of your haunches and kneeling. Your eyeline barely meets his chest, allowing you to bask in the immense size difference between the both of you.
Sukuna chuckles low, running his tattooed tongue over his teeth. âYou have always been a bad liar.â
You feel your heart dip behind your ribs.
âExcuse me?â
His lower pair of hands come down to grab your wrists, holding them up beside your head. He leans forward, face mere inches from yours, his warm and iron-laced breath fanning over your lips. âYour breath smells the same as it did during dinner. I didnât take my wife for a cheat,â he grunts, upper lip peeling back in disgust to bare his teeth. Itâs true, there are no remnants of citrus or sweetness hanging from your lips. âNow tell me. What affairs were you tending to between dinner and now?â
Unbearably, your pulse quickens.
You twist in his grip, but his fingers only tighten, nearly bruising your skin. âIâm afraid I donât know what youâre talking about,â you grit out.
The seams of his mouth curl upwards, before heâs closing the distance between his cheek and yours, rubbing them against each other. His facial crest, the texture like roughened and cracked tree bark, digs into your flesh and you bite back a curse. âMy wife, stubborn and obstinate as always,â he grumbles into your ear before catching your lobe with his teeth. You hiss, casting a cheek away from his cruelty, before one of his hands fly towards your chin and connects your lips.
Betraying yourself, you hum into the kiss, your spine arching backwards as he folds you impossibly. His tongue, heavy and slick, presses down on your own and strokes it reverently. Handsâeverywhereâbegin to tug your yukata off and discard it, before something wet laps at your pebbled nipples.
You pull away, sliding your gaze down to your wet areola, Sukunaâs stomach mouth desperate for a taste of you. You peer back up to your husband, something perverse and frantic coiling between your silky folds. âW-weâve neverâŠâ
Never used the stomach mouth in bed, is what you were going to say. Though you wonât lie and say you havenât thought of it.
Sukunaâs nostrils flare, lower pair of eyes focused on your saliva-slick lips while the upper pair glower at you, releasing the unrelenting grip from your wrists. âAfraid? The brat wants to take it slow and easy, huh?â he taunts, head cocked to an angle.
You scoff, arms falling by your side. âNothing of the sort.â Your coital acts through the last couple of seasons have been raw, and debauchedâSukuna lapping the blood of his freshest kill from your navel before devouring your sex, to taking you with both cocks, your obscene noises loud enough for the entire shrine to bear witness to.
So, no. Slow and easy wouldnât make much sense seeing how he handles you with those four hands of his.
âThen quiet that fucking mouth of yours,â he scowls, before heâs on you again.
Teeth crashing, saliva swapping, noses bumping.
Hungry. So fucking hungry.
And angry. What Sukuna does not tolerate, especially from his betrothed, is deceit.
The tongue mouth laps at your tits, occasionally tweaking an erect bud between itâs teeth and tugging just to earn a whimper from you, your maw parting open for Sukuna to gag you on his tongue. Writhing and squirming in his grasp, you attempt to tamp down the pleasure darting down your spine, nearly leaking your essence onto the sheets, but it is inevitable. You surrender to his touch like a sinner seeking repentance.
Two hands cradle your face while the other two knead the flesh of your ass like dough, squeezing and groping. His stomach tongue slathers spit across your chest, and you mewl through the sensitivity, hips rocking and thighs rubbing together for friction.
âThat desperate, huh?â your husband mutters against your lips, and in your urgency, you nod quickly. The two hands cradling your head shiftâone to grip the back of your neck and face your gaze upwards to meet his, and the other drags down between the valley of your breasts, down your navel, until heâs sliding the meaty digit across your swollen clit.
You jolt at the contact, but much movement isnât possible as he keeps you place at the nape and the waist.
âIs this amusing?â he quizzes, unfurling to his full height and staring at your nude form down the bridge of his crooked nose. âRunning circles around your husband like some charlatan.â
Cruel bastard.
âI-I am notâ.â
âI can feel your pulse jumping under my thumb,â he snaps, leaning into your face with a snarl. âHave these walls kept you bored in my absence?â
You frown, a muscle in your jaw ticking. âSomething like that.â
He clicks his tongue at your vague reply, clearly unimpressed. âTch. Still as cryptic as ever.â
Quickly, his open palm slaps sharply against your clit, before two fingers push past the ring of resistance in your cunt and stretch you open. A mouth forms on his palm, a drooling mess, lapping at your hood and prying apart your silky folds.
âLooks like Iâll just have to coax it out of you.â
As if the brazier has been finally warmed, coals tended to and sifted, the heat in the room mounts as he splits you on his hand. Calloused digits from decades of labor and torment drag down your gummy walls, all while the open maw on his palm collects your juices and nibbles at your clit.
He doesnât stop open-mouth kissing you. He barely allows you to come up for air, tamping down your noises with his mouth. Your breasts are aching and wet, the nubs perky and sensitive from the continuous stimulation.
His towering form pushes you down onto the sheets, slotting his massive body between your legs. The stretch is painful, but you curl your legs around his waist and dig your ankles into the divots on the small of his back.
âYouâre a pretty little thing, bird,â he mutters against your lips, his wrist picking up a brutal cadence as his fingers reach places that make you whine and tense. âItâs a shame youâre a fool.â
His words carry a heat behind them, adamant on undoing you to figure out what you're keeping from him. He knows you may be anserine, but you're not an utter idiot, so the sin youâd committed and are keeping from him cannot be too great.
Still, he will have his fun breaking you.
Itâd been a bit of time since heâd had his hands on youâsorely exhausted from the long days and even longer nights, reserved to his chambers once he returns from the bathing house over the last couple of weeksâso the stimulation has you huffing and puffing. Clit woefully sensitive, mounds on your chest sore, and a heat fisted low in your gut that only Sukuna has managed to unspool compared to the men youâve been with back at the brothel. Pathetically, you claw at his chest, pushing to slow his brutal pace, scissoring motions inside your cunt and stretching your walls wide. After all, youâll need to accommodate his girth in time.
âOi. Paws off,â he complains disgruntled, lower pair of eyes widening. One hand finds both of yours, pinning them down above your head while he laughs sardonically.
And oh, how he enjoys such a debauched sight. Your bare form, flushed and wet and squirming beneath him while he taunts you. Whittles you down to some hapless mutt.
He works you through your first orgasm, finger pads repeatedly swiping over that tender spot and feeling the plush muscle jump. A strangled moan is punched out of you, legs trembling over his thighs and stomach caving inwards. Your cunt squeezes his two digits like a snare, sucking him in as you buck your hips into his palm.
But the King of Curses does not stop there, no. Giving your cunt a few slaps, he works his two fingers back in while his other hand finds your puckering hole. You freeze up, muscles spasming as you lock eyes with him, slick finger coated in your arousal rubbing over the entrance.
âB-both?â
âThe idiocy of you,â he scoffs, one of his upper hands gripping your cheeks to squish them together. You pout, lower lip jutting out, before you feel the burning stretch. A finger, pushing into your ass. âIâve no patience for stupid questions.â
He peers down, a glob of spit trickling from his lips pelting your cunt. It sloshes with your juices, before you feel the slick wetness cascade down to your asshole.
âM-my god!â you squeal, back arching up off of the mattress, now being speared from both holes. The curl and flex of his fingers as he finds all those sensitive spots is hypnotizing, drool leaking from the seam of your lips, eyes rolling back into your skull until all you see is black.
âNot my name,â he sneers, pressing another inch deeper while you wriggle.
Another orgasm. And another. And another.
Youâve made a wet, sloppy mess across his sheets, completely unaware of how many blissful peaks heâs worked you over and through, each more mind-numbing than the last. Your ears ring dully, eyes glossing over with a thing gossamer of wet luster. When you meet his pumps, he praises you, kissing the bevel of your jaw. When you sob and squirm against him, he clicks his tongue and gazes at you with blown pupils and a look of pity.
Your form is perspired, covered in a thick coat of sweat and cum, nearly breathless as you huff and puff. Nothing coherent leaves your lips, arousal stuffing the ridges of your brain like cotton.
Fucked dumb by his fingers.
âN-no more, âKuna,â you mumble out, your holes aching and still stretched open. How he has not cramped in his fingers is beyond you.
The raspy chuckle from your husband is enough evidence that heâs nearly at his wits endâhefty cocks hard against the fabric of his loincloth, brushing against the inside of your quivering thigh. But one thing about Ryomen Sukuna is that he will never yield first, even if itâs dragging him up a wall. âThe dove is spent, hm?â he cooes, the side of his lip curling upwards. âI can stop anytime. Just tell me the truth and I can release you from this exertion.â
You muffle a whine into his pillow, wrists aching from where he keeps them pinned above your head. âIt is n-nothing, Sukuna.â
His eye twitches, before his wrists starts to pick up a speed and you squeal. âOkay, okay! âŠI visited the c-chef in the kitchen.â
His eyebrows dart inwards. âThe scrawny girl? What for?â
âRelease me first.â you mumble, Sukunaâs fingers nearly brushing against your womb.
Your scowl has mirth swirling in those thinned crimson irises. âDo not think that you are in the position to make demands.â
A beat passes before you puff air from your nose. The sooner you tell him, the sooner heâll release you and you can figure out a plan for Tsumigi and the other attendants. âFine. Why didnât you tell me about Yorozu?â
His smile falters for a moment, nearly imperceptible, before he releases your hold and peels away from you. Fingers slip from your holes and you collapse in exhaustion, keeping your eyes trained on your husbands rolling shoulders. Heâs silent for a few moments, while he finds his discarded kimono and slides his arms through them. âIt is insignificant. Besides you.â He waves a dismissive hand, bare feet padding over to a chest propped open.
That does nothing to soothe the ache unfurling around your heart and squeezing the organ. âIf it is so âbesides me,â then I do not understand why I had to be kept in the dark.â
He chuckles, searching for his pipe. Two of his fingers rub together, kindling a flame he uses to smoke the pipe. âFormer lovers are trivial. You are my wife while she was just some,â he inhales, smoke billowing in his lungs. âWhore I kept around for my affairs.â
âShe was in love with you and you murdered her. This wasnât some fucking concubine.â
He stirs, folding his lower pair of arms over his chest. The silence has you feeling filthy, the cum between your lungs a sticky mess.
Sukuna pads over to the low table, a bowl of nuts awaiting him. He sits down, legs folded beneath him, mildly entertained while he stares bleakly at you. He pops a nut into his mouth, then smokes his pipe. Casual, insouciant.
You attempt to smother a groan but it escapes you, lifting from the bed to get dressed. You slip your yukata on, then tie your obi across your waist. âIf nothing but silence is what you offer me, then I shall retire to my chambers.â
The silence is deafening while you adorn yourself.
âName.â Sukuna suddenly grumbles from the dark corner, moonlight filtering through the drapes distorting him in the shadows. He looks menacing, like the beast he is.
âWhat?â you blurt out, fixing your hair and attempting to look semi-normal before you enter the halls. Who knows whatâs waiting out there, if your disheveled image will be even more fuel to gossip?
âI want a fucking name. Who told you of Yorozu? Was it that chef girl?â
You roll your eyes, before you parrot his words right back to him with a pinched smirk over your shoulder. âIt is insignificant. Besides you.â
You donât know how, but in the blink of an eye, Sukuna closes the proximity between the two of you. One hand curls around your throat before heâs pushing you against a wall, his face contorting in utter disdain and disgust. He regards you like a slab of meat to be devoured come morning.
âWhat I tell you, and what I keep from you is up to my discretion. Mine,â he snarls, fingers tightening around your throat. Not choking, just firm. Keeping you in place. âWhat I wonât tolerate are attendants that poke and prod into my history then blab to my wife. NowâŠâ the corner of his lip twitches upwards, as if he is enjoying this. âName.â
Your husband is a sadist.
You hold his gaze, inexorable, unwilling to yield to his cruelty. âShe told me you didnât love her.â
âSheâs got something right,â Sukuna jeers, another hand coming to tilt your chin up. Yet, something in his gaze almost⊠softens. The sharp edges of his russet eyes melting away, curled and mocking smirk sliding into something else. âThe only time Iâd felt anything for her was when Iâd slashed her in the chest, and then ate her for dinner.â
You freeze, feeling your heart cinch.
âAnd what reason do I have to lie?â he adds on, head tilting when his lower pair of eyes slide down to your lips, then to the door. âThere is a shrine I have to look after. Her presence threatened it.â
Your fingers twitch at your side, not quite sure what to do with his seemingly genuine confession.
He clears his throat, returning his gaze to you. Now, he regards you like something delicate. âIf she had meant anything to me, wouldnât you think sheâd still be with us, bird?â
Ryomen Sukuna truly has no reason to lie to you.
He can bed anyone he wants. Yet, instead of keeping you as some concubine, he chose to seal this relationship with matrimony. With titles. With an unspoken promise.
He chose to be with you.
You donât address the suffocating tension between the two of you. You heart slamming against your ribcage and a lump nestling into your throat, dropping your gaze. âFuri, the chef. She is not at fault, Ryomen.â
Your husband eyes you, waiting for you to continue.
Coughing the lump in your throat away, you fidget with your kimono, chin still held up. âThe attendants have been⊠undutiful,â you settle on that word, not quite sure how to tread upon the unfamiliar territory.
You wait for his reaction, but he just continues to watch you. Like a predator studying its prey.
âClothing left a mess, glares across the halls, insubordination,â you emphasize the last word in disdain. âI have been left to deal with their ostracization in your absence, Sukuna. Furi only told me why they may feel this disdain towards me.â
You bite the inside of your cheek.
âSheâs been the only friend I have.â
Sukunaâs grip loosens on your chin and throat, his expression settling into something youâve seen when his advisors approach him. Before he mounts his horse and heads into battle.
Something hungry for war, for a need to unleash his fiery wrath.
âI need names. Or shall I just turn this fucking shrine upside down and start anew?â he chuckles maniacally in sheer rage, padding towards the door.
Fuck.
Leaping forward, you grab his wrist and halt him, eyes staring up at him and practically pleading. âSukuna! Wait, before you do something rashâ.â
âWhen they insult you, they insult me,â he growls, shoulders rippling with effort and you know that all he sees is red.
It seems you misjudged him. Ryomen Sukuna would go to the ends of the earths for you. To hell and back.
âSukuna, justâ give me a moment,â you emphasize, nearly begging him back inside the chambers. Fire radiates off of him in shudders, like heâs prepared to set this shrine ablaze for you.
Scorned, he stares at you for a few moments before stepping back inside, arms folded over his chest. âSo this is what you were so fucking adamant on keeping from me? What, was your pride threatened?â It almost seems laughable to him, you of all people worried about humiliation.
You married a beast at the end of the day.
Dejectedly, you sigh, orbs darting between Sukunaâs left and right ones. âI⊠I didnât think,â you nibble on your lip. âI was worried you would take their side.â
Ryomen Sukuna practically gawks at you now, before a huff of humored air jumps from his chest. âWhat?â
You toss your head back, running your hands through your hair. âTsumigi, sheâs one of your oldest servants. How am I supposed to complain to you about her when Iâve barely been here half the year?â
Another laugh tumbles from him. âYou must be the asinine person Iâve come across.â
âEnough of the jokes, Sukuna, Iâ.â
You freeze.
Sukunaâs lips are on yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His tongue swiping against your lower lip and tugging on the plump skin.
Not soft, but rough. Possessive.
You donât know how long it takes for him to pull back. Slightly breathless, pupils that were pinpricks a moment ago now saucer wide.
âYou. I chose you, brat,â he huffs, large palms splayed on the side of your head and digging into your scalp. âThat Tsuragi servant means absolutely nothing to me.â
âTsumigi,â you correct, but he ignores you.
âWhen I had decided that marriage was the best option for this⊠relationship, I was also ready to call this place your home. And being the wife of the King of CursesâŠâ he snarls, hooking a thumb into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. You canât bite down the whimper that resonates from you. â⊠means your word matters just as much as mine here.â
Despite yourself, your lip trembles, warmth unfurling over your skin.
Hearing the rare affection in his words makes you wonder why you ever doubted him in the first place.
He tugs his thumb out from between your lips, swiping your cheek, head cocked to the side while his four eyes appraise you in the moonlight.
âThis⊠I must mend myself, Sukuna,â you whisper, form leaning in towards him, into his heat.
He chuckles, all raspy and taunting. âIt is not yours to fix, you foolish bird. A disobedient, mouthy whore is not someone I will allow to reside within the shrine walls.â A beat. âUnless itâs you.â
You giggle, a hand coming down to smack his chest, but he catches it with a sly grin. âNo, really. I have to make an impression on them. Make them remember who they respond to.â
His four eyes search for dubiety, before he retires. âMy, my. It seems that my influence here is rubbing off on you,â he points out, a hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him.
You feel his two hardened cocks, needy and begging for your attention, press into your abdomen.
He leans down, his coppery and nutty breath fanning over the crown of your ear.
âAnd I must say⊠jealousy does not suit you, sweetheart.â
â
The days that follow, you keep your head held up high.
Sukuna returns to his daily retreats, but ensures that he will cleave whoever missteps dare you speak up. If he hears of it, whether or not you like it, heâll be feasting on an attendant for dinner.
But you, you find your cadence.
You accompany Furi in the mornings, legs dangling off of a large stool while she chats your ear off, broth and meat lilting in the air, all tantalizing. Sheâs been promoted to head of the kitchen, meaning all servants must answer to her.
Most do not reject it, heads bowed in genuine reverence and tones amicable.
Tsumigi has been demoted from kitchen staff to the stablesâwhere her stable hand lover can see her scooping up horse excrement's. It isnât long that you here that he has moved returned to his wife at home, and she has grown cold and bitter.
It isnât perfect, but your actions against Tsumigi have other attendants treating you kinder. In turn, they learn what kind of person you are.
Cordial, organized, timely.
A friend to most.
You simply have to wait for everyone to fall into step.
Sukuna grows irritated easier than before, more and more missteps heâd scowl at resulting in a severed limb he could gnaw on.
You do what you can to placate him, but heâs kept an ear open for who has mistreated you. The so-called gossip he rejects keeps him well-informed as to who he needs to split open.
And not long after, you come back from the forest to find Tsumigiâs decapitated head held up by your husband like some trophy.
A ghastly sight.
Your husbandâ the cruel, detestable bastard.
One that would kill and haze the entire world for you.
One that ensures your safety, and your comfort in the place you can now safely call home.
He may not be a picture perfect companion seeing as he refers to himself as a king and finds pleasure in your soreness, but one thing he wonât allow is some measly human being to cross you.
Free food, a fresh kill, and a happy wife he gets to come home to at night.
Gojo Satoru likes seeing you cry. Whether itâs over a derivative you canât solve, or itâs on his cock, heâs not complaining.
âDonât hide your face, sweets,â he hisses through gritted teeth, his thick, weeping tip nudging against the spot that makes you squirm on his sheets. âWanna see your face while I ruin you.â
Heâs normally not so barbaricâworking you open on his tongue or fingers before giving you what you wantâbut he seems to be adamant on making a point today. Which youâve concluded is donât ask another guy for study tips.
âI d-didnât mean anything by it,â you bite out, mind in a dizzying spell as he stretches your sappy cunt out over and over. âSuguruâs just really good with the arts, okay?â
His pace stutters, and youâre pretty certain his eye twitches behind his fogged-up glasses. âWhat? You guys are on a first-name basis now?â
Fuck. Heâs delirious, and youâve made it worse.
He doesnât even let you explain yourselfâdark green jealousy coursing through his veins like molten lava. His palms, rough and firm, encircle your ankles and fold you until it nearly hurts. He glides in again without any resistance, your cunt practically pulsing his name, and then he begins slamming into you.
âFuck!â you moan out, air punched from your lungs with each thrust. Gojo watches you take it, your lewd face twisting up in utter pain and bliss, frosted irises blown wide in unadulterated desire.
âSugubooâs not the one who gets you like t-this,â he babbles out, practically seething while he works to rearrange your guts. âPussy leaking all over my sheets. Choking out my name.â He punctuates each sentence with a deep stroke, pushing you up the bed, your head nearly knocking against his headboard.
He doesnât even care that his roommates could hear, that Geto could come home any moment now and listen to his best friend degrade you.
Your mouth forms a pretty O, noiseless as your chest begins to cave inwards, your orgasm rapidly approaching. His thumb finds your clit, before heâs spitting on the engorged bundle of nerves and painting circles against it until you see stars.
You scream out his name with a final thrust, fingers fisted in his sheets as you shudder and gush white all over his cock. Your eyes roll back in euphoria as he spills inside of you with a groan of your name, higher-pitched than he was hoping, stuffing you to the brim.
Collapsing on top of you, you both work to catch your breath, coming down from your high.
âI donât know how I feel about being a tool in your sex-life.â
You both direct your gaze to the door, propped open with Geto standing there. Smug, munching on a banana, his freehand casually slid in his pocket.
Gojo stutters, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at his best friend and missing by a longshot.
Your eyes are dewy and youâre still tamping down on your head rush, but you donât complain when Geto walks in and shuts the door behind him.
âoh my⊠oh fuckkkk,â he groans into the crook of your neck, sinking into the warmth between your legs like your essence was heaven sent, fringed ivory lashes fluttering.
the two of you were supposed to be studying for uni finals together right now. both of your momâs were childhood best friends, expecting the two of you to hit it off eventually around middle school if they kept nudging the two of you closer.
to make a long story shortâthe two of you didnât get along at the start. gojo was irritated that he had to pick up your slack in school, and you were inconvenienced in tolerating the presence of a pubescent boy with his voice at least six octaves too high. sometime after graduation, when gojo started to grow into his lanky limbs and find his social standing, you felt something in you drawing towards him.
that shit-eating grin, the sleeper build, the charming and casual confidence.
one tipsy frat party later at the university you both fought tooth and nail to get into where he couldnât stop staring down at your cleavage with those frightening frosted irises of his, youâd dragged him to a bedroom and rode him like youâd been fantasizing for months. with him milked and drained, you had left with an afterglow.
and it was fucking intoxicating. his slender cock that could reach the sweet spots no other guys could, his taunts that made you dizzy, his soft hands tracing the length of your skinâŠ
neither of you could get enough.
now? the only way to describe your⊠involvement, would be friends who fucked. friends with benefits. sneaky links. whatever you could call that grey area.
your palm comes up to cover his mouth and muffle his moans. peeking up and over his shoulder to your closed bedroom door, you grit your teeth and huff, digging your ankles into the small of his back. âquiet,â you hiss. âmy mom is quite literally downstairs,â you rustle beneath your breath.
sheepishly, he teasingly grins, all pussy-drunk and cute, making your heart cinch. pale cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. âsorry, baby. i get carried away when youâre squeezing me l-like thattt,â he contests all-whiny, leaning down to connect your lips to his.
they slot over perfectly, like they were made for each other. he tastes like the slice of pumpkin pie your mom had given him that heâd finished in no less than three bites.
your legs tighten around his tapered waist, the base of his cock swelling inside of you when he buries himself to the hilt. he groans into your mouth, which rattles around the cavity of his chest, his bulbous tip sweeping pre-cum against your puckered cervix and dragging against your g-spot. god, youâre so plush and warm he might cum inside you. again.
youâd slapped him when he did it last time.
âm-might have to put a muzzle on you,â you giggle softly, stroking his tongue with your own.
âcan doâŠâ he pulls away and huffs against your cheek, a shallow thrust leaving him breathless. âcan do whateverrrrr you want to me, pretty.â
pretty. you could argue that heâs the pretty one here.
his hands find the velvety underside of your thighs, before heâs pinning them to your bare chest. starstruck blue eyes appraise you in this new positionâpuffy folds slick with your mixed arousal glistening in the gentle bedroom light, your core fluttering around his length just an inch deep, desperate to be fucked. a lewd display for your childhood bedroom littered in soft pastels and plushies, but neither of you seem to mind.
suddenly, the air is knocked from your lungs when he slams a practically rough stroke into you, punching a groan from your gut.
ât-toru! i said soft, or else i-i,â you stutter, eyes nearly rolling into your skull. âcanât keep it inâŠâ you trail off under your breath, nearly succumbing to overwhelming pleasure.
flushed cheeks, he chuckles all low and indulgent. âjusâ canât help it when youâre all adorable and fuckable like this,â he admits, swiping a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. âmakes me wanna rearrange your guts.â
you whimper, watching as a glob of spit falls from his lips and hits your clit. warm, wetâyouâre dizzy and twitching beneath him.
but then, heâs pistoning his cock inside of you, stretching you wide and full of him. you jostle and moan unabashedly. he tosses a pillow on top of your head, pressing it down over your face. âsorry, baby. youâll j-just have to keep quiet for me,â he sighs dreamily, watching his cock disappear between your silky folds, dick spasming when you tighten up. you just swallow up every inch he gives you. so needy. so pretty.
summary. sukuna cannot stop fantasizing about you, the sweet waitress he frequents on his route. heâs convinced youâre too stupid to look after yourself, so he takes things into his own handsâwhich means showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night with the means to fuck you.
warnings. NSFW/MDNI, DUB-CON, dead dove do not eat, stalking, perversions, corruption, obsession, sukuna is NOT a good person with very fucked up thoughts, bimbo reader, making out, dominant sukuna, sukuna has a prince albert piercing and a tattooed dick LOL, submissive reader, degradation, rough sex, size difference, running from it, marking, manhandling, cunnilingus, piv, missioniary, unprotected sex, slapping, unsolicited drugging/feeding aphrodisiacs without consent, mentions of lot lizards.
a/n. this was requested by đ anon here <3 please read the warnings and enjoy!
TRUCKER!SUKUNA took the exact same route every single week. 9 bleak hours behind the wheel, transporting goods and parts from one side of the country, to the other. And thrice a week, he would find himself at a humble little diner. Food was pretty shit, but it was better than going hungry for another 200 miles.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is a simple man. Stack of six pancakes for a late breakfast, three sides of eggs doused in ketchup, fried hash browns, and black coffee that tasted... off. It was decent. But what kept him wasnât the food, no. It was the doe-eyed waitress that would serve him like clockwork every time. Skimpy little skirt that showed off the curve of your ass, your tits practically hanging out from your uniform when you leaned over to take the hefty tip heâd leave.
Itâs not like TRUCKER!SUKUNA had a hard time getting some. When he needed to wet his dick, he practically soaked it. But he couldnât find himself getting as hard as he did than when you were in his proximity. Lot lizardâs couldnât do it for him anymore, his cock flaccid when he tried to fuck literally anyone else.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA began to look forward to his unconventional brunches. No, not for the eggs or hash browns or pancakes. But for the pretty girl waiting for him. It was clear you were attracted to him at least, seeing as your pupils would dilate when heâd walk in and your gaze would fix on his rolled cuff shirt strangling his thick biceps.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA wants to fuck you. He wants to hear all the soft noises you make when his tongue flattens against your throbbing slit, how your tits will jiggle when he gropes you, how youâll probably cry when he shoves his cock into you.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is at risk of losing his job. His loads arrive late for drop-off and inspection, because now he lingers after your shift. Heâll sit in the driverâs seat, staring at you through the diner windows, waiting for you to clock out. And when you do, he doesnât say anything to you, doesnât even approach you.
No, TRUCKER!SUKUNA follows you home. You must be stupid seeing as you donât notice the very same red truck with black detailing and flames parking down your block multiple times a week.
You need someone to look after you, TRUCKER!SUKUNA concludes. Someone to make sure you donât fall into the wrong hands or bed, seeing as youâre too idiotic to sort this out yourself.
So, TRUCKER!SUKUNA spends the next few weeks keeping an eye on you. Making sure you get to work safely, that you receive enough of a tip to stash into your savings, to ensure you get home timely.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA has done so much for you. He scrubs the five oâclock shadow growing on his chin and jaw, certain that heâs due for a reward now. If only youâd known how heâs watched over you, youâd want to thank him, right?
Your doorbell rings in the middle of the night, stirring you from your slumber. You stumble out in a see-through tank that hugs you just right, and skimpy panties.
âSukunaâŠ?â you rub the sleep from your eyes, which widen when you see heâs clearly been standing in the rain for quite some time now as his pink strands have fallen over his forehead and cling to the skin, his leather jacket glistening with droplets.
TRUCKER!SUKUNAthinks youâre an angel thatâs fallen from the heavenâs to bless him.
âAre you okay? I didnât see you at the diner today,â you grab his wrist, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind you.
God, if TRUCKER!SUKUNA wanted to murder you right now, he could. Because not only have you opened the door for a stranger, you allowed him into your house.
But, no. TRUCKER!SUKUNA has other plans for you.
âYa live alone, donât you?â
You squint. âYes, I do.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA towers over you, gaze dancing across your face. Heâs never realized how soft and supple your skin was. âWhat about your boyfriend?â
ââŠI donât have a boyfriend,â you whisper, feeling your voice waver as he corners you.
Your back meets the wall, and TRUCKER!SUKUNA slams a hand down next to your head.
âYouâre dim, you know that?â he reckons, the low timbre of his tone sending sparks up your spine.
âE-excuse me?â you gulp, peering into his crimson irises that have thinned into slits. Youâve never been this close to him, but you feel your stomach somersaulting at the close proximity. He smells a little like cigarettes and gasoline.
âCould have my way with you right now. Since ya let anyone into this place,â he finally breaks his gaze from yours and looks around. âWhereâs your bedroom?â
âTo the left.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA smirks from ear to ear, before lifting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.
You gasp, head nearly knocking into his broad back. âPut me down!â
âDonât worry your pretty little head, bird. Iâll be nice tonight. âŠMaybe.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA kicks the door to your bedroom open, tossing you onto your sheets and taking in his surroundings. You two are exact oppositesâseeing the soft pastels of pink and yellow and purple decorating your space, decorated with plushies and figures.
You land on your back, blood roaring in your ears as TRUCKER!SUKUNA tugs his shirt over his head. Not only is he absolutely fucking shredded, but his skin is littered in scars and thick black ink, the tattoos only making him look all the more terrifying.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA crawls over you, slow and calculated like a predator hunting itâs prey. He slots himself between your thighs and grips your forearms just to pin them beside your head.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA kisses you. Not soft, not nice like he promised. Demanding, bruising. Heâs rough as his weight settles atop you, shoving his tongue down your throat and nibbling on your lip just to hear you whimper. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, swapping saliva. He groans repeatedly, enough to tell you heâs enjoying this.
When you squirm, TRUCKER!SUKUNA presses his knee into your sex. You try to run from the mind-numbing bliss, but he doesnât allow it. Heat settles low, your panties damp with slick and leaving a wet stain across the flimsy fabric.
You can barely breatheâchest heaving up and down, pushing against his bruising grip on your arms, but the man is a reinforced tank that refuses to budge.
When he finally pulls away, all breathless and wrecked with a flushed face and a sleazy grin, you know youâre in for a long night.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA plays with the strap of your tank, before tearing the fabric down the middle. You gasp, but he flicks a pebbled nipple with a click of his tongue. âIâve given you enough money tâbuy a millon of these, brat.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA latches his lips onto your perky tits, leaving bruising love bites across your unmarked skin, groaning as the tent in his jeans only grows suffocating.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA wants to be gentle. But gentle isnât what you need, no. You need a guiding handâone that keeps you in place when you fuck up and directs you where you need it. Reprimands you, punishes you. âDonât fight it,â he groans low and wrecked, dragging his tongue up the shell of your ear. âLet me in.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA slots his head between your thighs, peppering soft kisses against your skin to get you to trust him. Glossy, wide eyes stare back at him. Uncertain, unsure. The first kiss he presses against your clothed clit has you bucking. âAlready so wet fâme, hm?â
Your panties are torn down the middle of the gusset, and then youâre devoured like TRUCKER!SUKUNA has been starved for weeks. Suckling, nipping, biting. Spreading, teasing, lavving. You keen, tears biting your waterline as he works you open on a single digit. âSâlike youâve never been fucked⊠Have you? Been fucked? Canât help but think a pretty thing like you has already been broken in⊠but the way youâre, fuck, squeezing nâ sucking me in⊠got me thinkinâ otherwise.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA works you through an orgasm, stars blotting out behind your eyelids as his tongue flicks your hooded clit and fingers stretch you wide, nestling deep and prodding those sweet spots. You orgasm again soon after the climax. Then another. And another. You start to lose track, thighs burning and core sore.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA barely allows you to catch your breath before heâs kissing you sloppilyâyour juices slathered all across his lips and chin soaking into your mouth. You taste him, and you taste you. âGonna fuck you raw now, little bird.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA has a massive cock. After tugging his belt off, the metal clasp hitting your bedroom floor, and freeing himself from his briefs, do you feel your stomach swoon. It springs upwards with a slight curve. Thereâs a double band of black ink rings at the base, buried in pink pubic hair that looks rough to the touch. Bulging veins that run thick with molten lava dance across the length up to a weeping tip piercing with a horseshoe ring.
âY-you have a-?â
âPrince Albert,â he smirks, all proud of himself as he strokes his dick. He cocks his head, muscles flexing as he watches you squirm. âYou scared?â
Chewing the inside of your cheek, you shake your head timidly.
âGood. It doesnât bite. But, I do.â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA splays his large palms on the backs of your thighs as he spreads you open, his dick rutting forward while he glides himself through your folds. He rests his dick on your abdomen, captivated in the size difference. âGonna feel me in your lungs like this, woman. So fuckin' cute,â he teases as he runs his hands across your body.
When heâs noticed that youâve had enough foreplay, he presses his unprotected tip against your entrance. You grip the sheets, your breath catching in your throat. When TRUCKER!SUKUNAnotices your inability to breath properly while he feeds his cock to you, his calloused palm meets your cheek, slapping some sense into you. âNot gonna fuck you if youâre passed out, brat,â he grumbles, leaning down to dig his teeth into your collarbone. âWhereâs the fun in that?â
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is a rough fuck. You can barely accommodate to his girthy size, but he continues to push deeper, stretching you out until all you feel is him. His thrusts start off slow, shallow. But when heâs grown impatient, he punctuates each groan with a deep stroke. You cry out, fingernails raking crimson trails to match his eyes down his biceps and shoulder-blades. âTrynaâ milk me for everything Iâve got, woman?â
It doesnât help that his cock is fucking you senseless, but the cold, metallic feel of his piercing swathed in precum bumping your G-spot has you convulsing and screaming out his name. His grunts, barely contained nor controlled, vibrate through your ears as he pumps in and out and in and out of your drooling hole.
Youâre not sure how many times you hit your peak that night seeing as you passed out at some point and woke up to a barely legible note scribbled on a napkin from TRUCKER!SUKUNA, saying he had to get his affairs sorted.
But, you know TRUCKER!SUKUNA wonât be gone for long, at least not with the aphrodisiacs youâd been slipping into his coffee at every visit to your diner.
\( á)/ heianera!sukuna vs. his hormonal and very pregnant wife
The sun has yet to tether itself at high-noon and youâre already stirring up your theatrics in his shrine. Youâand your barefoot waddle on warm stone, one hand placed on your lower back, aiming to nest just weeks before youâre dueâin all your swollen and golden glory.
Youâre round. Much like the plums heâs feasting on as he watches you sort through dozens of silks rather than speak to him at lunch. Youâre far more focused on scolding your attendants for failing to deliver your rather detailed orders.Â
The two of you can barely hold a conversation without you cursing him out these days. Sukuna has a temper, but you're somehow even more irrational than him now.
A groove is hooked between your eyebrows as you wave off each set displayed to you, dragging a new attendant in until you're satisfied.
âWhat difference does it make?â Sukuna randomly grumbles, wiping the cloying essence from his chin with the back of his hand. Itâs already dessert and youâve yet to address his presence. âThe child will sleep perfectly fine no matter which haughty fabric you stuff him in.â
Heâs not even sure why heâs riling you up and looking for a fight. Maybe a part of him enjoys the incessant banter. The twitch of your fist before it flies in his direction. The rasp of your voice when youâre testy.
âOur child will settle for nothing less than the best. Do you disagree, My Lord?â
The corner of his mouth twitches upwards at the honorifics. âHavenât heard that name on your tongue since our wedding night, bird. Though, I recall it sounded far more sultry,â he purrs, head cocking slightly while he appraises you.
You know whatâs rolling through his mind right now, given the slight wide and blown pupils. And youâre also aware of the look he gave you yesterday when the midwife offeredâŠÂ coital acts to induce labor.
Your attendant adjusts her stance uncomfortably as the mood shifts, the blood draining from her face.Â
You wave a hand in her direction, sighing and wiping the sweat from your forehead. You seem to work up a sweat in this condition simply by thinking. âLeave us, dear.â
She excuses herself, leaving you alone with the beast you call a husband. âDo my words mean nothing to you? How many times must I ask you to keep our private affairs private, especially in front of the staff?! Must you make a fool out of me?â
He shrugs lazily as you turn to him, reaching forward to pour himself a glass of water. âYou forget this is my shrine.â
âAnd you forget I am your wife.â
You test him. Day in and day out. He tests you back.Â
But seeing you carry his offspring, your shoulders wound tight and a fury ablaze in your irises, makes him soften around the whetted edges. For you are carrying a maternal need to protect and serve what you are due to deliver. And he himself is growing to long to protect you. Even when youâre his rash and vexing wife.
âCâmere.â He leans backwards, eyelids sitting heavier. The heat is making him inattentive. Domestic.
You hesitate, fingers clenching the silk set in your hands. But after a beat, your shoulders fall and you hoist your heavy self over to him.
He doesnât need to say anything for you to drop yourself in his four, bulky arms. He smells acrid. Iron-like. You used to detest it. But now you've grown to find comfort in it.
His lips ghost your hairline, calloused hands dragging over your womb and pulling you flush against him. âYou have until the child is born.â
You hum, confused as you glance up at him. His crimson slits bore down at you.
Then, with all of this bodacious galore, he pinches your side.
âOnce the child graces your arms, I will not tolerate such disobedience in my shrine.â
You stare at him. He stares at you.
A second later and a laugh suddenly unfurls from your gutâfuller sounding than you have in days. Sukuna thinks it fares much like a bird he encountered when south of his domain.
He scoffs as you bury your face into his chest, though you donât miss the slight upward curve of his lip.
âAlright, Ryomen. Iâll let you have that.â
âLet me?â his incredously tone makes your gut dip, and you find your nose scrunching. âSince when have you let me do anything?â
âSince you let me marry you,â you teasingly bite back, straddling his hips. Itâs not easy with your belly in the way, but his four arms hold you up so that youâre comfortable.Â
He looks at you, long and hard. Studying the soft jut of your lower lip and the perspiration beading across your features. His silent appraisal and contemplation never fails to make you flush and flounder.Â
âEnoughs enough,â you quickly interject his thoughts as you peel away from him, lifting to your feet and doing your best not to sway your weight. Youâve become top-heavy. Best to ensure you donât fall for his seductive advances when youâre pliable like this. âThere are affairs I must tend to.â
Sukuna pushes air through his nose, leaning back on two arms with an endearing gleam in his eyes. âMy wife. The sweat.â
âCorrection. The household head.â
Sukunaâs eyebrows raise in genuine surprise at that. âHead?â
You wave him off, already making your way past the shoji doors and chuckling to yourself.Â
The utter gall of you.
There has yet for a day to pass where you donât surprise him.
âââ
yes i shall write heianera!sukuna and wife!reader beefing in every context possibleâŠ.
