So this is my first time making one of these but
Blood on your hands, my love”
Sukuna x Wife!Reader | Heian Era AU
Warnings: mentions of slaughter, blood, possessive Sukuna, soft domestic intimacy with sharp edges
Format: x reader, inner thoughts, slow tension
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you hear him before you see him. The sliding door creaks open, faint and slow, and the warm orange light of the brazier spills across his frame — broad shoulders silhouetted against the dark night outside, four glowing eyes catching the dim firelight. Sukuna steps inside, barefoot, the floorboards groaning beneath his weight.
he’s covered in blood again.
not his.
never his.
you stay seated, legs folded beneath you, hands steady as you wring out the damp cloth resting in the bowl at your side.
“another village, ryoumen sukuna?”
You don’t bother looking up, though you feel the weight of his gaze on you immediately — heavy, sharp, like a blade resting against the back of your neck. He doesn’t answer right away. He never does when you use his full name.
“they offended me.”
his voice is low, rough from exertion, but there’s a hint of amusement curling around the edges. You do look up now, your brows pinching as your gaze sweeps over the dried crimson splattered down his arms, across his jaw, staining the ridges of his tattoos. You sigh softly, shaking your head.
“of course they did,” you murmur, wringing the cloth out again. “and of course, instead of talking, you decided to burn them from the inside out.”
his grin curves slow and sharp, showing the faintest glint of fang as he crouches in front of you, one clawed hand bracing against the floorboards for balance.
“hn. you sound upset, little wife.”
you dip the cloth into the bowl again, letting the warm water soak up what’s left of the lavender oil, then reach out to press it against his cheek.
he lets you.
he always lets you.
your thumb brushes gently over the line of his jaw, wiping away the blood smeared across his tattoos.
“you reek of death,” you whisper, finally meeting his top pair of glowing crimson eyes. “do you take pride in this?”
his grin fades, replaced by something deeper, quieter though no less dangerous.
“…i take pride in protecting what’s mine.”
your breath catches faintly, but you don’t look away. He leans forward, until your knees brush, until his breath fans warm against your cheek.
“no one dares touch you,” he murmurs, low and dangerous, “no one dares even think of it.”
your hand pauses briefly against his cheek, cloth hovering inches from his skin. You swallow, your voice soft but steady
“and how many innocents fall under your protection, husband?”
he chuckles, low and sharp, leaning in until your noses nearly touch.
“don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, little wife.”
You go back to wiping his skin clean, methodical, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. His clawed hand finds your chin anyway, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, all four crimson eyes glinting like molten fire in the brazier’s glow.
“you scold me,” he says softly, almost fondly, “but still… here you are. cleaning my sins off my skin.”
you huff faintly, lips quirking despite yourself.
“someone has to make sure you look like a man, not a monster.”
he leans closer still, until his forehead rests against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you:
“too late for that, little wife.”
and yet, when he kisses you — slow, deep, tasting faintly of iron and lavender. He doesn’t pull away until your hands, not his, are trembling.
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