What The Hell? I've Been Isekai'd Into A Tumblr Fic.
(Sukuna x Reader)
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ Chap 2 ─ ˖᯽ ݁˖·
⁺˚⋆｡°✩ Summary ✩°｡⋆˚⁺
You get isekai'd into a Tumlbr fic of your favourite character, Sukuna. Yay! You get to join his harem of concubines and get bent like a pretzel. Only problem is...he's not interested.
It's time to change that.
‧₊˚✧ Warnings ✧˚₊‧
There will be some boning at some point so....18+, MDNI, lots of swearing, nudity, titty stuff.
(More warnings when there's something to actually warn you about)
‧₊˚✧ Word Count ✧˚₊‧
3k+.
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ Previous Chapter ─ ˖᯽ ݁˖·
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨Masterlist୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
“Stop!” you cried, back arching so hard the water sloshed over the wooden rim. Your legs kicked uselessly, heels drumming against the smooth cedar bottom of the tub. Head thrown back, wet hair slapping your shoulders like whips as the sensations drag over you. “Please…it’s too much, too much, too much!”
“Hold. Still.” The woman’s voice, who you now knew as Lady Miko, cracked like a whip of its own.
She dragged the coarse cloth, which you were now certain was actually sandpaper, down your arm again, scraping until your skin sang like a raw flame.
“I look like boiled lobster!” you wailed, fingers clawing at the tub’s edge until small splinters bit into your fingertips. “You have to stop, my epidermis is gone, gone I say!”
Another attendant, the same wide-eyed girl from before whose name you hadn’t caught yet, pushed your shoulders down with a surprising amount of strength.
Water closed around your chin, and then ,more hands descended, scrubbing and scouring relentlessly like you were a barnacled ship.
Your skin gleamed an angry red under the assault, every pore screaming. You thrashed once more, someone yelped as your elbow caught a rib.
“This is against my human rights” you mumbled, voice half-drowned in the tub, half-dead from the heat. Moisture beaded upon your lashes, dripping onto your cheeks each time you blinked. “I’ll call PETA. Or Amnesty International. Or...or someone. Don’t make me do it.”
Miko let out a shrill, exasperated cry that could’ve shattered porcelain. She attacked your shoulder with renewed vigour, cloth rasping like she was trying to sand down a barn door. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Lady Y/L/N. Ever since that wretched hunting incident, you’ve been… strange. Unnatural. Speaking like a street peddler and thrashing like a landed fish.”
“That’s because I’m not Miss Whoever-the-hell you keep calling me!” You jabbed a dripping finger into the air, water arcing in triumphant droplets. “I’m Y/N. Just Y/N. No fancy title. I want to go home. I’m Y/N! Y/N dammit!”
The scrubbing… stopped.
Every hand froze mid-motion. Water dripped from suspended washcloths, each one striking the bathwater with startling clarity.
Miko’s eyes, usually narrowed in perpetual disapproval, widened instead. Worry flickered somewhere within them, replacing the annoyance like someone had flipped a switch.
“They’re the same…Miss Y/L/N” she said quietly.
You blinked through wet lashes. “Huh?”
And for a moment, everything stopped, it was like time had been suspended.
A sickening sense of deja vu washed over you all at once.
Y/L/N…
Y/N.
The names overlapped in your mind, vague at first, then sharpening into cruel clarity.
The name they’d been calling all morning, Lady Y/L/N, hadn’t been some random title. It was... your name. Or this... body’s name. Or… both?
Nothing made sense, but everything made sense…all at the same time. Your head swam.
Your hand, still raised, still dripping, slowly lowered, dropping beneath the water. You stared at it, then looked down at yourself in the water, really looked.
The breasts you’d jokingly called ‘upgraded’ earlier weren’t just bigger. They were… different. Higher, fuller in a way that felt strange. Waist nipped in sharper, hips flared wider. Skin tone almost luminous under the scrubbing.
Even your moles were different, shifted, missing one, gaining another in a place you’d never had them. But you still recognised yourself, it was you…just…upgraded.
Your breath hitched.
Miko watched you, face pale, lips parted like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words right now.
“You… truly do not remember?” Her voice dropped to something fragile. Almost pitying. “The fall from the horse during the autumn hunt. The physicians said the blow to your head might… cloud things. But we prayed—”
You laughed. Short and sharp.
“Prayed for what?” Water rippled as you hugged your knees to your chest, suddenly cold despite the heat of the water. “This isn’t amnesia. This isn’t a bump on the head. This is—”
You cut yourself off.
Because saying it out loud, I died in a toilet cubicle, and now I’m locked inside a fictional word, would make it all too real.
Miko reached out hesitantly, damp sleeve brushing your shoulder. “My lady… Y/N… whoever you believe yourself to be… the lord has summoned you. He does not wait long. And he does not tolerate… confusion.”
You stared at the rippling water, reflection fractured, distorted, not quite yours, but yours all the same. Your features and hers overlapping, distorting and mixing.
Their hands returned without mercy. The scrubbing resumed, but this time it was joined by silence.
You slumped against the tub’s edge, defeated, mumbling half-hearted threats until even your words ran out of steam.
…
By the time they finished dressing you, you felt like a Russian nesting doll.
Layers upon layers, silk under-robes, padded kosode, stiff obi cinched so tight your ribs creaked in protest, fabric upon fabric cascading in heavy waves.
Your hair was hair piled high with combs and pins that clinked like tiny bells every time you breathed, and makeup was daubed on in precise strokes. By the end, you were powdered and coiffured to within an inch of your life.
“Am I going to battle?” you asked, voice thin from the effort of speaking beneath the constricting garb. You glanced around at the women fluttering around you like anxious hummingbirds, tying, draping, tucking, and gathering manically. “Because I’m wearing enough fabric to stop a bullet, or a small cannon.”
“A… bullet?” Miko asked from where she was orchestrating everything across the room, head tilted, brows knit in confusion.
You waved a limp hand, too tired to explain modern ballistics to a woman who'd probably accuse you of witchcraft.
“I can barely move” you whined, attempting to lower yourself off the low podium they’d stood you on like a mannequin. Your arms couldn’t even lie flat against your sides anymore, elbows stuck out at awkward angles. Every inhale came in quick, shallow gasps. Breathing privileges had been temporarily revoked it seemed. “Look at me! I’m a walking tent!”
The women exchanged glances, no one laughed, but no one disagreed. They just kept smoothing nonexistent wrinkles, as though perfect presentation could fix whatever madness had taken root in their lady’s skull.
“Is this some sort of foreplay?” you asked as they finally led you, more waddling than walking, down yet another endless corridor. Your sandals clacked against the wood, the only thing to break the suffocating silence. “Does undoing sixty-two layers make his tackle rise to the bait?” You pitched your voice into an exaggerated, sultry drawl. “Because if so, he better get ready, I'm wearing sixty-three.”
No giggles or humoured gossip, no scandalised gasps, they simply marched you forward like pallbearers escorting the condemned.
The next thought hit you sideways. You were about to be handled by the King of Curses himself. The same Sukuna Ryomen you’d spent countless late nights reading about, fantasising about. A lascivious little chuckle slipped out before you could stop it.
Miko’s head snapped toward you so fast a hairpin nearly flew free. Her eyes narrowed, like she could see the filthy slideshow playing out behind your pupils.
A final door slid open.
Smoke hit you first, heavy, heady, laced with incense and something darker, turning it into an almost carnal scent. The room beyond looked nothing like the rest of the estate. No muted greens, no bleached wood, no restraint.
Everything here drowned in rich crimson, molten gold, and shades of the deepest black. Plush furs spilled across the floor. Thick futons and mats layered out across the floor. Pillows of down and silk piled in decadent drifts. Draperies hung from floor to ceiling in languid waves, turning the space into a sea of luxury so opulent it felt obscene.
You took one eager step forward.
Miko hissed like an offended cat.
You froze and turned to her slowly, cumbersome, metal pins clinking in protest, and followed her horrified downward stare.
“Take off your shoes” she whispered through barely moving lips, her back bent at a perfect ninety degrees.
You blinked, glancing down in disbelief at the wooden sandals they’d only just wrestled onto your feet, before slowly, carefully, sliding them off.
Your socked feet met cool wood as you stepped inside.
Without another word the door slid shut behind you with a decisive click, locking you in there.
You spun, robes tangling, accessories jangling, and pressed both palms to the wood. You pushed, but it didn’t budge, not even an inch. Nothing. You slapped the panel harder, shaking it viciously “Hey! Let me out! This isn’t funny anymore!”
“It seems you have a thing for escaping.”
His voice rolled over you like hot honey.
You screamed, short, startled, and spun again, back slamming against the door. Your heart tried to punch a hole through your ribs.
Sukuna stood in the center of the room like he’d grown there. Four arms crossed casually over his bare chest. Four eyes fixed on you, two narrowed in amusement, two lower ones glinting with a darker interest. The abdominal mouth parted in a slow, mocking grin.
“Afraid?” he hummed, head tilted just so.
You waved a frantic hand. “Would it matter if it was? Don't answer that, just—” You gestured at the mountain of fabric currently imprisoning you, the obi winning the war on your lungs. “Come on then, you kinky bastard, unwrap me. Seriously. This is too much. You need a hobby.”
“Kinky?” he echoed. One brow arched slowly. “Bastard?”
“Dude.” You groaned, head throbbing from the weight of combs and pins. “Are you going to repeat everything I say, or are you going to come over here and do something about the two tons of fabric I’m currently suffocating in?”
He didn’t move at first, just watched you, gazing at you like you were a lab specimen.
Then, he took one deliberate step forward, the floorboards protesting under the pressure. The air was suddenly saturated with the scent of him, smelling faintly of blood and something spicy.
He stopped close enough that heat rolled off his skin in waves. One clawed hand lifted, hovering near the knot at your waist, not touching, not yet. The anticipation was anticipating.
The abdominal mouth licked its lips like it was savouring the taste of you before the rest of him even decided what to do with you.
“I won’t be touching you.”
“Alright—wait, huh?” You blinked once, the room’s heavy incense suddenly clogging your throat, and your thoughts. “Back to the fun little pastime of saying the exact opposite of what I expected. Absolute Classic.”
A door to his left slid open with a soft hiss, and Uraume stepped through.
They looked… wrong. Softer than the sharp, androgynous menace you’d built in your head from manga panels and fan-art. Younger, almost delicate looking, porcelain skin, pale hair straight and neat, eyes cool and distant like frost on glass.
Innocent, if innocence could coexist with the casual knowledge that this person’s favourite hobby was flash-freezing human limbs for later snacking.
They inclined their head once to Sukuna, the perfect bow, zero flourish, then turned that indifferent gaze on you.
“Okay, no.” You thrust a finger toward them both. “We are not doing dick by proxy! I draw the line at outsourcing!”
Sukuna let out a long, bone-deep sigh. One thick hand raked through pink strands, mussing them just enough to look almost human for a moment. “I’m absolutely certain they’ve sent me a madwoman.” His voice was tired. “Take care of her.”
“Hey...what the hell is going on?” you spluttered. The filter between brain and mouth had officially dissolved in the steam bath earlier. “What was I dressed and scrubbed like a sacrificial lamb for if not—”
“I meet all of the new concubines” he cut in, already turning away. Vermillion eyes flicked toward some distant point beyond the crimson drapes, distracted, almost bored. “Make a show of accepting them into my household, but that is all.” He paused, then said quieter, almost to himself. “I will not partake in debauchery.”
Your mouth flopped open, disbelief dizzyingly hot behind the eyes. You clutched your forehead with one hand, stumbling half a step while the layers of silk tried to constrict around your lungs. “Oh. Wait. Oh—”
You were convinced that the fic you’d been devouring on that cursed toilet break was pure, unfiltered smut. Explicit tags, 18+ warnings, the whole nine-yards. Sukuna railing someone into next week. So what the actual fuck was this 'I will not partake in debauchery' nonsense? The whole fic had been debauched!
Before you could form the question, before you could even wheeze it out, he swept from the room, robes snapping behind him like a flags in a storm. The door slid shut with the same calm finality as a guillotine.
You stared at the empty space he’d occupied.
“I don’t get it" you muttered, voice strangled. “Why have concubines if you’re not going to fu—”
“Lord Sukuna is a unique individual” Uraume began, voice flat, perfectly monotone. Their eyes slipped shut as though entering some private meditative trance as they continued. “Unparalleled in power. Focus, pride and control. He has cultivated—”
You tuned them out, slumping against the wall. thoughts racing in a frantic, feral spiral.
There was no way, no damn way you’d been isekai’d into a janky smut fic just to end up in blue-balled celibacy hell.
One expertly trimmed and filed nail tapped against your chin as you tried to think.
“I’m gonna have to stop you there, my dude” you announced, hauling yourself upright. The motion looked pathetic, like a baby deer trying to stand in six-inch stilettos. “I’m gonna need to break that… ultimate focus… pride… whatever-the-fuck wall you just said.”
Uraume’s eyes opened again, their head tilted just a fraction.
“My lady...” they said, and there was actual smugness bleeding through the monotone now. “He has never touched a single one of them.”
Your brain short-circuited just a little.
“What are you, the chastity belt protector?” you grumbled under your breath, looking away like a petulant child. Uraume’s frown deepened, they took one precise step closer. “Are you really telling me that dude is a virgin?”
There was no answer, just that cool, unblinking stare, like the truth was so obvious it didn’t require words.
Your mouth popped open on a gasp like a starving guppy, sucking air and disbelief in equal measure.
Uraume watched in quiet delight as your face cycled rapidly through each emotion in turn, from horror to confusion, finally landing on desperate reasoning.
Then with a soft, almost pitying look they added. “He considers physical indulgence beneath him. A distraction… a weakness.”
…
The words had lodged themselves in your brain. They replayed on torturous loop while servants led you, still waddling in your silk prison, to a shaded garden pavilion for what they called 'the ladies’ midday gathering.'
You’d expected scheming, backstabbing, maybe some light tea poisoning. Instead, you got embroidery and flower arrangements.
Now you sat among them, jaw still hanging open like a broken hinge, mind obsessively replaying those words like it refused to settle on the truth of it.
The other concubines chattered around you in soft, chipper voices. They were gorgeous, every single one of them. With flawless skin, luminous hair coiled in elaborate knots, their lips painted crimson or plum.
Even swathed in unflattering yards of layered silk just like yourself, they radiated sex on legs. Some of them you’d have climbed like a tree on the right kind of Tuesday back home.
Their conversation droned on, something about the tensile strength of gold-thread versus silver, until you couldn’t take it anymore.
“So… he’s never…” You cut straight through the thread talk like a pair of fabric shears. “Lord Sukuna’s never… gotten down with any of you?”
The silence was profound.
Their heads turned, eyes widened, several fans even froze mid-flutter.
One woman, a stunning flaming redhead with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, cleared her throat. She seemed to have appointed herself spokesperson.
“What is it you mean, Lady Y/L/N?” she asked carefully, as though you might be speaking in tongues.
“Horizontal tango?” you supplied helpfully.
Blank stares all around.
“Hiding the sausage?” You suggested slowly, arching a brow.
They exchanged all glances now, slow and mildly startled.
“Going to pound town?”
The redhead cleared her throat again, a habit of hers apparently. “Most of us… keep our distance.”
“Why?” You leaned forward as much as your bindings allowed, which wasn’t much.
“He’s... terrifying” the mousy girl at the end blurted. Youngest of the group, barely out of teenager territory, eyes huge and darting like she expected lightning to strike her dead for the admission. She clapped a hand over her mouth immediately after, glancing around as though the garden itself might tattle.
“What in the fat hell are you talking about?” You narrowed your eyes, genuinely baffled. Were you even living in the same reality? Did you posses the same eyes? “Because that is a full-blown beef cake—”
“He’s so large” another woman interjected. She trembled as she said it, sleeves quivering. Her gaze flicked toward the distant estate roofs like Sukuna might materialise from thin air just to punish them.
“Yeah, like a tree. All the better to climb” you mused, mostly to yourself. A slow, wicked grin tugged at your lips as the imagery of coiling yourself around him like a serpent played out in your head.
“And his eyes” someone else whispered. “They’re red.”
“Sexy, aren’t they?” You smirked wider. Heat curled low in your belly just remembering the way those four crimson slits had dragged over you in the corridor, so full of derision it made you quiver. “Come on. Be honest. Not one of you has ever looked at that man and thought, ‘Yeah, I’d risk dismemberment for that’?”
The only answer was more silence. A few cheeks pinked beneath their powder, and one girl hid behind her fan entirely.
The redhead sighed, long and resigned. “He does not… indulge. Not with us. Not with anyone. To even suggest it is—”
“—a death wish?” you finished for her, that sinking feeling in your stomach more pervasive now. “Yeah, caught that vibe” You said dryly.
The mousy girl made a tiny, strangled noise.
You leaned back on your palms, staring up at the billowing leaves above you “Look. I get it. Four arms, four eyes, a mouth on his stomach that’s probably a little...nippy. But terrifying?” You snorted. “Nah, I don't understand that.”
There was a ripple of gasps, the redhead stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “You speak as though… you are not afraid."
“I’m not.” You shrugged, or tried to, the layers fought you for the right. “I’m intrigued, big difference, buddy”.
Another concubine, a quiet beauty with inky-black hair that fell down her back in loose waves finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “The last one who… expressed interest… disappeared. We never saw her again.”
You paused, the garden suddenly colder despite the sun filtering through the trees.
Then you laughed, a low, delighted, completely unhinged sound, then you shrugged.
“Good” you said, eyes glinting . “More man mountain for me then.”
Synopsis: You (the town bookworm) is engaged to Toji, the strongest most egotistical curse slayer protecting your village. In a state of desperation, you make your way through the forest to escape, and find an abandoned castle where a monstrous creature with 4 arms and 2 mouths resides…and weird talking furniture?
CW: mentions of vomit (sorry)
Notes: Finally, Chapter 1 is out!! I had so much fun writing this and the prologue so hope you enjoy. I’ll try to update once a week. Not beta read cause I’m lazy, so some small edits will be made later ✌🏾
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A sorcerer's greatest weapon is the cursed energy that resides inside them. What is ‘cursed energy’, you may ask? It’s a form of spiritual energy that spills out of a sorcerer and is most powerful when said sorcerer is experiencing a strong negative emotion. This is different from most folk tales, which suggest that happy emotions like love or joy are strong enough to combat the greatest evils of this world. To understand the world of sorcery, we must dive into its most prominent characters. Characters born into honour, disgrace and failure. This chapter explores-
“You’re not reading that book again, are you?”
You look up from the pages in front of you and see the kind librarian staring down at you. You smile and remember your surroundings, a dusty library that smelled of wood, pages and you. You had become such a frequent visitor the last few years that your rose scented oils had seeped into every nook and cranny of the place.
“I just can’t put it down,” you say with genuine enthusiasm. “To think there are beings with such power inside them, enough power to fight the curses-”
“That’s enough of that now dear,” the librarian interrupts. “You know you’ll get into trouble for such radical ideas.”
You sigh in defeat, aware that your village was not the most progressive when it came to magic. Ever since the rise of invisible beasts named ‘curses’ began terrorizing the village 10 years ago, people had been consumed by a permanent state fear. No one had any idea as to why there were so many, or what brought them to our village almost over night.
“I appreciate you looking out for me, Mr Hiroshi”, you reply honestly “but the opinion of the villagers is none of my concern. The only way to live a better life is to clue ourselves up on the matter of spirits and where they come from. How to fight them.”
You were very passionate about the matter. You’d been bookish your whole life and curious to a fault. Interested in how the earth kept spinning and how everything came to be. You were well versed in botany, physiology, astronomy, poetry and spoke Latin, Greek and Arabic. In your world, it was uncommon for girls to be so well educated, matter of fact many of the girls in town could only read the names of their family members and not much else. No one knew how you managed to absorb knowledge like a sponge, especially since you weren't raised too differently from the other ladies around. You assumed it was because no one cared enough to find out. All that mattered was that you were odd, an outcast that didn’t fit the image of a respectable young lady.
“Why concern yourself with such matters when your fiance is so strong and capable?”
Ah, right. Your fiance.
You were engaged to Toji Fushiguro, otherwise known as ‘The Curse Slayer’ as nicknamed by his numerous fans in the village. You weren’t his biggest cheerleader, but you acknowledged that he was a behemoth of a man. Matter of fact, the word ‘man’ in reference to Fushiguro could almost be insulting. He was a raw powerhouse with strength akin to the Gods you studied when reading about ancient Greece.
“Just because he has strength, doesn't mean I need to forget about building my own.”
Two years ago today, the Curse Slayer stumbled into your village, looking for a place to stay the night. Your father (the mayor) suggested that he was welcome despite the failing crops and therefore limited food. Not a wise decision at the time, but he was so good natured that he couldn't turn a man asking for help away. He informed your now fiance, that the crops were failing as the small number of farmers we had, had been killed off due to beasts that had been rampaging our home for 8 years now. Toji said it wouldn’t be a problem, and he was not lying. During the next attack, he had effortlessly stepped in and killed, no, slaughtered the curse that had been loitering around the town hall using mysterious weapons no one else could wield. The town celebrated and offered him permanent residence. The curses still appeared from time to time but they were promptly handled, by the demigod himself. The more curses he destroyed, the more favour he got with the townspeople. They’re building him a statute, a museum and bla bla bla whatever else.
“Maybe you should give him more of a chance, dear. Your fathers owes him his life and the lives of every soul in the village.”
Fushiguro wasn’t just a warrior, but he was handsome too. Pitch black hair, an impressive build and a face hand carved by whatever deity was up there. You probably looked like a spoiled brat for not being over the moon about being his future bride, but your ambitions were not with marriage. There was a whole world outside your tiny corner of the earth, a world with sorcery and culture and scientific knowledge that you may never have access to! You didn’t have time to cook, clean, pump out six or seven kids then rub his feet at the end of the day.
“If my father owes so much, why don’t the two of them get married.” The librarian chuckles, always so amused by your spirit and outlook on the world.
He uses his brown walking stick to hobble over to a seat, opposite to where you’ve been crouched on the floor amongst the shelves. You wouldn’t be surprised if your butt cheeks left an imprint in the dust, as you had been sitting here for hours.
“Mr Hitoshi,” you begin with caution. “You’re the only person who loves books here as much as me. Even including the men who were given a sufficient education. How can you stand this place, when you know what's outside?”
He thinks over his answer, used to pondering loaded questions from you. “I started my family here. My daughter was born in the local temple, my wife and I spent 3 nights together in our little home close to the farms and I managed to own the town library- an ambition I've had since I was a boy.” You contemplate his words in your head, wondering where this was going. “My family and ambitions are all here. I understand there’s a world out there I may never know, but I believe I was put in this corner of the Earth, because my happiness is here.”
You never thought of it like that. When phrased this way, you feel almost ashamed for making fun of this town in front of him. He had managed to live out his dreams here, why were you struggling so much? He must’ve noticed the look on your face, as he interjected.
“Everyone is different. There’s no shame in dreaming of more than you have, especially when you’re so young.”
The use of the word young throws you off. Most of the girls here were married at 16, and at your ancient, decrepit 21, you were seen as more a leach to your father than a young girl figuring out life.
“Thank you.” You say simply.
“Any time, my dear.”
You enter a comfortable silence where you hold the book in your hand, and skim the title once more, ‘The Sorcerers Amongst Us’. If they truly existed, where were they? The book mentioned that their main job was to fight to protect those who couldn’t and yet your village was defenseless before Fushiguro. There was so much you couldn’t quite understand and it was jarring to no end. How was he able to fight them as he did? Is there something you’re missing, something that’s-
Your train of thought is interrupted by the squeaking of a chair, and Mr Hitoshi's walking stick.
“Where are you going?” You ask with interest.
“My wife says she needs help clearing up her stand after the festival.”
Shit! The festival! How the hell could you have forgotten?
“Ah crap, I was supposed to be there with my father and Fushiguro!”
You practically fly off the floor in a hurry, clutching the book in your hands, darting around to find the shelf it came from. “I thought you knew and were making a rebellious decision not to go!” Mr Hitoshi said honestly.
“Even I have my limits.” You were scurrying like a headless chicken looking for your satchel. You could’ve sworn you were sitting right beside it!
“Is this yours?” Mr Hitoshi lifts the shabby brown bag and holds it in your direction.
“Yes, yes, that’s mine!” You nearly snatch it out of the poor man's hand and dart to the library entrance, hoping your father won’t be too cross with you. You’re half way out the door when you remember the book is still in your hand, what’s wrong with you today?
“DoyoumindifIleavethishere?” Your words blur in your panicked haze as you point to the little table in front of you.
“Keep it,” He answers straight faced. “You’re the only one who reads it, anyway.”
Your brain freezes for a second, the panic that had swept you away before settling down. “Are you sure? I couldn’t possibly-”
“These books are your only assured way of seeing the world outside of this village. I’d give you more but I know you won’t let me.”
A watery smile graces your lips and before you know it, you’re reaching out to wrap the old man in a bear hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll take the best care of it, I promise”
He lets out a soft chuckle, “I know you will,” He breaks the hug and gives you one of his signature smiles. The kindest smile you’d gotten from a villager that’s not your father, “Now shoo, you don’t wanna get in any more trouble young lady.”
He’s right. You give him one last smile before hurrying out the door and stuffing the book in your satchel.
You speedwalk for about 10 minutes before you reach the town square, the sun already leaving an orange trail as it retreats for the night. You were so fucked, but hopefully you’d be less so, if your father sees you made an effort to get here as soon as you realised. You speed up a little more, the townspeople shooting you odd looks as you pass.
“A peculiar girl that one,”
“That’s the bookworm I was telling you about!”
“Yes, the mayor's daughter! Engaged to the Curse Slayer, that one, lucky girl.”
It didn’t really bother you anymore, as people always spoke about you due to your odd nature. You pass the little old lady selling eggs and the boy haggling fruits. The market would close soon, and people were trying to get in their last little bargains.
Finally, you spot your father and Fushiguro outside the Shushi next to the waterfountain.
“Hello.” You were so lame in times of panic, and painfully awkward.
“Hello, to you too, daughter. You were supposed to be here 4 hours ago.” Your father couldn’t be intimidating if he tried, poor guy. The real reason you were nervous was the 250 pounds of pure muscle next to him, not that you think he’d beat you up or anything, but damn he was just… big. You look up at him and give a curt nod and apologetic smile. He looks down on you with a blank look, his shaggy hair falling into his eyeline. You never really could get an accurate read on what he was thinking. He was a bit older than you, and despite his handsomeness, you could obviously tell. He wore the hardened expression of a man who’d seen the worst life had to offer, and scars of all different shapes across his arms, not to mention the particularly noticeable one across his lips.
“Ya know, it’s pretty fucking rude to stand up your fiance, brat.” He scolded you like he was older as well.
“Don’t call me that, and I'm sorry.” You spit, any genuine remorse replaced with irritation.
“Now, now no need to be so hostile to your fiance my dear,” your father breaks the tension between you and Fushiguro. “Let us all enjoy a drink and calm down. I’ll have a more stern talk with you when you get home, young lady.” He wasn’t an intimidating man, but getting in trouble was inconvenient and incredibly embarrassing. Most women had their third child by now and were the scolder not the scolded. You didn’t necessarily want any of that, but you had to admit, not being married made people treat you like a child sometimes, or like a child that was also a senior citizen.
Fushiguro opens the door to the Shushi, allowing you and your father to slip inside. “Thank you, Fushiguro.” You huff out.
“You’re welcome, doll,” You throw up in your mouth a little at the pet name, “And if you’re gonna be my wife, you can call me Toji.”
There’s a small commotion as soon as your ‘future husband’ enters the establishment. The townspeople (who had no shame already in your opinion) began hooting at the mere site of him. The most annoying oif the bunch were the triplets, who were notorious for fawning over Fushoguro. Drooling mouths and eyes filled with unrestrained lust. They were beautiful girls, truly, with golden blonde hair and petite frames. Your fiance could probably lift the three of them at the same time if he wanted. Looking at girls like that always did make you feel a bit envious. Just because you didn’t want to marry, didn’t mean that you wanted to be an ugly invisible shell. You didn’t know where you stood in terms of beauty, your shining reputation overshadowed your appearance for better or for worse.
“Good evening, Toji” one of the triplets drawled, her voice dripping with seduction, clearly meant to enhance her already sultry feminine wiles. Now, you didn’t want to marry Toji- you’d sell him if you could- but flirting with another girl's fiance right in front of her was rude. He gives them brief acknowledgment in the form of a wave which sends them into a squealing heap.
“ I can call you Fushi? It’s a cute nickname, so I think that’s a good compromise.”
He rolls his eyes at you, “A lesser man would forbid you from leaving the house after making such undignified comments.” He spits out the word amidst the otherwise lazy drawl, as if he knows he couldn’t care less about what was dignified or not. The triplets however, shoot you a dirty look for displeasing such an obvious catch.
“It’s better than what you call me? Who tries to romance their fiance by calling them ‘brat’?” You brazenly reply.
The men raised their glasses of whatever fermented wine they were drinking, as Fushiguro walked by, singing praises for his ‘magnificence’ and ‘unparalleled strength’.
“It’s not flattering, but it is fitting.” He smirks to himself, clearly proud of his flawless logic.
Your father leads you to a table in the back, private and out of site from the otherwise unruly establishment.
“I was hoping that the two of you would get to speak at the celebration earlier, but since there was a delay,” He pauses to give you an unimpressed look, “You two can catch up now.” He gives the both of you a once over, proud at his match making, and leaves to consult with whoever the mayor does.
You and your finance sit in an uncomfortable silence. Your fingers drum against the table, thinking a form of movement would make things less awkward between the two of you. It didn’t. You decide to be brave and speak up,
“How was your day Fushiguro?”
“Fine.”
Nice chat. You weren’t so self absorbed to think that he was thrilled about this as well, but marriage was different for you. He was a curse slayer for goodness sake! He had tons of knowledge and glory and god knows what his life was like before he stumbled into your village a couple of years ago. Speaking of, an idea popped into your head.
“Hey, Fushiguro?” He cocks his head to look at you, an unimpressive look across his face. You weren’t dissuaded.
You reach into your raggedy satchel and pull out your book, laying it across the table. “You know how I like to read, right?” He cocks his brow, as if to say obviously but he looks down at the book in front of him, his eyes scanning the title.
“Since you slay curses and all that, I was wondering if you knew about..” Your sentence trailed off as you took in his face. His eyes were completely frozen on the title, his face unmoving, but still etched in shock. This is the most vulnerable expression you’d seen from him, and you didn’t know how to approach that. Maybe if you kept talking he’d snap out of it.
“I found this book in the library a few months ago,” You look at his face to check if you had his attention, “I’ve reread it about 4 times now, and I find something new everytime, but I was wondering if you’d explain-”
“No.” His voice was gruff and stern, a certain tone you hadn’t heard from him before.
“It won’t take too long, it’s just chapter 4 keeps talking about something called ‘six eyes’ and I-”
“No.”
“Okay, that's fine. If you don't want to talk about chapter 4, we can speak about
He abruptly stands, his fists slamming into the table below him. His face swallowed in anger looking down at you. You and the man had a complicated relationship, but never once had you been the object of his wrath.
“I said no.”
People around you go quiet, greedy eyes taking in the spectacle. You stare on in shock, never had you expected this type of reaction from him. His main emotional states altered between smug, focused and indifference.
What stings the most isn’t your fiance's intense mood swings, or the embarrassment building in your chest, but your fathers lingering gaze. He looks… disappointed. Your father hadn’t exactly embraced your nature growing up, but he never looked disappointed.
You look around again, heat rising to your face as everyone stills and watches. “Toji,” You hope addressing him by his first name will soften him a bit “I didn’t mean to make you so angry, could you please tell me where I misspoke?”
He stands straighter, avoiding eye contact with you as he goes to walk out the bar. People part a path for him, as if he were some deity and, you suppose, he kind of was to them. Before he leaves he lightly grabs your fathers arm to whisper in something discreet into his ear. His eyes widen and his attention quickly turns to the book plopped on the table, unaware of the destruction it (you) just caused.
Despite the diversity of talent across sorcerers, not all of them are created equal. There is a disproportionate amount of strength amongst them, and some will go down in history whereas others will be forgotten, as if they were no different to non-curse users. A noticeable example of this is Ryomen Sukuna, otherwise known as the disgraced one, and the current king of curses. In simple terms, Jujutsu society is run by a handful of clans which all propose a main ruler. Sukuna is the main exception to this rule, as he claimed the throne with his sheer strength alone, despite being in the same generation as a user with both the six eyes and limitless technique.
You had reread this same passage from chapter four twice over, excluding all the times you’d read it when rereading the book. Why was Fushiguro so angry at the Shoshi today? Was it pent up anger because you missed the festival? You don’t think so, he doesn't take this marriage as seriously as anyone else does in the village. Did you bring up uncomfortable memories? He never spoke about what the thirty odd years of his life were like before he entered your tiny town. Where did he learn to fight all those curses? Now that you think of it, he should be happy to explore the book with you, you were going to be his wife after all.
A knock on the door snaps you out of your ruminative trance, and your eyes peak upwards as you watch your father peak his head around your bedroom door.
“May I come in?”
You nod and he enters the room, standing a bit awkwardly.
“Toji told me what happened in the bar. About that, uh” He stumbles slightly, as if the mere mention of the stack of folded paper was an awkward conversation. “The book, yes that’s right, the book you had today.”
“I have books everyday.” You respond dryly.
“Yes but it seems this one brought up particularly strong feelings for Toji.”
You saw that. Everyone saw that.
“Your point father?” You’d definitely regret being so dry and unresponsive in the morning, but you were so emotionally drained right now, you couldn’t bear to exert yourself any further. All you wanted to do was curl up in your bed sheets, book in hand-
“I think you need to forget that book.”
You’ve never felt more rejuvenated in your life, nearly giving yourself whiplash with how quickly you sit up.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just that, well- honey I’ve always tried to be supportive of your interests, no matter if I understood them or not but, as your father, I have a responsibility to look out for you. That means acting in your best interest even if you don't understand at the time.”
You weren't a child. You could make your own decision just fine!?
“This habit,” He spits the word as if its more a shameful kink than a hobby, “is not doing you any favors.”
“All I asked was a question. A question on a topic I thought he’d be interested in. That’s what married couples are supposed to do, right?”
You’re struggling to look the man in the eye. This habit was your only way of travelling and understanding. You couldn’t just give it up because it made small minded folk uncomfortable.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, but if you are to survive after I’m gone, you need a respectable husband that can protect you from the evil spirits that walk amongst us!”
“If you let me learn and read i wouldn’t need Toji to protect me-”
“Enough, daughter-”
“No, not ‘enough’, I’m trying to explain to you-”
“You need to listen to me-”
“The book explains something called ‘cursed energy’ and ‘sorcerers’-”
“Listen to me, daughter-”
“I will not listen to absolute crap-”
“You will shut your mouth and listen to me now!”
You’re still in shock. Your father has never raised his voice so aggressively toward you before. You feel tears prick in your eyes, tears that were already waiting to fall from the humiliation you suffered earlier tonight.
“You are to burn that goddamn book before I wake up tomorrow morning! You will also write a decent and courteous apology to Toji, for being a bad wife and stepping out of your place.”
Your bedroom door slams, and the tears that were waiting to fall run down your face freely.
The moonlight's illumination was the only light guiding you as you led your trusty horse, Philipe, out of the stable. You do a once over before you mount, ensuring you brought the essentials. Back up cloak, bread, water, lamp and your book, tucked safely into your satchel. You only had a few hours before day break, and had to move quickly before someone caught up to you. You lead the horse a few more steps, uttering soothing words and praises to your only ally left.
As someone who prided themselves on being intelligent, you were self aware enough to understand this wasn't your brightest idea. Matter of fact, this was one of the most impulsive decisions you’d ever made in your life- but you had no choice. Your father was the only support system you’d ever had and that’s just gone up in flames so you had to leave. There were many things you were forgetting, such as saying goodbye to Mr Hitoshi, your weekly chores that needed finishing and other mundane things that seemed so trivial now.
This wasn’t just impulsive, reckless and extreme, it was also dangerous. The Kaisen forest was a death sentence for most and the curses that lurked within would be the unmerciful executioners. The fact that they were invisible wasn’t helpful either. The more you think of it, the more you wanted to turn back, but your horse was already trodding on, loyal to your commands despite your own hesitance. The book said something about not all curses being equal. Hopefully, you would run into a few weak ones and outsmart them? Dodge them? Maybe you should’ve thought this through before packing as soon as your father went to sleep, but emotions have always gotten the best of you.
Even if you did make it out alive, where would you go? You could go to a sister village nearby. They may even know who you are. You could say you got lost doing… something, then ask to stay for a few days. Your father would surely be contacted and then, when he’s close, you would escape to a new place going further and further away. Maybe you’d even be able to leave the continent. You heard that France was particularly lovely this time of year and-
A twig snapping from behind tore you away from your thoughts. You feel the blood in your body drop to your feet and your senses sharpen, almost as if you were a guard dog who’d been made alert of an intruder. You’d learned about the flight or fight response in your physiology book. Your body was made to survive potential threats and predators. Yours was clearly broken, since you had yet to fight or flee the scene and instead were thinking of a book you read once upon a time.
Thankfully, your horse is still in touch with its primal instinct and it darts through the trees, running for the both of your lives.
The wind whips in your hair and your eyes sting as dirt and air are brushing past. You cling to Philipe, panting as if you were the one running. You’re not sure how far you’ve come, but your village is long gone and you were officially in the deep parts of the forest.
The atmosphere was miserable. The tree branches twisted into uncanny shapes and you felt a presence with you no matter how far Philipe trotted. The horse was catching its breath, and you were using this time to take in your surroundings even more. If you had a chance at survival, you had to be vigilant. The presence that's been following you has gotten stronger. You thought you were just being paranoid but it feels like a vengeful soul is closing in on you. The hairs at the back of your neck rise to a stand as a gurgling sound plays in your ear. This was really creeping you out. You almost feel sick to your stomach. The human body wasn’t made to handle so much fear at one time. You learnt that curses respond to emotions such as these, the fear you’d experienced earlier most likely attracting more.
Your mouth had gone painfully dry, your eyes nearly building out of your head as you felt the presence begin to multiply. This would be the perfect time to alert your steed of the danger, but your fear has made you freeze in place. Luckily, your horse understands the severity of the situation and charges as fast as he was before.
In your frightened state, your hands had begun to sweat, the reigns becoming slippery and uncomfortable. Philipe wasn’t doing too well either. His strides had become messy and uncoordinated as he still needed time to recover from that burst of energy. To make matters worse, the feeling of nausea sitting within you wasn’t going away. What was manageable at first, has become unbearable. Your stomach twists and you feel the bread you nibbled on rise in your throat. What the hell was going on? Two minutes later, you were fighting full on body tremors whilst your horse raced onwards, focused on getting you out of the unfathomable danger you were in.
Little did you know, the danger was about to increase as Philipe- ungracefully- leapt over a branch at the same time your body shook from revulsion. You didn’t even feel your hands slip off the reigns as they did, but what you did feel was your head hitting the cold, hard floor beneath. You groaned out in pain at the contact, and again from the vomit that had seeped out your mouth, collecting on your hair that’s sprawled out next to you. To make matters worse, the presence(s) you felt earlier were still there. Closing in. Your vision goes blurry, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. Surely if you closed them now, and allowed yourself to rest here, it would be the end.
Your life didn’t flash before your eyes, like you expected it to. You didn’t rethink your choices or see a blinding light to transport you from one plane of existence to another. The theology texts you read all had different accounts of what this moment would be like, but you didn’t care for any of those explanations. You didn’t feel anger, resentment, relief or even peace. You just felt nothing. A calm nothing overtaking you in waves as you closed your eyes. You didn’t make it far out your village, but at least you tried. And that was the main thing.
— summary: while lunching in the red keep’s gardens with the targaryens, ser duncan spots prince aerion behaving like a civilized man beside a kind, sun-bright lady. bewildered by the rare sight, poor dunk assumes she must be prince baelor’s daughter, patient and too compassionate—because surely no woman of sound mind would choose to spend time in aerion’s company on purpose.
— pairing: aerion targaryen x wife!reader
— word count: ~2.5k
— content: sunshine x grumpy!!, domestic fluff, humor, protective!aerion, himbo!dunk, romance, pda, poor dunk can't catch a break with these people, probably ooc!aerion.
⋆ . ۰˚ ౨ৎ ── series masterlist with different characters’ versions: here!
Ser Duncan had always known that princes were strange.
That, at least, was something he’d made peace with.
They were born strange, raised strange, and lived their lives in a world that did not much resemble the one the rest of them walked in. They spoke in courtesies that meant threats and in threats that meant nothing at all. They smiled when they were angry and grew angry when there was no cause he could see.
Still, he thought he understood them well enough—he’d been wrong all along.
He knows he is wrong because there he is, seated at a crystal big table amidst the gorgeous midday sun-drenched gardens of the Red Keep, ogling like a big oaf at Prince Aerion Targaryen—no, not at him, but at the lady sitting by his side, near the head of the table.
She is laughing, that is the first thing he is struck by. A melodious, gentle sound, like sweet honey. And then, the second thing that hits him is the sight of Aerion laughing with her as well, very quietly, with his head tilted towards her.
Hearing him laugh with genuine joy must be the most unnatural and eerie sound Duncan has ever heard.
Her hand rests casually on Aerion's forearm, intimately and so naturally, as if that's where it belongs. As if it's always belonged to touch him.
Dunk frowns and then he frowns even harder as his thoughts stumbled over themselves.
He keeps watching as she says something else—he can't hear what—and Aerion gives a slight tilt of his head, not in a scornful way, but in an expression of attention and delight.
Of course, Dunk has seen you before. You are no stranger to the Red Keep. You address the guards by name, thank the servants when they bring you things or offer assistance. Once, you even had smiled at Dunk himself, and he nearly tripped over his own feet when you did.
You are kind, gentle, and sweet. Everything Aerion is not, so Dunk naturally kept assuming you must be some cousin or sister or relative to the royal family.
Dunk just sits there, taller and clumsier than usual, and definitely feeling like a fish out of water among the majority of the Targaryens. He fiddles with his fingers in front of him, like that might stop him from saying something stupid, but it's already too late.
Next to him, Prince Aegon devours a fig with an expression of utter indulgentment; they went through this phase of confusion weeks ago and now seems to find it a source of amusement.
“Is something wrong, Ser?” asks Egg, his mouth partially full. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”
Dunk doesn't respond immediately. His eyes remain locked on the other side of the table, where the shade of the vines reaches upon you and your husband.
Aerion, who usually looks at everyone as if they were insects beneath his boot, is doing the most horrifying act: he is peeling an orange with the greatest of care. In one perfect spiral, he strips the peel and offers it to you along with a faint smile.
“She's Prince Baelor's daughter, right?,” Dunk asks cautiously, leaning toward Egg as far as he can without falling over. “A niece. Or maybe a distant cousin whom Aerion has kindly decided not to terrorize today for reasons of royal courtesy.”
Egg chokes a little on the piece of fig and bursts out in a dry laugh, which sounds more like a little bark. “My Uncle Baelor's daughter? Oh, Ser—”
At that very moment, your laughter fills the air at something Aerion whispers in your ear. The Prince allows himself another smile; not one of those malicious grimaces that Dunk knows so well, but a genuine, gentle one.
You place a hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his jaw with a tenderness that makes Duncan's stomach churn with unbridled astonishment and revulsion.
“Come on, Ser, let's go meet her!” Egg suppresses a mischievous grin as he tugs on the sleeve of his tall friend's doublet, urging him to stand up as well. “I can see you like her. Let me introduce you, then.”
Dunk lets himself be led along, trying to remember every lesson in courtesy he never really learned, and as they reach the table, Aerion lifts his gaze. His eyes narrow with that characteristic coldness as he recognizes the knight, and all his gentle, carefree demeanor from mere seconds ago seems to vanish when he lays sight on Duncan.
“Ser Duncan,” Aerion drawls the name, his voice reverting to that harsh, extremely contemptuous intonation. “What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming. It seems you're encroaching on my family's privacy a little more each day—”
“Prince Aerion,” Dunk greets him back dismissively, disregarding what the prince is saying to him, and not even bothering to listen to his passive-aggressive nonsense, since he is too concerned on gazing in awe at you. “My lady.”
“It's a pleasure to have you here.” You flash him a cheerful smile, glancing sideways to see Aerion's plump lips gaping in shock and offense at your side. “Ser...”
You pause for him to introduce himself, and he rushes to do so, inclining his head once more.
“Duncan, my lady,” the tall knight pronounces his name with more trepidation than pride. “At your service.”
Aerion frowns, his eyes squinting with growing annoyance. “Your service? What—”
“You are very kind, Ser Duncan,” you interrupt your prince, struggling to stifle a giggle at his expression of pure bewilderment. “Thank you for taking such good care of Aegon.”
“You don't have to thank me at all, my lady,” Dunk replies, his voice coming out softer. “Looking after Egg—Prince Aegon, is truly an honor. And seeing you here, being so patient... well, it just confirms what everyone at court says.”
You tilt your head curiously, as Aerion stares at him with cautious defiance.
“Oh? And what do they say, Ser Duncan?” you ask with a twinkle of amusement in your eyes.
“That you have a noble soul,” Duncan states with complete conviction, nodding to himself. “One can tell in a heartbeat that you are Prince Baelor's daughter”
And he carries on, even when Egg sneaks a kick to his shin, and the whole dining table drops silent, with everyone turning to look at him with expressions of either bafflement or disgust—in Maekar's case.
“He must be immensely proud to have such a kind and compassionate daughter. Only someone with his blood could have the strength to...“ His blue eyes glance at Aerion with barely concealed distaste, “Well, to spend the entire day entertaining your cousin Aerion and still keep a smile on your face. You are an exemplary cousin, my lady.”
Egg muffles out a strangled laugh and has to cover his mouth with both hands to keep from spitting it out.
Aerion, for his part, is not amused and remains petrified beside you. His lips part, uttering a gasp of outrage, and his violet eyes gleam with a fury that promises a death of agony.
“Daughter?” Aerion hisses, his voice rattling like a viper’s threat. “Did you call her my uncle Baelor’s daughter? And my cousin?”
You blink, glancing first at your husband, whose face is flushing through various hues of red, and then at the tall knight standing in front of you, who is frowning in innocent confusion.
“Ser Duncan...” you begin, trying to maintain your composure as the situation descends into absurdity. “I’m afraid your compass for kinship is a little... misguided.”
“Misgui—what?” babbles Dunk, batting his eyelashes as slowly as an ox that has just been struck on the snout.
Before your husband or you can answer, a soft, vibrant laugh comes from the head of the table. Prince Baelor is leaning back in his chair, attentive to the unfolding scene before him, in his usual courteous silence. His eyes now sparkle with genuine amusement.
“Gods be good, Ser Duncan,” says the King's Hand, his fingers absentmindedly twirling the wine glass he holds in his hand. “I appreciate your loyalty and your high regard for my character, but I fear you are attributing merits to me that I do not possess.”
“Prince Baelor is my uncle-in-law, by marriage, not by blood, Ser Duncan.” you clarify, reaching out to Aerion’s hand, that had been resting on your lap the moment Duncan had arrived at your side. “I am Aerion’s wife, not cousin.”
“W–wife?” Dunk repeats, his voice breaking with disbelief. “Aerion's? But, my lady, you're kind and beautiful and—”
“For five years, you bloody twit!” Aerion explodes, springing up from his seat now in defense of your honor and his own as well. The chair scrapes violently against the floor. “She’s been my wife for five years! My wife!”
You quickly rise to your feet as well, standing between your husband's fit of fury and Dunk's monumental state of embarrassment.
The difference in height is almost laughable: you attempting to calm a fuming Aerion, with Duncan looming over you both, appearing to wish the ground would open up and swallow him now that he has finally realized the mistake he has just made.
You bite your lower lip, battling to keep from laughing, knowing that would only further wound Aerion's pride.
“Calm down, my love,” you coax him gently, pressing both hands on his chest to push him back a step away from Duncan. “I’m sure Ser Duncan meant no harm.”
“He called you my cousin!” Aerion retorts, his burning gaze finally dropping from Dunk and focusing on you, relenting at the way you’re gazing at him, fearful of his anger.
His hands immediately curl around your waist, drawing you closer to him reassuringly and further away from the hapless hedge knight.
Dunk is as red as a tomato and his ears are turning crimson.
“Oh fuck— I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, my prince, my lady,” he blurts out, bowing his head apologetically over and over. “I didn't mean to... it's just that she's such a good person, and you're... well, you're...” His voice trails off the instant Egg kicks him again, without even trying to be subtle about it this time. “A thousand apologies to both of you for my clumsiness. Five years... Seven Hells, five years—”
“Cease your stammering, you simpleton!” a sharp voice growls from the other end of the table. “Have you no sense at all in that thick skull of yours?”
Prince Maekar is looking at Dunk with his characteristic loathing, there is a hint of fatigue in his eyes, as if being surrounded by such a load of idiocy is costing him years of his life.
“You've caused enough of a commotion with your lack of brains, Ser,” Maekar went on, glaring at his son Aerion to shut him up as well. “Sit down and keep your mouth shut before I decide that your penance for being a dimwit should be spending the rest of lunch standing next to the horses!”
Baelor breathes out another quiet snicker at his younger brother's interruption, visibly enjoying his nephew's humiliation.
Dunk straightens up at once, rigid as a plank, still pleading for your forgiveness under his shaky breath.
“There's no need to apologize, Ser Duncan,” you try to soothe him, leaning against your husband's chest.
Clinging to your body, Aerion glares at him with hateful, menacing eyes. “I won't forget this.”
“Aerion,” you call out in disapproval, pulling yourself back in his arms so you can face him, but he just keeps eyeing Duncan, who finally stumbles away from you two and back to his seat at the table.
You seize the moment to gently tug at your husban's hand, forcing him to sit back down as well. And he lets himself fall into the chair, still holding you in his arms, and pulling you onto his lap. And you let out a light, melodic laugh as he does, twisting a little in his arms to nuzzle your nose against his affectionately.
The garden eventually settles back into its rhythmic hum of clinking silverware and low conversation. The initial shock of Dunk’s blunder lingers only in the faint, lingering flush on his face as he focuses entirely on his plate, determined not to breathe in the wrong direction.
Aerion doesn't let you go. Even as he resumes eating with his free hand, his other arm remains firmly wrapped around your waist, his thumb tracing idle, possessive circles against over the fabric of your dress. He leans his head against yours appreciatively.
“He thought we were cousins even when we treated each other like this,” Aerion whispers into your ear after taking a bite of his slice of strawberry cake, his words still laced with indignation, although you can taste the sweetness of the pastry in his breath. “How could anyone be so—”
“Oh, hush,” you whisper, your eyes gazing at his with amusement and then you pick up the small silver spoon from the edge of his plate, scooping up a generous portion of the creamy pastry. “Now, stop pouting, my love. Open up for me.”
Aerion’s obeys you, naturally, leaning forward to take the sweet offering from your hand. He chews slowly, his violet softening eyes never leaving your face.
“Is it good?” you ask softly, wiping a tiny stray bit of cream from the corner of his mouth with your thumb and sucking on it to taste the flavor yourself.
“It’s tolerable,” Aerion purrs, and then kiss your lips tenderly, his mouth lingers close to yours as he pulls away, flashing you a mischievous look. “Hmm, that is far more delicious...”
While Duncan sits frozen—staring at his plate as if the roast swan might testify against him—the rest of the table barely bats an eye at the scene unfolding at his opposite side over the table.
For the Targaryens, such public displays of affection are a common occurrence, perhaps too common during family gatherings or outings or feasts.
Maekar, though still wearing a permanent scowl, simply reaches for the wine carafe, maneuvering his arm around Aerion’s sprawling form without a word. He’s seen his son go from a bloodthirsty terror to a purring housecat in your presence too many times to count. To Maekar, your lap-sitting and sweet-feeding is a necessary evil—a price he’s willing to pay for a quiet afternoon without Aerion setting something on fire.
“You see, Ser Duncan?” Prince Baelor calls out, his voice smooth and teeming with mirth as he watches you feed Aerion another spoonful of the cake, but loud enough to make the hedge knight jump in his seat. “The Prince is quite manageable when he is well-fed and well-loved. It is a pity we cannot bottle his lady wife’s influence and distribute it among the rest of the Realm.”
Your husband scoffs, though there's no real heat in it as he tries to steal another kiss between your spoonfuls, making you laugh.
Dunk, eventually looks at Aerion and then back at you. He still doesn't quite get it—how the most difficult prince in the Seven Kingdoms ended up with a woman who treats him like a pampered house cat—but as he watches you laugh again at something the prince whispers in your ear, he decides that maybe he doesn't need to understand.
Synopsis: An upcoming LA popstar (you) moves to Japan in hopes of advancing her career. There she meets emo!Choso, an art student at Kaisen university.
CW: Reader is a drama queen.
WC: 6K
Notes: I am not an American. I am British. Why did I commit so much to this LA thing instead of it just being a throw away fact? I thought it would be a nice addition to the plot. Just think about it, an upcoming out of place pop star and an emo? The stars align better this way. I suppose I also just got carried away.
—————————————————————————
It was hot.
Disgustingly hot.
The conference room was stuffy and filled with windows that didn’t open. Your oversized hoody didn’t help the situation either. That’s what you get for rolling out of bed and putting the first thing you see on. Completely unlike you, by the way, but everyone has these types of days.
You watched your manager type away on her computer, pretty manicured nails making that melodic tip tap tap you enjoyed. She looked like your typical business woman. A black power suit (despite the weather ) and cute brown kitten heels. Her face was hollow from years of hard work and whatever she had going on in her personal life. She didn’t look like she had much going on outside of work, but that was just an assumption you were -unfairly- making.
Her serious face was contorting into an expression of deep thought- never a good sign for you. You rub your pretty acrylics together, a nervous habit you developed as soon as you were old enough to wear nails. For the past week you had enjoyed pretty, classic French tips with a leopard print. Basic enough so that you weren’t in the salon for hours whilst still sporting some flare.
Your PR agent and social media manager were on the opposite side of the conference table, chatting with themselves. Your PR agent was a relatively young woman, most likely in her 30s, with professional attire and a claw clip in her chestnut brown hair. It was a huge reality shock the first time you met her, as you assumed that it would be some 19 year old that was up to date with whatever brain rot was trending at the time (you say as a 22 going on 50 year old).
Your social media manager was pretty much the same. Although he didn’t have a claw clip due to being a bald man. How old was he? Unimportant, you’re getting distracted.
Having both of them is unnecessary in your opinion. And overwhelming. Yet you can’t help the small blossoming excitement in your chest. These people were here for you. You were successful enough to have a team dedicated to making your ambitions a reality.
The marketing specialist walks in, coffee in hand. Slightly apologetic but perfectly on time. That’s how serious these people were.
Your manager finally looks up from the computer, sharp eyes scanning the room to command attention. Sometimes it felt like you worked for her and not the other way around.
“Good morning team, It’s wonderful to see so many faces here! I’m confident that you’re as passionate about this project as I am.”
The booking agent and the label representative flick through the documents in front of them. Did they have to be so tense? You were a young artist who liked to write songs about love, youth, partying and ,occasionally, sex. It really did not require all these specialists.
“As we know, life in the music business is harder than ever with globalization and social media. How do we keep the attention on our star long enough? How do we ensure public perception is in our hands? That’s why we’re so grateful to have you all with us today.”
Oh shit. WE.
You look around and smile, truly appreciative albeit a little awkward. Some look back at you with smiles, others regard you with stiff nods.
Click click
Your manager taps the remote to begin the presentation.
“As we know, the last album was a shocking success and is number 10 on the billboard 100 only 1 week after release.”
As awkward as these meetings could be, you did enjoy the glaze. You were only popular enough to have these types of gatherings recently, but damn it was fun to hear how well you were doing!
“It was very… LA. Very relatable to your select audience. A testament to your roots as an artist. That’s a brilliant first step but,”
Hold on- but what?
“It will not hold attention for long”
You slightly deflate as her smooth voice delivers the blow. What does ‘very LA’ even mean? The harsh criticisms were definitely a price to pay for all the compliments you’d been getting on social media and amongst your team from time to time. It keeps you humble, at least!
“To rise to international levels, your music needs a bit more flare. Something different! A growing number of Americans are listening to K-pop, latin music, Rock and more. People across the world are also able to tune in like never before, and we need something that reflects that.”
She nods to the marketing specialist who clears his throat and directs his attention towards you.
“We believe that making you travel during the creation of your next project will make you more palatable to a wider audience, and add to your already growing success.”
You blankly stare, a bit like an idiot, before collecting yourself and asking,
“Travel where?”
“To Japan”
Japan?
Japan?!
Did they know how fucking far away Japan was?!
Your manager caught your expression and swiftly interjected
“The country is very popular nowadays. The food, music, culture. Some outside influence would be good for you.”
That sounded quite final for some reason. Not at all like a mere suggestion.
“We’ve selected some travel dates and composed a brief itinerary-“
Oh so it was final.
The meeting drones on for another half an hour. You loved the music, the rush from watching your songs climb, the brief recognition in people's eyes when you crossed the street…but this part was exhausting. You always knew you’d have to do PR and travel if you took your career seriously. You just didn’t expect it to be so soon. Maybe that was too naive on your part.
Before you can ruminate anymore, the sound of chairs scraping pulls your attention back to the room. Voices were chatting and your manager was making finalised decisions.
Some of the more seasoned professionals gave you a sympathetic smile before they left the room. They recognised that look on your face. The look where an artist understands that their hobby just got turned into a business, into a profession that was now based on hard decisions rather than impulsive ‘yolo’ and ‘it’s just a bit of fun’ moments. And of course the fact that you were officially going to live a life that no one could imagine.
You’re nervous as shit. That pounding of excitement in your chest? Gone. It’s filled with nervous energy. You're way over your head. You've never left the US before, what about your mother? What about your friends? What about-
“I can hear you thinking from over here.”
Oh.
Your manager moves to sit directly opposite you. Her moves are swift and precise.
“I’m in shock,” you reply simply.
“Anyone would be.”
“What about my mother?”
“You can call her anytime.”
“What about my life here?”
“It will still be here when you get back.”
“What about-“
“Calm down,” She announced. “You don’t have to go if you truly don’t want to. The team and I just think it would be a good idea.” You wonder which one of them proposed it first.
“Sorry,” You chuckle nervously. “I suppose I was spiraling a bit there.”
“Go home and think it over.”
You nod and rise out of your seat, walking to the door, relieved to finally leave the stuffy room.
The sun beats down on your forehead as you exit your labels building. You plunge your fingers into your jean pocket to pull out your headphones, immediately plugging them in. Before doing so, you let yourself look around at the scenery in front of you. You can’t believe you live here. It’s truly as glamorous as it’s made to be- if you ignore the dirt and few rats here and there but you're confident that it was common in any major city in the world.
Designer shops line the strip; channel, Dior YSL and other things you had only just begun to afford and probably couldn’t pronounce if you tried.
You had recently moved from downtown LA to Beverly Hills. It wasn’t far but they may as well have been light years away.
If a different side of LA feels alien, what would Japan be like? You weren’t well travelled. An ignorant American through and through. You almost feel embarrassed, but after so many years struggling to keep your head afloat, travelling, even just out of state felt ludicrous. You had been to New York once when you were a freshman in high school on a field trip but that was about it. You were exceedingly grateful for the opportunity and vowed to never forget it! As if you could anyway. When you watched your first broadway musical, that was when you knew music was for you. It didn’t matter if it was pop, theatre or even karaoke. The way it vibrated through your soul and told a story was enough for you to want to immerse yourself in it forever.
Then it clicked.
Theatre! Of course. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? You had seen Moulin Rouge all those years ago. An idea was brewing in your head- you could see it now! A burlesque themed pop album. That was far enough from your LA routes wasn’t it? Surely this was the type of thing that could get multiple people on board without straying too far from your comfort zone.
You dug out your phone from your pockets again, immediately jotting ideas. The first song on the album should be completely different, set the stage if you will. The visuals were going to be outside of this world, you’d definitely need to contact your vocal coach and start training-
You feel eyes double checking you. No one was full on staring, celebrities aren’t a hot commodity at all in this area, but they were looking. You were being recognised.
What did your PR manager say to do again?
“If you see someone staring give them a little smile”
“It doesn’t matter if you have a resting bitch face- put on a kind look”
“Do not attract any negative attention. Pause and reflect on what you’re doing”
Too many rules. You settle on a smile and they look away, clearly flustered at being caught. You hoped you didn’t look too crazy. Tapping away like an addict trying to order drugs or something. You flush, getting self conscious as you realised you weren’t in private yet. You suppose your new project could stand to wait until you got home.
You walk a couple more minutes and reach your car. A red banger.
Yikes.
You can’t help but feel a little insecure as you climb into it, but you’re attached to this car! ATTACHED. You got it when you were 17 and it’s been with you ever since. So what if you feel a little insecure? This car has been with you for years and you’ll only part with it when it crumbles in front of your eyes.
It seems that day has come.
You twist the key again for about the 12th time. Nothing but sounds of despair.
“Well isn’t this fantastic” you mumble bitterly to yourself. Honestly you feel like kicking the hunk of junk. Years of loyalty just to break down NOW? In front of the rich people! So now you’re going to have to stand next to a broken car, in Beverly Hills…looking like this.
Oh shit.
You decided to call your mother- she always saves the day. The phone rings a couple times before she answers in that melodic voice of hers.
“Yes, honey?”
“I’m stuck.”
“Is it your car?”
“…”
“Y/N…”
“Yes it’s the car, sorry. I know I need to change it but-“
“I’m on my way and when I get there, we’re looking for a new one-ASAP”
“…fine”
—————————————————————————
One thing that shocked you about music was that money came quickly. Like super quick. Was it a steady stream? Not at all. It was huge chunks dropping into your lap at the most random time, but after working at Target for years for predictable scraps, this wealth was something you could get used to. After all, you forgot that you literally could just buy a car whenever you wanted.
“I spoke to a dealership. We should be able to go in next week and have a look around”
You were sitting in the front of your moms BMW that you got her for her birthday.
“Sweetheart, you’re so generous to your family with all this new cash, I don’t understand why you can’t treat yourself every once in a while”
You do treat yourself, just the other day you bought a bag you saw on the strip after coming out of your label building- that should tell you enough about the cost.
“I do,” You weakly argue. “You just don’t see it.”
Growing up having less affected you in a weird way. You knew you were poor as a kid up but you didn't understand just how poor you were. This new money from your music career made you resent your childhood. Sure, you had your friends and family and silly childhood fantasies, but living in struggle took some of your innocence. You worried about things that children should never think of, like if you asked your mom for new shoes, would we still be able to afford the biweekly groceries? The almost overnight rags to riches gave you an aggressive awakening into what you were missing out on. You only bought that bag because you could. It was nice but you could live without it. You knew you didn't buy that bag for style, but because you craved the feeling of spending money just because you could. Why would you get a new car when you learned to become attached to things to avoid spending. Couldn't afford that new toy? That’s fine, you’d love the old broken one so much that you’d never need a new one anyway.
Your mother looks at you with a slight look of pity. As if she understood and felt guilty for not being able to get you more. You squeezed her hand lightly, understanding that she did the best with the cards in her hand.
“I’ll get the new car. I promise.”
As you pulled up to your home you were hit with an epiphany. You weren’t poor anymore and if you were brave enough to pursue your career properly, you didn’t have to be poor again. You weren’t an ignorant child who couldn’t leave the safety of her own bubble. You were grown and in charge of yourself. If taking charge meant taking risks and moving to Japan for a little while, so be it!
You looked at your house as you exited the car. Nice, yet humble. You were planning to do renovations so it could sell for more,so your mother could live where she deserved in her own space with you in a cute mediterranean house not too far.
“MomIhavesomethingtotellyou,” You clumsily spat before you chickened out.
She jiggled the keys in the door and turned to look at you with slight suspicion. “Is everything okay? Is this about the car?”
“It’s about the meeting I had this morning with my team,” You take a breath, steadying yourself.
“They had some interesting suggestions.” You nervously chuckle.
“Is this about touring? You know, it is ridiculous to expect you to do that so early on in your career.”
Damn.
“It’s kind of about that I guess. They had this idea that I need to get more visibility. Globally.” Your palms are sticky now and there's this odd lump in your chest. If your mother notices your stiff posture she looks past it.
“Whatever they said I hope you stood up for yourself. I’ve never been a pop person myself,” she chuckles as if this is peak comedy, “but I know it's not good when management takes over too much. You should be your authentic self at all times.”
This is hard. You believed wholeheartedly in being yourself, but what if there was room for growth and improvement? How can you still be yourself and survive outside of your comfort zone?
“They want me in Japan.”
Silence.
“Japan?” Your mother echoes. She slips off her cardigan and puts her keys on the table. When did you walk inside the house? “Why do they want you out there?”
“I don’t know,” you reply, even though you know exactly why “something about visibility and diversifying my music or something”.
More silence. “And what did you say?”
“Nothing. That I’d just go home and think it over.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I’m gonna go.”
Later that night you had made yourself cozy in bed. Big lights off, candles lit and phone in hand. No matter how much money you got, phone in bed time was the highlight of the day. You were on CliKClok doing your daily doomscroll when you had the idea to search ‘Japan’ in the search bar. Your first thought was that it was… different. You didn't know there were so many different parts. Where would your team even send you? It also seemed a little scary- what the hell are night movers?!?!
A lot of stuff about anime came up as well but you were never really into that. It reminded you of those odd kids back in your highschool days. The ones that would wear the odd merch and would read stuff on the bus or in the halls. Definitely not you.
The food confused you too. What would you eat out there? You wouldn’t describe yourself as a picky eater- not by a long shot. You learnt growing up that if you didn’t eat what was in front of you there was no other option. You would eat it to fill you up and hold your breath.
After a few more scrolls you decided to do something risky and search up yourself. There were multiple videos, even audios that were yours or at least referenced you. All American. You were satisfied with your level of fame. You didn’t do it FOR the money (although it was a very nice perk), you did it because you were genuinely passionate. But still… you couldn't help but wonder what international recognition would be like. Would you do those celebrity interviews that you used to watch (and still love so much)? But that’s not why you're going out there. You called your manager a few hours earlier to ask for clarification.
“It would be like a press tour. You build an international fan base alongside the one that’s pretty strong here.”
“How long would she be gone for?” your mother interjects “I trust you always had the best in mind for my daughter but I just don’t understand-“
This was sooo embarrassing. You were 20 for goodness sake. Sure you could sympathise with your mother wanting to keep you safe, but it gets to a point.
“Charlotte,” your mother whispers, assuming that addressing your manager personally would change her mind. “Do you truly think this is the best decision?”
If you were going to move away, you’d need to be more proactive about making your own decisions without your mother swooping in. You could do that. A knock on the door broke you out of your trance. You gently sat up in bed and said “come in!”
Your mother entered the room, a solemn expression on her face.
“I’ll miss you, you know.” The shake in her voice was bittersweet.
“Don’t make me cry just yet, please. At least wait until we get to the airport.” You weren’t a massive crier (most of the time) and yet you felt those salty pools begin to form.
Your mom crosses the room, sitting on the edge of your bed. She doesn’t quite look you in the eye, her expression reeks of emotions, ones your not even confident you could name.
“When I was younger, I wanted the best for myself and my future family. I thought that meant staying loyal to the community we have here and being careful not to branch out too far. To give you steady and calm roots.”
You couldn’t really see where this was going.
“I understand now, that the safe decision is not always the best decision.”
You look up to meet her eyes, shocked at this admission.
“You have the courage I never did. I’m a firm believer that the next generation must always do better than the last. I never had the means or ambitions to do what you do, and I’m just glad that you can find your own path in the world.”
Damn… NOW you were crying.
You weren’t sure how long you embraced, or when you threw your arms out to give a passionate bear hug. If you did have any doubts, they were gone. What is life without bittersweet moments ?
“Do you need me to help you pack, honey?”
“Yes please.”
“You’re going where?!”
The coffee shop smelled of thick ground beans and matcha, filled with bleach blondes with tans and cute crop tops. Not to mention the various fancy acrylic nail designs (yourself included). So fucking typical but the comforting sight of home nonetheless.
“To Japan, girl!”
You were with your closest most bestest friend, Mia, in a cafe close to Santa Monica beach. You didn’t usually bother driving all the way up here, as this location was reserved for special occasions! Like telling your best friend you were moving to a different continent for a few months and this was most likely the last time you’d hang out one on one in person.
“Why are they sending you there?”
You were getting tired of this question. You’ve explained the whole situation, from the meeting with your manager, deciding if you truly wanted to go, telling your mom yadaydayyada.
“This is a lot to take in, and I’m not even the one going!” Mia pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears, her pretty gold hoops jingling as she did. She was such a typical Cali girl. The tan, the blonde, the weekly matchas and sushi every weekend, and oh my god she was beautiful. A classic American beauty that got her into any club and any guy she wanted, with the confidence to match. Her sleek brown eyeliner brought out the hazel in her eyes and her peachy blush glowed against her sun kissed finish.
In terms of aesthetics, you wouldn't say you were opposites but there was a little clash. In terms of makeup, you preferred a more siren-like appearance. A brown smoky eyes with brown lip liner and sharp pink- sometimes even red- blush. You also had more inspiration from 90s/2000s
streetwear whereas Mia preferred modern trends. Differences aside, you were bad bitches in your own right. This is why spending time with Mia was important to you. In the music world, every girl was pretty at least- it was nothing special at all. Being talented certainly wasn't unique- although some of the girls aren’t, no shade! Being with someone who was so close to you and could remind you of why you were special was a privilege you wouldn't change for the world.
“Oh my fucking god, look to your left!”
You whip your head around, in a slight panic, “what? What's wrong?!”
“Shhh!! Not so discreet. Check out that guy by the door. He’s tall, handsome and is definitely looking over here.”
You fight the eye roll, you should've known. You appreciate a sexy guy as much as the next girl, but you weren’t in the mindset for that stuff right now. The crap already on your plate was too daunting. You finally turn your head and-
Oh.
ohhhh.
Mia was definitely not lying.
As soon as you turned you spotted rusty blonde hair and pretty caramel eyes.You couldn’t help but look him up and down a little bit. He was wearing a business suite? Must be an important occasion to wear that in this weather, but oh he pulled it off. His ears were decorated with silver jewelry, giving an edge to his otherwise stoic and put together appearance. You sinfully trail your eyes down him again, although this time, you accidentally make eye contact. Shit.
He smirks at you. A smirk that says this is definitely not the first time a woman has publicly checked him out.
“Do you like him?” Your friend stage whispers in your ear.
“ I think he’s… decent.” You were lying, he was definitely hot stuff.
“You should sleep with him.”
Pause?
Your friend is casually sipping her drink and checking her notification as if she didn’t just say the most out of pocket idea you’ve ever heard.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whines with an eye roll. “Who knows what the boys are gonna be like in Japan! There’s some really cute guys here. You should take advantage of that!” She finishes with a smug look, mentally giving herself a pat on the back for her flawless logic.
You hate to admit it, but she does have a point. It wasn’t unheard of to have a fling. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had one before, although that was when you turned 19. Weird times.
“He’s coming over here!” Mia all but squeals in excitement.
Oh God…
You weren’t feeling yourself as much lately with all this Japan stuff going on. Even before that, your rising stardom was getting equal parts exciting and overwhelming. It would be nice to flirt and just have fun for once-
“Hey,” a suave voice says from behind you. Too late to back out now. You turn around with a bright smile and a hairflick. A safe bet every time.
“Hi there. Can we help you?” nonchalant and sexy. Hell yeah.
“I was wondering if I could help you, you were looking at me like I owed you money.” You suppose you did have a slight resting bitch face… a problem for later.
“Can a girl not appreciate the view?” You reply coyly. The trick with this was to never appear as flustered as you were on the inside. Truth was, you had a glow up a few years ago, and are still trying to navigate how to behave when flirting. Guys were way more tolerant of your bad flirting when you looked like this though, so it wasn’t too much work.
“Confidence, I like that in a girl.” He smirks down at you, clearly proud at how far this conversation is going.
Don’t cringe, don’t cringe, don’t cringe.
“M’names Naoya Zenin, I’m guessing you’ve heard of me?”
You had heard of him, actually.
“Naoya Zenin? Zenin like… the music agency Zenin?”
“That’s the one.”
You and your friend share a look. If you were gonna hook up with someone, you were glad they weren’t a loser.
“Do you work for them or something? Or do you just enjoy the perks of throwing the family name around?” You were finally getting into the swing of things.
“Both actually. My fathers the founder, and I’m going to inherit the empire one day.” He has a smug look on his face, as if his greatness was written in the stars. You couldn’t help but be drawn to that type of confidence. You weren’t silly, you knew he was cocky from this conversation alone, but damn if only you could embody that type of attitude.
You watch as he slips his hands into his pockets and takes out his phone, as if he’s done this a hundred times before.
“I’m guessing you want my number, sweets.”
You weren’t a big fan of that nickname but you’d been called worse.
You reach to take his phone, staring into those pretty eyes whilst you do so. You catch him eyeing your lips and taking in a breath. You purposefully brush his fingers as you take the phone and quickly jott down your number, adding yourself as ‘cute cafe girl’.
The moment breaks as you hand him back the phone and you watch him huff in amusement as he glances at your contact. “You know, the reason I didn’t ask for your name is because I already know it. I hope you didn’t think I was impolite.”
You raise your eyebrow, skepticism written on your face. Skepticism turns into shock as you hear him confidently say your name.
‘You think a prominent music guy like me wouldn’t know your name? That’s silly, honey, of course I know your name. I’m hoping to know a lot more than that as well.” You stare at him a bit, unsure of how to respond. You didn’t like assuming that anyone knew who you were, one, because it’d be embarrassing if they didn’t, and two, because you’d like to remain at least slightly humble. Now that you think of it, of course a guy like him would know your name. You wonder what he thought of your first album, of your PR team and your overall aesthetic, if he even thought about those things. Of course he did, though. He’s involved with one of the most powerful labels in California!
“Don’t look too starstruck,” He gently chastises, “I should be the one making that face.”
You giggle a little, “I suppose you’re right.”
You got this tingling feeling in your chest when you spoke to him. Not only was he hot, but he understood things about your world that no one else would. You love Mia to death, but you know she didn’t understand fully why you were moving away. This was someone you could talk strategy with, unwind with and find a way to merge business and pleasure.
You were getting ahead of yourself. A five minute interaction couldn’t determine all this, but you’d be lying if you said your hopes weren’t up.
Naoya makes a big show of checking his watch before saying “It’s been nice chatting to you, but business waits for no man, talk later sweetheart.” He gives you a wink before walking out the cafe with his head held high and immaculate posture.
You turn back to Mia, face blank before the both of you let out a high pitched cackle.
———————————————————————
2 Weeks later, you sat outside the airport in a taxi and months worth of supplies were already in the process of being shipped out to Japan. The only things still in LA being yourself and a couple suitcases filled with your most precious clothes and holy grail makeup products. The taxi pulled to a stop a couple minutes ago but you desperately needed time to pull yourself together. You didn’t think you were a particularly emotional person, but you weren't exactly a stoic badass either. Your mother sits next to you, holding your hand whilst you try to practice breathing in and out. You were a homebody through and through, someone who never left the country expected to uproot their whole life.
“It’s okay sweetie, I’ll visit in exactly 2 months, and we’ll talk on the phone everyday.”
You squeeze her hand, desperate for the type of comfort only your mother could provide. In the 2 weeks leading up to this moment, details had been finalized. You’d be out there for 5 months and travel to wherever else you needed to be during that time.
You allow yourself another moment, steadying yourself. You were too well known to have massive displays of emotion in public, but not well known enough for your behavior to be excused.
You and your mother slowly emerge from the taxi, a bodyguard (dramatic much), stepping out as well, as indifferent and professional as ever. Your phone pings and you already know it's Mia wishing you a safe journey. You arranged her first visit with you whilst you were at the cafe, desperate to give yourself a touch of home you could look forward to. Unfortunately, that was in a couple months, and you'd have to settle for facetimes. Also, if she showed up here and now you probably wouldn't wanna leave, so it’s imperative you do this as independently as possible so that you actually get on the plane.
Walking through the airport was a blur. TSA, security blah blah blah. You would’ve loved to take in the surroundings more, but there was too much going on in your head. Staff tried to engage you in conversation somewhere throughout the process but you weren't fully with it.
After getting through all the boring stuff, you were finally at a KFC- the perfect place for stress eating. Your mother sat across from you, making conversation with the body guard. It made you laugh to watch your two worlds interact in such a way. It was almost kinda peaceful. At least it was before you were recognised…
“Oh my god is it you? May I please have a picture?”
“AH, my friend is a huge fan, can you please sign this?”
“Excuse me will you-”
“Your last album was crap!”
You whip your head round at that one. Who said that?
You scowl but sign whatever is pushed into your face by your more adoring fans. As people begin to crowd even more, your mood picks up a little. These people genuinely like you. They take time to listen to what you put out and technically paid for the burger you devoured in record time. They also (literally and figuratively) overcrowd the negative opinions. You smile and reflect, remembering to be grateful despite your own internal battles. Moved by the moment you were experiencing, you blurted “Would you guys be interested in a burlesque inspired album?”
They immediately perked up with interest, which you supposed they were already doing, and erupted in loud cheers. Someone was taking a video- this will surely be on twitter. Oh shit, were you allowed to semi-announce new music without consulting everyone about it? No biggie, they’ll survive. Charlotte would be absolutely furious, but that was her problem. You were allowed some spontaneity, after all.
Your body guard began leading you and your mother away, just as the crowd was beginning to multiply again. Perfect timing, as it was boarding time.
—————————————————————————
It was uncomfortably quiet in the first class lounge. Mostly because it was filled with old people. You weren't all that popular with the old folk, so they didn’t bombard you for pictures. You did catch a few stares though, but that was probably due to your clothing. You were wearing deep blue baggy jeans, a cute grey top which showed a bit of cleavage, and a black denim jacket. Not to mention the very noticeable amounts of jewelry. Comfortable, yet pretty enough to not get flamed on twitter should anyone take your picture.
Your mother was enjoying your complementary champagne and bread rolls, the site making you smile. Watching others experience luxury because of how successful you were was an odd yet rewarding experience. You spent the last 30 minutes talking about everything and nothing. Mia’s brand deal, your new favorite colour, the guy you met the other day in the cafe…
That reminds you, actually. You guys were speaking- and only speaking despite Mia's uncouth suggestion- and he was a good guy from what it seems. His ego was a bit much to deal with at times but nobody was perfect. The last time you spoke, he wished you good luck for today. You don't know how long you’d keep speaking to him, given current events and all, but a guy was a nice distraction from your hectic life.
After your mother walked you up to the gate, she gave you one last hug which you happily accepted. You had to admit you were tired of being so dreary about what you knew was a great opportunity, so you squeezed one last time and turned your back, walking onto the plane. Your body guard followed closely, and you picked up the pace slightly to avoid hearing your mother weep- that would break you completely.
You took your comfy seat in first class and let out a sigh. As the crew prepared for take off, you felt a fluttering in your chest that you recognised. A happy, childlike feeling that you lacked the past couple weeks.
In 11 hours you’d be in a new country, on a whole new continent. And for the first time, you were genuinely excited about it.
End note: The fire alarm went off when I was in flow state. I’m ignoring it but it's getting more jarring by the second and I can hear people evacuating. Whoever set off the damn alarm at 23:00 count your days.
pale visitor!sukuna x survivor!reader
'no, i'm not a human' AU
☣︎ part 1 ⟶ part 2
SYNOPSIS: Stay inside. Lock your doors. Close your blinds. Only let humans in and eliminate all visitors. When the apocalypse happened, the rules seemed simple- but as the nights tick by, you find yourself scrambling to survive. And every time you turn him away, you're left questioning how much you really know about yourself and this new world.
WARNINGS: dead dove- post-apocalyptic au, descriptions of death & violence, blood, guns, unreliable narrator, somewhat follows the gameplay/dialogue of no, i'm not a human, strong language, extreme guilt/shame, emotional conflict, emotional manipulation, depression, anxiety & paranoia, strangers/enemies to lovers, eventual smut -> dub-con, true-form sukuna; more tags to be added
A/N: art creds @/decay_int on insta & x, other images from NINAH gameplay.
You hardly believed it when your neighbor came by, rambling on about how "something was coming."
He couldn't provide many more details than that, just eerie warnings about the sun exploding and 'visitors' crawling up and out of the ground. You dismissed it as the paranoid delusions of a survivalist who'd done nothing but think about the apocalypse for years. You always thought he was a bit odd, but as far as neighbors go, he was far from the worst.
So you listened. You let him go on and on about his theories and everything he'd heard from his friends, his cousins, anyone he could get to talk to him about it. You nodded along, gave an "ooh" and an "aah" every couple of lines to show that you were paying attention.
He offered advice that you thought you'd never seriously need, but he insisted you internalize it. Advice on how to survive in whatever would become of the world, how to keep yourself not just alive but human, in a time when those around you might be anything but.
TV and radio are good for the news— but neither is better than the information you can collect with your own two eyes. Stock up on food and keep important phone numbers on hand. Rest when you can because preserving energy is crucial, and you never know when you'll find yourself needing it. Lastly, it's good to be skeptical, but be careful toeing the line between skepticism and paranoia. Your neighbor urged, implored even, that you don't let yourself succumb to your inevitable spiraling thoughts.
It may feel like isolating yourself is the best move. After all, most think that you won't get harmed, betrayed, killed, if you're alone. But having company may just be the one thing that saves you.
When you crawled into bed after his visit, you laughed to yourself about how serious he was, about how improbable an apocalypse was. You were tucked under the covers, blissfully unaware that it was both the last time you'd get a full night's rest and the last time that you'd see the sun.
But you had to hand it to your neighbor— he knew his shit. He didn't let anyone's judgment or mockery sway him, and when you turned on the news the next morning, you felt a whole lot more grateful to know him.
He was right about everything.
Reporters on every channel were covering the same story. News outlets not just in your city, state, country, but all around the whole world, were providing everyone with the same information.
Scientists recorded a massive solar flare, larger than anything that could have been predicted, and the cause was unknown. But as a result, it was no longer possible to go outside during the day. Global temperatures reaching a record high and still rising, they advised everyone to not only stay indoors during the day, but to keep the curtains shut, or even better, board up their windows.
Because the sun and the heat weren't the only things that were threatening to creep into your home. Reports of human-like creatures crawling out from the dirt spread like wildfire.
It was a little unbelievable just how accurate your neighbor had been with his intel, but you hardly had room to complain. You were able to keep your panic at bay knowing that you were at least somewhat mentally prepared for all of this.
You moved quickly, using whatever you could to cover the windows and barricade the doors until your house was shrouded in darkness, eerily silent. You'd repeat your neighbor's words in your mind, over and over, they served as a distraction when you felt the claws of anxiety starting to dig into you.
You clung tight to the counsel he offered you before everything went to shit, treating his word as gospel. Well, most of it.
You were still alone.
The first few days, your mind was only able to focus on the present, taking things one step at a time lest you collapse into a depression. You'd lost the daylight, the inexplicable catastrophe creating a world where you had to hide inside while the sun shone, careful not to catch a glimpse past your curtains.
It was difficult, your daily routine not just being flipped upside down, but disintegrating completely. You wandered aimlessly up and down your hall, fighting the urge to look out the windows during the day.
No one alive really knew what it was like outside from the hours of 7:00 am to 7:00 pm. Anyone foolish enough to chance a look, or worse yet, leave their house, was left with their eyes scarred and blind, their beings reduced to ash. You could only speculate that they were met with a blazing white heat, too bright for our sensitive human eyes, too hot for our soft flesh.
So you resisted the urge and just plopped yourself down on the couch instead, letting your thoughts run wild. You thought about how in just a day, Earth was flipped on its axis.
Around the world, lives were taken, and if not, they were left in ruins. Money no longer meant anything, nor did the previously commonplace rules of society.
You thought about the stories of families turning on one another, with shoddy alliances being formed instead. Relationships were held together by mere necessity, and once someone outlived their usefulness, you couldn't predict what would become of them.
But you also thought about how, in a way, you were lucky.
You lived alone in the countryside, just outside the city, which meant that when things were in chaos miles away, it remained relatively quiet for you. You had time to prepare. Barricading the doors and windows, ensuring your backup generator was working properly, and stocking up on food and water.
Others were left scrambling, trying to create a place for themselves in this new era even though the last one was already much too crowded for them. You heard it all on the news— bodies turning up at alarming rates, friends attacking one another out of desperation, suspicion, individuals finding themselves homeless after their apartments became a cesspool of bloodshed.
And you knew they weren't exaggerating. Not when you started getting knocks on your door in the middle of the night— the only time that humans and those alike could move freely anymore.
You were too scared at first to let them in. Keeping the door blocked and shouting through the worn wood that they ought to move on to the next house if they knew what was best for them.
But your neighbors words would ring out through your mind each time you turned someone away. You couldn't completely ignore the urgency in his voice when he told you not to stay home alone.
You were never one who particularly enjoyed keeping company, and you much less enjoyed it during the apocalypse when everyone seemed to be losing their senses. Not to mention the fact that any one of them could be a visitor, and it would be up to you to figure out who. So days went by and you remained by yourself, your house empty and quiet.
It was foolish to think that you'd be able to ride out this catastrophe all on your own.
You see that now.
This morning, you'd woken up and crawled out of bed like every other time, getting ready to survive another pointless night. Sometimes, you found yourself wondering why you kept trying so hard, why you felt a life like this was even worth it.
But truthfully, you just hope that things will get better. You know the government is still active, some jobs are still being done. So, you hold out hope that eventually society will rebuild itself at some point during your lifetime.
You'd trudged down the hallway as you always did, towards the kitchen for breakfast— if it could even be called that at 8:00 pm. You'd checked the windows, a new habit, pulling the curtains aside to peer out through the dusty glass with your own two eyes.
Your fingers gripped the moth-eaten fabric, tugging gently to expose the view to your tired eyes. You expected the same scene as always. The drooping, scorched skeleton of what was once a fruitful wheat field and a beaten-down path leading off towards the city.
Much like your home, the scene was always empty, always quiet.
The view outside your house causes you to still, your body rigid and muscles tense while you let out a shaky breath. Silently, you urge yourself to shut the curtains and replace the wooden planks you'd just taken off the other day, to push the couch across the front door again. You tell yourself to just move.
But you can't. Frozen, you remain glued to your spot, eyes locked on the figure standing just a few meters from your window.
He's tall, unnaturally so, and broad. He's clearly strong in a way that makes you question whether wooden planks would even be sufficient protection should he wish to enter your home.
Intricate black tattoos decorate his pale skin. But those aren't even the most eye-catching things about him. You can see them from where you stand— the deformities. Four muscular arms protrude from his torso and there's a hardened mask that covers half of his face. His skin rippling oddly, like it doesn't fit him properly, you can see that little about him is human.
From where you are, you can tell he's staring right at you. The weight of his gaze sends shivers running down your spine, bringing goosebumps to your skin because you can feel it boring into you.
You no longer want to be alone.
With trembling hands you draw the curtain shut and turn until your back is against the wall, legs buckling as you slide down to the floor.
Knees pulled into your chest, your forehead rests upon them, your back rising and falling rapidly with each too-small breath that you take. Not enough air is filling your lungs as an overwhelming feeling of dread courses through your veins, being pumped to each and every part of your body and leaving your chest tight.
You don't want to check if he's still there. You think you know the answer anyways.
You're not sure how much time passes while you're there, sitting on the dusty hardwood with your face tucked away. But you don't move until the trembling subsides, until there's oxygen flowing into your lungs once more and you can finally think straight.
Only then do you rise to your feet, smoothing down your pants as you take one more steadying breath. Because hiding away and panicking on the floor will do nothing to help you, that much you're sure of.
It's unclear what exactly he wants. He's obviously different from the visitors that have been mentioned on the news which were described as creatures that looked and acted just like humans.
The most rational assumption is that he wants to kill you, of course, but then you're not sure why he didn't. Instead he just stood there, waiting and watching without moving a limb.
Ultimately, you suppose it doesn't matter. For whatever reason, he's still outside and you're still inside— alive. And you know now that it's time to follow that last piece of advice that you've been ignoring.
As if on cue, the knocking comes.
Three short raps on the door. Once irritating, the sound now comes with a wave of relief as you move to look through the peep hole.
You let them in that night, two of the three people who found themselves on your front porch. You talked to them as much as you could through the door, tried to vet them as visitors and see if their stories were suspicious or inconsistent— but there was only so much you could do without first letting them in.
Tomorrow, you'd have to test them for signs of being a visitor. There was information on the TV about some things you can do to check if someone's a visitor, but to be honest, you were skeptical about them.
On the first report, they had talked about 'perfect white teeth' being a sign, but their theory had only been corroborated by one story before they were broadcasting it all over the news. You're no scientist, but the confidence with which they were spreading this information had you very skeptical.
Not to mention, what if someone had just been to the dentist? What if they had really white veneers? Or used a lot of whitening strips before the whole world fell apart?
The other signs weren't solid either.
Red eyes? They claimed that visitors were more sensitive to the sunlight, which may be true, but aren't humans sensitive enough? And as if everyone hasn't been crying, wired off energy drinks, or high out of their minds lately.
Dirt under the fingernails? That was supposed to tell you if they'd recently climbed up out of the ground, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes and scoff at the TV when they said that. If a visitor crawled out of the ground, then all they'd have to do to cover their tracks was find a working sink and get to scrubbing. Also, it's the apocalypse. Chances are pretty fucking high that there's regular humans out there that haven't been able to keep up with their hygiene and have dirty hands because of it.
You sigh, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to ease the throbbing between your eyes. Aside from the death and destruction that only seemed to worsen with each passing day, you were starting to find the most stressful thing about this whole catastrophe to be the uncertainty.
Each day it felt like you had more information forced down your throat, and with each addition you were left feeling like you knew less than before. Everything was said with utter conviction, despite the fact that it never made that much sense— sometimes completely contradicting something you'd heard another day.
It's exhausting, feeling like you're stuck in limbo, trapped in some middle ground where you're fighting to find any sort of footing.
And the worst of it was FEMA. The new Federal Emergency Management Agency.
They're the ones peddling all these theories about visitors, always urging viewers to "help their cause," though you have a feeling they don't even know what that cause is.
They talk about how they're conducting research on visitors. And despite the fact that they go door to door abducting people from homes to "experiment," you feel like they've collected no concrete evidence. But of course, they act like they have.
They claim they're eliminating visitors, using those "signs" to identify them— as if those really mean anything— when you know the truth. You heard it from your neighbor, the way FEMA has started rounding up whoever they can, dragging them out to the country and just shooting. Unloading clip after clip into the crowd until everyone's laid out on the ground, lifeless or almost there, their bodies resting until the sun takes what's left of them.
That doesn't quite seem like something one would do if they had a way to pick out the imposters.
This whole epidemic shows no signs of stopping, and quite frankly you'd rather that they just be honest about the gravity of the situation. Instead, they're still pretending that they have shit under control when it's clear that they don't.
The pounding in your head only gets worse with each uncontrollable thought. Still, you hope you're at least able to get a couple hours of sleep before the sun rises as you climb into bed, ready for a night of tossing and turning.
At least your guests were quiet. Without the energy to test them tonight, you let them take up residence in different rooms in the house before locking yourself in your bedroom— you can only hope everyone is still alive when you wake up in the morning.
The house stands still, you can hear the wind whistling outside, an owl somewhere in the distance.
And the next morning, you receive the first piece of information since the cataclysm that feels certain. The bug-eyed reporter's confirmation of a gut feeling that you haven't been able to shake since you let the curtain fall last night.
"…if you see this man, do not open your door. Do not tell him that you are alone."
He's there, on the TV screen.
The man they're calling the "pale maniac." A shoddy police sketch version of him, sure, but it's all there. The piercing stare, disfigured face and ornate tattoos, more limbs than what's normal— a graphite representation of eye witness testimonies.
Sukuna:
It's all a giant, steaming pile of bullshit. That was Sukuna's first thought when he saw the news report alleging that there was a solar flare and people were crawling out from the ground.
That's what news reporters did, they hyped up things to be more exciting than they really were, because otherwise no one would care to watch. So surely, this whole fiasco was being blown out of proportion. He was certain that he'd go to sleep, wake up the next day and see people still able to go about their daily lives.
He's never been more wrong in his life.
Sukuna doesn't even make it until the morning, woken up in the middle of the night by the screaming. A raucous, piercing sound spilling through his too-thin walls from the apartment beside him. Curious as he is, he doesn't move, doesn't make for the door to see what's going on or if everyone's alright.
Would another person check in on their neighbors if they heard what he did? Probably. But Sukuna isn't that kind of person.
He's never been the neighborly type. He keeps to his own— goes to work, the gym, back home, repeat. In all honesty, Sukuna thinks if he shows up next door, whoever is there might end up even more scared. He knows he doesn't have the most approachable appearance, and judging by the old types he's seen around the building, they'd probably shit their pants if someone like him just popped up in their doorway.
So he stays put. With his eyes shut and ears straining, he's able to pick up on a few words here and there underneath all the shouting.
…dead now…
…had to…
…visitor…
His brain is working overdrive to piece together the rest of the puzzle— though his gut is already telling him the situation.
Either the news is true and there was one of these "visitors" next door, or these reports have gotten everyone jumpy and paranoid, leading to an accidental death.
Sukuna wonders if this has happened anywhere else. Surely, it has. And considering that it's been less than 12 hours since the first report aired, he can only imagine how much worse things are going to get if this situation doesn't slow down.
He supposes that even if the news are exaggerating, it might still be best to lock himself inside his apartment for a while. Slinking to the kitchen, Sukuna opens the fridge and pantry to take stock of his food situation— he can afford to stay home for a few days at least, before he'll have to get some more groceries.
Perhaps by then things will have settled down.
Sukuna tries to reason with himself, tries to get the rest of his body to believe his brain when it says that everything is going to be fine. But the muffled sobbing that's replaced the screaming, coupled with the ringing in his ears and the shaking in his hands betray him.
They betray the fact that, ultimately, he can't ignore the feeling that this is just the beginning.
Sukuna doesn't sleep the rest of the night. Just sits alone in his apartment with the lights low, the TV playing in the background with endless news reports on the global crisis. He's tried to call people— Choso, Yuuji, Toji, even Satoru— but he hasn't heard back from anyone.
Before too long he's ripped from his worrying thoughts by incessant knocking on his door.
He tries to ignore it, thinking that whoever it is might just go away. But when it becomes clear that they plan on sticking around until he answers, Sukuna sighs, stretching as he stands before making his way to the front and peering through the peep hole.
It's an elderly couple, their eyes darting around, huddled close to one another.
"The fuck you guys want?" Sukuna barks through the door, trying to ignore the slight pang in his chest when he sees the woman flinch at his harsh tone. But a slight pang is all it is.
Maybe he should feel worse, be a little more compassionate— but he's having a hard time finding it in himself to care about that right now. With all the shit he's seen on the news as the night trudged on and the chaos he can hear from the streets below his window, Sukuna's certain that it can't hurt to be a bit more jaded.
Plus, he's seen enough zombie movies to know how things end when you're too trusting during the apocalypse, and this is starting to feel like an apocalypse.
Satoru was always pushing those films on them. Sukuna remembers the way his eyes would light up at any mention of zombies or anything of the sort, always looking for an excuse to talk about his hyper-fixation. The white-haired man had some sort of affinity toward the topic. Not exactly in the way that preppers did— Sukuna was almost certain that Satoru had no real plans for how to deal with a disaster like this— he just loved to talk about different theories he had, usually theories that he came up with after watching another movie.
Sukuna wonders where Satoru is right now. Thoughts drifting from the couple on the other side of the door as he holds his phone out once more, a frown tugging at his lips at the sight of the empty screen. He's sent so many texts already, to the whole group. Some delivered, some didn't. Though he supposes that just because a text was delivered, that doesn't mean someone will actually see it.
"Please sir, we've got no where else to go." The old woman's voice is small through the door, weariness laced in her tone as she pleads with Sukuna one last time. "We'll only stay a couple days, then we'll be out of your hair. We're just tired and need a place to sleep."
He has to say no. Or he thinks he does. Too scared to say yes but even more scared to admit to himself that he really doesn't know what to do. Stuck in a world he hadn't believed possible and faced with dilemmas he'd only heard of in fiction, the current situation is leaving his mind racing and his back sweating.
And even with all the unexpected circumstances, still, the least predictable thing must be how much he wishes he could talk to Satoru. Now that, was something Sukuna never thought he'd experience.
But he seriously can't help but wonder, when he's left feeling conflicted and lost, if that stupid friend of his might have some sort of guidance to offer— probably baseless guidance, pulled from old movies with bad acting— but guidance nonetheless.
Instead, Sukuna is left with nothing but his own judgment when he makes the decision to turn his visitors away.
And as the hours tick by, they trickle into days spent locked away inside his apartment. Thankfully, delivery services are still running— if Sukuna had to go to the grocery store at a time like this to get food he'd probably just starve to death.
The elderly couple never completely left his mind. Sukuna still found himself thinking about them when the news ended and his apartment was drowning in silence. The lights low and the air chilled, he sits on his couch nursing a drink— one of the only good things left— and recalling their faces as he turned them away.
With a light shake of his head and another swig of the amber liquor in his glass, Sukuna pushes the memory from his mind. No use dwelling on what's been done.
Sukuna rummages through his pocket for his phone. The notifications are empty. He was half looking for any missed texts, and half looking to track his delivery order, an old habit he hasn't been able to shake.
There's no delivery tracking anymore. Such a simple thing that you don't realize you'll miss until it's gone. Sukuna had to call the delivery service directly and tell them what he wanted, and they just replied with a an estimate of when someone might come by and hung up the phone.
It leaves Sukuna feeling antsy, his leg bouncing with repressed energy as he waits for his food to arrive with no knowledge of how long that'll even take.
So when that knock finally comes, he's acting on impulse. Nearly jumping to his feet and heading straight for the door, Sukuna only reins himself in at the last second to quickly look through the peephole— an action that's become commonplace, necessary even.
He's expecting some weary delivery man on the other side, standing on his odl welcome mat with a large bag on his back and an order in his hand. But there's no face. No tired eyes and dark circles, just the yellow plastic and rubber of a hazmat suit.
Shit.
Sukuna knows what this means. He knows who is at his door. Even though he hasn't left the house since the solar flare, he's watched TV and listened to the radio. He's heard the whispers from down the hall and the conversations through his bedroom wall.
FEMA.
At first, he tries to ignore them. Stupidly pretending that no one's home even though everyone is home right now. The only people that aren't are those that are dead or had to relocate— and after the fifth knock something tells Sukuna that FEMA knows exactly who is where.
Relenting, he reaches for the doorknob. Fingers wrapping around the cool metal as he cracks the door open an inch and peeks his head out.
"Good evening, I'm from FEMA." The man's voice is low and muffled through the suit, but its commanding nature shines through. "We're making our rounds in this neighborhood, there's been a mandatory evacuation notice."
Sukuna's brows knit together, confusion morphing into his features. Since when was there an evacuation notice? "I never heard anything about that."
"Don't worry. It's for a routine assessment, but you'll be informed when you're able to return to your residence in the future."
There's hesitation in Sukuna's reply, born from the vagueness in the masked man's reply. "What assessment? Never heard shit about that either."
"That's really none of your business," the agent snaps. His tone curt and irritated, a sense of unease begins to settle within Sukuna, a feeling that only grows stronger with the longer he looks at the man at his door. Hidden from view by his uniform, there's really nothing that gives any indication of who he really is. "Just pack what you need and come with me."
Sukuna inhales deeply, trying to undo the knot forming in his chest. "Is everyone evacuating?"
There's never an answer to that question, the FEMA agent choosing to instead respond by barking at Sukuna to go pack a bag and prepare to evacuate, lest he continue to impede their work.
Sukuna moves swiftly through his apartment. Phone, phone charger, t-shirt, food, boxers, toothbrush. He grabs whatever he can fit into his backpack before finally heading back to the front door.
The FEMA agent still awaits him in the doorway, stoic and silent before turning, wordlessly commanding Sukuna to follow.
It's surreal— the entire situation.
Packing whatever he can of his life into a single bag before leaving his home with no one but a mysterious man whose face he hasn't even seen.
The only reassurance comes when Sukuna makes it to the street outside his building and sees some of his neighbors there too. They seem to be in a similar state as him. A little frazzled, but primarily worried as they clutch a fraction of their belongings and look to one another for guidance.
They shuffle in place, sweat beading on their foreheads from the heat despite the sun long having set. They wait for instructions from the hazmat suits and Sukuna stands in silence, his mind racing with endless questions as he glances at his phone once more.
He's not expecting to see anything new, but his lasts texts delivered at least.
And it's not much at all but it's something. It's a sign that at least his friends' phones are still on, still connected to a cell tower somewhere that's providing enough data to at least receive a message. Now he just has to hope and pray that he gets a response.
Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Sukuna looks up once more at the crowd around him. His neighbors, their friends and family, they surround one another with chatter, conspiracies and questions sprouting from their conversations and Sukuna can't help but eavesdrop, his own unspoken questions starting to rise.
"I heard they're relocating us to another neighborhood."
What's wrong with ours?
"Yeah, there's another building across town that has space for us."
Where did that space suddenly come from?
"I heard they're building houses in the country for the city folk to stay in."
And how the hell would they get a bunch of houses built so quickly in a time like this?
"No, that's not it— they said people have been staying in houses in the country because of all the chaos in this cities."
Now that is plausible. Intuition tugging at the corner of his mind, Sukuna can't help but feel like that piece of information will become useful eventually, his thoughts drifting back to his friends.
It's not like the countryside has ever been known for having lightning fast cell service.
He's brought back down to reality when the constant buzz around him dies down. Words that were on their way out are sucked back in and saved for another time, another conversation, when the men wearing yellow approach the crowd.
If Sukuna's ears could perk up, they would right now. Straining to focus on the muffled voice coming from in front of him as he awaits what are sure to be instructions on where to go—
"The sun will be rising in roughly six hours. To improve your chances of finding a place to shelter during the day, we suggest you disperse now."
That's it?
The uproar is immediate. Every individual, man and woman, old and young alike erupt into shouting— and rightfully so. These agents went door to door, telling residents that they had to leave behind everything they owned, everything they knew, at the drop of a hat, and they had no plan for what to do afterwards?
No shelter set aside for the evicted. No food, no water, no transportation.
Not even a measly suggestion of where to start looking.
These guys were fucking ridiculous.
And as fucked up as it all was, the most fucked up part was the fact that there was no use even arguing at this point. Any time and breath spent yelling at those responsible would be wasted when it could be used to begin searching for a place to stay— and those who didn't find one would become nothing more than melted flesh and scorched bones atop a bed of dirt.
With that, Sukuna turns his back on the individuals he shared a residence with for the last couple years of his life, and he retreats. His stomach flipping with unease, his gaze rests upon the expanse of land that stretches out before him and he reminds himself that he has no other option.
Hours that feel like days trudge by, slower than the dragging of Sukuna's feet along the unpaved road he's been following aimlessly. He has yet to find a house, an shed, a trailer, that's willing to take him in.
His tongue sits heavy and dry in his mouth, leaving a sour taste as he pants softly, the exertion beginning to catch up to him. He can't even imagine what this would be like for the others.
He's always been on top of his physique, eating healthy, working out regularly. And he knows that not everyone shares the same level of discipline as him— not everyone can. Like people with disabilities, people that are sick, or maybe too busy, or just too old.
Sukuna's mind wanders to the elderly couple that had stopped by his door. Shaking his head, he tries to push the image of their faces from his mind, swallowing thickly.
His throat is scratchy from inhaling the dry dust around him.
It was never this dry where he lived but he supposes this is what happens when the earth practically gets air fried. Water sources start to dry, moisture gets sucked out of the ground and leaves the air stale and the land a desert. Humanity is living in a place that's quickly becoming incapable of sustaining the life it once did.
Fuck, this is depressing.
Sukuna's pulled from his thoughts when he see the tell-tale glimmer of a porch light in the distance, just barely blocked by some trees at the entrance of a sparse forest.
His destination.
Turning on autopilot, he re-routes his path to head toward the home, silently praying for entry. It's worn down, the paint peeling off the walls and the windows dirty as he approaches the house. Wooden planks creak beneath his heavy feet, tired with age, they fight to support his weight as he raises a fist to the door and knocks.
Once. Twice. Three times and then he waits.
There's some shuffling just behind the door before a gruff voice calls out, "what do ya want?" His accent is thick, southern, and his tone is skeptical. There isn't a peep hole on the door but one look to the side and Sukuna sees a curtain fluttering closed.
"Just tryin' to find a place to sleep," Sukuna replies, voice loud in an effort to be heard clearly through the barrier. "Sun's gonna be up soon."
"I know that, boy. You ain't gonna find what you're lookin' for here."
Sukuna tries to put on his best face, whatever that might be, before he responds. "There's no room for me in there?" He knows he's not the most conventional looking man. Riddled with tattoos and piercings, pink hair, not to mention his size. He got used to the stares a long time ago— but he knows some people never got used to him.
Usually older folk, those who have more traditional views on what a man his age ought to look like.
When he'd seen there was no peep hole on the door he was relieved. But that relief was quickly swept away when Sukuna realized that the owner of the home had been eyeing him already through a window near the entrance.
He sighs, long and tired as a hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Look, I've been walkin' for hours and I just need a place to hole up for a day. I'll leave right after, I swear."
And he really means it. Sure, it would be a pain in the ass to set out on foot once more to find another place to stay, but he also wasn't going to force anyone to let him hang around where he wasn't wanted. So, one day— that's all he's asking for.
But even that he can't get. The old man in the home is firm on his decision, his voice unwavering each time that he tells Sukuna to get off his porch. Until finally, he stopped replying and Sukuna got nothing but silence from him. The man had ceased to continue even listening to Sukuna as he pleaded for shelter.
With the disappointment comes exhaustion. Sukuna's last ounce of hope begins to die out, leaving him all too aware of the way his body aches. His skin is sticky with sweat and dusted in a layer of dirt, his muscles straining and joints stiff as he starts walking again. Step after step, he drags himself forward despite having no real direction.
He's going to die out here.
That's the one thought he can't escape now. The gravity of his situation hits him like a semi-truck as he sees the color of the sky changing. No longer a deep black speckled with white, he can see it morphing, lightening as a deep blue hue begins to creep in.
He's going to die out here and fuck, it's going to hurt.
Being burned alive is quite possibly the last way he thought he'd go out.
With a sharp exhale and a groan, Sukuna decides he's done walking. It's getting hotter, his feet are throbbing in his sneakers, and he simply cannot find it in himself to keep going as dawn draws nearer.
Shrugging off his backpack he lets it fall to the ground with a thud before slinking down and settling under a tree. Obviously he's not expecting the shade to do much, but it's nice to have a place to rest, his head falling back against the trunk.
Crimson eyes drift along the horizon as they search for the East. That one spot where the blue above him will soon begin to be replaced with violet and tinges of orange and pink.
It's odd, how he seems to have skipped the 'panic' phase that he always assumed people go through when they realize they've met their end. Instead, he's only been met with an initial wave of dread, and then disappointment.
Disappointment that he will die under a scraggly tree in the middle of nowhere, all alone during the god damn apocalypse. He's not even getting killed by a zombie, 'visitor', whatever.
Talk about lame.
Chest rising and falling deeply, Sukuna's breathing slows with acceptance as his eyes flutter shut. Things really come full circle— he supposes this is his karma. In another universe, perhaps he would have opened his door, welcomed those in need into his home with open arms, and maybe that would have saved him.
Snap!
Sukuna's eyes fly open. They scan the scene around him, rolling slowly over the landscape as a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
He can feel it.
A presence he hadn't even noticed before. Now overwhelming, Sukuna is pinned in place by the mere awareness of his proximity to whatever is there. The energy radiating from It burns into his side, leaving his hair standing on end, goosebumps littering his skin.
Where did it come from?
How had he not sensed it earlier?
The air is barely reaching his lungs as Sukuna twists his neck, head slowly turning to the side, finally moving to look at what he knows is right beside him. And nothing he has seen before, nothing he could even imagine, comes close to what awaited his gaze.
With no face, no legs, It drags itself forward on two arms.
It's body is pitch black, lacking any definition that comes from shadows and highlights, and yet there is more to It. The essence of what lies beside Sukuna is something to be understood, rather than to be seen— and now Sukuna is much less certain that the sun will be what causes his demise.
His legs are made of lead as he tries to stand or simply back away. A wave of nausea courses through his stomach as he feels the bile rising in his throat which he fights to swallow back down— he's already dehydrated enough.
A silly thing to care about in this moment, but his thoughts are scrambled. He's unable to focus his thoughts as his body finally registers the panic that it seemed to bypass earlier, and all that is rational becomes secondary.
A limb reaches forward, outstretched in Sukuna's direction before landing roughly on the ground a few feet away. Digging into the dirt, the creature pulls itself forward, inch by inch. The putrid smell of burnt flesh fills Sukuna's nose, causing him to gag. He's smelled it before, when he stupidly opened his window on one of the first nights after the cataclysm.
It's a scent he'd never forget.
Sukuna opens his mouth to make a sound, maybe to scream, to cry for help or beg for whatever is approaching him to turn around. But when the hot air hits the back of his throat, any words die in the dry heat as nothing but a small cry escapes him.
Each expansion of his chest is too shallow and his heart is beating too fast as he finally scrambles backwards. Shuffling in the dirt and kicking up dust as he fruitlessly tries to get away.
Thinking back, he's certain he's never felt this way before.
Memory after memory plays in Sukuna's mind, only reminding him that he's lived a comfortable life, one where he's always been bigger than most people, stronger. He'd walk alone at night and sleep with the door unlocked sometimes. He'd watch horror movies alone in the dark and not once would his heart rate increase in the slightest.
And here he is— probably about to have a fucking heart attack with the way the poor organ is hammering in his chest.
An incessant ringing in his ears makes him clutch his head in his hands, eyes squeezing shut and even with them closed he can see It. In his mind the image is clearer, something he can't escape even if he were to claw his own eyes out, and with each passing second he fears he might.
The longer that Sukuna is stuck in this being's presence, the more he finds himself praying for death to visit him.
His hands feel numb, tingling slightly as the oxygen in his body is cut off from them, rerouted to more important parts of his body— the ones fighting pointlessly to help him survive.
Tears that were forming in his waterline begin to fall, little streaks appearing in the layer of dirt on his skin. Then, Sukuna's blurry vision speckles, a grainy film settling over the scene before him as black begins to seep in from the corners of his periphery.
Has It already started to kill him?
Or is this an affect of the sun beginning to rise?
Maybe his body has started to shut down from the rising temperature. Is this what a heat stroke is like?
It's difficult to think.
Each thought dissipates as quickly as it forms because Sukuna can't focus on anything but the shuddering in his chest as he struggles to take in another breath.
He can feel the water on his cheeks and taste the salt on his cracked lips but his vision is black when he slumps forward. With his head between his knees, Sukuna collapses to the side, a cloud of dust kicking up around his limp body.
likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡
A/N: yay finally starting this series :p again ty for the patience on this! i really don't want to rush it, and i might even end up writing 5 parts instead of 4. anyways i hope yall enjoyed, would love to hear your thoughts (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
After a futile attempt from your family to marry you off to Ryomen Sukuna, you bide your time by restoring the manor. As you do so, your relationship with your husband blossoms in a way you never thought was possible.
❃ Word Count: 14k
❃ Content: Heian Era. Plus-sized Reader. Mentions of cannibalism. Canon-typical violence. Fluff. Sukuna basically can't leave Reader alone. Forced marriage to lovers. Smut. Oral sex, vaginal and anal. P in V.
❃ A/N: Slowly contributing to Sukuna being with plus-sized Readers. Please enjoy!
Your family should rot in hell.
Suffer agonizing, painful deaths for an eternity. Make them beg for mercy because of what they did to you. To save their skins.
Thinking about their torment is your main entertainment, not the various dancers in your line of sight, congratulating you for this insufferable day. Not even the musicians who are determined to play throughout the night to celebrate your union.
You want to get this night over with, so you can do what must be done.
The “man” that is Ryomen Sukuna yawns with exaggeration. That’s one thing you two share in common. His lowered eyes radiate boredom. A slight twitch to them like he wants to change his mind. You hope he does. This entire night befalls on him. With a swift change to his mind, this wedding can be over. Your family gone and so are you.
What would gone mean in your eyes? You’d run off, start a new life alone. Find someone you truly love. Who doesn’t care of your appearance. Your weight. Be in complete and utter bliss.
In Sukuna’s eyes, it’d mean slaughtering everyone in this room.
You decide to grin and bear it, eat and drink as much as you can. It’s why you’re originally here in the first place. You should enjoy the generous spread of meat, fruit, and sake. Push away the sickness in your stomach when every hour passes. The sun switching places with the moon and the air growing colder.
When all of the guests depart, your family doesn’t grace you with one last goodbye. They were the first ones to take their leave. To beat out the ongoing rush of everyone not wanting to overstay their welcome in Sukuna’s manor.
Tears threaten to rise up when you’re being prepared for bed. Your newfound servants giving you sympathetic looks as if they understand your pain. You married a monster after all. One who terrorizes villages, pillage and slaughters anyone in his path. The fact that you’re his wife subjects you to an unknown level of torment.
You don’t care.
Sukuna can eat you, take you apart limb from limb and savor on your flesh. You are prepared for this to be the last night living on this miserable Earth. If only you get to see the life of your family’s eyes fade away before you are consumed. But you cannot. Not ever.
Your face remains dry as you wait on the futon, distracting yourself with the moonlight that seeps through the bedroom. How it shines against the powder white sheets, radiating a comforting glow. Sukuna can’t see you upset. It’d ruin his appetite. Then you’d have failed to do your job. As his wife.
Wife. How long will that last?
Heavy footsteps occur outside. You grip the sheets when his gigantic silhouette makes way inside. Those red eyes glint against the moonlight, meeting yours instantly. Your stomach twists as his own licks its lips and flashes its fangs.
Is that where he will start? His stomach mouth is the quickest way to provide nourishment. You’d think he’s the type to savor his meal.
His robe, matching the color of the night sky drapes along his broad shoulders and all the way down to his ankles. You see the way his black tattoos sprawl across his body like a work of art. Proud of each and every one on his wide torso and abdomen. His face. A confused one.
“Why are you here?”
The gravel in his voice doesn’t help the burning in your chest. You have to steel yourself. You’ve made it this far.
“We are wed. Is it not custom for a wife to share a bed with her husband?”
“In other homes. Not mine. I requested your quarters to be down the hall.”
You shift, blinking momentarily. “I’m sorry? I was under the impression you’d want to spend time together.”
So he can eat you and be done with it.
Sukuna grunts, “And do what? I didn’t take you for a whore.”
“I am not one.” You abruptly stand, accidentally letting out what you’re truly feeling. “I have no desire to lay with a creature such as yourself.”
Your husband grins, no indication of wanting to remove your head from your shoulders. Although if he wanted to, he’d have done it already, knowing his power. The…magic he weilds. He was able to level buildings back home without so much as a single glance. It is as if he can kill you without you even knowing it.
“There you are. You’ve been hiding from me all night.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about-”
“You are angry.” Sukuna takes a step towards you, watching your face falter, lowering the facade. “And for once it is not towards me.”
You ball your hands into fists. Of course, he sees right through you. “I'm not angry.”
“It is not right to lie to your husband.” His head tilts with no hint of malice. “Besides, I didn’t endure hours of celebration for you to tell me otherwise.”
Why does he need to know why you’re angry? It’s none of his business, no matter if you two shared vows. They don’t mean anything. They never will.
“You endured the celebration for another reason.”
He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t know. Like his family didn’t openly admit to him when they gave you away. “And that is?”
“You’re not a fool.”
“Yet you ask me as if I am one. Do tell me what your role is supposed to be.”
Are you supposed to spell it out for him? He doesn't remember how your family presented you? Like a pig on a platter, all dressed up and ready to be eaten. But formed under the guise of marriage instead.
That is why Sukuna married you. Right?
“Nothing.” You sigh, the truth lingering on your tongue. There’s no need to entertain this further. Your energy is sapped due to the festivities and if he wants to play around with his food, you'd rather be well rested first. “I shall retire. Goodnight.”
Abruptly leaving the King of Curses is most likely grounds for extermination. No attack comes, however. Not when you make your way down the hall and to your own room. It’s not as huge as your husband’s, but it’s enough for you.
Sukuna wasn’t hungry. After the mountains of bones, both from animal and human flesh alike, he wouldn’t want to eat anymore. He’ll feast on you in the morning then. Right after you’ve had your breakfast.
Your servants dress you for the day. You let them, knowing it won’t matter once you step foot in the dining hall. Dust tickles your nose when you make the trek across. Cobwebs in the corners of the dark manor arrive under the sunlight. You swear the manor is cleaner when you stepped foot inside.
At least the dining hall isn’t swarmed with dust. Another spread is laid out before you and so is your husband. Idle. Food untouched.
His attire is the same as last night. Pink strands brushing his forehead, eyes once again watching your every move. You sigh, sitting next to him. You might as well enjoy a lovely last meal.
You can say that you were able to partake in spreads such as these. Back home, you had to haggle with four different vendors to get the quality of food you want to last for a week for a cheaper price. Your father berated you for making him look like a fool in front of the family since he didn’t have much success. Despite being a respective business man. And of course, your mother took his side.
‘It’s bad enough you’re larger than the rest of us. Must you always make us feel small?’
You mustn’t get upset. Not in front of him.
Sukuna doesn’t appear to be bothered by your presence. He indulges, chest rumbling at the taste of fresh fish, rice, and vegetables. For a man as large as he is, it's surprising to see him eat in a sophisticated manner. Perhaps it's because you’re here? But then, he didn’t eat like this during the ceremony.
If he keeps eating like this, he won’t have any room for you.
“Do you not want to eat me?”
He pauses. All four eyes lock on to your form, not a hint of annoyance in them.
“I am eating my breakfast.”
Your eye twitches, “You know exactly what I meant.”
“I'm afraid I don't have room for a wife. Maybe she should eat her meal and not disturb me.” He continues, licking his lips at the taste.
“Will you have room for me at all? You know why you married me. Don't act like you don’t.”
Sukuna sighs. The nerve of him to act like this when your fate lingers in the air. For what other reason would he have to say yes to your union?
“Acknowledging that ridiculous request for our marriage will get you nowhere. I decide what I want to do with you. Not your idiotic family, who thinks they are free the moment you stepped in my domain.” He points a chopstick at you, the neutral and annoyed emotions fluctuating. “Do not think your fate is decided because everyone else has done it for you.”
Sukuna grabs a leg, a human's, with a more feminine appeal as skin is smoked and dressed with plenty herbs, chewing on it with no care in the world. You should be disgusted, grimace in his direction about his choice of food. But it doesn’t rise in your heart. A mix of uneasy and relief washes over you.
Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t have any desire to eat his wife. That you know of. You should be glad about that.
Now what do you do?
You expected yourself to be dead after the festivities are over. In your husband’s belly. Since he lost any interest in eating you, it’s best to get accustomed to being his wife. His queen.
Your mother wasn’t the greatest in the world, but she at least taught you what you to do once you obtain a husband. Cook for him, clean the place where you two share a bed, be by his side as a supportive wife.
The first is taken care of. A small, white haired person tends to your husband’s meals. Uraume. Their cooking adequate enough for Sukuna to gorge and compliment with delight. No wonder he’s large.
The manor does need a nice cleaning.
You lost count at the abundance of dust bunnies, cobwebs and dead insects in corners that weren’t maintained by the servants. It leads you into investigating how many servants your husband keeps, only counting a handful. Two who serve you, two for your husband, and one who helps clean. The manor is gigantic enough to get lost in. At almost a week being here, you still can’t count how many rooms Sukuna obtains.
He needs more help in maintaining this place. And you surely aren’t going to reside in a home that’s not properly clean.
You demand Uraume to see the records. Any indication of income, what the Manor is worth, what Sukuna possesses to keep this place standing. Being his wife, you now have some stake to his home. Even if he does little to acknowledge it.
They don’t object, showing you a room packed with mess.
Offerings of ornate materials; vases, silk, furniture. All stuffed next to bags and bags of money. Mini statues shoved along the wall, various paintings of Sukuna’s likeness next to them. You even notice the jewelry that was given to you during the ceremony.
“Is there a reason why everything of value is in this room?”
Uraume pushes off a roll of satin from a desk, dust clouding their vision and yours. They reveal a gigantic book, very clear that this was originally not Sukuna’s. “Our Lord wishes to have everything in one place. Easy to remember.”
“Are you not worried about anyone coming to steal these?” They give you a look which answers your question. Anyone who dares try to steal from their King won’t make it past the garden before they are removed. “How were you able to survive off of this?”
“It helps that our Lord is feared. We take what we need. Meaningless trinkets have no place here.”
“You sound like him.” Uraume’s cold eyes flicker for a moment. It’s hard to catch what it is when they hand you a key.
“Our Lord would be grateful if you can organize this…mess. I’d very much like to focus on maintaining his health and wellbeing.”
“Is that all?”
Uraume glances at the cutlery stacked in a corner then back to you. “Yes.”
When the door closes, you cough at the dust in your throat, opening the window to let in some light then get to work.
Hardly anything is recorded.
What looks to be Uraume’s handwriting is listed on a few lines before stopping altogether. So you dig through everything in the room, setting side a place for currency, decorative goods, and miscellaneous items. Your servants help you tidy up, removing every bit of cobweb and insect legs.
The room becomes easier to breathe as your muscles ache. Night befalls you and exhaustion kicks in. You dismiss your servants, giving them an additional payment for today. To rest yourself you start adding in the currency you obtained into the books. It's impressive he’s able to have plenty of money to survive for a while. Be it that it was given or he stole it was another story.
You still have to count the furniture, what you can and can’t sell, see how much it will take to put these servants on a proper salary. So much to do and you know your husband isn’t willing to help.
It’s not like he can miss you in his bed, when you wake up in the same room you've been in. Face indented from parts of the book. Your back cricks, but you immediately go back to work, not wanting to stop until there’s some headway.
Your servant begs you to take a break so you can eat and bathe. You ignore her plea, requesting a bowl of whatever Uraume cooked sent here. And you don’t change your mind when it’s implied your husband is waiting for you. As if he cares about sharing meals with you. He’s only your husband on paper, not in the home.
You began to make order. Everything is notated in the book and you have a section of unnecessary items to get rid of. It’s good enough for you to take a break and have a bath drawn, before you get back to it.
Now you need convince Sukuna of hiring more servants, sell his precious offerings. Doing this will help sustain the Manor for years to come. And if he continues to pillage and slaughter neighboring ones, it'll be easy to add what is and isn't necessary to the pile.
Then you can invest in the home, make sure it can last for decades, centuries if possible. Your wardrobe as well. Maybe your husband’s. Although, would he care? You should just worry about yourself.
“You have been busy, wife.” You freeze by the opening, fresh and ready to go back to your unassigned duty. Sukuna stands by the desk, looking through pages of your records. Fascinated. “Going through my things. Making sense of the disorder.”
“Our things.” You correct, “What you own, I own.”
He gives an affirmative nod, “Of course.” Red eyes set upon you, noticing how you’re glowing under the midday sun. At least that’s what your servant said. “I thought you ran. Or you killed yourself in a part of the manor where I could not find you.”
“Would you eat me then if you found me dead?”
“Depends.” A thick finger trails across the book as he moves around the desk. His vary footsteps shake the room, make you grab the wall to keep stable. “Humans aren’t edible after twelve hours. A stench occurs and it is unappetizing.”
“Ah…” You don’t move when he makes his way towards you. Aiming your neck upwards to gaze upon him. “I won’t run or commit an unspeakable act. I have accepted my role in this affair.”
“As someone who keeps records of my path of destruction. And these foolish gifts from the village people.” You nod and his chest rumbles with amusement. You can’t help but take in the hint of spice Sukuna radiates, being oddly comforting. “I have never seen women bookkeepers.”
“I taught myself how.” You break eye contact, moving towards the desk. “Neither my mother and father are good with money. They couldn’t make deals or haggle. Get more out of what they had. It’s a miracle I was able to survive as I did when I was young.”
“Indeed.” Sukuna examines a large painting of himself, lip curled upwards. “Interesting that your father is lousy when it comes to business. Considering his stature.”
“A theory I've had was my grandfather accentuated the role. Making it easy for my father to maintain its status.”
“For how long, I wonder…”
It's a good question. If you weren’t given away, you always thought you'd take over. Much to your father's chagrin. Being a woman, already came with its challenges. Who would accept you if you decide to take over the business?
A question you can't concern yourself with anymore.
“Do you wish for me to stop?” The lack of women in a male dominated field such as mathematics, calculations is uncommon. There’s rumors where it’s said to deter potential suiters from finding a match as it intimidates them.
Sukuna doesn’t show signs of any of that. “No. Besides, you have already made progress. It would make sense for you to continue.”
Your shoulders relax. It’s the one thing you’ve liked in a long time that you want to continue doing. To heal the desire in your heart for revenge. Stave it for a while.
“Then, we must talk about increasing the servants in the manor. We need more for cooking and cleaning.”
Sukuna grumbles, “Is what we have not enough?”
“Not nearly enough. You may not be bothered by the filth in the halls but I am.”
“Who says I am content with the filth?”
“No one, but the garden, the dining hall, and your room cannot be the main priorities for cleanliness. My nose should not tickle when I want to take a stroll to the kitchen.”
He tsks, waving a hand away in your presence. “Fine. If you must.”
“Thank you.” You sit, opening the book to record how many servants would be adequate. Sukuna shifts, making his way out the door. “I am not finished with you.”
He freezes, narrowing eyes in your direction. “More business to discuss?”
“Yes. We need to hire contractors. And we have to decide what you'd like to keep in terms of your offerings.” You exasperate when seeing the list of his gifts. “Do you really need five decorative vases? Surely three is enough.”
Sukuna grimaces, taking a look at the book himself. His large, imposing presence radiates intimidation. Yet he doesn’t bring harm to you. Only taking into account of what is given to him and what's necessary.
You can’t relax in his space. Sukuna can change his mind any day now. Given your…attitude, it can speed up his decision.
Whatever. You wanted that in the first place.
“I trust your judgment. Sell what you want to sell.”
He locks eyes with yours. Those dark, red eyes give you solace. He trusts you? Is he just saying that because of your union? You've hardly heard of Sukuna being a man of his word. Unless it depends on who he's close to.
But you two aren't close. Just married.
“Okay.” You clear your throat, breaking eye contact. “I will have someone arrive to do measurements as well.”
“For what?”
“We should build our wardrobe. We have the finest silks here that can be used for such.”
Sukuna grunts, radiating an air of disinterest. “Focus on yourself. My size is difficult for the likes of them.”
“But you currently have clothes on your back now. So it is not too difficult.”
“Merely modified scraps.”
You roll your eyes, “My husband will have better clothing. That is all we'll say about the matter.”
With the endless amount of resources, there's no need for your husband to walk around in hand me downs.
“Fine. Is that all?”
“For now, yes.”
You don't stop him when he takes his leave, heavy footsteps growing faint after a moment's pass.
Once all the books are updated, you begin turning the manor anew.
Weeks are spent selling off the unimportant items. The statues and paintings take priority. You sell them to the highest bidder, not wanting to get gypped out of something that is of value. Plenty of buyers accept that the items are of rare quality, despite being made by the locals as Sukuna tells you.
Almost everyone buys your lie, thinking that having something in relation to the King of Curses will put him in his good graces. You didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth. Even when Sukuna watches you tell a story with your words. Intrigue and entertainment dancing across his eyes.
Other buyers are difficult in accepting your goods, mainly because of your status. How it doesn't matter that you're the lady of the home, Sukuna will kill you when he sees fit. Words typically spouted behind your back.
Except for this one time.
In that second, anger flashes through you. A reminder of what you had to deal with back home. Your place in your father’s business didn't matter as people expressed their ire towards you. All because you’re different.
But you’re not home anymore.
A smack resonates across the hall. The buyer holds his cheek, horrified as your servants run to see if you’re alright.
“Disrespect me again and it won’t just be my wrath you'll feel.”
Surely this can get you killed. If you tried this back home, it'd result in a trial. The buyer spits on the floor, quickly making his leave before the situation escalates.
You flex your hand as your servants try to rub the feeling away. Not a moment too soon those footsteps occur and your husband is in your view. Two eyes on you, two on your hand. He grimaces.
“An unsuccessful buy, I take it.” You nod and he starts rolling his shoulders, his neck, cracking his fingers. “I will wait a hour before I descend upon him.”
“A mere hour?” You huff before reassuring your servants that you're okay.
“It gives them time to panic then a momentarily relief before realizing they're dead.” Sukuna grins, lust for blood written all over his face.
“You don't need to kill him. Even if he was unsavory…”
“He disrespected you in our home.” His face straightens, the air turning tense. “I will not allow that. Even if we are not the traditional husband and wife.”
Blood rushes to your cheeks, causing an uptick in your beating heart. “I understand.”
You don't know if you should thank him or be on your way. No one has had the desire to defend you before. Not like this. And even if Sukuna’s methods are violent, it's better than nothing.
“Don’t get hurt.” You say.
Sukuna’s back tenses, highlighting each and every part muscle. You've never seen a man this…strong before. His tattoos paint sections of his back that you can't help but linger on. Especially at the dip of his lower back.
“I won't.”
Not a moment later, your husband returns. Hands adorned with blood and the buyer's head removed from his neck. Sukuna presents this to you like a trophy, proof that he is a man of his word. Your servants cower in disgust at the offer, but you can’t help but smile.
With your finances improved, it's time for renovation. Uraume brings you adequate builders for the job, wanting to build a better servants quarters and a larger kitchen. The men are paid handsomely, but stall when they realize whose home this is.
You spent a quarter of your day convincing them that Sukuna will not harm them, which you reiterate to your husband who merely scoffs at the request. He comments about not caring how anyone feels. That he was doing just fine with fear in people's hearts.
He can't survive on that fear for long.
After you convince him to stay out of their way, the builders get to work, improving the servants quarters. Work goes on throughout the day and lasts until the moon is high.
An expansion like this will take a while to finish. Plus, the quarters are still ways away from Sukuna’s room. If he needs anything, it will take a bit for them to arrive.
Your room, however, is not too far from his. Easy for your personal servants to come when they're called. But that would mean…
A realization strikes your head, forming a headache. Even if you're long gone, this will be an effective way for him to get care. You've married the man, now it's time to keep up some appearance.
Once you've finished your nightly routine, you stroll down the hall, past your room. Your footsteps slow reaching Sukuna’s door. The rise in your heartbeat doesn’t go unnoticed, but doesn't deter you.
You're just sleeping next to your husband.
The door opens and Sukuna is right there, arms folded, watching the door.
“It is you.” He says with a hint of surprise.
“Were you waiting for someone else?”
“Possibly. To see if they'd kill me. Wouldn't be the first attempt.”
You swallow, stepping inside and closing the door. “I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to rest.”
“In my bed.”
“In our bed. We are wed after all.”
“So you remind me…” He follows your footsteps around the futon, watching you admire the deep red satin sheets. “It's been a few months. Why share a bed with me now?”
“My room will be made into a room for our servants. Instead of finding another arrangement, I thought it'd be best for us to sleep together.”
Sukuna hums, not saying a word.
The futon is gigantic, clearly modified to give maximum comfort for a person such as himself. Still, you can’t help but think, words coming out your lips before you can stop them.
“Apologies if I take up too much space.”
“It’s big enough for the two of us.”
Ah, right.
You slip under the sheets, keeping a good amount of distance from Sukuna. He doesn’t complain when getting settled right next to you. How he shifts his back along the sheets, one hand up along the pillow, behind his head. Looking up at the ceiling, not closing his eyes quite yet. As if he’s trying to decompress from the day he had.
What a normal thing for him to do.
“How are the quarter’s coming along?”
“Fairly well.”
There’s a crisp silence. Your chest rising and falling opposite from his. You should be asleep now, you’re typically exhausted after directing the contractors and checking on their progress. But your eyes can’t fully close before opening back up again.
Sukuna isn’t asleep either, still pondering about his day.
“Do you have trouble sleeping?”
“No.” Sukuna grunts, “I can typically fall asleep in minutes.”
“Then…why are you not asleep?”
“My wife is in my bed. And she’s distracting me.”
You click your tongue, glaring at him. “If you are bothered by my presence, just say so.”
“I never said I was bothered. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“I’m distracting you.”
“Yes.”
“How am I distracting you?”
Sukuna gives you a glance, before looking back at the ceiling. He changes the subject, “Tell me the real reason why you're here.”
You frown, “I already said it.”
“There is more than what you're telling me.”
There's no way to beat around the bush with him is it?
“We must keep up appearances. These workers will be new, observing the relationship we have together. It's better to look like husband and wife than to breed infighting in our own home.”
Sukuna scoffs, “As if these weaklings care.”
“You'd be surprised…” You mutter. “Trust me, you'll thank me later.”
“I've been doing that since you’ve arrived.” His tone wasn't annoyed, but simple. Stating the obvious. “Tell me, must you control everything in a home?”
“As if you were doing so well in caring for the manor under your guidance.”
The corner of his lips twitches upward at your sarcasm. “I have never had anyone teach me skills as these. Caring for a home, paying servants. I was a hopeless mistake. A pitiful one. I had to do what I had to survive.”
You blink, regret swimming in your chest. You want to apologize, the apology lingering on your tongue. But he doesn’t seem like the type of appreciate sympathy.
“While it’s…impressive, you did what you had to do in order to live, survival can stretch into making sure your home is well cared for. Your external needs extend beyond eating.” He huffs, not saying a word. But you’re still awake and you've actually learned something new about your spouse. That’s not what you expected.
“I don't have a desire for control.” You state, now lying on your back. “My parents got reckless after ten years of living with money and what it was spent on and I didn’t want everything to fall apart. They were my family, I didn’t want to live without them. Be alone…”
“Another survivor.” The way Sukuna says it gives you goosebumps. All low and deep.
“Yes…I guess so…” You yawn. Sukuna’s presence continues to provide an odd sense of relief. Security.
“Do you still desire survival in our home?”
You take a moment to think. “No.”
Not the answer you expected to come from your lips, but it’s the truth. You’re not struggling as you were back home. And you don’t want to go back to that at all. Not ever.
Silence befalls the two of you once more. Neither of you rush to say anything else, settling on lying next to each other, drifting off to sleep.
Sleeping with Sukuna isn’t as bad as you thought. When you awake, he remains on his side of the bed and you’re well rested, filled with plenty of energy for the day.
The decision to continue your union as husband and wife remains when you two walk down the hall together after getting cleaned up, eating breakfast side by side. You tell him about easing up on the flesh as it can cause his skin to turn. He sneers, saying he’s not a mere mortal to worry about the discoloring of his skin. But he dismisses Uraume with the batch of flesh that’s been rendered down.
Sukuna decides to accompany you in overseeing the contractors progress, doubling down that he won’t recklessly kill anyone. It’s odd when the contractors greet you both as lord and lady. Like you two come as a pair. A set.
Before you’d think it’s unnatural, but now you don’t cringe at the mention.
Your husband doesn’t have much input in the quarters. He gives a light threat to make sure they don’t destroy any of the architecture, planning to go back on his words if they do. He laughs. No one else does.
You wish you didn’t have as much contact with Sukuna as you did previously. Now, you get visits to what’s now your office. He makes conversation, mainly surrounding the manor’s upkeep. It surprises you that he’s interested, not willing to bring it up at all when you first started.
What the servants should do, what the cooks should learn how to make when they’re hired. It’s all jotted down in a separate page for later. Then the topic switches to dinner, what Uraume is making, that they can change it if none of the menu items are appealing. You never have a preference to food. You’d eat whatever you’re given.
If he’s not bothering you in your office, he’s beckoning you to the throne room. Or offering room. Where he sits when the nearby villagers bring him offerings, to appease him. So he won’t rain hellfire on their villages. You have to stay right beside him. It’s a wife’s duty after all. To watch her husband show little interest in whatever people give him.
All you see is more work for you to do when these gifts are accepted. Plenty of jewelry, robes, livestock, given to you two. Piled against the wall for you to organize.
More goods for you to sell, you guess.
At least things shift once the servants quarters are improved and you’re hiring plenty of workers. Each and every single person who wasn’t scared of residing right under Ryomen Sukuna’s nose. People who essentially have nowhere to go and need a purpose in life.
The manor becomes much cleaner. No signs of dust, dead insects. You can see yourself in the manor’s floors when walking with Sukuna one day.
It’s a sign that things are coming around. Improving in your life. In a way. Occasionally, you wonder if Sukuna picks this time, when everything is coming around, to decide that he’s going to eat you. Nothing happens though.
The servants have taken a shine to you, however.
Maybe it’s your inviting presence, that you’re less scarier than Sukuna, is what makes them flock to you. They thank you for letting them work here. Some stop by your office to give you small gifts of appreciation, paper cuttings and origami’s of birds or flowers. It’s a sweet gesture.
“And you tell me to sell my meaningless gifts.” Sukuna says, watching another servant quickly drop a bird on your desk before taking her leave.
“My gifts have value. Sentimental value.”
“So, you’d only accept gifts if they mean something to you.” You nod. Sukuna’s head tilts, proof that he’s thinking of something. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.
“What about you?” You ask while recording more of his gifts. “Everything the villagers have given you, you don’t like them.”
“Not everything.”
He doesn’t elaborate, giving you room to continue. “There must be something you'd like. Or enjoy. Don't say food either.”
Sukuna grunts, folding his arms in thought. He does it when he's wondering really hard about something. It's funny he's doing it for a gift request.
“The robes you have acquired me are adequate.”
You examine the blood red color of his attire, bits of gold and black intertwined. Little tigers at the hem too. He looks…nice. Not just nice, great even.
“I can provide more. We still have plenty of material.”
He nods, “I'd like that. It shouldn't be hideous either.”
“It won't.”
Not long after you made sure more adequate robes are made for your husband. All in a wide range of colors, helping him spread out from the simple black and white ones he wore. He gives you a glance and a subtle nod in appreciation.
You weren’t expecting a thank you, but the next day you're greeted with a bouquet of white and pink lilies. A large one too, all of them squeezed into a decorative vase.
Every time you see them it reminds you of Sukuna and you shift at the thought. You haven't recorded anything in your book as your husband invades your mind. That strong gaze of his, how he oddly comforts you when he's on your side, how you’re never alone when you're with him.
No. Clearly, you're deluded and need a break.
As the contractors continue to expand the kitchen, the project becomes much bigger than you expected. Everything has to be gutted, removed completely to replace it with entirely new furnishings. A stove, refrigeration, a pantry for various goods.
It causes your workers to scramble. Lost in how everyone will eat while the kitchen is redone. Uraume and you try to calm them down, redirect them to an alternative. Which requires the former to use their technique, making room outside to stockpile any food.
Which this is your first time really seeing sorcerers in action.
Sukuna used his technique one time, to draw attention when he descended upon your village one day, giving a warning to worship him or perish. It’s terrifying, but you didn’t know him. You’re unsure how you’ll feel if he uses it now.
Nonetheless, it took the entire day to set up an effective outdoor kitchen until the indoor one was fixed. Weight hinders your body’s movement as the trek back to your bedroom is slow. The bath you had almost lulled you to sleep a handful of times.
Your husband waits for you, as he usually does.
Those red eyes under the moonlight flicker when you climb onto the futon, muttering a soft ‘goodnight’ before falling asleep.
You must’ve sought comfort or maybe the room grew cold throughout the night, but when you awake you’ve been in Sukuna’s arms. Those thick, bulky muscles keeping you firm to his exposed chest, radiating heat. If you have a better mind, you’d pull away, express a boundary. But dealing with renovations have you staying underneath his arms, eyes growing heavier.
If Sukuna wanted you away from him, he’d push you away too. Not hold you tighter in the embrace.
The closeness helps to a certain degree. You feel lighter, comforted until you go back to work and see five more new things that need to be done compared to yesterday. All because someone misunderstood you or didn’t listen to what you said.
Now you’re exhausted with a migraine.
Even when you sit with your husband during the offerings, you droop, having trouble staying awake. Sukuna’s gaze keeps flickering towards you. Not filled with annoyance, but something else. You’d rather not get on his bad side.
“You’re killing yourself.” Sukuna states once the last of the offerings are carried to storage, leaving you and him in the room.
“I’m fine.” You sigh, “No one said renovating a home is simple.”
“But you don’t need to sacrifice yourself to do it. My wife should not have this much trouble.”
You rub your forehead, “Sukuna. It’s how I work. I cannot take a break until this is done. Something else will go awry if I do. You heard what happened the other day with the new oven.”
“And you didn’t want me to kill the imbecile who ruined it.” He huffs as if he’s remembering that a new one had to be redone as their builders grabbed the wrong stone. “A mistake wouldn’t happen after that.”
“Then we’d lose morale. And the new kitchen would be delayed.”
He grumbles and your lips twitch in subtle amusement. Is this what wives experience when their husband’s worry about them?
“The kitchen should finish in two weeks time. Then I might be on bed rest for a week.”
If Sukuna doesn’t decide to eat you then.
“That is not satisfactory.” Sukuna stands, looking down at you. “Come with me. I know of a place to ease your burden. For a while.”
He outstretches a hand, waiting for you to take it. The gigantic palm that can crush you in any minute, now offering solace.
You slide your palm in his, “Not too long. I need to get back to the workers in a bit.”
Sukuna rolls his eyes and you follow.
There's a pathway behind the garden that stretches up a hill. You feel the heat radiating from his hand. The most contact he's given you since the two of you became husband and wife. Besides cuddling in bed.
“The path is steep. I'd rather not catch you if you fall.” He explains.
You don't argue or pull away, letting him lead you up the path. Over the hill, there's a river and a small waterfall in the distance. And to the right a spacious spring overlooking the manor below.
A hot spring.
You stop with uncertainty. This is what he meant by relaxing?
Sukuna glances back with lowered brows, “What?”
“I…”
You've never been to a hot spring before. Not because of disinterest, but of the fear that people would see you in your most vulnerable state. It's bad enough others were rude to you with clothes on. If they're off, who knows what they might say.
“This is my first time being here.”
“No one will disturb us.” He states, “It’s just you and I.”
“But…” Your words trail off, letting Sukuna lead you the rest of the way.
Towels are displayed on a rock by a lake, fresh, recently put there. Sukuna goes off nearby to clean himself up, leaving you alone to do the same.
Your husband was bound to see you naked at some point. You hope to be devoured before that happened, but your fate lingers in the air. Now he must see you in all your glory. Every curve and stretch mark.
He'll judge you, comment on your size for his amusement. Make you feel worse than you already are about this debacle. How is this supposed to be a relaxing time for you?
When you freshen up, wrapping the towel over your body, anxiety lingers on your legs. During your trek over to the spring, negative thoughts surge of how Sukuna would react to your naked body. The weight getting worse when you see him already in the water, head propped up on his fist in waiting.
He's always waiting for you.
You try to go as far as you can away from him. Maybe the distance will ensure he doesn’t view you up close. If anything, he might change his mind in eating you.
Those eyes aren't missed when your towel goes away, bearing your all to him. There’s no look of disgust. Instead, they go up in interest. Interest?
Carefully, you step in, the heat from the water soothing any bit of anxiety you have. The tense from your muscles dissipates into the water, leaving you serene, a low sigh escaping your lips. No wonder plenty of people take trips to the hot spring.
“Better?”
You nod, slinking down in the water. The sun rays aren’t beaming down on you, clouds doing what they can to block them away. Only the sounds from the chime that hangs from the tree and birds matching its tune. No servants coming to ask you questions as you make your way down the hall. No contractors asking for your input despite you giving it twice already.
Just you and Sukuna. Together. Alone.
His muscles relax in the heat, two arms draped along the sides while the other two rest by his side. A drop of water slides down from his thick neck, combining with another droplet on his pectoral, before joining the pool. Sukuna’s strength reels you in. You’ve been sleeping aside this mountain of a man for a while now. Walking next to him. Eating beside him.
And he displays it around like it’s nothing.
“My wife should never feel stressed in her own home. What kind of husband would I be if I allow that to happen?”
Your lips purse. “Since when do you care about how I feel?”
“Ever since you’ve arrived.” He admits, those heavy eyes never changing. It stirs intrigue in your gut, but you push it away. “You’re fascinating. Your family could’ve been dead months ago and yet, you don’t do anything about it.”
“I can’t. Besides, I shouldn’t desire ill will towards them. Even if they deserve it.”
“They do.” Sukuna shifts closer to you, the water rippling against your bodies. That lovely scent of spice hits you, beckoning you to come closer. And you do, just enough to where you strain your neck to look at him.
“They’re incompetent. They let you handle most of the finances, belittle you, and then decide to give you away to buy them time to run. Abandon you after everything you’ve done for them. I’d desire revenge.”
You shake your head, despite agreeing with him. “If I take actions to cause them harm, it will fall back on me. It has happened many times. When I was young, I got my comeuppance from a boy who pushed me into the mud. And my family made me apologize to him in front of everyone then scolded me. The same will happen if I try.”
Sukuna rolls his eyes, “The first time I’ve seen you show cowardice. You’ve never expressed that fear around me.”
“That’s because I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me.”
“You knew I slaughter innocents who order me around.”
“I did.”
A harsh laugh escapes him, one that ignites your heart. The way Sukuna’s head goes back, clearly showing you his wet Adam’s apple. Why is everything about your husband suddenly highlighted?
“You were truly ready to die.”
You were. Still are. But the closeness Sukuna gives you makes you reconsider. Would living with him like this be so bad? You haven’t had much complaints.
“If you didn’t like to be ordered around, why didn’t you kill me?”
Your heartbeat beats against your chest when his is so close to you. It’s hard to tell if the heat is coming from the hot spring or from Sukuna. Who looks down on you like he’s hungry. Is this it? Will he eat you right here?
“You’re brave to talk back, knowing of your possible fate.” His knuckles drag along your cheek, making you shiver. “When you speak like that, excitement courses through me. Like a spark. My spark.”
His spark? His? He’s calling you…
“Sukuna…” You exhale, hand on his forearm for stability. “You can’t.”
He frowns, but makes no effort to pull away. “Even now, you’re still ordering me around. I’ll only let it go on for so long.”
“As if I’m hindering you.”
A finger curls under your chin, tilting your head upwards. You take a deep breath, wanting to hold it in as long as you can. The proximity of your husband makes you dizzy. Everything about him makes your mind swarm with those thoughts. It’s ridiculous.
You should pull away. You shouldn’t submit to his weird display of charms. Some part of you doesn’t deserve to have this. Have him.
But if you think that, why aren’t you pulling away?
“No one deters me.”
His lips connect with yours. You’ve never been kissed before. You know of kissing, what it looks like. To experience it? It’s by far what you have expected.
All the parts of you that has settled comfortably with Sukuna and his existence. The strolls, the meals together, the closeness side by side when you slumber. You melt into the embrace with that in mind. Succumbed to the spice and fresh dew.
Your fingertips dig into his skin, easily catching up to your husband’s movements. How his kiss is rough and yet not enough to push you away. Just proof that the desire is strong, unwavering. Sukuna shows you what to do, opening his mouth for your tongue. His chest rumbles when they collide, that gruff sound striking your core.
He’s pulling you in deeper and you want dive in first. Just for a little while longer.
A soft slap occurs as his hand meets your hip, pulling you in further. The force causes you to moan underneath him. Your back presses along the smooth rocks, your legs unironically spread to pull him in. Something hard grazes your thigh. Well, two…somethings. Is this…the appendage men have?
You’ve seen it once in a book you read earlier to bide time in the manor. The drawings a bit faded, but you got the gist. The contact of it…them against your skin makes you shiver. You clutch on to him when he pulls at your lip, before latching on to your neck.
It’s impossible that he feels wonderful. His teeth finding your pulse and biting down. Overpowering you as an attempt to gain back some control. Your thighs clench, unashamedly moaning in his ear. Those gigantic hands of his cups your bottom, trying to maneuver you into a better position. So he can…
No, you can’t do that. That’s not why you are here.
You resist, gently pushing him away to catch your breath. Sukuna’s pupils are blown wide, that hungry look makes your stomach churn.
“We should stop…I still have important duties to attend to.” He doesn’t speak, the rise and fall of his chest matching yours. Like he’s trying to decide whether to obey or defy you. “You should go first. I need a moment.”
That’s when he stands, water rolling off his physique to show you all of him. His hard abdomen shining while his manhood greets you. Both of them, standing tall and proud. One on top of the other, thick, black ink at the base. He’s girthy, tips glistening under your gaze.
You can’t look away when he strokes the top cock, all slow, pushing the water off. Not once looking away from you. Your face burns, your breath doesn’t quite reach your lungs. Your cunt clenches around empty space the more you watch him.
“Do you really want to stop?”
No, it’s what you want to say. But he can’t like you like this. Not when all along you’re still thinking of your true purpose.
“Y-Yes.”
“You hesitated.”
Shit.
“Yes.” You gulp, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. Resisting the urge to touch him. “I told you I didn’t want to be gone long. And the kitchen still takes priority. I do appreciate your attempt in helping me relax, however. I won’t forget this.”
He squints, adding more sensations to your core. “You say this as if this was a business transaction. When we are more than that.”
“We are.”
Sukuna lets go of himself and stares at you. Waiting for you to change your mind. To see if you want to continue the attempt at helping you relax. You remain silent, causing him to get out, not ashamed to give you the full view of him.
If only you can give him the same courtesy.
After all this time, you’ve never thought of being interested in Ryomen Sukuna. His name, his presence should give way to the type of man he is. He’s feared. You should fear him, even as his wife. But you can’t.
Truth be told, you can’t recall when you’ve been scared of him after first seeing him at your village. His physique, his power, his mindset should make you afraid. Yet, you linger on his form. Even after the hot spring debacle. His gigantic hand holding chopsticks during dinner time. How he reaches over to give you extra vegetables. Deciding to not eat human flesh tonight.
Your heart spins.
Why does he want you?
That vary question lingers when you share the bed. Sukuna never leaves your frame. You wonder if he wants to continue what he started earlier, but he doesn’t, getting some sleep. Disappointment hovers over you then stops.
Why are you disappointed? You shouldn’t expect him to continue to express his desire for you. His wife. That’s not why you’re here.
Sukuna doesn’t make any further advancements.
He remains at a distance. Idle. As you finish overseeing the kitchen, the contractors finishing earlier than you expected. You know he’s waiting for you to decide. Figure out what exactly you want from him. What you want him to do.
You’ve said what you want a bunch of times while your heart betrays you.
It’s time to clear the air, get him to do it. So all of these feelings can stop blooming into something more.
That’s why you walk in his offering room, not wanting to be by his side this time when he beckons you. Because you know your plans will be thwarted if he says what you want to hear.
Sukuna sits on his throne, the same bored expression he has when he’s offered a thing he doesn’t want. You exhale, not wanting to step up and sit beside him, standing tall and proud in front.
“Why did you marry me?”
He sucks his teeth, unmoving. The servants are dismissed, leaving you and him inside. Less witnesses just in case he decides to kill you. “Why do you wish to know?”
“Answer the question. It doesn’t matter why I want to know, I just do.”
Sukuna shifts, sitting up, heavy eyes on you. He scans every inch of your body, jaw moving. You’re not sure if he already knows the answer or if he’s making it up on the spot.
“I was bored.” You blink, not losing the facade for a moment when he continues. “I’ve thought about marriage out of curiosity, to see how a partner would fit into this cesspool of uncertainty. I didn’t care who I’d be wed to, I wanted the first opportunity that came along.”
You swallow, twisting your palms in your kimono. “And that’s why you chose me? I’m sure there are other people who has sent you requests like this before.”
“There have been.” That confession makes your heart burn. Have there been others before you? Where are they? Did Sukuna kill them? Like he will do with you? “But they were boring and afraid. While it’s entertaining to see, I wanted more.”
“Then…I see why you chose me.”
He nods, “You’re not a fool so I won’t go back on what I said during our time together. It still remains.”
You shake your head, “But you know of my stature.”
“I do.”
“I am large. Heavy.” You press, fingernails digging into your palms.
“As am I. Yet you don’t hear me complain.”
You glare in his direction. “I am supposed to be eaten. Not to play husband and wife for months on end. Waiting for you to strike at my most vulnerable moment. When your home is clean, bed is warm, with a full belly. We should not…”
You shakily exhale, not scared at all. It's unsure what you're feeling. A combination of anger and arousal. Hopelessness. Hope. Under that neutral gaze of his.
“You should not desire me. Not when I haven’t fulfilled my purpose.”
Sukuna glares at you. He’s never gave you that look before. “You continue to tell me what I should and should not do. Like I'm a pet that's supposed to obey.” He stands, taking a step down. “For someone with such a big mouth, your head is dense. Very disappointing.”
Each step equates to a stomp, an expression of how he truly feels about this. About you. You don’t move, you don’t run. His wrath is in your vicinity.
He's handsome when he's angry. That crick in his brow, lips twisting. How his muscles restrict under his kimono, veins occurring on his hands. People say to pray he doesn't see you in his state. You don’t see why.
Sukuna opens his kimono, letting it fall during each step. His stomach mouth greets you with a lick of its lips. This is it. This is what you’re waiting for.
“Will you be satisfied if I give you what you want?”
“Yes.” You swallow, making eye contact.
He exasperates, frowning. “Fine, I shall eat you.”
Your robes open, falling to the floor until you're in your undergarments. He picks you up, angling you above his stomach. He’s so close. His breath siphoning your own.
When that second mouth of his opens, you accept your fate. Eyes closed, ready to no longer be apart of this earth. The times you’ve spent with Sukuna were for nothing. In the end, he always saw you as someone to devour. Not his spouse.
There's a long, drawn out lick on your sex.
You gasp at your legs spreading apart and a grip on your jaw. Sukuna keeps you like this as another lick occurs, spreading your lips, engaging your sensitive bud.
“W-What are you-”
“Be quiet.” Another lick and your knees wobble.
“Don’t tell me to-unh…” You grip his bicep, holding up your undergarments so he can get all of you.
Saliva coats your cunt, making a mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s mouth laps at your sex thoroughly, tongue pushing into your sweet hole then circling your clit. He’s holding you up, spreading your thighs with a mighty grip. Fingertips into your skin as an effort of restraint.
There's no talk of how heavy you are, nor does he struggle in keeping you like this. A testament for you to understand that he can handle you. In anyway you want.
“Sing for me.” He commands while sucking your clit.
You moan along his lips. Sukuna stutters, pulling you into a heavy kiss. He groans against your soft lips, biting your bottom one and inviting you to explore more. You accept his invitation, greeting his tongue with your own. A gasp shifting into a satisfying moan.
Your fingernails dig into his skin, creating marks. Sukuna reveals in the pain from a raspy groan, his grip faltering.
Your back hits the floor, lips never parting once. There your legs open as wide as they possibly can, allowing him to feast. A jolt of pleasure shoots through you. An attempt to close your legs is halted by your husband’s strength.
“Sukuna…” You sigh, head back, focusing on every lick and suck. Every flick of your bud causing a rumbling in the pit of your stomach. The way his large tongue fucks your hole, makes your toes curl. Thank goodness the servants are gone. They can’t see you like this.
“Look at me.”
He angles your hips upwards so he can hit that one spot. Those eyes, once angry, now soft. Drawing you in, enticing you to a flow of ecstasy. You can’t run away. You don’t want to. The joy you wanted ever so much wasn’t going to escape your grasp. Sukuna tightens the reigns for you.
Your body trembles under his hold, his mouth helping your orgasm flow with each slurp. A strangled cry launches through you as Sukuna holds you tight, determined to let you feel this high again. And it's everything you’ve ever imagined. A swirl of ecstasy and satisfaction from the tips of your toes to your fingertips. All until you're a pool of nothing, unable to feel.
A kiss brings you back to the living. Almost taking away your ability to breathe until you're gasping under his embrace. You don’t know what to say. What you should say.
Sukuna doesn’t let you, face sliding down your body. Nudging into your clothed breasts, your round belly, admiring plumpness of your thighs, before hovering over your cunt. Taking in how wet it is, soaked from his other mouth.
“You’re not done yet.”
His mouth latches on to you again. He groans into your pussy, all four eyes closed to drink you in. He holds you still with a thick arm on your body, giving a grope to your breast.
You slink deeper, crying out in pleasure. Reveling in the fact that your husband is enjoying you. You grip his hair, directing him to where he should taste. He follows as always.
You grind your hips along his face, chasing that high you just had. You trail your hand up his huge arm, squeezing the top of the hand that fondles your breast. He should never stop. Not when you're like this. Accepting that this is how everything will be with him.
“I'm…I'm right there…” Your breath hitches, bucking against his face.
He growls as a warning but doesn’t let up in exploring you. Spitting on your cunt, sucking on your clit until your vision goes white. This orgasm coming through like a rush, making you moan louder, harder for him. Almost screaming for him.
Sukuna doesn’t let up on his descent, licking and sucking until there’s nothing left of you. Consuming any energy you have.
He's above you, licking his lips as if he’s satisfied. “You have fulfilled your purpose, my little spark…”
You pull him down for another kiss, wanting any and all of him. Tasting yourself, not backing away to reconsider. You don’t care about being eaten. All you want is him. Only him.
“My Lord.”
A wave of energy destroys a nearby vase. Sukuna growls when breaking away from the kiss. “What is it?”
It's Uraume, not giving any special attention to your predicament.
“I have found them for you.”
Sukuna grins, making your eyebrow raise. Who was he searching for? Was this another excursion you're just now hearing about?
“Say the word.” He says, looking back down at you. “Say it and I will give you what you wished for since we became husband and wife.”
Oh.
Your mouth gapes, nothing coming out just yet. If you say this, there's no turning back. But it's always been that way ever since Sukuna became your husband.
You swallow, caressing his cheek, thumb right under his second eye. “Do it.”
He grins, flashing those canines of his. “Excellent. We shall leave momentarily.” He tells Uraume who departs.
“Don’t die…” You bite your lip, holding back a surge of emotions. “I will hate you forever if you do.”
Sukuna chuckles, feeling the rumble of his chest, squeezing to your thigh. “No one can kill me, wife. Don’t worry.”
Yeah, that’s what you’re doing. Worrying. Worrying about a man who you first thought was a monster. He may still be in some retrospect, but to you he’s just your husband. Who’s about to give you a gift.
If you ever saw your family again, you never thought about what to say to them when you see them. A part of you wanted them to come back, crying, begging on their knees that they’re sorry. About everything they’ve done to you. Said to you. Lowering your self-esteem and ruining any chances of you finding a generous partner.
They’d want to convince Sukuna to back on their deal with him, run away with you by their side. Die together if Sukuna decides to finish you off. Would that change your feelings towards them? Maybe. At the end of the day, they’re still your parents.
Yet, you wouldn’t trust them anymore. Their betrayal still stings in your heart. Even now when you think about them, waiting in the garden for your husband to come back. How can you look at them as your parents again when you’ve already made a new life for yourself? With a man who’s just as much as a reject as you?
It’s good to just let them run. Start a new life somewhere far from you.
That decision sits with you all night. When you’re alone in the futon, unable to close your eyes, your husband not beside you. When you eat breakfast, missing the scent of roasted flesh. When you’re in your office, idly jotting down notes in hopes he comes home.
You’re happy now. To a degree. Why should your family ruin it?
“My lady.” Your servants call, “He’s back.”
Immediately, you stand, rushing out the room.
That large, intimidating presence creates an uptick in your heart when you go to the front of the manor, two people quivering in front of him. Your parents. Clothes slightly torn, your father’s nose stained with blood. Like two thieves who got caught stealing.
“They’re fighters.” Sukuna grunts, “Fought like rats when I caught them.”
You beckon him closer, noticing the scratches, blood dried on his skin. “You need a bath.”
“Later.”
Words fall from your lips as you see your parents cowering in front of him, on the verge of tears. You want there to be a sense of remorse, regret for putting them in this situation. But will they feel the same for you?
“Where were they?”
“At a pier cities away, ready to head west. I’m surprised they waited so long to leave the country, knowing I’d find them.” Sukuna grins when a finger raises your father’s chin, admiring the broken nose.
You clench your fists. “Why did you two take so long to leave? Wasn’t that the plan all along? To give me to Sukuna while you run for your lives? What happened?”
Your mother raises her head, whimpering, holding her side. She looks pathetic. “We…didn’t have enough money…We went overboard during your ceremony.” Of course, they did. “We were just so ecstatic to have a chance at freedom that we overspent.”
“Idiots.” Sukuna spits.
You sigh, kneeling in front of them. Those sorry, sad faces ruminate in your chest. They’re pitiful. Never have you ever seen your parents look like that. Towards you nonetheless.
“How was it? The freedom you two had?”
Your parents look at each other, mildly shocked. Your father sniffles, wiping away the blood from his nose. “Horrible. We didn’t have you, our lovely daughter, with us to enjoy ourselves. Free from that tyrant.” He snaps at Sukuna who doesn’t say anything. But he’s still there. His presence is never missed.
“You were planning to come back for me? Take me away from here? As an apology?”
“Wife-”
You glare back at Sukuna, shaking your head. He can’t interfere. Not yet.
Your mother and father grip your robes, tugging on the fancy fabric with desperation. “Yes, yes we were. We just wanted to get settled and then we were going to come back for you. We swear.”
“We could never leave you with the likes of him. You’d think we would give you up and not come back?”
“What types of parents would we be to do that to you?”
Tears rise to the surface, desperate to escape and stain your cheeks. With one swoop you embrace them, head between their shoulders. Any tears that do come out stain their clothes, removing the dirt.
You want to believe them. Understand that they had a change of heart. That they wouldn’t abandon their only daughter. With each squeeze, each moment, the few teardrops that fall makes it clear for you.
You pull away, cupping your parents faces, a low smile rises on yours.
“I don’t forgive you.”
Their shocked reactions are irritating, but you don’t show it. When you stand, you look back at Sukuna, his eyes immediately on yours. That bit of irritation softening from his features.
“Please, don’t make a huge mess.”
Sukuna’s sadistic smile is pleasing. He flexes his hands as your parents struggle to get up, ready to flee from his wrath. “I shall make no promises.”
“We’re sorry!” Your father yells, backing away. “We shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“Please!” Your mother chimes in, “We were only doing what’s best for you!”
What’s best for you would be support. No talks about your weight, your skills. Not have any concern towards how you’ll make them look to others. They should’ve loved you unconditionally. Not turn on you when things got bad. When Sukuna showed up to wreck havoc into your lives.
If he didn’t do that, you wouldn’t have him. Continuing to be miserable for the rest of your life. And that’s not what you want. Not now, not ever.
“Don’t let him do this!” Your mother shouts when Sukuna grabs your father’s throat. You remain silent, listening to your father’s screams before his throat is ripped out. He quakes, struggling to stop any blood flow pouring from his neck as your mother screams. Her cry piercing your ears.
She attempts to run to the front door, making a break for it as your father bleeds out on the pristine marble floor. The color in is eyes fading until there’s none left.
Sukuna is fast, catching up to your mother and putting a hand right through her chest, removing her heart. She jolts in shock, her legs shaking then giving out. The thud from her body ripples the pool of blood forming around your father. A silence following its wake.
Your husband tosses the heart away; hands, chest, pants, decorated in blood splatter. When he makes his way towards you, you don’t move. Despite covered in blood, you don’t complain in the embrace, his face in your neck.
“Don’t let go…” You whisper, “Not yet.”
He obliges, settling you in his arms. The screams of your family fill you with uncertainty. You wish it didn’t have to end with death, no matter how much you desired revenge. But as each growing moment passes, the hole in your heart, which wasn’t as big as it was previously when you married Sukuna, slowly fills.
You won’t get better in a day, but it’s a start.
When you part, Sukuna cups your face. You lean into it, then grimace at the blood and bits of flesh. “Can we bathe now?”
“It’s just blood.” He demonstrates by licking his fingers, getting rid of the excess amount.
“My parents blood.”
“Which is what you wanted.”
You did and you don’t regret it.
It still doesn’t stop your sluggish movements, how you trail off as the bath is being prepared. Remnants of your parents screams echoes in your ears. Their lifeless bodies flash in your mind.
They’re gone. They’re truly gone.
You can’t expect any surprises, any random notices to acknowledge that you still exist. There’s nothing left. You’re the only one.
Ready to live your life.
Sukuna’s intense gaze never leaves yours. Not when you’re in his arms, making sure soap doesn’t get in his eyes. Thumb smearing away the water droplets for two whole minutes. Letting you sit with the idea that you’re his now. Only his.
“I shall let you grieve.”
You blink, looking into his eyes. “What?”
“You heard me. Even someone such as yourself will mourn the lack of absence of their parents.” His face remains neutral, although his tone laces with disapproval.
“I’m.” You hold your tongue, ready to tell a lie. Instead, your hand finds his hair, the water slicking back those soft strands of his. “The hatred in my heart hasn’t faded, but I will still mourn them. I am not heartless and I don’t care if you disagree.”
“Are you implying that I don’t have a heart?”
“You do. Just not for them.”
You’re unsure if his heart lies for you either. But you don’t say that. Only time will tell if Sukuna truly cares for you or if he’s biding his time. The only thing you can do is enjoy this moment.
When you press a kiss to his forehead, over his eyelids, nose, cheek and finally his lips, it seals the deal. He follows, a firm hand on your back, letting you take the lead. You want to steal his breath away. Sap away his strength. Until all he knows is you, your wife. His queen.
You slide past his lips, greeting that pink muscle. They dance, your breaths synchronizing during each point of contact. Your tongue hits the roof of his mouth and a groan is his response. Sukuna grips your thick thigh, dragging his nails along them. The scratches makes a satisfying burn along your skin, a moan following after.
The water ripples when he shifts, spreading his legs wider. The feel of those dual cocks isn’t lost on you, poking the underside of your rear. You don’t know how they’re going to fit inside you. But you’re ready, ready for anything he gives.
“Help me grieve.” You rasp, breath fanning his lips. “Make me forget. Just for a little while…”
He scoffs, hand tracing your backside. “Another demand.”
There isn’t any other complaints when he kisses you again. He pulls you towards him roughly, breasts smashed against his chest while your tongues clash. Both of you fighting to see who steals each other’s soul. To see who’s the first to pull apart.
You do, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Sukuna latches on to your neck, licking the water away before dragging a fang across your skin. Gooseflesh summon on command, coating your entire form. He then bites, not enough to draw blood, but enough for your nails to dig into his shoulders. Your cunt clenches then flutters when he sucks that same spot.
Sukuna grunts at the indent your nails make on him, continuing his journey along your skin. Your neck covered with bites, miniature scratches. His hands grip you during each action, molding your skin, groping at each bit of it.
He finds your thighs, fondling every fat, growling in appreciation at how it bends along his palm. A moment of surprise occurs when he lifts you up, but there’s no worry that he’ll drop you. That doesn’t cross your mind when he kisses your breast. The tops of it before moving down to your areola, licking around it then finding your nipple to suck on it.
You clutch his head, mouth agape at the sensation. He sucks hard, using his other hand to push his palm against your other nipple. It’s hard to find more relief. He practically has you up in the air, water rippling under your thighs, your spread cunt. You want to roll your hips against something as he gives attention to your nipples.
“Sukuna…” You call, tugging his hair. “Please…I need…”
“You’re making demands.” He grunts after a wet pop occurs from your nipple. “I will stop if you continue to do so.”
You tiff, ready to retaliate when knuckles graze along your clit. As Sukuna licks, sucks, nibbles on your other breast, he rolls that knuckle along your bud. Slow at first, following the pace of how he gives attention to your breast. Your head lolls to the side, kneading his skin under your palm. You want more than this measly touch, but if you say that he’ll stop.
There’s nothing wrong with showing it though.
You roll your hips along his hand, jolting at how his knuckle hits your clit. You do it again, exhaling under your breath.
He catches what you’re doing and moves his hand. Before you complain at the lack of contact, a thick finger pursues your hole. All you can do is hold your breath, clenching around it. His tongue before felt large. With his finger, it feels bigger.
Sukuna’s eyes flutter back as his finger goes into you bit by bit. “Fuck…you’re tight…”
He pulls away, chin on your chest, watching you as he pulls his finger out before pushing it back in. You bite your lip, getting used to the pump of one finger. Relaxing during each insertion. His thumb circles your clit during each push, your toes curling at the feeling.
As another finger comes in, you’re leaning back. Sukuna leans forward, eyes going between you and how your pussy is taking in his huge fingers. Disappearing in and out of you with ease. His bicep bulging, water highlighting the outline of his muscles. Those dark eyes lowering with intent.
It’s a pleasing sight. One that flutters your core. The dexterity of his fingers, how the water sloshes during each movement. You push into his hand, wanting more. Needing more. Sukuna gives you a warning growl, pulling you closer to him, angling you in a way he pushes in a third finger. Palm making quick, circular motions on your clit.
Your sex flutters, causing that familiar sensation to rise. It lingers in your stomach before rising and rising. Going all the way up to your chest. Your mouth gapes, clutching your husband’s arm as the feeling doesn’t cease. It suddenly shoots across your entire body, causing you to shiver and quake in his hold, crying out for him.
Sukuna keeps sustaining that feeling, brows furrowed, movements refined. It makes you jerk and twitch until you can’t take anymore, gasping for air. He gives you a chance to breathe before he steals another kiss.
“That was…” You sigh along his lips, “oh my…”
“Will you stop me again?” He asks, tone serious, stare filled with lust.
“No…no I won’t.”
Sukuna carries you with a purpose. Not caring of the mess you two make in the bath. Or the regard of your clothes being left behind. He makes a straight trek to your bed, dropping you.
You yelp, rough hands turning you around on your stomach. The futon dips as he lifts your hips up, your bottom in the air. Cool air surrounds you, especially your core. You can’t help but tremble. Is he going to penetrate you like this? You won’t be able to see his face.
“I need more.”
You’re unsure what that means when a long lick occurs from your cunt to your asshole. You shudder, digging your fingers into the sheets when another occurs. A gentle nibble appears on your rear before giving you another lick. Parting your pussy lips, grazing your bud. A loud slurp graces your ears, causing you to moan against the futon.
The position leaves you vulnerable, baring your all to your husband in a strange way. You can’t complain. Not when another slurp occurs, making you dig your feet into the mattress. Sukuna has a firm hand pressed on your back so you don’t move. His other hands grope your thick ass, shaping it as if he’s entranced by it’s motion.
He spreads your cheeks, causing another lick to coat your little hole. You whimper, shifting under his hold.
“Relax, wife.” He commands, soft, gentle.
You try to when a tongue licks across your sex again. The tip of it flicking your clit, giving it easy, small licks, enough to stimulate you. Pouring all your strength into your legs, making sure they hold up your lower half. You push against him and he swats your bottom, a sigh and a moan occurring.
“Be patient. I thought you know better than this.”
“Not if you continue to tease me.” You glare back at him.
A devilish grin plasters on his face, his cocks jumping at the same time as your threat. He bends down, burying your face between your full cheeks. Breath fanning them. With a lick and a prod to your hole, your eyes go wide.
Never had you thought of your husband wanting to pleasure you…there. Was this something that all husbands like to do with their wives? You didn’t remember your mother bringing it up when talking about your wifely duties.
Ah right, your mother.
No cause of regret can linger when he groans against your bottom. Spitting on your hole before licking once more. It makes your body tingle, leaving you only to just lie there and take it. It doesn’t help that his fingers pushes into your other hole. Pumping at a moderate pace while rolling your clit.
Your mind clouds, causing you to lack any thought. Sukuna is a relentless being. He doesn’t falter, doesn’t stutter when he wants something. He keeps munching on your hole as he consistently applies pleasure the other way. Your sex so slick, it leaks as additional lubrication to your clit.
Sukuna notices, parting for a moment to suck on his fingers, relishing the taste of you.
That feeling comes a lot quicker this time. Almost like your body snaps. Before you were just taking everything that is happening to you. Then your back arches, your holes clenching around him. Some of your arousal seeping through, trailing down his hand and your thighs.
Any bit of strength you may have, is gone. Practically non-existent.
Yet, you weren’t done.
Sukuna licks his lips, turning you on your side, with your leg up in the air. He’s heaving, cocks fully erect and angry. The blush red around his tips almost like it borderline hurts. Like he needs relief.
“I need you.” You say, gazing at him. “I need you so bad…”
“You’re begging?” Sukuna snorts with a low smile. “My wife shouldn’t beg for her husband to fuck her.”
“Then do it already.”
He grins at your sneer, angling his cock at your entrance. “Breathe. Don’t shut me out.”
“Okay.”
Sukuna doesn’t lose his focus on you. Not when he pushes inside you. His breaths getting heavy during the push. He can’t help but gape at your slick walls, a strong grip on your thigh. Your head falls back, unable to look at him for much longer. His shortness of breath, staggered movements tell you everything you need to know.
“Mine.”
He ruts his hips back, pulling out completely before pushing back in. You gasp, hands tangling in the sheets. Your stomach ripples, breasts moving in tandem of your husband’s thrusts. How he rolls his hips, wet hair clinging to his skin.
The top cock drips a white, sticky substance onto your abdomen, not getting as much attention. You’re not a person with the most dexterity, but you manage to reach over and stroke his cock. Smearing some of his arousal for more lubrication.
Sukuna sharply juts forward, making you moan. He heaves, picking up the pace, skin slapping against skin echoing across the room. You keep stroking him, feeling the vein along his shaft, admiring the ink at the base. His heavy balls grazing your ass as he keeps going. His entire body taut, like he’s concentrating.
“Don’t…do that…” He grits his teeth, but makes no effort to remove your hand.
“Try and stop me.”
Sukuna pants when you follow his pace, dragging a nail down his shaft, amazed at how reactive his cock is. A small puddle forms on your belly. Out of curiosity, you take a swipe and lick it. The salty taste coating your tongue.
“Mmm.”
“You have a desire to kill me.” It wasn’t a question. Not when you’re flat on your back now and he’s pulled out completely. His cock coated in your wetness.
You can’t admire it for long when he takes your legs and holds them up. You’re in awe at how effortless he does it.
Sukuna then inserts both of his cocks inside your hole, earning a silent, long cry from you. He’s stretching you to the brim, knowing you can take both at the same time. You’re so full, you can’t take more if he wanted to give you more.
“Shit…” He swears, out of breath. “You’re taking me well, my little spark.”
“Sukuna…Sukuna please, just…”
Your eyes flutter back as he thrusts you with no remorse. No regret. Just endless amounts of pleasure coursing through you. From a man who thought he was incapable of doing such things with you. Who wanted nothing to do with you. And yet he’s fucking you to make you forget any and everything that is your old life.
Your life is with him now.
Your life is his as your orgasm surges, shooting endless waves across your body. Filling you up and taking you to place you’ve never been before. A rush of wetness releases from your sex, covering your husband’s stomach. His stomach mouth licks up any bit of you as Sukuna doesn’t stop his thrusts.
He’s a mess.
His growls and grunts mix together. His stomach flexes, as his thrusts become erratic. His top two eyes are closed while the lower ones roll back in pure ecstasy. White, hot cum suddenly fills your cunt as he stills, pumping you a couple of times before he has nothing left to give.
Just silence and a shift as he pulls out, cocks shining under the moonlight. You wish he didn’t. That emptiness quickly filling you up. You reach out to him, wanting some form of contact. Something.
Sukuna notices, taking your hand, connecting his fingers through yours.
“Don’t go. Don’t leave me with this.”
“Foolish wife.” He scoops you up, cradling you in his arms. Those eyes showing a glint of affection. Care. “As if I would depart from you. You're mine now.”
He doesn’t look away or say anything else to go back on his word. He lets you sit with it. With him. And you believe it.
You never expected this to come out of this accursed marriage.
If you all want to be tagged for more of my works, see here.
You barely remembered the walk back. Cutting across the beach, and making your way up the porch.
You climbed the steps slowly, each one creaking under your weight like it was announcing your arrival. Your key felt too small in your hand. Too quiet. You turned it in the lock and stepped inside.
The house was dim, lights low, the familiar hum of the fridge and the distant tick of the clock suddenly loud enough to crawl under your skin. Your backpack slid off your shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud, water still dripping faintly from the hem. Salt clung to you no matter how much you’d tried to wipe it away. You could still feel it in your hair, your pores, your bones.
You barely made it two steps inside before—
“Oh. There you are.”
Utahime’s voice came from the living room, tight and controlled in a way that made your stomach drop straight through the floor.
You froze.
Slowly, you turned the corner.
They were all there.
Utahime stood with her arms crossed near the couch, brows knit so hard it looked painful. Shoko was perched on the armrest, one leg crossed over the other, expression unreadable but eyes sharp and calculating. Haibara sat forward on the couch like he’d been wound too tight, concern etched across his face. Kento stood near the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled, posture rigid like he’d been bracing himself for bad news. And Choso—
He was sitting on the arm of the couch, shoulders tense, hands clasped loosely between his knees. His eyes met yours the moment you stepped inside, dark and searching, relief so naked it almost hurt to look at.
“You’re alive,” Haibara said, breathy and weak with relief. “Oh thank God.”
That one hurt the most.
“I told you I was fine,” you said, aiming for casual. It came out thin. “On the phone.”
Utahime took a step toward you. “Do you have any idea what you put us through?”
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
Your tongue felt too big for your mouth, your thoughts still sloshing like water that refused to settle. Images flashed behind your eyes—sunset on scales, the hum of the tide, the way your body had answered the ocean without hesitation.
“I said I was sorry.” you said finally. Again. Weak again.
Kento sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You disappeared for half a day. No texts. No calls. No explanation.”
Choso stood up.
The room shifted instantly, like the air had changed pressure.
“You wouldn’t answer your phone,” he said. “We went back to campus. We checked the paths. We looked everywhere on campus, Reader. You weren’t there.”
Your heart stuttered.“I didn’t mean to. I just—lost track of time.”
Utahime exhaled sharply. “Okay. Enough. Sit. All of you.”
She gestured toward the couch. You hesitated, then obeyed, lowering yourself carefully as if afraid the cushions might turn to water beneath you. Choso sat beside you again, close enough that your arm brushed his.
That tiny contact nearly undid you.
“Start talking,” Utahime said. “Slowly. And don’t skip things.”
You swallowed.
What could you say?
That the ocean had called you by name?
That your legs weren’t always legs anymore?
That every glass of water in this house suddenly felt like a threat?
“I went for a walk,” you began, choosing each word like it might detonate. “I needed air. After yesterday. The island. It was…a lot.”
That much, at least, was true.
Haibara nodded immediately. “Yeah. That place was creepy as hell.”
Shoko hummed in agreement. “Bad vibes.”
You latched onto that thread gratefully. “Exactly. I just needed space.”
Choso didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his shoulder was warm against yours, solid, grounding in a way that made your chest ache.
Shoko sniffed the air subtly, eyes flicking to your jacket. “You smell like the ocean.”
“I sat on a rock,” you said quickly. “It splashed.”
Silence followed. Heavy. Skeptical.
Utahime studied you for a long moment, then sighed. “You scared us.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”
That, at least, wasn’t a lie.
Choso finally spoke again, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to explain everything,” he said. “But if something’s wrong—”
His hand shifted slightly on the cushion, close enough that your fingers could have brushed his if you let them.
Utahime interrupted and clapped her hands once. “You’re grounded from disappearing acts for at least a week.”
Shoko smirked. “Minimum.”
You managed a smile back, but it felt thin. Fragile.
Because even as you stood there, surrounded by friends, safe and dry and human…
Your skin still hummed.
Utahime’s gaze flicked over you. “You sure you’re not sick?”
“I’m fine,” you said immediately. Too fast. “Just tired.”
Shoko leaned back against the armrest, arms folding loosely. “You look like hell.”
“Thank you,” you muttered dryly.
“I mean it lovingly,” Shoko added. “But you look… wrung out.”
Haibara nodded, brow furrowing. “You didn’t eat lunch, did you?”
You hesitated.
“…No.”
Utahime groaned. “Of course you didn’t.”
“I’ll eat later,” you said. “I just want to shower. And lie down.”
You stood slowly, bracing yourself for the strange weight of gravity again. Your legs cooperated…mostly. The floor stayed solid. That felt like a victory.
Choso rose with you.
“I’ll—” He stopped himself, then tried again. “I’ll check on you later. If that’s okay.”
Your chest warmed. “Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”
Utahime waved you toward the hall. “Don’t take forever. And no passing out in the tub.”
Shoko smirked. “If you drown in there, I’m resurrecting you just to kill you myself.”
“Comforting,” you muttered, managing a real smile this time.
You escaped down the hallway, heart still racing.
The bathroom light clicked on, too bright. You shut the door behind you and leaned against it, breathing hard like you’d just outrun something invisible.
Your reflection stared back at you from the mirror.
You looked… normal.
A little tired. Hair still damp at the ends, jacket salt-stained and wrinkled. Human.
You lifted your hands, turning them slowly.
No scales.
No shimmer.
Your fingers flexed easily. Familiar joints. Familiar skin.
Relief loosened something in your chest.
“Okay,” you murmured. “Okay.”
You stepped closer to the sink and turned the faucet, letting it run just enough to rinse your hands. Barely a trickle.
The reaction was immediate.
Heat flared under your skin—sharp and sudden, like striking a match beneath your palms. Your breath hitched as a faint pearlescent sheen bloomed along your knuckles, catching the light for half a second too long. The skin along your fingers tightened, smooth in a way that felt wrong, unfamiliar. Not scales. Not yet.
But close.
Your pulse roared in your ears. Your fingers twitched, aching with the urge to spread, to move differently, to slip.
“No—no, no—”
You snapped the faucet off so hard it rattled, yanking your hands back as if the sink had bitten you.
You grabbed a towel and scrubbed your hands dry, overdoing it, friction grounding you in sensation that made sense. Cotton. Pressure. Heat that came from you, not...whatever this bullshit was. The house murmured around you—voices in the living room, Haibara laughing softly, Shoko teasing Utahime, Kento’s low reply.
You leaned forward, resting your forehead briefly against the mirror.
Any touch of water.
The realization settled heavy in your stomach.
You glanced at the shower curtain. The sink. The glass of water sitting on the counter from earlier, condensation beading along the side.
Your throat went dry.
Slowly, carefully, you pushed the glass farther away.
Synopsis: You (the town bookworm) are engaged to Toji, the strongest most egotistical curse slayer protecting your village. In a state of desperation, you make your way through the forest to escape, and find an abandoned castle where a monstrous creature with 4 arms and 2 mouths resides…and weird talking furniture?
Cw: Mild violence and very brief nudity mention
Notes: I’m really excited for my first fic! This was supposed to be a two shot but idk honestly. I accidentally invented too much lore so it might be a full series. I also know that Popstar!reader and Emo!Choso was technically supposed to be my first 👀 It’s cooking I promise! Currently at 3K words but way more to come!
WC: 2.5K (short because it’s a prologue)
The night was cold and frosty as the ball raged on inside. Delicate golden candles decorated the walls, fine white china laid out alongside a banquet for only the most noble of guests. Sorcerers. The most powerful human beings on the planet. All with diverse talents and strengths united by their responsibility to protect the weak and keep a tight reign on the strong.
Uraume was busily tending to the various flowers along the table, ensuring perfection for their king.
“Do you think our lord will make an appearance tonight?” Yorozu whined.
“He must do,” the ice wielder replied. "He has shown his strength on the battlefield and now he must show it in his own castle. If his politics is as good as his raw strength, the kingdom will be secured for the rest of his lineage.”
“I hope you’re right,” Yorozu sighed. “given recent events, this will be the perfect time to propose. Just think about it! The king and queen of curses. We’d be such a power couple-“
Uraume drowned her out. Although they could relate to her devotion towards Sukuna, the way it was expressed was…odd. One time when Sukuna was preparing battle strategy, Yorozu had jumped into his arms with nothing but a robe! That was a memory that would never leave no matter how many times Uraume tried to scrub it out.
“I am always right,” Uraume interrupted, any more of this horny drabble over Sukuna would make them sick. “If you excuse me, I must greet the Gojos.”
They scurried away, leaving Yorozu with a perplexed look on her face. No matter, she’d find someone else’s ear to screech in.
Uraume crossed the lavish ballroom in search of the recently appointed head of the Gojo clan. Whilst on their search, they couldn’t help but admire the handy work done around the castle. The weeks of planning, hiring and firing servants and days of cooking paid off.
2 heavy, crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling, bathing the room in deep amber lighting. The grand staircase opposite was lined with a velvet carpet that gave the castle the royal appearance it deserved. The wooden floors scrubbed clean with blood sweat and tears- perfectly for a king.
“Uraume, long time no see!” There was only one person that grating voice could belong to. They found who they were looking for.
“Prince Gojo, I trust you’re enjoying the ball.”
“Ah, come on! No need for formalities around me,” his eyes twinkling with arrogance and over familiarity “I thought we were best buds.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
The prince was annoying as he was handsome. Dressed in a gorgeous sky blue Sokutai with silver trimmings. His aristocratic face was made more beautiful by his gentle smile. A sharp jawline with a pretty nose, slightly crooked from being broken a few times. His most notable features were his cloudy hair and blue eyes. Just calling them blue felt like a massive understatement. They were the deepest shade of blue Uraume had ever seen, just any adjective wouldn’t suffice.
“I appreciate your friendly demeanor. Please enjoy yourself, our king will be out shortly to greet you.”
A scoff. “Our king? It’s a bit soon for all that don’t ya think?” Gojo replied, his playful nature shifting into something slightly darker. Anyone other than Uraume probably wouldn’t have noticed.
“That is what we’re here to discuss. If you wish to challenge Sukuna, you will follow the proper protocol.”
A tense silence stretched between them, the ball only acting as white noise as the pair sized up one another.
“Of course,” the white haired sorcerer replied, putting on a pretty smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes “We’ll speak again soon.”
The conversation ended as abruptly as it had started. Uraume followed the sorcerer with their eyes, a protective flare in their chest. Sukuna may not be the ideal puppet ruler the Gojo clan wanted, but he was powerful. A force to be reckoned with. He would rule with strength and ambition, enemies of the kingdom shuddering before they think of challenging him.
As if summoned by Uraumes’ internal praise, the door to the ballroom opened. The party froze, just for a second, to take in the man that had walked in. Strong arms scarred from battle, powerful thighs that carried his body with confidence that was earned and fought for, with pink delicate hair to contrast the raw might radiating from his body. And a rugged handsome face, that was surely the weakness of many women and men gathered tonight, especially Yorozu.
Uraume could only imagine the look on her face as Sukuna entered the ball.
He stalked through the crowd, which had naturally carved a path out for him. He paid them no mind. They were mere ants born with magic tricks, witnessing what real power looked like for the first time in their unimportant lives. He could not blame them for staring.
He fixed his eyes on the throne at the back of the room. A strong shade of deep red with black and gold streaks, decorated with bones of his crushed enemies. He almost scoffed at the thought of someone else sitting in it. It would dwarf them. Swallow them. This seat is his and will always be his.
After what felt like hours, the man finally sat and gave his attention to the sorcerers gathered before him. The atmosphere was tense. Good.
At least it was until some insolent brat forced his attention away.
“Sukuna, hello!” A stupid blue eyed boy was waving at him.
He craned his neck down to whisper to Uraume, who had placed themselves to his side, as if by second nature. “Who the hell is that insolent child?”
“That is Saturo Gojo, my lord, wielder of the six eyes.” Uraume sighed. Clearly unimpressed by his odd behaviour.
Oh, the six eyed kid huh? Sukuna thought to himself.
“I thought he would be more… impressive.”
“Everyone looks small in comparison to you, my lord, but do not underestimate him. He is a valuable asset to your arsenal-“
“I have no need for weaklings in my arsenal.”
Before the king could argue more, Gojo walked forward with confidence. Sukuna noticed the crowd also made a path for him. Interesting.
“A wonderful ball you’re hosting my king.”
A gruff nod in response. Not swayed by flattery, it seems.
“I don’t know if Uraume told you, but I’m here to speak about your claim to the Kaisen throne,” the light in his eyes didn’t match the heavy topic of conversation.
Sukuna didn’t even give him eye contact, and was merely staring through him. It wasn’t a conscious intimidation tactic, his behaviour was just reflective of the respect both his conscious and subconscious believed he deserved.
“I’m assuming you want it.” Blood red eyes finally met cerulean blue.
“My family wants me to want it. I have no taste for meetings with the higher ups and hosting pompous events.”
A sharp look of indignation crossed Uraume's face. How dare he speak to his king in such a way.
Sukuna on the other hand let out a strong, amused chuckle.
“You flatter me, then insult my party,” he spits out the words as if the thought of himself at a party added to the joke. “What is your angle here boy?”
“I believe the most powerful amongst us should sit on the throne. Your feats speak for themselves, although you haven’t fought and beat the princes selected for the throne,” Sukuna raises a brow as the six eyed user drones on. “Fight me tomorrow at sundown.”
Silence. Sukuna takes a moment to take in the audacious offer.
“If you win, you keep the throne and you have the Saturo Gojo as your right hand in battle. If you lose, you’re banished from the kingdom and will deal with punishment from the higher ups, although I’m sure you’ll find a way to avoid that.”
Sukuna was tapping his fingers against the armrest of the throne. Talking about the damn seat was boring and inconsequential when he was sat
comfortably in it.
He continued tapping as he asked “You just said you didn’t want the throne, brat. Winning would be no prize.”
Gojo didn’t want the throne badly but he wasn’t stupid. He knew it’d have its unique set of advantages. His techniques made him a weapon to be used at the dispersal of others. If he was destined to be a weapon, he’d do it on his own terms.
“None of your business.” Gojo replied, hands behind his back like a naughty child.
“Watch your mouth.” Sukuna spat, his volume controlled.
“Whaddya say, my king.”
Sukuna leaned forward, a sinister smirk gracing his lips. “I don’t lose.”
The ball went on with music playing, drinks spilling and the drunkards tripping. It was a disgusting affair. The king and his loyal hand were standing near the snack table, the gluttonous royal happy to indulge in anything that wasn’t his guests. “How much longer do I need to stand this Uraume?”
“The head of the clans will be eager to talk to you. I’d say until midnight.” Uraume said sternly, taking the job of advising the king very seriously.
“Fucking hell.” Sukuna sighed. Not very many things tired the man out but damn, these pesky, nosy sorcerers would be the death of him.
His pessimistic train of thought was interrupted by the sight of an old hag in rags crossing the ballroom floor towards him.
“Uraume, who the fuck is that?” Sukuna spat, offended by the prescience of someone obviously so weak.
“I don’t know my lord, I can get rid of them for-“ before they knew it the hag was standing in front of the mighty king.
How did a little old lady move so fast??
She looked up at his imposing frame with weary eyes and a wrinkled face, more so from years of labour rather than age.
“Good evening, my king. If you could please give me a moment of your time! Please, I am in desperate need of help.” The little lady clasped her hands together, a pleading look on her face and desperation in her tone. Disgusting.
Sukuna didn’t buy it anyway, and his guests were beginning to stare.
“Do I look like a charity?” Sukuna replied before turning his broad back on her, giving his advisor a pointed look to get rid of the old nuisance.
“But please Sire, my village is being attacked by creatures we don’t understand. We are in the height of famine! I ask only for assistance and will be forever in your debt!” Uraume's ears perked up with interest as they moved to restrain the old lady.
“Given your condition, forever is not a long time,” Sukuna chuckles to himself “Besides, even after 100 years, what could you offer me?”
The lady’s eyes glimmer with hope as she looks at Uraume for permission. Their face gave nothing away, but their hands loosen their grip just enough for the hag to reach into her coat pocket. After a moment of clumsy fiddling and an eye roll from an impatient Sukuna, she pulls out a pretty red rose. Pretty, but that’s it.
“You dare insult me with such a lowly offer? You think I cannot have my servants plant 1000 roses if I so wish?”
“My lord please-“
“Get rid of that bumbling hag this instant!” The king commands Uraume with a final tone.
“And you,” The king turns to face the intruder, emitting a negative energy fit for a demon rather than a king.
“You're lucky I’m letting you leave with your life.” He turns to walk away, screw whatever sorcerer needed an audience with him, this evening is over.
He began to storm out of his ballroom, shoving guests with his imposing frame.
“You’ll regret this Ryomen.” The hag spoke calmly. The king paused, taken aback for the first moment in his life. How dare she address him so informally. As if they were equals, and with that insulting name.
“It is an enchanted rose. One with great power. You will come to need it.”
Sukuna still had his back turned, utterly astounded. He slowly looked over his shoulder, Uraume had their hands on the lady’s shoulders, ready to usher her out. The sorcerers- along with that damn Gojo- were staring. And mumbling. Were they questioning his power? His ability to lead the strongest humans alive?
“You dare insult your king a second time this evening?” He turns round fully, creeping forward like a predator zoning in on their prey. “Let me make something clear. I know of no sorcerer with a technique to enchant a rose.” Every word came out venomously, his teeth barred like a dog ready to attack. “Even if I did, I have no use for magic flowers. I am the strongest, most powerful being in existence and I don’t do charity for the weak.”
The ballroom, once again, was covered in a thick silence. A man with long black hair gave a look to Gojo, clearly signalling it was time to leave. They weren’t the only ones. Princes from multiple clans had their advisors giving silent signals it was time to depart. Sukuna paid them no mind. If they ran away during potential conflict, that was their issue. If they were intimated by his combative nature, good.
The mighty king's jaw began to twitch in deeper frustration, his eyes harbouring a crazed look of blood lust. He raised his hand, forgetting his promise of letting the damn leave with her life, before the candles went out and the room was pitch black.
His eyes widened in realisation, snapping out of his anger and shifting into a state of confusion.
His guests did the same. Mumbling voices confused as to what was going on.
That was until the old lady began to glow a deep shade of amethyst. Illuminating the room once more. The pretty amber shade was gone, squashed by the deep purple aura emitting. Shards of light pierced through the sorcerers in the room, panic beginning to set. The strongest humans alive had been reduced to a weak mass.
“My technique isn’t working!!”
“Where’s Gojo?”
“I can’t find my husband!”
“Sukuna! I- get out my fucking way, I need to find the king.”
Sukuna scanned the scene, looking for his hand amongst the chaos, though they were nowhere to be found.
The hag locked eyes with the king.
“You were warned Sukuna. Your self absorbed, monstrous nature does not make you fit for a king. I will see to it that your kingdom and all its sorcerers will pay the price for your insolence.”
fanfiction etiquette is practically nonexistent nowadays because why are YOUUU monetizing your fanfiction and putting it behind a paywall??? this is clearly some of yall’s first fandom i need anne rice to rise from her grave and smack some sense into yall
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