How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life
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@veryprettyyeri
How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life
Chapter 1: "The Third Wife"
You arrive at Sukuna's palace as his third wife—a political offering, nothing more. Unlike your predecessors, you don't arrive with expectations of love or power. You arrive with seeds for a dead garden and kindness for forgotten servants. In a palace built on fear, you plant hope. And the Emperor notices.
WC: 2,891 ───〃★ masterlist
The cherry blossoms had long since fallen.
Winter gripped the palace grounds in skeletal fingers, leaving behind bare branches and frozen earth. It was fitting, you thought, for a place like this—a palace ruled by a man they called a monster, a curse, a demon in human skin.
Ryomen Sukuna.
Your husband, as of three hours ago.
The wedding ceremony had been efficient. Cold. You'd been dressed in the finest silk—crimson and gold, colors that complemented the tattoos you'd glimpsed on his skin—and led through corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly. The few servants you'd passed had kept their eyes down, their footsteps hurried, as if lingering too long in these halls might invite catastrophe.
You didn't blame them.
You'd heard the stories. Everyone had. The Emperor who'd conquered lands with nothing but his cursed energy and ruthlessness. The man who'd taken a first wife and cast her aside when her jealousy became tiresome. A second wife who'd lasted even less time—too vapid, too eager to please, ultimately too boring to keep his interest.
Now there was you.
The third wife.
A treaty offering from your father's province, a political band-aid for a conflict your family couldn't hope to win. You'd accepted your fate with the same quiet grace you'd accepted everything else in life—with steady hands and a calm heart, even when your mother had wept.
"Someone will show you to your chambers," the officiant had said after the ceremony, and then you'd been alone.
Not entirely alone, you supposed. Somewhere in this sprawling palace, Sukuna's concubines resided. You'd seen a few during the ceremony—beautiful women dripping in jewels, their eyes sharp as they assessed the new wife. You'd met their gazes evenly, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.
You weren't here to make enemies. You weren't naive enough to think you could make friends either.
The shoji door slid open, and two young women entered—both looking no older than yourself. They bowed in perfect unison, their movements practiced but stiff with nervousness.
"Empress," the first one said, her voice barely above a whisper. She had gentle brown eyes and her hands trembled slightly. "I am Danielle. This is Haerin. We've been assigned to attend to you."
The second girl—Haerin—kept her eyes downcast, her posture rigid with fear. She was as pretty as Danielle, with delicate features and long lashes, but she looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.
"Thank you, Danielle. Haerin." You kept your voice soft, gentle, and watched as both girls' eyes widened in surprise. "I appreciate your help. This palace is... quite large. I'm afraid I'll get lost without guidance."
Danielle blinked rapidly, as if kindness was unexpected. Perhaps it was, in a place like this. "Y-yes, Empress. Your chambers have been prepared. If you'll follow us?"
They led you through more corridors, these ones slightly warmer, touched by braziers that cast dancing shadows on the walls. You noticed how they walked—Hana slightly ahead, Haerin trailing behind, both of them glancing nervously at closed doors as if expecting something terrible to emerge.
Your chambers, when you finally reached them, were surprisingly beautiful—spacious, with painted screens depicting cranes in flight, and a small garden visible through the windows.
A dead garden, you noted. Winter-killed and abandoned.
"Will there be anything else, Empress?" Danielle asked, while Haerin began arranging your few belongings with quick, efficient movements.
You turned to them both, offering a small smile. "Please, when we're alone, you can call me by my name if you'd like. And yes—do you know if there are gardening tools available? Seeds, perhaps?"
Both girls froze. Haerin's hands stilled on the silk robe she'd been folding.
"G-gardening tools, my lady?" Danielle stammered.
"The garden outside." You gestured to the window. "It seems a shame to leave it barren. I'd like to plant winter camellias. And perhaps some early plum blossoms, if the soil can support them."
Haerin finally spoke, her voice soft and uncertain. "But my lady... it's winter. Nothing will grow until—"
"Spring," you finished gently. "I know. But seeds need time to root, even in the cold. And hope needs something to tend to."
The two girls exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them. Then Danielle straightened her shoulders. "I... I'll inquire about the tools, my lady. We should have such things in storage."
"Thank you, Danielle." You looked at Haerin, who was still staring at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "And Haerin, if you're not too busy tomorrow, would you help me plan the garden layout? I'd appreciate another perspective."
The girl's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "M-me, my lady?"
"Yes, you. I imagine you know this palace better than I do. You'd know where the sun hits, where the shadows fall."
A faint blush colored Haerin's cheeks. "I... yes, my lady. I would be honored."
You didn't see Sukuna for three days.
It didn't surprise you. Political marriages rarely involved actual interaction, and you imagined an emperor had better things to do than visit a wife he'd been forced to take.
So you kept yourself occupied.
The garden became your first project. You worked alongside Danielle and Harin—much to their shock—kneeling in the cold earth with your sleeves tied back, planting camellia seeds with careful hands.
"My lady, please," Danielle had protested on the first day, looking genuinely distressed. "This isn't proper. If the Emperor sees—"
"Then he sees," you'd said simply, patting soil over a seed. "My mother always said that anything worth having is worth working for. Besides, I like the feel of earth under my fingernails. It reminds me that I'm alive."
Haerin had knelt beside you then, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. "My grandmother used to garden," she'd said softly. "Before she passed. She said that plants were like people—they needed patience and care to thrive."
"Your grandmother sounds wise," you'd replied, and the smile Haerin gave you was like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Word spread quickly through the palace. The new empress, kneeling in the dirt like a common servant. The new empress, who spoke gently to her attendants and worked alongside them. The new empress, who didn't demand or throw tantrums or weep dramatically like the others.
You pretended not to notice the whispers, but you noticed how Danielle and Haerin began to relax around you. How Danielle started humming while she worked. How Haerin laughed—actually laughed—when you made a joke about your dirt-stained hands.
On the fourth day, you encountered your first concubine.
She was beautiful—of course she was—with long dark hair and sharp, calculating eyes. She found you in the garden again, wrapped in a thick cloak against the winter wind, sketching plans for a stone path while Danielle and Haerinarranged tools nearby.
"So you're the new one," she said without preamble.
You looked up, setting down your charcoal. Danielle and Haerin immediately tensed, bowing low. You gestured for them to rise. "I am. And you're...?"
"Ningning." She tilted her head, studying you like a cat studies a mouse. Her gaze flickered to your attendants dismissively before returning to you. "I've been here two years. Longer than either of your predecessors."
"Then you must be very special," you said simply, without irony.
That seemed to throw her. Her eyes narrowed. "You're not what I expected."
"I'm sorry to disappoint."
"I didn't say I was disappointed." She crouched down, her fine robes pooling around her, seemingly unconcerned about the dirt. "The first wife was a shrew. The second was a fool. What are you?"
You considered the question, then smiled. "A gardener, apparently."
Despite herself, Ningning laughed. It was a surprised sound, quickly stifled. "You're planting flowers in winter. That makes you a fool too."
"Perhaps," you agreed. "But even fools can hope for spring."
She studied you for another long moment, then stood. "He'll break you," she said, not unkindly. "Sukuna breaks everything eventually. It's his nature."
"Maybe," you said softly. "Or maybe some things are strong enough to bend instead of break."
Ningning left without another word, but you thought you saw something like respect in her eyes.
After she was gone, Haerin leaned closer to you. "My lady... you weren't afraid of her."
"Should I have been?"
"The second empress was," Danielle said quietly. "She used to cry after the concubines visited. Said they were cruel to her."
You looked at both girls thoughtfully. "Did you know the second empress well?"
They exchanged glances. "We didn't serve her," Haerin admitted. "We worked in the kitchens usually. But we heard things."
"She screamed at the servants," Danielle added, her voice barely a whisper. "Threw things when she was angry. We were... surprised when we were assigned to you. We thought..."
"You thought I'd be the same," you finished gently.
Both girls looked down, ashamed.
"It's alright," you said, reaching out to squeeze Danielle's hand briefly. "You can't be blamed for expecting the worst. But I promise you both—I'm not here to make anyone's life harder. We're all just trying to survive in our own ways."
Haerin's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Thank you, my lady," she whispered.
You met Sukuna on the fifth night.
You'd been preparing for bed, braiding your hair by candlelight, when the door opened without warning. Danielle and Haerin had left for the evening—you'd insisted they rest, that you could manage alone—so when his massive frame filled the doorway, you were alone.
Completely alone.
With the man they called a monster.
He was... larger than you'd expected. Taller. The tattoos you'd glimpsed during the ceremony covered more of his skin—intricate patterns that seemed to move in the flickering light. His eyes, all four of them, fixed on you with an intensity that would have made lesser women tremble.
You set down your brush and stood, bowing respectfully. "Emperor."
"Sukuna," he corrected, his voice like gravel and silk. "You're my wife. Use my name."
"Sukuna," you repeated softly.
He moved into the room with predatory grace, and you noticed he was studying you the same way Ningning had—like he was trying to solve a puzzle. His eyes traveled from your simple sleeping robe to your bare feet, to the loose braid draped over your shoulder.
"You're not afraid," he observed.
"Should I be?"
"Most people are."
You met his gaze steadily. "Most people haven't been raised by a father who negotiated with warlords since childhood. I learned early that fear is only useful if it keeps you alive. Otherwise, it's just... exhausting."
Something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity?
He moved closer, and you caught his scent—sandalwood and something darker, like smoke and steel. He reached out, and you held perfectly still as he caught your braid between his fingers, testing its weight.
"You've been gardening," he said.
Not a question. A statement.
"Yes."
"In winter."
"Yes."
"Why?"
You considered how to answer. Honesty, you decided, was probably safest with a man who could smell lies. "Because the garden was dead, and I don't like looking at dead things. Because even in winter, there's potential for growth—you just have to be patient enough to wait for it. And because..." you paused, then continued softly, "because I needed something beautiful to tend to."
His eyes—all of them—focused on you with unnerving intensity. "You think you can make something beautiful here? In my palace?"
"I think," you said carefully, "that beauty exists everywhere, if you're willing to look for it. Even in unlikely places."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—a sharp, dangerous thing that should have terrified you.
It didn't.
"The others tried to change me," he said, releasing your braid. "The first wife wept and begged me to send away my concubines. The second tried to seduce me into compliance, thinking her body was enough to hold my attention."
"I have no intention of changing you," you replied. "You are who you are. An emperor. A force of nature. I'd have better luck trying to convince winter to become spring ahead of schedule."
"And yet you plant flowers."
"I plant flowers," you agreed, "because that's who I am. Not to change the winter, but to be ready when spring comes on its own."
He stared at you for so long you wondered if you'd said something wrong. Then he turned and walked to the door.
"The servants say you work alongside them," he said without looking back. "That you learn their names and ask about their families."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because they're people," you said simply. "And people deserve to be seen."
He paused in the doorway, his massive frame silhouetted against the corridor light. "You're strange."
"I've been told that before."
"I haven't decided yet," he said, "if you're wise or foolish."
"Perhaps I'm both," you offered. "Most interesting people are."
You could have sworn you heard him laugh—a low, rumbling sound—before he disappeared into the darkness.
Sleep came surprisingly easily that night.
The next morning, you found something waiting in your garden.
A single winter camellia, already in bloom, planted in the center of the space you'd been preparing. Its petals were the palest pink, almost white, delicate against the frozen earth.
Impossible. Camellias from seed took years to bloom.
But there it was.
Danielle and Haerin found you staring at it, your fingers pressed to your lips.
"The Emperor's work," Danielle whispered, her eyes wide. "His cursed energy can manipulate growth. Force life from death." She hesitated. "He's never used it for flowers before. Only for... other purposes."
Haerin clutched your arm gently. "My lady... what does it mean?"
You knelt beside the camellia, touching its petals with reverent fingers. They were real. Alive. Beautiful.
"Even monsters," you whispered, "can create something gentle."
Behind you, your two attendants exchanged hopeful glances.
And high above, unseen and unheard, Sukuna watched from a window.
He told himself it was a whim. A momentary curiosity about the strange woman who'd invaded his palace with her quiet voice and dirt-stained hands.
He told himself it meant nothing.
He was a liar.
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always walking the fine line between wanting to be free to live my life as I please and wanting to have somebody worth making sacrifices for
with the rise of islamophobia on twitter and tiktok id just like to say if you genuinely harass hijabis under the guise of being 'woke' and criticising religion, get off my page
with the rise of islamophobia on twitter and tiktok id just like to say if you genuinely harass hijabis under the guise of being 'woke' and criticising religion, get off my page
˚౨ৎ ⋆ always
r.grace x fem!reader ⋮ angst ⋮ estab. relationship ⋮ alludes to character death ⋮ reader refers to ryland as 'honey' ⋮ 539 words
˚౨ৎ ⋆ always
r.grace x fem!reader ⋮ angst ⋮ estab. relationship ⋮ alludes to character death ⋮ reader refers to ryland as 'honey' ⋮ 539 words
˚౨ৎ ⋆ always
r.grace x fem!reader ⋮ angst ⋮ estab. relationship ⋮ alludes to character death ⋮ reader refers to ryland as 'honey' ⋮ 539 words
a farewell extras
ryland grace x fem!reader
w/c: ~2.3k
a/n: this is literally just extra bits i chose not to use/a KIND OF sequel to my first grace fic. i just wanted to let these see the light of day :p (check out the fic here!)
engagement party. justin hurwitz
Oh this hurt
―୨୧ ryland 'yapper' grace who genuinely cannot stop talking when he's comfortable with someone. he's spitting out science facts whenever they come to his mind in a conversation. "well, uh, actually, the earth's rotation is gradually slowing down." he says, fixing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "at the end of each century. well, it's lengthening about 1.7 miliseconds. but still. the days are getting longer. so, uh, that's probably why you feel like you've been working longer than you have."
―୨୧ ryland 'yapper' grace who deliberately makes his students cringe. whenever there's trash on his desk, he's balling it up with a silly little grin, then launching it at the trash saying "Kobe!" he also uses brainrot back at his students. so much so that it's slipped into his everyday vocabulary.
―୨୧ ryland 'yapper' grace who somehow gets to talking even more when he's nervous. which usually happens when you're close to him. at the end of the night out, where you're looking so pretty under the porch light, he's opening his mouth like a goof. "I actually had a lot of fun tonight- u-uh, not that I don't always have fun when we're together, because I do. tonight was just extra fun-" you cut him off by pressing your lips to his. when he realizes what had happened, he's gasping against your mouth and wrapping an arm around your waist.
―୨୧ ryland 'yapper' grace who only shuts up when you stick your fingers in his mouth. it startles him every time, whether you're doing it innocently or when things are getting heated. a laugh bubbles up in his throat, too flabbergasted to even remember what he was talking about. his jaw hangs open, eyes wide as he looks down at you. "really?" he mutters, voice muffled around your digits.
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Bucky’s uniform appreciation post
No-strings!Sukuna x reader
You knew exactly who he was… and stayed
This is for my bb @sugusplaything just this once event ♥︎
Tw: MDNI, 18+
Loving Ryomen Sukuna is a bit like willingly walking into a burning building and being surprised when you get third degree burns.
You knew the fire was there. You saw the flames. You smelled the smoke. And your dumb ass walked in anyway because the warmth felt nice.
Sukuna Ryomen: A selfish bastard, commitment phobe, serial heartbreaker, occasional decent friend, and…for the past six months… the man whose bed you crawled into like a pathetic little moth drawn to an extremely hot, emotionally unavailable flame.
Friends with benefits.
Six months. That's how long you'd been doing this little dance with him. Six months of watching him leave your bed to go to someone else’s and telling yourself it was fine because you agreed to this.
No strings. No feelings.
The problem? You forgot to tell your heart about the arrangement.
Your phone buzzed at 11:47 PM. You already knew who it was
Sukuna: you up?
And there it was. The modern equivalent of a booty call smoke signal. Your thumb hovered over the screen while your dignity staged a small protest somewhere in the back of your skull.
Don't do it, the last remaining brain cell screamed. Have some self respect.
You typed back: maybe
See? Growth. That was practically playing hard to get.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Sukuna: that a yes or a no?
You: depends. what's in it for me?
Sukuna: me.
God, the audacity of this man. But It worked. It always fucking worked. Because you were a clown, and this was your circus.
Twenty minutes later, you were in his apartment, and his mouth was on your neck, and his hands were everywhere, and for a few blissful hours, you could pretend this meant something. That the way he held you after…meant something. That when he murmured "stay" against your hair, he meant it the way you wanted him to.
You'd known Sukuna since forever. Since you were eight years old and he was the mean kid who pulled your hair on the playground. Since you were fourteen and he showed up at your door at midnight because his dad was drunk again and he had nowhere else to go. Since you were seventeen and he held your hand at your father’s funeral without saying a word because he knew you didn't need words.
He was your person. Your best friend. The one constant in your life.
And then, six months ago, shit happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you… both of you drunk on cheap wine. Maybe it was how he said "I've always wondered" before he kissed you
"This doesn't have to change anything," you'd whispered after, your forehead pressed against his.
"No feelings," he agreed.
"No strings."
Famous last words.
The first time you saw him with someone else, you told yourself it was fine. Expected, even. That was the deal, right? He could do whatever…. whoever…. he wanted. You had no claim to him. No right to the jealousy that clawed at your throat when you watched her laugh at something he said.
You went home and cried in the shower for forty five minutes, then texted him like nothing was wrong.
The second time, you learned to swallow it faster. Shove it down into that little box where you kept all the feelings you weren't supposed to have.
The third time. The fourth. The fifth….
You got good at it. You could watch him flirt with someone at a party and still end up in his bed two hours later, because you were built different. Damaged different, but who's keeping score? Pathetic, really. Truly embarrassing behavior for a grown woman.
March 15th.
Your birthday.
You woke up to seventeen texts from various friends and family, a call from your mom that went to voicemail, and radio silence from the one person who'd never missed it.
Sukuna had remembered your birthday since you were nine years old. The year his mom was sick and his family had no money, he'd stolen flowers from the neighbor's garden and presented them to you with dirt still clinging to the roots. "They're not dead yet," he'd said, like that was the selling point.
You'd kept them until they were.
But today? Nothing. Not a text, not a call, not even a stupid meme with the crying cat that he always sent because he knew it made you laugh.
He's busy, you told yourself. He'll remember later.
You checked your phone at least eight thousand times throughout the day. Totally normal. Just a girl, standing in front of her phone, waiting for a man who promised her nothing to give her something.
By 7 PM, you'd graduated from "he's busy" to "maybe his phone died" to "maybe he's dead in a ditch somewhere and I should call hospitals."
9 PM, you were on Instagram.
And you saw his story, time stamped thirty minutes ago. Sukuna at some fancy restaurant with fairy lights and candles, and across from him sat a girl with perfect hair and pretty eyes,
He was on a date.
Something in your chest cracked. Like ice under pressure, spiderwebbing outward until the whole surface was compromised. You stared at that story for longer than you'd ever admit. Watched it loop three times. Four. Let the image burn itself into your retinas.
And then, finally, something clicked.
You were hurting yourself.
Every time you answered his late night texts. Every time you convinced yourself that maybe this time he'd look at you different. Every time you swallowed your feelings . You were doing this to yourself.
He wasn't the villain here. He'd been honest from the start. No strings. He'd kept his end of the deal.
You were the one who broke the rules.
You crawled into your bed, and let yourself cry. Ugly crying that leaves you dehydrated and blotchy
~~~
You're packing when he finally texts. Not packing packing. Just... putting things in boxes. His hoodie that had somehow came to your closet. Little pieces of him scattered around your apartment like landmines.
For one stupid, hopeful second, your heart leapt. Maybe he remembered. Maybe this was him texting to apologize, to explain…
Sukuna: come over
Translation: I’m horny, come over and spread your legs.
Ah, the late night classic. The mating call of the emotionally unavailable fuckboy. Your fingers itch to respond.., muscle memory at this point… but you don't.
When have you become this person? This pathetic, desperate girl who waits by her phone for scraps of attention from a man who can’t even remember her birthday?
You stare at the message until your screen goes dark, then you go back to shoving his things into the box
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock at your door.
Of course. Because god forbid Sukuna not get what he wants.
You consider ignoring it. But then he knocks again, harder, and calls out: "I know you're in there. Your light's on."
Oh ffs
You yank the door open. Sukuna's standing there in that leather jacket you've always secretly loved, hair pushed back
"Didn't answer my text," he says, inviting himself in.
"I was busy."
What are you doing?" He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like you were the confusing one here.
“Cleaning."
Sukuna pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, and God, you hate how your heart still stutters. How your body still remembers every place his hands have been.
"You're being weird," he sys, reaching for the box. "What's…” He stops and stares at the contents. "Why is my shit in here?"
"Because it's yours." You yank the box away. "Take it.”
Sukuna stares at you. That look he gets when he's trying to figure out an angle. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong.” you say, starting to feel numb. You are so tired you can barely feel anything at all.
He steps closer. That gravity pulling you in, same as always. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and your treacherous body leans into it
"Can I stay," he murmurs. The voice that's gotten you into bed more times than you can count.
And for one pathetic second, you almost say yes.
Then you remember… The candles. The other girl's hand in his.
You pull back. "Not tonight."
He looks confused because Sukuna doesn't hear "no" very often. "Why?"
You look up at him, his eyes are fixed on you, waiting for your response. "I'm tired. Just…. go home, Sukuna."
He doesn't move. "Did I do something?"
"No. You didn't do anything."
That's the problem. You didn't do a single fucking thing.
"Then what…”
"It's my birthday." The words fall out flat and exhausted.
Silence.
You watch it hit him. The slow widening of his eyes. Confusion, then realisation, then guilt showing on his face before he smothers it
"Shit," he breathes. "Fuck, I….."
"Don't." You hold up a hand. "Don't do the thing where you apologize and I pretend it's fine and we fuck and nothing changes. I can't…. " Your voice cracks. Goddamn it. "I can't keep doing this."
Sukuna's face has gone still. You've never seen him look like this before.
"You were my best friend," tears stream down your face "For fifteen years. And now I'm just... what? Just someone you fuck when you're bored?"
Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat.
“We agreed no feelings.” He finally says. And there it is. The rejection you’ve been expecting, wrapped up in his typical Sukuna way.
A laugh rips out of you. You are crying and laughing at the same time. You wipe your eyes roughly with the back of your hand. Your face is probably a mess… puffy eyes, snotty nose
"You're right," you whisper. You feel like throwing up. Youre so exhausted but the only thing you can think of is how you needed to get out and away from Sukuna “I think we should stop”
You expect him to argue. To charm his way out of it like he always does.
"Okay," he says finally.
Okay. Just like that.
You weren't expecting it to hurt this much.
He leaves.
You sit on your bed and cry until you can't breathe, then cry some more.
Happy fucking birthday to you.
~~~
What you don't see is Sukuna in his car, parked outside your building for two hours, staring at his steering wheel.
What you don't see is him pulling up fifteen years of photos on his phone. You at eight, cake on your face. You at sixteen, asleep in his passenger seat. You at twenty, laughing so hard you spilled champagne all over your clothes.
What you don't see is the moment he realizes the hollow feeling he's been ignoring for months isn't boredom, isn't restlessness, isn't anything fixable by another nameless girl in another forgettable bar.
It's you.
It's always been you.
A/n : your reblogs and comments are appreciated
dickhead sukuna and dumbass reader always have a soft spot in my heart
sneak peek: lord zuko x f!reader
“You want me to do your hair?”
His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Yes, precisely.”
You sigh as you step into the man’s chambers, walking up to the vanity that’s more fitting for a queen, in your opinion. If only people saw this side of the lord. Zuko, the pretty boy. He has zero insecurities over the scar his tyrant of a father left on his face, but he’d faint at the sight of seeing too much hair shed on the marble floors of his bathhouse.
“When you decide to have me summoned like this, do you ever wonder, hm— what would her father think?” you ask as you grudgingly pick up the boar bristle brush and begin to brush his hair.
“I do,” he dryly responds. “I like the way you do your hair though, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell on me. You wouldn’t want me getting in trouble, right?”
Zuko might be the fire lord, but he still has to watch his relationships with the other clans in this nation— especially with a certain hot-headed strategist that just so happens to be your father. You can only imagine his outburst upon learning that his daughter is playing with the lord's hair, rather than playing your role as his advisor.
Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine.
Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.
There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake.
Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts on how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.
Perhaps another conflict should erupt, the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say.
But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist?
As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch.
You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?”
“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”
We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times.
“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?”
“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly.
It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man that never comes. And when he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly.
“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask.
“Depends,” he hums.
With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to screeching halt.
“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”
notes: lmk if you’d like to be tagged 🙂↕️❤️
i need that man to [redacted] my [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] until our [redacted] and sweat are [redacted] all over [redacted] thank yewwww
( 18+ mdni ) frat!sukuna fumbled what could’ve been love, and now he’s helplessly chasing after you. part 1 / part 2
fratboy!sukuna who doesn’t take rejection well. not because he’s used to having everything handed to him— though, let’s face it, he is— but because the thought of you walking out of his life makes him physically ill. he tried pretending he wasn’t fazed at first, leaning back on the couch with his usual sharp-toothed grin when his frat brothers teased him about what happened. “y/n?” he scoffed, playing it off. “she wasn’t even that special. just another girl. plenty more where she came from.” but there’s a tightness in his chest now that wasn’t there before, and when the laughter dies down and he’s left alone in his room with your name burning in his mind, reality punches him square in the gut. he fucked up. he really fucked up.
you’re gone. really gone.
fratboy!sukuna whose smooth reputation starts to unravel. at first, he tries to brush it off like nothing happened, and maybe the others buy it. but sukuna isn’t eating. he’s skipping practices, skipping classes, surrounded by half-drunk bottles of jack and filled ashtrays that stink up the room. his room feels bigger now, quieter, almost suffocating, and no matter how many times he tries to drown himself in distractions— shots, parties, even other girls dragging their hands over his chest, it doesn’t fucking work because none of them are you.
This and Clairo 🚬🚬
I would take him back LMAO like please come back to dada
not now honey, mommy’s yearning for something that once was and will never be again
( 18+ mdni ) frat!sukuna breaks the only rule he cared about: don’t catch feelings.
fratboy!sukuna who notoriously doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. everyone knows he’s trouble— tattoos crawling up his arms, that sharp tongue dripping with sarcasm and filth. everyone adores him just as much as they loathe him. it’s sukuna, for fuck’s sake. the unpredictable, sharp-edged party boy who lives in constant chaos. girls rotate through his bedroom like clockwork, only for him to discard them the moment he’s done. he doesn’t text back, doesn’t offer breakfast the morning after, and never promises shit, but that’s fine, because everyone knows where they stand with him. sukuna doesn’t do strings. he doesn’t do relationships. but he definitely does dares.
fratboy!sukuna who sits sprawled out on the dingy leather couch in the middle of another friday night dorm party, ignoring the blaring music and cheap vodka in someone’s hand. the conversation has turned into a game, one of his frat brothers leaning back with a shit-eating grin and that look that screams, it's your turn. “i’ve got one for you, sukuna,” one of the others slurs, leaning close and pointing across the room. “see that girl? nerdy little thing, y/n. bet you couldn’t pull her.”
Pleaaaaaase make a part two im begging