|| ᴍᴅɴɪ || ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴜʙɪɴᴇ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʜᴇɪᴀɴ ᴇʀᴀ!ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ || ᴄᴡ: ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ + ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ||
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴜꜱᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴜʙɪɴᴇ.
Uraume sighs, a sharp, frustrated sound. "You cannot just ignore his summons."
"I can and I will. I am busy, he can summon a different concubine," you spit the word out, your disgust clear. "Mae has been complaining he doesn't summon her enough, perhaps you should bring her to his chambers instead."
You lounge back in the grass, robes loosened to show the soft expanse of your skin to the warm sun—the swell of your breasts, dips of your collarbones, bare feet, calves, and thick thighs—your head tilted back to properly bask in the glow.
It's a perfect afternoon—spring settling in as winter finally ends—and after being trapped in the estate for months as snow piled, you'd rather die than be forced back inside to pleasure a man who isn't worthy of you or your time—let alone your body.
You are one of four concubines that belong to Ryomen Sukuna, the feared King of Curses. Though, unlike the three other women, you've never been to Lord Sukuna's chambers. Nor have you laid on your back for him. Months and months of being trapped, of being diminished to his property by others, of bitterness building like sediment in your veins—you had hopes, you had dreams.
You wanted to be a seamstress, to touch silks and fabrics from places that your eyes would never see, to give shape and body with your needle and thread. And yet, here you lounge, in robes that you did not make, in a garden that is not yours, being summoned like a dog for a man's pleasure?
And denying Ryomen Sukuna so boldly? That usually would result in bloodshed, in death. Yet... it never does with you. He does not force you—he never would—but he does not kill you either. If anything, this push and pull seems to have sparked a sort of game between you both. You deny, deny, deny. His summons, his advances, his commands. You insult him—to his face, behind his back—without hesitation or a single stutter.
And he lets you—his mean concubine that hates his guts. He summons you, knowing that you'll tell Uraume no, knowing that you'll curse his name the whole day just for his audacity. Oh how beautiful you look when you're angry, your lips—so soft, so plump—spewing such vulgarity. Round face hot with rage, cheeks puffed out, brows scrunched and tight. Your hands—smaller than his, fingers plump—curled into useless fists.
Ryomen Sukuna had grown bored before you—before your arrival, he hadn't bothered with his other concubines in months—finding no appeal in them. Tiny, twig-like things—feeble, weak, too quick to bend to him, too eager to please him. He only kept the three women around because, to be blunt, he forgot about them.
Like mice, they stayed to the walls, silent—out of sight, out of mind—how boring.
Then you arrived—strong, built not to bend, not to break—your chin held high as you addressed him, your eyes never leaving his, your voice never wavering. You offered yourself up in order for your village to be spared from his wrath, though even as you spoke, he could feel the resentment in the room—this was a duty you did not ask for, a life that you did not want—he spared your village only to watch how your lips twisted in a snarl. And just like that his boredom vanished and his libido flared to life.
Uraume sighs again, a familiar sound from them lately. "He did not summon Mae, he summoned you."
You wave a dismissive hand. "And I already told you, no. If he wants company, he should bother his other pets. Mae would be honored to spread her legs for him, as her monthly is arriving soon—she's fertile, maybe she'll be the one to have his monstruous heir."
"Why must you make my job so difficult, hm?"
You tilt your head to look at Uraume, sighing. "Fine. If he desires my company so bad, then I summon him. To the gardens."
You shrug, your head tilting back towards the sun, eyes falling shut once more. "I can and I did. His legs are perfectly functional, Uruame. If he desires my company so badly, he will use them."
Uraume nods—a sharp, jerky motion—then turns on one heel and stalks back towards the estate. A snickers slips past your lips as you fully sink back into the grass, your robe opening further to show the sideways spillage of your heavy breasts, the hem tugging further up your thick thighs with the movement. Distantly, you know you should cover up, adjust your robe back into it's modest state—but the sun feels too good, too warm.
"To summon a King in his own domain, I should gut you for your audacity, woman."
A smirk tugs at your lips at Sukuna's gruff voice—he complains, threatens—but he came anyway. "And yet, my sharp tongue has brought you here." You open your eyes, looking up at him through your lashes. "Mae has been complaining that you do not play with her anymore. You attentions seem to be... elsewhere. If you have desires, I suggest you summon her—or Lena, or Naomi. They are always eager to be under their King."
He scoffs, his upper arms crossing over his broad chest. "If I had wanted their company, I would've commanded it. I summoned you, yet you ignore me for the sun and—" his nose scrunches, his lower hand gesturing at the grass, "—wet grass. My patience has run thin with your defiance."
You roll your eyes, "then kill me, Ryomen. I would rather die than let a man treat me like a dog. You wish for my company? Then you ask for it, not Uraume. You wish for my obedience, then earn my submission. You may be a curse, a monster to others—but you are nothing but a man to me."
Anger flares Sukuna's nostrils, his lower hands curling into fists—but even as he grows tired of your mouth, his cocks only twitch awake—his own body betraying him. He should punish you, cut your tongue out as he's threatened many times before—but you look sinful in the glow of the sun, your robe a mere suggestion at this point rather than actual coverage, your face tilted towards his and so very unimpressed by him.
So mean. You don't soften, don't cower or trip over yourself for him, you didn't even bother to use his title.
He chuckles, dark, amused. "I am much more than a man, brat."
A snort, you look him up and down. "Fine, a deformed man. Is that better?"
"My tongue, I know. Your threats mean nothing without action, Ryomen. You still answered my summons, I still have my tongue."
His cocks, thick, heavy, twitch once more. Desire rolling deep in his gut, a hot stone that threatens to boil him from the inside out. For a King whose greed knows no bounds, whose hands are used to taking, he does not want to take you.
He wants your hate, your desire, almost as much as he craves your submission. His mean, mean concubine.
All beauty and defiance, laid out so pretty for him. His cocks—now aching between his thick legs—weep at the tips at the sight of you. In all his years, he's never been so fucking needy before. Constantly hard, constantly aching, his balls heavy with his pent up desires that all surround you. No other woman compares, and he bites back a groan when you shift, causing the robe to slip open more, showing the crease in your soft stomach.
He's so hard it hurts. And you're fucking cruel.
"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?"
This time he does growl. "You're teasing me."
"I am not. I am sunbathing."
You shake your head. "No. I like them open."
Another growl. "Close. Them."
He wants to rip his hair out, he wants to rip your robe off. He wants to spread your thick thighs wide, bury his face between them, lap at you until you're mewling. He wants them over his shoulders as he splits you open with his cock—just one at first, until you're begging for the other. He knows you could take them, take him.
With a sudden jerk, he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving you grinning in the grass—your robe still open, and his cocks crying for attention. A loud laugh bursts from you ten minutes later when you hear Mae moaning, the slam of a bed frame against the wall, and Sukuna's frustrated grunting.
ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ɪꜱ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʙʜ, ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ꜱᴏ ᴀɴʏ ꜰᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋ ɪꜱ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ!! ɪ'ᴍ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴅᴋ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!
© ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ᴀʟᴇxɢᴀᴛᴏʀʀ — ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢᴇ ᴏʀ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀɪ || ᴅɪᴠᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ @/ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ
