marie's diaries

eliciting a loud yawn, with his entire frame filling up the entrance sukuna scratches his head looking you up and down,

“what are you doing, woman?”

“oh just grilling a steak, want some?” you didn’t know why he’d ask you that, frankly it was too late at night for you to tolerate such stupid questions.

“no silly!” yuji chimed in, “mama peeing” atleast someone here was sensible.

your husband just nods in acknowledgement, arms crossed leaning on the door,

watching you.

seriously?

“hello?” you wave your hand at sukuna, motioning him to leave “what happened to privacy?” you question.

“yeah son, ya’ gotta go mom needs space” he tilts his head towards yuji who just sticks his tongue out. guess stubbornness ran in the family.

you narrow your eyes at him.

“i married you and impregnated you and saw you give birth and we have a son together wife, so really what privacy?”

“touché” you click your tongue. seriously, the irony in your whole family watching you pee wasn’t lost on you.

then, mid-stream, he whistles at you.

“you look sexy as hell right now”

“ryo!” you clutch your stomach, trying not to laugh, “i’m trying to pee!”

“by all means, don’t let me stop you” he raises both hands as if in mock surrender.

“i wasn’t gonna!” you chuckle while wiping yourself.

you pull your pants up and walk towards the sink.

turning on the tap you hiss at the ice cold water hitting your poor, previously warm fingers.

yuji circles about in the limited space of the bathroom, singing “wash, wash, wash” his kindergarten teacher probably taught him that.

“can you not stay even a second away from me?” you question as you feel sukuna’s arms snake around your waist.

his heavy breath tickles your neck making you shudder.

“i can”

“so why are you here?”

a beat of contemplation, perhaps.

“okay, i can’t”

you giggle again, moving to wipe your hands on the towel all nice and dry.

“alright party people, we’re done here” you announce walking out of the bathroom with your ducklings husband, and son following suit.

firefly; i’m back with more baby!yuji who else cheered?

it’s a quiet saturday evening and you’re relaxing in your bedchambers after eating dinner. you didn’t go to the dining hall to eat with sukuna and the others. no, you made sure your head lady-in-waiting brought your food to your room.

sukuna and you got into a ‘little’ argument yesterday. you both spent the entire day and night alone instead of in each other’s presence, which is the norm. even the people around you have noticed the growing tension whenever sukuna and you would cross paths.

of course, the other concubines seized the opporunity to vie for sukuna’s attention now that his favored concubine was no longer by his side. yet, their efforts proved in vain.

sukuna had grown more irritable over the past twenty-four hours, his mind relentlessly preoccupied with thoughts of you—a fact that only frustrated him further.

you weren't in the mood to speak with him again, so why did that bother him so much?

it should have made him scoff, made him see you as weak and driven him to demand that you speak to him.

yet all sukuna can think about is how to get you to cling to him once more. as much as he says that it’s exhausting to have a needy 'brat' at his side all the time, your abscence makes him realise he secretly enjoys having you around.

snapping back into your own thoughts, you realise you’ve been staring at your cup of tea for the longest time. you sigh and get up from the table, your feet dragging over the tatami flooring. however a sudden knock on your doors causes you to stop in your tracks.

“come in,” you murmur, thinking it is one of your ladies-in-waiting with your dessert. but the silence that follows afterwards is nearly ominous.

you frown and sigh before going over to the shoji. you slide the screens aside, only to be met by a wall of muscles you know way too well. you tilt your head back and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of the one man you stubbornly refused to talk to.

sukuna looms over you, his massive frame dwarfing your smaller one. he invites himself inside, not waiting on a response from you. he steps into your room and turns around to face you. his dark red eyes narrow as he tries to decipher the emotions playing on your face.

you don’t say a thing. you don’t look at him. you don’t smile at him. you don’t move a muscle. no acknowledgment at all.

sukuna hates it—it’s unusual for you to be so cold. your eyes dart to the floor and your bottom lip subtly forms a defiant pout.

sukuna scoffs. he’s made the decision to break the silence between you two first, coming all the way to your bedchambers to talk. he would never have done such a thing for anyone else—would have waited for them to grovel before him and beg for his forgiveness.

and yet here he is, standing in front of his concubine, ready to confront the issues between them.

he feels pathetic and it angers him from within. he desires to command you to get on your knees and apologise to him, to obey him and forget what happened. however an annoying voice in the back of his head tells him to be patient with you.

“tch, what’s with the face?” sukuna's deep and commanding voice fills the spacious room. he doesn't go about it the gentle way—he’s still him after all. “y’re still sulking about that little thing? i thought i told ya to stop thinkin’ about it.”

hearing sukuna say the latter makes your heart ache and your eyes water from frustration. everything seems like it’s not a big deal to him—even when you’re clearly upset.

“that was not just a little thing, my lord!” you raise your voice just a little, surprising yourself as the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

you swallow thickly and bite your lip. you've done it now, the thought echoes inside your head.

sukuna’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your outburst, not used to you raising your voice to him like that. although in an instant, his eyes flash with something dangerous. you may be his favorite and he may let you get away with a lot of things, yet there are boundaries. rules that even you must obey.

the king of curses would probably find it amusing to see you snap back at him, thinking you will achieve something with that, but today is not one of those days.

the shimmering tension between you two has agitated him more than ever.

sukuna closes the distance between you two and reaches out to grab you by our jaw. his fingers curl tightly beneath your chin and force your head to turn, making you face him.

“you dare raise your voice at me, woman?” sukuna growls, his face mere inches from yours.

his grip borders on painful and you wince at the ache in your jaw. he doesn’t let go and instead tightens his hold, “i don't have time for this fuckin' nonsense.”

sukuna releases you with a light shove. he takes a deep breath to try and calm down, to remind himself that he came her to clear things up. but it’s difficult because he’s never had to do this before. never had to listen to someone else, always expecting them to simply endure and move on whenever he caused harm.

you stumble a bit, rubbing at the your chin. you don’t get it; is sukuna here to make it worse for you? to rub it in? to remind you again of what he said to upset you? to make fun of you for being upset about it?

it certainly does hurt.

you replay that moment again in your head. the moment when sukuna told you he could replace you with someone else whenever he desires. it is a fact; sukuna can do that whenever he pleases. but it stung to hear him say it so explicitly. to hear him say it to your face, as if that doesn't already keep you awake at night.

little did you know, sukuna didn’t mean to hurt you too much with that comment. he didn’t expect you to ignore him, to avoid him, all because of what he said. he simply said it because he was struggling with his own emotions—denying that he feels anything for you. he said it to remind himself that he isn’t getting attached to a human.

but that failed terribly. seeing you like this—your teary eyes glaring up at him with fear, hurt and betrayal made him feel an uncomfortable pang in his chest. something that resembled guilt.

“have a good night then, my lord,” you dismiss sukuna and turn away, your voice strained with emotion. you don’t want to start another argument with him.

the king of curses grits his teeth. there it goes again. ‘my lord’ — yes, it’s what most others call him, but not you. you always called him by nicknames he deemed foolish. ‘kuna, ry’ or even ‘dear’. he strangely longs to hear your voice call him as such again.

sukuna stands there, trying to reign in his anger and other overwhelming emotions. he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to him, making you stumble and catch yourself against his chiseled chest.

he doesn’t know what to say—doesn’t trust himself to speak. he knows he’ll make it worse by speaking, knows he’ll rile you up even more. thus he chooses not to utter a word for a moment.

your eyes meet and you’re surprised when sukuna leans down to catch your lips in a kiss. your hands fist into the collar of his kimono, your mind telling you to back off. this man is dangerous—playing with your emotions like this.

telling you one thing, but contradicting himself with his actions. it’s extremely confusing yet also exhilarating.

you close your eyes and respond to his kiss with equal fervor. the pink-haired man groans against your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip before biting on it. a habit of his.

sukuna’s large hands roam over your body as he presses you as close to him as possible. it’s like he’s reassuring you with his touch—melting away all your worries. it’s a manipulative tactic that somehow always gets you. or perhaps it’s just his way of apologising.

which of the two it is, will always be vague and unknown.

eventually, he pulls away, leaving you both breathless. you stare up at him with a huff before glancing the other way. you’re still sulking, still pouting.

sukuna rolls his eyes and easily lifts your body up into his arms. two of his hands settle on the back of your thighs, the other two grazing the side of your breast and waist. he carries you over to your bed and sits on the edge with you on his lap.

“y’re a fool,” sukuna clicks his tongue. his fingers slither up the exposed skin of your arm and against your cheek to flick your forehead. he gains a whimper from you which urges him to do it again.

you frown and rub at the tingly skin on your head. your eyes are still watery, lashes clumped together due to your tears. it’s almost cute. almost.

“and you look pathetic,” the man in front of you adds with a condescending smirk.

you weakly smack sukuna’s chest, making his grin widen. there you go—there is the woman he knows, slowly making a comeback. slowly warming up to him again. slowly being playful with him once more.

sukuna sighs. to you, it may seem like a tired sigh, but in reality it’s a sigh of relief. he may not have solved this issue between you two in a normal, healthy way, but it worked out anyway.

“you’re mean,” your comment breaks the moment of silence.

your bottom lip trembles and you look like you might just cry it all out. the frustration, the fear, the hurt, the relief—it’s overwhelming.

sukuna inhales briefly. he doesn’t respond to your little remark, instead, he holds the back of your head and presses your face into his chest. he holds your body against him, nestled warmly between his muscular arms.

you don’t protest at all. you close your eyes and breathe in his familiar scent, nuzzling your nose into his pecs. you know this is his way of making you feel betted so you will not complain.

an apology will never leave the prideful man's lips and you’ve come to accept it. this way of reassuring you counts as something at the very least.

it doesn’t matter who or what gets between you two, at the end of the day, you’ll find each other again. one way or another.

and that's all you need.

you hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain lancing through your side and wrist. the scroll clatters beside you. for a moment you lie there, breathlessly. your hand instinctively cradles your belly. the baby moves again. it’s still strong and alive.

relief floods you, but it’s followed quickly by fear.

because your hear them. those heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. too fast and way too purposeful.

the sliding doors slam open with enough force to rattle the entirre frame. sukuna stands there, all four beefy arms tense, crimson eyes blazing with immediate and lethal irritation. the mouth on his abdomen twists into a snarl before the one on his face even opens.

he takes one look at you on the floor, at the displaced cabinet, the way you clutch your wrist and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

“what,” he growls, “is the meaning of this, woman?”

you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, “it’s nothing, my lord. i only—“

“do not.”

two of his arms move before you can finish. one massive hand catches your shoulder while the other slides beneath your knees. he lifts you as if you weigh nothing before carrying you to the thick futon piled with silks. the third hand hovers over your belly, not quite touching, while the fourth grips your injured wrist with surprising gentleness. though his expression promises murder.

you wince as he probes the swelling. a bruise is seemingly already blooming.

sukuna’s eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, “you fell.”

“well, i reached for a scroll,” you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, “didn’t think—“

“yeah. you obviously didn’t think,” his voice is deceptively calm now. the kind of calm that precedes slaughter.

he sets your wrist down and rises to his full imposing height. the black tattoos shift across his skin as his muscles flex, “tsk. y’re crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.”

the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy you’ve grown used to. outside in the gardens, you hear a distant scream. you swallow thickly. that was an unfortunate soul who was probably been lingering too close at the wrong moment.

sukuna doesn’t even glance toward the sound. his focus remains locked on you.

he kneels again, red eyes boring into yours. one hand cups your chin to tilt your face up, “do you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckin’ country if you lost that child?”

your heart stutters.

you know he isn’t exaggerating. sukuna’s affection is a double edged blade. it’s obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.

“y-yes, but i’m alright,” you whisper, “the baby kicked just now. it’s still strong and kicking."

as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukuna’s big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.

for a long moment there’s silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.

“you will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.” it isn’t a suggestion. “servants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.”

you reach up with your good hand to brush fingers along one of his wrists. you tilt your head as you look up at him, “you’re angry.”

“furious.”

the word drips with venom. yet he lowers himself beside you on the futon, two arms pulling you carefully against his chest while the other two adjust pillows behind your back. the contrast is dizzying. his body radiates power and heat, capable of tearing mountains, but he handles you like a fragile thing.

“i should chain you to this bed,” sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, “perhaps then you’d stop testin’ me.”

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. “you’d miss my stubbornness too much,” you chuckle softly.

the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the air—probably the lingering trace of your blood from a scraped elbow.

you lean into him and lett the solid bulk of his true form surround you. four arms are useful for this, at least. one idly strokes your hair, another rests over your belly, the third keeps your injured wrist elevated and the fourth simply holds you close.

minutes pass in comfortable silence. his cursed energy fluctuates wildly. you can feel the rage still simmering, but it’s more contained. you can feel it coiling around the room like invisible smoke, ready to lash out at the first person who enters.

a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

“enter,” sukuna barks.

a trembling servant girl slides the door open, carrying a tray of bandages and herbal salve. her eyes widen at the sight of sukuna holding you so intimately. she nearly drops everything.

“give it here,” he snaps while extending one arm without releasing you. the girl approaches on her knees, head bowed low, and places the tray within reach before scrambling back.

sukuna tends to your wrist himself.

his touch is precise, almost clinical, wrapping the linen with surprising care. every so often his gaze flicks to your face to check for discomfort. the fury hasn’t left his eyes, but it has shifted. it’s now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.

when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. “if this swells worse by morning, i’ll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.”

you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, “‘kay, noted.”

he stays like that long after your breathing evens out. sukuna rarely sleeps much, but tonight he remains vigilant and his hand never leaves your belly.

. . .

by the next morning, word has spread through the estate like wildfire. no one is to allow you out of the inner chambers without the king of curses’ permission.

extra guards patrol the halls. when a maid brings breakfast, she keeps her eyes on the floor and moves with exaggerated slowness, terrified of triggering his wrath.

you watch sukuna from the futon as he paces, big arms crossed in various combinations. he has already executed one overzealous attendant who suggested you might have ‘overexerted’ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.

“ryo.. come here,” you call softly, trying carefully to calm that rage by using that nickname you made up for him. instead of the usual politeness.

sukuna pauses. then, with a reluctant grunt, he returns to your side. you take one of his large hands and place it back on your belly.

"feel it. he’s fine. we’re fine.”

sukuna’s expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, “if anythin’ changes...”

“‘you’ll destroy the world’. . . i know.”

a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, “good. you’re learning.”

you lay nestled against the immense, radiating warmth of his large form. your back presses to the hard planes of his lower torso while one of his four powerful arms is draped possessively across your midsection. as though even in sleep he needed to remind the world—and the child growing inside you—that you both belonged to him alone.

in the months since the news, sukuna had taken to curling his massive body around yours protectively each night, a silent vow that nothing would touch what was his.

for you, sleep has been fitful these past weeks. the nausea of the first trimester is relentless. it’s a constant, churning storm low in your gut that never fully abated. tonight it has worsened, building in slow waves until it claws viciously at your throat and drags you from uneasy dreams long before the sun fully rose.

an involuntary whimper escapes your lips as you shift. you try desperately to find a position that might ease the sickness without disturbing him.

another wave crashes through you. your stomach lurches hard enough to make your vision swim and you curl inward on yourself. both hands press protectively over the gentle curve of your abdomen. you rub slow and desperate circles there, as if the pressure of your own small palms could force the nausea back down.

the silk of the futon rustles beneath you and you bit your lip until you taste copper, trying to stifle the next pathetic sound. but it slips out anyway, a small and broken whine that hung in the quiet air.

sukuna’s lower eyes snap open first, the crimson irises narrowing in the dim light, followed by the upper pair. all four fixate on you with immediate and almost predatory focus. a low, rumbling growl rolls from his mouth, deep enough to vibrate through your bones.

“tch. what is it now, woman?” sukuna’s voice is rough with sleep and clear irritation, the kind that could make seasoned warriors drop to their knees.

the thick arm draped over your belly tightens. not enough to hurt, but enough to still your restless rolling completely, “y’ve been squirming like a damned worm for the past hour. i need my rest, and so do you.”

you swallow hard, the motion sending fresh fire up your throat. “i… i don’t feel good,” you whispered, voice small and trembling.

tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as another cramp twists inside you. your hands keep rubbing your stomach in futile circles, “it’s the same sickness again. it woke me… i tried not to disturb you, my lord, i swear.”

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, the sound carrying mild annoyance. “again?” one of his free hands rake roughly through his wild pink hair while the other two prop his massive frame up slightly.

he looms over you like a crimson mountain. he studies you with narrowed eyes, “this brat is already more trouble than it’s worth. weakenin’ you before it’s even drawn breath.”

the words are harsh—even though you had learned, over the months of his newfound attention, not to take them fully to heart. still, the nausea and exhaustion make tears spill over, hot trails down your temples into your hair.

“am s-sorry,” you turn your face into the futon, breathing shallow and quick, fighting the overwhelming urge to retch right there.

sukuna stares down at you for a long and silent moment. the chamber is utterly still except for your ragged breathing and the distant chirp of early birds beyond the screens. you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he assesses you like prey—yet something in it had shifted since the pregnancy began.

then, with a low, muttered curse that sounds suspiciously like frustration with himself, he moves.

the arm around your waist slides lower, his enormous palm easily spanning most of your belly as it replaces your trembling hands. the heat of his skin seeps into you immediately. it’s a stark contrast to the clammy chill that has settled over you.

slowly, deliberately, he begins to rub wide and firm circles—far steadier and more effective than your own weak attempts. the pressure is perfect, easing the knots of the cramping almost at once.

“stay still,” sukuna orders gruffly, voice still edged with irritation, though his touch contradicts every word.

one of his upper hands reach across the futon to the small lacquered table beside it, retrieving the porcelain cup of water uraume always left prepared for you.

he brings it to your lips without ceremony or request, tilting it with surprising care so you could sip. “drink. slowly. you’ll only make this worse if you let y’rself dry out.”

you obey instantly. you take small, careful swallows. the cool water soothes your raw throat, if not the roiling in your stomach. when you pull back with a shaky breath, he sets the cup aside and shifts his massive body again.

with effortless strength he pulls you more securely against the broad plane of his chest, your back cradled fully by his lower arms while the upper pair remain free.

one continues its rhythmic massage over your belly whilst the other brushes damp strands of hair from your forehead with a gentleness that would have shocked anyone who knew only the king of curses’ reputation.

“it’s still far too early for y’r whining,” sukuna grumbles, “but if this heir is going to sap y’r strength like a parasite, i won’t have ya wasting away to nothing.”

his tone remains sharp, almost scolding, but the pad of his thumb traces idle and soothing patterns across the silk covering your skin, betraying the truth he would never voice plainly.

“uraume brewed some concoction yesterday—ginger and herbs, supposedly calms the gut. i’ll have them bring it at once,” he adds gruffly.

your eyes widen slightly even through the haze of sickness. “you… asked uraume to make medicine for me?” the question slips out before you can stop it, soft with genuine surprise.

sukuna’s eyes narrow dangerously, fangs glinting in the low light. “don’t make me repeat myself, woman. i said i’ll handle it,” he leans closer, his teeth sinking lightly in your ear, “i won’t have anything—not even my own spawn—tormenting you without consequence.”

the fierce possessiveness in his words wraps around you warmer than the thickest blanket. you let your head sink back against his chest before breathing in the familiar scent that always clung to him. incense, iron, and something darker. like the promise of violence held in check.

the nausea still lingers. it’s a dull ache rather than sharp stabs now, but his steady touch and the low vibration of his voice as he continues muttering half-hearted threats at the unborn child for daring to inconvenience you both—it eases something far deeper than mere physical pain.

minutes stretch in silence. his large palm never stopped its slow circles, the heat and pressure lulling your body into reluctant calm.

outside, the first true rays of sunlight begin to filter through the screens, gilding the edges of his markings in gold. somewhere in the corridors you hear the soft shuffle of servants beginning their day, but none dare enter this chamber without summons.

eventually, the door slides open with barely a sound. uraume enters while carrying a small tray with a steaming cup and a plate of plain rice crackers. their expression remains impassive as always, but their eyes flick briefly to sukuna’s hand still resting protectively on your belly before bowing low.

“my lord. the infusion you requested.”

sukuna doesn’t bother acknowledging the bow. “give it here,” one hand snatches the cup while the other keeps its steady rhythm on you. he brings the steaming liquid to your lips himself, “drink. all of it.”

the scent of ginger and honey reaches you first and it’s surprisingly gentle. you sip obediently, warmth spreading through your chest and finally quieting the last rebellious twists in your stomach.

when the cup was empty, he set it aside and nods once at uraume—a silent dismissal. they vanish as quietly as they had come.

“better?” he asks after a few minutes pass, though his touch hasn’t faltered once.

you nod weakly. exhaustion pulls at you now that the worst had passed, “yes… thank you, my lord.”

the king of curses huffs as he settles back down. he tugs the heavy silk covers higher over both of you.

“don’t thank me. just don’t wake me again before the sun is fully up,” the threat is delivered with a slight smirk, but his arms only tighten around you. his palm remains warm and firm on your belly, resuming its slow, protective circles as though it has never stopped.

“now rest,” sukuna sighs, voice low and rough, “if this brat causes you more trouble tonight, i’ll have words with it.”

the absurdity of threatening an unborn child draws a tired smile from you. typical of sukuna to do such a thing.

with that you’re already drifting, lulled by his warmth and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back.

and for the first time in weeks, you slip into true, peaceful sleep. safe in the arms of the most dangerous being in the land, who had quietly decided that nothing, not even his own nature, would harm what is his.

“speak up or leave,” the king of curses commands, piercing red eyes glaring down at the woman kneeling before him. he sits on his throne, the aura emitting from his body being one that would send anyone into sheer panic.

he’s already pissed off due to being disturbed by one of his concubines. It isn’t you—his favorite—so he has little patience to spare for the girl at his feet.

the blond girl speaks up after taking a deep breath. she came here determined to go through with her sick plan, hoping sukuna would hear her out. she knows of his favoritism—everyone around the estate did and nearly every other concubine has been thinking of the same.

to get rid of the blatant favoritism once and for all.

the nervous woman talks fast, stuttering after every word. she spills every detail about the predicament that you had found yourself in a couple moments ago.

. . .

you were walking around the training grounds out of pure curiosity. usually, no one would be there around that hour, yet today seemed to be an exception. you averted your eyes the second you saw the soldiers training in only their hakama. their muscular chests and backs were out in the open, straight up eye candy for anyone who was walking past.

however, when they saw you—sukuna’s favorite concubine who they’ve secretly developed a crush on—they froze in their place and nearly dropped their weapons. the men didn’t expect any visitors, especially not a high-ranking concubine to randomly walk through this part of the estate. it’s a rare occurrence to have anyone but the servants and generals walk by.

you silently bowed at them out of respect. you didn’t have to due to your high rank, yet you still did. you actually respect their position as soldiers. that humble nature of yours was exactly what separated you from the other concubines. it also played a huge role in the crushes that those soldiers have on you.

out of fear for their lives, the soldiers have never directly interacted with you. they heard of what happened to one of the male servants who tried asking you to accompany him for a cup of tea. his body was reduced to nothing but a puddle of dark, red blood which took the servants hours to fully clean up.

but now that you were alone, without sukuna in sight, the soldiers were braver. one of them grabbed the opportunity and started walking towards you as you stood on the engawa, simply admiring the koi pond nearby. the group of men watched from a distance as their friend attempted to make a move on you. it was the perfect opportunity to convey his feelings for you.

or so he thought.

sukuna’s eyes are everywhere. even if you think he isn’t looking, he simply is. his informants are lurking from every corner. his concubines, chefs, servants, maids and guards. all of them are his eyes and ears. you’re never fully alone. nothing you do escapes the king of curses. if you’re not being watched by him, the people under his control are lurking instead.

in that instant, it was one of his concubines who had discreetly followed you.

you had noticed it a while ago, though didn’t say a word. it’s a usual occurrence. the other women always try to catch you off guard. to catch you doing something that you’re not allowed to do, so they can report it to sukuna, hoping that it would get you expelled from his harem. perhaps even executed in front of their eyes.

although every time they report something ‘controversial’ about you to sukuna, it backfires, and they end up with their head on the guillotine.

despite the many failures, they simply cannot stop trying. one day it will work.

the blonde woman had witnessed how the soldier put his hand on your arm to stop you from walking away. the cheesy smiles he had given you betrayed his true feelings—the words he uttered after the formalities only further confirmed the concubine’s speculations.

“i’ve been admiring you for a while now. you’re a lovely lady...”

“perhaps it’s bold of me to ask this, but i would like the opportunity to get to know you better.”

“lord sukuna does not need to know of this. i promise not to tell him, so please don’t worry.”

. . .

“...that’s exactly what that soldier told her, my lord,” the concubine concludes her story with a shaky breath. the throne room is filled with a tense and rather uncomfortable silence. the woman can’t even lift her head up because of how scared she is of sukuna’s wrath. she’s scared of the fact that she could be the first one he kills in a rampage fueled by pure envy.

the curse simply stares at the top of the blonde’s head. his expression is unreadable, but the veins in his neck and on his forehead slowly yet surely start to become visible. his blood is boiling, causing his jaw to clench and his hands to ball into fists.

without a word, sukuna stands up from his throne. the air in the room turns suffocating—the concubine could barely breathe. it’s as if there’s an invisible weight pressing on her chest, making her struggle to get any oxygen in her lungs.

a rough hand reaches out to grab ahold of her hair. sukuna’s fingers curl around the locks and roughly yanks the girl’s head back, forcing her to look up. his face is close to hers; his eyes are wide and glowing an intimidating red.

“woman,” his voice has a dangerous tone to it as he speaks up. he grips her hair tighter, until she lets out a pained sob as a few of her blond strands float down onto the cold floor, “you know what happens if you lie to me, correct?”

the blond concubine swallows thickly as the tears prickle her eyes. she nods, already aware of the risks she is taking. “yes, my lord. i… i promise it is not a lie,” she whimpers. perhaps her promise isn’t worth trusting, considering the infinite number of times that sukuna’s concubines have tried to sabotage his favorite girl, but the least she can do is try and convince him. to get one step closer to her goal.

the king of curses releases her head with a rough push that sends her onto her hands and knees. his intense gaze is focused on the big, heavy doors that lead down the many corridors of the estate. sukuna grits his teeth to the point he can nearly feel them crack— how dare a lowlife try to make a move on you, in his territory? his home?

a lowly human he has granted the privilege to even breathe the same air as him, nonetheless.

death shall await that piece of shit. everyone who has seen the situation play out and hasn’t done a thing to stop it or report it, will surely meet their demise as well. heavy footsteps and the deafening sounds of doors slamming open alert every living being around the estate. the air turns tense as they scramble to hide and stay out of sight of the one who’s currently making his way to the training grounds.

. . .

you’re sitting at a pavilion near the area you had visited roughly an hour ago. your eyes take in the beautiful surroundings: the sakura trees, the neatly cut bushes and the hint of the distant mountains that peek above the walls enclosing the estate. being here puts your mind at ease, even amongst all the chaos that you have withstood within those same walls.

you think back to the man who had spoken to you a couple moments ago. the way he spoke so bravely to you, knowing it could mean death if anyone were to report it to sukuna. it sure made you respect his courage. even if you did reject his offer—out of pure fear for his life and your own.

besides, you have developed a strange longing for the ruthless curse over the course of your stay. sukuna might still lack in some aspects, but something about him is attracting you and you cannot resist it. that connection between the two of you is something undeniable. something that will not die out any time soon.

you get up to go to your chambers. you’ve been here for too long while you’re not quite supposed to be roaming these places on your own. you lift your kimono a little, walking down the three steps and onto the gravel path. while you’re walking back, a couple noises from inside of the main building catch your attention.

sounds of struggle. you’ve heard those sounds enough times before to be able to recognize them with ease. you watch as guards step out into the engawa, down onto the pebbles that stretch over the entire yard. they’re pulling along a couple of blindfolded and tied up men. it looks exactly like what it is: an execution.

your throat dries up as you freeze in place. you’re not supposed to witness any of this. you’ve known of the executions that take place around the manor but have never seen them firsthand. you carefully hide your face, so the guards don’t recognize you and alert sukuna that you’re wandering around this part of his territory.

your eyes are downcast as you try to make a run for it from the sidelines, attempting to sneak into the building. this is none of your business. you don’t want to see it. you truly cannot do anything to save those souls—your word is not final around here.

you don’t recognize who those poor men are, until you hear one of them plead for his life. you’re about to successfully sneak past the many guards, however your head whips to the side out of pure shock once you hear that familiar voice. that smooth and charming voice. your eyes scan the bodies of the group that’s about to be executed.

those clothes. the group is wearing the same pants that those soldiers had on. the haircuts, their voices… there is no doubt about it.

“what—” you’re about to speak up – revealing your identity in hopes of getting answers and perhaps delay the execution with the little power you have - when you’re interrupted.

how could you not have noticed that imposing figure making its way towards you before eventually coming to a stop at your face?

you don’t know what to do or say. it’s like you have met a dead end. you can’t go back, nor can you move forward as a wall of muscles cage you into place. you don’t have time to react before sukuna’s fingers move up to wrap around your throat. he doesn’t hold on tight, at least not to the point that it hinders your airway. it’s a rather possessive gesture, a warning to not move or try anything funny.

“stay,” sukuna orders. you know you cannot defy him in any way, thus you do as told. you catch a glimpse of a silhouette behind the pink-haired man. A frown settles on your face the second you notice who it belongs to. that damned woman. . . she subtly shoots you a grin, one that makes your stomach churn and your blood boil.

you had been too reckless. you should have known that she would tell on you. if only you didn’t come around this area, none of this would have happened. those poor souls would not be lined up in a row in the yard, awaiting their inevitable end by the hands of the curse everyone fears. you feel like it’s all your fault and that nearly sends you spiraling.

“’lord sukuna doesn’t have to know,’ huh?” sukuna mocks with a dry laugh. a shiver runs down your spine once you realize what he is referring to. those courageous words that have been uttered to you today. you swallow thickly as you’re forced to lock eyes with the enraged curse in front of you.

he scoffs and turns your head to look at the blindfolded soldiers who are kneeling on the gravel, “how cute. which one of ‘em said that to you?”

you’re unable to immediately answer sukuna. there’s simply no way out of this. he will know the truth one way or another. the other concubine standing behind him will surely spill the beans if you lie. your punishment will be worse if you’re caught lying and the thought alone makes you panic internally.

“answer me,” the king of curses demands. his fingers tighten the grip around your neck, his face leaning in right in front of yours. it’s terrifying, really, even if you know sukuna wouldn’t physically hurt you in any way. at least not badly.

he emphasizes his demand with a subtle threat, “and don’t you dare lie.”

it’s futile lying to sukuna anyway. your eyes fill up with tears from the pure pressure you are experiencing. you look over the group of soldiers that are on their knees, waiting to be executed. just a few moments ago, they were laughing with each other while practicing their skills, not having a clue of what would happen. you grit your teeth. life is unfair.

you refuse to point at anyone, but your gaze does linger on one soldier on the far right. that instantly catches sukuna’s attention and he makes a mental note of it. he isn’t dumb: he is aware that you’re softhearted and selfless. you wouldn’t publicly expose anyone, because you’re afraid of what he will do to them if he were to find out.

“hm.” sukuna possesses enough information. he releases you with a slight push, all four of his eyes focused on that specific soldier. an ominous silence fills the air before you’re excused with a quick gesture of his hands. the king of curses wordlessly commands the guards to draw their swords; not a single life would be spared.

why? because the other soldiers are just as guilty. not reporting to sukuna about the behavior of their follow squad member is an act of treason by itself. besides, sukuna doesn’t really need those soldiers any longer. he can always assemble another group of weak men and put them on the front lines, to play the role of human shields.

his arms are crossed as he stares each of them down. he is about to tell the first guard to start the execution when he feels you tug at the sleeve of his yukata.

you gulp as you cling onto the fabric. you’re trying your best to change his mind. as his favorite, perhaps you had that power. to stop the blood hungry curse that lives for death and chaos. “pleqse don’t—" you open your mouth, only for one of his hands to grab you by your jaw.

“y’ don’t get to tell me what to do, brat,” sukuna answers in a low, dangerous voice. he taps your cheek twice to remind you of your place. he pushes you aside, causing you to stumble backwards into the building. be may be ruthless, but not to the point where he’d force you to witness the slaughter that’s about to take place.

“i’ll deal with ya later,” he adds with a faint huff. he quickly waves you off, “now, move.”

all you can do is stare at sukuna’s back before slowly retreating into the estate. you feel sick. you feel like you’re going to throw up as you scurry past the concubine who also makes her way back to her chambers, the woman still grinning from ear to ear.

heads will roll because of you. again.

. . .

the estate is unusually quiet around this hour. not a single soul had the guts to get out of their chambers after word spread that another execution took place. this time it was a group of soldiers, all of them taken out without a warning. they fear they’re next—not even your own lady-in-waiting dares to talk to you for the time being.

you’re laying on your bed, unable to sleep your worries away. the warmth underneath your sheets gives you a sense of comfort, but it isn’t enough to drive the negative thoughts away. you only lift your head up from the pillow when the doors to your room slide open. you heart nearly stops beating in your chest as you see sukuna stroll inside like nothing happened.

his footsteps are heavy against the wooden flooring. you sit up out of habit, to greet him. your eyes are downcast, however. you know a punishment awaits you as well. you don’t think he will expel you from his harem nor get rid of you in any way. he would have done so the moment he’s seen you back at the training grounds if that were to be the case.

sukuna sits on the edge of your bed, crossing all four of his arms. he sighs the second he sees the gloomy expression on your face. his hand reaches out, fingers pushing some of the hairs back from your face.

he doesn’t speak up for a minute, simply allowing you to gather your thoughts. his index finger and thumb glide down to grasp your chin— a gentle yet firm touch. “y’ see what happens when you disobey me?”

sukuna’s reminder sure was a violent one, but that’s to be expected from a disaster curse like him. of course he wouldn’t change his violent nature for you; you should’ve expected that. you shouldn’t have become so delusional, so blinded because of the fact that you’re his favorite.

perhaps the special treatment is getting to your head. it’s making you feel like you have a chance at taming a monster.

especially now, as sukuna climbs onto your bed and leans back against the headboard, pulling your small body onto his lap. the duality is messing with your brain and making you unable to fully despise the man in front of you.

“yes, my lord,” you take a deep breath before eventually answering with those three words. you’re a weak woman, melting right into the embrace of the man you’re supposed to hate. you cannot help yourself as you feel those big hands rub up and down your sides.

“good,” sukuna’s signature smirk tugs at his lips. you’re easy to distract, easy to please. looking at you from up close like this is somehow soothing the anger inside him. he’s supposed to punish you for disobeying his orders— for going somewhere you’re not supposed to. for interacting with a man who tried to approach you romantically.

yet he cannot bring himself to continue his rough lecture. seeing you become all putty in his hands puts his mind at ease. hurting you? kicking you out of his harem? killing you? no, none of that. all those evil thoughts are thrown out of the window the second your body made contact with his.

sukuna doesn't know whether to dislike or enjoy the undeniable power you have over him. if it was any of his other concubines in your position, he would've executed them right beside those soldiers. maybe it is a sick and twisted sense of love that he has for you.

even if love is a foreign thing to a cold-blooded curse like him.

“y’re lucky i still have some use for you,” sukuna comments as his big hand moves up to rub your head, subtly ruffling your hair.

his actions are in contrast with his words. his words carry the hard 'truth', reminding you of your place as his concubine. but his actions tell you that you’re more than that to him. more than just a toy to his collection.

his fingers trace your cheek, your jaw and down to the collar of your kimono. he slips two digits between the gaps of the fabric and traces your cleavage. your heart rate picks up, which the king of curses easily senses. he shakes his head with a dry and nearly condescending laugh.

you’re easy. easy to pacify, easy to shut up with just a couple touches. that’s also what he likes about you. the fact that you’re so submissive to him when you need to be.

sukuna traces the curves of your perky breasts, “y’ should just look pretty for me like this—listen to me and not get into trouble.”

goosebumps appear on your skin from the sensual touch. a shiver runs down your spine as the tips of his fingers nearly touch your sensitive buds before retreating. it’s a tease meant to drive you crazy, to get you riled up only for nothing to happen.

sukuna leans in and nips at the skin near your throat. his breath is hot and heavy against your neck, his kisses are chaste and tingly. two of his hands pull your upper body against his until you’re chest to chest. his lips find your shoulder, fingers loosening the kimono to expose your sensitive flesh.

“none of this would’ve happened if ya jus’ listened, hm?” sukuna whispers in a rough tone. he knows it’s not fully your fault—that stupid soldier shouldn’t have made a move on you in the first place. although, he can’t help but play mindgames with you. to mold you into the perfect woman for him.

and you fall right into his trap. “sorry. won't do it again,” you reply in a quiet whisper. your own hands clench onto the fabric of his black yukata, eyes closed and head tilted to give sukuna better access to your neck. he appreciates your thoughtfulness as his teeth sink into your flesh.

“hah. that’s what y’ say every time,” the pink-haired curse clicks his tongue. one of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers curling into the strands of your hair. he tugs at them so you can face him properly.

“. . .such a little brat,” sukuna’s eyes roam over your facial features and down to your body. he gives you a subtle grin before his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss.

you should be feeling guilty for being part of the reason why an entire group of people have lost their lives, yet here you are, shamelessly making out with their executer.

the love you share is toxic, but addictive. you find yourself crawling back to sukuna each time you promise not to fall for his tricks. and the same goes for him.

the king of curses finds himself tolerating more and more of your behavior—behavior that would have others in their grave. no matter what you say or do, he keeps you alive. he simply punishes you in other ways than death, even when death is all he knows.

sukuna bites on your bottom lip which causes your mouth to open. he takes advantage of it and slips his tongue inside, mixing his saliva with yours. he groans against your lips due to the pure pleasure he receives from your kisses.

you pull away suddenly, feeling lightheaded from the lack of air you were getting. the man in front of you scoffs and flicks your forehead for that, grumpy again because you decided to bring an end to his pleasure.

sukuna allows you a little break, however. he brings his mouth to your ear and you swear you can hear the smirk on his lips as he speaks. “y’re mine. don’t you forget,” he mutters to you in a low tone.

you nod without hesitation, “all yours.”

you will never forget that. no matter what you do or where you go— you’re still sukuna’s. in every way possible. there is no escaping him. no one can take you away from him, as you’ve been reminded of an hour ago.

not another man, nor another woman. not even his other concubines can get you out of his sight. they may continue to scheme, but they won’t succeed.

what happened today is still replaying in the back of your mind as the make out session develops into something more. you’ve pushed the guilt, sadness and shame aside for the time being, though you know that those emotions will come crashing down after this is done.

death is inevitable around this place. you’ve grown a bit desensitised to it and have accepted your fate a long time ago when you realised that you had somehow done the impossible.

now you—and the others—are actively suffering the consequences;

the consequences of making the ryomen sukuna fall in love.

you nearly fall to your knees. you don’t know how or what sukuna’s going to do now that you’ve dropped the honorifics on accident and called him by a nickname.

you hold your hands together, “my deepest apologi—“

“again,” sukuna demands in a rough voice.

you freeze for a second before tilting your head back. you catch a glimpse of his expression; he’s amused, intrigued and perhaps still a bit annoyed. he repeats, “call me that again.”

sukuna isn’t annoyed by the fact that you’ve called him by a nickname for the first time. he’s annoyed, because your sweet voice makes him feel stuff he’s sworn to never feel for a regular human.

that warm feeling in his chest. . . he hates it. yet he yearns for it. from you.

you hesitate for a second, unsure if the firm tone in sukuna’s voice was a bad sign or not. you decide to just comply and hope for the best, “. . . ryo.”

sukuna grits his teeth. you think he’s mad, but in reality, he’s trying to eliminate the feelings of love from within him. your voice calling him so affectionately—so intimately; it makes him feel that warmth in his chest.

no one’s dared to call him anything like that before. everyone’s formal with him. it’s a must. sukuna’s used to everyone acknowledging his superiority in the conversations he holds. it’s a given.

no one refers to him so casually. no one dares to.

you’re the first one to break that pattern. the first one to make sukuna’s cold heart tremble. if it were anyone else, they’d be his dinner by now. but it’s you so it’s. . . fine, he assumes. an exception.

silence falls in the hallway. luckily, not another soul is around to witness the king of curses struggling to contain his own ‘foolish’ emotions.

sukuna clicks his tongue and sighs before continuing to walk ahead of you.

you scurry after him—keeping your head low. you don’t wish to upset him any further. you feel like you overstepped a boundary just now.

the silence continues for a couple seconds, both of you deep in thought.

sukuna’s the one to end the quiet atmosphere. his voice is as deep and cold as ever, though there’s no denying the subtle softness that creeps in whenever he talks with you.

he takes a deep breath and sighs. he keeps walking and doesn’t spare you a glance, however his words say enough;

“from now on, that’s the only way you’ll address me until i say otherwise, understood?”

Not the quiet of the field, that loaded silence where every snapped twig is a countdown. This is the quiet of fluorescent lights and linoleum and men who don't know what to do with their hands when there's no mission brief on the table.

Simon knows it well by now. Decades of it.

He finds you at 0247 hrs by the eastern wall of the compound, sitting on an equipment crate in the cold with your jacket somewhere that isn't on your body. Not crying. Not staring at anything in particular. Just present in the way that means absent.

He's seen it before. In the mirror.

He doesn't announce himself. You'd only straighten up, roll your shoulders back, manufacture something that looks like fine. You're good at fine. Good enough to fool the man with the clipboard and the psychology degree who'd nodded along and signed your clearance form three weeks ago.

Simon had read the report. Sergeant displays healthy coping mechanisms and strong unit cohesion.

He'd thought about what healthy coping mechanisms looked like on you in the months before. The way you'd drag Soap into the worst film you could find on a Friday, just to hear him complain. The way you'd argue tactics with Price over terrible coffee like it was sport. The way your laugh carried down the hall and somehow made the hall feel shorter.

Simon hasn't heard it since Verdansk.

He crosses the yard without a word and sits on the crate beside you. Not close. Just present. The cold doesn't bother him. He's a sniper. He can wait.

You don't tell him to leave, and that's something.

The silence between them stretches long enough that Simon starts counting his own breaths. An old habit. Something to do when there's nothing to do.

Eventually, you speak first.

"Couldn't sleep."

It isn't a question and it isn't an explanation. Just words to fill the air, thin as the excuse they are. He doesn't call you out on it.

"No," he replies.

Another stretch of quiet. Somewhere across the compound a door opens and closes. Neither of you moves.

He watches you from his periphery the way he watches everything—without appearing to. You've pulled your knees up slightly, arms loose over them. Relaxed posture. Practiced relaxed posture. There's a difference and you've never known that he knows it.

Your eyes are doing that thing again. Open but somewhere else entirely. Not quite a thousand yard-stare, but close.

Verdansk. Or before it. Or the specific seventeen seconds he suspects you replay on a loop because he has his own seventeen seconds and he knows what they do to a person's face in the dark.

"Soap used to hate the cold," you remark somberly.

It comes out almost conversational. Like a grenade with the pin already pulled, lobbed gently into the space between you.

Simon lets it land.

"Aye," he agrees. "Complained about it enough."

The corner of your mouth moves. Not quite a smile. The ghost of the muscle memory of one. It's the closest he's seen in weeks and it costs you something—he watches you pay it.

"He complained about everything." Your voice stays even. Careful. "Terrible sleeper. Ate like a bloody labrador. Couldn't fold a map to save his life."

Could save yours, though. Simon doesn't say it. Neither do you. It sits between you anyway.

He waits.

"I keep—" you start, and stop. Your jaw tightens. He watches you decide whether to finish, watches you weigh the cost of it. "I keep forgetting. For a second. In the morning. Before I'm fully—" A shaky breath. "And then I fucking remember."

Simon says nothing.

Because there is nothing. Because he does it too, that horrible half-second of grace before the weight of it crashes back down, and he knows that anything he says about it will be either a lie or a uselessness. So he says nothing, and he stays, and after a moment his broad shoulder finds yours in the dark. Gentle.

Not too close, not a press. Just contact. Proof of another person.

You don't pull away.

"Price should have told us," you say, quieter now. Something harder underneath it. "He should have. We fucking deserved to know. We deserved the choice."

"Aye," Simon agrees again. "We did."

It's all he can give you on that. It's all he has. The anger about Price lives in him too, in a room he hasn't opened yet, and he suspects when he finally does, it'll take a wall down with it.

But not tonight.

The cold finally wins. You shift, and the movement seems to drag you back into your body, into the practical fact of being a person sitting on a freezing metal crate at three in the morning.

"My arse has gone numb," you announce.

Simon huffs through his nose. The closest thing to a laugh he's got in stock these days.

"That's what the jacket's for," he says.

"Didn't ask for commentary, Lieutenant."

"Wasn't commentary. Was a fact. You're sat out here freezing yer tits off out of spite."

You turn to look at him properly for the first time all night—actually look, eyebrow up, something sharp flickering behind your eyes that he hasn't seen since before everything went to hell.

"Out of spite," you repeat.

"Aye."

"That's rich, coming from the man who once stood watch for nine hours in monsoon season because Price suggested he take a break."

"Different."

"How."

"I'm not the one with a numb arse."

It surprises a sound out of you—short, ugly, real. A guffaw. An actual one, dragged up from somewhere you'd buried it, and it shocks you both. Your hand comes up like you can catch it and put it back, eyes going wide for half a second like you've done something wrong.

Simon watches you sit with the fact that you're still capable of it.

"Soap would've had something to say about your arse, Lt.," you mutter, recovering.

"Soap had something to say about everything."

"He'd have offered to warm it up. Cheeky bastard."

"He'd have gotten decked for it."

"He'd have deserved it." You wipe your face with the heel of your hand, quick, businesslike, pretending it's the cold. "God. He was so fucking annoying."

"Worst man I ever served with," Simon agrees.

It's a lie and it's the truest eulogy either of you has managed in weeks, and you both know it, and that's exactly why it works.

He stays beside you in the cold until your breathing evens out, until the rigid set of your shoulders drops two degrees, until you're no longer somewhere else entirely but here, on a crate, in the dark, next to him.

It isn't healing. It isn't fine.

But you're still here.

And for Simon Riley, who has learned not to ask for more than what he's given, that is enough.