âSimon didn't notice at first; he just thought it was a mere coincidence. How you always chose to drink the same beverage, using the same straw. The same bottle of water right after he had taken a drink. Or when you two shared food, and you always bit the exact same spot he had just bitten.
âNow, you two were in his room. You were in his lap, kissing his neck, leaving noticeable marks that anyone could see without effort. He desperately sought your lips, biting and savoring them, deepening the kiss.
â"Si, would you do something for me?" you asked, your lips brushing against his.
â"Anything for you, darlin'," he said, his voice sounding more like a whisper.
â"Could you... spit in my mouth?" you asked shyly. You had been wanting to tell him for a while, but you hadn't been able to find the bravery.
â"Spit?" Simon wasn't concerned at all; he just hadn't expected you to like such things. "I can do that for ya, luv."
âSimon cupped your chin, his touch soft against your skin. "Open your mouth, sweetheart."
âYou obeyed, opening your mouth and showing him your tongue. And finally, your wish came true. Simon spit into your mouth.
â"Now baby. Swallow it down."
âAnd that's exactly what you didâyou swallowed his saliva.
â"There you go, my precious girl. Do you like it, huh?"
âYou nodded in response. Thereafter, you always found an excuse for any situation where Simon could just spit in your mouth.
i know this is so self indulgent, but this idea had been stuck in my head for DAYS 𫩠hope you like it
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after some rummaging and random swinging of the arm in the darkness, you finally switch on the lamp.
cracking your eyes open, you almost make out the time.
2:04 am.
you proceed to curse your own bladder for giving up on you post the birth of your son, baby!yuji. shoving the heavy arm off of you, you give it a light tap as if to assure it that youâll be back.
a gesture mostly engraved into your autonomic nervous system.
you walk, half-asleep to the bathroom.
clicking itâs light on, you blink rapidly, and then failing to adjust to the assault of such brightness you squeeze your eyes shut and trudge on, purely on instinct.
you sit down, ready to relieve yourself, when the door youâd forgotten to shut close behind you, creaks open.
âmamamamamaâ baby yuji babbles on, rubbing his eyes with his little fists.
this had become routine for the two of you.
âmama what doin?â he questions,
âoh baby, mamaâs just peeingâ you rub your face, unfazed.
and then as if the party was just getting started, a much larger presence also appears, right behind your son.
eliciting a loud yawn, with his entire frame filling up the entrance sukuna scratches his head looking you up and down,
âwhat are you doing, woman?â
âoh just grilling a steak, want some?â you didnât know why heâd ask you that, frankly it was too late at night for you to tolerate such stupid questions.
âno silly!â yuji chimed in, âmama peeingâ atleast someone here was sensible.
your husband just nods in acknowledgement, arms crossed leaning on the door,
watching you.
seriously?
âhello?â you wave your hand at sukuna, motioning him to leave âwhat happened to privacy?â you question.
âyeah son, yaâ gotta go mom needs spaceâ he tilts his head towards yuji who just sticks his tongue out. guess stubbornness ran in the family.
you narrow your eyes at him.
âi married you and impregnated you and saw you give birth and we have a son together wife, so really what privacy?â
âtouchĂŠâ you click your tongue. seriously, the irony in your whole family watching you pee wasnât lost on you.
then, mid-stream, he whistles at you.
âyou look sexy as hell right nowâ
âryo!â you clutch your stomach, trying not to laugh, âiâm trying to pee!â
âby all means, donât let me stop youâ he raises both hands as if in mock surrender.
âi wasnât gonna!â 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 âwash, wash, washâ his kindergarten teacher probably taught him that.
âcan you not stay even a second away from me?â you question as you feel sukunaâs arms snake around your waist.
his heavy breath tickles your neck making you shudder.
âi canâ
âso why are you here?â
a beat of contemplation, perhaps.
âokay, i canâtâ
you giggle again, moving to wipe your hands on the towel all nice and dry.
âalright party people, weâre done hereâ you announce walking out of the bathroom with your ducklings husband, and son following suit.
firefly; iâm back with more baby!yuji who else cheered?
going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.
pointing to one of the lip balms, âones for you so we can match.â
and he just laughs a huff out his nose.
when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. âiâm saving up my points for a new hairdryer.â
âhow many do you need?â he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.
âabout ten thousand.â
âhow many do you have?â
âthree hundred.â
he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks youâre being a little⌠optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.
âthanks man.â he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.
then to you, âiâll just buy it for you. thatâll take you ages.â
he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.
âi just keep using them but iâm going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.â
takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.
âitâs also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.â
ę° how is he in bed as a husband? â distraction â dadâs best friend!gojo â with virgin!gf â melting into the kiss â overprotective older bf!gojo â virgin!gojo â eyp w/ olderbf!gojo â safe word â checking in â midnight heist â wearing his hoodie â take me home â pĹŤssy slapping â expanding your family â sharing you with geto â argument with olderbf!gojo â vanilla morning â argument with husband!gojo â flower crown â lovefool â interrupting his business call
ryomen sukuna
ę° how is he in bed as a husband? â stomach tongue â dad!kuna â melting into the kiss â his childâs first steps â enemies entwined â pregnant!concubine â with his rebel son â gifting his son a tantĹ â safe word â riding him half asleep â take me home â bloody sx â pussy slapping â cuddling â dad!kuna & his kids â clingy concubine â one of the girls â forbidden territory â hiding your injuries â size kink â defending you â clingy concubine â only you â preg!concubine injured
toji fushiguro
ę° how is he in bed as a husband? â protecting his shy gf â save a horse, ride a cowboy â comfort in a thunderstorm â midnight visits â melting into the kiss â protective toji & megs â back of his car â safe word â take me home â pĹŤssy slapping â bedtime with gumi â roommate toji â sneaky link!toji â olderbf!toji & virgin gf â quality time w/ dad!toji â fighting his kid over ur attention â first steps holding â holding baby gumi
series: outlaw!toji
suguru geto
ę° how is he in bed as a husband? â melting into the kiss â safe word â pĹŤssy slapping â sharing you with toru
kento nanami
ę° how is he in bed as a husband? â shaving his stubble â sitting on sheriff!kentoâs lap â safe word â workaholic hubby â bringing sheriff!kentoâs lunch â pĹŤssy slapping â husband!ken eating u out â sheriff!kento & pregnant wife wedding night
[đđ] :: trueform!sukuna has never apologised to anyone, until you came along :: tags. concubine!reader. fluff, angst, suggestive. âbrat, womanâ used :: wc. 1.8k
sukunaâs never felt the need to apologize. heâs never in the wrong if you ask him. apologising to someone he deems âlesserâ would be a sign of weakness.
yet the king of curses always has this secret need to make his favorite concubine feel better after (unintentionally) hurting her.
youâve got this hold on him that he will never acknowledge. although there are moments where he will indirectly show you that he regrets upsetting you.
itâs a quiet saturday evening and youâre relaxing in your bedchambers after eating dinner. you didnât 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 âlittleâ argument yesterday. you both spent the entire day and night alone instead of in each otherâs 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 sukunaâs 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 youâa 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 itâs 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 youâve 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.
âcome in,â 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 donât say a thing. you donât look at him. you donât smile at him. you donât move a muscle. no acknowledgment at all.
sukuna hates itâitâs unusual for you to be so cold. your eyes dart to the floor and your bottom lip subtly forms a defiant pout.
sukuna scoffs. heâs 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 elseâwould 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.
âtch, whatâs with the face?â sukuna's deep and commanding voice fills the spacious room. he doesn't go about it the gentle wayâheâs still him after all. âyâre still sulking about that little thing? i thought i told ya to stop thinkinâ about it.â
hearing sukuna say the latter makes your heart ache and your eyes water from frustration. everything seems like itâs not a big deal to himâeven when youâre clearly upset.
âthat was not just a little thing, my lord!â 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.
sukunaâs 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.
âyou dare raise your voice at me, woman?â sukuna growls, his face mere inches from yours.
his grip borders on painful and you wince at the ache in your jaw. he doesnât let go and instead tightens his hold, âi don't have time for this fuckin' nonsense.â
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 itâs difficult because heâs 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 donât 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 didnât mean to hurt you too much with that comment. he didnât 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 emotionsâdenying that he feels anything for you. he said it to remind himself that he isnât getting attached to a human.
but that failed terribly. seeing you like thisâyour teary eyes glaring up at him with fear, hurt and betrayal made him feel an uncomfortable pang in his chest. something that resembled guilt.
âhave a good night then, my lord,â you dismiss sukuna and turn away, your voice strained with emotion. you donât want to start another argument with him.
the king of curses grits his teeth. there it goes again. âmy lordâ â yes, itâs what most others call him, but not you. you always called him by nicknames he deemed foolish. âkuna, ryâ or even âdearâ. 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 doesnât know what to sayâdoesnât trust himself to speak. he knows heâll make it worse by speaking, knows heâll rile you up even more. thus he chooses not to utter a word for a moment.
your eyes meet and youâre 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 dangerousâplaying with your emotions like this.
telling you one thing, but contradicting himself with his actions. itâs 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.
sukunaâs large hands roam over your body as he presses you as close to him as possible. itâs like heâs reassuring you with his touchâmelting away all your worries. itâs a manipulative tactic that somehow always gets you. or perhaps itâs 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. youâre 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.
âyâre a fool,â 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. itâs almost cute. almost.
âand you look pathetic,â the man in front of you adds with a condescending smirk.
you weakly smack sukunaâs chest, making his grin widen. there you goâthere 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 itâs a sigh of relief. he may not have solved this issue between you two in a normal, healthy way, but it worked out anyway.
âyouâre mean,â 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 reliefâitâs overwhelming.
sukuna inhales briefly. he doesnât 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 donât 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 youâve come to accept it. this way of reassuring you counts as something at the very least.
it doesnât matter who or what gets between you two, at the end of the day, youâll find each other again. one way or another.
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[đđ] :: true form!sukuna finds out his favorite pregnant concubine is injured :: tags. fluff, angst, reader gets called âwomanâ :: ac. @/greybookman on x
you want that damn scroll.
one of the old texts on yokai lore sukuna left half-unrolled on a high shelf days ago. boredom and the restless energy of pregnancy drives you to it. standing on the tips of your toes, with one hand braced against the lacquered cabinet, you stretch up.
your belly, round and full at nearly eight months, shifts heavily. the baby kicks hard as if protesting.
âjust... a little moreââ
the wood creaks. your foot slips on the woven tatami mat and then the world tilts.
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. itâs still strong and alive.
relief floods you, but itâs 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.
âwhat,â he growls, âis the meaning of this, woman?â
you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, âitâs nothing, my lord. i onlyââ
âdo not.â
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.
sukunaâs eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, âyou fell.â
âwell, i reached for a scroll,â you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, âdidnât thinkââ
âyeah. you obviously didnât think,â 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, âtsk. yâre crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.â
the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy youâve 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 doesnât 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, âdo you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckinâ country if you lost that child?â
your heart stutters.
you know he isnât exaggerating. sukunaâs affection is a double edged blade. itâs obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.
ây-yes, but iâm alright,â you whisper, âthe baby kicked just now. itâs still strong and kicking."
as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukunaâs big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.
for a long moment thereâs silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.
âyou will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.â it isnât a suggestion. âservants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.â
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, âyouâre angry.â
âfurious.â
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.
âi should chain you to this bed,â sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, âperhaps then youâd stop testinâ me.â
a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. âyouâd miss my stubbornness too much,â you chuckle softly.
the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the airâprobably 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 itâs 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.
âenter,â 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.
âgive it here,â 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 hasnât left his eyes, but it has shifted. itâs now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.
when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. âif this swells worse by morning, iâll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.â
you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, ââkay, noted.â
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 cursesâ 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 âoverexertedâ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.
âryo.. come here,â 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. heâs fine. weâre fine.â
sukunaâs expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, âif anythinâ changes...â
ââyouâll destroy the worldâ. . . i know.â
a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, âgood. youâre learning.â
đŕ§ true form!sukuna takes care of his favorite concubine once she falls pregnant.
tags. fluff, comfort. pregnancy. morning sickness. reader is called âwomanâ :: wc: 1.5k :: mlist
the faint light of dawn barely creeps through the shĹji screens of your chambers, painting the palace in muted grays and soft lavenders.
ever since the physician had knelt before sukuna and confirmed your pregnancyâdeclaring you the first of his concubines to successfully conceive and carry his heirâthe king of curses had all but abandoned the rest of his sprawling estate.
he spends nearly every day and night after his duties in your chambers now, dismissing his other women with curt, impatient waves and sharp commands that sends them scattering.
his four crimson eyes linger far more often on the subtle swell of your belly than on any battlefield or blood-soaked conquest.
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 worldâand the child growing inside youâthat 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. itâs 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.
sukunaâs 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.
âtch. what is it now, woman?â sukunaâs 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, âyâve been squirming like a damned worm for the past hour. i need my rest, and so do you.â
you swallow hard, the motion sending fresh fire up your throat. âi⌠i donât feel good,â 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, âitâs the same sickness again. it woke me⌠i tried not to disturb you, my lord, i swear.â
sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, the sound carrying mild annoyance. âagain?â 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, âthis brat is already more trouble than itâs worth. weakeninâ you before itâs even drawn breath.â
the words are harshâeven 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.
âam s-sorry,â 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 preyâyet 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. itâs a stark contrast to the clammy chill that has settled over you.
slowly, deliberately, he begins to rub wide and firm circlesâfar steadier and more effective than your own weak attempts. the pressure is perfect, easing the knots of the cramping almost at once.
âstay still,â 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. âdrink. slowly. youâll only make this worse if you let yârself dry out.â
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 cursesâ reputation.
âitâs still far too early for yâr whining,â sukuna grumbles, âbut if this heir is going to sap yâr strength like a parasite, i wonât have ya wasting away to nothing.â
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.
âuraume brewed some concoction yesterdayâginger and herbs, supposedly calms the gut. iâll have them bring it at once,â he adds gruffly.
your eyes widen slightly even through the haze of sickness. âyou⌠asked uraume to make medicine for me?â the question slips out before you can stop it, soft with genuine surprise.
sukunaâs eyes narrow dangerously, fangs glinting in the low light. âdonât make me repeat myself, woman. i said iâll handle it,â he leans closer, his teeth sinking lightly in your ear, âi wonât have anythingânot even my own spawnâtormenting you without consequence.â
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. itâs 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 bothâit 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 sukunaâs hand still resting protectively on your belly before bowing low.
âmy lord. the infusion you requested.â
sukuna doesnât bother acknowledging the bow. âgive it here,â one hand snatches the cup while the other keeps its steady rhythm on you. he brings the steaming liquid to your lips himself, âdrink. all of it.â
the scent of ginger and honey reaches you first and itâs 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 uraumeâa silent dismissal. they vanish as quietly as they had come.
âbetter?â he asks after a few minutes pass, though his touch hasnât faltered once.
you nod weakly. exhaustion pulls at you now that the worst had passed, âyes⌠thank you, my lord.â
the king of curses huffs as he settles back down. he tugs the heavy silk covers higher over both of you.
âdonât thank me. just donât wake me again before the sun is fully up,â 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.
ânow rest,â sukuna sighs, voice low and rough, âif this brat causes you more trouble tonight, iâll have words with it.â
the absurdity of threatening an unborn child draws a tired smile from you. typical of sukuna to do such a thing.
with that youâre 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.
đâ Ë ŕŁŞ . ËË â đđđđđđđđ. after wandering onto the training grounds of the estate where sukunaâs soldiers reside, an unexpected romantic confession catches you off guard. little did you know that another concubine would tell on you in hopes of getting you kicked out of the harem or worseâkilled.
tags \\ warnings. true form!ryomen sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst mostly (w/ comfort, if you can call it that). fluff-ish. suggestive. make-out session near the end. size difference. reader's body referred to as small. mentions of murder, execution :: wc. 4.2k :: ac. woshihedawei on x
sukuna has known from the start that possessing a human army would cause trouble, one way or another. technically, the overpowered curse has no need for a group of soldiers. he can take up any opponent by himself.
however, he enjoyed knowing that he has full control over some weak humans who are too scared to oppose him. humans who would die for his cause, if he were to command them.
human shields: thatâs what he calls them.
âspeak up or leave,â 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.
heâs already pissed off due to being disturbed by one of his concubines. It isnât youâhis favoriteâso 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 favoritismâeveryone 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 youâsukunaâs favorite concubine who theyâve secretly developed a crush onâthey froze in their place and nearly dropped their weapons. the men didnât expect any visitors, especially not a high-ranking concubine to randomly walk through this part of the estate. itâs a rare occurrence to have anyone but the servants and generals walk by.
you silently bowed at them out of respect. you didnât 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.
sukunaâs eyes are everywhere. even if you think he isnât 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. youâre never fully alone. nothing you do escapes the king of curses. if youâre 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 didnât say a word. itâs a usual occurrence. the other women always try to catch you off guard. to catch you doing something that youâre 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 âcontroversialâ 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 feelingsâthe words he uttered after the formalities only further confirmed the concubineâs speculations.
âiâve been admiring you for a while now. youâre a lovely lady...â
âperhaps itâs bold of me to ask this, but i would like the opportunity to get to know you better.â
âlord sukuna does not need to know of this. i promise not to tell him, so please donât worry.â
. . .
â...thatâs exactly what that soldier told her, my lord,â the concubine concludes her story with a shaky breath. the throne room is filled with a tense and rather uncomfortable silence. the woman canât even lift her head up because of how scared she is of sukunaâs wrath. sheâs 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 blondeâs 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 suffocatingâthe concubine could barely breathe. itâs as if thereâs 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. sukunaâs fingers curl around the locks and roughly yanks the girlâs head back, forcing her to look up. his face is close to hers; his eyes are wide and glowing an intimidating red.
âwoman,â 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, âyou know what happens if you lie to me, correct?â
the blond concubine swallows thickly as the tears prickle her eyes. she nods, already aware of the risks she is taking. âyes, my lord. i⌠i promise it is not a lie,â she whimpers. perhaps her promise isnât worth trusting, considering the infinite number of times that sukunaâs 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 crackâ 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 hasnât 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 whoâs currently making his way to the training grounds.
. . .
youâre 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 offerâout 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. youâve been here for too long while youâre 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 youâre walking back, a couple noises from inside of the main building catch your attention.
sounds of struggle. youâve 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. theyâre 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. youâre not supposed to witness any of this. youâve known of the executions that take place around the manor but have never seen them firsthand. you carefully hide your face, so the guards donât recognize you and alert sukuna that youâre 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 donât want to see it. you truly cannot do anything to save those soulsâyour word is not final around here.
you donât recognize who those poor men are, until you hear one of them plead for his life. youâre 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 thatâs 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.
âwhatââ youâre about to speak up â revealing your identity in hopes of getting answers and perhaps delay the execution with the little power you have - when youâre 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 donât know what to do or say. itâs like you have met a dead end. you canât go back, nor can you move forward as a wall of muscles cage you into place. you donât have time to react before sukunaâs fingers move up to wrap around your throat. he doesnât hold on tight, at least not to the point that it hinders your airway. itâs a rather possessive gesture, a warning to not move or try anything funny.
âstay,â 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 didnât 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 itâs all your fault and that nearly sends you spiraling.
ââlord sukuna doesnât have to know,â huh?â 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 youâre 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, âhow cute. which one of âem said that to you?â
youâre unable to immediately answer sukuna. thereâs 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 youâre caught lying and the thought alone makes you panic internally.
âanswer me,â the king of curses demands. his fingers tighten the grip around your neck, his face leaning in right in front of yours. itâs terrifying, really, even if you know sukuna wouldnât physically hurt you in any way. at least not badly.
he emphasizes his demand with a subtle threat, âand donât you dare lie.â
itâs 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 sukunaâs attention and he makes a mental note of it. he isnât dumb: he is aware that youâre softhearted and selfless. you wouldnât publicly expose anyone, because youâre afraid of what he will do to them if he were to find out.
âhm.â 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 youâre 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 doesnât 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. youâre 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. âpleqse donâtâ" you open your mouth, only for one of his hands to grab you by your jaw.
âyâ donât get to tell me what to do, brat,â 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 heâd force you to witness the slaughter thatâs about to take place.
âiâll deal with ya later,â he adds with a faint huff. he quickly waves you off, ânow, move.â
all you can do is stare at sukunaâs back before slowly retreating into the estate. you feel sick. you feel like youâre 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 theyâre nextânot even your own lady-in-waiting dares to talk to you for the time being.
youâre laying on your bed, unable to sleep your worries away. the warmth underneath your sheets gives you a sense of comfort, but it isnât 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 donât think he will expel you from his harem nor get rid of you in any way. he would have done so the moment heâs 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 doesnât speak up for a minute, simply allowing you to gather your thoughts. his index finger and thumb glide down to grasp your chinâ a gentle yet firm touch. âyâ see what happens when you disobey me?â
sukunaâs reminder sure was a violent one, but thatâs to be expected from a disaster curse like him. of course he wouldnât change his violent nature for you; you shouldâve expected that. you shouldnât have become so delusional, so blinded because of the fact that youâre his favorite.
perhaps the special treatment is getting to your head. itâs 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.
âyes, my lord,â you take a deep breath before eventually answering with those three words. youâre a weak woman, melting right into the embrace of the man youâre supposed to hate. you cannot help yourself as you feel those big hands rub up and down your sides.
âgood,â sukunaâs signature smirk tugs at his lips. youâre easy to distract, easy to please. looking at you from up close like this is somehow soothing the anger inside him. heâs supposed to punish you for disobeying his ordersâ for going somewhere youâre 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.
âyâre lucky i still have some use for you,â 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 youâre 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.
youâre easy. easy to pacify, easy to shut up with just a couple touches. thatâs also what he likes about you. the fact that youâre so submissive to him when you need to be.
sukuna traces the curves of your perky breasts, âyâ should just look pretty for me like thisâlisten to me and not get into trouble.â
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. itâs 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 youâre chest to chest. his lips find your shoulder, fingers loosening the kimono to expose your sensitive flesh.
ânone of this wouldâve happened if ya jusâ listened, hm?â sukuna whispers in a rough tone. he knows itâs not fully your faultâthat stupid soldier shouldnât have made a move on you in the first place. although, he canât help but play mindgames with you. to mold you into the perfect woman for him.
and you fall right into his trap. âsorry. won't do it again,â 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.
âhah. thatâs what yâ say every time,â 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.
â. . .such a little brat,â sukunaâs 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 behaviorâbehavior 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. âyâre mine. donât you forget,â he mutters to you in a low tone.
you nod without hesitation, âall yours.â
you will never forget that. no matter what you do or where you goâ youâre still sukunaâs. in every way possible. there is no escaping him. no one can take you away from him, as youâve 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 wonât succeed.
what happened today is still replaying in the back of your mind as the make out session develops into something more. youâve 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. youâve 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 youâand the othersâare actively suffering the consequences;
the consequences of making the ryomen sukuna fall in love.
[đđ] :: calling true form!sukuna by a nickname for the first time :: tags. fluff, sfw.
âryo,â it rolls off your tongue naturally. as if youâve called him that thousands of times before. you donât realise it until he suddenly stops in his tracks.
sukuna narrows his eyes. you turn your head and look up, oblivious to your slip-up. the sorcerer doesnât utter a word and instead glares down at your short frame. he looks irritated, or more annoyed.
âoh,â you realise why only a few seconds after.
you bow your head at him and try to explain yourself in a hurry. normally, youâd address him with respect like everyone else does. âmy lordâ, âlord sukunaâ, or even âmasterâ.
you nearly fall to your knees. you donât know how or what sukunaâs going to do now that youâve dropped the honorifics on accident and called him by a nickname.
you hold your hands together, âmy deepest apologiââ
âagain,â sukuna demands in a rough voice.
you freeze for a second before tilting your head back. you catch a glimpse of his expression; heâs amused, intrigued and perhaps still a bit annoyed. he repeats, âcall me that again.â
sukuna isnât annoyed by the fact that youâve called him by a nickname for the first time. heâs annoyed, because your sweet voice makes him feel stuff heâs 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 sukunaâs voice was a bad sign or not. you decide to just comply and hope for the best, â. . . ryo.â
sukuna grits his teeth. you think heâs mad, but in reality, heâs trying to eliminate the feelings of love from within him. your voice calling him so affectionatelyâso intimately; it makes him feel that warmth in his chest.
no oneâs dared to call him anything like that before. everyoneâs formal with him. itâs a must. sukunaâs used to everyone acknowledging his superiority in the conversations he holds. itâs a given.
no one refers to him so casually. no one dares to.
youâre the first one to break that pattern. the first one to make sukunaâs cold heart tremble. if it were anyone else, theyâd be his dinner by now. but itâs you so itâs. . . 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 âfoolishâ emotions.
sukuna clicks his tongue and sighs before continuing to walk ahead of you.
you scurry after himâkeeping your head low. you donât 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.
sukunaâs the one to end the quiet atmosphere. his voice is as deep and cold as ever, though thereâs no denying the subtle softness that creeps in whenever he talks with you.
he takes a deep breath and sighs. he keeps walking and doesnât spare you a glance, however his words say enough;
âfrom now on, thatâs the only way youâll address me until i say otherwise, understood?â
Price doesn't do aftercare, he's made that point blatantly obvious from the first night together.
Well, he doesn't do aftercare for himself. John has the decency to wipe you off and make sure you're okay, you wouldn't keep coming back to him otherwise, but when you try to look after him? Complete shut down.
"C'mon, sir, let me take care of youâ" you beg for the third time, giving price your best pleading eyes. You run your hand over the hair on his chest, one leg hooked over his waist in that way you know he secretly likes.
"I'm fine." He grunts, shutting down already. Tensing up, about to push you off and escape like he always does when you lean foreward.
"Awww, no fun, sir. At least a kiss?" You pout, holding his jaw and pressing your lips to his. The faint taste of smoke and whisky on his tongue, mixed with the flavor of you.
Price jolts suddenly, pulls back, eyes narrowed "what the hell did i just swallow?"
Your delighted smile is the last thing price sses.
....only to wake up...still in bed? But, no, the sheets have been changed, and price feels different. Mouth minty, teeth brushed when he runs his tongue over them. He smells clean, too, as if he took a shower. Not to mention how for once his knees don't ache to the core.
He narrows his eyes at the ceiling. His wrists are cuffed to the bed.
...there's a weight on his chest, fingers curling into the hair between pecs.
"Glad you're awake, sir. Have some soup cooling off for you." Your voice drifts up.
Really, price should have expected it. That the one person willing to sleep with him consistently is also willing to fucking drug him for the sole purpose of aftercare.
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⤡ cw: smut, age gap(reader is in their early 20âs), missionary, fraternization, spit(just once), breeding kink.
john price who was hesitant to approach you at first, knowing about your little crush on him that soap always teased him about.
âlil bonnie has a crush on yaâ cap, why not date the sweet thing ay?â heâll chuckle amused, patting price on the back as he puffs out a smoke.
âiâm not datinâ a kidâ he grumbles unamused, putting out his cigar as he stands to leave.
scoffing at the thought as he walked through the mess, you definitely are a cute young thing. all eager and obedient every time you were needed for something.
all soft and pliant, the plump of your ass and the fat on your hips making him wonder how good it would be to fuck you raw hold you close.
but itâs.. unprofessional, really. not only is he twice your age but it would also be fraternization. an old bloke like him with such a cute thing to breed go out with, feeling all the judgmental stares as he holds you by the waist.
âcap? hello?â heâs suddenly startled by your voice, grumbling under his breath as he rubs his face. definitely out of surprise and not because his cheeks were flushed.
âchrist kid, what did ya need from me?â he grumbles annoyed, trying hard to focus as he stares down at your cute figure.
eyes staring at him so intently, cheeks rising with every raise of your lips, and god that smile. holding a folder between those soft hands of yours, your nipples lightly peeking over your dress shirt.
it was taking every ounce of him to not take you right here and now. âi just needed you to approve this for the next batch of supplies coming in, it would be really nice if you could do itâ you mumble shyly.
john price was a patient man, but seeing a sweet little thing be so shy and needy for him was too much. he couldnât let you suffer alone now, could he?
well thatâs what he believed right now, hands pushing your knees to your chest as he pistons his thick cock into you. thumb holding down your tongue as you whined for him, cock drunk as all you could think about was his thick girth splitting you open.
sobbing from pleasure as he spits into your mouth, tongue lapping at your tears before giving you a deep kiss. planting wet kisses on your collar, rutting deeper into you as he sucks on your nipple.
âfuck, mactavish was right. i should just breed ya full and put a nice ring on that finger yeah?â
i love old man price, heâs so yummy (i might write fauxcest?)
was gonna specify his smell, but some ppl donât like smoking and i donât really want ppl uncomfortable. kinda awkward bc i used to smoke lol.
pervy roomate kĂśnig will be posted tomorrow! it ended up longer than i expected and i have a few more oneshots otw so i wanna post at least 2 tgt tomorrow :3
I have a boss who says âatta girlâ to me whenever he approves of something Iâve done. Iâm 23. But holy SHIT does it make me blush. Just thinking abt reader getting all fidgety n shit bc a member of the 141 has said smthn like that to themâŚ
Nng anonnnn that is so price trying to manipulate his secretary into not snitching @///@
You get hundreds of papers on your desk in a week, yet you somehow manage to catch the discrepancies in his teams accounts of events versus another teams. You brought it to price first, of course you did, he's been spending so much time making sure you trust and rely on him for help.
Sure, he uses your little crush against you, corners you against his desk and traps you in by leaning a hand on it. "Just change it to our account, love, chances are they rushed that report anyways."
"Uhmâ I could check the other reportsâ" you offer, stumbling and squirming when he growls low in displeasure. "Ahâ you're right, i know gaz spends so long making sure his work is right. I'll change it."
You're rewarded with a firm pat on the hip and prices gruff "atta girl."
cw: post MW3; angst; hurt/comfort | fem!Reader Ă S. Riley
Simon has been watching you for the past weeks since the world has tilted on its axis a second time in his life.
Johnny is dead. Price is gone. Kyle is trying to keep things running. The 141 is no more as it once was.
And then, there is you.
Shattered. The light once beaming in your eyes now gone. Buried with Johnny. Extinguished by Price's abandonment.
You're nothing but a shell of your former self; of the woman who could give all of them a run for their money with her banter, her discipline, and fierce loyalty.
And Simon has been observing the decline in real time while refusing to deal with his own grief, like watching a wild animal deteriorate in a zoo cage.
The base at night is a different kind of quiet.
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 everythingâwithout 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 somethingâhe 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 keepâ" 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 fullyâ" 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 nightâactually 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 youâshort, 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.
Pâ rnstar!Simon who was ready to leave the industry until Johnny showed him a video of yours one night.
Maybe one more video wouldnât hurt.
Pâ rnstar!Simon whoâs on the phone the next morning telling his manager to get something booked. He doesnât listen when Price rambles on about how you have completely different audiences so it might not work.
âAll due respect, I donât care. Either way if Iâm in a video, people will click regardless and by the looks of it the same goes for them and their viewers.â
Pâ rnstar!Simon who insists the two of you get to know one another before filming because if you want an intimate shoot, heâll give you exactly that. What better way than to become familiar with each other? You know, just to double check the chemistry will be convincing. And who are you to turn down a free lunch date with an attractive man?
âNo no, donât worry about the bill, itâs on me.â
Pâ rnstar!Simon who brings you your favourite tea on the day of filming and thoroughly listens to you over everyone else on how you want it to be carried out. His usual onscreen genre hasn't been so tame but he finds himself looking forward to this scene with you more than anything heâs ever done in his career.
Pâ rnstar!Simon whose touch is so gentle and caring whilst filming. He takes his time, making sure everything he does is the way you want it. He keeps an eye on your every reaction, every sound he brings out of you. The scene is raw, natural and he forgets for a moment that the cameras are on the two of you. Has to stop himself from getting carried away, reminding himself that itâs all fake, even when it feels truly genuine.
âGod, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, love.â
Pâ rnstar!Simon who has tons of videos published, and not a single one of them has him kissing his scene partner. Yet he just canât stop his lips from connecting with yours as he shoots his cum deep inside you, hands intertwined.
Pâ rnstar!Simon who checks on you as soon as the cameras are off, making sure that youâre alright and everything's good.
âYâalright sweetheart? Can I get you anything?â
Pâ rnstar!Simon who manages to get your number but is too scared to contact you after that day in case he screws up and says something that comes across as weird. It takes a lot of convincing from Johnny before he finally calls you one night.
Pâ rnstar!Simon who smiles to himself when you pick up. The two of you talking on the phone for hours about the most random things in the world until you both fall soundly asleep, phones still in hand.
Maybe next time you the two of you could have your own personal scene off camera...
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division crackles through the air as the two men stare down one another. vicious in the way they want to claw at eachother and draw blood.
"fucks sake you idiots, kyle your roll." you hiss, tossing the dice past a grinning johnny.
he snorts with a glance thrown at kyle who blinks at him, caught quiet between the mess of you five.
"ghost," john grits out. eyes narrowed as hes sat beside you. fingers in a firm grip around you thigh. "you wan' end up on my property?" he leans over the table with a low grunt.
"watch yer toâ"
"what happened to no call signs at home?" you shove john back by his shoulders and toss a glare at simon. "both of you shut the fuck up. kyle, roll."
"righ' doll, sorry," john pats your thigh softly.
two dice clatter around the board. snake eyes. yet its hardly noticed as john and simon continue to throw low-leveled insults.
"shoul' be feckin' sorry,"
"speak up lieutenant?"
you shove john fully away. simon follows suit on his own. making their way onto their feet besides the new couch. you glare at kyle now, annoyance peaking. "kyle! roll the fucking dice!"
how hard was it to play one board game with them?
kyle stutters as you shout at him, leaving soap the perfect window to swipe a couple $500 bills from the bank. previously simons job.
behind the three of you, john and simon yell at eachother like sisters. fingers pointed and in eachothers faces. you want to rip your hairout.
"will you two grow a fucking pair and man up? god you two annoy me,"
"love, i rolleâ"
"johnny! put the shitty railway stations down now!
Rain taps softly against the windows while the television mutters quietly in the background.
Neither Simon nor his girlfriend is really watching it.
She is stretched across the sofa with her legs over Simonâs lap, half-asleep after a long day, while Simon absently runs a rough thumb along their ankle.
Domestic.
Safe.
The kind of peace he once thought belonged to other people.
And the ring box sits hidden behind some old boxes in the kitchen cabinet, the one she canât reach.
He knows exactly where it is at all times. Sometimes, when sheâs asleep, he takes it out just to look at it.
Not because he changes his mind. Because he doesnât.
Thatâs the problem.
She shifts slightly, eyes still closed.
âYouâre brooding again.â
âAm not.â
âHmm.â
He knows heâs caught and his grip on her ankles becomes just slightly tighter. She smiles without opening her eyes, comfortable enough to fall asleep for hours without even twitching a muscle.
That trust hits Simon harder than bullets every time.
He looks down at her carefully. At the familiar softness of her face. The way her chest goes up and down with every tranquil breath she takes when sheâs with him. Â Goosebumps rise along her skin because sheâs too stubborn to put on something warmer.
Itâs been two years together now. Him learning exactly how she takes her tea: with milk and two sugars, sometimes one if sheâs having sweets with it. Memorising the sound of her footsteps and being able to say what mood sheâs in. Years of late-night phone calls from places with bad signal areas. Her never knowing where he is, just hoping each call isnât the last time she hears his voice. Her pretending not to notice the bruises when he comes home because she doesnât want him to remember what he survived. Simon standing outside the building before missions just to look at the lights in the windows. He tells her not to watch him leave because what if someone sees her and hurts her while heâs gone? And, well, he canât bear the sadness on her face --- the one that she tries to hide but fails miserably every time.
He loves her so much.
And thatâs exactly why he canât do it.
She finally opens one eye. âWhatâs going on in that head?â
âNothing.â
âLiar.â
Simonâs jaw tightens faintly. She notices that too. She always notices.
She sits up a little, studying him now.
âYou disappear like this quite often.â
âIâm here.â
âPhysically.â
That lands harder than intended. Simon looks away toward the rain-streaked windows.
He knows what she wants.
Not pressure.
Never pressure.
But sometimes he catches her eyes lingering on jewelry shop windows.
Sometimes she pauses when her friends announce engagements.
Sometimes Simon sees the flicker of hurt she tries to hide when people ask her -or worse, tease her -about getting married.
And Christ, he wants it, too.
More than heâs ever wanted anything.
A name on paperwork.
A ring on her delicate finger.
Something official and undeniable.
Mine.
But the thought also keeps him awake at night. Because Simon Riley knows what happens to things attached to him.
His mother.
Tommy.
His father.
Soldiers he tried not to care about.
Anyone close enough.
Because Ghost survives and Simon Riley leaves bodies behind.
She touches his arm gently. âTalk to me.â He goes still under the contact for a moment. Then, âYou ever think about leaving?â
She blinks. âWhat?â
âMe.â
The answer comes instantly. âNo.â
âYou should.â
Thereâs no self-pity in it.
No dramatic sadness.
Just blunt certainty.
She sits up fully now, concern etched on her face.
âSimonââ
âI mean it.â
His voice stays low and even, which somehow makes it worse.
âWhy?â She asks, though she knows that look. That haunted look heâs giving without realizing that keeps his brain busy with lies he wants to believe.
âThis life is all I can give to you. Itâs all I can offer.â
âI wanted it.â
âYou donât understand-â
âI understand,â She cuts in, not harshly. âI understand you think if you love something quietly enough, maybe the universe wonât notice.â
That silences him completely.
Because that is exactly it.
The hidden apartment.
No photos together online.
Different routines.
Separate names on documents.
No public traces.
Simon has spent years loving her like a classified secret. As if loving her quietly could keep her alive.
As if secrecy could bargain with fate.
She reaches for his hand slowly, giving him time to pull away. He doesnât.
âYou know what I think?â she murmurs. Simon says nothing. âI think you decided a long time ago that surviving means never letting yourself have anything fully.â
His throat tightens unexpectedly.
Her thumb brushes over his knuckles.
âAnd I think that scares you more than death does.â
There it is. Thatâs the truth heâs been avoiding. Death scared him less than having something gentle enough to lose.
Simon finally finds his voice again. âYou deserve better than looking over your shoulder the rest of your life.â
Her eyes soften painfully. âI already chose you.â
God. That almost breaks him.
His fingers tighten around hers hard enough to hurt before he immediately loosens them again. He bows his head, pressing their joined hands to his mouth for one brief second, as if heâs trying to hold himself together.
When he speaks again, the words come quietly. âThereâs a ring.â
She goes completely still. Simon lets out a tired breath.
âHad it eight months.â Her eyes widen as she listens. âI justâŚâ He stares down at their hands. âCouldnât do it.â
âWhy?â
âBecause men like me donât have good endings to promise.â
--------
i have so much to write about this man :(
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