#concubine

⊱ ۫ ׅ✧ m.list

you were practically the only concubine sukuna ever asked for anymore.

because why would he ask for anyone else? you were the only woman that satisfied him. the only woman that dared to challenge him.

not that he’d ever admit it, but there was something special about you — intriguing. he often caught himself watching you pad around the gardens, barefoot, cupping the roses in your hands as you inhale their sweet scent, appreciating the little things in life as they came.

“tsk… pathetic humans and their need to romanticise everything…" he hisses under his breath, observing you from his window.

yet he refuses to look away, all four crimson eyes drawn to you, the way your soft body moves with such natural grace, the way you were alive with such warmth and curiosity.

the other concubines lived in fear of sukuna, moving like frightened birds when he was near — desperate to please.

but you?

you always adressed him with such casual confidence, like he wasn’t twice your size with four gigantic arms, four eyes, and a mouth on his stomach that looks like it wants to eat you alive.

what he enjoyed most about you was that you weren’t some frail, petite little thing like the rest of them.

sure, you were still pathetic compared to him, but at least you had some meat on your bones — full breasts, a soft stomach, hips wide enough to bare his children.

it got to the point where no one dared to say one bad thing about you, or even so much as look at you the wrong way. anyone that did seemingly ended up deceased or "missing."

sukuna would deny up and down that it was him when you’d ask, the man who takes pride in killing wouldn’t admit the lengths he’d go to for you.

"how strange," he’d say, his expression bored and stoic as always.

but you knew. of course you knew.

although, you only realised the depth of his quiet obsession when he began asking you to his chambers every single evening without fail.

you often take your time before meeting with him, combing your hair fifty times over, spending an extra hour bathing, not because you need to, because you can.

because you know he’ll wait.

"have i kept you waiting long?" you say, entering through the large doors as uraume closes them swiftly behind you.

sukuna’s eyes immediately find you, looking you up and down, both of his monstrous cocks hardening knowing what he’s about to do to you.

"…not at all," he purrs, a slight grin forming on his face.

A/N; making this a series so feel free to req some stuff! this is just kinda an intro post to it hehe

.ೃ࿔*

taglist! (open) ; @princesalovesyousm @teajus-world

I've been DYING TOO!! Thank you for the request! I tried to protect the secret of his ‘frog’ so I hope you like it!!

How scandalous! I wonder what the consequences would look like when the beautiful eunuch goes down on a concubine, Tehe!

The rear palace was a busy place, I must admit, and amid all its bustling chaos, certain corners remained.. Neglected from the public eye I should say. You were a mid-ranking concubine, yet to be visited by the emperor, though many knew how desirableyou were. And still, you found yourself wondering why he had never sought you out. How unsatisfying it felt not to have his attention!

So, you turned your attention elsewhere. To anyone, really—anyone who could fill the growing ache in between your legs. And how fortunate you were, that the one you found was impossibly beautiful.

He was pressed against the wooden beam, your servant long gone on errands, leaving the two of you alone, lips pressed against this deity-like eunuchs. His hands gripped your hips tightly, firm and unshaking, while yours roamed his chest and the side of his neck, holding him steady (or hostage, tehe) as you drank him in.

It was affecting him, clearly. The small, stifled whimpers when your teeth grazed his bottom lip, the way his fingers dug deeper into your skin. Your tongue tangled with his and your hands slipping beneath the hem of his robe, impatient to reveal the faint curve of his chest. His face was flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and dazed. You pulled back slowly, eyes flicking up to his as your own robes fell from your shoulders, just baring just enough skin to make his breath hitch.

His face turned a faint shade of pink.

“This is highly inappropriate…”

“Does it matter that much to you?”

“Quite.”

Your tongue flicked across your bottom lip, teasingly enough in the moment.

“Of course it does. And I’m sure you’re not thinking lewd things about me, are you?”

“…”

He said nothing. His eyes flicked away, nervously glancing toward the door. Your piercing gaze only worsened the tension. You moved for his cloth belt, fingers tugging at the knot with mounting urgency, but his hand lifted to stop you. One wrapping gently around your wrist, the other rising to cradle your cheek.

“Impatient are we?”

He cleared his throat, your eyes slipping closed as he leaned down to kiss the side of your neck, his voice a breathy whisper against your skin.

“Are you even deserving of this…?”

He held you still, lips grazing your throat, dotting soft kisses up to your pulse point, where he nipped just enough to make your breath catch. You didn’t even realize how tightly your fists clung to his robes. With every soft nibble, every languid lick, your chest heaved. Then, with a soft chuckle, he swiftly turnt your back now against the wooden pillar, his body lowering to a kneel. One hand slid to your waist, keeping you in place, while the other pushed your robe aside with delicate precision. His lips found your thighs first, pressing soft, worshiping kisses to your outer and inner thigh. He gazed up at you with this sultry look that made a shiver run down your spine. His nose prodded against your poor slit to test you. Your moan broke through the still air, unrestrained, as your fingers twitched, craving to grasp the hair at his scalp. He hummed, clearly pleased with himself that he could pull such a response from you. He made quick work of it, diverting his gaze down to give a tender lick. He aimed to collect the slick that was already pooling so nicely for him. He couldn't help himself to a degree that he looked like a mad man lapping and sucking at your poor pussy like he was starved. Letting muffled moans of his pleasure slip with your own. And God, he loved the way the flavor of you was dripping down his chin. He looked up at you, demanding your gaze be on his as he quite literally unraveled you on the tip of his tongue. He pulled you closer by the backs of your thighs, holding you there like a captive.

Maomao : I am inevitable

Yang Concubine: A Subtle Seduction

Concubine!Sukuna x Empress!Reader

୨୧⁩𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠𓎠୨୧⁩

When you walked in, the sight should have suprised you. It was a whole mess, a massacre, anyone would be able to see it

but—

on the other hand, you saw it coming. You weren’t suprised. It had only been a matter of time when it would take place.

When he would finally snap.

You could almost hear how your handmaidens had stiffened behind you, but you were mostly unfazed at the massacre that probably had taken place just moments ago.

Your gaze lazingly flitting over the blood smears, splatters, dismembered bodies and organs strewn across the usually clean floors. As if it were some grotesque art show that was put on.

“It’s my gift for you, my love. They are not needed, not when you have me.” Sukuna was shamelessly sprawled out on your throne. Two hands lazily resting on the arms of the throne, one drawing circles on his thigh and the other supporting his chin. His face was set into a subtle grin, enough of a telltale sign that he was proud of his work.

With a curt nod towards your handmaidens, you dismissed them. Not bothering to look back how they scurried away. A soft hum emerged you as you walked closer to the bodies, well what was left of them atleast.

You could barely identify them, but you know well enough who they were. The rest of your concubines. All sorts of hands, feet, torsos were clattered at the foot at your throne. Gaze raising up to where Sukuna was still sprawled out as if he were the emperor himself, so you finally said something. “Normally i would punish you for this. Carelessly ridding of useful lives, i had purposes for them. I suppose you are somewhat right though. I don’t need them, when i have you.”

That made him twitch. Sukuna knew that you couldn’t be mad at him, atleast not for long. With slow and calculated steps, you made your way up to your throne. Disregarding the bodies and limbs that were sprawled all over your floor.

Your eyebrow slightly arched up as you carefully took in the way that Sukuna was sitting all sprawled out, as if the place belonged to him, as if he was the Emperor of the Kingdom. Not just a concubine of The Empress. He simply didn’t care. You could see it in the way he kept his chin lifted. If it were anyone else, they would have been sent to be executed already—But this was different. This was Sukuna.

And the part was, you did not loathe it. The way he acted. How he dared to challenge you in his bold ways, daring to stand out and defy against you. He was the only one who did not care that much for your title. Sukuna kept to his bold ways, which you secretly preferred much more than most who rarely dared to say anything in your presence.

Slowly Sukuna leaned forward, one of his hands reaching out to boldly grasp at your hip. Fingers bunching up the layered fabric you wore and you just tipped your chin up, waiting silently. “Let me rule alongside you. I know how to take care of you—Unlike these useless measley humans. They did not even fight back. How would you expect them to protect you?”

A soft scoff emerged from your lips at Sukuna’s words. Bold, as always. Not like you would have expected any differ from him. He’s always voiced his dislike for the humans that were employed by you, as if he deemed to think you above them—Despite being Empress, you were still made from the same flesh as those ‘Measley Humans’. With a soft hum, you raised your hand. Slowly letting it card through Sukuna’s locks. Pausing, before you lightly tugged on the colored strands, forcing him to look up at you.

“You forget yourself, Ryomen. If i wished to have one equal to me, i would have chosen one. Do not forget where you stand, beneath me..ordered at my desires.” Your grip tightened in his hair, your other hand raising to press against his chest—Pushing him back against the throne. One of your feet nudging his apart, forcing him to spread his thighs further open,—until you heard a groan emerge from him.

Instead of him getting pissed, he enjoyed it. You could tell the way he half liddedly looked at you and you out a scoff at the sight of him. Muttering a ‘pathetic’ underneath your breath. In some way, it did not suprise you. Sukuna was always devoted to you, no matter what (rightfully so) , but unlike your other concubines or even guards,—He meant it when he’d said he would kill for you and right now it showed.

It was sweet in some kind of twisted way, him murdering the rest of your concubines just so he could have you all to himself. That only he could and would take care of you. To be the only one taking care of your needs and praising your body and soul like a Goddess to be prayed to.

Obviously you could not resist such temptation, after all..you were only of human flesh.

Who were you to deny yourself the pleasure you rightiously deserve?

Sukuna’s voice, soon enough snapped you out of your daydream. “Just relax, your Majesty. Let me take care of you. You need not do anything now, not any time soon.” You almost felt yourself going slack in his grip as he brought you closer to him. Now standing between his spread thighs.

A shudder running over the back of your neck as Sukuna pressed and nuzzled his nose against your fabric covered stomach. Unable to help yourself as a staggered breath escaped from your lips.

What a minx he is

“Shh,—Let me do all the work.”

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wc: 420 ; suggestive, fluff, true form sukuna, heian period, concubine reader ; not proofread

true form sukuna! who can't help but wash your hair with his lower pair of arms when he sees you sighing after a full day of cooking and gardening for him. and it's totally not because he secretly enjoys taking care of you but also because he can't stand other maids touching you. 

true form sukuna! who uses his technique to cut the end of one of your hair strands as a mere warning after you risk it all to jokingly quiz him on his literature knowledge: “Master Ryomen, what happens in the 24th chapter of Murasaki’s ‘The tale of Genji’?” instead of giving into your antics he looks over slightly confused but definitely annoyed : “What now woman? I shall hear none of it”. 

true form sukuna! who loves sitting in the steamy and bubbly onsen with you. he doesn't hesitate to scoop you up and make you sit on his lap, making the water around you slosh around. one set of arms around your waist and one set at the base of your butt 

true form sukuna! who's as sadistic as ever even with his favorite concubine, demanding you to make the most complicated and time consuming meals there are, just to see you sweat and give it your all around the kitchen. it satisfies him to see how much effort you're willing to put in - and who are you to resist your king 

true form sukuna! who was most thrilled when he found out he was your first which funnily enough motivated him like never before. he swore no one else could give it to you in bed as well as he does 

true form sukuna! who orders the most expensive fabrics for your junihitoe, paying close attention to colors you'd like to be paired together even if he thinks they don't go well. he does it for you, even if he may not admit it 

true form sukuna! who can't wait for the maids to bring in the dessert and so he uses his arms to pull you closer to him, rough fingers prying at your kimono just to use his lower set of eyes to peek at your cleavage 

heian era! sukuna x concubine! reader

summary - every year, your village performs a tradition of sacrificing one human life to the king of curses, ryomen sukuna. this year, that life is yours. you were meant to be left to die, but instead, you're carried to his palace, wrapped in silk, and forced to be his concubine. what starts out as a blood sacrifice turns into a binding tether to the man who was meant to take your life.

contents/warnings for this chapter - sacrificial ritual, detailed blood/violence, true form sukuna

author's note - this is my first fic!!! had this idea so i thought i'd write it. the smut will be in much LATER chapters. just wanted to upload what i have for now. please be kind! any and all commentary is appreciated.

wc 3.2k

chapter 1

The hardened wax clings to your skin like a vice, a harsh reminder of your current situation, cracking with every movement you can barely do. You can feel the sting of the burns all over your body, tight ropes digging into your wrists and ankles, tied carelessly. A damp cloth is wrapped around your eyes, stained with something that reeks of sweat and metal, blocking your vision.

.

.

The village of Shinonomori is surrounded by dark, lush forests. Flowers bloom in the sparse clearings, their spines straining for the sliver of sun that rarely shines. Vines crawl over bark and stone, twisting and curling in shapes and patterns so intricate you’d think perhaps God swooped down to arrange it himself.

The trees stand tall and proud, creating a wall of mahogany and maple around the village, almost like a cage shield.

Legends say that the forest is filled with cursed spirits. Some people claim they can feel their presence.

Children are raised being warned to avoid the forest with the cliché “whoever dares to go in doesn’t return” phrase to scare them.

While definitely cliché, it’s not entirely untrue.

In Shinonomori, everyone has a duty, a role to play—whether it’s farming, mending, healing, smithing, or bookkeeping—in the village. However, the pride and joy of all Shinonomori residents is their agriculture.

Most of the land is tilled to cater to different types of crops and vegetation, making their often surplus of crops overfill stands in markets, which are usually bustling with people, especially around Harvest Day.

Due to the hard conditions of the village that have been unchanging for many generations, it seems miraculous that they have such abundant farms. So, if they live in such a cursed area, how are they so successful?

The villagers, ever superstitious, believe that the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, is warding off the curses that threaten to consume the village and their farms himself.

Given their beliefs and deep-rooted fear of the curses that reside in the forests—born from generations of sacrifices and negative energy—every year, they select one person from the village to sacrifice to him on Harvest Day, believing that this will continue to protect them until next time.

You’re one of the bookkeepers of Shinonomori; you spend your days assisting customers, dusting shelves, or reading to pass time. You’re just opening the library for the day, the early morning sun reflecting through the little circular window above the wooden door. You push the door open with some effort—it’s old and pretty rickety, the wood is splintering—and use your foot to nudge a small stone underneath to keep it open.

You mutter a curse under your breath when you look down, noticing your well-worn flats starting to rip at the toe. There should be a few needles and some leftover thread inside from the last time you had to repair them.

Turning back inside, you walk past the shelves with books galore, some old with near-frayed spines, others with hard leather covers with a slight sheen. Their golden-brown pages are pressed together between the rough material and sewed in place with thick string and needles—similar to the ones you’re currently searching for.

You make your way through the old library, moving through the familiar aisles and hallways with ease. You fan your hand back and forth in front of you, trying to disperse the dust in the air that sticks to your hair and gathers on the stone walls, which are now growing bits of moss in the cracks.

The wooden floor is faded and creaks every other step before you reach the door to the stairwell at the end of the short hallway. You open the pale wooden door and step inside, the sound of your light footsteps echoing softly in the cylindrical room as you ascend to the top floor, where your small apartment is.

This building—both the library and apartment—was passed down to you from your late parents. They passed away around seven years ago when you were just 17, but you’ve made a living for yourself as a bookkeeper since then.

You find the sewing supplies exactly where you usually leave them: in a drawer that doesn’t fully close in your desk.

“Ah, here we go,” you mutter to yourself, sinking down to the floor and propping your foot up to slip your shoe off.

Threading the needle, you carefully weave it in and out of the fabric until the holes seemingly disappear, the motion almost rhythmic.

Satisfied with your repairs, the needle and thread find themselves wrapped around each other and tucked back into the drawer, the soft thud breaking the silence.

You make your way back downstairs and begin your daily tasks: reshelving books, getting rid of the endless dust that seems to consume the whole room, and other things that may need tending to, such as watering the hydrangeas by the entrance or making repairs.

You’re so caught up you almost don’t hear someone enter behind you.

“Ms. Fujikawa Y/N?” they ask, their voice holding a bit of edge that makes your skin tingle.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you say, a bit cautiously, as you turn to face the speaker. It’s an old woman who you recognize as Shibaba.

She’s part of a committee within the village that handles things like events and superstitious practices.

Her expression is blank and unflinching, and you can’t help but feel like whatever she’s here for can’t possibly be good. “Is everything alright?”

“You are aware of what today is, yes?” she asks, the tone of her voice making it clear that your answer to this shouldn’t be anything other than a ‘yes.’

Of course you know what today is.

It’s Harvest Day.

You never cared for it much since a.) you’re a bookkeeper, not a farmer, b.) you’re not really superstitious, and c.) you hate watching the sacrificing ceremony, it never felt right to you.

“Um… yeah. It’s Harvest Day, right?” you ask, a quizzical look on your face. Your fingers tug at the hem of your dress.

“You need to come with me,” she replies.

What? You’ve never participated in Harvest Day, let alone spoken to anyone from the committee about it. What could she want with you?

You stare at her dumbfounded, hoping for an answer. 

“What? Me? Why?” you press on, trying to urge an answer out of her without provoking her to anger.

Her gaze hardens and suddenly, two guards step inside, flanking her from behind. You furrow your brows in confusion, taking an instinctive step back.

What’s going on?

Before you can question her further, Shibaba makes a gesture with her hand and the two guards beeline towards you. You step back again, but they reach out and grab you by your upper arms, pulling you towards them.

“Wha—hey! What’s going on? Let go of me!” you protest, tensing up and trying to squirm out of their grip, but they don’t relent.

They drag you out of your library, following Shibaba down the gravel roads towards the edge of town. They didn’t even bother to close the door behind them. Rude, much?

Eventually, you give up on thrashing—they’re just ignoring you and continuing their rough treatment—and begrudgingly allow yourself to be dragged to wherever it is they’re taking you.

The further you go, you notice the pathway is oddly familiar to the one that leads to Sukuna’s altar—where all the sacrifices take place.

Anxiety bubbles up in your chest, your arms tingling and going numb from the guards’ bruising grip.

The edge of the forest and the altar only get closer as they finally enter your field of vision. Heart pounding, palms sweating, the hair on your arms stand up as you look around at the disturbingly eager-looking crowd that surrounds the altar on all sides. The air smells like wax, wood, and burnt sage.

You’re roughly thrown into the middle of the crowd, who back away from you like you’re a curse yourself. Stones dig into your palms, your dress now dusted with dirt.

They start to close in on you, some holding ropes and other holding lit candles. You scramble back, pushing with your hands and feet until your back hits the base of the statue. Sukuna’s stone figure stands above you—tall, arrogant, mocking.

Even his stone carving, a mere imitation of what he’s merely been depicted as in scrolls and paintings, radiates power.

Rough, merciless hands grab you by every limb, shoving you face first into the dirt as you thrash and yell. You feel your wrists and ankles tied tightly by thick, scratchy rope, every fiber digging into your skin, piercing through like needles. A dark cloth is tied around your eyes, blocking your vision completely.

You’ve already begun to understand what’s going on, so you give up the yelling, thrashing, squirming, and protesting. Tears fill your covered eyes, dripping down your cheeks as two people drag you away into the forest.

The crowd watches heartlessly, their eyes glazed over with sadistic pleasure and selfish anticipation. Your “escorters” ignore every grunt of pain you let out as they tug you over the rocky, prickly ground.

Every blade of grass, soft flower petal, or smooth pebble that brushes against your skin contrasts how you’re feeling right now—like there’s an anvil being shoved into your chest, along with impending doom.

Silent tears—the ones that don’t get absorbed by the cloth—roll down your face from under the blindfold and gather at the point of your chin. 

After what feels like endless walking, trudging, and dragging, you come to a stop. The ground beneath you feels smoother than the rest of the forest, kind of like flattened dirt and acrid stone.

You can hardly hear the murmured voices of the two men who brought you hear, your ears ringing loudly and your mind going a mile a minute. 

The scent of smoke and flames fills the air, staining your lungs from the inside out. The heat gets closer and closer until you’re suddenly being manhandled, and hot, scalding liquid is poured on your skin.

You cry out and hiss in pain, trying to move away only to be roughly pulled back. The liquid on your back and arms hardens like a soft shell and you realize it’s wax. Panting, tears stream down your face freely now.  

“Please,” you cry, attempting to plead for mercy a final time. “Please—let me go! I’ll do anything, please!” 

But your words fall on deaf ears as you’re shoved around again, feeling like your whole body is on fire, completely helpless to save yourself.

Every nerve ending alight, your skin feeling like it’s falling apart and melting your bones with it. The agonizing pain seems to engulf you whole. 

The sacrifice is a blur of fire and distorted, ritualistic chants. Your supplicants wreath you in smoke—you can taste it in the back of your throat, “purifying” you in the most vile manner.

One of them steps forward and lifts your head, using a dagger to slice a shallow cut across your forehead, causing you to nearly simultaneously pass out and throw up from the pain. The blood trickles down in a sickly stream, anointing you. 

You’re dropped again, your head falling back against the ground, throbbing pain radiating through your whole being. Your limbs are numb, your hands are trembling, your whole body burns. Your once well-kept appearance is now mussed and unkempt.

You hear the frenzied, desperate voices of your supplicants, invoking Sukuna and pleading with him to take their offer and protect them until next year. 

You feel immolated as you hear their rapid footsteps retreat into the woods back towards the village. All you can do is wallow in your misery and anguish. Tears gush out of your eyes like a waterfall of despair, your sobs echoing through the trees. 

.

.

“Tch. Is this truly what those filthy villagers believe would satisfy me?”

A contemptuous, gravelly voice booms above you. You weakly turn your head towards it and he scoffs. 

“Still alive, are you? How pathetic,” he says, the mocking words flowing from his mouth like you’re nothing but a nuisance he’s yet to be rid of. You don’t need to see him to be able to feel the menacing aura that radiates from his very bones. 

There’s only one being in existence who would have such a powerful presence, one that feels like it takes up all the crevices of time and space—

Ryomen Sukuna. 

You always thought of him as some sort of myth or spiritual being from long ago that your people worshipped blindly, but no, he’s real. Very, very real. 

Sukuna looks down at you and uses his foot to nudge your chin up. It’s like he’s disgusted by the mere idea of a mortal, not even willing to touch you with his bare hand.

“I should just throw you with the others. I’m in need of a bit of entertainment. I’ll kill you in the end either way.” 

Your heart pounds in your chest, sweat beading on every inch of your body. Chills run up and down your spine, his voice reverberating through the air around you. 

“A-Are you- Sukuna..?” you manage to ask, your voice meek and shaky as you struggle to push the words from deep in your throat and off your dry tongue.

You’re tense, every hair on your body sticking up, your hackles raised as you wait for him to make a move and end you right then and there. 

“What does it look like?” He’s very obviously mocking your current blind state. You know from the snickering under his breath as he circles you.

Suddenly, he grabs your upper arm and rudely pulls you to stand.

You can’t see it, but his gaze roams over your body, lingering on every place the hardened wax has molded to fit the shape of your limbs. He scoffs under his breath and then you’re being dragged. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t just kill you immediately,” he claims. You can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.

He lightly shoves you away from him, but before you can fall, a pair of smaller, more gentle arms catch and steady you. “Uraume, take it. I don’t want to touch the filth.”

Uraume doesn’t reply, but she hoists you over her shoulder like you’re simply a sack of flour, and proceed to keep walking behind the King of Curses.

Sukuna walks ahead, occasionally slashing any lesser-grade curses he comes across.

He’s not entirely sure what made him want to keep you alive, but he’s not one to think about things like that.

He just tells himself–and Uraume–that he’s in need of entertainment back in his palace.

His concubines get repetitive after all, and as the King of Curses, who is he to deny a new one when she’s basically dropped into his lap? 

“Master, may I ask a question?” says Uraume, her voice steady and soft. She’s used to Sukuna’s intensity and ruthlessness, but her loyalty to him has undoubtedly earned the great King’s respect. 

“What. Go on, ask,” replies Sukuna.

Uraume is the only person he would allow to speak to him without resorting to permanently silencing them when he gets bored of the conversation.

“With all due respect, sir, what shall you do with this girl? Another concubine?”

“I suppose so. I’m growing bored of my other ones.”

“You usually kill your sacrifices immediately.”

“They whine and bitch too much. It’s annoying.”

“Didn’t this one do the same?”

“Uraume.”

“My apologies.”

They continued walking in silence before they reached a small clearing in the forest. Sukuna was splattered with the remains of curse guts and blood from all the exorcising he did on their way.

He flicked it off with a wave of his wrist and placed a heavy palm on Uraume’s shoulder that wasn’t carrying you. You had been silent the entire walk, your whole body tense. It’s hard to tell whether you’re in danger or not yet, but you’re not exactly comfortable.

Suddenly, it feels like your body was vaporized, every atom being pulled apart and shoved back together. You feel a bit lightheaded, your wounds starting to throb again.

Sukuna sighs dramatically and walks up to his throne. He teleported the three of you right to the middle of his palace. He plops down and spreads his legs disrespectfully wide, three of his arms draped on the arm rests while one props his chin up. 

“Shall I take her to the room, your Highness?” asks Uraume, referring to you and the other concubines that reside in the palace under Sukuna’s rule.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t care. Just throw it to the other ones. They’ll deal with it,” he says nonchalantly, talking about you as if you’re some object that needs to be taken apart and stored away.

You also can’t help but notice he keeps referring to you as ‘it.’ Rude.

You feel Uraume turn and begin walking down the long, dark, winding halls of the palace. You don’t dare speak, even though you feel a bit less like you’re about to be sliced in half at any moment now that Sukuna isn’t around. 

She reaches a large door and pushes it open, your body still hung over her shoulder. The soft, whispered voices of women float to your ears, getting quieter when they notice the new presence.

“This is a new one for Lord Sukuna. Please tend to her wounds and clean her up for him,” Uraume explains, then setting your still-blindfolded self down gently on the floor before turning and leaving, shutting the door gently behind them.

There’s a moment of silence before the voices start again, some in hushed whispers and others in sweet greetings. You feel two girls begin to untie the ropes around your wrists and ankles, then finally your blindfold is removed. You blink against the light, your eyes adjusting.

“Oh, she’s quite pretty.”

“Poor thing, what happened to her?”

“Looks like she was being offered in a ritual. Look at those wax flakes!”

“Oh, how awful!”

Your vision clears and you can finally see the group of women surrounding you, some helping you to your feet. You feel gentle hands all over your body, brushing you off and taking off the wax that remains glued to your skin. They apologize when you wince from the pain and speak to each other quietly.

“Let us get you bathed,” says one woman, her eyes just as kind as her voice. She’s tall and pale, but not a ghostly pale, rather one that makes her seem like she’s glowing. Her hair is a deep brown, falling in soft waves down to her hips. You nod weakly in response to her statement.

They lead you to a room in the back with a large pool, soft swirls of steam rising from the water. The tiles are a pale white, contrasting the dark theme of the palace.

They undress you and set your old dress aside before helping you into the hot water. You flinch from the temperature at first, reminded of the hot wax that was poured on your skin, but your body slowly adjusts and you relax, sinking into a sitting position. The other women kneel around you and begin washing your hair and body.

“What’s your name?” asks one of the girls as she rakes her hands through your hair. She looks younger than the other women, her round face shining with the reflection of the water. Her hair falls in dark curls over her shoulders.

“Fujikawa,” you reply softly, your exhaustion evident in your voice. “Fujikawa Y/N.”