#ryomen

Gojo's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound comes out.

And then you lift your head.

Just slightly -Sukuna's grip loosening for a fraction of a second as he adjusts his angle- and your tear streaked, fucked stupid face turns toward the door. Tongue lolling out. Eyes rolled back so far the whites show. Drool connecting your lips to the sheets in shiny strings.

Gojo's heart stops.

That's-

He knows you.

He's seen you. Curled up on the common room couch with Toji, sharing a blanket, stealing bites of his ramen while he pretended to be annoyed. Laughing at Toji’s terrible jokes. Wearing his oversized hoodies.

That's Toji’s girlfriend.

“The door” Sukuna grunts, hips never faltering, “was locked for a reason, four eyes.”

“S-Sukuna-“ Gojo's voice cracks, strangled.

Sukuna doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. He just turns his head- slowly, lazily, like a predator acknowledging prey that poses zero threat and grins.

“Like what you see?” Sukuna's smirk is practically audible as he pulls out slowly -you whimper at the loss- giving Gojo a full, glistening view of his cock, veins pulsing, slick with your arousal. Then he slams back in, punching another scream from your lungs.

“I-I-“ Gojo stammers, textbook slipping from nerveless fingers.... He should leave. He should definitely leave. But his feet are rooted to the floor, and his cock is hardening traitorously in his sweatpants, tenting the fabric in a way that's impossible to hide. Fuck fuck fuck-

“I- you- she's-“ Gojo's brain is short circuiting, glasses fogging from the sudden heat of the room. His eyes dart between Sukuna's sweat slicked torso, your arched back, the obscene gape of your pussy every time Sukuna pulls out to the tip before slamming back in, “That's Toji’s girlfriend!”

“Is she?” Sukuna's voice drips with mock innocence. His tatted up hand tightening in your hair, yanking your head up so Gojo can see your face clearly. Can see the way your eyes have glazed over, pupils blown wide with need, any trace of shame long since fucked out of you, “Could've fooled me. She's been my personal cocksleeve for months now.”

“Wha- months?!”

You moan- high, desperate, shameless and push your hips back against Sukuna, chasing his cock like your life depends on it, “AAAHHHH-! OH GOD-! S-Sukuna, he's- he's watching-“

Gojo makes a choked sound. She's- she's not even trying to-

“I know.” Sukuna's red eyes lock onto Gojo's frozen form, “Isn't that the point?” He yanks your hips up higher, so Gojo can see everything -the way your puffy lips stretch around his girth, the creamy ring of arousal at his base, the way your clit throbs with every impact. “Come closer, Satoru. Get a real look at how a pussy should be fucked.”

I should leave, Gojo thinks frantically, even as his feet carry him two steps closer. I should definitely leave. This is insane. This is- I should turn around and walk out and pretend I never saw this. I should tell Toji. I should- His hand drifts unconsciously toward his straining erection-

“Don't touch yourself,” Sukuna snaps, and Gojo's hand freezes mid air, “You don't get to cum. You get to watch. Learn something, virgin.”

Gojo doesn't move.

“I can see your dick twitching from here. Poor pathetic virgin, watching his roommate ruin another man’s girl. Getting off on it. Tragic.”

Gojo's face flames scarlet. His hand shoots down to cover the obvious tent in his sweatpants, humiliation burning through him- but he still doesn't leave.

Toji’s going to kill him, Gojo thinks wildly. Toji’s going to find out and literally murder him on campus.

Sukuna slams back into you so hard the bed screeches across the floor, “-pay attention, looser.”

What follows is the most deviant lesson of Gojo Satoru's life.

He watches the entire time- glasses steamed, cock throbbing, shame weighing heavy in his chest as Sukuna fucks you through orgasm after orgasm. Sukuna even flips you over and makes you ride him reverse cowgirl so Gojo can see everything- the way his thick cock splits your pussy open, the way your creamy slick drools down his shaft, the way your stomach bulges slightly every time he bottoms out.

“Look at him,” Sukuna commands, gripping your jaw and turning your head toward Gojo, “Look at the pathetic little nerd jerking off to you getting bred.”

Gojo's hand is in his pants now... He doesn't remember putting it there…

You look at him -eyes glazed, mouth hanging open, utterly fucked stupid and smile, D-Does it feel good... Gojo-kun?”

He cums in his pants like a goddamn teenager after hearing your sweet voice… shit…

Sukuna laughs until he's breathless, then flips you onto your back again and fucks his own orgasm out of himself, painting your insides white while Gojo watches with a hand still wrapped around his softening cock.

“Haaaahhh… hahhhh…” You twitch and moan through the aftershocks, feeling his seed pump into your womb in thick, pulsing ropes. It's so much. Too much. It starts leaking out around his cock immediately, dripping in a creamy river onto his ruined bedsheets.

Sukuna pulls out slowly, a thick pearlescent strand of cum connecting his softening cock to your ruined, gaping hole. Your pussy clencheson nothing, pushing out more of his seed in a slow, obscene drool that patters onto the floor.

He turns to his roommate, not even bothering to wipe himself off, “clean ups on the bed.” Sukuna nods toward where you're still slumped, trembling, cunt exposed and dripping, “And Satoru?” He tucks himself back into his sweats, utterly unbothered, magnificently bored, “Next time, knock.”

He saunters out, and the door clicks shut.

Silence.

Just your ragged breathing and Gojo's sharp, pants filling the room.

Gojo doesn't move. Still stuck where he’s at admiring your glistening body- damp hair plastered to your face… the way your legs tremble…

Leave, he screams at himself. Fucking LEAVE. But… what if she needs help…?

His feet carry him forward, right to where you’re at.

One step. Two. Three.

You lift your head weakly from the bed, still trembling, mascara smeared down your cheeks, lips swollen and slick with drool. Your eyes -glazed, fucked out- find his.

You don't tell him to stop, don’t tell him to get out… you just wait and see what happens.

“He said...” Gojo's voice cracks, barely a whisper. His cock stirs to life again painfully in his soaked sweatpants, the wet patch at the front growing. He's so hard it hurts, harder than he's ever been in his pathetic virgin life, “He said clean up was on the bed…”

What the fuck am I saying, he thinks wildly, what the FUCK am I- she’s Toji’s- Sukuna’s? She isn’t my responsibility-

You shift on the bed, spreading your shaky thighs wider until more of Sukuna's cum oozes from your gaping cunt. Your swollen clit pulses visibly, still engorged, still needy.

“Then clean me,” you breathe.

Gojo drops to his knees so fast his bones crack against the floor next to the bed.

Oh god oh god oh god- His hands shake as they grip your thighs, pushing them further apart and bringing you closer to the edge until he's eye level with your pussy now, close enough that the musk of sex and Sukuna's cum fills his nostrils… until it makes his head spin. She's so- it's so- I can see inside her- she's still clenching- there's so much cum-

“I've never-“ he chokes out, face burning, “I don't know how to-“

“Lick.”

He licks.

His tongue drags a hot, wet stripe from your dripping hole to your throbbing clit, and the taste of you, mixed with him, salt and musk and sweet- explodes across his tongue. You keen, hips bucking against his face, and Gojo moans like he's the one being touched.

“Nnghh- f-fuck- more- G-Gojo- get it all- please-“

He buries his face in your cunt.

Lapping at your folds, sucking Sukuna's cum from your twitching hole, tongue fucking into you to chase every drop. His nose grinds against your oversensitive clit and you cry out so prettily, fingers fisting in his white hair, shoving his face harder against you.

“J-just like- oh god- just like that-“

She tastes so good, Gojo thinks deliriously, even with his cum- especially with- I'm eating his cum out of her- I'm- His hips rut pathetically against nothing, I'm so fucked. I'm so fucking fucked.

“Ahhhn- right there- suck my clit- s-suck it-“

He obeys. Like the good boy he is.

Wrapping his lips around your swollen bud, sucking hard, tongue flicking rapidly- sloppy and inexperienced and desperate to please. Your thighs clamp around his head, muffling his whimpers, and his hands grip your ass to pull you tighter against his mouth.

“Good boy,” you gasp, and Gojo sobs against your pussy, hips jerking, “Such a good- nnghhh- good little clean up boy- eating his cum right out of me-“

“Mmmph- mmhhnn-“ He can't respond, mouth too full of your cunt, but his cock leaks in his sweats, another spurt of precum joining the mess.

The door opens.

“Shit I forgot my wallet-“

Sukuna stops.

Gojo freezes, face still buried between your thighs, Sukuna's cum smeared across his lips and chin.

Sukuna's eyes take in the scene- his roommate on his knees, face deep in the pussy he just bred, glasses askew, sweatpants tented once more and soaked…

“Well, well.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking, “Maybe you're not completely useless after all, four eyes.”

I'm going to die, Gojo thinks, He's going to kill me. I'm going to-

“Did I say you could stop?”

Gojo's tongue resumes its work against your sloppy cunt until you throw your head back and moan.

Sukuna watches, pulling out his phone.

Click.

…

That night, Toji texts Gojo: Hey man, have you seen my girlfriend around? She's not answering her phone.

Gojo stares at the message for a long, long time.

You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.

"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.

You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.

"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.

Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.

When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.

"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"

You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."

The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.

"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.

"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.

"And do you know where you are right now?"

"A hospital?"

"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."

You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign

So you were married.

"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."

The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.

Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?

"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."

You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.

"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.

The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.

"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.

"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.

To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.

"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."

You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.

An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.

You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.

"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.

"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.

"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.

"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."

"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"

"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."

He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.

"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."

He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.

Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.

As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.

"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.

'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.

"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.

It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.

You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.

Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.

"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.

He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.

"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."

You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.

"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."

"Okay" you hummed softly.

His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."

You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.

"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"

His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.

"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.

He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.

"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"

"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"

"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.

"Why?"

"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."

You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."

The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.

"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."

"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm thirty two. You're thirty" Sukuna answered smoothly.

"Wow. So we're getting old," you teased gently.

Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."

A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.

Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.

Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.

When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.

And then, there was Sukuna.

Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.

To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.

He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much

His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.

At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.

The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.

Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"

"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.

"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.

"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."

The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"

You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."

You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.

"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.

"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."

You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.

"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.

The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.

As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.

Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.

Crash!

The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.

You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.

You froze.

Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.

Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.

You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.

Pink hair.

The backyard.

The jazz music.

The napkin.

A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.

The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.

When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.

"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.

You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.

But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.

As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.

"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.

Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.

Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.

"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."

Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.

"I fucking love you" he whispers

The Heian era was a time of blood and gold.

Sorcerers carved their names into history with blades and curses, while lords and emperors hid behind paper screens and whispered prayers. In the shadow of those fragile thrones walked Ryomen Sukuna. With four arms, four eyes, tattoos like black flames across his skin, and a second mouth that laughed at every scream it tasted.

They called him the King of Curses. Calamity.

Everything except what he truly was to you.

Yours.

You were no trembling village girl offered as tribute. Your name already carried weight among the clans. Starfire chains, your inherited technique, could bind even the strongest cursed spirits, wrapping them in burning light until they shattered like glass. Clans had tried to marry you off for alliances. You had burned every proposal scroll in front of their envoys.

Then came the day the great Ryomen Sukuna arrived at the borders of your clan’s territory, not to conquer, but to see the sorcerer who had single-handedly sealed a special-grade curse that had been terrorizing three provinces.

You met him in the open courtyard under a blood-red sunset.

He towered over every warrior present. Two arms crossed over his broad chest, the other two resting lazily on the hilts of his cleavers. His lower eyes watched the trembling guards while the upper pair fixed solely on you. The mouth on his abdomen grinned with too many teeth.

You walked forward without hesitation, bare feet silent on the stone, your crimson robes whispering against the ground. Your hair was long then, falling to your waist in loose waves, adorned with a simple gold circlet that caught the dying light.

Sukuna’s voice rolled like distant thunder. “So this is the little star who thinks she can chain what I would devour.”

You stopped only a few paces away and looked up at all four eyes, all that raw power without flinching.

“I don’t think,” you answered, voice clear and steady. “I do. And I choose who I stand beside.”

A low chuckle escaped both mouths. The guards around you shifted, hands tightening on weapons they knew would be useless.

Sukuna leaned down slightly, one massive hand reaching out. Clawed fingers stopped just short of your chin, as if testing whether you would retreat.

You didn’t.

Instead, you stepped into his reach and tilted your head so his fingertips brushed your jaw.

“I choose you, Ryomen Sukuna,” you said softly, but loud enough for every witness to hear. “Not because the world fears you. Because I don’t. Because something in you looks… bored. And I want to see what happens when you’re not.”

Silence fell across the courtyard like a blade.

Then Sukuna laughed. A full, rolling sound that vibrated through the air and made several lesser sorcerers drop to their knees. He straightened, but his hand did not leave your face. Instead, his thumb traced your lower lip with surprising care.

“Bold,” he murmured. “Foolish. Intriguing.” His lower eyes narrowed with dark amusement. “Very well, little star. Come with me. We’ll see how long that fire lasts before it burns out.”

You smiled. “It won’t.”

That night you left your clan’s compound without looking back. No forced marriage, no chains, no fear. You walked beside him willingly, your hand resting lightly on one of his lower arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The first time he took you to his domain. A ruined temple he had claimed as his own, the air tasted of incense and old blood. He watched you explore the halls with four unblinking eyes.

You stopped in front of the great throne of carved bone and gold, then turned to face him.

“Everyone says you destroy everything you touch,” you said quietly.

Sukuna’s grin was sharp. “They’re usually right.”

You crossed the distance between you, robes sliding from your shoulders until they pooled at your feet. Naked, unafraid, you looked up at the King of Curses and traced the black markings that ran across his chest with gentle fingers.

“Then touch me,” you whispered. “And let’s see what happens.”

Four hands descended on you at once.

Two pinned your wrists above your head against the cold stone wall. One gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. The last cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head so he could claim your mouth in a kiss that tasted of smoke and iron and something dangerously close to hunger.

He was not gentle. Sukuna had never needed to be.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall. The mouth on his stomach opened, teeth grazing your collarbone while his main mouth bit down on your shoulder, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“You’re smaller than you look when you’re burning things,” he growled against your skin, voice rough with want. One of his hands slid between your thighs, fingers teasing until you were trembling. “But you feel just as fierce.”

When he finally pushed inside you—thick, hot, unrelenting—you moaned his name like a challenge. He fucked you against the wall with deep, powerful strokes, four arms holding you exactly where he wanted you, the second mouth licking and sucking at your breasts until you cried out.

You came hard, nails raking down his back, starfire flickering at your fingertips and leaving faint glowing marks on his skin that healed almost instantly.

Sukuna followed with a low groan that vibrated through both his mouths, spilling deep inside you as if marking territory no one else would ever claim.

Afterward, he did not let you go.

He carried you to the furs piled near his throne and laid you down, surprisingly careful. Two arms wrapped around you, the other two resting possessively over your waist and thigh. For the first time anyone had ever seen, the King of Curses looked… at ease.

You traced the tattoos on his chest with lazy fingers.

“I told you,” you murmured sleepily. “My fire doesn’t burn out.”

Sukuna’s lower eyes closed. The upper pair watched you with something dangerously close to fondness.

“We’ll see, little queen,” he rumbled. “We’ll see.”

Outside the temple, the world already whispered in fear.

The monster had taken a bride.

And she had chosen him back.

The months that followed your choice blurred into a rhythm of violence and intimacy that no one else in the Heian world could have understood.

You rode beside Sukuna on campaigns that turned rivers red. While lesser sorcerers hid behind barriers and chanted protective sutras, you stood at his right hand on the battlefield. Your starfire chains lashed out alongside his cleavers, binding groups of enemies so he could carve through them with leisurely precision. He never ordered you to stay back. He never treated you like fragile porcelain.

Instead, he watched you fight with open amusement and something darker—pride.

One particular skirmish against a coalition of rival clans remains burned into your memory.

The valley was narrow, hemmed in by steep cliffs. Three hundred warriors and sorcerers had gathered under a false banner of “righteous purification,” thinking numbers and a hastily constructed anti-domain barrier would be enough. Sukuna had laughed when the scouts reported it.

Now the air reeked of smoke and opened bodies.

Sukuna stood at the center of the carnage in his full glory. Four arms moving like separate instruments of death. Two cleavers sang through armor and bone. One hand summoned slashes of cursed energy that bisected men mid-scream. The fourth hand occasionally flicked away arrows as if they were annoying insects.

You fought at his flank, crimson robes stained darker with blood that was not yours. Your chains of starfire whipped through the air, glowing white-hot. They wrapped around a cluster of archers, tightening until their bows snapped and their screams cut short as the flames consumed them from the inside.

A spearman broke through the chaos and lunged at your unprotected side.

Before you could react, one of Sukuna’s lower arms shot out, massive hand closing around the man’s head like a vice. With casual strength he crushed the skull and tossed the body aside.

“Careful, little star,” Sukuna called over the din, voice carrying easily. “I’d hate to have to replace you so soon.”

You laughed, it was bright and unafraid. Sending a chain lashing toward a sorcerer who was trying to weave a binding vow. “Then stop talking and keep up, my king.”

His answering grin was feral.

When the last enemy fell, the valley had become a slaughter yard. Crows already circled overhead. Sukuna wiped blood from his cleavers on a fallen banner and turned to you.

You were breathing hard, hair wild, a shallow cut across your forearm already clotting. Without hesitation you stepped over corpses until you stood directly in front of him. Two of his hands settled on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto a broken stone pillar so you were closer to eye level.

“You enjoyed that,” he observed, lower eyes half-lidded.

“I enjoyed watching you,” you corrected. Your fingers rose, tracing the black markings that ran down the side of his face. The touch was gentle, familiar. No one else alive would have dared. “You move like the world is too slow for you.”

Sukuna’s main mouth curved. The stomach mouth opened slightly, teeth glinting. “Everything is too slow except you.”

He leaned in and kissed you right there among the dead. Deep, claiming, tasting of iron and victory. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back. Another slid beneath your robes to rest possessively against the bare skin of your lower back. The kiss was not soft. It never was. It was heat and teeth and the promise that whatever came next, you would face it together.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment. Four eyes closed, a rare moment of stillness.

That night you returned to the ruined temple he had claimed as his seat of power.

The great hall was lit only by braziers and moonlight filtering through cracks in the ancient roof. Sukuna dismissed his few remaining followers with a lazy wave. The moment the heavy doors closed, the air between you shifted.

You barely had time to loosen your blood-stained robes before four hands were on you again.

He lifted you onto the wide stone altar that served as his makeshift throne platform. Your back met cool rock as he loomed over you, tattoos stark in the firelight.

“Strip,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

You obeyed slowly, deliberately, enjoying the way all four eyes tracked every inch of revealed skin. When you were bare beneath him, he paused—just watching.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to keep,” he said quietly. It was as close to a confession as the King of Curses ever came.

Then he descended.

Two hands pinned your wrists above your head. One large palm spread your thighs wide. The fourth hand traced lazy circles on your stomach, claws lightly scraping. His main mouth claimed yours again while the mouth on his abdomen moved lower, hot breath ghosting over your inner thigh before the tongue. Longer and more dexterous than any human’s, licked a slow stripe up your center.

You arched with a sharp cry.

Sukuna chuckled against your lips. “Still so responsive. Even after painting a valley red.”

He didn’t tease for long. The second mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with relentless focus while two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling just right. The stretch burned beautifully. You moaned his name like a prayer and a challenge at the same time.

When you were trembling on the edge, he withdrew.

You whined in protest.

He positioned himself between your spread legs, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance. In this form he was large—almost too much—but your body remembered him, opened for him.

He sank in with one slow, powerful thrust, bottoming out as you gasped.

“Fuck—Ryomen—”

“That’s it,” he growled, voice layered. “Say my name while I remind you who you belong to.”

He set a brutal pace. Deep, punishing strokes that rocked your entire body. The altar creaked beneath you. Four hands held you open and pinned, allowing no escape, no mercy. The stomach mouth continued its work, licking at your breasts, teeth grazing nipples until they ached.

You came first. Hard, vision whiting out, starfire flickering uncontrollably at your fingertips and leaving glowing trails across his shoulders that faded slowly.

Sukuna followed with a low, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, marking you from the inside out.

Afterward he did not pull away immediately. He stayed buried within you, arms wrapping around your smaller frame, holding you against his chest as if you were something infinitely precious.

You traced idle patterns on his skin, fingers following the black tattoos you knew by heart.

“They will come for me one day,” you whispered into the quiet. It was not fear but simply fact. “Because they cannot kill you directly.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened fractionally. “Let them try. I will burn the world before I let them take you.”

You pressed a kiss to the mouth on his stomach. It nipped your lip gently in response.

“I know,” you said. “But if they ever succeed… remember this. Remember how I chose you. How I looked at you without fear.”

He was silent for a long moment.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it: “I will not forget.”

The fire in the braziers crackled. Outside, the night wind carried distant screams. Remnants of the day’s work.

Inside the temple, the King of Curses held his queen close, four arms a cage no enemy had yet breached.

But the world was already whispering.

They could not defeat the monster.

So they would target the one thing he refused to lose.

Winter came early that year, cloaking the Heian provinces in frost and silence. The ruined temple you shared with Sukuna felt warmer for it. Braziers burned hotter, furs piled thicker, and the air carried the constant scent of incense mixed with the faint metallic tang of recent blood.

Your days settled into a dangerous rhythm of power and peace.

Mornings often began with strategy. Sukuna would lounge on his throne of bone and gold while you sat cross-legged on the wide stone steps below him, maps of rival territories spread across your lap. Your starfire technique allowed you to sense cursed energy signatures from miles away, so you marked weak points with glowing embers that hovered in the air like tiny stars.

Sukuna listened.

That alone was a miracle. Generals who had served him for decades were cut down for speaking out of turn. You spoke freely, challenging his plans, suggesting subtler approaches when brute force would waste energy.

“You could take the eastern pass without leveling the entire village,” you said one frost-bitten morning, pointing at the map. “Leave the survivors to spread stories. Fear is a better weapon than ash sometimes.”

One of his upper eyes narrowed in amusement. The lower pair watched you with lazy heat. “Since when did my queen become merciful?”

“Not merciful,” you corrected, rising to your feet and stepping between his spread thighs. Two of his hands automatically settled on your hips, claws pricking lightly through your robes. “Strategic. Dead men tell no tales. Terrified men tell exaggerated ones.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and the mouth on his stomach. “You’re getting dangerous, little star.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against the black marking on his cheek. “Good. You were getting bored.”

That evening he rewarded your cleverness in the way he knew best.

The temple’s inner sanctum was lit only by moonlight and a single brazier. Sukuna had you on your knees on the thick furs, your upper body draped over a low wooden bench. Your wrists were bound behind your back with one of his spare sashes — not because you couldn’t escape, but because you both enjoyed the illusion of restraint.

He knelt behind you, four hands mapping every inch of your bare skin.

Two palms smoothed up your spine, pressing you down. One hand gripped your hip, holding you steady. The last traced slow circles over the curve of your ass before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that made you gasp.

“Still so responsive,” he murmured, voice rough with approval. “Even when you play at politics all day.”

His fingers slid between your thighs, finding you already wet. He teased your entrance with two thick digits, pumping slowly while the mouth on his abdomen licked a hot stripe up your spine.

You moaned, pushing back against his hand. “Ryomen… stop teasing.”

He laughed darkly. “You forget who gives the orders here.”

But he obeyed anyway, because it was you.

He replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock, pushing in with one long, relentless thrust until he was seated to the hilt. The stretch was perfect, bordering on too much, and you cried out in pleasure-pain.

Sukuna set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the stone walls. Every thrust drove you harder against the bench. His lower hands kept your hips angled exactly how he wanted, while his upper hands reached forward to cup your breasts, rolling your nipples between clawed fingers.

The second mouth joined in, its tongue flicking teasingly over the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulders, occasionally biting down just hard enough to leave marks that would linger for days.

You came first. Walls clenching around him as starfire flickered uncontrollably at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing patterns on the furs beneath you.

Sukuna followed with a low growl that shook the air, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, hot and endless.

Afterward he untied your wrists and pulled you into his lap, four arms wrapping around you like a living cage. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady, inhuman rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you,” you whispered into the quiet. It was the first time you had said the words so plainly.

Sukuna was silent for a long moment. Then one hand stroked through your hair with surprising gentleness.

“You are the only creature I have ever allowed to speak those words and live,” he said finally. “That should be answer enough.”

You smiled against his skin and traced the tattoos over his heart. “It is.”

But peace never lasted long in the Heian era.

The first whispers reached you during a rare journey to a neutral hot spring valley. A place even rival clans respected as temporary ground for negotiation.

You and Sukuna traveled with only a small escort of his most loyal (and terrified) followers. The springs were steaming under a clear winter sky, the water rich with minerals that soothed cursed energy fatigue.

That night, while Sukuna soaked in the largest pool with three arms draped lazily over the rocks, you lingered at the edge, letting the heat seep into your muscles.

A young sorcerer from a minor clan approached under the guise of offering scented oils. His hands shook as he bowed.

“My lady,” he whispered when Sukuna’s eyes were half-closed in apparent relaxation. “There are those who fear what you have become. A queen to the King of Curses… it upsets the balance. Some speak of… removing the attachment. For the good of all sorcerers.”

You turned your head slowly, eyes sharp. “And you bring this message to me?”

The boy swallowed. “As a warning. Leave him. Return to your clan. Or they will make you leave.”

Before you could respond, Sukuna’s voice cut through the steam like a blade.

“Bold of you to threaten my queen in my presence, insect.”

Four eyes opened fully. In an instant the boy was lifted into the air by an invisible slash of cursed energy, dangling helplessly.

You placed a hand on Sukuna’s arm, the one closest to you. “Let him go. He’s just a messenger.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, but he released the boy, who scrambled away into the darkness, sobbing.

You turned back to Sukuna, water lapping at your waist. “They’re starting to realize they can’t kill you directly.”

He reached out with two hands, pulling you through the water until you straddled his lap. The other two arms wrapped around your back, holding you flush against his chest.

“Let them plot,” he growled against your throat. “They will die screaming for their arrogance.”

You kissed him softly, tasting mineral water and restrained violence. “I’m not afraid. But promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“If they ever come for me… don’t hesitate because of me. Burn them all.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened possessively. “I would burn the heavens themselves before I let them take you from me.”

You believed him.

But the whispers grew louder in the following weeks.

Messengers arrived with false offers of alliance. Minor clans sent gifts wrapped in protective charms. Once, during a solo scouting mission you insisted on taking alone, you found a letter nailed to a tree with a cursed dagger:

“The monster’s weakness must be excised. For the sake of the world, the star must fall.”

You burned the letter to ash and said nothing to Sukuna when you returned.

He noticed anyway.

One night, as you lay tangled together on the furs. Your body still humming from the way he had taken you twice, slow and deep, whispering filthy praise against your skin. Sukuna traced the gold circlet in your hair with one claw.

“You’re hiding something,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

You sighed, pressing closer to his warmth. “They’re planning something. Targeting me to hurt you. But I can handle it. I’m not fragile, Ryomen.”

His four arms tightened around you. “You are the only thing I refuse to lose. If they touch you…”

You silenced him with a kiss, then guided one of his hands between your thighs again, distracting him the best way you knew how.

“I know,” you whispered as he rolled you beneath him once more. “Now remind me who I belong to.”

He did. Thoroughly, possessively, until the only sounds in the temple were your shared moans and the crackle of dying braziers.

But in the quiet hours before dawn, when Sukuna’s eyes finally closed in rare rest, you lay awake staring at the ceiling.

You understood the danger.

They couldn’t defeat the King of Curses in open battle.

So they would try to break his heart.

And you had already decided: if it came to that, you would make sure they paid for every second of his pain.

Spring thawed the frost, but the whispers did not melt away. They grew sharper, more coordinated, like blades being honed in secret forges across the provinces.

You felt the shift in the cursed energy of the land itself. Subtle tremors in the web of power that connected every sorcerer and spirit in the Heian era. Your starfire technique made you sensitive to such things; faint resonances of binding vows being woven in hidden mountain shrines, alliances forming between clans that had once been bitter enemies.

Sukuna noticed your distraction during a quiet afternoon in the temple courtyard. Cherry blossoms—somehow surviving in the shadow of his domain—drifted lazily on the breeze. He lounged against a pillar, two arms folded behind his head, the other two idly spinning one of his cleavers like a child’s toy. The mouth on his stomach hummed an old, bloody war chant.

“You’re thinking too loudly, little star,” he rumbled without opening his eyes. “Speak it before I get bored and make you.”

You sat on the edge of the stone fountain, trailing your fingers through the cool water. Droplets glowed faintly where your cursed energy brushed them. “They’re getting bolder. Not attacking you outright, they know better. But messages keep coming. ‘Temporary truces.’ ‘Shared threats from rogue curses.’ All of them mention me by name. ‘The Star Queen must mediate.’ ‘Only she can seal the threat without escalation.’”

Sukuna’s cleaver stopped spinning. All four eyes opened, fixing on you with predatory focus. “Let them send their pretty lies. I’ll decorate the temple steps with their spines.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “If I ignore them, they’ll claim I’m hiding behind you. Weakening your image. If I go…” You let the thought hang.

He sat up slowly, massive frame casting a long shadow over you. One lower hand reached out, claws gentle as they tilted your chin up. “You will not go alone.”

“I know,” you said softly, leaning into his touch. “But rushing in with full force gives them the excuse they want. Proof that the King of Curses cannot be negotiated with. That his queen is just a leash.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. The stomach mouth snarled silently. “Since when do we care about their excuses?”

“Since they started targeting the one thing that makes you hesitate,” you answered, voice steady. You rose and stepped between his spread legs, placing both hands on his broad chest, tracing the familiar black tattoos with your thumbs. “I’m not fragile, Ryomen. My chains can bind armies. And I have you. But let me play their game for a little while. Gather information. Make them reveal their hands.”

He stared down at you for a long moment. Four crimson eyes searching your face as if memorizing every detail. Then, with a low growl, he pulled you flush against him. Two arms wrapped around your waist. The other two cupped your face.

“You test my patience more than any enemy ever has,” he muttered against your lips. “If anything feels wrong, anything, you burn the entire negotiation site to glass and return to me.”

“I promise,” you whispered.

“Be careful,” he said, so softly it almost didn’t sound like him. “The world can burn. But not you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, then the marking beneath his lower eye. “I’ll come back to you. I always do.”

The next morning, the false alliance message arrived via a trembling envoy from the Fujiwara-adjacent clans.

A rogue special-grade curse has manifested near the northern border, threatening trade routes vital to multiple provinces. Only the Star Queen’s unique sealing technique can contain it without unnecessary bloodshed. We request your mediation under a flag of temporary truce. No weapons. No armies. Neutral ground at the Valley of White Mist.

You read the scroll aloud to Sukuna, who listened with a bored expression that didn’t hide the murderous glint in all four eyes.

“It’s a trap,” he stated flatly.

“Obviously,” you agreed, rolling the scroll. “But if I refuse, they paint me as the tyrant’s consort who dooms innocents. If I go with force, they scream that Sukuna cannot control his queen. Let me go. Take a small escort if it eases you. I’ll assess their strength, then return.”

He didn’t like it. The air grew heavy with his cursed energy, shrine-like pressure making the braziers flicker.

But he trusted you, the only person alive he truly did.

“Take my cleaver,” he said finally, pressing the smaller of his two into your hands. “And this.” He removed the thin gold circlet from your hair, kissed it once, then placed it back. “Come back wearing it. Or I will paint the valley red searching for you.”

You smiled, rising on your toes to kiss him deeply. “I will. Wait for me, my king.”

As you rode out with a handful of his most loyal (and disposable) followers, Sukuna stood at the temple gates, four arms crossed, watching until you disappeared over the horizon.

The Valley of White Mist waited.

And somewhere in the shadows, a hundred sorcerers bound by a desperate collective vow sharpened their techniques, ready to excise the King of Curses’ only weakness.

The journey to the Valley of White Mist took three days on horseback. You rode at the head of the small escort Sukuna had grudgingly allowed. Six of his most hardened retainers, men who had survived enough battles to know when silence was wiser than questions. They kept their distance, eyes darting nervously between the road and the gold circlet still gleaming in your hair.

You felt the shift in cursed energy long before the valley came into view. The air grew thick, heavier, like breathing through wet silk. Your starfire technique hummed beneath your skin in warning, the chains coiled invisibly around your wrists and ankles ready to manifest at a thought. The cleaver Sukuna had given you rested at your hip, its weight a comforting reminder of him.

The valley itself was deceptively beautiful. Thick white mist rolled between ancient cedar trees, glowing faintly under a pale spring sun. A wide clearing had been prepared in the center. Flat ground ringed by stone lanterns that flickered with unnatural blue flame. Representatives from three minor clans and one major Fujiwara offshoot waited there, dressed in formal robes, faces carefully blank.

No obvious weapons. No large army in sight.

You dismounted, crimson robes brushing the dew-wet grass. Your escort stayed mounted behind you, hands hovering near their blades.

The lead negotiator, an older sorcerer with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that betrayed nothing, bowed low.

“Lady Star Queen,” he intoned. “We are grateful you answered our plea. The rogue curse has grown stronger than anticipated. Your unique binding technique is our only hope for a bloodless resolution.”

You studied him calmly, letting your senses expand. Beneath the polite words, the cursed energy in the valley pulsed like a living thing. Layered, synchronized, bound by a complex vow. Not one curse. Many.

“I see,” you said, voice even. “Show me the curse, then. Quickly. My king grows impatient when I am away too long.”

They led you deeper into the mist.

The trap sprang the moment the trees closed behind your escort.

White light erupted from the ground in perfect geometric patterns. A massive collective domain, not quite a full expansion but something worse: a binding cage amplified by a hundred linked sorcerers hidden in the treeline and behind illusion barriers. The mist thickened into opaque walls. Your escort’s screams were cut short as slashes of cursed energy tore through them like paper.

You reacted instantly.

Starfire chains exploded outward in a blazing lattice, burning through the nearest bindings and shattering three stone lanterns. The air filled with the scent of scorched cedar and blood. You moved like you had on a hundred battlefields beside Sukuna—graceful, ruthless, unafraid.

But they had planned for you.

Dozens of sorcerers emerged from the mist, their techniques synchronized into a single overwhelming assault. Binding chains of their own—weaker than yours but multiplied—wrapped around your limbs. Anti-domain stakes drove into the ground, suppressing your output. Spears of condensed cursed energy pierced your side, your shoulder, your thigh.

You didn’t scream.

You laughed instead, low and bitter, as blood soaked the front of your crimson robes.

“So this is it,” you said, voice steady despite the pain. Your chains still lashed out, snapping necks and burning limbs, but they kept coming. “They cannot kill him, so they kill what he loves. Pathetic.”

A particularly strong binding vow slammed into your chest, cracking ribs. You staggered but stayed on your feet, cleaver in hand, slashing through two attackers in one fluid motion. Sukuna’s weapon sang with his residual cursed energy, cutting deeper than any ordinary blade.

Yet the numbers were too great. The cage too tight.

You realized too late how perfectly they had timed it. Far enough from the temple that even Sukuna’s speed might not save you in time, close enough that he would feel every second through the bond of cursed energy that had grown between you over the months.

“They’re trying to break him,” you whispered to yourself as another spear grazed your cheek, drawing a hot line of blood. Your vision blurred at the edges, but your hands never stopped moving. Starfire flared brighter, desperate. “Fools. He will burn the world for this.”

The final blow came from behind. A cursed technique designed to pierce the core, not kill instantly but ensure a slow, agonizing death. It drove through your back and out your chest, just missing your heart but shredding everything vital around it.

You dropped to your knees in the blood-soaked grass.

The mist began to thin as the sorcerers stepped closer, faces triumphant and terrified at once.

You lifted your head, gold circlet still somehow intact, now stained crimson. Your breathing came in shallow, wet gasps, but your eyes glowed bright with starfire even now held no panic. No begging.

Only calm understanding.

In the distance, the sky tore open.

Black shrine gates manifested like jagged teeth against the clouds. Malevolent energy rolled across the valley like a tidal wave. Sukuna had arrived.

He landed in the center of the clearing with earth-shaking force, four arms already in motion. Cleavers flashed. Dismantle and Cleave shredded the air itself. The collective domain shattered like glass under the weight of his true domain expansion, Malevolent Shrine, painting the sky red and black.

But it was too late for the trap.

It was too late for you.

Sukuna’s lower eyes found you instantly. The upper pair widened fractionally. The closest thing to shock the King of Curses had shown in centuries.

He crossed the distance in two strides, dropping to one knee beside you. Two massive hands cradled your face with a gentleness that would have stunned anyone watching. One pressed desperately over the gaping wound in your chest, trying to stem the blood that wouldn’t stop. The fourth gripped your hand so tightly your bones creaked.

The remaining sorcerers tried to flee. They didn’t get far. Invisible slashes turned them into red mist before they could take three steps.

You looked up at him. Four crimson eyes, tattoos stark against his skin, the face you had chosen without fear, and smiled through bloodied lips.

“Ryomen…” Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried. Your free hand rose, trembling, to trace the black markings beneath his lower eyes exactly as you always had. The touch was weak but sure. “Even now… you came.”

He snarled, but the sound cracked. “You promised you would return. You lied to me, little star.”

A wet, broken laugh escaped you. “I’m sorry… but they needed to learn. They thought… taking me would break you.” Your fingers slid down to rest over the mouth on his stomach. It opened, teeth gentle against your palm for the first time. “Don’t let them win that way. Remember how I looked at you. How I chose you. Not out of fear… but because you were worth choosing.”

Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. Your starfire flickered once, twice, then began to fade.

“I would find you again,” you breathed, eyes locking with all four of his. “In any life. Any form. My king… my equal… I lo—”

The light left your eyes.

Your hand slipped from his face and fell limp into the grass.

For one endless second, the valley was silent except for the distant crackle of dying flames.

Then Sukuna roared.

It was not grief in any human sense. It was annihilation given voice.

Malevolent Shrine expanded to its full radius. Shrine gates manifested in endless rows. Every surviving sorcerer in the valley. Every hidden ally, every coward who had planned this was torn apart at the atomic level. The trees turned to ash. The mist evaporated in screams of steam. The ground itself cracked and blackened as if the earth were bleeding.

He destroyed everything.

When the rage finally ebbed into something colder, sharper, Sukuna remained kneeling in the crater that had once been a valley. The gold circlet, somehow untouched amid the devastation, lay beside your body. He picked it up with one bloodied hand, then carefully removed it from your hair and wrapped it around the hilt of his cleaver, tying it with a strip of your torn robe.

He lifted your body with all four arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing.

The King of Curses walked back toward his temple alone, leaving nothing but silence and ruin behind him.

For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna carried something he could not conquer.

Something he could not get back.

Centuries passed like ash on the wind.

The Heian era crumbled into legend. Sorcerers rose and fell. Curses evolved. The world forgot the exact shape of the King of Curses’ wrath, but the scars remained. Craters where mountains once stood, blood-soaked soil that still refused to grow anything pure.

Ryomen Sukuna endured.

He sealed himself away in pieces, scattered across fingers and artifacts, waiting. Plotting. Remembering.

He kept the gold circlet wrapped around the hilt of his favored cleaver. Sometimes, in the long stretches of boredom between hosts, he would run a clawed thumb over the thin band of metal and feel the faint echo of starfire still clinging to it. Your final words haunted the empty spaces inside him.

“I would find you again… In any life. Any form.”

He never spoke them aloud. But they anchored him the way nothing else ever had.

A relatively new graduate from Jujutsu Tech’s hidden curriculum, assigned to the Tokyo branch under Gojo Satoru’s loose supervision. Your cursed energy was unusually potent for someone so young: bright, burning, instinctive. Instructors called it “starfire-adjacent” in hushed tones when they thought you couldn’t hear. You had no memories of the Heian era. No recollection of four arms, black tattoos, or the taste of blood and incense on your tongue.

Yet some things refused to stay buried.

You never flinched in the face of special-grade curses. When others hesitated, you stepped forward as if you belonged at the front line—beside power, not behind it. You fought with a quiet fearlessness that made veterans raise eyebrows. And sometimes, late at night in your small apartment in Shinjuku, you would catch yourself tracing invisible patterns on your own arms—black, looping marks that weren’t there.

Dreams came more frequently now.

Blood-soaked valleys. Gold catching moonlight. A deep, layered voice calling you “little star.” Four crimson eyes watching you with something between hunger and devotion. You always woke with your heart pounding and a strange ache low in your belly, as if your body remembered pleasure your mind had forgotten.

You chalked it up to stress.

Today’s mission was routine on paper: investigate a localized curse outbreak in an abandoned subway station beneath Shibuya. Grade 1 at worst. You were paired with a second-year student who kept glancing at you nervously.

“Stay behind me,” he muttered as you descended the stairs, flashlights cutting through the dark.

You ignored him and moved ahead, chains of glowing starfire already flickering at your fingertips. Your technique had manifested as luminescent binding links that could seal or burn on command. The cursed spirit that lunged at you was fast, but you were faster. One chain whipped out, wrapping its torso and igniting. It shrieked and dissolved into black smoke.

“Show-off,” the student grumbled.

You smirked. “Just efficient.”

The platform was quiet after that. Too quiet.

Then the air changed.

A heavy, ancient cursed energy rolled through the tunnels like smoke from a distant fire. It tasted of iron and old incense. Your pulse quickened for reasons you couldn’t name.

A figure stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the platform.

Pink hair. Dark tattoos crawling across his face, neck, and bare arms. He wore a casual hoodie and pants that looked borrowed, but the energy radiating off him belonged to something far older than any teenager. Two eyes glowed with lazy malice, but you swore… for a split second, you saw the flicker of two more.

He stopped a few meters away, head tilted, studying you like a puzzle he already knew the answer to.

You raised your chains instinctively, glowing bright. “Identify yourself. Now.”

The boy—no, the thing inside the boy—grinned. It was too sharp, too knowing.

“You’ve gotten smaller,” he said, voice low and rough, carrying an echo that vibrated through your bones. “And your hair’s shorter. I liked it longer. Easier to wrap around my fist.”

Your stomach dropped. The words sounded insane, yet they landed somewhere deep inside you, stirring half-remembered heat.

“Who the hell are you?” you demanded, stepping forward despite your partner’s frantic tugging at your sleeve.

He took one step closer, hands in his pockets, utterly unbothered by the glowing chains pointed at his chest. “You used to look at me without fear. Still do, apparently. Good. Some things don’t change.”

Your partner summoned a weak technique and tried to step between you. “Back off, curse user—”

The pink-haired stranger flicked two fingers. The student flew backward into the wall, unconscious but alive.

Now it was just the two of you under flickering fluorescent lights.

He studied your face again, all four—no, two—eyes narrowing with something dangerously close to fondness. “Still burning bright, little star. Even if you don’t remember why.”

The nickname hit like a physical blow.

Little star.

Your chains faltered for half a second. Memories that weren’t memories flashed. Strong hands on your hips, a second mouth dragging across your skin, the sound of your own voice moaning a name you couldn’t quite recall.

You shook it off and strengthened your stance. “I don’t know you. And if you don’t stop talking like a delusional creep, I’ll seal you right here.”

His grin widened. “You always did threaten me when you were flustered.”

He vanished in a swirl of red mist before you could strike, leaving only the faint scent of blood and incense behind.

Your partner groaned as he came to. “What… what was that?”

You stared at the empty platform, heart hammering. “I have no idea.”

But your body remembered.

And somewhere deep inside the pink-haired vessel, Ryomen Sukuna leaned back in his makeshift throne of consciousness and laughed—low, dark, and triumphant.

The queen had returned.

She just didn’t know it yet.

That night you barely slept.

The dreams were clearer than ever.

A ruined temple. Braziers casting golden light on black tattoos. Four arms holding you close after battle, after pleasure, after everything. A voice rumbling against your ear: “You are the only thing in this rotting world I don’t get bored of.”

You woke gasping, skin flushed, thighs pressed together against an ache you couldn’t explain.

In the mirror, you traced the faint, phantom lines on your arms again.

And for the first time, you whispered to your reflection:

“Who are you… and why do I miss you?”

The encounters didn’t stop.

If anything, they escalated.

Over the next two weeks, the pink-haired curse user—who still hadn’t given you a proper name—became a walking, talking migraine wrapped in tattoos and smug arrogance.

First incident: the convenience store at 2 a.m.

You had dragged yourself there after a long night exorcising low-grade curses near Roppongi. Your hair was messy, your jacket smelled like burnt curse residue, and all you wanted was strawberry milk and something fried. You were reaching for the last onigiri when a familiar voice spoke right behind your ear.

“Still eating like you’re about to march into battle. Some habits never die.”

You spun around so fast the milk carton nearly slipped from your hand.

He was leaning against the ramune fridge, arms crossed. The tattoos stood out stark under the fluorescent lights. Two eyes watched you with lazy amusement, but you swore you could feel the weight of two more.

“You again,” you hissed, keeping your voice low so the sleepy cashier wouldn’t call security. “What is your problem? Personal space exists for a reason.”

He tilted his head, grin widening. “You used to let me closer than this. Much closer. Naked, usually.”

Your face burned. A customer two aisles over dropped their basket.

“Creep,” you snapped, slamming the onigiri into your basket. “I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. Stop following me or I’ll exorcise that smug look off your face.”

He laughed—low, rolling, far too pleased. “There she is. That fire. You threatened me with chains the first time we met too. Ended up wrapped in them for entirely different reasons.”

You marched to the counter, paid, and left without looking back. But the entire walk home you felt eyes on your back, and the phantom scent of blood and incense lingered in the night air.

Second incident: the training grounds at Jujutsu High.

You were sparring with Maki when the air pressure shifted. A figure appeared on the rooftop overlooking the field—lounging against the railing like he owned the school. Pink hair ruffled by the wind. Tattoos visible even from a distance.

Maki paused mid-strike. “Who the hell is that?”

You didn’t answer. You just raised your hand and sent a warning chain of starfire whipping toward the roof.

He caught it.

With one hand.

The glowing link wrapped around his wrist and he tugged playfully, as if testing its strength. “Cute. But you used to bind me with a lot more enthusiasm, little star.”

Maki’s eyes narrowed. “Friend of yours?”

“Absolutely not,” you growled.

Before you could launch a proper attack, he vanished again, leaving only a faint chuckle echoing across the field.

Third incident: your apartment balcony.

You had just stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around you, when you sensed him. You yanked the sliding door open, starfire already blazing between your fingers.

He was sitting on the railing like it was a throne, four—no, two—arms resting casually. In the dim city light his tattoos looked alive.

“You’ve gotten even smaller when you’re half-naked,” he observed, eyes raking over you slowly. “I approve. Easier to carry.”

“Get the fuck off my balcony!” you shouted, launching a chain that shattered the railing inches from where he sat.

He didn’t even flinch. “Still shy after all this time? You used to ride me on a stone altar while the temple burned around us. Literally.”

Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Heat flooded your face—half embarrassment, half something dangerously warmer. “I’m calling the police.”

He actually laughed out loud, the sound rich and mocking. “The police? Me? The King of Curses reduced to a suspicious individual? How the mighty have fallen.”

Then he disappeared in red mist, still chuckling.

You stood there dripping wet, towel slipping, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

The dreams got worse after that.

Every night you saw fragments: strong hands pinning you down, a second mouth dragging hot and wet across your stomach, four eyes watching you come undone with something like worship. You woke up aching, thighs slick, whispering a name you couldn’t quite remember into your pillow.

By the end of the second week you were done.

You marched into the local police station with your arms crossed and determination in your eyes. The officer behind the desk looked half-asleep.

“I need to report a stalker,” you said firmly.

The officer sighed and pulled out a form. “Description?”

“Male. Early twenties appearance. Pink hair. Face and body covered in black tattoos. Extremely rude. Keeps saying delusional shit like ‘you’ve gotten smaller’ and ‘you used to ride me on an altar.’ He appears out of nowhere like rooftops, my balcony, convenience stores. He’s insane.”

The officer scribbled slowly. “Has he touched you?”

“Not yet. But he keeps implying he has. In detail.”

Just as the officer asked for your contact information, the station door exploded inward with a casual kick.

Every head turned.

There he stood. Pink hair, tattoos, hands in his pockets, looking deeply unimpressed with the entire metropolitan police force. The cursed energy rolling off him made the lights flicker.

The room went dead silent.

You pointed. “That’s him!”

The pink-haired man sighed, the sound of someone who had toppled empires and was now dealing with paperwork. “Really? The police? I annihilate bloodlines and you file a formal complaint?”

One brave officer reached for his gun. “Hands where I can see them!”

The man raised an eyebrow. Two extra spectral arms flickered into existence for half a second—enough to make the entire precinct freeze—then vanished. “She’s my wife. Reincarnated. It’s complicated.” He glanced at the trembling officer holding the form. “You’re going to ignore this, right? Good. Saves me the cleanup.”

He looked straight at you, eyes softening with dark amusement. “Still fighting me at every turn. Adorable. You’ll remember eventually.”

Then he walked out as casually as he had entered, leaving the door hanging off its hinges.

The station erupted into chaos.

You stood there, face burning, fists clenched. “I am not his wife.”

But your voice shook.

And deep down, something ancient and hungry stirred at the word.

That night the dreams returned stronger than ever.

You saw yourself in crimson robes, sitting beside a four-armed king on a throne of bone. You saw four hands on your body—pinning, claiming, worshipping. You heard your own voice moaning “Ryomen” like a prayer.

You woke up gasping, fingers pressed between your thighs, chasing a release that felt centuries overdue.

In the darkness of your room, you whispered to the empty air:

“Who are you… and why does my body remember you better than my mind does?”

Miles away, Ryomen Sukuna smirked in the shared mental space.

“Soon, little star,” he murmured to no one but himself. “You’ll remember. And then I’m dragging you back where you belong.”

The police report accomplished exactly nothing.

No one at the station wanted to touch the case after the pink-haired intruder casually kicked the door off its hinges and called you his wife in front of twenty witnesses. The report was “misplaced.” The officers suddenly developed convenient amnesia. Even the security footage developed mysterious glitches.

You were on your own.

And he knew it.

Sukuna’s approach changed after that day. The casual, taunting appearances gave way to something more intentional. More predatory. He no longer popped up for cheap shocks. He watched. He tested. He closed the distance.

First came the rooftop again, but this time he didn’t stay at a distance.

You were finishing a solo mission near an old shrine on the outskirts of Tokyo, wiping cursed energy residue from your hands, when you felt him behind you. Not the playful flare of cursed energy from before. This was heavier. Closer. Ancient.

You turned slowly.

He stood only a few feet away, pink hair tousled by the night wind, tattoos stark under the moonlight. He looked deceptively relaxed, hands in his pockets, but the aura rolling off him pressed against your skin like a physical weight.

“You stopped running,” he observed, voice lower than usual. Rougher. It slid down your spine like warm velvet dragged over gravel.

“I’m not running,” you replied, summoning a single glowing chain that hovered between you like a warning. “I’m deciding whether to seal you or hear you out. Talk. Who are you really?”

He took one step closer. Then another. You didn’t back away. Something in you refused to.

“I’ve told you pieces,” he said, stopping close enough that you could smell that faint trace of blood and incense again. “You used to sit beside me on battlefields. You used to trace these marks with your fingers while I was still inside you.” One hand lifted slowly, as if giving you time to flinch. When you didn’t, he brushed a thumb along the side of your jaw. “You used to call me yours.”

Your breath hitched. The touch sent sparks through your nerves. Not fear, but recognition. Heat bloomed low in your belly. The phantom memory of four hands holding you open flashed behind your eyes.

You slapped his hand away, but there was no real force behind it. “Stop saying things like that. It’s insane.”

“Is it?” He leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur that vibrated against your ear. “Then why does your body remember? Your pulse is racing. Your cursed energy is flaring brighter. You’re not afraid of me. You never were.”

You swallowed hard. He was right. The fear you should have felt was absent. In its place was something far more dangerous. Curiosity, longing, a pull you couldn’t name.

“Back off,” you whispered, but your chains had lowered without you realizing.

He didn’t back off. Instead he stepped even closer until your back met the shrine’s wooden pillar. One hand braced beside your head. The other hovered near your waist, not quite touching.

“You’re starting to dream again, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Blood. Gold. Me. Not this borrowed face, the real one. Four arms. Four eyes. The mouth that used to taste every inch of you.”

Your knees weakened. A vivid flash hit you: strong hands pinning your wrists, a second mouth licking a hot trail down your stomach, a deep voice growling “Mine” while you came apart beneath him.

You shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, voice breathy.

He chuckled, the sound dark and intimate. “Liar. But that’s all right. I can wait. I’ve waited a thousand years already.”

Then he was gone again, leaving you trembling against the pillar, thighs pressed together, cursed energy flickering uncontrollably around your fingers.

The dreams intensified after that night.

They were no longer fragments. They were memories wearing the skin of dreams.

You saw yourself in a ruined temple, crimson robes pooled at your feet. Four massive hands lifted you onto a stone altar. Black tattoos shifted under firelight as he moved above you—inside you—deep, relentless thrusts that made you cry out his name. “Ryomen—” The second mouth on his abdomen sucked marks into your breasts while the main one bit your shoulder hard enough to bruise. You came screaming, starfire exploding from your hands and painting his skin with temporary glowing brands.

You woke up every night gasping, sheets soaked with sweat and something far more embarrassing. Your fingers would find their way between your thighs before you could stop yourself, chasing the echo of a pleasure that felt centuries old.

Each time he got closer. Each time his voice dropped lower. Each time your resistance frayed a little more.

You stopped reporting him.

You stopped trying to exorcise him on sight.

Instead you started looking for him.

One rainy evening, you found him waiting on the rooftop of your apartment building again. The city lights glittered below like scattered stars. Rain plastered his pink hair to his forehead and made his tattoos glisten.

You stepped out under the downpour without an umbrella, chains dormant at your sides.

“Why me?” you asked, voice barely audible over the rain. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He turned to face you fully. For once the smirk was gone. In its place was something rawer. Hungrier.

“Because you chose me when no one else would,” he said simply. “Because you sat at my right hand and never trembled. Because even when they killed you to break me, you looked up at me with those same eyes and told me you’d find me again.”

He took a slow step forward, rain streaming down his face.

“And because this body is only a vessel. When you remember, truly remember, I’ll show you the real me again. The one you loved. The one with four arms that used to hold you like the world could burn and it wouldn’t matter.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Another flash hit you: gold circlet in your hair, four hands on your body, a second mouth growling your name like worship while he spilled deep inside you.

You didn’t run.

You stepped closer instead, until you stood directly in front of him, rain soaking both of you.

“I don’t understand any of this,” you whispered. “But… I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.”

His hand rose slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing rain from your lower lip.

“Good,” he murmured, voice rough with centuries of waiting. “Because I’m done being patient, little star.”

He leaned in, lips hovering just above yours. You felt the heat of him, the ancient power coiled beneath borrowed skin. Your eyes fluttered half-closed.

But he didn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

Instead he pulled back with visible effort, a dark promise in his eyes.

“Soon. When you see me I won’t stop at almost.”

Then he vanished into red mist, leaving you alone in the rain with trembling legs and a heart that no longer felt like it belonged entirely to this life.

That night the dreams changed again.

This time, when you woke gasping his name “Ryomen” it didn’t feel like a question.

It felt like the beginning of an answer.

You called in sick to Jujutsu High the next morning.

Instead you wandered the rainy streets, hood up, starfire flickering restlessly at your fingertips. Every shadow felt like it might hide him. Every gust of wind carried the faint scent of blood and incense.

He found you near the old shrine where you had first properly confronted him weeks ago.

This time he didn’t hide on the rooftop. He stepped out of the torii gate like he belonged there, pink hair dark with rain, tattoos glistening. He wore no hoodie tonight. Just a simple black shirt that clung to Yuji’s muscled frame and revealed more of the black markings crawling across his skin.

You stopped in the middle of the stone path. Rain poured down around you both.

He didn’t speak at first. He simply walked forward until only an arm’s length separated you.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” he said quietly. No taunt this time. Just raw observation.

“I haven’t,” you admitted. Your voice shook. “The dreams… they’re not dreams anymore. I see blood. I see gold. I see… you. But not like this.” You gestured at his current form. “Four arms. Four eyes. A mouth that… that used to…” Heat flooded your face.

Sukuna’s expression darkened with hunger. He closed the remaining distance in one step, one hand rising to cradle the back of your neck. The touch was firm, possessive, but he held back—waiting.

“Say the name,” he murmured, voice dropping to that low, layered register that made your knees weak. “The one you whispered in your sleep last night.”

Your lips parted. Rain streamed down your face.

“Ryomen,” you breathed.

Something in him snapped.

He pulled you against him, mouth crashing down on yours in a kiss that tasted of centuries of waiting. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming—teeth and tongue and raw need. One hand fisted in your wet hair while the other gripped your waist hard enough to bruise. For a moment you swore you felt two extra spectral arms wrap around your back, holding you tighter.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands sliding up his chest, nails digging into his shoulders. Starfire flickered at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing marks on his skin that healed almost instantly.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.

“You’re close,” he growled against your lips. “So close to seeing me. The real me.”

You stared up at him, chest heaving. “Show me.”

His eyes flashed. For a heartbeat the vessel cracked. Pink hair darkened, tattoos spread further, two extra arms manifested fully, and four crimson eyes burned down at you.

The sight hit you like lightning.

The rooftop dream. The temple. The valley. The way those four hands had held you. The way those four eyes had looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth keeping.

Recognition slammed into you all at once.

You didn’t recoil.

Instead your hands rose, trembling, to cup the sides of his face. Tracing the markings exactly as you had in every memory, every dream, every lifetime.

“It’s you,” you whispered, voice breaking. Tears mixed with rain on your cheeks. “Ryomen Sukuna. My king. I only knew your true form… I didn’t recognize you in this vessel. But it’s you.”

A sound tore from his throat—half growl, half laugh, pure relief and obsession.

He lifted you effortlessly with all four arms now fully manifested, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the nearest torii pillar. Rain poured down, but neither of you cared.

“Finally,” he snarled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. “My queen. My star. You’re mine again.”

You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, starfire and cursed energy mingling in the air around you.

“I remember,” you gasped as one of his lower hands slid beneath your soaked shirt, claws lightly scraping your skin. “I remember everything. The battles. The nights. The way you held me when the world tried to tear us apart.”

His forehead pressed to yours, four eyes blazing with centuries of devotion and hunger.

“Then let me remind you of the rest,” he growled, voice rough with promise. “Right now.”

The rain continued to fall, washing away the last fragments of your old life.

But in the shelter of four arms and four burning eyes, you had finally come home.

The torii gate groaned under the sudden surge of cursed energy as Sukuna’s true form tore fully through the borrowed vessel.

He was massive again. Towering. The real Ryomen Sukuna you had loved in the Heian era.

And between his hips, where the vessel had hidden it, two thick cocks stood hard and heavy, already leaking at the tips from the sheer force of recognition. The upper one curved slightly, ridged along the underside. The lower sat heavier, thicker at the base, both flushed dark and pulsing with cursed energy that made the air around them shimmer.

You didn’t flinch. You had never flinched from him.

Instead you reached up with both hands, fingers tracing the black markings across his chest exactly as you had done a thousand years ago. Starfire flickered at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing trails that faded almost instantly.

“It’s really you,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion and need. “My king. My monster. I only knew this form… I didn’t recognize the boy’s face. But these marks… these eyes… this body that used to ruin me so perfectly.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled from both his mouths. The main one curving into a feral grin, the one on his stomach opening to drag a hot, wet tongue across your collarbone.

“Mine,” he growled, voice layered and rough, echoing with the weight of every lonely century. “You kept me waiting, little star. Centuries of nothing but ash and memory. Now I’m taking back what’s mine.”

Four hands moved at once.

Two pinned your wrists above your head against the rain-slick torii pillar. One gripped your hip, claws shredding through your soaked clothes with casual ease until they fell away in wet ribbons. The last cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could claim your mouth in a bruising kiss.

His tongue—longer, rougher—invaded without mercy, tasting every gasp and whimper. The stomach mouth latched onto your neck, sucking a dark mark while its tongue flicked over your pulse.

You moaned into the kiss, arching against him. Rain poured down your bare skin, but the heat rolling off his body made you burn. When he finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips.

“Ryomen… please,” you breathed. “I remember how you felt. Both of them. I need you.”

His laugh was dark and triumphant. “Greedy little queen. You always were.”

He lifted you effortlessly with the two lower arms, spreading your thighs wide around his waist. The upper two kept your wrists pinned while one hand slid between your legs, thick fingers parting your folds and finding you already dripping—not just from rain.

“So wet for me already,” he rumbled, two fingers pushing inside you without warning, curling hard against that spot that made your vision spark. “This cunt still remembers its king. Clenching like it missed me.”

You cried out, hips rocking desperately against his hand. The stretch was familiar, perfect. Starfire flickered wildly around your fingers, painting glowing patterns across his forearms.

He pumped his fingers faster, scissoring them, stretching you open while the stomach mouth moved lower to latch onto one of your breasts. Sharp teeth grazed your nipple before the tongue soothed the sting, sucking hard until you were trembling.

When you were shaking on the edge, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the heads of both cocks.

The upper one nudged your entrance first, thick and insistent. The lower pressed just below it, sliding against your clit with every shallow thrust.

“Look at me,” he commanded, all four eyes blazing. “Watch who’s claiming you again.”

You locked eyes with him as he pushed in. Slow, relentless, both cocks stretching you open at once. The burn was exquisite. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the dual invasion, the ridges and thickness dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. He bottomed out with a shared groan, hips flush against yours, both cocks buried to the hilt.

“Fuck—Ryomen—so full—”

“That’s it,” he snarled, voice rough. “Take both of them like the queen you are. This pussy was made for me. Only me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started moving. Deep, powerful thrusts that rocked your entire body against the pillar. Rain streamed down your joined bodies, making every slide wetter, filthier. The dual stretch was overwhelming in the best way; every thrust dragged both cocks against your walls, the lower one grinding perfectly against that spot inside while the upper rubbed your clit from the inside with every withdrawal.

Four hands held you exactly where he wanted you—open, pinned, claimed.

The stomach mouth continued its assault on your breasts, licking, sucking, biting until your nipples ached deliciously. His main mouth crashed against yours again, swallowing every moan and scream.

You came first, hard and sudden. walls spasming around both cocks as starfire exploded outward in a brilliant lattice, wrapping around both of you like glowing chains. Your vision whited out, a broken cry of his name tearing from your throat.

Sukuna followed with a guttural roar that shook the shrine grounds. His hips stuttered, burying both cocks as deep as they would go while he spilled inside you. Hot, thick pulses from both lengths, filling you until it leaked out around him despite how tightly you were stretched.

He didn’t pull out.

Instead he kept you impaled on both cocks, four arms wrapping fully around your smaller frame as he carried you away from the pillar. He laid you down on the wet grass beneath the torii, still buried deep, covering you with his massive body like a living shield.

Rain continued to fall, but his heat kept you warm.

You reached up, tracing the markings on his face with gentle fingers, tears mixing with rain on your cheeks.

“I remember everything now,” you whispered. “The battles. The nights. The way they tried to break you by taking me. I told you I’d find you again… and I did.”

Sukuna’s forehead pressed to yours, all four eyes half-lidded with something dangerously close to tenderness beneath the raw hunger.

“You kept your promise, little star,” he murmured, voice rough but softer than you had ever heard it. One hand stroked through your wet hair while another rested possessively over your lower stomach, where you could still feel both cocks twitching inside you. “Now you wear my crown again. Rule beside me. The world once tried to separate us. It failed.”

You smiled, pulling him down into another deep kiss.

“Then remind me one more time tonight,” you whispered against his lips, rolling your hips to feel both cocks shift inside you. “Make me scream your name until the whole city hears who I belong to.”

His grin was feral.

“Gladly.”

He started moving again. Slower this time, deep and deliberate, both cocks dragging against every oversensitive inch. Four hands explored every curve, every mark he left behind. The stomach mouth licked the rainwater from your skin while he fucked you through another orgasm, then another, until you were sobbing with pleasure beneath him.

Only when the rain finally began to ease did he spill inside you a second time, both cocks pulsing as he marked you from the inside out.

Afterward he pulled you against his chest with all four arms, the gold circlet. Somehow still with him after all this time, now resting once more in your damp hair.

You traced idle patterns on his skin, fingers following the black tattoos you had memorized lifetimes ago.

“I chose you then,” you said softly. “I choose you again. In this life. In every life.”

Sukuna’s arms tightened around you, possessive and eternal.

“And I will burn every world that tries to take you from me,” he vowed.

The King of Curses and his Queen lay together beneath the clearing sky, two bodies. One ancient and monstrous, one reborn in starfire, finally whole again.

The world had failed once.

It would not get another chance.

actor!sukuna who had to reassure you that it's going to be okay— you were a great actress, but you've never played a sex scene out before, and now you had to recreate it with the guy who's been leaving you wet for the past few years, of course you were going to be nervous.

actor!sukuna who is undeniably excited. you're so twitchy, so nervous it's amusing if not unbearably cute. he watches as the director scolds you for being so unfocused.

actor!sukuna whose excitement immediately disposes when he hears that they're delaying the scene to tomorrow since you couldn't keep into schedule today, having to retake a few scenes and waste time. you come clinging to him, seeking for comfort, which he could never deny you. that day, you fall asleep in his apartment with your head on his shoulder. this has happend before, so why is sukuna so fucking nervous now?

actor!sukuna who drives you to the set the next day. he doesn't need to look over to know you're squirming uncomfortably. you seem to calm down when he places his large hand on your thigh. for comfort, obviously.

actor!sukuna who's off for his makeup to be done— so are you. your girls on set (who seem to have progressed their role to your friends now) are touching up your clothes, which will be ripped off either way during the play. each touch on the clothing reminds you of that, and suddenly you're nervously whining again. shoko, who, as your best friend, came along for emotional support even offers you some alcohol, which you unfortunately have to decline. being drunk makes you even more horny, that'd be a problem on set.

actor!sukuna who is so fucking ready. the first shot is him, grasping your wrist and dragging you into another room. a little too harsh, he pins you against a wall, a whimper slipping past your lips. while the cameras aren't too much of a bother since you've learned to blind them out, the people are.

actor!sukuna who seems to know that, because you're very sure him softly rubbing his thumb in circles over your hip wasn't apart of any script. your head spins as he leans in, aggressively captivating your lips. the camera focuses on where you two connect, and sukuna pulls back slightly to show his tongue and yours circling and licking each other, saliva collecting and almost dripping down your chin. you moan, to which he growls, his lips bruising yours.

actor!sukuna who is debating in his head whether he's excited to rip your clothes off or upset. he doesn't like the thought that millions of other people get to see you like this— so he's going to use this as his advantage and show everyone that you're his. your clothes are off in a second and he's fucking covering you, his chest pressed to yours, causing your breasts to push up. he gets to see you naked for the first time and it's on set? yeah, you must be an idiot if you think he wont cover you. he does, however, look down to catch the sight of your cleavage and the fat of your tits pressing up against him.

actor!sukuna who, while he pushes you into the bed, never ever disconnects his body with yours in order for you to stay hidden (and for him to feel your perky nipples burying themselves into his warm skin).

actor!sukuna who eventually has to get rid of his clothes and your panties, which he does— he's rough with removing his stuff, hoping the camera's focuses more on him and not on you since your tits are free and for everyone to see. he kicks his pants off, but his boxers stay on. the scene is going to focus on your upper bodies, so he doesn't have to worry about constantly covering your pretty pussy from everyone. though, there's a little scene shown where he delicately hooks a finger under the waistband of your underwear, slowly.. slowly pulling it off (an accidental whine escaping you).

the next scene consists of him pulling the covers up to his waist, your private areas hidden from the rest of the world as he leans in to suck and nibble at your neck. your moans aren't fake, and nor is the wet patch that's slowly forming on your panties.

when suddenly you feel his teeth sink into your skin, you finally realize that this is the moment in which you're supposed to act as if he's sunken his dick inside of you— but you're too late and the director is already shouting his loud 'CUT!'

so once again, sukuna covers you two and goes in to nibble at your neck. this time, he makes sure you don't forget your script by nudging his hardened cock against your clit. that action might alone could've given you an oscar, because you're jumping and yelping and moaning in his hold, feeling his pink fluffy hair brush your jaw as he grins into your skin. as if to make it sound like it's inside, you let out a more relaxed sigh, followed by a moan.

actor!sukuna who absolutely relishes in your embarassment, grinning as he watches the colour in your face drain when the director informs you that you have to retake the scene (undeniably, he'll catch the wet spot forming on your cunt).

and fuck him for making this so hard. for being so hard. because he's fucking grinding into you, his fat cock might aswell slip into you if it werent for his boxers and your panties. you're whimpering, holding back the urge to say his actual name as you moan the name of his character.

actor!sukuna who has to remind himself that he's on set, and not in his actual bedroom while he dry humps you. you seem to have forgotten the people watching you, because you're slowly grinding up against him too.

actor!sukuna who steals one last— unplanned, unscripted— kiss from you, tongue diving into your throat, hand coming up to cup your face. after he pulls back, his thumb lazily swipes away the drool that's run down your lips.

actor!sukuna who knows you're uncomfortable with the stares, so when you hear the final 'CUT!', he wraps the covers firmly around you before hoisting you up into bridal style.

you both— and the rest of the cast— laugh it off as they know he's protective over you. that he knows what you need the most, so they don't question it when he doesn't let anyone else see you exposed anymore.

actor!sukuna who brings you back to his apartment that day, making sure that the wet patch he felt and had seen on you gets taken care of— making sure his huge hard-on gets taken care of.

you totally ignore shoko's messages, along the ones in your groupchat with the rest of your friends, telling you that you basically almost fucked on set— that you almost filmed a porno instead.

you also totally play it off after the movie gets released and fans scream and screech, a fucking unimaginable amount of edits including this scene as a small 'sneak peek', fans crashing over the whole thing, people writing some absurd comments— "do not search up the sukuna scene on tiktok", knowing THE scene will pop up. some comments even leave you giggling, "i need them both oiled up in my bed", "i think i just let out a moan at this", "i rewatch this scene daily".

of course, the fans don't just casually drop the topic. this goes on— forever, with people questioning your actual relationship, asking how you felt during the scene, if it was awkward— and most importantly, if sukuna got hard during the scene.

all you can do is giggle nervously as you move on to the next question.