true form sukuna x blind reader. heian era. +18.
the reader is an ordinary woman.
the sobbing gradually faded. silence settled over the shrine once more.
uraume did not speak. you could only hear them moving through the hall with measured footsteps while several servants were quietly summoned from the surrounding corridors. no one dared raise their voice. bodies were lifted onto straw mats, the bloodied floor inspected, severed heads gathered with the same efficiency one might gather fallen branches after a storm.
no prayers. no mourning. only duty.
your trembling fingers finally managed to pull the robe from over your head. you clutched the expensive silk in one shaking hand without realizing your own blood had already stained it. the crimson fabric, once immaculate, now carried streaks from your ruined palm.
your entire body trembled uncontrollably.
a quiet sigh reached your ears. disappointed.
"we need to patch this up."
uraume finally addressed you. there was no comfort in their voice. only necessity.
cold fingers seized your injured wrist without warning, lifting your arm to examine it. the sudden movement forced your grip open, the robe slipping from your fingers and falling heavily onto the blood soaked floor.
the pain came immediately. sharp. blinding. a cry escaped your lips before you could stop it.
another quiet exhale left the ice sorcerer.
it sounded less like a request and more like an order.
for a brief moment, uraume found themselves wondering the same thing they had twice before. how... how had all of them died... yet you remained alive? again. the blind girl. it was unusual. almost unnatural.
uraume had served sukuna long enough to know that survivors were rarely chosen by chance. most servants who displeased him met the same fate as the two women whose blood still stained the hall. they were replaced. forgotten. nothing more. patching them up had never been necessary.
without hesitation, uraume caught the edge of their own outer robe. the tightly woven silk tore with a sharp rip beneath their hands as they stripped away a long piece of cloth. it would do. they wrapped it firmly around your palm, binding the wound with practiced precision despite rarely having reason to tend injuries themselves.
the words were quiet. disappointed. nothing more. their pink eyes lingered on your tear streaked face before dropping to your shaking hand as they tightened the bandage another turn.
there was genuine displeasure beneath the calm. not anger. disappointment. the shrine had fallen into disorder beneath their supervision. that alone was unacceptable.
you lowered your head further. shame settled heavily inside your chest. you mourned because you had failed your friend. uraume stood in silence because they had failed their master. to each of you... failure carried a different weight.
uraume continued wrapping your hand with quiet precision. their movements were surprisingly careful. gentle, even. nothing like the curt, impatient attendant you had come to know over the past day.
once the torn cloth had been secured tightly around your palm, they paused, inspecting the bandage to make sure the bleeding had slowed enough. it would hold.
then their other hand rose. it joined the first, gently capturing your injured hand between both of theirs, sandwiching it within their cold palms.
then, the cold came. not the ordinary chill that always clung to uraume. this was different. frost bloomed across the bandages in delicate white crystals, creeping over the torn fabric like winter spreading across a pond. the air around your hand turned painfully cold before the numbness followed, dulling the relentless throbbing in your palm. their cursed technique.
the ice settled for only a few moments before beginning to melt into icy droplets. just enough. enough to constrict the wound. enough to slow the bleeding. enough to ease the pain, if only for a little while.
"we still need to find the other girl." uraume spoke while still holding your injured hand between theirs. their attention never wavered from the bandage. "i will fetch a bucket and a rag." they finally released your hand. "you will begin cleaning the blood immediately, just as lord sukuna ordered."
your stomach sank. so that was it. another humiliation. another lesson. another reminder of your place. why... why did he hate you so much? why you? you had done nothing but survive. your fingers curled weakly against the fresh bandages. the task was impossible. you were blind. you could not tell where the blood began... or where it ended. you already knew what would happen. they expected perfection. and perfection was something your eyes could never give them.
uraume noticed the expression that settled across your face. the quiet defeat. the sulking. they understood it. of course they did. they knew the task was nearly impossible for someone who could not see. they also knew exactly why lord sukuna had given it to you. none of that mattered. his orders were absolute. and uraume had neither the desire nor the authority to soften them.
"but first..." their voice remained even. "you will wash yourself and change into clean robes."
only then did you become fully aware of your own body. you were still barefoot. your thin night robes had soaked through in several places, aoi's blood drying against the fabric where it clung unpleasantly to your skin. even your sleeves felt stiff now, and the metallic scent followed every breath you took.
you must have looked dreadful.
"come." uraume bent without another word. their hand gathered the discarded crimson robe from your lap before neatly folding it over one arm. with the other, they caught hold of your upper arm and pulled you smoothly to your feet. the movement was firm. efficient. not gentle. yet not rough enough to hurt. simply enough to keep you moving. there was still much to be done before dawn reached the mountain shrine.
the bathing room was empty.
at this hour, every servant who had finished their duties had already retired to their futons, leaving only the quiet murmur of water flowing through the bamboo channel that fed the wooden bathing basins. steam lingered faintly beneath the timber rafters, carrying the clean scent of hinoki cypress, damp wood, and the faint ash of incense burned earlier that evening.
uraume led you inside without a word.
the sliding fusuma closed behind you with a muted scrape.
they did not leave. instead, they remained beside the entrance. you heard them turn. their back now faced you.
perhaps they did not need to. perhaps they simply chose to. you never knew. maybe it was a trace of modesty still lingering beneath years of serving the king of curses. or perhaps they simply had no desire to look at you while you undressed. whatever the reason, they stood there in complete silence, arms folded neatly within their sleeves, waiting.
waiting for you to hurry.
you understood the message. so you did.
your fingers fumbled with the ties of your bloodstained robes, peeling the damp fabric away from your skin. it clung stubbornly where aoi's blood had dried, forcing you to pull harder until the cloth finally loosened.
the air bit immediately against your bare skin. not because of the mountain night. because of uraume. their cursed energy always carried winter with it.
you stepped carefully toward the cedar bathing tub, feeling for its smooth wooden rim before lowering yourself onto the small washing stool beside it. the bucket rested where every servant expected it to be, filled from the bamboo spout that trickled fresh mountain water into the room throughout the day.
with only one good hand, bathing became slow. awkward. you dipped the wooden ladle into the warm water and poured it over yourself, washing away the blood little by little. crimson streaks slid from your skin, disappearing between the wooden slats beneath your feet before flowing toward the narrow drainage channel cut into the floor.
your injured hand throbbed with every movement. the bandages had already been removed.
using only your uninjured hand, you scrubbed carefully with a rough hemp cloth, rubbing dried blood from your arms, your neck, your face, until no trace of the night's violence remained upon your skin.
it was difficult. far more difficult than you wished to admit. several times you nearly lost your balance reaching across your own body.
behind you, uraume never spoke. never hurried you aloud. yet their presence alone was enough. the cold surrounding them reminded you with every passing heartbeat that time was being wasted.
when you finally finished, you quietly announced it.
uraume turned only then. they approached with the same measured steps as always. without comment, they took your injured hand once more and began wrapping it in fresh strips of clean linen. their fingers worked with practiced precision, tightening the bandage enough to support your palm without cutting off circulation.
when the last fold was secured, both of their hands enclosed yours again. the familiar chill spread instantly. white frost blossomed across the fresh linen. delicate crystals formed before melting into icy droplets against the cloth.
their technique. just enough to numb the pain. just enough to keep the swelling down. just enough to slow whatever bleeding still lingered beneath the bandages.
"there." it was the only acknowledgment they gave.
fresh servant robes had already been laid neatly nearby. simple. clean. another crimson set.
uraume waited until you reached for them before quietly stepping closer, helping guide the sleeves over your arms and fastening the sash securely around your waist. their movements remained practical, efficient, making only the adjustments necessary to ensure the robes sat properly before they stepped away once more.
"there is still work to be done."their voice was calm. the night's bloodshed had changed nothing. duty remained. and dawn was drawing closer.
you were not feeling well. not at all.
the dizziness had begun quietly during the bath, but with every passing moment it settled deeper into your body. your head felt strangely light. the world around you seemed farther away than it had only an hour before.
the pain in your wounded palm no longer stayed there alone. each pulse climbed slowly up your wrist, through your forearm, into your elbow, and finally settled like fire along your shoulder. every movement tugged at it.
your forearms burned too. only now, washed clean of blood, could you truly feel the dozens of shallow cuts aoi had left behind. the broken ceramic had grazed your skin again and again, each wound insignificant on its own, yet together they stung whenever the sleeves of your robes brushed against them.
your body was exhausted. your mind even more so. izumi's screams still echoed inside your head. aoi's desperate voice. the wet sound of sukuna's slash. you wished they would stop. they didn't.
the walk back to the main hall passed in silence. night still wrapped the mountain shrine in darkness. the paper lanterns suspended beneath the eaves had burned low, their trembling flames casting long shadows across polished wooden corridors. somewhere outside, the steady drip of water from the stone tsukubai basin echoed through the gardens, while the wind stirred the bamboo groves surrounding the shrine.
neither you nor uraume spoke. your footsteps had grown slower. shorter. occasionally you stumbled. uraume noticed. they said nothing.
when you reached the great hall once more, the familiar metallic scent reached you before anything else. blood. even after the bodies had been removed. even after servants had carried away the shattered pottery. it lingered. thick. heavy. almost sweet.
uraume stopped. without warning, their hand settled on your shoulder and pressed firmly downward. you understood immediately. your knees met the polished floorboards. the impact sent another sharp ache through your injured arm.
beside you, a wooden bucket was set upon the floor. water sloshed softly inside. a coarse hemp rag followed a heartbeat later.
uraume caught your uninjured hand and guided it into the bucket, allowing your fingers to find the cloth submerged beneath the cool water.
only then did they speak.
"begin." that was all. no explanation. no encouragement. only another order.
you lowered your head. "...yes." your voice barely rose above a whisper.
uraume remained standing for another moment. their pink eyes rested quietly upon you. they noticed everything. the way your shoulders sagged. the unnatural paleness beneath the remaining streaks of bruising. the slower rhythm of your breathing. the slight sway of your body even while kneeling.
the absence of resistance. you had stopped arguing. stopped sulking. stopped showing even the smallest trace of defiance.
they knew why. you were exhausted. you had lost blood. too much, perhaps. your body had begun reaching its limit.
still... lord sukuna had given an order. it would be carried out. either you finished cleaning the hall and were later handed over to the shrine's physician... or you collapsed here. perhaps from blood loss. perhaps from exhaustion after hours of labor. the outcome mattered less than the command itself.
a quiet sigh escaped uraume. almost inaudible.
then their geta struck the wooden floor. once. twice. they turned to leave. their footsteps echoed steadily toward the outer corridor.
then... they stopped. only for a heartbeat. their eyes lifted beyond you, toward a point hidden somewhere in the darkness behind your back. without a word, uraume lowered their head into a single respectful bow. silent. measured. an acknowledgment. nothing more. when they straightened, they continued walking without another sound, disappearing into the sleeping shrine. you never knew whom they had bowed to.
you were left alone. kneeling before the bucket. the damp cloth resting in your trembling hand. the metallic scent of dried blood surrounded you once more. waiting. to be scrubbed away.
you found a pattern you could follow after some time.
crusted blood had a different texture than the smooth cedar floor beneath your knees. your fingertips searched carefully, slowly, learning the difference between the cold polished wood and the places where the stains had dried into something rougher, tighter against the grain.
the rag followed after your hand found each spot. water. a dip into the bucket. the cloth pressed down. a slow movement across the floor. again. and again.
you were sure an hour had passed. or maybe only a few minutes. time felt different now. the pain, the exhaustion, the silence of the shrine after such chaos, everything blurred together. there was only the rag, the water, and the stubborn need to finish what you had been ordered to do.
rag. splash. a small breath caught between your teeth as pain shot through your injured palm.
the hand was making your whole body ache now. your shoulder burned from holding yourself up. your forearms throbbed where aoi had struck you earlier, small cuts and bruises protesting every movement. your fingers felt heavier with every passing moment, yet you continued.
you moved. slowly. carefully. stubbornly.
a frustrated sound escaped beneath your breath, anger mixing with the pain. it was humiliating. not because you were cleaning. not because you were serving. but because you knew exactly what this was. a task that demanded perfection from someone who could not even see the thing she was trying to clean.
another wave of dizziness hit. the hall shifted in your mind even without sight, your balance betraying you. your breathing became uneven, and you paused for a moment, waiting for the feeling to pass.
your body was tired. too tired. still, you reached again. the rag. the floor. one more stain. one more movement.
then your arm weakened. your elbow caught the bucket. the sound was immediate. a heavy scrape against the cedar. then the horrible rush of water spilling across the floor.
the words began leaving your lips before you could stop them. the dirty water spread beneath your hands, carrying the blood you had already worked so hard to remove. the smell returned, sharp and metallic, mixing with the dampness of the old wooden hall.
your breathing became faster. your fingers tightened around the rag.
there was no point. not like this. your hand would not cooperate. your body would not cooperate. you had pushed yourself until there was nothing left to give.
for a moment, you simply stayed there, kneeling beside the spilled water, the silence of the shrine surrounding you.
you needed... a quick rest. just a moment. that was all.
your eyelids felt heavier. very heavy. the exhaustion finally began pulling you down, your injured hand resting uselessly against the cold floor as your head lowered slightly. just for a moment. just until your body listened again.
just as your eyelids were about to fall shut, you heard it.
a faint sound. tap. tap. tap.
your exhausted mind caught onto it immediately. the rhythm. the same rhythm as before. the same deliberate tapping that had guided you through sukuna's chambers earlier that day.
your dizzy head turned slightly toward the sound, your breathing slowing as you tried to focus. it was coming from your left. something was tapping against the wood. or rather... someone.
the sound was too controlled to be accidental. too steady. too familiar. it was enough to pull your attention back from the edge of exhaustion, enough to make your fingers tighten slightly around the rag still resting against the floor.
someone who seemed to enjoy testing your senses. someone who had already learned exactly how much you relied on them.
he sat in the centre of the shrine hall, positioned upon the raised offering platform prepared for him. the place where offerings, prayers, and ceremonial objects were usually presented before the shrine's deity. a place meant for reverence. yet he sat there as if the entire shrine belonged beneath him. because to him, it did.
the dim light of the oil lamps flickered against the wooden beams and polished cedar floor, casting shadows across the vast hall. the lingering scent of incense still hung in the air from the evening prayers, mixed now with the faint smell of spilled water and iron from the blood that had soaked into the wood.
the ceremonial dagger in his hand rested loosely, its dull end tapping against the wooden beam beside his head. tap. tap. tap. the sound echoed through the empty hall.
the four eyes watched you.
he had been watching since the three of you turned the quiet of his shrine into entertainment. from the same place. from that very spot. he had seen aoi, izumi, and you rush through the hall like desperate animals fighting over a single piece of meat.
pathetic. that was what it was. a display of desperation. women tearing each other apart over a robe, over a position, over a small piece of survival.
yet... it had been entertaining. that alone was enough to keep him from interfering.
he could have stopped it. the moment aoi raised her hand. the moment izumi tried to protect you. the moment the struggle spilled into his territory. a single movement from him would have ended everything.
but why bother? it was not his concern. their lives, their fear, their desperation, none of it mattered enough for him to waste effort. so he watched.
and now he watched again.
the same blind woman who had somehow survived everything thrown at her was kneeling in the centre of his shrine, struggling to finish a task that would have been simple for anyone else.
his crimson eyes followed every small movement. the way your shoulders lowered. the way your breathing became heavier. the way your fingers hesitated before searching for the stains again.
your life was leaving your face with every passing minute. not literally. not yet. but exhaustion had stripped away the confidence you carried earlier. the stubbornness. the defiance. the little spark that had made him curious.
and still... you continued.
you did not know what he wanted from you this time. that alone was enough to keep your body tense. every interaction with him had been unpredictable. one moment he was mocking you, treating you like some amusing little creature that wandered into his path, and the next he was giving orders as if your answer had never mattered in the first place.
your lips parted slightly as heavy breaths escaped you. your injured hand remained pulled close to your robes, protected instinctively against your chest. the cloth was no longer clean, stained from the night's events, but you held onto it anyway.
then his voice came. calm. low. almost as if it came from every direction at once.
a deal? the words alone sounded suspicious coming from him. was this another game? another test? another way to see how far he could push you before you broke?
you did not know. but you listened. you had no other choice. the slight movement of your head was enough of an answer for him. a small acknowledgement. his crimson gaze remained fixed on you as he continued.
"i will take care of that hand of yours."
for a moment, your mind went completely blank. how? that was the first thought that appeared. how? the pain had become unbearable. the sharp sting in your palm, the ache travelling up your arm, the exhaustion weighing down every part of your body.
you wanted it gone. more than you wanted to admit.
and before your mind could stop you, the question slipped out.
your voice was weak. far weaker than earlier. the same woman who had snapped back at him in the washing house, the same woman who had stubbornly navigated his chambers, now sounded exhausted enough that even speaking seemed like effort.
a low hum left him. not pleased. not exactly. more like mild displeasure. the contrast amused him. something so fragile. yet so stubborn. a creature that looked as if it could collapse at any moment, but still found the strength to challenge him.
another tap echoed. tap. the ceremonial dagger touched the wooden beam again.
"come." a simple command. then another tap. louder this time. a clear instruction. "and see." the words lingered in the empty shrine hall.
you remained still for a moment. your body wanted to hesitate. your instincts told you to be careful. this was ryomen sukuna. the man whose presence alone made the air feel heavier. the man who had taken lives without a second thought. the man standing between cruelty and curiosity in a way you still could not understand.
but your hand hurt. and somehow, despite everything... he had offered. not comfort. not kindness. a deal. something with a price. something you did not know yet. your fingers tightened around your robes, and slowly, carefully, you began to move toward the sound of the tapping.
this was his deal? that was the thought that crossed your mind. was this what he meant? to tire you out first? to push your senses, your body, your stubbornness until you had no choice but to crawl toward whatever he offered?
your remaining strength was barely enough. every part of you screamed to stop. your injured hand throbbed painfully against your chest, your body felt heavy from exhaustion, and the dizziness that had been creeping in since the fight refused to disappear.
but your knees moved. slowly. your good hand pressed against the cold cedar floor, using whatever strength remained in your arm to pull yourself forward.
one tap. the sound echoed through the shrine hall. you moved. another tap. you moved again.
it was almost cruel. almost like he was training an animal to follow a sound. yet sukuna watched without saying a word. seeing your determination, the stubborn refusal to simply collapse, he shifted slightly upon the raised platform. his tilted head rested against his closed fist, his lower arm supporting the weight casually as his crimson eyes followed your every movement.
you were clinging to the smallest possibility of relief he had offered. not because you trusted him. not because you believed him to be merciful. simply because you were desperate. and somehow, that desperation came with a strange kind of determination.
your knees met the small raised steps leading toward the centre of the hall. the shrine platform. the place where he sat. the distance that had seemed impossible moments ago was finally becoming shorter.
oh gods. you were barely conscious now. your head spun with every movement. your breathing grew heavier, each breath louder in the empty hall. the world around you existed only in pieces, the cold wood beneath your palms, the sound of your own heartbeat, the tapping that guided you forward.
your leg lifted to climb the next step. your balance faltered. for a moment, you almost slipped.
another sharp tap. a sudden sound. enough to pull your focus back. enough to remind you where you were.
you swallowed and continued. one step. then another. your fingers searched for stability. your knees dragged across the wooden boards. again. again. until finally, the texture beneath your hands changed. the boards were different. you had reached the centre.
the tapping stopped. and so did you. the silence after it was almost worse.
you remained there for a moment, gathering what little strength you had left. then you lowered yourself again. kneeling. your injured hand remained held close to your body, protected instinctively.
and only then did you realize where you had stopped. between his spread legs. right before him.
sukuna looked down at you. the woman who had crossed his shrine hall half conscious. the woman who had followed nothing but a sound. the woman who should have collapsed long before reaching him.
yet somehow... you were still there. you did it again.
the spin of your head became unbearable.
a weak wheeze escaped you, your body finally reaching its limit.
this time, truly, you were done.
your strength disappeared all at once, your balance slipping as your body leaned forward. but before you could collapse face first onto the wooden platform beneath him, one of his lower hands moved. a hand caught your face. firmly. preventing the fall.
sukuna made a quiet sound. not concern. not worry. approval. because his deal had been simple. find him again. and you had. despite the exhaustion. despite the pain. despite everything working against you. you had followed the sound. you had reached him.
his fingers tightened slightly, and he pulled you upward by your jaw alone, your body far too exhausted to resist the movement. the ceremonial dagger was tossed aside without care, landing somewhere on the wooden platform with a dull sound.
then your cheek met warmth. not the cold floor. not the empty cedar beneath your knees. warmth. your face rested against his inner thigh, the fabric of his hakama beneath your cheek. the realization came slowly, through the haze of exhaustion.
you were cold. so incredibly cold. you had spent hours drenched in water, blood, and the night air of the shrine. your body had been running on nothing but stubbornness, and only now did you notice the warmth against your skin.
"keep quiet for me." his voice was quiet. close enough that only you could hear.
your mind barely processed the words. what?
before you could question it, the hand holding your jaw moved. not away. not pushing you aside. instead, it shifted to the back of your head, keeping you steady against his leg.
his other hand reached for your injured one. you felt too weak to even protest. too exhausted to question why.
his palm enclosed yours. the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply against your freezing fingers.
pain shot through your hand instantly. your body reacted before your mind could. a sharp breath escaped you, your head lifting slightly from the sudden agony. but his hand held you in place, keeping your head against his thigh.
and then... something changed.
a strange sensation began spreading through your palm. not cold. not heat. something different. something impossible to understand. the pain remained, but beneath it was another feeling, a strange energy moving through the injury, searching, repairing.
because sukuna was known for destruction. for violence. for leaving nothing behind. but he was also one of the few who possessed something far rarer. reverse cursed technique. the ability to turn cursed energy into something that restored instead of destroyed.
and now that same ability moved through your hand. healing beneath the soaked bandage. stitching together what had been torn apart.
you did not know what was happening. you only knew it hurt. so much. it burned.
your fingers trembled, your breathing became uneven, and your entire body felt like it was sinking deeper into exhaustion.
his other hand remained in your hair. then slowly moved lower. along the side of your head. his fingers found your pulse. a quiet reminder of how fragile you were at that moment.
you were about to lose consciousness. right there. between his legs. against the strongest sorcerer in japan. a place no one would ever expect to find themselves.
yet sukuna simply watched. a strange silence filling the space between you.
even he found himself wondering why. why he had made the deal. why he had followed through. why this particular stubborn, blind servant had managed to hold his attention longer than expected.
but the deal was made. and sukuna was a man of his word.
your thoughts became slower. the pain blurred. the warmth became heavier. the sound of his breathing mixed with the distant echoes of the shrine. and before you could form another thought, the darkness you knew so well swallowed everything around you.
before - next
noteย : well. here we go.
+ iโm currently working on two fanfics at the same time, so updates may be a little slow. i really want to pour my heart into this one, so thank you for being patient with me.
