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fxtalitygod · 2 months ago

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Wasteland. I: Routine

Synopsis: Your life revolves around your betrothal to the Gojo clan's gifted child, Satoru Gojo. However, despite the circumstances of your marital status, you continue to contest the boundaries of your social role.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst (eventual fluff), mature, suggestive, arranged marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Slowburn

Warnings: Dark Themes/topics, misogynistic themes, toxic household, mentions of night terrors, betrothal since birth, swearing/language, implications of pregnancy, inappropriate lessons given to a child (nothing is explicitly said, but it is alluded to)

A/N: I'm sorry ya'll! With school and work, finding the time to sit down and write has become increasingly difficult; however, with the summer term, I have more flexibility to write. I'm still quite busy, but I really want to get this story out and make it available. I've had it in mind for a couple of years and have always wanted to flesh it out. If you're still here after all this time, thank you! Please enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

•JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• Prologue ↞ Chapter 1 ↠ Chapter 2

You are an ambitious girl, willing to do anything and everything to achieve your goals and wants. Ambition is what makes you and is a good reflection of your strength to persevere; however, your ambition also reflects your weaknesses. You are a stubborn girl and have a habit of lashing out due to pent-up emotions. You are flawed, much like any human, but it always seems your flaws are held under a microscope and make you uncomfortable. Why? Because you didn’t want to be flawed, or rather, you couldn’t afford it.

Satoru Gojo is the center of your life, not by choice; nevertheless, you have an obligation to marry the gifted child of the Gojo Clan and provide heirs, meaning there is no room for you to make errors. You were to be a promising and dutiful wife, and if not for yourself, then for your family.

Family means everything to you, and despite the constant criticism from your relatives and up-bringers, you wanted nothing more but to make them proud. You were doing this for the benefit, but maybe somewhere along the way, you could love the Gojo boy.

That is what you told yourself to get yourself through the day because the truth is you couldn’t stand the image of him. You understood that it was unbecoming, but when you reflected on how you met him, you couldn’t get over his lack of engagement, from how he looked to how he spoke, and from recent news, much hadn't changed. There was an evening you expressed this to your aunt, and despite her sympathy, she urged you to uphold a promise.

“Marry the Gojo boy for your future– for your safety.”

There was no shame in admitting that you mostly did this for her. However, there was some acknowledgment that a small part of you still wished to satisfy your family, playing a role in your participation in this arrangement, because you didn’t want to be the outcast. You didn’t want to be a disappointment. Maybe it was your ambition coming into play, but you swore not to die unaccomplished in your clan. You were meant to do great things and were willing to do anything to achieve that.

At the age of nine, you found the will and power to step outside the boundaries that had been set for you. You didn't know what you were doing initially, but soon, you found yourself sneaking to the training grounds to watch your brother's studies– it was the first small step in the right direction. You would engrave what you had seen into your mind and find privacy in your room to imitate his learnings.

Things were looking up, but your improvement seemed to halt until your aunt caught you in the act one evening. She had scared the life out of you when you turned around to her amused smile. You could still remember your embarrassment when she caught you ghosting your twin. There was the expectation that she would shut down your exertions; however, you were shocked when she made you an offer.

It wasn't until age ten that you started secretly training with your aunt. To say you were ecstatic was an understatement. Your aunt once mentioned that you were so full of joy that you had shaken so much she was afraid you were going to combust—she was grateful you didn't. The moment you started those lessons, the dormant potential had been released as you began to thrive in your newfound education. However, despite the enthusiasm towards your willingness to learn the ways of your cursed technique and energy, you had to stay cautious.

It was safe to say there was a lack of approval from your parents, as they had insisted it was not "befitting of a woman of your status," meaning that because you were marrying into the Gojo clan, you were to be nothing more than a trophy wife. You didn't understand the phrase when your aunt had initially muttered it under her breath, but you did understand that it meant that you would not pursue your endeavor to become a jujutsu sorcerer.

The job seemed desirable enough, as you had seen many of your relatives pursue this career, but as much as it was a mission for a good cause, you also enjoyed the thought of being able to prove your parents wrong. You wanted to please your family, but you also found this rebellious side of you to be exhilarating.

Even with this newfound rebellious nature, you still had to abide by the rules every now and then, despite your dismay. One way you accomplished this was by attending the “regular” classes your mother had designed. You had participated in these lessons from a young age, so they didn’t come as a surprise; however, as you matured, so did the classes, but they grew quicker in age than you did. These lessons were designed to prepare you for your life in marriage. Anything from parenthood to proper etiquette…even sexually pleasing your partner.

There was nothing wrong with learning these things, but given the circumstances, it probably wasn’t appropriate to start learning these 'lessons' at the ripe age of eight years old. You always had a discomfort with these discussions, as they always felt off to you; however, you endured them to maintain your image…for the most part.

Making your parents proud always seemed to be a struggle. Every aspect of your being was being closely inspected, and if any flaw was detected, all hell would rain down upon you. For a maturing child who still knew little about the world, to be in a constant critique was tiring and mentally damaging, especially from those you consider family. Every step forward became two steps backwards, and it felt like you could never win with them. What made it all more confusing and frustrating is that neither of your siblings was treated in such a way.

Your sister was adorned and your twin brother was greatly praised, and although you were glad they were treated in such a way, you couldn’t help but ask…why? Maybe they were holding you to a higher standard because they knew you had potential or maybe it was just because of the stress of preparing you for your future. At the time you preferred to believe it was due to your underlying potential, but as you grew older, you began realizing it was the latter.

You are now fourteen, and you have a better understanding of what is going on—maybe not to its full extent, but enough to understand what role in life you were “destined” to fulfill. Where there was still some form of content and innocence, there was now an underlying bitterness with your evolved mind; today proved that as your mother stood before you with a distasteful look.

"Why are you covered in dirt?!" she seethed.

You stared at her blankly, a face that she never voiced hating; however, seeing how her grimace deepened, she did not enjoy not being able to detect the expression on your face.

"I'm sorry, mother," you started, "I was in the garden with Aunt Mio and Ayumi."

Your statement was a lie, as you had been training with your aunt once more, your twin brother, who was the only other household member who knew of these meetups, assisting you in your training by ditching his own; however, unlike you, he would only receive a slap on the wrist.

“And what were you doing in the garden?” She continued to press.

She wanted you to hesitate, to have an opening to berate you, but this was a dance you danced many times, and you weren’t going to give her the opportunity.”

“I was helping Aunt Mio tend to the new flower bed, and Ayumi decided to join, and things got a little messy in the process.”

Your mother could only click her tongue. There was a little bit of discomfort in using your little cousin as a shield to protect yourself, but you knew it was something she couldn't argue with.

“Go get cleaned, I’m postponing lessons for today as we have important company coming over and I rather you look decent at the moment then having your nose buried in a book.”

With that, your mother dismissed you. You responded with a respectful bow before heading to your room to grab the essentials you would need to tidy yourself up. You made a mental note as you looked around your dwelling, grabbing things such as clothes, accessories, bathing supplies, and even...

Makeup.

It wasn't uncommon for a girl your age to start experimenting with cosmetics; however, the reasons for your usage could be considered unusual. You had paused after catching your reflection in the mirror, stepping closer as you examined your face. Before you knew it, your fingers moved to smudge the concealer under your right eye, the carefully applied makeup disappearing to reveal the circles beneath. Evidence of your sleepless nights, of the nightmares that plagued you.

You have been deliberately avoiding sleep, keeping yourself awake by staying busy with tasks such as reading books provided to you and reorganizing your entire wardrobe. You were trying to outrun those horrid dreams and whatever lay beneath them, trying to run from what waits for you in the darkness of your mind.

You stare at your reflection for a moment longer before hearing a knock at your door. You gathered yourself quickly, grabbing your things before opening the door to reveal your aunt standing there. You were in such a hurry that you hadn't noticed you forgot to reapply your concealer.

"Y/n..." her voice trailed as she reached out to touch under your right eye; however, you were quick to shield it.

"I'm sorry I-"

You didn't get to finish before she grabbed your face and moved your hand.

"Have you not been resting?" she asked.

You could only respond with silence, avoiding her gaze as you went back to shield your appearance. You could tell she wanted to say something, but she refrained, taking a step back to give you your space.

"Has your mother told you?"

The question hangs in the air, but based on how your mom hadn't mentioned anything earlier, you just shake your head. You knew something was happening, given your mother's insistence that your appearance was more important than your education for the time being.

"The Gojo clan representatives will be here," she says quietly, her words making your heart stutter. "I thought you should know before—" She pauses, choosing her following words carefully. "Before your mother springs it on you during the gathering."

A moment of silence as you process this new information. A feeling of unease begins to settle in your heart as you repeat the words in your head. It stayed silent for a few seconds before you spoke up.

"I'm heading to the washroom... walk with me?" The invitation comes out soft, almost pleading. Your aunt's gentle nod is all you need before you both begin the familiar path to the bathing room, your steps measured and quiet against the wooden floors.

Once you're far enough from prying ears, the words spill out like poison from a wound. "They always do this," you whisper, clutching your bathing items closer to your chest. "Spring these meetings on us—on me—as if I'm just some puppet they can position whenever they please." The bitterness in your voice surprises even you, but your aunt doesn't flinch from it.

"Sometimes I wonder if they remember I'm human at all, or if I'm just another piece in their game of political shogi." You pause at the bathing room entrance, turning to face her. The understanding in her eyes makes your throat tight. She's always been the only one who truly saw the situation for what it was, who understands the weight of the expectations crushing down on your shoulders.

"I need to know," you breathe out, barely audible. "Will he be there?"

Your aunt's expression softens further, a subtle change that makes your heart sink before she even speaks. "Yes," she confirms, her voice barely above a whisper. "Satoru will be attending. Your grandfather specifically requested his presence."

The confirmation settles in your stomach like lead. You've managed to avoid direct interaction with your betrothed for years now, and the thought of facing him—facing those piercing blue eyes that seem to always be judging you—makes your hands tremble slightly around your bathing supplies.

Your aunt notices—of course she does—and reaches out to steady them with her own. "Your mother will expect you to be ready within the hour," she says, her touch grounding you in the present moment. "And remember, dear one, you're stronger than they know."

You lean closer to your aunt, voice dropping even lower. "I can't stand him," you confess, the words rushing out like a dam breaking. "The way he looks at everything like it's beneath him, that insufferable attitude of his. Every time I see him, he barely acknowledges my existence, as if this arrangement is nothing but a minor inconvenience in his perfect life."

Your hands clench around your bathing supplies, knuckles turning white. "And yet everyone acts like I should be grateful, blessed even, to be betrothed to the great Satoru Gojo. Do they not see how he treats this whole situation?" The bitterness in your voice surprises even you, but you can't stop now. "I'm supposed to be his future wife, but he looks right through me like I'm made of glass. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers my name."

Your aunt's expression remains carefully neutral, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—understanding, perhaps, or concern. She glances down the hallway, ensuring you're still alone, before reaching a hand to cup your face and have you look at her. Her expression is soft as she looks into your eyes, making you feel guilty for your outburst.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, smoothing your expression into something more befitting your station. "I shouldn't burden you with these thoughts. I need to prepare before Mother finds another reason to be disappointed." Your voice softens as you add, "But... I'll see you and Ayumi later?"

Your aunt's eyes hold a mixture of pride and sadness as she watches you rebuild your walls. She moves to take your hand, briefly squeezing it—a gesture so quick it could be denied if anyone saw, yet containing all the support she can't voice aloud.

"We'll be in the garden," she responds quietly, understanding your need to maintain appearances. "The chrysanthemums still need tending."

You only look at her, giving her a rare, genuine smile before nodding and turning into the bathing area, sliding the door closed behind you. You set your things down with practiced care, approaching the tub and filling it with warm water. Steam rises from the water's surface, creating ghostly patterns in the air. You pause, staring into its depths, watching your reflection fragment and reform with each ripple. The water is clear, pristine—everything your family expects you to be.

Your fingers trail along the surface, disrupting your reflection.

In a few hours, you'll be facing not just your family's scrutiny, but his as well. The thought sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, despite the steam-filled air. Without any more thought, you slip into the water, letting it envelop you like a warm embrace. For just a moment, you allow yourself this luxury of stillness, of letting your carefully maintained thoughts drift like fallen leaves on the surface of a pond. The heat seeps into your muscles, carrying away some of the tension you've been holding.

You stared up at the ceiling blankly, drawing patterns in the plain structure with nothing but your imagination. These were the rare moments when you could fully let go and just simply exist. Sometimes, you'd imagine yourself in another world where things were different. Where you had no worries other than what you were going to eat for breakfast. But much like most dreams, they had to come to an end.

Through the steam, your mind wanders to this morning's training session with your aunt. The way your cursed energy had flowed so naturally, hidden from everyone who would deny you this path. What would your betrothed think if he knew? Would those piercing blue eyes finally see you as something more than an obligation?

A distant chime from the main house pulls you back to reality. Time, as always, refuses to bend to your wishes.

A bitter smile tugs at your lips as you sink deeper into the water. No, Satoru probably wouldn't care either way. The real issue, you suspect, is that he sees you as just another responsibility to shoulder, another duty thrust upon him by tradition and family expectations. Your presence in his life is likely nothing more than an inconvenience he's forced to tolerate.

The thought stings, but it also strengthens your resolve. If you're to be bound to him, you'll make yourself useful—not just as a wife, but as someone who can stand on their own merit. Perhaps then, the weight of this arrangement wouldn't feel so suffocating for either of you.

You trace your fingers through the water, watching the ripples distort your reflection. The cursed energy you've been cultivating in secret pulses gently beneath your skin, a reminder of your hidden strength. It's not just about proving yourself anymore; it's about survival, about carving out a space where you can exist as more than just someone's future wife.

The bathwater has begun to cool.

Rising from the tub, you methodically drain the water, each movement precise and practiced. The cool air raises goosebumps across your skin as you reach for a towel, patting yourself dry with careful awareness. Your reflection in the full-length mirror catches your attention, and you pause, studying the figure before you.

For a fourteen-year-old, your frame shows some development. The training has begun to leave its mark: a subtle definition in your muscles that you carefully keep hidden beneath loose-fitting clothes. However, your mother still notices from time to time, commenting as if your overall appearance is yet another rebellion against propriety. You turn slightly, watching how the light plays across your form, distorting and elongating your silhouette against the steamy glass.

Your body tells two stories: one of the proper young lady your family demands, and another of the jujutsu sorcerer you secretly train to become. Both truths written in the same flesh, neither fully accepted.

A draft from the window reminds you that time isn't your ally today.

You settle before the mirror with practiced grace, reaching for your extensive collection of makeup—far too mature for a fourteen-year-old, but necessity has never cared about age. Your movements are precise as you begin the transformation, each stroke of concealer and powder another brick in the wall between your true self and the world.

Through the thin walls, you catch fragments of hurried footsteps and urgent whispers. The house is coming alive with preparation, like a hive disturbed. You recognize your mother's clipped tones directing servants, the subtle rustle of formal clothing being arranged, the distant sound of the front gate creaking open to admit early arrivals.

Your hand remains steady as you apply the deep red to your lips—another mask, another armor. Outside, someone mentions "Gojo-sama" in hushed, reverent tones, and your fingers tighten imperceptibly around the makeup brush.

The gentle tap of ceremonial sandals approaches from outside the door, then passes by. The sound makes you wonder if it was your future husband himself, walking with his head held high in that manner that managed to irk you. It's no matter; you need to continue getting ready. So, with measured precision, you continue your preparations, refusing to let the mounting urgency beyond the room dictate your pace. Each movement is a small rebellion—a claim to these final moments of control before facing what awaits. You slide into your formal attire before leaving the room.

You slip into the hallway like a shadow, your movements fluid and practiced from years of secret training. The formal kimono should restrict such agile movement, but you've learned to adapt, to make even traditional garments work with your hidden talents. Your footsteps are silent against the wooden floors as you navigate the familiar pathways of your home, avoiding the busy areas where servants rush to and fro with last-minute preparations.

Your cursed energy helps you sense the positions of others, allowing you to duck behind a corner just as two maids hurry past, their arms full of whatever items they were requested to bring. You catch fragments of their whispered conversation—something about the young Gojo heir's arrival—but you're already moving on, seeking a different presence entirely.

You find him exactly where you expected: in the small alcove near the east garden, his own formal attire slightly askew as if he's been fidgeting with it. Your twin brother's presence has always been like a beacon to you, a mirror of your own carefully hidden strength.

"The moon's uprise."

He turns to you with a look of surprise, before smiling warmly and responding.

"The sun's downfall."

A silly little code you both came up with when you were kids that you continue to use to this day.

"They're really doing this, aren't they?" he whispers, not needing to elaborate on who or what he means.

"Do what? Continue to sell me off like some prized pony?" Your tone is heavy with sarcasm, but in a light-hearted manner. A way of speaking that you've always had with your twin, "I think so. Honestly, I don't know why you're worried. I should be the one practically biting my nails."

He meets your gaze, and something unspoken passes between you. The weight of your shared secrets, the understanding that goes deeper than words. His fingers absently adjust his collar again, a gesture so unlike his usual calculated movements that it makes you worry for him.

"You know why," he murmurs, glancing toward the main house where voices continue to gather. "If they discover what we've been—" He stops abruptly, both of you tensing as footsteps approach and pass by your hiding spot. When the coast is clear, he reaches out to straighten a stray strand of your hair, the gesture achingly familiar.

"You know they'd barely blink at you if they found out," you whisper, a hint of bitterness seeping into your tone despite your best efforts. "A slap on the wrist, maybe some stern words about 'proper training channels.' But me?" You smooth an invisible wrinkle from your attire, the gesture betraying your tension. "I'd be facing god knows what."

Your brother's expression darkens at your words, recognizing the truth in them. The disparity in how you're treated has always been a source of silent rage for him.

"But they won't find out," you continue, your voice hardening with quiet determination. "I've been careful—we've been careful. All these years of secrecy, and not once have I slipped. Not even when—" You pause as another group of servants hurries past your hiding spot, their footsteps heavy with purpose.

When silence returns, you meet his gaze with steely resolve. "I won't let them take this from me. Not today, not ever."

There's a tension as those words leave your mouth. It wasn't that the silence was necessarily a bad thing, but it was definitely uncomfortable, especially when it came to your brother. Without much thought, you lay a hand on his shoulder, causing him to face you.

"But if I get too carried away, maybe just use some chloroform and drag me to my room," you joke, the dark humor a familiar shield between you. The slight quirk of his lips tells you he appreciates the attempt at levity, even as concern still shadows his eyes. "I'll be alright, don't get anxious for me, okay?"

You stand smoothly, extending your hand to him—a gesture that speaks of all the times you've pulled each other up, all the moments you've been each other's strength. He takes it, his grip firm and reassuring.

Through the walls, you hear the distinct sound of formal greetings being exchanged. The Gojo clan has arrived. Your brother's hand tightens briefly around yours before letting go, both of you automatically adjusting your postures to match the expectations that await.

"Try not to actually knock him out," he murmurs, a final attempt at humor before you must face what's coming. "The paperwork would be terrible."

"I wouldn't dare touch my future husband," you drawl, affecting the perfect imitation of your mother's prim tones. "It wouldn't be very lady-like now, would it?" The mockery draws a subtle smirk from your brother, his eyes dancing with shared mischief.

The moment hangs between you, precious in its brevity, before reality intrudes with the sound of formal introductions echoing from the main hall. Your expressions shift in unison, masks sliding into place with practiced ease. Without another word, you both move in opposite directions—he toward the front entrance where he'll be expected to greet the guests properly, you taking the longer route that will make it seem as though you've just finished your preparations.

As you part ways, you catch his final glance—a look that carries years of shared secrets, silent support, and unwavering loyalty. Then he turns the corner, and you're alone with your thoughts and the weight of what's to come.

The distant murmur of distinguished voices grows louder. You move through the hallways with measured grace, each step a deliberate display of the poise that has been instilled in you since childhood. The silk of your apparel whispers against the wooden floors, a sound almost lost beneath the growing chorus of formal greetings ahead. Your cursed energy thrums beneath your skin, but you keep it tightly contained, a sheltered pulse beneath layers of perfect composure.

As you approach the main hall, fragments of conversation become clearer. Your mother's voice, pitched to perfection. Your father's deeper tones are formal and commanding. And then—a voice you haven't heard in years, although deepening in tone, it still carries a casual and almost lazy confidence.

Satoru Gojo.

Your steps don't falter, but something in your chest tightens. The sliding door looms before you, ornate and imposing. Beyond it lies everything you've been preparing for, everything you've been dreading. You draw yourself up to your full height, arrange your features into the mask of the perfect bride-to-be, and reach for the door.

Your fingers brush against the wood, and for just a moment, you allow yourself one final thought...

'Don't screw this up.'

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo saturo #jjk gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader

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fxtalitygod · 6 months ago

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HAPPY 3 YEAR ANNIVERSARY!!!!!!

I. ~𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥~

Pairing: Trueform!Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were determined to survive, longer than anyone, even if you were set to marry him.

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Not edited/revised, Dark themes, mentions of r*pe, dubcon/noncon, crying during sex, Slight voyeurism if you squint, mention of suicidal thoughts, Y/n being sacrificed, Pet names (Y/n called Little Flower 2x) mentions of murder, language/swearing

(There is no actual smut in this fic, but there is a vague sex scene)

Word count: 2.5k

Notes: I literally wrote this during a tornado warning٩(˘◡˘)۶. ALSO, I'm still debating on making this a series or not, my original intention was for it to be a one-shot, but I think it has the potential of being a short series. Lemme know your thoughts. (•◡•) /

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules•

• Pt. I • Pt. II •

Ryomen Sukuna is a man feared by all. Rumors that talked of the four-armed, two-faced man were far from false. The smoke that could be seen in the neighboring village and the few survivors that managed to escape were proof of that. No matter how you worded the question, the survivors came up with the same answer, saying that it was none other than the infamous Ryomen Sukuna that resulted in the demise of their village.

So, when the man of the hour came to your village, demanding some sort of tribute, you could have never predicted the fear and panic that went around. Families praying for the protection of their children, criminals seeking forgiveness for their sins, children painting the face of the four-armed monster in their nightmares.

It did not take long for the elders to start looking for solutions to the current situation. They had cooped themselves in the courtroom for several days before emerging. They had all the locals gather at the center, announcing that the village would pay tribute by having one daughter that was of age, from every household, be presented to Ryomen Sukuna, monthly.

That is how you ended up here; today is your wedding day.

Marriage, it is a union between two individuals, usually lovers, but you could not consider Ryomen Sukuna as a lover or individual nor could you view this occasion as a marriage – it was a sacrifice.

You blankly stared out the window in front of you as your mother, sisters, and fellow maidens assisted you in putting on your ceremonial robes. Your silence and blank stare thickened the tension in the room.

“You must be very excited Y/n,” a maiden, no older than sixteen, who you recognized as your neighbor, claimed, trying to lighten the mood.

Your jaw noticeably clenched as she uttered those words, bringing the girl to lower her head, feeling guilty.

Although the girl has no desire to marry the man either, she had heard rumors that some of the girls who had been given to him lived luxurious lives in the temple, some rumors even saying they were happy with children. She assumed that even though the scenario wasn't ideal, it was better than having to live in fear of Sukuna killing them.

However, you would prefer death over marrying and consummating with that man. The thought of being married and being bedded to a murderer, rapist, cannibal, and overall monster, was far worse than death in your opinion.

There had been many times you thought of killing yourself before the day of your marriage, but you could not get the image of your family's horrified faces, to find their dearest Y/n dead, out of your head.

"Would you be excited to marry him?"

The girl stared at you in shock as you asked that question, trying to find her words.

"W-w-well I..."

"It's a yes or no question, it should not take that much thought," you simply uttered, looking forward as the girl fumbled with your kimono, "So is it a yes or no?"

"N-no, I have no desire to marry him," she stuttered, avoiding eye contact.

"Then why would you ask me if I'm looking forward to marrying him?"

The girl was at a loss for words, but with a big swallow, she tried to voice her thoughts.

"I've heard many rumors of the women that are currently married to him are living with luxury and that some are living happily with children."

You could only sigh as you heard her reasoning. What she said could have been true, but that didn't mean that living with Sukuna would be all sunshine and blue skies.

Before you could respond your mother jumped in, shutting down the conversation before you could say something that would hurt the girl's feelings unintentionally.

"Alright, that's enough for now, if someone could hand me the kanzashi we will be finished," she said sternly.

One of your sister's hands your mother the kanzashi, your mother gently placing it in after receiving it.

"Alright, time to clear out girls, let us give Y/n some space before her ceremony," your mother said as she touched up your hair.

As everyone started to leave through the sliding door, your mother paused and turned around.

She felt pity for her daughter, but she would never show that, knowing it would only provoke you.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, slightly turning back to look at your mother.

“I know that it is inconvenient Y/n,” your mother said, dismay laced in her voice

“Inconvenient is putting it lightly, don’t you think,” you finally responded, turning you're head to look out the window again.

Your mother sighed as she approached your figure, turning you around to get a better look at your face.

You hung your head low, too embarrassed to look into her eyes.

Placing her hand under your chin, your mother lifted your head to get a better look at your features.

"You have lovely eyes Y/n,” she stated softly, looking into your (e/c) eyes, moving her hands up to hold your face, swiping a piece of hair behind your ear, “Use that to your advantage and survive,” she said before reaching out to embrace you.

"I promise I will survive– longer than anyone."

You immediately returned her embrace, allowing a few stray tears to fall as you held your mother for what you knew would be the last time.

She pets your hair gently as to not ruin the work put into your hairstyle, softly humming a soft lullaby she would sing to you as a kid, hoping that it would bring you comfort.

The embrace was short-lived as your father and brothers, younger and older, made themselves present.

"It's time to go Y/n," your father said gravely, approaching you and giving you a small embrace before escorting you out of the room.

It was silent.

As you walked down the path, you could see the look of pity on almost everyone's faces. You swore that you could see some tears being shed, but for all the wrong reasons.

In all honestly, the pity was pissing you off because you knew after today a lot of the people present would forget that you ever existed. Once you went behind the doors of Sukuna's temple, you would be forgotten and most likely never seen again.

There had been few girls in the past that had left the temple, but they were always accompanied by someone, most likely to keep them quiet of what life was like inside the temple.

As you walked down towards your husband-to-be, you could only wonder how drastically your life would change, the thought building up fear in your bosom.

So, ultimately, it disgusted you when you eventually heard a bunch of girls giggling and gossiping about how you were lucky to be marrying such a 'handsome' man, probably believing the rumors going around about the luxurious and happy life of being one of Sukuna's wives.

The thought of any girl being excited for the kind of life you were about to endure, made you fearful.

Your thoughts came to halt when you noticed you were standing in front of the man of the hour, Ryomen Sukuna.

You had only seen him once from a distance so you didn't have all that much of an accurate image of him, so you were always led to go off the rumors and so far they were far from false.

He was tall in stature, had four arms and two faces, and had black markings that would make the occasional appearance on his body.

There were even rumors of him having a mouth on his abdomen, but because of the occasion, his kimono was covering his upper body so you couldn't tell.

You were pulled from your evaluation when he took your chin between his index finger and thumb, looking directly into your eyes.

In order not to see right through you, you made sure to calm your rapidly beating heart and you made sure to keep a lifeless expression on your face; a mask to hide your lingering fear.

“Did you bring me a corpse?” Sukuna started, referring to the lifeless expression you masked yourself with, “It’s as if you're unsatisfied to see me, Little Flower.”

You shook her head, not wanting to offend him, fearing he might kill you on the spot.

“Do you not know how to use your words then?” Sukuna asked, effectively pushing your buttons.

Once again, you shook your head.

“Then speak.”

“Yes, my lor-” you tried voicing, but he interrupted you by using his fingers to squish your rosy cheeks together.

“No need for the formalities, Little Flower,” Sukuna said, the teasing smirk still present on his face, “We’ll be married in a few seconds after all.”

Married.

Could it even be considered marriage, he already had many wives? You felt as if you were more of a concubine, another thought that disgusted you because that was the last thing you would ever want to refer to yourself as, but it was true. You were nothing more than a sheath for his cock, nothing more than a child bearer.

You hated how vulnerable you were in this moment, but before you could dwell on it, the elders began to approach.

“This is Y/n L/n, from the L/n’s clan of course. She is a very beautiful woman, beloved by all of her family and neighbors, especially the children, they almost view her as a mother figure,” the elders paused for a second to see Sukuna’s reaction. When they saw the man give you, his bride, a once-over they decided to continue with their little speech, “ The L/n clan have a fine cursed technique that continues to run through their bloodline, Y/n herself possesses the technique, however, she isn’t all that skilled in using it, but the sons she will bear for you can be trained to master it.”

The sons she will bear for you

How revolting, they were talking about you as if you were a bitch being sold for breeding. It would not be surprising if they did a full-body inspection not long after this.

As they began wrapping up on informing Sukuna on the benefits of receiving you as a wife, one of the elders began walking towards you.

“Do you Y/n L/n, promise to provide Ryomen Sukuna with healthy and strong sons?” the elder asked, a revolting smile painted on his face.

Regardless of your disgust towards the man, you managed to utter a yes, concluding the festival.

You watched as the crowd turned, retreating to their homes, realizing you would have to do the same, but it would not be the home you had grown up in, it would be the home that your current husband resided in. It was a place you would reside in for the rest of your life, most likely never being allowed to leave, like a prison.

Before turning towards your newfound husband, you caught a glimpse of your family. They had stayed further behind trying to get one last good look at you because they would most likely never see you again.

You wanted to run up and give them one final embrace, but a heavy hand that was set upon your shoulder stopped you from doing so.

“Shall we go home and fulfill the last of our marital duties,” Sukuna whispered in your ear.

His voice made you shiver, but not out of anticipation as one may think, but rather disgust. This part of marriage would be the part you hated the most, consummation.

Consummation was the last step of sealing your marriage.

When you arrived at the temple, it did not take long for Sukuna to begin leading you to his quarters. You followed him, trying to stay as far as you possibly could, but every time you tried he would slow down and hover his hand behind your back to keep you from running.

You could feel eyes on your form, most likely all his other wives trying to get a glance at the new edition. Their stares left you embarrassed and disgusted. They all knew what was going to happen, they all knew how uncomfortable you were. While some tried preserving your dignity by looking away and leaving, others were dripping with arousal, the smell was evident.

You tried ignoring it, focusing on the interior of the temple, but your nerves were still getting the best of you.

You eventually were led into a room, that's door was held open by a man no older than you were, which you assumed were Sukuna's chambers, your assumption turning out to be correct.

You stood in the middle of the room, fiddling with the sleeves of your kimono. You were trying to find anything to distract you from the stare Sukuna was giving you right now.

You felt as if you were prey being hunted as he began to circle you, looking up and down your figure.

"Have you ever been touched by a man?" he asked suddenly.

"No," you quickly responded, your voice cracking slightly.

"Why not?"

You had no idea why he wanted to know the reason for you never having sex, but you had to answer him.

"I was waiting for marriage," you simply said.

Sukuna grunted in response before he stopped circling you to stand behind you. His hands would occasionally brush over the small of your back, your waist, and your shoulders.

It stayed like that for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Take off your clothes," he said sternly, gesturing one of his hands toward the bed.

As you started to walk toward the front of the bed, you became reluctant in taking off your clothing, fiddling with your bow, not making any effort to take it off.

You started to hear the door close, the man that was there probably beginning to leave, but then there was a sudden slam.

"Who gave you permission to leave," Sukuna said, a hint of venom laced in his voice, "Stay and watch, you may learn a thing or two."

Sukuna's words horrified you.

A tear began to run down your cheek as you heard Sukuna's heavy footsteps approach you. At this point, he was hovering over your shoulder.

"I won't ask again. Take. Off. Your. Clothes," he impatiently whispered.

You stood there feeling as if you were paralyzed, blankly staring at the sheets, mouth slightly agape.

Growing even more impatient Sukuna took the back of your kimono, ripping it in half while slowly bending you down to the bed, face first.

Soon enough you heard his own clothes shuffle to the ground, leaving you mortified.

He unexpectedly entered you in one go, making you gasp in pain. You continuously gasped and screamed as the pain continued to worsen as he roughly continued.

You remembered your mother's words and repeated them in your head, trying to bring solace to your mind.

𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒

You cried the entire time. Even after he finished you laid there, silently sobbing before passing out.

The next morning you woke up, your face was lifeless, you felt lifeless. You could hardly process the previous night's events. The memory left you with an urge to find a weapon and end your suffering, but before you could go looking for one, you remembered the promise you made to your mother.

Holding your fist to your chest you muttered those words.

"I promise that I'll survive, longer than anyone."

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