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xoxomyah · 6 months ago

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𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝒸 𝒷𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂🌾

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starboygojo · 2 months ago

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IN HIS CASTLE, I WHITER.

sukuna x concubine reader

slow burn ; drabble ; angst with a bit of comfort ; concubine reader ; smut ; everything is consensual.

author note: idk this was a random thought but ugh i love the trope of concubine reader x sukuna 💔 leave a like or comment if you enjoyed reading ^^

You were not the first woman to be brought to Ryomen Sukuna’s palace, but you are the only one who lasted. Originally gifted to him as a peace offering from a broken clan, you were meant to be a disposable concubine. Something to toy with.

But you didn’t flinch. You met the King of Curses with steady eyes and silence. Intrigued, Sukuna kept you close. At first, for amusement. Then, for convenience. And finally because he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

He makes you his official consort, a title just shy of wife. The others in his harem fade into the background. You’re the only one he calls for. The only one who dares speak back. But even with all his power and obsession, he never says he loves you.

No, you were not his wife. Everyday you had to remind yourself that you were just a mere concubine. You were not his wife.

But he summoned you more than anyone else. He called you to his private chambers, where no one else was allowed.

Sometimes he took you rough and fast like it meant nothing. Other times, he touched you like you’d break under him, his lips brushing your throat with something that almost felt like restraint. But afterward, he always left.

No words. No warmth. No belonging. You were not his, and you hated how your body still craved him.

You begin to wilt.

The castle is beautiful but lifeless. Cold halls. Locked doors. Endless winter outside. You’re dressed in gold, given jewels, kissed when he wants to but never chosen with his heart.

Your mind begins to fracture in the quiet. You miss the sun. His pride will be the death of you.

You are one of the only living thing in his castle. No birds. No flowers. No warmth. Sukuna keeps you close like a pet, yet never lets you bloom.

Because no flower survives long in his garden. And he likes them best when they wilt.

You and Sukuna fall into a rhythm. Arguments that end in heavy silence, touches that linger longer than they should, nights he stays longer in your bed than intended.

One night, after a rare moment of softness, he almost tells you the truth. That you matter. That he doesn’t want to lose you. But his pride chokes him. Instead, he leaves you shivering in silk sheets with nothing but silence.

You fall ill wether it’s real or spiritual, no one can say. The castle drains you. And still, Sukuna won’t name what he feels.

His servants begin whispering that the King has cursed himself with pride. That the woman in white robes is dying of unspoken love. And then the castle begins to rot from the inside.

1. He calls you after battle, blood still on his hands. You expect his usual cruelty. Instead, he kneels between your thighs and worships you like he’s been starving. His voice is hoarse when he murmurs, “Only you taste like this.”

But when you ask what that means, he pulls away, cold again. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

2. Another concubine tries to seduce him. He brushes her off. But that night, Sukuna comes to you furious, possessive, desperate to remind you who he chooses. A man full of pride and mind full of knowledge melts against your knowing touch. Sukuna wouldn’t dare do something without the go ahead from you.

You look up with your eyes that gleam at him to continue. And continue he did.

“Do you think I’d touch anyone else like this?” he growls, dragging your hips to the edge of the bed. “This body is mine.”

3. You try to leave—quietly, without a goodbye. You’re halfway down the palace steps when he appears. “You don’t get to walk away.”

“Then say it,” you whisper. “Say you want me.”

He grabs your chin, forces your gaze up. His eyes burn.

“I need you. Isn’t that enough?”

You shake your head. He breaks.

And when he kisses you, it’s not a demand. It’s a confession his mouth is too proud to speak.

Sukuna begins to linger after. Not every time. But enough for you to hope.

He touches your hair while you sleep. He kills a man for looking at you too long. He builds you a private garden in the middle of a castle that’s never known life.

But still he won’t say the words. Won’t call you “mine” where others can hear. Won’t admit that your absence guts him.

And as your humanity wilts, Sukuna begins to feel the ache of what he’s losing but love might not be enough to undo the rot. Your heart aches for him, you slowly begin to question. Can the man who destroyed your spirit before learning your heart ever love you back?

4. Ryomen Sukuna is not fond of asking for forgiveness. No empathy should ever linger in his head. Although one particular argument between you two finally made something in him change. The silent treatment was killing him.

His hands tremble. You’ve never seen him like this. Not when he’s bleeding. Not when he’s furious.

“I love you,” he says again, voice cracked and low, as if he still can’t believe the words live in his throat. You reach for his face, your fingertips brushing the blood on his cheek.

“Then stay,” you whisper. “Stay with me. No more leaving.”

He swears under his breath, breath hitching as he leans in. The kiss he gives you is nothing like the ones before there’s no hunger, no cruelty. Just ache. His lips part over yours slowly, trembling with restraint, like if he takes you too fast, you’ll break.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Tell me if I hurt you. Please.”

Your heart stutters. Sukuna—the King of Curses—is asking. Begging for permission.

You nod, whispering, “Touch me.”

And gods, he does.

He undresses you carefully, reverently, pushing aside silk and lace as if he’s peeling back petals. His calloused fingers skim every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing it just in case.

“You’re so soft,” he breathes, his voice thick with need. “So fucking perfect. How did I not see it sooner?”

When his mouth moves down your neck, over your chest, you feel his breath stutter.

He lingers. He kisses your ribs. Your stomach. Then he spreads your thighs slowly, like he’s opening a gift he thinks he doesn’t deserve.

“You always taste like honey,” he murmurs, settling between your legs.

And then he lowers his head. His mouth on you is worship.

His tongue moves slowly, deliberately, his eyes locked on yours the whole time. One hand holds your thigh down while the other slides into your trembling fingers you’re holding hands as he eats you out like it’s his religion.

“Let me hear you,” he rasps. “Don’t hold back. Let me know I’m still making you feel good.”

You whimper. He groans.

He moans into you when you arch your hips, dragging his tongue deeper, flicking it in circles that drive you wild. He’s murmuring against your skin things like

“I should’ve done this every night…”

“No one else gets to hear you like this…”

“I’ll never let you go again…”

When your orgasm hits, it’s not sharpit’s devastating. Your body clenches, your chest arches, and you cry out his name, tears slipping down your cheeks as the wave crashes through you.

Sukuna kisses his way back up, tasting you on his lips, his breath heavy.

“I need to be inside you,” he growls, voice ragged. “Now. Please.”

He sinks into you slowly. Too slowly. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast. Your walls flutter around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck.

“You fit me too fucking well. Like you were made for me.”

And when he moves, it’s gentle, rhythmic, hips rolling into you in a way that feels like he’s trying to imprint his soul onto yours. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit again, and your second orgasm builds with the pressure of all those unspoken years.

You cry into his shoulder. He whispers into your mouth

“Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me.”

“I love you—I’ll say it a thousand fucking times. Just don’t go.”

You come with a sob, clinging to him like you’re anchoring him in this world. He follows seconds later, releasing inside you with a shudder, biting down on your shoulder as his body locks with yours.

Afterward, he doesn’t move. He just holds you, one hand stroking your hair while the other stays tangled in your fingers.

“Stay,” he whispers again. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

And this time… maybe, you do. For now you are his wife.