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phyx-m · 7 months ago

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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 24: The Devil At Your Back

Content warning: Angst, vivid dream, wounds, blood, slightly suggestive.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

House Of Self-Undoing - Chelsea Wolfe Bad Weather - Stomper (feat. Lucy Tops)

Chapter 23 | Chapter 25

You’re nine years old, and the cat’s fur beneath your hand is soft. It purrs affectionately as your tiny fingers trail its velvety coat, feeling the rounded bumps that make up its spine. You laugh softly, smiling, as it comes to—

A hand shoves into your hair and yanks you back. Your shuffling feet try to run, try to pull away, but your scalp is screaming. A cry pours out while your father’s face appears. The skin sagging at his neck wobbles with each angry exhale.

Hands that should protect take away so much.

“You stupid, useless girl! I should have had sons to carry this clan’s weight. Instead, I’m cursed with two fucking daughters!”

Crack!

The strike hits your cheek with a stinging burn, forcing your watering eyes shut. When they blink open, you suck in a breath. Your sister stands before you in the corridor, in the shrine.

“Sister, it’s time to go.” She extends a hand.

You reach for it but stop and look down.

A bone-white kimono with dark blue edges hangs around you. Matching him. The thing you’ll be bound to.

“No. I can’t. I can’t do this.”

You step back.

She smiles softly, taking your hand, skin to skin.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You must stay. You have to do this.”

No!

Somewhere, a baby’s cries reach your ears. You snap your head to the sound. It wails as if it were in pain. It wails as if it were frightened.

Make it stop.

It doesn’t stop.

You shut your eyes and—

Blink.

Opening them, your sister is gone.

Down the darkened corridor, you start to walk, your body heavy, disoriented, not your own.

Reaching the end of the passage, there’s a door. You slide it open, a little ajar and slip in sideways.

Inside the room, is a futon, and there in the center of it lies your mother, split open, guts spilling from her swollen belly, eyes flickering, breath fast and shallow. She looks at you, mouth trembling, eyes wide, shock all over her face. A cry takes you over as she melts in a rupture of crimson meat and bone.

Nothing more than a pile. Nothing more than rot.

Somewhere, that baby still cries, and no one comforts it.

Blink.

There’s a glow on the horizon, and something’s burn—

Screaming. Homes on fire. People running in all directions. Bodies, so many bodies, some partially eaten, and others not. The scent of blood, searing fat and skin clogs your throat.

Blink.

From behind, four hands slide across your stomach, a black band encircling the wrists. One climbs to your breasts, another to your cunt, the next slowly comes to wrap around your throat, while the last presses flush to your abdomen.

“Let me see you.” A deep rumbling voice at your back, warm breath on your neck, before a hot tongue licks a path to your ear. “Let me see you, my winter flower.”

A nudge along the side of your throat before teeth sink in, breaking skin and muscle. Blood rolls down your neck to shoulder, soaking your yukata red. It doesn’t hurt. If anything, there’s only pleasure.

Leaning back into touch, into warmth and solidity, you moan, something denied for so long.

“Sukuna.” Your breathless voice reaches him, and fingers squeeze harder, gently choking you.

At your back, the King of Curses groans, shoving his face deeper into the wound he’s made, licking, sucking, trying to swallow skin and—

The air suddenly splits, breaks, and falls apart on a sensation that sends the whole world vibrating.

Blink.

Walking with dirt on your feet, cool grass between your toes, you turn, pace, turn again.

“I killed her…”

You turn, pace, turn again.

“I killed her…”

Turn, pace, turn again, lift your head.

Death is here.

It’s going to kill me.

A flame opens and slithers across your eyes. Muscles tense, muscles straining.

Red everywhere.

That’s all there is.

Red, red, red—

“Oi, brat! Time to wake up!”

CRACK!

“Mother!” you scream, pushing your body up, hearing the sound echo off the stone walls of the dark overhang.

Panting, your breaths arrive in short, small gasps, chest heaving, the world around you a blur.

Breathe.

You do.

Breathe again.

You do, and then blink.

It’s strange, but you must still be lingering between sleep and waking because four glowing eyes hover close, staring into your tear-streaked face.

But you’re not. You’re awake.

Sukuna crouches beside your mat, his upper right hand planted on the ground next to your hip, massive body leaning in, almost framing you, close enough for his warmth to seep in. The firelight from the dying coals silhouettes him, casting a small glow across the dim shelter.

It’s late, you realize—still the middle of the night.

“What’s going on?” you rasp, finally coming to.

You hate waking like this. Screaming. But at least being awake means no dreams. Awake means no nightmares. Just… looking into the King of Curses’ face.

“My Lord,” you whisper, staring at him, eyes squinting slightly. “What are you doing?”

How long has he been next to you? And why does this feel familiar?

Sukuna pulls back a bit, staring down at you. Even crouching, he looms so tall that you must tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“You were crying out in your sleep,” he grumbles flatly, clicking his tongue. “You know how I feel about that. It disturbed my rest.”

A sudden weight presses around your neck. His energy. It drags over it like a phantom hand—like in your dream, and it leaves a surprising amount of goosebumps in its wake, making you shudder softly, though not entirely out of disgust.

Far from it.

Sukuna’s scarlet orbs drift down, lingering on your throat and chest, then lower.

“Also, this fell.”

Swallowing a thick knot, your eyes drop to his second pair of hands, where he lifts your crumpled blanket from the ground and tosses it carelessly into your lap. Then he stands, rounds the fire and returns to his mat, settling himself with a glance at the dying flames. Quietly, he lies down, propping his upper arms behind his head, eyes drifting to the stone ceiling. After a moment, he turns onto his side, offering you his back.

You can’t help but watch him as the nightmare stays fresh in your mind—the look on your mother’s anguished face.

Leaning into a slouch, you wipe the dampness from your eyes, your nose stinging as fresh tears threaten to escape.

Was that what she looked like before you took her life? The dread that was there, the betrayal, the fear on her face.

Your heart begins to pound.

Why can’t you remember how that night unfolded? Not that you want to, but still. It’s all a blank space, forgotten and stripped away. Perhaps for good reason.

Because in that dream, she looked terrified.

A tremor runs through your hands. Throat thick, palms slick. The beating muscle in your chest pulses faster and faster.

Instinctively, you dig your index fingernail into the cuticle of your thumb, hoping the pain will ground you, but it’s useless.

Thankfully, there are still a few sticks near the fire. Needing a distraction, you lean forward, pick one up and push it into the coals. Sparks flutter up, the tip glowing a faint red.

Better.

With your mind beginning to settle, you grab a bit of moss, pressing and rolling it between your fingers. It’s still damp, giving off an earthy smell. Fingertips pushing in more, you explore the texture—soft but slightly coarse, cold against your skin—until, all at once, it fades.

You stop and look down.

The tuft blackens in your hands—lush green fading to a putrid brown, then a brittle gray. Tiny tendrils shrivel up, curling and recoiling from your touch.

“What the… hell…” you breathe.

Hands flying apart, you quickly drop it to the ground, watching it disintegrate into dust on the stone floor.

Lifeless.

Panting softly, there’s a scent that creeps into your nose. One, you know well.

Rot.

Your eyes move to your fingers, and your heart trips over a beat.

The tips up to the knuckles are a bruising colour, with thin, web-like veins spreading from the cuticles, branching unevenly. It looks as if a creeping blight infects your skin.

You rub your fingers together, scraping a nail along the surface. The sensation is still there, reassuring you that you aren’t decaying, that the flesh isn’t dead. Another rake, and gradually, the discoloration fades, your skin returning to normal.

You’ve never done anything like that before. Killing animals… people, yes, but plants? And it happened so quickly, with no sense of restraint.

The rocky walls of the overhang suddenly feel choking.

You rise quietly, moving smoothly despite the wobbly feeling in your legs, and walk past Sukuna. Judging by his stillness, he must have fallen asleep.

At the mouth of the hollow stone, you stop, needing air to steady yourself, feeling too out of control in your own body.

Tipping your head back, the clouds from the downpour are gone, leaving only the sky and its inky black curve and stars. You admire it for a moment, but the expanse and the moon sitting lonely overhead stir a familiar ache.

At this moment, you crave your mother’s presence, her comfort.

Dropping your gaze, you spot Ayana’s white-dappled coat in the dark. She rests beside Sukuna’s horse, whose massive form nearly engulfs hers. The two creatures stand so close that their nearness brings a small sense of ease.

Keeping your hands in tight fists, careful not to touch, you step toward her and rest your forehead against the soft surface of her neck. Her ears flick, and she lowers her head, sensing your tension, and gives a gentle nudge.

A trace of a smile tries to form on your lips, but it doesn’t quite settle.

Warmth suddenly flares at the bend of your neck—whether intentional or not, malicious or not—your eyes drift shut. You know Sukuna is not asleep but quietly watching you from behind.

You stay like this for a while until you sense him withdraw, and eventually, you do the same.

Turning, you move back to the shelter, catching his lower eyes as you pass but saying nothing. When you reach your mat, you glance down at the remnants of the moss once more.

You’ll have to worry about it later; there are other priorities above your own.

Sister, protector, tool.

Lying down, you pull the blanket over your body as the space falls into stillness. Only the soft hiss of the crumbling embers remain, lulling you back into drowsiness.

Your eyes shut.

A flicker of your mother’s dying face presses against your eyelids.

You snap them open.

“Lord Sukuna?” you suddenly murmur.

Silence follows, but then you hear him shift.

“What?” he grunts, sounding annoyed.

You pause, rolling to your side to take in his profile, the right side of his face, his mask. You still can’t quite place what it is.

“I never did thank you for the mare,” you say quietly, watching him focus on the stone ceiling.

The fire hisses again as it cools.

“Thank you…” you continue, the words sincere yet hesitant. “She’s perfect… and I’ll treasure her forever.”

The embers release one last dying breath.

His lower right eye slowly falls over at you. The upper one joins it a heartbeat later.

Even in the black, with only a pocket of waning glow, you catch the corner of his mouth twitching into the softest smirk you’ve ever seen on him.

Your foolish heart aches at the sight, and you mentally kick that feeling into some dark corner.

“Get some rest, brat,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side again. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Pulling the blanket up, it takes a long time before you realize the corners of your mouth are curving into a smile. Smothering it, you roll onto your side, mirroring his back, and drift into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky when you and the King of Curses finally ride into the Kasai compound. Yesterday's weather delayed your journey, and when you arrive, the place is already bright with activity.

People—family members, guests, attendants, other clans. There’s so much noise, so much chatter. Laughter, singing, jeering. If you listen closely, you can even catch the occasional shameless moan of a man enjoying himself a bit too openly with his concubine.

It’s going to be a long night.

Your eyes wander ahead, trying to decipher what Sukuna might be thinking. When you woke this morning, he was already up—less agitated but still contemplative. His energy seemed more subdued, enough that even Ayana allowed him to water and feed her.

Something has shifted on your journey, though you can’t quite name it. Perhaps it was the time away from the shrine or the moments spent alone.

But the sense of something being broken between you two remains.

There’s also a nagging voice inside insisting that something is wrong despite the countless reasons that could explain it.

As you approach the stables, you watch him closely. He surveys the surroundings—the gaudy estate, the limestone barrier, the tops of the yew trees forming the grove along the perimeter—studying everything in great detail before finally turning his attention to the stables.

Inside, retainers and attendants mill about, drinking and chatting as they tend to a slew of horses—likely their way of passing the time while whoever they’re here with spends the day getting properly shitfaced.

But as you enter—more precisely, as he enters—everything comes to a standstill.

You expected Sukuna to draw attention—his reputation, appearance, energy. Today is no exception. As you ride further inside, every weary eye falls on the four-armed creature. Then those eyes shift to you. And any hope of going unnoticed while here, gone.

Your jaw tightens, muscles coiling.

When Sukuna dismounts, the stables fall into a cage of silence, broken only by the restless movements of the tethered horses. They sway and knock their hooves in agitation as conversations die to murmurs. It almost feels like that night seven years ago when deranged whispers spoke of a demon’s arrival in the north.

Now, that same demon is here again, but this time, he’s among them.

Sukuna’s red orbs sweep the stables, making most avert their eyes, a few bow their heads, and some turn away completely.

“Fucking fools.” A deep cackle erupts from his chest, and from atop Ayana, you spot a grin sneaking across his face—pleased with their fear and likely pleased with himself.

Hell, this is going to be a long night.

With one last twisted flash of his teeth and a glare that skewers the onlookers, he turns, pushes back the strands of his wind-tousled hair and locks eyes with you.

One side of his mouth curves up smoothly. This man is a terror, but damn it, you were so blind before, only seeing the cruelty in his face. Terrifying, even.

Now, you couldn’t deny it—you see what else he is—breathtaki—

Gods, fucking take me.

Large hands slide around your waist, fingers crowding into the curve of your spine as he lifts you from the saddle.

“Oy! I can dismount on my own!” you snap, feet thudding into the hay-covered floor.

Disregarding your protests, Sukuna draws you in until his mouth brushes your ear, a stream of warm breath tickling your skin. Inwardly, you curse yourself because, for a moment, your eyes flutter at the contact.

“Remember, we made a deal,” he murmurs, voice low, just for you. “We’re here now, and I want that name.”

Your heart pounds.

Impatient.

You’d barely touched solid ground, and he’s pressing for it already? What will he do once you give it up—or if he drags it from you? Though you might know the answer to this, and it’s bloody.

You turn, finding his face close to yours. Instinct makes you lean back, but he cocks his eyebrow and hauls you closer, unfolding to his height and gripping your wrist.

“Don’t make this harder for yourself,” he growls through his teeth, digging his fingertips into your skin until it hurts. “You may think you see me, but you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Lord Sukuna, in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve lived in these parts the entire time you’ve been destroying them,” you hiss quietly while flexing the hand he grips. “So I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

Or most of it.

You’re not sure you want to know the rest.

The pressure on your wrist increases while his jaw tightens as if he were gnashing your words around with his teeth.

“Yes. And isn’t fate just a cruel bitch that you were?”

Your nose wrinkles at his words.

“Lord Sukuna!”

Multiple footsteps thud inside the stables, and a loud, boisterous voice draws your and the King of Curses’ attention.

“Welcome!”

One of your father’s attendants steps forward and bows, lifting her head. Despite her magnanimous welcome, there’s a nervousness in her eyes.

“Please, this way.” She gestures toward the stony path leading away from the stables. “And my Lady, your father will expect to see you before you settle in.”

Great.

“All right. Thank you,” you reply.

She steps outside, leaving two other attendants to handle your trunks and tether the horses. Sukuna glances once more at the two mounts as if assessing them before stepping onto the path.

Following the attendant, she leads you through a screen of hedges. The route winding discreetly along the estate’s perimeter, skirting the front gardens and leading into the compound. No doubt she’s been instructed to bring you inside through quieter means, a poor attempt to keep the King of Curses out of sight as much as possible.

Once inside, the attendant brings you to a secluded room. Bowing once more, she slides the door open. You follow Sukuna inside, kneeling on the floor as the door closes behind you, sealing in the quiet, leaving you both to wait.

Seconds stretch into minutes. Minutes feel like an eternity. Your mind starts pacing like a chained dog. Every sound—footsteps passing by, distant drunken laughter—sets you on edge.

You pick at your gloves and shift your posture, knees bent, feet tucked underneath you.

“You’re tense,” Sukuna points out. Your eyes peek over at his relaxed stance. “Any stiffer, and you’re bound to snap in half like a twig.”

He sinks back into his lean, sitting casually, his upper arms resting at his sides, one knee bent, and his lower arm draped over it, fingers tapping idly.

“I’m fine,” you say, squirming to find a more comfortable position.

Sukuna huffs.

“Idiot.”

More time trickles by, and under your growing impatience, you begin to warm. The multiple layers of clothing draw sweat to the surface of your skin. You move your hands to your cloak, ready to remove it, when fingers clamp around your wrist and pull them away.

“Leave it,” Sukuna growls.

You shoot him a bewildered look, preparing to utter a curse at him, but he jerks his head to the door, listening intently, straining for something just out of reach. You’ve seen him do this before, and it’s never a good omen. The last time you saw that expression, a polearm had been hurtling toward you moments later.

Outside the room come soft sounds. Delicate footsteps and a whisper of fabric brushing against the floor.

A pause.

Four red eyes dart back and forth.

The hand at your wrist tightens.

The door slides open, and your sister steps inside. Sukuna’s hand slips away.

“Yuna.” A smile spreads across your face, lifting your cheeks until they ache.

“Sister!” White silk swishes at her ankles. “You came.”

She’s outfitted in a beautiful pale kimono, and her hair and makeup are perfectly done for the festivities. The gem of the Kasai clan, indeed. Compared to her, after three days on the road, you feel like a ragged, unkempt toad.

Grinning, you start to rise to your feet, ready to go to her and gather her in your arms, but a snag at the back of your cloak holds you in place—Sukuna’s lower right hand. You stop moving. It shifts, sliding up to the top of your spine before trailing slowly down, vertebra by vertebra, until it passes over your obi and settles at the small of your back.

The possessiveness of his touch has a shiver spiralling through you.

Suddenly but carefully, he unfurls himself to his towering height, pulling you up and not letting go.

Yuna’s eyes hover between you and the King of Curses, her expression one of rapt attention.

“Hello, my Lord.” She bows formally, eyelashes fluttering. Then she lifts her head, and a graceful smile touches her painted lips. “It’s always lovely to see you.”

Sukuna says nothing.

A horrible silence descends upon the room.

The three of you remain in place.

They stare at each other—her features unreadable, his a challenging one, head cocking to the side in a sharp, smooth motion.

You feel the muscles in his arm tensing behind you, his fingers gripping the fabric of your garment with more force.

Yuna’s smile widens, eyes brightening with a strange recollection.

And then, ever so softly—

“I knew it…”

“Ah! My daughter!” Your father’s loud announcement cuts through the increasingly crowded room. The pungent scent of alcohol reaches you even from where you stand. “You’ve finally made it. I was getting worried something may have happened to you.”

Lying to your face, how refreshing.

He turns to the King of Curses and bows. Sukuna doesn’t return it, making the balance of power unmistakably clear.

At the door, another figure enters, your attention swinging to them.

Onishi, with his swollen face and all.

Hideous bruises snake out from below the cotton strips, trying in vain to hold the nose you had broken into place. It looks hastily treated, an effort to appear decent in public.

A tinge of satisfaction curves your lips.

He moves across the room and takes a spot behind your father, leaning against the wall. His eyes meet yours, glinting probably from the memory of when he had you pinned against the limestone barrier, hands touching your breasts, invading your space. Almost as if reading your thoughts, the bastard gives you a discreet wink.

The fucking audacity.

Your hands curl into fists, leather gloves creaking softly.

Calm down.

Your eyes shift away, only to find Sukuna watching. A quick glance shows his lower eyes trained on you, while the others settle firmly on Onishi’s bruised, crooked face.

Knowing him, he’s bound to piece this together without a word from you.

With more pressure, the hand at your tailbone splays across the small of your back. Surprisingly, it grounds you.

“Yuna,” your father says, pulling your attention from the warmth flooding you. “Why don’t you go back to our guests? I’d like a small word with your sister.”

“Of course.” Yuna bows and heads to the door. Halfway there, she flicks you a look. “I’ll find you at some point tonight, all right?” she whispers.

You give her a soft nod.

“Oh, and daughter.” Your father adds, making her pause. “Send them in.”

A tight smile replaces her easy one. She leaves, but taking her place are three beautiful women, by their well-kept clothing they’re attendants or—

"Our guest should be made comfortable,” your father states, gesturing to the trio before turning his gaze to Sukuna. “They’re yours. Do what you wish with them.”

What?

A sour taste churns your stomach.

Sukuna eyes them as they approach. Their pupils odd, blown wide.

“This way, my Lord,” they chime in unison, coaxing him toward the door.

A sharp, needling sensation splits you sternum to chest, dragging with it an emotion you don’t want. Sukuna’s hand slips away from your back, and the entire room seems to stutter as you desperately try to catch his eyes. But he doesn’t look your way.

You’ve never been in a relationship—real or otherwise—but something is there. That sticky, unforgiving emotion that feels like swallowing fire, burning deep and spreading through your body, making your skin prickle with heat.

Jealousy. This is jealousy.

You watch, unable to tear your focus away. Their nimble fingers trace up his arms, gripping his clothing, smoothing it, touching the contours of his muscles. Cooing and preening. One of their fingers skims the ink on his wrist, peeking out from his kimono. And it's that touch, that brief skin-to-skin contact, so simple and insignificant, that stings more than anything else.

He claimed to regret what he did to you when you first met, and now here you are, stumbling all over yourself.

Pathetic.

Look away.

Your eyes shift to your father, who is watching you closely. Is this a test? A trap? A scheme laid out for you to fall into?

Has he charmed you, daughter?

His words ring out inside your head.

So what if he had? What if—

No.

But deep down, you knew you were well and truly fucked. This monster has started taking that tiny sliver from you that you once promised you’d never surrender.

A sudden urge to laugh squeezes your lungs fiercely.

One of the women giggles, and Sukuna’s mouth pulls into a sneer.

Say something.

“We’ll give you a bath, my Lord.” Another of them hums, making your heart lurch while they pull him towards the door.

Do something.

Brows pinched, Sukuna leaves, his upper arms folded across his chest while the lower ones hang at his sides, the women clinging to him like parasites.

A glance back and four fiery orbs find yours, brimming with intimidating annoyance, deepening the crease above your nose.

“I’ll see to you after,” he says, giving you a sidelong glance before he steps from the room, the women trailing closely behind.

“He probably won’t fit in the bath. My Lord’s body is too big,” one of them complains, their voices fading down the corridor.

“Perhaps we can use our mouths instead.”

More tittering, more giggles.

The door falls shut.

You stare at the spot he just stood for too long, long enough to hear your father clear his throat. You lift your eyes, pushing away those raw, unwanted emotions, though the place where he had touched your back still burns.

Focus.

You straighten.

Your father scrubs his jaw, his attention settling on you, and you keep your expression neutral. No cracks, nothing.

Onishi, still leaning against the wall, retrieves an object from his kimono to fiddle with. It's small, a box, and fits perfectly in his palm. He rotates it repeatedly, each side catching the light as it turns, his eyes never leaving yours. For some reason, you’re certain he must not have told your father about your encounter weeks ago; otherwise, you would have been reprimanded by now.

As he turns the object again, you notice the sides are decorated with hooded slits.

He turns it over again.

And again.

And—

“Well.” Your father’s voice pulls your focus back to him. “You’re here, and you managed to bring the creature with you. Well done.”

He pauses.

You can hear the unspoken words: Lured the creature here.

There’s a genuine smile on his face, as if, for the first time in his life, he’s proud of you.

Proud of you.

The thought leaves you conflicted because there’s another look there, one that’s not entirely tinged with contempt but carries a glimmer of care, as if he’s seeing you differently.

“You have your extra month,” he grants. “Your sister is safe once again.”

It’s a simple statement that should bring relief. A long time ago, you might have leapt at that look, like a dog waiting for scraps of affection. But now, all you feel is numbness.

“Thank you, Father.” The words carry no real sentiment.

You bow, and he smiles.

“Good. Now go.” He flicks two fingers toward the door. “Get washed up and dressed. And don’t forget to enjoy yourself.” His hawkish eyes lock onto you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl with disgust. “For once, you’ve earned it.”

* * * * *

Knock, knock, knock.

“My Lady? Are you decent?” A female voice calls from the other side of the door.

An hour has passed since you returned to your old chambers to prepare for the festivities.

It didn’t take long to bathe, slip into your new kimono, tie your obi, and slide your concealed scabbard into place. The makeup you applied—powder, kohl—was simple, nothing elaborate.

During your time alone, your mind continually replayed the earlier encounter with your sister, the three women, your father, Onishi… Sukuna.

Something feels wrong, but you’re unable to slide what that is into place.

Mind churning chaotically, you were in the middle of combing your hair when the knock interrupted your preparation.

Now, as the sun sets, a lantern sits beside you, it’s light flickering on the wooden floor. Red fires the edges of your garment to black.

“Yes,” you call out. “You may enter.”

Resting your hands on your thighs, comb in hand, your eyes shift to the door.

It slides open.

One of the women from earlier stands there, anxious, chin cast down. Your mouth twitches with barely concealed disappointment. She bows and quickly steps aside.

The King of Curses steps unexpectedly into view, blackening the doorway, his eyes locking onto you kneeling on the floor.

“Oh, Lord Sukuna.” You rise, the clack of your footwear echoing on wood.

A soft bow of your head, then you lift it. He’s dressed in colours matching yours: a deep, muted purple kimono, like a swollen bruise, nearly black, painful in its intensity, and perfectly moulded to him. Your gaze drops to his waist—his obi is a burnt umber, again, like yours, though his attire is stark, without embroidery. One more glance shows his hair swept back, all controlled chaos.

His eyes rake over you from head to toe, a muscle in his neck pulsing. At his side, all four of his hands tense, then release, as if he were restraining the urge to use them for something.

It’s hard to breathe when he looks at you like this—hungry. He is hungry.

“Leave,” he orders, flicking a hand dismissively at the woman. She bows and retreats, eager to put space between herself and him.

Without tearing his eyes away from you, Sukuna steps inside and shuts the door, dimming the room, making his scarlet eyes glow in the low light.

“Continue.” He grins, nodding his chin at the comb in your hand, then circles you.

Watching him, you sink back to the floor, resuming your kneeling posture and sliding the comb through your hair. His mouth twitches as he observes. This close, you catch the clean scent of him—no blood or ash, but something fresh. Cypress, perhaps.

“Did you need something, my Lord?” you ask quietly as he steps away, choosing to scrutinize your room in far greater detail than you’d like.

“Do I need a reason to see my wife?” He pulls a scroll lined with poetry from the shelf, inspects it, and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scoff before sliding it back. “Besides, I told you—you’re not leaving my side.”

But you did.

The image of the trio of women taking him into their mouths flashes through your subconscious. Anger has you pulling the comb through your hair with more force.

He glances over, catching your expression before you can look away.

“No, you don’t need a reason. I just thought perhaps you would be too preoccupied with other company,” you say, striving to keep the bitterness out of your voice. But it’s there.

The comb continues to move, your fingers following it.

A calm settles over the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern's flame, until Sukuna chuckles. The sound breaks the silence, swelling into loud, insidious laughter that makes your teeth click together.

“You really are fucking stupid, you know that?” He steps around and comes to stand in front of you, the earlier grin on his face gone. “You can barely see what’s right in front of you, even when it’s still. It’s pathetic!”

You glare at him, the comb stilling in your hand before you set it aside and look away.

“I see just fine,” you mumble, picking up a hairpin with a pearl inlay.

Sukuna sinks to his haunches. Two fingers slide slowly across the underside of your chin, hooking and guiding your face to his.

“Oh, she sees just fine, does she?” he mocks, cruelly mimicking your voice.

A weight settles on your chest while your body silently begs you to turn away from him.

“She sees everything? Even what hides in plain sight?” he continues, then pauses.

Three heartbeats later, he tilts his head, squinting at you as his expression shifts from pity to seething hatred. The sudden flare of anger in his eyes disarms you.

“No… that’s not it, is it?” His gaze narrows, searching for something you can’t comprehend.

The air between you tightens.

Jabbing his fingertips into your chin, he forces you to straighten and lean toward him, so you must brace a hand against the floor between his knees.

“There are so many hooks in you…” he rumbles quietly, his thumb crawling up to smooth over the swell of your cheek. “So many pulling, all at once.”

He traces up to your temple, applying more pressure. Nervousness climbs into your throat, but despite it, you roughly pull your chin from his grip.

“What are you even rambling about?” you mutter.

A split breaks between his eyebrow and mask and his hands fall to his sides.

He clicks his tongue in agitation.

“Nothing, brat,” he grumbles, before reaching into his obi and suddenly pulling out a pear.

You quirk an eyebrow at it.

He takes a bite, the juice glistening on his lips as he leans back, letting go of your jaw.

You sit up straight, readjusting your posture.

“Where’d you get that from?” you ask, hands reaching to the crown of your head to part the silky strands of hair and twist a section, weaving the hairpin through it.

Sukuna moves to lean against the wall.

“The kitchen,” he replies, tracking your hands and the precise movements of your fingers. “I was hungry.”

As always.

He takes another bite.

“So, you’re just walking around here like you own the place?”

“Anyone who sees me coming usually shits themselves. Here, with all your kin wandering around, it’s easy enough to get a simple piece of fruit.”

Of course, they’re afraid. He’s been eating and killing them for years.

Another bite.

“I can understand why,” you say, letting your eyes trail down the length of his body.

His teeth flash.

“Nearly two months at my shrine, and my wife is still frightened of me?” he asks, amused.

Your eyes dart away, focusing ahead as the cool texture of the pin grazes your scalp.

“Your appearance… no.”

Your actions, yes.

With the hairpin in place, you reach for your comb and draw a few strands forward to frame your face—or to shield yourself.

“Oh? If my appearance doesn’t scare you, perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts about it.”

After tapping the pin one last time to ensure it’s secure, you lower your hands to your lap and glance over at him. The piece of fruit already eaten and gone.

“You want to know what I think about… your appearance?” You arch an eyebrow, features folding into soft confusion.

He crosses his upper arms over his chest, tapping a finger impatiently as he waits for an answer.

“You’re…”

A pause. He taps again.

You’re unwilling to admit how he’s begun to haunt you, how he’s slipping into your dreams, your thoughts, and worse into your—

“You’re adequate, my Lord.”

His chest swells, as if he’s about to burst into laughter, and you quickly turn away, grabbing your dark leather gloves from the floor.

“Adequate.” His voice fades into a condescending chuckle.

Through the curtain of hair, you see him push away from the wall and step toward you.

“Is that truly the grand assessment my wife can offer? Adequate?” He bends slightly. “But perhaps 'adequate' suits you just as well.”

You scoff.

“And here I thought I was uglier than you expected,” you mumble, fiddling with one glove as you slide it on, trying not to relive the first words he ever spoke to you.

Sukuna leans in further, forcing you to look up.

“I lied,” he hisses in your face, eyes flaring wide.

“What?” You shoot him an exasperated glare as you get to your feet.

For reasons you can’t quite place, your instinct is to punch him in the throat, knee him in the cocks, curse him into oblivion—and judging by the smirk growing on his face, the bastard knows it.

“Tch, don’t look at me like that.” His orbs brighten, as if this reaction brings him pleasure. “Your fragile emotions are so easy to fuck with.”

Another scoff. You start slipping on your second glove.

“Then—” You don’t know why you’re asking, but the words come out. Maybe some self conscious part of you just wants to know, even from him. “What… do you think of me?”

His grin falters, and you avert your gaze, a flush of embarrassment shading your features at how vain you sound.

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” One last soft tug, and the leather fits snugly over your fingers.

Sukuna steps closer, exhaling sharply.

You turn back to face him.

His lower eyes stare at your hands.

“You’re—”

“A sickness?” Your barb interrupts him.

“Fucking trouble,” he growls roughly, stepping closer. The palm of his upper left hand moves to your waist and slides to your obi, making you jump at the contact

“A nuisance.” Softer this time. His fingertips slip beneath, finding the scabbard hidden there.

“Something unexpected.” The pads of his fingers trace over it slowly, his four eyes following the movement as if mesmerized.

“Perhaps… something pleasant.” His voice turns to a deep purr, and when his hooded eyes lift, your cheeks threaten to warm. Then, with a flick of two fingers against the scabbard, a sharp sting jolts your abdomen. You wince. It’s such a subtle tap, yet it carries so much force. Grinning, he thumps it again before pulling back and striding to the door.

“Come.” He slides it open and steps out, demeanour turning severe. “It’s time to go.”

A heavy exhale punches past your lips.

Spilling into the corridor, you watch Sukuna step into the throat of the right passage instead of the left, the one that would discreetly shuffle you into the festivities.

“Where are you going?” you ask wearily.

He stops and glances over his shoulder at you, then to the left corridor.

Understanding washes over him.

“You expect me to sneak in there?” He turns, his face twisting into one of annoyance. “Is that what you expect of me?”

“No,” you say.

It's less about him and more about yourself—an unwillingness to face all those judgmental eyes leering at you. The last time you were here, the insults and gawking looks had been draining.

Demon’s whore. Cunt. Oni bitch.

“Ah, I see.” Sukuna folds his lower arms at his torso. “The little snake is afraid.”

Your mouth twitches.

He gives you a mocking pout, then raises his upper right arm.

“Left—” A finger points down the corridor ahead. “—and you can sneak in like a mutt, with your tail tucked between your legs. Or, you can go right—” Another finger points toward the passage where loud voices trickle out. “—and walk through those insects with your head held high.”

Doubt creeping in, you glance to the corridor on the right. The idea of stepping into the heart of the hall feels daunting. Years of being cast aside and mistreated keep you from doing something so rash.

But perhaps, just this once, you will be brave.

Eyes glittering, you look back at Sukuna.

He lifts his eyebrow.

“It’s your choice.”

My choice.

For so long, choices have felt like sand passing through your fingers, never truly yours.

Elusive. False.

A persuasion to live a life that isn’t your own.

With a controlled inhale, you lift your head and incline your chin. Your sandals tap softly as you step toward him, choosing right.

You pause.

“It’s only proper for you to go first, my Lord.”

Tradition dictates that men of his status lead the way, and you to follow. Yet the King of Curses steps behind you, bending down to lean over your shoulder.

“Mhm, no,” he husks calmly. “I prefer the view from here.”

A hand gently pushes into your hair, pulling the strands back to your shoulder and exposing the scar he left on your neck.

A reminder.

“I’d hate to miss the look on everyone’s face when they see you, of all people, march in there like you own the place.” He pauses, hand moving, he traces your nape with a finger before circling the bone at the base of your neck. “The dutiful daughter, the shadow of the Kasai clan—”

A beat.

“The one given to me so willingly.”

The hair lifts on the back of your neck.

Your eyes dart to him, catching the smirk in his voice.

The nagging voice in your head cuts through, louder this time, screaming that something is deeply wrong.

His other hand moves, curling under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his scarlet eyes.

“Besides,” he hums arrogantly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

🔗 Chapter 25

#sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #dark content #heian sukuna #beneath the silk #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #true form sukuna #sukuna fanfic

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1tsjusty0u · 1 year ago

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hm. horse names. does link do much with horses + what did he name any horses he has + any personalities? also what is zelda's horse named

hrose…

hm!! id say he travels a bit with horses, its how he got to kakariko hateno and such. as time goes on he uses them less because they cant climb mountains well and he doesnt want to leave them in case monsters get to them/they wander off (despawn). also as time goes on he has fast travel so he doesnt have to use horses anymore which is kind of sad. he never uses the big horse even when he catches them

for names i like to think hes bad at naming things (shaking his hand) so you end up with names like twig or signpost. for his actual horses though id say he has all 5 slots; his first and main horse is Bug, shes probably gentle temperament because thats the type of horses that dont buck you off if you dont press L fast enough. he got zeldas ancestral horse and the big horse, zeldas horse having Saff as a placeholder name (safula reference), once zelda is freed though she names them Saffron + theyre now her horse. she keeps them. for the big horse, on one hand din is a fitting name, however thats kind of like naming your cat after a god that you believe in (like jesus.) it sort of works for greek gods and such but i dont think link would actually do that so. yeag. speaking of which while looking up where eponas name comes from possibly epona is actually the name of a celtic patron goddess for foals and horses so. snorts. ANYWAYS i think a kid would name the horse instead of link, and as such their name is Dinners. both in reference to din but also “how hungry” horse. for the other two horses, one would be once he finds out wild temperament horses have better stats (though how he finds this out is questionable, considering i dont think the horse facts guy mentions it + how i found out was from a croton video </3. pre calamity he probably found out by testing and researching/reading, so post cal is either a remnant from that or the horse facts guy Does tell him and we can ignore its not actually said in the base game 👍), and one is from just. not having a horse somewhere and temporarily taming it, however they follow him when hes not riding them and they go so far he just kind of. registers them. wild horse is named Clover and the following horse is named Jerry

personality wise Saffron is a bit what youd expect (stubborn and EXTREMELY UNHAPPY to be ridden as a horse.) he warms up eventually but sometimes he still just veers off the road/turns around at max bond just to be petty/prank them. that one horse post about horses adjusting to the people riding them and making their Own decisions when driving (biting off saddles i think? something about weight…), saff would do something like that. otherwise though number 1 rated grass eater and plant stomper, would be a pain for the stable owners and will pick fights with dogs. while he accepts being a transportation animal eventually he Will Not move cargo. that is his one rule, you will Not put on a wagon attached to his saddle he will make so many horse noises about it. Dinners is less stubborn and more blood thirsty. she Will run over herons without input from link. running over bokoblins is her favorite past time. however she also is a huge horse fan in general, especially with the little horses she can be found with. she doesnt really pick fights but she does bite sometimes. not out of malice but curiosity. or sometimes just because she can. get bit nerd. she actually likes having cargo it becomes a challenge to go as fast as possible without dropping it (which leads to stress inducing situations sometimes). otherwise she just chills mostly. would probably sleep in a weird position. she would run over donkeys if she could. Bug is just friendly. a chronic wander, but friendly! because she wanders if link isnt really telling them to go anywhere they just move on their own like minecraft horses. and because of this link cant leave them anywhere because theyll be on a completely different part of the map then where he left them. huge fan of flowers for food and also apples. to be fair all horses are but she gets the most apples out of all of links horses (favoritism). would probably eat a bee hive/wasp nest (fun fact!! beehives in botw are actually really similar to wasp nests rather than actual beehives!!). theyre indifferent to cargo. Clover is Fast. a bit less spurs but they are So Fast. constantly picking things up no matter what they are/the cons of quences. they are The cargo horse. like the name implies they like to eat clovers, and they also have like. grass in their mouth constantly like a cowperson. they would absolutely herd animals. big fan of ruins honestly they just smell weird. every time theres a split in the road they always go the opposite direction of what link needs and he has to steer them the other way around. would crash into trees quite a bit. also energetic constantly they Need to be doing something always. also yes this horse is a reference to clover undertale yellow. and finally Jerry. just a horse, no thoughts head empty. completely chill. stands there as link gets mauled by a moblin

pre calamity zeldas horse was named Selig (and named for her rather than by her considering the compendium entry states that the royal family rode them to display their “divine right”, so its less likely itd be named for fun and more named to be Official and OoOo Goddess Powers, so i like to think a priest named them), but in secret she named them Lilium Woodriff Orientalis (the scientific name for stargazer lillies, Woodriff being the last name of the person who bred them. this is a reference to silent princesses and Blue Heart Lillies- blue heart lillies often being cited as a real world counterpart to silent princesses, however those lillies actually dont exist. theyre always a scam and are actually photoshop recolored stargazer lilly. in universe explanation is that its just a scientific flower name she liked a lot and she wanted to seem cool for knowing it. post calamity she’d call them stargazer even though the horse is long gone. maybe she’d name another horse that in memory?) and uses their full name always instead of a nickname. and because of this she eventually forgets selig as a name and everyone either thinks its a new horse or is cool with it. the priest is kind of exasperated but cant do anything about it. links pre calamity horse is named Epona because im a sucker for that sort of stuff, however is not The Epona (like from the amiibo or oot or tp etc). its more of a name he liked a lot especially because of the epona legends (and also in the memories his horse has a different mane/coat color from epona herself so. yeag). he too wanted to be seen as cool. he’d use her like how merchants use donkeys . light storage system

also fun fact!! the stable has a corporation of sorts!! 50 years before the calamity the Epona Co. was established (creating a champion page with stable info), and it has a logo and everything. said logo is on the hats of stable workers and also on the blankets covering crates. the stable association is under that corporation but seemingly a different thing, and also on the sanidin park ruins you can actually see the logo on the base of the statue, so they had a part in that as well!! i dunno i just think its so neat and im so sad we dont know anything about the park ruins besides being a spot to view the castle. i like to think its a memorial to a horse (whether it be someones pet horse, or a horse who did something historical (like laika or balto, though laika and balto are dogs not horses), and also im not making this an epona statue i. it feels weird to clarify that however with all the epona talk . yeah. also off topic but epona and ganons horse being plushes in majoras mask is so cool and i really want ganondorfs horse to have a name now. like why dont they have one…). alsoalso you probably know this but the top of stables (horse heads) have malanyas face, implying its an effigy of sorts. alsoalsoalso theres an unused compendium photo for epona.

theres also more horse variants (knight horses and festival horses) but. another time.

#HELLO!!#wreath of the bild #sorry if this seems. off? the hauntings have been going on you see #anyways honestly thanks for this i. needed a name for links horse #i couldnt keep calling them [horse] when writing to edit later

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