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echantedtoon · 2 months

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Oh, Rats

You find a wounded rodent on a stroll by Big Ben and being the kind lady you were, you take it home and tend to it until it gets better. Little do you know what you've done.

(This was really inspired by @sindysugar and @lilgrimmapple I really adore their artwork and story involving The Great Mouse Detective and If you get a chance please check out their stuff. Warnings for Ratigan being in bad shape with some broken bones.)

"I don't like that."

"Don't like what?"

A thunderstorm rolled across the sky that night. The sun was just setting over the horizon with the last few rays of daylight disappearing but it was hard to tell when the dark storm clouds took over the sky and claimed them as their own. Thunder shaking the lanes of the windows and lightning sounded off like an angry whip from whatever deity was angrily stomping around the clouded skies, lighting up the sky and city below for nothing but a brief second.

It would've been absolutely dark if you hadn't lit up a few candles inside the comfy room and placed them on the table to light up the room. The warm light comforting against the scary night sky that just appeared as the last few daylights were chased away. The candlelight lighting up the scowling scrunched up face of the old maid that peered downwards at the rather large vanity in the room. It was large enough to be used as a vanity, work desk, and table so you used it as such. But lately it's had a new purpose. And it's purpose being the temporary home for your temporary new roommate.

"I swear whatever this...this THING is it's evil!," she spoke pointing out a little but decently sized caged sitting on the vanity. It had been an old bird cage stored in the attic but you'd brought it out again to use it for someone else. "The way it just looks at everyone..." She shivered. "I swear it's almost human like! It's disturbing!"

"Calm down, Olga." Your calm voice usually soothed the older woman of any worries but lately her insistence has been a bother. Soft hands closed the curtains to your window hiding the sights of the gloomy storm outside. "He's just a harmless little mouse, and you don't have to take care of him. So why does his presence in one room of the house where you can just easily avoid him forever bother you so?"

The woman never looked up from where or more accurately WHO and WHAT she was staring at giving a loud huff of disapproval. "Hmph. It's his look that bothers me. I swear that evil smugness he always gives me is unlike a rodent!"

You sighed again as she finally turned up her nose, laundry in her arms. This happened every day since you first brought it home. Brought HIM home. Ignoring her worries, your footsteps echoed in the room making the small journey across the room to the vanity and smiled at the little occupant of the cage.

"Hello there. Is Olga being a worrier again?" Your voice softly cooed.

Black eyes turned up towards you from the inside, teeth on display but you knew it wasn't malicious. He just seemed to like his teeth showing. Honestly it looked almost like a smirk but that was ridiculous. Mice couldn't have enough thought process to smirk. Olga was just imagining things as usual.

"I find it disturbing how you treat it?"

"Don't like how I treat him how?," you questioned playfully wagging a finger at the cage like it was a kitten instead of a mouse.

"That! Like THAT!!" A finger released itself from the laundry she held to point at you. "You talk to that creature as if it was a human! It's disturbing and not normal!"

You again sighed tiredly before looking at her. "I talk to them the same as I do everyone else. Is that so wrong?"

"YES! It's not an equal it's a filthy vermin!"

"He's not filthy. He had a bath yesterday and I cleaned the cage this morning."

"That isn't what I meant and you know that."

Another soft sigh left your mouth along with a tired eye roll. This has happened over and over again with Olga. Honestly the older woman didn't like any animals unless it was cooked on a plate for her to eat, so this wasn't an unusual occurrence but it has been the first time she's been so insistent about you getting rid of the animal. She must really not like like mice.

She hated him the moment you brought the poor thing home with you. It was on a similarly stormy night actually just like this one some weeks ago. You were taking a stroll through the streets of London after a day of shopping but lost track of time. A storm was coming in from the thick fog and made itself known. You decided to take a short cut past the famous Big Ben to get home faster but something else had caught your hurried attention.

As you hurried down the sidewalks with thunder sounding overhead and the fog clouding the streets, your footsteps echoed throughout the dark streets eerily, something caught your eye. A single black lump laid out upon the middle of said sidewalk making you slow down to a stop until it was but a yard away from you. What was..that? It looked at first like a black blob a little larger than a single one of your hands within the fog but as you slowly approached, it began to form more clearer and take shape. It was a-..

A large mouse? Rat maybe?

Whichever one it was, it laid face down splayed against the concrete covered in some kind of tattered black cloth. ..Poor thing. Many people considered rodents in general a burden and considered it good fortune at seeing one dead but you couldn't help but feel sorry for it. Maybe it was because you loved animals but you did feel sorry for it. It must've been stepped on by someone or maybe run over by a moving carriage the wheels throwing it onto the sidewalk with their momentum. Although you hadn't the faintest idea why it was covered in black fabric. Maybe it crawled out from a dumpster tangled in it? Or had someone tied a bag around it only for the animal to shred it apart? You had no idea.

But SOMETHING important caught your attention as you took a closer look at it. It's chest slowly and shakily rising and falling in shaking breaths. A wheezing breathing gasping sound exiting it's mouth as it desperately clung onto life. It's body shook lightly with every gasp. It was-

"You're alive."

Olga shrieked when you got home shopping bags around your elbows and a half dead unconscious rodent in your hands wrapped up in your handkerchief. She shrieked at you that it carried diseases and it was dirty and it should die and you should throw it out the door right that second! You ignored her of course because she always reacted this way whenever you brought home an animal and sent for the local veterinarian.

"He's incredibly lucky to be alive," the doctor had told you after the animal had been properly cleaned up and treated. "Any more time out there, especially in the rain, and he would've died. I don't know where you find these beasts but as my best customer my service is yours."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Certainly! He has some broken bones specifically some broken ribs and some wounds but with proper treatment he should be back to normal again in no time! I'll write down the care he needs and prescribe some medicine that ought to help."

Your care had been going on for a while now since then and he's been doing so much better! You made sure he was given a good clean space to stay in and comfortable things that seemed to make him feel better. Though it was quite odd for a mouse. He seemed to prefer the water you gave him in a smallish wine glass (small to a human not him), and he seemed to not like the scraps you tried giving himself. You tried giving him fresh food cut from your daily meals, which worked better. It was almost like he preferred to be served actual meals like you were a maid instead of feasting on scraps like mice usually do. But you supposed after spending so much time outside any animal would want fresh food instead of old scraps. His bed was an old cushion that was torn apart by a cat you were also caring for but had managed to sew the scrapped fabric up enough to make him a small pillow to rest on. Which he was doing now.

"You said that about every animal I've cared for," you pointed out to her raising a brow. "Like the dog with the broken leg. You said he was possessed by an evil spirit. Or the carriage horse. You say that he's waiting for you to get in front of him to run you over!"

"I stand by both of those statements still thank you very much! But this thing-" she shuddered hard. "There's something else about him that's borderline evil!"

"He's not evil. He's a mouse-"

"That thing tried to bite me through the cage first week he was here!," he accused.

"That's because you yelled at him and hit his cage which I told you NOT to do!," you countered back with a frown and crossed arms. "He was hurt, irritated, and you scared him being aggressive like that."

You remembered that day. Olga shrieked and SWORE he was smirking at her and called him a qoute 'disgusting, filthy, disease carrying, germ and flea infested, ugly RAT' before hitting her fist on top of his cage. She almost got bit when the mouse let out a rather loud squeak. A rage fueled squeak that sounded almost like a shriek itself as it lashed out and was almost able to catch her pinky finger in his teeth. To this day you've never heard any rodent sound like that. You had to physically shove the hysterical screaming woman out of your room and lock the door to prevent her from swinging the broom at the cage and it took nearly an hour and a half for the mouse to calm down enough for you to safely look over himself. Thankfully both were ok but you've banned Olga from going into your room at all unless you were there and made it clear if anything were to happen to him, she'd be fired immediately. You were now tired of her continued antics.

"Just leave him alone!," you ordered firmly. "He's very well behaved and he's not staying here forever. It's just until he gets all better then I'm going to release him back outside."

"Hmph. Well that's the only good thing about him being here! I swear that thing is evil and I won't change my mind. "

"Oh come now. If he was really bad he would've done something to me by now. He's so good even the kitty I'm looking after likes him."

"You mean that obese beast that eats all our good fish and lazes about all day? She's almost as bad as him."

You scowled harder at her making her sigh. The poor kitty had fur torn from her making bald spots and looked like a pack of stray dogs got her. You brought her back home to recover about two weeks before you found the mouse. Both seemed to like each other very much when you accidentally left the door open one day and came back to find both cuddled up with each other. But surprise surprise Olga didn't like her either.

"She's on a diet so she's not used to not getting so much food. Whoever owned her previously probably just over spoiled her so she's not used to portions." You didn't see it but the mouse gave you an eye roll of slight irritation before you smiled back at him. "He's a little extinguished gentlemen. Here. I'll show you."

Olga looked physically disgusted before you reached out and with a click slide the door wide open. Her face immediately paled as your hands reached in cupped and you cooed at him like you would a kitten to come over to you.

"W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

You looked up at her shriek not seeing how he stood up on two legs before turning on a heel and flopping onto your palms smugly. "I'm taking him out. He's always so well behaved." Her expression worsened as you pulled your hands out with the mouse in it and smiled brightly holding him up. "See? Isn't he such a cute little guy?"

Instead of answering she squealed out as the mouse stuck it's tongue at her not that you saw and pressed herself Against the doorway in her panic fumbling with the doorknob. Wretching it open a sheet dropped from her arms as her fearful squealing continued down the hall and towards the downstairs. You blinked for a moment as the door slowly creaked closed again and more thunder rolled above you. Eventually sighing as the mouse flipped onto his stomach and regarded you with a smile as you shook your head.

"I swear that woman just hates any animal she doesn't eat. You're certainly a gentleman no matter what anyone says. Let's get you back to bed now."

Gently your hands pushed him back into the pen and laid him stomach down on the comfy pillow. However his front paws caught onto your pointer finger and a small kiss like motion was felt on your skin. Blinking you pulled your hand away from him to look at it then at him.. before shaking your head and relocking the cage. Kissing your hand. Too many of Olga's fears was getting in your head. He probably just licked you as any animal would do.

After all he was just a rodent and nothing more.

#the great mouse detective #tgmd #ratigan #professor ratigan #Ratigan x reader #padraic ratigan

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Winter's King 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: wooooo, friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Despite the unease of the king’s proximity, you drift down into a hollow sleep. The sort that is grey and empty and dizzying. When you wake, you’re alone. The bed is sparse and spacious as you lay tucked in the blanket, snug around your figure. You slide your arm up as you feel a cool graze along your scalp.

You fix your cap back on your head, wrinkled from being caught beneath you. You roll onto your back and tug at the blanket until you can sit up. As you do, you notice the yellow beam around the silhouette at the window. The king’s hair shines brilliantly in the sunlight.

You rub your cheek, hot from friction with the pillow. You look down at the blanket rumpled around your waist. You kick if off and climb off the mattress. There is no time to be sleeping. By the slant of the light, you know it’s due time to rise. You turn to tidy the covers, pulling them taut, corner to corner.

You brush smooth your apron as best you can, a dent left diagonal down the skirt. You turn and glance towards the door. You don’t dare leave without dismissal, nor do you wish to break the king’s peace.

“You slept heavy,” he says without moving, “you must have needed it.”

“Your highness,” you croak through a dry throat. “I didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?” He wonders. “All must rest, even the mice and meagre.”

You bow your head and fold your hands. You stay as you are as he lowers his own head and his arms move as he fusses with something. There’s a soft tear and he brings something to his mouth. He turns and leans against the curtain, crushed to the stone by his weight.

“And they must eat,” he offers a morsel of salted meat.

“Your highness, it is generous--”

“But you mean to deny me,” he challenges. “Does modesty serve you as well as you serve others?”

You don’t know how to answer that. You press your lips tight and once more lower your chin. You wring your hands and markedly stop yourself.

He crosses the room with slow, long strides. He stops before you. The morning light limns his thick body through the white fabric of his nightshirt. He brings the strip of jerky before you, holding it below your nose.

“I do not trust a turncloak to feed me from his trough,” he intones, gently leaning the meat to your lips. “A king must worry about such things, but not a servant. Who would ever need taint their food, if they let them any at all.”

You look up at him. His eyes blaze down at you, stunningly gold, like sparkling coins. He prods with the strip and you open your lips to let it slip through you nibble through the thick morsel until a piece breaks off and he rescinds the rest, taking a bite of his own.

“It’s the last of my elk, and stale at that,” he explains, “in the hinterland, we do eat more than salt, but on campaign, we must eat what we have.”

You chew, watching him as he turns to pace. He makes you curious. He is a fearsome man, even in only a night shirt, but he thinks overly much.

“That summer maiden will not like the cold,” he mutters as he rounds the tub then comes back to you. Half the strip remains. He offers it, “take it.”

You do as he bids. He watches you intently as you hold the jerky and you bring it close to your lips. You stop, “thank you, your highness. You are a generous king.”

“No, I am a prudent king. Not always generous, not always cruel, only when the moment calls for one or the other,” he stays before you, eyes torrid as they cling to you.

“Well, you’ve been generous to me, your highness,” you say before you bite into the meat. It is heavier than what you are used to but tasty nonetheless.

“Prudent,” he repeats, “so I must send you away. Send you back.” He inhales, his broad chest lifting, making him appear even larger, “you have done your duty admirably, little maid.”

You chew, making a face as you can’t answer for your mouthful. He inclines his head towards you.

“No,” he shakes his head, “say nothing more. Eat and go. There is still a war to be won before I claim my kingdom.” He puts his back to you and marches back to the window, adding in a grey tone, “...and a wife.”

His last words are so quiet, so dull, you hardly can discern them. He leans on the window ledge as he stares off beyond the walls. The sun rises around him, casting him in gold. You swallow what’s left of the elk strip and shuffle to the door. As you open it, you hear a sigh, and you close it behind you without glancing back.

The king does not sound pleased with his nuptials. So is the fare of nobles and their titles. Often the very status that brings them privilege brings them just as much misery. A handmaid only need worry about her next task.

⚔️

Lady Jazlene is far more satisfied with her imminent union. She is aflutter as you enter her chambers. Merinda watches with dulcet irritation. The duke’s daughter flits around, throwing silks and satins. Lady Rezlyn watches her from a cushioned bench, a goblet in hand as she tuts and tisks at very choice.

“Mother,” Jazlene tosses down layers of goldenrod yellow, “if none should do, a new dress might be cut, yes?”

“A new dress? Of what fabric? We are in wartime, dearest,” Rezyn scoffs.

“And yet you have your reds and your citrus,” the younger accuses.

“I need wine to steel my nerves and citrus to fill my stomach. You needn’t a dress to live. You have many and more,” Rezlyn snickers.

“Mother, I swear you do goad me. He is a king. And the war should end soon. There must be silk to be had,” Jazlene whines, and what of jewels? Pearls? Emerald? Sapphire?”

Merinda shifts, you can sense her thoughts and the little whispers she’s hoarding away for you. She always has the sharpest quips about the pair of ladies and their whimsies. You do agree with some but you can no more blame them for being frivolous noblewoman than you can yourself for being a simple maid.

Jazlene continues her storm around the chamber. Her nerves are contagious, you can feel a similar stirring in your gut. Perhaps she realises the same as you do. All she knows is about to change irrevocably.

You try to think of what it will be like when she is married. She must have the same thoughts. You can’t quite picture it. Geralt sitting where Rezlyn does, perhaps he too holds a goblet, Jazlene rambling over her skirts and gems and all the things she wants. You don’t imagine he’d listen for long. Then again, you don’t know the king at all. Not enough to presume you would know.

Lady Jazlene puts a string of rubies around her neck and preens in the mirror. She points to you then her hair. You come forward and set to pinning her hair. Lady Rezlyn rises and you peek at her in the mirror. She scowls at her wine.

“Enough fussing, your father wishes us to see the king to break our fast,” the elder holds out her goblet and Merinda comes forward to take it. “And I need more wine.”

Jazlene shoos you away and stands. She hangs her shoulders and drags her feet, “mother, I will be a queen soon. You cannot order me around so.”

“Not as yet,” Rezlyn warns, “you have much to learn of being a wife before you worry so much of queendom.”

Jazlene huffs and pushes her shoulders back. She looks at her reflection once more, posing and posturing. She curves her lips in a wry smirk.

“Queendom,” she trills, “oh mother.”

“Yes, yes, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Lady Rezlyn stomps over to her daughter and takes her by the wrist, “you must first think of how to please your husband. As I can tell, it won’t be an easy task, and yet he is as any man is. He is... still a man.”

“Oh mother,” Jazlene giggles.

“Look at you, you are marvelous,” Rezlyn pets her daughter’s cheek. “He is a warrior; he holds his shield close but he cannot resist your beauty.”

The mother keeps hold of her daughter and leads her to the doors. You and Merinda follow at several paces. A habit to keep from trodding on their skirts. The enter the corridor and tension coils around them. The descend to the great hall and to the west wing where the dining hall resides.

Lord Dustan stands by the head of the table. On most days he would sit in that chair but he only paces around it, tugging at his little triangle beard. You rarely see him so restless. Often, he is as careless as his wife and daughter.

“Husband, I thought we were to break fast--”

“Yes, yes,” he waves off his wife’s words, “the king has yet to awaken.”

You stand by a statue, just to one side of the door. You cannot see the opening around it. You find comfort in its shadow, content to go unnoticed. You wonder if anyone looked upon you, would they see your thoughts. The king is awake but why hasn’t he emerged?

“What about the marriage?” Rezlyn asks, “a contract?”

“Wife, if I say it is to be, it is,” Dustan retorts, “must you ever heap upon me?”

“It isn’t my intent. I am only making certain our daughter’s future is secured. That our family name is to prosper. Husband, I ask in the interest of your profit.”

“You ask too much,” the duke hisses.

Before he can receive his wife’s sharp response, sturdy footfalls approach and mute their conversation. A shadow casts through the doorway and you know by the silhouette it can only be one person. King Geralt enters, unassuming in his mail and black clothes. His silver hair is half up, a braid down the back of it. He has his sword strapped to his back.

“Your highness, the cooks are preparing breakfast--”

“There is not time for you to sit and gorge,” the king snarls, “there is a war to be won. There is no advantage in waiting on word of your deceit to spread.”

Dustan has the grace to look ashamed. He twitches and paws at his overcoat, “I... your highness, I would need time to prepare for my departure.”

“You need mail and a sword. You have a barn full of horses. Mount it and we will be away.” The king insists, “my men march within the hour. We will remember who our allies were when the day is won.”

“Y-your highness, I--”

“That is the trouble with summer lords. You think war is played across a board,” the king growls. “war is won in blood and steel. If all you can offer me is words, I am not interested in this contract.”

“Your highness, I will ready. At once,” Lord Dustan kicks his heels together, “you are right. My spurs are ready.”

The king drones grimly. He sets his shoulders and opens and closes a fist. Jazlene looks at her mother then steps forward.

“But your highness, our marriage--”

“That contract will be met when I have my terms. When my kingdom is forged complete, then I shall have a queen. No sooner than that,” he grits at her.

“Ah, yes, certainly your highness, then you shall have my favour to ride with,” she pulls a handkerchief from her bodice, “to comfort you in the battles to come.”

She waves the cloth at him and he says nothing. He grunts and turns to her father. He grabs the duke by his scruff, “let’s hope you can sit a saddle. Carriages are not built for war.”

King Geralt turns, dragging the Duke of Debray like a stray cat. The king’s golden eyes flick over to you and his jaw ticks. He raises his chin just slightly as he passes, putting his eyes straight only as the meet the corners. He stalks from the room with his blithering ally in tow.

Jazlene presses her knuckles to her forehead and whines, “mother? Am I to wait anon for my husband? What shall I do? War, war, war! Does it ever end?”

“Daughter,” Lady Rezlyn sweeps around the table to grab her daughter by the shoulders, “there is no use in bawling. Do not be a child. You are of an age--”

“Of an age where I should be married!” Jazlene blusters. “How can I be calm when I am promised what I have always wanted and then it is snatched away?”

“The king will return. As will your father,” Rezlyn shakes her daughter, “King Geralt has made it this far, do not think he will falter now. And when he has claimed victory, he will return to keep good on his promise.” The Lady of Debray lowers her voice, “do you think that your father would break his oath on a chance? That he would gamble. No, he sees what the other lords deny. King Waleran is routed. This war will not last much longer.”

“Truly, mother?” Jazlene bats her lashes, “how do you know?”

“Trust your mother,” Rezlyn speaks as though her daughter is no more than a child. “Your father has risked his neck to claim you a king. Do not doubt him.”

Jazlene considers her mother, searching her face, and pulls her into an embrace. She lets out a shrill squeal and pulls back. Her cheeks round with glee.

“You’re right mother, this is a blessing. This will allow us time to alter a dress fitting for such a wedding.”

“Don’t forget a coronation,” Rezlyn adds coyly.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #winter's king #the witcher #medieval au

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thisisxli · 3 months

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𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. - 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑.

Rs: Prince Sukuna x Cinderella Reader

Warnings: none other than your bitch step-mother and step-sisters. And Mahito! Slight curse words

Tags: Cinderella AU

Summary: After your father died, your step-family has forced you into becoming their scullery maid. What if there was something or someone that was a one time in a life chance that could change your way of living? Of course, Prince Sukuna.

Wc: 10.2k

A/N: mostly proofread, ignore any mistakes I've made! A lot of monologue and scenes from the 1950s Cinderella movie and a few from the 2015 one.

Gojo clears his throat, opening the book as mice and a few more animals crowd around him. "Once upon a time.." Gojo looks up, thinking to himself for a moment before nodding, averting his blue eyes back into the book, "a life passes and a life begins anew, when poor little (Y/N) worked as a scullery maid..."

"Prince Sukuna," the Duchess speaks. Sukuna smirks as he fences with his partner in front of him before quickly dodging their fence, his own fence easily making way to his partner's body. "Prince Sukuna," the Duchess speaks once again except more firmly, a few butlers coming up to stand next to them. "Prince Sukuna-" "nice job out there," Sukuna's smirk widens when he takes off his eepe mask, high-fiving his fencing partner.

"Prince Sukuna!!-" "What, Uraume!??!" Sukuna turns to his Duchess with visible annoyance shown on his face, his posture starting to droop. "Can't you see I'm busy here? If my father needs something, he can do it himself," Sukuna spits, pulling his mask down and getting into a stance to fence. Uraume's face quickly drops to a face of aggravation as she rolls her eyes before turning stoic, "what your father requests of you is to be wedded with a wife in hand." Sukuna stiffens as his fencing partner gets the opening, hitting him in the chest with the tip of the sword. "H-hey! I did it! I did it guys! 1 to 29! Hey....!" Heads turn to Sukuna's fencing partner when his voice starts to trail off, meeting the glowing eyes of Sukuna through the mask. Sukuna sighs before taking off his whole entire head piece, throwing his fencing sword to the ground. "He wants me to marry," he turns to Uruame, deadpanning. Uruame nods and starts to bow, "he suggests you come up with who you wish to wed." Sukuna groans as a hand drags down his face, his face tattoos scrunching along with his grimacing wrinkles. He thinks for a moment. A wife? Maybe it is about time. "So..." He starts, peaking people's interest. He knows when they slowly turn to a stop in fencing. "Would that get me some pussy?"

His fencing partner starts to snicker along with other fencers, a few chuckling in the back. Uruame sucks in her lips behind her teeth, biting down. She bows down again before walking away, waving to the butlers to stay there with him. "I don't get paid enough for this.." She mutters as she adjusts her monocle.

Sukuna sits in his bed with a black silk robe wrapped around his body, his pecs slightly exposed. His arms loosely hung around two girls who were laying at his sides that were wearing slightly revealing clothes. Sukuna turns his head when he hears a knock at the door, sighing, "come in." Uruame glides into the enormous room along with Sukuna's father following close behind her. Sukuna nearly chokes on his own spit, retracting his arms from the girls beside him and putting his hands in his own lap. Sukuna slightly frowns when his father looks around in the room, "father." The king looks back at his son for a moment before continuing to speculate the room, "Sukuna." Sukuna clicks his tongue, roughly tapping the two females at his sides. They quickly move off the bed and out the room.

"What's this nonsense about me getting married? I'm only 24, damn it-" Sukuna's eyes widen when he gets cut off by a slam on the table. He meets his father's death stare, not too short to make a death stare of his own. His father falters for a second before letting out a boisterous laugh, opening his arms. "My, my, you have grown, son!" Sukuna chuckles and gets off the bed to meet his father, hugging him and patting each other's backs roughly. Uruame just watches silently, blinking at the two. "You are soon to be wed! You're a man, for gods sake. You will take my place as king," he walks up to the large balcony along side Sukuna, looking at him, "and maybe even create your own heir." His father raises his brows in suggestion as Sukuna snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sure, maybe," he smirks, looking over to his father, "I'd just have to find the right one." Sukuna ponders for a moment, looking off to the city that dimly illuminated both their faces. "But how?"

They both think for a moment with their chin pinched by their fingers as Uruame speaks up, tired of the two, "we could throw a ball." They both look back at Uruame and then back at each other before letting out the same rich laugh. Uruame nearly backs out before having her back pat roughly by the king. "That's a tremendous idea! We'll have the servants set up everything in the ball room and have Uruame send out the invitations to every woman in the city!" Sukuna grins as he pats his old man's back, his Duchess mentally sliding a hand down her face. "Soon.. You'll take over everything."

As said and done, servants set up the ballroom that was themed in a deep red with gold encasing the walls and pillars in designs, beautiful diamond chandeliers hang from the ceilings and tall candles light up the room along with the paintings of bloody naked women. Large drapes hang loosely around the King's chair, half-naked women clinging to his legs and sides.

Uruame appears in front of the short stair case, bowing on one knee. "Has the invitation spread throughout the city?" The King slightly smirks, pushing his fingertips together and leans forward. "Yes, my Sire. Every maiden has received an invitation," she pauses, looking up as she smirks, "everything is going according to plan, Sire." The King chuckles in amusement as he waves over a servant, whispering in her ear before sending her off to fetch Sukuna. "Well then," he stands up, arms open, his Royal mantle falling back from his shoulders. "It starts tomorrow night," he grins as the women below him slightly cower in fear, some clinging onto his pants.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead with your arm before clipping wet clothes and dress onto the hanging rope, small dirt and rubble covering parts of your work dress. When all the clothes were hanged, you set a empty basket near the wall and walk over to your Airdelle Terrier, Shoko. The brown thin-furred dog whines in delight when you scratch behind her ears, giggling when she thumps her leg on the ground. She pants as you feed her a treat, walking off with three little mic trailing behind you. Your other dog slept soundly next to Shoko, your Afghan Hound named Nanami. Your horse, Geto, neighs when he sees you. You giggle and wave.

You quickly come to a stop to look down at the three mice following you that bump into the back of your heel. Yuji, following Nobara, and Megumi. "Aw, I didn't know you guys were following me," you sweetly say before scooping them up and dropping them in the pocket of your apron. You enter through a back door of the château, a bell violently ringing against the wall. "(N/N)!! mop the floor downstairs!" The three mice covers their ears in annoyance, Yuji, the one in the red shirt poking out the pocket with a fist curled in the air. He gets shoved back in when Megumi, the one in a dark blue shirt, pushes his head down. You sigh before getting a bucket near the fireplace and fill it up with soap and water, grabbing a towel along the way. You head over to the main room, watching as one of your step-sisters, Yorozu, step up the stairs with dirty heels. She smirks as she slides her feet out of them at the top of the staircase and picks them up, huffing in pettiness before carefully carry her heels within arms reach from her dress, walking away to the shared room with her sister. You sigh when you hear the door shut, quickly dipping the towel in the bucket and start to scrub the floor. The mice jump out your apron's pocket and slides across the slippery floor with small bubbles following closely behind them.

Mahito, the cat, peers from behind the staircase, eyes slitting into lines when he sees the three mice scattering across the floor, struggling to get up.

"Itadori! Get up!" Megumi shouts, his round ears twitching. Yuji fails to do so, slipping before making Nobara slip on her own two little feet, falling back as her bottom half hangs over her face. Her tail wiggles in aggravation as she takes a quick hit on Yuji's head, a 'bonk' sound being heard from the mouse's head. A red bump appears over his pink and black ombre fur. "Ow! I'm trying, Fushiguro! Woah, woah, woah! Hey- look out!" Yuji's small clawed finger points to the now scurrying cat headed their way, all mice's feet skedaddling on the floor. The cat's face meets the wall, his fur standing up from all over at the impact. Yuji snickers before moving on all fours, the blue cat charging at the mouse. Yuji and Mahito slip across the floor, Mahito's claws missing barely an inch on Yuji. Mahito had a thick coat that had a natural baby blue color along with a creamy white color spotting over his paws, nose, and stomach. Dark colors etch on his fur on the back, resembling lines of stitches. Nobara, the mouse that was in a small pink work dress like you, stood on top of a table. Mahito creeps under it, trying to catch the movement of anything. She squeaks when she uses all her might to push a heavy book off the table. Mahito looks up just as it lands in his face, yowling as his paws clutches his face. All three mice scurry through a hole in the wall, closing their small door as you make way towards the cat with a confused expression.

"Mahito, what are you doing down here? You're getting your dirty paws all over the place," you sigh as you pick up the book and set it back on the table, a small frown on your features as you watch the cat walk up the stairs, an unknowing scowl on its' face. You make your way back to your bucket of soap and water, picking up the towel and wiping what stain or streak was on the floor.

The main doors open causing you to turn your head, meeting the eyes of your step-mother. She had a black short bob with a stitch lined across her forehead, a sun hat covered in dark red roses wrapped in a ribbon that was a color of an eggplant. She rolled her eyes at you before opening her mouth to speak, "Yorozu! MeiMei!" Her voice was sickeningly sweet, a hand was cupped next to her mouth, her other holding a envelope and a fan. Both tall women hurry down the stairs, their thick dresses bouncing with each step down the stairs, their hind parts thickened and round in the dress. "Yes, mother," they both say in unison, one's large silver haired braid hanging over their face and the other with a tie up, black spiky hair sprawling out on all sides, a few hair strands resting at the sides of her face. They both bow politely, all three women ignoring your presence.

"Guess who's throwing a ball tomorrow night, girls?" Both step-sisters look at their mother in shock before turning to each other, squealing as they hold each other's hands, jumping in excitement, their dresses bouncing with them. "He's looking for a wife," she explains, a glint in her eye. Both girls squeal even louder, Yorozu balling her dress into her hands. "He'll marry me!" Yorozu claims boldly before having her sister push her shoulder, her braid swaying with every turn of her head, "no, he'll marry me! What are you on, sister?" The girls inch closer to each other's faces as their bickering echoes throughout the room, quickly shutting up when their mother's staff hits the ground. Your step-mother clears her throat, firmly pursing her lips as she explains again, "you both will dress your best. We'll all live in the castle if one of you are able to be wedded." Both of the girls giggle just before you speak up, "step-mother Kenjaku.. May I be able to attend the ball?" The room goes silent as they all turn to your figure, piercing eyes staring daggers into your soul just as they all burst into laughter in unison, your form shrinking and faltering by their boisterous laugh. "Now let's see.." Your step-mother taps her purple-colored fingernails around the ball on her staff, eyes wandering around the ceiling of the room. "If you are able to scrub every corner and edge, clean each of our rooms, and manage to get a dress.." She pauses, jaw pushed to the side for a second, "you're able to attend the ball with us," she seethes with sarcasm, emphasizing with the word 'us.'

You urgently nod your head, bowing at waist-level. "Now then, girls get ready for dinner. (Y/N), prepare the dinner," your step-mother waves her hand at the three of you, all obediently listening to her orders.

"Chop, chop, boys!" Nobara squeaks out to Yuji and Megumi who were cutting and sewing through pink fabric, three other birds working on the bows. One female that had raven colored feathers, the other having silver feathers, and the third having two shades overlapping each other, black and white. A mice, Choso, helps his brother Yuji and have him stand on his shoulders. The raven feathered bird chirps happily when another bird joins in, being quite small compared to her. "Yuta! I'm so glad you could make it," the female bird chirps, watching the smaller bird land on the desk. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Maki," Yuta chirped back, flapping his wings in greeting.

"Gosh, I can't believe I'm stuck with you two," Megumi murmurs, dragging a clawed hand down and over his snout. Yuji blows a raspberry at him before jumping off the desk, sewing the fabric shut. Nobara finishes it with a bite to the string, the rest of it falling loosely to the floor as Yuji scurried his little feet to the desk. Yuta and Maki work their way to raise the dress up high as Panda places a bow in the center of the neckline when Megumi places a turquoise pearl bead necklace around it, small cheers and squeaks erupting from every mouse at the finishing touch. Inumaki flies to your door, hearing your footsteps come up the stairs.

"Mealworms!" Inumaki chirps to the others. Panda sighs before flapping his wings in alarm for the mouses as he translates, "she's coming!"

It was almost sun-down and you were trembling out of your wits end, your body tired and overworked. You open the door to your room, your face twisting into a face of surprise at the sight. "W-woah!" "Surprise!" Mice jumped up from behind large objects, birds flying into your room as you analyze your new dress. It was a simple but beautiful dress to you, you could only stare at it in awe as you touch it and let it fall from up ur fingers. You start to squeal in delight, carefully taking the dress in your arms, hugging it tightly as you danced around the room. "Thank you! Thank you to you all, thank you so much!"

"I have to show step-mother this," you exclaimed as you went behind the paper folding screen, birds flying over to help remove your clothes. The dress easily slides over your figure, hugging yourself as you hurriedly did your hair just the way you wanted it with a pink bow at the back.

Your step-mother and step-sisters descend the stairs as they both pat their faces in dry powder, the back of their dresses bouncing each time they took a step. "Now when you're presented to his highness, be sure-" Just as they were about to leave, you quickly step down the stairs, a hand up in the air, "wait!" They all look back, gasping audibly when they see you in a dress. As you leave the staircase, you immediately twirl before politely bowing. "Isn't it lovely? Do you like it? Do you think it will do?" Yorozu and Mei step back, absolutely astounded. Yorozu had her hair down with a dark pink dress, Mei's hair was half-down and half-up, wearing a vibrant yellow dress. "N/N!!" "Mother she can't-" "oh no!" "You can't let her-" "GIRLS, please," your step-mother holds a hand up at both of them, holding a stern look. She quickly puts on a smile on her face, looking back and forth between her daughters. "After all, we did make a bargain," she looks up to you, "didn't we, (Y/N)?" You only grin in response before having it slowly fade as she steps up closer to you. "And I never go back on my word. Hmm, how very clever. These beads.. They give it just the right touch, don't you think so, MeiMei?"

Mei turns away as she huffs, "no I don't, I think she's-" Mei's eyes are quick to open, turning back to your beautiful form. She ghastly gasps, her face twisting in anger, "oh! Why you little thief!" She stomps her feet under her dress. "They're my beads! Give them here," she demands before ripping them off of your neck before quickly hearing Yorozu pop in, "oh and look! That's my sash! She's wearing my sash!" You stand there in distraught, panicking as your gaze switches to both the girls as they start to rip apart your dress. You plead as they rip off the ribbons and fabric, feeling their breath against your cheek when they get into your face to yell. "Girls! Girls... That's quite enough," your step-mother scoffs before opening the door, "hurry along now, both of you."

They both walk out the door, holding their dresses between their thumb and index fingers with their hind parts bouncing behind them. You look down at the ripped pieces of your dress on the marble floor, looking up at your step-mother looking down at you with a smirk. "Goodnight," she says one last time, closing the door behind her, leaving you alone in the château. You raise your hands to your eyes as you cry out, running out of the house and to a bench where your mother once sat at.

Hot tears go spilling from your eyes, hands clutching onto the seat and your dress. You weep as you speak out, "no, it isn't true." You sob, hiccuping as mice and other animals you know come to gather to watch you. "It's just no use, no use at all," you whimper to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, "I can't believe. No, not anymore. There's nothing else to believe in.. nothing."

"Nothing, my dear?" A voice speaks out as you continue to weep. "Now you don't really believe that-" "oh, but I do-" "nonsense sweetheart! If you lost all your faith, I couldn't be here," the voice speaks, soft tender hands holding onto your arms. A hand slides to your chin, your head lifting to see the face of the voice. You gasp when you see a pale man with white hair, blue eyes glowing in the dark. "And here I am," he exclaims, smirking when you nearly fall back before holding your arms gently, lifting you up to stand. "Oh come now, dry those tears," he wipes your tears away with his thumbs, "I don't know what to do when girls cry in front of me. You can't go to the ball looking like that anyway."

"Oh! But- but I'm not-" "of course you are, but we do have to hurry," he chuckles, sliding his fingers through his hair. "Even miracles take time," he rolls up his sleeves, closing his eyes. "Miracles?" He nods, humming in response, "just watch," he smirks just as he attempts to pull out a wand confidently, nothing coming out and appearing on his hand. He blinks at his hand, blushing in embarrassment. "Oops, mistake there. Shit- what did I do with my wand? I was sure..." He bends over to look under the bench and inside his cloak as you peer over him in amusement, "a wand? You must be.." "Your fairy godfather? Why yes, of course. Always been here. And before you ask, I swear I'm not that old- oh! Never mind, I just remembered- I put it away," he smugly says, turning to you with raised brows, his fingers pinched as he lines it down in the air, a wand appearing through the pinch of his fingers. You're taken aback when you see this, your feet shuffling on the floor as you step back.

"Fushiguro! Did'ya see that?!" Yuji exclaims in bewilderment, shaking the shoulders of his best friend. "Yeah.. Yeah, I did," he grumbles, whiskers twitching in annoyance. "How'd he do it?!" Other mice exclaim as Choso pries Yuji off his friend. "Now let's look here.. First thing we need is.. Well, to.. a pumpkin! Yeah-" your godfather points his wand to a fresh grown-out pumpkin in the garden, sparkling magic carrying the pumpkin over. You watch in amazement, hearing him mutter words. "What are you saying? What's your name?" Your godfather looks back at you before chuckling, rubbing a hand at the back of his head. "I'm chanting some magic words but it's a little embarrassing for a man like me to say. Name's Gojo Satoru for you!" You nod feverishly, watching as the pumpkin floats its' way over. Vines grow and starts to curl in itself, the pumpkin growing larger with each chant that comes out of Gojo's mouth. The pumpkin changes its' color.. turning white... it's a carriage? It's a carriage! "Isn't it wonderful?" Gojo turns to you in his flirtatious voice, leaning his weight on one hip as he raises a brow at you.

You giggle, ghosting your hands over the wheel of the large carriage, "it's beautiful," you breathe. "Yes, yes it is. With a elegant coach like that of course- we'll have to.... get mice!" He points down to four mice on the floor, Yuji, Choso, Megumi, and Nobara. Your horse, Geto, stomps his hoove on the ground in offense. "We'll have a coach when we're through. Now let's see here- bibbidi bibbidi boo," he whispers, waving the wand at the four mice that turn into large beautiful stallions. "Ah, now see- that's great. You can't go without a horse!"

You tilt your head at him in confusion, "another one?" You ponder, watching him shake his head and chuckle. "It'll be a change- he'll handle the reins instead," he pets your horse before even more sparkling magic carry Geto, turning Geto into a tall grown man that was... quite attractive. He gets sat in the driver's seat, reins in his hold. He blinks before looking down at himself, then at you. You shrug before blushing, watching him start to smile at you. "He'll be a coachman. And another thing.. The finishing touch! You!" You await for the magic to connect with your skin but nothing tingling comes. You open your eyes to see your dog, Shoko, being carried through the air. She was then transformed into a beautiful girl with a brown bob.

"She'll be the footman," he puffs out his chest pridefully, closing his eyes at his work. "Now, go ahead- hop in because we don't have much time," he bats an eye at you, "I know, I know, don't thank me-" you deadpan at him, pouting. "I wasn't.. Well, I mean- I am thankful! But.. My dress.. Don't you think it's..?"

"Hm?" He turns around to fully take a look at you, gasping in horror when he takes a look at your dress. You deadpan at him again. Did he seriously not notice? "Oh good heavens, no. You sweetie, are not going to the ball looking like that, " he mutters, eyeing your dress up and down. He quickly walks over to you, bending down to measure you with his wand. Your face becomes hot when the attractive man gets close to you, wand pressing against your side. He hums before backing up to create a certain amount of distance, chanting again as the same magic before circles around you, your dress quickly puffing into a poofy light-blue dress. It sparkled under the moon light, puffed out sleeves hugging your shoulders as gloves the same color as your dress were worn by your hands.

You twirl around, hands clutching the sides of your dress as your feet drags you across the floor. "Have you ever seen such a beautiful dress? I even have glass slippers!" You sighed happily, seeing Shoko's head nod quickly as she eyed your dress with a sparkle in her eye. You twirl your way to Geto, a toothy grin on your face as his cheeks turned pink. "M-miss (Y/N)! You're beautiful," he breathes, eyes kept on you as you bow at him and twirl your way towards your godfather who was smiling fondly at you.

"It's like a dream, godfather Gojo-" "please," he raises a hand up before taking your gloved hand in his own, "call me Satoru, sweetheart." You giggle as you twirl away, wrapped in the moment. His smile slightly drops as he taps the tip of his wand against his chin, cocking a brow at you in concern. "Jus' letting you know, like all dreams, this won't last forever. You'll only have until midnight.. And then.."

"Yes, yes, midnight- thank you," you grin, swaying your dress as you stare at your reflection in the water. "Hey now- just wait a minute. You must understand, sweetheart, that at the stroke of midnight, all of this," he draws a circle with his wand, gesturing to every object and being he used magic on, "will go back to the way it was before, d'ya hear me?"

You nod before quickly running to him, taking his hands and holding it to your chest, Gojo's cheeks slightly pink at the unexpected action. "I understand.. but it's anything I could ever hope for," you breathe, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek, your glass heels giving you leverage. "Ah.. Yeah.. Well ah! Goodness shit- it's getting late, you ought to go," he ushers you off, gently shoving you in the carriage, "the ball can't wait." You quickly adjust to the seat as the door closes, the carriage already being sent off in the dirt road. "Remember, sweetheart! Stroke of midnight!" You stick your head out the door window, smiling when you see his figure slowly fade in a sparkle of magic.

"Mademoiselles Mei Kenjaku and Yorozu Kenjaku, daughters of Lady Kenjaku."

Sukuna's eye peak interest when he sees Yorozu, a small smirk on his lips. He does nothing of the matter though, and just bows as they bow at him, eyes lingering on his figure. Sukuna's father sighs from the stands, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disapproval. "Y'know sire, I did try to warn you about the prince. He's not interested in any of this and you are a hopeless romantic," Uruame speaks through his sighs and groans, a gloved hand rubbing his forehead.

"There's no doubt when he just bows and right when he suddenly stops and looks up,"

Sukuna raises his head, his whole body stiffening when he sees you, his heart stuttering. "And there, she stands. The girl of his dreams. Who she is or whence she came from, he does not know nor does he care," Uruame speaks away as Sukuna's father notices Sukuna's sudden change in behaviour. Sukuna rushes past Yorozu and Mei, making his way towards your wandering and curious figure. "His heart tells him that here," Sukuna grabs ahold of your hand, only for you to be quick to draw back, "here is the maid that is predestined to be his bride." Sukuna is quick to bow down before you just as you do after him. Uruame lightly chuckles, rubbing her monocle against her suit as the King blinks at the scene of his son and your beautiful form below. "A pretty plot for fairy tails, sire. But in real life, oh no. It was fore doomed to failure-" she quickly gets cut off when the King locks her head with his arm, his gloved knuckles rubbing against her scalp. "Failure, huh? Then take a look at this, you damn pompous hag!" He quickly shoves her down, along with her monocle to watch the two youngsters interact.

Sukuna kisses your hand gently before looking up at you with his red gleaming eyes, ones that were so opposite from Gojo's. It kind of scared you. His eyes almost held possessiveness and so many dark things behind, eyes more piercing and slit than Gojo's who seemed much more kinder and seemed to have good-will. As scary as it was, his eyes also told you he had a sense of security and protection. It almost made you weak in the knees.

"Your highness, it would be an honor. May I take your hand?" His deep voice rumbles in the air, cold air puffing out your mouth as you stare at him in slight surprise. A smile slowly spreads onto your face as you take your hand in his, guiding you into the ball room. Sukuna was nearly gonna shit his pants. He thought you were so fucking beautiful, he didn't know what to say. "You look amazing tonight," he gestures towards your dress, gently squeezing your hand. You blush and cover over your mouth with a hand as you both walk over to the ballroom, starting to gain the eyes of other maidens.

"Who is she? Do you know her?" The King exclaims, peering down with Uruame's monocle. "No, Sire. I've never seen her before," Uruame shakes her head and peers down with him, invested in the sight of Sukuna in the hand of a woman. "Well that's one thing in her favor- shit, they're coming over here," the King quickly turns to gesture to the musicians, hands waving at them, "the waltz! Do the goddamn waltz!"

"Dim the lights!" The King nearly falls over the edge, Uruame's face turning red and round as a tomato as she struggles to keep him up.

"Huh?" Sukuna looks around before looking back at you, his heart nearly melting at the sight of the eye contact. "I guess this is where we should dance," you joke lightly, his hand wrapping around your waist as the other continues to squeeze your hand gently but firmly. He chuckles at your comment, gazing down at you. "You're funny," he remarks, swaying you back and forth as you pick up your dress.

You grin up at him as the music carries you both, lost in each other's gaze. Maidens stare at you both in jealousy and hate, others' heart crumbling at the sight. Some are even happy.

"If anything goes wrong," the King cuts off before sliding his thumb across his neck just as he disappears behind the curtains, leaving Uruame dumbfounded and in charge.

"Mother," Mei whispers in an aggravated voice, clinging to her mother's side. "Mother, who is that," Yorozu growls, twisting her foot into the ground. Your step-mother stares at you and Sukuna from afar, brows raised as her eyes held a jealous glint in them.

"Do we know her?" "Well the prince certainly seems to- but I know I've never seen her-" your step-mother cuts them off with a wave, "nor I, but she's certainly is- wait.. There is something familiar about her," your step-mother's eyes follow you and Sukuna, her own feet moving to inspect your familiar figure. You and Sukuna dance your way out the ballroom elegantly just as your step-mother tries to take a good look, curtains being closed in her face. "Oh my," she embarrassingly looks around, a hand placed on her chest before turning to the sound of another voice, "ahem." There stood Uruame, cocking a brow at her before rubbing her monocle against her suit.

You hum a tune as you both dance, staring into each other's eyes as the night carries you both away. For Sukuna, it felt like it had been a very long time since his heart started to beat. And when he looked into your eyes, it was like seeing the stars. It was in that moment that Sukuna decided that you were to be the one made into his wife.

You two are both met with stairs and that's when you decide to disconnect from each other, your gloved hand and waist savoring the warmth his hands once left you. "So, are you a princess?" Sukuna looks at you as you sputter, nearly choking on your words, a hand waving at your face as you blush. "Ah- no.. I'm merely.. just a girl that lives in a chateau resided in the city," you smile, tucking a few hair strands behind your ear. "Are you.. Are you a prince?"

Sukuna stiffens in surprise, scratching his head, "well.. I'm the prince that's asking for wife," he slightly smirks when he sees your shocked face. "You- you're the prince?! The prince?!" Sukuna laughs, bowing politely at you. "I'm not exactly the prince, I'm just a prince. But I mean, hey," he looks down at you, eyeing you up and down, "I'm the best prince of all there is." You stifle a chuckle, snorting as you turn away to dab away your tears, "he's so corny," you whisper to yourself. But that didn't go unheard by Sukuna that makes a face. "I'd ought to have your head chopped for that, beautiful," Sukuna looks down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye, smirking when your smile slightly falters. You scoff as you turn your head away, waving your hand at him and completely ignoring what he said. "If you must," you shrug, making your way to a fountain.

You were definitely the one. He chuckles before walking beside you, gazing down at the reflection of both of you. You were an amazing sight to behold, like a newly-bloomed flower covered in a frost of snow. He sees you turn to him, getting the chance to look up at you.

You both inch closer, lips lightly brushing at the tips and ghosting over each other. His hand slides over to your waist, gently rubbing up and down your sides that made you shudder. Your eyes quickly open. Just before he got any closer, you step away far enough that your lips was out of reach. "What time is it?" You bite your lip just as Sukuna makes a confused face, turning to look behind him. "It's currently 11:59. Why?" You quickly detach your body away from him, clutching your dress in your fingers, "goodbye! I'm sorry but I have to go!" You step away from him, his hand reaching out for you. "Hey wait!!" A clock starts to ring in your ears now, hurriedly making your way through the garden and back into the ballroom, Sukuna following not too far behind. When you walk past the curtains, you catch the eyes of other maidens just as Sukuna comes through who was quickly swarmed with women. "Wait- I haven't even got your name!" Uruame gets up quickly to chase after you, shoving past the swarm of women heading Sukuna's way.

"Mademoiselle!- pretty lady!-" she nearly trips over her own feet, her eyes watching your leaving figure unexpectingly run down the stairs with such speed. As you run down the stairs, one of your glass slippers fall off, growling in frustration when you have no time to make a grab for it. Uruame makes a grab for it as you dash into an extravagant carriage, "close the gates! Follow that carriage and close the goddamn gates!" Uruame shakes her head in anger, pointing towards your leaving carriage.

You all make it into a forest nearby your house before everything returned to its' original form, your 'horses' turning back into mice, your coachman turning back into your horse, your footman turning back into your dog, and your carriage turning back into a pumpkin that was now squished under your bum.

You look back to see men with large horses charging at you. You gasp before quickly moving out the way, gesturing to the rest of the animals before they got crushed like the pumpkin below that glittered with left over magic. "Oh.. I'm sorry. It seems I had forgotten about the time," you murmur, looking to your horse and dog apologetically. "But... It was so wonderful. And he was so handsome- and when we danced..- I'm sure that no man could have ever.. man," you laugh, wiping a tear. "(N/N)! (N/N)!" You look down, seeing Yuji's small clawed finger pointing at your feet. "A slipper!" "Yeah, your slipper!" Yuji and Nobara shout over each other, pointing their little fingers as they push at each other. You let out a shaky 'oh' and slip your feet out of the glass shoe, holding the delicate thing in your hands before you look up to the stars, eyes glimmering. "Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, for everything."

The King's snoring abruptly stops when he hears knocking at the door, grumbling as he gets up, rubbing the side of his face, "come in," he says urgently. Uruame breaks a sweat as she enters, quick to bow at his feet on one knee. "Uruame! So he's proposed already! Sit down, sit down," he easily lifts her up to her feet, pushing her down on a chair as she slightly frowns, clutching her monocle carefully. "But I haven't told you-" "now, now, we have much more important things to discuss. Arrangement for the wedding, special occasions, national holiday, all that sort of things."

"But Sire-" "here, have a cigar," the King grins, shoving a large cigar in Uruame's mouth that was already lit in the end. "But-" the King laughs, shoving more cigars in her suit. "Better practice to be handin' these out, eh?" He cackles, throwing his head back as Uruame stutters over her words, sweat covering almost her entire back. The king pulls out a sword, Uruame's eyes shutting tightly as she braces for pain but nothing comes. "And for you my friend, a knighthood!"

Uruame peeks an eye open, clutching the hem of her suit. "I hereby dub you Lady... Err- uh.. By the way, what title would you like?" Uruame swallows her saliva thickly, ignoring his question, "sire, she got away." "Well if that would be your title-.. she WHAT?!" The King shakes in anger, his face quite literally turning into a deep shade of red. "Why you- you little imbecile!" Uruame backs up on her feet as the King steps towards her, raising his sword, "b-but sire- remember! Y-you're sick! Your blood pressure!"

"Treason!" He swings down his sword, cutting Uruame's cigar in half. She blinks, gasping just as she crawls backwards, getting up to hide behind the chair she was on. "N-no sire!-" "sabotage! You were in league with the prince all along!" "No sire- I did try to stop her! But- but she vanished into thin air!" "A likely story!" He swings his sword at her, quickly scrambling under and through a table just before he cuts it in half. She quickly jumps onto his bed, jumping as high as he can as he swings at her. They both look like children. "He loves her Sire! The only thing left of her is this slipper! He won't rest until he finds her!" The King's eyes slightly widen at her words but continues to swing, "what did you say?"

"The prince, Sire! Swears he'll marry none but the girl who fits this slipper!" She lands on her back on his bed, the King landing along with her, his large feet planted at her sides. "He said that, did he?" He grins, snatching the glass slipper before smooching it like it was his mother's cheek. "Jackpot!" "But Sire- this slipper may fit any number of girls. Especially in Shibuya!"

"That's his problem- he gave his words, we'll hold him to it," the King hops off the bed, throwing the sword to the side and the slipper on the bed as he walks off. "Nuh uh, I'll have nothing to do with it," Uruame crosses her arms, her usual stoic expression back on her face. He picks up the sword again to lift up the glass slipper, gliding past Uruame's face. "You will try this on every maiden in the kingdom. And if the shoe fits," the King lowers the sword to her throat, "bring her in." "Y-yes.. your majesty," Uruame gulps.

"The prince?" You mutter as your mouth goes dry, accidentally dropping the tray of breakfast on the floor. "Oh you!- you clumsy little fool! Clean up that mess. And help my daughters dress up," your step-mother ushers, pulling the blanket off her daughters that was still in sleeping wear. "If he's in love with that girl, why should we even bother?" Mei pulls the blanket over her and Yorozu again, butts sticking up as their mother roughly snatches the blanket, both of them looking at her in surprise. "Listen to me! There's still a chance that one of you could get in," their mother explains urgently, nodding her head towards where you assumed the palace was. "What?" They say in unison. "One of us?" They turn to each other, blinking.

"Why mother, what do you mean?-" "just this.. No one, not even the prince, knows who that girl is," she explains thoroughly. "We know, we know! (N/N)! (N/-" Yuji quickly gets cut off by Megumi's punch, a frown displayed on his furry face. "The glass slipper is their only clue. Now, the Duchess has been ordered to try it on every girl in the kingdom. And if one can be found if the slipper fits, by the kings command: that girl shall be the Prince's bride."

"His.. bride," you breathe out under a whisper, processing the information. Your step-sisters were quick to process the information though, demanding for you to quickly get them ready and prepped, rushing out of the bed and such. They grab clothes across the room that was laid all over the place, placing it in your arms as you stare off into space, a loving grin on your features as you reminisce your last night interactions with the prince.

"What's the matter with you?!" "Wake up stupid!" "We gotta get dressed!" You blink at them before you look down at your own clothes, your work clothes worn out and covered in dirt and stains. "Dressed.. Yes, I've got to get dressed. It wouldn't do for the Duchess to see me like this.." You set down the pile of dresses and clothes down in Yorozu's arms.

"Mother did you see what she did to me?!" "Mother, are you just gonna let her do this?!" Your step-mother raises a hand at them, "silence." She glares at your back, squinting close to your figure as you sway your way down the hall, humming the same tune as you were the night before. As you go to your room, you quickly undid your hair and start to brush it, singing the tune more louder. Chose lifts up Yuji on his shoulders as Megumi and Nobara stand next to each other, all four shouting at you. "Hm? What?" Your eyes widen just as you look up in the mirror, gasping when you see your step-mother's reflection. "Oh no!" You turn to run to the door, pulling the handle and shaking it. "You can't- I- shit! You can't do this! Oh, let me out!" You cry out, tears starting to form quickly. "You must let me out! You can't keep me in here! Oh.. Oh please," you sob, sliding down your door as you weakly punch it.

Yuji and Megumi hide inside a tea cup, whispering to each other as they plan on how they get the key from your step-mother's pocket. They climb over it and crawl their way over, Yuji slightly pulling on Megumi's tail when he falls into the pocket. Megumi musters up his tiny strength and lifts up the key, Yuji reaching for it as it pokes out. Your step-mother looks up at the stairs just before she starts to reach in her pocket. Yuji jumps, shaking his head profusely as he pushes the key back down in the pocket, a hand going inside to grip the key and going outside the pocket to pat against it. Megumi rubs his head, silently growling under his breath. "Damn old lady," he mutters.

"You must be quite fatigue, your grace. May we all drink some tea?" Your step-mother suggests as Uruame sits herself down on a chair, clearly exhausted. Kenjaku nearly pours a drop of tea that Yuji was in, who was sucking in his stomach when it came too close. "No thank you, ma'am. But we must proceed with the search," Uruame slowly blinks, her monocle falling off her face. She nods politely before gesturing to her daughter, Yorozu. "Yorozu, dear," she says tenderly, grinning when the servant holds the glass slipper right under Yorozu's foot. The servant slips it in, clapping in delight when he sees it fit. Or as he thought. He lifts up her foot, revealing her long slender foot that the glass slipper barely fit in. It seems her dress was covering most of her foot.

The servant's toupee nearly jumps out, clearly shook. "Oh! It- it may be a trugle snug, y'know!? Dancin' all night and all.. I can't understand why of course! It- it always fit perfect before!" The servant tries his best to shove her foot in the glass slipper, Yorozu chuckling awkwardly.

Yuji reaches over for the key, Megumi trying to push it towards his reach as he tries his own attempt to climb out the pocket. Yuji lets out a squeak of pain, both of them dropping to the ground, sliding off your step-mother's dress. "Now c'mon, Yuji! Up the stairs! Now!" They lift up the key, only making it by a few steps. "Boy, do we have a long way to go," Yuji complains, frowning when he looks up. "Oh come on! We gotta help her, now quick! They're already moving to Mei!"

You sob and cling to the door, hearing soft patter draw in closer to the sound of your ears, peering your teary eyes through the key hole. You gasp and cry in relief, "you got the key! My goodness! Thank you, thank you so much!" Megumi slides under your door but before Yuji ever can, Mahito comes in and traps him with a bowl. "Oh! Mahito! Let him go!" Mahito tilts his head to the sound of your voice at the other side of the door, letting out hisses of laughter, his tongue rolling over his fangs. Megumi quickly rushes back out the door, grabbing Mahito's tail, biting it as hard as he can. Mahito jumps, hair spiking up as he grabs his tail. He quickly puts the bowl over Yuji again.

More mice start to charge at him with forks before getting flicked away by Mahito's paws, a grin plastered on his furry face. A candle comes towards him which he easily blows out. Birds come in to throw unused dishes at his head which he quickly jumps up to swipe at them to a stop. "Shit.. Shit!" You panick, banging your head against the door before looking through the keyhole, "Nanami.. Get Nanami!"

The birds quickly rush over to the barn, tugging at the ears of your other dog that hazily woke up by the sound of chirping birds and the barks of Shoko beside him, Geto joining in on the bundle of sounds.

Uruame quickly catches the glass slipper with a finger, sighing in relief. "Oh, your grace, I'm dreadfully sorry. It shouldn't happen again-" "precisely, Madam," Uruame frowns at the grown woman. Nanami growls at the cat that was now cowering in fear, yowling as Nanami chases him out the window. Other mices lift up the bowl that Yuji was under, balled tightly into himself while clutching the key. "Itadori, c'mon!" Yuji shakes his head before Megumi knocks him in the head, dragging him under the door along with the key.

"You are the only ladies in the household I hope I presume?" Uruame cocks a brow tiredly, rubbing her monocle against her suit. "There's no one in the house, your grace." Uruame blinks before bowing her head lightly at the three ladies, "quite so. Good day then, good day-" she nearly walks out before getting cut off by your alarming voice, turning around just as quick as you run down the stairs, your step-family looking at you appalled. "Please wait! May I try it on?" "Pay no attention to her," your step-mother persuades, your step-sisters chiming in, "it's only (N/N)!" "Scullery!" "From the kitchen!" "Ridiculous!" "Impossible!" "She's out of her mind!" Uruame's expression lightens when she examines your feet through her monocle, a twitching smile making way to her lips. "Yes, yes- just an imaginative child!-" "Madam, my orders were 'every maiden.'"

Uruame shoves past her, gently gesturing you to come closer. "Come, my child," she takes your hand in hers as she sits you down, waving to the servant carrying the glass slipper on top of a silk purple pillow. The servant nods happily as he rushes over. Your step-mother grits her teeth, stepping her foot out as he trips over, pretending not to have seen the scene, smirking when it shatters on the ground. "N-no.. Oh no, no, no... This is.. terrible. The king.. What will he say?" Uruame mumbles in despair, getting on her knees to pick up the broken pieces. "You see if I could help-" you get cut off by Uruame's despair, "no, no. Nothing can help."

You chuckle, dipping into your apron pocket, "but you see," you smirk, looking down at her. "I have the other slipper," you pull it out and your step-mother's face goes pale, her jaw dropping nearly to the floor. Mice cheer as they watch the scene, your slipper fitting just so perfectly on your foot. Uruame nearly kisses the shoe as she stares up at you in delight, glad that she finally does not have to search all over the city anymore. And of course, that she found you, Sukuna's soon-to-be wife. Your step-sisters' go into a fit, pouting and crossing their arms to hug themselves for comfort while they stomp on the marble floor.

"Should I go get my things?" You quirk up at Uruame who rubs her monocle against her suit jacket. She blinks at you in surprise before chuckling, "there's no need. But if you please to do so, do it by all means, your Highness," she lightly bows down your way, other men in suit following her action. Your cheeks turn pink before you quickly head upstairs, checking if you wanted to bring anything. You stop rummaging through your drawer when you come across a photo of your father and your mother with little you in between them. You smile bitterly at the picture, bringing it up close to your chest. And of course, you were gonna bring the animals.

"And then- and then what else happens?" Yuji's clawed fingers tug onto Gojo's sleeves, earning a smack on the head from Megumi. "Well, of course, the wedding happens," Gojo smirks, looking back into the large book in front of him.

"Does mommy and daddy have a happy ending?" Gojo looks over to the twins with pink hair, one of them having your colored eyes and the other with red. He chuckles, patting both of their heads, "just listen, okay?"

Maidens scurry across all over the room, various of old women complimenting your features and a few others criticizing you. They made sure your dress fit perfectly and when you came out of the changing room, your beauty had all girls young and old gasping, enchanted by your beauty. "My god, you're so beautiful. Not even I looked like this when I was your age," one comments, "somebody switch our bodies!" Another goes. "You're so beautiful, your Highness," a young one pipes in. You accept the compliments and chuckle with them before the door of the room bursts open, revealing none other than Uruame who held a grumpy face. "Alright, alright, wedding's about to start. Are you guys all set?" A following of quiet 'yes's and a few nods come from all over the room, Uruame sighing when she's had her confirmation until her eyes went over to your figure. Her eyes go wide at the sight of you. "Y-your Highness..." Uruame blushes, bowing. You were wearing a big puffy dress that was as white as snow, your dress being as nearly as similar as the one you went to the ball with. Except parts of the dress had more glimmer and lace designs, especially in your corset. Flower lace designs adorn your ribs and sides, fine linen covering the part for your breasts. Of course, your dress had puffy sleeves made out of fine linen also. You were also the only one wearing white. Everyone else in the wedding was wearing either a dark red or black(which was thankfully allowed). Sukuna made sure you and him were the only one standing out. "You're ethereal," Uruame finishes, bowing once more. You blush at her compliment, draping over the veil over your face.

The King enters the room before bowing deeply, a cute and friendly smile setting onto his face, "you look lovely, miss (Y/N). Gosh- I bet my grandchildren will be beautiful-" he grunts when he feels Uruame jab him from the side, chuckling before extending his arm to you. "Let's see where this beautiful day takes us," he grins wider when you loop your arms around his, hearing sounds of music playing. Was this what it was like? To get married? You were quickly handed a slightly large bouquet of flowers, mixed in with Lilies, red and white roses, some sweet asylum flowers adorning the sides.

The place was dark-colored and yet it seemed so bright with the colors of the sun leaking through the windows and past the drapes. Everyone stood up, many gasped and was in awe at the sight of you. You realized your dress was extended a little longer from the back but you didn't mind. You liked the attention. You could hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you stepped closer to the alter, Sukuna's figure coming more into view behind the veil. You both come to a stop before he hugs you, clutching your bouquet tightly as you turn to the alter. You couldn't really see Sukuna's face over the lace of the veil but you could see his hair. His pink hair was slightly slicked back, some of it sticking up, giving that 'bad boy' or 'she calls me daddy' vibe.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate union of these two loving beings, Sukuna Ryōmen and (Y/N) (L/N)," you nearly gasp when you recognize the voice, turning to see the same blue eyes wink at you. You smile, turning your gaze back to Sukuna. "We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared by these two people, as they come together to start their new life in a solemn vow, surrounded by their closest family and friends," you almost cringe at that part. Because you don't have much friends or family here besides the animals. "They are enjoyed that many of you are able to join us today. As we stand here today to mark this occasion, we remember that what matters most is not the ceremony itself, but the love and companionship you will continue to share throughout your married life together. It was by chance, that Sukuna had stumbled across this woman that he now claims his own," you hear Gojo fondly say. You hear Sukuna gruff, agreeing with him. A couple of people from the side laughs, including you. "To honor the strength of love and the role it plays in our lives, Sukuna and (Y/N) have called upon two of their nearest and dearest to share readings that have moved them,

Your wedding vows are a sacred declaration of your love for each other, the foundation of your relationship as a married couple, and the life you want to build together.

Please face each other as you declare vows to one another. Sukuna, you may start." You hear Sukuna suck in a breath, watching him fumble with his gloved fingers through the veil. For Sukuna, it was like his heart was in his throat. For the first time, in front of his own people, he felt so scared. "(Y/N) (L/N)," he says in a firm voice. "When I first met you, you were the most beautiful and enticing person I have ever seen. The dance we had the night we met felt.. special, really. But at the same time, it was like you were out of reach, something I couldn't grab or have, even as a prince," he calmly says without a stutter, looking up at you. "Within every fiber of my being, am I glad to have met such a great woman. One look at you and I'm lost and I feel... vulnerable," the word 'vulnerable' coming out of his mouth had a few people from the crowd gasping quietly. More like almost a few hundred people. "I, Sukuna Ryōmen, take you, (Y/N) (L/N) to be my wedded wife. I promise to stand by your side through good and bad times, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. I vow to stay true to you and love you unconditionally for the rest of my days." Out pops a silk pillow with two rings on it, both golden and one decorated with beautiful glimmering diamonds. Four mice are underneath it.

You let out a shaky sigh, looking up to the ceiling so tears wouldn't fall and ruin your makeup. A few people chuckle including your maidens. "(Y/N)," Gojo turns to you, his brow slightly raised. You inhale and exhale through your nose and look up at Sukuna, secretly glad your veil was covering your face. "Sukuna Ryōmen. When I first met you, I wouldn't lie and say you didn't have me scared shitless," you spat, smile wavering as Sukuna snickers, a few people gasping at the use of language while Sukuna's father chuckles at it. "But I realized you were just more than scary. You're funny and kind when you want to be. You took me away from what only I can call a nightmare, and for that, I thank you for everything. Maybe someday in our marriage, I'll get to break past your rough cold exterior," a few awes are heard throughout the crowd.

"I, (Y/N) (L/N), take you, Sukuna Ryōmen to be my wedded husband. I promise to stand by your side through good and bad times, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. I vow to stay true to you and love you unconditionally for the rest of my days," you let out a sigh from speaking all those words. Who knew vows could be so overwhelming? "Oh yeah- I forgot, before we start, does anyone have any objections?" Silence. Gojo chuckles before beckoning you both to take the rings.

"Do you, Sukuna, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" "I do," the softest words ever to come out of Sukuna's mouth. You were sure your cheeks were as red as beetroots right now. "Do you, (Y/N), take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" You nod, squeezing the trunk of the flower bouquet, "I do." You both slide the rings onto each other's fingers, smiling at it adoringly when it fits perfectly. "You may now kiss the bride," Gojo triumphaly announces, watching in anticipation when Sukuna lifts up your veil. You nearly took his breath away. Before you could even blush and turn away embarrassed, he smashes his lips against yours. It became gentle quickly after that, his lips moving amongst your own. His lips were soft, demanding but soft. It felt nice. It was passionate. From that day on, you were now married to each other.

You walk down the hallway just before coming to a stop, eyes widening as you turn to peek through a door. Your eyes soften when you see your godfather with an open book, animals and your children surrounding him. You smile but it quickly fades away when you feel a hand on your shoulder, your soul almost floating away. "Woah, there. Sorry, darling," Sukuna kisses your cheek, moving his hand on your waist as his thumb caresses your side. You sigh, shaking your head before reciprocating the kiss onto his cheek, not too long until you lay a hand on your own. "I'm happy, Sukuna," you look up at him. He smiles down at you, moving to kiss you. "Eww!" You both quickly turn to see everyone staring at you through the crack of the door. Sukuna growls, moving away from you and marches into the room as you snort at the sight.

As he scolds everyone and tells them to go to bed, you smile. You could never ask for anything more than this.

A/N: was rlly fun to write, I completely made Sukuna into a softie in this one so he's not completely himself. But it's Cinderella only she can change him! 🥰

This is kind of a make up after the eternity fic.. But I still hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading <3

If you liked this one, go check out my other works and see if you enjoy them as well! Follow and give me a note if you enjoy<3

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Tags: @sircatchungus

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amuromi · 6 months

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.1k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ SFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, established relationship (married), major character death, canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The canon will begin to matter less and less as this story goes on it seems, but it will all make sense I swear!

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

There are two bodies to burn. The sparse tinder is laid by careful hands. In the deep cold of winter the earth has so few things to spare, only the thin branches of a fledgling tree bowed over by the blistering wind. The wood is dead and brittle, splintering like breaking bones where it’s been bent into curving shapes. Tied with twine in a braided wreath of ashen wood to surround First Mistress’ body. She’s laid over a fine fur in her most sumptuous clothes and most lustrous jewels, the broken parts of her carefully placed where they’re meant to be attached to her body. Beneath her clothes, parts of Jurina are missing. A bit of flesh flayed from her ribs, a gouge taken out of her thigh. There’s a thin square of white silk laid over her face, hiding the claw masks and the fissure where her head was nearly torn from her body. The wound flutters in and out of sight as the wind stirs the edge of the white sheet, flashing the curving groove where Lord Sukuna fit his teeth into her flesh and tore.

The fire catches quickly after the priests say their rites, burrowing like red mice through the wood. Burning tongues leapt from wood to fabric, outfitting Jurina’s body in a brilliant, golden shroud for only a moment before her clothes are burning away and the fire takes to skin. The perfumed wood dampens the scent of burning flesh but it will soon become overpowering as the small crowd gathers to pay their respects before the pyre. There’s weeping for mistress and servant alike as Jurina’s personal maid chose to continue serving her in the afterlife. There was little attention given to her body. She’s simply laid beside Jurina with her collar of bruises from the white silk that had choked the life from her throat. Her name escapes you and you wonder if she has a family that needs to be informed of their loss. A raven was already sent out by Uraume to inform Jurina’s clan of her demise at the hands of the King of Curses.

It’s your hope that Uraume elected to omit the extent of the damage done to Jurina’s body so that her family might have some peace in their ignorance. The winter winds snuff out lives like blowing out candles, ravaging weaker bodies with boiling fevers and gasping coughs that never seem to pass. It’s just the right season for pneumonia and illnesses of that ilk. Let them think that she went with some semblance of peace. It’s a selfish sort of wish as you watch the snow hiss and turn to steam over Jurina’s funeral pyre. It would absolve you of blame, remove the hand you had in her death with your careless words. Poisonous tongue spelling out her death. She’d been staring at you when she died, or perhaps she was dead before her glassy eyes rolled towards you standing at the edge of the engawa, snow dotting your lashes and melting into moisture when the tears wouldn’t come. You hadn’t wanted her death but you can’t find it in yourself to be saddened by the loss.

Even so, you clasp your hands in prayer along with the remaining Mistresses. Still three despite Fourth Mistress’ arrival. Now Second Mistress is the wife with the most seniority and yet she stands to your right, a subtle show of deference that hadn’t been there only so many hours before. The night has stretched on for a small eternity, bleeding into daylight without reprieve as the household scrambled to deal with Jurina’s death. Messengers were sent out in the waning storm to fetch priests from the village, servants were dispatched to clean Jurina’s chamber and erect a platform for her to be burned upon. Tatami mats were changed and floors were scrubbed. The blood soaked courtyard has been renewed with another layer of downy snow to cover the splatters of blood where Lord Sukuna dragged Jurina outside to make a spectacle of her death. He tore at her with a deranged sort of satisfaction, grinning when he saw you watching, as if he’d only been waiting for a moment to tear her apart. She burst open between his teeth and claws like a ripe fruit, spilling across the snow in a brilliant spray of crimson. And all you did was watch, trying to remind yourself that Jurina wasn’t like you. She was still human in a way that you weren’t.

Her dedication was to herself above all else, perhaps her clan came second. Lord Sukuna wasn’t a priority in her mind. Her world was vast, reaching far beyond the bounds of the Ryomen estate. During meals she would tut over letters she received from her clan, bemoaning the poor marriage of a cousin or cooing over the news of a new baby. She needled the servants for gossip whenever they returned from an errand outside the estate. Jurina was just a woman and she died as a woman would at the hands of a being like Lord Sukuna; screaming. She’ll be happy to know that he isn’t in attendance to watch her flesh and bones be rendered to ash, her favorite maid beside her. When the smoke clears they’ll be swept into urns or perhaps tossed out with the dirt swept off the engawa. It’s your hope that she’ll be sent home. It’s clear she never belonged here and it would be cruel for this forbidden corner of the world to be her final resting place.

There’s also a piece of you that thinks she doesn’t deserve the honor of being laid to rest here. Though you suppose decisions like this will be left up to you now that there is no First Mistress to lead the household. Lord Sukuna has made it plainly clear that those responsibilities and honors are now yours. So when a servant comes to ask what should be done when the fire is quelled you send them to find some proper urns of expensive material for Jurina and her maid to be gathered in before being sent off. It doesn’t escape your notice that the servant stopped quite a ways away from you. In fact everyone seems to be giving you a breadth that borders on excessive. As if so much as breathing a breath of air that passed through your lungs will have their body burning next. Everyone that already treated you like a piece of glass is suddenly too fearful to even raise their head in your presence. It’s only Uraume that speaks to you as they had hours ago, entering your chamber with only the lightest knock on the shoji. They find you plucking tunelessly at the strings of your koto with only candlelight as your company.

The midday sky is gray and dim, still choked with the clouds of the breaking storm. Dull light bleeds through the thick paper of the shoji leading outside. The faintest firelight as Jurina continues to burn.

“Have you slept?” Uraume asks, coming to sit beside you. You haven’t. There’d been no time to sleep. Hours have passed since Lord Sukuna returned home, since he took you in the bathhouse, since he tore Jurina apart. Hours spent making arrangements and delegating tasks so that this funeral could be held in a timely manner. It’s doubtless that if Lord Sukuna had presided over the proceedings he would’ve simply sent Jurina to the kitchen and used her bones to pick his teeth when he was through with the meal. It would’ve been an honor to be so wholly consumed by her husband but Jurina likely wouldn’t have seen it as the blessing it was. To be so desired that Lord Sukuna wanted to devour every bit of her. To use her body as a means to bolster his own. A shiver trickles down your back as Uraume gathers your hair to comb, the chill of their skin cutting deep.

“The raven you sent to her family… Did you say how she died?” You ask carefully.

“She died serving her king.” They say evenly. Of all the people bowing to your lord husband, it is only Uraume that understands you completely. The servants were wailing and whispering about the cruelty of their lord but what cruelty was there? A doll doesn’t despair when the owner breaks it. Jurina’s porcelain face was cracked and her straw body torn open, but what higher purpose is there than to serve the whims of something greater than yourself? Jurina was ill fit to be Lord Sukuna’s wife. She didn’t understand duty or sacrifice. She didn’t understand her place beneath him. Not in the way that you did. A flower doesn’t question the might of a tree nor the warmth of the sun.

“How do you feel?” Uraume asks, leaning closer than any servant would dare. If they were anyone else, you might stifle at the audacity, but it feels as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth. As Lord Sukuna’s wife, you are an extension of his being. And no one would dare to touch him so intimately without permission. No one except Uraume. They chuckle and ask, “Are you happy?”

“I’m happy. Always.” The feeling is innate. Whether Jurina lived or died, your happiness would remain the same. There’s no great pleasure taken in her demise, nor is there the pang of loss. It feels like something akin to relief. A thorn finally removed from your skin. The itching, burning sting of her presence has been removed at last and you’ll only be strengthened by it. It’s already begun. The servants had come to you for guidance once the house physician had declared Jurina dead. There was no need for the commotion of an official declaration. She looked like a butchered animal by the end. And when the fire dies, nothing will be left of her but ash and memories. She’ll be swept up and sent away, forgotten with the melting snow.

“Did Jurina serve her purpose? Truly?”

“No,” Uraume answers without hesitation. “I don’t think any of Lord Sukuna’s wives have served their purpose. Certainly none more so than you, sweet girl.” There were never any honorifics between you and Uraume, at least not in private. They saw you as an equal, perfectly matched in your standing with Lord Sukuna.

It feels like an honor you’ve yet to earn. Uraume would wage war for your lord husband. You could do no such thing. Even with your cursed technique, you’d be useless in battle. Uraume was lethal, a blade in Lord Sukuna’s hand where you were simply a plucked flower. A blade can be sharpened and polished, but sooner or later a flower would wilt and wither, and your time as a person of importance would pass. Whether it be by death or age, you’d soon be without purpose and Lord Sukuna would likely do away with you as he had Jurina. You can only hope he’ll honor you with consumption. To know that, even in death, you’d been of some minuscule use would soothe your soul.

Sometimes you find yourself wondering if you’d become a curse, though the only thing worth cursing in this life would be Lord Sukuna. It wouldn’t be so unimaginable that you’d cling to your lord husband even after death. You pledged yourself to him in this life and the next. To go to a place where he cannot follow would be to abandon your vows. And you’d loath to be an unfaithful wife.

“You’re tired,” Uraume said, though you hadn’t acknowledged the lethargy yourself. They finish the careful task of combing through the last section of your hair before urging you to lay down.

“Shall I prepare your tea?” You shake your head. It’s become a nightly ritual to have tea before you sleep, but there is no strength left in your body to wait for Uraume to prepare it. Usually the task was left to your personal maid but she is nowhere to be found. Uraume has made the offer but you imagine it to be a simple courtesy rather than a genuine offer. They aren’t your servant to be ordering about. That honor is reserved solely for your lord husband no matter if they offered the service themselves.

“Sleep for now,” they hum, “I’ll wake you if there is a need for your presence.” Which is to say, if Lord Sukuna calls for you. No other task would be worthy of rousing you from your rest. They tuck you into your futon and blow out each candle before leaving you alone in the darkness. There’s still the faint flickering of the pyre crackling in the courtyard, but it’s easily ignored as fatigue settles over you.

It seems as though no time has passed at all when you rouse to wakefulness, yet you feel perfectly rested. The light slipping in from outside is that same pale orange glow that sent you to sleep; reminiscent of firelight, yet there is no crackling of burning wood and smoldering flesh. Instead there’s the faint whistling call of the wind and the strangest sound of scratching. At first you imagine it to be a wayward branch scraping against the eaves or the sound of geta scuffing against the wooden walkway. But the sound is too close, too concise to be an untrimmed tree or heavy-footed servant. It was closer to the sound of woodwork. The same noise that preceded Jurina’s pyre as branches were cut and stripped of the snow-sodden bark so the fire would not pittle and hiss over damp wood. The faint whittling noise comes from outside. The sound of scratching sounds nearer still.

In the gray-gold light, you see the edge of something shift like a shadow dancing between flickering candlelight. But there are no candles burning. No shadows dancing. The shape in the corner of your room seems far more tangible than any trick of the light. It twitches and writhes like an overturned beetle, wriggling between the seam of the adjacent walls like water leaking through a crack.

Waves of cursed energy surge from the corner like miasma, permeating the room. The scent of it stings your nose and clings to your tongue with the acidity of poison. The curse moans deep and haunting. An almost lyrical sound, as if a dozen voices are folding over each other, like plucking every string of a koto at once. A discordant whimpering undercut by the sound of digging and clawing as it peels away the planks of wood to make space for itself. The walls begin to squeal and splinter, tearing away to allow the winter morning and the curse inside.

Its bulging eyes wriggle, protruding like those of a frog, and twitching as though it’s a hardship to focus them both so singularly on something. One arm falls away from its scratching and three more follow. The weight of each limb hitting the floor sounds much like a bag of peaches tumbling in a cart. It twitches, body contacting inward until it’s a thick bulging ball of pale flesh before it flattens and drags itself forward on its four arms. It moans again, bearing its long, blunt teeth. Again, it moans, and you think you hear the number three. Then again with more clarity,

“Three, three, three.” It whimpers ceaselessly as it drags its bulging body towards you. Its skin is shapeless and loose like a boiled dumpling, contracting into a thick mass before stretching thin as it drags itself towards you with the agility of a caterpillar. Its face is snow white with red horns peeking out from beneath a hood of pale flesh. For a moment, you consider a monster trying to hide its true face, laughing at the absurdity of it. The sound of hysteria bubbles from your lips louder than any other had, and it only seemed to incense the creature. It dragged itself closer with more ferocity. The moaning chant of “three, three, three,” only gets louder.

When it’s close enough, it slashes at you, slow and clumsy like a child playing swords with a stick. The morning chill overtakes you as you leap from the futon in a cloud of silk and fur. The curse hisses, then tries again, and when it misses once more the noise it makes is something like a wail. It sounds far too anguished, far too human. The sound sinks beneath your skin, deep enough to rattle your heart and you shiver in your hakama. Your own voice is lost somewhere in your throat, tangled between your quickened breaths and thundering heartbeat.

Curses aren’t meant to speak, they’re incapable of it. And yet this one reaches towards you with taloned fingers, groaning “three, three, three.”

It lumbers through the room, weight knocking over side tables. It swings its thick arms, claws grasping to rend your flesh from your bone as it chases you. Needles prick at the soles of your feet as you stumble through the hole torn through the wall, splinters of wood stippling through your socks as the curse herds you onto the engawa. The prickling of wood shards gives way to something wet, though far too warm to be ice melting off the eaves. Your eyes are far too intent on the creature dragging itself out of the hole it burrowed into your room to spare a glance at the ground, and you go from staring at the pale creature to looking up at the light sky.

The cold is immediately, stabbing into you like a dozen blades as snow clouds your lashes. A cloud of it drifts down around you, stirred through the air as you land. Gray clouds roll by overhead as you make a wheezing noise. The air rattle inside your lungs as you try to regain the breath that had been knocked from your chest in the fall from the engawa. It hadn’t been a far drop but you hardly had breath in your lungs to start, too startled to take more than shallow gasps of air. The curse comes poking over the edge of the walkway, tossing itself into the snow beside you.

“Get back.” Your voice is as thin as the wind whistling through the courtyard. “Stay away from me.” The curse wails again. Deeper as if it meant to give the toneless sound meaning. “Three, three, THREE!” It says it as if it’s your name, reaching towards you through the snow. Belatedly, you realize that it is your name. You are Third Mistress. Third, Three. The curse bellows the word again, moving like a slug through mud as it drags its malformed body through the bank of snow. Still on your back, steeped in the chill seeping through your thin robe, you watch as the curse reaches towards you with grasping claws. There’s a pondering to your gaze as your eyes watch the dull glint of the morning light wink off the edge of its claws. Jurina had always been so preoccupied with her perfect nails. A talon finds your cheek, scratching a burning line across your face before the connected limb bursts like a crushed melon.

Hot viscera replaces the frigid kiss of the wind as bright purple blood and bits of white flesh rain down over your face. It’s nearly warm enough to scald, made worse by the shrieks of pain ringing in your ears as the curse writhes in the snow. Clouds of frost dance around its wriggling body though it doesn’t seem to move far. With muscles tensed and shivering, you shove yourself onto your elbows to see over the veil of churning snow. The curse is pinned to the ground with spears of ice. Wailing and thrashing to be free. The stump of its arm still reaches for you, joined by the three that remain. You find your knees, then slowly your feet, only to be knocked into the snow once more as a pillar of ice shatters and a flailing hand reaches towards you in another spray of violet blood. The feeling burns hot as fire, spreading through your body like sparks through a dry brush. Warmth blooms through your side, seeping over your hip and down the length of your thigh as blood weeps from the wound torn through your side.

The feeling of warmth blooms between your fingers as you press your hands against the gouge taken from your torso. It’s a strange, hollow feeling. As if your body has yet to accept the prospect of pain just yet. It comes in waves, lapping over you in an ebb and flow as your vision begins to swim. Everything is hot as fire and cold as ice. The world looks as though you’re seeing it through a cloud of steam, rippling and fading as you blink through the blood loss. This feeling isn’t new and yet the feeling hasn’t lessened in its intensity. There’s a sound that you find familiar. Frantic and sharp as a bird chirping at the rising sun. It grows colder still, though there’s comfort in the chill as you recognize the shape of arms wrapping around you. It hurts as they squeeze at the hole gaping in your side, still weeping red tears of blood through the silk of your hakama. The chirping turns to feral growls, a wolf bearing its teeth, and the curse wails anew. It sounds like Jurina if only vaguely. Shrill and bitter. The ground had only just been dusted with a cover of snow, hiding the place her blood had been spilled. Now it was your turn.

Dazedly, you blink up towards the sky, lashes shining with tears or melting snowflakes as a face swims through your periphery. The soft chirping returns and you try to piece together the sounds over the weeping curse. A voice that you recognize. It soothes your fluttering heart, lessens the flames still burning where part of your body is missing, and more is still spilling onto the snow. A red puddle blooming over a sea of white. It reminds you of Uraume’s hair, and reminds you that their voice has always been melodic like birdsong. It must be them holding you so gently, speaking soft words to you though your hearing has faded to the sound of your blood and breath, like hiding your head beneath a pillow. Something cold and soft brushes over your face and you imagine it might be the gentle fingers of your protector, but your eyes can’t find anything other than the vaguest shapes.

Everything has melded into a light wash. Gray sky, white snow, ivory-skinned curse. Everything is white until it isn’t. A sudden burst of color as a shade of sunset pink appears overhead. So far above that, for a moment, you truly think it to be the sun. But the sun has no teeth to bare, no eyes to watch those beneath its shining face. But, perhaps, he can be considered your sun as Lord Sukuna sneers at the curse still sniveling a few paces ahead. It’s pinned and bleeding. Pierced with long shards of Uraume’s ice formation. Lord Sukuna’s towering form stoops to look at the creature before his sights are set on you. He reaches out and for a moment you expect the gentility of a caress against your frigid cheek. Instead his hand closes around your neck, choking the last dregs of air from your lungs as he lifts you from Uraume’s arms. His height leaves you dangling far above the ground, legs too numb to kick though you have no reason to protest such rough treatment. Punishment is in order.

How shameful you are. The daughter of an unimpeachable sorcerer clan unable to defend herself. The wife of the King of Curses being maimed by the hands of another. Your life was not for anyone but your lord husband’s to take and yet you feel the familiar feeling of your body giving out. Made worse by the way Lord Sukuna’s fist is closed tight around your throat. Your head feels swollen, vision darkened as the pressure bursts the capillaries in your eyes. Lord Sukuna regards you with vague interests. His four eyes dance over your face, likely taking in the way your lips must be deepening to an asphyxiated blue as the veins in your face lift to the surface of your skin. You can’t bring yourself to fight against him, hands doing little more than holding his wrist as he keeps you aloft with one hand. Another comes to stroke against the wound in your side, claws raking over the ragged flesh. It feels more like pressure than pain as the feeling fades from your body. Lord Sukuna says something but it’s only a dull rumble in your uncomprehending ears. All that’s left is a ringing, then a sound like a branch being torn from a tree. Then nothing.

A lingering hollowness haunts the light floating before your eyes in clouds of flickering red. It burns through your eyelids as your lashes flutter, eyes disobeying your intentions to open them. It feels like pulling a string with no tension and expecting the puppet to move even still. No part of your body wishes to do more than twitch as you claw towards consciousness like climbing a mountain. First your toes begin to move as intended, then your fingers. It feels like filling an empty cup, bit by bit the water rises until it’s spilling over the brim and your eyes flutter open at last.

The warmth of wakefulness is nearly overwhelming. Hot as the stifling heat at the height of summer as your eyes watch the glow of the braziers flickering across the walls. Sweat trickles over your skin beneath the layers of bedding pulled up to your chin, gathering between your breasts and at the nape of your neck. It’s made worse by the tackiness in your throat. It’s hard to swallow as you shift in your nest of blankets, moving with the grace of a newborn fawn. This isn’t the rising from a fitful sleep but the emergence of a newly formed butterfly escaping its cocoon. You move with a practiced delicacy, wings still soft against your back as you strip the layers away from your sweltering skin. How long have you been asleep?

The light blooming outside the shoji gives nothing away. It could be early morning or midday and the faint glow of the winter sun remains the same. You turn away from the doors leading outside and regard the inner shoji with vague interest. There’s faint hints of knowledge in your mind. It drifts just beyond comprehension like fish dancing just below the surface of a pond, bright and fleeting as you try to grasp at the thought that won’t form. The walls around you are unfamiliar yet you can’t be certain of why. The scent in the air is foreign in a way you can’t place. Everything is wrong. A frightening sort of foreignness as you try to rattle any modicum of knowledge loose from the haze of unconsciousness. The tatami is cold underfoot, your bare toes pressing into the woven mats as you wobble towards the door on the tips of your toes. This much you know.

There’s the broadest strokes of understanding. The door slides open when you pull, red light giving way to darkness as the halls stretch out in either direction almost endlessly. The embers burning in the braziers only reach so far into the yawning blackness so you set forward blindly. One hand trails along the left wall, fingertips grazing along the screens painted with falling leaves. The halls twist and turn, darkness fading to gray as your eyes adjust to the sinuous corridors. At each corner you turn left with the vague knowledge that it will eventually lead you somewhere. The last hallway doesn’t end so much as an obstacle appears in your path. A slim figure cuts across your vision, a burning stroke of white standing out in the dimness. Their face is familiar as is the word they whisper into the darkness. The dulcet sound knocks something loose in your head. Your name. As if you’d been underwater since your eyes opened, the broad strokes of knowledge rattling about in your head are slowly refined. Returning to life is always jarring. Without guidance it takes some time for you to realize yourself, to reclaim your memories and mannerisms. Your mother had said you were like a puppet brought to life before your mind returned, always the last thing to heal from the ordeal of death.

“Lord Sukuna will be glad to hear you’ve awakened.”

“How long was I asleep?” A gentle way to ask for how long your body had been dead. Faintly, you remember the wound in your side, Lord Sukuna’s hand about your delicate throat. From the inside of your body, breaking your neck always sounds like a tree being cleaved in two. A thick tearing noise that echoes dully in your ears before the unknown sound of death swallows you. That you never remember. A small miracle considering how often you’ve found yourself being relieved of your life. Drowning, choking, burning. And yet your body mends itself without fail, becoming stronger for the pain you endured. You touch your side and wonder what it will take to pierce the skin there in this lifetime; because there have already been so many.

“A fortnight.” Uraume tells you. Usually a broken neck would not take so long to heal. But the damage is rarely paired with the viscera of a curse attack. It had been a lucky thing that Lord Sukuna had honored you with death at his hands. The first since you’ve entered his household as his third wife. If the curse had taken your life, you imagine there might not have been another life to live. No death had ever come at the hands of a curse or anything imbued with cursed energy. If it can keep a sorcerer from becoming a curse, it can likely keep you from reviving with more strength than before. It would’ve been a great shame to have been killed by a curse when your lord husband was so near. An insult to allow anyone other than him to determine what happens to his wife. His third wife. His favorite wife.

Uraume leads without much grandeur, simply walking a few steps ahead of you. The path becomes clearer now. Still dark and unlit but there’s a familiarity to it that hadn’t been there only moments ago. The air is chilling as Uraume leads the way outside, meandering along the engawa until they jump from the edge, their landing softened by the clouds of snow still blanketing the ground. It seems less than it had been when your eyes had last opened, as if it hadn’t snowed heavily since the night of Jurina’s death. Yet it was still winter and you clutch the folds of your hakama closer around your shoulders as Uraume trails ahead. Clouds like wisps of smoke puff from between your lips as shivers tremble through your renewed body. If they feel the cold, Uraume doesn’t acknowledge it. The cold is something intrinsic to your lord husband’s most favored servant. Even in the height of summer there’s a slight chill to their presence. Likely a consequence of their cursed technique.

Uraume leads the way past the unattached buildings that are only frequented by servants, towards the far bounds of the estate. There’s never been any reason for you to be this far from the main house. You imagine these are places where things you never think of are stored, preserved foods and wagons for trips into town. The armory is the only building you recognize. A haze of cursed energy looms over the building like a shroud. It’s the same for the building that Uraume seems to be leading you towards. The air around it is thick with the presence of great power. Both auras are familiar in different ways. Just as each person seems to carry their own distinct scent, cursed energy has an element of individuality. Even with your eyes closed and ears plugged, you’d know the approach of your lord husband by his cursed energy alone. He is inside. As is another being that you imagine must be the curse that had attacked you. Their energy is recognizable in a fractured way. Like a dream slipping away as soon as you wake.

Uraume announces your arrival as they open the door. The room is bathed in gold, lit by dozens of lanterns all flickering in tandem. The room is modest in size and made smaller by what must be hundreds–if not thousands–of talismans hanging from the walls and ceiling. All in various sizes and written in different hands. Some of the ink has the neatness of a learned scholar while others have the shakiness of illiteracy, though the quality of the script hardly matters to what is written. Each tag holds the power to bind. As do the thickly woven ropes wrapped right around the pale curse that attacked you all those days ago. It gurgles and strains within the ropes hung with more binding talismans, bulging eyes bobbing in its head as it tries to fix its gaze towards the sound of your approach. You hardly notice, eyes fixed on the vision of your lord husband standing over the creature with his spear in hand.

Lord Sukuna takes over your vision, eclipsing everything with his daunting figure. He takes his eyes away from the curse bound at his feet with an unhurried sort of interest, and the weight of his gaze makes you bloom like a flower beneath the kiss of the sun. Red eyes piercing as burning iron stab through you, pinning you in place so absolutely that your knees buckle. He sees the weakness before you can fall and catches you by the waist, pulling you against him. Your eyes fall away from his face, head bowing as you try to find the words to apologize for your mistake; your death. He silences you before you can find enough words to express the deep rooted feeling of inadequacy.

“The misstep has already been punished.” When you dare to look up, Lord Sukuna is looking towards Uraume. With a sharp nod of his head he dismisses his right hand attendant to leave the two of you alone with the curse that tried to take your life, tried to claim something that belongs to your lord husband alone. Not even you have such control of your life. You’ve heard tales of unhappy concubines seeking death in the face of neglect and mistreatment. Though you’ve always found yourself spoiled in your marriage, you can’t imagine that you could ever take your own life even if you were set aside and forgotten. Lord Sukuna will always be your world. The sun doesn’t cease to exist simply because it has set. The darkness of night must be endured to enjoy the light of day. You’ll suffer anything at the hands of your lord husband if it pleases him. Your life is his to manage as he sees fit.

“My Lord,” you try to speak, but you’re silenced once more.

“Don’t start. I’ve already told you you’re forgiven. Besides, words are useless without action. If you truly seek forgiveness then prove it.” He takes his hand away from you and nods towards the curse still squirming in its bonds. Its eyes wheel this way and that until one finally finds its way into a position to see you. The aborted struggles seem to renew with the vigor you’d seen upon its arrival into your chamber. The ropes burn red welts into its pale skin where it writhes and strains, spittle dribbling from its mouth as its empty whining turns to hissing yowls.

“Three, three, three.” The creature spits, straining towards you with the singularity of an arrow launched from a bow. Lord Sukuna stands behind you, a pillar of strength and a post keeping you from turning away. One of his hands finds yours, pressing his spear against your palm. It’s heavy and your arm trembles with the strength it takes to hold it. His intentions are clear. Kill the curse. It takes great strength and both arms to lift Lord Sukuna’s spear. All of your weight pitches forward as you drive the three-pronged blade through the curse’s head. Blood sprouts like a fountain as the creature screams. The sound pierces through your ears, ringing in your head as you drive the weapon further through its head in a rush to silence the noise. It chuffs and squeals, thrashing against the ropes with slowly waning strength until, at last, it goes still and silent.

For a moment the pale lump of bleeding, bulging flesh takes on a shimmery red glow like flames burning within ash and ember. It grows then fades as the creature sags in a haze of dissipating cursed energy. The only movement left is the blood dripping from the spear still lodged in its head, forming a puddle on the dirt floor. Perhaps a flower will sprout from the soil wetted with purple blood though you doubt something so delicate could spring from the death of such a violent creature. Kneeling next to the puddle you touch the spot of dampness and ask the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue since the curse first spoke.

“Was this First Mistress Jurina?” It had to be. It would explain the vague familiarity about the curse’s energy. Like the scent of someone lingering in their clothes after they’ve worn them, Jurina’s cursed energy tainted the new signature of the cursed spirit. Lord Sukuna barks out a laugh.

“There’s no need to be so respectful of the dead. Jurina is no longer my wife, nor was she ever worth your deference.”

“She was your first wife,” you mumble, lowering your head against the admonishment you expect to meet your stubbornness. It doesn’t come.

“They are wives in name only. Perhaps I laid with them, but there has been no woman above you since we wed.”

The wedding had been something of a formality performed in the absence of your lord husband. The vows had been spoken before your family and the deed was done long before you completed the arduous journey from your home to Lord Sukuna’s estate. You were his wife for some time before you met and, truly, you will be his wife forever. Not even death could sever your allegiance. It makes you wonder if one day you’ll become a curse too. Some amalgamation of your grief and anguish. The dark, rotted feeling of failure as you abandon your lord husband in death. It’s unthinkable when your body has been blessed with such resilience and yet you know that there may come a day when death is no longer like sleep, your eyes will close forever, the butterfly dead at last. It brings a mournful feeling to your heart.

“Would you let me curse you, my lord?” Jurina had become a vengeful spirit fueled by her hatred of you. She’d cursed you in her death and you can only hope to be so attached to your lord husband, even in death. It’s the dividing line between you, the gate guarding you from the rest. In her last moments, Jurina hadn’t been thinking of Lord Sukuna. Her husband, her murderer. Instead he eyes had looked to you and her soul had screamed to tear at you the way Lord Sukuna had shredded through her body. It was with no small amount of pain that Jurina had lost her life and even in the midst of death she had found it in herself to hate you with such passion that it burned even after she died. If she had hatred you wished to burn with love in your afterlife, to be so consumed by the flames of your desire that your essence will cling to Lord Sukuna even in death.

“Would you curse me?” He asks sardonically.

“I think I would.” There’s a bashfulness to your voice as your eyes stay towards the ground, watching Jurina’s purple blood seep into the soil. Lord Sukuna places a finger under your chin, sharpened nail digging into the soft skin beneath your jaw. When your eyes lift towards his face he’s smiling, a stark baring of fanged teeth. He smiles like a wolf and you’re the rabbit a hair’s breadth away from being bitten.

“You’ll have to die first.” His tone is peculiar. There’s a hint of humor though it’s colored with something darker, as if Lord Sukuna is angered by the prospect of you abandoning him in such a way.

“I will someday.” You remind him. Your Chrysalis technique may revive you from traumatic deaths, but a gentle departure, a final breath gasped in the night, is likely to go unrenewed. A winter frost through which no spring flowers will bloom. Nature cannot be denied and to live is to die.

Lord Sukuna cups your face in his hand, clawed fingers digging into your cheeks. “How little you know, woman.”

He says no more and you decide that he must know something that you don’t. He is leagues more worldly and likely does know things beyond your understanding. It isn’t your place to pry if he won’t tell you freely. He must see a thousand questions behind your eyes but he neglects to answer any of them. Instead he pulls his hand away from your face and the warmth of his skin against yours is replaced by the winter cold. There are no burning coals in this room. A shiver snakes through your body, and that Lord Sukuna acknowledges. He removes his outer robe and drapes it around your shoulder. Immediately you’re drowning in the warmth of his body still lingering in the silk. It’s far too long for you and you gather the massive swathe of fabric into your arms to keep it from dirtying on the ground. Lord Sukuna tuts and picks you up, easily keeping his clothes from dragging along the dirt. Cradling you in one arm he pulls his spear from Jurina’s second corpse with another. It comes loose with a sound that reminds you of chopping vegetables.

Lord Sukuna calls for Uraume and they appear in an instant as if they had been by his side all along. There’s an unspoken order that passes between them and your lord husband’s servant accepts it with a resolute nod. Then he says, “come, woman,” as though you could go anywhere else while still held aloft in his arms. It’s so different from the last time he held you, his fist locked around your delicate throat. Now his arms cradle beneath your knees and across your back as you lean against the warmth of his chest. The light of the sun is a bright wash of hazy white after spending some time in the dimness of the talisman room. You expect that Lord Sukuna will take you back to the main house, but he continues off in the direction nearing the furthermost bounds of the estate.

“What will happen to Jurina now?” You dare to ask. Her human form had already been burned, but you weren’t sure what would become of her cursed form. It would be cruel to send it back to her family and burning wasn’t meant for curses. A human body could be purified in flames in preparation for the next life, but a curse could not shed the truth of its nature even in death.

“I’ll show you,” Lord Sukuna said cryptically, still walking towards the building that stood alone on the outer reaches of the estate. Like the talisman room and the armory, there was a heady cloud of cursed energy blanketing the structure, though it was far more potent than anything you’d ever encountered aside from Lord Sukuna. His cursed energy seemed as deep and unending as the ocean and this strange building was just as unfathomably thick with traces of cursed energy. It was nearly overwhelming despite your constant exposure to your lord husband. It was ominous. Terrifying in its foreignness. Were you not held by Lord Sukuna, you might’ve run from this place. But there is an inherent safety in his arm. Your lord husband wouldn’t take you to a place that he could not protect you.

“What is this place?” You ask quietly, as if speaking too loudly would rouse something from the aura of darkness.

“An onsen of sorts.” It had the warmth of a bathhouse though the sound of babbling water was traded for that of rain, like a rushing waterfall as Lord Sukuna opened the door. It seemed just like the onsen of the main house. Stone floors around a deep pool, yet there was no water here. Instead the pit where a hot spring might’ve been was filled with something black and vicious. The dripping sound came from the strange hammock hung far above the pool. That same dark liquid seeping through the large patchwork of fabric. And when you look closer, there are those same talisman symbols painted on the bulging material.

“This is where Jurina will be taken,” Lord Sukuna told you, “so that she might finally be of use.” Just as Uraume said, none of his wives have served their purpose. It makes you wonder what purpose Lord Sukuna would have you serve. You dare to ask.

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” he says vaguely. “You’re my wife, and I expect that you’ll serve me as a wife should.”

His words send a shock down your spine. What task have you been neglecting? You were raised in an affluent household as the daughter of a large and prosperous clan. The ways of womanhood have been stitched into your brain from the moment you were born. The proper way to act and speak, the things a wife must pay heed to if she wishes to keep a well run household. Though you’re only the third in line of authority–second, now–you’ve taken up most tasks to do with the household. Jurina hadn’t the patience and Second Mistress was always sequestered in her room. Such a sad girl like a flower wilting at the height of spring. She cried at Jurina’s funeral where few others could find the fondness for it. It was you that the head household maid reported to and the cooks asked about which meals should be prepared on which days. At first, you simply thought it was the convenience of receiving prompt answers, but now you know that it was simply expected. You were the favorite, the de facto lady of the house. So what could there be that you weren’t doing to your lord husband’s standards?

“My apologies, my lord. Whatever I’ve been lacking I will–” His hand covers your mouth, ear to ear.

“Enough,” he groans. Then he says, “Children. A wife should give her husband children. You’ll serve this purpose for me.” There’s a fleeting hint of fondness in his voice that sends a twinge through your heart. Lord Sukuna is asking you to bear his children. You weren’t married into the household as his main wife and yet he’s given you the highest honor of being the mother of his heirs. A warmth blooms across your cheeks and down your neck, a flush of excitement igniting through your body.

“As many as you’d like, my lord.” It’s what’s expected of you though you; an expectation rather than a choice, but you’re excited to fulfill the role even still. Though, part of you had considered it an impossibility. Lord Sukuna had been human once but something in him had changed, gone beyond that of an ordinary man. But he is a man even still. Desiring progeny, a legacy beyond his own being. To know that he wants to use your body for such an honorable purpose washes you in a great sense of pride. It will be your womb that births the King of Curses his heirs. Little pink haired babies with your nose and their father’s four eyes. But pride slowly turns to contemplative anguish.

If you were meant to give Lord Sukuna his children, it is nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t conceived in the year that you’ve been married. Lord Sukuna did nothing sparingly. He indulged to his heart’s content. In blood and carnage, in food, and in bed. He laid with you often enough that a child should’ve come long ago and yet you’ve yet to feel the stirring of a baby quickening within you.

The room dips and swoops around you as your eyes lose focus, lost in thought. What was wrong with you that you hadn’t yet fallen pregnant? Your hands clutch at your stomach, empty beneath the layers of your clothes. A hidden fragment of your heart wonders if it’s truly your fault at all. Lord Sukuna had three wives, and while you were most favored there were times when he took the others to bed, a time before you entered his household. And yet the estate remains empty of heirs. Though you don’t dare to entertain the thought longer than a moment, it flashes through your mind as quick as an arrow. Perhaps it was Lord Sukuna that was obstructing the blessing of a child. Still, your hands remain on your stomach, caressing the place meant to bear the fruits of life. Since birth you were told it would be your only honor in this life. To give a man a son to further his glory and continue his legacy. Lord Sukuna isn’t in need of such a successor, yet he’s asked for them even still.

“You are truly too valuable to die,” Lord Sukuna says, lifting your eyes towards his. They’re piercing as red flames, burning into your face with such intensity that it makes you want to wither in his arms, like a flower left with no water. “Jurina was poisoning you. Every night. And yet your body was kind enough to preserve itself for me.” Because what other reason would you have to defy death so vehemently? If Lord Sukuna says the purpose of your cursed technique is to keep you by his side, then who are you to deny it?

“You like tea.” Lord Sukuna says, passing the pad of his thumb over your lips. “Dark tea. Dark enough to mask the color of anything added to it. Jurina was bribing your little maid to slip poison into your tea every night before bed. Nothing lethal. She meant to poison your womb and purge any seed I might’ve planted inside you.” He laughs scornfully, “I thought it was jealousy, at first, but she was drinking it, too, and feeding it to the second one. Likely the work of her family urging her to cripple my reign by blocking the chances of an heir.”

Another hand brushes against your stomach, sweeping away your desperate grasping.

“I chose you well, woman. Though the poison did as it was made to and purged your body of any child that might’ve grown, you healed. What made Jurina and the other barren hardly touched you. As soon as you closed your eyes your body repaired itself. Uraume thinks you might be close to building a tolerance for it since your technique heals as well as strengthens. I might start feeding you poisons to fortify you against future attacks.” It was so terribly wonderful that you knew as soon as he said it that you’d gladly eat anything your lord husband asked without question. The poison might even taste sweet on your tongue if it was prepared by him.

“Things will be different now. You will give me children. Strong children.” He says it with an air of finality, as if you’d ever deny him anything, though you’re uncertain of how strong any child of yours will be. Of course, your maiden clan is a powerful one, but you’re hardly a descendant of the three elite sorcerer clans. Jurina had been a Zenin. Her blood would’ve given him strong children. Second Mistress is a Kamo and her children would carry that superiority in their blood. As a humble Hoga, you were the least desirable of his brides to have his children with. Unless Fourth Mistress was of a lower clan than even you.

“If I may, my lord,” he grunts his annoyance but allows you to continue. “If you want children, why did you not have them with Jurina? Certainly a Zenin would be better suited to creating a powerful heir. My cursed technique is unheard of even within my own clan.” You remind him. It would break your heart to disappoint him with a child that couldn’t even do you the service of inheriting your technique. And there likely would be no second chance to amend the error.

“I don’t want your technique, woman, though it would surely be of great use. That’s what this place is for.” He sweeps his arm towards the pool of darkness gathered in the center of the room. The longer you look the more it begins to turn from black to deep purple. Slowly, the immense level of cursed energy sufficing the air begins to make sense. The staccato waves that don’t seem to match any singular signature aside from Lord Sukuna’s. It is blood. The blood of curses. And Lord Sukuna had called it an onsen of sorts. Did he mean to bathe you in the blood of those he’d slain? To give your child over to these tainted waters to imbue them with its power?

It made you fear for the child that had yet to be made. Of course, their purpose in life would be an extension of your own. To serve their lord father in any way that he asked, yet they’d still be a piece of you. A terrible selfish piece of your heart began to crack and splinter, breaking away in revolt of turning your baby into a monster. But what was Lord Sukuna if not a monster? Adoration did little to cleanse the crimes of the King of Curses. Any child you gave him would be heir to that title. With a few measured breaths, you resigned yourself to it. Your child would know no other way of life and you would love them as proudly as a mother could. They would always be a manifestation of the love you bear for your lord husband. His flesh and blood joined with yours to create a life. It felt like a privilege to even consider the thought.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #★ mine!

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