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yandere-daydreams · 10 months ago

Text

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus. Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader

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yanderenightmare · 2 months ago

Text

Ryomen Sukuna

♡ TW: orphan!reader, fire, Sukuna in general, kidnapping, implied abuse

♡ GN reader

The temple’s on fire.

Tall crackling flames lick the black sky. You stand and watch wide-eyed as it smokes out every star.

Barefoot, you grip the ground with your toes to steady yourself. You’ve never owned shoes. Never needed to, you’ve never been outside, and now all you’ve ever known is burning to the ground before you.

The scent of burning wood is joined by blood, rusty and bitter and biting, and even though your nose is stuffed full, you can’t seem to get enough of it.

Taking a big breath you really can’t afford, you cough while smiling from ear to ear.

There’s screaming, but you’re used to the sound. Or no, this is a little different. You’re used to ripping your own throat out, but it’s not you this time. It’s everyone else: the monks, the nuns, the others. They’re all melting—melting away into nothing. Some might say it’s for their sins, but you know better than to believe in divine intervention.

No, this all happened on a whim.

And you'll be sure to thank whoever's whim it is, you think as you watch the temple collapse in on itself with a big crash, ashes to ashes. And with the red reflecting in your eyes, you let out a sound you’ve never made before. A loud, boisterous sound—not far off from a scream, but so very different all at the same time.

Sukuna stops his rampage at the noise. Skin sizzling with sweat that doesn’t roll, but steams and disappears. Swimming in the carnage with blood up to his elbows—he’d been having a fun time. He’s always loved making graveyards out of sanctuaries. But the laughter that cuts through the air over the cries of pain and despair is all so misplaced that he has to drop what he’s doing and go find it.

And what he finds is you. Dainty little malnourished thing. If he couldn't tell already, the tattered rags you wear make it more than obvious what you are. Orphan. And the bruises lining your joints tell him all about what they used you for.

Some holy place this was, he sneers.

Very soon, your laughter grows ecstatic, and you start jumping in place, as high up as you can reach, barefoot on the heated gravel.

You must be in shock. He’s surprised you’re even able to stand, much less be whooping and hollering with all these hellflames surrounding you, not to mention his presence, which should be enough to force anyone to their knees.

One might mistake you for a demon if you're not careful.

“Oi, brat,” he announces.

Still, you don’t stop your celebration—you take your time before you sigh with a deep exhale, looking up at the sky where the embers snuff against the black backdrop.

You don’t even acknowledge him as you speak. “You have my gratitude… Never in my life did I even dream of seeing anything so beautiful...”

He has to snort. It's been a while since anyone has thanked him for anything. Actually, coming to think of it... he doesn't think he's ever been thanked before whatsoever.

You keep looking up for another moment. There’s this air of peacefulness around you despite the surrounding fiery chaos.

And then, just as calmly, you finally turn around to face him.

“I can die happy now.”

Eyes closed, and arms spread out to your side, you lift your chin and show him your neck. And with a contented smile spread on your lips, you say, “You have my blessing to kill me.”

And oh, how it makes his eye twitch. His smile, as well—or no, it’s not a smile, it’s more of an affronted grimace.

Giving him thanks is one thing, but blessing? To kill?

Now that’s definitely a first…

“Hey!” you squeal as the bloody demon picks you up off your scorched feet and throws you over his back instead of dealing you the final blow. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

His face remains jaded even through your screaming, only arching a brow when scoffing. “Tch—pint-sized brats should know better than to give orders.”

The way you pound his back with balled fists feels like nothing short of rain-patter. Not even enough to be called a message, much less a beating—or whatever it is you're hoping to achieve, whilst roaring, “I gave you my blessing!”

He nearly gags at the word. “I don’t take lives in turn for dumb things such as blessings.”

“Then you don’t have it!” you snip. “I’ll curse you instead!”

“Hah!” That’s more like it—he laughs, needing to throw his head back, “I’ve been bored lately. You’re funny for a runt, so I think I’ll keep you around for a while,” he wonders out loud for you to hear, continuing to carry you away from the wreckage.

“I’ve heard pets help pass the time.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

#yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jujustu kaisen

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valentinedrifter · 4 months ago

Text

Days with Sakura: Routine

male reader x Miyawaki Sakura

~8.6k words

A/N: Thanks to @msafterhours for reviewing the first section, much appreciated! I did not spend most of my time looking at Smash Bros combos.

Enjoy!

“Yo!”

You slam her down to the ground so hard the impact makes her go up into the air before you give her a kick to the back and she’s falling, reeling from the hits, desperately trying to steady herself because she knows that this is spiraling into something she can’t control, something that can make her lose.

And she absolutely despises losing.

But you don’t let her. Not when this is a chance at triumph. At claiming the crown that was rightfully yours. At winning.

So you jump, diving down, chasing her into the abyss to send a dropkick that connects to her stomach, the air in her lungs forcefully exhaled as she flies into the air once more, body out cold, acceptance on her face as she’s been beaten.

But you won’t leave it at that. You wanted, no, needed to be sure that you’ve won this fight because you’re petty like that, wanting to humiliate her, to set the tone for your next duel.

That’s why when you throw this insane left hook that hits her right in the face, absolutely rocking her shit, you feel the pressure in your chest gone, replaced by this intense joy that gets you to close your eyes and smile in bliss as one word rings out.

“Game!”

—

“And that,” You’re giving finger-guns in her direction. “Is a win for me.”

Sakura’s shaking her head, placing down her controller and giving you an exaggerated set of claps. “Good for you, just need to beat me-” She’s glancing down at your makeshift scoreboard, composed of chips stacked up on two plates. “-two more times to even it out.”

Ever since Chaewon re-debuted in Le Sserafim and introduced you to Sakura, who immediately found out that you also played video games on an unhealthy level– Probably a lot more than her–this has been the norm between you two, every Saturday, five on the dot, always in your apartment.

It was awkward at first, when she sent a text saying that she’ll be coming over to, and you quote: ”Beat your ass in this new fighting game.” That awkwardness became a lot more apparent when she did come over, knocking on your door, letting herself in, console in hand asking where the TV was.

You thought she’d be all talk, so you let her set it all up while you grabbed some drinks and snacks since you might as well be polite, and came back to her handing you a controller and telling you to choose your fighter.

She then proceeds to pick this weird looking wrestling lion and grab-combos you into the next round, forcing you to forgo any sort of discomfort between the two of you and just focus on winning.

Definitely wasn’t because your ego took a hit, no.

You spend the next few hours beating the shit out of each other with a Bruce Lee wannabe, an American monk, a robot that self-implodes, and a lot more ridiculous characters before you took a break to satiate human needs, like food.

And bulgogi? That’s the bomb.

It was after that where you two started to be more than mere acquaintances that met through a mutual friend, instead becoming trusted gaming buddies who meet up every week to sit back, attempt to relax when playing games with Sakura, and actually relax after.

It’s fun, a good way to de-stress after long weekdays of dance practices and programming, where you can tell her all about your dumbass boss that keeps piling on work mid-sprint, and where she can tell you how pissed she was when she woke up early for a photoshoot that was rescheduled last minute.

You didn’t notice things changing into something more intimate until Chaewon brought it up over a call once.

“So when is Unnie gonna move in?” Chaewon’s voice rings out of your phone as you’re busying yourself with the food you’ll be eating when Sakura inevitably comes by.

“She’s not.”

“It definitely feels like it.” She’s trying to instigate something with this, you’re pretty sure. “You bought a new closet almost exclusively to store the amount of clothes that she’s stacked up there.”

You stopped mid-swing of the knife, pausing, mind racing to think of an excuse because you don’t exactly have a defense for that one. Not when you bought it because your own closet was getting overrun with her clothes rather than yours.

And you didn’t even stop to think about whether you should or shouldn’t have bought that in the first place.

“So, is she moving in?”

“No, Chaewon.” Even you can hear the bullshit coming from your mouth. “She’s not.”

And when Sakura left to head back to her dorm that day was the day you finally stopped to notice all the things she’s left at your apartment, from the second closet full of her clothes, to the toothbrush and makeup that she leaves on your bathroom counter, and in the way she acts like she’s at home whenever she visits you.

It forced you to rethink all the times she’s slept over when your sessions drag on late in the night, when she takes up residency in your guest room or straight up snoozes on your couch, leaving you alone with the task of cleaning up the mess you made together.

It feels oddly domestic when she sleeps in while you make breakfast in the morning, giving her the leftovers as takeout when she has to leave and you’re left waiting till the next weekend.

The thought of having that be a daily occurrence wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, you just didn’t know what it meant for you and her now that you started to realize everythin-

“Hey!” Sakura’s smirking, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Last one got you tired already?”

“Not a chance.” You hit back, trying to hide the fact that you were thinking of her by hitting the ‘Choose Character’ option on the screen. “Still gotta even out the score.”

And she’s rolling her eyes as she laughs. “You seriously think you can catch up?”

“I think,” You’re confident, so sure of yourself, the high from last round’s win coming back in full force. “I can beat you-” A finger pointed. “-three times in a row.”

“Yeah?” She’s leaning in, so close you can feel her breath on your face. “Is that a bet?” The innocence in her smile didn’t feel real, and when she sees you hesitate, she bites her lip in a way that causes alarm bells to go off in your head, and that’s when you start to crumble.

“Yeah.” You’re stuttering, your composure gone, wrecked, left fumbling, so you decide to stare back at the screen to choose your fighter and avoid looking anywhere near her. “Set the rules Kkura.”

“Alright.” She’s pulling back, giggling, like she’s been waiting for this moment for so, so long. “Loser has to do anything the winner wants for the night.”

You freeze. Your head turns, Sakura’s eyes on you, full of mischief, those lips grinning, and you don’t know what the hell she’s saying-

“What?” Your mouth moves out of reflex, automatic, brain trying to catch up with what she said and she’s laughing again, finally deciding to face the screen to choose her character.

“What?” She repeats with a deeper voice, clearly mocking you, trying to get you riled up, to get you to lose control. “Too much of a pussy, nerd?”

You let out a scoff, forearms resting on your thighs as your chest leans forward and select some angry dude with daddy issues as your fighter. “Oh, it’s on now.”

You’re so focused on the game that you didn’t even notice that Sakura was giving you a look that spells trouble.

—

The match started off normal enough.

She hits you with a combo, you hit back with your own, you two trade lives till you each have one left; It feels like any regular fighting match you two have, always down to the last punch, the last block, the last mistake either one of you make before you start up another round.

And this time, you made that mistake by not blocking her grab, allowing her to set up her set of moves on your fighter. She’s jabbing, kicking, your health bar getting lower and you’re already mentally preparing to do what she wants until she drops the combo.

Wait. What?

You sneak a glance at Sakura, who’s still facing the TV, looking like she wasn’t bothered by what she did. But you know her, all those months of playing different games and you’ve never once seen her drop any sort of combo without a reaction.

Yet here she is, a poker face replacing her usual bright reaction, hands still on her controller, fingers unmoving. And she’s just waiting. Just staring at the game, waiting for you to make the next move.

Your eyes look forward, you hear shuffling from your side except you’re too focused on your character, already mashing hits, your want to win overriding anything else and before you know it you hear the words “Game!” ring out of your speakers. And then you finally look back at Sakura to gloat but you can’t make the sound come out of your mouth because holy shit.

She’s a lot more closer to you, shoulders practically touching yours, coat off her body, thrown to the side, and you see her in only a tank top that hugs her chest, showing off a hint of cleavage and the skirt that’s just teasing you with what’s underneath; Your eyes are glued to her chest cause she’s not wearing a fucking bra seeing that there’s only one set of straps on her shoulders-

“Hey, nerd.” Sakura leans her slim frame in the doorway, eyes down on her phone. “Tits or ass?”

Your mouth opens. Then it closes. The cycle repeats. “This sounds like bait.”

She lets out a sigh and waves her phone at you. “The girls are fighting over whether or not tits or ass is better.”

“Uh-huh.” You squint, before going back to typing out an email on why you’re reverting back a piece of code. It’s also a good way to distract yourself from the question. “And why does my opinion matter?”

“We need a tie breaker since Kazuha and Yunjin are adamant on ass being better-” You can definitely see why they’d be on that side. “-and we didn’t want to keep this conversation going any more than it has to, so.” She shrugs and makes these jazz hands at you, making this a lot more funnier than it actually was. “What’s the verdict?”

“Jesus Christ…” You mutter out, pinching the bridge of your nose before swiveling your chair to face her. “Can’t I just say that both are great?”

“No cop-out answers.” Her fingers are ready to type out your answer, eyes showing a glint of anticipation. “Pick.”

“Fine.” An exasperated look. “Tits. Happy?”

“Gimme a reason and I will be.” The sound of her phone’s keyboard ring out of your room.

You groan, regret already settling in as you-“Because the visual overload of tits and a pretty face look nice.” You snap back to your laptop, the embarrassment from saying that to Sakura of all people making your ears burn. The fact that she’s laughing as she leaves stresses you out even more.

You are never going to live this down.

You will your eyes back up, trying to forget the fact that you were looking at her chest, so you focus on her hair that she recently dyed brown held up into a messy ponytail, on the eyeliner that makes her eyes look sharper, on her lips that are curled at the corners-

“Checking me out nerd?” She’s asking like she doesn’t know the effect she has on you, like she didn’t see your eyes roaming her body, like she didn’t see you stalking her like prey.

“No.” And you’re back to stuttering, back to avoiding her gaze like the little bitch that she’ll tell you that you are, trying and failing to center back at the bet you two have by trying to calm yourself and your hard-on down with deep breaths.

“It’s alright.” She shrugs, fingers pressing ‘Restart’ button and it’s loading back up again. “You can look all you want.” Suddenly her mouth’s on your ear, tits just about fucking your arm and she blows. “Maybe you can even touch if you win.”

She’s got your mind in all sorts of fucked that you don’t even realize that the next round’s begun. She’s already started throwing hands on the screen, trashing you all over the arena while you’re here trying to get your head back in the game, literally and figuratively.

By the time you’ve gotten your bearings back from Sakura existing next to you, she’s taken one of your lives, your character flying back into the arena and hers stopping to look at you. Taunting you, giving you a chance to fight back after you’ve mentally reset yourself.

And fight back you did. Doesn’t mean she’s gonna make it easy for you.

You’re in the middle of flinging her across the screen when you feel her shoulder brush yours, a whiff of her perfume dancing along your nose. It smelt familiar, but you’re too focused on winning to try to recall when you last got a trace of that scent.

When you manage to bump her down to her last life, she puts an elbow up on your shoulder, the sounds of buttons being smashed intensifying, along with it the smell of her perfume. It tasted sweet, fruity, with a hint of leather hiding underneath all of it-

“Which one’s better?” Sakura holds up two bottles, one red in the shape of a woman’s curves, another colored pink shaped like a heel.

“Better for what?” You’re cleaning up your living room, minutes after getting your ass handed to you in a racing game. “You’re going back to your dorm, Saku, not a show at Inkigayo.”

“Cause Kazuha wants to know what would smell better for her date tomorrow.” She hits back, shoving the heel-shaped bottle on your hands. “And you’re the only one I know that collects perfumes like they’re action figures.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie, with the way you have your perfumes strewn out across one of your bedroom desks, all of them for different occasions. “So try them out, nerd.”

“Alright, alright.” Chuckling, you spray it onto your wrist and pull it close to your nose. “This is girly as fuck.”

“No shit it’s girly as fuck, it’s a women’s perfume.” She’s rolling her eyes, pulling your wrist to smell it herself and immediately pulling away with a look of mild disgust. “Yeah that is girly as fuck.”

You hand her back the perfume and take the red one from her grasp, spraying it on your other wrist and sniffing. “A lot less girly, this one.”

Arms are crossed and eyes are narrowed at you. “Can you shut up about the girly stuff and actually give me a decent answer?”

“In a couple.” Now you’re the one rolling your eyes, alternating wrists to try and see whatever difference the two had because they smelt the same at first glance. Didn’t help that you’re not used to comparing women’s fragrances, since you are a guy and all that.

“Alright.” You grab both bottles and raise them up, the heel-shaped bottle higher. “This one is really girly, like sexy girly.” You give the bottle a little shake. “It’s fresh, a bit too powdery and sweet for my taste but not a deal breaker.” You put the bottle down on the table next to the empty cans of soft drinks you were about to throw out. “Overall, it’s a good option. Screams bold.”

You hold the curvy bottle in both hands, like you’re advertising a product in front of some big shot CEO. “Now this one-” You raise it up higher. “-is a bit similar to that, but a lot more mature, seductive, with the leather at the back of all the fruity-ness it has.”

Now both bottles are right next to each other, staring back at Sakura who’s still waiting for an actual answer. “So if it was me, you can tell Kazuha that-” You clap and point at the heel. “You pick this one if you want to wow the guy.” Then you point at the curvy bottle.

“You pick this one if you want to get fucked.”

“Game!”

Your character’s doing his victory pose, the soundtrack blaring out and the smell of her perfume that you picked out specifically for a date with a happy ending in mind still attacking your nostrils while the weight on your shoulder is heavier now.

You don’t want to look at her direction, not when she’s getting you with these small little things that she knows will drive you wild, so you reach out to the table in front of you in an attempt to cool off because your libido is at an all time high.

It sounded like a solid plan, until you hear your name being whispered out by Sakura–you hear it crystal clear–that causes you to throw the plan out the window because you turn your head and she’s right there.

Sakura’s arms are wrapped around yours, her chin on your shoulder and she’s got this smile that lights up her face, making you forget everything that’s happening between you two because she’s just so…stunning. Drop-dead gorgeous. An absolutely knockout of a woman-

“Another win for you.” Her voice, unusually soft compared to the usual teasing glint that it has, her gaze taking you in, like she was the one checking you out this time. Then it disappears, the grin you always see back in place, and she leans back to laugh.

“Guess I should step it up then.” She’s already moving, maneuvering the game to choose new characters for the both of you while you follow through on grabbing a drink, mind occupied with choosing who you’ll be using next.

So you take a few sips of your drink, counted to ten, picked a guy with long silver hair, and tried your best to put away the fact that this was becoming less of a bet and more like you’re being made to face the tension that’s slowly been rising over the months that Sakura has been meeting up with you under the guise of ‘gaming sessions’.

Now she’s forcing you to face it by using what you told her to her advantage, because she’s right next to you, wearing a top that’s on the verge of spilling her tits out because you told her you liked tits more, perfume applied meant to get her fucked because you told her it would, and it is working.

“Ready?” She clicks on the ‘Random’ map.

“For you to lose again?” You snark back. “Anytime.”

She chuckles, eyes twinkling, like she has another trick up her sleeve, and she acts. Propping her feet up onto the other end of the couch, she lays her head down on your lap, right next to your dick that you’ve been desperately trying to calm down.

And you’re spiraling once more, doing anything and everything to not let her know you have a hard-on because of her, from thinking of next week’s work, of how to set up your character’s combos, of when the last time you and Sakura were in this same exact position-

“Do you ever get lonely here?” Her head on your lap, her hair tangled on your hands, moving so gently, so soft, so soothing; It was relaxing, a change of pace from the regular program that you two always had.

It was always the same–she comes over, you two catch up a bit, play the game of the week, and have dinner. Then she’ll either get picked up by her manager or she sleeps over. It’s simple, routine, standard procedure between you and her.

This went on for the first few months that you’ve been hosting her, until she came over one time, earlier than usual. The keys rattle, the door swings, then you see her, shoulders slumped, eyes dim, body diving into yours.

You feel your shirt get wet, and you start moving on autopilot, holding her, comforting her, settling her down on the couch before she starts breaking down.

And you let her. You let her choke on the air before she breaks the dam that she’s built up, let her be this blubbering mess, let her give out these suffocating sobs. It was ugly, messy, and tissues will definitely be required but you didn’t move, didn’t speak, you were just…there.

You don’t know how long it’s been since she started bawling her eyes out or how long she’s been bottling this up; By the time she’s somewhat calmed down and her crying’s reduced to sniffling she’s moved from holding onto you for dear life to being in your lap, using the sleeve of your sweater as a makeshift tissue.

“Sometimes.” You let out, and you’re surprised at how honest you are with her. It was always light, teasing, fun between you two, never delving into the thoughts that occasionally lingered whenever Sakura would leave every weekend.

Didn’t want to make it complicated. For her or for you, well, you don’t have an answer for that.

“But I guess that’s why I play video games all the time.” You continue, brushing a hand on her bangs, showing a puffy, red, damp face. “Gives me new imaginary friends every other day.” And now you’re joking, hoping to lighten the mood, to cheer her up, maybe even to keep things uncomplicated between you two.

She lets out this weepy, shy laugh. “You are such a fucking nerd.” She stammers out in between sobs, hiding herself further into your lap. “But you’re my nerd-” She blows air through her nose, gaze staring back up at you. “-so, thanks.” And it’s the first time she’s smiled at you like that.

Lovely. Peaceful. Genuine.

Suddenly complicated didn’t feel like a bad option now.

“You alright?” Sakura’s pulling you back from the memory, back to the present, back to pretending that her head’s not right next to your cock. “Gotta give your A-game if you want to win the bet.” She chimes, shifting to get more comfortable on your lap, like it was made just for her.

Right. The bet.

“Loser has to do anything the winner wants for the night.”

The game begins.

Your fingers were moving on instinct, weeks of playing this character ingrained in your mind as you play the way that you would normally do, space out the attacks, punish whiffs, try not to die while you’re at it. It was safe, calculated, always waiting for the right time and the right place to hit her.

But your mind’s not fully in the game, always rounding back to her. To Miyawaki Sakura. You are trying to keep things simple, friendly between you two. It was kind of an unspoken rule you have for her knowing that she’s an idol, someone leagues above you, someone you cannot and should not get involved with for her sake.

Maybe even for yours because you didn’t want to make things messy. God knows how weird that would get because someone–her–didn’t feel the same way.

The sounds of the game blast through the speakers; You don’t hear it. She’s up one life to yours, hitting you with intricate combos that would take weeks–months–of practice. She pulls them off flawlessly.

Fight or Flight responses kick in your brain, one because you’re fighting back, reaching deep in your bag for moves that she hasn’t seen you do yet. Another because of her simply being right next to you.

Because she doesn’t want that anymore, does she? Not when she’s doing all of this. How she’s dressed, how she smells, how every single touch gets your heart to beat just a little faster. She wants to push things further between you, wants to have more than just the weekly meetups and competitions you have with her.

Realizing that she wants you makes something snap into place. Like it was always there, imprisoned by your own guarded thoughts and feelings. And now it’s out, and it is roaring.

You put her down to her last life, and you play like it’s the last game you’ll ever play. You don’t play it safe, not anymore, not in a very long time in your casual career, going for the ballsy, aggressive plays. You are committing everything in these last moments, and she’s losing momentum, backpedaling, trying to shake you off-

You realize something else. You want her too. Wanted her for a long time. Maybe it was when she first crashed at your couch, or when she started to leave behind her clothes around your apartment. Maybe it was the teasing after the battles of different genres, or the smiles that brighten up the end of the week. You don’t really know when, and you don’t particularly care.

Now you need to show her.

The game ends.

You relax, hands slacking, controller forgotten on the couch; Sakura’s left your lap, eyes fixed on yours, her own controller falling. Then she moves, standing up, facing you, climbing onto you.

Her hands wrapping around, holding your face, and she settles. “I guess you win.” She’s teasing, falling back to her walls, the sigh–you can tell how forced it is–that she lets out alongside her usual smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes solidifying it.

She’s unsure of where to go from here so she does the only thing she can do–fall back to her own routine. Teasing, mocking, back to pushing how far she can go with you.

She’s pretending that it’s a normal Saturday for you two, that she hasn’t tried to entice you with what she’s done, hasn’t tried to push the boundaries of this setup you have with her to its limits, that you haven’t noticed what she’s been doing to your heart.

She’s waiting for your reaction, your rejection, you.

And with what everything that’s happened? Everything you thought about her, about you, about where you stand amongst all of it?

Well, you just did what your heart is telling you to do. Make it complicated.

And the kiss that you give Sakura makes the world disappear.

—

The desk rattles. If she was bothered by the pain, she doesn’t tell you. If anything, she’s more focused on touching you. And she’s everywhere, fingertips brushing your neck, nails scratching your skin, her lips against yours; She was intense, so much so that you can get lost in the feeling, the unspoken words pouring themselves into it.

You can smell her shampoo, a sweet smell of strawberries mixing with the fruitiness of her perfume that drives you crazier. Her lips are soft, tasting like cherries, and you can’t help but have more, driving your tongue inside her mouth, connecting to hers, fighting, winning, losing. She’s a fucking treat, and you’re gonna be enjoying her to the fullest.

The sighs and moans that slip through her lips sound angelic, enjoying how you feel, how you taste, and the whine of displeasure that she lets out when you pull away make you smile.

“Why’d you stop?” She’s pulling you to her, lips on your neck, leaving small kisses, tits pressing against your chest that makes you want to take her damn shirt off. “C’mere.” And she gives you these pecks that make you want her even more, the aftertaste of her attacking your lips.

“Wanted to know how far we can go.” You managed to let out, in between the kisses, the touching, the grinding. “Might do something I’d regret.” It’s a facade. She’s sending you off the edge, and you don’t know how long you can hold it in before you take her. Mold her. Make her yours.

She laughs against your lips–shivers run down your spine–and she murmurs out your name. “Somebody forgot about the bet.” She arches back on the desk, tits popping out even more, the desire to ruin her top getting higher and higher. Her eyes gleam against the moonlight, the shadows making that lip bite she sends you utterly sinful.

“Anything you want.”

The hands on her waist move, slow, teasing upwards, your touches a promise to own her. Her breath hitches, dark anticipation bubbling up inside of her, hums and giggles dancing in the air.

They reach her chest, and you feel hard nubs poking through her top; You pinch and she mewls, hips pressing hard against yours, needy, desperate. You don’t linger, moving further up. You grip. Hungry eyes on yours.

And you pull.

Fabric gives way, tearing filling the room alongside her gasping, out of desire, surprise. Pupils dilate, bodies shuddering, and Sakura grins.

“Fuck.” She dips down, clothes in shambles, chest exposed, your hands touching everywhere; Her slim waist, tight abs, perky tits. She pulls you onto one and your mouth waters, suckling, nipping. “Finally got what you wanted, huh?” She’s taunting, voice breathy, back lifting to give you more of her. She wants this just as much as you do. “Better be worth more than my shirt, nerd.”

All the while her hands are moving, unfastening draws, pulling down pants, cupping boxers. You bite a bud, holding back a moan when her hand goes under to cup your length, nails grazing, heat running through your body, while another goes underneath your shirt, eager to discover more of you.

Even now you and her are still competing, still trying to find who’ll win this dance of debauchery. And she’s trying to take control, set the tempo–too bad you had other plans.

You bring a knee up in between her thighs in retaliation, pressing against her clothed heat. A whimper escapes, hips are rolling, begging for more. A hand, enjoying the soft flesh of her chest, squeezing, pinching, goes to the zipper of her skirt, enjoying her soft skin on the way down, sending tingles that make her buck her hips faster on your leg.

“Shit–more–” She’s losing herself in ecstasy, holding onto your arms, digging into your skin, leaving scratch marks as she fucks herself on your knee. You reach the teeth of her skirt, fingers shaky with need, and pull down, pulling your knee away to let it fall. Her hips don’t stop, rocking the air, desperate to have you back. To get her off.

“Look at you-” Fingers find heat, answering her pleas, pressing into the wet spot of her panties, a dark crimson, gasps spilling from her lips, legs trembling in relief from the pressure you’ve given back. “So fucked on this.” You give a little push inside, cloth blocking you, denying her. “Think you’re up for more?”

She nods, frantic, eager. She’s conceding defeat, resistance now a fleeting thought. You take full advantage of it.

You whip her around, bending her over the desk, a hand on the small of her back, ass wiggling because after everything, she’s still so impatient. Still dripping, still aching, still needing your touch.

A sharp crack sounds out, followed by a deep breath. She stills for a moment, shock encapsulating her entire body. It was not something she thought you’d do, yet here you are, ripping shirts, slapping ass, exceeding each and every one of Sakura’s expectations.

The exhale that she lets out is shaky, filled by desire, the drag of her nails on the desk joining it, yet she presses back, obeying the silent demand.

You wander down, hands teasing her curves before you grab a handful of her ass, squeezing, her breath quickening before your palm comes down for a second dose–the other cheek, this time, just to even things out–and she wavers, almost losing herself in the sensation. Then a giggle. Sweet, dangerous, coy, troubling, addictive.

She looks over her shoulder, strands cascading around her face, swollen lips turned upwards, eyes burning with desire, arousal, defiance. She presses back even further, ass against your bulge that’s been in dire need of release.

You don’t fight her, gripping her hips instead. You shift closer, rubbing, heat on heat, raw hunger in the air. Nobody moves. It’s a challenge, waiting for someone to crack first.

She loses, deliberate, hasty, ass circling, her voice permeating the air. “Want it–” Panting follows, desperate, whimpering. “Take it out already–”

Your chest rumbles, lips wetting, thinking about how much more you can draw this out for her. And, well, she did hate losing.

“Say please.” You ask, no, demand it from her. That one word carries so much weight for her, submission, loss, all wrapped in one syllable. She’s already lost–multiple times, in fact–but this is different. This is complete, utter defeat. She pauses, thinking, debating, eyes wide, mouth panting, lips licking. And she makes her choice.

“Please.”

You’re yanking off your underwear, cock throbbing, aching, ramrod straight, fingers hooking into her panties, dragged to the side. You thrust deep in her. Hot, wet, divine. It’s a perfect fit, like she was made for you.

She moans, loud, crumbling, hands clutching the desk, body lurching from how hard you take her. She’s wet as fuck, pussy so snug it doesn’t want to let you go. You have no intention to. A hand takes hold of her ponytail, another of her hip, and you start fucking her into the desk, hard, each thrust echoing with slick, messy slaps.

She’s intoxicating, the way she clenches you with every pull of her hair, back tensing as you pound her on the desk, hearing her moan, gasp, break; You can’t get enough of it.

Each rhythmic slap of skin to skin makes her ass ripple, spurring you on. Your movements get frantic. Her moans get louder, breaking into filthy wails. She’s flawless, even with the torn shirt, the ruined panties, the pleasure that’s tearing her apart. All wrapped in the sinful indulgence that is Sakura.

Your hold on her hair gets tighter, pulling her head back just enough to hear her cry out. You drive into her, harsher, rougher, faster. Enough to make her arms give out as she collapses on the desk. “Feel so good,” You grunt out, pressing your body flush against hers, pinning her under your weight. “Gonna make you cum, Saku-” Your hand tilts, still holding onto her ponytail, pressing her cheek on the hardwood.

“Fuck–yes–” She pants, drunk on pleasure, eyes hazily lock onto you as she drips down her thighs, staining her legs, your cock, the floor. She’s a goddamn wreck, so suffocatingly tight, slamming harder into her, desk shuddering with each thrust.

“More, yes, yes–” She babbles, repeating words, switching languages. “Don’t stop–close–fuck–” Her pussy grips you like a vice, trying to milk you, making you groan, sending you so fucking close to losing it and blowing it all inside her.

It took all your willpower to pull out, a whine ringing out before you plug three fingers in her cunt, pumping furiously. The long, shuddering scream that pierces through the room combines with the view of her arched back and trembling legs, announcing her orgasm. It shatters her, raw, explosive, pussy clamping on your fingers as you keep pushing and pulling inside of her. She looks completely, undeniably beautiful.

Her body slumps, the desk the only thing that keeps her up. You pull out of her, give her another slap on the ass, and she trembles. She’s reaching a hand out, trying to find you, grip your length, give you the same high you gave her.

You shift to the side where her head is resting, poking her cheek with your length. She looks up, eyes glazed, dark, hungry for more, before her mouth parts to have a taste of herself upon you.

She’s sensual with her tongue, dragging everywhere, indulging in the combined flavor of your precum and her cream. Cheeks hollow, gripping you, jerking slowly. She pops off of you, muttering under her breath, tongue sliding along your cock, over, under. She’s still murmuring when she ends up on your tip, giving it a smooch.

“Louder.” Another demand. She’s still blowing you when she speaks, except you can’t understand what the fuck she’s saying because she defaulted to talking Japanese.

You pull away, enough to be out of her reach. She tries to get closer but a hand on her hair denies her of you. “Speak properly, baby.”

A dopey smile appears on her face. A giddy giggle follows out.

“Breed me.”

Moments blur, and the next thing you know is Sakura sprawled on the bed–legs open–and you have her wet panties falling from your hands.

Hands take hold of her waist, curved to perfection, and you’re sliding down to her legs, hooking them up to her head, and you send it.

Giving her backshots alone almost sent you off the deep end, but this view is a hell of a contender–eyes rolled back, jaw slacking, tits bouncing–as the air is full of wet squelches and dirty moans. Hands shoot out to your neck, pulling you closer, holding onto dear life as you fuck her into the bed. Her cries, now feeding into your ear, ignites something feral inside you.

“Fucking use me–” The words fuel you, pounding harder, hands pushing her higher. “More, more, more–” She’s pulling your hair, giving you this kiss that was all tongue. A deep thrust sends her moaning into your lips as she cums. Her legs tighten, wrapping around your waist as her walls clench around you, trapping you, taking you for herself.

She falls down to the bed, basking in the afterglow, your dick still deep inside of her, feeling her spasm. She’s ruined, hair sticking on her forehead, eyeliner running, chest heaving. She looks like an angel.

You let something slip out. Three words, two seconds, one meaning. It was the truth, an absolute that you needed to tell her. Sakura focuses on you, eyes melting, cupping your face, giving you this smile–real, genuine–that tells you everything you need to know.

And she still says it anyway. The kiss that follows solidifies it.

Then her grip tightens, it doesn't matter where, and she says three completely different words that spirals you down to your baser instincts.

“Cum inside me.”

The pace you set is slower this time, gentle, showing instead of telling. All the things you want to say told through the way you hold her, fill her, fuck her. Love her.

Your hand takes solace in her waist, another cupping her breast. She hasn’t looked away from you, still holding you as you fuck her. Still moaning your name out when she kisses you in between thrusts. Still giggling like a schoolgirl on a first date.

And when you feel that pressure in your stomach rising, she hooks her arms around you, on your shoulder, your hip, as if she knows you’re about to cum. To give her everything–every thought, every word, every feeling–all in this moment.

“I want it.” A whisper. “All of it.” A name.

A kiss.

“Please.”

Your body tenses, cock pulsing as you cum inside of her. It was overwhelming, blinding. You feel it pouring into her in waves, thick, warm. You hear her moan softly, taking it all, draining you, savoring you.

You fall on top of her, body exhausted, breathing uneven. She leaves pecks on your neck, uttering all these loving words, arms still wrapped around you like a cocoon.

Three words cut through the air.

You smile against her neck, tickling her, causing her to laugh. It was, no. She is everything you could ever ask for and more.

“I love you too.”

—

After that night, things change.

Having your feelings out in the open wasn’t as complicated as you thought. If anything, it feels great.

Like when she’s cuddled up to you in the mornings, when you’re cooking dinner together, when you two go out on dates–though she still has to hide her face, she is an idol after all.

Your apartment’s livelier now, more home-y ever since Sakura’s all but moved in, more of her stuff scattered around the rooms, the guest room abandoned in favor of yours. Now the only time you have to clean it is whenever her group comes to visit the apartment. Chaewon has been insufferable ever since.

Things change. Except, it doesn’t.

You still make her breakfast when she has to leave early in the morning. Still have your weekly gaming sessions. You still do your bets, though nobody really loses anymore. Not when you or her can do whatever you two want when you win.

Like when she tied you to the bed and rode you so hard the bed frame broke-

You’ve learned over time that Sakura goes all in on things that she wants.

A new computer? She’ll buy the latest and greatest.

Knitting? She’ll get the best fabric available in the market.

Fucking you? She’ll perform like it’s a year-end performance.

And she’s gonna pull out all the stops.

Dressed in nothing but a push-up bra, a pair of fishnet thigh highs and black leather boots, the power at which she slaps you across the cheek–with consent and safe words in place, of course–makes you reel, and she hauls you all the way to your bedroom and shoves you down the mattress.

“Been waiting to do this for days.” She growls out, crawling over you, pulling your wrists together above your head with one hand, and getting a pair of fabric from the nightstand with the other.

You’re still dazed from the slap, still confused on how you got to the bed, vision blurry from how rough she’s treating you. When your vision does clear, you see this trail of saliva on her lips before she spits it out, straight to your face.

“You don’t talk till I tell you.” Sakura’s relentless, pulling one of your arms up to the headboard where she wraps the fabric around it. She does it again.

It was tight, stings like a bitch when you try to pull on it, and that gets you another slap. Another serving of her spit. “Stop fucking moving, nerd.” Then a pair of fingers shove into your mouth, wet. From spit or from her, you don’t really care.

All you know is that it’s making your cock strain against your shorts, Sakura grinning above you, and the cold air brushing your legs as she pulls your shorts and boxers down, exposing you to her.

She lines herself up on your cock, pushing your head inside, then pulling it away, teasing you with it, driving you crazy. And when she sees you squirming, hips trying to thrust into her heat, she laughs.

“So fucking desperate.” And she buries herself down into you, enveloping your entire cock, her tight, wet cunt stretching to take you in.

“Yes.” She drags it out, grinding on you, head tilting backwards, savoring how you feel inside her. “Shit-” She’s brutal in her pace. The frantic way she bounces on your cock, moving faster everytime she drops deep inside of you, rolling in between, desperate to get her high. She is definitely going to bruise your hips after.

You let out this groan out of pain, pleasure, delirium. You’re enjoying this, not as much as she does, her soaked pussy dripping down the sheets, each slick squelch blending with the slaps of your skin molding with hers and you are fucked out of your mind-

“So good-” She’s leaning down, pressing her weight against yours, lips on your ears as she whispers all the filthy things she’ll do to you.

“Could fuck you like this all night.”

“Gonna make you my bitch the entire fucking weekend.”

“Fucking love it, doncha nerd-” Her hands are on your throat, pressure non-existent, fucking herself harder onto your shaft, the creaking of the bed getting louder, bending under the pressure that is Sakura-

Crack.

The bed sinks awkwardly in the center, pressing you deeper into the mattress. But she doesn’t care. It just made her hornier, made her pussy wetter, drenching you more in her and all she can let out is this shaky, dirty laugh.

“I’ll buy a new damn bed-” She’s unrelenting, the force she’s fucking you getting harder, faster. “-Just need to cum on this goddamn cock-”

Sakura’s entire body goes up, back arching, head rolling, the pressure on your throat suddenly getting tighter just as her cunt was, and she lets out this scream that echoes around your apartment. Your legs seize up, the pleasure drowning, overwhelming you. You let

You follow her after, spurts filling her up, leaking down, mixing with hers as you’re both basking in the mess you two made, enjoying how tight her pussy is, how much she’s gushed all over you. How much she’s going to own you.

Then a laugh. “We just broke the bed.” A lick of her lips. “Might as well make the most of it.” Her hips start moving again.

Your neighbours are going to be so angry tomorrow.

Or when you used her throat for the entire day when you won that one week-

The amount of times you’ve pushed her down on her knees today was the same as the amount of times you’ve fed Sakura your cum. It’s a shame you keep losing count the moment your cock slips back into her mouth.

She’s a mess, from the cum that’s dried up all over her face, her hair, her chest, to the spit that’s coated her chin, mixing with the cum on her, the tears that have been falling from getting her face wrecked, to the panties that she’ll most likely throw out after tonight.

Yet she’s still taking your cock like a champ, face scrunched up as you’re thrusting into your latest obsession; Her wet, hot mouth.

It was addicting, like a drug you never thought you needed, seeing your cock disappearing, forced into the back of her throat and she leans into the depravity. Hell, she doubles down on it whenever she can, hollowing her cheeks, licking your balls when her mouth meets your pelvis, fucking her own face on your length when you need a break from pistoning your hips.

Which is exactly what’s happening now, when your head’s tossed back on the couch as she’s drooling all over you, hands on your thighs, her nails raking over them; She’s inhaling your cock, her nose hitting your stomach everytime she goes down on you.

“I fucking love your mouth, Kkura.” Your hands find her hair, some strands wet from the cum that’s struck them, her hazel hair a bit darker from it. Your grip gets tighter. “Can’t get enough of it.”

And your hips are moving, plowing into her mouth again and again and again and she’s bracing herself because that’s all she can do other than the fresh tears that spill out of her eyes, the broken moans she sounds out, letting you know how much she’s enjoying being treated like a fleshlight.

The view was amazingly filthy; Sakura’s jaw wide open with your shaft, balls wet from all the spit that’s flying out of her mouth, eyes never looking away from yours no matter how dirty, rough, brutal you get with her.

Then you push her head, angling her in a way that shoves you even deeper down her throat. “Face just as good as your pussy-” You’re fucking her face harder, the tears in her eyes running in droves. She’s smiling through it all, and that pushes you even more to break her completely on your cock.

You don’t give her a warning when you cum–she doesn’t need any. You just keep going, fucking her mouth, fixated on how wet and hot and tight it was, until you feel the familiar tightening of your abdomen making you go faster, deeper.

It was animalistic, how you abuse her throat like a toy, how you pull on her hair like they’re pigtails, how she’s still holding that smile through everything you’re dishing out. Then your legs started shaking, your gut getting tighter till you can’t hold it anymore; You slam her down on your cock, giving her throat another hefty coating of your cum.

She still hasn’t looked away when she’s swallowing every drop, the gulps almost audible every time your cock shoots out another batch. She’s inhaling it like air, getting all of it down inside of her before you pull out just as you let out ropes of cum on her, applying another layer of it onto her already nasty, sloppy face and she’s glowing, humming in satisfaction, degrading herself even further.

And when you’re spent, she lets out this drunk little giggle as she cleans you up of all the spit and cum that’s left. Never once breaking eye contact with you.

She’s all sorts of ruined, and you would do it again in a heartbeat.

It’s still the same traditions and routines with Sakura. Except it wasn’t.

It didn’t just feel great. It feels right. Like it completes you.

And now you’re here with her, having another one on one-a shooter game this time-and you’ve lowkey been throwing the game, missing shots that were basically free, and Sakura’s cheering, trash talking you from across the room where you set up her computer.

But you made it close. Made her sweat for it, made her work for the win, and when she does? She gives you the same grin that she always does.

Except it isn’t.

She gives you a peck on the lips, and before you can push her further, she pulls away. “My turn this time.”

And while she rummages through her closet for something, you’re smiling, stupid, fondly, loving. You don’t tell her. You don’t need to.

Not when you can spend the rest of your life showing it to her.

“Here it is!” The grin disappears on her face, replaced with something soft, gentle. Her hands are behind her back, hiding whatever she took from the closet from you.

“You trust me?” An eyebrow lifts. “I’ll let you back out from this just one time.”

You stand up, hands on her shoulders, smiling down. “You know I do, Saku.” Then you huff out a laugh. “Do we need to use safe words again?”

“Yes. Yes we do.” She’s giggling, before stepping up on her tippy toes to give you a kiss. “But I promise to take care of you for this.”

Then her smile‘s gone, this stare–serious, ominous, wicked–taking over her entire being.

And in her hands was purple, long, made of rubber.

It wasn’t the first time she’s brought a dildo to the table, but this one was…unique, to say the least. Smaller than the ones that she usually pulls out, a leather brace holding it upright; It’s pointed towards you, staring blankly. Menacingly.

And you’ve never been more scared and turned on in your life.

“Get the lube.” She states, head nodding off to the side, as if you know where it is. “I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, nerd.”

Is Miyawaki Sakura a freak? Absolutely. No question about it.

Do you love her regardless? Yeah. You do.

And you wouldn’t trade her for the world.

#sakura smut #miyawaki sakura #sakura #kpop smut #le sserafim smut #le sserafim

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suguru-getos · 4 months ago

Text

sugu leans against the couch, his lips are pursed and an unimpressed, rather annoyed expression plagues his otherwise close-eyed smile. he manspreads, leaning back against the couch, the position he is most used to, leaning his apples against his palm and clicking his tongue.

the reason for said annoyance, you.

well, not you exactly — your work.

you, his beloved wife, was stationed against the bed, leaned against the headboard. wearing the anti-glare glasses that he forced you to get habitual to, wearing your silly little headphones and humming. “yeah, yeah i understand, mmhm~ no but what if we could circle back on this approach once again? i just wonder—”

like an annoyed cat, he has been staring into the crevices of your soul. you know he’s gazing. his feline stare is sizing you up like the little prey you are. you don’t want to make eye contact with him right now. you know… he’s upset. but you can’t help but fight the subtle smirk you get from thinking about your dearest, beloved husband losing patience. so? you glance up, making eye contact with him, clicking your tongue and giving him a flying kiss.

suguru groans, eyes rolling back at the power of just your flying kiss alone. you really, got him wrapped around your teensy little finger. the way his heart flutters at the slightest affections from you… needs to be studied. you burst into the tiniest little chuckle at that, how alluring.

suguru waits, like a patient monk. even if it’s threading thin astronomically with every passing moment; and just when your meeting finishes, he pounces. you shriek in surprise, laughing. “oh my goodness suguru—“

he cages you in his arms, one hand quickly shoving your laptop to the side, a small bunny-like curse comes out to yank the entire device away from you and place it on your coffee table. suguru is very careful around you, you’re fragile after all. he doesn’t even want your pretty brows to scrunch looking at a ghastly curse. bunny curses, little cute puppy curses… god knows how he found those, work as his puppets for him around you.

“finally, she has time for me.” suguru complains, nipping at your earlobe. “mm~ i always have time for you sweetheart.” you soothe, caressing his back as he peppers featherlike kisses all over your pretty face.

“lies.” he feigns anger, nipping your jaw as a faux punishment.

“mm~ not a lie, i promise.” you stand your ground, child-like naivety that he cultivated in your eyes always balming any insecurity that harbors within him.

how could he think of himself as the monster when you look at him like that?

“your working hours are making me reconsider… my old job.” he scoffs, hugging you tenderly and caging you in his arms. you lean against his chest, purring like a baby cat with a smug grin.

“oh yeah?” you chuckled, you know he’s kidding. he wouldn’t ever kill the so-called monkeys again. you’re one of them, now — they are people to be protected again, they are people who are here so people like him could take care of them. however, you alone… comprise in those people for him. he wouldn’t kill any other non-sorcerer just because… sure, but he wouldn’t harbour affections and devotions against them either. only you get that.

“i’m gonna protect them against you, and beat your ass.” you hummed, listening to his heartbeat and letting your eyes rest.

“mhm~ sure.” suguru kisses the crown of your head.

“you can beat my ass all you want once you wake up, little one.”

you just hum in a response, letting him coddle you and baby you with affection as you drift off to slumber.

#i want to eat him as my morning breakfast chat.#i want to eat him again as my lunch and snacks and dinner #he is my baby #i love him #geto suguru #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk comfort #jujutsu kaisen comfort #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #cult leader geto #jjk drabble #geto drabble

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solxamber · 8 months ago

Note

Suddenly, an idea got to me when I read one comic. So, basically, Yuu sits on bench, looking down and all depressed, then Ace and Deuce see them like this and ask what's wrong, Yuu tells them to sit down, so they can tell them, they sit down, then Yuu says to them: "Guys... A bench is freshly painted..." Idk I just felt like it suits them very well. Cue as they proceed to go through 5 states of grief

First Year Trio vs Freshly Painted Bench

sorry for the wait, I hope you like it <3

Ace and Deuce were minding their own business, strolling through the campus courtyard, when they spotted you sitting on a bench. But it wasn’t just the usual “hey, there’s our friend chilling on a bench” type of sitting. No, you were hunched over, elbows on your knees, staring at the ground like life had personally punched you in the gut and stolen your lunch money.

“Hey, are you okay?” Deuce asked, his brow furrowing in concern. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he could recognize a sad face when he saw one.

Ace snorted, nudging Deuce. “Pfft, maybe they just lost at UNO again. Come on, it’s not the end of the world.”

You lifted your gaze ever so slightly, giving them both the most soul-crushing, mournful look. A look that said you’d just seen the darkest depths of human existence. It was the kind of expression usually reserved for people in tragic Shakespearean plays, not normal students in the middle of the afternoon.

“What happened?” Deuce asked, his voice soft, like he was bracing himself for some life-altering news. “Did something really bad happen?”

You motioned for them to come closer. “Sit down,” you said quietly, like someone on the verge of revealing the meaning of life itself.

Deuce’s concern deepened. Without hesitation, he plopped himself down on the bench beside you. Ace, less certain but intrigued by the sheer drama of it all, sat on your other side. The three of you formed a solemn row on the bench, like mourners at the world’s saddest funeral.

There was a long, weighted pause. Both Ace and Deuce waited, eyes wide, as if you were about to drop the most earth-shattering truth bomb of all time.

Finally, Ace broke the silence, his curiosity getting the better of him. “So, uh… what’s wrong?”

You sighed. It was a deep, theatrical sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand years of suffering. Slowly, you turned your head toward them and said, in a voice so grave it could’ve been narrating a tragic documentary:

“The bench… is freshly painted.”

There was a beat. A moment of absolute, deafening silence.

Then:

“WHAT?!” Ace yelped, his face immediately scrunching up in horror. He bolted upright like he’d just sat on a beehive, but it was too late. He glanced down, eyes wide, at the back of his pants, and sure enough—a vibrant, shiny streak of wet paint was smeared across his clothes.

Deuce’s reaction was slower, but only because he was in denial. “No, no, no, wait, it can’t be—” He reached a hand back to touch his pants, and the moment his fingers brushed the sticky surface, his face fell into the deepest despair. “Oh no… nooooooo!”

You stayed seated, as calm as a monk who had achieved inner peace. “Yep,” you said softly. “Just freshly painted.”

Ace, now pacing in front of the bench like a man possessed, threw his hands up in disbelief. “WHY DID YOU TELL US TO SIT DOWN?!” His voice cracked somewhere between fury and absolute confusion.

You shrugged, not even looking at him, your voice still deadpan. “I needed you to understand my pain.”

Deuce, still frozen on the bench like a statue, glanced back at his pants, horrified by the neon streak decorating his backside. “But… but why didn’t you just tell us?” His voice was faint, like he’d just witnessed a crime against humanity.

You finally stood up, stretching a little as if your emotional weight had lifted now that you’d successfully shared your burden. “Because misery loves company,” you said, a tiny smirk playing on your lips. “And now… you get it.”

Ace stared at you, hands in his hair, mouth hanging open. “That’s… that’s messed up, man!”

Deuce, however, was too far gone. He wasn’t even mad anymore. His face was a portrait of pure, unfiltered sadness. “I’m gonna have to wash these, aren’t I? Like, scrub them for hours…”

You nodded solemnly, patting him on the back—though you made sure to avoid touching his pants. “Welcome to the club. It’s going to take at least three washes, minimum.”

Deuce whimpered.

Ace, however, wasn’t done venting. “You couldn’t have just given us a heads-up?! ‘Hey guys, don’t sit here, the bench is painted,’ or something?” He waved his arms wildly as if demonstrating the hypothetical conversation.

You just shrugged. “You looked like you needed to sit.”

“And now I’ll never sit again,” Ace groaned, dramatically flopping back down on the other side of the bench in defeat—only to shoot back up in horror, realizing there was even more paint he hadn’t noticed.

You couldn’t help it. You chuckled.

Ace pointed a finger at you accusingly. “You—this was a trap! A setup! You’re a paint terrorist!”

Deuce, still sitting in quiet despair, muttered, “This is worse than losing at UNO…”

The three of you stood there for a moment in shared misery. Well, you stood. Ace and Deuce just fidgeted around awkwardly, trying to figure out how to move without getting more paint on themselves.

Finally, Deuce sighed. “I guess we’re going to the laundry room, huh?”

Ace groaned, giving you one last betrayed look before shuffling off with Deuce. “This isn’t over. You owe us.”

“Yeah,” Deuce added, still staring forlornly at his pants. “You owe us big time…”

You waved after them, feeling surprisingly lighthearted now that your suffering was mutual. “I’ll buy you guys lunch later!” you called, though you weren’t sure if they even heard you over their grumbling.

As they disappeared into the distance, you sat back down on the cursed bench, content with the knowledge that, while your pants were ruined… at least you weren’t alone.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #reader #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade

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wombywoo · 1 year ago

Note

do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

#asks #fic rec #I've never actually done a fic rec list like this before...#a small glimpse into my nightly routine of browsing the ao3 trenches for something remotely readable 🫡#funny how most of these are Ghost centric...#I'm *very* particular on how I prefer Soap to be portrayed and wooo boy...is it a struggle 😔

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thequeenofcurses · 4 months ago

Text

Wounds Without a Name

True form Sukuna x f!Reader

summary: local villagers beg heian era sukuna to help them in a war. he refuses, so you decide to help them yourself (angst) words: 3.6k

context: so I was listening to music at work and this song came on and it really reminded me of sukuna's story. I def recommend checking it out! Also wanted to shout out this art piece by @xxnghtclls because it also gave me some inspiration for this.

tw: blood, war, death, angst, true form sukuna, heian era, established relationship. it's my first time ever writing TF kuna so plz don't be mean 😭

masterlist | jjk masterlist

The battlefield was littered with bodies. Left. Right. Forward. Anywhere one could look, their eyes would feast upon a massacre. Broken bloodied weapons on the ground. The faint echoes of groans from wounded survivors. With heavy losses on both sides, it was nearly impossible to tell which side won. Most bodies were unrecognizable from either the missing limbs or the burnt to crisp corpses.

The battle had drawn out into the night, the sun just starting to peak through the sky. The red-orange light forcing a calmness over the unpleasant sight.

He urged you not to go.

“Let them fight their war, woman,” Sukuna once grumbled, sitting on his throne. His head was lazily rested atop one of his four hands, yet his lower set of eyes never left yours. You stood right by his side, as you always had the past few months. “Their matters don’t concern us.”

“I cannot stand idly by while they massacre children,” you chided back to him. “If you won’t help them–”

“I said no!” he shouted. You didn’t flinch, even though everyone else on this planet would have. Sukuna may have never said those cursed magical three words, but you knew how he felt about you. Knew he would never truly harm you. Knew he treated you differently. Knew he let you get away with too much. “We’re not going.” He rose, then gave you an annoyed side-eye, before his stomach grumbled. “Uraume!”

“Lord Sukuna?” they immediately appeared to his side, bowing.

“Prepare our dinner.”

“Yes, Lord Sukuna.” The white-haired monk vanished, as quickly as they had appeared.

The royal kitchen bustled with servants searching for the ingredients Uraume requested to prepare dinner. Their instructions were quite specific as you had been feeling quite ill this last week. Or was it two weeks? Going on three? As skilled as Uraume was with reverse cursed technique, even they couldn’t pinpoint what was constantly making you feel so unwell.

Your stomach ached, craving a snack in the meantime before dinner is prepared. Unfortunately, your heart also ached while you thought about the people who were just in the throne room, weeks ago, begging Sukuna for his help.

“We will offer you anything, please–” the elder couple were bowing, heads touching the floor, as they begged for salvation. “Our enemy village is attacking us. They’re killing our men. Taking our women, our children.”

This was typical. Commoners from all over the land often came with offerings for Sukuna for something in return. If their offering wasn’t good enough, they’d often leave severely injured, if they were lucky to survive a cleave attack. That was what you were used to. But never had anyone yet, begged to save their children.

You couldn’t tell what it was, but something about this elderly couple’s begging tugged at your heartstrings. Children, the children.

To your knowledge, Sukuna did not want any offspring, yet you were too afraid to ever ask him that question. You may be his favorite, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he will change for you.

Week after week, different people from the elderly couple’s village came begging for deliverance. Each update was worse than the last. At first the enemy were only taking the children, now they’re killing them and everyone they get their hands on.

Regardless of how bad it got, Sukuna still refused to aid them.

The children.

The children!

Your heart ached day after day until you finally imploded.

“Uraume!” Sukuna shouted. “Prepare our dinner.”

Sukuna soundlessly started the walk to his private chambers, disrobing on the way there. He paused, turning his head to make sure you were following.

“I’ll be right there,” you called out.

He grunts, then continues his venture towards his room.

Although you've been sleeping in Sukuna’s chambers for quite some time, you still had your own room, where your clothing and personal items were kept. You quickly make your way to your boudoir.

The rain pattered softly against the window, but the storm inside your chest raged far louder. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your hands; hands that had done nothing but remain idle, sheltered under Sukuna’s protection, while others suffered. The weight of your inaction pressed heavy on your ribs. How many lives had been lost while you stayed here? How many more would die if you did nothing?

But leaving… it wasn’t just about sneaking past Uraume and the other servants or enduring Sukuna’s wrath. It was about what you would be throwing away. The safety. The stability. The certainty that, no matter what happened, you would always be protected under his reign. Sukuna doesn’t make promises, but you knew, with an unshakable certainty, that as long as you remained his, no harm would ever come to you.

And yet, you couldn’t stay.

You pressed a trembling hand against your stomach. A strange nausea had plagued you lately, but you’ve chalked it up to anxiety, to sleepless nights spent debating this very decision. If you left now, there would be no turning back. If you stayed… you might just drown in regret, knowing you had chosen yourself over the helpless.

A memory surfaced, unbidden. Sukuna, standing over a battlefield, blood splattered across his face, grinning. The bodies of men, women, even children, crumpled in his wake. And yet, that same bloodstained hand had once brushed your hair from your face with an almost unbearable gentleness.

He was a monster. But he had never been a monster to you.

Would that change when he found out what you had done?

With a deep breath, you rose to your feet. Back and forth, you pace your room. Thoughts of innocent children being slaughtered fill your mind. Death was something anyone close to Sukuna was forced to get used to. But Sukuna often killed people whom (for the most part) he had a reason to kill – if annoying him counts. Innocent children though? You’re not sure if you can let that go.

You had learned a thing or two about your technique from Sukuna and you often watched him and Uraume train together. With that knowledge and your little secret practice sessions with Uraume, you for sure could help those people.

You made your decision. You had to do something.

Sukuna usually bathes right before or after dinner and considering he was walking around naked when he left you, there's a good chance he's in there right now.

You decide to change clothing, putting on a thicker, but looser kimono and closed toed footwear, then head for the kitchen.

You peek in through the door, seeing Uraume slice up different meats. No doubt some of it was fresh “offerings,” from those village people. Aside from them, the kitchen was empty.

You noiselessly push open the door to slide into the kitchen. If all goes according to plan, you’ll be able to help the village.

You walk in, feigning extreme hunger.

“Y/n?,” Uraume questions, eyes narrowing. “Has something happened?”

“No–” you respond a little too quickly. “Uh, Sukuna just wanted me to check on dinner. He was growing rather impatient.”

Uraume frowns, but speeds up their chopping. “Supper will be ready soon. Though, he often doesn’t send you, as his messenger.”

“I too, was growing rather hungry…” you rub your belly, hoping Uraume believes you.

“Well it won’t be much longer,” they nod their head back towards the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait, please–” you start. You walk closer, slowly, so as not to alarm them. “Those villagers that have been coming in lately…”

A silent stare, urging you to continue.

“I want to help–”

“No.” They turn away from you, gathering more herbs.

“Uraume, you must understand,” you take another step closer. “They’re killing children. And if I recall correctly, Sukuna mentioned he found you as a child.”

Uraume sighs, adding the meat to a boiling pot of water.

“I have been practicing my technique like you’ve shown me. I can fight. I can help them.”

“Lord Sukuna would never allow it,” Uraume finally faces you again. “If he knew I permitted you to leave, he would be enraged. It’s too dangerous.”

“Hmph,” you scoff. “Well that’s why I’m not asking.” Uraume’s eyes open wide at your bold statement. For the first time ever, they were truly shocked and flabbergasted. “I just need a weapon. Please.”

The determined look in your eyes was unwavering. You stared Uraume down with the confidence you gained from continually standing by Sukuna’s side.

Another low sigh. “Fine,” they surrender. “But I will have no part in this. We never spoke tonight. You were never here.” If that’s what it takes. You nod and follow them toward the training area of the shrine. As inaudible and quick as a ninja, Uraume slips into the room, then seconds later, returns with exactly what you need.

A twin pair of sai. You’ve practiced them on tree trunks and crows, but never a living human before. First time for everything. You place the weapons in your belt and tighten it along your waist for security.

You turn to nod to Uruame, a sign of thanks, but they're already gone.

The village under attack was only nine to ten kilometers from the shrine. You could get there within a couple hours.

You left with a small smile on your face. You'll deal with Sukuna’s rage whenever you get back. You're just glad you finally can use your newfound abilities for something meaningful.

The night air was crisp as you stepped beyond the safety of the shrine’s walls. For months, you had lived under Sukuna’s rule; his protection, his dominance, his affection. But tonight, you walked forward with nothing but your own will guiding you.

You knew the risks. Sukuna did not tolerate disobedience, not even from you. He would be furious when he found out, and his wrath was not something to take lightly. But you would endure it, because you could no longer sit idly by while innocent children were slaughtered.

The path down the mountain was steep, but you moved quickly, your grip tightening around the twin sai at your waist. The weapons felt both foreign and familiar in your grasp. The deadly tools that you had trained with in secret, yet never wielded in true combat. But there was no room for hesitation now.

You would fight. You would protect. And when the time came to face Sukuna’s judgment, you would stand tall, knowing you had done what was right.

One minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes! Where the hell is this woman? His woman.

Although, Sukuna was much too arrogant to say that to your face.

He sat in the bath, eyes closed, relaxing. Or attempting to relax. It was very rare he wasn't in the same room as you for very long. Besides, what could you possibly want to do aside from being with him?

It was going on twenty minutes and you still had him waiting. How terribly annoying.

Within moments a servant came knocking on his door.

“Lord Sukuna, Uruame has finished your dinner. Shall you and Lady y/n be eating in the dining hall?”

“Just bring it here,” Sukuna mutters.

Sukuna stands, the water cascading down his naked muscled form.

The same servant returns with two hot plates of food. They place the plates down on the table near the bed, all the while never looking up.

As they go to make their exit, Sukuna stops them with a wave of his hand.

“You there,” he started. Not like he needs to know anyone's name aside from you and Uruame. The servant freezes, her body visibly shaking. “Where is y/n?"

“I- I-,” she stuttered out. Their teeth clattering together.

“Spit it out.”

“I do not know. Uruame instructed me to deliver your meal since they had business to attend to.”

“Tch,” he reaches for the nearest long cloth to dry himself off. “Get out.”

Maybe you were upset at him that he yelled at you today. It was rare he ever got vexed with you, annoyed – very often, but genuinely irate? No.

Sukuna lazily throws on his yukata. The aroma coming from both plates smelled divine. Uraume never seems to miss when it comes to cooking.

It felt odd… Having dinner without you. Sukuna took a bite out of his meat. Cooked to perfection. A slice of human male torso, with a female’s palm and breast. Some of his favorite parts to consume.

He chewed but the meat quickly started to turn sour– or was that just his mood affecting the food. Where the Hell is that woman? His curiosity quickly started to turn into anger.

“Uraume!” He didn’t know or care what “business” they had. Sukuna wanted answers now.

Within moments, the snowy haired servant appeared in the doorway.

“Sukuna-sama?”

“Where is she?” He tried to chew, tried to savor the flavor, the smell, but every bite slowly started to turn bitter.

The shattered remnants of a ceramic plate lay at his feet, Uraume kneeling beside him in quiet apprehension. The silence in the room was suffocating, stretched taut with an unspoken fury that crackled like a brewing storm.

“She’s gone,” Uraume said evenly. “The servants—”

“I don’t give a damn about the servants.” Sukuna’s voice was low, almost calm. But Uraume flinched, recognizing the telltale signs of an imminent explosion.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. He had known—known—you were reckless, that you let emotions dictate your actions. But this? Running headfirst into battle? It was the single most idiotic thing you could have done. Especially with your condition.

His lower hands twitched toward his stomach, a rare, almost unconscious gesture. Stupid girl. You didn’t even know. Didn’t know about the life you carried. His life.

And now you were out there, in the middle of a blood-soaked battlefield, fragile and unaware.

A slow, seething rage curled through his chest, suffocating in its intensity. He had half a mind to tear through every single soldier in that war-torn wasteland himself, not out of any sense of justice, he didn’t care for the politics of it, but simply to prove a point. To drag you back, trembling and bloodied, and make you understand that you do not get to leave him.

He inhaled sharply. “Where?”

Uraume hesitated. “Lord Sukuna—”

“Where.”

A beat. Then, reluctantly, Uraume murmured the name of the battlefield. Sukuna turned, striding toward the door. He would bring you back. He had to.

Ten kilometers. It wasn’t extremely far, but far enough he couldn’t sense you anymore. Far enough he couldn’t protect you. Damn it. Damn you.

He hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Not since her. That damn woman. He considers her more of a monster than himself.

“Stay here,” she whispered.

Sukuna had been too young to understand what those words truly meant. Too young to recognize the way his mother’s voice trembled, how her fingers lingered just a little too long on his face, tracing the sharp edges of his cheekbones as if she were memorizing them.

"I’ll be right back."

She had kissed him then, something she rarely did. Her lips were cold. He remembers that. Cold, and wet with the tears she tried to hide.

Then she turned and walked away.

And she never came back.

Sukuna learned to lie that day. Learned to smother the ache in his chest, to twist his words, his thoughts, his very being into something untouchable. Because if love only led to loss, then what was the point? If people always left, then why should he ever believe in their promises?

So he didn’t.

Not until you.

Yet here you are, trying to leave him too.

You should have stayed behind. That thought claws at Sukuna’s mind like a relentless beast, gnawing and tearing through his usual ironclad logic. Why didn’t you just listen to him!? He’s never been one to hesitate, never one to question the necessity of a fight—but this time, something festers in his chest, heavy and unnatural. It’s you.

He’s always known you were reckless, too willing to throw yourself into danger for the sake of others, before he saved you. It’s one of the things that made you so damn frustrating. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s not just your life on the line.

Sukuna’s fingers twitch at his side. No one else knows. Not even you. He had sensed it before you started feeling sick, something faint but unmistakable; a new life, fragile and barely formed, nestled within you. His child. His heir.

And you’re running straight into a warzone.

The knowledge should have made him stop you. It should have made him tell you the truth, force you to stay behind, do something to keep you safe. But he didn’t. He let his pride, his cold logic, his damned belief that you were strong enough to handle anything—just like always—get in the way.

Now, as he prepares for battle, unease coils around his ribs like a vice. Sukuna isn’t a man ruled by fear, but right now, he’s afraid. Not for himself. For you.

And for the life you don’t even know you’re carrying.

The journey to the village is a quiet one, with Uraume silently following behind. There was no need to plan or think any further. Sukuna knew exactly what he was going to do once he reached that battlefield.

The battlefield is a storm of blood and screams, but none of it matters. Not to him.

Sukuna scans the chaos with razor-sharp precision, his instincts screaming that something is off. He should have found you by now. You should be here, tearing through enemies with that reckless determination of yours, throwing yourself into the fray as if you were invincible.

But you’re not here.

His heart, if he even has one, lurches violently against his ribs. His body moves before his mind catches up, cutting through bodies, ignoring the spray of blood and the desperate cries around him. The only thing he cares about right now is finding you.

Cleave. Dismantle. Cleave. Dismantle.

He slices and dices everything in sight, not caring whose side they were on.

Until he finally sees it.

A familiar figure, crumpled on the ground. Still. Far too still.

Sukuna doesn’t remember crossing the distance. One moment, he’s fighting. The next, he’s on his knees beside you, hands grasping at your body as if he can shake you back to life.

But you’re cold.

Too cold.

Something inside him snaps.

Heal. Heal.

He presses one then two, then four hands to your body, all infused with his overflowing cursed energy. He spills his life essence into you (again), yet you remain still.

Heal. Heal.

He looks toward Uraume who just finished freezing their attackers. Maybe if they both try reverse cursed technique, it may work.

Heal. Heal. Heal. Heal. Heal.

One of Sukuna’s hands grazes your lips. Cold and wet. Just like his mother’s that day.

You’re leaving him too. Just like her.

A sound rips from Sukuna’s throat; something raw, something primal, something wrong. He’s not the type to grieve, not the type to break, but as he cradles your lifeless body, he feels something inside him shatter beyond repair.

This isn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to live. To survive. To stay by his side, infuriating, annoying, and stubborn and alive.

His grip tightens around you, claws digging into your flesh, as if holding you close will somehow fix this, somehow reverse the unthinkable. But it won’t. He knows it won’t.

And then, it hits him.

The child.

His jaw clenches so hard it might break. His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps, his entire body trembling–not with grief, but with unfiltered, world-ending rage.

They didn’t just take you from him.

They took everything.

A furious roar tears through the battlefield, drowning out the clashing of swords and the screams of the dying. The ground quakes beneath him as his cursed energy surges, turning the air thick with malice. His vision is drenched in red, his mind consumed by a singular, all-consuming need:

Vengeance.

He will burn this world to the ground. And he will make them all pay.

The battlefield is silent now. The stench of blood clings to the air, thick and suffocating, but Sukuna no longer tastes it. His blade is still warm in his grip, his hands stained with the lives he has taken. Corpses litter the ground, the remnants of his wrath, yet none of it matters. Not anymore.

You are gone. So is the child you never even knew you carried.

Sukuna stands amidst the ruin, but the rage that once burned inside him has been smothered, leaving behind something far worse: a hollow, endless void. He thought vengeance would bring him something. Closure, maybe. Peace. But there is no peace in this. No satisfaction. Only silence.

A familiar voice calls his name. Uraume. He barely registers them as they step closer, hesitant yet unwavering, the only presence left in the wake of his destruction.

“It's over,” they say, as if that means anything.

Over.

Sukuna lets his weapon fall from his grasp. It lands with a dull thud, swallowed by the lifeless ground beneath him. He does not move when Uraume reaches for him, does not resist when they pull him away from this graveyard of his own making. He feels nothing.

You were supposed to be by his side. You were supposed to live.

But now, there is only emptiness. A vast, aching nothingness that no amount of bloodshed can ever fill.

A/N MAN I WAS SO NERVOUS WRITING THIS 😭 It was my first time ever writing true form kuna and I'm not sure if I even did good (he's so hard to write!) 😭 I'm lowkey shaking, because I'm so in love with him and don't want to ruin his character or write him OOC. Welp. (I hope I made you cry, bc that was my goal) Also shout out to Ayron Jones, who's such an underrated artist. I hope you guys listen and enjoy the song! 🖤

ryomen sukuna

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #true form sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #heian sukuna #heian era #uraume #angst #jjk x y/n #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #im lowkey crying #divider by omi-resource

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