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A Curse Left Behind//Ryomen Sukuna

Pairing: Sukuna x Vessel!Reader

Synopsis: The time has come. You’ve consumed all 20 of Sukuna’s fingers, his soul complete and already trying to overpower yours. As you’re spending your remaining time on earth in solitude, waiting for your execution, the unexpected happens - Sukuna asks what were your dreams for the future.

Warnings: 

The usual - lots of swears and violence from our favorite King of Curses.

Slightly angsty (I don’t know what constitutes as heavy angst)

Obsessive Sukuna (if you squint haha)

Mentions of death

Small manga spoiler (Uraume)

From Ari: So I hope y'all don’t expect this to be like Annoying Brat - coz that’s too high an expectation haha. You don’t even have to read that before you read this, since we’re staying true to a “long one-shot” This is more Reader-centric, still with a healthy serving of bitching from Sukuna. I realized it was all Sukuna last time, so I wanted to write more of Reader’s relationship and view of him, and just more Vessel!Reader in general. Hope you guys like it <3 

Word Count: ~8k (WPS has a weird word count system I thought it was 9k)

Previous Work from “Puppet Show”: Annoying Brat

Extra Short One Shot to This Fic: A Small Piece of You

Keep reading

Sukuna x Concubine! Reader

TW: Reader is a virgin, size difference

Soft and gentle are words that could never be used for Sukuna, yet it was how he was described when he was around you. His large, rough hands only stroked and caressed you, treating you as if you were something fragile and to be cherished, instead of a body he would defile. And defile you, he never did. You were still as pure as the day you were born, the only intimacy you'd ever had with your leige being chaste kisses upon your lips or his tongue lapping away between your legs. Despite his longing for your body, he couldn't bring himself to split you open with his cock.

You were tiny. Little one, he called you. A name that suited you well. Your height pales in comparison to him, but you still stand beside his side joyfully. While he doesn't use you for his nightly activities, he always wants you next to him, saying your ditzy demeanor is entertaining. You sit on his lap as he looks disinterested on his throne, kicking your legs cutely and humming songs you know he likes. An arm will be wrapped around your waist, squeezing you tightly and holding you in place.

“Comfortable?” He'll ask and you respond with an enthusiastic nod. His other hand will reach up, pressing a large thumb against your mouth and spreading your lips open, “Have you lost your voice? I want you to speak.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, words being slightly muffled by the finger, “I'm very comfortable, sir.”

Even though you said and did so little while sitting in his lap, his face still flushes slightly. Something that most wouldn't notice, but you did. A blush upon his cheek and his hand squeezing your waist just a little tighter, pulling you closer into his chest. His loose fitting kimono did little to hide the growing erections you felt against your backside, but he said nothing of it. He couldn't take you. Not when he was afraid of breaking you. So he silently rutted his hips against your ass, any friction of your body against his cock being enough for him now.

“Shall…shall I give you some privacy…sir?” you questioned quietly. You were aware of what to do when he got like this, rutting himself against you like an animal in heat. Typically when he got like that, you could feel his nails digging into the fat of your hips, physically restraining himself from taking you then and there.

“No,” he grumbled roughly into the crook of your neck. His hips grinding faster against your ass, practically bouncing you in his lap, “Just stay put. Just like that.”

You could feel the heat of his cock against your ass, whimpering sweetly in a way that only made him grip you a little tighter. You could feel him starting to undress himself behind you. Pulling at his obi until his kimono fell open, and quickly raising the hem of yours as well, exposing your clothed ass to him. Sukuna hissed air in through his teeth, pressing his leaking tips against your behind once more.

“Lord Sukuna, Sir. You're squeezing me a bit too tight,” you whined in reference to that hand that seemed to be holding you even tighter now.

“Hush, Little One,” he growled, hips starting to stutter against yours, “I'm almost there.”

His rough words were followed by a grunt, the feeling of his cock twitching, and his hot cum spilling onto your panties, seeping down your ass. He still held your hips, a bit gentler now. His breathing is labored, but softer now, chest rising and falling in a dizzing rhythm. As a praise for your good work, his large hand nestled itself into your hair, petting you in that sweet way he always did.

MORE HUSBAND!SUKUNA PLSSSS (not forcing TvT) (not modern-)

tough love — ryomen sukuna x gn!reader

a/n: okay but like imagine living in a palace with this guy

your husband is sweet, but not in the traditional sense.

when you think of sweet, you think of nights spent with hushed whispers and mutual giggles, you think of flowers at your doorstep every single day.

you don’t think of a 7 foot something man, with the biggest scowl on his face, staring at you in the early morning and scaring the heebie-jeebies out of you.

but he is still sweet.

despite the blood staining his hands and his manic grin doing such acts, the same hands have the ability to hold you as gently as one would stroke a flower’s petal.

they’re able to cradle you and carry you to bed and tuck you in. sure, there is no goodnight kiss, but that’s because he doesn’t leave. when you rest, your husband stays awake on the look to make sure that no harm comes to you.

he is rough with what he does. still, you feel happiness about to overflow when, for example, he gets you jewelry he believes would suit you.

add to that, the fact that he personally puts them on you. you remember that one time he got back from his endeavor—terrorizing yet another village—and he greeted you with a box painted with gold and wrapped in velvet.

you took the box from his hands and opened. it revealed a very exquisite anklet with jewels of your favorite color. they are organized in a matter that you distinctly remember telling your husband about and how pretty that is to you.

you looked up to him giddily, “so you do pay attention!”

he takes the anklet from the box, grumbling, “shut up,” and despite his harsh tone and words, he kneels and puts the anklet on you. it’s a bit hard, considering his big hands and long nails, but he manages. he pulls back with a smirk, and you examine the anklet on your leg.

“I like it.”

“of course, you do; I chose it.”

he is an ass, but that same guy takes care of you when you’re sick—somehow. when news had spread that you’ve fallen ill, you expected that your husband would simply send the maids to your aid and the doctors to ensure your rapid and swift recovery.

instead, what you saw was the figure of your—scary—husband stood at your door. you peek from under the covers, a cough escaping your lips, “how can I help you, husband?”

he frowns down at you, “you look like shit.”

you start laughing, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit—his frown deepens—, “well—obviously! I am sick,” you try to get a look of what’s behind him, “where are the maids and doctors?”

he sits on the bed, right by your side, and rests a hand on your forehead, “I am not letting their filthy hands touch you,” a sigh threatens to escape him, when he feels your temperature, “you’re foolish.”

you huff, “I can’t control how sick I get, you know!”

“well, you could’ve avoided this, if you had listened to me when I told you not to play in the rain.”

the memory brings a dopey smile to your face.

the rain was falling freely but gently. the wind was blowing just right. and your husband was watching you, under the door frames so he doesn’t get wet. he called for you, of course, but you’re a free spirit and wanted to enjoy the outdoors a bit more.

you’re never confided in the walls of the palace, but it’s nice to feel like a rebel every once in a while even if it ends up with you being sick in bed.

he sees the little kick of your feet, “but, it was fun, right? I even managed to get you to stand in the rain with me!”

yes, he did, in the end and after much whining, go in the rain with you. he was simply standing there, but it’s the thought that counts, right? and because he is the king of curses, he didn’t get sick, but he did get stuck taking care of you.

it’s a win in his book—even if he hates seeing you all frail like that—but he would never tell you that.

he shoves a cup of water to your lips, and grumbles, “shut up and drink.”

your goes up to hold the cup, but his glare makes you slowly lower them back down. you get the memo that he wants to take care of you, to the fullest. he slowly helps you drink all of the water.

so you relax the entire night, letting him nurse you back to health. he is a bit clumsy throughout it, and you understand it’s because he never truly cared for someone before nor did someone care for him in a way so tender and gentle.

you think it’s cute: his determination mixed with a hint of roughness and cluelessness.

you want to giggle and chuckle at some of the things he does like how he was confused about which medicine you were supposed to take and at what hour.

or like how—despite his enormous strength—he was unable to take the cover of the bottle of herbs off, but you’re sure he would either glare at you or leave you to suffer alone for an hour.

so yeah, he stays with you the entire time you’re sick, night and day, never leaving your chambers. even when he needed something like medicine or a wet cloth, he would send the maids.

he stays by your side till you’re back to your feet with a smile on your face.

and when you’re dinning on the very long and gigantic table, you look intently at your husband’s face. he reminds you of something with his permanent scowl and grumpily attitude.

he notices your gaze and groans, “what is it now?”

you gasp as you finally come to the long awaited realization.

a tiger.

your husband is a tiger, one hell of a grumpy tiger.

“your face looks stupider than usual; what’s up with you now?”

an asshole tiger.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

the other woman — ryomen sukuna.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.” But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.” And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was always going to be long, because it's heartbreaking. and heartbreaking ones have to be something that has to be expressed well. i listened to this in a audio software like its a podcast and i actually liked it. the other woman by nina simone was the constant in the writing. also, this is the aftermath of ashes of love, which is a series i did about heian sukuna. anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU KNEW THAT YOU WERE THIS UNLUCKY. The moment you were born, there would be a bleak fate for you to live. You were an accidental child, and multiple times, your own mother had nearly miscarried. Perhaps even as a fetus, you had always known this. How cursed you were. Even if you had done nothing. 

When your mother brushed your hair as a child, she would tell you of how you were born. She said that when you breathed the air for the first time, you were melancholic in the silence to the world. Somehow knew that you were built for this miserable world. And every day since that day, you knew. You were meant to live life without true joyous jubilation.

It did not help that the day you were born, there was a lone dark star in the morning sky, one which had been considered a bad omen. And with that, the whispers of fate echoing long before you had even had consciousness to know. Your village nestled in the shadowed valleys of Hida province, a place of whispered dread and ancient pacts. And for the longest of times, the once prosperous Hida province was in turmoil. 

And so, in those days, if there was anyone who controlled the ruins of Hida, it was that god-like curse user Ryomen Sukuna. His name alone was a talisman against the unknown horrors that lurked beyond the mountains, a deity whose power and wrath commanded fear and reverence in equal measure. And all either quivered at the sight of him or drew fanatic fervor. 

The Ryomen clan, his kin at one point, were at war—embroiled in brutal conflicts with neighboring clans for so long. And this had been going on before you were even born. The blood had soaked the earth for so long that the soil seemed to thirst for it. And the people were exhausted. 

The clan struggled to maintain control over Hida for a long time now, their influence fraying like an old tapestry torn at the seams. And with that, a power vacuum had long been in existence. The chaos of the era was a tide that threatened to drown them all, and Ryomen Sukuna's protection became the last fragile hope for those who called this land their home.

Your parents spoke in hushed voices of the offerings, the sacrifices made by the villagers to appease their god, the man who can save them,  this man to fear and worship, Ryomen Sukuna. To ensure his protection, they said. For years, the sacrifices continued, the chosen ones becoming mere footnotes in a history written in blood and fear. 

It came upon you rather quickly when you were young and it struck you—that the villagers saw you not as one of their own, but as a piece on a board, a pawn destined for slaughter. A sacrifice to their god. You would be among the countless, one more life to be cast into the jaws of the demon god they all feared.

The day of your sacrifice came as the sky was painted with hues of blood and gold, a cruel irony that did not escape you. The air was heavy with incense and prayer, but there was no comfort in their muttered words, no solace in the chants that pleaded for Sukuna's mercy. They adorned you in ceremonial robes, marked with symbols and sigils, your skin painted with the sacred ink that was supposed to cleanse your soul before the offering.

You were led through the village, a procession of death that seemed to stretch on forever. The eyes that watched you pass were filled with a mixture of pity and relief—relief that it was not them, not their child, not their blood that would be spilled today. Mothers held their children close, men bowed their heads, and the elders chanted in a low, continuous hum that sent shivers down your spine.

At the shrine, they bound you to the altar, thick ropes biting into your skin as you stared at the sky, searching for a sign, a miracle that never came. The high priest began his incantation, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. You could feel the cold seep into your bones, the air around you thickening as if the very world held its breath.

And then, you felt it—the shift in the air, the heavy presence that pressed against your chest like a vice. You had never seen him before, but you knew it was Sukuna. The villagers gasped, a collective intake of breath as his form materialized from the shadows, a figure cloaked in malice and power.

His eyes, crimson and unforgiving, swept over you like a cold blade. You felt your heart hammer against your ribcage, fear clawing at your throat. You were nothing to him, just another offering, another desperate plea from a village clinging to survival.

Ryomen Sukuna smiled, a slow, cruel smile that sent a tremor through the crowd. He stepped forward, each movement a ripple in the air, as if reality itself bent to his will. You met his gaze, defiant in your fear, knowing that you were one of many. Countless lives had been given to him, countless souls lost to his hunger.

And now, it was your turn.

══════════════════

YOU HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO MEET THE MAN IN THE FLESH. But before you stood this man, this god, with dark crimson eyes. Taller than any tree, intimidating than any curse. Frightening than hell itself. You could remember when you were younger. The whispers reached you before you even stepped foot in the shrine, everyone has. Tales of Ryomen Sukuna had traveled through the villages like the wind, carrying with them rumors that were both terrifying and tragic. 

You had always known that the man was delighted with the worship of the human people. But they said he had taken no other concubines, that he showed no interest in any woman who dared come near him.

And if he did, they were more likely to be servants than anything close to a concubine. And some were not so lucky. Some spoke in hushed tones, their voices trembling with fear, that he was a monster of unspeakable debauchery, one who had killed the women for even daring to breathe in his presence.

But the truth, as you had come to understand it, was far more tragic. At least from how you see it. The people of Hida knew—oh, they believed—the story was told long ago. There was someone who had been so loved long ago and most of all, by Sukuna.

Ryomen Hiromi, the one who had captured Sukuna's heart, the one he had loved beyond reason. There was another Sukuna a long time ago, many were aware. But there was nothing proven.

If anything, the children of Hiromi reject any notion of such a relationship. But the tale was woven into the very fabric of tales told, whispered among the elders late at night and shared in riddles among the children who barely understood the weight of what they spoke.

Hiromi, they said, had been his sun, his moon, his stars. A woman of beauty and strength, whose laughter could calm the wildest storms and whose voice was like the sweetest song. She had been the only one to ever touch his heart, to see the man beneath the demon god. But she was gone now, lost to time and tragedy, leaving Ryomen Sukuna to languish in his grief. 

No one dared speak her name aloud, not when Sukuna’s rage could split the earth itself. People have seen it. It was said he mourned her loss every day, that his fury was born from the emptiness she left behind. And that was why he would not tolerate any other woman. No one was going to be like her. None would match her wit, her beauty. Why should the king of curses settle for less when he had the world? 

As you lay on the cold altar, the ropes cutting into your skin, your thoughts were consumed by the stories. What kind of man—no, what kind of creature—was Sukuna? You wonder about this paradox of a man, this creature like god.

Did he truly mourn, or was that just another tale spun by terrified villagers to make him seem more human? What was he, actually? You had a million questions, and you know they will never truly be answered.

A gust of wind stirred the trees around you, the leaves rustling like whispered secrets. You heard the shuffle of feet, felt the eyes of the villagers upon you, their fear palpable. Then, you heard his voice. You could feel it all, that powerful cursed energy, coming from one direction. For a moment, you had no words. Only uncertainty.

"Why do they send another?" Sukuna's voice was like a low growl, rumbling through the air with the force of a storm. "Do you think I am so easily appeased, you fools?"

You dared to lift your head, the ropes pulling at your skin as you met his crimson gaze. He was tall, imposing, and every bit as terrifying as the stories had painted him. But there was something else there—something in his eyes that spoke of deep, simmering pain.

"Do you truly want to know why they sent me?" you found yourself saying, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your throat.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Speak, then, girl." he said. "Tell me why I should not turn you to dust where you lie."

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "They send me because they fear you, because they believe you will protect them if they give you what you want. But… no one knows what you truly want, do they? No one speaks of her. Of Hiromi."

His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. The air grew colder, a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

"Hiromi is dead." he said, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that could cut through steel. "And no one speaks her name. It is what I command.”

"But you still mourn her…." you continued, unable to stop yourself. "Do you not, my lord?”

His dark gaze bore into you, the weight of it almost unbearable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched on like an eternity. Then, slowly, he laughed—a sound that was bitter and hollow.

"You dare ask?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "What do you know of it all, little one? What do you know about such a life lived?"

You felt a tremor run through you, but you did not look away. "I know enough, my lord." you replied softly. "I know enough to see that your anger is not born of hatred, but of grief."

Sukuna's cruel smile quickly faded, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly swallowed by the darkness. He hated how you said it, you know it too well. But there was no other choice. You were here for a purpose and you must fulfill it. You must. 

"You are bold, little one." he murmured. "Bold….for someone so close to death."

"Perhaps, my lord." you whispered back to him. "But if I am to die, I would rather die knowing who you truly are, rather than the monster they say you are."

He stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the power that thrummed through him like a thunder strike.

"Then you are a fool, little one." he said quietly. "For believing that I am anything more than a monster."

But there was something in his voice, something that made you wonder if perhaps… he wished you were right.

For the meantime, you were lucky to have your life, despite speaking so boldly, despite saying her name aloud—the name that everyone else dared not utter. Sukuna’s silence stretched on, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours, unreadable, cold yet burning with something darker beneath the surface. He could have ended you with a flick of his wrist, reduced you to ashes for your insolence. And yet, he did not.

He leaned closer, the edges of his form blurring into the shadows that seemed to ripple around him like stabbing waves in the ocean. His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat a drum that signaled your fragile hold on life.

“Perhaps you are simply foolish. Many have died for far less than what you dared to speak.” Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “Huh, you speak brashly.”

The villagers around you seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his judgment. They looked at you with a mixture of horror and awe, unable to believe you were still alive after uttering the forbidden name. You, a mere sacrifice, a lamb thrown to the wolf, had survived what so many others had not.

“Why do you think I will let you live?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone curious, but with a dangerous edge. “Do you think I find you interesting? Amusing? Or perhaps I see something of her in you, something worth sparing?”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation settling in. You had survived speaking out of turn, but you were still bound to this altar, still at the mercy of a being who could destroy you on a whim. Yet, something in his words gave you pause, a flicker of something unspoken that lingered just beneath his surface.

“I do not presume to know your reasons, my lord.” you replied carefully, choosing each word like a step on thin ice. “But if you see something of her in me… then perhaps I am not so different from you after all.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Not so different?” He laughed, a sound that was both mirthful and bitter, filled with a deep, aching emptiness. “You compare yourself to me? To Ryomen Sukuna? You are a child, a mere mortal who knows nothing of gods or demons, of love that scorches the soul and burns the world to ash.”

“And yet…..” you dared to continue, feeling the tightness in your chest. “If my lord felt nothing, you wouldn’t care enough to be angry… or to remember.”

He stiffened, and for a moment, his expression faltered. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, his aura flickering like a candle flame caught in a strong wind. You sensed that you were dancing on a razor’s edge, but you could not stop now. There was something here, something raw and real beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Enough.” Sukuna hissed, his voice a sharp command. The air grew colder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You dare much, human. Too much.”

You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, the moment when his patience would finally snap. But instead, Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that did not reach his eyes.

“Perhaps I will spare you.” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “If only to see how long that fire burns before it is extinguished. Or perhaps to see if you will end up like the rest—broken, hollow, pleading for mercy where there is none.”

He turned away from you then, his back a wall of power and darkness, his form towering against the dim light of the shrine. The villagers started, stunned, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You will reside in my temple.” Sukuna commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will remain there, under my watch. Let them see what comes of those who speak of things best left forgotten.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of fear and shock. They did not understand why he had spared you, why you, of all people, were allowed to live. Perhaps they thought you were cursed, or perhaps they thought Sukuna had some darker plan in mind. But you knew better. You knew that, in some small way, you had touched on a wound that had never healed, a scar buried deep beneath his monstrous exterior.

And as Sukuna vanished into the shadows, you realized that your fate was no longer in the hands of the villagers, or even in the hands of the gods they prayed to. No, your fate was now bound to his—a god who mourned like a man, a monster who remembered what it was to love.

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IN A WAY, IT IS NOT SO BAD, BEING HIS CONCUBINE. You spent your days in isolation, your life confined within the walls of Sukuna's palace. You were nothing more than a servant, though they called you a concubine. The title meant little, for you were given no special privileges, no adornments, no tokens of affection. 

But it was a life. Your life. And it lived in some comfort, more than what is experienced by the rest of Hida province. You had multiple meals a day, you had rooms to yourself and even servants that address every bit of your needs.

Still, your world was small, your days filled with the quiet tending of the gardens, watching the shifting sky as the hours bled into one another. The flowers you nurtured became your only friends, their petals a fragile comfort against the cold indifference that surrounded you.

Perhaps the peace came from the fact that you did not see Sukuna often, and when you did, his gaze never lingered on you for long. He had no interest, no affection, no fondness to spare. You were simply there, like a shadow in the corner of his realm.

A figure lost amidst the vast emptiness of his domain. And perhaps that was for the best. It was better than being forced into Sukuna’s bed. You think that all women in the harem think that it was better that way.

But slowly, ever so slowly, something changed. His dark scarlet eyes began to linger, just a fraction longer than before. You felt the weight of his gaze like a chill running down your spine.

The other servants noticed it too, their whispers growing louder, bolder. You finally caught his attention. But it wasn’t because he had come to care for you, to see you as anything more than the nothing you were.

No, the truth was much crueler than that.

You were a spitting image of Ryomen Hiromi, the woman who haunted his every step, the ghost who lived in the shadows of his mind. At least that’s what the people say. But you did not want to believe them. Yet, looking at the murals at the glass gardens, the resemblance was uncanny.

It was obvious somehow. It was similar, everything. Your eyes, your hair, the curve of your smile. Every feature, every gesture seemed to remind him of her. And though you knew you could never be her, you had become a cruel echo, a reflection of something he had long lost.

And soon enough, the people talked. Of course, they did. They always talked. You tried to shut them out, but the more they whispered, the more people listened. And the more they listened, the more people spoke.  

“She reminds him of Hiromi, I am certain!” they whispered. “She is nothing but a shadow, a poor replacement for the one he truly loved. She lives in her image, as if she could ever hope to fill her place.”

You became the other woman, even when you didn’t want to be. No, not even that. You were a pale imitation, a mockery of a woman who had captured the heart of the king of curses. Every glance Ryomen Sukuna spared you was not a look of admiration or desire—it was the gaze of a man staring into the past, into a memory that was forever out of reach.

And so, you lived your life as another woman. No, the other woman. To a dead woman. To a love that had died long ago, but never truly left. 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the silence was so thick it pressed against your skin like a heavy shroud, you would wonder about her. About Ryomen Hiromi. Who was she, really? What had she meant to him, this fearsome god, this creature of darkness who now watched you as if searching for something he had lost in her eyes, now reflected in yours.

He never spoke of her. He does not want to. He does not dare to. Not to you, not to anyone. Some servants have been here longer than you and they have seen people killed over even a mumble of a prayer for the lady. And so you don’t ask. 

Not even when there were times he would come closer, when his dark eyes lingered on your face, searching, always searching. Yet he will never truly find it. He knew this, as much as you did. But it was as if he was trying to see her again, trying to find her in your skin, in your voice, in the way you moved through the gardens like she once had, perhaps. It was hope, a foolish hope. And yet you cannot escape this foolish hope.

The weight of her memory suffocated you. You were not allowed to be yourself, to have your own name, your own identity. You were always, always compared to her, measured against a ghost that you could never be, never touch. And Sukuna, with his cold gaze and his empty eyes, reminded you of it every day.

"You’re not her, little one." he said once, his voice low, more to himself than to you, as if testing a truth he could not fully accept. “You’ll never be her.”

His words cut deeper than any blade, leaving you with the bitter taste of something unnameable, something that tasted like defeat, or perhaps longing, or perhaps both. You had never wished to be her, to be anyone but yourself. But here, in his domain, under his shadow, you were not allowed that freedom.

You were trapped, forever bound to a life that was not your own, in the shadow of a dead woman who would never release you, and a man who could never let her go.

Days bled into nights, a blur of routine and solitude, and you began to feel like a ghost yourself, haunting the corners of Sukuna's palace, where life seemed to move around you but never through you. The servants kept their distance, wary of your resemblance, as if fearing you might be some ill omen, cursed to echo the tragedy of the past.

And Sukuna… he watched you, always watching, his eyes a deep crimson that saw too much and yet revealed nothing. He was like a storm contained within the fragile walls of the palace, his presence a force of nature that you could neither escape nor fully comprehend. His mood was mercurial; one day, he would barely acknowledge you, and the next, his gaze would linger on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Do you enjoy the garden?” he asked one afternoon, his tone deceptively casual, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather.

You glanced up, surprised that he had addressed you at all. He rarely spoke directly to you, even when his eyes seemed to follow your every movement. “I do,” you replied, careful, measured. “It is quiet there. Peaceful.”

“Quiet…peaceful.” he repeated, almost as if tasting the word. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, she liked the quiet too. Always wandering among the flowers. Trees too. She’d like that then.”

You stiffened at the mention of her, the ghost you lived with every day, who lingered in every corner of this place. “I am not her, my lord.” you said, a tremor in your voice. You had repeated these words to yourself countless times, but they sounded fragile, almost insignificant when spoken aloud.

Sukuna's expression did not change. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin. “No, little one.” he agreed softly, almost mockingly, “You are not her. But you will do… for now.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let him see the fear that coiled within you, like a snake waiting to strike. “Why do you keep me here?” you dared to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why do you watch me as if you expect me to become someone else?”

He laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You misunderstand, little one. I do not expect you to become her. I know you never can. But you… remind me of her. And that is enough… for now.”

The way he said it, the way his eyes darkened with something unreadable, made your blood run cold. You were nothing more than a stand-in, a living, breathing reminder of something he had lost. A cruel joke played by fate, a shadow dancing in the place of the one who truly mattered. To be kept alive, your village kept alive — because you look like a ghost. 

“I am not a replacement, my lord.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, surprising even yourself with the strength behind it. “I hope my lord knows that I will not live my life as a mere echo.”

His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “You think you have a choice?” he asked, leaning in closer, his face so near to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You are here because I allow it. You exist at my whim, not because of who you are, but because of who you resemble. Do not mistake this for anything more than it is.”

The reality of his words hit you like a blow, the finality of it sinking deep into your bones. You were nothing to him, nothing but a passing fancy, a painful reminder of a past he could not reclaim.

“I am not her, my lord.” you repeated, your voice shaking with defiance, with a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. “And I will not be her for you. You must understand.”

For a moment, something flickered in Sukuna's eyes, something almost like surprise, perhaps even respect. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he always wore.

“Brave words, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But words mean little here, in my domain. You will learn that soon enough.”

He turned away from you then, leaving you standing alone in the empty hall, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides. The silence closed in around you, heavy and oppressive, and you knew that nothing had changed. You were still trapped, still living in the shadow of a dead woman, still bound to the whims of a god who mourned like a man.

And yet, deep inside, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of hope. You might be a ghost to him, a reflection of a lost love, but you were still alive. You were still you, and as long as you drew breath, you would not allow yourself to be consumed by his shadows. Not without a fight.

Time passed slowly in Sukuna’s palace, and with it, your heart began to change. You did not notice it at first; how could you? Day after day, the monotonous routine of your existence lulled you into a sort of numbness. The gardens became your refuge, the sky your solace.

Yet even as you tried to find comfort in these simple pleasures, you found your thoughts wandering back to him—Ryomen Sukuna, the fearsome god, the monster, the man who mourned like a human.

At first, you hated him, hated him for what he represented, for what he had made you into: a replacement, a mere shadow of someone who had meant everything to him. But as you watched him, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you began to see more.

You began to notice the things others did not—the subtle tension in his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he spoke of her, the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, and the mask slipped, just a little.

You were in the garden one afternoon, trimming the roses, when you heard footsteps approaching. Sukuna rarely came to the garden, but today he seemed restless, pacing along the paths with a dark expression on his face. He stopped by the old cherry blossom tree, his eyes distant, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Without thinking, you moved closer. "Is something troubling you, my lord?" you asked quietly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You had learned not to provoke him, to keep your words soft and your gaze steady.

Sukuna looked at you sharply, as if surprised you had dared to speak. "Why do you care?" he snapped, his tone harsh, but you had seen the flicker of something else—a fleeting vulnerability, perhaps? “Such matters are none for you to care about, little one.”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I see you every day, my lord.” you replied softly. “I see how you… struggle over something. And I cannot help but… care.”

He scoffed, but it was a hollow sound. “Care?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You think you understand me, mortal? You think you can comprehend the depths of what I am, of what I have lost?”

You bowed your head, feeling the sting of his words but refusing to back down. “I don’t pretend to understand, my lord.” you murmured. “But I see the pain in your eyes, the way you linger in places she once loved, the way you… look at me.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense, his hands unclenching. “You are a fool, little one.” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. “A fool to think you can feel anything for me.”

And maybe you were a fool. A fool to care for a man who did not care for you, who saw you only as a shadow of someone else. But you could not help it. You could not stop the way your heart ached when you saw him, the way your breath caught when he looked at you with those sad, tired eyes.

Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him, not by his power or his beauty, but by the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching. The moments when his face softened, and you saw the man beneath the monster, the man who had loved so deeply and lost so terribly.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the places where he had been wounded, and you wanted, desperately, to reach out and touch them, to soothe the pain you knew he carried.

You found yourself thinking of him when you were alone, wondering what had made him this way, what had broken him so completely. You imagined him before all of this, before the darkness, before the loss, and you felt a strange, deep sorrow for the man he might have been.

One evening, as you were leaving the garden, you saw him standing by the cherry blossom tree again, his face turned upward, staring at the pale blooms against the darkening sky. He looked so lonely, so unbearably alone, that you felt your heart tighten in your chest.

Without thinking, you approached him, moving slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My lord, look.” you said softly, and he did not turn away. “The blossoms… they’re beautiful this year.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hiromi loved them.” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you could not quite name. “Fond of them.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I imagine she did, my lord.” you replied. “They’re… peaceful.”

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flowers. Then he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was… my peace.” he admitted, his tone so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten painfully. “And now… there is only emptiness.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his hand, to tell him that he was not as alone as he thought, but you knew he would not accept it. So you stood there, beside him, sharing the silence, hoping that maybe, in some small way, your presence could ease the ache in his heart.

And slowly, painfully, you realized that you were falling into the saddest position in the world. You were beginning to care for him, truly care for him, despite knowing that he did not, and could not, care for you. You were beginning to understand him, to see the depths of his sorrow, to feel the weight of his loss as if it were your own.

You were living as a shadow, and yet… you found yourself wishing, hoping, that someday he might see you as something more. Even if you were just a reflection of a memory, even if you could never be her, you wished, desperately, that you could become someone to him.

But as you looked at him, at the emptiness in his eyes, you knew that day might never come. And still, you could not help but care.

Days continued to slip by in a blur of silent moments and stolen glances, and though you tried to keep your heart guarded, you felt it slipping further and further away from you, like water through your fingers. You had resigned yourself to your fate—a concubine in name, a ghost in truth. You had accepted that Sukuna would never see you as anything more than a mere echo of what he had lost.

But as time passed, you noticed a subtle change in him. It was in the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, or how his tone softened when he spoke to you. It was in the quiet moments when you would catch him watching you, his expression inscrutable, as if he were trying to decipher some mystery he could not quite solve.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, you found yourself in the garden again. Sukuna was there, seated on a low stone bench beneath the cherry blossom tree, his face turned upward as if searching for something in the dying light.

You approached cautiously, unsure if he wanted your presence or not. He did not turn to look at you, but he did not send you away, either. You took it as a small mercy, a silent invitation to sit beside him.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, delicate and unbroken. Finally, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “You are always here, little one.” he murmured. “Always watching. Why?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I see you, my lord.” you replied quietly. “I see the way you carry your pain, the way you hide it behind your eyes. I… I understand it, in a way.”

He turned to you then, his gaze piercing, searching your face as if trying to find the truth hidden within your words. “And what do you think you understand?” he asked, a note of challenge in his tone.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his stare. “I think you loved her more than life itself, my lord.” you said softly. “And I think losing her broke something inside of you that will never heal.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. “You presume to know my heart, mortal.” he said, but there was no true malice in his voice, only a deep, hollow emptiness. “You think because you look like her, you can speak of love and loss?”

“I do not pretend to be her, my lord.” you answered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “But I know what it is to lose, to live with emptiness. I know what it means to be alone, even in a crowded room.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could almost see the man beneath the monster, the one who had loved and lost, who had once been capable of kindness, of tenderness.

“You think you know loneliness?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “You think you know what it is to love someone so deeply that their absence is like a knife in your soul, cutting you with every breath?”

“I think I’m starting to understand, my lord.” you whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”

He looked away, his jaw clenched tight, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You are a fool.” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only a weary resignation. “You should hate me. You should despise me for what I am, for what I have made you.”

You shook your head slowly. “I can’t, my lord.” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because I see the pain in your eyes, the way you look at me… the way you remember her. I can’t hate you for that. I just… I wish things were different.”

He turned to you sharply, and for a moment, there was something raw and desperate in his gaze, something that spoke of a longing he had buried deep within himself. “Different?” he repeated, almost scoffing. “There is no ‘different’ for us. This is the world we have been given, and we must live in it.”

You felt your heart clench painfully, knowing he was right, knowing that no matter how much you wished for it, you could never truly reach him, could never become more than what you were—a shadow, a reflection of a woman long gone.

But you could not stop yourself from caring, from hoping that somehow, someway, he might see you, truly see you, not as a ghost or a replacement, but as a person in your own right.

You sighed, turning your gaze to the blossoms above. “I know, my lord.” you murmured. “I know that better than anyone. But I still… I still want to understand you. I still care, even if you don’t care for me.”

He was silent, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much, crossed a line you could never return from. But then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand in his, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You are a strange one, little one.” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “To care for a monster… to care for a man who has nothing left to give.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you did not bother to hide it. “Maybe I’m just a fool, my lord” you whispered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t help but care for you, even when I know you can’t care for me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for some answer he could not find. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it took your breath away.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”

But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”

And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

══════════════════

TIME FLEW BY AND WITH THAT, YOU AGED TOO. Slowly, like the steady drip of water carving its path through stone, Ryomen Sukuna began to accept your presence as something constant in his life. At first, it was subtle—the way he no longer sent you away when you appeared by his side, the way he allowed you to linger in his chambers or the garden without a word of complaint.

Over time, it grew into something more. He began to call for you, not often, but enough that you noticed. Sometimes, it was just to sit in silence while he read or stared into the fire, and other times, he would speak to you, his voice low and distant, as if he were speaking to himself rather than you.

He did not love you; you knew that much with painful certainty. His heart belonged to another, to a woman whose name he whispered in his dreams, whose memory seemed to haunt his every step. You were not her, and you never would be. You were a shadow of what he had lost, a pale reflection of a love that had burned too bright and consumed itself in the flames.

But he tolerated you, and in this dark, twisted place where fear ruled and love was a forgotten dream, that was enough. You had learned to find solace in the little things—the way his gaze would occasionally soften when he looked at you, the rare moments when his voice held a note of something other than indifference. 

You knew you would never escape Hiromi’s shadow. Her ghost lingered in every corner of this place, in every whispered word and hushed breath, in the way his eyes darkened whenever he spoke of her.

You were not foolish enough to think you could ever replace her in his heart, nor did you wish to. You had come to terms with your fate, with the cruel twist of destiny that had brought you here, to this palace where the walls seemed to whisper her name.

For the finite years of your mortal life, you would be what you were to him—an echo, a shadow, a living memory of something lost. You could have fought against it, could have railed against the injustice of it all, but you chose not to. You chose to make peace with what fate had given you, to find what small joys you could in the fleeting moments he allowed you to be near him.

There were times when the weight of your existence threatened to crush you, when you longed to scream, to demand that he see you for who you were, not for the woman you resembled. But those moments were few and far between, and you had learned to push them down, to bury them deep within your heart where they could not hurt you.

Instead, you found contentment in the little things—in the way his presence filled the room, in the rare, unguarded moments when he would speak to you of things he had buried deep within himself. You listened to his stories, the ones he told in quiet tones when he thought no one was listening, and you treasured them like precious gems, tiny fragments of the man he had once been.

You learned to be grateful for what you had, even if it was not what you had dreamed of. You accepted that you would always live in the shadow of Hiromi, that you would always be the "other woman"; the one who was not loved, but merely tolerated. And for as long as you had breath in your lungs and life in your veins, you chose to find peace in that.

You sat beside him by the fire, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression thoughtful. He did not look at you, but you could feel his presence, warm and solid beside you, a reminder that you were not entirely alone in this world.

You turned your gaze to the fire, letting the heat warm your face, and you whispered, almost to yourself, “I do not ask for more than this. I am… content with what I have.”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand your words. “Content?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “You are content being nothing but a shadow?”

You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Contentment is a choice, my lord.” you replied. “I chose to be content with what fate has given me. It is not happiness, but it is enough.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are wiser than I thought now, little one.” he murmured. “To find peace in a place like this… it is no easy feat.”

You nodded, knowing he spoke more to himself than to you. You had accepted that you would never be more than a shadow in his life, but even shadows had their place, their purpose. You would be content with that, for as long as your mortal years allowed.

The days passed with a creeping heaviness that settled into your bones, a fatigue that no amount of rest could cure. You began to feel the strain in every step, the way your breath came shorter, the way your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. At first, you dismissed it as exhaustion, a lingering effect of sleepless nights and endless thoughts that twisted in your mind like shadows.

But then came the coughing fits, each one more violent than the last, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a sharp pain in your chest. You ignored it at first, waving away the concerned glances of the servants who attended you. You kept your back straight and your face serene, refusing to acknowledge the way your body seemed to betray you.

Yet it grew harder to hide. The pain became more frequent, stabbing through your lungs like a knife with every breath, every step. The first time you coughed up blood, it was a shock—a bright, vivid red staining your hand. Your heart raced as you stared at the crimson stain, panic rising like bile in your throat.

You quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, you were alone in your chamber, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. There was no reason to be afraid, you told yourself. It was just a momentary lapse, nothing more.

But it wasn’t. It happened again, and again. You found yourself waking in the night, gasping for air, your throat raw and burning. The servants began to notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you would clutch your side when you thought no one was looking, the way you moved a little slower, a little more carefully.

There was a day that you sat in the garden, trying to find solace in the soft petals of the cherry blossoms, a violent fit seized you. You doubled over, coughing hard, and felt something wet and warm splatter against your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and saw the unmistakable smear of blood.

A sharp gasp came from behind you. One of the younger servants had seen, her eyes wide with fear and concern. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady you.

“My lady, oh my!” she whispered, her voice filled with worry. “You’re… you’re bleeding.”

You shook your head, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “It is nothing.” you said, your voice hoarse. “Do not worry yourself over me.”

The servant looked unconvinced, her brow furrowed with concern. “I must tell Lord Sukuna.” she said quickly, glancing toward the entrance of the garden as if she expected him to appear at any moment. “He must know—”

“No, no…..” you cut her off sharply, your voice firmer than you had intended. “There is no point in that.”

She hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. “But, my lady… you are unwell. He should—”

“He would not care, little girl.” you said softly, looking down at your blood-stained hand. “There is no use in troubling him with this. It would make no difference. Sukuna does not love me, nor does he care for me in that way. Do you think he would be moved by something as trivial as this?”

The servant bit her lip, clearly torn between her duty to you and her fear of Sukuna’s wrath. “But… if he knew, he might—”

“Might what?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a quiet resignation. “Send a healer? Take pity on me? No, he would not. I am nothing more than a reminder to him, a shadow of a past he cannot let go. He tolerates me, yes, but that is all.”

The servant looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, but she nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words. She knew as well as you did that Sukuna’s heart was a barren, desolate place, filled with ghosts and haunted memories. There was no room for you there.

“Promise me, little girl.” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I promise, my lady.” she murmured, though you could hear the doubt in her voice.

You leaned back against the tree, closing your eyes and letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. You knew there was no point in hoping for more than what you had. Sukuna had given you a place by his side, but it was not out of affection. He had lost the woman he truly loved, and you were only a semblance of her—a shadow he tolerated, nothing more.

You were dying, that much was clear. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way to free yourself from this liminal existence, to escape the torment of being a living reminder of what he had lost. You could find peace in that, you thought. At least, you could try.

You would not burden him with your illness, with your slow, inevitable decline. You would carry it quietly, with dignity, for whatever time you had left. After all, what was one more life in the grand, cruel scheme of his world? You were just another fleeting moment in the endless march of time—another sacrifice, another offering to a man who had already lost everything he had ever cared for.

══════════════════

YOU DECIDED TO LET FATE RUN ITS COURSE. You let time pass by, letting the illness be hidden in the shadows of low whispers and painful tears in your long suffering days and nights. And sure enough, Ryomen Sukuna had returned from his long and exhausting trip within the next few days.

He had been famished from his trip and sent word that he would be having supper with you that night, which you had obliged without another word. You dressed in your finest, watching the servants prepare the table in your chambers and calmly thanked them one after another as they left.

The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, with the two of you sharing dinner in the dimly lit chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and simmered vegetables filled the air.

It was a routine you had come to accept with a resigned sort of familiarity, a ritual that offered a small measure of normalcy in your otherwise constrained existence.

You sat across from Sukuna, picking at your meal with an absent-mindedness that spoke more to your weariness than any lack of appetite. His presence was imposing, yet tonight, he was unusually subdued, his attention focused on the food in front of him rather than on you. And somehow, you were a bit more grateful for it.

As you took a sip from your cup, you looked up at him, your expression earnest. "My lord, do you not think you should be more understanding of your subjects?" you began, your voice gentle but firm. "I must implore you once more to be more lenient with the people. The fear you instill is one thing, but mercy could win you their loyalty and respect."

Sukuna's eyes, dark and inscrutable, met yours. He did not respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing your words. This was not the first time you had made this plea, and it was not likely to be the last. You had grown accustomed to his silence, to the way he would listen but rarely act upon your suggestions.

"It is not for me to coddle them, little one." he said finally, his voice low and dismissive. "Fear is a more effective tool than mercy. It ensures obedience."

You sighed softly, knowing well that your words often fell on deaf ears. Still, you persisted, driven by a conviction that even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference. "I understand your perspective, my lord,  but sometimes even the harshest rulers find strength in showing compassion. It can—"

Before you could finish your thought, a sudden, sharp pain gripped your chest. You gasped, doubling over slightly, and a violent coughing fit overtook you. You struggled to steady yourself, but the force of it was too strong. Blood splattered onto the table, the vibrant red stark against the white of your kimono and the pale wood of the dining surface.

Your heart raced as you quickly wiped the blood away with your sleeve, hoping to hide the evidence of your distress. You tried to maintain your composure, but your hands were trembling as you looked up at Sukuna, who had gone still, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain.

For a moment, there was a silence so thick it felt like a physical presence. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze was heavy and unyielding, his red eyes locked onto the blood that had marred the table and your attire. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his silence, a heavy burden that pressed down upon you.

"It's nothing, my lord." you said hurriedly, forcing a weak smile as you tried to brush off the incident. "Just a momentary lapse. Please, continue with your meal."

Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He did not speak, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or concern, or something deeper that he quickly masked.

You could feel the tension between you, an invisible thread connecting your quiet plea to his unspoken thoughts. It was clear that your condition had not gone unnoticed, even if he chose not to acknowledge it openly. You had always been a presence in his life, but tonight, the reality of your fragility seemed to cut through the usual indifference.

He took a deep breath, his gaze finally shifting away from you as he turned his attention back to his meal. The silence that followed was filled with the soft clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversation from the servants who hovered at the edges of the room, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed concern.

You ate in silence, each bite of food tasting like ash in your mouth. The pain in your chest had subsided, but a deep weariness remained, a lingering reminder of your deteriorating health. You glanced at Sukuna from time to time, but he was absorbed in his meal, his expression unreadable.

The conversation you had tried to initiate was now buried beneath the weight of your illness, and you knew better than to press further. The battle for his leniency would have to wait for another day, another time when you were not so overshadowed by your own suffering.

As the meal drew to a close, you felt the oppressive silence settle around you once more. Sukuna’s gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly occupied with matters beyond the confines of the dining room. You could only hope that, in some small way, your presence had made a difference, even if it was not the kind you had hoped for.

When the servants cleared away the dishes and the room began to empty, you excused yourself, retreating to your chamber with a heavy heart. You knew that your time here was growing shorter, that the end was approaching with each passing day. But for now, you would carry on, finding what small measure of peace you could in the fleeting moments you had left.

And as you lay down in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you could not help but think of the blood you had tried to hide, of the way Sukuna’s eyes had lingered on it. You could only hope that someday, he might see you not as a mere shadow or a reminder of what he had lost, but as a person who had tried, in her own way, to make a difference in his world.

The next morning, you awoke to a disorienting cacophony of shouts and harsh reprimands. The once-familiar silence of your quarters was shattered by the sounds of chaos from the courtyard. Your heart sank as you stumbled out of bed, a sharp pain reminding you of the night before.

As you made your way through the hallways, the noise grew louder, mingling with the harsh, angry tones of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice. Your mind raced, dreading what you might find. You knew it already. You have seen it in the other households of the other concubines. And you can only know what had caused such a commotion. When you reached the courtyard, the scene before you was both startling and terrifying.

Your servants were gathered in the center of the courtyard, their faces pale with fear and their postures crumpled under the weight of Sukuna’s wrath. He stood at the center of the commotion, his expression thunderous as he raged at them. His anger was palpable, his words a relentless storm of fury directed at those who had failed to inform him of your condition.

Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The courtyard fell into a stunned silence as Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

"My lord, please." you began, your voice trembling as you bowed deeply, your forehead nearly touching the ground. "This is my fault, not theirs. I beg for your forgiveness and mercy for my servants."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took in your contrite posture, his anger momentarily faltering. He regarded you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, his dark, unforgiving, gaze sharp as he assessed your sincerity.

"It was my decision to hide my illness, my lord." you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to trouble you or cause unnecessary concern. Please, spare them your anger. They were only following my wishes."

Ryomen Sukuna remained silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The servants, though still shaken, dared to lift their eyes to you, their expressions a blend of relief and apprehension.

Finally, Sukuna's gaze softened, a hint of resignation creeping into his expression. He took a deep breath, his anger dissipating as he looked at you with a new intensity. "You would take the blame for them?" he asked, his voice low and edged with incredulity.

You nodded, maintaining your bowed position. "Yes, my lord. It was my choice, my responsibility. I could not bear the thought of them being punished for my actions."

Sukuna’s expression hardened slightly, but the fury in his eyes had dimmed. After a moment of consideration, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. You will accept any punishment I shall put upon you.”

You swallowed the bile down your throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then I will call for healers. You will see them immediately." He says, as though it was the final verdict. “You will see them, all of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes…yes, my lord.” You whispered back to him.

He turned away from the servants, his gaze now fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity. "Go." he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "See to your health, you foolish girl. Your servants too can go. They will tend to you, no matter what you ask.”

You straightened slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over you. You dared to look up at Sukuna, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to address the servants.

"Thank you, my lord." you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude. "You have done nothing wrong. Please, return to your duties."

With a final, respectful bow, you turned and headed back toward your quarters with the help of your servants. As you entered your quarters, you felt like you had lived a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. Your servants were bowing at your feet, asking for your forgiveness. But you had all but shooed them away, telling them it was your duty as their master.

You wanted to be alone right now. At least when you still had the chance. When the healers arrive, you would have a life to yourself any longer. You would be stuck in their mercy, with their potions and their whims.

You must prepare yourself for the arrival of the healers. You groaned lowly as you clutch your chest, a wave of pain hitting one after the other. It will be over soon, that’s what you hoped. That’s what you want. You want to be free from this pain. You wanted nothing more than to be free.

══════════════════

THE PAIN WAS RELENTLESS. The days dragged on in a relentless cycle of pain and futile hope. Despite the best efforts of countless healers, none seemed able to bring you any real relief.

If anything, your condition worsened, each new treatment only seeming to accelerate your quick decline. Ryomen Sukuna’s frustration was palpable; his anger had become a regular presence, casting a long shadow over the already bleak atmosphere of the estate.

You had heard the whispers of the fate that befell each healer who failed to improve your condition. It was a grim reminder of Sukuna’s volatility, a dangerous mix of desperation and rage. The once-bustling quarters were now filled with an air of fearful tension as new healers arrived, only to face Sukuna’s wrath when their efforts proved ineffectual.

On one of the rare days when you felt well enough to leave your bed, you chose to sit by the garden. The fresh air and the sight of the vibrant blooms were a welcome distraction from the constant ache in your body. You had managed to position yourself on a stool under the gentle shade of a cherry tree, finding some small comfort in watching the birds flit about, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the turmoil that had become your life.

Sukuna appeared in the garden, his presence as imposing as ever. He walked with a deliberate pace, his gaze scanning the surroundings with an air of detached observation. As he neared, you looked up and greeted him with a smile, though the effort felt heavy, as if each movement was a strain against the burden of your illness.

“My lord.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The skies are beautiful today, aren’t they?”

Sukuna stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your serene expression. The silence stretched between you, an unspoken tension that lingered like the heat of a summer day. He said nothing in response, his gaze fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity.

After a moment, he broke the silence. “How is it that you can accept death with such… calm?” His voice was low, edged with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, taken aback by his question. A laugh escaped you, soft and brittle, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Accept death, my lord?” you repeated. “I haven’t accepted death, in truth. But there is no way to avoid it.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained on you, his expression unreadable as he listened. You continued, your voice tinged with a philosophical resignation. “Death will come for all of us, eventually. It’s a natural end to this life. We all must face it in our own time. In that way, we are all freed from the burdens of this world.”

He studied you with a mixture of skepticism and something akin to contemplation. “You speak as if it is an inevitability you embrace, little one.”

“Not embrace, my lord.” you corrected gently, sighing. “But acknowledge. It’s a part of life, as much as the beginning is. We can fight it or we can accept it, but it will come regardless.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He seemed to be weighing your words, his usual fierceness replaced by an unusual quiet. “And you are not afraid, then?”

“Fear?” You tilted your head, considering the question. “I suppose I am afraid of the pain that might come before the end. But fear of death itself? Not so much. It’s merely another step in the journey, my lord. That is what I believe, at least.”

For a moment, there was a stillness between you, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. Sukuna’s eyes flickered to the sky, perhaps contemplating the vastness of existence you had spoken of. The anger that had once seemed so consuming in his presence now appeared subdued, replaced by a contemplative silence.

“I see.” he said finally, his tone carrying a trace of grudging respect. “Your words are… unusual.”

You smiled faintly, a tired but genuine expression. “Perhaps. But sometimes, facing the truth can be a way to find peace, my lord.”

Sukuna stood there for a while longer, his presence a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the garden’s tranquility. Finally, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his demeanor less harsh than before. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded as he walked away, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As you sat there, watching the birds and the shifting clouds, you felt a small measure of contentment. Sukuna’s visit had brought a moment of introspection, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death. Even in your suffering, you found a semblance of peace, understanding that acceptance was not about surrendering to fate but about finding a way to live with it, even as the end loomed ever closer.

And just like that, the day you had dreaded finally arrived. And truly, you were left feeling an unbearable weakness that signaled the end was near. The once-familiar confines of your quarters now seemed like a distant world, and the pain of your illness was a constant, gnawing presence. Each breath was a struggle, each moment of consciousness a battle against the encroaching darkness.

To your surprise, your lord Sukuna appeared by your side as you lay on your bed, his imposing figure contrasting sharply with the fragility of your own condition. He had not been a part of your daily existence in the past weeks, his visits sporadic and his presence usually marked by anger and frustration. But now, he was here, seated beside you in a rare display of stillness.

You looked at him through the haze of pain and weakness, your voice a mere whisper. “My lord, it seems this is my time to part from you.”

Sukuna’s eyes were steady, his gaze betraying an emotion you could not fully decipher. “I know, little one.” he replied simply, his voice holding a note of finality.

A pained laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with a shuddering breath. “I only wish… I could avoid being reborn into such misery again. To be the other woman, to be nothing to you.”

Sukuna’s silence stretched between you, a weighty pause that seemed to deepen the divide between you. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were something.”

You shook your head, the effort to move even slightly causing a fresh wave of agony. “You lie easily, as you breathe, my lord.” you said with a faint, sorrowful smile.

The silence that followed was heavy and palpable, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship. As you lay there, the end drawing closer with each passing moment, you found a strange clarity in the finality of your situation.

“I love you, my lord.” you said softly, the words carrying a weight that transcended the physical pain. “As sad as it is, I do. But I have no intention of having it returned. I hope that, in the next life, I never meet you again.”

Sukuna’s expression remained impassive, but there was a softness in his gaze that belied his usual stoic demeanor. As you took your final, labored breaths, his sigh was a mix of resignation and something deeper, something that spoke to the complexity of your intertwined fates.

“I hope so too, little one.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare touch of vulnerability.

With those words hanging in the air, you felt a sense of release, the weight of your suffering beginning to lift. As your consciousness faded and the pain finally ebbed away, you left behind the world that had been both your prison and your refuge. Ryomen Sukuna looked at your lifeless body, pursing his lips into a flat line.

“Live on in a better life, little one.” He whispered, his fingers brushing against your hair. “May you be loved by someone who loves you. May we never meet again, my other woman."

The last night of love

( ♡ ) pairing : Basketball player!Sukuna x fem!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, college years, sex, explicit content, toxicity, smoking, friends with benefits, a bit of angst, idk bro 😭

( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ : I feel like making a series of basketball player Sukuna because I very much miss wattpad 💔

You sat cross-legged on your dorm bed, surrounded by a mountain of textbooks and notes. The room smelled faintly of stale coffee and the sweet scent of vanilla from the candle flickering on your nightstand. You sighed and rubbed your eyes, your brain feeling like a soggy sponge. The clock on the wall ticked away the hours of the early evening, each second a gentle reminder of the impending deadlines and tests that loomed over you.

Your phone buzzed on the desk, interrupting the quiet rhythm of your study session. You leaned over, your heart fluttering slightly as you saw a message from Sukuna, the basketball team's captain. His profile picture, a fierce dunk in mid-air, filled the screen. He had never messaged you directly before, despite the numerous times you’d seen each other around campus. Your curiosity piqued, you tapped the message. It was a simple invitation to watch the upcoming game together.

Your cheeks flushed as she read his words. Sukuna was known for his cold, aloof demeanor and his tendency to keep to himself. For him to ask you out of the blue was as surprising as it was thrilling. Your mind raced with the implications of the invite. Was he just being friendly, or was there something more behind his sudden interest? You bit your lip, weighing the pros and cons of saying yes. On the one hand, it could be a chance to get to know the enigmatic basketball star better. On the other, you already heard the rumors about his reputation with the ladies.

The game night arrived, and you found yourself dressed more carefully than you had in months. You wore a fitted thank top that highlighted your curves, a sweater over it so you wouldn’t get cold and your favorite pair of baggy jeans. As you made your way to the college gym, the excitement in the air was palpable. The thump of sneakers on the wooden floor and the murmur of the eager crowd grew louder with each step you took.

You spotted Sukuna from a distance, his pink-red hair and towering figure making him impossible to miss. He was surrounded by a flock of his adoring teammates, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd.

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. Sukuna's gaze was intense, his red eyes seeming to pierce through your very soul. He gave you a crooked smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, and gestured for you to join him. The crowd parted like a sea, allowing you a clear path to the star player. As you approached, you could smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes — a stark contrast to the freshness of the gym.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you took in the full force of his presence. His body was a testament to his dedication to the sport, muscular and inked with intricate tattoos that danced across his skin. Despite his reputation, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him, his confidence and charm an allure you hadn't encountered before. You took a deep breath and stepped into the unknown, your heart racing with a mix of nerves and excitement.

The game was intense, the air in the gym thick with the scent of sweat and the squeak of sneakers. Sukuna's team played with a fierce precision, and he was the undeniable center of attention. Each time he scoredred, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers. His movements on the court were fluid and powerful, a dance of athleticism and raw talent. You found herself unable to tear your gaze away, your eyes following him as he weaved through the opposition with an ease that seemed almost supernatural.

At halftime, he made his way over to you, a towel draped around his neck, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. His smile was genuine this time, and you couldn't help but return it. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "You're not like the others," he whispered. "I can tell." His words sent a thrill through you, and you felt a strange sense of pride.

The second half of the game was even more electrifying. The score was tight, and the tension in the air grew with every passing minute. You felt it in your chest, your knuckles white as you gripped the edge of your seat. Sukuna played like a man possessed, his eyes never leaving yours for longer than a fleeting glance. When the final buzzer rang, and his team emerged victorious, he turned to you, a look of pure triumph in his eyes.

The crowd spilled out into the hallways, and amidst the chaos, he grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the celebration. His grip was firm, but not painful, his touch sending a jolt of energy through you. "Let's get out of here," he murmured, leading you out of the gym and into the cool night air. The stars above twinkled, and the sound of distant traffic was a comforting hum as you walked towards the quiet parking lot.

" [name] ," he said, stopping you in the shadow of a large oak tree. "I want to show you something." His voice was low, the vibrations of it sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded, your curiosity piqued. He led you to his car, a sleek sports model that gleamed under the moonlight. He unlocked the door with a beep, and you slid into the leather seat, feeling the thrum of the engine beneath you.

The drive was short, the silence between you filled with an electric charge. You pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, the headlights cutting through the darkness. He turned to you, his eyes smoldering. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a seductive purr. You nodded, your breath hitching in your throat. What were you getting yourself into?

Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit, the only sound the distant echo of both of your footsteps. The walls were lined with basketball hoops and worn out graffiti. It was clear that this was where he came to practice when he wasn't playing in the glaring lights of the college gym. Sukuna took your hand again, leading you to the center of the space. He leaned in, his breath warm on your face. "This is where I come to escape," he said, his eyes searching yours for something.

The air grew heavy with anticipation as he let go of your hand, stepping back to pick up a basketball from the floor. He began to dribble, the rhythmic bounce of the ball a mesmerizing beat. With every movement, his tattoos rippled and shifted, telling a silent story of who he was beyond the cold, hard exterior. You felt a strange connection to him, as if you were seeing a side of him no one else ever had.

He passed you the ball, and you took it, the leather cool and smooth against your palm. Sukuna's gaze was intense, and you could feel his eyes on you as you took a shot. It swished through the net, a perfect arc of motion. He smirked, a hint of surprise and admiration in his expression. "You're good," he said, his voice gruff. "But not as good as me."

The challenge in his tone was clear, and you felt a competitive spark ignite within you. The two of you played one-on-one, your bodies moving in a dance of speed and power. The game grew more intense, each shot a declaration of your growing attraction. With every pass, every block, the tension between you grew stronger until it was almost palpable.

Your breaths grew ragged, the sweat on your brows mixing with the scent of the old gym. Sukuna's eyes never left yours, and you could feel his gaze like a physical touch. When you finally scored the winning basket, you dropped the ball and stepped back, panting. He approached you, his movements predatory, the air crackling with energy.

"You're different," he murmured, reaching out to trace your jawline with his thumb. "I want to know more." His voice was low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew what he was asking for, and a part of you was terrified. But the thrill, the excitement, was too much to resist. You leaned into his touch, your heart pounding. "Show me," you whispered.

Their kiss was explosive, a culmination of the tension that had been building since the moment you had met. His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as if he owned it. And you didn't stop him. His touch was intoxicating, his strength and dominance a heady cocktail you hadn't realized you craved. As you broke away, gasping for air, you could see the desire in his eyes, a mirror to your own.

Sukuna's hands took pulled off your sweater, and it fell off your shoulders down to the floor. Then his found the hem of your top, and he began to tug it upwards. You raised your arms, allowing him to peel it away from your body. The cool air kissed your bare skin, and you shivered as his eyes raked over you. His gaze lingered on your chest, a smug satisfaction playing on his lips. He leaned in, his mouth tracing a line of fire down your neck, and you gasped as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin.

The world outside the warehouse ceased to exist. All that mattered was the heat of his touch, the taste of him on your lips. He was a storm, and you were willing to get swept away.

Without a word, he picked you up, his arms like steel bands around your waist. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to a mat he had laid out earlier, his intentions clear. The anticipation was unbearable, your body thrumming with need.

As he laid you down, the mat cool beneath you, you knew you were crossing a line. But you didn't care. Not with the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Their clothes fell away, piece by piece, until all that remained was skin on skin. Sukuna hovered above you, his tattoos stark against the moonlight streaming in through the dusty windows. He was beautiful, terrifying, and utterly irresistible. His hands traced your curves, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you arched into his touch, craving more.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth as if seeking a hidden treasure. His hands roamed further, cupping your breasts with a possessive hunger that made you moan. Your own hands explored the planes of his muscular back, feeling the power coiled beneath the ink.

You felt your body responding to his touch, your core pulsing with desire. Your reached down, your fingertips brushing against his hard length. He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking in response. The sound of zippers and fabric hitting the floor filled the quiet space. The anticipation was agonizing, a sweet torment that made you ache for him.

Sukuna's eyes never left yours as he positioned himself between your legs. You could feel the heat of him, the promise of pleasure that awaited. With a deliberate slowness, he pushed into you, filling her completely. You gasped, your eyes rolling back in your head as you took in the sensation of him inside you. He was thick, stretching you in the most delicious way.

Your bodies moved in a rhythm as old as time itself, a dance of passion and power. He was relentless, his strokes deep and sure, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, urging him deeper. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the moment.

Your orgasm built slowly, like a crescendo in a symphony. You could feel it coming, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. And when it finally broke, it was like a dam bursting. You cried out, your body convulsing around him, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

Sukuna groaned, his own climax following shortly after. He collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting presence as you both panted for breath. The world spun around you, a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and emotions.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with a chuckle, he pulled away and lay beside you, one hand resting on your hip. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice a dark whisper in the night. The words sent a thrill through you, a mix of excitement and trepidation.

You looked at him, your heart racing. What had you just done? Sukuna was notorious for his conquests, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. But as you stared into his red eyes, you knew you didn't care. Tonight, you had been claimed by the basketball star, and you felt more alive than you had in years.

Your bodies were slick with sweat, your breathing still ragged. You lay there, entwined, basking in the afterglow of your encounter. It was a moment of pure, unbridled passion that neither of you wanted to end. But as the reality of their situation began to sink in, you couldn't shake the feeling that you had just entered a game you didn't fully understand the rules to.

Sukuna reached for a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his lighter. He took a deep drag, the embers glowing red in the darkness. He offered you one, and you took it, the bitter taste a strange comfort as you sat up, feeling the cool air on your bare skin. You took a drag, the nicotine hitting your lungs like a punch.

"So, what happens now?" you asked, your voice a little shaky.

He took his time, blowing out a plume of smoke before answering. "Now," he said, "the real game begins." And with that, he leaned in and kissed you again, leaving you with more questions than answers. But for now, you were content to let the mystery unfold, one steamy encounter at a time.

Your nights grew into a pattern of passion and power plays. After each victory on the court, Sukuna would claim your body in his own private games, pushing you to new heights of pleasure you had never dreamed possible. You found yourself craving the thrill of his touch, the way he made you feel alive and desired. In the quiet moments, you would trace the intricate designs of his tattoos, each line a story of his pain and triumph.

Your encounters were raw and uninhibited, a delicious blend of lust and dominance. You had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet you reveled in it. With every touch, every whispered word, you gave him more of yourself, and in return, you took more of him. You were two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, creating a picture of desire that no one else could understand.

But outside the warehouse, your lives remained the same. He was the untouchable star, and you were the sweet girl next door. You kept your secret hidden, the only evidence of your trysts the lingering scent of his cologne on your clothes and the faint marks his hands left on your skin. It was a thrilling game of cat and mouse, and you were surprised at how much you enjoyed playing it.

But as the weeks turned into months, the cracks began to show. You found yourself falling for the man behind the tattoos and the arrogant smirk. The one who whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held you close in the aftermath of your passion. But you knew that in his world, love was a luxury he couldn't afford, a weakness to be exploited.

The tension grew, each encounter more intense than the last. You could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface, the inevitable collision of your worlds. And when it finally hit, you weren’t sure if you were ready for the fallout.

One night, as you lay tangled together, his heart hammering against yours, you looked into his eyes and whispered, "What are we?" His smile was sad, a knowing look in his eyes that told you more than words ever could. "We're a secret," he said, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "And secrets have a way of coming out."

Your heart sank, but you didn't argue. Instead, you kissed him, your body speaking for you. You knew that you were playing with fire, but you couldn't help but want to be burned by his flames. And so, the dance continued, each step fraught with the danger of discovery and the sweet agony of desire.

Your worlds were destined to collide, and when they did, it would be explosive. But for now, you were content to live in the shadows of his love, basking in the warmth of his touch and the promise of passion that awaited you every time he called your name.

Jujustu Kaisen Materialist

╰┈➤ Sukuna Ryomen

⭑.ᐟ Basketball player au : the last night of love

⭑.ᐟ Basketball player au : not the time to think about it

╰┈➤ Suguru Geto

⭑.ᐟ Small problem

╰┈➤ Satoru Gojo

⭑.ᐟ A not so safe ride

╰┈➤ Kento Nanami

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Megumi Fushiguro

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Itadori Yuji

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Nobara Kugisaki

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Maki Zenin

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Toge Inumaki

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Yuta Okkotsu

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Utahime Iori

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Hajime Kashimo

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Hiromi Higuruma

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Choso

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Naoya Zenin

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Toji Fushiguro

⭑.ᐟ

╰┈➤ Shiu Kong

⭑.ᐟ

Not the time to think about it

( ♡ ) pairing : Basketball player! Ryomen Sukunax fem!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, smoking, 4 years age gap, kinda sad , idk bro

( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ : HELP I LOVE BASKETBALL AU SUKUNA 💔

The Beginning of the End

Sukuna Ryomen had always been the center of attention. At 22, he was already a rising star in professional basketball. His towering frame, undeniable skill, and bad-boy charm made him irresistible to fans and especially women. With his broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, and eyes that always seemed to carry a hint of danger, Sukuna had left behind a trail of broken hearts. To him, relationships were fleeting; love, a momentary distraction. He had never met anyone who could hold his interest for more than a night, let alone a lifetime.

Enter [name].

You were 18, and unlike anyone Sukuna had ever encountered. You were a quiet, studious girl, majoring in pharmaceutical health at the university. Your figure caught the eye of many, but it was your gentle nature that made you stand out. With [color] eyes that always seemed to radiate kindness, you were the opposite of the women who usually crowded Sukuna’s life.

You met by chance at a university charity event where Sukuna had been invited as a guest. You were there volunteering, organizing medical booths and speaking about health awareness. Sukuna, uninterested in the event itself, was walking aimlessly when his eyes landed on you. You stood out in the sea of faces, your simple beauty, combined with an aura of genuine warmth, drawing him in.

He approached you with his usual swagger, expecting to win you over with little effort.

“Do you follow basketball?” he asked, flashing his signature smirk.

You looked up at him, blinking in confusion. “Not really. I’m more into medicine.”

Your response took him by surprise. You didn’t fawn over him like most girls did, and that piqued his interest.

“I’m Sukuna,” he said, as if that name alone would be enough.

You smiled politely “I’m [name] . Nice to meet you.”

A Dangerous Game

From that moment, Sukuna found himself drawn to you. You were kind and unaffected by his fame, which only intrigued him further. He began pursuing you, using every trick in the book—late-night texts, surprise visits to your campus, even bringing you small gifts. At first, you kept your distance, wary of his reputation as a “player.”

But Sukuna was persistent. His charm, coupled with his unexpected vulnerability when he was with you, slowly wore down your walls. You began to see glimpses of a man behind the star athlete—a man who was lonely, who craved more than just the superficial adoration that surrounded him.

As weeks turned into months, you fell for him. You saw beyond his cocky exterior, discovering a man capable of deep passion, but also burdened with emotional scars. Sukuna, in turn, found himself caring for you more than he had ever cared for anyone. You brought a sense of calm to his chaotic life, and he often found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, you were different.

However, no matter how much he tried to change, the nature of his world—of fleeting encounters and transient affections—kept pulling him back. Sukuna was like a moth drawn to the flame of his old habits, unable to break free entirely.

The Collapse

For you, being with Sukuna was like living in a dream. He was everything you had never expected to fall for—dangerous, exciting, unpredictable. Yet, there was a darkness beneath the surface. You knew he had a history, that he had hurt women before, but you believed that you could be the one to change him.

But old habits die hard.

Sukuna’s world remained one of temptation. After a game one night, Sukuna found himself surrounded by fans, women who threw themselves at him, reminding him of how easy things used to be before you. He didn’t mean to betray you, but one night after an away game, fueled by alcohol and the excitement of a win, Sukuna ended up spending the night with someone else.

It was a mistake, and the guilt hit him hard. He wanted to tell you, but the thought of hurting her tore him apart.

You , however, weren’t naive. You could sense something had changed. Sukuna was distant, more withdrawn, and you knew, deep down, what had happened without needing to hear the words. One night, after days of silence between them, she confronted him.

“Did you… cheat on me?” You asked, your voice trembling but your eyes steady.

Sukuna looked at you, torn between wanting to protect you and the overwhelming guilt. He didn’t say anything, but his silence was answer enough.

And at that exact moment your heart shattered. You had given him everything, hoping against hope that he could be different, that he could change. But now, all those hopes felt like they were crumbling beneath your feet.

The Last Night of Love

That night, you sat together in silence, neither knowing what to say. Sukuna, for the first time in his life, realized he had something to lose. And it terrified him. He reached for you, but you pulled away, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this, Sukuna,” you whispered. “I thought we had something real, but I can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Sukuna had no words. For all his bravado and charm, he had never been good with emotions, never learned how to handle love. He had played with fire for so long that he never expected to get burned.

As the night wore on, you both knew it was your last night together. It was a bitter, heartbreaking farewell, filled with regret, longing, and the aching realization that love, no matter how intense, sometimes wasn’t enough to fix everything.

Aftermath

You walked away from Sukuna that night, your heart heavy with sorrow. You knew you had to let go, even though you still loved him. You focused on your studies, diving deeper into your passion for pharmaceutical health, using your pain as fuel to succeed.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was left to reflect on his choices. For the first time, he regretted not just his actions, but the man he had become. The weight of losing you haunted him, your absence leaving a void he couldn’t fill with fame or fleeting affection.

They both moved on, but that night—their last night of love—would always linger in your memories, a reminder of what could have been, and what was lost.

Can you do sukuna seeing reader being happy with someone else🙏

( ♡ ) pairing : true form!Sukuna x s/o!reader

( ♡ ) warning : idk what the gender of the reader is 😭 gn probably , NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, idk bro

( ♡ ) a/n : hi there sweetheart, I hope this is good and is what you wanted. If not feel free to ask me again 🫶🏽

Echoes of Desire

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the courtyard. Lanterns flickered gently, illuminating the laughter and joy of the gathering that spilled out from the main hall. Sukuna leaned against a wooden pillar, his two faces hidden in shadow, watching as you mingled with the guests, your presence a radiant beacon amidst the revelry.

You were dressed in a beautifully ornate kimono, colors vibrant against the soft light, your laughter ringing like chimes in the cool evening air. Beside you stood a man, his charm evident as he engaged you in conversation, his smile making your eyes sparkle in a way that tugged at something deep within Sukuna.

He clenched his jaw, a surge of irritation bubbling beneath his stoic facade. The sight of you being so freely happy with someone else stirred a possessive flame within him, a feeling he had long thought buried under layers of indifference.

As the festivities continued, Sukuna’s frustration grew. He had watched you from afar, the way you leaned in to share a secret with the man, the way your hand brushed against his arm—each gesture igniting a primal urge within him. The thought that you could be happy without him gnawed at his insides.

“ Why do you waste your time with him ? “ Sukuna murmured to himself, a shadowy figure lurking in the corners of the celebration.

Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he stepped into the light, his presence drawing the attention of the nearby guests. You turned at the sound of his approach, surprise flickering across your features.

“ Sukuna,” you said, your voice a mix of joy and concern. “What are you doing here?”

“Observing,” he replied coolly, though the tension in his voice betrayed the tempest within. “ It seems you’ve found new entertainment. ” Your smile faltered slightly. “ It’s just a celebration. Everyone is having fun. ”

“ Fun? ” he echoed, a sharp edge to his tone. “ Is that what you call it? Spending time with a man who doesn’t know your worth ? “ You stepped closer, sensing the darkness that clung to him. “ He’s a friend, Sukuna. You know that.”

“ Friends do not make you glow with delight as you do with him, ” he snapped, unable to keep the jealousy from his voice. “ What does he offer you that I do not? “

The question hung heavily in the air, your heart racing at the challenge behind it. “ He doesn’t offer me anything more than companionship, Sukuna. But you—”

“Exactly!” Sukuna interjected, his voice a low growl. “ I am the King of Curses, not some common man to be tossed aside. Yet here I am, watching you be happy with someone else. “

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself against the storm brewing in his eyes. “ You need to understand that happiness isn’t just about being with someone powerful or dangerous. It’s about feeling safe, cherished. You can’t just assume I’ll choose you because of who you are. “

He stared at you, his two faces reflecting a mix of emotions—frustration, longing, and a flicker of vulnerability. “So you prefer him?”

“I don’t prefer anyone,” you said softly, stepping closer. “But you push me away with your darkness, Sukuna. You’ve built walls around yourself, and it’s hard to reach you.”

His expression softened at your words, the weight of truth settling in. He was silent for some moments before he spoke in a quiet tone “ I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, the fierceness in his gaze faltering.

You placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “Then don’t. Show me that you can be more than the King of Curses. Show me that you can let me in.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, a flash of determination igniting within them. “I will not let anyone take you from me,” he declared, his voice low and filled with intent. “If he makes you happy, then I will make you happier.”

You smiled, warmth flooding through you. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just be yourself. Let me see the man beneath the curse.”

The night felt alive as you stood before him, the air thick with unspoken promises. Sukuna leaned in, his breath ghosting over your skin, and in that moment, everything around you faded away. The laughter and chatter of the festival became distant, replaced by the intensity of his gaze.

“You are the light I didn’t know I needed,” he murmured, inching closer. “Let me show you how a king can love.”

As his lips brushed against yours, a spark ignited—a connection that transcended the darkness surrounding him. You could feel his walls crumbling, the fierce determination to change enveloping you both.

When the kiss broke, Sukuna looked into your eyes, the weight of the world seeming to lift. “I won’t let you go, not to anyone else,” he vowed.

And with that promise, you stepped away from the shadows of uncertainty, embracing the light of your bond, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

In the Heian night, amidst the celebration and laughter, two souls found their way back to each other, forging a connection that would defy the darkness, a love that could conquer all.

Hiiii i love your basketball au w/ sukuna sm!

Would you be ok with writting about reader and sukuna with him regretting letting you walk away after the last fight? With them actually getting together?

Ty for your time friend! 💖🌸

Not the time to think about it pt.II

( ♡ ) pairing : Basketball player!Sukuna Ryomen x fem!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, kinda sad, age gap , idk bro , angst to fluff (??)

( ♡ ) a/n : hi my love 💞 Thank you for your request 🤗 I love the idea of them actually getting together but of course I’ll make it a bit of angst 😋

Aftermath

You threw yourself into your studies, trying to drown in your textbooks, hoping that if you just worked hard enough, if you buried yourself deep enough in the endless pages of research and lectures, you could forget him.

But it never worked.

No matter how many nights you stayed up until dawn, staring blankly at words that blurred together on the the pages of your books, Sukuna was always there — lingering in the back of your mind like a ghost.

The pain clung to you like a shadow. It wasn’t the sharp, immediate sting you felt when you had first confronted him, when his silence had confirmed your worst fear. No, this pain was quieter, more insidious. It seeped into every part of you, weighing down your chest until it was hard to breathe, until even the simplest things — like hearing his name on TV or passing by the court where he practiced — felt like a knife slowly twisting in your heart.

Every time you saw him, even from afar, it was like tearing open a wound that refused to heal. You would catch glimpses of him on campus, surrounded by his usual crowd, his laughter echoing through the air. And every time, you had to fight the urge to cry. Because to the world, he was still the same Sukuna —charming, carefree, untouchable. But to you? To you, he was the man who had made you believe in something more, only to shatter it.

It felt cruel, how life continued as if nothing had changed, as if your world hadn’t crumbled the night you walked away. You tried to hate him, tried to convince yourself that he wasn’t worth this heartache. But no matter how much you tried to forget him, to erase the memory of his touch, his smile, his whispered promises, you couldn’t.

Nights were the hardest. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence pressing down on you — it was in those quiet moments that the loneliness hit the hardest. You found yourself remembering the way his arms had felt around you, how you had felt safe, warm, loved, even if only for a fleeting moment. And now, all of that was gone, like smoke slipping through your fingers.

You would dream about him sometimes. In your dreams, things were different. He hadn’t hurt you, hadn’t broken your heart. In your dreams, he still loved you, and everything was as it should have been. But then you would wake up, and the cold reality would settle over you like a weight you couldn’t shake. The man you had loved — the man you still loved —wasn’t coming back.

It was a cruel irony, really. The more you tried to move on, the more you felt trapped in the memory of what you had lost. You wanted to be angry, to scream, to let it all out. But instead, you simply existed, numb to everything except the quiet ache in your chest that reminded you, day after day, that he was gone, and you were left alone to pick up the pieces of your broken heart.

And the worst part ? The worst part was knowing that you had loved him so deeply, with everything you had, only to realize it hadn’t been enough. That no matter how hard you tried to be what he needed, in the end, you couldn’t save him from himself.

For Sukuna, life continued as it always had. He went through the motions — attending practices, playing games, flashing that same arrogant smile for the cameras, surrounded by the fans and women who once made him feel untouchable. But now, none of it mattered. It all felt hollow, meaningless without you. The noise of the crowds became a distant hum, the adrenaline of winning a game nothing but a fleeting distraction from the aching void that had taken root in his chest.

At first, he had tried to shake it off, convincing himself that he didn’t need you — that he could keep living the way he always had, unattached and carefree. But it didn’t take long for the weight of his guilt and regret to settle in, pressing down on him like an unrelenting force. Everywhere he turned, he saw you. In the empty spot on the couch where you used to sit during his late-night practices, in the way the sunlight streamed into his apartment in the mornings, reminding him of the quiet moments you’d shared, tangled up in each other.

Every day, he replayed that night in his mind, the night you had looked at him with such raw vulnerability and asked the question that tore everything apart. "Did you cheat on me?" The silence that had followed felt like a lifetime, and now, every time he thought back to it, he wished more than anything that he had said something — anything. That he had fought for you, begged for your forgiveness, told you he was sorry.

But he hadn’t. He had just stood there, frozen, letting the best thing that had ever happened to him slip through his fingers.

In the days that followed, Sukuna tried to fill the void with the same distractions he always had. He surrounded himself with people, went out to parties, flirted with women who threw themselves at him. But nothing felt the same. The momentary highs only left him feeling more empty, more alone. He found himself searching for you in every crowd, his eyes scanning for that familiar warmth, that quiet presence that had once brought him a sense of peace he didn’t even know he was missing.

The nights were the worst. When the world quieted down, and there was no game, no crowd to drown out the silence, Sukuna would lie awake, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts would spiral, the regret clawing at him with every passing minute. He would think about all the moments he had taken for granted — the way you’d laugh softly when he teased you, the way you’d always ask him about his day, genuinely caring about the answers. He remembered how your fingers had felt in his hair, how you’d look at him with such tenderness, a tenderness he had never deserved.

He missed you more than he thought possible. It was an ache that wouldn’t go away, a constant reminder that he had ruined the one thing that had ever felt real in his life. And the worst part? He knew it was his fault. He had pushed you away, hurt you in ways he could never take back. He had let his pride, his reckless need for control, blind him to what really mattered. And now, you were gone, living your life without him.

Sukuna had always prided himself on being strong, untouchable. But without you, he felt weak, fragile in a way he had never known. He tried to tell himself that he could move on, that this was just another fleeting chapter in his life. But no matter how much he tried, the truth was undeniable.

He had loved you.

He had loved you deeply, more than he had ever been able to admit, even to himself. And now, it was too late.

In the quiet of his apartment, when the world had long since fallen asleep, Sukuna would sit in the dark, his hands trembling as he thought of you. He wondered if you were happier without him, if you had moved on. The thought tore at him, a bitter mix of jealousy and sorrow. He wondered if you ever thought of him, if you missed him the way he missed you. But he knew, deep down, that you deserved better —someone who could give you the love and respect he had failed to provide.

And that realization was the most painful of all. Because Sukuna Ryomen, the man who had always been in control, who had always lived life on his terms, had lost the one person who had ever truly mattered. And now, no matter how much he regretted it, there was nothing he could do to change that.

The guilt, the regret — it consumed him. It followed him every second of every day, a constant reminder of what he had lost. And no matter how many games he won, how many women threw themselves at him, it was never enough to fill the void you had left behind.

He had always loved you — deep down, in ways he could never put into words. But Sukuna had been too blind to see it, too arrogant to admit it, and far too terrified to confront the feelings that stirred in the depths of his heart. Love had always been something distant, fleeting, a game he thought he could play and leave behind. Until you came along.

But now… now it was too late. Or was it?

The ache of your absence gnawed at him constantly, a slow, suffocating weight that only grew heavier with time. Days turned into weeks, then months, and still, you haunted his every thought. The memory of your smile — soft and real in a way nothing else in his world was — burned behind his eyes when he tried to sleep. The warmth of your voice, the way you’d say his name with that tenderness he didn’t deserve, echoed in the quiet corners of his mind, filling every silence with your absence.

For the first time in his life, Sukuna felt utterly lost. It wasn’t the fame or the women or the adrenaline of the game that he craved anymore. It was you. Just you.

He remembered the night you left—the look on your face, the pain in your eyes, how you had tried so hard to hold back the tears as you walked away from him. And he had let you. He had stood there, watching you leave, unable to say the one thing that might have kept you with him.

“I love you.”

Those words had been trapped inside him, buried beneath his pride, beneath the layers of fear and self-doubt. And by the time he realized the truth, you were already gone.

Now, every moment without you was an unbearable reminder of what he had lost. He’d see you in the smallest of things — the scent of your perfume lingering in the jacket you once borrowed, a song on the radio that had played during one of your late-night drives. And each time, the regret hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless, wishing he could turn back time, undo the hurt he caused.

But the most painful realization of all? He knew you had loved him too. You had given him your heart on a silver plate, placed your trust in him, and he had shattered it. He had taken you for granted, thinking you’d always be there, always waiting. But you weren’t. You couldn’t.

Sukuna thought about calling you every day. His finger would hover over your name in his phone, his heart pounding in his chest as he wrestled with the fear that maybe it was too late — that maybe you had moved on, that you were happier without him. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, didn’t deserve another chance. But he also couldn’t live with the idea of never trying.

The Last Chance

One night, after yet another game that left him feeling emptier than ever, Sukuna found himself standing outside your apartment building. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his breath clouding in the cold night air as he stared up at the window where he knew your light used to shine. Everything in him screamed to turn around, to leave before he made things worse. But he couldn’t. Not this time.

He knocked on your door, his heart hammering so loud he could hear it in his ears. When you opened it, he was struck by how much he had missed you — how seeing your face, even for a moment, sent a shock of warmth through the ice that had settled over his heart.

You stood there, staring at him in disbelief, your expression guarded, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes. Hurt, yes. But also the smallest glimmer of hope.

“I know I don’t deserve to be here,” Sukuna said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, raw. “I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back. But there’s something I need to tell you, and if you still never want to see me again after this, I’ll walk away for good.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t close the door either. So he continued, the words he should have spoken months ago tumbling out all at once.

“I was a coward,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I thought I could run from what I felt, that I could keep pretending I didn’t need anyone. But I was wrong. I need you. I love you. I’ve always loved you, but I was too scared to admit it, even to myself. And now, I’m standing here, asking — no, begging— for one more chance. Because losing you… it’s the only thing that’s ever made me realize what love really is.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and for a moment, Sukuna thought he had broken you all over again. His chest tightened with fear, and he was ready to turn away, to walk out of your life for good. But then, you spoke, your voice trembling but soft.

“Why now, Sukuna ? Why did it take losing me for you to see ?”

He swallowed hard, his throat burning as he fought to keep his composure. “Because I didn’t know what I had until it was gone. I was selfish, and I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you for another chance. Let me prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. And then, slowly, you stepped aside, letting the door open just a little wider. Your eyes met his, filled with pain but also a spark of something that hadn’t completely faded.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you whispered.

And in that moment, Sukuna knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let you slip away again. He’d hold onto you with everything he had because now he understood — losing you had been the beginning of the end. But maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something new. Something real. Something that could last.

It wasn’t too late after all.

“…Something more “

( ♡ ) pairing : True Form!Sukuna x fem!Goddess!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, idk

( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ : I was rewatching Naruto Shippunden and Kaguya is my damn favorite Goddess 🙏🏽 and I began to think about making a Sukuna x reader who is like Kaguya so here it is 😋

Much like Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, you possess an ethereal and otherworldly beauty. Your long, flowing [color] hair cascades down your back, shining like moonlight. Your eyes, pearlescent and timeless, hold a serene yet terrifying calm. They give off an unsettling sense of omnipotence, as though you can see into the very soul of anyone who dares to meet your gaze.

You are tall and regal, often adorned in flowing, intricately designed robes that enhance your goddess-like aura. Your beauty is not just physical but seems to embody an ancient, celestial force that makes you feel unreachable, untouchable.

Like Kaguya, your abilities far exceed normal comprehension. You can manipulate dimensions at will, travel between realms, and control chakra or an equivalent form of cursed energy with terrifying precision. Your attacks are vast and destructive, capable of wiping out entire regions with a mere thought.

You command nature, reality, and time itself. To those who encounter you, you are seen as a deity — your power so immense that even the strongest beings, including Sukuna, cannot take you lightly.

You maintain an air of calm detachment, viewing the world and its inhabitants as transient and insignificant compared to your own eternal existence. You are patient, silent, and observe from a distance rather than engage unless absolutely necessary.

Emotions are a foreign concept to you, something you observe but have never truly experienced for yourself. You are calculating, logical, and always think several steps ahead, considering everything from a higher perspective.

While you appear cold and aloof, there is a quiet loneliness deep within you. Being so powerful, so eternal, has left you disconnected from the world and the people in it. There is a longing within you to understand and perhaps experience the warmth that mortals cling to.

Sukuna is drawn to you in ways he can’t quite explain. You are the only person he has encountered who seems genuinely indifferent to his power and status. In fact, your strength easily matches or even surpasses his, and he respects that — though he’d never admit it aloud.

He’s constantly trying to provoke reactions from you, fascinated by your stoic demeanor. Whether through battle or teasing, Sukuna finds it maddening yet exhilarating that you don’t bend to him like others. He’s used to people fearing or admiring him, but you do neither, which piques his interest further.

Over time, Sukuna finds himself not just interested in your power but in you as a being. The mystery of who you are and why you remain so detached makes him want to break through your barriers, to make you feel something, anything, for him.

Over time, you and Sukuna begin to understand one another on a deeper level. Both of you are beings of immense strength, isolated by your power, and feared by those around you. This isolation forms an unspoken bond between you. You each recognize that the other is different — set apart from the world.

Sukuna is fascinated by your calmness and the way you handle yourself in battle, unphased by destruction. You, on the other hand, are intrigued by Sukuna’s chaotic nature, his brashness, and his ability to feel so deeply despite being feared and revered.

The sky above was painted in the colors of dusk, deep oranges fading into inky purples. You stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing out at the vast landscape beneath you. The wind whispered through your [color] hair, and your pale eyes reflected the serene indifference you felt toward the world. Time, space, life — they were all fleeting.

But there was something — someone — who disrupted that peace.

You felt his presence long before he spoke. Sukuna’s cursed energy was unmistakable, like a shadow that blotted out the light. He approached with his usual swagger, a cocky grin plastered on his face, yet you didn’t turn to face him.

“Staring at the horizon again? You look like you’re waiting for the world to end,” Sukuna teased, standing beside you now. His crimson eyes gleamed as he studied you. Even in moments of silence, there was something about you that captivated him.

You didn’t respond, your eyes still fixed on the horizon, calm and distant.

He hated that indifference. Not because it irritated him, but because it fascinated him. Sukuna was used to reactions — fear, admiration, anger — but with you, there was nothing. You were like a statue carved from the stars, untouchable and beyond mortal understanding.

“I’ve fought countless battles, seen men and gods alike tremble before me. But you… you don’t care about any of it, do you?” His voice was lower now, more serious than usual.

“No,” you finally said, your voice soft but carrying the weight of eternity. “Why should I care for fleeting things?”

Sukuna’s grin widened. “And yet you let me come here. Again and again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were beginning to care.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze for the first time that evening. “You are… different from the others.”

It wasn’t much, but coming from you, it was a revelation. Sukuna felt a flicker of something in his chest—something more than his usual lust for power or destruction. It was fleeting, like the brush of wind, but it was there.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a lock of your hair. “Then what am I to you?”

You didn’t pull away from his touch. For the first time in centuries, you found yourself curious. Not about power, or strength, or the endless void of time, but about him.

“You are… something more.”

Sukuna’s grin faltered for a moment as he took in your words. He hadn’t expected that. For the first time, the great Ryomen Sukuna was caught off guard, and he found himself wanting more of this feeling, this connection with you.

And so, under the fading light of the setting sun, two beings, both feared and revered, found in each other something rare — a connection that transcended their power and their isolation.

The Illness of Us

( ♡ ) pairing : Sukuna Ryomen x significant other!reader

( ♡ ) warning : no gender reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, human reader, Heian era Sukuna, age gap , idk bro

( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ : BASSED OFF A ROMANIAN SONG I CRIED ON.

The rain was falling hard, but you barely noticed it anymore. It was just another storm, just another distraction from the silence that had settled between the two of you. You sat on the cold floor of the empty temple where you often found him — alone, brooding, but always watching.

Sukuna stood across from you, his gaze fixed on something you couldn’t see. He was always like this — distant, even when you were right there next to him. His silence had a weight that pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

And maybe that was the problem.

He had always been a curse — something twisted and dark that you couldn’t stay away from, no matter how much you tried. He had drawn you in like a moth to flame, and you had burned for him. You still did.

But now… now it felt like the fire was slowly dying.

“Și boala lor era că nu se potriveau…” (and their illness was that they weren’t right for each other)

The illness of your love was that you were never meant for each other. Sukuna was chaos incarnate, a god of destruction who thrived on pain and violence. And you — you were human, fragile in comparison. The two of you had clashed from the very beginning, your love and arguments interwoven into a cycle of hurt and passion, never finding a balance.

“We don’t fit together,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. He didn’t look at you, but his words hit you harder than anything else ever had.

Your heart clenched painfully. You had heard these words before, but this time, they felt final.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, though your voice shook. “I don’t care if we don’t fit. I still—”

“Still what?” he snapped, finally turning to face you, his eyes dark and filled with something you couldn’t name. Anger? Pain? It was always so hard to tell with him. “Still love me?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You did. You always had.

But that wasn’t enough, and deep down, you knew that. Sukuna was like a poison that had seeped into your veins, corrupting everything good, everything safe. And yet, even now, you couldn’t let him go. No matter how many times he pushed you away, no matter how many times you fought, you always came back to him.

And he let you. He always let you.

“Și se certau și se iubeau…” (and they argued and they loved each other)

You and Sukuna had never had peace. Every moment of tenderness between you was followed by arguments, by rage. He would kiss you like he was devouring you, pulling you close as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered — only to push you away moments later, his words cutting like knives, reminding you that you were human, mortal, something beneath him.

And yet, despite it all, despite the fire and the fury, there were moments — small, fleeting moments — where it felt like you truly saw him. Not the King of Curses, but the man behind the curse. A man who could love, who could feel, even if he would never admit it.

But those moments never lasted. They couldn’t.

“You need to leave,” Sukuna said, his voice softer now, but no less firm. He stepped closer, towering over you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You need to walk away from this.”

You shook your head, tears burning behind your eyes. “I can’t. I won’t.”

His hand reached out, brushing against your cheek in a rare moment of gentleness. His touch was cold, but it was still Sukuna — still the man you had given everything for.

“You’re a fool,” he whispered, though there was no venom in his words this time. “You’re a fool to love me.”

“I know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I do. I always will.”

His expression tightened, something unreadable passing across his face. There was a part of him, buried deep beneath centuries of cruelty, that wanted to love you the way you deserved. But he couldn’t. He never could.

“I don’t deserve you,” Sukuna murmured, his hand falling away from your face. “You’ll only get hurt if you stay.”

He had never said anything like this before. Sukuna had always been proud, never admitting weakness, never admitting that there was anything wrong with the way he was. But now, as he stood in front of you, it was as if the weight of everything — the battles, the blood, the destruction — was finally pressing down on him.

“Then why don’t you let me go?” you asked, your voice breaking.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice so low you almost didn’t hear him, he whispered, “Because I can’t.”

“Se iubeau, dar nu se potriveau.” (they loved each other but weren’t right for each other)

That was the truth of it. He loved you, in his own twisted way, but it would never be enough. He would never change. You would always clash, always fight, always fall apart only to come back together again, trapped in a cycle that neither of you could escape from.

Sukuna’s eyes softened, just for a moment, as he took a step back. “I want you to move on,” he said, his voice strained. “I want you to live without me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that you didn’t care, that you would rather be with him, broken as it was, than live without him. But the words died in your throat as you saw the pain in his eyes — the real, raw pain that he never let anyone see.

“I’ll only ruin you,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “You deserve more than this.”

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that you didn’t care. But deep down, you knew he was right. You had always known. This was a love that would destroy you in the end.

But how could you leave him, when every part of you still loved him?

Sukuna turned away from you, his form dissolving into the shadows as the storm outside raged on. He didn’t say goodbye — he never did. But this time, something told you it was different.

This time, he was letting you go.

And as the rain pounded against the temple walls, you realized with a heavy heart that he had never been the one keeping you trapped.

It had always been you.