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vampyrsm · 2 days

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‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | HOMUSUBI

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues deep in a village that's rife with cursed spirits, a Lord that cares not for his people and a battle of the tongue and wits. And in the dead of night, something comes prowling.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 10k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, violence, blood, cannibalism references, dead bodies, murder, cursed spirits, death, suggestive.

“I thought you didn’t care for the titles these mortal men brandish themselves with.” Kenjaku comments to your side, her eyes are sharp as always and the smile she levels you with is cruel—but not towards you, you’d be willing to say that perhaps Kenjaku had started to take a shine to you after your display in the throne room.

“I don’t.” You admit, adjusting the kimono on your body before turning to glance at the woman next to you. “I cared for it once. But now, I see it as a weapon. The people—they’re scared of Sukuna, and the rest of us. If we’re to be in a place of power, even without approval…”

“You’d win back control from the Emperor, disarming him effectively.” Kenjaku finishes for you, a look in her eye you can’t quite distinguish as she curls a perfect finger against her chin for a moment.

“Exactly. If we can amass enough, we can push back—we can dethrone him, and then Japan is ours.”

“Ours?” Kenjaku smiles then, the crow's feet at her eyes displaying an age that’s unfitting for the youthfulness of her skin. “You wish to share Japan with me as well?”

“I don’t see why not. You’ve helped me, albeit in a questionable manner…” You trail off, much to the amusement of Kenjaku as she offers you a very rare laugh; one that sounds genuine for once. “Besides, your strength can’t be ignored. I won’t ignore it.”

Kenjaku quietens at that, her eyes once again shifted to look down the path leading to the burnt-out village before her eyes close in half-moons, and her smile grows when her head bows in gratitude. “I thank you for being so open-minded. Not many would offer such a bountiful reward to someone like me.”

You can only bow your head in return, a small smile of your own making its way onto your face. It was odd, the relationship that had formed between yourself and Kenjaku. You would’ve never seen it coming, not with how you first interacted with her and the following times after that. You had assumed she wanted you dead, or better yet, displayed as a pet to be poked and prodded when she felt like it.

But something shifted, something clicked into place following your return. Perhaps it was the fact she had heard of the things you endured, had seen the after-effects of it upon your arrival back at the temple. And then, without a doubt, you had sealed your newly formed friendship with the black-haired woman when you slit the throat of Yorozu.

You smile fondly at that. The meal had been exquisite.

“Master Sukuna will be here soon.” Uraume seems to appear from nowhere at your other side, the mostly silent monk regards you for a quick second before that steely gaze is shifted to Kenjaku—who is no doubt grinning from ear to ear at the sight of Uraume.

“I know.” You reply, effectively dragging Uraume’s gaze back to you… and you almost think you see an embarrassed tint on their face at the admission that you know exactly where Sukuna is. After all, you’re bonded to him. “But thank you, Uraume.”

Uraume remains silent, bowing their head before taking a step away to return back to the temple.

“Uraume won’t be joining us?” Kenjaku comments, looking over her shoulder to watch as Uraume shoves the large doors closed.

“No. Sukuna wanted them to stay here, just in case.”

Kenjaku hums a noise of understanding, tucking her hands into the long sleeves of her kimono to fight off the cold.

“How has Masato been?” Your question has Kenjaku visibly perking up, a fox-like gleam in her eye.

“Oh, wonderful. Masato is an… interesting curse, to say the least. She’s been learning quickly.” Kenjaku’s lips upturn quickly into a sly smirk. “She made quick work of a village not too far from here. Her cursed technique is something to behold.”

“She already figured it out?” You shouldn’t sound so surprised. You knew from research in Sukuna’s private library that cursed spirits were known to adapt much more quickly than humans, both in healing and their power. They grew stronger every second they were ‘alive’.

“Oh, yes. I think with time she’ll blossom into quite the formidable cursed spirit.”

“I see.” You mull over what Kenjaku had told you. You hadn’t seen Masato in over a week at this point, Kenjaku had kept her busy—killing people, apparently, in an effort to discover the spirits technique. There’s an odd sensation that settles in your chest, something like pride you realise when it warms your heart. It’s odd, strange even, that you feel pride for the development of a cursed spirit.

One you had created.

You still hadn’t revealed to anyone that little detail, it seemed insignificant at this point. Sukuna wouldn’t have anything to say about it, perhaps an off-handed comment about how maybe Masato would actually be a worthwhile curse to keep around. Kenjaku would no doubt be intrigued by it, her morbid fascination with the curse was already something to be concerned about.

“Have you made the preparations?” It’s Sukuna’s voice that has you snapping out of your thoughts, turning immediately to face the man in question. He’s dressed, which should be a normal occurrence for most men but it was odd for Sukuna. He’s draped in a thick kimono and a haori atop of that, it hides his arms well enough, two of them are crossed beneath the material whilst the others are at his sides.

“Of course.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly when Sukuna glances at her. “We were waiting for you.”

Naturally, Sukuna finds himself at your side. His warmth is all-encompassing even through the multitude of layers he draped himself in, and it only seeps further through your own clothing when he lays a hand against the middle of your back in silent greeting. He only holds a small smirk when you lean into his hand, eyes still set on Kenjaku.

“Preparations?” You question, drawing Sukuna’s attention down to you entirely.

“Kenjaku never informed you on what her cursed technique is?” His grin grows at your clueless expression, an expression fit for a cat who got the cream. “Instantaneous movement.”

The reveal has you turning abruptly to face Kenjaku, who now takes the crown for the most smug person in the vicinity. Her eyes are practically glowing with mirth at the fact you didn’t quite pick up on her cursed technique yet, her lips curled into a feline smile.

“Truly?”

“Of course. It’s not quite as flashy as Sugawara—but it does the same, in the end.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly, that smile on her face growing cold at the mention of Sugawara. Even in his exile, he still bothered the woman.

“Kenjaku will be the one taking us all to Takayama.” Sukuna comments whilst looping a hand around your waist and shoving you into his front, his arms securing you in place. It almost has a bubble of panic popping in your stomach, instantaneous movement—it shouldn’t even be a thing humans could do. It was rare, nigh impossible. It’d been documented that many could move fast, but it was never on a level where it was considered instant.

“Shall we?” Kenjaku asks with a tilt of her head, adjusting the sleeves of her silk kimono to reveal the slender pale arms beneath. Her eyes drift from you and up to Sukuna, awaiting his permission. It comes in the form of a nod, and the hands wrapped around you grip tightly onto the material of your kimono—grounding you, tethering him to you. Just in case.

Kenjaku brings her hands up in front of her, the tips of her fingers brushing together delicately before her palms came together in what would look like a regular prayer—you can feel the shift in the air, the untethering of her cursed energy and how it warps suddenly around you. Then, with an abrupt twist of her hands, you feel nothing but immense pressure.

It clamps at your lungs and squeezes at your very bones until they threaten to shatter and turn into dust. Instinctively you lean further into Sukuna, who for the most part seems unaffected by the intense change in pressure. You watch the world shift and blur, the snowy white mountain tops spread upwards as if they were painted on parchment paper only to be ruined by water.

As quickly as it started, it’s over. You find yourself in the middle of a path surrounded by tall Gingko trees, their leaves a vibrant green which means they would turn into a beautiful gold in the Autumn—a sight you often loved as a child. The air is no longer bitter, instead, you’re bathed in the welcoming warmth of an early spring. Sukuna remains to your side, his grip loosening on you as he takes in a deep breath of the country air.

There’s no doubt that you were somewhere south, somewhere warmer and somewhere more… populated. Instinctively, your nose scrunches.

“It stinks.” You comment absentmindedly, pressing the sleeve of your kimono to your nose. The action is enough to draw a laugh from Sukuna, a deep chuckle that he only ever awarded you with. You take the chance to glance down along the path, the village just a mere hundred steps away and you can spy the bustling steps of villagers just beyond.

“Hida has always been under the rule of some uncaring Lord.” Kenjaku comments, a grim smile on her otherwise unwrinkled face. “He does not care for his people, as they are mostly non-sorcerers.”

Non-sorcerers, regular humans, forced to live in squalor because their Lord saw them as lesser than. The revelation doesn’t surprise you, not with what you have learned about the people who control the country in the past few months. But it does anger you, it angers you that the Lord of the Hida province thinks himself above non-sorcerers.

“I see.”

Kenjaku offers you a glance before she proceeds to walk towards the village, placing herself before both you and Sukuna as a sign that she is your official retainer. Immediately, you begin to follow after her once Sukuna has begun to stride forward. His arms remained hidden beneath his kimono, and you find it odd. You knew Sukuna had his hand in the politics of the world but you didn’t see him as someone who would listen to them; without a doubt, you knew he was hiding his secondary arms so he wouldn’t cause an uproar in the village.

“Stare any longer and I’m going to assume you’re regretting your decision to join me.”

“I didn’t have much of a decision.” You reply haughtily, earning you a sharp side glare from Sukuna. “In fact, you were the one who demanded I come with you.”

With a suck on his teeth, Sukuna returns his gaze forward before a smirk grows on his face. “Watch how you wag that tongue of yours in front of these aristocrats, they will pounce at the fact you’re so… untrained.”

His words draw a laugh out of you, earning a smile from Sukuna at the sound of it. You don’t offer your rebuttal however, you know Sukuna is right. You grew up around aristocrats of the highest calibre, people who aligned themselves with the Shogun — they were judgemental, uptight in their rules and beliefs.

They’d rip you apart if they caught even a whiff of your unconventional relationship with Sukuna.

Before you know it, the village was upon you as were the hundreds of eyes turned in your direction. It proves impossible to not bristle beneath the attention, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You can feel their gazes tear you open, pry apart your bones and muscles to peer at the darkness that swells in your chest.

But their gaze shifts quickly from you and to Sukuna, who seems completely unphased by the numerous whispers and wandering eyes. His eyes remain half-lidded, lips in a flat line and arms loose at his sides—utterly relaxed, and unthreatened. A King.

A sharp whistle catches your attention, turning your gaze forward to see a small group of samurai atop horses approaching. The flags of their Lord waving proudly with each bounding step of the horse beneath them. Again, you tense, an automatic response to the glint of their sheathed weapons and the hardened expression of warriors.

Kenjaku draws you all to a standstill, her hands joined together beneath her kimono and you notice how she slips so easily into the role of a woman; demure and willing to bend under the heavy gaze of the Samurai once they’re within range.

The head of the group drops from his horse, his heavy boots sinking into the muddy path before he begins to make his way over. Kenjaku bows automatically at the waist, raising again once the Samurai stops before you all. His eyes are dark, no doubt a well-seasoned warrior who had shed his fair share of blood in the name of his Lord. His eyes scan over Kenjaku, before quickly darting towards Sukuna—then you see fear; genuine human fear.

You could smell his cursed energy before he even arrived, but now in the presence of Sukuna, it spikes. Yet, Sukuna doesn’t mention the effect he has on the man before him, instead keeping his indifferent gaze directed forward. But then those dark eyes dart to you, and they remain locked onto you. That fear you had seen is quickly replaced with something much worse; contempt.

“Lady Zen’in.” The Samurai greets with distaste, earning him the attention of Sukuna who finally drops his eyes down to the man. “They said you were dead.”

“They were wrong.” You have to fight the urge to bare your teeth, instead offering a disarming smile that you were trained to offer men who served as Samurai.

His gaze doesn’t shift from the contempt he holds for you, only shifting it towards Kenjaku who clears her throat to gain his attention once again.

“I assume you’re here to escort my Lord and Lady to their temporary housing.” Kenjaku too morphs her voice into that of a woman trained in the arts of submission. “The Festival isn’t due to start until the evening, and we’d quite like to freshen up.”

The Samurai keeps his lips in a tight thin line, no doubt fighting the urge to refuse to allow you any further into the village he was ordered to protect from men like Sukuna. But he loses out to his fear, crumbling beneath the weight of it as he abruptly turns on his heel to march his way back towards his horse. The men who were with him exchange concerned looks with each other, no doubt they too were under the impression that you were long dead and Sukuna wasn’t actually going to show up to the village.

With the Samurai situated back on the saddle of the horse, he spares one glance over his shoulder at your small group whilst manoeuvring his horse. “This way.”

You have no choice but to follow after the men on horseback, and it draws you back to when you were a child and paraded through the streets of your village by your father. The Shogun’s Daughter—a prized jewel, a rare gem that would no doubt produce heirs fit to take the mantle of Shogun one day. You remember the palanquin you were forced to sit in, cramped with nothing but slats to view the outside world.

You remember the faces of those who you’d pass by, all bowing their heads in respect. It filled you with an odd sense of unease as a child, placed on a pedestal so early on. But now, as you walk through the streets with Sukuna at your side… you feel a different emotion when the people you pass by drop to their knees out of fear.

Their heads bowed, and fingers sinking into the mud. Their baskets of rice and other vegetables are scattered, forgotten—all because of you. It made the truth of your newfound strength sink in, to see people cowering in fear of disrespecting either yourself or Sukuna.

“Maggots.” Sukuna grunts, finally vocalising his distaste for the situation. It draws a few surrounding gasps, children hiding in the shadows at the deep rich timbre of his voice. “They squirm like maggots. It’s disgusting.”

You can’t find yourself capable of disagreeing—he’s right. They do squirm like maggots, nothing but insects that were destined to be crushed beneath the boot of someone stronger than them.

Kenjaku doesn’t glance back, but you hear her snickering laugh hidden beneath the sleeve of her kimono. You cast your eyes away from Sukuna, opting to not reply to his observation and instead observe for yourself. Past the people of the village, you can see that there were curses everywhere. They clung to the backs of the elderly, they waited in the shadows where the children would seek refuge from the blaring sun.

Their faces are elongated or shrunken, disfigured and distasteful. Your eyebrows draw together however, this number of curses felt unnatural. There were too many compared to the number of humans you could count, it was as if—

“They’re hoarding curses. Why?” You turn your attention back to Sukuna quickly, and his eyes finally meet your own. His own expression is one of suspicion; he notices too how odd it is. “What is the Lord doing with all these cursed spirits?”

Sukuna parts his lips to reply but Kenjaku whips her head around, strands of black hair sticking to her face and you almost want to jump out of your skin at the severe look on her face.

“Not here, wait until we’re in private.” She hisses before turning her attention forward in time to smile at the Samurai who turns back to glance at her.

Sukuna huffs, an amused sound that has you glancing up at him from the corner of your eye. “Her audacity is almost worse than your own. I see why she insisted on being your Kashin.”

“Not yours?” You raise an eyebrow, you would have assumed by default that Sukuna would be the one represented by a house retainer.

“Uraume usually does the job, Kenjaku only agreed to come with us if she could be by your side.” Sukuna explains flatly, his disinterest in his surroundings bleeding into his voice.

You’re honestly surprised by the admission of Kenjaku wanting to be at your side—but mostly, you’re on edge. It sends your stomach into knots and your skin prickles with gooseflesh. Kenjaku was a one-woman army, she had no need nor desire to be at the side of anyone. So why you? What did she plan on achieving in the village by being your retainer?

You don’t doubt that Kenjaku can hear the conversation just behind her, yet she doesn’t turn around to confirm or deny the fact she wanted to be at your side for the entirety of the festival. Sukuna also doesn’t seem to notice the apprehension mounting within you, his face falling back into that of boredom once the conversation has ended.

Kenjaku worries you. Even if you consider her somewhat of a friend, she was strong—powerful in the sense that you can feel your blood chill in her very presence. Something about her wasn’t quite right.

“Here.” The Samurai mounted comments, bringing his small group to a stop to gesture towards a gated house. It’s larger than the others, higher up in the village and noticeably away from the villagers. You can’t sense a speck of cursed energy that would ooze from a cursed spirit.

Your gaze darts across the tall wooden fence, high enough to even tower over Sukuna in height. The gates are suddenly pulled open, and two women with their heads immediately bowed and shuffled out of the way to allow entry. Sukuna pays them no mind as he passes by, even when they flinch at his proximity. But it’s Kenjaku who speaks up about their presence.

“We won’t be needing any servants.” Her words are directed up to the Samurai still seated in his saddle, a frown forming on his lips—he wanted these women to stay. “My Lord demands it.”

At that, the Samurai has a split second of anger on his face before it’s washed away. A tilt of his head has the two women scurrying out and away from the house, giving you the chance to enter and view the impressive garden—without the prying eyes of two women who would most likely be dead by the end of the night for failing their Lord’s task unintentionally.

The Karesansui is beautiful. Sand neatly parted in delicate waves, curving around grand rocks and the large aged tree in the centre. It hangs its heavy branches over the pathway, and you have to push down the urge to grin at the sight of Sukuna ducking down with an arm batting away a branch.

You take the time to walk along the large smooth-stone path, eyes grazing over the dry garden. You hadn’t seen one so beautifully made since you lived with your father. Your late husband didn’t care for such artistry, didn’t believe in the tranquillity such a beautiful garden could bring to one's soul. The reminder of your life before tastes bitter in the back of your throat, but it no longer makes your chest swell in agony.

Instead, you find yourself at peace with the fact you are in a different place in life now. Your mind had warped and changed forever, your body had endured trauma that would’ve killed any other woman—you were living a much better life now, untethered and unbound… and at the side of a man who empowered you.

That old pain that had once swelled in your chest is replaced with a foreign emotion; love. You feel love as you gaze at the back of Sukuna’s head, his body positioned just at the entrance of a house much too small to house him. He looked out of place and yet he looked like he owned the place.

Sensing your gaze, Sukuna glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes are smouldering, always a look that could kill a man, yet it softens the second he meets your gaze—a minute change, but you see it regardless. And so, you smile for him. A smile you know that makes his own lips offer one in return, a smile you know that makes his skin warm and that softness in his eye doubles.

“Come, we should prepare for the evening.” Kenjaku speaks from your side, effectively drawing your attention away from Sukuna. Her own eyes are directed towards Sukuna before she turns them towards you, and that malice you had seen in her eyes all those months ago is nowhere to be seen. So you nod and allow her to lead you into the house.

...

It isn’t until a few hours later that you’re sitting on the edge of the engawa, looking out at the peaceful garden before you. You had since bathed, much to the chagrin of Sukuna who had wanted to originally join you—except, with it being an indoor bath, it was far too small for the both of you. You have to stifle the urge to snicker to yourself at the childish pout resting on the King of Curses' face.

“What’s amusing you now?” Sukuna grumbles from behind you, his feet heavy and loud on the tatami mats. Maybe you didn’t stifle that urge well enough.

“Nothing,” you offer over your shoulder with a smile, and Sukuna observes you for a second before making his way over. He plants himself on the engawa next to you, legs crossed. His upper set of arms lean back to prop his body up, and the other set crosses loosely over his chest.

He had changed his attire since arrival, and the lonesome bath he was forced to take. Instead of hiding his arms, he’s draped in a thick black haori over the bareness of his chest with a loose pair of white hakama pants around his waist. You can’t deny that he looks quite beautiful in all his natural glory. You had changed too — only because Kenjaku had insisted on it.

It was a statement piece, to say the least. How Kenjaku had got her hands on so much material you’ll never know. But after the two hours of stuffing you into them, you can’t deny that wearing a Jūnihitoe made you feel like royalty. In your years serving at your father's side, you had only witnessed it once on the back of the Empress. It was something that only the highest of the social ranks could wear; a statement of your wealth and social status.

The colours you were draped in reflected the upcoming spring; whites, soft pinks, greens, reds and lilacs—all rather contrasting and yet it worked. Kenjaku had mentioned that there were a total of ten layers, all of which were fanned out around you in a delicate display.

You can feel Sukuna glancing at you, how his eyes drag along the various layers of clothing and taking in each colour.

“This is how I imagined you to look when I caught wind of your existence.” He breaks the silence, and you turn to glance at him. His eyes are resting on the necklace buried beneath just a few layers—it was a surprise gift from Kenjaku, she had pulled it from a box and presented it to you. It was a unique gift; for it was Yorozu’s teeth all strung together.

“Draped in silk and waiting on my knees for my husband?” That draws an amused noise from Sukuna, his body shifting until a hand is reaching up to stroke the silk between two fingers.

“No. Regal. I thought the Shogun’s daughter would be a princess.” He continues on his path of stroking the material of one of the outer uwagi. “Instead, she was a sword-wielding neophyte Samurai.”

Your distaste for his words must show on your face because immediately he laughs, the hand skirting across your clothing comes up to cup your cheek before you can turn away. His amusement only grows when you try to jerk your head out of his hand.

“So sensitive. Do you worry about the festival?”

Were you worried about the festival?... Perhaps. It wasn’t the same anxiety you had as a young girl when you were made to attend similar events, instead, there’s something that pools at the pit of your stomach in anticipation. Something about the entire village felt off from the moment you got there—the number of cursed spirits that roamed freely, attached to all the non-sorcerers who couldn’t even see them…

It made you anxious; flighty.

“No. I don’t like the village.” You turn away when Sukuna drops his hand from your face at your words. “Something is waiting in the shadows, I can feel it.”

“A threat?” Sukuna prods, but the tone of his voice indicates enough to you that this ‘threat’ is nonexistent in his eyes.

“I don’t know. Something isn’t right, Sukuna.” You turn to face him once again, and it’s almost startling how stony his face looks—but he’s easy to read, you can tell he’s thinking more about your words, considering if there truly was a threat to either you or himself.

“The Lord wouldn’t dare to make a move with the both of us here, and he’s unaware of Kenjaku. They’d be making a grave mistake to strike out against any of us after offering us an invitation.” Sukuna attempts to soothe your mind, but it doesn’t work as he intended. Instead, it only serves to rile up your anxiety further.

“Or that would be the best time to do it. Outside of our home, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by his men—and all those curses. Does he control them?” Your words tumble from your lips before you can reign them in, you’ve never felt this unnerved—not even at the revelation of your father never truly dying.

A hand comes to the back of your neck, sharpened nails digging into your flesh enough to jerk you out of the circle of thoughts racing around your head. Sukuna moves you closer, close enough that you can smell the lavender on his skin and feel the warmth of his breath. He holds you close enough to press his forehead to your own; something you’ve come to realise is his way of ‘connecting’ with you.

“Enough, woman. You’re going to work yourself up into hysterics. The Lord may be a fool but he’s not a suicidal maniac, he knows he will lose if he tests us.” His words, whilst harsh in reality, are softly spoken. Whispered against your face until you’re forced to take a breath, to breathe in his words and let them settle against that pit of dread in your chest.

“—Fine.” You sigh back, shoulders sagging and Sukuna takes advantage of your moment of docility by drawing you in closer. One of his arms remains propped up behind you as a support, and the other drags you closer by the shoulders until you’re sitting side-by-side. “But at the first sign of his foolishness. The village burns.”

You can practically feel Sukuna’s chest puff with pride with the breath he draws in, no doubt if you were to look up you’d see quite the smug grin on his face. “As you wish.”

It’s silent for a beat, just the sound of the distant village. Sukuna seems unbothered when you lean more of your weight onto him, allowing your neck a moment of rest against his shoulder. If you close your eyes and focus just enough, you’ll be able to pick apart your surroundings and pinpoint Kenjaku. She hadn’t left the estate but she was somewhere deep in the house, her cursed energy muted.

“What are we to do at the festival? My father always made me sit behind a partition whenever he attended.” You almost scowl at the thought of that ridiculous green misu you had been forced to sit behind for the entirety of the festival, forbidden from speaking a word to even your own servant.

Sukuna grunts disapprovingly at the mention of your father. “You won’t be sitting behind a screen this time, you’ll be at my side. We sit, we eat and we receive their gifts. Our presence is the blessing they seek.”

The thought of eating and being waited on just for the sake of it is very appealing—perhaps that’s the real reason why Sukuna had accepted the invite, not because he wanted you to make a message but because he wanted to be waited on hand and foot.

“I’m surprised you agreed to eat anything non-human.”

“Who said it won’t be?” Sukuna retorts easily enough, earning him a quick turn of your head to gauge if he’s serious or not. Instead, he laughs. “I’m joking. They declined that part of the offer.”

“You seriously asked?” and again, he laughs.

“Sometimes they’re so desperate for me to not attack that they offer me women to eat. It’ll be the prettiest they can offer, as if beauty could stop me from eating.” He shrugs with his words, a smile on his face.

Surprisingly, you’re not shocked by his words. In fact, you’re inclined to believe them entirely. Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with, no one had defeated him yet and likely no one ever will—sorcerers, Lords and civilians would do anything to make sure he didn’t come to their village looking for an excuse to burn it down to the ground. Maybe you would’ve been one of those women if you weren’t shackled to a man who had no interest in you besides your womb.

There are soft footsteps just behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see Kenjaku entering the room. Her own clothes have changed, a completely black kimono that cinches tightly at her waist—her long hair has been cropped at the front by her ears, and the rest flows loosely down her back only to be tied midway down. She looked like a true beauty.

“It’s time.” She smiles down at you, offering a hand for you to take. Her skin is cold beneath yours, like touching a corpse that had been left out in the dead of winter. She shows no struggle with helping you stand, as you gather your many layers and fan them out behind you.

Sukuna huffs as he too stands to his full height, his shoulders rolling just slightly to ensure that his haori didn’t slip free from his shoulders. He steps out into the garden, the stones crunching beneath his bare feet before he turns to look at you—even with him being on a lower level, he still looks down at you. He offers you his hand in turn, non-discreetly glancing towards Kenjaku to force her to drop your hand and give you over to him—she does.

His hand in comparison is warm, a warmth you’ve come to seek in the cold nights and a warmth you seek even when bathed in the hottest waters. He draws you in effortlessly, aiding you from the step and down onto the pebbled floor. It’s almost impossible to ignore the way he looks at you, so different from the previous times. He’d often look at you with pride, or hunger, but mostly desire.

But this look in his eye. Dare you say it to be contented? A man who gazes upon the woman who just so happens to be the centre of his universe.

“Come, let us feast—” His lips shift into a knowing smirk, “—on whatever sorry animal they feed us tonight.”

...

The air is thick with several different spices, the meat they’re slathered on continues to sizzle above one of the open fires not too far from where you had been made to sit next to Sukuna. It was a raised platform, a dais that put you above the rest of the crowd. You could feel their eyes on you, feel the way they picked you apart for being the one who sat close enough to Sukuna that he could lean into your space to whisper.

All of them were working non-sorcerers, their hands scarred and faces still painted with the dirt from their working day. Kenjaku had been helpful enough to inform you on the way here that Takayama was a great working village, they brought in many precious metals and had an extensive forest. But even with all that, they were viewed as a ‘lesser than’ village—too far from the Emperor for him to care about their ability to bring in great resources, and cut off from other villages due to the mountains that surrounded Takayama.

“My Lord,” an elderly voice draws your attention away from the villagers, you glance down to the steps of the dais to see an old man and what you presume to be his wife—younger, but not by much. His eyes shift to you, and he bows again. “My Lady.”

“What is it you’ve brought?” Kenjaku comments from the side, sitting on her own cushion that she had demanded from one of the Samurai—an amusing affair to have witnessed. Her mouth is hidden by the paper fan that covers the lower half of her face—a tradition that you find tedious.

The elderly man shuffles a little to turn towards his wife, who is holding something wrapped in animal skin. Immediately your eyes are drawn to it, and Sukuna seems to show a minimal amount of interest when he shifts beside you to get a better view. The elder takes a step forward, careful to not step too close—he must’ve witnessed the death of that young man who attempted to climb the steps all the way.

“A gift for Lady Zen’in.” He bows his head, and you try not to focus too much on the fact they were well aware of your name. Perhaps that Samurai needed his tongue removed from his mouth—you’ll suggest it to Sukuna later.

The man before you carefully unravels the animal skin the gift was wrapped in, careful to not lay his hands on whatever was inside before offering it up to you. You blink a few times, leaning forward to get a better look at the object presented to you.

It’s a fan. A war fan.

Seeing your interest, the man continues. “It’s made up of the strongest metals of our village, and something that no other weapon in your arsenal will have.”

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity, but it’s Sukuna who speaks. “How did you get your hands on dragon scales?”

Dragon scales—your eyes dart down quickly to the fan, you can see them now. Delicately melded into the metal of the fan, jagged along the edge—if you were to run that across someone’s throat, they would die almost instantly. But dragon scales? Dragons were things of myth, of stories.

“A great white dragon lives within Mount Yake.” He points towards the large mountain range off in the distance, its white caps a stark contrast to the night sky. “It’s the reason why we suffer greatly from volcanic eruptions.”

Sukuna shifts beside you, and you can see him now staring off at the mountain range. So you take the chance to open your hands to the man before you, who visibly flinches at the movement, but you keep your palms open towards him. The elderly man places the fan delicately in your hands, with the skin still beneath it. It’s heavier than it looks, with a nice weight to it that tells you it was authentically made—and perhaps that dragon scales must be weightier than one would imagine.

You bring it back to your lap, gliding your fingers along the smooth edge of the handle. It’s bumped and ridged in a delicate swirled pattern, the fan itself made up of pure white metal with the dragon scales melded in. You take it in your palm, and flick out your wrist as you were shown as a child. It fans out quickly, a shuttering sound that has Sukuna finally drawing his attention back to you.

With a way to now cover your own mouth, you bring the fan to your face and meet the eyes of the elderly man. “I thank you for the gift, it’ll be a great asset.”

The elderly man bows quickly, his wife following in the gesture before taking a few steps back to remerge with the crowd.

“I had no idea dragons were real.” You say once there’s certainly no one around to hear you, you keep the fan to your face to shield your mouth.

“You never asked.” Sukuna shrugs, his hands otherwise occupied with a bottle of sake they had gifted him and slices of freshly caught fish. “But it’s rare that they could see it. Dragons are cursed spirits.”

“Perhaps he can see the curse that clings to his wife's back,” Kenjaku comments offhandedly, fanning her face delicately. “There’s too many of them here. It’s stifling.”

“I still don’t understand why the Lord is letting his village turn into this… breeding ground for cursed spirits.” You glance towards the village, each of them with their own curse that lingered close by—even ones that sat atop the roofs seemed to show an interest in the King of Curses, but didn’t dare take a step forward.

“Control.” Sukuna comments after wiping his mouth free of the sake that wet his lips. “He thinks he has more control if his people are suffering, they’re less likely to fight back like this.”

That alone has your upper lip curling in annoyance, the fan coming closer to your face to avoid the wandering eyes of those who pass by. It was a confusing feeling that sat deep in your gut, you felt nothing for the villagers who offered you food—you could see their reluctance in handing over their hard work to someone they viewed as a monster.

Yet the idea of one man trying to control the masses with their suffering, practically breeding these people with fear to create more and more curses until the inevitable happened. It was a surprise that anyone was still alive with just how many curses were crawling around, no doubt they had some base level of intelligence to know if they killed all the humans they’d be left with nothing.

“I don’t like it.” You mutter, eyes panning across the crowd once again and further down the long street that led up to where you and Sukuna had been stationed.

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not, it’s none of your concern.” Sukuna gripes, shoving another slice of sashimi into his mouth with the chopsticks in one hand. You don’t miss the sideways glance from Kenjaku before she returns to the tea in front of her.

“It is if I’m to become Shogun.” You all but hiss and it’s Sukuna’s turn to side glance towards you, his eyes narrowing just slightly at the tone you took with him. Even after the months of being bonded to you, there was still some chafing that came with the power struggle between the two of you.

“Shogun?” A voice questions from the steps below, and it causes your spine to straighten immediately. It has your eyes darting to the numerous samurai stationed around, all of whom definitely heard the villager before you. It’s a younger man, not old enough to be stuck in the rice fields and without the traditional haircut given to those who are samurai.

You try not to notice the smirk growing on Sukuna’s face before he settles back on two of his hands, displaying his entire bare chest. He had been more open to showing himself off when he had settled down, a subtle display of power that he was above everyone else here. Including the Samurai and their Lord who no doubt would be getting reports of what was about to be said.

Carefully, you stand up and fan out the many layers of your kimonos behind you. It’s an instantaneous effect, all eyes are on you. You drop the fan from your face, and the whispers are silenced. They wait to see what you’re about to say, be it a sentence for their death or the announcement of your departure—the looks on their faces beg for the latter.

“Whilst it was something I would’ve liked to announce to your Lord first, it’s true.” Your heart hammers in your chest, even with the comfort of the man behind you, you can sense the unease growing rapidly. “The Emperor is a man who can no longer be trusted. He sentenced you all to death.”

“The Lord you bow to works for the Emperor, on a council where they’ve decided to kill you all for existing.” You continue when the whispers grow louder, the cursed spirits that stick to their backs growing agitated with the uptick in fear. “I’ll put an end to that.”

“By opening your legs as you did for that dem—” The murmurs are silenced immediately. Your hand remains out at your side, fingers pointed in the direction of the man who had opened his mouth. There’s a thump of knees to the floor, and then the rolling of a head.

Sukuna chuffs out a laugh, leaning forward once again in interest at the sudden turn of events. You can feel the turning of his cursed energy, how it spikes subtly as if he’s ready to pounce if someone else dared to raise a hand—or voice—in your direction.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” You glance across the crowd, all of whom have immediately turned their gaze back towards you with a new look of fear. Non-sorcerers, all of them, and you beheaded a man without drawing a sword. Their silence continues to ring out, the cursed spirits too now look at you with renewed interest; a hunger.

When no one dares to speak another word, you return to your seat next to Sukuna who had turned his mirth-filled eyes back to you. The crowd seems to slowly disperse, no longer wanting to risk their heads. As for the cursed spirits, you notice they too seem to leave a wide berth after the display of the cursed energy that slumbered within.

“You scared them.” Kenjaku comments, but you can hear the smile on her face and her eyes curve upwards when she offers you a look over the top of her fan. “But I’m sure word has already gotten back to the Lord, he won’t be happy.”

“I’ve never cared for the happiness of men. Let him rot in his anger.” Your attention is drawn downwards to the large hand that had opened itself before you. Sukuna holds out a delicate cup that had no doubt been imported from China with the way it was decorated.

“Drink with me.” He doesn’t offer but rather demands it of you. Not that you’d deny him. You take the cup from his hand, so much larger in your own hand and the sake within is warm. “I think I’ve been too much of an influence on you.”

You glance at him over the rim of your cup, not overlooking the way his eyes drift down to your mouth to watch you lick away the remnants of the sake. “Oh?”

“You didn’t even give that man a chance to speak.” He grins, head tilting as he watches you—his pink hair flopping over slightly, dishevelled after a long day.

“He didn’t deserve his tongue.” You smile back before taking another sip, savouring the warmth that settles in your gut.

Sukuna adjusts the way he lounges next to you, one leg stretching outwards whilst the other remains bent at the knee to let one arm hang over it. A hand plants itself on the dais behind you, forcing him into your space until you can feel his very warmth radiating against your cheeks. You can smell him; a musk that is normally tinted with copper from the blood of his unfortunate victims, but today it’s cleaner. No doubt from the bath he had been forced to take alone on arrival.

With a flourish of the fan in one hand, you lean closer whilst shielding your face. Sukuna smiles down at you, a smile softened with the warm sake sitting in his stomach. His lips are just a few measly centimetres away from your own, his breath smells sweet—like a freshly sliced apple. There’s no doubt in your mind that everyone around you is very aware of what was happening behind the fan, with Sukuna forcing himself to hunch down to your height whilst sitting.

“You’re formidable.” He whispers with a tilt of his head, his nose bumps yours softly. “They fear you. I can smell it.”

Your lips part when his do, breathing in his words; his influence. It’s intoxicating to have a man of his status, his sheer brilliance in power, praise you—to deem you formidable.

“Good. It’s better to be feared than to be loved.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, the muscle jumps at the contact before you feel the weight of his head leaning against your open palm. “Love has no worth in a world like ours.”

Sukuna looks down at you along the thick ridge of his nose, eyes nearly closed with how narrow his field of vision becomes this close to you. He’s scrutinising you, you can feel it. That look in his eye is something you’ve seen time and time again, he’s trying to read you—figure you out entirely. But then he smirks, a curling of his lips before he leans in.

His lips aren’t gentle against your own, they never are. Instead, he kisses you like he still wishes to defeat you. Even with it only being a fleeting kiss, it still leaves you kiss-bruised and wanting more. Sukuna leans back just enough to look down at you again, that look in his eye has shifted from scrutiny to desire. It has your gut twisting with butterflies.

“Come, I’m done with the stench that clings to this place.” He speaks quietly enough for just you to hear, you smile up at him again before offering him a lingering kiss. One that he tries to chase shamelessly, which in turn has you grinning at each other. “Don’t tease me too much woman, I will make you regret it.”

“One can only hope.”

“If you’re both leaving, I’ll stay for a while,” Kenjaku comments from her place, earning a glance over Sukuna’s shoulder from you both. “I have plans too."

Something about the tone she takes makes your stomach sour, the food you had eaten turned to stone. She sounds mischievous, a predator who would be going on the prowl amongst defenceless prey. But you can’t deny her what she wishes to do—you knew she was of the same ilk as Sukuna and in turn, you; she was just as cruel and evil.

“Fine. Don’t return to the house.” Sukuna commands, standing up whilst aiding you up from the floor next to him. He’s careful with how he helps you pick up the layers of the kimono to allow you to slip back on the wooden geta you had removed to give your feet some relief.

Sukuna doesn’t take his arm back once you’re standing next to him, instead, he guides you down the few steps and down along the path that leads back to the house you had been given as a place to stay. His stance is relaxed, despite the many eyes that wander. You stroke your fingers delicately along the inside of his wrist, earning you his attention.

“I heard there were hot springs on the outskirts.” You smile with your words, the glint of desire seems to spark the inferno inside of Sukuna because he grins in return. The muscles in his arms flex subtly under your touch, nostrils flaring momentarily to try and steel himself whilst in the public eye.

“And who am I to deny you a chance to bathe in the spring like the dove you are.”

...

A mountain haloed by the light of the moon, the white caps glimmering in the distance with stars hanging high and not a single trace of a cloud. It was a sight Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto would be proud of. Trees of brilliant green and yellow blend together in the shadow of darkness, birds of light settling for the night.

It has your body relaxing against the stone lip of the hotspring, arms crossed over the edge to support your chin as you look out into the endless abyss. Your muscles ache deliciously at this angle, your legs relishing the relief that came from the hotspring. Sukuna had kept true to his word to allow you to bathe, after he ravished you in the very waters you’re still in.

The man himself is lounging next to you, two of his arms hooked over the edge whilst his head tilts back against the stone to rest his eyes. It was one of the very rare times where he was completely vulnerable, a sight that you’re sure many men would kill to see—just to ensure they had a chance to slit his throat and kill him for good.

Your eyes draw lines across his body, admiring the sheen to his skin from where he had dunked himself in the water to clean himself. His hair hangs loose and curled very slightly at the tips, just barely hiding the pointed tips of his ears and the stretched lobes. He was truly beautiful, the pinnacle of godly creation. You swallow your thoughts, pushing them to the back of your mind as you glance back out to the horizon.

Mount Yake—that’s what the elderly man had said when he gifted you the dragon-scaled fan. You can see with the help of the moon hiding behind its snow-capped head that it was billowing thick clouds of black smoke. You had never seen a volcanic eruption before. Was lava as brilliant and bright as they said? Did it truly burn and eviscerate everything it touched? And what of the dragon that resided within, you yearned to see it.

“Do you truly believe a dragon lives in that mountain?” You ask quietly, just a whisper over the hum of the night. Sukuna shifts beside you, water sloshing before you can feel his burning gaze on you.

“I do.” He admits plainly. “It’s not uncommon for cursed spirits to form from the fear of something—I imagine that the dragon is the fear of volcanic eruptions.”

You nod at the informative answer, you had a feeling that may have been the case with Masato—the fear of people, of humanity when you were at your lowest. Thinking of where that cursed spirit may be currently has your stomach twisting, no doubt she would have created chaos wherever she may be.

Trees groan in the wind, leaves whispering their secrets to one another when a breeze rolls on by. The water swishes beside you again when Sukuna moves his arms beneath the water, the waves lapping against the bare skin of your back. You feel at peace here, tranquil—it was like being at home again, in the hotspring with the man you had tied your soul to.

“Do you know how to create Kanshi?” Sukuna turns his head to glance at you this time when he speaks, and you can only return his curious look with a smile.

“Poetry? Of course. It was a requirement of the Shogun’s daughter to be well versed in the art of poetry.” You smile when Sukuna rolls his eyes at what was required of you. It was one of the very first lessons when you had been given permission to do something outside of learning how to dress a man and wash his loincloth. “Would you like to hear one?”

Sukuna nods his head once and you smile down at him, moving your body slightly so you are facing him. Your hand cards delicately through his slow-drying hair, breaking apart the knots that had formed in the nighttime spring air. Sukuna succumbs to your soft movements easily enough, his upper set of eyes fluttering closed until you could only see a slither of red peeking from the lower ones.

You take the chance to glance around, observing all that you can hear and see.

“I listen to the whispers of trees, I catch a murmur of their secrets. Spring breeze is the same near and far, as it blows to my heart.”

“Not bad.” Sukuna offers you with a cheeky grin, opening up his eyes fully to look at you. “I’ve always preferred them shorter. The Chinese version is too long.”

You hum in agreement, brushing your fingers slowly along the edge of his second face. The scars beneath were similar to the one along your neck; torn and shredded until it had to heal. “So did I but Lady Maiki disagreed. Apparently, a good wife showed her intelligence with longer sentences.”

Sukuna snorts loudly at that, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in a way that makes him look years younger. A hand moves up from beneath the water, long fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you away from the scarring and to let his lips plant a far too delicate kiss to the tips of your fingers.

“I thought a woman would show her intelligence by opening her le—” Sukuna laughs loudly when you swipe with your free hand at the back of his head, knocking some of his wet hair out of place. “So violent. Did I strike a nerve?”

“An ancient pond, a toad jumps in, the splash of water.” You snicker when Sukuna’s face drops.

“A toad? You’d compare me to a toad?” His upper lip curls, showcasing sharp canines and pink gum. He shifts in the water, dragging you by your entrapped wrist until you are smothered against his chest. An old part of you would’ve cowered at the action, at the look on his face but you can see him more clearly now; he’s playing along.

“Am I wrong? As big as one, as lazy as one—”

“You have a very short amount of time left until I remove that tongue from your mouth for good.” He snarls, leaning down closer to your face until your eyes nearly cross at his proximity. But his mask of intimidation falls away when your unbound hand brushes along his jaw, tracing the black tattoo that resides there.

“Your threats no longer have the same sharpened edge to them.” You coo, but before the smile on your face can form—he strikes. A hand wraps itself around your throat, fingers reaching up to grasp at the underside of your jaw in a tight squeeze. He moves you effortlessly, pressing you hard against the stone edge of the hotspring as he builds himself up to look bigger; stronger.

Your heart stutters in your chest, your fingers automatically gripping tightly around his wrist in an attempt to free yourself. You hadn’t felt this way in a long time, not since your first few encounters with him. Sukuna had mastered the way of becoming the predator in any situation, a lion that had let the gazelle get too close to its sharp teeth.

Except Sukuna smiles, a dark smile that you’ve seen on his face countless times before. “After battle’s end, lush green land is fertilised, by the blood of men.” He’s gloating about his apparent victory.

You huff at that, pushing at his chest hard enough to earn you some space. He slips back down into the water next to you, all the whilst he chuckles deep in his chest.

“It doesn’t work when you get the gender wrong.”

“I apologise for not being the Shogun’s princess and just an unwanted child.” He grins when you shoot him a glare in response. Sukuna settles back down into his previous position, arms relaxed over the edge and head tilted back so he could view the night sky above. It wouldn’t be long until you both would have to return to the house that had been claimed as your own.

A flicker above has your attention drawn to it instantly, head tilting to observe the flash of what looks like stars until it grows brighter and brighter—Sukuna next to you hums deep in his chest at the display above, enjoying it as much as yourself. The streak of light in the sky grows brighter until it outshines the others in the sky, until it breaks apart.

The streak becomes two, two falling stars that race each other across the expanse of the inky sky until the smaller one vanishes from sight to leave the other to traverse the rest of the sky alone. It leaves a solemn weight on your chest as you watch the lone star vanish behind the peak of one of the mountains that surround you.

“Scales of a white dragon, twin falling stars from above, spring repulses winter.”

“A fitting poem for our time here,” Sukuna speaks kindly, and you can only nod in agreement. He moves in the water suddenly, standing to his full height to allow the water to roll off the edges of his body in thick streams. You can only watch him with interest as he wades through the water to the edge where your clothes are folded neatly. “Come, let us rest.”

And you follow him, you always do.

...

Wooden floorboards creak underfoot, the house as silent as a shrine. A shadow freezes, waiting and listening, watching—before it moves again. The shoji door slides open, the moonlight leaking in to reveal the sleeping faces of the King and Queen of Curses.

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#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

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