Ryomen X Reader - Blog Posts

Help Vixen Out - #1

I’m currently working on Chapter 4 of my Toji SMAU and I was thinking of starting my next series just so that it doesn’t get to monotone around here. Who would you like to see next because I honestly have Ideas for every character in my JJK Masterlist.

ᱬ ࣪𖤐 more thoughts of rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who may or may not end up becoming rockstar fiancé! sukuna.

continuation of rockstar! sukuna thoughts.

ageless/minors dni. 18+ content scattered below. not limited to p in v, video sex, generalised nsfw. f! reader.

as always, reblogs/likes are always appreciated! enjoy! ᱬ ࣪𖤐

part 2 word count: 1,209 | series word count: 4,975

links: jjk masterlist | masterlist | part 1 | part 3

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, at every given opportunity, will use samples of you in his music - voice, video, photos? all check. after all, he wants to show you off to the world - especially with photos that leave little to the imagination while protecting your dignity.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who has a space for you on his tour bus and vice versa. fuck what his bandmates had to say, he wanted you beside him whenever one of you wasn’t touring.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who at every given opportunity will take photos and videos of you, be that of you writing your band's next hit song or when the two of you are cuddled up in bed after fucking, and every moment in between.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, while fucking you in the nastiest positions you could imagine, marks you in a way he knows everyone out there will see. the thought of everyone seeing exactly who you belong to gets him off.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who spends more time backstage at your concerts, that much so that it would be considered weird if he wasn’t dating you. not that he would care what those losers would say, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who doesn’t show it but he misses you so goddamn much whenever you’re both touring at the same time. he hates spending time apart from you, everything feels so empty.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who makes the most of the private album he has on his phone in times like that. an album that’s full of the most dirty pictures and videos of you. that one picture of you looking completely fucked out after he had you in a mating press? that video of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy at an alarming rate? that audio of you moaning out his name as you begged him to let you come? he’s got those and more. after all, he needs to make sure he remembers you in every way possible.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who will occasionally video call you when he’s keeping himself busy just so he can see your reaction when he moans out your name, growling that he’ll be back soon enough and you can make up for all the lost time he’s had to use his hand to pump his cock.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who also video calls you when you’re both touring so he can keep you company when you’re feeling a little down being in another country to him. who lets you fall asleep while on call as he knows it’s the only way you’ll get a good sleep and wake up feeling more refreshed. he’s counting down the days until you're back home.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who’s waiting for you at the airport for your band to land when your tour finally ended. he said it was purely so he could keep the paparazzi off you but in reality, he wanted to be the first person you saw when you stepped through the doors. big smile on your face as you wrap your arms around him, whispers of how much you've missed him making him smile softly.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, despite your protests, takes you out for a meal that night, being sure to wine and dine you because he missed the fuck out of you. who’s also buttering you up so he can be head first and cock first in between your legs when he gets you back through the front door of his apartment.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who might look like someone who doesn’t even know the meaning of the word soft but clearly he does, especially when he has you pinned down under him, thrusts into you soft and slow despite wanting to ruin you again. soft kisses and words as he silences you with kisses. after all, you need to rest your voice after such a long tour. you'll be the only one who will see this side of him, no one else and you love it as much as you love him.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, despite never thinking he’d ever find someone to love cause he truly believed the whole thing was bullshit, cuddles your closer to him, not wanting to let you go. arms wrapped around you and hand stroking your hair as you rested your hand on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart, possibly inspiring a new song knowing you.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who has to make sure everything is perfect, not being on the stage while planning something this big made him more nervous than he expected. give him a big audience and his bad-boy persona - that was a walk in the park compared to this.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who waits for you to come back from shopping before you head over to his place, helping you make some food before you both sit down on the sofa with a notebook in your hand. ideas bouncing off each other as his leg bounced in anxiety. he had to pick the right time.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, at the moment you ask him what should go in this verses last line, blurts out “you gonna marry me or what woman?” before taking in your bewildered expression, eyes wide.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who’s suddenly become full blown nervous as he looks at you, throat drying up and heart pounding so erratically it could burst from his chest. who feels like the seconds have begun to drag as he waits for you to respond, that’s if you ever did.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who, for probably the first time in his life, becomes deflated and quickly removes his hand from his pocket trying to distract himself, not paying attention to the huge smile on your face before you’re pouncing on top of him with a laugh, arms wrapping around him and you muttered back “I think the new line of the chorus should be of course i’ll marry you, you fucking idiot”.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who looks at you confused as you smile brightly, cupping his face and placing a hard kiss on his lips. who’s still as confused as you pull back, thumb rubbing his cheek as you hum out a quick “i said of course i’ll marry you”.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who becomes rockstar fiancé! sukuna when he finally slips the ring onto your finger, taking a moment to admire the fact you’re one step closer to not only being with him for the rest of your lives but taking his name as yours.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, a few days later, posts to his public insta account for the first time in a good few months, with a photo of you and him, hands up showing off the ring you wore while doing your signature poses with your other hand. “who wouldn’t say no to me? future mrs r.s. coming soon @/itsherduh”.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who smirks at the comments that ping through his phone as he glances over to you lying on the bed, snapping a quick photo, this one being posted to his private insta this time with the caption “here’s to the rest of eternity together, my dove”.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

ᱬ ࣪𖤐 thoughts of rockstar! sukuna turning into rockstar boyfriend! sukuna.

had this thought while listening to v.a.n earlier when working.

general swearing but this part is sfw.

f! reader. as always, reblogs/likes are always appreciated! enjoy ᱬ ࣪𖤐

part 1 word count: 1,222 | series word count: 4,975

links: jjk masterlist | masterlist | part 2 | part 3

rockstar! sukuna who stood pouting like a child with his arms folded, not caring to listen to what his bandmate had to say about the tickets currently being waved in his hand.

rockstar! sukuna who’s currently standing backstage at a concert for a new and upcoming band, one that shouldn’t have that many fans but judging by the crowd that was still gathering, he was wrong.

rockstar! sukuna who’s still tuning out his bandmate when they chatter on about how they got the passes thanks to connections and this new band was going to make it big, all thanks to the main star - their lead singer.

rockstar! sukuna who’s now paying attention to what’s said once he hears that the lead singer is a girl. things have just gotten interesting, it was rare to have a female in such a male-dominated space, he had to see this for himself.

rockstar! sukuna who’s not impressed when he first sees you walking past his group. you looked so shy and meek while quickly offering a “hello” and a wave. clearly the idiot was mistaken when he was yapping earlier.

rockstar! sukuna who’s eating his words soon after when he hears the sounds that come out once you open your mouth after getting the crowd going. the singing, the screaming, the growling? you were far from meek.

rockstar! sukuna who watches you carefully, the way you jump around the stage, the bright smile on your face as you enjoy the buzz around you as you continue to perform for your fans - a buzz he understands all too well.

rockstar! sukuna who finds himself tapping his foot to some of the songs your band plays, it’s totally because he’s a musician and not because he’s starting to enjoy himself.

rockstar! sukuna who finds himself clapping along with his bandmates once your set ends and the lights come back on, watching the bodies on the stage filter backstage again. the look of pure joy on your face is cute. wait did he actually think that?

rockstar! sukuna who offers a grunt when you finally take the time to talk to the group, offering a thanks for coming and watching. who doesn’t miss the way you tilt your head and smirk at him before turning your attention to his bassist. he’d strangle the fucker if he tried anything.

rockstar! sukuna who follows behind the big group back to the dressing room for a drink because, let’s face it, it’s the least you could do to thank them for coming along even when they didn’t have to.

rockstar! sukuna who finds himself alone on a couch before you plopped yourself down, offering another drink before leaning back, talking away to yourself about something he couldn’t quite hear.

rockstar! sukuna who leaves an hour or so later with the rest of his band, not before he had your personal contact details and socials in his phone - after all, he might fancy a collab one day with you.

rockstar! sukuna who turns into fanboy! sukuna for a while when he gets home, hopelessly stalking your insta to get a glimpse into your life. who found himself smirking at the picture of you and your new puppy you’d posted a day before he met you, double tapping to lock in that like. of course, it would be from his own private and personal insta and only a few special people would have that account.

rockstar! sukuna who, one night, in his semi-drunk state, might have sent you a message detailing what he would do to you if he had you alone and you were his. not caring that he was being too out there, cause fuck that shit, life is for living right?

rockstar! sukuna who nearly drops his phone at the message you sent back to him, who knew you kinda enjoyed stranger danger? he was way in over his head but he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

rockstar! sukuna who attended quite a few more of your shows after that message, thanks to bagging backstage passes from you much to his delight, not that he cared to admit that. he did have a tough guy image to uphold after all.

rockstar! sukuna who spent more time talking to you via dms before moving to texts - after all, he was adamant that arranging a collab would be easier that way, not that he wanted a more personal way to talk to you.

rockstar! sukuna who starts adding lyrics that have to do with love and crushes into his future songs, much to the amusement of his bandmates and fans, some loved the subtle changes while others hated it.

rockstar! sukuna who ends up inviting you into the studio to talk ideas and start his band's next single with your help and vocals. he was sure it would be a hit, plus he wanted to spend more time with you outside of the bands. not that he would ever care to admit that to you.

rockstar! sukuna who suddenly feels like a teenager all over again when you get closer to him, lingering touches and looks making his heart thump in his chest - he was a performer yet this is what caused him to grow clammy?

rockstar! sukuna who ends up relaxing on the sofa in the room, you sat in his lap as you hummed out a tune, jotting it down. enjoying your weight on top of him, even if it wasn’t how he’d usually like it.

rockstar! sukuna who grows bored after a while and pulls his phone out, only for you to grab it and take a selfie with him, placing a kiss on his cheek as you capture the pure bewilderment on his face. just a little something to remind him of you when all of this ended.

rockstar! sukuna who starts to find new ways of hanging out with you, when not working on a track together - may have guilt-tripped you into letting him meet your puppy because who couldn’t resist his bad boy charm?

rockstar! sukuna who ended up becoming rockstar boyfriend! sukuna before too long, proudly showing you off to the world the night after you agreed to be his, when the new song debuted and you appeared on stage, taking your place beside him with a cheerful wave to the roaring crowd.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who pulls you into him in front of the sold-out arena, planting a wanting deep kiss onto your lips before pulling away, smirking at the dazed look before announcing that you were both together, and everyone better get used to it before the combined roar of the crowd and his band kicked up, the two of you performing the song you’d created together.

rockstar boyfriend! sukuna who now uses every opportunity to show you off to the world as the girlfriend of the man who didn’t want to be seen with anyone else - may or may not have went on quite a few photo dumps on his personal insta with photos of you both and what you were up to in between performing and recording.

let’s not talk about the other folder he has on his phone of pictures of you and the two of you together just yet yeah?

permanent tags;

@ani-net

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

hopeless student!sukuna x gn!reader (hs/uni au)

hopeless student!sukuna who embarrassingly asks you to tutor him in science after school. his grades were abysmal, and his attitude already a problem. he’s been known to get into a lot of fights, almost always winning them all. unfortunately for him, you can’t beat up a teacher to give you good grades.

hopeless student!sukuna who agreed on getting tutored at the library- hopefully you two will be quiet enough for the librarian not to kick you both out.

hopeless student!sukuna who took one look at your notes and was amazed by how neat and tidy they were. his notes were…another story.

hopeless student!sukuna who had only a crumpled up notebook with a surprising dent in it that looked suspiciously like the right side of someone’s face. the contents only included scribbles, corners of pages being torn out, and 101 ways to kill the teacher that was teaching the class.

hopeless student!sukuna who’s work ethic is so pathetic that you weren’t even surprised looking at his grades after only 20 minutes of tutoring.

hopeless student!sukuna who actually paid attention- much to your surprise. he lingered on every word you said and took them into account.

hopeless student!sukuna who looked like he was paying too much attention, staring into your eyes, leaving you flustered and at a loss for words.

hopeless student!sukuna who groaned and complained about everything being too difficult- which you retorted that maybe he should’ve payed more attention in class. he gave you a glare that shut you up instantly.

hopeless student!sukuna who asked “this time tomorrow?” after you were done packing up your bags. you nodded and tried to discreetly get away as fast as possible.

hopeless student!sukuna who decided that this wasn’t so bad, getting lessons from someone as cute as you. he looked back on his notes and was set on remembering everything you told him.

hopeless student!sukuna who really, really tried his best to listen to the lesson the next day. but it wasn’t his fault that the guy in front of him was practically itching to be beat up. sneering at him, whispering god-knows-what to his friends. that day, he almost completely forgot he was supposed to be tutored by you after school.

hopeless student!sukuna who showed up at the library 15 minutes late, blood on his knuckles and a bruise on his arm. before you could stop yourself, you asked how it happened, even though you already knew what he got into.

hopeless student!sukuna who sees you scoff as he explains that he got into a fight with the guy in science class, so he doesn’t remember anything taught in that lesson, much less have notes written down.

hopeless student!sukuna who wants to jump on this chance and try again, attentively revising with you and actually learning something. his behaviour takes you by surprise, given all the rumors you heard about him and the classes you had with him. he was almost always disrupting the lessons and sometimes even got into arguments in the middle of them.

hopeless student!sukuna who felt like he owed you a good mark on an upcoming test, after two weeks of tutoring each day.

hopeless student!sukuna who actually studied on his own. maybe he wanted to surprise you by already knowing a material before you taught him it. or maybe he wanted to see your face light up whenever he got a question right. he wanted to see what type of reaction he’ll get from you when he gets something good on the test.

hopeless student!sukuna who would never admit to himself that he found a liking to his tutor. 

hopeless student!sukuna who took deep breaths to settle his nerves before entering his class. is this what people regularly felt before taking a test? he never used to care for them, treating them like another unfinished worksheet. his heartbeat rose, and his hands started fidgeting on his own. this wasn’t like the steadfast calm he would feel before a fight. he was more nervous than that.

hopeless student!sukuna who was surprised on how easy the questions came to him, and how fast he was finished after. 

hopeless student!sukuna who walked out feeling accomplished. he couldn’t wait to get his mark back to show it to you. 

hopeless student!sukuna who got a fairly good mark, a 75. you noticed this gradual change in his marks, giving him some well deserved praise. his face turned the slightest bit redder and he looked away almost instantly, which made you confused. but he mutters a thank you before rushing away. who knew the king of the school was shy under praise?

hopeless student!sukuna who wanted more compliments from you, starting studying harder and harder. his marks grew and grew, and so did his affection for you.

hopeless student!sukuna whose tutor was genuinely proud of their tutee, and maybe even started to catch feelings for them? no way. well, it wasn’t their fault that he had to look that good?

hopeless student!sukuna who finally confesses- right after his final exam. was it heartfelt? no, not exactly. but it was more endearing than a heartfelt confession coming from someone of his nature. you blushed and returned his feelings. something that he never thought would happen.

hopeful student!sukuna who now has a tutor partner keeping him out of trouble and keeping his grades up, turning him into a better person. he learned to be more polite, and he learned how to work harder instead of fighting his way to the top. his professors thought that they would see a meteor hit the world before sukuna stopped fighting.

hopeful student!sukuna who actually didn’t stop fighting, but only fighting the people who deserved it. but now, it wasn’t for petty reasons or whatnot. now it was mosty for looking at his sweetheart the wrong way. he would never forgive them.

hopeful student!sukuna who actually kept up the good grades for the rest of his academic career, and it was all thanks to his wonderful tutor.

hopeful student!sukuna who kissed you right after graduating. the person who helped him out of a slump of an academic profile, the person who treated him with patience and understanding, the person who celebrated his achievements instead of dismissing them and saying “do it like this again.” the person whom he appreciated the most, the person who he loved so deeply, and the person who loved him back.

a/n

sorry for not posting in a long time :(

wrote this while procrastinating my science hmwk whoo hoo!

neglecting my math rn to do this

how many fics of this exact prompt have been made?

wow i'm so original please high five me!

dear god please do not make it seem like i copied anyone

i viciously hate sukuna but i spun a wheel to see who would i write and i got sukuna........

me when the hateable villain is made to be hated and i hate the hateable villain who is made to be hated

there might be some sort of backstory but i don't care !! boo

the only redeemable quality he had was uraume in the epilogue thats IT

"i can fix him" good job girl you did it!

sorry that was mean

sorry

dividers by @.enchanthings and @.bernardsbendystraws

creds to @/uzmacchiato for the dividers! </3

mexican!sukuna who…

mexican!sukuna who grew up on the wrong ends of the neighbourhood. he’s witnessed way too much gang violence than he’d like. even if he had occasionally participated in such actions

mexican!sukuna who spoke both spanish and english. he mostly did it to piss you off, giggling to himself when you look at him with such a confused facial expression when he just gave you a whole speech about his day in spanish

mexican!sukuna who had an insanely high spice tolerance, he couldn’t eat a single food without a lil bit of spicy sauce on the side. he acted like every single food was just bland with no spice

mexican!sukuna who is ALWAYS saying the dirtiest things in spanish to you.

“Sabes que eres hermosa, mami. Desearía poder inclinarte sobre un banco ahora mismo y follarte hasta dejarte tonta. Probablemente te gustaría eso, conociéndote.”

“…what’d you say?”

mexican! sukuna who had a mom that adored you. she was always asking about you! she’d love for you to join in on some of their family traditions

mexican!sukuna who would cuss people out in spanish when he got mad. he got angry at you and didn’t want to hurt your feelings? he’s chanting insults your way for the rest of the night, god forbid you’d try to learn spanish for him

mexican!sukuna who was so NASTY in bed. shoving your face deeper into the sheets as he rutted into you from behind, spewing curses in spanish as he stared at the recoil of your globes every time you met his thrusts half way

mexican!sukuna who was actually a very affectionate boyfriend. he liked giving you new gifts, buying you stuff with the little money he has, making you some of his favourite meals from his home country, the list goes on. he just loved to express his love towards you!

lord send me a latino pls 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I had a dream last night that I was bouncing on Sukuna crazy style and then I accidentally fell inside his stomach mouth and I don’t think I’m ok

Sukuna absolutely freaking when you used your safe word mid sex because his cock was starting to hurt your sensitive velvet walls.

He quickly pulled out and ran. Tears started to brim at your eyes because you thought he left because he was just mad at you for tapping out.

Well he is the king of curses. He's been considered cruel by millions and had no mercy.

But to your surprise he came running in with warm towels and his lips puckered to give you kisses.

What?

He's insulted you, been cruel, not as bad as he treats others (that means a lot), but as soon as he actually physically hurt you his heart shattered.

Your poor Sukuna was kissing your forehead dabbing your raw, sensitive pussy with the warm towel. He made Uruame make you, your favourite food and drink.

You totally forgot about the pain at this point you were flabbergasted. At the nervous look in his four eyes you've never seen.

The next day he acted like nothing happened.

But you both know that he was so fucking scared he harmed you in anyway.

All those threats that Sukuna gave you. You knew they were meaningless.

Master list's

Pervydoctor!sukuna who was tall with a bunch of tattoos, he had a menacing look that looked like he should be doing illegal stuff and not have a medical degree.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who thought it was absolutely adorable how you came in because your boobs were sore.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who enjoyed your blushing teary face that was embarrassed and in a bit of pain as he prodded at your sore tit.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who realized your nipples started to perk as he massaged your boobs trying to make them feel better. He didn't want a sweet girl in pain!

Pervydoctor!sukuna who feels upset when you go when you say the massage surprisingly made it better.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who needed some excuse to get you to come back to the doctors, and it just rolled at his feet.

You had some sex problems...

Pervydoctor!sukuna who was happy to get called in late at night when you requested just for him.

He practically ran inside the clinic. The nurses were surprised when he asked for the patient (you) and what room you were him. He never cares about work.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who went into room 3 and saw you sitting there with a flushed face and clenched fists.

"what's wrong?" He asked trying to be nonchalant but that look in your eyes... Embarrassment?

Pervydoctor!sukuna who almost laughed when you said you can't "orgasm". He obviously asked why and you said you had a one night stand and nothing happened.

His fists clenched and his heart started beating faster when you told him about another man. You've been coming in for months and he's grown fond of you.

He kept a cold face and told you to take off your clothes. You did so and your little pussy and your perky tits just made his heart flutter. He gave you a gown to cover the top of your body but he's already seen it so it doesn't help the fact that his dick is getting hard.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who makes you lay on the hospital bed and puts a cool metal leg spreader between your legs to keep them apart.

He flipped the gown up to see your pretty pussy and it made his mouth salivate.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who tells you he has to do and external and internal exam. He prods at your opening rubbing his gloved fingers up to your clit making you jolt and a bit of wetness drizzle out of your hole.

"So the natural lubricant still produces..." He says in that doctory yet slutty tone that made you wanna clench your thighs together but you couldn't so you let out a huff.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who starts his internal exam.

He starts by taking off his gloves it made your eyes widen since you were sitting up. "Why are you taking your gloves off?" You ask with a small stutter to your voice.

"Well my fingers won't move properly." He says flatly as that was the most normal thing to say in the world.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who shoves his fingers inside you moving them around the tight space feeling the ridges. You made an uncomfortable huff. "Lay down fully, it makes it feel better." He says in a more breathy tone.

Just like that you instantly lay down. He was right, it did make it feel better. Maybe too better.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who wasn't very surprised when you let out a breathy moan. As his wandering fingers found your g-spot.

He began to rub it, then doing quick thrusts into it, making you squeeze around his fingers making him let out a deep, throaty, sexy laugh.

He quickly made you come to an orgasm he took his fingers out and you heard a slurp... he licked his fingers... you weren't 100% since you were laying down but that's probably the case.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who diagnosed you with "finding guys with short dicks"

Master list's

MDNI

After Sukuna being all soft taking your virginity, all so sweetly, let's just say after you got used to his big cock, he's been cruel.

Right now he has you in the tightest mating press slamming into you in his fluffy king mattress. Slamming into you like a mad man, his red angry tip rubbing on your cervix.

The stretch is immaculate, ever since he took your virginity, the sex has been getting better and better every time.

"Kunnnaaa!" You whine as he absolutely obliterates your insides. Your mushy walls are basically shaped like his vainy cock now. Every nerve in your now puffy pussy is extremely stimulated.

A bunch of thick tears roll down your face as he pulls the vibrator out of the drawer with one of his four hands. He pushes you into a tighter mating press after he puts the vibrator on your swollen clit.

Yeah you're in for a long night.

_

A/N: Click the link for it to make a little more sense bc this is a prt 2, this is a drabble after the fic basically (does this make sense? 😭)

Virginity!

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌ Sum

Sukuna takes your virginity ( ˘ ³˘)♥

(fem!reader)

⯌ Wc

1.3k

⯌Warnings

Soft!dom sukuna, Soft sex, blood, oral (fem receiving), full form sukuna, hand mouth, crying, consent, checking in, "Good girl" and "Your doing so good..." That kinda stuff, reader has tattoos and piercings, worried Sukuna, extremely gentle Sukuna, Fingering, sweet cooing and kissing, violence towards his servants, pet names, mild breeding, aftercare, he's only gentle to you <3

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Ryomen Sukuna was a violent man but a complete sweet man too you. Yeah, maybe he isn't super kind and sweet but he definitely would never hurt you or let anyone hurt you.

He thinks it's useless then just saying "I love you." He thinks its cringy and idiotic. He prefers to show it in his actions. He makes you food, he would never make anyone food. He massages your belly on your period, god knows he would never do it for another woman.

You trust him with all your soul, he does too. He was there squeezing your hands when you got nip piercings, tattoos on your arms and back and a cute one on your ass.

One thing you've never let him do is take your virginity. It's not that you don't trust him it's the fact that you're scared to do it. You always find some excuse because you don't want to be pathetic for him. Because he is the king of curses.

But today wearing that small skirt and crop top, both of his cock's got hard. He grabbed you and you let out a little yelp as he throws you on the bed. He begins to strip you, and before he gets to your panties you yelp,

"I haven't had sex before!"

He looks at you with surprise in his eyes not saying anything but keeping his warm big hands on your thigh. "I'm fucking sorry" you whine. You get up to leave before he picks you up and sits you on the lower one of his four arms.

"I'm not mad doll, I just wish you would've told me." This is the most gentlest he's ever been. With anyone really. He could never let anyone hurt his perfect angel, not even himself. He gently strokes your hair.

"You wanna try? I'll be gentle." He says as he looks at you with gentle eyes. One of his servants walks in and he screams at them to get the hell out and almost kills them with a flesh wound. You realize how much you mean to him. He definitely loves you but would never verbalize it.

So you trust him dearly if he basically is a completely different version of the King of curses with you. He put you on the bed after you nodded and slid off your panties. "You're so pretty..."

"Thank-"

"I wasn't talking to you."

He points at your pussy and it shines with your juices, and fully shaved it just turns him more on. He takes off his clothes with kisses on your forehead for comfort. He finally took off his boxers and your eyes widened.

"Whats wrong baby?" He questions rubbing his sharp nails up and down your thigh. "You're really big." You say with a slight shake to your voice. "You're only taking one cock don't worry." His cocks are huge and throbbing as they hang from him in between his thighs.

"I'll get you ready first but tell me when to stop get faster or add more fingers. Okay?"

"Okay."

He slowly adds one thick finger and the sting of the stretch hurts a bit but you wrap your arms around his neck with your eyes squeezed shut.

He quickly kisses your temple wrapping his two upper arms around your body and one of the lower one on your hip while the other one slowly thrusts a finger with his other hand.

" Kuna!..." You whine as the pain increases the deeper he thrusts his finger. It was all pain before he found the yummy spongy spot inside you that he began to rub and thrust into.

The pleasure slowly showed up until the pain was fully gone. He held you down and rubbed as you squirmed and whimpered. "Atta girl." He proudly says as he felt his fingers get soaked enough to add another finger in.

He looked at you with gentle eyes asking permission for another finger. He slides his finger and you moan. You were about to cum and then he pulls his fingers out and you pout your eyes glassy.

He grins, he enjoys seeing you fall apart under him. This is the first time he ever saw you like this and it most definitely won't be that last. He gets up from over you and sits down his back against the head board.

His tummy smile grins and sticks its tongue out. He pulls you to sit on his tongue and you shriek as it shoves inside getting you ready for one of his cocks. It slid in perfectly since it was soaked. There was a bit of a stretch but it wasn't too bad. Your sweet spot was getting abused and finally you came.

He sucked on your clit hard, prolonging your orgasm. You hollered and shrieked as you squirted for the first time. Your tears rolled down your face as his actual mouth licked your tears while his stomach kept sucking.

As he finished sucking he did one last lick to your slit and pulled you off his tummy and closed its mouth. He holds you close and gently whispers in your ear. "You ready doll?" He mumbles.

"How much will it hurt?" You question with a worried look in your eyes. "A little bit doll, but i'll take care of you my little brat. I promise."

You nod trusting him fully. He puts you under his body leaving small kisses on your cheek. He pushes your knees to your chest in a mating press. Your nipples perked with arousal.

He slowly pushes his cock in gently and you suck you sharply breath in and grab his shoulders. "S-Sukuna i-it hurts..."

"I know, I know." He gently coos. He massages your thighs. He's never been like this to anyone. He would never even care if it was one of his hookups before he met you.

But now he has his lips pressed to your forehead and he's not even moving his hips and bottomed out waiting for you to say to continue. He feels bad about you being hurt.

He's killed, hurt, and tortured others, but now he's hurting your sweet pussy and he's fucking losing it. "It really hurts..." You mumble.

"I'll make you feel good, just let me, it might hurt a little." You nod with permission and he starts shallow thrusting. He let's out little groans and growls. His sharp teeth shine in the dim light as his jaw clenches and eyes shut tight with pleasure. His lower hands grab your hips and the upper grab your tits tight.

"I-it's starting to feel good." You whine into him as you try to squirm but you're squished in too tight of a mating press and his arms on you don't really help.

"I know it's feeling good, you're doing so, so, good. Such a good girl for me." His thrusts become more reverent your pleasure becoming unimaginable. His balls smack against your clit rubbing it when he rolls your hips making you holler with overstimulation.

"Fuck pretty girl you feel so good." He lets a small whimper as you tighten around him. His face flushes when he makes that noise but it feels too good to care much anyway. "Fuckkkk..." He groans.

"I'm gonna give you a baby. Fuck!" With that he cums inside with some drool rolling down his chin and you moan loud as you cum right after.

He pulls out watching his cum drizzle out. He pushes the cum back in with his fingers making sure he has an heir. Making sure he has a little him and you. Making your first time special in his eyes.

He held you tight with him under you holding you close pulling your pink hello kitty blanket over you kissing your forehead.

"Such a good girl for me." And with that he was vulnerable for the first time in his life.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

@mzmalice3 for you bbg <3

# cw: sukuna x fem!reader, fluff, probably ooc sukuna, almost tooth rotting fluff, if there's any grammar errors pls lmk to correct those

# wc: 234 words

thinking about spending a lazy weekend with sukuna at his chambers, just laid down in his bed with him, tangled legs, scrolling down on your phone while he's reading some book above your head and playing with your hair, removing his hand from it just to change the page and put them back to work.

the sun is shining through the window, making his room just warm enough to make you feel sleepy and cozy.

it's about time when sukuna hear a light snoring coming from below his chin, the rise and fall of your back, your calm heartbeat beating into your ribcage and reverberating through his chest, syncing his own heart with yours. looking down just to find your fast asleep, your phone still in your hand and long forgotten. he pauses for a couple of minutes to just admire your peaceful state, so soft, cozy, it's really hard to not feel sleepy too.

closing the book, taking your phone and putting it on the nightstand, he adjust himself in your embrace, scenting your perfume from your neck, finding comfort in there. the sun is glistening through both bodies laid down next to each other, such a beautiful scene just like one of the rom-com movies you made him watch.

and whispering an "i love you" that he, in this exact moment, realises he was deeply and utterly in love with you.

mlist

jealous, jealous, jealous boy! ft. best friend!Sukuna

a/n: mini little prequel/bonus backstory to baby daddy!Sukuna

best friend!Sukuna who is very much not in love with you, his once shy study partner turned well, as close as he could get to word friend over the past few years of boring subjects and complicated coursework

library visits and late nights where he ended up back in your dorm, crashing in your cramped bed before you'd drag him out for coffee in the mornings

you were just, uh, a really good friend

best friend!Sukuna who might wake up in your sheets and use up half your shampoo, still has never once cared about walking you to class

well, until today

best friend!Sukuna who thinks you're an idiot, no, he knows it when you enter with an even bigger one by your side, as if that stuck-up prick was carrying your books for anything other than the excuse to worm his way into your life panties

(but maybe Sukuna's the biggest one of all for ever allowing enough space for him to exist between you)

best friend!Sukuna who trips Gojo when he goes to walk past him, just to send that asshole into your arms when you happen to turn around, his hands snagging your waist and his face buried into your chest - like he could make his intentions any more obvious

best friend!Sukuna who still feigns innocence when you throw him a silent glare as you help your new pal stand up, cheeks flushed as you grab the sleeve of his shirt and drag him to seats in the other side of the classroom despite the seat Sukuna had clearly been saving for you

whatever, it was just one class

right?

best friend!Sukuna who somehow ends up stuck listening to Gojo bragging about your tits a few hours later in the locker room, one row over while the white-haired prick runs his mouth about you inviting him to study in your dorm after hockey practice tonight

jealousy was for losers

this burning feeling, coiling and tangling tighter in his gut with each cocky word that echoed back in his brain?

pure indignation

best friend!Sukuna who takes his anger out on the ice, but instead of slamming the puck into the goal, he's slamming his elbow into that asshole's eye, not particularly giving a shit how long he gets benched as long as Gojo was left with something black and blue to show for it

satisfaction sticking to him and repelling every reprimand and shout from his coach about injuring their star player days before their next game, forced to stay an extra half-hour while the rest of the team returned to the locker room to leave before him

best friend!Sukuna whose brain is still on you in the shower, scrubbing the sweat off his skin and wondering what the fuck you could see in someone like Gojo that was better than him

so why not just ask?

best friend!Sukuna who shows up at your door before even dropping his stuff back at his own dorm, impatiently knocking when you don't answer any of his texts to let him in

best friend!Sukuna who hears it then

the familiar chuckle cutting through the cheap wood separating you, your hushed giggle before the quiet footsteps approaching

best friend!Sukuna who doesn't want to notice your tousled hair or the wrinkles in your shirt, doesn't want to pick up on how you barely peek through the crack at first, keeping the door mostly shut to shield what's inside

but he does

and you see it too

best friend!Sukuna who can't hide the cutting edge to his question of what or who you were doing, the uncomfortable confrontation of being forced to face feelings floating to the surface despite his best attempts to drown them

and you're just staring back at him with an alarmingly cute crease between your brows, lips pushed together before they finally part to ask him something he wasn't ready to hear - was there a reason you shouldn't be with him?

he knew what it was

a challenge or a confession or something in-between

but before he could answer, before he could say something stupid and sappy like yes, you should obviously be with me, a pale hand was on your shoulders squeezing it as his new least favorite person with a fresh black eye stepped behind you to interrupt

best friend!Sukuna who will get you back - sooner or later

divider by @v6que !!

AMAZING FANART FOR THIS HERE !!

“you don’t believe that sex is the most intimate thing that two can do together?” you repeat sukuna’s previous words with a raised eyebrow, skepticism lacing every word you spoke.

“i had concubines before i was devoted to you. do you really think i see intercourse as something significant?” he doesn’t even spare you a glance, all four of his eyes focused on carefully peeling the fruits resting in the bowl in front of him (mangoes, to be specific. a special order he put in with uraume for you). your eyes narrow at his words.

“so you don’t see intercourse with me as something significant?” that earns you a roll of his eyes.

“i don’t recall those words leaving my lips, woman.” he glances at you with a bored look, already much too used to your antics and the nonsensical conclusions you often pulled from his words (“it’s called reading in between the lines, ryo.” you had insisted. he chose not to debate you on it).

he sighs when you go silent, seemingly waiting for an explanation from him that would fix the small pout gracing your lips. he would’ve let you sulk if you were anybody else, but you weren’t.

“i realize the significance humans place on it now that i am yours, but i partook in the act purely for pleasure before you. it was simply to fulfill my fleshly desires.” he doesn’t need to look at you to know that the frown on your face still hasn’t faltered. in fact, the displeased look on your face probably only deepened upon the mention of him being intimate with other women.

“human customs are foolish, that will never change.” his hand lifts to your lips, a cube of mango held delicately between his fingers. he continues speaking only after feeding you the fruit.

“but if my stubborn little wife sees it as something of importance, then it shall be so.” he says the last part with a sense of finality, as if it was a part of his life that he accepted a long, long time ago.

you contemplate his words for a moment, your posture easing against the lavish pillows of your shared bed. you stall on swallowing the piece of fruit on your tongue, considering a question in that ever curious mind of yours.

“what’s significant to you, ryo?”

he pauses for a brief moment but doesn’t answer, simply bringing another piece of fruit up to your lips (whether the action was out of care or to keep your mouth occupied was unclear).

his lack of an answer was as good of an answer as any, though.

this was significant to him. the way he cut and fed you soft fruit with hands that had slaughtered armies, handling you as if you were made of fine china. never yelling, never arguing.

the king of curses devoted himself to you because deep in his heart he acknowledged his subservience to you.

that is what’s significant to him.

soft!sukuna who holds you after his fight with gojo and rocks you back and forth while you cry, muttering small "i love you"s and "im here"s.

he gently brushes your hair with his hand and presses a kiss to your earlobe. his eyes closed as he continued to embrace your shaking figure.

he hugs you tighter as you sniffle and whisper a small "thought i was g'nna lose y'..." into his shoulder. "but you didnt loose me. as long as your here waiting for me, ill always win."

soft!sukuna who stays with you, even as you calmed down. he carefully pushes you back against the bed and lets you cuddle up to him. his hand finds one of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours and smiling at you.

his heart thumps in his chest as he sees you smile back at him, nuzzling your foreheads together. he pulls you closer as your eyes shut and kisses your forehead while saying good night to you.

soft!sukuna who watches as you succumb to sleep and decides he'll never leave your side again.

~

masterlist

~

created by sunnywrotethis☆

2025

do not repost without permission, reblogs are okay

JJK/Jujutsu Kaisen

Gojo Satoru

Geto Suguru

Ryomen Sukuna

Zenin Toji

Nanami Kento

One Shot

No one else But you - [Nanami Kento x Reader September One-Shot Genre: AU, Romance, Angst, Fluff]

Status: The request box is open only for the monthly one-shot voting if the characters are chosen.

Boyfie Sukuna in your bed in the morning

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Lots of fluff. 300 words. Minors don't interact. Divider by @/ioveartfilm

You wake up to the sound of loud purring, and when you turn around, you see your cat cuddling with your boyfriend Sukuna.

Sukuna's lying on his side, shirtless and still asleep. The blanket is pushed down to his hips, revealing his muscular arms and defined abs. And your cat has gotten comfy in those strong tattooed arms and is snuggling happily against Sukuna's naked chest.

You smile and quickly grab your phone from your nightstand to snap a picture. You love seeing Sukuna like this. Those secret moments in your bed where he is all unguarded and soft. Butterflies flutter in your stomach when he begins to stir and slowly opens his eyes, his gaze instantly finding you.

You smile fondly at him and whisper,

"Hey, baby."

Sukuna's voice sounds even lower than usual when he answers you, a bit raspy from sleep. Sexy and cute at the same time.

"Hmm, princess. What are you doing?"

Your smile grows and you snap another picture.

"I need a new lock screen, so smile for the camera, ok baby?"

Sukuna huffs softly, but his catlike eyes are warm when he looks directly into your camera. His large hand carefully cups your cat's small head, scratching behind her ears as her purring grows even louder.

A lazy, sleepy smile spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face, and your heart flutters. He looks so beautiful with that soft, sleepy smile, his beautiful maroon eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep and his pastel pink hair ruffled.

This is a version of Sukuna that only you get to see. The bad boy all soft and cute in your bed. Domesticated, just like the cat purring in his arms.

I NEED HIM! :(( Soft Sukuna in the morning makes me so weak!! Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed your morning with Kuna, too ;)

Reblogs and comments would be very sweet 💗

Your Violence Reminded Me of Home :

They send you in after the damage is already done.

You’re not a hero. You’re what comes after.

The body bag. The Suture. The ghost that cleans up after gods.

You were trained to fix what can’t be fixed.

To close wounds that were never meant to be opened.

To make dying quieter.

And that’s when he noticed you.

Not because you were brave.

Not because you were powerful.

But because you never flinched.

Even when he stood over you, soaked in someone else’s blood, smiling like he was born to ruin.

You didn’t look away.

That’s what got under his skin.

That’s what kept him coming back.

-----

You didn’t speak to him with reverence. You spoke to him like someone who'd seen too much to be impressed anymore.

“Move,” you said once, knee-deep in what used to be someone’s liver. “Unless you’re going to help.”

He tilted his head like a dog hearing thunder.

“You’re awfully calm for someone standing in a massacre.”

“It’s Tuesday,” you said.

-----

You were the kind of person the world forgets until it needs you.

Invisible until someone starts bleeding.

And maybe that’s what made him stay.

You never looked at him like he was legend or apocalypse. You looked at him like he was inconvenient.

That kind of irreverence should have made him crush you.

Instead, he lingered.

-----

The first time he watched you lose someone, you didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t pray.

You just pressed your hand to the boy’s cooling chest and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Not to the gods.

To him.

He saw the way your shoulders locked, the way you didn’t breathe for a full minute. Like maybe if you didn’t move, you wouldn’t feel it.

You didn’t notice him watching.

He didn’t speak.

But later, you found the curse responsible strung from a tree, head twisted the wrong way.

It had taken you three hours to get there. Sukuna must’ve gotten there in two.

-----

You weren’t kind to him. That’s not what this is.

You were honest.

He once asked, casually, why you didn’t run like the others.

“Because I’ve spent my whole life cleaning up after men who think violence is the only language worth speaking.”

“You think I’m just another man?” he said, voice sharp.

“No,” you replied. “I think you used to be.”

-----

And that haunted him.

Because he’d burned down whole cities just to forget that—

-----

The first time he touched you, you were bandaging his side. A jagged gash from something that didn’t know better.

You didn’t ask why he didn’t heal it himself.

He didn’t ask why your hands shook a little.

But when your knuckles brushed his ribs, he stilled.

Not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

And that scared him more.

You didn’t make him human.

You reminded him he still was.

That was worse.

-----

He started showing up more. Missions you weren’t supposed to survive. Places no one should be. You’d find him in the aftermath, leaning against rubble, watching you with that same expressionless violence in his gaze.

Sometimes he asked questions.

“Do you believe in saving people?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why still try?”

“Because someone has to.”

“You always do things that don’t work?”

“I stayed talking to you, didn’t I?”

He laughed. It sounded like breaking glass.

-----

It was never romantic.

But God, it was intimate.

The kind of intimacy that doesn’t look like love.

It looks like two people who can’t lie to each other anymore.

-----

You started dreaming about him.

Not in soft ways.

In recognition ways.

His voice in the dark. His blood on your hands.

Your name in his mouth like a secret he hates knowing.

It wasn’t love.

It was something older.

Like grief. Like guilt. Like home.

-----

One night, you asked him something you’d never dared to ask anyone.

“Do you think people like us get better?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

“No,” he said eventually. “But sometimes we get understood.”

You nodded.

You didn’t speak again for hours.

He didn’t leave.

-----

You told yourself it wasn’t connection. Just mutual ruin. Two broken things orbiting the same grave.

But then you got hurt. Badly.

And he lost his mind.

Not loudly. Not with roars.

Just with silence.

The kind that feels like a closing door—

When you woke up in a makeshift shelter, your wounds stitched with unnatural precision, he was already gone.

But outside the door, you saw what he left:

A trail of bodies. Eyes gouged. Faces melted. Blood spelling out a name.

Yours.

-----

You didn’t thank him.

You never did.

But the next time he appeared beside you, you didn’t ask why.

You just said, “You’re late.”

And he replied, “You’re alive.”

-----

You don’t belong together. You know this. You knew it from the start.

He is the myth that devours the world.

And you? You’re the woman who keeps trying to tape it back together.

But sometimes he sits close enough for your knees to touch, and doesn’t flinch.

Sometimes you reach for the same gauze at the same time, and your fingers linger.

Sometimes, you both exist in the same silence.

And it feels like the closest either of you has ever come to peace.

-----

He once told you that your eyes made him feel guilty.

You said, “Good.”

-----

You never tell him you love him.

But once, while half-conscious, he whispered:

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever seen that wasn’t ugly.”

You never bring it up again.

But you remember.

-----

You won’t survive this.

He might.

But not you.

And he knows it.

And that’s the tragedy.

Because for the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to win.

He wants to keep.

And the world doesn’t let men like him keep people like you.

---

But for now—

You sit in the rubble.

He watches you patch another dying sorcerer together with trembling hands and exhausted breath.

And he thinks:

Your violence reminded me of home.

But your silence reminded me of being known.

And he hates you for it.

And he keeps coming back anyway.

-----

Ryomen Sukuna || Jujutsu Kaisen ||💀

like or reblog if you save ♥︎

𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃, 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ‧

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. fem!Reader, bastard!Sukuna, historial AU - regency era, somewhat enemies to lovers, banter, ballroom dancing, eventual smut [MDNI], table séx, exhibitiönism, semi-public séx, nīpple play, fīngering, loss of vīrginity, jealousy, carriage séx, riding, pörn w/ plot

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. nearly 16k (yikes)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. sighhhhhh, this took way too long, but im a nerd for jane austen novels and the regency period, so im going to make you a nerd for it, too. available on ao3

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” — Pride & Prejudice

Whether you liked it or not—or, well, that didn’t matter, really; you had no choice—you had connections. Plenty of them. 

You were the firstborn and only child to a renowned lawyer and his wife—whom you called your parents. Your birth was one of necessity, not out of love and want. Most of your mother and father’s siblings constantly pressured them into conceiving—in order to extend the bloodline, they explained—and so they were coerced into a sense of rushing and urgency. This, however, didn’t diminish any of their affection towards you; you were, after all, their only child, their eldest child, and their most beloved child.

“Wealthy” was quite the understatement when it came to describing your family tree. You were rich in prosperity and success, physically and mentally. Your parents cherished you as their only offspring, gave you only the finest governess, and treated you as more of an equal than a baby. That proved not a problem—seeing as how vast your then and current knowledge was compared to those of average salary.

Being an only child may have been quite out of the ordinary in the present times, but the number of relatives you had was abundant enough that you often felt it was really the opposite.

Your grandparents seemed to have a lot of fun back then, because, each of your parents had at least five siblings, which resulted in a little more than ten aunts and uncles when grouped together. This was, however, not as jolly as it may seem. Your aunts and uncles were all old, had even more children than your grandparents, and loved, loved, loved, critiquing others. They tipped their hats at you when greeting, kissed your cheeks and the backs of your hands, but, regardless, they never failed to mention at least one of your faults and flaws.

In addition to this, you had cousins galore. On your mother’s side was a bit fewer than thirty, while your father’s side consisted of two and twenty. It may be a given, it may be not, but you weren’t as close with your cousins as most would normally be. Sending and receiving letters was seldom exchanged, and meeting at balls and dinners was probably the only times you ever conversed with a cousin or two. Well, except for Charlotte and Helena.

Where could you even begin when describing those two? you often laughed.

They were twins, and would look exactly the same if it wasn’t for the fact that Charlotte had blonde curls that she frequently let down, while Helena often wore a brunette updo atop her head. Since birth, they had been inseparable, and most people usually referred to them as a pair, saying things such as Where are the girls? or Are the girls attending? It was great, really. In truth—concise, and full truth—you loved the girls just as if they were your own sisters; and, sometimes it seemed that way.

You three always read together when the men went shooting birds, gossiped about the townspeople, and often matched your dresses, ribbons, and gloves to each other at balls and other gatherings of the like. Maybe it was due to your compatibility, but if you had to call anyone your best friend, it would have to be the girls.

They were both two years your juniors, but it was a commonly known fact that Charlotte was as intelligent as someone ten years your senior. She pored over literature all day, bent over desks examining records, and was always the one to come to when in need of rational advice. Helena, on the other hand, was a bright girl, but she certainly wasn’t a scholar; her strong suit was her humor and charm. She made acquaintances like no other, and had an almost endless amount of suitors and beaus asking for her hand. 

But, if that wasn’t the case, she would definitely still have an equal amount of friends. Maybe even the whole population of Wadsworth, if Helena wanted. But, really, that would not be much wanted.

The men and women of Wadsworth were numerous, but they were all prickly in their own ways. You often liked to joke that the countryside of Wadsworth was really just one big rose bush; most people were thorns in the sides, while, if you looked deep, there were plenty of roses, as well. Now, you didn’t hate attending balls, per se, but, the main reason keeping you away was that the men knew not how to dance at all, tripped over others’ feet and shoes, and their vocabulary—oh, lord, their vocabulary. It would be much pleasanter if you didn’t even begin on that topic.

Wadsworth was not small—big enough to fit everyone without being too congested—and it laid up north, where the weather was nice all of twelve-month. The grass was always green, and healthy, and the hefty trees provided shade that was more than needed. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and if it wasn’t the people that lured in tourists, it would have to be the scenery and landscaping.

Aside from the actual land, the properties, the estates, and the manors were all also a sight to behold. Wealthy were your neighbors, and your aunts, and your uncles, and the other ladies and the other sirs. Abodes were more grand than not—all at least two stories—had beautiful shrubbery and quite talented gardeners, large windows, and ornate carriages.

The people who filled these properties all had a profuse liking to dancing, and balls were held most frequently. Sometimes at Stratford House—where the girls resided, sometimes at Grantley Hall—the home of another aunt you had, and sometimes somewhere else. You, however, resided in Blackwood Park with your mother and father. It was a luxurious abode; your governess was as knowledgeable as can be, and the staff were all as kind-hearted as to be expected. You had bookshelves all to yourself, and read to your heart’s content whenever you felt the need to decline an invitation to a social gathering.

Prosperous—was your life.

In the middle of drinking tea—another activity you took up with your cousins—a commotion started up in the streets outside. 

All ladies of the town were absolutely, or, at least, nearly under a spell, as they all scrambled to their windows at the sound of hooves and neighing; they went to great lengths such as even peeking behind shutters and curtains, just to attempt even merely a glimpse at the two wealthy—and, if you did say yourself, dashingly dressed—gentlemen that had arrived on their grand steeds; of all their grandeur were individual breeds of andalusian and shire. 

It was, without a doubt, quite the sight to behold on a previously seemingly ordinary Tuesday morning. And, you weren’t at all surprised at the idea of any of your family screaming at the chance of possible suitors for either you or their children.

“Oh my!” gasped Helena, as she set down her tea cup, and hurried to look through the windows of Blackwood. “Pray, do you think the gentlemen are married?”

“I would think so,” sighed Charlotte; “any person who looks like that ought to have ladies lining up at his door, wouldn’t you agree it is so?” 

The blonde turned to you with an expectant look on her face, and you hesitated for an answer. “If they are as handsome as they are dressed, then, maybe. I have not a good look at their faces from this angle.”

“Oh, dear cousin!” cried the girls simultaneously. They were—if you could even call it that way—heavily dejected at the sound of your declaration. It was rational, though, and that’s why they were so clearly affected; if the men were both handsome and wealthy, it was highly plausible that they were with wives, and any possibility of either of the girls being able to flirt with the gentlemen was thus thrown out of the window.

Laughing, you tried your best to console the girls, and patted each of them on the head, before making your way towards the nearest window. This change gave you a way better opportunity to see the men than you had previously thought. Yes, there were two of them, and yes, they were both as handsome as they were dressed—though you would never admit such a thing aloud.

Because they were both on their horses, you could not see who was taller, but you knew that the distinction between them both was crystal clear; their heads were both full of unnaturally colored hair.

There was one gentleman with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the vast sea; he wore expensive, lavish clothing, and held himself up with confident poise—much like a prince would. The other gentleman had pink, rosy hair, that was of a ruly style—maybe it was unbrushed, you thought. But the first thing you noticed about him was the evident scowl on his face; he looked like the embodiment of a thunderstorm. Beautiful, but formidable.

Subconsciously, throughout your admiring of the wealthy men, you had been pushing the curtains back inch by inch, until, the white-haired man had seemingly taken notice of your observing, and looked up at your figure with an amused expression, before turning to his friend and pointing at you. With a surprised squeak, you pulled back the curtains and hid yourself before the gentlemen could get another look at you (or so you hoped).

“Why on earth did you close the curtains?” the girls cried, again, after noticing—through their misery—that the sight of the men was gone. “Just because they may be possibly married does not mean we cannot admire them all the same.”

“You think so?” you laughed.

“Well, certainly!” nodded Helena, profusely. “We could always just stand in corners of rooms, silently admiring their countenances. Aren’t I correct, sister?”

Charlotte turned to you with an optimistic smile. “Why, yes, you are! You must know, cousin, we are perfectly capable of keeping our mouths shut of flirtatious compliments when we are near married men. You must know.”

“What a nice thing to know, Lottie. But, we have yet to confirm whether the gentlemen are married or not—”

“Oh! bless me! I truly must’ve forgotten that part,” Helena said, as she squealed and kicked her legs back and forth. She was over the moon at hearing the—still unconfirmed—possibility that the men might be single. “Charlotte, sister, can you believe it? Either one or the both of us may be married by next spring!”

“Oh, cousin,” cried Charlotte, as she took your hands into her own, “this is such a wonderful Tuesday morning—”

In the middle of her exclamations of joy, Charlotte was interrupted by the calling of your maid-servant, who announced there was company at the door. Now, you were just seconds away from being informed of who it was, but the girls just couldn’t contain their anticipation, and before your maid-servant could get but another word out, the twins were flying down the stairs with high and hopeful spirits—the tea party completely forgotten.

“Who, in heaven’s name, could it be?” wondered Helena, as she took you by the arm and dragged the both of you downstairs.

“It must, indubitably, be the fine gentlemen,” declared Charlotte. “How could it not?”

But, upon opening the doors, it was indubitably not the fine gentlemen.

Your aunt—Lady Annesley; not to be mistaken as the mother of the girls—was standing outside Blackwood Park. She was widowed six or seven years ago, you couldn’t exactly recall the date; and she resided in a quite grand abode, called the Grantley Hall. She appeared with an anxious look on her face; but after seeing you open the doors, she hurried herself inside with a jolly, merry laugh.

“Oh, girls! All three of you! I have such wonderful news, such wonderful news, indeed.” She kissed each and every one of you on the cheek, and gathered you all into a tight hug; because she was a touchy person like that, but also because she had not seen one of your faces since her temporary departure to Brighton.

“Oh, Lady Annesley!” exclaimed Helena. “Do tell us about your vacation and trip. Did you see any officers and soldiers there?”

“How about the views? Were the waters and beaches pristine?” Charlotte chipped in.

“Oh, yes!” Lady Annesley simultaneously laughed and nodded like a mad woman. “Yes, yes, yes! My word, it was absolutely lovely, and the weather was just extraordinary; I shall certainly take you all there one day, but . . . that is not important in the present time. You know, Helena, I did make some rather pleasant acquaintances with some Admirals and Lieutenants while at the seashore, and I’ve come with some extra company.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “Are you to remarry?”

Gasps erupted from the lady and the blonde.

“Nonsense. Why, in heaven’s name, would I do that? No, no, the company is not that. You see, girls, the soldiers and officers that I had such a miraculous opportunity to befriend in Brighton have come back with me. Their military regiment is temporarily stationed here in Wadsworth! Can you believe that? When I was informed by Admiral Dawson, I was rendered speechless for a few minutes, you must know. But, ah, that is long forgotten now.

“There must be a ball hosted soon. It shall be at Grantley, I suppose, but a few arrangements will have to be taken care of before then.” Lady Annesley began to quietly murmur to herself afterwards, droning on about plans required to host a proper ball for so many residents of Wadsworth in addition to the many officers and soldiers.

The girls turned to face you with ecstatic expressions as your aunt fell into a subconscious silence.

“Isn’t this just a wonderful Tuesday morning?” asked Helena. “So many possibly unmarried men to gawk at and admire. How do you reckon, cousin, do you think men hardened by weather and work will be more handsome than gentlemen? I am quite curious, I must say.”

Charlotte answered for you. “I’m not even sure we would know. Here in Wadsworth, we’ve never seen any men of rank and occupation as of theirs, have we?”

The three of you shook your heads, shrugged, and wondered—any thought of the wealthy gentlemen was gone, and forgotten about, as Helena walked off to prepare a dress and fan for the ball, Charlotte stayed behind with Lady Annesley to speak about the scenery during her vacation, and you strode off to drink from your previously abandoned tea cup and continue eating the little French biscuits that the girls had brought along.

It was a pleasantly spent Tuesday morning, indeed. However, not much of the same could be said about the next.

You had not been an hour awake until your cousins had barged into your bedroom, and squealed and giggled as they jumped and danced around your room, exclaiming words and nonsense that your morning fog prevented understanding of.

“Oh, cousin! Do you not know? Today will perhaps be the most amazing night of our lives! Just picture it,” Helena began, pulling you out of bed and forcing you to dance with her, “a whole regiment of soldiers and officers will soon be filling Grantley Hall. The chances of any one of us being able to dance with them is highly likely, is it not? Oh! this is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”

“Helena, just—just wait a minute,” you said, pausing before Helena could waltz with you any more, “I have not even gotten dressed for breakfast. And the ball isn’t until evening. What are you and Charlotte so excited for? Many hours to come before the ‘most amazing night’ of our lives, you know.”

“Sister,” sighed Helena, as she turned to Charlotte, “you must certainly explain to our dearest cousin.”

Charlotte nodded. “Many hours to come are many hours to prepare. We must prepare our gowns, fans, bonnets, gloves. And, Helena, before I forget, what are we here for in the first place? to practice dancing, of course. Cousin, I’ll have you know, there is absolutely no chance I am letting you stay huddled at the pianoforte the whole night.

“Although your playing is much beloved, and appreciated, I am almost certain there will be others providing their services at the instrument. Whether you like it or not, I am forcing you to dance. If you do not waltz with any men, you will waltz with me or Helena or Lady Annesley.

“At your age of six and twenty, people worry you will end up celibate, you know.”

You hid a faint smile behind your hand. “Is this your way of looking out for me, then?”

The girls laughed, full of cheer.

Fortunately for the twins—who did not leave your side once throughout—both the morning and the afternoon had passed by with a considerable amount of speed. You three had acquired sufficient gowns for the coming evening, and had spent some time finishing up hair and obtaining jewelry and other essential cosmetics.

It had taken the strength and power of both the girls—with the additional help of Lady Annesley—to be able to force you out the doors of Blackwood Park, and consequently, shove you into the carriage parked outside. 

In all honesty, you weren’t in the particular mood to go to a ball, but when your aunt has her mind set on making acquaintances, she will not let go. She often said, Oh, dear niece, think of the men you can meet! or, So many handsome men of great fortunes, or, Rough, calloused, tall; is there anything better? and other similar sayings. It certainly did not help, at all, that Charlotte and Helena only encouraged your aunt.

A husband was never one of your top priorities; dying a single woman was not as unfortunate for you as it would be for other women. You had money, you had wealth, you had prosperity. Some people wed simply for gaining rank and title, carriages and clothes, and estates and property. But you had absolutely no need for any of that. And that’s why, as you walked into Grantley Hall—after what was perhaps the longest, most boring carriage ride of your life—you did not look to see who was handsome, or agreeable, or most rich. 

Instead, you looked for a chance to sit down, or, even, scurry away—from your companions, before they could force you to converse with some puny men, or rekindle your relationships with your many, many aunts and uncles.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help your eye wandering about the property; and only then, did you notice just how many new people were in Wadsworth at this time of year. Just as your aunt had said; there were officers, soldiers, other members of militia, captains, and men of ranks you could not and did not care to recognize.

Although you weren’t as crazy as Helena and Charlotte—whom you assumed were probably in some corner, certainly already flirting with the single men they managed to find, and blushing and obsessing as wildly as lunatics—you also weren’t as prejudiced to say everyone was of absolutely terrible breeding. You saw some handsome faces, you saw some . . . not handsome faces, but, even with all this, you weren’t intrigued. No, not even in the slightest bit.

In an act of rebellion against your “kidnappers,” you were en route to the pianoforte, when you heard a voice call for you, and saw a figure stop in the middle of your way.

“Good evening, miss,” came the call—from an officer, you assumed. “Pardon my intrusion, for I am simply tempted to make an acquaintance with someone of such great countenance as yours. I almost mistook you for a princess, you know.”

He was tall, had long legs, and a fit figure. His hair was dark, and so were his eyes, which were sharp, and stared back at you with emotion you could not read. Of all men you had noticed, he was, as of late, the most handsome, and by far.

A hand was given; a kiss was placed on the back of the palm; and names were exchanged. You referred to him as Mr. Wright, and, after a few minutes spent in conversation, you deemed him a quite agreeable man, whose good breeding had gone not only into physical appearance, but also into his heart. Mr. Adam Wright had opinions similar to your own, was interested in writings you read, and preferred the entertainment of pianoforte, which you played quite often.

“How have you been liking Wadsworth, sir?” you asked, as the two of you began to make your ways to the instrument in the corner of the hall; Wright had requested to hear you play.

“Very much. Very much so, indeed. It is even more lovely than your aunt (remind me her name again, was it Lady Anne?) had previously said. I’m quite fond of the scenery, actually.”

“Oh, are you? You know, there are many paths to walk where you’ll be able to see breathtaking views, I must say. But, if you dislike walking, it’s safe to say that passing by the gardens and shrubbery of most homes is quite adequate enough.”

“No, no, there will be no need,” Wright said, shaking his head. “I find walking very enjoyable.”

You laughed. “What a coincidence; so do I!”

It was, about a second’s distance away, just before you were beginning to seat yourself at the pianoforte, that you felt another presence behind you. Thinking it was just a friend of Mr. Wright that was only planning on making conversation, you turned around with a smile already on your face, but you were met with the sight of none other than your aunt, Lady Annesley, who appeared buzzy, and a bit gone. Had people already begun to drink? you wondered.

“Dearest niece,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder, “there are two very fine gentlemen I would like for you to meet. Come along now, child,” your aunt beckoned, but as she noticed the man standing to your right, she paused for a minute, laughed, and then continued, “you do not mind, sir? if I steal my niece away for just a moment? I assure you, there are many nice ladies in here that you can help yourself to.”

Lady Annesley waited not even a second to hear Mr. Wright’s response before she dragged you away to another part of Grantley Hall. You occasionally stumbled over your shoes due to your aunt’s unbalanced speed, and watched as the faces around you came and went in a blur whilst you traveled. Obviously, you knew prior, but you only fully realized how many people were in attendance when you caught the eyes of an old teacher—who, to be completely honest, you had not seen since last  Michaelmas.

“Right this way, my dear,” your aunt said, in a sing-song tone. “I am very eager, you know, for my darling niece to make such very acceptable acquaintances tonight. Not a chance nor a second shall be missed, and, if the gentlemen have not left and juked me, they should still be right . . . here.”

Lady Annesley had stopped so abruptly in her tracks at a corner of the room that you nearly collided with her back, but, fortunately, you did not. Your eyes lifted, and met the view of two very dashingly dressed gentlemen. Brothers, you assumed, who both had equally pink hair, and wore a pair of nearly complete opposite expressions on their faces.

The taller one—who you thought was the brother—had a fine countenance, a very fine countenance, indeed. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and truly brought out the essence of his character. He had sharp features, similarly to Mr. Adam Wright; his eyes were red as the rubies on his brooch, and he looked like the epitome of wealthy and expensive and elegant. His posture was composed, confident, and totally sure of himself; his hands were folded behind his back, and his eyebrows had a slight quirk in them as he, too, looked you over as you approached.

Your eyes then wandered over to the shorter brother, who stood to the right of the taller one. His face was a near replica of the prior, but his features were softened down, a little more dull, if you could even put it that way, and his smile was perhaps the most prominent feature on his face. The youthful countenance of his was on display, and you had no doubt that either Charlotte or Helena had already set their eyes on him. On the other hand, he looked young, very young—younger than you, perchance; an air of innocence was about his figure, and his eyes shone bright as day.

Sunshine, and thunder.

Oh! that is right; you knew these men, or, at least, you knew the taller one.

A corner of your lips tugged upwards as you made the remembrance. This—this man, this great, wealthy man; you had seen him last week! Certainly! He was one of the two gentlemen who rode on their steeds into town, and as of late, you had received no additional information about them except for the fact that they were of extraordinarily good breeding and admirable poise.

Your hand was offered, received and accepted, and was kissed in greeting. Introductions were quickly exchanged, and you happened to learn that the taller gentleman was called Sukuna Ryomen, whilst his (confirmed to be) brother was named Yuuji. To your great surprise, and due to your aunt’s nosiness, you found that the both of them were unmarried, single, and unengaged.

Originally, you had hoped that that would be the end of it, and your aunt would let you be. But, of course, the universe was not on your side this evening, and you were without the ability to leave and peacefully sit at your beloved pianoforte. Instead, you stood, in a corner of Grantley Hall—under numerous chandeliers—as you were forced to exert yourself for the sake of ‘acquainting’ your being with the two brothers, who, too, looked a bit unsettled by your aunt’s coercing to continue conversation.

“Pray,” you began, “is your current companion the same gentleman from when you first arrived?”

“My brother has hair similar to what is on my own head; my previous companion—a friend—has hair white as snow,” stated Mr. Ryomen, his tone declarative. “Have you no eyes, miss? I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

You could, obviously, make out that Yuuji was, in fact, not the same man from when Mr. Ryomen first arrived at the countryside; but, you were just simply making small talk. Was the country where the brothers came from so unaccustomed to that? you wondered.

“Have you no sociability, sir? I was not informed prior that simply making small conversation was so . . . unwanted by men like you.”

“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning for this lack of cordiality, I dare ask? Bless me!” exclaimed your aunt, a look of astonishment on her face as she scolded the three of you. “We are all here to make acquaintances, are we not? Let’s shift to another topic. Pray tell, you are here for . . . ?”

“Vacation, miss,” the younger brother smiled. “We have some friends and family living in Wadsworth, but aside from that, Sukuna is also a landowner here—in addition to his other estates (he likes a change of scenery, every once in a while, I must add). I’ve heard how nice the weather is, and decided to visit, as well.”

“Oh, yes! Most certainly!” nodded Lady Annesley. “Wadsworth is a very common tourist countryside, you must know.”

“Is it?” asked the elder brother.

“Have you no ears, sir? That is what was just said; I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

“My, is that how the ladies around here speak?” quipped Sukuna, his voice velvety, and dripping with honey as he spoke. “—To gentlemen, as well? I may have overestimated your hospitality to newcomers, or, well, vacationers.”

“Excuse her,” your aunt interjected, nervously laughing, “she’s. . . She caught a cold from the recent rain, I’m afraid. Yes, of course, the rain. Isn’t that right?” Lady Annesley nudged you by the elbow. “It’s the rain, isn’t it?”

“. . .Indeed.”

Though your aunt occasionally gave you rebuking looks for your behavior, you had paid no effort in pretending to be engaged in conversation with the brothers. She had, with all her might, tried to erect as many topics and subjects worth speaking of as possible, but to no avail. Her spirits were deflated, and Lady Annesley had concluded that if you were going to marry one day, the chances of it being with Mr. Sukuna Ryomen were close to zero.

You two sent jeering comments and jokes towards each other as if your lives depended on it, and, in truth, you couldn’t count on either of your hands how many times you rolled your eyes. You found Mr. Ryomen to be a highly disagreeable man, and, if it weren’t for his indubitably large fortune and handsome countenance, you would probably call your aunt deranged for even suggesting you mingle with him. Yuuji, his brother, on the other hand, was much agreeable, and his views and prejudices were very reasonable. Of course, the same could not be said about Sukuna.

His interests were in going a-shooting, riding on his stallions, or taking vacations to his various abodes. Yes, he had multiple, and he had no humility to hide that fact; Sukuna’s pride would take up the whole of Wadsworth and more, if it had a physical form. Of course, he had reason to be full of pride: born rich, and would, eventually, die rich. Still, does it hurt so bad to be humble? You didn’t waste your breath asking that question; you knew, after all, that Sukuna had no experience in that department.

“Are you staying long—in Wadsworth?” you asked, looking only at the younger brother. Ignorance was a petty way of spiting someone, you had to admit, but it was childish, and Sukuna was as childish as a child could possibly be.

“Ah, that is the hope,” smiled Yuuji. “I may think of purchasing land here, you know.”

“Isn’t that just wonderful to hear? I would be delighted to have someone as agreeable as you for a neighbor,” you said. “Pray, does your brother live anywhere near Blackwood Park? I heard you mention him having property here, in Wadsworth.”

“I live five miles away from Blackwood,” Sukuna answered, instead, for Yuuji.

Your eyes shifted to meet red ones, and you moved your weight onto a different leg, whilst fanning yourself with your fan. “I do not recall asking you, sir.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Is it not sensible to answer on my own behalf?”

“Perhaps so. But, I find that nothing you do is sensible,” you laughed. “So, either way, there is really no difference.”

It would be a highly plausible assumption to make by saying that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna was pampered to no end as a child, and never denied any fundamentals or trivials. If that was truly the case, then, you could have sworn you saw an unrecognizable glint flash in his ruby eyes at the sound of your constant discourtesy. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had, in fact, been coddled as much as you had assumed. And, just hearing his name being so mercilessly abused was already enough to intrigue him. There was, in a sense, something so alluring and bewitching about your recklessness in conversation, that Sukuna couldn’t help but long for more of the hearing your insults.

Lady Annesley, on the other hand, was extremely disappointed at your behavior, and couldn’t find any reason—no matter searching—for your incredible disdain towards the eldest of the two gentlemen. Your ridiculous bickering and bantering would only serve in embarrassing your aunt’s reputation in Wadsworth, and that was far from what Lady Annesley dreamed of. The only thing she could thank God for was that you weren’t nearly as prejudiced towards Yuuji as you were to his brother.

“Pray, how about we all dance, yes?” your aunt proposed, in faux cheerful spirits. “Shall my niece partner with the younger gentleman?”

“Oh, I’m quite afraid that could not be made possible, miss,” said Yuuji, as he offered an apologetic expression. “My leg is in incredible pain, and I must—with much embarrassment—admit to my having fallen once while riding here. I may have chosen to travel on quite a rowdy stallion, but it is only myself that I have to blame.”

With a politeness you could never aim towards Sukuna, you offered up your condolences, and, with a smile, proposed that the two of you sat down whilst the other attendees danced to their heart’s content. (If it wasn’t obvious before, you were very desperate for any excuse to avoid dancing.) But, to your dismay, Yuuji had declined sitting down, and explained that he had a few other people he was interested in speaking with before the end of the night, and, with a well mannered farewell, bid the three of you adieu.

“Well, upon my word, your parents have done a good job raising that fellow,” added Lady Annesley, a sorry expression on her face as she watched the only other pacifist in your party walk away with an uneven gait, which further proved his excuse.

“Whether that was by the work of my parents, or a governess, or something unspoken, is debatable,” the pink-haired man remarked.

“Or, perhaps, he was merely born with the admirably civil heart he has now. That is quite rare, I must say, in this time, and among these people.” You directed that last bit towards Sukuna, and it was probably pretty clear—seeing as red eyes met yours with just as much animosity soon after your little witty comment.

At first, you were merely treating Sukuna with the same omitted amount of respect he was giving you, but now, you found yourself starting to rather enjoy bullying him. It was pointless banter, after all, and you were almost certain Sukuna felt the same way. Although you felt a sense of dislike towards the man, you couldn’t help but be fond of the way he was, probably, the only other man you could banter with so lightly.

Your unconventional views and dislikes and interests often provoked strong emotion and irritation in most gentlemen, and you weren’t thought to be very agreeable. But, as for the pink-haired gentleman, he took your abusing words with little to no offense. There was the occasional annoyance displayed on his features: like a little furrow of the brow, or crinkle of the nose; but it was almost humorous—seeing as a small smile usually appeared soon after—as if he found your insults to be jokes.

After a pregnant pause, Sukuna broke the silence by saying, “Do you dance, madam?”

“Will you force me?”

“If it cannot be helped.”

You hadn’t actually thought to dance with a man like Sukuna, but upon hearing this concise exchange between her niece and hopefully future nephew-in-law, your aunt thought there was nothing better in the world than to usher the both of you to the center of Grantley Hall herself, and force you two to dance among the rest of the attendees. The orchestrated music was loud—loud enough so that little to no one could hear your protesting complaints, and Lady Annesley, smiling to herself at finally having succeeded in getting you to properly socialize, walked away in the direction of the drinks.

Looking at your aunt’s back as she walked away, you sighed; all your attempts at escaping had been fruitless, futile, and done in vain. For, whilst a pianoforte played in a ¾ time signature, you turned to face Sukuna with a sorrowful expression, but you were instead met with a contrasting smile.

“I have never danced with a lady like you before, miss,” he said, in a condescending tone, as he took your hesitant hands into his, and readied himself for a slow, smooth, elegant waltz.

Sukuna’s hands were calloused, rough, and large compared to your own; he was, certainly, a man. 

A warmth spread throughout your body as you made contact with his skin, and it was almost electrifying, like nothing you had ever felt before. It’s safe to say you were expecting something else, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You must not dance very often, then. I can assure you, with no doubt, that there is not much to put me aside from others.”

The two of you began to move at a languid speed, and soon caught up to the velocity of most other dancers, though, even in such a large and crowded space, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was just the two of you. The two of you dancing, the two of you talking; the two of you.

“I can name plenty of distinguishing aspects you have.”

“Is that so?” you asked.

“Indeed.”

“My, my, my, do enlighten me, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Do you mean it is not obvious?” he asked, looking into your eyes with intent.

You responded with the shaking of your head.

“Your eyes—somehow brighter than most. Your smile—infectious, even to someone such as I.” Sukuna’s words were spoken with the utmost sincerity, and you could tell, from his tone, that he meant every word he said; although it surprised you to be complimented by him, you couldn’t help the warmth that rose to your cheeks. “Your laughter—melodious to even the deaf. And you, yourself—I find you alluring.”

“. . .”

“Is your silence a sign of disbelief?”

In truth, you weren’t exactly familiar with hearing such a plethora of compliments, and, since it came from someone you could never expect it from, it made you all the more embarrassed.

“I beg your pardon, sir. You find me . . . alluring?”

“It shall be known, soon enough, that I am a man who thinks what he says. I do not say what I do not mean, miss.”

Through keeping your head down, you avoided meeting Sukuna’s eyes with all your might, but still, you could feel his penetrating gaze piercing holes through your face. Listening to the music in the background was a method you used in an attempt to calm your nerves, but all was fruitless in the end. If Sukuna had not the way of words he did now, his voice would certainly make up for it. Thick, sultry, velvety; it was absolutely ludicrous how bothered it made you, and you had to occasionally let out a cough to cover up the way you swallowed the frequent lumps in your throat.

After having settled in silence for a few counts of three, Sukuna smiled, laughing at your sudden shyness. “I have heard lots of great things about you, you must know.”

“Is—Is that so?”

“So it is,” he nodded, before continuing; “your aunt—Lady Annesley, was it?—had briefly spoken about you, in addition to her other nieces and nephews, when she first approached me and my brother.”

At this, you laughed, finally having built up the courage to meet Sukuna in the eyes. “I am concerned about what she might have had to say.”

“All good things, I assure you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding, before continuing on in casual conversation. Your banter from earlier had grown severely scarce, and was evidently replaced with subtly flirtatious comments. All the while, you found yourself growing embarrassed more than ever, but over time, you had gradually worked up a familiarity towards the compliments, and felt rather at ease whilst simultaneously talking and dancing with Mr. Ryomen Sukuna—who appeared as cool and composed as per usual.

It was after the pianoforte’s playing had ended, that the crowd had disconnected from the partners, curtseyed and bowed to one another, and burst into applauds of plaudits. The room was lively, with its guests chatting and talking with delight at such a wonderful dance they had danced just moments prior. People took seconds to recollect themselves, by either grabbing glasses of water, or fanning themselves before the next waltz. You, on the other hand, had begun to make your way to the pianoforte, before you were stopped again (yes, again; why on earth was everyone so opposed to letting you play music nowadays?).

There was a nudge against the back of your elbow, and you turned around with much grace, just to be met with the same face from before.

“Could I trouble you for another round, miss?” came that velvety voice you loved so much.

It was Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, and he was with the objective of claiming yet another spot on your dance card this evening. How wonderful, just so, so very wonderful. . .

“. . .And just what type of round are we speaking of, sir?”

Sukuna’s countenance held the expression of mischief, and playful doing, as he leaned his face down closer to yours, till you couldn’t distinguish the line between your and his breath. “Whatever you’d prefer, my fair lady.”

As a smile made its way onto your face, Sukuna did just as he had done before: gathering your warm hands into his cold ones, and bringing the both of you into another waltz just as the euphonious music began again for a second time that evening. While you could never admit it aloud, as the hours passed by, you soon found yourself forgetting all about your beloved pianoforte—that could, as of late, be put off for maybe just a little longer.

***

“All we did was waltz—just like everybody else! What, in heaven’s name, is so unusual about that?”

Your cousins had called on you the next morning after the ball at Grantley, and waited not a second before asking—no, demanding—you to tell them about all that had happened whilst they were away and mingling. (Yes, you were, in fact, correct in assuming that the girls had been acquainting themselves with officers galore and other various gentlemen that same evening.) But, despite them having a most eventful evening themselves, they were, by far, more curious as to hearing about your experience.

“Yes, you waltzed,” Charlotte replied, exasperated, “we know that; we saw it! after all. But, but, but, not only did you waltz together, you waltzed together twice! Can you believe that, Helena? A wealthy—and, if I must say, handsome—gentleman claimed not one, but two spots on our very dear cousin’s dance card last evening!”

“It is oh-so wonderful!” cried Helena, absolutely overjoyed at the fact you were finally socializing for once. “But, do not forget, sister, that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, the very man our dearest cousin danced with, also held her hands without gloves! Without gloves! Bless me! I find I shall faint if not cautious, you know.”

The girls gossiped and confabulated over yesterday’s events with much interest and engagement. They teased you, giggled at the way you waltzed with a man right after verbally abusing him, and accepted his hand twice. It seemed that they could not and would not let it go that you had danced with such a man last evening, and it seemed the only way you could get them to leave their current attentions was to mention their events and who they danced with—to which, they were most delighted to answer you.

“Shall we tell her, Lottie?” exclaimed Helena, eager to reminisce about the ball she had. “Shall we tell her?”

“Of course, of course!”

And so, with that, the minds of the girls had been successfully veered over to the subject of other men. Helena recalled chatting with several young officers, all who were, as she said, “charming, and effectively handsome, but they were, unfortunately, as taciturn as to make people assume them mute.” Helena complained about how she could only get acquainted with most officers if she was the one who spoke up first; which, in her eyes, was terribly unacceptable.

Charlotte, on the other hand, was not as extroverted as her twin sister, though, she was pretty enough so that people approached her before she had to open her mouth to anyone. She had made acquaintances with “very fine gentlemen, very fine and intellectual gentlemen, indeed,” and laughed and chatted about poetry and philosophy almost all night long. She geeked out on her favorite authors and thinkers, and her interlocutors reciprocated with their own. It was a most enjoyable night for her—seeing as most people of Wadsworth did not find such topics in conversations as pleasant as Charlotte did.

“Did you know, cousin,” began the blonde, “that such an abundance of officers read poetry?”

“Nay, I did not, but go on.”

And go on, she did. Whenever Charlotte spoke of writing and literature, she rarely even took a breath to breathe. She was like that: always very passionate about her favorite subjects, and she was rarely able to notice if the people around her had started to bore or not—but, it mattered not; Charlotte wouldn’t have stopped talking anyway, unless, by a chance, she found herself getting thirsty. Yes, she got thirsty quite often, and you often joked (all in good nature, of course) that it was due to how much she talked.

The three of you had spent the entire morning gossiping over tea and biscuits, until a maid-servant had called you all for lunch, and you all burst into quite a harmoniously-sounding fit of laughter at the realization that, throughout your chitter chatter, you had finished neither one cup of tea, nor one plate of pastries. It was a pleasantly spent morning, indeed.

That week passed by with much ease, and the next one passed by similarly. There was even one day, where, you had been met with the fortunate coincidence of crossing paths with none other than Mr. Adam Wright whilst on your daily walk outside of Blackwood Park.

“Good day, miss,” he began, in a smooth voice, “how do you do?”

“Oh! bless me; you had me startled there—for a minute, Mr. Wright. But, I am very well; I thank you.”

“I beg your finest pardon, madam,” replied he, before bowing his head ever so slightly. “I did not mean to alarm you.”

You waved your hand around in a dismissing manner. “And, to what do I owe the honor of running into you today, sir?”

“Ah, I was just admiring the views you were telling me about. You know, when we were chatting about nature and shrubbery? Yes, well, I find your suggestions to be very credible, for this is quite the place you have here, miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wright, very generous of you to say so.” You smiled.

“No need to thank me, I am sure you receive compliments on your home thousands upon thousands of times each day. Pray, how many acres is Blackwood Park?”

“I would assume a little above three thousand.”

“Is that so?”

“So it is,” you said, smiling. “Why the face? Do not you believe me?” you joked, seemingly in a playful mood this morning.

“I ought to walk with you around the park in order to further prove your answer.”

As you two linked arms, and began to walk around the park, surrounded by bushes and trimmed shrubbery under the shade-providing trees, you wondered if this was Mr. Wright’s attempt at flirting, or getting to know you. But, either way, you kept a smile on your face and walked, explaining the paths and routes and terrain as you did so.

“Do you walk often, miss?”

“I believe I told you that I did—at Grantley. Or have you already forgotten? I didn’t know you paid so little to a supposed princess’s words, sir.”

Mr. Wright laughed. “It was an assumption, I explained. If you shall continue to tease me on that subject, I may become humiliated, you know.”

“What if that’s my goal?”

“Then, I suppose, the ladies here in Wadsworth must be very cruel.”

The both of you turned a corner, walking a new veered path as the sun bathed you in light. You were just about to reposition your parasol to shield yourself from the blinding radiance, when, out of the blue, a hand came up to cover your eyes from above; it was discovered to be Mr. Adam Wright’s.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I thank you, sir.”

“It is not a problem,” began the officer; “you repay me by showing me the very nice landscaping here, after all.”

“. . .Ah, I see.”

In truth, you had not been in hopes of being joined in your walk this autumn morning, and you usually preferred solitude in times like these, but, alas, you had been joined by an officer, and were now to show him the ways around Blackwood Park and the rest of Wadsworth. You would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you in the slightest. . .

The both of you walked and talked: admiring the beautiful river of Northwick, crossing the bridge above said river, speaking of the chestnuts that had fallen from deciduous trees, and laughing about the squirrels above; all of this up until lunchtime, when you two departed—you, who had arrived at Stratford House to exchange your calling card with Charlotte and Helena, and Mr. Adam Wright, who had the objective of going forth to the shops.

Upon entering Stratford, you were greeted by the sight of two very excited twins.

“Oh, cousin! You’re here!” cried Helena. “We were waiting for your call, you know.”

“Hm, well, isn’t that lovely? What were you waiting for, exactly?”

“I’m not surprised you weren’t informed as of late; it was very last minute,” began Charlotte, “but, we were invited to Kendall Manor, actually. All three of us!” The blonde gestured to you, herself, and her sister.

“Kendall?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. “Well, color me intrigued, then.”

Kendall Manor was a very envied spot in Wadsworth. With many beautiful arts there, it was a very famous spot for tourists to visit; you had even been there once or twice, whilst paying respects to its multitude of pianofortes and large collection of literature. Outside, it had high walls, lakes, an abundance of land, and various fountains throughout. The estate was known, but, in contrast, its owner was not.

For as long as you had lived, the possessor of Kendall Manor had never been present in Wadsworth. Not much information was of him, whoever he was, but the one piece of knowledge regarding him, was that he was alive and well. Maybe in a neighboring country, maybe somewhere else, no one knew where, but everyone knew he was there. It worked out, though; if so many people were visiting and entering Kendall Manor each day, surely the owner would be bothered, but in this case, that didn’t matter; the owner wasn’t even there!

“Come, lovie,” began Charlotte, as she ushered you upstairs to a changing room; “we must make haste! The chaise and four have already been called for, and not a second can be of waste.”

You had been dressed, your hair done, and your face painted, before you were, again, shoved into a carriage and driven off to Kendall Manor. It happened incredibly quickly, and gave you whiplash all the while.

“Do you two happen to know who specifically invited us lot?” you asked. “I wasn’t familiar with the fact that the owner of Kendall Manor was in the country; was it the doing of a servant? Or was the manor let?”

“Dear cousin, you worry too much,” laughed Helena. “We should instead rejoice at the opportunity of another party; we are bound to have a ball, after all. Why does the host matter?”

You grumbled, and sat silent for the rest of the ride. It was strange; why now? Why did the owner of Kendall decide to come home now? And, why on earth did he invite you and the girls? As far as you were concerned, you had no acquaintance with him, whoever he was, and neither did your family or any other relations you had.

Whilst basking in your confusion and wonder, the horses had come to a stop outside of a quite magnificent abode, and you instantly knew that this was Kendall Manor. Four or five thousand acres of land, under the blazing sun. Beautiful, vast, and plagued with mystery.

The three of you were taken up the stairs, and led inside by a valet, where you were greeted with the even more surprising sight of the rest of your family: some aunts and uncles, Lady Annesley, and others you did not care to name. If that wasn’t enough to make your jaw drop, you noticed half (if not all) of Wadsworth residents and even a few familiar faces of officers from the regiment temporarily stationed in the countryside; but, try as you might, your eyes could not set upon the countenance of Mr. Adam Wright—who was, probably, out at the shops, and alone.

What was this? Why was everyone here?

“Forgive my lack of planning prior,” began a velvety voice you knew well; and when you turned to the sound of that voice, you were met with the face of Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, standing next to his brother. “Welcome, all, to Kendall Manor.”

It was quickly explained that this was a party, in celebration of Mr. Ryomen, who had finally returned to his home country of Wadsworth, and was planning on staying for longer than he had been gone. He wanted to make acquaintances with all the people he would’ve known had he been here instead of at all his other estates and properties.

The guests were introduced to a large variety of pastries and biscuits and drinks and other desserts from the other counties Sukuna had been staying at previously. People asked him about what his other homes were like: if they were much different from Kendall of Wadsworth, and he—with his usual disagreeableness—did not even try to act humble as he described his very prosperous and fortunate self.

There were many ladies of Wadsworth that were single, and none of them wasted any chance in practically throwing themselves at the owner of the manor. In addition, Charlotte and Helena, once standing beside you, were now off and talking with a number of officers, having a very pleasant afternoon themselves.

You, on the other hand, were not much interested in speaking about subjects such as these, and, accompanied by very few people, walked into a nearby drawing room. Though you were not much of a card-player yourself, it was, perhaps, the only source of entertainment you could find within the walls of Kendall (except for playing pianoforte, which the girls forbade you). A table for Whist was set up, and a party of four, including yourself, began to play.

For a few rounds, you thought you had found peace, but no, a thunderstorm had soon followed you all the way into the drawing room. Mr. Ryomen had come, and was accompanied by the other guests, who were all flocking to him like birds.

“Shall we all play a game for more of us?” began the pink-haired gentleman. He was clearly doing this on purpose; his face told you all you needed to know: he was disturbing your peace and quiet for the simple motive of being a bother.

Of course, no one could refuse the host of such a grand party, and a much larger game table was soon set up, so that many could sit down and gamble. You had the unfortunate fate of being seated between the host, and Lady Annesley; and, although you were near at least one good relative, your aunt paid minimal attention to you, for she was seated beside Admiral Dawson, whom she was grossly engaged in conversation with.

Throughout the betting game, either your or Sukuna’s seat had been gradually inching closer to the other’s, to the point your shoulders were practically touching, and so were your elbows, which occasionally bumped together, causing the both of you to mutter curses or complaints.

“Why don’t you move nearer to your brother, sir? I am sure it would be much appreciated,” you jeered, obviously fed up with the amount of hits you were receiving.

“Careful there, miss. Lying too much can be detrimental.”

“‘Lying’? Oh, please. There is no truth in my saying ‘I enjoy sitting beside you’.”

“Of course,” laughed Sukuna, in a mocking tone. “Of course, Miss Untouchable. How could I forget? you just have a problem with everyone these days.”

“. . .”

“I wasn’t at all aware, you know, that such a disagreeable woman like you existed. Though, I can’t say it was unexpected; your countenance gives quite a fair hint to everyone when looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am sure the absolute same could be said about you, sir.”

“What a coincidence!” teased Sukuna. “I was beginning to think we had nothing in common.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stabbed the heel of your shoe onto Sukuna’s, but he let out neither a curse nor a groan of pain.

Instead, Sukuna rested his arm on the back of your chair with an overwhelming grip as he leaned his face closer to yours; and you could’ve sworn you could see the red of his eyes swirling together in a mix, as if a tornado. The tips of your noses were only centimeters apart, and you couldn’t draw a line between where your breath ended and where his started even if you had to.

Your eyes met with equal resentment and agitation, as if there was a mutual message being sent from merely your locked gazes alone, but then, to your surprise, his stare drifted up to your hat.

“Various shades of blue and green, with gold as an accent,” he noted, in a slurred tone, almost as if he was drunk.

“Well, yes. Have you never seen a peacock feather?”

“Two of which are both colors on the cooler side of the color spectrum,” he continued, paying no mind to your words; “but, I must say, red would suit you much better, my darling.”

Your eyes widened at the sound of this, and your gaze fell to your fidgety hands in your laps. Still, you wasted no time in quipping, “I have no doubt I would wear the color much better than you, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.”

“I can imagine that, but I would rather see it with my own eyes,” he said, eyes trailing back down to your lips.

“. . .”

The hand that was previously draped over the back of your chair slowly but surely made its way down, until it was draped over your hip, gripping and kneading the flesh there. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face Sukuna with an incredulous expression. You mouthed the words What on earth are you doing? To which, the pink-haired man only responded with Nothing you wouldn’t want, my lady.

In order for the hand on your hip to not be visible, you had to scoot your chair as far away from Lady Annesley as you could, and press your body as close to Sukuna’s as you could possibly venture. The rest of the drawing room remained boisterous, and completely oblivious to the scandalous act you had going on with the party’s host.

As his hand lowered down to the ends of your dress, and his fingers crept up your skirt, your cheeks warmed to an extreme extent, and you tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve, desperate for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. This was utterly humiliating! you thought. What was the meaning for this? And in the middle of a party?

His hands felt cold, and you frequently shivered as they moved at a dreadfully slow speed up your legs, before settling in between your thighs. If your face wasn’t as red as a tomato before, it surely was now. For, you had originally thought that clamping your thighs together would be the perfect plan to get Sukuna to stop his movements, but no, it made everything altogether worse. By a thousand degrees.

His hand was stuck between your thighs, and, like the bastard he was, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna thought it would be such a fun thing to move your panties aside, and put pressure on your clit, which, consequently, resulted in you having to cover your mouth with your fan, to hide and shield the whimpers that came soon after.

“Nnghh.”

His fingers then removed themselves, to which you gasped in relief, but before you could utter another word, you were interrupted by his fingers entering you once more, in a quite diligent fashion. They curled and twisted, and reached deep inside of you, but alas, you could do nothing but writhe; you couldn’t bear this predicament you had gotten yourself into being exposed to the rest of the party guests, and you couldn’t—without feeling shame—let it be known that the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers was rather pleasurable.

Your whole body’s temperature rose, and you couldn’t help the moans that left your lips. This feeling was so . . . strange; you had never felt anything like this before. So overwhelming with both pain and pleasure, and incredibly scandalous. If anyone were to find out what you were doing—never mind, you need not know.

Sukuna’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Don’t fight it.”

One finger, then two, and now three.

“F-Fight what?” you managed, between whimpers. “What are you doing?”

With your thighs still clamped together and squeezing around his hand, the pleasure of Sukuna’s fingers moving within you was highly intensified, and your expression twisted into one of embarrassing lewdness. The suddenly appeared knot in your stomach had tightened, and you had soon reached your peak only moments later, your release clinging to Sukuna’s fingers, which were still deep inside of you.

“Hahh, Sukunngh,” you moaned, eyes squeezing shut as you hid your face from other guests behind your fan.

Just as you were recovering from your body’s physical reaction and occasional jolts, Sukuna’s voice suddenly sounded in the room, and everyone and their mother turned to face him, completely unbeknownst to the fact that his hand was still in between your legs.

You didn’t hear much of what he said—your head still swimming, and your self dazed—but you managed to make out a few words, where Sukuna had explained that there were numerous hallways in Kendall that were filled from top to bottom with many famous and beautiful paintings and other art works. The guests were unsurprised by this knowledge, but nonetheless, they were greatly intrigued, and as a valet of Sukuna’s led the party out of the drawing room, Sukuna sat back down (after making sure everyone had exited) and turned to you with a smug expression—never once removing his fingers from deep within you.

“Sukuna,” you mewled, nearly going crazy at the realization that the man would probably never run out of stamina to finger you, “what are you doing?”

Whilst grinning like a mad man, Sukuna pulled you onto his lap within the blink of an eye, which resulted in your back being flush with his hard chest. Beyond shocked, you gasped, but before you could get out another word, you felt the tickling sensation of lips dragging down your clavicle and shoulders, peppering kisses on several moles and freckles you had there.

There was a growing warmth in your core, and though you writhed and wriggled in his grasps, you couldn’t help but (after a few moments) finally succumb to his touches and caresses. A sigh left your lips, and you leaned back against the body behind you.

“Sukuna, I—ahh, w-why?”

Just as you were beginning to relax, Sukuna removed his hand from between your legs and, with the assistance of his other hand, pulled the top of your dress down, leaving the bare skin of your chest revealed to the empty drawing room and cool air. 

“You’re so beautiful, my lady,” he slurred, eyes glued to your exposed tits.

Without wasting a moment, Sukuna began to pull and twist and press at your nipples, which were beginning to harden at his assaults. Your back arched, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. This was totally erotic! you thought, though you did nothing to stop it. As your nipples were carelessly toyed with to Sukuna’s content, your body twisted and squirmed all the while, but to no avail.

As if a child playing with a new toy for the first time, Sukuna squeezed and squeezed at the wholes of your tits, admiring the way your buds pebbled at the attention they were receiving. Your legs kicked at nothing, and you thrashed around wildly; and, if things couldn’t get more lewd, you felt the sensation of a warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up your neck.

Pornographic moans, whimpers, and cries filled the empty drawing room, and you couldn’t even imagine the looks on people’s faces if they returned from the gallery early.

“Nnghh! Ah—ah—ahh! Sukuna!” You panted, delirious.

“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” said Sukuna, as he kissed and nipped at your throat. “Don’t hold back; just let out all your cute little noises for me.”

The hands which groped at your breast soon paused in their assaults, and as you began to catch your breath, you felt them gradually slide down the curves of your body, all the way to your thighs, where they hiked up the material of your skirt, pulling it up to your stomach, which left your panties and dignity exposed.

“. . .Sukuna?” You blinked.

“Ha! You’ve become so wet just from my hands alone, that I think it would be no trouble at all for you to take my cock right about . . . now.”

“What—oh! Mmph!”

Apparently, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna had a major problem with cutting people off, because, just as you were about to ask what he very well meant by that, your hips were tightly gripped onto, your body was raised, and you cried out as you were soon slammed back down onto Sukuna’s cock. All the words in your throat had been swallowed, and your brain turned to mush as you felt so utterly full from his girth and length alone; it was so . . . big. You had never done anything as insane as this, and as moans and cries left your lips left and right, you couldn’t distinguish whether you felt more pain or pleasure.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your face twisted into that of incredible lewdness; your hands gripped onto Sukuna’s biceps, and your nails dug into his muscles, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in the way.

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Ever been fucked before?”

“Nnghh, n-no. . . No!”

“That’s. . . Fuck. You mean I’m the first one to touch you like this?”

Sukuna gripped and groped onto your tits as he spoke, before raising up your hips and slamming them back down just like before. One second, you were empty, the next, you were so impossibly full, and then so on and so forth. As Sukuna repeated this for God knows how long, you nearly passed out from the overwhelming pleasure you felt everywhere. From the calloused hands on your hips, to the length of his cock sliding in and out and up and down your walls, to the warm breath fanning your ear. It was all so much.

You had never known pleasure like this before, and you wondered if this was but a dream.

As you rolled your hips, trying desperately for more friction, you were stopped by the feeling of two hands gripping onto the meat of your hips with a strength that was sure to result in bruising the next morrow.

“Why do you move, darling?” Sukuna leaned down to whisper in your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Whilst you bounced sensuously on his lap, Sukuna didn’t show an ounce of shame as he stared with incredible lust at the sight of your tits bouncing up and down. The tip of his cock penetrated you in places you didn’t even know existed until now, and you couldn’t help the plethora of moans that left your lips. 

Just as before, the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable height, and with one last rough thrust, you came right on Sukuna’s cock; your bodily fluids dripping down his shaft and leaving a sticky feeling between your thighs as they dried.

“So?” began Sukuna, bringing you out of your dazed state.

In confusion, your brows knitted together. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“How was it?”

“How was . . . what?”

You could hear Sukuna scoff from behind you. “Are you that dense, my dear lady? Or have you already forgotten what we have—mind you—just done?”

“. . .I’m afraid my memory is not as sufficient as one’s might be,” you teased, despite yourself.

The corner of Sukuna’s lip quirked upwards, into a grin, as a mischievous expression made its way onto his face. “Shall we refresh your memory, then?”

“How so?”

With his cock still buried deep inside of you to the hilt, Sukuna stood up and moved your bodies in tandem until he was able to lay the top half of your body on the drawing room’s table. Your bare tits pressed up against the rough wood, and you groaned in relief as you laid the side of your face down.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, Sukuna had no even the slightest idea of relaxing on his mind, and as the lids of your eyes began to droop, Sukuna woke you straight up with a hard thrust inside your cunt, which slightly shook the table and resulted in a rather unpleasant sound reverberating throughout the living space.

This, completely, caught you off guard, and the scream that left your throat was to be expected. “Ahh! I—hahh.”

Your back arched, your hair was pulled towards Sukuna, your neck soon began to ache; you saw stars as Sukuna continued his thrusts from before with more (if not the same amount of) force, and you wondered if the walls were thin enough for servants or party guests to hear you from all the way down the hall.

Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was not, but as Sukuna’s cock continued to fill you to the hilt, you could’ve sworn you felt him in your guts. Callings of his name, moans of gibberish, and et cetera, left your lips as if in a prayer to God. You panted, you gasped, and your breath got caught in your throat as the table rocked beneath your and Sukuna’s weight.

If not for his stable grip on your hips, you would’ve fallen and crashed to the floor from how your knees buckled and turned to seemingly nothingness.

“Has your memory been refreshed, my lady?” began Sukuna, in a jeering tone.

“I—nnghh, not . . . not quite.” Though you were barley conscious at this point, and pleasure nearly consumed your whole being, you couldn’t help but joke. However, as the speed and force of Sukuna’s thrusts began to increase, you soon found yourself thinking how foolish it was to joke in such a predicament.

“Yeah? How about now?”

Both hands on your hips had left, and instead found their way to your tits, where they groped and squeezed to Sukuna’s liking.

This may have been your breaking point; and as your back arched and the volume of your lewd cries increased, you found yourself grinding your ass back against Sukuna’s crotch. The extra friction brought you over the edge, and you moaned and moaned like a bitch in heat as you came once more.

You didn’t remember much of what came after that (A/N: pun intended), but you knew you had somehow managed to dress yourself and fix your disheveled appearance right as soon as half of the party returned to the drawing room. Whilst the guests drank in the sight of you, Sukuna, on the other hand, had fixed his pants, and casually seated himself on his chair.

“Oh, my niece,” exclaimed a bewildered Lady Annesley, “you are already here.”

You stopped like a deer in front of a carriage driver’s torch, and stuttered as you struggled for an answer. “Yes, I—I quickly lost interest while looking at the artwork, and decided to return here to play another game of cards.”

“So you say? Well, upon my word, what card game did you play that resulted in your countenance to glow so pleasantly as it does now?”

For a second, you had thought your aunt had somehow discovered what you and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna were getting up to whilst alone in the drawing room, but after a moment’s silence, you quickly realized she was being genuine, and, like her usual chaotic-self, was simply wondering about a possible new skincare routine. At this newfound conclusion, you let out a sigh of relief, and continued in conversation for the remaining duration of the party at Kendall.

However, at the back of your mind remained the still recent memory of what it was like to have your brains fucked out by none other than Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, who, whilst he pretended to linger around your being while you chatted with relatives, occasionally trailed a playful finger up your spine, which always resulted in your breath being caught in your throat, as you feared he would do something similar to what he did before the guests had left.

***

It was late—well into the evening, really—when a messenger on his horse had come by with mail in his inventory.

A fortnight had passed since that . . . incident in Kendall Manor’s drawing room, and you had been avoiding Sukuna ever since. You feared that if you did otherwise, you would begin to develop an unhealthy relationship with his cock, which, even after fourteen days, you had not forgotten the feeling of. It was strange, to say the least. At first, you had thought Sukuna to be a very disagreeable man, a very disagreeable man, indeed; but now, he was . . . well, no, he was the same, but his dick, on the other hand, was much more agreeable.

You had never thought yourself to be one to have sexual intercourse before marriage, but maybe there could be an exception for someone like Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.

Sometimes, you laid awake at night, at times past the Devil’s hour, you assumed, and tossed and turned and tried to replicate how Sukuna’s fingers felt, how his mouth made you feel, how full his cock made you, but to no avail. You would, eventually, scream into your pillow out of frustration, and pass out from exhaustion.

Damn him. Damn him and his whole entire lineage.

Who was he to make you feel this way, huh? Who was he to come waltzing into Wadsworth with his expensive little steed and expensive fucking clothes, and leave you high and dry? Who was he to spoil you for your future spouse? He had no right, absolutely none.

And so, when a messenger and his horse came to the doors of Blackwood Park, you could probably imagine the distress and anxiety you had suffered. All the color had been drained from your face, for you wondered if a letter had come from Mr. Ryomen Sukuna himself; your mother and your father had even noticed how pale you had gotten, and, in their worry, asked you how you felt, to which you replied with a short answer, but it contained everything but the truth.

Upon reading the label, you found the manilla paper to be addressed to none other than you. Even more horrified, you searched frantically for a name, and after reading the words Mr. Adam Wright, you seemed to calm down by a few degrees.

“Open it, cousin! Open it!” cried Helena; for the girls had been at Blackwood since sundown, and were planning on sleeping over, which was, actually, pretty common between the three of you.

“Shall I have no privacy even in my own home?” you joked.

The girls laughed, before exiting your room and running downstairs.

With a sigh, and a tired groan, you began to unravel the letter.

To your astonishment, it was almost four pages! Four pages, filled from top to bottom with a confession of . . . love‽ Love—from Mr. Adam Wright? What, in heaven’s name, could’ve produced such a feeling as this? you wondered. Sure, maybe you had flirted with the officer a few times, but it was only minor incidents, and you had done them with the imagination that nothing could come of it. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

In his letter, he frequently quoted phrases from your favorite books and epics, but none of them seemed to affect you more than with distraught and horror. He confessed he was too much of a coward to profess his love in person, and, in addition, claimed he could not say all that he felt for you, for he felt too much to say, and writing it down was as close as he could get to letting everything out.

He was in love with your laugh, your smile, your mind, and your soul.

“I have never conversed with a lady quite as charming as you, miss. Your character is incredibly suitable to my likes and my dislikes, and I find, if I had never met you, I would have never met the love of my life. You bewitch me, physically and mentally.”

You had to admit, he was quite poetic when it came to writing a confession of love and admiration, but it pained you more than it flattered you, for, you did not feel even an ounce of the same feeling. Guilt and regret plagued your mind as you read through the seemingly never-ending paragraphs, and yet, you could not and would not accept that someone such as Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

It seemed . . . preposterous.

You had never thought of him in that way whatsoever. Well, he was handsome, and he was smart and quite the agreeable man, but he wasn’t what you wanted. There had to be someone out there that would reciprocate his feelings, but it wouldn’t be you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

After reading the letter maybe three times (just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you), you sat down for a moment of silence, before opening your door and calling for the girls. Upon their entering, you immediately explained the contents of the letter, and, with a very desperate tone of voice, pleaded for any advice they could give.

“Well, this is. . . I’m quite appalled, dear cousin,” began Charlotte; “but, just to be clear, you do not feel the same way?”

“I’m not sure I would be asking for advice if I did.” You laughed, trying to cope with humor.

“I, for one, think you should send a letter back,” suggested Helena.

“. . .You know, I would do that, actually, but, the thing is, Wright wants to see me.”

Both of the sisters asked what you meant by that.

“In his letter, towards the end of it, I am sure, he asks to see me, near Northwick. I assume he means he wants to propose on the bridge; we walked there once, you see.”

“And you did not think to tell us until now?” cried Helena.

You raised your hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t think much of it.”

“This is quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into,” declared Charlotte.

And this was quite the predicament, indeed. The next morning, a little after breakfast, you had begun to walk to Northwick. And, upon reaching sight of the bridge, you had found that Mr. Adam Wright was already there. He looked confident, he looked sure, he looked sharp; which just made you twice as guilty.

Before arriving, you had assured yourself everything was going to be just dandy; you would get it over with as quick as possible, and then attend the play you had been invited to by a couple of friends. The proposal of Mr. Adam Wright would be soon forgotten about, and you would sing and dance and be merry for the rest of the day.

“My lady, how do you do?” Wright was always quick when it came to greeting you. “I assume you’ve received my letter?”

“I am quite fine this morning, sir; and yes.”

“Have you any response?”

You nodded, before saying, “I am . . . rather flattered to receive a proposal from such a man as you, Mr. Adam Wright, but I am afraid I cannot give you my hand in marriage.”

You had consequently explained your reasoning, and how you did not reciprocate any romantic feelings such as love towards Mr. Wright, who accepted your words with a very solemn expression. That was a nice quality of his: to be able to accept rejection, and you even noted how you thought he was a very agreeable man, who was sure to find a wife sooner or later.

“There are many balls that occur in Wadsworth, with many women who attend, but, if that fails, an itinerant profession such as yours indubitably has the aspects to acquire a spouse within a lifetime—yes, I am sure.”

“I see you do not accept my proposal, then; very well. Good morning, miss.”

With the tipping of his hat, and a very quick farewell, the two of you parted ways.

A few hours had come by after your declination, and you soon found yourself standing outside of Grantley Hall with Charlotte and Helena, Lady Annesley, a few other relatives and friends, and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna and his brother. You hadn’t expected to see either of them any time soon, but maybe your aunt was just very sociable, and considered them to be friends.

Upon noticing Sukuna’s face amongst the crowd, you immediately ducked away, and subtly hid yourself behind your aunt, who was taller and broader than you, and could serve as a pseudo-shield, but of course, your efforts were noticed and fruitless, in the end.

Sukuna had caught sight of your figure, and made eye contact with you for a relatively long time, before turning back to a conversation with his brother.

“Everyone seems to be here,” began your aunt, double-checking the party; “how about we begin our journey? The theater is quite far, I heard.”

And so, everyone had started to pile into a multitude of carriages and vehicles. Unfortunately, with such a large party as you were in, you obviously had the luck of being stuck with none other than the Devil himself—Mr. Ryomen Sukuna. There was no other room for you with anyone else you knew; you had received offers to switch seats, but due to your having taken a liking to rejecting people (A/N: this is a joke; please laugh), you had declined them all.

In consequence, you and Sukuna were forced to ride in a carriage—alone.

The cushions were small, and you were forced to acquire a seat right beside Sukuna. Your shoulders bumped occasionally, due to the jolts of the carriage and the bumpy road, but that was about it. You were neither squished nor totally uncomfortable. And, at first, it was quite pleasant, actually. Neither you nor Sukuna spoke much, due to your embarrassment, and his . . . indifference? so you had no reason to stutter or stumble over words. Well, that was, until Sukuna decided to bring up a certain someone into the conversation.

“It seems you have taken quite the partiality towards Wright,” he began; and you could practically feel his piercing stare burning holes through your head, but alas, you kept your eyes on the road, and avoided eye contact—which was beginning to prove to be quite the challenge.

“We are acquaintances.”

“Just acquaintances?”

You sighed. “It depends on how you define the word ‘acquaintance,’ I suppose.”

“You know, my lady, I have heard quite a rumor this morning—regarding you and that officer.”

You froze, an infinite amount of ideas popping into your head, before snapping your neck to meet Sukuna’s much amused ones. “Pray, have you any idea how rude it is to bring up a subject without elaborating,? You, sir, ought to explain further.”

Sukuna, ignoring your words, cast his eyes downward, saying, “Show me your hand,” with as less emotion and as much authority as humanly possible.

Perhaps in an act of childish rebellion, you covered your gloved hands, and put them aside. “I do not see how that is of any relevance.”

“What a coincidence; I do.” Scoffing, Sukuna took your left hand into his, and held it up to his face, completely disregarding your protests and fruitless attempts at flailing around.

When he found what he wanted, he placed your hand down, and looked at your pout with a smug expression. “I take it you are not engaged, then?”

“I’ve no ring,” came your curt reply, before crossing your arms over your chest. You had initially hoped to fool him for even a bit longer, but Sukuna was more resourceful (forceful) than you could admit.

Sukuna laughed. “Miss Untouchable refused Mr. Adam Wright? What a spectacle that surely was. Say, the next time you reject a proposal, let me know prior so I can sit and watch.”

“When Hell freezes over, I will.”

Leaning over to peer into your eyes, Sukuna offered a shit-eating grin. “You can be so rude, my fair lady.”

Finally meeting his eyes at last, you couldn’t help the abusing words that soon left your lips. “You call me ‘rude,’ I hear? That is how you think of me? What about yourself, then, sir? Is the way you treat a lady such as I any different than ‘rude,’ I wonder?”

Sukuna grabbed your hips and dragged you onto his lap as you continued to berate and rip at him whilst he remained totally unfazed. He had become used to your character at this point, and your insults and scolding merely droned on in the background as his mind was set on other things.

“How else am I rude, madam?”

“When you—When you. . .” You paused, averting eye contact. “When you make me feel . . . this way.”

“And, pray tell,” began Sukuna, as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eye, “what way do I make you feel?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, and out of frustration, could not form much to say.

When Sukuna noticed your hesitance, and your embarrassment, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and as a smile began to etch on his face, he lifted the ends of your dress, piling it at your waist, before beginning to trail his hands up your bare thighs at a teasingly unbearable speed.

At the familiar act, your breath caught in your throat, and you clawed at the lapels of Sukuna’s coat jacket.

Without stopping for even a beat, Sukuna’s cold, slender fingers made their way up your thighs, and began to ghost over the wetness that had formed at your entrance.

“My, my, my, don’t tell me, was it your anger at me that got you so wet, or was it my mere showing up today?”

“Neither, you bastard.”

As if possessed by an entity, (or maybe it was because you just couldn’t take it anymore), you grabbed Sukuna by the collar, and roughly—and clumsily—smashed his lips against yours. Almost immediately, his hands squeezed and groped at your ass, as he met your lips with an almost equally fervent kiss.

You had never done something so deliberately and scandalous before (except for that evening at Kendall, but that doesn’t count), and you almost wondered if you were doing everything wrong. But, seeing as you could feel a growing hardness beneath your bottom, you were soon assured of your quite capable abilities.

“Fuck, darling. Have you been waiting to do this?” he murmured, between kisses.

“Mm, yeah—in your dreams.”

Your bodies moved in sync, as if two puzzle pieces designed just for each other, and sounds of sensuous and sensual activity soon began to fill the carriage. Sukuna’s hands trailed down your ass as you kissed, and he didn’t waste any time before shoving your panties aside, and pushing one, then two, fingers in.

The unexpected action elicited a moan from your lips, and you tugged and pulled at Sukuna’s hair as if searching for leverage against the assault between your legs.

His fingers curled within you and moved at a speed that accelerated every second; the painful realization had soon hit you, that, God, you had truly missed this feeling. Slick dripped down your legs, and was, probably, staining the material of Sukuna’s pants, but it wasn’t like either one of you cared.

One of Sukuna’s hands gripped onto the flesh of your ass, while the other toyed with and fingered your dripping cunt; his lips moved against yours like an animal in heat, whilst your arms had been thrown and looped around his neck. The carriage shook and wobbled as it traversed the uneven roads, and that pushed you even closer to Sukuna, leaving you in quite the scandalous position—with your tits pressed up against his chest, your hands tangled in his unruly hair, and his mouth on yours.

It was a missed feeling—the salty taste of his lips—and when the both of you parted, for the inconvenient sake of catching your breaths, Sukuna moved the hand on your ass to shove the top of your dress down to your waist, leaving you nearly bare: in all your glory—just for him.

His eyes roamed your body like a predator admiring prey, and while you leaned your front against him, Sukuna leaned his head down, to your shoulders, to kiss at and suck at all the exposed skin he could reach.

It was incredibly lewd—the sounds you released, and you couldn’t even fathom how the others would react if they saw you: you and Sukuna, doing whatever the hell it was that you two were doing at the moment.

As your volume increased, so did the speed and velocity of his fingers. There was a warm feeling at your core, and you soon found yourself releasing all over his hand—still deep within your cunt—as pornographic moans and cries and mewls escaped your throat.

“Nnghh! Hah, mphh, Sukuna . . . Sukuna—Sukuna!” His name left your lips like a prayer, and you could only hope that the pearly gates would still open for you after this hell of a carriage ride.

“You are . . . inimitable, my love,” he purred, “and extremely, inhumanly bewitching. Fuck, do you think you’re wet enough to take it? I am afraid I cannot loiter any longer.”

It didn’t matter what you thought; you knew you were, and as Sukuna lifted your hips, before bringing them down right onto his cock—which filled you to the brim, and impossibly more than last time—you knew this carriage ride would probably be your last. At least, it would be your last carriage ride with him.

Your hips were raised, before they were repeatedly slammed back down with enough force to bring the both of you crashing down onto the seats; your tits bounced, whimpers left your parched throat, and you could barely hold onto Sukuna’s shoulders for balance and support as the carriage began to jolt and jerk uncontrollably, causing unbearably pleasurable friction.

Heaven’s sake, how bumpy was this road?—goddamnit.

In addition to the bouncing of the carriage, the hands and claws digging into your ass, the marks and bites being left on your chest, there was also the rough thrusts from Sukuna, which brought you nearly over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tip of Sukuna’s cock could be felt penetrating all the way in your guts, and to add on to the smell of sex wafting through the humid air, the discordant melody of your moans certainly added a little bit pizzazz.

You wanted more, you needed more, you craved more.

Sukuna’s length and girth slid up the walls of your cunt, and you swore you could feel every pulsing vein of his cock as it moved and twitched. You were so unbearably full; you struggled to form full words, and most of them only contributed to unintelligible sentences meaning nothing.

“Ahh, nnghh, hahh, mmph.”

“What, don’t tell me little Miss Untouchable over here is suddenly feeling pleasure from some low-life bastard such as I,” laughed Sukuna, who, for some reason unbeknownst to you, still had some humor left in him even whilst he had fucked you into putty in his hands.

“I . . . nnghh, do you ever stop talking?”

Sukuna laughed, a husky, dark laugh, before bringing you in for the most zealous kiss you had ever kissed. Your lips collided, smacking against each other’s, and your hands clumsily roamed each other’s bodies, before one last jolt of the carriage had you feeling every inch of Sukuna’s length in the absolute right-est spot you could ever imagine, and as you moaned into the kiss, the knot in your stomach tightened just as before, and you almost felt like you were under drugs as you came. 

Sticky, hot, and warm.

Unbearable, highly bothersome, and completely insane.

You were filled to the brim with Sukuna’s seed just a moment later, and a string of saliva from your lips connected you and Sukuna for a few seconds more as the both of you pulled away to catch your breaths.

“Now, before I go and do something foolish,” began Sukuna, still partially panting, “tell me, dear, do you feel like rejecting another man’s proposal today?”

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” — Pride & Prejudice (opening line)

Whether you liked it or not—or, well, that didn’t matter, really; you had no choice—you had connections. Plenty of them. 

You were the firstborn and only child to a renowned lawyer and his wife—whom you called your parents. Your birth was one of necessity, not out of love and want. Most of your mother and father’s siblings constantly pressured them into conceiving—in order to extend the bloodline, they explained—and so they were coerced into a sense of rushing and urgency. This, however, didn’t diminish any of their affection towards you; you were, after all, their only child, their eldest child, and their most beloved child.

“Wealthy” was quite the understatement when it came to describing your family tree. You were rich in prosperity and success, physically and mentally. Your parents cherished you as their only offspring, gave you only the finest governess, and treated you as more of an equal than a baby. That proved not a problem—seeing as how vast your then and current knowledge was compared to those of average salary.

Being an only child may have been quite out of the ordinary in the present times, but the number of relatives you had was abundant enough that you often felt it was really the opposite.

Your grandparents seemed to have a lot of fun back then, because, each of your parents had at least five siblings, which resulted in a little more than ten aunts and uncles when grouped together. This was, however, not as jolly as it may seem. Your aunts and uncles were all old, had even more children than your grandparents, and loved, loved, loved, critiquing others. They tipped their hats at you when greeting, kissed your cheeks and the backs of your hands, but, regardless, they never failed to mention at least one of your faults and flaws.

In addition to this, you had cousins galore. On your mother’s side was a bit fewer than thirty, while your father’s side consisted of two and twenty. It may be a given, it may be not, but you weren’t as close with your cousins as most would normally be. Sending and receiving letters was seldom exchanged, and meeting at balls and dinners was probably the only times you ever conversed with a cousin or two. Well, except for Charlotte and Helena.

Where could you even begin when describing those two? you often laughed.

They were twins, and would look exactly the same if it wasn’t for the fact that Charlotte had blonde curls that she frequently let down, while Helena often wore a brunette updo atop her head. Since birth, they had been inseparable, and most people usually referred to them as a pair, saying things such as Where are the girls? or Are the girls attending? It was great, really. In truth—concise, and full truth—you loved the girls just as if they were your own sisters; and, sometimes it seemed that way.

You three always read together when the men went shooting birds, gossiped about the townspeople, and often matched your dresses, ribbons, and gloves to each other at balls and other gatherings of the like. Maybe it was due to your compatibility, but if you had to call anyone your best friend, it would have to be the girls.

They were both two years your juniors, but it was a commonly known fact that Charlotte was as intelligent as someone ten years your senior. She pored over literature all day, bent over desks examining records, and was always the one to come to when in need of rational advice. Helena, on the other hand, was a bright girl, but she certainly wasn’t a scholar; her strong suit was her humor and charm. She made acquaintances like no other, and had an almost endless amount of suitors and beaus asking for her hand. 

But, if that wasn’t the case, she would definitely still have an equal amount of friends. Maybe even the whole population of Wadsworth, if Helena wanted. But, really, that would not be much wanted.

The men and women of Wadsworth were numerous, but they were all prickly in their own ways. You often liked to joke that the countryside of Wadsworth was really just one big rose bush; most people were thorns in the sides, while, if you looked deep, there were plenty of roses, as well. Now, you didn’t hate attending balls, per se, but, the main reason keeping you away was that the men knew not how to dance at all, tripped over others’ feet and shoes, and their vocabulary—oh, lord, their vocabulary. It would be much pleasanter if you didn’t even begin on that topic.

Wadsworth was not small—big enough to fit everyone without being too congested—and it laid up north, where the weather was nice all of twelve-month. The grass was always green, and healthy, and the hefty trees provided shade that was more than needed. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and if it wasn’t the people that lured in tourists, it would have to be the scenery and landscaping.

Aside from the actual land, the properties, the estates, and the manors were all also a sight to behold. Wealthy were your neighbors, and your aunts, and your uncles, and the other ladies and the other sirs. Abodes were more grand than not—all at least two stories—had beautiful shrubbery and quite talented gardeners, large windows, and ornate carriages.

The people who filled these properties all had a profuse liking to dancing, and balls were held most frequently. Sometimes at Stratford House—where the girls resided, sometimes at Grantley Hall—the home of another aunt you had, and sometimes somewhere else. You, however, resided in Blackwood Park with your mother and father. It was a luxurious abode; your governess was as knowledgeable as can be, and the staff were all as kind-hearted as to be expected. You had bookshelves all to yourself, and read to your heart’s content whenever you felt the need to decline an invitation to a social gathering.

Prosperous—was your life.

In the middle of drinking tea—another activity you took up with your cousins—a commotion started up in the streets outside. 

All ladies of the town were absolutely, or, at least, nearly under a spell, as they all scrambled to their windows at the sound of hooves and neighing; they went to great lengths such as even peeking behind shutters and curtains, just to attempt even merely a glimpse at the two wealthy—and, if you did say yourself, dashingly dressed—gentlemen that had arrived on their grand steeds; of all their grandeur were individual breeds of andalusian and shire. 

It was, without a doubt, quite the sight to behold on a previously seemingly ordinary Tuesday morning. And, you weren’t at all surprised at the idea of any of your family screaming at the chance of possible suitors for either you or their children.

“Oh my!” gasped Helena, as she set down her tea cup, and hurried to look through the windows of Blackwood. “Pray, do you think the gentlemen are married?”

“I would think so,” sighed Charlotte; “any person who looks like that ought to have ladies lining up at his door, wouldn’t you agree it is so?” 

The blonde turned to you with an expectant look on her face, and you hesitated for an answer. “If they are as handsome as they are dressed, then, maybe. I have not a good look at their faces from this angle.”

“Oh, dear cousin!” cried the girls simultaneously. They were—if you could even call it that way—heavily dejected at the sound of your declaration. It was rational, though, and that’s why they were so clearly affected; if the men were both handsome and wealthy, it was highly plausible that they were with wives, and any possibility of either of the girls being able to flirt with the gentlemen was thus thrown out of the window.

Laughing, you tried your best to console the girls, and patted each of them on the head, before making your way towards the nearest window. This change gave you a way better opportunity to see the men than you had previously thought. Yes, there were two of them, and yes, they were both as handsome as they were dressed—though you would never admit such a thing aloud.

Because they were both on their horses, you could not see who was taller, but you knew that the distinction between them both was crystal clear; their heads were both full of unnaturally colored hair.

There was one gentleman with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the vast sea; he wore expensive, lavish clothing, and held himself up with confident poise—much like a prince would. The other gentleman had pink, rosy hair, that was of a ruly style—maybe it was unbrushed, you thought. But the first thing you noticed about him was the evident scowl on his face; he looked like the embodiment of a thunderstorm. Beautiful, but formidable.

Subconsciously, throughout your admiring of the wealthy men, you had been pushing the curtains back inch by inch, until, the white-haired man had seemingly taken notice of your observing, and looked up at your figure with an amused expression, before turning to his friend and pointing at you. With a surprised squeak, you pulled back the curtains and hid yourself before the gentlemen could get another look at you (or so you hoped).

“Why on earth did you close the curtains?” the girls cried, again, after noticing—through their misery—that the sight of the men was gone. “Just because they may be possibly married does not mean we cannot admire them all the same.”

“You think so?” you laughed.

“Well, certainly!” nodded Helena, profusely. “We could always just stand in corners of rooms, silently admiring their countenances. Aren’t I correct, sister?”

Charlotte turned to you with an optimistic smile. “Why, yes, you are! You must know, cousin, we are perfectly capable of keeping our mouths shut of flirtatious compliments when we are near married men. You must know.”

“What a nice thing to know, Lottie. But, we have yet to confirm whether the gentlemen are married or not—”

“Oh! bless me! I truly must’ve forgotten that part,” Helena said, as she squealed and kicked her legs back and forth. She was over the moon at hearing the—still unconfirmed—possibility that the men might be single. “Charlotte, sister, can you believe it? Either one or the both of us may be married by next spring!”

“Oh, cousin,” cried Charlotte, as she took your hands into her own, “this is such a wonderful Tuesday morning—”

In the middle of her exclamations of joy, Charlotte was interrupted by the calling of your maid-servant, who announced there was company at the door. Now, you were just seconds away from being informed of who it was, but the girls just couldn’t contain their anticipation, and before your maid-servant could get but another word out, the twins were flying down the stairs with high and hopeful spirits—the tea party completely forgotten.

“Who, in heaven’s name, could it be?” wondered Helena, as she took you by the arm and dragged the both of you downstairs.

“It must, indubitably, be the fine gentlemen,” declared Charlotte. “How could it not?”

But, upon opening the doors, it was indubitably not the fine gentlemen.

Your aunt—Lady Annesley; not to be mistaken as the mother of the girls—was standing outside Blackwood Park. She was widowed six or seven years ago, you couldn’t exactly recall the date; and she resided in a quite grand abode, called the Grantley Hall. She appeared with an anxious look on her face; but after seeing you open the doors, she hurried herself inside with a jolly, merry laugh.

“Oh, girls! All three of you! I have such wonderful news, such wonderful news, indeed.” She kissed each and every one of you on the cheek, and gathered you all into a tight hug; because she was a touchy person like that, but also because she had not seen one of your faces since her temporary departure to Brighton.

“Oh, Lady Annesley!” exclaimed Helena. “Do tell us about your vacation and trip. Did you see any officers and soldiers there?”

“How about the views? Were the waters and beaches pristine?” Charlotte chipped in.

“Oh, yes!” Lady Annesley simultaneously laughed and nodded like a mad woman. “Yes, yes, yes! My word, it was absolutely lovely, and the weather was just extraordinary; I shall certainly take you all there one day, but . . . that is not important in the present time. You know, Helena, I did make some rather pleasant acquaintances with some Admirals and Lieutenants while at the seashore, and I’ve come with some extra company.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “Are you to remarry?”

Gasps erupted from the lady and the blonde.

“Nonsense. Why, in heaven’s name, would I do that? No, no, the company is not that. You see, girls, the soldiers and officers that I had such a miraculous opportunity to befriend in Brighton have come back with me. Their military regiment is temporarily stationed here in Wadsworth! Can you believe that? When I was informed by Admiral Dawson, I was rendered speechless for a few minutes, you must know. But, ah, that is long forgotten now.

“There must be a ball hosted soon. It shall be at Grantley, I suppose, but a few arrangements will have to be taken care of before then.” Lady Annesley began to quietly murmur to herself afterwards, droning on about plans required to host a proper ball for so many residents of Wadsworth in addition to the many officers and soldiers.

The girls turned to face you with ecstatic expressions as your aunt fell into a subconscious silence.

“Isn’t this just a wonderful Tuesday morning?” asked Helena. “So many possibly unmarried men to gawk at and admire. How do you reckon, cousin, do you think men hardened by weather and work will be more handsome than gentlemen? I am quite curious, I must say.”

Charlotte answered for you. “I’m not even sure we would know. Here in Wadsworth, we’ve never seen any men of rank and occupation as of theirs, have we?”

The three of you shook your heads, shrugged, and wondered—any thought of the wealthy gentlemen was gone, and forgotten about, as Helena walked off to prepare a dress and fan for the ball, Charlotte stayed behind with Lady Annesley to speak about the scenery during her vacation, and you strode off to drink from your previously abandoned tea cup and continue eating the little French biscuits that the girls had brought along.

It was a pleasantly spent Tuesday morning, indeed. However, not much of the same could be said about the next.

You had not been an hour awake until your cousins had barged into your bedroom, and squealed and giggled as they jumped and danced around your room, exclaiming words and nonsense that your morning fog prevented understanding of.

“Oh, cousin! Do you not know? Today will perhaps be the most amazing night of our lives! Just picture it,” Helena began, pulling you out of bed and forcing you to dance with her, “a whole regiment of soldiers and officers will soon be filling Grantley Hall. The chances of any one of us being able to dance with them is highly likely, is it not? Oh! this is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”

“Helena, just—just wait a minute,” you said, pausing before Helena could waltz with you any more, “I have not even gotten dressed for breakfast. And the ball isn’t until evening. What are you and Charlotte so excited for? Many hours to come before the ‘most amazing night’ of our lives, you know.”

“Sister,” sighed Helena, as she turned to Charlotte, “you must certainly explain to our dearest cousin.”

Charlotte nodded. “Many hours to come are many hours to prepare. We must prepare our gowns, fans, bonnets, gloves. And, Helena, before I forget, what are we here for in the first place? to practice dancing, of course. Cousin, I’ll have you know, there is absolutely no chance I am letting you stay huddled at the pianoforte the whole night.

“Although your playing is much beloved, and appreciated, I am almost certain there will be others providing their services at the instrument. Whether you like it or not, I am forcing you to dance. If you do not waltz with any men, you will waltz with me or Helena or Lady Annesley.

“At your age of six and twenty, people worry you will end up celibate, you know.”

You hid a faint smile behind your hand. “Is this your way of looking out for me, then?”

The girls laughed, full of cheer.

Fortunately for the twins—who did not leave your side once throughout—both the morning and the afternoon had passed by with a considerable amount of speed. You three had acquired sufficient gowns for the coming evening, and had spent some time finishing up hair and obtaining jewelry and other essential cosmetics.

It had taken the strength and power of both the girls—with the additional help of Lady Annesley—to be able to force you out the doors of Blackwood Park, and consequently, shove you into the carriage parked outside. 

In all honesty, you weren’t in the particular mood to go to a ball, but when your aunt has her mind set on making acquaintances, she will not let go. She often said, Oh, dear niece, think of the men you can meet! or, So many handsome men of great fortunes, or, Rough, calloused, tall; is there anything better? and other similar sayings. It certainly did not help, at all, that Charlotte and Helena only encouraged your aunt.

A husband was never one of your top priorities; dying a single woman was not as unfortunate for you as it would be for other women. You had money, you had wealth, you had prosperity. Some people wed simply for gaining rank and title, carriages and clothes, and estates and property. But you had absolutely no need for any of that. And that’s why, as you walked into Grantley Hall—after what was perhaps the longest, most boring carriage ride of your life—you did not look to see who was handsome, or agreeable, or most rich. 

Instead, you looked for a chance to sit down, or, even, scurry away—from your companions, before they could force you to converse with some puny men, or rekindle your relationships with your many, many aunts and uncles.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help your eye wandering about the property; and only then, did you notice just how many new people were in Wadsworth at this time of year. Just as your aunt had said; there were officers, soldiers, other members of militia, captains, and men of ranks you could not and did not care to recognize.

Although you weren’t as crazy as Helena and Charlotte—whom you assumed were probably in some corner, certainly already flirting with the single men they managed to find, and blushing and obsessing as wildly as lunatics—you also weren’t as prejudiced to say everyone was of absolutely terrible breeding. You saw some handsome faces, you saw some . . . not handsome faces, but, even with all this, you weren’t intrigued. No, not even in the slightest bit.

In an act of rebellion against your “kidnappers,” you were en route to the pianoforte, when you heard a voice call for you, and saw a figure stop in the middle of your way.

“Good evening, miss,” came the call—from an officer, you assumed. “Pardon my intrusion, for I am simply tempted to make an acquaintance with someone of such great countenance as yours. I almost mistook you for a princess, you know.”

He was tall, had long legs, and a fit figure. His hair was dark, and so were his eyes, which were sharp, and stared back at you with emotion you could not read. Of all men you had noticed, he was, as of late, the most handsome, and by far.

A hand was given; a kiss was placed on the back of the palm; and names were exchanged. You referred to him as Mr. Wright, and, after a few minutes spent in conversation, you deemed him a quite agreeable man, whose good breeding had gone not only into physical appearance, but also into his heart. Mr. Adam Wright had opinions similar to your own, was interested in writings you read, and preferred the entertainment of pianoforte, which you played quite often.

“How have you been liking Wadsworth, sir?” you asked, as the two of you began to make your ways to the instrument in the corner of the hall; Wright had requested to hear you play.

“Very much. Very much so, indeed. It is even more lovely than your aunt (remind me her name again, was it Lady Anne?) had previously said. I’m quite fond of the scenery, actually.”

“Oh, are you? You know, there are many paths to walk where you’ll be able to see breathtaking views, I must say. But, if you dislike walking, it’s safe to say that passing by the gardens and shrubbery of most homes is quite adequate enough.”

“No, no, there will be no need,” Wright said, shaking his head. “I find walking very enjoyable.”

You laughed. “What a coincidence; so do I!”

It was, about a second’s distance away, just before you were beginning to seat yourself at the pianoforte, that you felt another presence behind you. Thinking it was just a friend of Mr. Wright that was only planning on making conversation, you turned around with a smile already on your face, but you were met with the sight of none other than your aunt, Lady Annesley, who appeared buzzy, and a bit gone. Had people already begun to drink? you wondered.

“Dearest niece,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder, “there are two very fine gentlemen I would like for you to meet. Come along now, child,” your aunt beckoned, but as she noticed the man standing to your right, she paused for a minute, laughed, and then continued, “you do not mind, sir? if I steal my niece away for just a moment? I assure you, there are many nice ladies in here that you can help yourself to.”

Lady Annesley waited not even a second to hear Mr. Wright’s response before she dragged you away to another part of Grantley Hall. You occasionally stumbled over your shoes due to your aunt’s unbalanced speed, and watched as the faces around you came and went in a blur whilst you traveled. Obviously, you knew prior, but you only fully realized how many people were in attendance when you caught the eyes of an old teacher—who, to be completely honest, you had not seen since last  Michaelmas.

“Right this way, my dear,” your aunt said, in a sing-song tone. “I am very eager, you know, for my darling niece to make such very acceptable acquaintances tonight. Not a chance nor a second shall be missed, and, if the gentlemen have not left and juked me, they should still be right . . . here.”

Lady Annesley had stopped so abruptly in her tracks at a corner of the room that you nearly collided with her back, but, fortunately, you did not. Your eyes lifted, and met the view of two very dashingly dressed gentlemen. Brothers, you assumed, who both had equally pink hair, and wore a pair of nearly complete opposite expressions on their faces.

The taller one—who you thought was the brother—had a fine countenance, a very fine countenance, indeed. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and truly brought out the essence of his character. He had sharp features, similarly to Mr. Adam Wright; his eyes were red as the rubies on his brooch, and he looked like the epitome of wealthy and expensive and elegant. His posture was composed, confident, and totally sure of himself; his hands were folded behind his back, and his eyebrows had a slight quirk in them as he, too, looked you over as you approached.

Your eyes then wandered over to the shorter brother, who stood to the right of the taller one. His face was a near replica of the prior, but his features were softened down, a little more dull, if you could even put it that way, and his smile was perhaps the most prominent feature on his face. The youthful countenance of his was on display, and you had no doubt that either Charlotte or Helena had already set their eyes on him. On the other hand, he looked young, very young—younger than you, perchance; an air of innocence was about his figure, and his eyes shone bright as day.

Sunshine, and thunder.

Oh! that is right; you knew these men, or, at least, you knew the taller one.

A corner of your lips tugged upwards as you made the remembrance. This—this man, this great, wealthy man; you had seen him last week! Certainly! He was one of the two gentlemen who rode on their steeds into town, and as of late, you had received no additional information about them except for the fact that they were of extraordinarily good breeding and admirable poise.

Your hand was offered, received and accepted, and was kissed in greeting. Introductions were quickly exchanged, and you happened to learn that the taller gentleman was called Sukuna Ryomen, whilst his (confirmed to be) brother was named Yuuji. To your great surprise, and due to your aunt’s nosiness, you found that the both of them were unmarried, single, and unengaged.

Originally, you had hoped that that would be the end of it, and your aunt would let you be. But, of course, the universe was not on your side this evening, and you were without the ability to leave and peacefully sit at your beloved pianoforte. Instead, you stood, in a corner of Grantley Hall—under numerous chandeliers—as you were forced to exert yourself for the sake of ‘acquainting’ your being with the two brothers, who, too, looked a bit unsettled by your aunt’s coercing to continue conversation.

“Pray,” you began, “is your current companion the same gentleman from when you first arrived?”

“My brother has hair similar to what is on my own head; my previous companion—a friend—has hair white as snow,” stated Mr. Ryomen, his tone declarative. “Have you no eyes, miss? I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

You could, obviously, make out that Yuuji was, in fact, not the same man from when Mr. Ryomen first arrived at the countryside; but, you were just simply making small talk. Was the country where the brothers came from so unaccustomed to that? you wondered.

“Have you no sociability, sir? I was not informed prior that simply making small conversation was so . . . unwanted by men like you.”

“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning for this lack of cordiality, I dare ask? Bless me!” exclaimed your aunt, a look of astonishment on her face as she scolded the three of you. “We are all here to make acquaintances, are we not? Let’s shift to another topic. Pray tell, you are here for . . . ?”

“Vacation, miss,” the younger brother smiled. “We have some friends and family living in Wadsworth, but aside from that, Sukuna is also a landowner here—in addition to his other estates (he likes a change of scenery, every once in a while, I must add). I’ve heard how nice the weather is, and decided to visit, as well.”

“Oh, yes! Most certainly!” nodded Lady Annesley. “Wadsworth is a very common tourist countryside, you must know.”

“Is it?” asked the elder brother.

“Have you no ears, sir? That is what was just said; I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

“My, is that how the ladies around here speak?” quipped Sukuna, his voice velvety, and dripping with honey as he spoke. “—To gentlemen, as well? I may have overestimated your hospitality to newcomers, or, well, vacationers.”

“Excuse her,” your aunt interjected, nervously laughing, “she’s. . . She caught a cold from the recent rain, I’m afraid. Yes, of course, the rain. Isn’t that right?” Lady Annesley nudged you by the elbow. “It’s the rain, isn’t it?”

“. . .Indeed.”

Though your aunt occasionally gave you rebuking looks for your behavior, you had paid no effort in pretending to be engaged in conversation with the brothers. She had, with all her might, tried to erect as many topics and subjects worth speaking of as possible, but to no avail. Her spirits were deflated, and Lady Annesley had concluded that if you were going to marry one day, the chances of it being with Mr. Sukuna Ryomen were close to zero.

You two sent jeering comments and jokes towards each other as if your lives depended on it, and, in truth, you couldn’t count on either of your hands how many times you rolled your eyes. You found Mr. Ryomen to be a highly disagreeable man, and, if it weren’t for his indubitably large fortune and handsome countenance, you would probably call your aunt deranged for even suggesting you mingle with him. Yuuji, his brother, on the other hand, was much agreeable, and his views and prejudices were very reasonable. Of course, the same could not be said about Sukuna.

His interests were in going a-shooting, riding on his stallions, or taking vacations to his various abodes. Yes, he had multiple, and he had no humility to hide that fact; Sukuna’s pride would take up the whole of Wadsworth and more, if it had a physical form. Of course, he had reason to be full of pride: born rich, and would, eventually, die rich. Still, does it hurt so bad to be humble? You didn’t waste your breath asking that question; you knew, after all, that Sukuna had no experience in that department.

“Are you staying long—in Wadsworth?” you asked, looking only at the younger brother. Ignorance was a petty way of spiting someone, you had to admit, but it was childish, and Sukuna was as childish as a child could possibly be.

“Ah, that is the hope,” smiled Yuuji. “I may think of purchasing land here, you know.”

“Isn’t that just wonderful to hear? I would be delighted to have someone as agreeable as you for a neighbor,” you said. “Pray, does your brother live anywhere near Blackwood Park? I heard you mention him having property here, in Wadsworth.”

“I live five miles away from Blackwood,” Sukuna answered, instead, for Yuuji.

Your eyes shifted to meet red ones, and you moved your weight onto a different leg, whilst fanning yourself with your fan. “I do not recall asking you, sir.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Is it not sensible to answer on my own behalf?”

“Perhaps so. But, I find that nothing you do is sensible,” you laughed. “So, either way, there is really no difference.”

It would be a highly plausible assumption to make by saying that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna was pampered to no end as a child, and never denied any fundamentals or trivials. If that was truly the case, then, you could have sworn you saw an unrecognizable glint flash in his ruby eyes at the sound of your constant discourtesy. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had, in fact, been coddled as much as you had assumed. And, just hearing his name being so mercilessly abused was already enough to intrigue him. There was, in a sense, something so alluring and bewitching about your recklessness in conversation, that Sukuna couldn’t help but long for more of the hearing your insults.

Lady Annesley, on the other hand, was extremely disappointed at your behavior, and couldn’t find any reason—no matter searching—for your incredible disdain towards the eldest of the two gentlemen. Your ridiculous bickering and bantering would only serve in embarrassing your aunt’s reputation in Wadsworth, and that was far from what Lady Annesley dreamed of. The only thing she could thank God for was that you weren’t nearly as prejudiced towards Yuuji as you were to his brother.

“Pray, how about we all dance, yes?” your aunt proposed, in faux cheerful spirits. “Shall my niece partner with the younger gentleman?”

“Oh, I’m quite afraid that could not be made possible, miss,” said Yuuji, as he offered an apologetic expression. “My leg is in incredible pain, and I must—with much embarrassment—admit to my having fallen once while riding here. I may have chosen to travel on quite a rowdy stallion, but it is only myself that I have to blame.”

With a politeness you could never aim towards Sukuna, you offered up your condolences, and, with a smile, proposed that the two of you sat down whilst the other attendees danced to their heart’s content. (If it wasn’t obvious before, you were very desperate for any excuse to avoid dancing.) But, to your dismay, Yuuji had declined sitting down, and explained that he had a few other people he was interested in speaking with before the end of the night, and, with a well mannered farewell, bid the three of you adieu.

“Well, upon my word, your parents have done a good job raising that fellow,” added Lady Annesley, a sorry expression on her face as she watched the only other pacifist in your party walk away with an uneven gait, which further proved his excuse.

“Whether that was by the work of my parents, or a governess, or something unspoken, is debatable,” the pink-haired man remarked.

“Or, perhaps, he was merely born with the admirably civil heart he has now. That is quite rare, I must say, in this time, and among these people.” You directed that last bit towards Sukuna, and it was probably pretty clear—seeing as red eyes met yours with just as much animosity soon after your little witty comment.

At first, you were merely treating Sukuna with the same omitted amount of respect he was giving you, but now, you found yourself starting to rather enjoy bullying him. It was pointless banter, after all, and you were almost certain Sukuna felt the same way. Although you felt a sense of dislike towards the man, you couldn’t help but be fond of the way he was, probably, the only other man you could banter with so lightly.

Your unconventional views and dislikes and interests often provoked strong emotion and irritation in most gentlemen, and you weren’t thought to be very agreeable. But, as for the pink-haired gentleman, he took your abusing words with little to no offense. There was the occasional annoyance displayed on his features: like a little furrow of the brow, or crinkle of the nose; but it was almost humorous—seeing as a small smile usually appeared soon after—as if he found your insults to be jokes.

After a pregnant pause, Sukuna broke the silence by saying, “Do you dance, madam?”

“Will you force me?”

“If it cannot be helped.”

You hadn’t actually thought to dance with a man like Sukuna, but upon hearing this concise exchange between her niece and hopefully future nephew-in-law, your aunt thought there was nothing better in the world than to usher the both of you to the center of Grantley Hall herself, and force you two to dance among the rest of the attendees. The orchestrated music was loud—loud enough so that little to no one could hear your protesting complaints, and Lady Annesley, smiling to herself at finally having succeeded in getting you to properly socialize, walked away in the direction of the drinks.

Looking at your aunt’s back as she walked away, you sighed; all your attempts at escaping had been fruitless, futile, and done in vain. For, whilst a pianoforte played in a ¾ time signature, you turned to face Sukuna with a sorrowful expression, but you were instead met with a contrasting smile.

“I have never danced with a lady like you before, miss,” he said, in a condescending tone, as he took your hesitant hands into his, and readied himself for a slow, smooth, elegant waltz.

Sukuna’s hands were calloused, rough, and large compared to your own; he was, certainly, a man. 

A warmth spread throughout your body as you made contact with his skin, and it was almost electrifying, like nothing you had ever felt before. It’s safe to say you were expecting something else, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You must not dance very often, then. I can assure you, with no doubt, that there is not much to put me aside from others.”

The two of you began to move at a languid speed, and soon caught up to the velocity of most other dancers, though, even in such a large and crowded space, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was just the two of you. The two of you dancing, the two of you talking; the two of you.

“I can name plenty of distinguishing aspects you have.”

“Is that so?” you asked.

“Indeed.”

“My, my, my, do enlighten me, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Do you mean it is not obvious?” he asked, looking into your eyes with intent.

You responded with the shaking of your head.

“Your eyes—somehow brighter than most. Your smile—infectious, even to someone such as I.” Sukuna’s words were spoken with the utmost sincerity, and you could tell, from his tone, that he meant every word he said; although it surprised you to be complimented by him, you couldn’t help the warmth that rose to your cheeks. “Your laughter—melodious to even the deaf. And you, yourself—I find you alluring.”

“. . .”

“Is your silence a sign of disbelief?”

In truth, you weren’t exactly familiar with hearing such a plethora of compliments, and, since it came from someone you could never expect it from, it made you all the more embarrassed.

“I beg your pardon, sir. You find me . . . alluring?”

“It shall be known, soon enough, that I am a man who thinks what he says. I do not say what I do not mean, miss.”

Through keeping your head down, you avoided meeting Sukuna’s eyes with all your might, but still, you could feel his penetrating gaze piercing holes through your face. Listening to the music in the background was a method you used in an attempt to calm your nerves, but all was fruitless in the end. If Sukuna had not the way of words he did now, his voice would certainly make up for it. Thick, sultry, velvety; it was absolutely ludicrous how bothered it made you, and you had to occasionally let out a cough to cover up the way you swallowed the frequent lumps in your throat.

After having settled in silence for a few counts of three, Sukuna smiled, laughing at your sudden shyness. “I have heard lots of great things about you, you must know.”

“Is—Is that so?”

“So it is,” he nodded, before continuing; “your aunt—Lady Annesley, was it?—had briefly spoken about you, in addition to her other nieces and nephews, when she first approached me and my brother.”

At this, you laughed, finally having built up the courage to meet Sukuna in the eyes. “I am concerned about what she might have had to say.”

“All good things, I assure you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding, before continuing on in casual conversation. Your banter from earlier had grown severely scarce, and was evidently replaced with subtly flirtatious comments. All the while, you found yourself growing embarrassed more than ever, but over time, you had gradually worked up a familiarity towards the compliments, and felt rather at ease whilst simultaneously talking and dancing with Mr. Ryomen Sukuna—who appeared as cool and composed as per usual.

It was after the pianoforte’s playing had ended, that the crowd had disconnected from the partners, curtseyed and bowed to one another, and burst into applauds of plaudits. The room was lively, with its guests chatting and talking with delight at such a wonderful dance they had danced just moments prior. People took seconds to recollect themselves, by either grabbing glasses of water, or fanning themselves before the next waltz. You, on the other hand, had begun to make your way to the pianoforte, before you were stopped again (yes, again; why on earth was everyone so opposed to letting you play music nowadays?).

There was a nudge against the back of your elbow, and you turned around with much grace, just to be met with the same face from before.

“Could I trouble you for another round, miss?” came that velvety voice you loved so much.

It was Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, and he was with the objective of claiming yet another spot on your dance card this evening. How wonderful, just so, so very wonderful. . .

“. . .And just what type of round are we speaking of, sir?”

Sukuna’s countenance held the expression of mischief, and playful doing, as he leaned his face down closer to yours, till you couldn’t distinguish the line between your and his breath. “Whatever you’d prefer, my fair lady.”

As a smile made its way onto your face, Sukuna did just as he had done before: gathering your warm hands into his cold ones, and bringing the both of you into another waltz just as the euphonious music began again for a second time that evening. While you could never admit it aloud, as the hours passed by, you soon found yourself forgetting all about your beloved pianoforte—that could, as of late, be put off for maybe just a little longer.

***

“All we did was waltz—just like everybody else! What, in heaven’s name, is so unusual about that?”

Your cousins had called on you the next morning after the ball at Grantley, and waited not a second before asking—no, demanding—you to tell them about all that had happened whilst they were away and mingling. (Yes, you were, in fact, correct in assuming that the girls had been acquainting themselves with officers galore and other various gentlemen that same evening.) But, despite them having a most eventful evening themselves, they were, by far, more curious as to hearing about your experience.

“Yes, you waltzed,” Charlotte replied, exasperated, “we know that; we saw it! after all. But, but, but, not only did you waltz together, you waltzed together twice! Can you believe that, Helena? A wealthy—and, if I must say, handsome—gentleman claimed not one, but two spots on our very dear cousin’s dance card last evening!”

“It is oh-so wonderful!” cried Helena, absolutely overjoyed at the fact you were finally socializing for once. “But, do not forget, sister, that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, the very man our dearest cousin danced with, also held her hands without gloves! Without gloves! Bless me! I find I shall faint if not cautious, you know.”

The girls gossiped and confabulated over yesterday’s events with much interest and engagement. They teased you, giggled at the way you waltzed with a man right after verbally abusing him, and accepted his hand twice. It seemed that they could not and would not let it go that you had danced with such a man last evening, and it seemed the only way you could get them to leave their current attentions was to mention their events and who they danced with—to which, they were most delighted to answer you.

“Shall we tell her, Lottie?” exclaimed Helena, eager to reminisce about the ball she had. “Shall we tell her?”

“Of course, of course!”

And so, with that, the minds of the girls had been successfully veered over to the subject of other men. Helena recalled chatting with several young officers, all who were, as she said, “charming, and effectively handsome, but they were, unfortunately, as taciturn as to make people assume them mute.” Helena complained about how she could only get acquainted with most officers if she was the one who spoke up first; which, in her eyes, was terribly unacceptable.

Charlotte, on the other hand, was not as extroverted as her twin sister, though, she was pretty enough so that people approached her before she had to open her mouth to anyone. She had made acquaintances with “very fine gentlemen, very fine and intellectual gentlemen, indeed,” and laughed and chatted about poetry and philosophy almost all night long. She geeked out on her favorite authors and thinkers, and her interlocutors reciprocated with their own. It was a most enjoyable night for her—seeing as most people of Wadsworth did not find such topics in conversations as pleasant as Charlotte did.

“Did you know, cousin,” began the blonde, “that such an abundance of officers read poetry?”

“Nay, I did not, but go on.”

And go on, she did. Whenever Charlotte spoke of writing and literature, she rarely even took a breath to breathe. She was like that: always very passionate about her favorite subjects, and she was rarely able to notice if the people around her had started to bore or not—but, it mattered not; Charlotte wouldn’t have stopped talking anyway, unless, by a chance, she found herself getting thirsty. Yes, she got thirsty quite often, and you often joked (all in good nature, of course) that it was due to how much she talked.

The three of you had spent the entire morning gossiping over tea and biscuits, until a maid-servant had called you all for lunch, and you all burst into quite a harmoniously-sounding fit of laughter at the realization that, throughout your chitter chatter, you had finished neither one cup of tea, nor one plate of pastries. It was a pleasantly spent morning, indeed.

That week passed by with much ease, and the next one passed by similarly. There was even one day, where, you had been met with the fortunate coincidence of crossing paths with none other than Mr. Adam Wright whilst on your daily walk outside of Blackwood Park.

“Good day, miss,” he began, in a smooth voice, “how do you do?”

“Oh! bless me; you had me startled there—for a minute, Mr. Wright. But, I am very well; I thank you.”

“I beg your finest pardon, madam,” replied he, before bowing his head ever so slightly. “I did not mean to alarm you.”

You waved your hand around in a dismissing manner. “And, to what do I owe the honor of running into you today, sir?”

“Ah, I was just admiring the views you were telling me about. You know, when we were chatting about nature and shrubbery? Yes, well, I find your suggestions to be very credible, for this is quite the place you have here, miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wright, very generous of you to say so.” You smiled.

“No need to thank me, I am sure you receive compliments on your home thousands upon thousands of times each day. Pray, how many acres is Blackwood Park?”

“I would assume a little above three thousand.”

“Is that so?”

“So it is,” you said, smiling. “Why the face? Do not you believe me?” you joked, seemingly in a playful mood this morning.

“I ought to walk with you around the park in order to further prove your answer.”

As you two linked arms, and began to walk around the park, surrounded by bushes and trimmed shrubbery under the shade-providing trees, you wondered if this was Mr. Wright’s attempt at flirting, or getting to know you. But, either way, you kept a smile on your face and walked, explaining the paths and routes and terrain as you did so.

“Do you walk often, miss?”

“I believe I told you that I did—at Grantley. Or have you already forgotten? I didn’t know you paid so little to a supposed princess’s words, sir.”

Mr. Wright laughed. “It was an assumption, I explained. If you shall continue to tease me on that subject, I may become humiliated, you know.”

“What if that’s my goal?”

“Then, I suppose, the ladies here in Wadsworth must be very cruel.”

The both of you turned a corner, walking a new veered path as the sun bathed you in light. You were just about to reposition your parasol to shield yourself from the blinding radiance, when, out of the blue, a hand came up to cover your eyes from above; it was discovered to be Mr. Adam Wright’s.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I thank you, sir.”

“It is not a problem,” began the officer; “you repay me by showing me the very nice landscaping here, after all.”

“. . .Ah, I see.”

In truth, you had not been in hopes of being joined in your walk this autumn morning, and you usually preferred solitude in times like these, but, alas, you had been joined by an officer, and were now to show him the ways around Blackwood Park and the rest of Wadsworth. You would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you in the slightest. . .

The both of you walked and talked: admiring the beautiful river of Northwick, crossing the bridge above said river, speaking of the chestnuts that had fallen from deciduous trees, and laughing about the squirrels above; all of this up until lunchtime, when you two departed—you, who had arrived at Stratford House to exchange your calling card with Charlotte and Helena, and Mr. Adam Wright, who had the objective of going forth to the shops.

Upon entering Stratford, you were greeted by the sight of two very excited twins.

“Oh, cousin! You’re here!” cried Helena. “We were waiting for your call, you know.”

“Hm, well, isn’t that lovely? What were you waiting for, exactly?”

“I’m not surprised you weren’t informed as of late; it was very last minute,” began Charlotte, “but, we were invited to Kendall Manor, actually. All three of us!” The blonde gestured to you, herself, and her sister.

“Kendall?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. “Well, color me intrigued, then.”

Kendall Manor was a very envied spot in Wadsworth. With many beautiful arts there, it was a very famous spot for tourists to visit; you had even been there once or twice, whilst paying respects to its multitude of pianofortes and large collection of literature. Outside, it had high walls, lakes, an abundance of land, and various fountains throughout. The estate was known, but, in contrast, its owner was not.

For as long as you had lived, the possessor of Kendall Manor had never been present in Wadsworth. Not much information was of him, whoever he was, but the one piece of knowledge regarding him, was that he was alive and well. Maybe in a neighboring country, maybe somewhere else, no one knew where, but everyone knew he was there. It worked out, though; if so many people were visiting and entering Kendall Manor each day, surely the owner would be bothered, but in this case, that didn’t matter; the owner wasn’t even there!

“Come, lovie,” began Charlotte, as she ushered you upstairs to a changing room; “we must make haste! The chaise and four have already been called for, and not a second can be of waste.”

You had been dressed, your hair done, and your face painted, before you were, again, shoved into a carriage and driven off to Kendall Manor. It happened incredibly quickly, and gave you whiplash all the while.

“Do you two happen to know who specifically invited us lot?” you asked. “I wasn’t familiar with the fact that the owner of Kendall Manor was in the country; was it the doing of a servant? Or was the manor let?”

“Dear cousin, you worry too much,” laughed Helena. “We should instead rejoice at the opportunity of another party; we are bound to have a ball, after all. Why does the host matter?”

You grumbled, and sat silent for the rest of the ride. It was strange; why now? Why did the owner of Kendall decide to come home now? And, why on earth did he invite you and the girls? As far as you were concerned, you had no acquaintance with him, whoever he was, and neither did your family or any other relations you had.

Whilst basking in your confusion and wonder, the horses had come to a stop outside of a quite magnificent abode, and you instantly knew that this was Kendall Manor. Four or five thousand acres of land, under the blazing sun. Beautiful, vast, and plagued with mystery.

The three of you were taken up the stairs, and led inside by a valet, where you were greeted with the even more surprising sight of the rest of your family: some aunts and uncles, Lady Annesley, and others you did not care to name. If that wasn’t enough to make your jaw drop, you noticed half (if not all) of Wadsworth residents and even a few familiar faces of officers from the regiment temporarily stationed in the countryside; but, try as you might, your eyes could not set upon the countenance of Mr. Adam Wright—who was, probably, out at the shops, and alone.

What was this? Why was everyone here?

“Forgive my lack of planning prior,” began a velvety voice you knew well; and when you turned to the sound of that voice, you were met with the face of Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, standing next to his brother. “Welcome, all, to Kendall Manor.”

It was quickly explained that this was a party, in celebration of Mr. Ryomen, who had finally returned to his home country of Wadsworth, and was planning on staying for longer than he had been gone. He wanted to make acquaintances with all the people he would’ve known had he been here instead of at all his other estates and properties.

The guests were introduced to a large variety of pastries and biscuits and drinks and other desserts from the other counties Sukuna had been staying at previously. People asked him about what his other homes were like: if they were much different from Kendall of Wadsworth, and he—with his usual disagreeableness—did not even try to act humble as he described his very prosperous and fortunate self.

There were many ladies of Wadsworth that were single, and none of them wasted any chance in practically throwing themselves at the owner of the manor. In addition, Charlotte and Helena, once standing beside you, were now off and talking with a number of officers, having a very pleasant afternoon themselves.

You, on the other hand, were not much interested in speaking about subjects such as these, and, accompanied by very few people, walked into a nearby drawing room. Though you were not much of a card-player yourself, it was, perhaps, the only source of entertainment you could find within the walls of Kendall (except for playing pianoforte, which the girls forbade you). A table for Whist was set up, and a party of four, including yourself, began to play.

For a few rounds, you thought you had found peace, but no, a thunderstorm had soon followed you all the way into the drawing room. Mr. Ryomen had come, and was accompanied by the other guests, who were all flocking to him like birds.

“Shall we all play a game for more of us?” began the pink-haired gentleman. He was clearly doing this on purpose; his face told you all you needed to know: he was disturbing your peace and quiet for the simple motive of being a bother.

Of course, no one could refuse the host of such a grand party, and a much larger game table was soon set up, so that many could sit down and gamble. You had the unfortunate fate of being seated between the host, and Lady Annesley; and, although you were near at least one good relative, your aunt paid minimal attention to you, for she was seated beside Admiral Dawson, whom she was grossly engaged in conversation with.

Throughout the betting game, either your or Sukuna’s seat had been gradually inching closer to the other’s, to the point your shoulders were practically touching, and so were your elbows, which occasionally bumped together, causing the both of you to mutter curses or complaints.

“Why don’t you move nearer to your brother, sir? I am sure it would be much appreciated,” you jeered, obviously fed up with the amount of hits you were receiving.

“Careful there, miss. Lying too much can be detrimental.”

“‘Lying’? Oh, please. There is no truth in my saying ‘I enjoy sitting beside you’.”

“Of course,” laughed Sukuna, in a mocking tone. “Of course, Miss Untouchable. How could I forget? you just have a problem with everyone these days.”

“. . .”

“I wasn’t at all aware, you know, that such a disagreeable woman like you existed. Though, I can’t say it was unexpected; your countenance gives quite a fair hint to everyone when looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am sure the absolute same could be said about you, sir.”

“What a coincidence!” teased Sukuna. “I was beginning to think we had nothing in common.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stabbed the heel of your shoe onto Sukuna’s, but he let out neither a curse nor a groan of pain.

Instead, Sukuna rested his arm on the back of your chair with an overwhelming grip as he leaned his face closer to yours; and you could’ve sworn you could see the red of his eyes swirling together in a mix, as if a tornado. The tips of your noses were only centimeters apart, and you couldn’t draw a line between where your breath ended and where his started even if you had to.

Your eyes met with equal resentment and agitation, as if there was a mutual message being sent from merely your locked gazes alone, but then, to your surprise, his stare drifted up to your hat.

“Various shades of blue and green, with gold as an accent,” he noted, in a slurred tone, almost as if he was drunk.

“Well, yes. Have you never seen a peacock feather?”

“Two of which are both colors on the cooler side of the color spectrum,” he continued, paying no mind to your words; “but, I must say, red would suit you much better, my darling.”

Your eyes widened at the sound of this, and your gaze fell to your fidgety hands in your laps. Still, you wasted no time in quipping, “I have no doubt I would wear the color much better than you, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.”

“I can imagine that, but I would rather see it with my own eyes,” he said, eyes trailing back down to your lips.

“. . .”

The hand that was previously draped over the back of your chair slowly but surely made its way down, until it was draped over your hip, gripping and kneading the flesh there. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face Sukuna with an incredulous expression. You mouthed the words What on earth are you doing? To which, the pink-haired man only responded with Nothing you wouldn’t want, my lady.

In order for the hand on your hip to not be visible, you had to scoot your chair as far away from Lady Annesley as you could, and press your body as close to Sukuna’s as you could possibly venture. The rest of the drawing room remained boisterous, and completely oblivious to the scandalous act you had going on with the party’s host.

As his hand lowered down to the ends of your dress, and his fingers crept up your skirt, your cheeks warmed to an extreme extent, and you tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve, desperate for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. This was utterly humiliating! you thought. What was the meaning for this? And in the middle of a party?

His hands felt cold, and you frequently shivered as they moved at a dreadfully slow speed up your legs, before settling in between your thighs. If your face wasn’t as red as a tomato before, it surely was now. For, you had originally thought that clamping your thighs together would be the perfect plan to get Sukuna to stop his movements, but no, it made everything altogether worse. By a thousand degrees.

His hand was stuck between your thighs, and, like the bastard he was, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna thought it would be such a fun thing to move your panties aside, and put pressure on your clit, which, consequently, resulted in you having to cover your mouth with your fan, to hide and shield the whimpers that came soon after.

“Nnghh.”

His fingers then removed themselves, to which you gasped in relief, but before you could utter another word, you were interrupted by his fingers entering you once more, in a quite diligent fashion. They curled and twisted, and reached deep inside of you, but alas, you could do nothing but writhe; you couldn’t bear this predicament you had gotten yourself into being exposed to the rest of the party guests, and you couldn’t—without feeling shame—let it be known that the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers was rather pleasurable.

Your whole body’s temperature rose, and you couldn’t help the moans that left your lips. This feeling was so . . . strange; you had never felt anything like this before. So overwhelming with both pain and pleasure, and incredibly scandalous. If anyone were to find out what you were doing—never mind, you need not know.

Sukuna’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Don’t fight it.”

One finger, then two, and now three.

“F-Fight what?” you managed, between whimpers. “What are you doing?”

With your thighs still clamped together and squeezing around his hand, the pleasure of Sukuna’s fingers moving within you was highly intensified, and your expression twisted into one of embarrassing lewdness. The suddenly appeared knot in your stomach had tightened, and you had soon reached your peak only moments later, your release clinging to Sukuna’s fingers, which were still deep inside of you.

“Hahh, Sukunngh,” you moaned, eyes squeezing shut as you hid your face from other guests behind your fan.

Just as you were recovering from your body’s physical reaction and occasional jolts, Sukuna’s voice suddenly sounded in the room, and everyone and their mother turned to face him, completely unbeknownst to the fact that his hand was still in between your legs.

You didn’t hear much of what he said—your head still swimming, and your self dazed—but you managed to make out a few words, where Sukuna had explained that there were numerous hallways in Kendall that were filled from top to bottom with many famous and beautiful paintings and other art works. The guests were unsurprised by this knowledge, but nonetheless, they were greatly intrigued, and as a valet of Sukuna’s led the party out of the drawing room, Sukuna sat back down (after making sure everyone had exited) and turned to you with a smug expression—never once removing his fingers from deep within you.

“Sukuna,” you mewled, nearly going crazy at the realization that the man would probably never run out of stamina to finger you, “what are you doing?”

Whilst grinning like a mad man, Sukuna pulled you onto his lap within the blink of an eye, which resulted in your back being flush with his hard chest. Beyond shocked, you gasped, but before you could get out another word, you felt the tickling sensation of lips dragging down your clavicle and shoulders, peppering kisses on several moles and freckles you had there.

There was a growing warmth in your core, and though you writhed and wriggled in his grasps, you couldn’t help but (after a few moments) finally succumb to his touches and caresses. A sigh left your lips, and you leaned back against the body behind you.

“Sukuna, I—ahh, w-why?”

Just as you were beginning to relax, Sukuna removed his hand from between your legs and, with the assistance of his other hand, pulled the top of your dress down, leaving the bare skin of your chest revealed to the empty drawing room and cool air. 

“You’re so beautiful, my lady,” he slurred, eyes glued to your exposed tits.

Without wasting a moment, Sukuna began to pull and twist and press at your nipples, which were beginning to harden at his assaults. Your back arched, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. This was totally erotic! you thought, though you did nothing to stop it. As your nipples were carelessly toyed with to Sukuna’s content, your body twisted and squirmed all the while, but to no avail.

As if a child playing with a new toy for the first time, Sukuna squeezed and squeezed at the wholes of your tits, admiring the way your buds pebbled at the attention they were receiving. Your legs kicked at nothing, and you thrashed around wildly; and, if things couldn’t get more lewd, you felt the sensation of a warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up your neck.

Pornographic moans, whimpers, and cries filled the empty drawing room, and you couldn’t even imagine the looks on people’s faces if they returned from the gallery early.

“Nnghh! Ah—ah—ahh! Sukuna!” You panted, delirious.

“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” said Sukuna, as he kissed and nipped at your throat. “Don’t hold back; just let out all your cute little noises for me.”

The hands which groped at your breast soon paused in their assaults, and as you began to catch your breath, you felt them gradually slide down the curves of your body, all the way to your thighs, where they hiked up the material of your skirt, pulling it up to your stomach, which left your panties and dignity exposed.

“. . .Sukuna?” You blinked.

“Ha! You’ve become so wet just from my hands alone, that I think it would be no trouble at all for you to take my cock right about . . . now.”

“What—oh! Mmph!”

Apparently, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna had a major problem with cutting people off, because, just as you were about to ask what he very well meant by that, your hips were tightly gripped onto, your body was raised, and you cried out as you were soon slammed back down onto Sukuna’s cock. All the words in your throat had been swallowed, and your brain turned to mush as you felt so utterly full from his girth and length alone; it was so . . . big. You had never done anything as insane as this, and as moans and cries left your lips left and right, you couldn’t distinguish whether you felt more pain or pleasure.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your face twisted into that of incredible lewdness; your hands gripped onto Sukuna’s biceps, and your nails dug into his muscles, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in the way.

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Ever been fucked before?”

“Nnghh, n-no. . . No!”

“That’s. . . Fuck. You mean I’m the first one to touch you like this?”

Sukuna gripped and groped onto your tits as he spoke, before raising up your hips and slamming them back down just like before. One second, you were empty, the next, you were so impossibly full, and then so on and so forth. As Sukuna repeated this for God knows how long, you nearly passed out from the overwhelming pleasure you felt everywhere. From the calloused hands on your hips, to the length of his cock sliding in and out and up and down your walls, to the warm breath fanning your ear. It was all so much.

You had never known pleasure like this before, and you wondered if this was but a dream.

As you rolled your hips, trying desperately for more friction, you were stopped by the feeling of two hands gripping onto the meat of your hips with a strength that was sure to result in bruising the next morrow.

“Why do you move, darling?” Sukuna leaned down to whisper in your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Whilst you bounced sensuously on his lap, Sukuna didn’t show an ounce of shame as he stared with incredible lust at the sight of your tits bouncing up and down. The tip of his cock penetrated you in places you didn’t even know existed until now, and you couldn’t help the plethora of moans that left your lips. 

Just as before, the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable height, and with one last rough thrust, you came right on Sukuna’s cock; your bodily fluids dripping down his shaft and leaving a sticky feeling between your thighs as they dried.

“So?” began Sukuna, bringing you out of your dazed state.

In confusion, your brows knitted together. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“How was it?”

“How was . . . what?”

You could hear Sukuna scoff from behind you. “Are you that dense, my dear lady? Or have you already forgotten what we have—mind you—just done?”

“. . .I’m afraid my memory is not as sufficient as one’s might be,” you teased, despite yourself.

The corner of Sukuna’s lip quirked upwards, into a grin, as a mischievous expression made its way onto his face. “Shall we refresh your memory, then?”

“How so?”

With his cock still buried deep inside of you to the hilt, Sukuna stood up and moved your bodies in tandem until he was able to lay the top half of your body on the drawing room’s table. Your bare tits pressed up against the rough wood, and you groaned in relief as you laid the side of your face down.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, Sukuna had no even the slightest idea of relaxing on his mind, and as the lids of your eyes began to droop, Sukuna woke you straight up with a hard thrust inside your cunt, which slightly shook the table and resulted in a rather unpleasant sound reverberating throughout the living space.

This, completely, caught you off guard, and the scream that left your throat was to be expected. “Ahh! I—hahh.”

Your back arched, your hair was pulled towards Sukuna, your neck soon began to ache; you saw stars as Sukuna continued his thrusts from before with more (if not the same amount of) force, and you wondered if the walls were thin enough for servants or party guests to hear you from all the way down the hall.

Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was not, but as Sukuna’s cock continued to fill you to the hilt, you could’ve sworn you felt him in your guts. Callings of his name, moans of gibberish, and et cetera, left your lips as if in a prayer to God. You panted, you gasped, and your breath got caught in your throat as the table rocked beneath your and Sukuna’s weight.

If not for his stable grip on your hips, you would’ve fallen and crashed to the floor from how your knees buckled and turned to seemingly nothingness.

“Has your memory been refreshed, my lady?” began Sukuna, in a jeering tone.

“I—nnghh, not . . . not quite.” Though you were barley conscious at this point, and pleasure nearly consumed your whole being, you couldn’t help but joke. However, as the speed and force of Sukuna’s thrusts began to increase, you soon found yourself thinking how foolish it was to joke in such a predicament.

“Yeah? How about now?”

Both hands on your hips had left, and instead found their way to your tits, where they groped and squeezed to Sukuna’s liking.

This may have been your breaking point; and as your back arched and the volume of your lewd cries increased, you found yourself grinding your ass back against Sukuna’s crotch. The extra friction brought you over the edge, and you moaned and moaned like a bitch in heat as you came once more.

You didn’t remember much of what came after that (A/N: pun intended), but you knew you had somehow managed to dress yourself and fix your disheveled appearance right as soon as half of the party returned to the drawing room. Whilst the guests drank in the sight of you, Sukuna, on the other hand, had fixed his pants, and casually seated himself on his chair.

“Oh, my niece,” exclaimed a bewildered Lady Annesley, “you are already here.”

You stopped like a deer in front of a carriage driver’s torch, and stuttered as you struggled for an answer. “Yes, I—I quickly lost interest while looking at the artwork, and decided to return here to play another game of cards.”

“So you say? Well, upon my word, what card game did you play that resulted in your countenance to glow so pleasantly as it does now?”

For a second, you had thought your aunt had somehow discovered what you and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna were getting up to whilst alone in the drawing room, but after a moment’s silence, you quickly realized she was being genuine, and, like her usual chaotic-self, was simply wondering about a possible new skincare routine. At this newfound conclusion, you let out a sigh of relief, and continued in conversation for the remaining duration of the party at Kendall.

However, at the back of your mind remained the still recent memory of what it was like to have your brains fucked out by none other than Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, who, whilst he pretended to linger around your being while you chatted with relatives, occasionally trailed a playful finger up your spine, which always resulted in your breath being caught in your throat, as you feared he would do something similar to what he did before the guests had left.

***

It was late—well into the evening, really—when a messenger on his horse had come by with mail in his inventory.

A fortnight had passed since that . . . incident in Kendall Manor’s drawing room, and you had been avoiding Sukuna ever since. You feared that if you did otherwise, you would begin to develop an unhealthy relationship with his cock, which, even after fourteen days, you had not forgotten the feeling of. It was strange, to say the least. At first, you had thought Sukuna to be a very disagreeable man, a very disagreeable man, indeed; but now, he was . . . well, no, he was the same, but his dick, on the other hand, was much more agreeable.

You had never thought yourself to be one to have sexual intercourse before marriage, but maybe there could be an exception for someone like Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.

Sometimes, you laid awake at night, at times past the Devil’s hour, you assumed, and tossed and turned and tried to replicate how Sukuna’s fingers felt, how his mouth made you feel, how full his cock made you, but to no avail. You would, eventually, scream into your pillow out of frustration, and pass out from exhaustion.

Damn him. Damn him and his whole entire lineage.

Who was he to make you feel this way, huh? Who was he to come waltzing into Wadsworth with his expensive little steed and expensive fucking clothes, and leave you high and dry? Who was he to spoil you for your future spouse? He had no right, absolutely none.

And so, when a messenger and his horse came to the doors of Blackwood Park, you could probably imagine the distress and anxiety you had suffered. All the color had been drained from your face, for you wondered if a letter had come from Mr. Ryomen Sukuna himself; your mother and your father had even noticed how pale you had gotten, and, in their worry, asked you how you felt, to which you replied with a short answer, but it contained everything but the truth.

Upon reading the label, you found the manilla paper to be addressed to none other than you. Even more horrified, you searched frantically for a name, and after reading the words Mr. Adam Wright, you seemed to calm down by a few degrees.

“Open it, cousin! Open it!” cried Helena; for the girls had been at Blackwood since sundown, and were planning on sleeping over, which was, actually, pretty common between the three of you.

“Shall I have no privacy even in my own home?” you joked.

The girls laughed, before exiting your room and running downstairs.

With a sigh, and a tired groan, you began to unravel the letter.

To your astonishment, it was almost four pages! Four pages, filled from top to bottom with a confession of . . . love‽ Love—from Mr. Adam Wright? What, in heaven’s name, could’ve produced such a feeling as this? you wondered. Sure, maybe you had flirted with the officer a few times, but it was only minor incidents, and you had done them with the imagination that nothing could come of it. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

In his letter, he frequently quoted phrases from your favorite books and epics, but none of them seemed to affect you more than with distraught and horror. He confessed he was too much of a coward to profess his love in person, and, in addition, claimed he could not say all that he felt for you, for he felt too much to say, and writing it down was as close as he could get to letting everything out.

He was in love with your laugh, your smile, your mind, and your soul.

“I have never conversed with a lady quite as charming as you, miss. Your character is incredibly suitable to my likes and my dislikes, and I find, if I had never met you, I would have never met the love of my life. You bewitch me, physically and mentally.”

You had to admit, he was quite poetic when it came to writing a confession of love and admiration, but it pained you more than it flattered you, for, you did not feel even an ounce of the same feeling. Guilt and regret plagued your mind as you read through the seemingly never-ending paragraphs, and yet, you could not and would not accept that someone such as Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

It seemed . . . preposterous.

You had never thought of him in that way whatsoever. Well, he was handsome, and he was smart and quite the agreeable man, but he wasn’t what you wanted. There had to be someone out there that would reciprocate his feelings, but it wouldn’t be you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

After reading the letter maybe three times (just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you), you sat down for a moment of silence, before opening your door and calling for the girls. Upon their entering, you immediately explained the contents of the letter, and, with a very desperate tone of voice, pleaded for any advice they could give.

“Well, this is. . . I’m quite appalled, dear cousin,” began Charlotte; “but, just to be clear, you do not feel the same way?”

“I’m not sure I would be asking for advice if I did.” You laughed, trying to cope with humor.

“I, for one, think you should send a letter back,” suggested Helena.

“. . .You know, I would do that, actually, but, the thing is, Wright wants to see me.”

Both of the sisters asked what you meant by that.

“In his letter, towards the end of it, I am sure, he asks to see me, near Northwick. I assume he means he wants to propose on the bridge; we walked there once, you see.”

“And you did not think to tell us until now?” cried Helena.

You raised your hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t think much of it.”

“This is quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into,” declared Charlotte.

And this was quite the predicament, indeed. The next morning, a little after breakfast, you had begun to walk to Northwick. And, upon reaching sight of the bridge, you had found that Mr. Adam Wright was already there. He looked confident, he looked sure, he looked sharp; which just made you twice as guilty.

Before arriving, you had assured yourself everything was going to be just dandy; you would get it over with as quick as possible, and then attend the play you had been invited to by a couple of friends. The proposal of Mr. Adam Wright would be soon forgotten about, and you would sing and dance and be merry for the rest of the day.

“My lady, how do you do?” Wright was always quick when it came to greeting you. “I assume you’ve received my letter?”

“I am quite fine this morning, sir; and yes.”

“Have you any response?”

You nodded, before saying, “I am . . . rather flattered to receive a proposal from such a man as you, Mr. Adam Wright, but I am afraid I cannot give you my hand in marriage.”

You had consequently explained your reasoning, and how you did not reciprocate any romantic feelings such as love towards Mr. Wright, who accepted your words with a very solemn expression. That was a nice quality of his: to be able to accept rejection, and you even noted how you thought he was a very agreeable man, who was sure to find a wife sooner or later.

“There are many balls that occur in Wadsworth, with many women who attend, but, if that fails, an itinerant profession such as yours indubitably has the aspects to acquire a spouse within a lifetime—yes, I am sure.”

“I see you do not accept my proposal, then; very well. Good morning, miss.”

With the tipping of his hat, and a very quick farewell, the two of you parted ways.

A few hours had come by after your declination, and you soon found yourself standing outside of Grantley Hall with Charlotte and Helena, Lady Annesley, a few other relatives and friends, and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna and his brother. You hadn’t expected to see either of them any time soon, but maybe your aunt was just very sociable, and considered them to be friends.

Upon noticing Sukuna’s face amongst the crowd, you immediately ducked away, and subtly hid yourself behind your aunt, who was taller and broader than you, and could serve as a pseudo-shield, but of course, your efforts were noticed and fruitless, in the end.

Sukuna had caught sight of your figure, and made eye contact with you for a relatively long time, before turning back to a conversation with his brother.

“Everyone seems to be here,” began your aunt, double-checking the party; “how about we begin our journey? The theater is quite far, I heard.”

And so, everyone had started to pile into a multitude of carriages and vehicles. Unfortunately, with such a large party as you were in, you obviously had the luck of being stuck with none other than the Devil himself—Mr. Ryomen Sukuna. There was no other room for you with anyone else you knew; you had received offers to switch seats, but due to your having taken a liking to rejecting people (A/N: this is a joke; please laugh), you had declined them all.

In consequence, you and Sukuna were forced to ride in a carriage—alone.

The cushions were small, and you were forced to acquire a seat right beside Sukuna. Your shoulders bumped occasionally, due to the jolts of the carriage and the bumpy road, but that was about it. You were neither squished nor totally uncomfortable. And, at first, it was quite pleasant, actually. Neither you nor Sukuna spoke much, due to your embarrassment, and his . . . indifference? so you had no reason to stutter or stumble over words. Well, that was, until Sukuna decided to bring up a certain someone into the conversation.

“It seems you have taken quite the partiality towards Wright,” he began; and you could practically feel his piercing stare burning holes through your head, but alas, you kept your eyes on the road, and avoided eye contact—which was beginning to prove to be quite the challenge.

“We are acquaintances.”

“Just acquaintances?”

You sighed. “It depends on how you define the word ‘acquaintance,’ I suppose.”

“You know, my lady, I have heard quite a rumor this morning—regarding you and that officer.”

You froze, an infinite amount of ideas popping into your head, before snapping your neck to meet Sukuna’s much amused ones. “Pray, have you any idea how rude it is to bring up a subject without elaborating,? You, sir, ought to explain further.”

Sukuna, ignoring your words, cast his eyes downward, saying, “Show me your hand,” with as less emotion and as much authority as humanly possible.

Perhaps in an act of childish rebellion, you covered your gloved hands, and put them aside. “I do not see how that is of any relevance.”

“What a coincidence; I do.” Scoffing, Sukuna took your left hand into his, and held it up to his face, completely disregarding your protests and fruitless attempts at flailing around.

When he found what he wanted, he placed your hand down, and looked at your pout with a smug expression. “I take it you are not engaged, then?”

“I’ve no ring,” came your curt reply, before crossing your arms over your chest. You had initially hoped to fool him for even a bit longer, but Sukuna was more resourceful (forceful) than you could admit.

Sukuna laughed. “Miss Untouchable refused Mr. Adam Wright? What a spectacle that surely was. Say, the next time you reject a proposal, let me know prior so I can sit and watch.”

“When Hell freezes over, I will.”

Leaning over to peer into your eyes, Sukuna offered a shit-eating grin. “You can be so rude, my fair lady.”

Finally meeting his eyes at last, you couldn’t help the abusing words that soon left your lips. “You call me ‘rude,’ I hear? That is how you think of me? What about yourself, then, sir? Is the way you treat a lady such as I any different than ‘rude,’ I wonder?”

Sukuna grabbed your hips and dragged you onto his lap as you continued to berate and rip at him whilst he remained totally unfazed. He had become used to your character at this point, and your insults and scolding merely droned on in the background as his mind was set on other things.

“How else am I rude, madam?”

“When you—When you. . .” You paused, averting eye contact. “When you make me feel . . . this way.”

“And, pray tell,” began Sukuna, as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eye, “what way do I make you feel?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, and out of frustration, could not form much to say.

When Sukuna noticed your hesitance, and your embarrassment, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and as a smile began to etch on his face, he lifted the ends of your dress, piling it at your waist, before beginning to trail his hands up your bare thighs at a teasingly unbearable speed.

At the familiar act, your breath caught in your throat, and you clawed at the lapels of Sukuna’s coat jacket.

Without stopping for even a beat, Sukuna’s cold, slender fingers made their way up your thighs, and began to ghost over the wetness that had formed at your entrance.

“My, my, my, don’t tell me, was it your anger at me that got you so wet, or was it my mere showing up today?”

“Neither, you bastard.”

As if possessed by an entity, (or maybe it was because you just couldn’t take it anymore), you grabbed Sukuna by the collar, and roughly—and clumsily—smashed his lips against yours. Almost immediately, his hands squeezed and groped at your ass, as he met your lips with an almost equally fervent kiss.

You had never done something so deliberately and scandalous before (except for that evening at Kendall, but that doesn’t count), and you almost wondered if you were doing everything wrong. But, seeing as you could feel a growing hardness beneath your bottom, you were soon assured of your quite capable abilities.

“Fuck, darling. Have you been waiting to do this?” he murmured, between kisses.

“Mm, yeah—in your dreams.”

Your bodies moved in sync, as if two puzzle pieces designed just for each other, and sounds of sensuous and sensual activity soon began to fill the carriage. Sukuna’s hands trailed down your ass as you kissed, and he didn’t waste any time before shoving your panties aside, and pushing one, then two, fingers in.

The unexpected action elicited a moan from your lips, and you tugged and pulled at Sukuna’s hair as if searching for leverage against the assault between your legs.

His fingers curled within you and moved at a speed that accelerated every second; the painful realization had soon hit you, that, God, you had truly missed this feeling. Slick dripped down your legs, and was, probably, staining the material of Sukuna’s pants, but it wasn’t like either one of you cared.

One of Sukuna’s hands gripped onto the flesh of your ass, while the other toyed with and fingered your dripping cunt; his lips moved against yours like an animal in heat, whilst your arms had been thrown and looped around his neck. The carriage shook and wobbled as it traversed the uneven roads, and that pushed you even closer to Sukuna, leaving you in quite the scandalous position—with your tits pressed up against his chest, your hands tangled in his unruly hair, and his mouth on yours.

It was a missed feeling—the salty taste of his lips—and when the both of you parted, for the inconvenient sake of catching your breaths, Sukuna moved the hand on your ass to shove the top of your dress down to your waist, leaving you nearly bare: in all your glory—just for him.

His eyes roamed your body like a predator admiring prey, and while you leaned your front against him, Sukuna leaned his head down, to your shoulders, to kiss at and suck at all the exposed skin he could reach.

It was incredibly lewd—the sounds you released, and you couldn’t even fathom how the others would react if they saw you: you and Sukuna, doing whatever the hell it was that you two were doing at the moment.

As your volume increased, so did the speed and velocity of his fingers. There was a warm feeling at your core, and you soon found yourself releasing all over his hand—still deep within your cunt—as pornographic moans and cries and mewls escaped your throat.

“Nnghh! Hah, mphh, Sukuna . . . Sukuna—Sukuna!” His name left your lips like a prayer, and you could only hope that the pearly gates would still open for you after this hell of a carriage ride.

“You are . . . inimitable, my love,” he purred, “and extremely, inhumanly bewitching. Fuck, do you think you’re wet enough to take it? I am afraid I cannot loiter any longer.”

It didn’t matter what you thought; you knew you were, and as Sukuna lifted your hips, before bringing them down right onto his cock—which filled you to the brim, and impossibly more than last time—you knew this carriage ride would probably be your last. At least, it would be your last carriage ride with him.

Your hips were raised, before they were repeatedly slammed back down with enough force to bring the both of you crashing down onto the seats; your tits bounced, whimpers left your parched throat, and you could barely hold onto Sukuna’s shoulders for balance and support as the carriage began to jolt and jerk uncontrollably, causing unbearably pleasurable friction.

Heaven’s sake, how bumpy was this road?—goddamnit.

In addition to the bouncing of the carriage, the hands and claws digging into your ass, the marks and bites being left on your chest, there was also the rough thrusts from Sukuna, which brought you nearly over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tip of Sukuna’s cock could be felt penetrating all the way in your guts, and to add on to the smell of sex wafting through the humid air, the discordant melody of your moans certainly added a little bit pizzazz.

You wanted more, you needed more, you craved more.

Sukuna’s length and girth slid up the walls of your cunt, and you swore you could feel every pulsing vein of his cock as it moved and twitched. You were so unbearably full; you struggled to form full words, and most of them only contributed to unintelligible sentences meaning nothing.

“Ahh, nnghh, hahh, mmph.”

“What, don’t tell me little Miss Untouchable over here is suddenly feeling pleasure from some low-life bastard such as I,” laughed Sukuna, who, for some reason unbeknownst to you, still had some humor left in him even whilst he had fucked you into putty in his hands.

“I . . . nnghh, do you ever stop talking?”

Sukuna laughed, a husky, dark laugh, before bringing you in for the most zealous kiss you had ever kissed. Your lips collided, smacking against each other’s, and your hands clumsily roamed each other’s bodies, before one last jolt of the carriage had you feeling every inch of Sukuna’s length in the absolute right-est spot you could ever imagine, and as you moaned into the kiss, the knot in your stomach tightened just as before, and you almost felt like you were under drugs as you came. 

Sticky, hot, and warm.

Unbearable, highly bothersome, and completely insane.

You were filled to the brim with Sukuna’s seed just a moment later, and a string of saliva from your lips connected you and Sukuna for a few seconds more as the both of you pulled away to catch your breaths.

“Now, before I go and do something foolish,” began Sukuna, still partially panting, “tell me, dear, do you feel like rejecting another man’s proposal today?”

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 ❦

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓. vampire!Sukuna, historical (medieval) time period, fem!Reader, implied mentions of r-pe (not by Sukuna), drinking blood, inappropriate use of an extra mouth on Sukuna's hand, cunnilingus, eventual smut [MDNI], dacryphilia, overstimulation, rimming, piv

𝐖𝐂. 10.8k (God help)

𝐀𝐍. happy spooky season, people!! ngl, i've been planning this since like september, but i'm as slow as a snail when it comes to writing. available on ao3

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Since your birth, you had been looked down upon with hatred, pity, and in rare circumstances, jealousy. You were born with something called . . . cursed energy? You weren’t sure. It was always a topic spoken and gossiped about between the Village Elders, but, no one ever truly explained it to you. Your mother had died during childbirth—which just gave the villagers more to hate about you—and she had cursed energy, too. So, even the idea of learning about your curse was . . . impossible.

The years of your childhood were stripped away and taken from you. Labor, labor, labor. On the weekdays you worked in the fields, harvesting crops, planting seeds. And on the weekends, or, whenever you were ordered to by your father, you tended to the sheep, shearing their wool for clothes—which you would also have to make by yourself—and feeding them.

You weren’t allowed near the cows or any livestock—as a matter of fact—that were used for anys means of consumption. People murmured in front and behind your back, saying, your hands would poison the food, and cause a catastrophic infection which had the possibility of spreading into other nearby villages and could lead to disease, or worse, death.

It was horrible. Your whole bloodline despised you, and since your mother had left you immediately after your birth, you were left in the care of your father, who wasn’t any better than those damned Village Elders. You weren’t neglected, per se, but you were exploited; so the line in between was definitely a little foggy.

So strange was the fact that being cursed simply wasn’t enough to hoard away all of the nasty men in the village. You were a misfortune to even be seen with in public, and, for some reason, laying with you was suddenly different? You had inherited your mother’s curse, eyes, and beauty. Unfortunate were you. Your father was cruel; maddened by grief and greed. He had promised to more men than he could count that he would sell you off when you came to age.

Sometimes he would price you high, sometimes he would price you low. It depended on who his customer was, and how he felt that day. Of course, greed doesn’t always equal stupidity. Your father may have been a bad man before and after your mother’s death, but he knew that he was never going to actually go through with the process of selling you off to some good-for-nothing son of a bitch.

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Not some pig to be auctioned and bought off the streets. Not a slave to be chained to a wall. The Village Elders had been finessing your true purpose in the village since you were conceived. You had cursed energy; there was a monster who lived on the hill; and the years had gone slowly by with the ordeal of famine.

When you turned eighteen years of age, you were to be perfumed with all kinds of fussy smells, dressed in the best garments the village had to offer, and your face was to be decorated with makeup made by grinded flower petals. Why? Because you were a sacrifice, that’s why.

They had stripped you of your dignity just moments before they strapped you to a horse which they rode to the beginning of the high, gloomy mountain which overlooked the village. They dropped you off there, and left you distressed, panting, feeling dirty and ashamed of what you had just lost prior hours before. You were not a woman, not even a human anymore; you were a sacrifice. A fucking sacrifice for the people of what was once your village, your home, your birthplace.

You were fucked, you were utterly and completely fucked. Kicked out of your village, you were scared, cold, and stranded in a forest you had never even known existed. They never let you leave the fences of the village anyways, and now that you finally took in your surroundings, you could see the trees surrounding the empty patch of pulled grass that you sat on. Without food or drink, you sat on the muddy ground for idle hours; you thought yourself close to death, and even considered digging yourself a grave, when, by mercy of some god, you had heard footsteps approaching, the sound of twigs snapping under feet.

Your first thought was that your possible savior had come. But then you remembered why you were here in the first place, and simultaneously noticed the way the birds had gone quiet, and the way not even a single cricket sounded. As a child, you had heard tales of a monster who lived at the top of a dark hill. He had teeth and fangs longer than an ordinary human’s, eyes redder than the Blood Moon, and claws that rivaled even those of a tiger. This . . . monster, this vampire, had a name. The village, surrounding villages, visiting clans from the North, they all called him the King of Curses. Lord Ryomen Sukuna.

At the sudden recollection, you frantically crawled backwards, moving on your elbows and kicking at stray rocks with your feet. The figure was still in the shadows, enveloped by fog and darkness, but you could see it. Tall, strong build, unmoving. And, by God, you swore you could see those damned, twisted looking red eyes that seemed to stare back—not at a helpless human being, but at you. You. You weren’t born yesterday, you knew vampires drank blood from humans, and didn’t come out when the sun was up, but shit, it was well past dark, the moon was encased in clouds and you couldn’t remember—not matter how hard you tried—if vampires ate humans, as well.

As you racked your brain for any strategy of possible survival, your back suddenly hit the stump of a tree behind you, and your movements ceased. You bit your lip, tasting a slight metallic taste on your tongue consequently, and your blood ran cold. This was it. You had nowhere to run, and you sure as hell weren’t going to climb a tree. You were cold, weak, your hips hurt from the assault you suffered and the blood from between your thighs soaked the fabric of your dress. 

. . .Blood!? Damn you for forgetting. This really was the end. Lost, stranded, alone with a vampire who could probably smell your fear and smell the blood on you. Was this really the end for you? It couldn’t be, right? You shuddered, just thinking about it, and mindlessly ground the balls of your feet into the dirt, leaving a mark in the desolate place. If someone came looking for you, if someone ever came looking for you, they’d notice where you had tried to escape, and where you faced your fate.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as footsteps approaching you sounded in the forest. Leaves crunching under what you assumed were heavy, waxed leather boots. There seemed to be a different, strangely soothing air about this monster. Originally, your fight-or-flight response had kicked in, but when you realized there was no escape, you halted in your movements; but now that this vampire was so close to you, you felt a little drowsy, or droopy, even. Your unmoving limbs felt like liquid, and you almost even wondered why you were scared in the first place.

Brining you out of your train of thought, you heard the figure come to a stop, just a few feet before you, and he stooped down low—almost as if in a squatting position—to examine which poor thing had stumbled into his domain whilst he was present.

“You’re dressed far too nicely to be related to that village, and your face is too painted to be a commoner,” he spoke at a leisurely pace, and his voice was more smooth, and cold, than you would assume for a beast. “A princess? No, no. The clans don’t visit until the winter, and they definitely lack any women who don’t look like descendants of pigs. Tell me, girl, who—”

“I—I’m,” you stammered, eyes snapping wide open at the mention of yourself. You feared for your life, and if his lordship wanted an introduction, an introduction he would get. “I’m just a—”

“A sacrifice, that’s what you are. I know. Before you interrupted me, I was going to ask who sent you here. Of course, you don’t need to answer that question. I already know, after all.

“Over there,” he pointed behind you, in the direction of the village, “those puny humans sent you? Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul. Ha! They get more ridiculous every year. Sending me beautiful brides as if I’ll ever help them. I am a beast, not a god. I must say, however, it is amusing how they mock me.”

Formidding, the vampire looked; like a prince, the vampire spoke.

Your eyes curiously looked up and down the monster before you. He wore clothes far nicer than any gentleman’s; his coat and dress shirt were both dark as night, his boots gleamed in the moonlight, his face more handsome than any man you had ever seen—despite not being a man himself, and his eyes. . . Oh, God. There were four of them, and they were all equally red as blood, beautiful as rubies, and sharp as daggers. Entranced you were, though you could feel your heart nearly beating out of your chest in fear. Your body quivered, and despite donning the garments of what a village chief’s daughter would wear, you felt far inferior.

Suddenly, his eyes drifted down to where the blood between your legs had soaked through your robes, and his stare turned cold, eyes narrowing.

“You are . . . injured. Are you aware of that? Or have humans become stupider than they already are? Somehow regressed, perhaps, and lost their sense of feeling pain?”

You shivered under his hard gaze, giving no answer.

“What a foolish creature you are. Have you suddenly become mute?”

“No. No, sir. Err,” you bit your lip, wondering how on earth you should respond while to someone who could end your life right then and there. “I was—The blood is from. . .” Your voice drifted off, and you fell silent.

“Hush, girl. I need not hear about how you lost a duel, or clumsily shot yourself with a bow and arrow. I see enough of that every day I indulge in little wars with your people,” he muttered, laughing to himself. “You humans are all weak, trying to challenge someone like me? — Pfft, it is a victory after I snap my fingers, I dare say. But, I must admit, your spirits are strong; that much is true.”

You tilted your head ever so slightly. “Thank . . . you?”

“Huh, you seem to be surprised by everything,” Sukuna noted, standing back up to his full height. “Was that the first compliment you ever received? I feel sorry for you. Ah, never mind that. Tell me, human, do you wish for death?”

“I . . . beg your pardon?”

“It is simple. Would you prefer the gods smite you where you sit on this . . . mud, or would you rather my cook, Uraume, make you into a feast?”

“Is choosing neither an option?”

The beast laughed, “You are smarter than you look. Ha! You creatures surprise me again and again. Amuse me, girl, tell me about yourself.”

You were at a loss for words. Just what in the world were you doing? Entertaining a vampire in the middle of a desolate forest at night? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, you thought.

“I can juggle?”

Dismissing your statement, the vampire waved his hand around in the air. “I didn’t mean that. Tell me how you can make yourself useful to me—besides being a jester, that is—and perhaps I’ll spare your life. It would be quite a shame if I had to kill you; for, you definitely make a funny human.”

“I can . . . herd sheep. You, sir, must eat mutton; am I correct? Oh! and I can produce clothes out of wool—for the winter, sir. I can assure you it will soon be growing cold.” 

“Hmm, that will do. Uraume will teach you everything you’ll need to know. Come along, girl. I will lead you to your new home, where you will take refuge until you seek revenge on your people—when that time arrives, expect my assistance, for it will be a bloodbath. What else?” The vampire seemed to look as if in a train of thought, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “Ah, yes. My name is Ryomen Sukuna, but. . . While you live in my estate, you are to acknowledge my lordship, and address me as your lord. For rightfully so, I am.”

You hesitated, but bit your tongue and nodded in the end. This was your only chance at survival. All you had to do to make it out of this forest alive and in one piece was to serve under a vampire in his abode. You thought it should be easy enough; I mean, you had been a servant your whole life; surely this wouldn’t be too different.

“Uhm, sir,” you called out, just as the vampire had begun to turn his back on you and walk towards his home, “pardon me, but, I am unable to . . . walk. My legs and thighs ache.”

The lord had turned around at the sound of his name, and looked at you with a mockingly pitiful expression. “Humans are so weak nowadays. Back when I was younger, I had fought humans who actually stood a chance. Of course, those humans are now dead, but, I must say I am surprised to see how low you creatures have stooped over the years.”

As he spoke, the beast had picked you up with ease, hooked one arm under your knees, and wrapped the other around your back. You squeaked out of surprise; the motion had happened so fast that you felt like a mere sack of potatoes. As if on instinct—and from fear of falling, though you knew the beast was strong—you wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your body closer to his chest.

“Is my strength surprising to you? I can’t say I’m offended, however; the men in your village must not be very burly. Ha! so it really is true, after all; none of you insolent beings hold even a candle to me on the battlefield.”

Now that you two were so close, you could probably infer that your heartbeat was audible and noticeable to the vampire who held you. You just hoped he wouldn’t realize that your body was pumping twice as much blood as usual, and suddenly get the urge to eat you.

As you walked, you could hear the crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves and twigs snapping under the vampire’s heavy boots. You looked around a bit, noticing the trees and bushes swaying in the wind of the night, the occasional burping of frogs, squeaks of mice scurrying around, flies flapping their wings. The whole environment was much more serene than you had imagined it would be, and you noted that it only returned that way after it became obvious that Lord Sukuna was not in the mood for killing. Perhaps even the critters here fear the beast, you thought.

The sky had turned a dark shade of indigo; it was a full moon, and the clouds were few in number. This season of the year had fewer bright stars than any of the others, but you could’ve sworn you were able to make out the constellation displaying Princess Cassiopeia strapped to a chair.

Earlier, you had been sweating out of fear, distress, maybe even both, but now, as the breeze swept against your body, and the wind blew your hair out of its previously fixed updo, a shiver ran up your spine, and you tightened your arms around his lordship’s neck.

You noticed something in the distance, and decided it was better to raise the question now, than later, where you would probably be a bother. “I’ve heard—” You paused, realizing it was probably better to rephrase your sentence. “Are there monsters . . . that live here, my lord?”

Sukuna’s lower set of eyes fixed upon your figure. “What, don’t tell me you are scared, woman. Dying whilst living on my estate is simply out of the question. You’re not under the protection of that scummy village you called home; you’re under my protection, now.”

“I. . . I can see glowing eyes peering back at me from beyond the bushes and the shadows,” you pressed. “There are monsters here, aren’t there—?”

“Only goblins and other small nuisances. I can assure you, I am the only beast in this forest that you should rightfully fear.”

That last comment wasn’t as assuring as Sukuna had made it seemed; in fact, for the half hour that you both spent walking back to the estate, you remained silent, questioning whether what you were doing was really the best choice. But, after every paradox you came across, it always ended with the same conclusion—that you had absolutely no choice. You were neither equipped for nor capable of fighting a vampire—whose strength and speed outmatched that of an average human’s.

And so you sat, in Sukuna’s arms, as he carried you through the almost endless forest, across leagues of mud and tall grass, all the way . . . to his estate—where you arrived tired and eyes drooping, after your long day.

Sukuna had stopped in his tracks upon entering the manor; he stood near the front door, as a servant—which you assumed was the Uraume Sukuna had previously mentioned—attended to him immediately after his return. You felt so drowsy, so sleepy, that you could barely make out the words spoken.

“My lord, you have returned from your hunt,” the white-haired servant bowed, “and I presume you have also returned with a consort. Shall I draw a bath for her ladyship, as well?”

You had fallen asleep halfway through your bath. Uraume—whom you had briefly learned was Lord Sukuna’s most trusted subordinate—had drawn you a warm bath, washed away the leftover blood on your body, and dressed you in garments fit for a queen. Never in your life had you been pampered so gingerly, that, you had managed to drift off to Dreamland throughout the course of it. You were then carried to a guest bedroom, where you fell in the arms of Morpheus.

Throughout the night, your dreams were unnecessarily long, dragged out, and so realistic that you woke up several times in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panting, and frantic. You saw it. You saw them all. The villagers, the Elders, your father. They probably thought you were dead by this hour, but they were naught but greedy fools. They dragged you to the forest to give your life away as a sacrifice. But you weren’t dead, no; you had been taken in by a generous stranger—the beast whom you were to be sacrificed to.

Had you not been woken up by Uraume in the morning, you would have probably slept until noon the next day.

“I apologize for waking you so abruptly, my lady; you must be tired from yesterday. But his lordship has requested that I show you around the estate—for it is inimitable in size, and a lord’s consort getting lost on his own grounds is indubitably unacceptable.”

You blinked. “O-Oh! That’s . . . alright; I think it shall be a nice activity to explore this grand manor. But—pardon my intrusion on asking—why do you refer to me as a consort?”

Uraume gave a small smile. “Is it not proper to simply address my lord’s wife by her title?”

Your lips parted in surprise, and you rambled on in embarrassment. “I think you are mistaken; I am not Lord Sukuna’s wife, or anything of that sort. I am simply his. . . I am here to make myself useful to him. For, he saved my life, and I am inevitably indebted to him. I owe him my life, and there’s not a chance I’ll be able to go back to my village soon. Being a servant here is not an idea I am opposed to, might I add.”

“Forgive me,” Uraume bowed, an expression of surprise on their face. “I was under the impression that you were both married, given the fact he walked in with you in his arms—a generous act that I’ve never witnessed before.”

“. . .Lord Sukuna has not a wife, I assume, then?” You tilted your head to the side.

“As far as I know, no. There aren’t many women here, either. Most servants, chefs, gardeners, are men. — Merely by coincidence, en passant.”

“Ah,” you hummed, “I see.”

Uraume gestured to the neatly folded pile of clothes in their arms. “I have prepared a change of attire for you, and once you have dressed, I shall ready you further, before we take a tour around the abode.”

True to their word, Uraume had prepared you for a long day ahead, and again, you were dressed so luxuriously that even you began to wonder if you were merely a servant to his lordship. In addition, Uraume had related to you your lack of title. You were more than a servant, but less than a wife. In the end, Uraume had concluded that you were to still be referred to as a lady—despite having no relations to royalty—because Lord Sukuna seemed to have no problem with you being addressed that way last night.

“This way, my lady.” Uraume led you out of your bedroom, and down a hallway. “This is the left wing of the manor, where the guest bedrooms, servant bedrooms, and servant corridors are.”

As Uraume droned on and on about your current location, you couldn’t help but notice the beautiful architecture of the estate. 

The walls were high, as so were the windows—which let sunlight seep through the overall dark palace. The doors had been constructed by magnificent carpenters, and were gilded and decorated with precise carvings. Likewise, they were also tall, and reached high above your head; despite the servants and other residents of the estate (except for his lordship) being of average height.

When you entered the right wing of the manor, you instantly noticed the increase of fussy, overornate, and unsurprisingly expensive furniture. Paintings of battle scenes, scenery, properties, and portraits of people you didn’t recognize, nearly covered the walls from head to toe. In empty spaces stood statues and sculptures of heavily embellished gods, warriors, horses, and other creatures.

Occasionally, you and Uraume would enter and explore the libraries which appeared in intervals throughout each hallway you walked. Enormous bookshelves lined the walls, and were filled with books about magic, potions, curses, taming beasts, and other subjects you were not entirely familiar with. There were ladders to reach the top of bookshelves, and there were spiraling stairs to the upper floor of the library—designed as a kind of reading space.

Tucked in corners of some rooms were grand pianos, which seemed to play music even when no one was sitting on the benches and tapping at the keys. Then again, this was the abode of a notorious vampire; ghosts playing the piano are far from the most unconventional thing to be found here, if you really thought about it.

“My lady,” Uraume began, turning to face you once you both had exited one of the libraries, “would you like to talk a walk in the gardens? This time of year, most nature does not grow—as it is Fall. But all of the plants, trees, flowers, and shrubbery located in this estate do. They are grown by magic of the trusted gardeners—who also reside in the left wing.”

The bushes and plants in the garden were all exactly how you had imagined them. Lacking a variety of color, the most you were able to spot in the gardens was black, grey, white, and occasionally, red. The color scheme fit Lord Sukuna to a T, and you wondered if that was the doing of the gardeners, or of the lord’s orders. As you walked between rows of flowers and shrubbery—conversing with Uraume—you noticed a seemingly endless amount of servants jogging to and fro around the whole estate. A few of them noticed you—an unfamiliar woman on the property of his lordship—and gave you neutral expressions, in fear of your unknown rank.

You bit your lip, wondering if they, too, were also spared by Lord Sukuna, and taken in as servants.

“Forgive my rudeness for asking; but how does his lordship afford all of these . . . luxuries? I can not even estimate how much this would all cost.” You asked.

“Ah, right,” began Uraume. “Through his victories, of course. He wins gold, treasure, weapons—which he occasionally trades for even more profit, slaves and servants, et cetera. His wealth is not from his birth; Lord Sukuna has obtained everything he now owns by his own hands. I have incredibly deep reverence for all his feats.”

You nodded, humming in agreement.

When your tour was finished, Uraume had explained to you what your role was to be whilst you stayed at the manor of his lordship. You were of higher rank than ordinary servants, allowed more free rein of the estate, and you ate at the same table as Uraume and Lord Sukuna. 

Throughout your years at the estate, you served as a sort of maid, seldom a chef, and occasionally a gardener. His lordship called for you whenever he pleased, and you would obey whatever his command was.

Of course, before all of this happened, you had to undergo much training. Uraume was a sort of teacher to you; they taught you how to prepare the meat and vegetables in his lordship’s meals before cooking, explained how the abode was supposed to be cleaned and organized, and gave lessons on which plants needed to be tended to, and how. You both had a mentor and mentee dynamic that, over the years, gradually progressed into a friendship, or something of the like.

You understood Uraume more than others—seeing as you two were both closer to Lord Sukuna than the other subordinates—and you respected them as much as you did his lordship. Uraume had taken a liking to you, because of how good of a listener you were whenever they explained a new task to you. Sometimes, whilst waiting for the food to be finished, Uraume would tell you stories from long ago—about Lord Sukuna’s youth—and you would listen, with great attentiveness.

You were unfamiliar with most of the staff on the property, and you were more close with Uraume than the other maids you occasionally encountered. It came with no surprise, however, that most of the other servants looked at you with a negative eye. Lord Sukuna happened to treat you with more kindness than he would the average staff member, and that consequently led to sparks of jealousy throughout the servants corridors. You weren’t bothered, though; you had been looked down upon since birth.

Sometimes, his lordship requested you bathe him—which, at first, you thought was incredibly scandalous for an unmarried woman to touch another man in that way, but Lord Sukuna had corrected you, explaining your job as merely washing his hair and preparing the warm or cold bath water. For, Sukuna had found that he rather enjoyed the feeling of your nimble fingers carding through his hair, and, that very task was what you were doing now. Or, well, what you were on your way to do.

Whilst carrying a bucket of hot water, you had been stopped by a passing servant. He was a man, of average height, messy hair with loose bangs hanging over his forehead, and carried a broom in his callused, experienced hands. He was sweating—from a long day of work, you assumed—and was nervous in approaching you at first. But once he spoke, the words just seemed to pour out like water; smooth, gradual, and natural.

“Pardon me, miss, I have not seen you on these grounds before today. Might I have your name?” He reached out a hand expectantly, and looked at you with deep interest.

You placed your wooden bucket sloshing with water on the floor, and gave your name. Consequently, you slipped your hand onto his, and the male servant raised your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your palm in simple greeting, or so you thought. . .

Previously, you had expected the man to let you be on your way after that, but no. He had stuck you there in conversation for about five more minutes, asking how you knew his lordship, your origin, how you came to work at the estate, and overall, made small talk that you really weren’t that interested in.

You had tried to excuse yourself several times, saying, “His lordship is awaiting my presence.”

But the man merely waved you off each time. 

“Lord Sukuna would certainly understand my need for taking a break in order to converse with a beautiful lady like you. You may have noticed over the years that the maids here are. . . I am not entirely sure how to put this—They are lacking in good features. It’s unfortunate, really, to be a product of such terrible breeding, but I must say, you are divine. A goddess incarnate, if I’d ever seen one.”

Heat had risen to your neck at the compliment, and you—humbly—were in the middle of accepting it, when, you had felt a shadow towering over you that definitely wasn’t there before.

About to turn around, your movements were halted by the sound of a deep voice, belonging to someone that clearly seemed irritated.

“What on earth is taking so long? Last I checked, bringing water to the bathing quarters does not take nearly half an hour.”

Lord Sukuna! you gasped.

You turned to face his lordship, and then turned back around to face the male servant, but to your confusion, he had already gone.

Turning back to Sukuna, you immediately took a deep bow, and recited multiple sincere apologies. “Please, forgive me, my lord. I was simply engaging in conversation with—”

“—With some nobody,” he finished your sentence for you with a scowl. “Yes, I see, now. You have abandoned your duties, and, instead, taken up a pastime in listening to a man ramble nonsense.”

His lordship crossed his arms over his chest, and scanned your face for any hint of fear, but he found none—which left him dumbfounded. You weren’t afraid, no, you were merely guilty of insubordination. Sukuna mentally took a note of that, evidently interested in you even more at his new reading.

“I was distracted, sir. But I understand my wrongdoing and take full accountability for getting caught up in conversation while on my way to your private quarters.”

For a second, you thought you had heard a snort from his lordship, but you soon dismissed that idea after realizing the absurdity of it.

“Acquitted.”

At this, you raised your head, did a once-over on his lordship’s features—curious as to how sincere he was in pardoning you—and retrieved your bucket. “You . . . appear paler than usual, my lord. Are you feeling unwell, by any chance?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, waving you off. “Nonsense.”

Due to Sukuna’s reassuring comment, your observation was soon discarded, but whilst you were washing his lordship’s hair, your concerns had been revived by a prominent sound echoing throughout the bathing quarters. Several coughs, that came in intervals, before concluding.

“My lord,” you began, “am I mistaken in having heard you cough?”

“Of course.”

You let out a soft laugh, believing not even a word of that. “I will be sure to bring incense into your chambers tonight.”

His lordship waved around his hand mindlessly. “Do as you want; however, trust that I am expecting more woolen coats.”

So he was holding that above your head, you noted.

Over the next few days, his lordship’s condition had seemed to worsen. He appeared sickly whenever you passed him in hallways, pushed away meals he often enjoyed, and coughed more often than not. At first, you thought it was a mere cold—seeing as the weather was progressing into winter times. In contrast, Lord Sukuna had started to pale, and his temperature had risen; but, despite the seemingly obvious symptoms, his illness was far from a fever.

It was pointless looking for possible medications; his lordship absolutely despised welcoming the apothecary onto his estate. And so you took matters into your own hands. You had attempted to change the bathing water. Sometimes cold, sometimes scalding. It was all in the name of seeing what would increase his lordship’s health, but all was in vain. Uraume had informed you that Lord Sukuna rarely felt cold or hot; the seasons were all the same for him. So the temperature and the climate are not the catalysts for this illness, you thought.

It just . . . didn’t make sense. His lordship was never affected by weather, and rarely got sick from reasons similar to a human. . . What on earth could this illness be?

“Uraume,” you began, whilst scrubbing bloodied garments on the washboard, “what do you suppose it is?”

“What is it that I am supposing, my lady?”

“His lordship’s illness. I am racking my brain for possible explanations, and I have found none. He is a vampire, a beast; a human such as I am simply not capable of understanding what his condition could be.”

Uraume shook their head, pausing in the middle of their work. “It is not a simple illness, you are correct. But I am not in the place to tell exactly what it is.”

You bit your lip. “How do you mean?”

“Ask his lordship.”

And so you did.

It was a fine evening; the night was young, the air was crisp, and smelled of the incense you spoke of bringing to his lordship’s chambers. You had requested to pay him a visit, and apparently, you were only able to do so late in the night, after most servants had gone to their respective corridors, and the invisible pianists had ceased their playing.

“You asked to see me.” Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest, standing face-to-face with you in the middle of his fussily furnished bedroom. “Speak.”

“My lord, what is it that you are sick with, exactly? You have yet to tell me; and there is no way I can be of assistance if you continue to leave me in the dark about your condition.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Not once have I ordered you to be of assistance regarding my—” Cough. “—state. You waste your time worrying about me, woman.”

“Pardon my insubordination. But if simply caring for my lord is so inutile,” you pressed, putting a hand on your chest as you spoke, “then I shall spend the rest of my years wasting my time.”

Sukuna laughed, leaning down to your level. “You are just so stubborn, aren’t you? Very well. I shall tell you; it is . . . pretty simple, I dare say. It is a mystery how you are so interested in the fact that I am a vampire that has fallen ill—in need of . . . blood. Is my dear strong-willed lady satisfied now?”

You blinked, shaking your head.

“My lord, if you are only in need of blood . . . shall I get a sheep for you to slaughter?” you proposed.

“No. It is not that simple. Blood is what I crave, but cursed energy is what I need.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of that. Cursed energy. Maybe this was your chance to make yourself useful. You still weren’t entirely sure of what cursed energy was, but you knew it was something that you had, yourself. What a coincidence, you thought.

“So then, how do you usually get this . . . cursed energy?”

“I kill sorcerers.”

You did recall hearing some . . . stories from the drunkards who sat in front of taverns they were kicked out of. Due to their “clear” state of mind, you never paid much attention to them, nor did you care, to be frank. But, you could’ve sworn you heard a tale about a sorcerer with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the sea, who attempted to take down the formidable King of Curses. You never stuck around the drunkards long enough to hear his fate, and how the story ended, but it was probably best that way.

“So, why don’t you just do that?”

“I have vowed not to lay a single hand on a sorcerer since you came along.”

“And, why’s that?”

“Because they are your kin, woman.”

You knew not what that meant. Kin? You were not a sorcerer; you were human. A sacrifice turned servant. Cooking, gardening, cleaning. Those were your strong suits. But sorcery? Surely his lordship must be joking.

“. . .Pardon?”

Sukuna looked like he was uninterested in indulging your little interview any longer, and hurried to kick you out of his chambers. “This conversation is over. You are dismissed.”

“But, my word! you are still ill, how are you to go on without—?”

“Worry not, human; I am ancient, and I am strong. Surely I can make do for at least a few days more.”

A few days more had passed, and your concern had only seemed to grow. Until, one windy day, you had come up with an idea in the middle of collecting berries. Storming into his lordship’s office was not a common venture for you, but today’s occasion seemed appropriate enough.

“My lord, would you spare some time?”

Sukuna looked up from a pile of letters he had been previously staring at, and gave you an unamused look, almost as if he wasn’t vexed by your interruption. “What is it?”

“I’ve thought of an idea.”

“Elaborate.”

“It is a long story, one I am not very keen on reminiscing about,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your straw-woven basket, “but I was . . . born with cursed energy. And if my memory serves me right, that is just the very thing you need.”

“Are you insinuating I drink your blood?”

“Forgive me; I wouldn’t know if that’s how you wanted to go about this. Are you to perform a ritual on me? A blood oath, perhaps? Excuse my imprudence, my lord, for I am simply not knowledgeable enough in those areas as I would wish to be.” You gave a slight bow.

“Ha! You must be more ill than me to even suggest something like that. I am the great Lord Ryomen. Sukuna the Sinister. King of Curses, girl. Just who do you take me for? I am not Satan.”

“Forgive my insubordination towards your lordship, but,” you casted your eyes downward, hiding a small smile, “some might disagree with that. . .”

“Is that any way to speak to your lord?”

“Pardon me,” you smiled, “I was only joking.”

Sukuna hummed, agreeing. “Of course.”

That was the last conversation you had for the night before you returned to your bedroom.

You had spent the next morning cleaning around the estate, dusting, and replacing water in vases. Whilst in the middle of dusting a mantle, you felt a shadow grow behind you, and, already familiar with the formidable presence, you turned around to come face-to-face with none other than his lordship. Beads of sweat were accumulating on his forehead, his hair was a mess, and his eyes seemed distant and frantic in darting around the room. 

You had never seen his lordship in such an incomposed state, and immediately set down your ostrich feather duster on the table beside you.

“How are you holding up?”

“Terribly. This is . . . unbearable. I. . . I must. . .” His lordship’s eyes narrowed, and seemed to fog up as he got closer and closer to you. He seemed to be in a state of delirium—completely unable to control himself—as he backed you up against the wall, planting two hands beside your head.

“What—What are you doing?”

His lordship’s breath fanned against your skin, as he leaned his face down near your neck, just a breath away from his lips making contact with your clavicle. You squirmed to make an exit from the predicament you found yourself in, but your figure was trapped between the wall and his lordship, unable to leave. 

“. . .Holding back.”

“‘Holding back’?” you repeated. “My lord, pray tell—”

“Fuck,” he grunted. “This would be much easier if I had a less keen sense of smell.”

“Are you—Do you need the blood now?” You blinked, nervously fidgeting with the ties of your corset.

“. . .Another time,” he sighed, abruptly moving back and away from your shaking figure. “My level of restraint is stronger than I had imagined, but it has grown weaker since you turned up.”

With that, he had simply turned his back on you, and walked down another hallway, leaving you flustered, bewildered, and burning hot. You brought a shaking hand up to feel your cheek, and you were warm to the touch. What on earth just happened? you wondered, clutching at your chest in dismay.

Another week had slowly gone by, and his lordship’s condition had yet to subside. Other servants had started to also notice his signs of fatigue and illness, and multiple attempts to help were made, but all were fruitless in the end. Lord Sukuna had made it evident that he wanted no help, and it soon became crystal clear that he was avoiding you lest your nagging.

Disappointment often made its way onto your face whilst you worked; for, you just couldn’t seem to get the thought of his lordship out of your head. He needed help; you could help; but he wouldn’t let you. Why was that? you pondered.

After spending most of your free time in the gardens of the property, you had discovered the secret abundance of cats and kittens that often snuck onto the grounds and played in the grass and shrubbery. Once, you had asked his lordship about it, and whether he would allow that to go on for any longer, but he waved you off. This led to you believing he wanted the animals there—not like you were complaining.

They were cute and cuddly, and came in a variety of breeds, patterns, colors, and sizes. Some were small—just able to fit in your palm. Whilst some were larger—capable of rolling around in your lap. You often sat down and played with them until their eyes grew droopy, and you scurried off to the kitchens in order to fetch them bowls of milk and plates of food.

It was a full moon, on a cold night in the tenth month of the year. Just like always, you had sat down on a wooden bench in the garden’s gazebo, and were playing with the little kittens in your lap and rubbing their little full bellies after mealtime.

“Bless me,” you began, whispering to the little critters, “I might just have to steal one of you for myself. You are just too adorable for your own good, huh?”

You booped a kitten on the nose, and it meowed in response—arching its back. But only seconds later, all of the animals on your lap had perked their ears up, and hurriedly scampered away at the sound of leaves and twigs snapping under approaching footsteps.

“Talking about me?” a familiar, raspy voice joked.

Your head raised, and your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his lordship. “O-Oh! My lord, I—I was not expecting to see you tonight.”

“Neither was I. But I am—” Cough. “—perhaps more ill than before.”

Sukuna had taken a seat beside you on the bench; you both were so close that your shoulders were touching, and you instantly grew tense as Sukuna drew even closer—resting an arm on your hip.

“What, do you need me to tie you down, woman?” Sukuna leaned closer to your face, an unamused expression on his features; his eyes more red than usual. Was it a trick of the moon? “Is that what it will take for you to stop squirming like a worm all the time?”

“It’s just—I am ticklish, sir.”

“I can assure you, you won’t be laughing any time soon.”

“What do you—nngh.”

You were not at all prepared for Sukuna to bite down on your neck with such unimaginable force, and an embarrassingly loud whimper left your lips.

As you felt his fangs—all sharp and long—sink down beneath and break your skin, you gripped and clawed at the wooden bench. Sukuna sucked at your neck, warm blood trickling down your neck, and it felt so . . . scandalous, so erotic, and so dreadfully painful. In the middle of the garden, in the middle of the night; under the gaze of the moon, and light of the stars; you two were alone, and yet, you felt so surrounded.

With another hand on your hip, Sukuna held your head in his hand; and your head lolled around in his grasps. You felt as if in a trance, and your hands scratched at the wood beneath you, gripped onto his lordship’s bicep, all in a feverish attempt to run away from the assault, but you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried. You knew what you were getting into the moment you offered yourself up, but God, did it hurt like a bitch as Sukuna sucked at the wound, drawing out as much blood as possible.

Mindlessly, a sigh left your lips, and your eyes squeezed shut in a selcouth sense of bliss.

It took you a moment’s time before it fully set in that his lordship was drinking your blood. Hell, he was drinking your blood and it hurt, but it felt so . . . good. 

Was this but a dream?

The hairs on the nape of your neck rose; your skin felt tingly and warm to the touch. It was like a fire had been lit inside of you, and his lordship biting and sucking at your neck was just adding fuel to the flame. You had never experienced something like this before; it was so, so intimate. Should you even be doing this?

Your back arched, and you felt like a lifeless doll in his lordship’s grasps as he frequently let out small, sensuous sighs and groans at tasting heaven after having restrained himself for so long.

It was only minutes later that the beast finally released his fangs from your neck, and gingerly set you down on the bench—seeing as you had seemingly fallen too weak to even hold yourself up.

Through teary eyes, you could make out the sight of Sukuna before you—traces of your blood around his mouth, eyes dark with an insatiable lust for blood, and his jaw clenched.

“Feeling regretful?” he joked, swiping at the leftover blood on his lips with his thumb, and licking the liquid clean off. “Don’t worry, I certainly am not.”

It was afternoon the next day when you awoke in the comfort of your bedroom after having passed out the night before. Your head pounded, clothes were wrinkled, and . . . oh, God. You had totally forgotten about everything. Almost as instantly as it clicked in your head, your hand quickly shot up to feel the skin around your neck. But, to your surprise, there was no sign of bruising or any bloody wounds. The only marks left behind that told you what happened the night prior wasn’t a dream were two small holes, from indentations of fangs.

Your mind ran at 150MPH, and your heartbeat quickened. Were you now going to turn into a vampire? Were you, too, also destined to spend the rest of your life immortal? What on earth was this going to mean for you?

Though you were still dazed, you made quick work of putting on the change of clothes left by the foot of your bed by—you assumed it was—Uraume. And, just because you were possibly going to turn into a bloodthirsty vampire didn’t mean you had the day off, so you brushed your hair, splashed ice water from a basin onto your face, and set off to start the day, or, more like, the afternoon.

Like always, you sweeped the hallways, dusted off statues and sculptures, set out bowls of milk for the stray animals outside, and conversed with Uraume every so often.

You were in the middle of heading to the kitchen, when you passed by Lord Sukuna in the hallways en route. He looked well, different from how he was when he was ill—more alive, lack of fatigue in his eyes. But, besides looking more healthy, his eyes looked darker than before, his frown was more prominent than ever, and his features just . . . seemed so sharp. Now, you knew his lordship was an attractive beast, but, today? You found yourself thinking scandalous thoughts.

“My lord,” you murmured, bowing at the waist, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment, no.” 

His voice was velvety as he spoke; every word he said made you feel a strange throbbing sensation between your legs, and you found yourself frequently squeezing your thighs together. There seemed to be an unfamiliar sense of warmth at your core, and you could practically feel the heat rising to your neck. Flustered, you brought a hand to touch your cheek, and you instantly noticed how much you were burning up.

“Okay, then. I—I’ll be going . . . now. Good day,” you said, hurrying away before Sukuna could hear the thumping of your heartbeat increase in volume.

“You creatures are so strange,” Sukuna clicked his tongue, before walking away, as well.

As if it were fate, that was not the last of his lordship you saw that day. You had run into Sukuna at least five more times, which, despite living in the same estate, was not a normal occurrence, since his lordship frequently kept to himself, locked in his office or chambers.

Most of the times you ran into him, you made small talk, before scurrying away after feeling extremely nervous. It wasn’t like you at all; if anything, you and Uraume were the only ones capable of holding a conversation with the lord of the manor. But today just . . . it was off, you were off, your body felt off—you had no explanation for it.

Every time you saw Lord Sukuna, your heart thumped at extreme velocities, and your face flushed, heat rising through your body. It was hard to form proper sentences, and after adjourning your conversations, you found yourself continuing your work clumsily and with incredibly less expertise than before. Uraume noticed it, too. They frequently had to correct you on the way you swept the floors, and had to snap their fingers more often than not in front of your face a few times to bring you back to reality. God, what on earth was the matter with you?

You had used the rest of your evening to try to calm down, but honestly, your attempts were completely fruitless. It was late—a little bit after supper, when you were called on by a right-hand man to pay a visit to his lordship’s chambers. Of course, you couldn’t deny those orders, although you were a little hesitant on obeying.

As you walked through the corridors, and down the abundance of stairs, you counted every breath you took, and tried to slow down the rapid beating of your heart. Your hands gripped the fabric of your skirt with a white-knuckled grip, and you fidgeted with the lace on the edges. It helped that no one was outside of their respective quarters, so that you wouldn’t have to worry about coming across someone who could possibly stress you out even more than you already were.

You had no idea what his lordship could possibly want at so late a time in the evening, and your mind ran through every possibility. Were you getting kicked out? Or, fired? Were you being sent back to your village? No, no, that couldn’t be, you thought. His lordship was a formidable opponent to have, but he certainly wasn’t cruel to those innocent to his wrath. . . Right?

Once you arrived at his lordship’s chambers, staring hesitantly at the grand, ebony-finished doors before you, you were just about to raise your hand to give three consecutive knocks, when a commanding voice—beyond the door—called out to you, seemingly having noticed the presence of your being even before you made any announcement.

“Don’t tarry like a fool. I’m sure my lady knows better than to act like that. Come forth.”

The doors opened, with magic? ghosts? invisible entities? You knew not, but you refrained from any further questioning. The doors shut closed immediately after you stepped foot into the large bedroom, and you moved closer inside—fearful of being hit by the doors. And there, before you—in all his glory, dressed in robes darker than the night—was his lordship, lounging on a luxurious sofa, sipping an ornately designed silver goblet full of red liquid that you hoped was just wine.

“Good evening, my lord,” you said, leaning into a deep bow. “Is something of the matter?”

Sukuna stood up, set his goblet aside, and stalked towards you until the both of you stood toe-to-toe, and your faces were merely centimeters apart. “You want something,” he stated, completely sure of himself. “Spit it out.”

“. . .If I’m not mistaken, you were the one who called me here. If that is so, then, what—what on earth are you talking about, my lord?”

“Don’t be silly; you’ve been walking around all day as tense as a rock, and fidgety as a newborn about to burst into tears. Being shy will get you absolutely nowhere, for, I can smell your arousal dripping off of you.”

“P-Pardon?” Just as you were about to ask what he exactly meant by that, his lordship shoved his hand up your skirt so quickly that you didn’t even see the extra mouth—with its tongue sticking out—form on his hand. “Oh—Ohh.”

Having never been this close with another man before, you covered your mouth in embarrassment to contain the moans and whimpers that slipped out. Your knees soon grew weak, and your weight became unsteady on your own two legs. Clearly desperate for any sense of leverage, your figure fell onto his lordship’s, and you greedily gripped at his biceps for stability as you felt the tongue on his hand prod at your folds before diving right into your growing wetness.

Sukuna acceptedly held you in his arms, with a jeering smile on his face. “Not so bad, huh? All this time you could’ve just told me how much of a whore you were for your lord, but no, you had to go around the estate practically dripping for your master instead.”

“Nnghh, my lord! You. . . Hahh,” your voice trailed off as you gave in to the unfamiliar, strange pleasure you were receiving. This was all so . . . new, to you. The hand-mouth between your legs dipped into depths you didn’t know existed, sucked at areas deep within you, and had you seeing stars as the tongue curled and moved at an alarming speed.

Wasn’t this what a husband and wife did? you wondered. Though, you weren’t exactly complaining, per se. Everything felt so . . . good; from his lordship’s whispering of sweet nothings and degradations in your ear, the cool touch of his other hand tracing circles and other various shapes on the revealed part of your shoulders, all the way to the throbbing between your legs finally being relieved.

A coil formed in your stomach, and you felt a warm, hazy feeling inside. Your face twisted into an expression of extreme pleasure, and you couldn’t suppress the embarrassingly pornographic-sounding moans—which you worried other servants could hear through the walls—that slipped past your kiss-bitten lips.

“My lady tastes even sweeter than her own blood,” Sukuna laughed. “And here I was, thinking such a thing was impossible.”

You couldn’t respond; then again, how could you? Your face was pressed into his lordship’s bare chest, and your hands gripped his robe-covered shoulders—certainly leaving crescent-shaped marks in your way. The pleasure you were receiving was so different than anything you had ever felt before; it seemed otherworldly, almost, and your mouth remained slightly ajar in the feeling of ecstasy.

Subconsciously, you pressed your legs together, trapping the hand-mouth between your thighs—which, mind you, never stopped in its movements even once. It brought you over the edge, and back up again, repeatedly.

The knot in your stomach tightened to impossible lengths, and you squeezed your eyes shut in bliss as you felt yourself release onto his lordship’s hand—right before the hand-mouth licked up everything you had to offer, and more. You were dripping down Sukuna’s hand an incredulous amount, and it made heat rise to your cheeks at realizing how much you were enjoying this.

You were still riding out your high, when, out of the blue, Sukuna leaned down to your neck, and placed a kiss so gingerly onto your shoulder—in the precise spot of where he bit you the night before—that you even wondered if this was the same man you called the King of Curses. It seemed his lordship had taken a liking to interrupting you, since, before you could even get another word out, Sukuna had bitten your shoulder once more, and sucked on the blood dripping down your clavicle as you whimpered and mewled obscenely.

Was this man never satisfied?

The first time his lordship drank your blood, it felt like you were in a trance, but this time, it felt unbelievably good, and your eyes rolled back inside your head in the feeling of euphoria. Moments later, Sukuna pulled back with a shit-eating grin on his face, and blood dripping down his chin.

The both of you stumbled back towards the sofa in tandem, and you found yourself straddling Sukuna’s legs with your hands planted on his shoulders as he laid back against the cushions of the sofa, a smug look on his face.

With inhuman speed, you felt his lordship grip onto your hips as he raised them up before slamming you back down, entering you in one move. Due to it being your first time, your previous release was just enough to act as a lubricant—seeing as his lordship’s size was far from small. You covered your mouth—stifling a scream, as your walls molded to accommodate the immense girth and length of his lordship.

It was all like nothing you had felt before, and you felt so utterly and impossibly full. Losing balance, you fell onto Sukuna, causing the two of you to be flush against one another, your already pushed up tits—courtesy of your corset—pressed against his lordship’s bare chest, and you writhed at the friction.

Noticing your mouth open in an ‘o’ shape, Sukuna let out a cold laugh. “What, don’t tell me vampire cock is going to be your first. What an honor that would be, my fair lady.”

Your only response was a bunch of garbled words and gibberish that didn’t make sense. The tears that ran down your face went unnoticed by you—who was too busy trying to not pass out due to overwhelming bliss.

“Crying? How adorable.”

Although his lordship was not moving at all, you still felt immense pleasure in the mere feeling of his cock buried deep inside your cunt to the hilt. Despite yourself, you subconsciously rolled your hips, and grinded against Sukuna’s crotch, hoping, praying, begging for more movement, or anything, at least. Everything felt too good to end as nothing at all.

As you sensuously rolled your hips, Sukuna grunted, hands flying to grip the fat of your ass. It hurt like a bitch, if you had to be honest. Really hurt. Claws-dug-in-your-skin level of hurt, to be more precise. You let out a whimper as you felt teeth from his hand-mouth bite into the plush skin of your ass cheek, and you just knew it would leave a bruise and prominent mark the next morning. Oh, what an absolute hell it would be to have to sit the next day.

This was so. . . You couldn’t even say the word ‘scandalous’ because this was practically far beyond that. Not once did you ever imagine you would be giving your first to the man you worked for, much less, a vampire.

Just as you were about to be pushed past your limits merely by being stuffed full by cock, you felt the tongue of his lordship’s hand-mouth slither towards your ass, and dance around your back entrance before finally dipping in.

Immediately, a gasp left your lips at the dirty, dirty act, and you mewled—gripping the fronts of Sukuna’s robes—as the average human-sized tongue entered equally as deep as the dick in your cunt. It felt so large, so wet, and so . . . fuck. This was absolutely insane. You were completely full in both holes; the thin fabric of your skirt was soaked; and tears rolled down your cheeks as you gasped for air; but what took you to your final breaking point was the feeling of a rough, abrupt thrust upwards that you swore you could feel in your womb.

“S’kuna—S’kuna—Sukunnghh! Too much—too much; oh, my—mmph! My lord, I . . . ahh.”

You saw stars as you came—his lordship following soon after, filling you up to the brink with his seed—and a plethora of stuttering and repeated moans of his lordship’s name exited your mouth like a prayer. 

“Yeahh, just like that. You got it, sweetheart. You got it,” groaned Sukuna, as he used two fingers to stuff the cum that oozed out right back into your cunt. 

He was utterly obsessed with the idea of being the first man—no, beast—to corrupt you, to fuck you, to rightfully touch you, to show you all you had been missing out on due to that godforsaken village. You were ethereal in his eyes, the only angel that would ever be by his side, the first and last woman to be called his lady; and his lordship could not be any happier. Each day since your arrival, you had loosened his level of restraint and made him rethink being immortal, but God was he satisfied that all his waiting and preying had worked out. 

He had gotten the girl, sunk his teeth in, and successfully held on.