This Last Moment Was So Intimate - Tumblr Posts

cw ✩ ˖  ݁ . suggestiveness but no actual smut, mention of child rearing, he calls you little one. this is a repost from my old blog

you sit across from your savior (sukuna ryomen), your eyes trained on the pomegranate he is picking apart for you — though every now and then you glance at his loose kimono; at his chest you fell asleep against once, over the winter after being wounded by a monstrous being.

that was six months ago.

(you remember the night vividly - you had gone out of his estate in a blind rage, had shoved uraume to the side rather roughly, even if they were not at fault.

hot tears had brimmed your eyes and the bottoms of your kimono were rapidly getting drenched by the snow on the ground — then your leg got stuck.

when you pulled at the soft cloth of your expensive kimono and let out a frustrated wail, the being slashed your waist — snarled its bloody, yellow teeth at you and went for your neck.

but your savior appeared and threw it to the side, made it look like nothing but a poor mutt.

he carried you, then — scolded you for being so careless in such a rough winter. for disobeying him. for getting hurt. for leaving his side. nonetheless, he cleaned your wound and patched it up while you pathetically sobbed, head pounding and on his chest.

and then you blacked out.)

“what are you thinking about?”

he looks golden - eyes slightly squinted, though they glint feverishly like the sun hung in the sky, so incredibly far away from you.

in the great scheme of the universe, you are so small.

“not much,” you look down at your soft hands that could pass for porcelain. intently listen to the birds, the small animals that rustle through the grass. “about how rough winter was.”

but you are certain he could devour the sun.

sukuna ryomen — a man you have come to care for, look at as your savior — hums, stained fingers picking at the last of the fruit in his hands.

“come here,” he says, finally raises his head to look at you. “eat.”

you stand with ease and walk toward him, hover over his body, run your fingers through the side of his head when he looks upward and at you.

“your hair has grown a bit,” you say, twirl an almost curl on your index finger — and you swear he leans into your touch. “it makes you look even more handsome.”

“you believe so?” one of his right hands wraps around your thigh, brings you closer to him ever so gently.

“i do,” you reply, heart on the verge of breaking your ribcage. “you are a very beautiful being, my king.”

“i’ve never once thought so,” his face is neutral, but he kneads your thigh softly. "and i thought you believed me to be a monster."

“believed. i was mistaken.”

he wants to tell you that you are wrong, but he wants you to enlighten him even more. with the slightest smirk, he asks: “and why is that?”

you look away from him in shyness, hand about to fall from its place on his head, but he catches it with his other right hand.

“because you have been kind to me,” you watch a bunny in the distance, its nose twitching as it searches for food. “because you have bathed me and taken care of my wounds and satiated my hunger.” finally, you turn toward him once again.“because you saved me.”

you see it now — how much of a blessing it was to be offered to the strongest being of your time from a mediocre town.

frogs croak in the distance, crickets tune their ballad, the king of curses turns his head to give your palm a gentle kiss accompanied with a soft groan.

your body feels hot — even more so when he brings you closer, gifts a kiss to your inner thigh, through your kimono, unbelievably close to your sex.

shamefully, you squeeze your thighs together, eyes shut and head tilted slightly to the back.

“my king,” your mouth feels dry and the light coat of sweat on the back of your neck is not due to the sticky summer heat. “m-my king, is this prudent?”

you have never felt like this — like you could be the one to devour the sun.

then again, you have never done this — have never had a man kiss your inner thighs and look at you in such a way; your deceased husband only ever focused on his pleasure and the prospect of having children.

“do you want this, little one?”

you almost believe the earth comes to a halt, but an angered cloud roars in the sky and warns you of the brewing storm.

“yes. i do.”

the sun devours you.