Work Text:
You had never given much thought as to how you’d die.
As a child, death was a seemingly inconceivable topic to you, as it is for most children. It's a topic you can't quite grasp until you witness it firsthand, as you're still too young and sheltered to understand it. Some are unlucky in that matter; they see it far before they should; in the deaths of the elderly—their grandparents, or in the elders of their village. Or in the passing of a beloved pet; a dog gone rabid, or sick in some other way, with the only option left to put it down.
Yet you grow up seeing it’s effects all around you. In the faces of your neighbors. Those burying loved ones, or those just burying an unnamed body. In the losses of crops, and livestock. In the faces of the sorcerers that would return home, fewer and fewer each time. They all had this look in their eyes. You would look into them, but never at them, because there was nothing left behind their eyes.
It's the only fair thing in life as it sweeps through everything indiscriminately: everything that lives, has to die.
You were convinced you were invincible. Untouchable. From the moment your abilities as a sorcerer manifested, this thought only solidified itself in your ideology. In the golden age of sorcery, those who practice it, often don't make it to retirement. Those that do, find themselves to be something less than human.
The older you grew, the more you became settled in the thought of a violent end. If you were going to die, then at the very least you would do it while human. A fitting ending to a short, violent life.
As you’ve come to learn, there are only two guaranteed things in this life: death, and taxes.
This wasn't the first time Ryomen Sukuna had threatened to raze your village. A hundred years prior, he had shown up with the intent to pillage and kill to his heart’s content. The shamans of the village had managed to hold him off. Just barely. But time had weakened your people. It made them complacent with their way of life, and lazy. They had forgotten the unimaginable hardships they faced nearly a century earlier. There was no defeating him this time.
Like usual, the residents began putting together offerings: food, money, jewels, and their most feared sorcerer. Those who were smart, took their belongings and fled. Those who weren't, tried to fight. It's only in human nature to want to survive. Most people will do anything to achieve it. Others will try to claim that there's more to live than plain survival. And at one time, you believed it. The people of your village feared what they couldn't defeat. And so you were exiled, only to be put on a silver platter in hopes to appease the King of Curses, and prevent the fate that everyone knew they’d face.
Maybe it’s out of pity he’s kept you alive all these years. You were only keeping this body for the carrion that would feed on it. For the scavengers that would take your bones and strew them across the land, leaving them to bleach in the sun.
Perhaps this was all set in stone by a power far greater at hand. Perhaps there is no changing the fate laid out for you. But the cockroach does not question the boot on it's way down to squish it.
Buzzards circle overhead.
Your mind walks the line between waking and sleep. Just moments ago, there was a structure here. A temple. Holy ground . Or at the very least blessed. All that remains are charred splinters of wood, and a stone foundation. Smoke curls up along the horizon. It's long since gone white. The fire has already gone out. It would be black if the fire were still raging.
Blood and corpses will render this field infertile. That waste will sink into the soil and leave any fruit that grows here toxic. Nothing will thrive if planted here; until carrion strewn the bodies of soldiers about and pick their bones clean, then will things finally begin to grow.
Your eyes can hardly focus on the figure looming over you.
"I did not give you permission to die." Sukuna says.
It had to have been spring.
The sun was too high in the sky, but the early morning came with a bitter cold. Rain came and went. Sporadic showers carried on throughout the morning, and well into the afternoon. One second, the ground was dry as bone, the next it was a flooded, muddy mess.
You had followed that damn trail for hours, starting when the sun was low on the horizon, and ending when it had begun to set. It was as if the forest itself were cursed.
The woods had made quick work of your traveling companion; another sorcerer doomed to walk this path with you.
A sacrifice.
“Not much of a sacrifice”, you’d say if anyone were to ask you. He could hardly brave these woods you spent so many years growing up in. Humans are the biggest threat out here. But you also have snakes, bears, and the occasional mountain lion. Though those rarely travel so close to villages. If they can avoid humans, they will. And if you’re not smart, there's various poison plants that will make quick work of anyone dumb enough to eat them.
There was only so much distance you could cover before the sun set entirely. Turning back wasn't an option. The people of your village would kill you (or at the very least try to) if they saw your face again.
You happened upon a clearing. At one point in time, there was a structure here. A temple, with an altar. The wood completely rotted away with time. Only the stone foundations remain. Despite this, the lanterns and candles were lit, and fresh food remained on the altar.
Being exhausted, and hungry, this seemed as good a place as any to rest for the night. There wasn't much you could do while it was still dark out. The lights would ward off any woodland creatures that would dare bother you, and the food was decent enough; persimmons, pomegranates, plums of all different kinds. Produce. From your village.
The thought spoiled any appetite you once had.
You perched on a soft spot on the grass, with your bow in your lap, an arrow knocked for any woodland creature that should dare try to disturb your rest. Two of your arrows were sacrificed to ward off a bear, leaving you with eight.
Out of the treeline emerged a man. The tattoos should have been the first sign something was off. He stood a full head taller than any normal human, and had an extra set of arms to match. His only weapon looked to be a trident. Maybe it was supposed to be a spear — but the head was far too large and unwieldy to belong to a throwing weapon.
The King of Curses. The very curse that threatened to raze your village.
Had he caught you in a different mood, you would have fired that arrow straight into his face. Not that it would do all that much, but at the very least, it would have stunned him. Such an act would be more for revenge, than to defend yourself. But being exhausted, and irritated, you weren't going to put up much of a fight.
He had circled you like a cat stalking prey, all too surprised at the fight you put up — or lack thereof. He expected you to do something. Anything. Anything but sit there, continuing to peel your pomegranate, popping the seeds into your mouth. Your hands were stained a pale red from the juices. So were the inner parts of your lips. With the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth, before standing.
“I suppose you’re headed to that village?” You said. “Take me with you. I have a score to settle.”
Or you did. Before you got lost.
“You’re not going to beg for their lives, or your own?”
“Nah,” you said with a shrug, “could care less about them. Besides, you couldn't kill me if you tried.”
His clawed thumb pressed against your throat. With one swift movement, he could have your carotid artery open, and you a bleeding mess on the ground. On your own, there would be no stopping the flow of blood. In a matter of seconds, you would lose consciousness. In minutes, you would be dead. No help would arrive in time for you.
“You seem so certain about that.”
Sukuna expected different of you. Most would cry, or plead for their life — sorcerers are no exception in that. The soul has been broken, tears are only a sign of that. Others would try to fight, usually to no avail. You… you just seemed apathetic.
You leaned into his hand.
“My only wish is that if I die, I die a human,” you said.
Typically, Sukuna would travel about the countryside, terrorizing villages as he pleases. But it seemed that this time he found a new toy to do with as he pleased. As a sorcerer, you were strong. You held an immense power Sukuna only saw in humans once a millennia. Why he kept you alive instead of killing you right there, you’ll never know. The cockroach does not question the boot on it's way down to squish it.
“I do not give you permission to die,” he said.
By the time you finally wake, the sun has long since gone down. There's a dryness in the back of your throat that won't quite go away. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to do so much as wiggle your toes, let alone sit up. But you manage, slowly working life back into the tips of your fingers, then your arms, then your body. It's not a fast process. It feels as if it takes hours. Days even.
The first thing you see is a woman.
Mei . You're not certain what her surname was. She's long since stopped using it. It's the case for a lot of people around here. It's easier to forget where you're from, and the fates of those at the place you once called home, than to try to remember them. She's a small, pale woman, dressed in the finest silks and jewels this country has to offer. Her hair damn near reaches her waist; it's long, and black, and shiny like glass. Her skin holds the same porcelain finish. A sacrifice. Prized by her looks, and as sharp as a knife. Presented to him by her village in hopes he wouldn't raze the place. But he took her and did anyway. That's the case for most of the women around here. His wives , they’re called. Identified by the small black gemstone on their ring finger.
Most agree to stay. Most just don't have a place to go back to. They figure a life here is far better than whatever lies outside these walls. Holding such a title will only bring them bad luck, especially around sorcerers. Not much aside from a hard life lies ahead of them, should they decide to leave. At least here you're fed, and clothed, and given a dry place to sleep. So you understand why they stay, even if they don't necessarily like it here. You don't blame anyone for trying to survive.
Some of his wives survive longer than others. Many are tossed aside once he grows bored of them. And that's frequently, considering his lifespan. Despite that, she’s survived quite long. Years maybe. Almost as long as you.
You like her. Your first bit of advice when you first met her, was to not eat any meat he tries to offer. It's not pork. It takes someone quite smart to last as long as she has. Her small stature is deceiving. Your interactions with one another are few, and far between. Sukuna has had many men castrated for so much as looking at one of his wives the wrong way. The same goes for you, though. Those same men aren't spared such a fate when it comes to you.
Cradled in her arms is a pail of water, and a ladle. She holds the ladle to your lips and softly commands you to drink. You're met with the cool feeling of water across your tongue. You drink greedily, downing one ladle, then a second. When you try to go in for a third, she pulls away, warning you not to make yourself sick.
The pain in your side isn't unbearable. You suspect that's due to her reverse cursed technique. She’s one of the few gifted with the ability to heal others. Not that her talents get much use around here. If someone’s injured enough to need her help, then they’re not going to last long around here anyway.
You groan as you move from your spot. Her arm shoots out and across your chest to prevent you from sitting up. Yet you still attempt it. Even in your weakened state, your strength rivals hers, and are able to move from your spot.
"You lost a lot of blood," she says. “I healed what I could, but you're going to feel awful for a few days. I suggest you take it easy, but I know it's you I‘m talking about, so just try not to rip open your stitches.”
The blankets fall around your waist as you sit up. Mei doesn't bother to try to stop you this time.
Blankets—not yours—furs and silks far too lavish for your tastes. This isn't your bed. Sukuna's. The King of Curses doesn't need much sleep. If any at all. Not much sleeping gets done in this bed. It's merely decoration at this point, and a soft surface to fuck on.
You watch her head tilt to the side. The corners of her lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Maybe smile isn't the right word for it; it's more of a smirk.
"What did he say?" She asks. "If I'm not being too forward- I'm just curious if he said anything to you before he brought you back."
"' I didn't give you permission to die. '" You say.
There's that look again. No good follows this look in her eyes.
“He loves you,” she says. “You love him back, don't you?”
When you spend so much time with a person —curse— it's hard to not love them, if even a little bit.
"I don't think he's capable of loving anything." You say. "Well, he loves his wives in the same way a miser loves gold. He likes pretty things. Toys he can ruin, and break."
Yet here you are . One of the few things he couldn't destroy. His most prized lieutenant. A sorcerer feared by mn and curses alike. Kept for your natural talent in battle, and overwhelming amount of cursed energy. The King of Curses doesn't need a guard, yet you stood by his side like one. Maybe that was what he told everyone else, to save himself the shame of proving you were something he couldn't kill.
Perhaps his affections for you stemmed out of his inability to kill you. He often compared you to a cockroach he couldn't squish under his boot. Humans in general . Try to cut off their head, starve them out, poison them: they’ll always come back. They tend to out-fuck any threat that they face. Like cockroaches, they out-breed any threat they face.
But the cockroach doesn't question the boot on it's way down to squish it.
"You don't seriously believe that," Mei says.
“Of course I believe it,” you say, “I've seen it plenty of times before.”
You sense she has more to say, but she remains silent on the matter. Holding a bowl up to you, she softly says eat . In it is what looks to be a white, mushy substance. Rice porridge . It's not the most appetizing color, or texture. It doesn't have a particularly strong smell to it either, but it's been sweetened with honey, and spices like cinnamon and cloves. Bland but comforting. Each bite makes warmth spread out from your stomach, to your fingertips.
“How long was I out?” You ask, handing the bowl back to her.
“About a day.” She says. “You’ve been in and out of it for the past few hours. You got up once to get some water, but that was about it.”
She chats idly while you eat. The topic of conversation sticks to nothing in particular. You don't do much more than nod and hum in the way of contributing to the conversation. Personally, you think you’re about as good a conversationalist as a brick wall, but she insists on talking to you anyway. That's never changed as long as you’ve known her. The two of you don't typically have much to talk about, and when you do, conversation is quick, and hushed.
If you were a man, such behavior would warrant odd looks, and possible retaliation from the King of Curses himself. Rumors would spread of fraternization. Of affairs. You get away with it, as long as you aren't too obvious about it.
You do feel better after you’re done eating. Something heavier would be nice, though, you’re not certain you could keep it down. So maybe it's for the best.
Sukuna has to duck under the door frame as he enters the room, and though most of this furniture is made to be larger than the average human could use, he still dwarfs it. Save for the bed, which you could sprawl out as wide as possible and never touch the sides.
He doesn't bother to knock, which warrants a glare from you. But it is his room after all, so you suppose you can't be too mad.
Both sets of his eyes are trained on you. Some small part of you wishes to shrink under his gaze. You're not certain what you feel. Is it shame? Anger? It certainly isn't fear. There's many things you've felt fear towards, but never him.
Mei scoots back to give him room to settle between the two of you. The bed dips under his weight as he sits. Despite being sat down, he’s still taller than her. It's almost amusing how he dwarfs any average human.
With a nod, and a single movement of his hand, he excuses her. She stands on the tips of her toes to kiss him before exiting.
Something stirs in your stomach. A flicker of jealousy, maybe? Why? Why now? It's not like you haven't seen this hundreds of times before. The beautiful men and women that would throw themselves at Sukuna’s feet for a chance to be with him. The various wives he’s had over the years. How he parades himself about like he’s a god among men. A perfect creation. Like he’s a truly divine being.
Maybe because it's hard to spend so much time with a person, and not love them, if just a little bit. Or maybe your rice porridge just isn't sitting right.
His power may be impressive, but he is far from holy.
You try to stand, but he's on you in an instant, guiding you to sit back down. This time you can't fight it, and are forced to comply. The smell of woodsmoke, and something metallic hangs onto him, barely drowned by the scent of incense.
"Don't be stupid," he scolds, "I scoured that field for days trying to find you. It's such a waste , letting your life go like that."
He… was looking for you?
You had been so resigned in your fate that you hadn't taken into consideration the fact he would go out looking for you.
Why ? Why bother with someone who was certainly dead?
Would he have buried your body? Cleaned your weapons and armor until they were shiny, and buried them alongside you? Decorate your grave with flowers? Would he visit you as you rot? Bring you fresh flowers, and throw out the old wilted ones?
How long would he wait? Would he watch the foliage grow back across your grave? Watch your headstone erode and eventually crumble? Would he wait until the end of time for you?
Sukuna is greedy, and all consuming. He takes what he wants, when he wants, and leaves nothing behind. You suppose you're not excluded in that regard. If he wanted you, then it's not out of the realm of possibility to think he would go searching for you.
“I think you’re losing your touch,” he says, “letting yourself get killed by something as weak as that.”
“Blood loss doesn't care how strong you are,” you say. “It's easy to find yourself overwhelmed out there.”
He beckons you closer. And you comply, getting up just enough to crawl to rest in his lap. Sukuna's thighs provide enough space to lounge comfortably across. Though he's mostly muscle, and they're a bit hard, his size makes him a decent spot to sit.
It's the first time you've dared to do such a thing, but the action feels natural, as if you’ve done this a hundred times over. His arms move to wrap around your waist and prevent you from falling off his lap.
“Sometimes I forget you're still human.” He says.
“I don't.” You say.
You guide his hand to rest on your side, just below your ribs. To feel the warmth of your flesh through your clothes. In a second, he could have this flesh in shreds. Rip and tear at it with his nails, or shred it between his teeth, exposing your organs. Despite this, he's surprisingly gentle.
Then you guide his hand to your heart. He doesn't need to be touching your chest to notice the way your heart picks up in pace. Sukuna allows himself to drag his nails upwards across your exposed collarbone, and relish in the way your heart rate picks up. Such a simple, human reaction. His hand wraps entirely around your neck, with room to spare. With a simple, quick movement of his wrist, he could have your neck snapped—and you know this—but a certain unspoken trust solidifies the idea that he'd never do such a thing.
You're not certain what point you're trying to get across with this. Maybe it's that you're still squishy and fragile under all that armor. That the metal and leather you wear is only an ornate dinner plate for your organs. That you still need to eat and sleep. That inside it all you’re still made of flesh and blood. Still human, even after all this time.
You imagine that becoming a curse isn't a quick process. One day you’re going to wake up, and the action of breathing will bring you no relief. Food will turn to ash in your mouth. Alcohol will no longer fill you with warmth. You will sleep for hours, but never find yourself rested. And slowly, oh so slowly will your humanity bleed from you.
"I'm getting old, Sukuna," you say.
"No you're not." He says in a scolding tone. "You've hardly lived a life."
For a man who's lived a hundred lifetimes over, mortality scares him. Not in the sense of himself—he knows he'll be fine—but in the sense of others. He's frightened for the life of his most beloved pet .
You find yourself complying when he guides you to rest your head against his chest. There's no heartbeat under his skin. But he bleeds, so you assume he must have a heart. Everything that bleeds has a heart.
He holds you like that for a moment, cupping your head in his hand. His palm nearly covers your entire face. He handles you softly, and with such care you didn't know he had in him. Sukuna cradles you with the same tenderness one would hold a small bird with. It's like you’re a fruit that he’s trying not to bruise. His thumb traces your lower lip, taking in the soft skin. He’d much like to know how your soft lips would feel pressed against his. You allow yourself this moment of peace; to be cradled like something truly precious. To feel the tender touch that only happens between lovers.
Love in a soft sense is a strange thing to you. You only know a harsh love. To be loved in such a gentle way is entirely foreign.
But you are just as much his, as he is yours.
You crane your neck to face him. One side of your— his; it's far too big to be one of yours —robe slips off your shoulder, but he's only met with the sight of bandages. You’re practically drowning in the light colored fabric. His gaze lingers on the muscles of your arms and the various scars that dot them.
Did he stand behind Mei as she healed you? Watched her dress your wounds in these bandages? Was he the one to take one of his robes, and clothe you in it?
Your thighs squeeze together at the thought. Wearing his clothes… it feels like a form of possessiveness over another person. Sukuna doesn't share. It smells like him. Like woodsmoke and something earthy. It has a coppery smell to it too. Blood maybe? A certain undeniable heat rises to your cheeks, and you’re quick to turn from his gaze.
"I want to devote myself to you," you say, "in the same way your wives do."
You swear you see something flicker behind his eyes. What? Confusion? Lust? Or something more sinister?
“Not with those wounds,” he says, “you’ll hurt yourself.”
“What is worship without a little pain?” You ask. Your face burns. You’re certain heat is radiating off your skin like a furnace.
"Don't martyr yourself for the sake of sex," he says, "if you’re so insistent on this, then let me do the work."
You feel yourself throb at his words. Unconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together, hoping for some relief, but the action brings you none. That little bit of bravery you had before is now gone, leaving you a shaky, quivery mess.
These walls are thin. You're not oblivious to what goes on in this room when everyone is trying to sleep. Key word: trying. All those years you’ve listened to screaming—screaming like those people were having their organs rearranged. And for all you know, they were .
One set of arms remains around your waist, the other gently nudges your knees apart. It's almost comical how his hands dwarf you. Both of your hands find one of his much larger ones, and wrap around it. He squeezes yours; whether on purpose to comfort you, or instinct, you can't tell.
When you squeeze his hand back, he pauses. “Is this alright?” He asks.
“Yes,” you say.
Sukuna doesn't think he’s ever heard your voice sound so small before. His grin is nothing short of predatory; you are the rabbit, small and trembling before the big bad wolf. Though it seems the wolf has you right in his jaws.
The feeling of teeth nipping at your ear makes you shiver. Sharp. Sukuna’s teeth are impossibly sharp. Certainly so for a human. But you know well by now that Sukuna is far from human.
Your eyes trail one of his hands as it moves lower and lower, before disappearing under your robe. Fingertips ghost up your thigh, making goosebumps rise along in their wake. You’re not quite certain what to do with your hands, and Sukuna picks up on this, guiding them to rest on one of his own. The slick that pools between your legs is enough to draw an amused chuckle from him.
"This is lewd," you say with a laugh.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asks.
You frantically shake your head. "Feels good." You say. "Don't stop."
Sharp nails graze against your skin as his fingers draw circles around your clit. The action itself is rather lazy; slow and drawn out. He’s playing with you, feeling you grow wet around his fingers, instead of putting much intent to his action. Sukuna can't help but wonder how much better this would be if he were on his throne, with you nestled on his lap.
He leaves you like that for what feels like hours, toying with you idly, turning you into a trembling mess. It could hardly be minutes, but the silence, combined with the aching feeling in your core, makes the passage of time meaningless. It's unbearable. Your nails are digging into his forearm so hard they leave little indents in his skin.
“ More ,” you say. “ Please I need more!”
“Greedy, aren't we?” He coos.
The feeling of something wet flitting against your thigh makes you freeze. You lift the fabric of your robe just enough to see the shiny grin looking back at you.
A mouth… on his hand…
Your body freezes at the feeling of a hot tongue against your clit.
You're certain you're going to faint then and there. Sukuna’s fingers leave you feeling full, stretching you open almost impossibly so. It's not a stretch in the painful sense, but a feeling of fullness. The mouth on his hand laps and sucks like it's been starved. Two clawed fingers prod against your insides, until they find the spot that makes you squirm, and begin abusing it.
Your head rolls to the side, exposing your neck. Sukuna can hardly restrain himself from dragging his teeth across the silky flesh. They're so sharp you hardly feel the blood he's drawn, until you're met with the feeling of a wet tongue across your neck. He laps up that blood like it's the finest wine known to man. Like it's water after he’s trekked across the desert for days. You shudder, and a low laugh escapes him, one you feel rumble low in his chest.
When he leans down to kiss you, you can taste yourself on him. It's a… strange taste. Not unpleasant. But strange. Like an unripe persimmon, but without the sweetness.
“I can… taste it .” You say. As your nose wrinkles, he laughs.
“How do you taste, hm?” He asks. You’re not certain if he wants an answer to this question, but you’ll give him one anyway.
“Strange,” you say, “it's not how I thought.” Not that you’ve ever given much thought to the idea.
That tongue continues to toy with you, figuring out just what makes you writhe. It's quick work, honestly. After being pinched and prodded in all sorts of ways, it doesn't take you long to cum. You don't get louder as you near your release— as Sukuna expected —but quite the opposite. It sounds as if you've forgotten how to breathe. You’re quiet. Shy even.
Now this is a side of you he's never seen. Not that you're the most open and outspoken person usually, but this… This is a part of you only reserved for him.
Your thighs clamp around his hand as you cum, though this does little to stop how he toys with you. It's not until you’re putty in his hands, writhing under his touch that he pulls away, making a show of licking his fingers.
Your jaw falls slack, and he presses two of his fingers against your lips, before they dip into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the digits. There's that taste again . Persimmons, and salt. Sukuna’s free hand moves to cup your jaw, as both sets of his eyes are trained on you. Your limp, trembling body lays against him, nestled in his arms. You’re certain you couldn't move if you tried. Exhaustion sets in. From the waist down you feel nearly numb. You doubt your legs would work if you tried.
A line of saliva connects your lips with his fingers as he pulls away. With his thumb, he wipes away the thin line of saliva on your chin.
“Please,” you say, “please lord Sukuna-”
The corners of his lips twitch at the use of his title. “ Please what? ” He asks.
Sukuna rests on his knees in front of you, almost as if he’s bowed in prayer. The King of Curses isn't one to bow for anyone. This is the closest he’ll ever get to worshiping another being.
“ Fuck me ,” you say with a sigh. He can't tell if your words are meant as a demand, or a curse.
Off comes his kimono, and you’re unsurprised to see he’s not wearing anything underneath. You are surprised—however—to see that he’s already hard, and leaking precum against his tattooed thighs.
He's… huge. And there's two of them? Not that you’ve seen many cocks before, but you’ve seen enough to know that's one too many.
It shouldn't come as too big of a shock. The man himself is huge, anything smaller would look comical on him, it's only fair for these to match. The bottom one is smaller, if only slightly. It's still nearly the length of your forearm, and about as thick. Taking the top one is out of the question—you’re not certain it’ll fit—but the bottom one might.
How would that even work? What does he do with the second one? Do his wives, and those in his concubine normally take something so big? Do they take both at once? Is that humanly possible?
Still, he picks up on the way you subtly shrink back. "Do you still want to do this?" He asks.
You nod.
"I need to hear you say it," Sukuna says.
"I want to," you say.
"You want to do what ?"
Now there's no denying the heat that rises to your cheeks. Does he want you to spell it out for him? Or is he like a vampire, and can't come inside without explicit permission?
"I want to…" you swallow hard, "have sex with you."
He's on you in an instant, caging your body under his. A warm set of hands moves to discard your clothes, working to rid your figure of them. There's something so oddly intimate about being undressed in this way; to have your wounds scrutinized by his eyes. To watch him as he slides the flimsy fabric down your body, and touch you in the same way as a lover would. In an instant, he could shred it with his nails, but he's taking great care not to damage it. To anyone looking in from the outside, this would simply look like an article of clothing he cares greatly for. You know better. The King of Curses cares little for material objects like this. He’s dragging it out solely to toy with you. He seems to take great joy in toying with his prey.
“They're so big,” you say, breathless, “why are they so big?”
“Why are you so small then?” He asks, pinching the flesh of your side, which draws a gasp from you. Using your hands to shield your face, you giggle.
"Don't hide from me," he says, gently nudging your hands away.
Your eyes lock for only a moment, before you're turning away. Out of either shame or embarrassment. He regards you with a grin, and a laugh. It's such an odd thing to see from him. Such kindness in his expression… such warmth… It's almost like he's human. You suppose he was one at one point. Maybe a few centuries ago. Never in your lifetime. Any humanity he once had, has long since been lost to time.
You try to imagine how the others take him. Try to imagine fitting your hands around his cock. Would they even fit? Could you wrap one entirely around it? Do they use their hands, or their mouth?
“What do I…” your mouth opens in a silent question.
“Here,” he says, “use your hands. I’ll guide you through it.”
You sit between his parted thighs, legs crossed. Though you can't hear the way your heart subtly picks up in pace, Sukuna can. He guides your hand to wrap around his cock—the upper one—and stroke. Just once. Using his hands as a guide, he motions you through the action of pumping his cock. Precum leaks from the head, dribbling across your closed fist. He’s uncut. It's quite an angry looking thing; his cock, you mean . There's a vein running up the bottom of his upper cock, that only seems to get bigger.
“I never knew your legs were tattooed too,” you say, laughing nervously.
Your thumb swipes across the head, disturbing the bead of precum that once rested there. Sukuna twitches. Whether this is on purpose, or just instinct, you can't tell. His eyes have shut, head tilted back, giving you a good look at the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
It does help your nerves a bit, seeing him so lost in his own pleasure. What truly makes one human, if it's not the desires of the flesh—the need to sleep and eat and fuck? Is it something greater than this? Does some higher power decide what makes you human or not?
His eyes snap open, and he tilts his head down towards you. You want to shrink under his gaze, but find yourself frozen.
“Stop.” He says, and your blood turns to ice in your veins.
“Did I do something wrong?” You ask.
Sukuna shakes his head. “No, I just don't want to cum so soon. Here, lay back.”
You fall back against the pillows with a soft “oh!” From the head of the bed, he seizes a pillow. One set of hands finds your hips, guiding you to lift them off the mattress. Unceremoniously he shoves a pillow under your lower back. The change of angle is slightly more comfortable than your previous one, and allows him a better look of your soaked sex.
He can smell it. How you're practically dripping with arousal. It's sweet, much like honey, and more intoxicating than any drug known to man. Your skin is flushed, and holds an almost unnatural warmth to it. Sukuna could hardly imagine that you, with your stoney expression, and reserved nature, could ever be seen like this.
“I don't think both of them will fit…” you say.
“It will fit,” he says. And with such conviction you want to believe him.
You’re met with the feeling of the head of his cock pressing against you, his precum mixing with your own slick. You scramble for purchase against his body, clawing at his broad back. If he were anyone else, you’d be terrified of scratching him bloody, but your nails don't even break his skin.
"It's too much-" you say. “You’re too big!”
This draws a low laugh from him. "Am I?" He coos. "I'm hardly even in. I know you can take more of me."
Inch by inch, he sinks deeper into you. There's no words that quite describe the feeling of fullness it— he —gives you. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix, so impossibly deep inside of you. Deeper than any other man could reach. The top one grinds against your poor neglected clit, abusing it in an entirely different way.
Your ankles lock behind his back, thighs squeezing his body. You cling onto him for dear life. It's as if you’re afraid to fall once you let go, despite having your back to the bed. In no possible way could you get closer to him, with your chests pressed together, your foreheads against one another, and your arms around his neck. Your bodies much resemble a knot in the way they’re intertwined.
Another moment goes by before he moves. He claims it's so you can adjust to his size. Mostly it's so neither of you cum on the spot. You don't think you could last any longer if he started fucking you then and there. Though, Sukuna could say the same.
He's quite gentle with his movements. Almost uncharacteristically so. The hands that aren't cupping your ass, are cradling your face, thumbs tracing along your cheekbones. He rocks against you in slow, steady movements, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust.
You expected it to hurt more. Hell, you expected his size to split you in half. It shouldn't be humanly possible to take something this big. Yet you’ve managed to do it. If he were to thrust any deeper, it’d hurt. The feeling of something up against that ring of muscle is not pleasant in the slightest. Sukuna seems to sense this, and pace himself, making sure to not fuck you so deep it's painful.
You’re not sure who speaks first, but it's as if a set of floodgates has been opened. All you know is pleas are spilling past your lips and you can't stop them.
“Please!” You say. It's one of the only coherent words that leave you. Soft “ please ”s, and “ Lord Sukuna ”s spill past your lips.
He thinks the title sounds so much better when it's on the lips of someone who refuses to use it. Oh how much sweeter the forbiddenness of the fruit makes it taste.
The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, barely audible over the lewd cacophony of moans and grunts. Your lips crash together in what's supposed to be a kiss. It feels much more like mashing your skin together, than a proper kiss. The feeling of a hot tongue against your lips makes them part, allowing the slick muscle to enter your mouth. Sharp teeth graze across your lips, following the metallic taste of blood. He laps at the bit of crimson that drips down your chin.
All you can do is cling onto him for dear life. Like he’s the last bit of land before you find yourself lost out in open ocean. This time he kisses you sweetly. It's the touch of a lover. Soft. Loving. His thumb moves to wipe away the bead of blood on your lips, bringing it to his mouth, and swiping it across his tongue. You feel your cunt throb at the low groan that leaves his lips, a truly animalistic noise of desire. To devote yourself to another being in such intimate matters. To be wanted in such a way. Wholly. Completely. To be held so close and in such reverence, like a higher being in worship. You are no longer a human, or a sorcerer, you are truly a god.
Your poor, abused cunt can only take so much before your orgasm is forced out of you, tearing you apart and putting you back together wrong. The moan that tears through your throat much resembles a scream in that nature. But you’re not wounded—it's quite the opposite. It's as if you’re stuck out in that open ocean, making a feeble attempt to tread water, and failing miserably as the swells pull you under.
To you, all that exists in this point in time are you, and him. As your bodies knot together in a mess of limbs, and aching forms, all you can truly focus on is him. Minutes seem to bleed together. Time itself has taken the form of a thick jelly.
It's such a strange sensation; being filled with his cum. It gets quite literally everywhere. The cock that isn't currently stuffed inside of you, spills all across your stomach. And your thighs. There's droplets across your chest, and streams down your stomach. There’s so much. No human should make this much…
Such a beautiful sight , you with Sukuna’s cum streaming down your tits. Truly no sight is better than having you bowed at his feet. You, a being that has never worships anything but themself, knelt in reverence. Or, bent over in it, stuffed with his cocks.
But having you under him works just fine.
He rolls to the side, so as to not put his entire weight on top of you. Pulling out is something he does slowly, so not much of his cum is spilled. You doubt it's done to protect the sheets, which are already stained. He must have an ulterior motive for doing such a thing.
One hand moves to stroke your hair, the other shamelessly gropes at your tits, pinching at your nipples, which have stiffened upon being exposed to the air. A sharp nail traces across your jugular. You know with a single movement, he could have your carotid artery opened, and you a bleeding mess on the floor. Who knew that the King of Curses, so powerful in nature, could have a soft spot for a sorcerer.
A rag is sacrificed for the sole purpose of cleaning up the mess. He doesn't allow you to move as he wipes you down, taking great care to clean up every last spilled drop of cum. Sukuna is silent as he drags the cloth across your skin, taking in your form greedily, and all at once. Once he deems you clean enough, the rag is discarded alongside your clothes, and you’re pulled flush against his chest.
You fit so perfectly against him that you can only be convinced you were made for such a thing. Exhaustion has set in. Your limbs curl in much like that of a dead spider, as you huddle against Sukuna for his warmth.
He gets up once to throw more wood on the fire, leaving you bundled in furs. The coals don't need much coaxing to come back to life, and the wood is dry enough that it catches instantly. The crackling of the fire soon fills the room. The scent of sex and sweat hardly covers the smell of woodsmoke, and incense.
There's only so much you can do to fight sleep. Between the warmth of the fire, and that of the body beside you, sleep threatens to pull you under entirely.
Around you goes your— his —kimono, the white fabric draping loosely around your figure. It's more of a privacy measure, than to keep you warm. Not that many people will be out at this hour, but he doesn't want some stranger seeing your naked body.
You groan as he tries to move you. But there's not much you can do to fight off the arms that scoop you up.
“Let's get you into a bath,” he says.
You fall limp against his arms with another groan. You very much don't want to be moved from your spot on the bed, but there's little you can do to fight against him.
Your eyes are closed for most of the walk. It's not a particularly long one. If you had to guess, you’re only one room over. You hear the door as it's opened and shut, but not locked.
It's a plain room, with another fireplace, a wash basin on a stand, and a metal bathtub. There's a mirror above the wash basin, and various cosmetics are littered about the counter. You suspect those belong to Mei, or one of his other wives.
He gets to the slow task of filling the tub, making you check the temperature of the water occasionally. Steam curls off the surface of the tub. Tub may not be the right word, as it's nearly big enough for you to swim in. And it takes an enormous amount of water to fill it, piped in through a spigot on the wall. It's hot straight from the tap.
Sukuna picks a few glass bottles, before uncorking them, and pouring their contents into the water. One looks like salt, one appears to be dried flowers, and the third is some kind of oil. Perfume, if you had to guess. They're very fragrant, filling the air with the scent of something floral. Lavender. Orange blossoms too.
It's almost comical; like he’s a witch, pouring vegetables and herbs into the cauldron he’s going to boil you in. But you doubt you’d make a good soup. That's one of the first things you told him; that you weren't very good for eating. Your meat is too tough, and your bones don't have much flavor. He simply scoffed, and said he’d eat you if he ever wanted to.
Most baths you take don't have such luxuries as this one. Boiling water for a bath takes too much time and effort in your opinion. That's if you’re here, and not out and about, running some job, or hunting something down. On longer trips out, stopping somewhere with a bathtub wasn't often an option. Inns are few, and far between. If you had to take a dip in a freezing river, it was best to make it brief. Not much time to sit and relax when you’re worried about hypothermia.
Growing up, there were hot springs near your village. Some shamans claimed they were healing waters, but really, they weren't special in any matter. Some people bought into it. Travelers, typically. You think most people knew it was just ordinary water. Still, it was nice to have in the dead of winter. Those waters have thawed out your bones plenty of times.
In hindsight, that was one of the only good things about living in that place. Now when you think about it, you’re only left with a cold feeling in your chest.
Sukuna helps rid you of your remaining clothes. Your— his —kimono pools around your bare feet. Off come the bandages; can't get those wet. At this point, they're more for show anyway. Your wounds have mostly healed through the help of Mei's reverse cursed technique.
He helps you settle into the water, your fingers laced with his. When he lets go, your hands move to grip the side of the tub. It's deep enough that when you sit, the water comes up to your shoulders. You sink down enough that the water reaches your chin, curling your legs in towards your body.
"You're not getting in with me?" You ask.
"No," he says. "You smell. Bathe."
“And who’s fault is that?” If you stare at him with those sad eyes any longer, he may just burst.
With a sigh, he relents, stepping into the water to join you. You’re left with far less room to stretch out now, and nearly have to sit in his lap. The hot water feels nice across your sore muscles. You sit between his parted thighs, with your back to his chest. There it is again. That tenderness. The touch of a lover.
Does this make you two lovers?
You almost wish for the bath water to swallow you whole. To rise up above your head and pull you under. The set of arms around your waist anchors you, preventing any such thing from happening.
“Do you remember what it's like to be human?” You ask.
He sighs. At first you expect him to scold you for asking such a dumb question. But no verbal berating ever comes. He speaks quite plain, and calmly.
"I do," he says, "and if you expect me to lament about how I miss the days I was still human, you're sorely mistaken. I don't understand how you stand it."
"Stand what?"
" Mortality ." He says. "Some humans are more durable than others—you're hardly predictable in that regard. What one human perishes to, another survives. Yet it doesn't seem to matter how hard things like disease and natural disasters try to thin your kind, you somehow come out on top,
"I simply do as I please," he continues, "I live to eat and kill and fuck to my heart's content. But humans want more. And I don't understand that."
He watches the corners of your lips turn downwards.
"You're quite different from other cursed spirits," you say, "hell, you're downright strange. I've never seen a curse quite like you. You realize that, right?"
He scowls at what would be an insult if said by any other person. "Why are you so insistent on being human when you die?" Sukuna asks.
"Because I want to stay dead." You say.
"You don't believe in reincarnation?" He asks.
To a certain extent, you think it's possible. Maybe in a thousand years, Jujutsu society will somehow bring you back. But that would be against your own will, and if they dare do such a thing, you’re putting up one hell of a fight for it.
"I mean… I do," you say, "I just don't want it. I don't want there to be an epilogue after the story ends. When I kick the bucket, I want that to be it. The show ends, the curtain falls: that's it."
He seems content with your answer, albeit begrudgingly. His arms tighten around your waist.
“So what are you?” You ask. “If you’re not a human or a curse? What does that make you?”
“A god.”