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The King of Curses does not hold court. He does not deign to bestow his presence upon his subjects or entertain the duty of holding an audience.
But there are times when his whims blow in the right direction and he feels in the mood to see what people want of him. It proves entertaining enough, and there are, on rare occasions, interesting things that seek his attention.
So it is entirely on a fancy of intrigue that leads Sukuna to sit on his cushioned dais before a pair of people who requested an audience with him.
“A halfling curse,” Uraume had reported when the visitors arrived, “With a strange, veiled human in tow.”
And Sukuna had been bored enough to find it worth investigating.
“Thank you for granting us an audience, your Majesty,” The halfling intones, even and calm. He kneels, bowed to the very floor and long black hair split to expose his pale nape.
The human bows just the same, behind him and off to the side. Their ichimegasa and opaque mushino-tarekinu veils most of their body, the fabric splayed out on the floor in elegant waves of silken white.
Sukuna looks the two of them up and down. He leans back onto a hand and brings his kiseru to his lips.
Inhale. Kizami fills his lungs and he holds it there for a few lazy seconds. With an exhale, his throat vibrates in a thoughtful hum.
A halfling means Kenjaku's spawn. Is this a new game they wish to start?
“What do you want?” Sukuna speaks it without curiosity or accusation, a mere invitation to make their desires known and judged.
“A binding vow,” The halfling states. “Our loyalty for your protection.”
Oh?
He lets out an amused huff. A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, how audacious, “And how would your loyalty be of benefit to me?”
The halfling must be prepared, for he replies without pause. “I am a competent curse user, and I know many secrets of the Kamo clan. I will follow you without question and be of service in any way you see fit. I offer myself, body and soul, to be whatever you desire.”
An inhale of the kiseru.
The halfling does not elaborate on what the veiled human might have to give.
An exhale.
The wafting of sweet smoke.
Sukuna has seen this plenty of times before.
It's a stupid habit of humans. To sacrifice themselves for another. To offer oneself in the hopes that another might be saved.
“I see.”
The veiled one remains quiet, but a dark flare in their cursed energy catches Sukuna's senses. They're angry.
“How boring.” Sukuna leans forward, one of his four hands resting on his knee, “You offer only yourself but ask me to protect two of you. Do you think I’m a fool?”
It is barely noticeable, but the halfling hesitates before answering. “My brother will also do the same.”
“And why do you think I would want two slaves?” Sukuna replies lackadaisically. “I have plenty of servants and no need for curse users or clan secrets. Your offer is lackluster.”
And he waits.
Anyone willing to seek an audience with the King of Curses is either desperate or power hungry. It’s not a leap to assume these two are the latter.
They will divulge more.
“I–” It doesn’t take long for the halfling to open his mouth, but once again he hesitates. “I am half curse.”
An inhale of the kiseru.
He is hiding something.
An exhale. Smoke billows about in dancing clouds in front of Sukuna.
Interesting.
“I knew that the moment you stepped foot in here.”
“I heard you like to collect rare things,” The halfling says, half rushed in a way that lifts the veil of calm from his words. “There is only one of my kind left in this world, I am a valuable rarity.”
Sukuna raises a brow, and his lip quirks up in a half grin. “And what about your brother? There must be a reason you veiled him from the world.”
Silence.
It does not last long, but with it comes a tangled flare of black cursed energy from the halfling. The smell of blood spools ever so faintly into the air.
“It’s– I mean,” The halfling stutters out, offended for some unknown reason. Anger bleeds off of him in a desperate, pitiful sort of scent. An animal backed into a corner, forced to show the rabbit it protects to greedy hands.
“I’m a vessel.” It comes from the veiled human in male voice, young and sturdy and without a lick of caution or fear.
There it is.
Sukuna smiles.
He sets his kiseru down on the ashtray next to him. With a hand to his chin, he regards the human with all four of his eyes.
On a closer inspection, the human’s cursed energy is eclectic, like the mixing of a dozen paint colors. Without the six eyes ability, Sukuna can’t parse how many different sources of cursed energy reside within the human, but he can tell there are many.
A high quality vessel, then. Most can usually only contain one or two cursed objects.
Sukuna does not have a vessel of his own. They are usually claimed by the three great clans before they reach adulthood and locked tight away, prized possessions to be hoarded like gold. He sees the value in them, but never cared enough to hunt one down for his own claim.
But now an exceptional one has come to him.
Interesting.
“Lift your head, vessel,” Sukuna leans back, “And remove your veil.”
The vessel is prompt in his obedience. He sits up straight and pulls the ichimegasa from his head, the easy grace of a tiger in each of his movements. A head of shorn soft pink hair and a boyish face is revealed. Golden eyes trail up to Sukuna before flicking back down to the floor in a belated, angry sort of tick.
Pretty.
The vessel is pretty, Sukuna decides - with doe eyes that hold a sharp confidence and cherubic lips and battle scars on his brow and mouth.
And peculiar marks underneath his eyes.
Sukuna hums, his finger tracing his lip idly as he thinks. The hair color is similar enough to his own and the markings close enough to eyelids to make him wonder.
Kenjaku's spawn called him “brother”, which means he has some connection to Sukuna's old acquaintance. And Sukuna wouldn't put it past the old coot to create a vessel in Sukuna's image.
Well.
All the more reason to keep him.
Sukuna smiles, “Very well,” He says, “You've piqued my interest enough. I'll take you up on your vow.” He leans forward, teeth bared and stomach flesh twisting as his second mouth opens to mirror his grin, “Come here, vessel.”
Golden eyes peer up at him, distrusting. But the vessel sets the ichimegasa to the side on the floor and stands. He’s dressed in a simple kosode and hakama – an unusual contradiction to the feminine veil – that highlights little more the dip of his waist. With the short hair and easy confidence, he looks more like a vagrant or a ronin than a prize as he approaches Sukuna.
The vessel steps onto the dais and stops only inches from Sukuna’s lounging form. He barely stands a head taller than Sukuna sitting, staring down at him with a wolf’s firmness. It makes Sukuna’s smile twist into something satisfied. His cursed energy is sprawled to its oppressive normalcy, but the vessel appears unaffected.
“You don’t fear me, do you?” It’s not a question.
“I don’t, your majesty.” The vessel responds.
“Good,” He reaches out. Sukuna’s hands nearly encompass the entirety of the vessel’s waist, such a small thing he is, and he yanks him down onto his lap. It elicits an ungainly squawk, the vessel’s composure vanishing into a red flush and flailing limbs.
But the boy arranges himself quickly in Sukuna’s lap, his thighs forced onto either side of Sukuna’s hips and his hands stiff in the air between their bodies. A deep, unsteady frown mars his blushing face, clearly off kilter from the proximity.
Hands secured on his new vessel’s waist, Sukuna raises a third to card through short pink hair. “An outcast vessel,” He hums, “For such a high quality item to be sheared and discarded, you must’ve done something quite unforgivable.”
The vessel squirms in his arms, his cursed energy wobbling with discomfort and a sort of dark befuddlement. His mouth works around his frown, opening and closing in some attempt to figure out words.
“I– What are you doing?” The vessel finally bites out.
Sukuna ignores him. He tightens his grip in the vessel’s hair, fisting it and pulling to lift the vessel's chin and expose his neck. With a small breath, he collects his cursed energy around his teeth and throat. His stomach mouth opens in murmurings of a chant as he prepares a quick seal. And then he leans down into the thing’s bobbing throat and bites down.
Sharp teeth dig into the vulnerable anatomy. Flesh tears under canines and the warm swell of blood bursts forth into his mouth. It's tender and delicate under his palette. The flavor of it coats Sukuna’s tongue in copper and sweetness, the cursed energy imbued in the vessel tingling within it like a rare spice. Spurred on by the delectable taste, his jaw clamps down harder. It causes a spray of blood to erupt past his teeth and catch on his mouth and face and tongue.
Ah, he hit an artery.
The vessel shouts and jerks with a surprising amount of strength. Sukuna tightens his hold into iron, keeping him still. He swallows the ichor and it elicits a moan from his own throat. Were he not intent on keeping him as a prize, Sukuna would devour every inch of him. As it is, he simply savors what he can have.
Sukuna’s grip on his waist tightens. He tastes so good that Sukuna nearly forgets to thread his cursed energy into the bite wound. There is nothing like a divine meal, and he will certainly indulge in this vessel often.
But he has other things to do right now. Murmuring the last of the seal, Sukuna feels for the strings of the core of the vessel’s cursed energy. It’s a strange sort of energy, patchwork and unnatural, anomalous enough that the brush of it sends his curiosity alight.
He wants to bury his hands into this human’s core, to parse under his ribcage and fondle his viscera until he teases out every strange sensation and texture the vessel has to offer. A slow and heavy thrum builds within Sukuna, enticed and excited.
He needs to sample more.
The seal is easy to enact; burrowing his cursed energy into human flesh, he weaves himself into the vessel’s being. Under his hold, the small body arches with a gasp. Hands fall to his shoulders and grip with a bone breaking strength, kneading bluntly into the meat of Sukuna’s muscle.
Curse flares about them, bright and abnormal. It wraps a muggy warmth around the two of them, anchoring like the thickest of ropes, one to the other. Until it twists and writhes and solidifies into a weight under Sukuna’s skin. Like a lock situating in place, something inside of him clicks, and the seal cools and settles. And with it, he feels the weight of the binding vow wrap around him.
Sukuna unclamps his jaw. Arterial spray bursts forth as he removes himself from the wound. It splatters even more blood across his face, warm and fragrant. The body in his hold shivers under his hands, fingers flexing and trembling against his shoulders.
Pulling back, Sukuna gazes at his vessel. The human’s face is pale, mouth open in huffing breaths and eyes hazy and lidded. Blood paints his neck and cheek and front, spreading across his body more and more as the artery continues to leak. And the wound is red, red, red – shiny with blood and exposed viscera.
It’s a good look on him.
Sukuna’s cock stirs, desire rising to wakefulness at the image before him, the warmth and weight of thighs sprawled over his own, and the settled pulse of curse and seal under his skin and in the air about them.
But the vessel will die from blood loss soon if he doesn’t do something about it. Sukuna sighs, humans are such stupidly fragile things. It’s a pity he can’t keep him like this for longer, perhaps fuck him as his blood spools from his body and paints them both like a canvas, drink from his wound and indulge in the pleasures of the flesh at the same time.
No matter. Sukuna lets go of the vessel’s hair and reaches his other free hand to the wound. He touches it and the vessel flinches but doesn’t try to move away. “Good boy,” Sukuna purrs as he begins to channel his reverse cursed technique into the body. The wound is hot and sticky, welling between his fingers for a few seconds before the reversed curse stitches the artery closed.
He doesn’t heal it fully, only enough to close any large blood vessels and stem the bleeding. He wants it to scar, he decides. The seal itself will leave curse markings behind in the bite’s place once it heals, but he can’t resist the temptation of adding to the vessel’s collection of scars. They suit him so well and nothing fits a sign of ownership like the raised and scarred flesh of a brand.
When he’s done, Sukuna slides his hand properly around the vessel’s neck, spreading the blood across it until a band of red wraps around his throat like a collar.
Pretty.
Sukuna’s four eyes laze to half moons as he leans back ever so slightly more and regards the human in his lap in his entirety. The vessel is pliant, most likely an effect of the blood loss, and he sits there and watches Sukuna with a gaze both tired and firm.
He feels the vow and seal just as Sukuna does, the King knows. It’s a thrum in air and an electricity in their bones. It ties them together, as intimate as a marriage and as eternal as a god.
It makes his cock throb with each pulse of strange cursed energy that twines between them.
“You’re mine now,” Sukuna coos. With his other hand, he slides his fingers into the red wetness of the wound and drags it down the vessel’s clavicle, dipping under his kosode and painting his vessel’s chest. “With this seal, all that you consume will be shared with me.”
The vessel’s jaw grinds, but he doesn’t say anything. Sukuna can feel his well of cursed energy intimately now, and it roils with dissatisfaction and impotent anger.
His vessel is a brat. It makes Sukuna scoff, is he not giving him what he wanted? Or perhaps, did the vessel go along with his brother’s machinations unwillingly and he is now cranky that it worked?
No matter, Sukuna enjoys the challenge of breaking in stubborn things.
He lets the hands holding his vessel’s waist wander up and down. Under his palms, the buzz of their energy tingles like little fireworks. They shift against the cotton of the kosode and a minor irritation rises towards the fabric.
Like a breeze on an early spring day, the whim rises. He wants to feel skin on skin. Wants to see how many more scars this human has, to run his fingers over them and paint them red with blood, imagine what they looked like fresh and open.
So Sukuna brings his cursed energy to sharp points at the tips of his fingers and dismantles all of the vessel’s clothes.
Every inch of fabric covering his vessel shatters into tiny squares and falls uselessly off his body. It elicits a squawk and the vessel scurries to cover himself.
Sukuna clicks his tongue, “None of that, show me what I own.”
There’s a beat of stillness, and then the vessel removes his hands from his groin. He lets them hang in the air, awkward and stiff. His plush lips thin in a grimace before he lets out a huff of air and settles his palms on Sukuna’s chest. Looking away, the vessel opens his mouth, “Maybe… we should take this somewhere more private.”
Ah.
Right, the half curse in the room. Sukuna forgot about him. He glances up long enough to see the halfling is still bowed low to the floor. His cursed energy is a wild thing barely held together and his hands by his head are shaking fists.
Sukuna smirks. He looks back down to his vessel, takes in the sight of his naked form.
Such a pretty thing, his body is sturdy and built and littered with battle scars, the curve of him supple with muscle. His chest is large, pectorals plump with strength and nipples dusty and peaked. The contour of his waist tapers into thick thighs and decent hips. And oh.
He’s half hard.
Sukuna’s lips crook upwards. Desire simmers low and pleasant in his gut.
“I think I’m quite comfortable here,” Sukuna purrs.
#
Yuuji is fucked. Extremely, royally fucked.
He didn’t want any of this – only agreed to it for Choso-nii’s sake. Since the passing of Eso and Kechizu, if Yuuji was executed, Choso-nii would be left with nothing and no one but their shared parent. And Kenjaku is hardly a comfort for either of them.
So Yuuji went along with his idea and agreed to flee the great clans and seek refuge with the one being who might protect them from vengeful sorcerers.
And now he is stuck with a horrible sense of deja-vu.
The last person who tried to lay claim to Yuuji as a vessel and stripped him of his clothing without asking had been met with a swift death. Now, Yuuji can’t help but wonder if that Zenin pig was the lesser evil.
He can’t kill the King of Curses, can’t even try with the binding vow nestled between them. Can’t do anything but obey.
Something dark and impotent swells in his gut, a rage he can do nothing about.
His teeth grind and his fingers itch to clench to fists. The worst part of it all is the arousal that thrums in his flesh, low and hot. It’s a side effect of the seal, he knows. He can feel it now, tangled within the very core of him, intimate and tender like a lover’s touch on his most sensitive of places. The sense of Ryoumen Sukuna is nestled so deeply and closely within him that it feels as though the King is fondling his innermost viscera, tracing fingers along his beating heart and touching him where no one can or should.
If he focused on the sensation more, if he succumbed to it, Yuuji would be a panting, whining mess. As it is, he holds strong to his composure and prays against hope that the King doesn’t notice.
It’s fruitless, of course. The way those four eyes take him in is wrought with a knowing, hungry preen – something animal and voracious and predatory. They glance down at his growing erection and Sukuna’s smirk widens.
Yuuji looks away, hot in the face, off to the corner of the dais where a bowl of incense burns next to the King’s discarded kiseru. And Sukuna’s hands move.
He can’t stop himself from jumping when a hand trails down his chest, spreading more of his blood across his skin. Ryoumen Sukuna’s palms are warm and callused, large enough to spread across the span of his chest and all consuming in the way that there are so many of them.
The hands on his waist dip down and up in petting patterns, trailing too close to his groin and the one on his neck falls to his thigh. It’s obvious what Sukuna’s intentions are and it makes a pit build in his stomach.
At least Naoya had the decency to wait until they were alone to show his true colors.
And then the hands on his waist hook under Yuuji’s thighs and lift him up effortlessly.
Yuuji jolts, but the grip holds firm. His own hands dig into Sukuna’s chest and his heart skyrockets at the sudden change.
“What’re you doing?” He blurts out.
The King of Curses huffs out a laugh, “Sampling my vessel.” The grip slides up, until palms rest on the back of his ass and large fingers dig in. It ignites a heat in Yuuji’s face, humiliation burrowing its slimy claws into him. His ass cheeks are spread and the coolness of the air grazes his hole.
Eyes wide and unseeing, the air changes near his bottom, a puff of hot mugginess caresses and oh. Oh, the King has a mouth on his stomach, doesn’t he?
Yuuji doesn’t even have a chance to process what’s going on when a great, soft and slimy thing laves between his cheeks.
A tongue. It’s a tongue, isn’t it? A great tongue, bumpy with taste buds and wet and hot, licking across his hole and perineum and testicles. It sends a tingling across his skin, pleasant and warm and pulses through his rising cock.
The King leans down as he swipes another lick between Yuuji’s legs, his breath caressing Yuuji’s ear.
Choso-nii is here. Choso-nii is right there.
Yuuji's hands clench to fists and his jaw grits as he fights the rising flood of arousal. This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening, the King isn’t going to fuck him in front of his brother. His heartbeat rises further, beating faster and faster against his ribcage and adrenaline courses through his veins.
Shame tugs at the pit of anger in his gut and he knows he’s red in the face, can’t help the way the heat fills out his cheeks.
A tongue, smaller than the great thing between his legs, laps at his jaw. Sukuna licks up the blood on Yuuji’s face, and he must fight the urge to grimace at the feeling of being licked on both ends.
Must fight the way it makes the pleasure rise. He stares straight ahead, unseeing, at the curve of tattooed shoulder and the wall behind the dais, and endures.
Don’t think about Choso-nii. Pretend you’re alone.
The tongues continue to lap at him. Against his will, Yuuji’s hips twitch. The animalistic urge to push into it rises and he clamps it down violently.
A hand trails down his front. Fingernails scratch against his skin as it wanders down, down past his navel and rests against his lower abdomen where the swell of his cursed energy rests. Within him, his energy responds to the touch. It lashes out towards the King, recognizing the owner of the seal, new and raw within him.
A gasp escapes his throat. The sensation is electric. It uncoils the ugly silt of shame and wrath in Yuuji’s gut, and the touch is only on his skin, but it feels bone deep. As though Sukuna is reaching inside of him, playing with the tendrils of his very being.
The King hums, low and pleased. And presses down.
“Ah!”
Oh shit.
And pulls a new unwelcome sensation to the forefront of his mind. One Yuuji threw to the recesses of his mind when he first entered the throne room. Because it didn’t matter in the slightest.
Yuuji hadn’t been able to relieve himself before seeing the King. His bladder is full and he really didn’t think anything of it until now. The pressure of the hand increases and his cursed energy responds on its own like a dog perking at the sight of its master. His full bladder protests at the sensation and Yuuji’s hand flies to grasp at Sukuna’s wrist.
“Wait!” He shouts.
“And what makes you think you can order anything of me?” Like a snake, Sukuna’s smirk is curled around his voice, amused and hungry. He digs the heel of his palm in deeper.
Sharpness shoots through his bladder in tandem with a wild surge of cursed energy. The heat in Yuuji’s face grows tenfold as the twin sensations twine together into something that raises his breath and pricks at his eyes. Yuuji bares his teeth and tenses his muscles, willing himself not to spill on the goddamn king of curses. Biting back a keen, Yuuji shuts his eyes and tries to focus on any other sensation.
And at that moment, the tongue between his legs prods directly at his hole. It pushes, pressing against it, and the keen pushes past his throat in a high whine.
“Needy thing,” The King murmurs into his ear, breath hot. It sends tingles across his skin, wretchedly pleasant and all consuming, “Whatever is the matter?” He punctuates the question with another mean push against Yuuji’s bladder. It drags a second high pitched sound from Yuuji’s lungs.
“I– I,” What is he supposed to say? It’s humiliating, and the heat in Yuuji burns like a thousand suns. “I wasn’t,” He warbles out in a pitiful admission, “I wasn’t able to… relieve myself before coming here.”
A pause. The King stills.
And then, “Hold it.”
The hand presses deeper into him. Yuuji’s cursed energy unravels itself around the large fingers, spooling forth like a string through his throat, both uncanny and liberating.
The sensation is powerful and electric and writhing up against the need to urinate. It’s an unholy concoction, shamefully euphoric. A groan unpeels from his lungs and his hand returns to Sukuna’s chest.
The great tongue pushes inside of him. Yuuji shouts. It’s hot and wet as it breaches his hole, bringing a tremble to his legs. The appendage is so unnaturally large. It wiggles deeper inside of him. He’s full, oh he’s full. He’s being filled so quickly.
The stretch aches and Sukuna is really inside of him and Choso-nii is still right there . He’s right there and can hear everything and is so quiet. Is his head still bowed? Can he see Yuuji right now?
Please don’t be watching, please don’t be watching.
All the sensations bombarding Yuuji curl inside of him in a whirling, seething heat. He hisses against it and clenches his fists to knuckle white things and he screws his eyes shut.
Then the tongue pulls ever so slowly out of him.
And shoves right back in. At the same time, Sukuna grinds his hand once again against Yuuji’s lower abdomen. It takes every bit of control in Yuuji not to piss right there and then. His erection twitches and throbs between his legs, betraying his body and mind.
Yuuji bows low, until his head thumps against the curse’s firm shoulder. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.
The tongue thrusts in and out of him, again and again. It goes deeper each time, until it pushes up against his prostate and an unwitting noise far too close to a moan erupts from between Yuuji’s lips.
Tears well in his eyes. The sting of them feels like surrender.
He just needs to hold it in. Hold it all in, every shame and pleasure and rage and beastly euphoria.
And then, ever so slowly, the tongue withdraws. It exits his hole completely, leaving it sopping and wet and with a feeling of keen emptiness. Yuuji clenches around nothing and something traitorous inside of him misses it.
A hand grabs his chin.
The touch is firm, not kind but not cruel, as it lifts his head back up. Below him, the sound of fabric shifting burns bright in his ears.
He knows what’s coming next.
He doesn’t allow himself to think it.
“Open your eyes,” Sukuna commands, “Look up at me.”
And the binding vow curls vicious fingers around his throat and eyelids, prompting him to obey without a second thought.
Distantly, in some far off part of his mind, Yuuji wonders at this loss of autonomy. How will he live his days now, compulsively obedient to such an evil being?
His eyes peel open and his gaze immediately hones in on the King’s face. Four stormy eyes drink him in with such a pleased and ravenous air. There’s a cruelty to the tilt of Sukuna’s mouth, sadistic and gleeful at Yuuji’s struggle, like a god enjoying the cries of their plaything.
Then Yuuji is lowered. The great tongue takes one last sweep across his testicles and cock before dipping away. And in its place, he is lowered even further, until something wide and hot and blunt nudges at his rim.
A cock.
This isn’t happening this isn’t happening this isn’t happening.
Choso-nii is right there.
His brother is right there.
Sukuna pushes Yuuji down onto his length until his hole, dripping with saliva, begins to give.
On impulse, Yuuji tries to look down, but the King clicks his tongue and tightens his grasp on Yuuji’s jaw in warning. Biting his lip, Yuuji obeys the silent order, looking back up to the curse’s face.
Sukuna smiles.
He shoves Yuuji down onto the entirety of his cock.
The intrusion is sudden and violent. And he’s big. He’s so big, Yuuji is being torn apart. Pain and fullness lances through Yuuji as he is filled to the brim and then some until their hips touch. The cock is wide and long and hot and pushes deep within, nudging against every spot and rubbing against his prostate through sheer size alone. And in that one moment, no amount of willpower is able to fight against the onslaught of pressure against his low gut.
Yuuji’s bladder empties.
When his mind catches up to what is going on, he tries to tamp down the flow, to hold at least a little bit in, to not continue, but Sukuna pushes hard against his bladder and grinds his cock against his prostate.
“Wait, stop!” Yuuji panics, and the tears that threaten to escape fall.
Hot wetness coats their laps as Sukuna grinds his palm down even harder. His grin lifts off his teeth into something sinister, gaze utterly voracious, consuming Yuuji from the inside out. “Didn’t I tell you to hold it?”
Rage blooms. Panic fades to unadulterated shame and wrath. Yuuji’s teeth bare in a snarl, impotent and helpless but seething with an indignation that startles even him in its intensity. Tears stream down his cheeks, as hot as the blood under his skin and the cock inside of him and the urine that won’t stop coming out. There is so much heat, so much electric sensation and desecration that Yuuji’s head swims with it. And the only thing keeping him together is that rage.
“Pathetic.”
“Your fault,” Yuuji bites out, and he is far too breathless for his liking.
“Oh?” The palm digs in again, eliciting another spurt of urine. “Don’t reassign blame.”
“Bastard,” Yuuji growls. His bladder finishes emptying and relief washes over him, but it’s spoiled by the continuous ache of his cock and the satisfied gleam of Sukuna’s eyes.
“Clearly,” Sukuna says with a hum, “I need to use a firm hand with you.” He leans down, grip tightening once again around Yuuji’s chin as his mouth opens and his tongue laves across one of Yuuji’s tear tracks. And then he moves to hover his lips over Yuuji’s ear. “If you don’t watch your tongue,” He murmurs low and sweet like a lover whispering sweet nothings, “I’ll make you watch your brother as I fuck you stupid.”
Alarms burst through Yuuji. He clamps his mouth shut. In no way does he want to acknowledge Choso-nii right now, much less look at him.
The rage surges forth as well, but Yuuji holds it in. Holds it in the grit of his teeth and the tenseness of his muscles and the heat under his face. It makes the cursed energy swell in his gut and wrap around the hand on him.
“Good boy.” Sukuna preens.
And without warning, it begins.
Yuuji is lifted up, the cock dragging out of him and rubbing against his prostate. It elicits a shiver and a low thrum of wretched pleasure. Before he can even think, he is slammed back down.
A shout escapes his lungs. Eyes blared wide, the fullness careens into Yuuji. His cock jumps and his vision blurs as something far too vicious to be bliss devours him.
He is given no time to adjust. Because Sukuna lifts him halfway off his cock and shoves him down again, thrusting up at the same time and punching the air out of Yuuji’s lungs. And he continues to thrust in and out of him, bouncing Yuuji on his cock like he weighs nothing at a violent pace.
And Yuuji is thrown into a cacophony of brutal sensation. Forced to stare up at him, he clings to Sukuna and bites deep into his bottom lip. Noises push against his lungs, clawing to leave his throat. And the feel of being used in such a way, of being carved deep into, of being caressed from the inside swallows him whole. It leaves a foggy dizziness in his mind and a bestial sort of voracity on his tongue that is not his own.
His cursed energy swirls about in dissonant whorls, reaching for its new owner – thrumming within bone and flesh and searching through his fingers. He can feel the way it sinks into Sukuna, feeds the King with peals of his very being. And somehow, some way, it feels nothing short of right.
As though after waiting decades, Yuuji is finally serving his purpose in life.
Is this what it means to be a vessel?
The large hand on his abdomen wanders down and wraps around his erection. A shocked moan escapes Yuuji; the tightness and heat of Sukuna’s palm has him jerking up into it.
A single tug on his member is all it takes.
Yuuji’s vision whites out and his orgasm crashes over him in wrathful, clawing waves of violent bliss. The ecstasy that consumes him is a wretched thing, rough and so much that he overflows with a cascade of cries and sobs. The world narrows to the cock thrusting inside of him and the heat around his cock and the massive, monstrous body holding him and moving him up and down like a doll.
Cum spurts from his length in swells of euphoria, joining the mess between them. Yuuji keens as the last of his climax fades and unveils the cloud of arousal from where it rested over reality.
Sukuna doesn’t stop fucking him.
It plummets Yuuji into oversensitivity. Each drag becomes a painful surge of electricity. He jolts in Sukuna’s iron hold. Fingers turned to claws, he digs furrows into Sukuna’s chest. His tongue lays flat over his lip as animal sounds escape his open mouth.
And Yuuji is unaware of himself. All he knows is that it’s suddenly too much too much too much and he needs it to stop. Every brush against his prostate is torture and every tug at his cock is agony.
Tears fall freely as Yuuji cannot stop himself from sobbing out incoherent pleas to stop, to slow down. He is an animal, too beastly to consider maintaining composure or willpower. He is raw, scraped of protective skin and carved into with every thrust of that cock.
The King leans down again, grip tightening to something painful on Yuuji’s jaw. And a warm tongue licks across his cheek and laps up his tears. Panting huffs caress his skin as the thrusting speeds up.
Yuuji cries. Pitiful, pathetic, and overwhelmed.
Until with one last thrust and a long groan against his cheekbone, liquid heat spills into the deepest parts of him, searing his very core.
And finally, it stops. The King slumps and all of his hands on Yuuji loosen. Sukuna pants against Yuuji’s face, his cock softening inside of him.
They sit in silence for an indeterminate amount of time, seconds or minutes or hours, Yuuji isn’t sure. He can feel Sukuna inside of him, not just his cock, but deeper, in the core of his very being, where the seal rests, satisfied and cooled, his curse permanently branded into Yuuji’s soul.
It should not be remotely close to a comfort, but the thrum of someone else within him feels… correct. He is fulfilling his purpose, something primitive speaks from within the recesses of his mind, serving as a vessel should.
The King shifts. “Good,” He murmurs, voice rasped and deep in a way that sends a shiver through Yuuji’s bones, “You’re mine, vessel.” In an odd, animal sort of action, he rubs his cheek against Yuuji’s before dipping his head further to lick at the wound on his throat, “Mine to do with as I please.”
It feels… oddly domestic. But something darker lurks under those words. They wrap around Yuuji like a collar around his neck. And he knows, vow and seal and word alike, Ryoumen Sukuna has carved himself utterly and completely, into everything Yuuji can call himself.
He is no longer his own being.
There is no escape.