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idyllcy · 8 months

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sheer curtains

word count: 2.8k

warnings: hurt/comfort, messy soulmate relationship, angst to fluff

summary: It's taboo to speak about the situation, but Tim finds that a ripped curtain has nothing on him, stepping into your side of the line, desperate to have you in his arms for the rest of his days.

Tim's no stranger to the concept of soulmates.

Fingers pressed to your skin, nose dug into the skin of your neck, Tim has known you for longer than he could imagine. Since the early mornings of waking up in the mansion to the late nights where you'd beg your mom to stay until he fell asleep, you've been a cornerstone in Tim's life for a long time — fingers laced with him under the lunch table in middle school, arms wrapped around his waist during the short time he was in high school, registering the bond together years later than supposed to, you are Tim's soulmate, through and through.

His timer only had four years compared to everyone else in the hospital he had been born in.

And true to the clock, at four and a half years old, you skipped into his life, following behind your mother as she introduced herself as the new maid. Your timer hit zero, made a beep, and promptly disappeared into your skin, only the date left behind. Tim's wrist had done the same thing from the top of the staircase when the two of you met eyes — but neither of you would say anything about it. You would remember, but you wouldn't know. The small glimmer of his blue eyes and a matching one in yours — the two of you knew, even without asking, that the two of you were soulmates.

Neither of you really knew whether it was platonic or romantic, and neither of you really cared.

The sandbox in his backyard mattered more to the two of you.

Even when you two were muddied from the water spilled into the box to build a mound of sand called proudly by the two of you to be a castle, and even when the two of you were scolded by his family for getting messy, neither of you cared. It was fun playing with one another, and that was enough for the two of you. When you're five and the only thing on your mind is figuring out how the two of you would navigate his school, that's enough.

"They could be a personal aide." Tim's mother suggests in the study. "The two of them could work together for good. Your child catches onto things fast."

Your mother is much more apprehensive about the idea, but as you steal the last cookie from Tim on the couch and he doesn't complain, she relents. If you did not want it, you could leave whenever. It was as simple as that. The two of you could split up whenever. Your parents didn't know you were soulmates — you two did. It hurt when you spent too long without each other. Neither of you knew why, but you knew to stick close.

In the sticky floors of kindergarten and the wooden blocks of preschool, you had been sent to attend the same school as Tim despite the lower class status. He had kept you close, fingers interlaced with yours, sharing his plate of snacks with you. It was hard to figure out if the two of you had been just friends or if it was a puppy crush. But it didn't matter to anyone — neither did it matter to you. You were happy to be around him.

Tim didn't find it in himself to leave you alone, even when he made new friends and met new people.

At eight years old, the two of you found out you were soulmates during science class.

"When your timer strikes zero upon meeting someone, they are your soulmate." Your teacher had smiled at you all.

You tugged on Tim's sleeve under the table, blinking slowly at him, clicking on the matching date on your wrists. Tim nodded back at you, toothy grin on his face, lips quirked up. He knew. But neither of you knew if it was platonic or romantic, and honestly, it still didn't matter to the two of you. It doesn't matter to the two of you. It felt platonic to the two of you, so there was no need to register it with city hall. It wasn't required for minors.

Even in middle school, your fingers laced with his under the table, cheek pressed to his shoulder, heart racing in your chest, neither of you cared to check whether or not you were romantic soulmates. Even when he ran his thumb over the back of your hand, even when he rested his face in the crook of your neck, even when he stared at your lips too hard while sending you to your room, the two of you had never assumed to be romantic soulmates. Even at middle school graduation, when Tim had his arms around you and cheek pressed to yours, it was never a thought.

There was never a label for your relationship — there was never a need.

Even as Tim blinks at you owlishly under the dim lighting in his Robin suit, letting you peel the mask off his face in high school, he doesn't care what kind of a soulmate the two of you are. Even when you whisper his name in the darkness of his old room, eyes wide, struck with fear, neither of you speaks about it. It's taboo — talking about something that the two of you had known for so long. It didn't matter to the two of you, even when Tim was crashed in your room, bandaged wounds and quiet cuddling, even when you're forced to leave his house, watching as he's legally adopted by Bruce Wayne, left behind in a way. It's taboo to talk about the situation.

You continue in high school for the few years that Tim goes missing in your life, the burning of the date on your skin, a reminder that your soulmate had decided to leave you after revealing one of the biggest secrets in his life. He texts you occasionally, sending you updates on where he was living, but other than that, you see him less and less. The friend group that Tim had for a short while in high school also starts breaking apart, and you find yourself stranded in a sea of students at the end of the semester. You don't know if you want to continue. Graduating early sounds like something on the table for you. You discuss about it. Tim's been changing around schools and never making time for you. It might've been a sign for you to start moving on your own, even if the two of you were soulmates.

But Tim catches you before you can leave, as he does, desperate to keep you.

You sit outside the hall during Prom, undoing your blazer, letting the cold air run on your skin, clicking on your phone while seated on the sidewalk. You've left already, but you aren't ready to drive home yet. You grimace at the thought. Your mother's picked up working for someone else, finally, yet you were left behind in the dust, an empty highway at night, wondering what you were without Tim. You had known him for as long as you could remember. It. It felt wrong to move on on your own even though he had already moved on.

"Alone?" Red Robin swings down next to you, weight resting on the streetlamp as he stares down at you.

"Oh, look who finally showed up." You mumble bitterly. "Got bored in Bludhaven?"

"You know I didn't—"

Tim stops mid-sentence when he notices the way you look at him.

Alone. You looked alone. Lonely. It looked like him when he was staring in the mirror in Bludhaven. You looked miserable, like an abandoned child in the street, like the look on Dick's face when he lost his parents at the circus. You looked like him when he had attended his parents' funeral. He grimaces as he tries to reach for you, only for you to turn away, standing up, blazer in your arm, not turning around for him.

It's taboo to talk about the situation, but you rip the curtain first.

Tim's shoulders sink when you shake.

"Tell me to go." You whisper. "Tell me to leave. You have your life, and clearly we're just platonic soulmates. The news loves showing me about how my soulmate is out with someone that has someone else, because clearly, romantic soulmates would have their hearts crushed at the sight."

The tears in your eyes run hot against your cheeks.

"Don't." Tim whispers, heart sinking in his chest at the idea of you leaving. "Don't go."

"Yet." You turn around to face him, eyes hard, chest tight, cough breaking out of your chest. Tim reaches to help, only for you to hold a hand up to him. "You have gone without me. You don't care about me, Master Drake."

It hurts. Something seems to shatter in Tim's body as you call him that. You never called him that. It was something your mother reserved for his family and him back when he had been upper class. It was something that not even Alfred called him. He runs his hand through his hair, desperate to fix this. How does he even fix it? He doesn't—

"We..." You seem to hesitate. "We can get the dates covered up. I'm sure your adoptive father has enough money for the surgery, so it's clearly—"

"No!" Tim lunges at you this time, grabbing you by the arms, heart racing in his ears, eyes watery. "We. We can't. I won't. I won't let us. I..." Tim's head hangs, his own breath caught in his throat, something threatening to rip out his voice. "I can't. I.. I can't lose you too." He chokes out. "I've lost too many. Just." He falls to his knees, kevlar clanging against the ground, grabbing your hands now, pressing your fingers to his forehead, begging you to stay.

No matter how much you had wanted to leave at first, none of it mattered. You wouldn't have left if Tim hadn't said anything. You would have had a hard time leaving if he had told you to leave anyway.

But he's not yours.

It hangs in the air when Tim offers to drive you home, and it hangs in the air when he sends you back to the apartment, lips pressed to yours in an attempt to make you stay, his own heart in a predicament. He knows what he feels. He just refuses to admit it. He couldn't admit it. You might've ripped the curtain, but you did not step through. The two of you could only see each other now. Staring dead into each other's eyes, wanting more but never making a move. Neither of you could win. There was no winning in a game with no result. There wouldn't be a winner or loser. There would simply be an outcome.

Tim never returns to high school, and you settle with graduating early, applying around to colleges. You still want to leave. Tim was not yours. Tim wouldn't be yours. He couldn't be yours. Even as the two of you are seventeen and the world seems to fall back into place, he isn't yours. You go to the town hall to check your soulmate mark, wondering if they would have an answer for you.

They tell you you need to bring in Tim, so you decide that running away was going to be a recurring theme in your bond.

At sixteen and a half, you leave Gotham for Ivy Town U. You don't tell anyone other than your mom, a scholarship in tow from your writing, money from years of your mother saving up her salary for you. You leave Gotham like a ghost, disappearing out of Tim's life one day, number changed and disappeared like the wind. He tries finding you from the street cameras — no avail. You disappear from him, his own soulmate mark burnt into his skin, some nights worse than others.

Some nights, he's stuck in his bed, gasping, curling into a ball, praying that the stinging pain on his wrist would go away. It hurt worse than all the times when he had left you alone in Gotham. It hurt more than when he had his first girlfriend. But that was what it was. Your soulmate mark was far from platonic. Tim knew it. He had an inkling of a suspicion that you did too, but he couldn't prove anything. Not when you had disappeared on him. He couldn't text you even if he tried. Your number was changed too.

It bothers him to no end, deciding the last relationship he would ever have would be with you, leaving his boyfriend for you.

There was no one in the world that Tim Drake couldn't find — but it seemed that you were dead set on proving him wrong.

You graduate, inviting your mother to your graduation, smile on your face, lips pulled up gently. She coos at you, a support in your life, never questioning why you did specific things and not others. But it didn't matter that much to you. It never mattered to you. You've avoided having people ask you who your soulmate was at the cost of covering it up, and you had changed your appearance — desperate to gain control of your life again after being Tim's for so long.

You graduate early, and for a second, you think to turn down the job offering from Wayne Enterprises.

"Go." Your mother urges you, hand on your bicep, squeezing affectionately. "You know you want to."

And you do.

You miss Tim. You miss holding his hand under the table in middle school, wrapping him up in early high school when he was still Robin, the feeling of his hand in yours in the early days of kindergarten and preschool. You miss the taste of Tim's lips from the only time he had ever crossed the line to kiss you, and you miss the feeling of your wrist at peace. Both of you had been avoiding the conversation for as long as possible.

At twenty years old in the airport in Gotham, you stare at the man sent to pick you up.

At twenty years old, Tim runs into your arms at the airport of Gotham, sobbing into your neck, all thoughts about his public image gone with the wind. He clings onto you like his life depends on it, gasping for air, you finally in his arms. He sobs quietly, his wrist no longer burning, like he had to absorb you into his body so that his heart would calm, racing in his chest as he feels you wrap your arms around him too, giving him a gentle squeeze.

It's taboo to speak about the situation, but Tim finds that a ripped curtain has nothing on him, stepping into your side of the line, desperate to have you in his arms for the rest of his days.

If it would cost his life, then so be it.

He moves his head to your chest next, pressing his ear to your heart, listening to the way your heart beat, making up for all the nights he had stayed in bed knowing you had been out doing the same thing as he. He listens to your heartbeat to make up for all the times he had cheated you, all the nights where he had crashed without explanation, your endless patience for him bleeding through your skin onto your hand, his blood staining your cells. He listens to your heartbeat to remind him of every single moment in his childhood, the two of you glued to each other, enamored with each other as much as children could be. He listens to your heart to learn what you had gone through because of him.

You let him listen, fingers tangled in his hair, lips pressed into a tight smile. You aren't uncomfortable. Despite the assumption that you would be, you aren't. You wonder what kind of reflection ended up with Tim so honest with himself, but you aren't complaining.

You two are romantic soulmates. It showed in the way Tim had clung to you as a child, it showed in the way that you had wrapped him up in your room in the dead of night, it showed in the way you both had a burning in your wrist when you had picked people that were not each other. It was not taboo to talk about the situation when both of you knew what you were, it wasn't taboo for Tim to press his lips to yours in the airport, the rest of the world lost behind him—

because the world meant nothing when it came to you.

It meant nothing when he could finally hold you in his arms, longing long gone on your side of the curtain, the sun warm on his skin, your forehead pressed on his.

It meant nothing to him if it meant he couldn't have you.

Your side of the curtain is much cozier anyway.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #dc x reader #tim x reader #LITERALLY HOW DO YOU TAG FOR TIM I GIVE UP #also if you notice the banner looking weird it's on photopea for the content aware screwing me up #does anyone know any accs that clean batfam comic panels here #☾.fics

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vampyrsm · 7 months

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‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER NINE | KANGITEN

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues with unbridled rage that comes to life as a sea of spider lilies, only to be washed away by an ocean of blood. Tensions are high, and emotions are raw - just what will transpire between two people who were fated from the start to rip each other apart?

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 14k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, cursed energy usage, extensive fight scene, descriptions of wounds/attacks, threats of violence/death, female reader, smut (biting, very minor blood play, marking, orgasm denail, oral f!receiving, sukuna has two cocks, DP, assplay, anal, fingering f!receiving, spit as lube, no protection, double creampie).

Grief was such an undignified name for what you were feeling at this very moment. It was much too hot to be described as the ice-cold grief that often consumed people whole until they were nothing but a husk of their former selves.

Instead, it burns hot in your throat, tingles at the tips of your fingers that tighten around the hilt of the sword until you can feel the fabric of tightly woven cloth start to twist beneath the pressure. The ringing in your ears grows until it’s deafening, drowning out the rational thoughts in your mind that what you’re about to do is surely to end in the cold hands of Death.

There’s a sudden flood of cursed energy, and it’s not yours. Sukuna pushes it out first and it slices into the length of your back, it doesn’t do any damage — it was a warning. Do anything and you’ll die.

You had never been one to listen to the whims of a man.

Your own energy flushes out of you much too quickly, a flash of pain that frazzles your mind but you push through. Your fingers slip down the hilt of the blade until your thumb and index finger press to the handguard and unsheathe the blade in a subtle click. The energy that hisses out of the sheathe only fuels your own.

One of Sukuna’s arms is drawn back as if he were about to unleash an attack in retaliation to your own, but he’s completely frozen in a state of suspended animation. You see the twitch of his eye, his muscles working overtime to try and overpower your technique so he didn’t get hit.

But he couldn’t have anticipated the burst of energy that came with unsheathing your father’s blade mixing with your own. You were across the room in under a second, the silver of your father’s blade is just a blur in comparison to everything else. It slices through Sukuna’s midsection with no resistance, the blood that sprays from his wound is slow to appear.

The edge of the blade is coated in a thin line of red, blood that hasn’t even begun to drip down onto the floor. You find yourself standing behind Sukuna to his right-hand side, your head lowered just in time for your cursed technique to release.

The spray of blood is violent, coating half of you as well as saturating the once pristine tatami mats beneath your feet. Sukuna sucks in a harsh breath that mixes into a feral growl, you don’t doubt his teeth are bared and his claws poised to rip out your throat.

But he didn’t expect the world to suddenly shift around him in a deafening boom, wood shattering around him before that wood turns into stone and he finds himself thrown unceremoniously through his courtyard and the wall that cages it in.

You step through the carnage you’ve caused, the wall that separated Sukuna’s room from the outside wall is entirely annihilated. Remnants of the shoji door are scattered by your feet along with pieces of rock and gravel that had been upended in your two-pronged attack.

In truth, you hadn’t expected it to work like that but when you unsheathed the blade it was like another set of hands had laid themselves upon your own. Even now you can still feel them pressing down on the top of your shaking hand that holds the hilt so tightly.

Sukuna recovers quickly from the attack, his four arms aid in throwing his body forward from the man-made hole he had found himself in and he moves just as he did the first time you saw him. Fast. Ruthless. This was nothing like the time when you had trained with him, you were facing an entirely different beast once again. This was a beast who had a single goal on its mind; to kill.

Your foot shifts backwards along the ruined wooden porch, your upper body twisting just so with a hand on the handle of the blade as you prepare to embrace the oncoming attack. Your lungs expand with the deep breath you take, the cursed energy that surges at the tip of your blade bolsters itself.

There’s a vicious snarling yell that rips from Sukuna’s throat as he nears your static position. Just as the edge of his cursed energy presses into your own, you push off of your toes and the speed at which you move is imperceivable. You move before Sukuna can even realise that you’ve vanished from the spot you are in, not until you’re face to face with him.

You wonder what he must see when you meet his eyes, does he see the face of all those innocent people he had slaughtered? Or perhaps he sees the face of the man he dared to steal this weapon from? But whatever he sees unnerves him, all four of his eyes are wide at the sudden proximity and his body moves out of reflex.

The blade slices through the air where his head once was, your feet skidding through the divots where Sukuna’s body had previously been thrown through. This time, however, Sukuna is ready for the second part of the attack and brings all of his arms up in an X-position to cover his face and the core of his body.

The violent gust of wind that followed your speed was enough to shift him a few steps backwards, small shattered stones finding home in his flesh from the force they hit him with.

“Lucky,” you mutter to yourself once the wind blows by, you turn to look at Sukuna who is glaring at you over his shoulder. “You should’ve lost your head.”

Sukuna’s upper lip lifts in his trademark snarl, displaying those sharpened fangs that no doubt yearn to be buried into your liver. Even from here, you can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Your gaze shifts away from his eyes when he turns to face you eventually, and you latch onto the deep laceration on his cheekbone. You had nicked him.

“Next time, I won’t miss.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll live to see a next time.” Sukuna lowers his stance slightly, all four arms exposing his chest. His kimono had been severed into nothing but strings of fabric that laid around his waist where the obi-belt held everything together.

You don’t give him the chance to recuperate his energy, you move towards him. The air shifts with the sudden pulse of cursed energy that pools in your legs, and your hand slides to the handguard to release the blade from its sheath once again. However, there’s a change in Sukuna’s energy.

He draws his arms up to protect his body once again, his speed starting to match your own despite the use of your technique. His eyes too track you more clearly.

“Now that I know what your little trick is, it won’t work on me so easily.” His words from just the previous day sting more than any weapon could, it slices through your impenetrable need to destroy the man before you. He was adjusting to your technique.

Your blood sings with the realisation. You never doubted Sukuna’s battle prowess, if anything you were astonished that you had managed to lay your sword against his skin a handful of times but something about this felt so different. The way his eyes tracked you was akin to that of a wolf who had spotted a rabbit in the clearing. You were now his prey.

His arms don’t budge when you enter his space, nor do they move when you continue to slash your blade against his skin. You expect the spray of blood but instead, you watch as he heals the wounds the second they appear – he was defensively holding onto his cursed energy. You had to do enough damage to stop whatever he was planning on doing.

Sukuna’s eyes still manage to track you effortlessly even when you utilise your technique as you had once seen your father do. At the time, you figured it was just your childish imagination making up the fact you saw three of him but now you understand. You understood just how he did it. But even with the mirage of your body splitting into two different versions of yourself with how quickly you move, he watches.

A slice of a blade against his neck, against his bicep, the back of his legs — nothing. It does nothing.

It feels like dread that starts to build in your stomach, you failed. His eyes sharpen at the dip in your energy, and he doesn’t miss the chance to act on it. A hand shoots out when you’re midway through your next dash, your cursed energy sputters the second his hand lays itself around your throat.

He slams you ruthlessly into the ground, it cracks beneath the pressure before it splinters further when he pins you beneath the weight of his immense cursed energy. You can feel the bones along your back and shoulders scream in agony whilst they’re being crushed between two immovable forces.

Your fingers ache when they tighten around the blade still in your hand, and Sukuna doesn’t miss the movement with one of his lower eyes. He manages to throw his body back in time, the tip of the blade scraping painfully along his second face.

But even still with the space you created, your body hurts far too much to move even a muscle. Your legs feel numb from the tops of your thighs, no doubt Sukuna had crushed part of your spine with the force he threw you down.

“That’s all you got?” He sneers from his spot across from you, glaring at you in the small crater he had created with his cursed energy. “Weak.”

His words brand themselves into your skin, show you for the failure that you are. It feels childish to have tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, stinging against your bruised and bloodied cheeks. How dare he call you weak whilst staring at the grief on your face.

“Fuck..” You breathe the word through gritted teeth and you don’t miss the way Sukuna’s face cracks into a violent grin. His fingers stretch at his sides, veins bulging in his arms as he watches you valiantly try to push yourself up from the floor. “You.”

“Such a filthy mouth for a simple sword-bearing whore.” He goads effortlessly, and it makes your jaw clench until your teeth ache.

You suck in a harsh breath, focusing on trying to figure out a way to get out of the predicament you were in. Your energy burns so hot in your chest, stinging at your wounds and yet the negativity resting on your soul does nothing to ease your pain. Your brain scrambles to scour through the information you consumed just hours prior.

What did that madman spout about reversal in those books? Something about your energy, that energy is made up of negative emotions. So surely if you reversed those feelings, turned that negativity sitting in your stomach to a positive emotion… Your eyes closed briefly, sucking in a shaky breath before you sank into the memory that brought you genuine happiness.

You remember the warmth of the sun on your face, the water that rushed by your feet along with the koi fish that your father had recently purchased. Your father was sitting next to you, his own head tilted skyward as he watched the flitting orange leaves float through the sky on the summer breeze that rolled through. You remember the warmth of his words when he told you how proud he was to know you were excelling in your classes.

That day whilst seemingly insignificant to some was the first time your father had acknowledged you as more than just his daughter — he saw you as someone who could go far in a world designed to fit only men. You were his pride.

Your eyes reopen to the darkened sky above you, and there’s a warmth that coats the entirety of your upper body.

“Oh… someone’s been doing their research.” Sukuna comments from the sidelines, but you can’t focus on him when you feel that same warmth stroke its way down each notch of your spine until it all clicks back into place. Everything made so much sense now, reversing cursed energy would bring out positive results… of course it would.

Now you know how Sukuna felt atop the world. Untouchable. Your own smile grows on your face, eyes shifting to stare directly at Sukuna who tilts his chin up at you, appraising you. The ground vanishes from beneath your back, and the blade in your hand twists effortlessly until it’s ready to strike once again.

Sukuna’s eyes widen at your sudden approach, his body weaving out of the way of your blade once again. Your feet slide along the loose gravel floor until you dig your heel in to spin back around to face him. The blade in your hand drips with blood, mixing with the dirt. You watch as he raises two of his arms up to press them together but… his hands never touch.

Instead, they lay dormant on the floor at his feet.

“With death comes the gratitude for life. I understand now.” You breathe the words, a cloud of warmth billowing from your mouth.

The growl that rips through his throat shakes the foundation of the building behind you, small rocks bouncing on the floor from the pure ferocity that builds in his chest. His body moves down suddenly, and one of his remaining two hands presses into the ground.

It splits beneath his fingers in a spiderweb pattern, the cursed energy that bursts through is violent–and fast. It explodes upwards once it reaches your feet and you’re forced to reinforce your body with your own cursed energy to take the hit. It doesn’t stop you from being thrown backwards however, your back colliding with the ruined wooden porch that lined the outside of the temple.

Sukuna’s laugh booms in the area when he finally stands back up, your eyes blurry from the force of impact. You watch as he flicks his arms out at his sides and in that same easy movement, his hands reappear.

“We’re just getting started, little one. Stand up.” His shoulders roll, the crack of the bones in his neck is loud in the silent aftermath of his attack. “GET UP!”

And so you do. You get up from the rubble, uncaring for the cold that now bites at the exposed skin of your ripped and torn kimono. The cold is nothing in comparison to the rage that still burns so brightly in the core of your soul.

“Good! Good… now we can have some fun.” Sukuna’s tongue drags along the points of his fangs, eyes wide and manic as they scan over your body as he anticipates your next move.

Everything you had thrown at him so far had bounced off of his skin effortlessly, he had clearly adapted to your technique by now and knew what to expect from you. You needed to do something that would catch him off-guard, but what? There was nothing left, you could throw your sword at him endlessly and he would only bat it away to then crush you the second you got too close.

Sukuna’s rumbling growl has your eyes snapping up just in time to see one of his arms raise, but instead of having his hand curled into a fist he has his hand flat, palm facing skyward – as if he just threw something at you. You feel it before you even see it, it’s almost invisible but you can see something slice through the air towards you.

Uneasiness coils in your stomach, your wrist twists the blade in your hand until it’s in front of you. The sharpened edge of the blade points in his direction, in the direction of the attack and you brace yourself for the impact. The cursed energy in the blade blossoms with your own, reinforcing your stance until it feels like not even the strongest earthquakes could shift your position.

“Ha!” Sukuna exclaims when the attack collides with your sword. You feel Sukuna’s cursed energy bend around the barrier you had formed around yourself before it splits into two separate attacks. The building behind you explodes into shrapnel, wooden chips flinging out in every direction.

Your chest heaves with the effort of holding your own against that attack, your energy bleeds back into your body and you can feel the drain that so many wrote about in those books. You overexerted yourself, your cursed energy was dwindling quickly. Sukuna seemed to notice it too, because he lowered his stance as if he were about to sprint at you.

However, he doesn’t move a muscle when he watches your sword fall to the floor with a clatter. He doesn’t dare to breathe when he watches enraptured when you do the one thing that simply feels right at this very moment. Your cursed energy would no doubt be completely depleted after this but if the stories were true… You would win.

You don’t think, and instead only let your instinct guide you; let the lingering cursed energy of your father mould your hands together—

Your hands join as one, palms facing the other whilst your fingers interlock with one another except for your little fingers and thumbs. Instead, you press both your little fingers together as well as your thumbs.

“Domain Expansion: Warrior’s Valour.”

The ground beneath your feet shifts, endless upon endless amounts of red spider lilies pop up from the once destroyed ground. A sea of red ebbs at your feet, and Sukuna stands at the opposite end of the flowing river of crimson flowers, his eyes lock with your own once you lift your head to look at him.

You hadn’t expected it to work so cleanly, you can feel the rigidity of the barrier that encases the both of you within a world of your own creation. There’s a power that surges through you now that you’re caged into your domain with him, you understand now why this was considered the pinnacle of a sorcerer’s technique — it was designed to ensure you won.

Your hands drop from the gesture you had performed, and you find no weapon to grab onto.

“You killed my father,” you breathe, letting the very words that angered you loose from your chest. Sukuna all but exudes smug pride at the fact he had gotten such a response from you.

It only serves to anger you. There’s an audible slash that cuts through the air.

Sukuna falls forward, knees crumbling beneath him. The blood that sprays from the back of his legs paints the already-red flowers in a deeper shade. You understand now how it works, the domain was just an extension of your technique.

“Consider me impressed,” Sukuna comments with what sounds like genuine passion attached to his voice. His head is lifted enough to still look you in the eye, two of his arms are holding up his body from crumbling completely to the floor. “However. You’re sloppy.”

Another pang in your chest and another slice appears on Sukuna’s body. This time on one of the arms that’s holding him up, he falls forward until his elbows are holding him up. He laughs, a little breathless, almost giddy if anything, and you watch when he rears his body back suddenly despite the force of your cursed energy slowing his body down to hold it in place.

The two arms that weren’t holding up his body or injured come together, his pinky fingers fold against one another, thumbs touching to his index fingers and the rest of his fingers join together to form a point. His hands raise just before his face, eyes closing momentarily and then—

“Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine.”

You feel your own cursed energy crack and burst from the pressure of his own. The air rushes out of the domain you had formed, the flowers drown in a sea of blood that laps at the soles of your feet.

Every single time you had faced death before pales in comparison to what is before you, Sukuna seems further away and his hands remain held together. The shrine behind him is magnificent, grand and so like the one you had been tasked to clean at the previous temple.

You can’t sense the barrier that you had previously formed, in fact, you can’t sense anything at all. His own domain is so different to your own, no doubt he had forged a powerful pact with himself to ensure his technique prevailed above all others.

He really was the King of Curses.

“What’s with that look on your face?” He comments from across the lake of blood. “Have you come to realise you are no match for me?”

The area around you is painted in a deep cardinal shade, the mountains that shrouded the ancestral temple belonging to Sukuna look even more foreboding in the red tint. The power that bleeds from Sukuna is awfully suffocating, more than it had ever been before, it holds you in place and demands your full attention.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing when he sees you making no move to advance upon him. His energy surges up suddenly, and it feels like hands come up from beneath the murky water at your feet and shackle you down to ensure you can’t evade what is to come. The air becomes dense, malleable, and when you breathe in, all you can smell is the stench of blood that follows Sukuna around like an old friend.

Your body braces for the impact, the muscles that could still move tense up and ready themselves for the killing blow. This was it. You had failed to avenge your father, had failed to fulfil your goal of honouring his name — you had failed as a Samurai. So you don’t move, you stare at the cold face of death across the sea of red and you wait.

…But the blow never comes.

Instead, the water melts into the ground, the shrine vanishes as if it never existed and the red tint over the sky is washed away with a gentle breeze. Sukuna stands across from you still, but on his face is a frown that only shows his displeasure for how the whole thing turned out.

Why didn’t he kill you? He had you right where he wanted.

His gaze shifts away from you finally, glaring off towards the horizon. Although there is a distance between you, you can feel the confusion that shrouds him. You doubt that he has ever faltered at the chance to kill someone.

So you use his confusion to your advantage. You swipe the discarded katana from the floor, your fingers tighten around the hilt and with the remaining cursed energy you surge forward. The energy explodes around the blade, lashing out at the air and it’s enough to cause Sukuna to snap his attention back to you.

He draws up an arm, the flash of his cursed energy is blindingly bright and yet it draws you in closer and closer until your blade collides with it. There’s a moment of tension before it snaps like a string pulled too tight, your arm is flung backwards painfully until the blade is launched into the darkness of the night.

Sukuna doesn’t miss a beat. The arm he used to defend himself with comes out to grab at your throat, those long clawed fingers dig into the flesh of your neck before he lifts you from the ground effortlessly. Looking down at him you can see that even with the sudden flare of energy, you still managed to break through.

There’s a deep laceration across the unmarred side of his face, the side where his real face resides. It reaches from his jaw and up to his eyebrow, forcing both of his eyes to close lest he wishes to flood his eyes with the blood that pours from the wound.

The breath that billows from his nose reminds you of the ancient stories of dragons, he looks beyond furious. He sucks in a harsh breath only to blow it out, the strain on his body is otherwise unnoticeable. His hand remains around your throat as he holds you up above the ground, unmoving – as if he didn’t know what to do with you.

Your fingers brush along the bare skin of his arm, brushing along the thick band of tattoo there and his uninjured eyes flick down to watch closely. Then he switches his attention quickly to the single band tattoo that’s branded into your skin. It feels like there’s electricity beneath your fingers when your hands wrap around his forearm to try and leverage yourself free from the choking hold.

Another harsh exhale of breath through his nose before the breath is ripped from your lungs, held hostage by a mouth that feels so foreign pressed to your own. He consumes your panicked gasp so greedily, as if your breath holds the elixir to eternal life itself. Sukuna kisses like he fights; with a sense of dominating regality that you can’t help but concede to.

The way his fingers curl around your throat, sharpened claws designed to rip apart muscle and sinew as if they were nothing. His breath is like fire when he exhales roughly through his nose, and then uses your own breath to refill his lungs. He’s so awfully greedy with how he consumes you whole, a type of hunger that can only be described in one way — carnally.

Two of his unoccupied hands come to grasp your waist, the warmth of his skin against yours through the rips of your kimono only adds to the fire that burns beneath your skin. He grows bolder with each passing second, his lips continuing to move with yours until it becomes nothing but a messy clash of teeth and saliva.

His growl rumbles beneath the hands you press to his chest, feeling the sticky wetness of both sweat and blood alike. Your fingers glide through it effortlessly, smudging it into the hardened planes of his body. You paint the blood against his skin, pressing your fingertips against him until your knuckles ache from beneath the pressure.

But you weren’t trying to push him away, no, you were trying to convey that you understood this primal need that was building up in his chest. That you understood the growling pleasure that rippled through his throat when you slid your tongue along the fangs that had threatened to rip you asunder so many times.

Maybe it’s just the adrenaline of the fight that keeps you from screaming and yelling at him to let you go. Maybe that’s why you lean more into him, trying your hardest to tell him you too wanted this.

This being an unknown ache in your chest that yearns to be touched by the man before you. This being something that feels so forbidden but so good. It’s intoxicating; to let go of everything that had clouded your mind in a red tint.

Sukuna occupies your mind flawlessly, as he seemed to do so for the last few long weeks, and now is no different. His sharpened canines clamp onto your bottom lip with a rolling growl, one that sounds like it was dredged up from the depths of hell. He doesn’t let go until you feel the flesh pinch and give way, the blood trickling into the cracks of your lips.

He’s shameless in the way his tongue replaces his teeth, dragging it along the fat of your bottom lip to then simply suck it into his mouth to ensure he got every drop of blood possible. Your nails dig into the muscle of his chest, dragging down until you leave behind red welts that are sure to turn into deep scratch marks come morning.

Yet Sukuna doesn’t stop you from idly injuring him, if anything, he continues to encourage it. His own claws dig into the flesh of your hips, squeezing until your flesh pools painfully between his fingers. It serves as a good distraction when he forces his tongue into your mouth, a muscle so much thicker than your own that you practically choke on it.

Here, with his tongue part way down your throat, you can taste the fury that sits dormant on his tongue. It lashes and curls against you until you’re forced to give in, it demands your subservience.

Your hand slides up along the sullied planes of his chest, up to his throat where you can feel the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows another futile gasp that you attempt to take. Slowly your fingers slide up further until they’re cupping the underside of his jaw, the muscles jumping with each aggressive passive of his tongue and you wonder briefly if he’s so blinded by his pleasure that he cannot see what’s coming next.

It happens far too quickly for Sukuna to stop it. Your fingers dig into the thickened muscle of his underjaw and you push his head away to see the red of his eyes swallowed whole by the black of his pupil. His lips whilst swollen are tinted in a deeper shade of pink that’s no doubt the blood that still beads on your bottom lip.

You can feel the struggle of his windpipe as he continues to try and suck in air despite you pressing so harshly against his throat. He doesn’t seem to care about the lack of oxygen, nor does he seem to care that you’re pressing harder and harder until you can feel the muscle starting to weaken to give way to the pressure.

Instead, he grins. A manic smile that spreads the blood on both his teeth and lips alike. “Do it,” he attempts to growl the world, but it sounds choked. “Kill me or I will devour you.”

It’s an ultimatum that in the past would have had you moving without hesitation — if you hadn’t had a taste of the power on his tongue or the vehemence of his passion, then perhaps you would’ve killed him. Instead, your nails dig vainly into the tightened muscles of his jaw, your lips smear across his own when you lean in.

You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower the closer you get to his face, and you definitely don’t miss the lump in his throat that he attempts to swallow despite the hold you still have on him. You wonder why a man as powerful as Ryoumen Sukuna is giving you the choice of what’s to happen next, you’re certain he could take what he wanted from you even if you tried to fight against it.

And yet. He nudges his nose against your own in a way that feels far too intimate for the predicament you find yourself in. It jolts your heart into a rapid pace, you don't want to feel any type of emotion for him at the moment other than blinded rage, a type of fury that can only be taken out on another person whilst pressed to their skin.

So it’s you who bites the others lip, your teeth aren’t nearly as sharp as his – you weren’t designed for the hunting of humans, but you still bite down as hard as you can. Sukuna’s grin falters for a second, and you wonder if those eyes of his are going to roll back with the pleasure he’s trying to suppress.

His blood tastes bitter against your tongue, tainted by the darkness that courses through his veins so freely. Sukuna doesn’t stop you from returning the favour; dragging your tongue along his bottom lip until all you can taste is copper. Instead, he groans, a rumbling sound that vibrates against the loosened hand at his throat and the flutter between your legs is inevitable.

“Good choice.” He speaks against your lips once you release him, this close you can see the specks of different shades of brown and red in his eyes – a beautiful array of maroon that has you so mesmerised you don’t register that he’s moving. A hand comes up beneath your thighs to shuffle you around until they’re wrapped tightly around his waist.

He wades his way through the destruction of your spat, uncaring for the shattered wood that only splinters further under the weight of his heavy footsteps. The chill of the wind is replaced by the chill of a partly dilapidated bedroom. You wonder if he’ll comment on how you destroyed his own sanctuary – destroyed years of scripture before he could even defend himself.

Thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, he dumps you onto the large bed you had found to be your own over the last few days. There’s debris that lays dormant around you, specks of old wood and shredded paper yet it doesn’t distract you from the looming beast at the foot of the futon. His arms shift slightly with every deep inhale he takes, his nostrils flaring and eyes roving down the length of your body.

You looked like you had been put through the paces, your kimono was hardly a kimono anymore and the blood that stained your skin had grown tacky over time. It’s unnerving how still he grows when he’s watching, a predator that’s adapted over the years to not alert his prey when he’s about to pounce.

Without much preamble, your fingers pull at the obi-belt at your waist until it’s tugged and untucked. Your kimono then has nothing to stop it from slipping away from your thighs, your stomach, chest, all on display for the man over you. His eyes track the movement flawlessly, all four eyes working hard to ensure he doesn’t miss the way your nipples peak in the midwinter cold.

Much like a creeping predator, he doesn’t say a word when his knees sink into the futon on either side of your legs. He wordlessly crowds you up along the bed until your head is pressed into the pillows. Two of his hands press into the softness of the futon on either side of your shoulders, holding him up above you whilst the other two arms are free to feel what belongs to him.

First, it’s the brush of a knuckle against one nipple, barely a touch before he traces that same knuckle along the supple soft skin of your underboob. He admires your body as if it were the finest china, as if it held the secrets to life just like his beloved collection of literature.

That same hand travels down along your body, pressing between the dips of your ribs a little harder as if he’s trying to find a weakness; a place to burrow himself deep inside of you and perhaps never leave. It’s oddly romantic, sensual yes but it brings a warmth to your face that not even your late-husband had ever achieved.

You can’t help but wonder just what he might be thinking about, if anything at all. He seems rather content with just running fingers along flesh that gives way to just a little pressure. The warmth of his finger transfers into the warmth of his palm when he presses it to your ribcage, his fingers expand nearly the width of your entire side.

He was truly gigantic; a beast that had you laid out in front of it as if you were its meal. You definitely feel that way.

A huff of breath from his nose finally breaks the silence that settled over the two of you. Your ears prick at the sound and you look up to meet his gaze immediately. He’s staring at you with an odd look in his eye, no doubt something complex bouncing around in his mind as he decides on what to do next.

He was a miraculous beast. Each of his moves were planned and coordinated, everything was set into motion underneath his guidance and plan and yet you had thrown him for a loop. You had not only challenged his power but then beheaded his bloodlust in one fell swoop. It wasn’t something a man like Sukuna could ever plan for, and here he is, turning over a myriad of different ideas whilst he watches your chest expand with each breath.

His thoughts are abruptly cut off however when you decide it’s your turn to touch him. Your hand is tiny in comparison to his chest, pressing into the pectoral muscle that acts as a shield to the thing that keeps him alive. You can feel the faint beat of his heart beneath the tips of your fingers, hammering away as if its only wish is to break free and rest in the palm of your hand.

Your fingers trace along the black tattoos that mark his chest, following them up until you reach his neck. Even there, the muscles are so thickly corded that you can’t help but question if you ever really had a chance at succeeding in killing him. He was designed for survivability, brutality, you never stood a chance.

But despite all that, despite all the muscle and raw strength, he caves in easily to the press of your fingers on the back of his neck. His body descends down onto yours until your stiffened nipples rub against his chest. With him so close to you like this, you’re once again gifted the chance to see his eyes and the many shades of cerise that reside there.

“Kiss me,” you demand albeit rather breathlessly, and Sukuna’s lips crack into a familiar grin that holds far too much heat and desire.

“Why?” He questions, though his face inches closer to yours with the insistence of your fingers pressing into the nape of his neck. “Why should I kiss you?”

He’s playing with his food, there’s no doubt about that and it makes your stomach clench. His lips hardly brush against your own, his breath so warm against your kiss-parched lips.

“Please.” You break and beg, and that grin grows impossibly wider; more fiendish. He won so easily and you can’t find it within you to care. Not when he presses his lips against yours.

It’s different to the fervent kiss that he had initiated outside, instead, it’s slower, more consuming. His lips move with yours so effortlessly as if you two were lovers who had practised this same dance for a millennium. Sukuna is the first to break away, smearing his spit-slickened lips down along the edge of your jaw until he finds himself a home against your neck.

Here he lays kisses against the scar that had appeared after his first attempt on your life. His tongue is smooth when it moves up along the marred flesh until he’s pressed just beneath your ear, his breath wet against the shell of your ear when he parts his lips to speak to you once again.

“You should’ve killed me.” His nose presses into the skin beneath your ear where he inhales deeply, and the kisses that lay against your skin once again muddy your words in your brain. You want to refute his claim, that no, you wanted this more than his death — right?

It comes far too quickly. A clamping of sharpened fangs that re-pierce both scar tissue and flesh. It’s an agonising pain that straightens out your spine and draws your muscles taut, and Sukuna does nothing to stop your hands that push against his chest because truthfully, you will never outpower him.

Whilst your brain is addled with the pain of his teeth sinking in until you swear you can feel him nicking your artery, there’s a smoothness between your legs. It makes you jolt in place, the broadness of the wet muscle that touched you is jarring. You hadn’t even realised that he had managed to wrangle your legs apart until they sat high on his waist, two hands holding your thighs steadfast against his stomach.

His stomach — that wet thing you feel is the tongue you had seen so many moons ago. You had noticed he refused to show you that mouth again, most likely because it was a weakness to him that you were capable of exploiting. The mouth on his stomach is ruthless in the way it devours you without shame, the width of his tongue is enough to cover the entirety of the wet heat between your thighs.

It presses with the right amount of pressure against your clit whilst the tip of it wades it through the sticky mess that’s quickly becoming out of hand. Sukuna doesn’t release your throat for some while, his groan is muffled against the skin he’s no doubt destroying with his teeth.

Your toes curl uselessly against the air, the heels of your feet digging into the muscles along Sukuna’s back when he presses his body further into your own — in turn, pressing the tip of his tongue against your entrance until you give way to it. It’s thick, long too, and he has far too much control over the way it writhes against your walls in hopes of bringing you to orgasm.

The moans that tumble from between swollen lips are hard to stop, especially when he figures out just what makes you jerk your hips beneath him when his tongue daringly flicks upwards inside of you. Your hands, unsure of what to do with them, find their way into his hair. Bruised fingers curling roughly against the pinkish strands until you’re tugging on them; hard.

Only then does Sukuna break his hold on your throat, a large hand immediately coming up to press against the ruined skin and it burns in an oddly delectable way when it mixes with the pleasure between your thighs. He hovers over you, lips so close to yours you can practically taste the blood on them.

“Cum.” He demands. An easy command for you to follow when you feel the familiar glowing warmth that seeps from his hand and into the wound he had reopened on your neck. His energy curls around your body so tightly, squeezing your lungs for all they’re worth when you suck in a harsh breath to only release it in a staggering moan.

You can’t help the way you yank on Sukuna’s hair, nor can you control the erratic jerking of your hips against his stomach when his tongue continues to wring out every last drop of your orgasm. It washes through you in violent waves, like the sea breaking on craggy rocks.

From the corner of your bleary eyes, you can see Sukuna’s own eyes narrowed in your direction; watching every move you make, observing the way you break apart for him so easily with just a mere flick of his tongue. His face turns back towards your neck once again, and for a moment that pleasure fades into an inkling of fear. He could kill you, right here and you’d do nothing to stop it from happening.

But he lowers himself down once again, the warmth of his breath rolls across the scar that had been healed once again. It feels raw, sensitive in the way that it would if it were an open wound but you don’t feel the pain of it. So you don’t scream when he drags his hot tongue against the scar, nor do you push him away when those long licks turn into languid kisses and nips.

The tongue between your legs doesn’t stop, however, but it does slow just enough to give you a second to breathe. He’s unashamed in the way he drags the second tongue through the thickening slick between your thighs, dragging it against your swollen lips until he finds that small bundle of nerves.

That too is swollen, and far too sensitive, and you can’t help but squeak under his ministrations. Sukuna chuckles lowly at the sound, the laugh just a vibration against your throat before he migrates his lips to the unmarred side of your throat. He hovers there for a while, contemplating perhaps if he should destroy this half of your neck too — to have his mark on you wholly.

The bite doesn’t come. Instead, you feel one of his wandering hands move downwards until he finds the sticky wet heat for himself. The tongue that had been devouring you retreats in favour of his hand, those thick fingers you’ve seen tearing muscles apart presses languidly against your clit.

They’re thick, thicker than your own fingers that’s for sure and you shouldn’t be surprised at any part of him being bigger than yourself. And yet, you still crumple your face in a mixture of sharp pain and pleasure when one of those fingers slips between your lips and plunges into your still throbbing pussy without so much as a warning.

Sukuna leans himself just back enough to devour your expression, his eyes are half-lidded, carnal lust clouding the usual bloodlust you usually saw there. He watches the way your eyebrows crumple together when he starts to fuck you with his finger, slowly, coaxing you back into that breathless panting state that he had you in just moments ago.

His finger curls and it’s a tight fit already, it presses against your walls so harshly that you jolt beneath him. It’s hard to see past your fluttering eyelashes, but you think you can see the growing grin on Sukuna’s face when he starts to roll his wrist just a little faster; fucking you with his finger until the squelching grows louder.

That same finger withdraws slowly, and the whining begging is on the tip of your tongue before it gives way to the shuddering moan that bubbles up through your throat. A second finger bullies its way into you, the stretch burns violently, a head-spinning kind of pain that has you stuck in a state of delirium.

“Good girl,” he coos, and it’s not nearly as condescending as you would expect from a man like Sukuna. Instead, it sounds like genuine praise, and that has your eyes finally rolling to the back of your head. He takes the chance to nose his way into your throat, dragging the tip of it up along the sweaty expanse of it. “Give me one more.”

It’s the only warning you get, if you could even call it that. His fingers are much more relentless now that he’s shoved two inside, they curl and scissor deep inside of you until you can feel small rivulets of your arousal dripping down the backs of your thighs and ass. Your hands clamp useless on his biceps, nails crushing into the skin until you feel it give way to the pressure.

Sukuna doesn’t flinch at the pain, doesn’t even hiss. Instead, he groans — a deep rumbling sound at the back of his throat. It pushes out a hot breath down the clammy skin along your throat, and sticks to the spit he smeared into the mixture of blood and soot that sat there.

The pace in which his hand moves is dizzying, all-consuming pleasure that has your chest tightening with each attempt at breathing out just to centre yourself. There’s no doubt that you’re hurtling towards an explosive orgasm, much stronger than the one you’d been given previously from the tongue that was now idly running itself up and down the back of your thighs to ensure nothing was wasted.

“S–” You suck in a harsh breath that tapers into a broken moan when he presses a thumb to your clit, manoeuvring it in a smooth circle until your stomach grows tight with tension. “Sukuna!”

“What is it?” He goads, leaning out of the space of your neck to look down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what you’re feeling, can feel the way your walls are rhythmically clamping down on his fingers in an attempt to stave off the orgasm that was no doubt going to drain you for all you were worth before anything had even happened.

You’re not sure if you can get the words off of your tongue, to let him know that you’re on the brink of a devastating orgasm. Your tongue feels like heavy lead in your mouth, and your lips are stuck slightly ajar with laboured panting breaths. Sukuna all but watches with lust-filled amusement, four eyes working to lap up each and every expression.

You’re close. You’re so close, it’s right there, just within grasping reach and when your toes start to curl and your back arches just so—

It’s ripped away from you.

Sukuna stills his arm, and in turn his fingers become idle whilst buried deep inside of you. The stretch doesn’t burn nearly as much as the flame in your chest at your potentially ruined orgasm. You meet Sukuna’s gaze, and he’s grinning at what must be the visible burning rage in your eyes.

“I asked you a question.” He replies to your anger, and you wish you could will your arms into moving; just so you could slap him across the face for taunting you with your own pleasure. “Answer me and I’ll give you what you want.”

Perhaps if you weren’t being stretched open on thick fingers you would’ve had a smart retort to spit back to the grinning monster. It comes far too easily to bend to his whim, to let your mind slip away from rationality and give in to the pleasure he promises you.

“Please,” you breathe, head fuzzy and tongue thick in your mouth. “Please fuck me.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows raise a little, but his grin doesn’t falter even through his surprise — he hadn’t expected you to give in so quickly, nor did he think you were asking to be fucked so quickly.

Those same fingers shift just slightly, a quick and cruel curl to press against that overly sensitive spot. You jerk under his ministrations, your nipples rubbing harshly against the smooth planes of his pectoral muscles. You can’t fight the glare you give him when he chuckles at your plight, and you lose the chance to slap him when he leans fully out of your space.

He kneels before you, your legs slung uselessly over the tops of his thighs and hips. His fingers slip from you with a slick noise that has heat burning in your chest and roaring in your ears, it’s obscene just how well he seemed to know your body when it was his first time using you in such a way.

You watch in near-quietness, panting in awe when he drags those same fingers into his mouth, the tongue in his actual mouth isn’t nearly as large as the one that continues to lick at the juices on his stomach. But he still uses it in a way that has you squirming, he sucks the mixture of creamy juices free from his fingers all whilst staring down at you from his newfound position.

A set of arms that aren’t occupied now start to untuck his own obi, a quick movement that has him lashing the fabric across the destroyed room so that the ruined kimono falls away.

Your stomach drops and swoops.

Truly, you should’ve expected that maybe there was more to him than what meets the eye. You should’ve known a man with four arms, two faces and two mouths would also have two cocks. You were naive to believe he’d be… ‘normal’ below the belt.

Your surprise must be something worth laughing at, as Sukuna nearly snorts at the expression on your face. One large hand loops around both shafts, pressing them tightly together before he rolls his wrist to stroke up and down in smooth motions. You can see two thick black banded tattoos on both of his cocks too.

“If I knew this would get you to shut that pretty mouth of yours, I would’ve fucked you a long time ago.” Sukuna sneers down the broadness of his nose, long fingers speeding up whilst he strokes himself. His eyes drag down your body before they settle between your thighs, observing the way you’re spread open for him so prettily — like a meal waiting to be devoured.

Instead of invading your space once again, a pair of hands wrap themselves around your calves and tug you higher up on his thighs. Here you feel the sticky tip of his cocks press against your silky slit, both heads rubbing up and down with the easy roll of his wrist. Sukuna’s eyes naturally all dart down to watch the mess he’s creating, watch the way your pussy continues to drool for him when he presses his cockheads against your swollen clit.

A shot of panic races up and down the bumps of your spine when he dips both tips down towards your entrance, and your fingers only just brush against his chest in the hunched-over position he’s in. It’s not a push nor is it a scratch, and yet Sukuna’s head snaps up to look at you quickly as if you had done both of those things.

“It’s not going to fit,” you wet your lips, blinking away the blurry fuzz that’s settling in your brain. “I can’t take both.”

His gaze flits back down towards your pussy, and you half expect him to ignore your concerns and stuff you full but surprisingly he doesn’t. Instead, he adjusts his grip just slightly on his cocks, grasping one of them fully to guide just the one to your awaiting entrance.

“You will,” he counters, his thighs spreading just slightly to ensure you’re spread to your widest. “With time. You’ll learn to take both.”

And even with just an easy roll of his hips, and the press of his thumb against the topside of his cock, he slides into you with great effort. His fingers were nothing in comparison to the mushroomed head of his cock and the natural thick girth that followed. It has your fingers gripping uselessly onto the dusty futon beneath you, and your toes curling in the air.

Sukuna isn’t better off either, you can see the way his stomach concaves slightly with each deep breath he has to take to ensure he doesn’t lose his mind the further he sinks into your awaiting pussy. The hands that were clamped around your calves have slipped to your thighs, pushing your knees further into your chest.

You feel so exposed beneath him like this. Split apart on one of the cocks belonging to the very man who had killed your father, it’s a sickening thought and still, it has you clamping down on him the further he pushes into you.

Finally, Sukuna’s facade breaks and he hisses through gritted fanged teeth. “Relax woman.” He snarls, the tips of black claws dig into the fat of your thighs.

“Too much, ‘s too much.” You slur with a tapered-off moan when he gives an experiment roll of his hips to see if he could truly fit every last inch of himself inside of you. Your hands push uselessly at his chest when he starts to fold himself down over you, crowding you into the bed so all you can hear, smell and see is him. Him. Him.

One of his free hands comes to grab at your wrists, enveloping both of them with just one palm and he shoves them into the bed above your head. Now you truly do feel exposed. Your entire body is open for him to do as he pleases, and you can see that realisation settle into his eyes when they glimmer with thoughts that no doubt would bring you both pleasure and pain.

His second cock rubs devilishly against your clit, and the underside throbs with a thick vein that begs for more than just a gentle touch of both your clit and pubic hair. The sensation has your eyes rolling limply in your head, and you don’t doubt that it only aids in ensuring you’re as wet as humanly possible for the monster of a man who huffs out heavy breaths atop of you.

Sukuna sounds like he’s been gravely wounded once he does finally bottom out inside of you, the groan is a rumbling growl that shakes through your entire body in turn. The sticky tip of his upper cock lays against your belly button, drooling with arousal.

You can’t see the outside world anymore with how he hunkers down over you, the broadness of his shoulders blots out the night sky. His face is just mere inches away from your own. His breath, hot puffs of air against your sweaty and once-bloody cheek. You’re fairing no better, your own breath mingles with his own until it becomes impossibly warmer between the both of you.

The harsh stretch has already begun to bleed into blissful pleasure, it no longer burns in an unpleasant way but rather it’s all the more enticing. You want to feel that stretch in the morning, whenever you shift your thighs you want to feel the length of him still buried there in phantom memory. But Sukuna is steadfast in the position he holds over you, large lungs sucking in greedy breaths as if he’s teetering on the edge.

You roll your hips, and it earns you a vicious snarl that you’ve seen on the faces of dogs and wolves alike. His upper lip reveals those sharpened canines that had only moments ago ripped apart your neck before he healed you. It’s a warning, of course, to keep still. But you don’t listen, you roll your hips again the best you can beneath the mass of his weight.

“Enough…” He growls the word, sounding much more like the demon he portrays himself as.

But you whine in response, seconds away from pouting. “Move.”

His upper lip twitches again in annoyance, all four eyes narrowed in your direction as if he’s contemplating something. Then his nostrils flare, and his shoulders roll just enough for you to know he’s made his mind up on something.

The next roll of his hips is aggressive, borderline violent. The tops of his thighs smack against your thighs and ass, and the squelch of his cock burying itself once again in the depths of your pussy is awfully loud. Almost loud enough to blot out the half-scream-moan you let out.

His pace from there on out doesn’t falter, not once. His hips roll effortlessly until he’s fucking you so deeply that you can feel him battering against your cervix; as if he’s trying to push himself impossibly deeper. It’s painful but it’s the type of pain that blends so beautifully into pleasure that you can’t stop your eyes from fluttering to a near-close.

“Is this enough for you?” He snarls through gritted teeth, sweat beading along his temples and dripping along the pinkish strands until they stick to his forehead.

You can’t form a reply on your tongue, far too lost in the throes of pleasure that your tongue is useless in your mouth. You can only gasp and moan when he starts to fuck you in quick yet deep thrusts, not fully pulling out in lieu of fucking up into the overly sensitive spot that has your back arching.

His hands on the underside of your thighs adjust their grip, instead, he pushes your legs into the crooks of his elbows before planting his hands solidly onto the bed. Sukuna manoeuvres his body over yours, effectively folding you in half until your lower half is nearly higher than your head. It’s much harder to breathe like this, even more so when he lets go of your wrists so he can wrap a thick hand around your throat.

There’s a moment of stillness, so he could feel the rhythmic clenching of your pussy around the thickness of his cock. His secondary cock still lays against your pussy, pressed so harshly against it that you can feel each time it twitches and throbs with yearning.

His nostrils flare when he levels you with a stare; a look that you’ve come to recognise as one he wears when he’s about to win a conquest. He looks fierce, regal, every part the King of Curses you’ve come to know him as. You half worry that maybe he’ll squeeze the life from your throat instead of fucking you. Those long fingers donned with sharp claws tense at your throat, squeezing ever so slightly in silent threat.

He’s the one in charge here. And he wants you to know that.

“Perhaps this’ll be enough to satiate you.” A snarling of words.

Then he’s moving, again, but this time it’s with a different purpose. It’s still to fuck you, yes, but he’s asserting his dominance over you entirely. His cock slides deeply at this angle, hitting against your cervix and g-spot almost simultaneously. It’s intoxicating, suffocating in the best type of way.

His cock throbs deep inside of you, twitching with each and every pulse of your own silky walls when they clench uselessly around his cock. Nothing would stop him from fucking you like the beast that he is.

“Cum,” he growls, leaning down into your space even more until it feels like your legs may just snap beneath his weight. “Cum for me.”

You couldn’t disobey him even if you tried. His hips roll smoothly, as he has clearly mastered the art of fucking a woman to completion. As if the pleasure of his extra cock rubbing against your clit wasn’t enough, he draws a free hand to press his cock a little harder against your clit – to ensure the friction was so infuriatingly good that you couldn’t help but moan.

And moan you do, it comes in the form of his name. “S-Sukuna!”

The orgasm is violent. As is the nature of things when you’re being fucked by a man-turned-monster. He keeps you locked into position, not budging when you start to buck beneath him and cum for him. It’s quite different to the first, it comes too quickly; too aggressively that you can’t stop the sudden burst of your arousal.

The tongue on Sukuna’s stomach is quick to loll out, dragging itself along his lower stomach where you had squirted. Then it does something that has your swollen pussy clenching impossibly tighter around the cock buried deep inside of you — the thick stomach tongue drags along the shaft of his free cock, savouring each and every last drop of your own release before it vanishes back into his stomach.

It’s absurd. Should make you shiver and look away in disgust at just how he’s modified his body but instead it’s nothing but alluring; something you want to get to know more intimately.

However, Sukuna doesn’t grant you that. Instead, he abruptly withdraws his cock from you in such a way that it has you clenching around nothing. He releases you from the harsh mating press he had you in, his hands tenderly handling your legs so they’re stretched out fully.

It’s an awfully intimate touch, something that has your stomach flipping with more than just the fading bliss of your previous orgasm.

But then those hands grab at your waist, and your world is twisted until you can see nothing but the bloodied and dusty futon. He moves you as if you were nothing more than a doll to him, and perhaps in comparison to him; that’s all you were — a doll, something he could break with just a flick of his wrist.

The thought has you wishing your pussy was clenching around his cock instead of air.

Those large hands on your waist don’t remove themselves, instead, he caresses the thickness of your hips. Presses his fingers into you until your flesh spills between thick fingers, it’s impossible to try and think what he may be contemplating when you can feel two cocks twitch impatiently against the dripping wet heat between your legs.

Sukuna shifts his position behind you eventually, propping himself up on one knee whilst the other foot plants itself next to you. The fronts of his thighs brush against yours, and only then do you realise he’s lowered his body down enough so that he’s aligned with you. A spare hand smooths down the length of your spine, gradually increasing pressure until your face is pressed into the futon.

“Be good, and hold still.” He commands, and there’s more movement behind you. That hand that had guided you downwards shifts up, tangling within your already dirtied strands, uncaring for the blood that has dried and matted there.

The entirety of his palm engulfs the back of your head, his fingers nearly reaching the front of your hairline. You knew Sukuna was massive, gigantic in every way but it’s something entirely different when he has his hands on you. It’s a gut-clenching realisation that you were truly nothing but a gnat when it came to fighting him.

The only free hand left comes between the two of you, grasping at the base of both of his cocks until the tips of them knock almost painfully against your clit. It has you jolting beneath the pinning grip Sukuna holds over you.

Those hands on your hips suddenly grip you tighter, and it’s a second of confusion before you feel the stretch. The stretch of both his cocks in one hole. Automatically it has you clenching impossibly tighter around him, your painful back arch deepens until it feels like you’re going to hurt yourself.

Sukuna hisses through gritted teeth, the hiss turning into a guttural growl. “Relax.”

You can’t. You can’t relax when he’s forcing you to split around both of his cocks. The hands at your hips slip back slightly, grasping at your ass until he’s spreading you wide without any care for how it may make you feel awfully exposed.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he growls again, “Did your husband not fuck you?”

No. He didn’t. You want to snap at him for bringing up your late husband when he’s trying to fuck you full with both of his cocks, but your tongue knows only one thing — to aid you in moaning through the painful pleasure.

Sukuna however seems to know the answer, as he laughs meanly. “Of course not.”

Finally, Sukuna halts in his conquest to stuff you full on both his cocks. You can tell he’s only halfway in, the warmth of his thighs is too distant for him to be buried to the hilt. The grunt that escapes Sukuna is nothing but pure frustration. You can only glance over your shoulder awkwardly at him, and you watch the grin that grows on his face when he formulates his next plan of action.

There’s a quick sudden wet sensation against your ass, his jaw working quickly to ensure that the spit that drops from his tongue is plentiful. He hunches himself back over your body slightly, the angle forces you to take more of his dual-cock painfully whilst also ensuring his stomach presses against your ass.

“No. No man would know how to handle you, you’re too good for them.” The tongue you’ve quickly become acquainted with returns, it presses lewdly against your asshole. Ensuring the tongue is dripping with spit, wriggling it against you feels so foreign – so wrong, and yet it has your jaw dropping to release the most obscene moan of the night.

It makes Sukuna grin down at you. “There you are.”

The tongue shoves harder against you, pressing until that tight ring of muscle gives way and you can feel the thickness of his secondary tongue stretching you wide — wide enough for his cock. His hands still gripping your ass continue to spread you impossibly wider, his body pressing forward just a little more so that he could stuff you further with his tongue.

But as quickly as he had begun, driving you to the brink of insanity with how much control he had over his second tongue, he pulls back. His body shifts, and you’re suddenly free of both of his cocks. It draws a pitiful moan from your cracked and dried lips, and Sukuna only snickers at your predicament.

The tip of his upper cock presses against the tight rim of your ass, teasing there for a moment whilst he returns the lower cock to the still-clenching hole of your pussy. He uses the width of his large hand to ensure he can hold both of them steady whilst he guides them inwards, you expect it to be just as painful…

Instead, it’s anything but. It’s enough to make you drool into the sullied sheets, enough to have you even pushing your hips backwards to aid in ensuring he’s buried to the hilt deep inside of you sooner rather than later.

And it’s here that you finally hear Sukuna moan, not the guttural groans or growls that he’d been giving you since this started. But a genuine moan. And it has your toes curling painfully. You wanted more of that; to hear the man behind the vicious teeth and hardened muscle — you wanted Ryomen.

The warmth of his thighs finally brushes against the back of your own, and you feel beyond stuffed — any more, then surely you’ll burst from the pressure. With each passing second you can feel your brain slowly emptying of any rational thought; all to be quickly replaced with a mantra of Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna.

It’s a brief pause, a moment of respite from the overwhelming pleasure — for both of you. You can feel each of Sukuna’s fingers flexing and squeezing against your hip, the way his hips shift just slightly as if it was an automatic response to fuck you. It’s mind-numbing how good it actually felt, to be stuffed by not one but two cocks.

Then, he moves. It has you gasping into the sheets, sucking in not enough oxygen that only makes your head feel even fuzzier. You deepen the arch of your back subconsciously, your chest presses uncomfortably into the futon beneath you and yet the change of angle; the way both of his cocks bully themselves deeper into you — it has you both moaning.

You don’t even realise you’re whimpering, blabbering nonsense as Sukuna continues to fuck you mindlessly. His hand on the back of your head slips away from your scalp, careful to not painfully tug on the strands of hair that are still coated in blood and dirt. It’s filthy, to be fucking the way you are, and yet it’s the best sex of your life.

That hand instead slips downwards, long fingers curling around your throat until you can’t breathe. His pace quickens, both of his cocks now slick with your juices and spit slip in and out of you without any resistance at all. Loud, filthy, squelching sounds are the result of your shared pleasure.

His heavy balls slap aggressively against your clit, each slap sending miniature bolts of lightning shooting down your spine until they buzz at the back of your skull. The lack of oxygen and sharp bursts of pleasure have your vision darkening.

Sukuna, clearly more aware of what he’s doing to you than you realise, releases your throat for a moment to let you gasp for breath — and with it, comes the most violent orgasm of the night. It has you squeezing so tightly around both of his cocks that Sukuna lets loose one of the most indecent groans you’ve heard all night.

It has you clenching tenfold, unable to control the waves of pleasure that continue to roll down your body to the very tips of your toes. Sukuna’s hands slip away from your hips and up to your waist, whilst the one at your throat glides along your shoulder until he’s feeling along your arm.

Slowly, he lays his weight down on top of you until you’re forced to buckle beneath him. Your stomach presses into the futon, and your legs are forced to stretch naturally down the bed. Now atop of you, Sukuna grasps both of your hands with his own and pins them into the sheets just above your head.

It’s quite the stretch on your body, almost painfully so. But you don’t air your complaints, instead, you simply press the side of your face more into the bed so you can eye Sukuna who’s hovering oh-so-close to you. He looks how you feel; fucked out. His eyes are hazy, and his lips are swollen as if he’d been biting on them to stop himself from moaning.

The new position has him reaching deeper than you thought possible, you can feel every inch of him, every throbbing vein and every twitch of his cock – he was close, you could feel it.

Sukuna adjusts his position slightly over you, bringing his knees back under him solidly. This close you can feel his body heat, an all encasing warmth that has sweat pooling in the dip of your spine and along the back of your neck. He looks impossibly huge like this, all glistening bunched muscles with rings of dark tattoos that should scare you; as they are the markings of a monster.

But it doesn’t. Not at this very moment. It feels too… intimate, for you to feel scared of him. Instead, it swirls something unfamiliar in your stomach, something you had never felt with your husband in his failed attempts to produce an heir. It’s odd. It doesn’t mix well with the contempt you should be bubbling with for the man over you, but still, it has you melting beneath him until both of your bodies meld together perfectly.

His hips roll effortlessly despite the shift in position, but ultimately you could feel the sloppiness behind each thrust. He was much closer than you realised, and that has you propping your hips up just slightly, pushing back into the man who groans his approval into your ear.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he admits in a breath, his voice deepened with the lust that continues to drive his hips forward with a loud slap of hips against the fat of your ass.

Being this close, he’s able to bury his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply whilst his body does the work for him. Muscles that were already tensed and tight like the string of a bow grow tighter, his stomach feels like rock each time it brushes against your lower back.

“This warm, tight pussy…” He groans crudely, nose pressing harder into your hair. “It’s mine. Only mine.”

His fingers had slipped between your own from where they pin you to the bed, and they squeeze you in rhythm with each of his thrusts. His breathing grows ragged; huffs of air and deep groans lost in the way he buries himself further into the mess of your hair.

“Only yours.. Always yours–” You try to breathe, sucking in a harsh breath when he ruts particularly hard. “Ryomen.”

The hands at your waist tighten suddenly, elongated claw-like nails digging into your flesh — and it’s your only warning before he meets his end. Sukuna spills himself deep inside of you, pressing himself as far as he can into you in this position. You can feel the heat of it, burning at your insides as it continues to spill from both of his cocks. It’s an intense feeling, though it doesn’t have you feeling disgusted or even annoyed at the fact he had spilt himself inside of you.

You moan with him, pushing your hips back just slightly with a soft clench of your velvety warm walls. His own hips buck into yours in response, and the rumbling growl that rolls down the expanse of your back from how closely he’s pressed to you is warning enough — don’t push your luck.

Neither of you move for a moment, bathing in the after-sex mystified air that still floats around the both of you. Sukuna keeps his nose buried into your hair, nosing his way across until he passes by your ear and ends by your cheek. You can hardly keep your eyes from fluttering shut at the proximity of him.

As he hovers there, so close that you can count his eyelashes and feel the harsh breaths still billowing out of his nose, you have no idea what he might be thinking. But the thoughts are brushed away when he lays a gentle kiss so unbefitting of the man against your cheek, it’s hardly there – a ghost of a kiss, and suddenly he’s out of your space.

The squelch of him withdrawing from you is disgusting, enough to make you hide your face in the crook of your arm in an attempt to cover your embarrassment. Except, Sukuna has other plans. All four hands are on your body, scooping both you and your tattered kimono up into his arms.

“What are you doing?!” You yelp at the sudden shift in height, and you’re jostled in his arms until your hands press into the sweat-slicked planes of his chest.

“Someone got brave and destroyed the majority of the room.” His words are almost enough to re-spark that fire in your gut but the ache in your body forces it to remain a smouldering flame. “I have other rooms. Not as grand, but somewhere you can rest.”

You suppose he does have a point. You had destroyed the room in near totality, the cold mountain breeze suddenly makes itself known again. It sticks to the quickly drying sweat on your body, and that alone is enough to have you leaning into Sukuna to sap the warmth from his skin.

He doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t even make another snide remark about what had transpired before… that. Instead, his fingers curl a little more into your skin to ensure you’re pressed into him as much as possible. The walk to the room Sukuna speaks of isn’t too long, thankfully, you dread to think about where Kenjaku might be.

If you ran into her on the way to the bedroom… you don’t doubt that she’d ridicule you for it. A flashing memory of her skin tearing appears in your mind, the slick sound of skin separating in such a way has you turning your face into the thick muscle of Sukuna’s shoulder.

Again, Sukuna says nothing of your movement. Instead, he uses one of his lower arms to grab the shoji door handle to slide it smoothly open, ducking beneath the threshold and closing the door behind him.

True to his word, the room is smaller than the one you had torn apart with your cursed energy. But it’s just as regal, the futon bed here is also on a raised platform and is as massive as the one you had been fucked on. Sukuna moves with fluid steps, shifting down onto his knees to smoothly deposit you on the bed.

You want to talk to him. You need to. You can’t brush away the hurt with sex, and you don’t want him to think he had gotten away with it — he hadn’t. You’d never forgive him for what he did, would you? Your lips part, and Sukuna takes steps away from you and towards a chest you hadn’t noticed on the way in.

“Sukuna,” you call out for him, and he makes a point of ignoring you as he digs through the chest to pluck out two different haori. “...Sukuna. We have to talk.”

The black haori is dropped into your lap, and he turns away uncaring for your words. You watch the smooth planes of his back flex with the movement, and he throws his own grey haori over his shoulders before you can see the muscles of his thighs and ass—

“Tomorrow.” He counters instead, turning back to look at you. An eyebrow raises at you in expectancy, and it has you moving to wrap yourself in the silky material. It’s much too big on your body; it’s one of his own personal haori. The sleeves drag along the bed, pooling around you when you settle to look back up at him.

He’s still staring at you, daring you to defy his order and continue on your conquest to get your answers tonight when neither of you was in the right headspace for it.

“Sleep, Y/N. I don’t want to fight you again.” He uses his name like a weapon, it digs into your ribcage and presses into your stuttering heart. You’d never heard him say your name before, always a pet name. You assumed he didn’t even care enough to know your name.

It has you quickly glancing down at your cupped hands, still coated in a layer of blood and dirt. You wished you could’ve bathed before sleeping. But you don’t want to fight Sukuna, not yet, he had successfully drained you of your energy in not just the fight but everything that came after.

So you slide further back onto the bed, pushing down the futon sheets as you go until you’re beneath them. Sukuna remains stationary near the entrance of the room, strong arms crossed over his chest. Once you settle into the bed does he move, turning towards the door and only confirming your suspicions that he didn’t plan on sleeping in the same bed as you.

“Stay.” You say quickly. And as expected, or rather unexpected, Sukuna stills. His hand remains frozen against the door, waiting, you realise – he’s waiting to see if you mean it. “Sleep here with me.”

“I told you. I don’t sleep–”

“Please.” You implore, shifting the sheets back to show that you meant it. He stares at you over one shoulder, eyebrows scrunched together as if he couldn’t quite understand you. You wait for the refusal, the snarling curl of his lip and the blatant disgust that comes with the prospect of something so intimate.

But Sukuna drops his hand from the door, and he turns to face you again. His footsteps are measured, calculated, as he makes his way to the other side of the bed. You don’t say anything, perhaps out of fear that he’d turn tail and run before he actually went through with it. You only lay down when he does, watching as he lays on his front with all four of his arms tucked beneath the pillow to support his head.

Now you understand why he needed the bed space; his arms.

You can’t help but stare at him, however — he looks uncomfortable. Out of place. He’s not facing you, opting to face the other way. Most likely to avoid your prying eyes. So you turn over, your back now exposed for Sukuna to strike if he so wished it.

But you don’t expect him to. Something tonight had transpired, something that changed a part of both of you. You can’t deny that your heart thunders in excitement at the prospect of laying with him, even if it sours when you remember just what had occurred before you were pinned beneath him on his bed.

He killed your father.

Yet he had gone to great lengths to hide that sword from you, why? You didn’t take Sukuna as a man to hide away the fact he won a fight. Especially a fight against someone who was so powerful; not just with cursed energy but the title of Shogun wasn’t something to sneeze at.

You’d get your answers. You’d find out the truth as to why Sukuna had killed your father, and why he hadn’t told you about it.

But for now… you relax into the futon, burying your face into the softness of the sheets that lack the distinct smell you’d grown to enjoy in the previous bedroom. Except, when you breathe deep, you find that the smell is much stronger with the source directly behind you.

And that’s enough to lull you to sleep, to close your eyes and let the worries of what’s to come slip away… for now.

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#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #banner artwork is official game art for ghost of tsushima made by ian jun wei chiew

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