miazzzma

[miazzzma]

true form!sukuna x gn!reader; mentions of cannibalism; sukuna deals with emotions (kind of); biting as a love language

The king of curses, seated on the soft upholstery of his bed with you facing him in his lap, ogling one of his bare arms as you trace the defined, bulging muscles with your fingertips, would surely paint an obscure picture to any intruder.

You’re so small underneath him, his cursed energy draped over you like a veil – shielding and trapping you - and he could crush you so easily, in a matter of a few seconds, and nothing and no one could stop him - except for you. And you don’t even have to do anything. You’re just sitting there, sharing each other’s warmth, while he observes you, one pair of his arms holding your sides, the other crossed over his chest. That’s all it takes.

Sukuna isn’t a whirlwind of emotions, he’s simple and aware of what feelings reside in him; he’s in control of himself. Not a victim of weak, futile desires. Not like other humans – that’s what makes him superior, a king.

So he knows how he feels about you; but not knowing what to think about it and what to do with it, he decides to listen to what his body and his mind are telling him, and he even finds himself listening to that irregular beat hidden behind the resilient muscles on the left side of his chest, one that he believed he’d never hear.

He once mistook the pit in his stomach for mere hunger, so he ate and he ate, but the hunger didn’t vanish, he was never fully satisfied, so he kept on eating and eating, tearing into flesh after flesh. Assuming that he was cursed with an unfulfilling life – a repetitive routine of killing and eating presumptuous humans who dared to cross him, providing little to no entertainment  - he figured that nothing would change and that he would continue to go on with this life.

And then you came along, and he felt hunger overtake him. However, it was different from simple hunger, it wasn’t just a growl in his stomach – there’s another spot inside of him that he didn't know existed until he met you. And that spot is reserved for you and you alone. No one else can fill it.

His mouth itched, his fangs ached, and he wanted – still wants - to devour you, but not in pieces, but all of you. Your whole, entire self.

"Are you hungry?" you break the comfortable silence, gaze still lingering on his arm, as you realize that this would usually be the time for him to eat his first meal.

"No."

"No?" Surprise drips from your voice at his answer, one of your brows lifting in disbelief.

"My hunger is satisfied for the moment. I’ll eat later."

That makes you peer up at him for a few seconds, an indecipherable expression, before returning your attention to his arm.

“Hmh, alright.”

Another few beats of silence pass, and then, suddenly, your fingers stop dancing along his tattooed skin, replaced by your hot mouth as it latches onto him.

Sukuna makes no noise at first, the muscles in his face barely moving as if he anticipated your attack, but you can feel his fingers twitch and then tighten around your sides, his strong arms visibly flexing.

A low chuckle emanates from him at your attempt to break his thick skin, your eyes momentarily flickering up to his face at the guttural sound that shakes your body.

You’ve become shameless, he notices, unrestrained craving swirling in your eyes that is usually found in his own when he’s around you.  

His tongue drags along the sharp tips of his canines, glinting at you. The image of a menacing predator, dangerous and meant to frighten and devour you, yet you find yourself melting willingly into his arms, the claws digging into you granting you security.

To him, your bites are akin to tickles, like nips that a cat gives its owner, and his first instinct is to laugh. He doesn’t, but the urge remains.

Instead, Sukuna’s face splits into a wide grin, “And what exactly are you trying to do?”

All four of his piercing eyes are pinning you in place as he stares down his nose. Sukuna isn’t sure what to focus on, so he takes his time to memorize every single feature of your face, from the curve of your cupid's bow to the soft flutter of your eyelashes casting shadows across your cherubic cheeks. 

“What do you think it looks like?” you grumble, your voice muffled by your mouth still pressed against the resistant limb, “I’m trying to bite you the way you like to bite me, Sukuna.”

He used to demand that you call him by his proper title, yet he finds that he doesn’t mind the lack of title slipping from your lips as much as he thought he would; it’s second nature to you, rolling off your tongue so effortlessly, and it tastes like nectar from the sweetest fruit in his mouth.

“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you?”

You huff, “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. I respect your effort. It’s amusing – but it’s also welcoming.”

There’s a raw sincerity behind his words that you weren’t prepared for, causing you to put some distance between your mouth and his arm.

Sukuna’s waiting, patient and with mild curiosity.

A wild flame of affection ignites in his chest as he watches how hard you, a mere human, try to put some damage on him, the desire to claim lurking behind every caress of your teeth.

Want swims across his normally indifferent face, something other than vain lust, nothing perverse or violent, but something that goes even deeper, more vulnerable. It takes root in his chest, threatening to burst forth and fall into your waiting hands, ready to catch it.

“Are you proud of yourself? Are you giving it your all?” Sukuna taunts, his controlled voice slightly strained as he pokes you in the face, making your nose scrunch up.

He sees how you almost flinch, all four of his eyes tracking your every move attentively, but you try to keep a nonchalant demeanor, acting unaffected, and not pulling away. You’re not scared – you’re merely sensitive to his touch, Sukuna notes.

He levels you with a smirk; as if you’re an amusing little thing, his personal jester.

“Don’t hold back,” he warns you, maroon eyes burning into you, heavy with intent. So you don’t.

Your soul enters Sukuna before your teeth do, and he can't - doesn't want to - stop it.

There’s noise, emerging from the back of his throat.

A wave of ecstasy washes over his body as you finally manage to draw blood, lapping at the small wound with your tongue, the sting sending goosebumps across his skin and briefly blurring his vision.

You hold him in the palms of your hands without realizing it, your teeth - your pitiful, useless fangs - unintentionally releasing venom that spreads through his guts, paralyzing him against your electrifying touch.

Sukuna’s immune to poison – he himself is a lethal poison - but not to your venom; for it is not filled with poison, but with something else, something he can’t quite identify, having never experienced it before.

One of his hands tangles in your hair, holding your head in place, urging you to continue on with your gentle assault.

“C’mon, try harder. You can do better than that.”

You could tear him apart for all he cares, and he’d let you. Chip away at the flesh that protects his bones and swallow his cursed energy until it merges with your own. Become one.

Sukuna wouldn’t fight back, wouldn’t protect the gaping wounds you have inflicted upon him, and to him that is the strongest sign of devotion he could present you with. And you’d understand.

“Are you even feeling anything?” you ask him as you withdraw from his now marked arm, forehead creased and lips pursed.

Removing his arms from his chest, he brings one of his hands up to cup the underside of your jaw, the gesture oddly tender. His thumb glides along the plush, pillowy flesh of your lower lip that is stained with blood – his blood – and he relishes how the single digit covers your lip completely, and how the lids over your eyes grow droopy, that particular look sending a tingle down his body.

“I’m feeling everything.”

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Mossy

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Trillium after the rain

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Lonely by Ruslan Stepanov

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snoopy of the day

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audrey hepburn films, miss dior blooming bouquet in soft pink, feminine tulle, kittens purring gently.

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Gisele Bundchen @ Chloe Spr/Sum 1999

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Mia Wasikowska bts Jane Eyre, 2011

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pink poppy new sq

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Fabergé moonstone and diamond brooch, Moscow, 1899-1908

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Madame de Pompadour as ‘Friendship’, 1755. Commisioned by Madame de Pompadour from Etienne-Maurice Falconet to commemorate her transition from the King’s lover to his best friend.