#what if boar on the floor never ended

[finitevariety]

Succession has totally ruined me. At this point I cannot watch a movie without going 'you know what...'

[thewisecheerio]

Elden Ring and Disability

Elden Ring is filled with disabled characters. What I love about the specific way that Elden Ring uses disability, though, is that there is almost always a lore-compliant accommodation provided to the disabled character. This world filled with magic doesn't erase disability, but rather finds magical and lore-compliant ways of accommodating it, much like Star Trek:

Here is some of the disability representation within Elden Ring.

First Generation Albinaurics

First generation albinaurics are synthetic humanoids. Their legs do not function normally, so they are unable to locomote by walking. In the worst cases where no accommodations are provided, we see them crawling to move. But we get two really cool examples of ways to accommodate this disability:

First, we have Latenna the Albinauric. Normally when you summon her as a spirit ash, she functions as a static archer due to the state of her legs. However, if you summon her near a wolf, she will climb onto the wolf and ride it around to avoid enemy attacks and even gains a new attack (freezing mist) with the help of her ride. This puts the onus on you, the player, to make sure that you summon her under accommodating circumstances if you want her to be able to move. And of course, you could also choose not to, accepting her disabled self as-is as a perfectly great battle companion.

You can see a video of the wolf companion in action here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=st6vGIpsHLs

Second, we have Commander Gaius. Gaius is also a first generation albinauric with non-functional legs. But you'd almost never know without reading his lore or looking closely at his model, because is accommodated. He rides his Battle Tank Boar into your fight and has absolutely no problem wiping the floor with your sorry ass.

In both cases, a support animal functioning as a mobility aid allows the first generation albinaurics to locomote.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella

Malenia is missing some limbs due to the Scarlet Rot infection she was cursed with at birth rotting. She is also blind due to the sickness taking her sight. However, Malenia is still able to fight you (and win and win and win and win and...). There are two accommodations at play, the first of which is canon and the second of which is a canon-compliant fanon.

The first is the prosthetics made by the Shaded Castle. Malenia's iconic blade is physically attached to her arm prosthetic, allowing her to wield it in battle regardless of the lack of (natural) limb.

Fun fact: this is based on a real, historical practice with armor where old armor was recycled into prosthetics! There was even a mercenary famed for using a prosthetic limb to hold his sword after an accident that damaged his arm. You can learn more here (timestamp 16:58): https://youtu.be/PJwNjOvn-Ow?t=1018

The second accommodation that allows Malenia to be battle-functional is the water in her battleground. Because she is blind, she can listen for the player character's movement in the water, responding in a Daredevil-esque way. This is probably helped by the fact that her blade instructor--the blind swordsman named in the Blue Dancer Charm--was also blind and likely taught her how to accommodate that disability.

Millicent

Like her mother Malenia, Millicent is also afflicted by the Scarlet Rot. We find her alone and largely non-functional in the Church of the Plague at the beginning of her questline, writhing in pain. We then bring her the Unalloyed Needle, which keeps the Scarlet Rot at bay, relieving pain and allowing her to travel once more. Toward the end of her questline, Millicent removes the needle, which brings the Rot back in full force and ends her life.

In this way, the Unalloyed Needle functions as a treatment regimen for a chronic illness. It does not cure her, but it keeps the illness in check well enough for her to function.

The fact that Millicent chooses to remove the needle at the end of her quest is Important! Disabled people aren't under any obligation to "meet their potential" or continue treatment because it is convenient for others; if they wish to stop their treatment—even to accept palliative care—that is their right. Anything less disrespects their bodily autonomy and choice to make their own decisions. The fact that we get this representation in Millicent, who actively chooses against continuing her treatment after a certain point, is Good and Important.

And of course, we also provide Millicent with a prosthetic from the Shaded Castle, same as her mother. Once properly accommodated in this way, she can fight by your side as an NPC summon.

Messmer the Impaler

A lot of people speculate that Messmer is blind. This is because his left eye is (as far as we know) permanently shut, while his right eye appears to be a grace-filled synthetic seal rather than an eyeball. It's entirely possible that the grace seal does allow vision, but there are a couple of reasons to consider why it might not:

1) When we first arrive, Messmer is sitting in the dark. You could interpret this as being a Sad, Broody, Wet Blanket (which he is), or you could interpret this as evidence that things like light and dark are of less consequence to him than to a sighted person. Or, you know, both. A Sad, Broody, Blind, Wet Blanket.

2) Shortly after he lights candles--probably for your benefit--he sends one of his snakes into your face. He is able to tell from what the snake sees that you are Tarnished and comments on it. We can tell this means he can see what the snake sees, because he would have to figure this out from looking at your eyes and only the snake is close enough to do so.

This suggests that the snakes function as a remote viewing aid, providing a sight accommodation. And yes, again you could choose to interpret the snakes as existing in addition to a sighted right eye, but it is still interesting to consider what they mean if they are simply Support Noodles.

Ranni and Melina

There is a syndrome in our world called Locked-In Syndrome, in which paralysis prevents the entire body from moving with (usually) the sole exception of the eyes. As a consequence, the disabled person is unable to affect the physical world without help due to an inability to physically interact with the world around them.

Ranni and Melina have a similar situation going on, but with different ways of dealing with it. They are both disembodied spirits, having lost their physical bodies.

Ranni chooses to deal with the problem by incarnating herself into a doll's body at least twice: once as the doll's body we spend most of her quest interacting with, and later as a tiny actual-doll-sized doll that the player can interact with. Essentially, she has given herself a prosthetic that allows her to interact with the physical world once more.

Meanwhile, Melina goes a different route. Rather than incarnate physically, Melina requests that the player character help her reach her goal--the foot of the Erdtree, and then the Forge. In this case, we provide the physical support necessary for Melina to interact with the world, much as support workers do for those unable to care for themselves.

Goldmask

Goldmask never speaks to us in words. Rather, he communicates largely via physical movements. Brother Corhyn, a pupil of Goldmask, refers to his master's communication as "the movement of his finger". When Goldmask stops his movements, Corhyn reacts with distress, "I'm a little shaken since the master ceased his movements." He then proceeds to translate what the movements meant up to that point for us.

The fact that Corhyn is distressed at the master's lack of further communication after his movements cease suggests that this is his *only* mode of communication with him.

This is entirely a canon-compliant headcanon, but I like to believe that this means Goldmask uses sign language that Corhyn is learning to interpret in order to communicate with him. Additionally, the fact that we cannot necessarily interpret it ourselves and must rely on Corhyn to translate means that Corhyn is also acting as a support worker by being Goldmask's translator.

And yes, I think this is largely to poke fun at the Gesture system in the game, but it's also fun disability representation!

This list isn't exhaustive. There are yet other characters that either are disabled or could be easily argued to be so, like Roderika (grief and/or PTSD, given a space to heal and process), Rennala (depression and/or grief, NOT accommodated AFAICT), and Hyetta (blind, accommodated with...uh..."treatments"). But the fact that this post is already over 1400 words and has yet to touch upon all of the disability representation in the game just shows you how much there is.

[futurepastme]

SecretConsort!merlin

I had this fic idea before falling asleep, I don't know if anything like this already exists (probably). Be warned that I didn't revise this once.

First of all Arthur and Merlin absolutely love each other, but they start off as friends with benefits. Until one day Arthur can't handle anymore

“Say you're mine. Say you'll be mine and no one else's”

“I'll be yours as long as you're also mine”

And yeah, they go exclusive after that (they already were but now was official) and give them a few months or years, but eventually Merlin becomes Arthur's secret consort and they are officially official, mother's sigil and all, because like I said, they Love each other.

Anyways, eventually Uther finds out they are together and he gets tomato-red furious, and only calms down when Arthur agrees to marry for political reasons, whomever Uther chooses for him.

The thing is, Uther kind of learns to like them as a couple, not that they go all out and about telling the world, because is still supposed to be a secret, but Uther sees the sweet glances and the smiles, and most of all he sees how willingly they are to die for each other and it just sits right with him. Uther thinks Merlin makes a good consort for his son and is in no hurry to marry him off anymore.

But of course, nothing really stays the same, and the day comes where the only way Uther finds to keep peace with another kingdom is to marry Arrhur off to some other king's daughter, and he hates it because he knows and he approves of his relationship with the skinny boy that makes his son so happy.

And then comes the heartbreaking scene of Arthur telling Merlin the news and the even more heartbreaking scene before Arthur's wedding day

“I won't be able to be only yours anymore”

“Maybe not, but I'll always be yours”

And they cry through the night holding each other tightly as if the world were to end, because it just might.

And the next day, Uther can freaking see it 

They are both behaving, no one is causing a scene but from up close you can notice how bloodshot their eyes are. And he can see it in the way they refuse to make eye contact, he can see it as he sees Merlin silently crying as Arthur shows the crowd their future queen.

And Uther hates it.

And is not like the new princess is a horrible person but she just doesn't like Merlin, she doesn't want to share her husband. She makes Merlin leave Arthur's Chambers and forbids him to follow Arthur all day unnecessarily, but she knows she can't win.

Not when the King himself gives Merlin royal chambers on the same floor as theirs, and especially not when Arthur doesn't spend the night on his.

Arthur has duties, though. Husband duties. And he has to fulfill them and it kills Merlin.

And Uther can just watch helplessly as Merlin's gaze follows Arthur and his wife and he stays behind as the servant he is supposed to be and is so unfair because she doesn't even love Arthur 

And they keep growing apart but keep fighting for each other because they are fucking made to be together so they still try even if the best they can do for days is hold each other for a few minutes just breathing each other in because that's home and that's where they are meant to be

It continues for a while until one day comes where Arthur goes out without Merlin

And at the same time while he is away, his wife finds herself with child, and everyone's so happy and Merlin just has to leave for a while because he can't handle it

But again, things never go as planned and the knights return with Arthur's body, because something went wrong 

And you can honestly choose what it was, a curse, a spell, bandits, a boar, a mercenary, it doesn't matter because Arthur is dead now and Merlin wasn't there to save him

And now Uther has to deal not only with the death of his only son, and with his widow wife with child but he'll be the one to tell his consort and is so devastating 

Merlin's face turns from sad to haunting and it's like the world ended and Uther can see himself in him, he can see the death of his love weighting on Merlin the way it weighed on him, if not worse

Arthur's body stays inside the castle for two days before the burial so the people of the castle can say their goodbyes and no one has seen Merlin, they are not even sure he went to see Arthur 

And everyone is concerned about the poor widow all dressed in black, she is sad, sure, but the tears rolling from her eyes are just for show, Arthur was barely a friend, but he was good to her

Arthur's body is being prepared for removal, overseen by his family and close friends before the public ceremony took place, and that's when it happens 

Merlin just barges in and stops everything. 

He's spent two days working in it, and he just doesn't care anymore, as long as it works

And Uther once again just watches as this skinny boy fills the room with golden light, and he can't even care to do anything because honestly he would do everything for his love if he could 

And everyone watches as the light coming from Merlin starts being absorbed by Arthur through his chest and is so beautiful to watch

Arthur starts to sit up as Merlin lowers down and they just have a moment, a small second where they are both there and Merlin just rests his head against Arthur's 

“I would do it again. I would do it as many times as needed because I love you and you are my everything”

“Merlin?”

And then the light is gone, and so is Merlin 

And Uther watched as his widowed son holds his lover's body, just like he did over twenty years ago

[coldfanbou]

More Than A Bath

I mixed things up a little with a soapland theme. I hope y'all enjoy

Length 2.7K

Nako x Mreader X Kazuha

You look up at the sign and take a deep breath. There were murmurs that she worked here, but you didn’t think it was true. You click your phone and check the time: 10 pm. The shop is supposed to be open now. You walk up to the door and step inside. The front room was decorated in such a way that it looked like a casino. To your left was a man behind the counter wiping it down. “Welcome! I haven’t seen your face before. Is it your first time here?” 

You nod your head, “It is.”

“Welcome to the Royal Flush. We offer great relaxation for men after a long day's work. We have a few options here, starting at thirty minutes and going up to two hours. That said, you can extend it up to another two hours.” The man motions to a blank board behind him before turning around. “My apologies; I forgot to turn this thing on. Just a moment.” He goes under his desk, flicking a button, causing the screen to light up with pictures of women on playing cards. You couldn’t see anyone who looked like her, though. He motions to the screen. “As you can see, we have many ladies available to help you. You can choose any one of them for your time here. Or if you’re feeling lucky, you can play the roulette.”

“What’s the roulette?” 

“I’m glad you asked, sir. The roulette is a wheel that gives you the chance to get two women for the price of one and even enables some that are usually reserved for special customers. The price to play is a little higher than choosing from the board, but if you hit the jackpot, you get two women for four hours. At worst, you’re paying a little more for our basic thirty-minute service, but at best, you’ll have the best night of your life. All you have to do is predict the space the ball will land in. What would you like, sir?”

You consider the chance the rumors were true, and she was just for special customers. “I choose the roulette.” After taking your money, the man smiles and asks you for a number. You choose the number she had ended up with on the show, six. The screen behind the man changes to a roulette wheel, and he begins the game. The ball on-screen moves around the roulette wheel, and while you don’t have high hopes for getting it right, you hope you’ll at least get something good.

As the ball begins to slow down,  you see it coming up on your number. Time slows down as the ball approaches the number six spot and swings past it one more time before coming around again. The ball loses momentum as it hits one of the ball deflectors, and miraculously, it plops into the six slot. The man smiles at you, “How rare.” He says, a slight amusement in his voice. “Congratulations, sir, you’ve hit the jackpot. You’ll be allowed to choose two women to help you relax and choose from our special menu. That being said, not everyone is in, so you’ll have limited choices.”  The screen behind the man changes again to show different women than before, and immediately, you spot her. Nako was working here. You continue to look at the boar, seeing other idols on it. Some of them greyed out to show they were unavailable. 

“How do you get them to come when they’re so busy with other activities?” 

“They need to relax too. All things considered, they come here pretty often. So who would you like?” You look back at the board, seeing other Japanese idols like Twice’s J-line and members of Le Sserafim. 

“I’d like Nako and Kazuha.” 

“Great choices. Here is your room number. They’ll be there in a moment. You may take the elevator to the top floor.” You give the man a nod and head to your room. Thoughts run through your mind. You never expected to find out that idols would work at some place like this. You hadn’t even considered what you would do now that you were faced with meeting Nako and Kazuha. 

When you get to your room, you tap the card the man gave you and step inside. It was a fully furnished apartment on the inside. You walk further in, seeing the view from your floor. You could see block after block of the city from your room. Wanting to look at the other rooms, you first come across the bathroom; poking your head inside, you see the usual inflatable you had seen in porn and notice the giant bath behind it. The floor was all tile, with a drain in the corner of the room. You check the other side of your room, seeing it was just a bedroom. Checking through the dressers, you notice sex toys and condoms, among other things. 

You hear a small beep from the front and head back to the living room to see Nako and Kazuha standing there. What’s immediately noticeable is their lack of clothing. Both are wearing just their bra and panties, only after you notice their hair being up. You gulp, nervous and unable to say a word. They give you a small smile and wave, obviously used to being seen in their state. Nako takes the lead, walking up to you and wrapping her around your back. “Take good care of us.” She says, her head on your chest. She shines a smile your way before letting you go. 

Kazuha pats the short woman’s bottom, “Would you like to get started, sir?”

“I would.” 

“This way, then.” Kazuha grabs your arm, pressing it against her modest breasts as she leads you to the bath. Nako grabs your other arm. Kazuha turns the water on for the bath, and the pair begin to strip you down, working quickly. 

“Oh, look at this.” Nako teases as she pulls down your pants. Your bulge was obvious to everyone. She runs her small hands along it before kneeling and rubbing her face against it. “Ah, it’s been so long. Kazuha,  aren’t you excited?” She says, looking at the younger woman. She grabs Kazuha’s hand, placing it on your crotch. “It’s big, huh?” Kazuha’s cheeks turn red, and she looks away from you, embarrassed. “Let’s get these off.” Nako tugs at your underwear until it finally comes off, your cock smacking her forehead. She’s stunned for a second but quickly laughs it off. Her small hand struggles to wrap itself around your shaft. “You are big!” She exclaims with a huge smile on her face. You groan as she strokes your shaft. While Nako plays with your cock, Kazuha takes off the little clothing she has, unhooking her bra and tossing it near the door before stepping out of her panties. Your attention quickly returns to Nako as you feel her tongue running back and forth over your cock. 

“Ah, Nako.” You moan, feeling your knees get weak from the sudden pleasure. She giggles before continuing. 

“We should get you in the bath,” Kazuha says as she strips Nako of her bra. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea, Nako?” Nako has a slight frown on her face but agrees, letting you go to remove her panties. Kazuha leads you into the tub, stepping in to test the water. The tub was wide enough to comfortably fit the three of you, with Nako on one side and Kazuha on the other. The shorter woman couldn’t seem to keep her hands off you. She reached for your cock, stroking it slowly as she pressed her tits into your arm. Kazuha sees what Nako is doing and joins in, turning onto her side and cupping your balls as she drags her nipples along your arm. You’re eyes are glued to Nako as she steadily moves her hand along your shaft. She plants her lips on yours and speeds up. You grunt in response, struggling to do much else. Your hand wraps around Nako, squeezing her tit and making her moan. Her devilish smile grows as her grip on your shaft tightens. Kazuha begins to whisper into your ear as you focus on Nako. “You’ve got Nako wrapped around your finger. Did you know she’s on birth control? You can cum inside her all you’d like.” Kazuha’s sensual voice continues, “I’m on birth control too. I wouldn’t mind if you gave me a few creampies either.” 

Your cock begins to twitch in Nako’s hand. “Don’t cum so quickly. We’re just getting started. Kazuha and I still need to wash your body. Maybe we should use the mat. You’d like that, right? It would mean we get to use our entire body.” You nod along and get out of the bath with Nako and Kazuha. They place you on the inflatable mat. Nako grinds on your leg, lightly moaning as she stares at your cock. Kazuha had gathered water and soap to clean your body before seeing Nako enjoying herself. She huffs and puts everything on the floor before getting behind the petite woman. 

“Nako, you’re forgetting your job. We’re supposed to be making the customer feel good.” She says, grabbing Nako’s small breasts and squeezing them. The short woman throws her head back and moans. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Nako asks as she grinds on your leg. “I just need a little release.”

“Nako, you’re being a slut in front of our customer,” Kazuha responds, digging her fingers into Nako’s skin.

“I’m a slut. I’m a slut,” Nako cries. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.” She breaks free from Kazuha’s grip and moves up to your crotch, rocking against your cock. Nako quickly raises herself and slams herself onto your cock. You fill the room with moans as you cum as soon as you’re buried inside Nako. You’re not the only one, though, as Nako cums with you. Feeling your warm cum flood into her cunt, Nako slowly grinds against you as she moans. Nako moves her fingers along her clit, rubbing it in small circles. “Ah, so full. I feel so hot, Kazuha.” You feel Nako’s cunt milking your cock. She was tight, her walls squeezing you with a lot of force.  Your eyes are glued to Nako, watching as she pleasures herself. You don’t notice Kazuha fingering herself as she watches Nako. She’s groping herself and pushing her fingers deeper into her cunt as Nako begins to move again. Nako leaves just the head inside before swallowing your cock in one movement. You stifle your moan while Nako lets hers fill the room. “You’re so big. Look here.” Nako says, pointing at a bulge. She presses on it; you grunt, realizing the bulge was because of you. Nako begins bouncing on your cock, moving at a steady pace as she gets used to your size. She holds your thighs and throws her head back as she moans, noticing Kazuha standing there. 

“Come on, Kazuha, join us. You’ll be in heaven.” Nako says, humming in bliss as she slams herself down, moving her hips to please both of you. Kazuha gets beside you, taking one of your hands and moving it toward her now aching cunt. “No, Kazuha ride him.” Nako says as she continues to use you. Kazuha looks at you, her face bright red, before nodding. She silently positions herself over your face, trying to lower herself gently. She was taking a little too long for you, and you decided to pull her down. Your tongue pushes past her wet lips, diving inside her. You felt Kazuha squirm on top of you; she placed her hands on your chest as she let a river of moans flow out from her. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Just wait until this is inside you.” Nako tells her coworker as she rubs the bulge. Kazuha's breathing quickens as she feels your tongue lapping at her walls. She struggles to keep herself up. Nako sees her friend struggling and lifts Kazuha’s head before kissing her. “I love seeing you like this.”  Nako seems almost drunk on the pleasure she’s receiving; she plays with Kazuha’s tit, attaching herself to her nipple and swirling her tongue around it.

You dig your hands into Kazuha’s waist, keeping her in place. She began to grind against your face, the pleasure making her go crazy. The pleasure from you and Nako was pushing her toward the edge. She started to whimper as she closed in on her climax. “I don’t want to…I don’t want to cum yet.” She whined as she came. Kazuha’s body twitched as she came, her body rocking uncontrollably. Nako smiled, loving the sight of Kazuha cumming on your face. You lap up her sweet nectar, making the younger woman shiver before she falls to the side. 

“Can you give me a taste?” Nako asks as she leans in. You were more than willing to share, pushing your tongue into her mouth. You sat up and grabbed Nako’s waist. You held her for a moment before moving her up and down your shaft. She began to groan as you took control of her. You rammed every inch into Nako’s small body, enjoying as her cries of pleasure came more often and eventually turned into whines. “I’m going to cum. I’m- I’m cumming!” Nako screamed as you continued to use her. Your cock began to twitch inside her cunt, and you told her to get ready for another creampie. “F-fuck, do it cum in me,” Nako whined as you impaled her on your shaft and shot your cum into her. Nako’s walls clamped down around your cock, rubbing the head and making you want to go deeper. Your cum flooded Nako’s pussy, leaking out of her before you even pulled out. You take a good look at Nako, the blissful expression on her face, the drool running down her cheek as her mind goes. 

Nako collapses on you, her cunt still squeezing your cock long after your orgasm ended. You lift her off and turn to Kazuha. She was face down on the floor, still recovering. Your eyes move down her smooth back until you notice her shapely bottom. You get behind her and stroke your cock, getting yourself ready for another round. 

With your other hand, you grab Kazuha’s waist and lift her ass. You press your cock against her entrance and slowly push yourself inside the young woman. “Ah, you're stretching my pussy,” She groans weakly. Kazuha manages to get her arms under herself and push her face off the floor. She looks over her shoulder to see you pushing yourself inside. Kazuha’s walls welcomed you, snuggly wrapping around your cock as you rested inside her. You were close to cumming, sensitive from your last orgasm. Still, you pushed onward, beginning to thrust into the young woman, your pace picking up. You have to dig your fingers into Kazuha’s waist to keep her from moving. As you’re pounding away at her body, you can’t help but look at Kazuha’s beautiful ass; you pull back your hand and slam it into her soft ass. She yelps from the hit. A handprint begins to form because of the force used, but Kazuha begs you to do it again. 

You drive your hand into her ass again. She moans this time, loving the pain. Nako comes around, lying on the inflatable mattress and looking at Kazuha. Her fingers playing with her clit as she watches. You’re getting turned on by having Nako watch you and begin to move faster, slamming yourself into Kazuha without a second thought. The young woman’s moans become louder, and her walls clamp down around your cock. You were both nearing your climax. You couldn’t hold it any longer and buried yourself inside Kazuha, filling her womb with your cum. Your orgasm triggered hers. As soon as she felt your thick cum fill her, Kazuha arced her back and came on your cock. You could hear Nako teasing Kazuha, but her words were muddled as you focused in on the image of Kazuha’s back.

When you start to regain yourself, you hear Nako’s voice. “We still have three hours, Kazuha. How are you going to last that long?” Nako pinched the younger woman’s cheeks. “Are you going to make me take him the whole time? I don’t mind, but you have to be professional.” Nako turns her attention to you. “Why don’t we head for the bedroom? We can take Kazuha with us. She loves watching.” You nod your head, ready to spend more time with Nako.

[egglain]

Dove, Darker Than Blood

Rating: E (18+) - mdni Pairing: Sukuna x Uraume Content: pre-canon (heian era), sukume origin story, true form sukuna, nonbinary uraume, vaginal sex (oral, penetrative), creampies, double penetration in one hole (vaginal), very mild choking, marking (biting, cum, spit), multiple orgasms, marathon sex, soft sex turned rough, overstim, body worship, first times, loss of virginity (uraume), soft & possessive sukuna Word Count: 10.4k

Summary: “Do you wish to be bed?” Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention. “Look at me.” The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating. “Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?” Fuck.

A murder. A meeting. A question. An answer. A Heian era origin fic.

Red.

What a beautiful colour it was, all over the wooden floor.

Long brown tresses spilled from between veiny fingers, Sukuna’s large hand dwarfing the head they were attached to. The head, however, was no longer attached to anything. Vibrant vermillion drained from once-flushed cheeks, staining the kitchen floor ever-darker. Warmth pooled between black-nailed toes, blood from his ex-chef painting a pretty picture of an ugly end.

“You there.” Sukuna gestured with the severed head at a trembling maid. “Can you cook, woman?”

The woman hung her head low, measly tears spilling onto her now-crimson apron. “No, my Lord.”

“Tch. Useless.” The king’s grimace turned to another, who shook her pallid face immediately. Sukuna dropped the cook’s head, kicking it away with a grunt. “Absolutely fucking useless. Every one of you.”

The servants knew better than to respond. Knew better than to breathe. The room was still enough to hear a heart beating—and several were, rapidly. Sukuna turned on his heel, the squelch of blood underfoot enough to make the head maid gag.

“Find me a chef… and clean up this mess,” Sukuna announced to no one in particular.

As the king stormed off, red spilled into the hisashi.

***

Sukuna’s head rest heavy on a large fist, tattooed limbs sprawled out on the dais.

“Next.”

It had been a long morning of meagre meals. Bumbling cooks spilled bland boiled food in the entryway, one of his taste testers dropped dead, and three separate chefs had refused to cook meat (claiming it was “impure”). Sukuna had never felt less appetized.

He was just about ready to call the whole thing off—make a point of picking the meat off the bones of these cowardly cooks instead—as the last candidate stepped forth. A little thing, just a bit over half his size if he had to guess (not that his tallest servant reached any higher than his sternum). The chef fell to their knees to bow deeply at the foot of the dais, pale bangs sweeping the wooden floor.

Sukuna gestured his taster forward with two curled fingers. A mousy man ushered forth a large bowl, golden liquid sloshing as he carried it to the king.

“What is this?”

The taster placed the bowl on the stout lacquered table before Sukuna, bowing. “Sou—”

“Not you, fool.” He waved the man away, sitting up a little more to peer inside the bowl. “Chef. Speak.”

The white-haired cook spoke without raising their head, and yet their voice was clear. Calm. “Braised boar in a bone broth, my Lord. With local vegetables.”

Sukuna hummed, lifting the bowl to sip straight from the brim. Warmth spread from the tip of his tongue straight down to his stomach—it was good. Better than good, even. It reminded him of home—rather, what he imagined home would taste like. It was rich but simple. Well-made.

If this commoner can piece a dish like this together on their own, what could they make with the world at their fingertips?

Sukuna picked out a piece of meat with fat fingers, the flesh falling off the bone. He popped it into his mouth, reveling in the savory flavour as it melted onto his tongue. He bit back a satisfied groan, clearing his throat to mask his pleasure.

He set down the bowl, licking the pad of his thumb greedily. “Raise your head.”

The cook obeyed, hands folding politely on the lap of their white kimono. Pale lashes and short white hair framed a delicate face. Big burgundy eyes met his, and something in his gut stirred.

Interesting.

“State your name.”

“Uraume, my Lord.”

“Uraume, huh?” He let the name roll on his tongue, committing it to memory as he took them in. He turned to the maid holding his sake to the right of his dais. “Show Uraume around, woman. They start in the morning.”

As the woman rushed to usher his new chef to the kitchen, the king turned his intense gaze to the rest of the room.

“Everyone who wishes to keep their head, leave my sight.”

And so, the King of Curses enjoyed his soup alone.

***

Sukuna was right—not that he was ever wrong, per se—but the new little chef amused him more and more each day.

With access to a nearly endless supply of funds, every dish was something akin to a painting; each stroke was unique, elements curating a feeling—an experience. They put their brown-haired predecessor to shame. Sukuna had never been gladder someone was dead.

Three months had passed since their onboarding, and he had grown to like this Uraume. Aside from the good food, they had a strong spirit—not many of his servants could meet his eyes, let alone provide coherent answers to his questions. Needless to say, his days had been much more interesting as of late. He grew to look forward to his meals, even when he was full from the last one.

He had even started to opt out of having the maids deliver his food, requesting Uraume personally. It was better this way—they would explain the dish to him, taste it first, and then watch him eat. Not that he needed the company. But he’d grown to enjoy their silent presence. On occasion, he’d ask a question or two.

Which is how they had gotten here.

“A virgin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

It had nothing to do with the dish—thinly chopped raw fish and vegetables pickled in rice vinegar—but Sukuna’s mouth was watering nonetheless.

“I was raised to become a monk, my Lord.”

“Is that what you wish to be? Why become a chef?”

“Being your chef is my honor, Lord Sukuna.”

“And the latter question?”

They looked down, hands squeezing together a little tighter where they were clasped in front of them. “There was an accident, my Lord.”

His brow quirked on instinct, and he hoped it didn’t betray his cold persona. It was unlike the King of Curses to show interest in anything other than himself.

“You are no longer pure?” He said it slowly, tasting the syllables. They left a complicated taste on his tongue—something bitter and rotten. Spoiled.

“No, sir. I…”

There was a long silence. Had it been anyone else, Sukuna would have grown bored—perhaps even beheaded the perpetrator. But with Uraume, it was exciting. He couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. Try to understand them a little more. It was like unraveling the wrapping on a gift, plucking jewels from an unseemly fabric satchel.

So he waited.

“I killed.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed.

Killing, to the King of Curses, was like breathing—he hardly thought twice about it. It was what he was made for, after all. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Uraume, bless their heart, jumped a little at the display.

“Troublesome for a monk indeed. How did that happen?”

“I was seeing spirits, my Lord.”

“Dead relatives?”

“No, my Lord. Curses.”

Interesting indeed.

“Cursed spirits? A little human like you?” He leaned forward, hands clasping over his bowl of namasu—he rested his chin on top. “A jujutsu sorcerer, then?”

“Jujutsu…?”

Something in his chest fluttered. His chef was like a baby bird—a dove so pure, so beautiful, so full of life.

He wanted to snap their wings.

“Come forth, Uraume.”

The chef came up on the dais, bowing deeply at his feet. Their pale bangs tickled the tips of his sensitive toes.

Sukuna hummed a pleased noise, reaching a large hand down to lift their small face with gentle fingers.

“Watch.”

He pulled his hand back a little, holding his index finger before their burgundy eyes.

“Open.”

At the command, light sparked above his fingertip. Thin tendrils of flame danced from the tip of his index down to the base, then weaved between his digits, lapping at the webs between his fingers. Golden light danced across Uraume’s soft features, their eyes trained on the movement with reverent fascination.

“The practice of siphoning the energy within you—the cursed energy—into something tangible. Honing it into a technique, as a sculptor uses a chisel to bring stone to life. That is jujutsu sorcery.”

He reached another hand down, pulling Uraume’s palm flat out. The dancing flame in his right hand took the shape of an arrow, and he set it forth into Uraume’s hand. Uraume’s eyes widened as the arrow danced along their palm and around their wrist, tracing the delicate bones of their hand. Sukuna chuckled a little, puffing up with pride at eliciting such a raw reaction out of his little cook.

“Most people who can see cursed spirits are cursed themselves; cursed with this power, or a curse themselves.”

“Which are you, my Lord?” The question was barely a whisper, large pupils still trained on the dancing flame.

“Both. Neither.” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve transcended the concept of these binaries. I’m beyond any sorcerer or curse of this age.”

“Teach me.” Those burgundy eyes were back on his. Bright. Unyielding. “Please, Lord Sukuna.”

If you were to ask Ryomen Sukuna, he would answer that he would never stoop as low as to become a teacher. There were professional tutors for that, surely. Arrogant weak sorcerers looking to make a living. Looking to make a name for themselves.

Sukuna Ryomen was a king. A God. He didn’t teach. He took. Plundered, maimed, massacred. He didn’t need a living—he had everything he could ever want, and he stole what he didn’t. And he sure didn’t need a legacy—he would never be forgotten.

“We start tomorrow.”

***

Uraume was strong.

Their powers, complementary to his flames, were that of ice. Each day, just after lunch, he met them in the courtyard and guided them through the exercises he used to explore his power in his younger days. He saw himself in them—potential. Something raw, waiting to be discovered. Something twisted, lurking just under the surface, raring to be unleashed.

Watching them discover themselves filled him with pride… and something else. Something dark that lapped at his insides—something he had yet to understand.

With another three months—now half a year since he hired them—Uraume had become more than a chef. He took his meals with Uraume, had them take on more responsibilities, and fired half his incompetent staff.

He liked it better, like this. They knew how he liked his baths (scalding and paired with the smell of incense). They knew what he liked to eat (meat, preferably human). They knew how to clean the blood out of his sokutai so it remained pristine. They combed his hair gentler than his handmaid did. They shared the weekly news over Friday breakfast.

He could get used to this.

And alongside the exceptional service, Uraume could fight beside him. Hold their own not only on the battlefield but in all aspects of life. They had big ideas—suggestions, improvements—not only as they pertained to him, but for all of Japan. Sukuna had never had a figure like this in his life; a mirror, someone he’d let critique him, make him better. He would have never allowed that. But somehow, Uraume had found their way under his skin… and he had no complaints.

Yet, there was always something there.

Something missing, buzzing like a fruit fly next to his ear. Barely there, but increasingly difficult to ignore.

He had grown… unsatisfied, somewhere along the way, in some realm he couldn’t identify.

He had everything his mind wanted—he had no qualms with his daily routine, no annoyances that weren’t swiftly sorted out by Uraume or a slash of his hand.

So why?

What was this restless feeling?

The palace was quieter nowadays. Without the “baggage” staff (the nitwits he had released from their duties), all that remained were the housekeepers, the gardeners, a handful of maids, and his concubines. He never cared much for the latter two, but they did the menial tasks he was too busy to think about—mend clothes, pour sake, get him off. Save for the last task, Uraume now had these jobs handled, rendering the few staff he kept useless. Now thinking back on it, he hadn’t called upon any of his concubines in almost four months.

Sex was like fighting, for him. A thrill, a power struggle, an outlet. It kept him level-headed; gave him a way to deal with his emotions that didn’t involve bloodshed… usually.

He hadn’t needed it in a long time. He got his thrill from the company he kept, from watching flame engulf ice in the courtyard. He didn’t need an outlet either—everything was so easy now. Uraume ensured it.

So why?

Reading in his chamber, he rolled the idea around in his head.

He had read the same line thrice now, and none of the words were sticking. His mind was hazy, cotton-filled, a sieve rather than a sponge.

He didn’t like feeling like this. On-edge. Wrong.

So, he did what he always did when displeased.

Slaughter.

He took a midnight trip outside of the boundaries of his territory. Normally, he’d come by daylight with his bow—train his eyesight, hone his aim, polish his strategy and patience. But not tonight. Tonight, he needed to feel alive.

Inside the bounds of his territory, all was still. Sukuna Ryomen was written in the rigid trunks of the trees, in the roots, in the soil. Anyone stupid enough to set foot in an unwelcome manner was promptly disposed of—cleaved so thoroughly that no power, jujutsu or otherwise, could piece them back together. These lands were an extension of himself. This was his domain. His turf.

The world outside his carefully curated home was chaos. In the golden age of magic, culture, and creativity, cursed energy reached an all-time high. Cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcerers fed off the changing times like parasites, growing in tandem from the shadows of society.

This, of course, caused a problem for the poor; cursed spirits massacred lowly fishing and farming villages, and jujutsu sorcerers were far too busy protecting the imperial core to deal with the hundreds of incidents occurring in the far corners of the nation.

Sukuna didn’t care much for politics, though he was not uninvolved—his hands were dirtied with the blood of countless clan heads and generals. The people had come to fear and revere him, and it was oddly… fulfilling. Humans mounted shrines, left out offerings of food, art, and weaponry in hopes of warding off his fabled wrath. These humans served as a source—a wellspring of labor, food, clothing, entertainment, and cursed energy. He fed off them (sometimes quite literally).

Though he was in no way a guardian, he had come to a sort of symbiosis with the villages bordering his territory. Over time, they had become an extension of his home. The aura shrouding their houses—his aura—warded most curses away. The weak ones, at least. However, the humans were left to fend for themselves against the stronger ones—those who hungered for power, to assert their claim over someone else’s possessions, like petulant children. In exchange for their piety, he lent a hand, when he felt like it. Had a little fun with the curses encroaching on their lands. By now, most knew to get themselves indoors upon his arrival, for when he let go, there was no difference between human and cursed blood on his hands.

This is where he found himself now, the woods just outside the border of a little farming village.

The smell of fear, the hushed prayers of the women and children, the low murmur of curses in the trees—it was intoxicating.

He let himself go, in a way he hadn’t in ages.

Throats ripped from bodies, bloodstained teeth prying open flesh. Screams mounted somewhere in the distance—human or curse, he couldn’t tell. Adrenaline pumped through raised veins, pulsing with each deafening pop of a spinal cord severing. Skulls imploded in his big hands, sticky innards spilling like juice from a too-ripe fruit between his fingers.

This is what made Sukuna Ryomen whole.

He returned early in the morning, bloodied and buzzing.

In his arms, the spoils of his adventure—gifts from the little humans, slightly soddened from the syrupy blood dripping from his chin.

And yet, the itch he sought to scratch…

“Lord Sukuna?”

Sukuna didn’t bother to wipe his soiled feet as he walked in from the courtyard. At the sound of that familiar tone, he looked up.

Uraume was looking at him, something unreadable in their eyes. Their hair stuck out a little—almost as if they had been sleeping when he returned. Sukuna Ryomen didn’t sleep, but if he did, he imagined he would be doing it now.

“Uraume.”

“Shall I draw a bath, my Lord?”

Sukuna looked down at himself. He was dripping muddy, filthy blood on his clean wooden floors. Two months ago, he wouldn’t have minded—in fact, blood was once a beautiful sight—but now…

“Yes… but don’t wake the others.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe he wanted Uraume to be the one to do it. Perhaps he always did.

“Of course.”

They plucked the offerings from his arms, bowing politely before taking their leave. He expected they’d be polished and put away for his later amusement. Against the wall, Sukuna took a few moments to steel himself before making his way to the baths.

Something was still wrong. It roiled in his gut like a spoiled meal, hummed in the back of his mind like a migraine that refused to manifest.

Why was he on-edge like this?

Why was he off?

Usually, killing did the trick, but whatever void there was inside him hadn’t been satisfied. In fact, attempting to cure his problem just made it worse when it didn’t work.

Fuck.

In the bathhouse, Uraume greeted him, steam and smoke filling the room. He let them strip him down, taking in their focused eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, knuckles straining against tan skin. He had never paid much mind when the other maids did this, but something about their slender fingers brushing against him—even through the thick fabric—affected him. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Uraume.”

“Yes, my Lord?” They made quick work of folding his bloodied clothes and setting them aside. By supper, they would be brand new again.

He called upon them, but he wasn’t sure what he needed. Uraume was always so good at giving him what he needed, so long as he had the words to ask for it—but this was different.

“I’m uncomfortable.”

Uraume’s eyes widened and they backed off immediately, turning around to give him privacy in his nude state.

“No—not with you.” He placed a gentle hand on their shoulder, turning them around again. His brows were scrunched somewhere between pain and annoyance, but it wasn’t pointed at them. It was an unfocused irritation. And that only served to make it more irritating. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, worrying the skin there. “I just… there’s something not right. I’m missing something, and I don’t know what it is. I want to have it. No. I need to have it.”

Uraume ushered him into the water with a pensive hum, hand guiding him by the small of his back. Had it been anyone else, he would have cut it off… but instead, warmth spread through his spine down to the soles of his feet.

For a moment, it brought him out of his head, and back to the present.

Touch.

Right then, it was all he could focus on. It quelled the vibration in his ribs, the restless tension in his ligaments. It was a salve.

“Uraume.” He took a seat at the far end of the bath, four arms sprawling out onto the tile behind him. “Clean me quickly. Then wake the concubine—the short one with the curves and the mole. I want her in my chambers.”

Uraume looked at him, that strange look once again dancing in those big burgundy eyes.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Uraume made quick work of cleaning him, scrubbing him down with practiced ease. On special occasions, he’d receive a full body massage—the chef had a way with their hands that had the tension in his four shoulders melting away—but not this morning. Something in him stung a little, at that. But it was no matter; he’d get his physical attention elsewhere.

As soon as his hair was wrung out, the last of the entrails combed out, he was being plucked from the water. Uraume dried him gingerly and wrapped him up in his yukata.

“Can you comb your hair, my Lord? I’ll go wake your concubine.”

The displeasure mounted. Yet, he grunted an affirmation. Uraume gave him a last look-over, that faraway look in their eyes once again, before hurrying off.

Sukuna took his time “brushing” his slicked hair (shaking it this way and that, and then fixing it with his fingers) before making his way to his chamber. The morning was cresting, birds beginning to sing their song as sunlight bathed the courtyard and gardens in gold. The pond in the centre of the palace grounds glimmered, bouncing light in a way that grated at his nerves—it was too beautiful out to feel misery, and that only made him feel worse.

Opening the shoji screen to his room, he was greeted by his little concubine, waiting bowed on the floor obediently. He crossed the threshold and shut the door, not bothering to spare her a glance as he strode towards the large bed.

“Come, woman.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, beckoning her with two fingers to the spot between his parted legs. Without a word, she scurried over, kneeling between his knees. Well-manicured hands reached to untie his yukata.

A large hand slapped away two smaller ones.

The concubine—large eyes filled with hurt—did not look up to meet his eyes.

“My apologies, Lord Sukuna… I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” He looked down at her, running a large hand through long black strands of hair. She was quite beautiful. Plump, glowing—perfect to bear a strong heir. “Begin at my feet.”

He played this game sometimes.

Degraded those he slept with. Reminded them of their place beneath him, of their dispensability. On occasion, he’d reward them—let them cling to him as he kissed away tears, cock gliding home deep inside. Other times, he’d push them to the edge—face pressed to the pillows or neck in the crook of his elbow as he used them until he was satisfied.

He wasn’t sure what mood he was in now.

He slid his foot towards her, black-painted toenails wiggling impatiently. The concubine dropped her head, kissing a stripe from his second toe to the junction between his foot and shin. Sukuna watched as she groveled by his feet, playing with her hair. She kissed at the sharp bones of his ankle, then at the arch of his foot. She lifted it gingerly, kissing the ball of his sole and his heel, and he couldn’t help but imagine how her head would feel under it. The noise of her skull as he bore down on it.

He let her take each of his toes into her mouth—he didn’t care for it much, but he allowed it. She seemed determined to please him, and he appreciated that. She kissed up his shin and massaged his calf, and that felt quite nice. Yet, it paled in comparison to Uraume’s massages.

No, Uraume would have him falling back into the bed. Soft fingertips would pry tender flesh from tired bones, apply pressure in a way that had his muscles jumping. They would work their way up his quads with both hands. Dig their thumb into the supple flesh of his inner thigh. Work the adductor until he was melting, up, up, up, so dangerously close to—

Fuck

A whimper brought him back to the present— beneath him, his concubine was grimacing, black locks tangled tight in a white-knuckled fist. He dropped the hair like it was hot, rubbing her scalp as if to soothe the burn. Sukuna sighed at the teary look in her eye, another hand coming down to wipe her damp lashes dry.

“You did well.”

The concubine sniffled, and he sighed at the sound. He was hard, but the longer he looked at her dejected face, the more likely he was to lose his boner.

“Strip.”

The woman did as she was told, kimono pooling around her wide hips. Once again, he was reminded of her beauty. Supple breasts perked with the chilled morning air, nipples pebbling. A soft tummy, spilling over pillowy thighs, painted a delicious portrait. His eyes fixated on the mole just below her navel—the one he marked each time she was in his bed—and his mind couldn’t help but wander to a different one.

That one was beautiful. It was a light brown thing—small and freckle-like—jutting out against pale skin and short white hair on a soft nape. The curve of that neck was tantalizing; so pure and unmarked, save for that one little freckle. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to suck on it, to paint that pale neck in his favourite colour.

“Lord Sukuna?”

The woman below him was offering up her breasts with sultry eyes. Four months ago, she would have been weeping into his pillows already, stuffed full and satisfied. Now, all he felt was indifference.

“Leave my sight.”

“Lord Sukuna, let me—”

“Call Uraume for me on your way out.” He stood, walking to the window. “I need to speak with them.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little lighter as footsteps receded and the shoji slid open.

But what the fuck was wrong with him?

He slammed his hands down on the windowsill. He wanted to feast. Wanted to fuck. Wanted to feel free from whatever this curse was that was weighing on him. The thrumming in his veins, the itch in his bones that had been following him for what felt like an eternity now, he wanted it gone.

He had it all planned out—a slender throat under his fingers, a tight cunt fluttering around him. Pussies on fingers, fingers in mouths, mouths on skin. Flesh in teeth. Supple skin between his incisors, that fucking freckle bruis—

“You called, my Lord?”

Uraume.

“Come in… and shut the door.”

He listened to their graceful movements—much softer than the concubine’s—and couldn’t help but grip the windowsill a little tighter.

Uraume.

It was always Uraume.

***

Uraume had never been summoned by a concubine before—let alone seen one, really, before today. Sukuna rarely seemed interested in matters of romance these days. He had little connection to others, sexual or otherwise, aside from them. Not that Uraume minded at all.

The man was standing by the window, back turned to them, yukata just as pristine as when they left him in the bath. The way his body was curved—like a bow drawn too tight—betrayed the evenness of his tone.

What did that concubine do?

They took a few tentative steps forward, falling into a deep bow at his feet.

When it came to Sukuna Ryomen, it was always better to err on the side of piety.

“Uraume…”

The voice was low and rough—almost breathless. Something fluttered in the pit of Uraume’s stomach.

“I’m here, my Lord.”

“I’ve been… unhappy. Plagued.” He said it slowly, as if trying the words for the first time.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my Lor—”

“Plagued by you.”

Something icy ran through their veins. It was as if their heart stopped, in that moment, frozen over.

They’d fucked up.

They’d fucked up.

Uraume pressed their forehead to the tatami, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Trying to blend into the floor. Trying to disappear.

“My apologies, Lord Sukun—”

“You’ve been invading my thoughts.”

A beat.

The king turned around, and Uraume could feel his heavy gaze raking over the nape of their neck.

“I can’t bear it any longer.”

Uraume’s head spun.

Their stomach was in knots, dropping to the tips of their toes.

Was this how they’d die?

Suddenly? On the floor of Sukuna’s chamber, without reason?

Why?

Short fingernails dug into the tatami, trying to steady the tremor puppeting their bones.

“I wish to bed you, Uraume.”

What?

All was silent for a moment, save for the rush of blood to their ears.

Just like that, a fire ignited somewhere below their navel, melting away at the ice in their veins. Their face heated, thankfully hidden by the tatami.

“Uraume. Speak.”

“Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

Uraume felt more than heard Sukuna fall to his knees before them, ground seemingly dipping under his weight. A large hand was dragging their face up, and four sharp eyes pierced into theirs. Searching.

“You are a virgin.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You wished to become a monk. I don’t seek to take that from you.”

“That door is closed, my Lord. And… I’ve sworn my life to you, Lord Sukuna.”

He raised a large hand, silencing that thought. “Forget about that. Right now, you’re Uraume. Not my chef. Not my assistant. Uraume.”

They nodded slowly in his grasp.

“Do you wish to be bed?”

Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention.

“Look at me.”

The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating.

“Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?”

Fuck.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“‘Sukuna’.” He stood, untying his yukata slowly. “As it’s your first time… ‘Sukuna’ will suffice.”

Uraume watched as big fingers made elegant work of undoing the sash, fabric slipping off him like water. They had seen his body many times before—but this felt distinctly different.

From the floor, Sukuna Ryomen was more than a man. Warm morning light warmed the edges of golden glistening skin. Thick veins hugged plush muscles—ran down his arms as they folded across his chest, spanned the hard plane where his abdomen met his hips, tracing the delectable lines of his waist. Short pink hair dusted a line under his navel, south, to frame twin tattooed erections. The bands on his skin, bands that had become synonymous with evil, danced in time with the rise and fall of his chest in a way that could only be described as divine.

Sukuna Ryomen was more than a curse, more than a sorcerer. He was an apparition—a God, a demon, something so ethereal and so twisted that it could have never been human. Yet, the way he was looking down at them—the hunger, the softness, the possession—was so real.

All four eyes pinned them to the ground, and Uraume could feel the stakes of his claim nailing into their flesh.

He was waiting for an answer.

Waiting for them.

“Yes… Sukuna.”

Sukuna hummed, low and pleased, extending a large hand to help them off the ground.

“Good. Now strip for me, Uraume.”

***

Sukuna had never seen a creature so… tantalizing.

He wanted to unwrap them. Wanted to tear off their robes, as childish as it was, to get to his gift sooner. But he had to wait. It was their first time, and he wasn’t going to rob Uraume of an unforgettable moment. He wanted them to be comfortable—especially being that he was not the easiest man to bed, even for the most practiced bodies. His impossible size and strength meant that relaxation and preparation were key; of course, with most of his concubines, he forwent this rule and took what he wanted.

But Uraume was not one of them.

They were special.

So he watched, hands balled into fists, as Uraume carefully undid layer after layer of their clothing. Sharp nails dug half-moons into his palms as they unveiled the bottommost layer, their white kosode.

“Sukuna...”

Sukuna’s throat went dry as the final robe slipped off.

He had never cared much about who graced his bed—so long as he had a warm hole and something to grab onto, he was pleased.

But this might just ruin him.

Where he was all hard lines and rippling muscle, Uraume was soft. Tender.

Pale skin reflected the morning light like porcelain. It looked so delicate, spanned the gentle curves of their body—the small mounds of their breasts, the divots between brittle ribs, the jut of their hips. Snow white hair framed now-blushed cheeks, round and glowing. That little brown freckle.

Everything about them was perfect. Pristine. A blank canvas.

He wanted to leave a mark. Needed to leave his mark.

He never bothered to ask pointless “may I?” questions; for him, sex was about taking. Extracting orgasm after orgasm from his partners, using their bodies for his entertainment. He never bothered to ask their preferences; he’d pry them apart on his fingers or his cocks, steal what pleasure he wanted from their mouths or holes or skin. He never bothered with pleasantries, with getting to know his partner; the act was a means to an end. And in the end, he always got what he wanted.

But this moment, as much as it was meant for him—to fix him, to fill the void in his life—it was equally Uraume’s.

So he took a half-step forward.

“You’re beautiful.”

Uraume flushed, and fuck did red look good on them.

“Tell me where I can touch you.”

“My—” they opened their mouth, then closed it. “Sukuna.”

“I’ve only bedded women and men—that I know of. Where does one touch an Uraume?”

Uraume cracked a grin, and Sukuna’s heart did a weak flop. He didn’t realize he was grinning too, until his cheeks started to hurt.

“You can touch me anywhere… I trust you.”

Something in him swelled—other than his cocks, which had been hard for what felt like the better part of an eternity now.

He took another step forward, coming toe-to-toe with his assistant. He brushed the bangs out of their face, then tipped their chin up a little more, to meet their eyes properly.

“I’m going to pick you up now.”

They nodded as two large arms encircled their waist, the other two supporting them under their thighs.

Thin arms flew up to encircle his neck, and Sukuna couldn’t help but admire how much more beautiful Uraume was face-to-face.

“Hurting my back looking down at you, little one.” He chuckled lowly.

Uraume bit back a retort. Sukuna took the opportunity to lean his forehead against theirs, reveling in their heat.

“You’ll need to bear with me as I prepare you.”

“Prepare?”

“Stretch your little virgin hole for my cocks.”

Uraume shuddered in his grasp, and Sukuna couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

They obeyed, as they always did. Sukuna’s dicks twitched, clear precum already beading up.

“Good. I’m going to lick you now. My fingers will slip in easier if you’re wet.”

“Okay…” It came out a little breathless, and Sukuna chuckled softly as he brought Uraume over to the window.

The morning mist over the courtyard was stunning. Uraume rested their head against his shoulder as they looked out the window, and Sukuna couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of their hair. Big hands massaged the backs of slender thighs, then slid up to massage their glutes. A fat tongue lolled out of his lower mouth, licking its lips.

“This alright?” Sukuna whispered into their hair as he held them open, big thumbs brushing along the ridge where thigh met labia.

Uraume nodded against his shoulder.

The tongue pressed up, up, up, laying flat against Uraume’s cunt. At the first contact, they jumped a little in his hold; Sukuna apologized with gentle kisses to their forehead. He didn’t move for a moment, letting them get accustomed to the warmth and wetness of his tongue.

Slowly, it laved back and forth over their entrance. Now it was Sukuna’s turn to shiver.

Fuck.

Uraume had been preparing his meals for half a year now—each one more delicious and exquisite than the last. But this…

This did not compare.

Why does the parched man yearn for cold water?

Because it’s delicious?

Because he needs it to live.

Sukuna groaned into Uraume’s hair just as they gasped into his shoulder, pointed tip of his tongue dipping shallowly into them over and over again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Forget cooking.

He’d be feasting on them from now on.

He had plans for their first time—he wanted it to be beautiful, to take Uraume in the morning sunlight. To hold them open and lick them with his second tongue. To whisper praises in their ear and gaze into their eyes properly.

But he couldn’t help himself.

Sukuna was dropping them onto large pillows and climbing onto the bed before he could process what he was doing. He felt as he did in the woods—a predator homed in on their prey, the adrenaline of the hunt dizzying his mind, washing away all restrictive rationality.

Uraume closed their thighs upon impact with the mattress, and Sukuna would not be having that. Big hands pried slim thighs apart, pinning them open in an iron grip. His second set of hands held open pretty, puffy lips, splaying the blushed flesh below. He was transfixed.

He couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open, watching as a thick wad of saliva dripped from the tips of his split tongue to their little hole, fluttering under the attention. It was tantalizing. He blew a puff of warm air against the wet skin and reveled at the tremble of pale flesh beneath his tanned hands. He ran a large thumb down their center, applying just a little pressure on the spit-slicked entrance.

“Sukuna…” The voice was small, winded.

Crimson eyes met burgundy, and a growl tore through his throat.

They were wrecked.

Hiding behind thin hands, Uraume’s once-pale skin now flushed his favourite colour.

He wanted to swallow them whole.

He wasn’t sure who gasped louder when his tongue—his proper tongue, hot and drooling—met their cunt. He licked a stripe from just under their entrance up to their clit, coaxing the sensitive bundle of nerves to stiffness. One set of ruby eyes traced the movement, but the other set was transfixed on that beautiful face. He wanted to commit this to memory.

Commit them to memory.

He worked his tongue slowly, sloppily. He lapped at their entrance greedily, until all he could taste was himself on their skin, then ran the flat of his tongue over their clit repeatedly. He watched for each little gasp, each stroke that had them whimpering into their palm. The tip of his nose met pubic bone as soft lips wrapped around even softer flesh. He kissed their clit so reverently, open-mouthed and passionate, eyes rolling back a little at the heady taste.

Fuck—fuck—fuck—

“Feels weird—Sukuna…”

Sukuna hummed an acknowledgment into their clit, and a hand was finding purchase in his hair. He pinned them down a little rougher as they began to shake, massaging their thighs in calloused palms as he sucked at their sweet skin.

And they were keening.

A gush of bittersweet slick was running down his chin and Sukuna rushed to lap at the trembling hole as it spilled. A large thumb pinned down their clit as Uraume rode through their release, saliva lubricating the small circles he rubbed into it.

“That’s it… let go for me.”

He rubbed and sucked on the fluttering entrance until their skin jumped, until they tried to scramble away in oversensitivity.

Sukuna lifted his head up ever-so-slightly, wet lips and hot breath ghosting over raised skin. Glassy burgundy made his heartbeat stutter, and he was aching. He needed to take them. Needed to see how they’d look speared on his cocks, feel the flutter of their sweet little hole around him.

“Good, no?”

Uraume was pulling him up by the hair, and Sukuna bit back a smile as soft lips worked his own. If Uraume wanted to taste themselves on him, so be it. A dry hand engulfed their small jaw, forcing their mouth open to slip his tongue inside.

Uraume’s sweet, small tongue felt so soft pinned under his. He stroked it from the tip to where it disappeared into a hot throat. His hand followed the movement, slipping from jaw to neck, pads of his middle and ring fingers coming to rest overtop their racing pulse. He ghosted his fingers down to their collarbone, tracing the jutting bone, before slipping down the hard plane of their sternum.

“You’re so beautiful.” His large hand moved to hover over a small breast. “May I touch you here?”

Uraume nodded, and Sukuna pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of their mouth as rough skin met soft flesh. Their breast was so squishy, so delicate under his big hand—he massaged it now, squeezing and palming at it with a care that bordered reverent. He couldn’t help but watch—his hands were so big. So large that they obscured the breast completely. Heat coiled in his gut, an ugly possession that he tamped down.

Uraume was like a doll in his grasp, something so beautiful and fragile, now pinned under hands that were forged to destroy. They gasped as big fingers found a rosy nipple, pinching and rolling it experimentally. Sukuna flicked his gaze between the movement and their flushed face, pressing a kiss to their heated cheek. His second set of hands held them steady around the waist, so large as to almost span the entirety of the circumference.

He kissed his way down their neck and chest, all the way to their other nipple. He pressed a kiss to the poor neglected thing, tongue slipping out to lave over the bud. His fingers worked its twin a little rougher now, pinching and squeezing the tender flesh of their breast in his big hand.

His lover shuddered beneath him, and he tugged both nipples at the same time—one with his fingers and the other with a harsh suck—and Uraume whimpered.

Sukuna was dizzy with hunger.

He was being so good to them—so patient.

Surely, he deserved a reward.

Hands were pulling at his hair—trying to yank him away from sensitive nipples as he popped most of their breast into his mouth, sucking at delicate skin with a pleased hum.

“Sukuna—”

He shifted his mouth to the other breast, switching to roll the now-moistened bud between calloused fingertips.

“Yes?”

Their flesh was so sweet. So soft, so perfect. He worried the dainty nipple in his mouth with gentle scrapes of sharp canines, and didn’t miss the way Uraume’s heart raced beneath his touch.

“Stop teasing...”

Their thighs were shifting, squeezing and rubbing together to apply pressure of any sort on their little clit. Sukuna couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic gesture.

“Open your legs. Let me see that precious hole.”

Uraume flushed but complied, bringing their knees up and out. Sukuna hummed his approval, one of the hands around their waist slipping down to caress their soddened folds. Deft fingers slid from their perked clit to their soaked hole, circling their entrance slowly.

He pulled off their breast with an obscene pop, moving to press a chaste kiss to their bitten lips.

“Be good and keep those legs open.”

Uraume nodded as he worked their lips with his, slow and sensual. His thick middle finger applied pressure to their fluttering hole, breaching their entrance slowly. They sucked in a breath, and he hushed them with another press of his lips, slowing his finger to let them adjust.

They were so fucking tight.

“Focus on my lips. Relax your body.”

One knuckle in and they were clenching around the intrusion, inexperienced muscles trying to reject the finger pushing its way inside. Slowly, he pressed in further.

A metallic tang tainted his mouth. Four eyes flew open as sharp teeth dug into his lip, Uraume bearing down as his finger bottomed out. He sucked in a breath through sharp teeth, extracting his lip to lick his wound with a chuckle.

“Took my finger well.”

Uraume was looking up at him with blown pupils, lips bloodied and parted, and it took everything in him to not throw their legs over his shoulders and take them right then.

His two hands on their breasts settled for smoothing the skin with gentle thumbs. The finger inside them curled up a little, caressing their soft walls slowly until Uraume melted into the bed. He pulled his middle finger almost entirely out of their now-pliant body before pressing back in. He kept it slow, let them adjust to the pressure of his moving finger, as he pressed more kisses to those bloodied lips.

“How’s it feeling?”

Uraume moaned into his mouth, and Sukuna was on fire.

The middle finger increased in pace, the pad of his thumb coming up to rub loose circles around their clit. As soon as they were sufficiently wet, he slipped another finger inside. Nails scratched at his scalp, Uraume’s slender fingers tangled in his hair for support.

He repeated the process until Uraume was clenching around four fat fingers, drool gathering at the corner of their mouth and eyes glassy.

“Trying to swallow my hand whole, huh?”

Sukuna wasn’t much better off himself. Both cocks were angrily red now, slobbering against Uraume’s slender thigh.

“Sukuna, please—”

They were spreading their legs, so wet around his fingers. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He pulled his fingers out, strings of Uraume’s syrupy release connecting each digit. He rubbed it over his lower cock, hissing at the touch.

“Shh… I know. I know.”

He was lining himself up, soaked cockhead running up and down their slit slowly. Each drag against their clit had them whimpering, each nudge against their hole had them gasping—Uraume was a symphony of pleasure on the precipice, and Sukuna couldn’t help but tease them a little longer than he should have.

Uraume was rocking back into him impatiently, pulling him close by the hair. The audacity. Sukuna couldn’t help but grin, stilling where he was bumping against their hole.

“Sukuna—”

“Uraume.”

Burgundy pierced into him, kiss-bitten lips pressed into a defiant line despite the drool glistening at the corners.

“Do it properly.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh.

What a fascinating little human.

“Properly?” He gathered them into his arms, leaning down to press a kiss to their temple. “I’d break you, little one. Split you right in two.”

Uraume whined, pressing back into him encouragingly. Sukuna stilled the movement with a big hand on their hip.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.”

He pulled back, sitting up to look at them properly. The way they were looking at him was so honest. Their pupils were blown, pale skin now flushed and sweat-sheened all over. It was so raw. So delicious.

“You’re going to regret this.” A big hand—one that rested on their breast—brushed sweaty bangs back from where they were stuck to their forehead.

“I hope so.”

The way they grinned at him had his heart stuttering—they were so full of fire for someone made of ice.

“Once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.” He mumbled, caressing their cheek with a thick thumb.

“I’m counting on that.”

Sukuna could never deny them.

He took a deep breath, then pressed in. The squeeze was almost impossible—it gripped him, sucked him inside in a way that had his head lolling back and his eyes pressing shut.

Fuckfuckfuck—

Someone was moaning continuously, and in his sex-addled brain, he wasn’t sure which one of them it was. He wanted to stop—wanted to let them adjust to the impossible girth—but he couldn’t slow his hips. He pressed and pressed and pressed, all four hands gripping at their waist and hips to pull them into him.

When cockhead met cervix, Sukuna whimpered.

Deep in this pussy was the closest to heaven he had ever been.

The neglected cock on Uraume’s abdomen was weeping, precum filling the dip of their navel.

“Move, Sukuna.”

Sukuna did not take orders. He cut tongues loose from bodies for even making suggestions—he commanded, not complied.

But fuck was he seeing stars.

His hips stuttered deep within them, bumping against their womb with each little thrust. He wanted to enter it. Wanted to feel it wrapped around him. Wanted to paint it white.

Hands were pulling him down by the hair, and his big arms slid to hug them as he pressed his large chest to theirs. He was thrusting so shallowly, the squeeze too tight to move like he so desperately needed to.

He whined into pale hair, and those hands were working his scalp so deliciously. His hips wrenched back and pressed in deep, and the drag had tears welling up in his eyes. Everything was a blur—his whole body was alight, skin prickling and hairs standing on end.

Soft lips met his neck, then his shoulder, and he was squeezing his eyes closed so tight that he was seeing colours behind closed eyelids. His hips moved faster, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, copious amounts of precum slicking the way. Uraume muffled moans into his shoulder, and it only served to make him ache.

He was drilling into Uraume now, grunting into the top of their head animalistically. The cock sandwiched between them slipped deliciously against Uraume’s slicked tummy, twitching to match the one lodged deep inside them. Their walls were so wet and warm—sopping with their impending climax. His abs tensed and untensed rhythmically, dancing on the edge between pain and pleasure as he forced down his release.

Pink lips unlocked from his skin, and Uraume was throwing their head back into the pillows. Sukuna chased their warmth with his mouth, pressing kisses to their pulse. His canines ached to sink into something—mark and mar that pale perfect skin, paint it in his crimson. He thrust a little rougher, slowing down to pound and stretch them properly.

“Sukuna—”

It was so beautifully broken, more of a gasp than a word.

He hummed against their neck, brows knit in concentration.

I know.

I know.

I know.

Ankles were wrapping around his waist, and two big hands flew to support trembling thighs.

Sukuna grunted in their ear, and they were soaked. The tight hole clenched down around him, spasming as slick gushed out around the thick shaft. He pistoned into them, moaning with each rhythmic contraction onto his cock.

It was so wet.

So good.

So good.

So good, so good, so good—

Sukuna Ryomen prided himself on his sharp wit and battle-hardened mind; his decisions were quick and never wrong, always alert and on-guard. He was a bloodied blade, ever-sharp, always swinging at the strongest. Nothing caught him by surprise, no one got the best of him.

Uraume’s release snuck up on him.

It knocked the wind out of his lungs.

They were cumming so hard—shaky thighs squeezing around his waist, release dampening the sheets below them as they squirted all over his cock. He was being sucked in so deep. As tip kissed womb, sticky and sloppy, all he could do was melt. His balls squeezed, pleasure shooting from the tips of his toes and the top of his head down to the tip of his too-stiff cocks.

And he was cumming.

His climax tore through him like a heart attack, and he tensed—rope after rope of his seed shot out of him, gushing onto the entrance to their womb. Rhythmic clenches of Uraume’s release coaxed more and more cum out of him, milking his full balls. The divot of his glans dug further into swollen cervix with each shaky jolt of his hips, and his mouth was falling open against their shoulder.

Uraume was moving against him, almost riding him through his high, and Sukuna had never felt so useless. A small hand was weaseling its way between their bodies, rubbing and tugging at the neglected erection on Uraume’s stomach.

He was cumming so hard that he couldn’t see—eyelids open or shut, his vision blurred, all his senses homed in on the pleasure ravaging his cocks. All he could do was lay there and take it, cum shooting all over their chest and spitting into their womb.

Gentle kisses woke him from his stupor, pressed to his jaw and cheek.

Sukuna blinked back prickly tears, eyes stinging from the intensity of his release. Cum was still dripping out of him, drooling uncontrollably.

“Can’t stop—”

Faraway and ruined, he couldn’t recognize his own voice.

Uraume laughed, something musical and light, and soft fingertips were dancing down his back. A shiver ran down his spine, and his cocks twitched, dripping out the last of his release pathetically.

“It’s okay.”

Uraume hugged him close. His too-sensitive cock was trapped under his flinching abdomen, but he hugged them back, gathering them into his heaving chest. Their scent, their pulse under the tip of his nose, was intoxicating. Though the cock between their bellies softened, the one nestled inside Uraume was hard as ever.

“Again.”

Uraume tensed in his arms before barking out a laugh incredulously.

“Sukuna—”

“I told you.”

He pulled back, taking in that flushed expression—so wrecked.

Just for him.

“Once I start, I can’t stop.”

***

Uraume had lost count of how many times they’d finished.

Sukuna Ryomen was many things, but he was not a liar.

They hadn’t stopped. Not even for a moment.

He had been inside them for hours now, learning their body intimately. He had been so pliant, at the beginning—so patient and warm, letting them get used to his love. But somewhere in the middle, something clicked. Some switch was flipped irreversibly inside him.

Sukuna Ryomen was a beast.

Sukuna caught his breath by stealing the air from their lungs. He stayed buried so deep inside them that they were an extension of one another. They were overflowing around his massive shaft, and coated in cooling cum from the neglected second cock on their stomach—marked inside and out.

It was too much.

If they came one more time, they weren’t going to be able to move anymore.

Muscles trembling, they flipped onto their swollen stomach. Their clit was throbbing between shaking thighs, their nipples painfully hard as they lifted themselves onto their elbows, shimmying away from Sukuna to hide in the pillows. The drag of his cock out of their abused hole had their eyes rolling back into their skull. They left a dark trail of cum and slick on the mattress, and they could feel Sukuna’s eyes on their splurting hole.

“Is my little dove trying to fly away?” He chased them up the mattress, nose tracing the column of their neck before nipping playfully at their shoulder. “How cute.”

Uraume whimpered, so full. How Sukuna was still hard, now throbbing against their ass, they had no idea. That fat cockhead was nudging them open again, despite their closed legs. Sukuna’s knees bracketed their thighs, and he was slipping inside. The squelch of their juices around his thick shaft was obscene.

Uraume would have felt embarrassed. If they could have. With each inch of Sukuna’s length, their mind got hazier, replaced by the impossible stretch.

“So fuckin’ tight for me.”

A big hand was palming at their ass, watching it jiggle under his touch. Uraume buried their face into the pillows to muffle a broken whine.

“Think you can take both now?”

Uraume’s eyes were rolling back into their skull at the thought, and Sukuna didn’t miss the way they were clenching around his length.

“Did you just cum a little? Oh, baby—”

The saccharine in his voice, the cooing concern, was so degrading. It shot right to their clit.

A second cockhead was nudging its way between the mounds of their ass, sparks shooting up their spine when it nudged against their already too-full entrance.

“Open up for me.”

That rasp left no room for argument, and Uraume was pressing back into him with a groan.

The tip breached their entrance, and it burned.

Sukuna was splitting them open, tearing them straight in half.

He was pressing impossibly deeper—not giving them even a second of respite between each mind-numbing inch—hissing through his teeth.

As soon as he bottomed out, their stomach prodded by two fat tips, he was moving. It was rough, fast, needy.

Sukuna Ryomen, the imaginary two-faced God, was nothing more than a dog in heat.

He humped them with little grunts, tonguing at the beads of sweat rolling down their neck from now-matted hair. Those full balls spanked their sensitive clit with each thrust, and the filthy noise had them impossibly wetter.

“You’re mine.” He growled against their shoulder, more felt than heard, sharp teeth grazing over the tender flesh there. “Mine, ‘raume.”

A large hand beneath their tummy slid down further. Pleasure shot to their clit as a thick finger worked it hard and fast, matching the chaotic pace of his thrusts. The air was being punched out of their lungs with each bruising knock to their cervix and spongy G-spot. Uraume couldn’t do anything but grip onto the pillows for dear life.

“Gonna mark you up so good.”

Precum heated their insides, flooding their deepest spots and soiling their abused cervix. Another big hand found their ass cheek, palming at it before pulling it aside to bare more of their overstretched hole. Just like that, he managed to press in a little deeper. Uraume didn’t have to turn around to know what Sukuna was watching it—watching himself enter.

Being pinned down and fucked—used like a toy—had Uraume’s eyes fluttering back. If Sukuna was making any sense, Uraume couldn’t register. Their mind was a litany of curses, an incoherent cacophony of cries, a paean of praise and prayer.

Everything was hot, everything was tingling, and they were so soaked in sweat and spit and slick that it felt like they were drowning.

Their release ripped through them. They were squirting on Sukuna’s cock before they could even moan his name. The wet slap of his balls against their leaking cunt was pornographic.

Sukuna groaned against their nape. Pain tore through the sensitive skin there, and Sukuna was biting them—bearing down on the tender flesh with big canines. Just like that, they were being filled. Sukuna was cumming harder than he had before, seated so deep inside that Uraume could feel his semen filling their womb. Uraume’s jaw fell open to scream but no sound came out—a whimper escaped from behind their uvula, like a wounded animal.

Sukuna’s twin cocks twitched and bucked wildly inside as he pumped them full. Cum flooded out of their overflooding hole, painting their ass and Sukuna’s pelvis a sticky, milky white.

Sukuna pulled out and flipped them over in one swift movement, final dribbles of cum painting their clit and belly. Red eyes bore into their flesh, taking in their post-climax debauched state. Uraume pressed their legs a little tighter together, bashfully.

Sukuna wasn’t having it. Thick fingers squeezed gently around their neck. Uraume’s eyes shot open, and Sukuna pulled back to watch as their eyes fluttered at the headrush. Their lips parted, red and puffy from biting on them, and Sukuna looked ravenous.

“Spread those legs and open that mouth.”

Uraume, in no condition to protest as the hand clamped a little tighter, obeyed.

Sukuna spit onto their exposed tongue.

“Behave.”

Sukuna released their throat, free hand coming down to flick at their cum-coated clit. Uraume’s hips bucked with a whimper, their legs opening wider shakily. Sukuna hummed his approval, rewarding their obedience with a soothing thumb on their sensitive bud. He dipped into Uraume’s gushing hole, gathering up cum to slick the movement of his thumb against their clit. He watched the movement, transfixed, before leaning down to mouth at where Uraume’s ear met their jaw.

“So full of my seed...”

Uraume whimpered, writhing in his grasp at the teasing of their overstimulated body. Their neck was throbbing where Sukuna bit them earlier, and their skin was so impossibly hot that it felt like they were burning alive.

It was too much.

Once again, they attempted to wiggle away.

Once again, they failed.

Sukuna’s big hands were grabbing at their thighs, yanking them around like a doll. He lifted their legs onto his shoulders, pressing a kiss to each ankle with a wicked grin.

“I told you. We’re not stopping any time soon.”

***

Sukuna gazed down at his work of art.

The sun was low in the sky now, courtyard swathed in orange. The sky was a vibrant pink, a waking dream as day faded to night. Yet, Sukuna noticed none of it.

No. His eyes were elsewhere.

Uraume lay prone beneath him. Their small asscheeks were red and shiny with sweat, faint handprints on them from his rough handling. They were looking back at him, pupils blown and glassy, and he heated under their gaze. Puffy lips curved into a smile, and Sukuna couldn’t help but smile back, placing a steadying hand between their shoulders.

He wanted to keep them here, like this, forever.

They were so beautiful. Glowing.

Broken.

His little dove, with broken wings.

He felt so warm, so full, at the sight. The hole in his heart… it was them.

Seeing them here, under him, he finally felt fulfilled.

Complete.

His hand slid up to their nape, teasing the short pale hair there. His thumb brushed along the column of their neck, skimming the edge of his masterpiece.

That freckle.

Around that little mark, a ring of indents—two sets of large teeth framed the mole, red and spit-shined.

The mark itself? His favourite colour.

Burgundy.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[egglain-archive]

Dove, Darker Than Blood

Rating: E (18+) - mdni Pairing: Sukuna x Uraume Content: pre-canon (heian era), sukume origin story, true form sukuna, vaginal sex (oral, penetrative), creampies, double penetration in one hole (vaginal), very mild choking, marking (biting, cum, spit), multiple orgasms, marathon sex, soft sex turned rough, overstim, body worship, first times, soft & possessive sukuna Word Count: 10.4k

Summary: “Do you wish to be bed?” Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention. “Look at me.” The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating. “Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?” Fuck.

A murder. A meeting. A question. An answer. A Heian era origin fic.

Red.

What a beautiful colour it was, all over the wooden floor.

Long brown tresses spilled from between veiny fingers, Sukuna’s large hand dwarfing the head they were attached to. The head, however, was no longer attached to anything. Vibrant vermillion drained from once-flushed cheeks, staining the kitchen floor ever-darker. Warmth pooled between black-nailed toes, blood from his ex-chef painting a pretty picture of an ugly end.

“You there.” Sukuna gestured with the severed head at a trembling maid. “Can you cook, woman?”

The woman hung her head low, measly tears spilling onto her now-crimson apron. “No, my Lord.”

“Tch. Useless.” The king’s grimace turned to another, who shook her pallid face immediately. Sukuna dropped the cook’s head, kicking it away with a grunt. “Absolutely fucking useless. Every one of you.”

The servants knew better than to respond. Knew better than to breathe. The room was still enough to hear a heart beating—and several were, rapidly. Sukuna turned on his heel, the squelch of blood underfoot enough to make the head maid gag.

“Find me a chef… and clean up this mess,” Sukuna announced to no one in particular.

As the king stormed off, red spilled into the hisashi.

***

Sukuna’s head rest heavy on a large fist, tattooed limbs sprawled out on the dais.

“Next.”

It had been a long morning of meagre meals. Bumbling cooks spilled bland boiled food in the entryway, one of his taste testers dropped dead, and three separate chefs had refused to cook meat (claiming it was “impure”). Sukuna had never felt less appetized.

He was just about ready to call the whole thing off—make a point of picking the meat off the bones of these cowardly cooks instead—as the last candidate stepped forth. A little thing, just a bit over half his size if he had to guess (not that his tallest servant reached any higher than his sternum). The chef fell to their knees to bow deeply at the foot of the dais, pale bangs sweeping the wooden floor.

Sukuna gestured his taster forward with two curled fingers. A mousy man ushered forth a large bowl, golden liquid sloshing as he carried it to the king.

“What is this?”

The taster placed the bowl on the stout lacquered table before Sukuna, bowing. “Sou—”

“Not you, fool.” He waved the man away, sitting up a little more to peer inside the bowl. “Chef. Speak.”

The white-haired cook spoke without raising their head, and yet their voice was clear. Calm. “Braised boar in a bone broth, my Lord. With local vegetables.”

Sukuna hummed, lifting the bowl to sip straight from the brim. Warmth spread from the tip of his tongue straight down to his stomach—it was good. Better than good, even. It reminded him of home—rather, what he imagined home would taste like. It was rich but simple. Well-made.

If this commoner can piece a dish like this together on their own, what could they make with the world at their fingertips?

Sukuna picked out a piece of meat with fat fingers, the flesh falling off the bone. He popped it into his mouth, reveling in the savory flavour as it melted onto his tongue. He bit back a satisfied groan, clearing his throat to mask his pleasure.

He set down the bowl, licking the pad of his thumb greedily. “Raise your head.”

The cook obeyed, hands folding politely on the lap of their white kimono. Pale lashes and short white hair framed a delicate face. Big burgundy eyes met his, and something in his gut stirred.

Interesting.

“State your name.”

“Uraume, my Lord.”

“Uraume, huh?” He let the name roll on his tongue, committing it to memory as he took them in. He turned to the maid holding his sake to the right of his dais. “Show Uraume around, woman. They start in the morning.”

As the woman rushed to usher his new chef to the kitchen, the king turned his intense gaze to the rest of the room.

“Everyone who wishes to keep their head, leave my sight.”

And so, the King of Curses enjoyed his soup alone.

***

Sukuna was right—not that he was ever wrong, per se—but the new little chef amused him more and more each day.

With access to a nearly endless supply of funds, every dish was something akin to a painting; each stroke was unique, elements curating a feeling—an experience. They put their brown-haired predecessor to shame. Sukuna had never been gladder someone was dead.

Three months had passed since their onboarding, and he had grown to like this Uraume. Aside from the good food, they had a strong spirit—not many of his servants could meet his eyes, let alone provide coherent answers to his questions. Needless to say, his days had been much more interesting as of late. He grew to look forward to his meals, even when he was full from the last one.

He had even started to opt out of having the maids deliver his food, requesting Uraume personally. It was better this way—they would explain the dish to him, taste it first, and then watch him eat. Not that he needed the company. But he’d grown to enjoy their silent presence. On occasion, he’d ask a question or two.

Which is how they had gotten here.

“A virgin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

It had nothing to do with the dish—thinly chopped raw fish and vegetables pickled in rice vinegar—but Sukuna’s mouth was watering nonetheless.

“I was raised to become a monk, my Lord.”

“Is that what you wish to be? Why become a chef?”

“Being your chef is my honor, Lord Sukuna.”

“And the latter question?”

They looked down, hands squeezing together a little tighter where they were clasped in front of them. “There was an accident, my Lord.”

His brow quirked on instinct, and he hoped it didn’t betray his cold persona. It was unlike the King of Curses to show interest in anything other than himself.

“You are no longer pure?” He said it slowly, tasting the syllables. They left a complicated taste on his tongue—something bitter and rotten. Spoiled.

“No, sir. I…”

There was a long silence. Had it been anyone else, Sukuna would have grown bored—perhaps even beheaded the perpetrator. But with Uraume, it was exciting. He couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. Try to understand them a little more. It was like unraveling the wrapping on a gift, plucking jewels from an unseemly fabric satchel.

So he waited.

“I killed.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed.

Killing, to the King of Curses, was like breathing—he hardly thought twice about it. It was what he was made for, after all. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Uraume, bless their heart, jumped a little at the display.

“Troublesome for a monk indeed. How did that happen?”

“I was seeing spirits, my Lord.”

“Dead relatives?”

“No, my Lord. Curses.”

Interesting indeed.

“Cursed spirits? A little human like you?” He leaned forward, hands clasping over his bowl of namasu—he rested his chin on top. “A jujutsu sorcerer, then?”

“Jujutsu…?”

Something in his chest fluttered. His chef was like a baby bird—a dove so pure, so beautiful, so full of life.

He wanted to snap their wings.

“Come forth, Uraume.”

The chef came up on the dais, bowing deeply at his feet. Their pale bangs tickled the tips of his sensitive toes.

Sukuna hummed a pleased noise, reaching a large hand down to lift their small face with gentle fingers.

“Watch.”

He pulled his hand back a little, holding his index finger before their burgundy eyes.

“Open.”

At the command, light sparked above his fingertip. Thin tendrils of flame danced from the tip of his index down to the base, then weaved between his digits, lapping at the webs between his fingers. Golden light danced across Uraume’s soft features, their eyes trained on the movement with reverent fascination.

“The practice of siphoning the energy within you—the cursed energy—into something tangible. Honing it into a technique, as a sculptor uses a chisel to bring stone to life. That is jujutsu sorcery.”

He reached another hand down, pulling Uraume’s palm flat out. The dancing flame in his right hand took the shape of an arrow, and he set it forth into Uraume’s hand. Uraume’s eyes widened as the arrow danced along their palm and around their wrist, tracing the delicate bones of their hand. Sukuna chuckled a little, puffing up with pride at eliciting such a raw reaction out of his little cook.

“Most people who can see cursed spirits are cursed themselves; cursed with this power, or a curse themselves.”

“Which are you, my Lord?” The question was barely a whisper, large pupils still trained on the dancing flame.

“Both. Neither.” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve transcended the concept of these binaries. I’m beyond any sorcerer or curse of this age.”

“Teach me.” Those burgundy eyes were back on his. Bright. Unyielding. “Please, Lord Sukuna.”

If you were to ask Ryomen Sukuna, he would answer that he would never stoop as low as to become a teacher. There were professional tutors for that, surely. Arrogant weak sorcerers looking to make a living. Looking to make a name for themselves.

Sukuna Ryomen was a king. A God. He didn’t teach. He took. Plundered, maimed, massacred. He didn’t need a living—he had everything he could ever want, and he stole what he didn’t. And he sure didn’t need a legacy—he would never be forgotten.

“We start tomorrow.”

***

Uraume was strong.

Their powers, complementary to his flames, were that of ice. Each day, just after lunch, he met them in the courtyard and guided them through the exercises he used to explore his power in his younger days. He saw himself in them—potential. Something raw, waiting to be discovered. Something twisted, lurking just under the surface, raring to be unleashed.

Watching them discover themselves filled him with pride… and something else. Something dark that lapped at his insides—something he had yet to understand.

With another three months—now half a year since he hired them—Uraume had become more than a chef. He took his meals with Uraume, had them take on more responsibilities, and fired half his incompetent staff.

He liked it better, like this. They knew how he liked his baths (scalding and paired with the smell of incense). They knew what he liked to eat (meat, preferably human). They knew how to clean the blood out of his sokutai so it remained pristine. They combed his hair gentler than his handmaid did. They shared the weekly news over Friday breakfast.

He could get used to this.

And alongside the exceptional service, Uraume could fight beside him. Hold their own not only on the battlefield but in all aspects of life. They had big ideas—suggestions, improvements—not only as they pertained to him, but for all of Japan. Sukuna had never had a figure like this in his life; a mirror, someone he’d let critique him, make him better. He would have never allowed that. But somehow, Uraume had found their way under his skin… and he had no complaints.

Yet, there was always something there.

Something missing, buzzing like a fruit fly next to his ear. Barely there, but increasingly difficult to ignore.

He had grown… unsatisfied, somewhere along the way, in some realm he couldn’t identify.

He had everything his mind wanted—he had no qualms with his daily routine, no annoyances that weren’t swiftly sorted out by Uraume or a slash of his hand.

So why?

What was this restless feeling?

The palace was quieter nowadays. Without the “baggage” staff (the nitwits he had released from their duties), all that remained were the housekeepers, the gardeners, a handful of maids, and his concubines. He never cared much for the latter two, but they did the menial tasks he was too busy to think about—mend clothes, pour sake, get him off. Save for the last task, Uraume now had these jobs handled, rendering the few staff he kept useless. Now thinking back on it, he hadn’t called upon any of his concubines in almost four months.

Sex was like fighting, for him. A thrill, a power struggle, an outlet. It kept him level-headed; gave him a way to deal with his emotions that didn’t involve bloodshed… usually.

He hadn’t needed it in a long time. He got his thrill from the company he kept, from watching flame engulf ice in the courtyard. He didn’t need an outlet either—everything was so easy now. Uraume ensured it.

So why?

Reading in his chamber, he rolled the idea around in his head.

He had read the same line thrice now, and none of the words were sticking. His mind was hazy, cotton-filled, a sieve rather than a sponge.

He didn’t like feeling like this. On-edge. Wrong.

So, he did what he always did when displeased.

Slaughter.

He took a midnight trip outside of the boundaries of his territory. Normally, he’d come by daylight with his bow—train his eyesight, hone his aim, polish his strategy and patience. But not tonight. Tonight, he needed to feel alive.

Inside the bounds of his territory, all was still. Sukuna Ryomen was written in the rigid trunks of the trees, in the roots, in the soil. Anyone stupid enough to set foot in an unwelcome manner was promptly disposed of—cleaved so thoroughly that no power, jujutsu or otherwise, could piece them back together. These lands were an extension of himself. This was his domain. His turf.

The world outside his carefully curated home was chaos. In the golden age of magic, culture, and creativity, cursed energy reached an all-time high. Cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcerers fed off the changing times like parasites, growing in tandem from the shadows of society.

This, of course, caused a problem for the poor; cursed spirits massacred lowly fishing and farming villages, and jujutsu sorcerers were far too busy protecting the imperial core to deal with the hundreds of incidents occurring in the far corners of the nation.

Sukuna didn’t care much for politics, though he was not uninvolved—his hands were dirtied with the blood of countless clan heads and generals. The people had come to fear and revere him, and it was oddly… fulfilling. Humans mounted shrines, left out offerings of food, art, and weaponry in hopes of warding off his fabled wrath. These humans served as a source—a wellspring of labor, food, clothing, entertainment, and cursed energy. He fed off them (sometimes quite literally).

Though he was in no way a guardian, he had come to a sort of symbiosis with the villages bordering his territory. Over time, they had become an extension of his home. The aura shrouding their houses—his aura—warded most curses away. The weak ones, at least. However, the humans were left to fend for themselves against the stronger ones—those who hungered for power, to assert their claim over someone else’s possessions, like petulant children. In exchange for their piety, he lent a hand, when he felt like it. Had a little fun with the curses encroaching on their lands. By now, most knew to get themselves indoors upon his arrival, for when he let go, there was no difference between human and cursed blood on his hands.

This is where he found himself now, the woods just outside the border of a little farming village.

The smell of fear, the hushed prayers of the women and children, the low murmur of curses in the trees—it was intoxicating.

He let himself go, in a way he hadn’t in ages.

Throats ripped from bodies, bloodstained teeth prying open flesh. Screams mounted somewhere in the distance—human or curse, he couldn’t tell. Adrenaline pumped through raised veins, pulsing with each deafening pop of a spinal cord severing. Skulls imploded in his big hands, sticky innards spilling like juice from a too-ripe fruit between his fingers.

This is what made Sukuna Ryomen whole.

He returned early in the morning, bloodied and buzzing.

In his arms, the spoils of his adventure—gifts from the little humans, slightly soddened from the syrupy blood dripping from his chin.

And yet, the itch he sought to scratch…

“Lord Sukuna?”

Sukuna didn’t bother to wipe his soiled feet as he walked in from the courtyard. At the sound of that familiar tone, he looked up.

Uraume was looking at him, something unreadable in their eyes. Their hair stuck out a little—almost as if they had been sleeping when he returned. Sukuna Ryomen didn’t sleep, but if he did, he imagined he would be doing it now.

“Uraume.”

“Shall I draw a bath, my Lord?”

Sukuna looked down at himself. He was dripping muddy, filthy blood on his clean wooden floors. Two months ago, he wouldn’t have minded—in fact, blood was once a beautiful sight—but now…

“Yes… but don’t wake the others.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe he wanted Uraume to be the one to do it. Perhaps he always did.

“Of course.”

They plucked the offerings from his arms, bowing politely before taking their leave. He expected they’d be polished and put away for his later amusement. Against the wall, Sukuna took a few moments to steel himself before making his way to the baths.

Something was still wrong. It roiled in his gut like a spoiled meal, hummed in the back of his mind like a migraine that refused to manifest.

Why was he on-edge like this?

Why was he off?

Usually, killing did the trick, but whatever void there was inside him hadn’t been satisfied. In fact, attempting to cure his problem just made it worse when it didn’t work.

Fuck.

In the bathhouse, Uraume greeted him, steam and smoke filling the room. He let them strip him down, taking in their focused eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, knuckles straining against tan skin. He had never paid much mind when the other maids did this, but something about their slender fingers brushing against him—even through the thick fabric—affected him. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Uraume.”

“Yes, my Lord?” They made quick work of folding his bloodied clothes and setting them aside. By supper, they would be brand new again.

He called upon them, but he wasn’t sure what he needed. Uraume was always so good at giving him what he needed, so long as he had the words to ask for it—but this was different.

“I’m uncomfortable.”

Uraume’s eyes widened and they backed off immediately, turning around to give him privacy in his nude state.

“No—not with you.” He placed a gentle hand on their shoulder, turning them around again. His brows were scrunched somewhere between pain and annoyance, but it wasn’t pointed at them. It was an unfocused irritation. And that only served to make it more irritating. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, worrying the skin there. “I just… there’s something not right. I’m missing something, and I don’t know what it is. I want to have it. No. I need to have it.”

Uraume ushered him into the water with a pensive hum, hand guiding him by the small of his back. Had it been anyone else, he would have cut it off… but instead, warmth spread through his spine down to the soles of his feet.

For a moment, it brought him out of his head, and back to the present.

Touch.

Right then, it was all he could focus on. It quelled the vibration in his ribs, the restless tension in his ligaments. It was a salve.

“Uraume.” He took a seat at the far end of the bath, four arms sprawling out onto the tile behind him. “Clean me quickly. Then wake the concubine—the short one with the curves and the mole. I want her in my chambers.”

Uraume looked at him, that strange look once again dancing in those big burgundy eyes.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Uraume made quick work of cleaning him, scrubbing him down with practiced ease. On special occasions, he’d receive a full body massage—the chef had a way with their hands that had the tension in his four shoulders melting away—but not this morning. Something in him stung a little, at that. But it was no matter; he’d get his physical attention elsewhere.

As soon as his hair was wrung out, the last of the entrails combed out, he was being plucked from the water. Uraume dried him gingerly and wrapped him up in his yukata.

“Can you comb your hair, my Lord? I’ll go wake your concubine.”

The displeasure mounted. Yet, he grunted an affirmation. Uraume gave him a last look-over, that faraway look in their eyes once again, before hurrying off.

Sukuna took his time “brushing” his slicked hair (shaking it this way and that, and then fixing it with his fingers) before making his way to his chamber. The morning was cresting, birds beginning to sing their song as sunlight bathed the courtyard and gardens in gold. The pond in the centre of the palace grounds glimmered, bouncing light in a way that grated at his nerves—it was too beautiful out to feel misery, and that only made him feel worse.

Opening the shoji screen to his room, he was greeted by his little concubine, waiting bowed on the floor obediently. He crossed the threshold and shut the door, not bothering to spare her a glance as he strode towards the large bed.

“Come, woman.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, beckoning her with two fingers to the spot between his parted legs. Without a word, she scurried over, kneeling between his knees. Well-manicured hands reached to untie his yukata.

A large hand slapped away two smaller ones.

The concubine—large eyes filled with hurt—did not look up to meet his eyes.

“My apologies, Lord Sukuna… I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” He looked down at her, running a large hand through long black strands of hair. She was quite beautiful. Plump, glowing—perfect to bear a strong heir. “Begin at my feet.”

He played this game sometimes.

Degraded those he slept with. Reminded them of their place beneath him, of their dispensability. On occasion, he’d reward them—let them cling to him as he kissed away tears, cock gliding home deep inside. Other times, he’d push them to the edge—face pressed to the pillows or neck in the crook of his elbow as he used them until he was satisfied.

He wasn’t sure what mood he was in now.

He slid his foot towards her, black-painted toenails wiggling impatiently. The concubine dropped her head, kissing a stripe from his second toe to the junction between his foot and shin. Sukuna watched as she groveled by his feet, playing with her hair. She kissed at the sharp bones of his ankle, then at the arch of his foot. She lifted it gingerly, kissing the ball of his sole and his heel, and he couldn’t help but imagine how her head would feel under it. The noise of her skull as he bore down on it.

He let her take each of his toes into her mouth—he didn’t care for it much, but he allowed it. She seemed determined to please him, and he appreciated that. She kissed up his shin and massaged his calf, and that felt quite nice. Yet, it paled in comparison to Uraume’s massages.

No, Uraume would have him falling back into the bed. Soft fingertips would pry tender flesh from tired bones, apply pressure in a way that had his muscles jumping. They would work their way up his quads with both hands. Dig their thumb into the supple flesh of his inner thigh. Work the adductor until he was melting, up, up, up, so dangerously close to—

Fuck

A whimper brought him back to the present— beneath him, his concubine was grimacing, black locks tangled tight in a white-knuckled fist. He dropped the hair like it was hot, rubbing her scalp as if to soothe the burn. Sukuna sighed at the teary look in her eye, another hand coming down to wipe her damp lashes dry.

“You did well.”

The concubine sniffled, and he sighed at the sound. He was hard, but the longer he looked at her dejected face, the more likely he was to lose his boner.

“Strip.”

The woman did as she was told, kimono pooling around her wide hips. Once again, he was reminded of her beauty. Supple breasts perked with the chilled morning air, nipples pebbling. A soft tummy, spilling over pillowy thighs, painted a delicious portrait. His eyes fixated on the mole just below her navel—the one he marked each time she was in his bed—and his mind couldn’t help but wander to a different one.

That one was beautiful. It was a light brown thing—small and freckle-like—jutting out against pale skin and short white hair on a soft nape. The curve of that neck was tantalizing; so pure and unmarked, save for that one little freckle. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to suck on it, to paint that pale neck in his favourite colour.

“Lord Sukuna?”

The woman below him was offering up her breasts with sultry eyes. Four months ago, she would have been weeping into his pillows already, stuffed full and satisfied. Now, all he felt was indifference.

“Leave my sight.”

“Lord Sukuna, let me—”

“Call Uraume for me on your way out.” He stood, walking to the window. “I need to speak with them.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little lighter as footsteps receded and the shoji slid open.

But what the fuck was wrong with him?

He slammed his hands down on the windowsill. He wanted to feast. Wanted to fuck. Wanted to feel free from whatever this curse was that was weighing on him. The thrumming in his veins, the itch in his bones that had been following him for what felt like an eternity now, he wanted it gone.

He had it all planned out—a slender throat under his fingers, a tight cunt fluttering around him. Pussies on fingers, fingers in mouths, mouths on skin. Flesh in teeth. Supple skin between his incisors, that fucking freckle bruis—

“You called, my Lord?”

Uraume.

“Come in… and shut the door.”

He listened to their graceful movements—much softer than the concubine’s—and couldn’t help but grip the windowsill a little tighter.

Uraume.

It was always Uraume.

***

Uraume had never been summoned by a concubine before—let alone seen one, really, before today. Sukuna rarely seemed interested in matters of romance these days. He had little connection to others, sexual or otherwise, aside from them. Not that Uraume minded at all.

The man was standing by the window, back turned to them, yukata just as pristine as when they left him in the bath. The way his body was curved—like a bow drawn too tight—betrayed the evenness of his tone.

What did that concubine do?

They took a few tentative steps forward, falling into a deep bow at his feet.

When it came to Sukuna Ryomen, it was always better to err on the side of piety.

“Uraume…”

The voice was low and rough—almost breathless. Something fluttered in the pit of Uraume’s stomach.

“I’m here, my Lord.”

“I’ve been… unhappy. Plagued.” He said it slowly, as if trying the words for the first time.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my Lor—”

“Plagued by you.”

Something icy ran through their veins. It was as if their heart stopped, in that moment, frozen over.

They’d fucked up.

They’d fucked up.

Uraume pressed their forehead to the tatami, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Trying to blend into the floor. Trying to disappear.

“My apologies, Lord Sukun—”

“You’ve been invading my thoughts.”

A beat.

The king turned around, and Uraume could feel his heavy gaze raking over the nape of their neck.

“I can’t bear it any longer.”

Uraume’s head spun.

Their stomach was in knots, dropping to the tips of their toes.

Was this how they’d die?

Suddenly? On the floor of Sukuna’s chamber, without reason?

Why?

Short fingernails dug into the tatami, trying to steady the tremor puppeting their bones.

“I wish to bed you, Uraume.”

What?

All was silent for a moment, save for the rush of blood to their ears.

Just like that, a fire ignited somewhere below their navel, melting away at the ice in their veins. Their face heated, thankfully hidden by the tatami.

“Uraume. Speak.”

“Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

Uraume felt more than heard Sukuna fall to his knees before them, ground seemingly dipping under his weight. A large hand was dragging their face up, and four sharp eyes pierced into theirs. Searching.

“You are a virgin.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You wished to become a monk. I don’t seek to take that from you.”

“That door is closed, my Lord. And… I’ve sworn my life to you, Lord Sukuna.”

He raised a large hand, silencing that thought. “Forget about that. Right now, you’re Uraume. Not my chef. Not my assistant. Uraume.”

They nodded slowly in his grasp.

“Do you wish to be bed?”

Uraume couldn’t keep eye contact, face burning under the warmth of Sukuna’s attention.

“Look at me.”

The roughness, the command of his tone made it impossible not to obey. He had never used that voice with them before—no, he was a different man with Uraume. They always knew that, deep down. But being under the weight of that authority—being at the mercy of the King of Curses was… exhilarating.

“Would you let me take your virginity, Uraume?”

Fuck.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“‘Sukuna’.” He stood, untying his yukata slowly. “As it’s your first time… ‘Sukuna’ will suffice.”

Uraume watched as big fingers made elegant work of undoing the sash, fabric slipping off him like water. They had seen his body many times before—but this felt distinctly different.

From the floor, Sukuna Ryomen was more than a man. Warm morning light warmed the edges of golden glistening skin. Thick veins hugged plush muscles—ran down his arms as they folded across his chest, spanned the hard plane where his abdomen met his hips, tracing the delectable lines of his waist. Short pink hair dusted a line under his navel, south, to frame twin tattooed erections. The bands on his skin, bands that had become synonymous with evil, danced in time with the rise and fall of his chest in a way that could only be described as divine.

Sukuna Ryomen was more than a curse, more than a sorcerer. He was an apparition—a God, a demon, something so ethereal and so twisted that it could have never been human. Yet, the way he was looking down at them—the hunger, the softness, the possession—was so real.

All four eyes pinned them to the ground, and Uraume could feel the stakes of his claim nailing into their flesh.

He was waiting for an answer.

Waiting for them.

“Yes… Sukuna.”

Sukuna hummed, low and pleased, extending a large hand to help them off the ground.

“Good. Now strip for me, Uraume.”

***

Sukuna had never seen a creature so… tantalizing.

He wanted to unwrap them. Wanted to tear off their robes, as childish as it was, to get to his gift sooner. But he had to wait. It was their first time, and he wasn’t going to rob Uraume of an unforgettable moment. He wanted them to be comfortable—especially being that he was not the easiest man to bed, even for the most practiced bodies. His impossible size and strength meant that relaxation and preparation were key; of course, with most of his concubines, he forwent this rule and took what he wanted.

But Uraume was not one of them.

They were special.

So he watched, hands balled into fists, as Uraume carefully undid layer after layer of their clothing. Sharp nails dug half-moons into his palms as they unveiled the bottommost layer, their white kosode.

“Sukuna...”

Sukuna’s throat went dry as the final robe slipped off.

He had never cared much about who graced his bed—so long as he had a warm hole and something to grab onto, he was pleased.

But this might just ruin him.

Where he was all hard lines and rippling muscle, Uraume was soft. Tender.

Pale skin reflected the morning light like porcelain. It looked so delicate, spanned the gentle curves of their body—the small mounds of their breasts, the divots between brittle ribs, the jut of their hips. Snow white hair framed now-blushed cheeks, round and glowing. That little brown freckle.

Everything about them was perfect. Pristine. A blank canvas.

He wanted to leave a mark. Needed to leave his mark.

He never bothered to ask pointless “may I?” questions; for him, sex was about taking. Extracting orgasm after orgasm from his partners, using their bodies for his entertainment. He never bothered to ask their preferences; he’d pry them apart on his fingers or his cocks, steal what pleasure he wanted from their mouths or holes or skin. He never bothered with pleasantries, with getting to know his partner; the act was a means to an end. And in the end, he always got what he wanted.

But this moment, as much as it was meant for him—to fix him, to fill the void in his life—it was equally Uraume’s.

So he took a half-step forward.

“You’re beautiful.”

Uraume flushed, and fuck did red look good on them.

“Tell me where I can touch you.”

“My—” they opened their mouth, then closed it. “Sukuna.”

“I’ve only bedded women and men—that I know of. Where does one touch an Uraume?”

Uraume cracked a grin, and Sukuna’s heart did a weak flop. He didn’t realize he was grinning too, until his cheeks started to hurt.

“You can touch me anywhere… I trust you.”

Something in him swelled—other than his cocks, which had been hard for what felt like the better part of an eternity now.

He took another step forward, coming toe-to-toe with his assistant. He brushed the bangs out of their face, then tipped their chin up a little more, to meet their eyes properly.

“I’m going to pick you up now.”

They nodded as two large arms encircled their waist, the other two supporting them under their thighs.

Thin arms flew up to encircle his neck, and Sukuna couldn’t help but admire how much more beautiful Uraume was face-to-face.

“Hurting my back looking down at you, little one.” He chuckled lowly.

Uraume bit back a retort. Sukuna took the opportunity to lean his forehead against theirs, reveling in their heat.

“You’ll need to bear with me as I prepare you.”

“Prepare?”

“Stretch your little virgin hole for my cocks.”

Uraume shuddered in his grasp, and Sukuna couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

They obeyed, as they always did. Sukuna’s dicks twitched, clear precum already beading up.

“Good. I’m going to lick you now. My fingers will slip in easier if you’re wet.”

“Okay…” It came out a little breathless, and Sukuna chuckled softly as he brought Uraume over to the window.

The morning mist over the courtyard was stunning. Uraume rested their head against his shoulder as they looked out the window, and Sukuna couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of their hair. Big hands massaged the backs of slender thighs, then slid up to massage their glutes. A fat tongue lolled out of his lower mouth, licking its lips.

“This alright?” Sukuna whispered into their hair as he held them open, big thumbs brushing along the ridge where thigh met labia.

Uraume nodded against his shoulder.

The tongue pressed up, up, up, laying flat against Uraume’s cunt. At the first contact, they jumped a little in his hold; Sukuna apologized with gentle kisses to their forehead. He didn’t move for a moment, letting them get accustomed to the warmth and wetness of his tongue.

Slowly, it laved back and forth over their entrance. Now it was Sukuna’s turn to shiver.

Fuck.

Uraume had been preparing his meals for half a year now—each one more delicious and exquisite than the last. But this…

This did not compare.

Why does the parched man yearn for cold water?

Because it’s delicious?

Because he needs it to live.

Sukuna groaned into Uraume’s hair just as they gasped into his shoulder, pointed tip of his tongue dipping shallowly into them over and over again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Forget cooking.

He’d be feasting on them from now on.

He had plans for their first time—he wanted it to be beautiful, to take Uraume in the morning sunlight. To hold them open and lick them with his second tongue. To whisper praises in their ear and gaze into their eyes properly.

But he couldn’t help himself.

Sukuna was dropping them onto large pillows and climbing onto the bed before he could process what he was doing. He felt as he did in the woods—a predator homed in on their prey, the adrenaline of the hunt dizzying his mind, washing away all restrictive rationality.

Uraume closed their thighs upon impact with the mattress, and Sukuna would not be having that. Big hands pried slim thighs apart, pinning them open in an iron grip. His second set of hands held open pretty, puffy lips, splaying the blushed flesh below. He was transfixed.

He couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open, watching as a thick wad of saliva dripped from the tips of his split tongue to their little hole, fluttering under the attention. It was tantalizing. He blew a puff of warm air against the wet skin and reveled at the tremble of pale flesh beneath his tanned hands. He ran a large thumb down their center, applying just a little pressure on the spit-slicked entrance.

“Sukuna…” The voice was small, winded.

Crimson eyes met burgundy, and a growl tore through his throat.

They were wrecked.

Hiding behind thin hands, Uraume’s once-pale skin now flushed his favourite colour.

He wanted to swallow them whole.

He wasn’t sure who gasped louder when his tongue—his proper tongue, hot and drooling—met their cunt. He licked a stripe from just under their entrance up to their clit, coaxing the sensitive bundle of nerves to stiffness. One set of ruby eyes traced the movement, but the other set was transfixed on that beautiful face. He wanted to commit this to memory.

Commit them to memory.

He worked his tongue slowly, sloppily. He lapped at their entrance greedily, until all he could taste was himself on their skin, then ran the flat of his tongue over their clit repeatedly. He watched for each little gasp, each stroke that had them whimpering into their palm. The tip of his nose met pubic bone as soft lips wrapped around even softer flesh. He kissed their clit so reverently, open-mouthed and passionate, eyes rolling back a little at the heady taste.

Fuck—fuck—fuck—

“Feels weird—Sukuna…”

Sukuna hummed an acknowledgment into their clit, and a hand was finding purchase in his hair. He pinned them down a little rougher as they began to shake, massaging their thighs in calloused palms as he sucked at their sweet skin.

And they were keening.

A gush of bittersweet slick was running down his chin and Sukuna rushed to lap at the trembling hole as it spilled. A large thumb pinned down their clit as Uraume rode through their release, saliva lubricating the small circles he rubbed into it.

“That’s it… let go for me.”

He rubbed and sucked on the fluttering entrance until their skin jumped, until they tried to scramble away in oversensitivity.

Sukuna lifted his head up ever-so-slightly, wet lips and hot breath ghosting over raised skin. Glassy burgundy made his heartbeat stutter, and he was aching. He needed to take them. Needed to see how they’d look speared on his cocks, feel the flutter of their sweet little hole around him.

“Good, no?”

Uraume was pulling him up by the hair, and Sukuna bit back a smile as soft lips worked his own. If Uraume wanted to taste themselves on him, so be it. A dry hand engulfed their small jaw, forcing their mouth open to slip his tongue inside.

Uraume’s sweet, small tongue felt so soft pinned under his. He stroked it from the tip to where it disappeared into a hot throat. His hand followed the movement, slipping from jaw to neck, pads of his middle and ring fingers coming to rest overtop their racing pulse. He ghosted his fingers down to their collarbone, tracing the jutting bone, before slipping down the hard plane of their sternum.

“You’re so beautiful.” His large hand moved to hover over a small breast. “May I touch you here?”

Uraume nodded, and Sukuna pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of their mouth as rough skin met soft flesh. Their breast was so squishy, so delicate under his big hand—he massaged it now, squeezing and palming at it with a care that bordered reverent. He couldn’t help but watch—his hands were so big. So large that they obscured the breast completely. Heat coiled in his gut, an ugly possession that he tamped down.

Uraume was like a doll in his grasp, something so beautiful and fragile, now pinned under hands that were forged to destroy. They gasped as big fingers found a rosy nipple, pinching and rolling it experimentally. Sukuna flicked his gaze between the movement and their flushed face, pressing a kiss to their heated cheek. His second set of hands held them steady around the waist, so large as to almost span the entirety of the circumference.

He kissed his way down their neck and chest, all the way to their other nipple. He pressed a kiss to the poor neglected thing, tongue slipping out to lave over the bud. His fingers worked its twin a little rougher now, pinching and squeezing the tender flesh of their breast in his big hand.

His lover shuddered beneath him, and he tugged both nipples at the same time—one with his fingers and the other with a harsh suck—and Uraume whimpered.

Sukuna was dizzy with hunger.

He was being so good to them—so patient.

Surely, he deserved a reward.

Hands were pulling at his hair—trying to yank him away from sensitive nipples as he popped most of their breast into his mouth, sucking at delicate skin with a pleased hum.

“Sukuna—”

He shifted his mouth to the other breast, switching to roll the now-moistened bud between calloused fingertips.

“Yes?”

Their flesh was so sweet. So soft, so perfect. He worried the dainty nipple in his mouth with gentle scrapes of sharp canines, and didn’t miss the way Uraume’s heart raced beneath his touch.

“Stop teasing...”

Their thighs were shifting, squeezing and rubbing together to apply pressure of any sort on their little clit. Sukuna couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic gesture.

“Open your legs. Let me see that precious hole.”

Uraume flushed but complied, bringing their knees up and out. Sukuna hummed his approval, one of the hands around their waist slipping down to caress their soddened folds. Deft fingers slid from their perked clit to their soaked hole, circling their entrance slowly.

He pulled off their breast with an obscene pop, moving to press a chaste kiss to their bitten lips.

“Be good and keep those legs open.”

Uraume nodded as he worked their lips with his, slow and sensual. His thick middle finger applied pressure to their fluttering hole, breaching their entrance slowly. They sucked in a breath, and he hushed them with another press of his lips, slowing his finger to let them adjust.

They were so fucking tight.

“Focus on my lips. Relax your body.”

One knuckle in and they were clenching around the intrusion, inexperienced muscles trying to reject the finger pushing its way inside. Slowly, he pressed in further.

A metallic tang tainted his mouth. Four eyes flew open as sharp teeth dug into his lip, Uraume bearing down as his finger bottomed out. He sucked in a breath through sharp teeth, extracting his lip to lick his wound with a chuckle.

“Took my finger well.”

Uraume was looking up at him with blown pupils, lips bloodied and parted, and it took everything in him to not throw their legs over his shoulders and take them right then.

His two hands on their breasts settled for smoothing the skin with gentle thumbs. The finger inside them curled up a little, caressing their soft walls slowly until Uraume melted into the bed. He pulled his middle finger almost entirely out of their now-pliant body before pressing back in. He kept it slow, let them adjust to the pressure of his moving finger, as he pressed more kisses to those bloodied lips.

“How’s it feeling?”

Uraume moaned into his mouth, and Sukuna was on fire.

The middle finger increased in pace, the pad of his thumb coming up to rub loose circles around their clit. As soon as they were sufficiently wet, he slipped another finger inside. Nails scratched at his scalp, Uraume’s slender fingers tangled in his hair for support.

He repeated the process until Uraume was clenching around four fat fingers, drool gathering at the corner of their mouth and eyes glassy.

“Trying to swallow my hand whole, huh?”

Sukuna wasn’t much better off himself. Both cocks were angrily red now, slobbering against Uraume’s slender thigh.

“Sukuna, please—”

They were spreading their legs, so wet around his fingers. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He pulled his fingers out, strings of Uraume’s syrupy release connecting each digit. He rubbed it over his lower cock, hissing at the touch.

“Shh… I know. I know.”

He was lining himself up, soaked cockhead running up and down their slit slowly. Each drag against their clit had them whimpering, each nudge against their hole had them gasping—Uraume was a symphony of pleasure on the precipice, and Sukuna couldn’t help but tease them a little longer than he should have.

Uraume was rocking back into him impatiently, pulling him close by the hair. The audacity. Sukuna couldn’t help but grin, stilling where he was bumping against their hole.

“Sukuna—”

“Uraume.”

Burgundy pierced into him, kiss-bitten lips pressed into a defiant line despite the drool glistening at the corners.

“Do it properly.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh.

What a fascinating little human.

“Properly?” He gathered them into his arms, leaning down to press a kiss to their temple. “I’d break you, little one. Split you right in two.”

Uraume whined, pressing back into him encouragingly. Sukuna stilled the movement with a big hand on their hip.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.”

He pulled back, sitting up to look at them properly. The way they were looking at him was so honest. Their pupils were blown, pale skin now flushed and sweat-sheened all over. It was so raw. So delicious.

“You’re going to regret this.” A big hand—one that rested on their breast—brushed sweaty bangs back from where they were stuck to their forehead.

“I hope so.”

The way they grinned at him had his heart stuttering—they were so full of fire for someone made of ice.

“Once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.” He mumbled, caressing their cheek with a thick thumb.

“I’m counting on that.”

Sukuna could never deny them.

He took a deep breath, then pressed in. The squeeze was almost impossible—it gripped him, sucked him inside in a way that had his head lolling back and his eyes pressing shut.

Fuckfuckfuck—

Someone was moaning continuously, and in his sex-addled brain, he wasn’t sure which one of them it was. He wanted to stop—wanted to let them adjust to the impossible girth—but he couldn’t slow his hips. He pressed and pressed and pressed, all four hands gripping at their waist and hips to pull them into him.

When cockhead met cervix, Sukuna whimpered.

Deep in this pussy was the closest to heaven he had ever been.

The neglected cock on Uraume’s abdomen was weeping, precum filling the dip of their navel.

“Move, Sukuna.”

Sukuna did not take orders. He cut tongues loose from bodies for even making suggestions—he commanded, not complied.

But fuck was he seeing stars.

His hips stuttered deep within them, bumping against their womb with each little thrust. He wanted to enter it. Wanted to feel it wrapped around him. Wanted to paint it white.

Hands were pulling him down by the hair, and his big arms slid to hug them as he pressed his large chest to theirs. He was thrusting so shallowly, the squeeze too tight to move like he so desperately needed to.

He whined into pale hair, and those hands were working his scalp so deliciously. His hips wrenched back and pressed in deep, and the drag had tears welling up in his eyes. Everything was a blur—his whole body was alight, skin prickling and hairs standing on end.

Soft lips met his neck, then his shoulder, and he was squeezing his eyes closed so tight that he was seeing colours behind closed eyelids. His hips moved faster, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, copious amounts of precum slicking the way. Uraume muffled moans into his shoulder, and it only served to make him ache.

He was drilling into Uraume now, grunting into the top of their head animalistically. The cock sandwiched between them slipped deliciously against Uraume’s slicked tummy, twitching to match the one lodged deep inside them. Their walls were so wet and warm—sopping with their impending climax. His abs tensed and untensed rhythmically, dancing on the edge between pain and pleasure as he forced down his release.

Pink lips unlocked from his skin, and Uraume was throwing their head back into the pillows. Sukuna chased their warmth with his mouth, pressing kisses to their pulse. His canines ached to sink into something—mark and mar that pale perfect skin, paint it in his crimson. He thrust a little rougher, slowing down to pound and stretch them properly.

“Sukuna—”

It was so beautifully broken, more of a gasp than a word.

He hummed against their neck, brows knit in concentration.

I know.

I know.

I know.

Ankles were wrapping around his waist, and two big hands flew to support trembling thighs.

Sukuna grunted in their ear, and they were soaked. The tight hole clenched down around him, spasming as slick gushed out around the thick shaft. He pistoned into them, moaning with each rhythmic contraction onto his cock.

It was so wet.

So good.

So good.

So good, so good, so good—

Sukuna Ryomen prided himself on his sharp wit and battle-hardened mind; his decisions were quick and never wrong, always alert and on-guard. He was a bloodied blade, ever-sharp, always swinging at the strongest. Nothing caught him by surprise, no one got the best of him.

Uraume’s release snuck up on him.

It knocked the wind out of his lungs.

They were cumming so hard—shaky thighs squeezing around his waist, release dampening the sheets below them as they squirted all over his cock. He was being sucked in so deep. As tip kissed womb, sticky and sloppy, all he could do was melt. His balls squeezed, pleasure shooting from the tips of his toes and the top of his head down to the tip of his too-stiff cocks.

And he was cumming.

His climax tore through him like a heart attack, and he tensed—rope after rope of his seed shot out of him, gushing onto the entrance to their womb. Rhythmic clenches of Uraume’s release coaxed more and more cum out of him, milking his full balls. The divot of his glans dug further into swollen cervix with each shaky jolt of his hips, and his mouth was falling open against their shoulder.

Uraume was moving against him, almost riding him through his high, and Sukuna had never felt so useless. A small hand was weaseling its way between their bodies, rubbing and tugging at the neglected erection on Uraume’s stomach.

He was cumming so hard that he couldn’t see—eyelids open or shut, his vision blurred, all his senses homed in on the pleasure ravaging his cocks. All he could do was lay there and take it, cum shooting all over their chest and spitting into their womb.

Gentle kisses woke him from his stupor, pressed to his jaw and cheek.

Sukuna blinked back prickly tears, eyes stinging from the intensity of his release. Cum was still dripping out of him, drooling uncontrollably.

“Can’t stop—”

Faraway and ruined, he couldn’t recognize his own voice.

Uraume laughed, something musical and light, and soft fingertips were dancing down his back. A shiver ran down his spine, and his cocks twitched, dripping out the last of his release pathetically.

“It’s okay.”

Uraume hugged him close. His too-sensitive cock was trapped under his flinching abdomen, but he hugged them back, gathering them into his heaving chest. Their scent, their pulse under the tip of his nose, was intoxicating. Though the cock between their bellies softened, the one nestled inside Uraume was hard as ever.

“Again.”

Uraume tensed in his arms before barking out a laugh incredulously.

“Sukuna—”

“I told you.”

He pulled back, taking in that flushed expression—so wrecked.

Just for him.

“Once I start, I can’t stop.”

***

Uraume had lost count of how many times they’d finished.

Sukuna Ryomen was many things, but he was not a liar.

They hadn’t stopped. Not even for a moment.

He had been inside them for hours now, learning their body intimately. He had been so pliant, at the beginning—so patient and warm, letting them get used to his love. But somewhere in the middle, something clicked. Some switch was flipped irreversibly inside him.

Sukuna Ryomen was a beast.

Sukuna caught his breath by stealing the air from their lungs. He stayed buried so deep inside them that they were an extension of one another. They were overflowing around his massive shaft, and coated in cooling cum from the neglected second cock on their stomach—marked inside and out.

It was too much.

If they came one more time, they weren’t going to be able to move anymore.

Muscles trembling, they flipped onto their swollen stomach. Their clit was throbbing between shaking thighs, their nipples painfully hard as they lifted themselves onto their elbows, shimmying away from Sukuna to hide in the pillows. The drag of his cock out of their abused hole had their eyes rolling back into their skull. They left a dark trail of cum and slick on the mattress, and they could feel Sukuna’s eyes on their splurting hole.

“Is my little dove trying to fly away?” He chased them up the mattress, nose tracing the column of their neck before nipping playfully at their shoulder. “How cute.”

Uraume whimpered, so full. How Sukuna was still hard, now throbbing against their ass, they had no idea. That fat cockhead was nudging them open again, despite their closed legs. Sukuna’s knees bracketed their thighs, and he was slipping inside. The squelch of their juices around his thick shaft was obscene.

Uraume would have felt embarrassed. If they could have. With each inch of Sukuna’s length, their mind got hazier, replaced by the impossible stretch.

“So fuckin’ tight for me.”

A big hand was palming at their ass, watching it jiggle under his touch. Uraume buried their face into the pillows to muffle a broken whine.

“Think you can take both now?”

Uraume’s eyes were rolling back into their skull at the thought, and Sukuna didn’t miss the way they were clenching around his length.

“Did you just cum a little? Oh, baby—”

The saccharine in his voice, the cooing concern, was so degrading. It shot right to their clit.

A second cockhead was nudging its way between the mounds of their ass, sparks shooting up their spine when it nudged against their already too-full entrance.

“Open up for me.”

That rasp left no room for argument, and Uraume was pressing back into him with a groan.

The tip breached their entrance, and it burned.

Sukuna was splitting them open, tearing them straight in half.

He was pressing impossibly deeper—not giving them even a second of respite between each mind-numbing inch—hissing through his teeth.

As soon as he bottomed out, their stomach prodded by two fat tips, he was moving. It was rough, fast, needy.

Sukuna Ryomen, the imaginary two-faced God, was nothing more than a dog in heat.

He humped them with little grunts, tonguing at the beads of sweat rolling down their neck from now-matted hair. Those full balls spanked their sensitive clit with each thrust, and the filthy noise had them impossibly wetter.

“You’re mine.” He growled against their shoulder, more felt than heard, sharp teeth grazing over the tender flesh there. “Mine, ‘raume.”

A large hand beneath their tummy slid down further. Pleasure shot to their clit as a thick finger worked it hard and fast, matching the chaotic pace of his thrusts. The air was being punched out of their lungs with each bruising knock to their cervix and spongy G-spot. Uraume couldn’t do anything but grip onto the pillows for dear life.

“Gonna mark you up so good.”

Precum heated their insides, flooding their deepest spots and soiling their abused cervix. Another big hand found their ass cheek, palming at it before pulling it aside to bare more of their overstretched hole. Just like that, he managed to press in a little deeper. Uraume didn’t have to turn around to know what Sukuna was watching it—watching himself enter.

Being pinned down and fucked—used like a toy—had Uraume’s eyes fluttering back. If Sukuna was making any sense, Uraume couldn’t register. Their mind was a litany of curses, an incoherent cacophony of cries, a paean of praise and prayer.

Everything was hot, everything was tingling, and they were so soaked in sweat and spit and slick that it felt like they were drowning.

Their release ripped through them. They were squirting on Sukuna’s cock before they could even moan his name. The wet slap of his balls against their leaking cunt was pornographic.

Sukuna groaned against their nape. Pain tore through the sensitive skin there, and Sukuna was biting them—bearing down on the tender flesh with big canines. Just like that, they were being filled. Sukuna was cumming harder than he had before, seated so deep inside that Uraume could feel his semen filling their womb. Uraume’s jaw fell open to scream but no sound came out—a whimper escaped from behind their uvula, like a wounded animal.

Sukuna’s twin cocks twitched and bucked wildly inside as he pumped them full. Cum flooded out of their overflooding hole, painting their ass and Sukuna’s pelvis a sticky, milky white.

Sukuna pulled out and flipped them over in one swift movement, final dribbles of cum painting their clit and belly. Red eyes bore into their flesh, taking in their post-climax debauched state. Uraume pressed their legs a little tighter together, bashfully.

Sukuna wasn’t having it. Thick fingers squeezed gently around their neck. Uraume’s eyes shot open, and Sukuna pulled back from the kiss to watch as their eyes fluttered at the headrush. Their lips parted, red and puffy from biting on them, and Sukuna looked ravenous.

“Spread those legs and open that mouth.”

Uraume, in no condition to protest as the hand clamped a little tighter, obeyed.

Sukuna spit onto their exposed tongue.

“Behave.”

Sukuna released their throat, free hand coming down to flick at their cum-coated clit. Uraume’s hips bucked with a whimper, their legs opening wider shakily. Sukuna hummed his approval, rewarding their obedience with a soothing thumb on their sensitive bud. He dipped into Uraume’s gushing hole, gathering up cum to slick the movement of his thumb against their clit. He watched the movement, transfixed, before leaning down to mouth at where Uraume’s ear met their jaw.

“So full of my seed...”

Uraume whimpered, writhing in his grasp at the teasing of their overstimulated body. Their neck was throbbing where Sukuna bit them earlier, and their skin was so impossibly hot that it felt like they were burning alive.

It was too much.

Once again, they attempted to wiggle away.

Once again, they failed.

Sukuna’s big hands were grabbing at their thighs, yanking them around like a doll. He lifted their legs onto his shoulders, pressing a kiss to each ankle with a wicked grin.

“I told you.We’re not stopping any time soon.”

***

Sukuna gazed down at his work of art.

The sun was low in the sky now, courtyard swathed in orange. The sky was a vibrant pink, a waking dream as day faded to night. Yet, Sukuna noticed none of it.

No. His eyes were elsewhere.

Uraume lay prone beneath him. Their small asscheeks were red and shiny with sweat, faint handprints on them from his rough handling. They were looking back at him, pupils blown and glassy, and he heated under their gaze. Puffy lips curved into a smile, and Sukuna couldn’t help but smile back, placing a steadying hand between their shoulders.

He wanted to keep them here, like this, forever.

They were so beautiful. Glowing.

Broken.

His little dove, with broken wings.

He felt so warm, so full, at the sight. The hole in his heart… it was them.

Seeing them here, under him, he finally felt fulfilled.

Complete.

His hand slid up to their nape, teasing the short pale hair there. His thumb brushed along the column of their neck, skimming the edge of his masterpiece.

That freckle.

Around that little mark, a ring of indents—two sets of large teeth framed the mole, red and spit-shined.

The mark itself? His favourite colour.

Burgundy.

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (3/19)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Injuries need tending and Reader finds herself closer to Sylus than she had felt before. Sylus is not sure what to make of this human of his.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

You were lost…again. You had sworn you had mapped out this part of the mountain already and knew where you were going. But apparently you made a wrong turn somewhere because you were completely and utterly lost once more. Sylus was going to kill you if you had to call him to come find you again.

He kept saying to not go wandering around the tunnels. There were too many empty rooms for you to be exploring anyway, there was no need to be doing it. But there was nothing else to do around here! The rooms you knew he used the most you had already tidied up so there was nothing else to do but cook meals. So you wandered.

Now you had once again wandered too far. You needed to start leaving a trail if you were going to go exploring.

You tried a while longer to figure out where you were and how to get back. If you could just stumble back to familiar territory then you wouldn’t have to call for help. You were flitting about taking random turns, looking for any indication that you were somewhere you knew when suddenly your footfalls hit air.

“Ah!” you fell down into a crevice in the floor. Thankfully it was just a large gap and not an unending abyss so you ended up wedged between the walls of the crevice instead of plummeting to your death. Your thanks was short lived when you realized that you couldn’t pull yourself out. The lip of the hole was at least a foot above where your arms could reach and the walls crumbled apart in your hands when you tried to find a hold.

You were trapped.

Also didn’t help that bits of rock were stabbing into your body from your waist down. Your legs had gotten the worst of the impact, shredding against rock as you fell in. You could feel something trickling down your leg and knew you must have cut it rather bad.

“He’s going to be such a pain about this…” you muttered to yourself. You cleared your throat and raised your voice to a shout. “Master! Master Sylus! I’m stuck and need assistance! Please!”

You waited…and waited. Sylus was usually very good about finding where you were and you were surprised it was taking him as long as it was this time. Oh no. What if he had left the mountain? You could be stuck in here for hours!

“Master!” you shouted again, forcing your voice to yell as loud as it could. “Please! I fell in a hole and I can’t get out!”

You waited some more. You kept shouting, begging for him to come and help you but no one came. You were starting to get scared. What if he was ignoring you? What if you had been impertinent one too many times and now he was just leaving you to rot in whatever trouble you had gotten yourself into?

You could scarcely breathe. Each breath you took the rocks deepened their points into you. Your body was slick with sweat and blood. Please! You didn’t want to die in here!

~~~

Sylus returned from hunting, dropping the boar he found on the ground once he got inside the entrance. The moment Sylus landed back on the mountain though he could tell something was wrong.

Ever since you had come to stay with him he had gotten used to the scent you carried around. It was how he was always able to find you when you got yourself lost in the tunnels. When he landed though, it was not the normal scent he had grown accustomed to. There was a metallic and sour tang to it that he had grown up smelling, fear and blood.

“So much trouble.” he muttered and followed the scent into the tunnels. When you got yourself lost he had never smelled fear on you. The fact that you were scared now alerted him that something must have been very wrong. Mixed with the faint smell of blood he worried what state he would find you in.

The further into the tunnels he went the more he cursed your foolishness. He told you repeatedly to not go wandering and now you had managed to wander into an area even he never went because it was so dilapidated.

Then, he heard it. It was not a cry for help but a soft sob of pain. His step quickened, following your cries and the smell of your fear until he came to a hole in the floor. He could make out the top of your head from above.

“What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time.” your head snapped up to look at him. Even in the dim light he could see the tracks where tears carved through the layer of dust on your cheeks. He reached a hand down. “Grab on, let’s get you out of there.”

You reached out your smaller hands, wrapping them tightly around his one fist as he pulled you up and out of the crack in the floor. A painful yelp escaped your throat followed by the tearing of fabric. Several inches of your hem had torn away leaving your legs bare from the knees down. Your legs were scraped, dark rivulets of blood streaming down from a peppering of deep cuts.

He went to set you down on your feet but just from how heavily you were leaning on him he knew your legs weren’t going to support you so he kept a hold of you. You looked up at him with your wide eyes and your lip started to tremble. Oh no, were you going to start crying more?

Then you slapped his chest hard. “Where in the hells were you? I’ve been stuck in there for hours!”

“I was hunting us some dinner. I think the better question is, why were you all the way back here? I told you not to wander too far.” he snapped. It was not his fault that you had ignored his warnings again.

Your eyes turned glassy and more tears spilled down your face. You hung your head and muttered, your voice wavering as you spoke. “Sorry, master.”

In an instant his irritation disappeared. He sighed, scooping you fully up into his arms. Your body sunk against him, more little sobs making your body shake. “You need to take better care. What if you had fallen off a steep ledge and died? I tell you not to wander for a reason.”

“I’m sorry.” you repeated again in that pitiful tiny voice, so unlike the way he was used to you speaking.

“How are your feeling? Does it feel like anything is broken?”

“I don’t think so.” you tried rolling your ankles and winced. “I might have sprained an ankle though.”

He carried you back to the familiar rooms and tunnels and took you to the bedroom. He set you down and left to fetch a bucket of water and something to wrap your legs in. He came back and knelt to start wiping the blood off your legs. When he knelt down though you drew your legs up to your chest.

“Do you want to keep bleeding?” he asked, annoyed that you were making this difficult. If they didn’t get cleaned soon you could end up getting an infection.

“I can clean them myself. I’m fine now.” you said, some of the strength returning to you now that you were safe.

Sylus only sighed and grabbed your leg, pulling it back out. “You are shaking violently and you look as if you are about to pass out. Just let me do it.”

You cowed back with a nod. Sylus went about scrubbing the blood and dirt from your legs. You definitely had a lot of cuts but none of them looked deep enough to be worrying about bleeding out. After your cuts were clean he took the cloth he had found and wrapped them around each of your legs to keep out any more contaminants.

He noticed you holding your hands behind your back and wrenched them back in front of you. “What are you doing?” you snapped at him.

Your fingers and palms were bloody too. Dirt was caked under your fingernails, some cracked and broken. You must have been trying for a while to pull yourself out. Had you really been trapped in there for hours while he was off hunting? No wonder he could smell such potent fear when he came back.

“Are there any more injuries you’re keeping hidden from me?” he asked as he wiped your palms and fingers clean.

You didn’t respond and he could tell you were keeping something else from him. “Where else are you hurt?” he asked.

“It’s nothing I’m sure.” you responded quickly. He looked up at you, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Where?” He finished wrapping your hands.

“I um…I think that the rock scraped up my back too but it’s really nothing.”

He stared hard at you until you started squirming in place. “Do you really need to see?” you asked.

“What do you think?”

“Fine.” you sighed, “Not much dignity left for me anyway.” you turned around so your back was facing him. The laces keeping your dress tied were facing him and he waited to see if you would object before he started undoing them. More and more of your back became exposed to him. There were a few minors cuts and scrapes but nothing he needed to worry about like you said. It made him feel better seeing it for himself though.

One of his claws traced down the length of your spine and he watched as little bumps erupted along your skin, following the descent of the claw to the small of your back. Interesting.

His nose caught a new scent, something sweet and unfamiliar coming off of you. He didn’t dwell on what it could mean and laced the back of the dress up again. “Stay off your feet.” he said. “I’ll skin the boar for dinner tonight.”

“But--” you turned to face him.

“Stay. Here.” he said, his voice low. “Master’s orders. Understand?”

“Yes, master.”

He nodded and started to leave. “Master!” you called after him before he made it out the room. He turned without answering, waiting to see what you had to say. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

He clenched his jaw, his heart was beating faster for some reason. “Yes. Well, good help is hard to come by on the mountain. Can’t afford losing the help I have.”

You smiled at him, bright and wide, as if you knew something that he did not. “I’m sure of that.” you said.

He wanted to question what had you smiling so wide but he did not like the way his heart was beating in his chest and how it worsened with your smile. So he left, muttering under his breath, “So much trouble…”

~~~

If someone had asked you two weeks ago if a dragon was capable of bandaging wounds, you would have said no. But then there was Sylus, down on a knee taking such care in wrapping your legs. For someone with claws, his touch was very gentle as he had wiped clean the blood coating your legs and wrapped them tight.

In the next couple of days your cuts started to heal and the sprain in your ankle felt better and better. You were limping along most days but you would be back to rights soon enough. Sylus had been insistent on you resting and not making your injury worse. When he caught you up and moving the glare you got from him was lethal. Most of the time he would scoop you back up, throw you over his shoulder, and drop you onto the nearest seat he could find.

“You really delight in disobeying me it seems.” he would huff. “Such an impertinent little servant you are.”

He had set you down in the kitchen this time. “Now listen to me and listen well, wildfire.” he said, “I need to leave now. The bandits you are so worried about are getting closer to the village. I am going to go deal with them.”

“Really? It’s happening now?”

“That is what I just said.”

“And you think you can drive them all away? It’s always been a large group of bandits that have attacked the village before.”

“You think a group of lowly bandits are enough to take on a dragon?”

“I’m just…I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Worried for me now?”

“And what if I am?”

“You don’t need to be. It’s actually a little insulting that you think any of them could hurt me.”

You rolled your eyes, pivoting in your seat to face away from him. The arrogance of this dragon!

“But,” he wrapped his tail around you, pulling you back to face him. “Your concern is touching too I suppose. Even if it is misplaced. I will return in short time. Take care not to go running around too much on your injured foot.”

“It’s not that bad anymore. Honest.”

“I’ll believe that when you stop limping.” His tail unwound from you. “I will be back.”

“Good luck.”

“I won’t be needing it, but thank you.” he took off out of the mountain.

You knew why he didn’t care for your well wishes or worries. He was a dragon, he was strong, he could do things that mortal men could not even dream of accomplishing. Still, you had come to care about your draconic master. And you were worried that he would not be enough to take out all the bandits. If he was a proper dragon with the giant snapping jaws and fire breath and claws the sides of swords you wouldn’t have such worries.

You wait and wait and wait for him to return. For all his bravado he was taking a long time to come back. What if something happened to him? You limped to the entrance to the cave and stared out over the darkening sky. You searched for his shadow somewhere amongst the indigo twilight but there was nothing.

So you stayed and waited, willing your dragon to come back soon.

The sun had long since disappeared and night true was upon you. The moon was bright this night, casting the world below it in pale light and darker shadows. You were just about to call it a night and return to bed when you heard something. Heavy footfalls coming up the mountain path. You scrambled to your feet and pressed yourself into the shadows of the cave entrance. It couldn’t be Sylus because he would have flown back. Who was out there? Could it have been an animal? A bear? A wolf?

A shadow grew across the ground, too tall to be an animal. As it got closer and came into view you melted in relief seeing that it was indeed Sylus. Why was he walking though? Any time you had seen him return to the mountain he was flying.

His wings were out which was not so off until you noticed that one was bent at an awkward angle that the other was clearly not. Sylus himself was slow and trudged forward, his back hunched, his feet not even lifting but scraping against the ground as he moved.

“Sylus?” you stepped out from the shadows.

His bright red eyes snapped to yours. He immediately straightened, his wings folding behind him but not disappearing. “What are you still doing up?”

“I was waiting for you to return.” you tried to peer around him, “You’re injured.”

“It’s nothing. Us dragons heal rather quickly.”

You ignored his deflections and charged up to him, seeing the wing closer. He sighed, extending his wing for you to see it properly. It was definitely broken that much was obvious. “If it heals like this I doubt you’ll be able to fly properly again.” you told him. “Come in, that needs fixing now before it gets worse.”

“And how do you suggest you fix it? Are you a healer now?”

“No, but I imagine it can’t be much different than a bird’s wing.” you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the cave. You had better lighting in the kitchen area so that was where you took him. You gathered some supplies to create a splint that would fit his wing then told him to extend his wing as far as he could without it hurting.

“I’ll need to set it so it will heal correctly.” you said. Which meant you were going to have to touch it and you suspected that was not going to be very fun for him at all.

“Have you done this before?”

“Once with a little sparrow that flew into my window.” you shrugged. “And this is much bigger so I’m hoping that means it will be easier.”

“Such confidence.” he replied dryly. “But better than it healing wrong. Hopefully.”

“Have a little more faith in me.” you took a deep breath to center yourself. “Alright, this is going to hurt a lot but I need you to try and stay as still as possible. Can you do that?”

“I will do my level best.”

“Alright,” you gently cupped the broke parts of the wing, finding where the fracture was. “Here we go, deep breath. And,” You snapped the bone back into place.

Sylus roared in pain, his claws digging deep into the wood of the table he sat on. The sound of it shook you to your bones.

“Sorry! Sorry! That was it! That was the worst of it!” you tried to assure him. “I’m going to put the splint on now.” You moved quickly, fashioning the splint around the break in his wing.

“There,” you stepped back, pleased with your work. “With rest and time hopefully it will heal properly.”

Sylus took a deep breath in and released his death grip on the table. Bits of wood chipped off and fell to the floor, leaving huge gash marks on the table where he had been holding it. “Thank you.”

Your eyes were trained on his claws and your stomach twisted seeing they were covered in blood. You grabbed a bucket of water and without thinking started cleaning the blood from his hands. You could feel his gaze on you, studying you quietly as you washed the blood away. There were more flecks of blood on his face and chest that you wiped away as well.

“You’ll need a proper bath tomorrow,” you said, wiping a trace of blood off the side of his neck. “But it is late already. You must be tired from fighting and climbing all the way up here.”

Finished with cleaning him you turned and faced the fire. “Do you want something to eat before you retire? I’m going to cook up something fresh for you.”

Still he did not say anything, just stood there watching you flit about the kitchen. “How did the fight go anyhow?” you asked, unable to stand the silence.

“Fine.” he said at last. “One of the bastards got in a lucky shot when I was rending one of their friends. Other than that, the bandits are gone. No one should harm your village now.”

“That is a relief.” you pushed some meat and veggies around in the pan so they didn’t stick to the bottom.

“Is that why you stayed up?” he asked, “To hear the fate of your beloved village?”

“Well yes, partly.” you glanced over your shoulder at him. “But, I also wanted to make sure you returned safely. Good thing I did too or else who knows what carelessness you would have done with your wing.”

“If I had not survived, you could have returned home.” he said. There was something in that sentence that twisted inside you in an ugly way. Perhaps it was how he said it. He was so nonchalant about it. As if him dying was not something upsetting.

“If you had not survived then chances are that there would be no home for me to return to.” you scooped the food onto a plate and turned to hand it to him. “I am glad you are safe, master. And not just because it means my village is as well.”

He cocked his head at you. “Don’t tell me you’re getting attached to me, wildfire.”

“If I don’t start enjoying your company now then I may very well go mad on the mountain.” you fisted your hands in your skirt. “You are all I have now.”

He blinked at you, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you for the food. Go rest now. It is late.”

“Yes master.” you took a step back then stopped. “Um, master? May I be permitted one more thing before I go?”

“What is it?” he asked, already starting to dig into the food you gave him.

You pushed yourself to your toes and left a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for protecting my village. It means more to me than you can know.” For the first he seemed legitimately shocked by you. You smiled and limped out of the room, your heart full knowing the village was safe and so was Sylus.

[starsfic]

Xiaotian points out one day that Zhu Bajie, Ao Lie, and Sha Wujing had to have had partners if his family and friends are their descendants. Sun Wukong is eager to spill the tea.

Anon: Monkie kid prompt: Wukong learns about Zhu Baije’s punishment (the love tragedy one) from Pigsy. And makes sure that it doesn’t happen or it ends with Pigsy’s and Tang’s relationship The Zhu Bajie and Ao Lie stories inspired by @twinklecupcake's wives.

A huge chest slammed onto the table, the dust on it thick enough that Xiaotian was sent into a coughing fit. "That's huge," he wheezed. "What's all in it?"

"Oh, a lot," Sun Wukong said, throwing open the chest. He pulled out a bunch of scrolls and loose pictures, what looked to be at least two fancy hanfus, and other stuff. Tang reached for one of the scrolls only for Wukong to slap his hand. The last thing he pulled out looked to be a photo album.

"Now," Wukong said, reaching for the scroll Tang attempted to grab. "I have no idea where Sha Wujing got his kid," He unfolded the scroll to reveal an ink picture. The giant river demon beamed next to a nervous-looking Tripitaka, the taller holding a small demon child. The child beamed with sharp shark teeth. "He just popped up one day and asked if I would basically be the kid's godfather and never asked any questions."

Sandy made a grabbing motion and Wukong let him take the scroll, ignoring Tang's pout. "So, he adopted?" the demon asked.

"Either that or he kidnapped the kid from a bad situation."

Wukong grabbed another scroll and unrolled it, presenting to Long Xiaojiao first. She cooed at the image of her white-haired ancestor in wedding robes, holding hands with a pretty dark-haired girl. "Oh, she's so pretty!" she said, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. "Who is she?"

"She was a farmgirl, living on a farm near the ocean. Ao Lie apparently worked as a farmhand for her dad for several months because he got bored and ending up doing the whole Princess Bride schtick," Wukong said, unfolding one of the robes to reveal the red fabric was stitched with green dragons. "We didn't even get told about the wedding until she was expecting their second kid, although Master insisted on them having a second wedding so we could be there." His smile grew bigger. "They had a big stuffy court wedding where she was apparently so upset the entire morning because she had no idea Ao Lie was a prince and thought she was marrying some random stranger, so they didn't need much convincing."

Xiaojiao's eyes got bigger. "Can I-?" She made grabby hands. Wukong handed over the wedding robe with no protest. She zoomed out of the room and soon returned, striking a pose. Whatever preservation spell was on the fabric was strong, since it looked perfect despite its age. Xiaojiao was a tad shorter than Ao Lie, so some of it dragged on the floor, but it looked amazing.

"What about..." Pigsy sighed, as if the name was bitter on his tongue. "Zhu Bajie?"

Wukong's smile froze on his face. "He...uh...he returned to Blue Orchid, and I helped them find a new place in the countryside since her dad put up a stink," He reached for another scroll, handing it over. "They were besotted with each other. When she got pregnant, they were so happy...But he had a curse to be never happy in love."

Connections did not need further help.

The scroll depicted a scene of wedded bliss, the tiny woman dwarfed by the giant boar, a hand pressed protectively to her round stomach. The artist had caught them smiling at each other, eyes full of love and hope for the future.

Wukong, lost in memories, didn't notice Xiaojiao grabbing the scrapbook. "Is that why you were stalking Pigsy?" she called.

The monkey went stiff. "What?" Tang said.

"There's no need to see that-" Wukong made a grab but Xiaojiao danced back, her grin getting wider.

"Is this their first date-?!"

"WHAT?!"

"I wanna see!"

"I just wanted to help-"

Sandy, watching as his friends, his family, broke into struggle over the scrapbook that memorialized his oldest friends' happiness, smiled. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture.

This could join the rest of the memories of the pilgrims.

[mrs-willow]

"A Raven and a Falcon"

Chapter 4

The rain was still falling hard in the Riverlands, but it was failing to deter the locals from carrying out their daily duties. Raventree Hall was still busting with life in the shadow of an upcoming winter. Farmers traveled in and out of the castle, bringing in portions of their harvests to add to the Blackwoods stores for winter. They were heavily compensated for their donations, and the gold they earned from their sales put their families through winter. Just outside the high walls of the Hall, the cliffs that the castle stood upon fell sharply into the angry river that crashed against the beaches and rocks. To the south and east, the Hall was otherwise surrounded by fields of grass and forests that sported packs of dear, boar, and all manner of birds. In those fields, groups of young men and boys trained with swords and bows freshly made by the smiths just within the walls. 

A small group of young boys gathered around two of the older men, watching them duel. The master of arms commanded the boys to show them the correct steps and positions that must be used in a proper fight. The Blackwoods maintained a rigorous training regiment for their men so that they would always be prepared for a battle. Five years prior, Lord Samwell commanded all of the Blackwoods men from the age of thirteen to fifty to train at least once a day in preparation for invasion or war. Lord Tully was aging quickly and spent most days in bed asleep with help from the milk of the poppy, thus leaving the actions of the surrounding houses unchecked and their movements unregulated. The conflict between the Blackwoods and the Brackens was an ancient one. Both sides would rave and pillage the other's lands until a small line of stones became the only preventative measure for an all-out war. But, with the Tullys slipping hold on the Riverlands, Samewell sensed that the fighting would begin yet again. 

John and Benjicot stood in the center of the circle of boys, both strong fighters but with different techniques. John fought with precision and strong jabs in picture-perfect form, while Benjicot with lightning-fast slashes and crazed spinning movements. The two managed to balance one another out well with their clashing fighting styles, leaving all the young boys in awe and the older men with a proud gleam in their eyes, 

The two had been sparing for what seemed like forever, but it was only a few minutes. Regardless of the cold weather, the two men were already beginning to sweat, and their breaths were labored. 

Benjicot let out a manic laugh as he dodged another one of Johns's attacks. “Come on, man, I know you’re faster than that.” Benji goated as he attacked with a flurry of slashes that John paired away.     

“Oh, don’t get too smart, my Lord,” John said with a glare as he attacked with a strong stab that the young Lord had to drop to the ground to avoid.

Finally tired of the ongoing fight, Benjicot chose to end the duel with a quick swipe of John's feet and a jab of his elbow into the man's stomach. John fell to the floor, and Benji was above the man in an instant, his sword pointed at his friend's neck. 

The surrounding group erupted in applause as the young Lord offered a hand to his fallen friend. 

The training masters addressed the younger boys as the two friends walked over to get water and regain their breath. 

“So, how are you doing?” John questioned his friend. 

Benjicot looked at his friend with an annoyed stare.

“You know, about the whole marriage thing?” John pushed. 

“Oh, leave me be,” Benji said with a tired huff.

“Come on, mate, I worry about you. You haven’t spoken about the matter since the other day, and you are always somewhere in your head rather than present.”

“What would you like me to say?” Benji said with an angry look, “What is there to talk about? I must marry a woman I hardly know for the sake of my house. I know that she will never love me or care for the Riverlands. I will be stealing her away from her home and family and taking her to an unknown place without a soul that she knows.” Benji ranted. “The woman I will spend the rest of my life with, the future mother of my children, will resent me forever, and I, her because she has indirectly taken all choice from me simply because our fathers were friends.” Benjicot finished with a snarl as he stormed back through the gates of Raventree Hall.

When Benjcot finished cleaning the sweat and mud from his body, he began to dress to meet his father to go over the costs of the castle and make necessary arrangements for the winter and the upcoming wedding affairs. As the man dressed, he noticed the many scars littering his pail skin, the result of years of training and mistakes with the sword, all of which transformed him into the ruthless fighter he is today. Yet he still felt a sense of insecurity as he studied his shirtless torso, yes he had the long limb trait of his family, and arms and stomach rippled in muscle from his training, but a long scar ran from beneath his left pectoral muscle down his side, and wrapped around to his back. Yet another lesson that must be learned. As He finished dressing, the young Lord was unable to ward off the thoughts of what his new wife would think of him and if she would ever be able to bear the sight of his uncovered chest and back.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Lord Samwell sat in his study once more, conversing with his advisors about the arrangements still to be made to host the Arryns when they made their journey to the Riverlands when his son arrived. The young lord came and took his seat directly across from his father, but his mind was elsewhere, and he was paying no attention to the numbers or names being thrown about the room. When Samewell finally addressed his son to make sure that he was listening to the important conversation that was happening around him, there was an urgent knock on the large wooden door as a panting soldier entered the room. 

“Forgive me, my Lords,” the soldier began, “But there is urgent news from the border. “The Brackens have crossed the wall with herds of livestock.” The man stated.

Lord Samwell rose in an instant along with his son. Both men had angry eyes and snarls on their lips. Lord Samwell turned to his son, “Take care of them,” the Lord ordered. 

Benjicot answered with a swift nod to his father as he rushed from the room, followed by the messenger. 

“Gather ten men, tell them we ride for the wall and to prepare for a fight,” Benjicot ordered in an eerily similar tone as his Lord Father, sending the messenger to gather the men. When he reached the stables, ten men were already assembled, and Benjicot's horse waiting for him.  

As the man climbed into his saddle, he addressed his friends and men, “They mean to feed their animals on the little food we have left in supply before winter. We must show them once more what happens when they break the treaty agreements.” 

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Five Bracken men stood guard over the herd of cows that they had allowed across the border. The group was in high spirits as they believed they had successfully snuck through without Blackwood's knowledge. Just as one of the Brackensoldiers was joking with his men about the alleged great fight he had won the previous mourning, he heard an angry cry accompanied by the thundering steps of horses.   

“BRACKEN!” a voice screamed as the group of soldiers rounded the edge of the small forest to the left of the trespassers.

Benjicot and his men had made record time in their journey to the border in response to the invaders. 

“Just what the hell do you think you are doing, you little cunt,” Benjicot addressed as he brought his horse to a standstill a few feet from the cowering men. He watched as the small man sputtered for an answer, taken off guard by the ten mounted men all armed to the tooth. “Because to me, it looks like you have broken the treaty.” Benjicot goaded in a sarcastic tone. “That means I have every right to run your lot down and behead you for trespassing and take this heard in the name of Blackwood as compensation for your mistake.”

The men, once again, cowered at the young Lord's words. This would not be the first time men had died for such a simple act, and it likely would not be the last.

“The herd wandered here on their own. We were sent to retrieve them,” one of the men spoke in a rushed voice. Eager to prevent violence due to the clear disadvantage his men were at. If the Bracken man had more men and weapons, he would not have thought twice about challenging the Blackwoods.

Benjicot stared with a hard look, and the rest of the Blackwood men also showed clear distrust.

“Here's what is going to happen,” Benji started, “We are going to take every cow that is currently standing on our land, and you are going to return to your farmhouse, which you call a keep and keep your heads. Otherwise, I would be happy to leave you a lot here to rot and turn food for the ravens.” 

The men dressed in gold froze, looking to one another to decide on the proper course of action: stand, fight, and die, or run home and confess to their cowardness. With a hard look, the men silently made a decision as they all drew their swords. 

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

“Did you see the way they ran off?” John gasped through his cackles as he and Benjicot led a small herd of cows home to Reventree Hall, which was now within sight. 

“Aye,” Benjicot agreed with a smile, nothing raising his spirits more than a good fight.

The battle had been quick and easy from horseback, and no one had lost their life as the Blackwoods had quickly pushed the men back to their side of the border, refusing to cross it themselves. The once determined soldiers had run, urgently driving the cows remaining on their lands away from the wall and back to safety. The Backwoods laughed as they watched their enemies limp away and gathered their new cows to take back to Raventree. 

Believe it or not, Benjicot loved fighting, the art of it, how he could dance around his opponents, and the adrenalin rush he got from disarming another man. But what he had never told anyone was that he hated killing. In fact, he despised the act. For some reason, the faces of the men he killed had stayed with him, plaguing his nightmares. Their screams and begging always made his stomach churn. He imagined a wife waiting for her husband, who would never return, or a father watching the farm road waiting for his son as the mother fixed too much food for just two people. He could never admit this to anyone, for he had a reputation to maintain. It was that which deterred Bracken's attacks and protected his people. Regardless of his dislike for the act of killing, he reasoned that he would do it as much as needed to protect his people. His enemies would not think twice before running him through with a long sword and then pillaging their way to his home, only to leave it in flames. A long time ago, Benjicot told himself that if his nightmares were the price of safety for his house, his future children, and his soon-to-be wife, then it was a burden that he would happily endure. 

I need him biblically. Anyways... I think im gonna write the next few chapters at once and then post all together so yall can bindge read lol. They will meet soon.

Also, I am so excited for the mutual pining and comfort scenes I have planned, they are coming soon I promise.

[iamjacksragingboner]

Gross Childhood Best Friend Soap

Word Count: 1.6K

Alternate Endings Here

Warnings: The tiniest smidgen of angst but it ends nice so you better not complain, not super proofread

A/N: Yeah I dunno, came up with this last night and just crammed it out today in a sort of word diarrhea in which I blacked out and woke up naked and alone in the middle of the bush with this on my laptop screen. Make of that what you will

Contrary to his callsign, Soap is, and always has been, a gross little goober of a man

He’s been gross since you were kids, going digging for worms, collecting hermit crabs to take home from the beach in his pockets, rolling around in the dirt and coming home tracking mud on the carpet. Of course, it wasn’t all bad. He’d always offer to kiss your scrapes and bruises better, even if they were bloody or muddy. He’d always find pretty seashells to give you amidst his hunt for the largest hermit crab. He was gross within reason.

You had many a fond memory of going off to the creek at the back of your neighbouring houses with him. You'd climb up to what felt like perilous heights in your child minds, to sit on the highest point of the creek. From there, you would watch as Johnny dug for the perfect stones for you both to skim, watch him build dams and change the currents of the water. Watch as he would lunge at bugs, fish, tadpoles, lizards, and present them up to you from below, the squirming creatures clutched in his mud covered hands.

At the end of the day, just before your parents would call you back home for dinner, Johnny would climb up on the rock with you, just to sit and hold your hand. If he was feeling particularly bold, he would plant a kiss on your hand, and tell you he was going to marry you one day. You called him gross for that too, but latched onto the idea all the same.

Your early teen years, where puberty had begun for the both of you, was plagued with a myriad of varying smells and odours. Forget sweating like a pig, Johnny sweat like a boar; walking home from school with him after P.E. was a nightmare for your nasal cavities. You didn't mind though, he made good enough conversation that you ended up getting used to the stink.

For the amount of afternoons you spent in his room, you'd think you would eventually get used to the sight of his dirty clothes and mugs littering his floor and desk. You never did, always scolding him for not keeping his room clean knowing he had a lady coming over. He would always laugh, even as you threw his pillow at him, copping it square in the face.

So many nights were spent laying side by side in his bed, talking late into the night, curious hands too scared to do more than brush pinkies with the other laying inches away. You always felt as though you could feel him staring at you in the quieter moments of those nights, but you never caught him.

You spent your later teen years feeling bitterly towards him. You went from thinking you'd be best friends forever, to being an afterthought for Johnny. You did try, of course, to keep close to him.

In his late teen years, Johnny was gross in the sense that he’d go off to parties just to see how many people he could make out with. Would have sex with anyone who offered, just for the hell of it. Accompanying him to parties was a nightmare.

"You promise you won't abandon me this time?" You found yourself asking this more than once, each time slightly less optimistic than the last, but never losing your faith in him.

"Of course not, lass," he would always say. "Yer ma' girl! I'll stick right by yer side this time, lass. I promise."

What shallow promises they were. You were always demoted to the third wheel, the one who held the drinks while he went off to flirt with someone new he hadn't fucked yet. You found yourself leaving early and alone most nights, walking home and hugging your sides to keep yourself from falling apart, kicking stones imagining they were Johnny's face. Cursing yourself for thinking this time would be different, and that maybe he'd look at you for once. Going to bed cold and bitter, knowing just next door, Johnny would be waking up with someone else next to him in his bed. You just hoped he remembered to keep his room clean for them.

You both graduated, with Johnny leaving to join the military and you leaving to go to university. You kept in scarce contact over the years, occasionally calling to catch up, Johnny telling you where he was stationed, you telling him what you were working on at uni, apologising for missing birthdays, missing holidays, promises to call again soon, promising to catch up when he's home, all shallow. At least, that's what it felt like to you.

Until one night, when you were out at a bar with you friends, celebrating your recent graduation. You were all discussing with great vigour what you would all get up to with your newfound freedom from studies, when you felt the familiar feeling of eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. A little unsettled, you took a look around the bar, trying to see who could possibly be staring at you so intensely, but you couldn't quite catch their eye. You sipped at your drink, a frown furrowing your brows for a moment, before you brushed the feeling off altogether.

An hour passed and you'd forgotten the feeling in the haze of the alcohol. You were ordering yourself another drink, and as you reached into your wallet to grab out your card, another hand swooped in front of you to pay for your drink. You looked up, startled, before you met his gaze. Johnny. Staring down at you with a smile that could melt glaciers.

"Johnny, you didn't tell me you were in town," you murmured, eyes greedily taking in as much of him as you could in this moment of reunion. Scars on his chin covering the one he got from splitting his chin riding a bike for the first time. Stubble covering his jaw. The corniest mohawk that he had always talked about getting, sitting on top of his head. Your face flushed beet red when your eyes dragged over his built form; apparently that childhood crush you'd had on him all those years ago hadn't quite faded as much as you'd thought it had.

"You didn't tell me you'd graduated university, lass," he replied, the sound of his voice—finally in person again and not over the phone—sending shivers down your spine. "Had to find out myself from yer mum."

You hid your guilt behind the drink you tipped back into your mouth, averting your gaze as he watched you with dark eyes. "Thanks for the drink," you breathed, and he laughed.

"Don't even mention it, 's the least I can do. Why don't we go sit down somewhere 'n catch up, aye? Come on, lass."

You found yourself being guided over to a booth, Johnny's hand on the small of your back, sending ripples of warmth through you and into places the alcohol couldn't quite reach. You sat down first, with Johnny shuffling in close beside you, your shoulders brushing, electricity coursing through your veins.

As you sat and spoke, catching up on what you've missed in each other's lives, you found yourself noticing something. Johnny was using all the moves he used to use on people he fancied in high school, the ones he used to get them all flustered, to get in their pants.

You had to admit, you could see why so many people slept with him; he was charismatic as all hell, that boyish charm spawning those all too familiar butterflies in your gut, and he was quite literally always in contact with you. Whether it be the arm resting behind you on the seat of the booth, his knee gently nudging yours beneath the table, or a hand tucking a hair behind your ear, it seemed Johnny had turned the charm up to the max.

It was nice to be on the receiving end of it for once, but there was a certain bitterness that still lingered behind like a foul taste in the back of your throat. Was this just meaningless flirting to him, were you just another girl on his list to fuck and be done with? With all the alcohol in your system, you were well and truly past the point of caring, but you knew that if you woke up tomorrow morning in an empty bed you'd not only be cursing him, but yourself as well.

You let him lean in closer, tracing a finger down your cheek, and you let yourself be giddy, blushing like a schoolgirl when he winked at you. You let yourself swoon when he kissed you, cradling your face in his calloused palms. You let him take you back to his parent's place, nestled just next to your own home. You let him take you upstairs and into his room, holding your hand and shushing you when you both laughed a little too loud.

You let yourself feel like teens once more as you stumbled into that all too familiar room, hit with the smell of Johnny, the smell of home. You felt guilty, ashamed, as you let yourself savour the taste of him, the feeling of his naked body pressed against yours, his hands raking along your body as if you'd disappear if he let go. You let yourself fall asleep in his arms, smiling as he carded his fingers through your hair and pressed kisses to your scalp, whispering incoherent things into your skin.

You awoke the next morning, expecting to find Johnny's bed empty. But it wasn't. And neither was it the next morning, or the morning after that. In fact, the pair of you spent a lot of time waking up together.

This is where you find yourself now, lying in the early morning light in Johnny's bed, the man in question sprawled out next to you, snoring with his mouth wide open, drool leaking on his pillow.

"Gross," you murmur to yourself with a fond smile, tucking yourself into his side and closing your eyes once more.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chap 2: Exodus

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

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Mikey growls loudly at the creatures as they come close. His marks start to flicker, as if they want to glow bright with his ninpo but can't anymore. Some part of Raph wonders what that means... but currently, he's terrified of what Mikey is going to do.

He's never heard him growl like that.

It's deep and guttural, much lower than Mikey has ever made his voice go.

Mikey suddenly lunges, running on all fours at the army of mutated monsters coming at them.

One creature that looks like it may have once been part wolf tries to swipe at him, but Mikey dodges it and swings his tail at him instead, sweeping out the hind legs and causing it to trip. Mikey's tail suddenly becomes sentient, grabs the hound and swings it like a club, knocking back several mutated animals before tossing the wolf like the world's furriest bowling ball. It slams into a row of oncoming beasts, slowing them down.

Raph can't let Mikey do this alone.

That's not what brothers do.

Not again.

He punches his fists together, creating two large hologram arms, and charges to join the fray.

Mikey is becoming wilder and wilder by the second, his grimace turning into a nasty snarl with sharp fangs beginning to jutt out. His eyes begin getting wider, the red irises glowing brighter and brighter. There are strange spines starting to creep out of his shell, the scales on his arms becoming sharp scutes like armor. Even his whipping tail -- which was much shorter before this crazy thing -- is starting to grow spines on it, the end practically looking like a mace or medieval weapon.

Raph is starting to get scared of his baby brother.

"Mikey! Mikey, you okay?" he asks, as he pushes several mutated raccoons and beavers aside.

Mikey doesn't respond beyond a gravelly low growl as he grabs a mutant badger by the tail and flings it into a wall.

How many animals are there?!

The hall is starting to fill up!

"Mike, we gotta get outta here! I can't hold these guys off for much longer!" he grunts, creating a few extra hologram arms to help ward off the rest. "Plus, I don't wanna hurt em!"

Mikey doesn't seem to hear him as he roars at the hoard. A few creatures start to back away in fright, before what looks like a mix between a boar and a porcupine starts running at them.

"That's our cue!" Raph shouts, grabbing Mikey. The spines and spikes protruding from his shell stab his palms and scrape his arms...

Mikey whirls around and bites Raph hard on the hand.

He yelps as he drops him. There's a mark on his hand, a deep indent. A small puncture wound begins to turn bright red. A tiny flow of blood begins to form just above his thumb.

Raph stares at Mikey.

Mikey glares back, the glow in his eyes bright as the blood on his hand.

"...Mikey...?"

His voice is a whisper. He can't stop shaking.

A moment passes and the glow in Mikey's eyes begins to dissipate, the spikes and spines slowly creeping back into his shell and skin. His tail smoothes out and starts to curl around his feet. His demeanour shifts, from one of a feral animal to a scared kid slowly coming out of a tantrum. He looks at Raph in fear as he realizes what he did. He whimpers, backing away slowly...

"Wait, it's okay! Really, I'm not mad, I --"

The mutant boar reaches them, slamming head-first into Mikey and throwing him into a wall. Mikey grunts with pain, a large crater forming in the drywall where he landed. He gets up quickly, his eyes immediately shifting back to red as he goes to retaliate.

Raphael watches in shock and horror as Mikey grabs the boar by the tusks and rips them out from his jaw. The pig squeals in agony and charges again, two smaller tusks quickly starting to grow back almost instantly.

"MIKEY!!"

"R--aph! Ra-- Come in, do y-- read me--?"

"Leo?!"

Raph looks down at his communicator. He totally forgot about it for a second... Leo and Donnie had been searching the other floors of the facility looking for Mikey, too! He should have let them know he'd found him --

"RAPH! I repeat, Raph, can you hear me?!"

"Yeah!" he shouts back over the screaming behind him. "I read you, Leo!"

"What the heck is all that noise?!"

"Long story short, I found Mikey. We need an escape, like, NOW."

"Donnie's on it," comes a second voice on the comms. "What floor are you on?"

"Five," he responds quickly, ducking from another mutant's attack. "I think we've been made. There were cages filled with animals and they all got released at once!"

"I'm coming now!" Donnie shouts. Raph can hear his hovershell whirr in the background, wind start whipping past the mic as he speeds towards them.

"Leo, where are you?"

"I just came from the basement. You guys will never believe what I found --"

"You can tell us on the way home, but we have to go NOW!!"

For a moment, Raph forgets that he isn't the leader anymore. For a moment, he's in charge and it's all on him to get them out. He's in control of everything and doesn't have to wait on Leo to make a self-sacrificing decision to solve everything like he tends to do.

"Okay, boss man. I'll meet you all outside in the turtle tank."

Raph sighs with relief.

"Got it. Donnie, ETA?"

"Right behind you -- oh what in the name of unholy science is that?!"

Raph turns around to see Donnie slowly coming to a halt, hovering over Mikey. The box turtle has defeated the boar at this point, slamming it hard into a wall until the boar slumped with a groan onto the floor.

"Is... is that Mikey --"

"Donnie, just find us an exit!" Raph shouts as he grabs Mikey, who doesn’t bite him again but struggles against his hold until he sees who's holding him.

"R-right... right... Uh, take a left, that window leads directly to the alley where Leo is waiting..."

The intercom buzzes again.

"What did Donnie say? What's going on with Mikey?!" Leo asks, his voice in a panic.

"Get the tank started, we're coming to you."

"But what about Mikey?!"

"He's here with us."

"Why doesn't he respond--"

Raph crashes through the window before he can answer, landing with a thud against the top of the tank. Mikey howls loudly, whining in fear and scratching at Raph's arms to let him go. He sees Donnie for the first time and makes a feeble chirp.

Donnie stares wide-eyed at him, mouth open and hands trembling.

Raph scrambles into the tank, holding Mikey tightly. Donnie follows after him, silently staring at his baby brother.

"There you guys are!" Leo yells, a wave of relief rushing over him. "I was starting to get really --"

He sees him.

"What... what happened to..."

"Just drive," Raph orders, holding Mikey close. "Just get us out of here."

Leo nods slowly, turning to Donnie. He receives the silent command and navigates the tank, speeding away.

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[tomwambsmilk]

licherally the way they're all back at the beginning... kendall is never going to be CEO just like in episode 1. he spent 4 seasons trying to be CEO and trying to find meaning with his father and trying to find meaning in opposition to his father and then trying to become his father and now he will never be his father in the one way that matters to him. roman is once again the unserious asshole in the bar. he thought he could maybe be someone else but he failed and now this chapter is just a 'weird little detour'. shiv stays married to tom because he's ceo so through him she can access power and try to influence waystar, just like how in season 1 she wanted him to eventually be ceo because she thought (knew) logan would never let her be ceo and this is the one way she could get access. tom once again has power over greg because he's ceo and because greg tried to betray him and failed which means he now owes tom everything for not firing him, which means their relationship can reset back to the s1-s2 dynamics tom was so comfortable in rather than the more equal s4 dynamic which he chafed at. tom's going to let himself be the 'pain sponge' in a never-ending game of boar on the floor because that's the only way to get ahead. they suffered so much just to end up right back where they started and thats what we call 'tragic waste' babey

[fountainpenguin]

"All the other guys, they are so- interchangeable! Little talent, yeah, but you know, that's debatable... Toss 'em to the left, to the left..." (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic update today!

Frayed Knots - Chapter 39

"Godparents For Hire"

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

☁️ Cloudlands AU

🦇 Ridwork Guide || Chapter Recaps

✨ More Fairly OddParents 'fics

Let’s do this in style. I twirled my wand between my fingers. “Good evening, my young friend! It is Mandelro, isn’t it? It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight, and the honour’s all mine. I’m Anti-Cosmo-” “-and I’m Wanda,” she chimed in, butting her shoulder against my own. Mandelro froze, fingers tight on the rocky ridges, as she and I lifted our wands in sync. “And we’re… your Fairy godparents!”

In which Anti-Cosmo and Wanda visit their Boudacian godkid in the Summer of the Flaming Clouds, and Anti-Cosmo meets a green-haired fairy with an unmentionably horrible job.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Godparents For Hire

Well, I thought, prepping easy-to-grab sandwiches to stock the icebox with, this promises to be a semester I’ll never forget. The sandwiches had been Mona’s idea. Even without tasting them, I could already tell she was brilliant… Not that that was a surprise. I’d be grateful for these things when I was on the go. Especially since I was making all mine without cheese. I’d bought special stickers just for this occasion: blue circles for my wraps and pink ones for Wanda’s. I had orange stickers on hand for Mandelro, just in case we ever had to feed him on short notice before a school club or sport or… whatever it was Boudacian kids did after classes released.

“What do you think, Lohai? Does he sound more like a boar-lover or a pheasant fan to you?”

Her lantern rested on the counter with me, but the only response I got from her was a sleepy sort of hum. Ah, genies… You can’t do a thing with them when the pregnancy’s this far along, wot? They really are so very sweet.

One thing had become apparent quite quickly last night: Wanda and I both liked sticking to a schedule if we could get our minds around it. Ha. Jotting down ideas didn’t cause me any trouble. That was the easy part. Now, the commitment to hitting my tasks at the right time of day…

Well, you never could predict that. It varied by the season, if I must be honest. And it varied by my mood. My daily ritual of pheromone application, the oils smeared across my cheeks, certainly seemed to have taken the edge off my wild ups and downs. I’d picked up two new bottles before our study abroad began. “Let’s hope they don’t drip in the sandwiches,” I muttered, and wrapped the sandwich in a wrinkled mulberry leaf for Wanda. Very filling. If she didn’t eat it, I certainly would. I marked it with a sticker and into the pile it went. Last one for the morning. I threw my hands in the air, smirking wide for no one but Lohai to see.

“Haha! And soon, not only shall I master lunch preparation, but I shall conquer premade dinners, too! … I’m thinking mushroom soup. Oh Lohai, you’ll be so proud of me… I’m prepping meat for her meals, and I’m not writhing on the floor!”

“Meat sounds nice,” Lohai murmured. Her voice echoed through the lantern. Oh, pooh… All my yelling mustn’t make for a relaxing naptime environment.

“Sorry, my dear,” I whispered, and went about cleaning the counters as quick as I could.

Our schedule for today looked quite simple, really (Smashingly so, I might add). Even now, Wanda was well on her way to Boudacia with our rat cage in hand. Once there, she would set the beginnings of a portal underneath the crawl dish. I’d take up the end of the so-called magic thread she’d left behind, intertwine her spell with my own, and set the receiving end. Here in Carriage Corner, I’d pair the magic with a special closet door set aside explicitly for such a purpose. Now, presuming that I did it right - and as a long-time demon summoner, I had no doubt in my coordination - we ought to score high-class marks that would set us up for weeks to come. By the end of the week, Wanda and I were both due to turn in a write-up about our experience. Simple enough.

Portals came in many shapes and forms. Far too many things could go wrong with such a spell, but I didn’t worry. Technically speaking, Wanda had the more difficult job (and a much longer morning). We’d agreed it was best I stay behind given my history of unpredictably unstable magic. Why, I might fly out to Boudacia and land myself unable to contact her, unable to form my half of the portal link, and unable to travel far to get back home. And given that her crown floated higher above her head than mine, I felt quite certain that Wanda had more power to give in the first place. Yes… all the better that she travelled out while I stockpiled sandwiches for the rest of our week.

Could portals really work if a fairy cast one end and an anti-fairy the other? Every twitch and curl of magic in my system churned at the thought. I ran through the steps again. Soon enough, Wanda would launch the spell my way. I simply had to prepare myself to draw it in, then tie it off. Nothing to it. I’d closed gates after my demon summoning plenty of times, not to mention watched Mona spay or neuter a few animals, so locking down the waypoint’s local end seemed exactly the right fit.

This, you may have guessed, did leave me twiddling my thumbs for a lengthy time as Wanda skimmed across the universe. So when I’d made all the sandwiches we had bread for, I sought out my faithful friend and study partner. Whyever not? I tapped on her door until she opened it, halfway through re-dyeing her hair from brown to pretty pale yellow. Oh, she looked a dreadful mess with dye dripping down her face, but I knew in that moment she cared nothing for embarrassment. She didn’t hide herself. She, in her imperfect beauty, came to speak with me. I shall cut to the underlying point without dressing it in the talk-around-the-subject way my people do:

"Blonda, I need a favour… I do so hate to ask, but I don’t see how they’d give the information I’m looking for directly to an Anti-Fairy. Could you perhaps, if it isn’t inconvenient, track down a fairy named Lucas Rainwings? He's…" I hesitated, air hissing through my teeth. "He's my nana's fairy partner, but they were separated by the war. Before things become… even remotely physical between you and I, I'd like to talk to him. I'm quite certain he's still alive." My nana had implied as much over migration when she'd told me she keeps away from him on purpose out of mercy for the Rhoswen syndrome raging in his head. Ha. Mercy.

Blonda looked curious, not nearly as annoyed to be given this task as I'd feared. "I didn't know you had relatives in a cross-Court relationship."

"Well, they aren't together anymore, but I'm technically his grandpup. Really, I don’t know how I’d go about finding him- Fairy World is huge and I’ve only seen a small portion of it, not to mention my border pass grants me only limited wandering. I do wish I could meet him, though. Not even my mum ever met my biological grandfather, and my nana always mentions Lucas as her partner before she mentions Anti-Jasper. So terribly sorry to drop this all on you; I didn't think of it any sooner."

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

[mystwrites]

Relentless

Summary: Inosuke brought this upon himself. Tanjiro had to deal with one too many tickle attacks and now it was his turn to give Inosuke a taste of his own medicine

A/N: Day 20 of Tickletober!! Enjoy Zenitsu’s little appearance at the end! I had a bad drawing day so no art…sorry! Enjoy this silly gif though!😂

“GYAAHAHAHAA!! Come and catch me, Gonpachiro!!” Inosuke cackled, just finishing his tenth relentless tickle attack of the week.

“Get back here, Inosuke!!” Tanjiro shouted, running after him. “You asked for this and I’m not going to stop!!”

The two boys ran around the Butterfly Mansion, their chase starting inside but eventually moving outside. It wasn’t hard for Tanjiro to catch up to the boar headed boy. Inosuke was pretty easy to tackle to the floor. Jumping, Tanjiro connected with Inosuke’s body and tackled him to the ground, the two boys rolling in the grass before Tanjiro victoriously ended up in the perfect position to launch a tickle attack on Inosuke.

Inosuke had a few ticklish spots but there was a very specific way to go about tickling him to really get him going and unlock every tickle spot the human body could have. Smirking, Tanjiro wiggled his fingers before they connected with Inosuke’s bare sides, squeezing rather harshly. Inosuke burst into laughter and Tanjiro giggled, squeezing up to his friend’s armpits and back down, focusing on the spot right above his hips. He repeated the action, Inosuke arching his back with a loud laugh.

“G-Gohohonpachiro!!” Inosuke shouted, weakly throwing a punch at Tanjiro who laughed.

“That’s not my name, Inosuke!” Tanjiro laughed, shaking his head as his hands squeezed up and down Inosuke’s sides. “Just for that, I’m going to be more relentless! This will only stop if you can say my name right! It’s TANJIRO for your information!”

Inosuke was a stubborn individual, he always was going to be defiant. Tanjiro was well aware of that fact. He couldn’t help but laugh however, especially whenever he tickled Inosuke to the pint he began snorting loudly like a pig. With Inosuke’s sensitivity heightened, Tanjiro focused on the center of his friend’s stomach, giggling as Inosuke grabbed his hands and weakly tried to push him away.

“S-stohohop it, Gohohonpahahachiro!!” Inosuke cried, snorting as Tanjiro tickled the spot below his ribs.

“Come on, Inosuke! Say my name right!” Tanjiro encouraged, his fingers attacking Inosuke’s neck. “I’m not stopping until you say my name right.”

“Nohoho!! Ahaha!! Ihihi wihihill…GYAAAHAHAHAHA!!” Inosuke tried to argue but his laughter overtook him as Tanjiro squeezed at his thighs.

Tanjiro laughed, knowing that Inosuke was normally not even ticklish along his legs. He was only ticklish along his sides and his feet. Tanjiro knew that he had unlocked the secret into making Inosuke more ticklish and took pride in the fact, now launching tickle attacks anywhere he could in order to make Inosuke say his name right.

“It’s a simple word, Inosuke!” Tanjiro sang, going back up to his hips. “Tanjiro! Say it! TANJIRO!”

Inosuke didn’t want to give in. He made it his personal mission to never say Tanjiro’s name right and enjoyed causing trouble to him in hopes of setting Tanjiro off somehow but it never worked. This however wasn’t what Inosuke had wanted. Laughing hysterically, Inosuke tried to push Tanjiro’s wiggling fingers away, only to find Tanjiro growing more and more relentless by the second, his fingers acting like a thousand little spiders crawling up and down his sides.

“G-GOHOHONPACHIRO!! STOP AHAHHAHA!! IHIHI CAHAHAN’T BREATHE!!” Inosuke gasped, shrieking as Tanjiro found a sensitive spot under his arms.

“What? Can’t handle this, Inosuke?” Tanjiro taunted, digging his fingers in more. “Surely you can handle a little bit of tickling! Hahaha! It appears I am wrong. You can’t handle this or say my name right!”

With no correct name being said, Tanjiro calmly shrugged and continued to torment Inosuke, laughing each time Inosuke snorted. The two were so busy with their game and didn’t realize that Zenitsu had returned from his mission, confused when he saw Inosuke scrambling to get away from Tanjiro.

“You look like you’re trying to break dance, Inosuke.” Zenitsu giggled, pointing a finger at Inosuke, his boar head falling off as he jerked away from Tanjiro.

“HEHEHELP!! MOHOHONITSU!! GOHOHONPACHIRO HAHAS BEEHEHEEN DOING THIHIS AHAHALL AHAHAFTERNOON!!” Inosuke cried, shrieking as Tanjiro dug his fingers into his ribs.

“That’s not right!” Tanjiro argued. “You were the one relentlessly tickling me! I’m really just giving you the favor in return!”

Zenitsu looked between the two boys, wondering who he should help. Should he help Inosuke and risk Tanjiro’s tickle attack? Tanjiro managed to take them both down before so that was out of the question, but if he tickled Inosuke, he’d get punched in the face.

“Come on Zenitsu!” Tanjiro urged. “Help me tickle Inosuke into saying my name right! I have been relentlessly tickling him since uhhh…a few minutes ago.”

“IHIHIT’S BEEHEHEEN DAHAHAYS!” Inosuke wailed, laughing as Zenitsu approached. “HEHELP MONITSU!!”

“Oh stop being dramatic!” Tanjiro laughed, rubbing his knuckles against Inosuke’s ribs.

Shrugging Zenitsu launched himself at Inosuke, laughing as he succeeded and sat on top of the boar headed boy’s stomach, his hands holding his legs down. “Get his feet, Tanjiro! Get him good!!”

“WHAHAHAHAT?!” Inosuke squawked, laughing harder as Tanjiro took his sandals off. “IHIHI’LL KIHILL YOU, MOHOHONITS-AHAAHAHA!!”

“You don’t even say my name right, idiot. I think you deserve this, Inosuke.” Zenitsu snickered, pressing his full body weight into Inosuke who was loudly laughing and kicking his feet as best as he could.

[ampedupkaon]

August Writing Challenge Day 12: Meliodas/Elizabeth

AN: This one happens right after the bit in the destroyed Boar Hat Tavern between Meliodas and Elizabeth.

She'd thought he was dead. She couldn't believe it when he'd appeared and saved her from the two demons who were attacking. He'd pushed the Commandments back and they'd ran, tails between their legs. They had no Boar Hat to return to at the end of the day though. That had been smashed by a demon's punch hitting Hawk Mama. Which meant... creeping back to her room with him. Her father wouldn't approve of her sleeping with Meliodas, of that Elizabeth was certain.

“So... what you thinking about?” The blonde asked her with a cheeky grin.

“We... Are you tired Sir Meliodas?” She asked him. She felt exhausted, not just physically but mentally as well. She'd had too many close calls today. And then there had been the thing with Fraudrin. The look in his eye; one of purest joy at having caused that. The look totally at odds with how he was looking at her now. He yawned dramatically.

“Yep. Is that you asking to sleep with me?” Elizabeth squeaked before nodding. They'd slept together before, Meliodas wrapped in masses of rope so he couldn't move or touch her. She wanted him to touch her, to hold her. She wanted to hold him too, feel his hearts beating against her chest.

“How naughty! The princess is asking me to sleep with her!” She squealed, because that wasn't what she was meaning at all.

“Take me to bed Elizabeth. I will. My hands and my tongue are sinful.” Her cheeks had to be crimson, she was sure of that. She didn't want to know! She started walking towards her room, hoping that no one saw her, or if they did see her they didn't tell her father. She closed the door, Meliodas grinning at the sight.

“I don't have any bed clothes, you know. Want me naked?” Elizabeth shuddered. She... she had saw it. Once. Completely by accident. She hadn't been expecting him to be bathing in the river and to be climbing out right as she'd walked into the clearing. She'd saw the dangly thing that only men had. That didn't mean she wanted him in close quarters with her when he had no clothes on. At least... before they got married... She squealed. If they got married!

“Is that a yes? You are being naughty, aren't you!”

“N-No! Someone will get the wrong idea!” Meliodas giggled, before smiling at her.

“Then... how about this?” He removed his top, muscled chest free to admire. And admire it she did for a moment, before nodding at him.

“Your turn. Better find a nightgown to change into.” He had a wicked grin; Elizabeth realised he was going to watch her change into it. She was a little nervous of that, but also knew that she could do it. Just face the other way while she did it. She dragged out a sky blue one which had short puff sleeves and stopped just above her knees. It also would give him a peek at her chest if she leaned down. Her skirt found the floor and he whistled.

“Nice! Gonna show me the top half too?” His eyes were obviously on her pink panties. She was nervous of doing this, of taking off her top while he could see. And she'd froze, too scared by the thought.

“Elizabeth. I promise I won't peek. If I take a look at your bare boobies you have my permission to literally kick my butt out of the door. Because the temptation is strong; you're lovely.” She blushed but watched him close his eyes, cover them and turn his back. She waited a moment, before taking her top off as quickly as she could. There was a brief moment where she expected him to come and handle her bare breasts but it never came. She dragged her nightie over her head.

“You can look now.” She told him. He was admiring her, before coming over and having a feel of her breasts, peeking under the bottom of the nightgown. Like he did whenever she changed her outfit.

“Very nice, very snuggly.” He nodded, making his way over to bed. He scrambled in, gesturing for her to follow him. She did, looking around as though expecting Hawk to come over and separate them. She climbed in to bed, Meliodas wrapping his arms and legs around her like the clingy octopus he was. His head was snuggled up to her breasts, of course.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” She asked, confused as to why he'd be thanking her.

“Letting me stay with you tonight. And for not giving up on me.” She nodded, ruffling his hair. He giggled into her breasts.

“Sweet dreams Elizabeth.” He got comfortable and closed his eyes.

“Sweet dreams Sir Meliodas.” She got comfortable and opened her mouth to say something else. The words caught in her throat, like they normally did. She closed her eyes, sleep finding her quicker than it had for the entire time he'd been missing. She'd swear she heard him mutter something right before she dozed off to sleep.

AN: The Hawk wrapping Meliodas in rope and telling him off comes in the morning, when he looks for Elizabeth to tell her something and finds the two of them in bed together.

[royrockstone]

treat it as a prompt to spread your food motifs thoughts, would love to hear some (especially after finale)

ty for askinggg <333

4x10, as told through food:

Caribbean Air Clear was a big win for caroline ed truthers. caroline’s food stuff has always been a stand-in for her failure to parent— she is either resentful of having to, or unable to, nourish them; she gives food in paltry amounts because that’s how she parcels out affection. and the kids find what she does give them inedible. at the Peter Munion Pitch Dinner, she announces that the portions are going to be small, and the only thing that looks like palatable food in her kitchen (the cheese) is reserved for peter— a person she actually chose to put in her life and seems to be happy with.

in contrast to logan, who tested and punished them around food, i read caroline’s inability to nourish them as more unintentional— she just can’t do it because she feels so much bitterness about her family. i also think there’s gender stuff in there— she's not Womanly bc she can’t cook (or, more likely, have someone else cook) properly, she’s like if the wire mother didn’t even give milk. in some ways, she’s sort of girlish rather than womanly (expressing in chiantishire that she wants to like have fun and drink and fuck and gossip rather than settle into being an older woman who’s best days are behind her. and she gets along best with her girliest kid, roman.) it always makes me feel crazyinsane that the one moment In The Light that roman seems to have gotten is laughing with logan about caroline’s inability to feed them (“three muddy trout for six and fill up on mustard”) those kids had no chance to be fed emotionally or physically lol </3 

meal fit for a king! lets talk about it. it is, first of all and foremost, sweet! it’s a time when food is being used playfully and you’re expected to eat rather than expected to abstain. but theres also such a dark side to it imo, as with all affection for the roys. 1. shiv spits in the blender (in a mirror of when she spit in kens notebook in s3) which is meant to be at least a little bit degrading 2. the whole point is kind of degrading (the name sounds like something logan would do — see boar on the floor, dinner for winners and mole in the hole from the script books) make kendall eat something disgusting, not as a test per se, but as a way of humbling him just a little. food is still lowkey a weapon even when it’s sweet and silly. (also theres some kendall jesus motif— roman crowns him but in a way that’s mocking etc) 3. it’s sweet specifically because the foods are a) unwanted— the roy kids have been starved, of affection and literally of food, and they’re making something genuinely nice with scraps and b) not luxurious— it’s not ortolan or kendalls endive salad, it’s bread ends and cocoa powder. 

there was an interesting moment that mirrored my 4x08 food lore thoughts— ken offers roman rum punch when he’s still trying to woo his board vote against shiv, and roman ignores the punch, pours himself a shot, then grabs a beer. kendall is the one who locked him in a cage and made him eat cake, he’s the reason they had to eat roast chicken, roman experiences his brother as always trying to subordinate him by controlling what he consumes (which is obv a corollary to trying to control him in business.)

on the less thematic/more personally self-serving ed headcanon side of things, nothing has contradicted my hc that roman hasn’t eaten solid food since logan died. all he does is lick Peter’s Special Cheese, drink coffee (sleep deprivation won succession, actually), and drink alcohol. we see roman eat cake at connors rehearsal dinner, pre-logan death and during what he thought was a secure time in the sibling alliance, then never again. his habit of snacking on little bits of fruit and desserts has totally disappeared. tho it's not shown, i could see him eating the night of the election when he realized he won at something and was expecting to crush it at the funeral the next day. if hes becoming logan, hes allowed to eat. but the second he flames out at the funeral and realizes he is, in fact, still a dead man walking, he’d go back to not eating. trying to please the dad in his head, or to express his essential deadness/emptiness without his dad. 

ofc, we don't rlly see the other siblings eat, either (i have laser-focused Roman ED vision so something might have slipped past me. does shiv taste the breakfast tom brings her?) notably, no one ate at the Funeral Planning Committee breakfast, they don’t eat at the tailgate im p sure, i don’t think anyone touched the food at the Munion Pitch Dinner. (tbh concerned for shiv’s fetus re: having adequate calories.) i think part of it is grief and part of it is collective family Disorder and part of it is the good old competitive strong dog weak dog stuff.

i made a joke that roman is going to end up like caroline, but i kind of meant it? i can see him having no food in his house, cocktail in hand, snugly burying himself some place out of the way and fucking around with mild self-destruction for the rest of his life. (altho rather than a failhusband i think he’d try to replace logan yet again and end up with a partner who was pretty brutish or domineering) 

ty again!