worstgirlsfuture

[worstgirlsfuture]

i know this website is tired of me loll. i decided to make some of my fav fics into book covers (￣▽￣)

Lazy People’s Club by @beauvoyr

A Memory of summer rain by SkyBlueBird

Beneath the Silk by @phyx-m

Skinned Hearts by @swimmingferret

[worstgirlsfuture]

FUNERAL MARCH | evil eye x fem!reader x jiji

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human either. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits. (Or: You and Jiji are now engaged. Of course, you have to ask the Evil Eye to marry you too.)

10.8k words. romance, smut, mild angst & comedy. rough sex with the Evil Eye (piv, creampie, overstimulation, bizarre magic, cnc elements in the “nooo it's too much” kind of way, dubcon with the magic). content warnings: aged up characterization, implied past sexual abuse (not involving Jiji or Evil Eye), brief mentions of suicidality, religious references (Taoist ghost marriage), use of English idioms that don't translate well into Japanese (forgive me), canon-typical crass humour. mdni.

I. THE GHOST

You’re in love with his Vessel.

The Evil Eye is well-aware of this. He hadn't known love as a human, but he saw it often enough in the House. Countless families moved in over the years, husbands and wives with little children who were frightened when he tried to play with them. After photography was invented, pictures lined the walls and decorated nightstands. They immortalized brides in their white kimono, grooms with their wide smiles, elegant ceremonies, decadent banquets.

The couples always looked like they were having so much fun, the Evil Eye noticed. Not just in the photos, but in their daily lives in the House—dancing with each other, pressing their lips together, laughing and singing and holding each other. Then they'd die together, hanging themselves because of that shitty worm. The Evil Eye always felt a kind of sadness seeing them in love—he’d never had that, and he'd never get it, and it was unfair in a way that filled him with a searing rage.

But he was even angrier when they died.

It used to make him angry too, when you talked about the Vessel. When he took over and he caught you laughing at something the Vessel had said, or dancing with him, or pressing your lips together. (Kissing, you’d told him the first time it happened. It's called kissing someone, when you do that.)

Then you started kissing the Evil Eye too, and suddenly he wasn't so angry anymore—the latent rage in him for once eased.

Still, it makes him feel sullen when you tell him, “Jiji and I want to get married.”

You are lying next to him in bed. Sweat is cooling on your naked body—you always get so hot when you and the Vessel get into bed with each other, or sometimes when he’s got you bent over the dining room table, or occasionally when you touch each other in that place you call the ‘locker room’, which tends to leave you extra breathless. No matter the place or the time, you’re always lighthearted, glowing, satisfied. It's the effect that the Vessel has when he’s inside you.

(Sex, you told the Evil Eye once, it's called having sex. Or making love. Not all sex is making love, but it's making love the way that Jiji and I do it. And then the Evil Eye demanded that you show him what exactly that meant, and that's when you took him inside you for the first time. He felt so good and so close with you that for a while, it was all he wanted to do.

Wants to do.)

“What does that mean,” the Evil Eye asks, although he has a good idea. You want to live in a House with the Vessel and laugh and sing and hold each other. You want to die together too, probably, your corpses hanging side-by-side from the same bannister.

“It means we’re going to dress up and make vows to spend the rest of our lives together,” you say. “And we’ll live together and build a home and maybe we’ll have babies too.”

The Evil Eye thinks of all those babies who lived in the House, impossibly tiny humans who were cradled by their mothers before they were burned alive as sacrifices. Before he became the Evil Eye—back when he was merely the ghost of a waif—he’d tried to play with them too, making silly faces and dancing as they giggled at him. He liked to pretend that they were his younger sisters or brothers, but sometimes he wondered how it'd feel to hold them and sing to them like their parents did. How it'd feel if he were a husband with a wife and a kid, what it would be like to dance with someone in the kitchen or tuck a child away into its cradle.

But every time he tried to pick the babies up, his hands would pass right through them. Kind-hearted ghosts can't love people in such a physical way; you need to be vengeful to hold onto anything. He'd had to learn to hate all humans before being able to touch them again, and now he's so rife with hatred that he can't love them anyway. All he can do is haunt them.

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits, and that's why he can kiss you and that's why he can hold you and that's why he’s allowed to sex with you (sex, not love—you've never called it making love when you do it with him, and you never look lighthearted after, and you never glow from his touch: he always leaves you panting, marked up, bruised, possessed).

You love the Vessel, so it makes sense that you would want to do all that with him: live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together.

“Oh,” he says. “Sounds fun.”

You laugh. “Yes, I hope it'll be.” Then you lace your fingers with his, and look at him in a tender way that he'll probably never get used to. In a tender way that's meant for the Vessel.

“So, then,” you say almost shyly, “Do you wanna marry me too?”

II. THE VESSEL

Auntie Seiko is as beautiful, young, and no-nonsense as ever. Between meeting her as a child, coming into her care as a teenager, and now seeking her help as an adult, Jiji doesn't think she's ever changed. Most familiar to him right now is the expression that she’s wearing, the one that suggests that he might have shit for brains. Turbo Granny, perched on her shoulder, seems equally bemused, her porcelain cat eyes narrowed into judgemental slits. He'd been hoping that Momo and Okarun would understand his feelings, but they seem equally exasperated—Momo might even be a little appalled.

Anyone else might be disheartened by this reaction, but Jiji is undeterred. These are the people who once realised his wish to protect the Evil Eye; surely, they’ll also realise his wish for him to find happiness.

“—so we talked to him, right? Or my beautiful wifey talked to him, anyway—”

“We're not married yet, Jiji,” you interrupt dryly. “Don’t call me that.”

“—my future beautiful wifey talked to him about getting married, and he said yes! I'm on board. I think they should get a proper ceremony and everything. I know it's a little unconventional since she’ll be marrying me too, but I don't mind sharing, and I'd be willing to work out any legal issues. I'm sure we can find a country where polygamy is allowed.”

“Don’t you think the bigger problem is that he's an evil spirit?!” Momo asks—yells—but Jiji only shrugs.

“Evil or not, don't you think he deserves love and romance just as much as anyone else?”

“No!”

Jiji supposes that he can't blame Momo for her reaction, given how many times the Evil Eye has nearly killed her. Deeming her a lost cause, he turns his gaze on her boyfriend instead, almost puppy-like.

“Don’t you think so, Okarun?”

“Not really,” he admits, and Jiji nearly wilts at the betrayal before he adds, “but I understand where you're coming from. The Evil Eye was like a child when he first possessed you; his greatest wish was to find a friend to play with. Now he's basically a young man who's found his first love and his greatest wish is to be with her… and she, um, happens to be your wifey…”

“Don’t call me that!” you protest, oddly embarrassed, and Jiji resists the urge to squeeze you. You're so cute when you're flustered, it's unbearable. He makes a mental note to tell you this on the way home, though he already does this every day as a rule. When you were both still students, he would say it whenever he walked you home from school; nowadays, he more often says it during long-distance phone calls, or on FaceTime, or occasionally via text if your schedules are that misaligned. But he still makes it a point to remind you everyday, no matter where he is in the world: You're so cute. You're so pretty. You're beautiful, did you know that? I love you.

I love you, he thinks as he watches you. You look bashful right now. “We both want the Evil Eye to find happiness, and I’m pretty sure marriage will make him happy. And, well…” Your gaze drops. “It’d make me pretty happy too.”

Something in Jiji’s chest swells when he sees your expression. It feels mostly sweet, but there's also a painful edge to it. He’s always carried a kind of ache in his ribs ever since the day he caught his parents dangling from the second floor of the House and had to untie the nooses himself. Nowadays, he isn't sure if the pain is from that memory or if it's from the weight of the Evil Eye’s curse. Sometimes it feels like they're one and the same. Often it feels suffocating, like he's drowning and there's nothing he can do to breathe again—not laughing or joking or playing or running.

But you're always there when it’s hard. You're always beside him when he wakes up in the middle of the night to gasp for air, the way he used to when he was haunted as a teenager: It's okay, Jiji, you tell him, voice tender, I'm here for you. You aren't alone. I won't leave you. I won't let anything hurt you. I love you. The nightmares always leave him soaked in cold sweat, so he often switches in these moments, his consciousness displaced by a lonely, crying spirit. He doesn't know what it is you say to the Evil Eye, but when he comes back his heart feels lighter, and from that he knows that you've comforted him too.

The Evil Eye loves you—that much is clear. He loves you as much as Jiji does, probably. In a different way, sure, but just as much in strength.

It follows that nothing would make the Evil Eye happier in this world than getting married to you, Jiji figures. Dead or alive, who wouldn't be elated to marry the love of their life? And Jiji knows it'd make you equally as happy; only an idiot would think that you didn't love the Evil Eye back, and he's no fool. Some people might find it weird that he wants his wife to marry another man—and an evil spirit, at that—and maybe they're right for that. But why would Jiji ever turn down so much collective joy?

So he nods vigorously, giving Momo an intense look. “It'd make us all happy. Trust us!”

Momo gives you both a long, disbelieving stare.

“Well, when you put it that way…” She sighs, resigned. “When’s the wedding?”

“That's what we wanted your help with,” Jiji says, and he gives her grandmother an earnest look. “We want the wedding to be perfect, but we're not really sure how a ceremony would work with a youkai. What dates to choose, what venue to book, who could perform the rites… I mean, could you perform the rites, Ma’am?”

Auntie Seiko frowns. She looks on the verge of admonishing both of you, but Turbo Granny beats her to it: “Idiots. You can't do a Shinto ceremony with the Evil Eye. All three of you will combust into flames.”

“Oh.” Jiji remembers all the aliens and spirits alike that have burned upon attempting to chase them into the shrine grounds. He deflates. “Then… he can't get married?”

You squeeze his hand, and Jiji suspects that it's more for him than yourself. You don't seem nearly so worried.

“Would a Buddhist temple take us?” you ask.

“Doubt it,” Auntie Seiko says around her cigarette. “They’d probably try to exorcise your hubby on the spot—and even if they didn't, no Buddhist priest here would ever stand for tying the spirit of the deceased to a living person. It's how you get hauntings.”

“I don't mind being haunted by the Evil Eye,” you say immediately, and Auntie Seiko snorts.

“I know you don't, but it’s not in our job descriptions to curse people just because they're horny for a ghost.” Momo and Okarun cough loudly, and Jiji feels himself flushing; you cover your face with your hands. “I know a Chinese Taoist who’s done a few ghost marriages, though.”

“They’re okay with cursing people?” you ask, watching her through your fingers. “I mean—not that I mind.”

“Nah—they perform it as a pacification ritual. It would be the safest way to do something like this.” Auntie Seiko studies you closely. “I'm not sure how my acquaintance would react to an evil spirit or to polygamy, but I’ll call him and ask.”

“You're the best, Ma’am!” Jiji bursts, beaming. “We’ll save you an honoured spot in the front row! Turbo Granny too!” Elders should be respected, after all.

Turbo Granny makes a skeptical noise. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, numbnuts. Even if Seiko can find a priest stupid enough to oversee this wedding, there’s something you need that you probably can't find.”

“If we could find Okarun’s balls, I’m sure we can find anything,” you joke, but Granny seems unimpressed, her paws crossed over her chest.

Jiji frowns. “What exactly do we need to get?”

Turbo Granny gives you both an ominous look.

“His bones.”

III. THE CHILD

The Evil Eye hates being in the House.

All the spirits that he carries hate it too, airy things pulsing with rage and sadness and grief so palpable that he can always easily weaponise it. Any good memories that were ever constructed in the House are eclipsed by the hangings, the knife wounds, the suffocation, and also the burnings. Especially the burnings. Especially the white-hot lava washing over him, eating into his flesh—especially his last few days as a twitching, starving, dying thing on a stake; especially being buried, then the House being built atop his remains. Then all the children and babies sacrificed after him, wailing and screaming: unfair this is unfair let me go let me go let me go it hurts it hurts it hurts please stop this please help me Mom Mommy please help me please come back I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

He isn't ordinarily bothered by rage; he was born of it, after all. But he doesn't like feeling so much rage around you. The Evil Eye likes haunting you and will probably someday curse you—both things he once did to the families in this House—but he doesn't want to kill you.

He glances around the basement—the man cursed by Turbo Granny is here, and so is his lover. (Girlfriend, you’d called her. Momo is Okarun’s girlfriend, just like how I'm Jiji’s. You agree to be someone’s girlfriend when you have feelings for them and want to act on them. A-ah—what? Y-yes, I do have feelings for Jiji… Why do you ask?) The dancer and the Shinto priestess aren't here, and neither is the girl with the lizard suit, but they aren't needed.

If he tries to kill you, Okarun alone could probably stop him. This is the only reason that the Evil Eye agreed to let you come in the first place.

“This is so gross,” you whine, completely oblivious. You're knee-deep in the white gunk left by that shitty Tsuchinoko worm. “I can't believe you spent a whole day buried in this stuff, Okarun.”

“It saved me and Turbo Granny,” he replies, pushing his glasses up as he digs through the mess with you. “The lava would have gotten to us otherwise. I think it probably preserved the Evil Eye’s bones too.”

“I hope so…” You turn to the Evil Eye, head tilted. “Are you sure they're here, Jashi?”

Jashi. You say his title like it's name and not a curse. (Jashi, we should go try out this cafe, you'll say, or, Jashi, let’s go check out this show, or, I missed you, Jashi, it's been too long—here, can you feel how much I need you?) Sometimes he wonders if you ever forget that he's a ghost, or if using this Vessel fools you into thinking that he's human. If you lay beneath him in bed thinking that it's technically the Vessel inside you, and not just the monster possessing him.

“I’m a ghost,” he reminds you bluntly, “‘course I know where my remains are. Dunno if they've turned ash, though. Guess you can't marry me if they have.”

“No, we’ll get married,” you say, unbothered. “I'll dig up all the dirt from this shithole and say my vows to that if I have to.”

Okarun gives you a funny look. “How are you gonna get all that dirt out?” he asks.

“I'll make you carry it.”

“Huh? Says who?”

“Says Momo. He’ll help me carry it, right?”

“He will,” Momo affirms, and her boyfriend chokes. She ignores him, scanning the wreckage. “I hope it doesn't come to that, though. Hey, Evil Eye—can’t you be more specific with where we're supposed to dig? Coordinates or a map would be nice.”

“I'm not a fucking radar!”

You give him a pleading look. “Please, Jashi? Can't you try? For your future wifey?”

The Vessel's face gets hot. Its heart does the stupid thing where it jumps when you're around, or when he holds you after the two of you have sex, or when he stares too long at the engagement ring that's usually on your finger (now hanging around your neck on a silver chain, safely away from Tsuchinoko gunk).

“...fine. Gimme a sec.”

He closes the two eyes of the Vessel so that he can focus on his third. Human vision is too bound by shapes and light and figures; it distracts and deceives him. When he can't see your face, it becomes easier to hone in on his resentment. Unfair, his remains whisper to him, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“There,” he says eventually, pointing at the ground, “it's all there. In one spot. Guess I'm still a skeleton.”

You've got something of a sixth sense—whether it’s an effect of touching the golden ball or coupling so often with a spirit, the Evil Eye can't be sure. However it came about, it seems to tell you that he's right. Your eyes go soft when you rest a hand on the dirt he’s pointed at.

“Momo, Okarun,” you say, “Thank you for your help. I can dig this up myself—you guys can take a break.”

“Huh? No, we’d be happy to…” Okarun starts, but then Momo’s dragging him out by the collar and making him squawk.

“Sure—we’ll wait outside!” she says. “C’mon, Okarun, let's look for Mongolian Death Worm remains—I saw an occult article saying that it has medicinal properties if you make a powder extract from it…”

“You can't take that stuff seriously, Miss Ayase…”

After they leave, you spend the rest of the afternoon digging.

The Evil Eye offers to help, but you are determined to do it yourself. It's okay, Jashi, you say, I’m going to do it. You're going to be my hubby—the Vessel’s heart does the throbbing thing again—so it's only right that I'm the one to unearth you.

He doesn't understand it, but he shrugs anyway. Suit yourself. And he watches as you your fingers dig into the dirt, delicate nails collecting detritus. You don't want to use a shovel, you say, because you're sure that his bones will be fragile and you don't want to damage them. Even when he tells you that his bones are likely ruined in the first place, burned to shit and frail from rot, you don't let up. You just keep digging until you’re picking them out of the dirt.

You roll out a silk cloth, revealing lotuses against a pale backdrop. One by one, you lay his bones atop the pink and ivory thread, and you've found about half of them before he realises that you're reconstructing his skeleton. It's a small, pathetic thing. Help me help me I don't want to die, he can remember himself screaming. It hurts it hurts it hurts please stop. Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

The ghosts of the House begin to wail with rage.

Part of him worries for you—probably the part of him influenced by the Vessel, which is capable of a love that ghosts are not. It knows that you don't deserve his wrath.

“You should leave,” he says, but you shake your head. You take your time as you gather up bones, treating them all delicately as you roll them up in the silk, holding them close to you. As if you aren't in the presence of countless wrathful spirits. As if you are with the Vessel, and not with him.

“You were so small,” you say quietly. “Sometimes I forget that you were a child when you died.”

The Evil Eye stares at you, at the pathetic bundle in your hands. “That was ages ago.”

“But it never stops hurting, doesn't it?” you say, and the walls of the House close in on him. They tell him you're right, that you're a human, that you'll hurt him just like the rest of them, that you need to die too. But you look at him, soft in a way that belongs to the Vessel, tender in a way that the waif-ghost covets, and then the House shudders and goes quiet.

“I’m sorry I didn't help you back then,” you say, and it makes no sense, but he doesn't interrupt you. “I promise I'll make your married life a good one, now that we’re together.”

That's stupid, the Evil Eye thinks of saying, pedantic: I'm already dead. But you rise from the dirt before he can protest, and then you're taking his bones out of the House, cradling him in your arms.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

For the first time since being born, his body is allowed to leave the confines of its prison.

IV. THE BRIDE

The ceremony happens at night.

You spend the whole day readying yourself. Aira helps you get into your dress, admonishing you for the satanic rituals you'll soon perform but giving you her blessing anyway. Momo does your makeup, telling you to ignore Aira. Vamola says that you look lovely in stilted, earnest Japanese. Auntie Seiko helps you with your hair; she asks you, all the while, if you would like to wear a headdress that might protect you from evil, or for her to perform a consecration on your body. Turbo Granny is less roundabout, offering to take the Evil Eye’s banana in advance of your marital rites. Serpo warns you not to let the Evil Eye take your bananas—Why are you even here!? Momo yells at him—and Reiko Kashima says you shouldn't listen to any of them. You need to hold onto your man no matter what, she advises.

She also says you're beautiful, though of course you aren't as beautiful as her.

Beautiful. Are you beautiful? You'll be beautiful when you marry Jiji, because you're certain that his PR agent will want you prettied up by a team of stylists rather than a bunch of goofballs. You will need to look good for the photos, at least as handsome as him, and you don't know if you can manage that. You will need to be poised in front of the five hundred people attending, about which ten are your friends and none of which are your family.

You're already married to Jiji, technically. The two of you had a civil ceremony that only Momo and Okarun attended as witnesses, quick and dirty and secret. But the official ceremony will make it real, and you are terrified of that. You love Jiji beyond comprehension, and you know he loves you back tenfold, but you've never been able to rid yourself of the small voice in your head that tells you that you aren't good enough for him. It's been haunting you ever since the two of you fell in love, and you think maybe even before that. Maybe it started plaguing you when you were young.

When you were a child, you used to ask yourself if anyone would ever love you enough to save you from the things being done to you—the things you were convinced would be irreversible. You had confessed this to Jiji before you had sex with him for the first time. (Making love, he corrected you, I want to make love with you, and it made you feel so shy you nearly kicked him out of your bed.) He'd replied that he did love you enough, and that he would save you as many times as you wanted (I’m sorry I couldn't help you back then, he'd added nonsensically, but now that we’re together, I'll make sure your life is a good one), and you were so happy that you cried.

Sometimes you still cry, thinking about his words. But no matter how many times you replay the memory, no matter how often you tell yourself that Jiji is an honest man, the small voice in your head always warns that he’d lied to you. That your wedding to him will be a lie, too.

You often think about how he would leave you (gently), and why he would leave you (the list is endless). And then you try to imagine life without him—no cheerful kisses peppering your features, no goofy expressions putting you in stitches, no grueling morning runs, no messy kitchen sinks, no you're the cutest girl in the world, you're so beautiful I can't believe I'm dating you, how come you don't believe me when I say that stuff, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, I know you can get better I'll help you, I dunno how to talk about this with anyone other than you, sorry I cried that was kinda lame of me, sorry I need to go to Spain, sorry I was away for so long, I got you this merch, I got us tickets to this show, is it my fault you're going to therapy again, can you come with me to Berlin, is everything okay, come with me to the U.S., are you okay, are we okay, I don't want to break up, I love you, I love you so much, marry me, I'm being serious please marry me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise I won't leave you—

You don't think you could imagine living without Jiji.

Your looming wedding to Jiji terrifies you, but your ghost marriage does not. You feel calm in your dress, certain in your decision. Jashi has never scared you the way that Jiji has, after all. He doesn't frighten you even when the Taoist priest pulls you aside and tells you, “You can still back out of this.”

“Why would I?”

He dabs at his temples with a handkerchief. “This ritual is dangerous with a being like the Evil Eye. Ghost marriages are meant to pacify benign spirits—not vengeful ghosts. I can't guarantee that he will be calmed by this.”

You give him a quizzical look. “If he isn't calmed, then what would happen?”

The priest swallows. “There are three potential outcomes. One—he is pacified completely and moves on to the afterlife.”

This would scare you ordinarily, but you know Jashi well enough to understand that he would never move on. “Okay. What else?”

“Two—he is unaffected, and things remain the same.”

You wait, watching the way his fingers tremble. A wind blows; it carries the scent of burning sandalwood from the wedding altar.

“And?”

“And three—the most likely possibility—he will attach himself to you and curse you.”

“Oh.” The thought should scare you, but you don't think it's fear that’s squeezing your heart. “What would a curse be like?”

“Devastating. You'll never be able to live a normal life, nor will you have a proper afterlife.” The priest shudders at this possibility, which apparently frightens him too much to further describe. “Listen—if the Evil Eye doesn't pass on, you must not complete the marriage. Completing it would make the attachment permanent, and it would realise any curse he places upon you.”

“‘Completing the marriage”?”

“Consummating it.” His face is white. “Sex magic is unspeakably powerful. I don't believe anyone would be able to break a curse that’s born from it—at least not involving such a great yaoguai.”

Anyone else might laugh at his words, but you remain quiet. After spending so long chasing golden balls and bananas, after nearly a decade of fighting off aliens trying to have sex with Momo and Aira, you know that he is telling the truth.

And besides—you know just how permanently a touch can linger (a lifetime, forever, doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?), so you aren't surprised to hear the kind of curse it inflicts.

“Okay,” you say. “I promise I won't let it happen.”

It is only with this vow that the Taoist consents to overseeing the marriage.

The affair is a hodgepodge of Chinese funerary practices and Western weddings—foreign in every respect, but not uncomfortable. Auntie Seiko, clad in red-and-white robes and a golden headdress, walks you down the aisle. Against all her counsel, a white veil sits atop your head and chases after your shoulders. You stop before an altar of offerings and summoning talismans, Taoist spells lit up by the full moon hanged above. Instead of a bridegroom, you are next to a coffin that holds a tiny skeleton. The priest is before you, now possessed by a death god that will call Jashi back to his remains. Supposedly it is a Taoist deity, but its presence feels more extraterrestrial to you than anything spiritual. You will need to ask Serpo about it later.

You study the audience as the priest begins the summoning ritual. Jiji sits in the front row, watching you intently; if all goes well, Jashi will leave his body for the duration of the ceremony, along with all the vengeful ghosts that once resided in the sacrificial house with him. The spirits of the house scare you more than Jashi; you do not know how they will behave once cleaved from his control. There's a banquet for them in the back, a long table with a spread of incense, flowers, rice, and fruit—but you do not know if it will be enough to pacify them.

Your wedding party is equally on edge. As the White Impermanence begins its rituals, Jiji’s body slumps, and everyone else stiffens in their seats. The air grows rife with malevolence. The stars and moon blink out of existence, the world around you grows silent, and a suffocating darkness overtakes the night—almost as if you have been submerged in Empty Space. Tiny cyan flames erupt in the air around the banquet table, their glow eerie in the darkness. They must all be onibi, you guess.

Jashi himself emerges before you, standing over the coffin that holds his bones. You’d expected him to look like the emaciated child that he'd died as, or perhaps the stick-thin monster that used to haunt Jiji—but he takes another form altogether, a formless shadow that your mind can barely comprehend. You're vaguely aware of Turbo Granny covering Momo’s eyes, Okarun transforming, Auntie Seiko readying her bat—but you don't look at any of them. You only stare, as if in a trance, at the single vertical eye that is now peering at you from the darkness.

It is probably strange that you feel so calm. If you were a normal person, you'd probably run from your wedding altar of incense and offerings. Or, actually—if you were a normal person, your mind would be fraying at the edges, gripped by a desire to self-destruct. You would sob and beg the Evil Eye to lift its gaze and let you go and to return to you your life.

But you are not a normal person. The Evil Eye has never really made you feel particularly suicidal, nor have you ever really wanted to beg for your life before it. Your gaze is calm as you recite your vows from memory:

I shall marry this man. No matter what tragedies may arise, I will love this person, respect this person, console this person, help this person—until death, and beyond it. I swear these things before the gods.

When the Evil Eye makes his vows, it is in speech that human ears cannot understand. From the wedding banquet, the spirits of the house cry, their wails cacophonous and wrathful, and suddenly you realise that something has gone terribly wrong. Something has changed with this ghost wedding, and not for the better, but when Seiko rises from her seat, you raise a hand.

Finally, the Evil Eye recedes. The darkness lifts, although the spirits linger. Jiji’s eyes flutter open, immediately anxious and disturbed. You give him a reassuring smile—and the rest of your wedding party, too.

Something has gone terribly wrong. Still, you go about your business cheerfully. You thank the Taoist priest, and you insist to him that you will clean up the altar yourself. You greet your friends and say that they should head for the reception, which will have food for humans rather than ghosts. You peck Jiji on the cheek, beaming at him, and he relaxes and congratulates you.

He cups your face tenderly, kisses you on the nose. “You look happy,” he says.

Something has gone terribly wrong, but you still smile and tell him, “Yes.”

V. THE OFFERING

Your marriage bed is an altar.

Ivory petals are scattered across the bed, along with whole lilies and chrysanthemums. Sweetness permeates the room, carried by the smoke of burning incense. Flames dance upon red candles, flickering as they cast a gentle, soft light. This is your attempt to set an intimate mood, but the Evil Eye does not feel any form of love—he only knows greed. Every object in this room is an offering for the dead, meant for ghosts to consume, and you are the greatest offering of all, waiting for him on the centre of the bed in white silk. You are more fragrant than any joss, riper than any fruit, and he is the most ravenous ghost in existence.

“Isn't this romantic?” you say, beaming at him, and this is when the Evil Eye understands that he absolutely cannot have sex with you.

The wedding was meant to pacify him, perhaps even allow him to move on, but it only did the opposite. Seeing you before him at the altar, vowing to spend a lifetime with him despite all his resentment and ugliness made bare—it only made him more covetous. To move on would be to give up all the love you’ve offered him, the kind of love he'd been denied his whole life.

The kind of love he cannot return.

But he wants it anyway. And like any ghost, he’ll take it—take your love, your heart, your body, your life—if he is allowed to spread your legs and fuck you.

He knows this intuitively, although Turbo Granny also told him this. If you care for her even a little bit, she'd groused, you won’t go through with it. Then she'd threatened to take his banana and his nuts.

But vengeful spirits cannot care for human beings, not truly. It's a wonder that the Evil Eye is hesitating at all, why he feels a pit when he thinks about trapping you. It must be a consequence of his Vessel, who loves you so selflessly that even his body resists hurting you.

“We shouldn’t do it,” he says outright. You blink at him.

“Why?” You tilt your head. “...are you getting wedding night jitters? Do ghosts get nervous?”

He stares at you, uncomprehending. “What? No! I'm not fucking nervous!”

You frown. “Then what's the matter?”

It'll be dangerous for you, he tries to say, but then you're giving him a shy look and untying the sash around your waist. He swallows as the silk robe drops around your shoulders, pools around your thighs. The ivory lace covering your breasts and your core is so sheer that he can practically see through it. It's delicate, pretty—and he wants nothing more than to tear it off and ruin you.

“Don’t you”—you look so flustered, so cute, an echo tells him—“don’t you wanna make love to your wifey?”

Part of him thinks he might cum in his pants. The other part of him wants to leave. Wifey, making love—those are all words that you use on the Vessel. All words that are meant for the Vessel. You're confusing the Evil Eye with your real lover, under the delusion that he is human, unaware that you're being haunted. The Evil Eye is not the man you wish to marry, to live in a House with, to make babies with, to grow old with.

Unfair unfair unfair it hurts it hurts it hurts please please please I don't want to die. I don't want you to die. Why can't I touch you? Why can't I hold you? Please please please—

“I can't.”

Your brow arches. “What do you mean?”

“I can't make love to you.” He pauses, feels a kind of frustration bubbling up when you give him a confused look. “I don't love you.”

Your mouth opens, and you make a faint, strangled noise before asking, “What?”

“I don't love you.”

It takes a moment. You stare at him; you look down; you close your eyes. Your shoulders shake. You'll probably get angry and throw him out, or you'll just calmly ask him to leave. However you do it, you would cast him out, and it would be for the better. You would remain uncursed, free to live out a proper life with the Vessel, and the Evil Eye would get to keep his nuts.

But instead of doing either of those things, you start sniffling—and all the blood leaves his face.

“You”—your voice is so fragile, and it cracks and breaks and his throat feels like it's closing up—“what do you mean you don't love me?”

The Evil Eye's mouth drops open as you start to sob. “W-wait, wait—why are you crying? Don’t cry!”

You start to wail. “You don't love me! I just married you and you don't love me! How am I not supposed to cry?” Between hiccups and sniffs, you pick up one of the pillows and throw it at him. He's paralyzed, forgets to dodge, and it hits him square in the face. “What did I do wrong?!”

“Nothing!” he yells. His heart is pounding. It's squeezing and twisting and it feels so bad that he nearly wants to dispossess the Vessel. “You didn't do anything wrong! It's not you! It's—”

“If you say ‘It’s not you, it's me’, I'll kill you! I'll really kill you!”

“I’m already dead!”

“Then I'll beat your ass!”

“You can't beat my ass! You're not strong enough!”

“Then I'll banish you! I'll spray Jiji with hot water everyday and I won't let you come out! Not even to have Pampy! Not even to play with Okarun!”

The Evil Eye’s mouth drops open. “That's fucking mean!”

“You're fucking mean!” You look at him, and your gaze is so watery and pained that the Evil Eye can't help but go to you. He doesn't realise that he's wiping away your tears until his fingers are wet, and he can’t find it in himself to push you away when you press your face into his shoulder and cling to him. His arms—no, the Vessel’s arms; it must be the Vessel doing this—tighten around you.

“Why—why don't you love me?” you whine between hiccups, and the Evil Eye should call you foolish for expecting him, a spirit who intends to kill all of mankind, to ever love a human. To think that you could spend all these years around him and be so delusional about his true nature—is it that you've forgotten that he drives people to suicide? That his intent is to someday kill all of you, after killing Okarun? The spirits of the House scream at him to grab your face and force you to look at his hideous third eye, to remind you of what he is, to say you're a human you should die like the rest of them you’re as guilty as all of them, you would lock me in a cage too, you would burn me alive and bury my bones beneath a House.

Instead, he rubs your back until your breath begins to even out. And rather than grabbing you and threatening you, he clears his throat.

“I'm… a vengeful spirit,” he says lamely. “Love just isn't something that's in our nature.”

“Why not?” you sniff.

“‘cause if it were, we wouldn't be vengeful. We wouldn't even be ghosts in the first place, probably.”

“B-but,” you whimper, “we've been dating for so long. We live together and sleep together and eat together. You take care of me and I take care of you. We go on dates and hold hands. We even have sex—like, a lot of sex. You initiate it!” You sound accusatory, and the Evil Eye doesn't understand why. Of course he wants to have sex with you; it's one of the most addictive things about having this body. The part of the living world he wants most, nowadays. “If you didn't feel anything for me, why would you do any of that?”

He bristles. “Of course I feel something for you,” the Evil Eye says, oddly agitated. “Just ‘cause I can't love doesn't mean I can't feel. Resentment is what anchors ghosts to this world in the first place.”

“Then what do you feel for me, if not love?” Your fingers dig into the Vessel’s white suit. “Resentment?”

The Evil Eye stares blankly. He doesn't know how to describe it all—the longing, the greed, the envy for the Vessel. The euphoria and closeness of being inside you, a feeling so good that he didn't even know that such joys existed when he was human. The idea of living in a House filled with wedding photos, the thought of making babies with you that he might hold and touch and kiss. So many things that he never had in life. So many things that he can't help but want in death.

So many things that he can't help but want to trap you for them.

“...no, I don't resent you,” he says. “It’s more like I wanna curse you.”

He expects you to cry more—after living for such a long time among humans, he now has enough manners to understand that it is rude to curse someone who has only ever treated you with unconditional love, even if in error—but instead, you become strangely quiet.

You pull away from him so that he can see your face. It's—hopeful?

“You wanna curse me?”

“Yeah. Curse you—haunt you, possess you, control you.” He shrugs. “The usual things that ghosts do when they're so attached to something that they can't move on. You know.”

“Oh.” You wipe your eyes, and the Evil Eye has to stop himself from helping. “I'm so happy.”

“...you're what?”

“I'm so happy that you feel that way about me.”

He stares at you. “You're happy that I wanna curse you?”

“Yeah.”

The Evil Eye studies you. You never react to him in ways that make sense—you’re endeared by him when you should be afraid; you treat him sweetly when you should be callous; you even seem to enjoy his violence when everyone else always punishes it. Now you’re touched by the idea of being cursed.

“Why?” he asks flatly. “I thought you wanted to be loved. Or make love. Something like that.”

You give the Evil Eye a long, thoughtful look.

“Jashi,” you start, voice gentle now, “what do you think love is supposed to look like?”

A married couple in a House. A baby in his mama’s arms. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight.

“Dunno.” When you stare at him, as if expecting something, he grows agitated. “I said it's not in my nature. Talk to the Vessel about that stuff, not me.”

One of your brows arches. “Why? You're my husband”—his heart kicks violently at that; he hates this fucking body sometimes—“I want to know what you think love looks like. And besides…” Your voice gets all quiet, and you look away. “It’s not like Jiji would necessarily agree with my views anyway.”

That gets his attention. “What do you mean?”

You hum. “How do I explain it… well, for example—if I found happiness with someone else and left to be with them, Jiji would be heartbroken, but he would be happy for me. Because he loves me, it's ultimately most important for him that I'm happy.”

A married couple in a House. Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A baby in his mama’s arms. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair I don't wanna die I wanna play with other children I want to dance in the field please please please why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“That's fucking stupid,” the Evil Eye blurts out.

“But that's what he’s told me—and I believe him.” You smile at him. “Now, how do you think I'd react if someone took you or Jiji away from me?”

This feels like a trick question. He squints at you. “The same?” he tries.

“That would be ideal. But honestly,” you admit, “I would resent you all for the rest of my life and then think about killing myself. That's what love looks like for me.”

“Oh.” The Evil Eye nods, relaxing. “Yeah, that makes way more sense.”

You laugh, sounding genuinely amused. “Jiji doesn't think so. It really worries him that I feel this way. It would worry most people, actually.” Then you get a little quiet. “I do want to get better for him, but it doesn't come naturally to me, the way that he loves me.”

He doesn't like the tone you're using—soft, uncertain. Mournful. You feel like one of the spirits in the House right now. He thinks about the way you cradled his bones, and his hold on you tightens.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I'm saying that I don't mind that you want to haunt me, or possess me, or whatever.” Your eyes are earnest. Steadfast with the confidence you had as you unearthed his grave. “To be honest, being cursed by you isn’t nearly as frightening as being loved by Jiji.”

The Evil Eye cups your face, thumbing away your tears. Would you cry like this if you knew what it would mean, to be possessed by him? Would you regret your offer to him, the way that the Vessel regrets his? Or would you stare at his true face as you did at the altar and vow to love him anyway?

Instead of asking you any of this, he allows you to loop your arms around his neck.

“I want you to make love to me,” you murmur sweetly as you climb atop him, and that makes him pause.

Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair unfair why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“I said I don't know how to do that.”

“Fine,” you say, and then you’re pressing your lips against his, grinding your cunt against his hardening cock. “Then curse me instead.”

VI. THE DEMON

You've always known that the Evil Eye couldn't love you in a normal way.

It was obvious from the outset, simply cataloguing him for what he is: a monster born from human sacrifice; a curse that drives people to madness, to suicide; a thing that regularly exploits Jiji for his body and makes him commit violence against his will. Jiji and Okarun and the rest might be delusional about the Evil Eye nowadays—thinking that he's just like a kid, that he just wants to play, that he’s in love and wants to get married and play house—but you are not. He can't play with Okarun in normal ways, and he can't love you in normal ways. Every desire ends in blood. That's how it began for him, after all. How he was born.

Your mind has always known this, but your body only learned it the first time you had sex. The Evil Eye doesn't know how to make love to you the way that Jiji does. You’ve tried countless times now, and he's even demanded that you make him do it that way so that he knows what the Vessel gets to feel during sex with you. You've kissed him deep and slow, gently touched him until he felt desire, taken him inside you and pressed your forehead to his. Just like that, you encouraged him countless times, you're doing so good. Good boy. You're doing so well. I love you.

You always end up with your face pressed into the mattress, cheeks wet with tears and throat hoarse from screaming. Sore and bruised and fatigued and it's too fast, it's too big, I can't, please, and with any other man you'd probably hate it but when it's Jashi you always end up moaning and begging for more. You'd always thought you’d be disgusted with yourself for having this kind of sex, but with him, you feel too good to really care. All you can think about is his teeth marking your neck, the cruelty of his rough hands, how his cock fills you so well that you can hardly breathe.

He’s taken you like this countless times, but something feels different about it right now. It might be the incense, so thick in your throat and your lungs that you're dizzy with it. It might be the fragrant petals crushed beneath you, soft and strange things that you stole from your wedding altar. Flowers for the dead, the priest had said to you, given to the ancestors, or to bodies as they're lowered into the ground.

You think maybe that's happening to you, right now: you’re dying, you're being torn apart, you’ll break in Jashi’s hands. It'll leave a mark on your body for a lifetime, forever—and you don't need to be saved.

But even after being fucked so many times, even after your mind has been made so hazy and distant, you're still trying so hard not to come apart at the seams. An agonizing pressure is building in your belly, and you can't let it burst. It’s inconvenient when you get too wet; it makes Jashi switch, which is normally hilarious but would feel catastrophic right now, when you’re drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you and don't want any of this to end. But it's so hard, keeping yourself from drenching him—you can hardly think when he's fucking you like this, let alone control yourself.

“I c-can't anymore,” you whine. “Jashi, you gotta stop, I need a break, please—”

Jashi doesn't care. He takes and takes and takes, and of course he does. It's in his nature as a vengeful ghost, as an existence so empty it can't do anything but consume the life around it. It's not enough that you’ve been ruined by his cock, that you're being used like a fleshlight. It's not enough that he’s made you cum countless times—not out of consideration to you, but simply because he's addicted to the feeling of you squeezing and milking him. It's not enough that he's spilled himself inside you more times than should be possible, uncaring of the consequences. It's not enough, it's never enough—he always needs more from you; more tears, more begging, more feverish, white-hot pleasure.

You shouldn't be surprised when you feel his hips start to stutter again, his cock twitching inside you. Some distant part of you is alarmed anyway, even as your cunt tightens around him, eager to be filled. You've never let anyone fuck you raw before tonight, never had anyone fill your womb up like this—not him and not Jiji; you've always been too afraid of pregnancy—but with each passing moment, it is harder to remember why. Not when it feels so good to be pumped full by him, your body flooded with a strange warmth each time. Unnatural, you keep thinking, this feels weird, he's doing something to me, he's cursing me, he's claiming me. But all you do is wrap your legs around his waist when he cums again, greedy for more, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of it.

He has to stop after this. He has to be sated. He pulls out, his cock throbbing against your swollen pussy, painting it a creamy white—and then he throws your legs over his shoulders and sinks back into you.

“Nooo,” you moan, squirming, thrashing, knowing you'll burst if he fucks you again. “I can't, I can't—I can't hold it in anymore, I can't—”

“Then don't,” he grunts. He looks straight down at you, his weight heavy on you, oppressive, unnatural. You hold your breath as you look at his face—dark and vicious, the vibrant eye on his forehead enrapturing. For the first time in your life, you feel a madness creeping in as it stares at you, fraying at your control. You can't move, can't resist him, can't think, and when he starts thrusting again, your body floods with a euphoria so hot that all you know how to do is cry.

You’re going to break from the ecstasy.

“W-what,” you gasp, “what are you doing to—”

Something hits your sweet spot, and your voice clips off into a desperate whimper. His cockhead starts grinding against it, and you try so hard to squirm, to stop, to control yourself—but whatever he's done to you has made you weak, pliant, and you feel yourself start to pulse. Pinned beneath his gaze, you can neither get away nor fight it. You can only surrender. The pressure is too much, your womb is too hot, and suddenly your back is arching and you feel like you're dying as you gush all over him.

You're in hysterics as you come down, panting and gasping for breath. “No more, no more,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, clinging to him. You sob into the crook of his neck, and finally—finally—he relents.

He’s gentle as he pulls out, careful as he sets you down on the bed. Kisses pepper your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips. Then, finally—his forehead pressed against yours, lashes fluttering against your skin.

“You're alright,” Jiji murmurs. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

VIII. THE CURSE

The Evil Eye has cursed you.

Jiji saw it on your body: a sunburst of strange characters on your stomach, an eye in the centre. The Taoist priest had broken into a pale sweat at the sight, its implications: if anyone else tries to touch you, whether with the intent to do harm or pleasure, then the untold carnage will be wrought upon them. Should you ever try to leave the Evil Eye, he will drag you back with such violence that it will shatter you. That so long as that vengeful ghost is bound to this earth, then so too shall be you.

Jiji is less worried than he probably should be. He doubts that the Evil Eye would truly ever hurt you, and also doubts that you’re physically capable of leaving him anyway. Ever since being marked, you haven't been able to go a day without having either of them inside you—brutally if it is with the Evil Eye; gently if with Jiji. Either way, you’ve been desperate for their touch, plagued by an all-consuming lust if you can't have them. It puts a wrench into all the plans for your respective careers and for the long distance arrangement. Auntie Seiko plans to train you to suppress the curse, but it isn't sustainable.

Privately, though, there's a part of Jiji that doesn't mind the excuse to see you all the time. It’s not that he wants to deny you your freedom, quite the opposite, but—you're his beautiful wife. And he's ridiculously in love with you. He can't help but miss you every day you're apart, and he also can't bring himself to complain about this particular aspect of the curse.

He also understands the Evil Eye for doing this to you. Sure, cursing you wasn't Jiji’s first act as a newlywed—but he also kinda gets it.

Jiji shares dreams with the Evil Eye, sometimes. He sees within them everything that the Evil Eye has experienced—not just as a demon, but as a spirit, a child, a waif. Sometimes he hears the thoughts that he once had, the ones that made him turn vengeful: unfair, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

After all that? Of course the Evil Eye doesn't experience desire the way that a human would. Of course playing with someone is the same thing as killing them. Of course loving someone is the same thing as cursing them. And the Evil Eye loves you—that much is obvious, would be obvious to Jiji even if they didn't share a body—so of course his instinct was to carve you open and mark you with his spell.

Jiji feels poorly about it sometimes, guilty and selfish and like he should have ended things after all. Then you'd be free to love whoever you want, without the threat of certain death looming over you. But then you smile at him in bed, so tender and pretty and glowing beneath him. “I'm glad I get to be with you both,” you sigh, and then he can't really complain. After all, you're his beautiful wife. Jiji is ridiculously in love with you. Of course he wants you to be happy.

If it really ever comes down to it, if you really ever wanted to leave—Jiji knows he'd have himself exorcised. He'd rather die than hurt you. But the possibility seems so distant right now, with how you're studying the stone monument before you. You seem peaceful, tranquil, a calm figure cut against a placid, blue sky. Jiji guesses that's appropriate: cemeteries are meant to be resting places.

This plot of gravesoil belongs to the Enjoji family, and there is a spot carved out for you, right next to the space reserved for him. You bear his surname now, so when the two of you pass, you’ll be allowed to rest side-by-side. He already knows what the Evil Eye would say to that: you'll live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together and be buried together. And if Jiji could talk to him, if he could for once directly speak with the monster inhabiting him, he'd beam at him and say yeah, we sure are.

But the Evil Eye would miss one thing, and it's that he'd also be buried with you. He'd be buried with both of you.

In your hands is an urn, plain but dignified. It carries the ashes of a waif hundreds of years old, the remnants of a brutal sacrifice. The last step of a ghost marriage is to bury the bones of the bride with the remains of the groom, but you're an Enjoji now, and Jiji’s family does cremations, not burials. When the time comes, you'll be burned, and your ashes will be mixed with those belonging to Jashi. He’ll go before either of you: by the end of the day, his remains will be in the crypt, though Jiji doubts his spirit is going anywhere.

“We’ll be interred with each other, someday,” you say to the ashes, tender. “But first we’ll spend a lifetime together.”

Then you turn to Jiji, your smile sunlit. It's shy, because you're always shy around Jiji—even though he's now your husband and you’ve married him in front of five hundred people and he's made love to you every which way on every piece of furniture in the house since then—and you add, “And we’ll spend a lifetime together too.”

Jiji laughs. “I guess you're stuck with me,” he says, and a frown briefly overtakes your face.

“We’re all stuck with each other,” you correct him. “You're cursed as much as I am.”

“I guess.” He scratches his cheek, sheepish. “Sorry you ended up with a husband who’s possessed by a ghost.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jashi,” you say, and you seem a little uncertain, but Jiji can't help but smile. Partly because he appreciates it when you're earnest with him, but mostly just because he loves you.

“You're so beautiful,” he says, “did you know that?”

You huff at him, turning around. “You’re too much,” you chide, but he hears the fondness in your tone. Jiji grins, and—in the privacy of the cemetery—takes the opportunity to loop his arms around you. You giggle when he squeezes you, and then your voice goes quiet.

“I love you,” you say, “did you know that?”

“Uh huh.” He spins you around so he can waggle his brows and give you his most reassuring look. You snort violently at his expression. “It’s super obvious. You can't resist my charms.”

When your laughter passes, you look down at the ashes in your arms—the child that you carried out of the House.

“Do you think,” you ask, voice odd, “he knows that?”

Jiji’s eyes soften. Because he shares dreams with the Evil Eye, and sometimes he shares thoughts with him too—like the pain in his chest that's been aching ever since he found his parents hanging side-by-side from the second floor, the one that grew every time he found the body of a spirit medium, the one that choked him when his relatives called him cursed and slammed the door in his face. He slept on the ground in front of their house after that—he didn't want to go back to the place where his parents nearly died—and called Auntie Seiko the next day, when he realised that they truly didn't want him around.

Sometimes he shares dreams with the ghost haunting him, and when he screams in his sleep he can't tell if the voice in his throat is truly his or if it actually belongs to the Evil Eye. But no matter its origin, it goes quiet when you hold him in bed and kiss his forehead. Just like how it went quiet when you carried that skeleton out of the House.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“Yeah,” Jiji says. “Yeah, he does.”

END

some general notes:

this was a weird fic to write. ordinarily I would write the evil eye as having a childish and immature narrative voice; however, I (1) had to balance it with an aged up characterization, and (2) did not want to get cancelled, so I instead ended up with something in-between that feels a little awkward

there is jiji-focused companion fic that is like 50% done about him fucking you nasty after he switches places with the evil on your wedding night. I will probably finish it and post it when s2 comes out LOL

i know this is not my best writing rip please forgive me

some cultural notes:

taoism has real-life sex magic practices and places a lot of significance on, err, certain bodily fluids in terms of spiritual energy. none of these beliefs have anything to do with getting cursed via freaky ghost marital sex, but they served as the general inspiration for the curse in the fic (alongside dandadan canon, which coincidentally also places a lot of spiritual significance in sex and sexual organs lol)

the vows recited by the reader are a modification of standard japanese wedding vows (found on Google, take with a grain of salt). incidentally, western-style weddings are apparently quite popular in Japan, hence the decision for the bridal dress.

a lot of the wedding details are inspired by chinese funerary practices in addition to actual taoist ghost marriages. I took a lot of creative liberties with the wedding scene in general; real-life ghost marriages are quite different (from my understanding; I have never attended one)

[worstgirlsfuture]

caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.

caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.

when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.

he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.

also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.

[worstgirlsfuture]

TAPPING OUT

synopsis. caleb graduates from the academy, but when you unexpectedly tap him out, a tradition where loved ones step forward to formally release a pilot from their duty, he realizes no achievement compares to having you by his side. (based on this.) word count. 1.1k an. loved doing this for codghost so i might as well do it for this man. lets pretend they have the tradition in their universe. okay? okay.

caleb stood in the crowd, his posture rigid and form still with precision despite the celebration around him. cheers echoed through the room, but they sounded distant, muffled. he watched as pilots, one by one, were tapped out by their loved ones. parents embracing their children, lovers reuniting in tearful hugs.

his chest tightened as his eyes scanned the room. he was waiting for gran, the one person he knew would come. gran had always shown up, had always been his anchor. he learnt not to expect anything more, not to hope for anyone else.

but then, like a shift in the universe, caleb felt you before he saw you.

when you stepped into the room, it was as if the entire world faded away. time slowed, the noise dimmed, and the lights seemed to soften, catching on the edges of your features. you looked beautiful, achingly so. heartbreakingly out of reach. you weren’t supposed to be here, not after the fight, not after the cruel words you’d both thrown at each other before he left.

you moved toward him with purpose, cutting through the room like you were meant to be there all along.

caleb couldn’t breathe. he couldn’t think.

his hands trembled at his sides as he watched you close the distance between you. he could act all stoic, but his heart didn’t feel stoic enough to make him calm.

when you stopped in front of him, there were tears already brimming in your eyes. his carefully constructed control, unshakable during training, steadfast through every grueling challenge, began to crumble.

caleb had faced impossible physical challenges, the grueling expectations of training, and the endless psychological evaluations that pushed him to the edge. but none of those had broken him nearly like you did. you, standing here, looking at him like that.

you were his undoing.

you should be his first sign. the first sign that there was something wrong with him. because you were his obsession. the one he was slowly losing control over.

caleb was not allowed to fall in love with you.

he trembled as your fingers brushed against his, tapping him out of his frozen misery. the soft touch was meant to symbolize recognition, acknowledgment. but to caleb, it was so much more.

you were here. you were real.

there was no second-guessing, no hesitation. before he could stop himself, his arms were around you, pulling you into him with a force that left him breathless. a strangled sigh escaped his lips and found its home in the crook of your neck, right where your heart beats: friends, friends, friends.

he held you like a man drowning, and you were the only thing keeping him afloat. he felt the soft shake of your shoulders, the warmth of your tears against his neck, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

‘i didn’t think you’d come,’ he whispered, his voice low and raw, breaking under the weight of his emotions. you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. there was something in his gaze, but before you could respond, he spoke again, quieter this time, like a vow. ‘i’ll never let you go.’

the words made you shiver. they were so soft you almost didn’t catch them.

‘you can try,’ you joked, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to lighten the mood. a nervous laugh escaped as you gently pushed against his chest, pretending to escape his embrace. ‘you love me, i get it.’

but caleb didn’t loosen his hold. instead, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. there was a quiet laugh, quiet and unsteady, before he murmured, ‘you have no idea, pipsqueak.’

his voice was filled with something raw, something deeper than you could fully understand. it wasn’t just love. it was obsession, devotion, a yearning that had no end.

you smelled like honey. like the same thing you’d been smelling your entire life that made you feel like home in a way that hotels and dorm beds could never manage.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, shining pin they’d given him for finishing aerospace academy. it gleamed in the light, a symbol of everything he’d fought to achieve. without a word, he placed it carefully in your palm.

your fingers brushed his as you took it, and the touch sent sparks up his arm. with careful, deliberate precision, you pinned it to his chest. caleb didn’t move, his gaze fixed on you, watching every motion, every soft touch of your fingers against his uniform.

‘they should give you a medal instead for doing so well,’ you teased softly, smiling up at him.

once the pin was secure, you smoothed down his uniform, your fingers lingering against the fabric. it was such a small gesture, but it felt so intimate that caleb’s breath hitched.

he tried his best not to be frantic, but it was almost impossible when he was overloaded with want, want, want, and with the feeling that this might not happen again, with the fear that if caleb thought about it too hard, he’d stop himself before he did too much.

he couldn’t stop himself any longer. leaning down, he kissed your cheek, his lips lingering on your skin. he didn’t move away immediately, letting the moment stretch as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of you.

he felt like a criminal on the run, but it was too good to withdraw from. so, he overdosed on unrequited love.

when he finally pulled back, there was a soft, almost shy smile on his lips. his voice was low, but full of meaning. ‘i already have my reward.’

you looked up at him, your cheeks warm, his cap still sitting crooked on your head. for a moment, neither of you spoke, and the weight of everything unsaid lingered between you.

and caleb, looking at you, standing there with your fingers still on his uniform, knew it was the absolute truth. you didn’t realize it, but you were the center of his universe. his greatest test, his deepest weakness, and the one thing he could never, ever let go of.

i’m a fool, he decided. damned in the bits of exhaustion at pulling and pushing at whatever’s left of trying.

the noise of the crowd finally broke through the haze, the sound of laughter and celebration pulling you both back to the present. caleb stepped back slightly, watching as you adjusted his cap, your smile soft but hesitant.

you didn’t have to know the struggle he’d endured to get here, the battles he’d fought within himself.

you were his obsession. his reason for everything. and he was losing control, but he didn’t care. because having you here, now, was all that mattered.

[worstgirlsfuture]

Synopsis: You infiltrated the Farspace Fleet only to be captured by the Colonel. He looks vaguely familiar...It couldn't be! Could it be...Caleb!

Warnings: Hatefucking, psuedo-cest, CNC (Caleb uses reader's conflicting feelings against her),OOC Caleb(probably cause he's a little mean), gun kink, glove kink, misuse of Caleb's evol, fingering, electrostimulation via his bionic arm, squirting, light degrading, teasing, edging, choking, oral sex (m!receiving and f!recieiving) impact play (clit slaps, spanking, light face slapping), praise, manipulation, breeding, orgasm control, overstim, use of "gege", use of "mei mei" (lemme know if I missed anything!)

Pairing: Caleb x F!Reader/MC

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: Caleb has been rotting a brain ever since his trailer dropped and he was all yandere-ish vibes and mean and evil and....I swear I'm a Zayne girlie

AO3

Network: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork

You were visibly shaking with anger as you glare at the man walking around in front of you. How could he dare show his face to you again after being declared dead for a year?! How did he survive the explosion? How did he escape? And the more important question that burns in the back of your mind: if he did make it out, where was Granny Jospehine? Did he just leave her to die?

Your eyes follow him as he steps slowly around the room, an apple in his grip as he stares at it thoughtfully. There was a neutral look on his face as the methodical soft creaks of his boots echoing out as he circles you. You clench your fists tightly as your teeth bites down on the plush of your lip as you raise your chin he finally sits down, his purplish eyes easily locking with yours.

“Gege…”

The pitterpatter of the storm outside strikes against the widow as Caleb regards you with a cool look as he squeezes the apple lightly in his fist. He sits directly in front of you, his knees brushing against yours from the movement. A small, short scoff leaves his lips as he looks down at the apple in his grip. “Have you ever taken a moment to consider…” His eyes shift back towards yours as his lips quirk up into a sinister smile. “…that I was never your brother?” Caleb lifts the apple to his lips slowly and takes a bite, the sound of his teeth breaking the bright red flesh echoing through your ears.

Before you could stop yourself, you rose to your feet, hand held high and smacked it across his cheek. The apple flying from his hand and smashing against the window before sliding down and smearing the glass with its juices. Your chest heaves as you glare at him through narrowed eyes as the force of your slap causes his head to turn to the side, his cheek visibly red. “Bastard.” you growl, voice filled with hatred, yet it still trembles with conflict as the memories of the sweet Caleb you grew up with surfaces.

Caleb slices his eye back over to you, subtly flicking his index finger up and watching as the gravity around you grows dense from his manipulation as you drop to your knees. Lightning flashes, making his eyes glow sinisterly as he rises back to his feet. His hand stretches out and pets your hair as his smile turns back soft. “You’re acting like you don’t remember me, Little one.”

That nickname. It stirs something within you and the image of Caleb - your Caleb - overlaps the man in front of you. His eyes turn playful and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest. “No!” You yell out and when his hand moves to caress your cheek, you lash out and bite him. Your teeth sink in deep as you clamp your jaws down on to the fleshy part between his wrist and pinky.

He lets out a grunt as he grabs your jaw in his other hand and squeezes your cheeks until you release his hand. His tongue pokes out and licks at the indents your teeth left behind on his hand. “Do you remember when we were little and you brought home an injured cat?” He reaches out and grabs your wrist, placing a thin black device around the width as he releases his control over the intense gravity around you. “I put a collar with a bell on it so it couldn’t escape without being noisy.” His hand trails down your leg as he increases the gravity around it to hold you in place on the couch.

You gasp and open your mouth to say something, probably to curse him again when the cold gloved finger of his other hand presses against your lips, silencing you. His eyes harden once more as he rises back to his feet. “Do as you’re told and don’t cause any trouble. You won’t get hurt then.” When your jaw snaps shut his facial expression softens as he reaches for your hand and places it on his cheek, curling your fingers to make you cup his face. “It’s me. I’m back.”

Those words make your heart quiver as you nearly give into his sweet voice. Everything about him screamed your gege - your Caleb, but there was something darker about him that was holding you back. A bit of darkness in his eyes that you could easily spot. You grit your teeth as you could still feel the effects of his evol holding you down. “Gege…If you’re back, then let me go!”

Caleb’s eyes darken when you call him that and he moves his face away from you. His fists clenched tightly, his gloved hand making a creasing sound as his eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them again, he looks into yours. The hatred that burns in them was shallow. He could easily break you if he chose to. “Princess…you didn't pass.” His voice was cool as he reached out his hand.

You gasp as pressure constricts around your throat as the gravity around it moves inward, pressing down on those precious arteries and veins that deliver oxygen rich blood to your brain. Your eyes widen as you claw at the air around your neck to no avail. You try to squirm around, but the pressure on your leg holds you down. Tears begin to form in your eyes as you look at Caleb pleadingly. “Please…ge…Caleb…” you manage to breathe out.

Finally.

The pressure around your throat stops and your hands immediately fly to cup your tender neck as your chest heaves, your breath coming out in pants as blood seeps back into your brain. Your shoulder gives a short flinch when Caleb wraps his long fingers around your delicate wrist and pulls you into his chest. His sweet voice surrounds you as it rumbles from his chest. Your hand curls up on his pectorals as your face heats up, coloring down to your chest. “Caleb?”

“You can't convince yourself to hate me with every fiber of your being.” His finger slips under the small opening at your waist, slowly tracing the skin there in a slow caress that makes shivers roll down your spine. “Wouldn't you agree, Little one?” He practically purrs that name in your ear as his gloved hand presses you deeper into his embrace, a coldness seeping into your flesh through the materials of your clothing.

You meet his lilac gaze and could see the way they soften for you - because of you. It made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. He was right. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate him completely but that did not stop the rage that was boiling within you. You try to remove yourself from his hold but still that heavy pressure on your legs keeps you close to him. You open your mouth once more to curse at him, when he slips his fingers into your mouth and presses down on your tongue.

“Ah ah ah…You still haven’t passed your test, princess.” He kicks your feet apart, his manipulation over the gravity that holds you down releasing its grip but now he has one on your jaw as saliva pools on the center of your tongue until it leaks down the corners of your lips. Caleb’s lips turn upwards into a smile, his face morphing into the one of your sweet gege. You blink once, twice, three times to try to clean your mind. This Caleb was not your gege. This was the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel Caleb. And you? You were his prisoner.

Caleb stares into your eyes, lilac orbs darkening with something akin to desire and need. All those pent up feelings he’s had for you are flooding back so intensely. His fingers slide deeper into your mouth, saliva spilling down the corners of your mouth before he pulls them out completely. He spreads his digits and watches how the translucent strings of spittle slides down them. His knee slots between your thighs as his hands quickly cup your cheeks, “Bite me again and I’ll crush your throat,” he warns before his tongue slips into your warm mouth.

A surprised squeak vibrates in your chest as you try to beat down that feeling of greedy want and desire that you had once held for Caleb before he was lost to you. You had to remind yourself that he was now the enemy, but…why were his lips so soft, tongue so gentle as it strokes over yours, trying to coax a reaction out of yours. Your first instinct was to bite down until his threat replays in your head. You could feel a sheer difference in the temps of his palms as he cups your face under your jaw.

His tongue licks over every part of your mouth, leaving nothing untouched. He strokes over your teeth, the roof of your mouth before finally coming in contact with your own. He swirls it with his pink muscle, teasing and coaxing it out to play with his. He grips your jaw a little tighter with his left hand, cold, hard fingers digging into your skin as a growl vibrates in his chest. He pulls away briefly, tongue flicking out over your lips. “C’mon. You’ve kissed me before, little one. Don’t tell me you actually hate me?”

Your eyes narrow once more as you try to pull your jaw out his grip, wincing a bit when he squeezes it tightly. A hiss vibrates on your tongue before you draw in a slow breath at his taunting words. Heartbeat racing as blood whooshes in your ears as you remember all the sweet shared kisses with Caleb. How his gentle tongue tastes on yours, how his soft lips felt against yours. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes soften as they flicker down to his mouth, his lips looking very inviting.

Slowly you lean in, breath mingling with his as you near his lips with yours. Lips clash in a soft kiss as a moan dares to slip past when his tongue reaches out to play with yours. Feelings that you tried so desperately to keep hidden away, to keep them locked away resurfaces before you could snuff them out. Your arms come up to lock behind his head, fingers digging into his soft dark hair and pulling him in closer. The sweet, familiar taste of apples explodes over your taste buds as you curl your tongue around his in a slow, seductive way. Your eyelids tip close as you begin to lose yourself.

A voice in the back of your head screams at you loudly, shocking you and making you break away as his hands begin to slide down your back. “No!” You say as you push him away, your breath coming out in hot pants as a string of saliva cools as it snaps back against your neck. Gasping when he suddenly slides his knee further between your thighs, pressing it up against the seat of your pants as his hand tips your face back up to meet his purple eyes. “Caleb…what are you…”

He says nothing as he digs his knee in deeper against your core, eliciting another gasp from you. “You don't really hate me. I'm back. I'm your Caleb, remember?” He takes your hand and presses it against the left side of his chest over his beating heart. “See? I'm alive.” His cool, even tone also sounds sad to your ears and you have to look away from his eyes. He was trying to pull you back under his spell. You couldn’t let him. Hold on to the fact that he lied! That he… Caleb trails your hand down lower until it rests on his belt. “Do you still hate this, princess? I’m aching for you.”

“C-Caleb!” You squeak as you try to pull your hand back, but his grip holds tight as he slides your hand lower until you cup his hardening cock. You could feel it rising to full attention, tenting the black slacks he had on and straining against the zipper. “Y-you…” Glaring up at him, faux disgust written all over your face, but your body was betraying you as your thighs hug together around his knee. You could feel yourself growing damp as your fingers curl around his length. “N-no…” You whimper out. Caleb takes your face in his hand gently, squeezing your cheeks until your lips part. Slipping his tongue out, he lets a long, hot dollop of saliva drip down to pool in your mouth. With a subtle flick of his finger, gravity shifts around your throat and before you could even think spit slides down your throat as he easily reverses your positions. The manipulation of the gravity around your leg strengthens and forces you to kneel in front of him, you place your hands on his thighs to prevent your face from being smushed in his lap.

A smile tilts at his lips as his finger comes up to tip your chin back up to look into his darkening gaze. “You remember what to do, right.” He coos softly as his other hand tugs down the zipper to his pants, popping the button open. Caleb shucks them down over his hips until his long, thick cock pops out, the tip leaking pre down the pale shaft, the tip flushed a bright pink. “Come on, little one.” His voice is still that same soft tone from before - the one that makes your heart quiver as you look up into his soft, puppy eyes.

Your tongue peeks out to wet your bottom lip as you are slow to realize what he wants from you. It wasn’t until his cock springs out and nearly smacks your cheek did your eyes widen. “I…No. I won’t do it.” You flinch when his hand raises, but peek one open when his fingers simply brush over your hair as he gives you another soft smile.

“Oh, pretty, I wasn’t asking.” His eyes darken as he lifts his chin, the gravity around you shifting and forcing your lips on his cock. Caleb lets out a groan as your warm cavern engulfs his length, his head falling backward to rest against the back of the couch. His hands ball into fists as he decreases and increases the pressure of the gravity to make you bob your head up and down. He could feel the familiar way your tongue curls around his dick. His lips curl into a smirk, “That’s it. Such a good girl. Keep sucking, just like that. Your mouth feels as good as I remember.”

His praise sent shivers rolling down your spine as a tingle started to throb between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together as you feel slick beginning to pool into the seat of your panties. How and why were you enjoying this? Caleb was the enemy now! He was no longer your sweet gege - no longer your sweet Caleb. This was…Your thought process was interrupted as Caleb shifts, thrusting his hips upward and the thick tip of him brushes against the back of your throat and making you let out a choked moan. You should hate this, but his familiar taste on your tongue made it almost impossible as the hatred in your eyes softened as you tried to glare up at him.

Caleb slowly eases up on his manipulation of the gravity around you until you were sucking him off willingly. He reaches down and presses his hand against the back of your head as your saliva drips down to wet his balls, your soft tongue caressing the large vein running on the underside of his cock. “Such a nasty little cockhungry slut. Wish you could see how you look, sucking my cock like it's your favorite treat.” His voice trails off in another low growl as his hips buck up, heavy balls slapping against your chin as they begin to draw up as his cock twitches on your tongue. “You want me to cum down that greedy throat of yours? Paint your mouth in my color, yeah.”

You didn’t realize that his hold over the gravity around you had stopped as you continued to work your mouth and tongue over his thickness. A moan vibrates in the muscles of your throat and chest as you bob your head deeper down on his cock, nose brushing against the light dusting of brown hair at the base of his pelvis. Thick strings of spittle clings and runs down his shaft as your tongue curls around his tip, tasting the precum that was oozing out the slit. He tastes just like you remembered, sweet with an underlying hint of salty. His degrading words reach your ears and your face burns with embarrassment as you try to remind yourself that he was using his evol to make you do this.

Before you could look back up at him with faux anger, his cock twitches on your tongue, swelling in your mouth as the movements of his hips grow sporadic. You let out a surprised squeak when his hands cup your face as he thrusts deeply, his tip hitting the back of your throat as his seed suddenly spills over. It fills your mouth at such a rate that you have no choice but to swallow or choke on it.

Caleb’s hips thrusts in sporadic jerks as his balls empty his cum down your sinfully tight throat. Oh how he could stay in this perfect little mouth forever. But he was dying for a taste of you. He missed you and your touch so much over the past year, he was gone. “You enjoyed tasting me, yeah? Got you wet between your thighs, little one?” His eyes watch the way your chest heaves as he slips his cock out your mouth and sees the way your thighs pressed together. He tsk’ed when you shake your head “no”. Still denying the fact that you didn’t hate him. That you didn’t hate what he was doing. That you didn’t hate that he was reclaiming what was his long ago.

A ��scwhick’ sounded in the silence followed by the ripping of leather as a blade slices through the material of his glove. Your eyes widened at the sight of his bionic hand as a knife shoots out of the wrist. Caleb balls the hand into a fist and raises the blade down to your eye level, a grin spreading over his lips as he waves the blade in your face. “You’re wearing too many clothes, baby girl.” With those words, he slides the tip of the sharp knife down your neck, being mindful to not pierce your flesh until he makes it to your hunter’s uniform. He easily slices through the white collar of your top before dragging the blade down towards the red corset top.

You gasp as your breasts bounce free when your top was cut down the center and with Caleb’s manipulation over the gravity around you made it impossible for you to raise your hands to cover them. Your mouth parts in a whimper as the cool touch of the blade crawls over the soft, warm skin of your breasts as you feel Caleb’s eyes locking in on them as he traces his knife over them. “Cale-” Your words are cut off as he snaps his gaze back towards yours and you feel the shift in the gravity pulling you back up to your feet.

Caleb said nothing as he shifted his manipulation to make you rise back up, his bionic hand making quick work of the black pants you wore. His eyes zero in on the red lace of the panties you were wearing and a grin spreads over his lips. “Were you expecting this? You’re such a naughty mei mei of mine.” He says the term like it was a curse, like it was venom on his tongue before his eyes land on the dark, wet spot forming in the seat of your panties. “What’s this? Lying to me about not liking having me down your slutty throat.”

“I…I didn’t! I…I don’t want you, Caleb!” Your words sounded false even to you. You advert your eyes away from his and lift your chin in defiance to his question. “It’s a natural reaction! That doesn’t mean anything, gege.” You’ve learned that he hates being called that now and when you peek down at him out of the corner of your eye, you could see the dark cloud that covered his face. You let out a squeal when his fingers suddenly dig into your hips, hooking into your panties and pulling them down. You watch in mild shock at the long string of slick that connects your labia to the wet cotton patch before it breaks.

Caleb arches his brow up at you, a smirk curling at his lips. “A natural reaction for getting this soaked for me. Your “brother”? He leans in and presses his lips against your mound, nosing at it and listening to your soft gasps as your hands fly to his hair. “You’re a terrible liar, princess. Just admit it.”

You could feel yourself getting weak in the knees as Caleb trails kisses down the innermost corners of your thighs, inches away from your dripping heat. You feel a moan threatening to escape and you quickly bite your lip. Hard. To try to prevent it from slipping out. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, gege.” Your mouth parts in a scream when a shock courses through your body coming from between your thighs. You yank Caleb’s head back to see his bionic arm’s finger pressing against your clit, a stream of light violet energy surging through it.

“Caleb.” He growls, another surge of electricity running from the tip of his mechanical finger to your precious little pearl. Your voice calls out to him as his tongue reaches out to soothe the sting and his chin is immediately drenched with your juices. His metal fingers slide from your clit to prod at your opening as his other hand wraps around your thigh to pull it to drape over his shoulder. The pointed tip of his tongue circles your nub before his lips close over it and he suckles it into his mouth.

Your legs buckle as your slick bubbles and pops at your hole as his fingers slowly push inside. Fuck. Your heart was pounding beneath your rib cage as your fingers curled into his dark hair and you didn’t know if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer to your needy cunt. His name was on the tip of your tongue but you swallow it back down. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction that he’s broken you down. Made you submit to him and his…Fuck. Your head falls to your chest as his tongue does wicked things to you, slipping between your folds and curling in deep as his nose nudges and bumps against your clit.

Fingers dive deeper into his hair as you could no longer hold in your voice as Caleb pushes his metal fingers in deeper and lets a wave of electricity course through your walls in a pleasurable tingle. “Oh fuck!” The screams of your ecstasy reach his ears, sounding like the gods and goddess were singing to him. His tongue became relentless as his lips suck and slurp at your sensitive little clit, drinking down every drop your slick hole produces.

If it wasn’t for his hold on your legs and the strength of the gravity holding you up, you’d have fallen as your knees buckle when he slurps at your juices as they run down his chin, trickling down his neck as he shakes his head like a ravenous beast. You were close, you could feel your heartbeat throbbing in tune with the pulses of your clit as his fingers dug you out, juices gushed out with every thrust that his greedy tongue eagerly laps up. “Ge-Cal-”

Then suddenly it all stops as Caleb pulls away, ruining your orgasm. Lilac eyes flash mischievously as he peers up at you, his bionic arms dripping with your juices as he brings the fingers to his lips and licks them clean. “Did you want to cum? Come on, little one. Admit it. Admit that you want me. Admit that you never saw me as your brother. Admit that you can’t hate me.” His hand closes around your thigh as he turns his head and presses his damp lips against the plush flesh. “Admit it and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”

Caleb watches you with his lips quirked up into a smile as you whine and try to undulate your hips; seeking his tongue and fingers back into your aching and dripping snatch. But his hand wraps around your waist and holds you down as the gravity around your body places opposite pressures, causing you to stand still. His eyes narrow when you still try to struggle against his hold over his evol and a “tsk” leaves his throat. “I said. Admit. It. Little. One. Stop. Being. Stubborn.” He enunciated each word with a sharp slap to your clit with the flat of his fingers.

You let out a pained whine as each strike was also followed by a small zap of electricity that thumbs over your engorged button as blood makes it swell even more. You bite your lips to stop the plea that almost spills over. Your eyes are burning with tears as you shake your head. You would not admit that you were enjoying the painful pleasurable torture he was putting your body through. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You- “Ca-Caleb…” Your bottom lip quivers as tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. “Please…I admit it. Can I please cum now?”

Your subconscious was screaming at you as your lips betray you and uttered those words, but before you could even think to take them back, to redact your statement, a cool smile spreads over Caleb’s lips as his fingers slide over your soaked slit, smearing your juices over you labia. You bend at the waist, hands flying back into his hair as his control over his evol weakens a bit and a moan escapes your lips. “I…I didn’t…mmph…” Your words are stolen as Caleb shoves his fingers into your mouth, your taste still clinging to the leather of the glove he still wore as he attacks your slit again with ravenous licks.

Caleb feasts on you like a starving man, juices trickling down the side of his face and neck as he ate your pretty cunt so messily. Lewd slurping sounds echoed throughout his room as he drank down every bit of your slick pussy juices that he could. The pointed tip of his tongue flicks and lashes out at your sensitive nub as his lips suck on your labia. As his gloved fingers still thrust into your mouth, the fingers of his bionic hand find their way back inside your slick cavern twisting and turning as he digs for that sweet spot that will have you cumming on his tongue.

You could feel the way your walls were clenching tightly around his fingers as he pressed deeper and deeper, searching for that gooey spot deep within your body. It all felt so foreign to you. This wasn’t the sweet Caleb that you had shared tender kisses with. Wasn’t the sweet boy you gave your virginity to years ago before his “death”, Nor was this your sweet gege that always vowed to protect you. Your voice is muffled by his fingers as you feel your pussy squeeze around his metal fingers as you feel your clit twitch and your juices flood out of you, hot and runny and drenching down his wrist. “Gege!”

The second your juices flow down his tongue, filling his mouth as he greedily drinks and slurps it all down. But the moment that name leaves your lips, he stops; pulling away from your addictive little pussy, a line of slick clinging to his bottom lip as he cuts his lilac eyes up to meet your dazed gaze, his voice was hard and even. “What did you call me?” He watches as your mouth parts in a gasp as he rises to his feet, cock bobbing as he stands, but he ignores the pre that dribbles from the tip to splatter on the floor. Lifting his chin, he snaps his head towards the couch and his evol sends you flying down into the cushion; face down ass up and your back arched so pretty for him. “Would your precious “gege” do this?”

He pulls out his gun from the holster, his legs coming to lock yours between his feet as he leans over you. The cold muzzles of the pistol caresses the hot skin of your spine, starting at the base of your skull and trailing down to the center of your back and over the curve of your ass. His other hand came crashing down on the globe of flesh until the skin was heated and a faint print of his hand was left behind as the skin wiggled. “I shouldn’t have let you cum. If I had known you’d be such a brat.” But despite his words, he was happy to taste you on his tongue, to taste your sweet juices.

You turn your head to look back at Caleb, feeling the cold tip of the gun tracing down the length of your back. You cry out when his hand smacks the flesh of your ass over and over again until the skin was heated and you were damn near in tears. You bite your lip as you feel him nudging the gun against your right ass cheek to stop the whimpers from coming out. Your pussy clenches in anticipation of what he was going to do, body betraying you as it grows slicker with every passing second. Despite your mind telling, yelling, that you should hate this, hate what he was doing to do, your body craved it. Craved more of his mean touches. More of his harsh treatment.

Caleb’s hand fists his cock as he slides the gun down, the cold tip gliding down the line of your ass. “Hmm? Should I punish you for being a brat. Delaying your orgasms again and again as I fuck you? Or maybe this slutty pussy is greedy for something else? You want my cock, little one or…?” He traces the muzzle down the line until it brushes against your glistening slit. His eyes watch as you jolt from the contact and try to pull away as his hand glides faster over his length, squeezing the swollen tip with every upward drag. “Answer quickly before I make the decision myself, princess.”

You try to pull away from the gun, but your hips rock back against it, your labia spreading to encompass the tip briefly. How could he try to make you choose? You…didn’t want either, right? Your pussy clenches at the thought of him fucking you with his gun, but was drooling over the chance to finally have his cock nudging up against your most sacred parts. Just as you were about to open your lips to tell him your answer, the cold steel of the gun sinks into your gooey walls, slick bubbling and popping around the black metal.

“Ca-Caleb?” Your voice was a mixture of shock and pleasure as he worked the gun a little deeper as you slowly rocked your hips backwards to help him. As his knuckle nudges at your clit, you let out a mewl and throw your head back. “F-fuck!” The curse leaves your throat before you could even think to swallow it down. You push back further, walls stretching to accommodate the thickness of the gun’s muzzle. You were so depraved for enjoying this, but you would never tell him. You still hated him. Right? Right?

“Shhh….” his hand wraps in your hair gently, pulling it back until your neck is exposed as he sinks his gun in deeper, the wet gushy sounds of your sloppy pussy making his dick grow impossibly harder. As your juices gush out, drenching his gloved fingers and sliding down the handle of the gun, his eyes watch as your naughty hips couldn’t stop moving backwards to fuck yourself deeper on the barrel. “Lemme listen to these slutty sounds she’s making for me.” Without warning, he pulls his gun out, the sticky sounds of your pussy trying to desperately suck it back echoing around the room as nasty strings of your cum drips down the length. “Just look at how you’ve dirtied my gun?”

He pulls on your hair, arching your back so far back your spine pops almost uncomfortably as he waves his slick covered gun in your face. “I should have you clean it, no?” He presses the gun against your cheek, smearing the creamy cum down your skin for a moment as his bionic hand lets go of your hair, still coated in your juices from earlier and wraps carefully around his cock and smears your slick down the length of it. His eyes zero in on your quivering little hole as you tremble under him and his self-control was beginning to waiver. He wanted to keep teasing and edging you until you were screaming his name and only thinking of him and his cock.

Moving the gun away from your face and bringing it to his lips as he notches the bulbous tip of his cock against your drooling hole. He shifts his bionic hand from his cock to grip your hip tightly, his mechanical fingers digging into the plush flesh tightly. As his tongue slips out to lick up the length of his gun, he pushes past those first tight rings of muscles, your pussy immediately stretching to accommodate his girth. Your taste explodes over his taste buds and he moans softly as he was greedy for more, but the wet velvety feeling of your silken walls engulfing his cockhead was starting to make him dizzy with how fast the blood was leaving his head to his engorged cock.

Your head drops to your chest as your arms threaten to give out from under you as Caleb sinks deeper into your warm, gooey walls, the delicious stretch of him filling you was damn near maddening. His name was on the tip of your tongue as you clench down tightly around him, sucking his cock in until the thick mushroomed tip was pressing snuggly against your cervix. A low moan vibrates in your chest as you pant and your hips rock back against his, the slow sticky clasp of skin meeting skin ringing out in the room.

Caleb’s eyes were trained on the sight of your tight little hole as it swallowed up his length. You were perfect for him. Your walls hug him just right, the right amount of pressure that makes him never want to leave your depths. “Fuck.” The curse leaves him in a growl as he places his gun down on the edge of the couch, both hands coming to wrap around your waist to pull you back deeper and faster on his cock. His leg hikes up, foot planting into the soft cushion of the couch as he thrust fast and hard into your tender cunt, pounding into you at such a pace that it was near demonic.

You bite your lip to stop the scream that was building up in your throat, chest burning from holding in your voice as your pussy squelches with every brutal and harsh thrust. The lewd sound of his pelvis meeting your ass vibrates and echoes in the room. His fingers grip your waist tightly, the cold fingers of his bionic arms branding your skin with his marks as his grunts fill the room as well. Sweat forms on your brow as you pant for air, rolling down the side of your face. “Ca-” You quickly snap your jaw just as you stop yourself from calling out his name.

Another low “tsk” leaves his throat as his eyes narrow. His left hand moves to grip the back of your neck and pushes your face down into the cushions as his foot slides up higher, caging your much smaller body under his. “Come on…let me hear you.” He urged as he made sure that with every thrust, he pressed his pelvis against the curve of your ass, grinding a bit to make sure you felt every inch of him. “Say my name. You know you want to scream it for the whole Fleet to hear, hmm?” He punctured each of the next words with a sharp snap of his hips. “Fucking. Scream. My. Name. Brat.”

The dam within you broke and your pent up emotions came flowing like the river of slick that gushes out of you as you cum hard against him, the force of it pushing his cock out as you finally grace his ears with the melodic sounds of your salacious screaming. “Ca-Caleb!”

Finally.

Finally after he’s edged your body to the best orgasm of your fucking life, did you say his name in the most prettiest of cries. He sits back on the couch, hands grabbing you around your waist, using his evol to shift the gravity of your body to make you weightless as he straddles you over his lap. “Such a dirty girl. Cumming so violently like that. I’m not through with you yet.” He flicks his finger down after his right hand notches the bulbous tip against your leaking hole and the gravity shifts downward, forcing your pussy onto his length.

Another lewd scream leaves your tender throat as Caleb makes you ride his cock, bouncing you up and down on his thickness. You had just come and your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of the one he just gave you. Your arms come up to wrap around his neck as his hands grip your thighs as he thrusts up into your cunt. “Caleb! Please! Slow down!” Tears sparkle on your lashes as drool begins to leak down the corner of your mouth.

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his, tongue sliding out to delve into your mouth and curls over yours. Caleb then sucks your pink muscle between his teeth. You moan and he swallows the sound down as his hand shifts to grab at the meat of your ass to bounce you up and down on his cock, the tip kissing your cervix with each upward snap of his hips. Caleb felt the way your walls were fluttering, gripping his thickness tightly and he knew that you were going to cum again soon.

Breaking away, a thin string of saliva still connecting your tongue until it broke away to lay coolly against your chin, his lilac eyes capture your fucked out gaze. “Gonna cum again, little one?” His breath came out in harsh pants as your pussy squelches loudly as your juices gush out and wet up the material of his pants still hanging around his hips. “Ffuucckk, you’re squeezing me so tightly.” His head falls to rest against yours as he pecks at your lips sweetly, a vast difference in his powerful thrusts.

Your body was trembling as you rock your hips into his, not caring if his evol was making you bounce on him or not anymore as the pleasure consumes you. The only thing that matters in that moment was the approaching climax he was about to give you. Your nails dig into the material of his black uniform, damn near ripping into it as you claw at his back. “Fuck! Caleb! ‘M’gunna cum!” Once. Twice. Three ti- “Wh-what?” Your voice was a warbled cry when his hands grip your hips, stilling you over his cock.

His lips curl up into a soft, yet sadistic smile as he holds you in place, his evol working against you and keeping you pinned down. “Did I give you permission to cum yet, little one?” He plants his feet down firmly on the floor before utilizing his strength to stand up, his hands wrapping around your thighs and locking your legs around his thick, muscular waist. He moves his left hand away from your body and hooks his finger between your teeth. “Bite only my glove, pretty girl.”

You do as he says, biting down on the tip of his glove and watch with hazy eyes as he pulls his hand free. And finally. Finally. His skin meets with yours as he glides his fingertips down the valley of your breasts to your belly, his eyes widen when he feels the smallest protrusion and his lips crack into a smile. “Look at that. I’m so big and you're so small compared to me, I’m bulging out. Such a tiny, tight pussy you have mei mei.” He teases as he lays his palm flat over the small bulge and presses down on it to hear you squeal out his name as he uses his bionic arm to slam you up and down on his cock.

His knees bend slightly to stabalize himself as his hips move in tune with yours as he fucks you fast and hard. Caleb grips your ass hard, hard enough to leave the imprint of his fingers behind as he bucks up into you, jostling you on his dick as your arms come to wrap around his neck as your fingers dig into his scalp, grazing it with your nails. His eyes shift towards the large bed in the center of the room and his lips curl into another smile as he turns. His cock never leaves your soft, warm, wet walls as he walks over to where the bed was; your salacious moans making him impossibly harder as he grits his teeth.

“Fuck…just listen to her talking to me.” His hands grip your ass tighter as he lifts you up, your cuntsquealching and gushing around his girth as he pushes you back down on him. Caleb stops at the edge of the bed, your slick juices dripping down his shaft and creating a creamy ring at the base of his dick as he lays you down on the plush mattress. You immediately sink down into the softness as he pushes your legs to your chest, ankles damnnear by your ears as he folds you up.

Your breath is stolen from you as your thighs are compressed against your chest as he pistons his dick in and out of your clenching pussy. You grab at his shirt, twisting the material until the buttons pop open. Your eyes widen when the familiar silver dog tag with a small apple charm dangles in front of your eyes. The chain sways to and fro before you and your heart pounds beneath your rib cage as you feel a rush of slick gushing out of your snatch. The necklace you had given him. He kept it. You hook your finger into the chain and pull.

A surprised grunt leaves him when you tug down on his dog tag, making him lean down to meet your lips in a hungry kiss as his hips pause in their brutal snapping. He moans softly when your tongue seeks out his, curling and tasting his mouth. Caleb pulls away, his eyes shining with adoration, desire, and affection for you. “Naughty girl…look what you did to my shirt?” His left hand trails down your body, caressing your soft skin and relishing in the feel of you under his rough fingertips. “Punishment by pleasure. You’re not allowed to cum until I say so.”

His feverish words are whispered hotly against your lips as he pulls his hips back, thick shaft rubbing against your walls as his cockhead bumps against your over sensitive clit. It twitches under his touch as he saws his length through your soaked lips until you damn near were in tears. “Beg. Beg for it. Beg for my cock like the slutty girl you are for me, princess.” He coos softly.

Your teeth worry your bottom lip as tears fill your eyes at his teasing. Your body was beyond sensitive and stuck on the edge between pleasure and pain as the need to cum grows more and more intense. A part of you still wanted to deny him, to not give into his demands, but the bigger, louder part wants to submit to the pleasure. “Pul-please…Caleb…I need you…”

“Hmm?” He leans down, teasing your clit with featherlight touches as he nudges the tip of his dick at your slick hole, sinking the tip in and thrusting shallowly before pulling out. “Need me to what? C’mon. Use those big girl words.”

“Caleb!” You whine out as you try to grab at his necklace again, but he’s quicker than you and takes both your wrists in his bionic hand and pins them to the bed. “I need you to fuck me! Please make me cum again! I need it!”

A feral smirk spreads over his lips as his left hand moves to spread your labia apart, translucent strings of your slick slipping over your drooling hole as he lines up the bulbous tip of his dick. “Since you asked so nicely.” With those words, he slowly sinks back in, making sure you felt every single thick inch of him. Feeling his balls tingling, he set a slow, steady pace, hips smacking into yours with every deep thrust that makes your breast bounce. Your hands twist and nails dig into the meat of your palm as you buck your hips upward and wrap your legs around his middle, your heels fitting perfectly in the dips of his back.

He keeps up that same slow, sensual pace, his hips swirling in slow undulated thrusts as he takes his time. His pubic bone grinds into your clit with every stroke as he slips his fingers inbetween the two of you. Caleb swirls his ring and middle fingers over your clit slowly, pressing into the swollen flesh as he watches your face scrunch up and you writhe with pleasure under him. “Y’like that. Like it as I slowly make you mad with pleasure. Is that something your precious “gege” would do? No, sweetheart, I was never your brother and you knew that. The kisses we shared, the times I held you closer during thunderstorms. The many times have we done this?” Caleb’s thrusting picks up in speed as his emotions hit a new high.

You shake your head as you desperately try to cling onto what little semblance of sanity you had left. But the steady wet smacks of his pelvis against your as his dick makes your pussy gush around him makes that almost impossible. “Caleb. Caleb. Caleb.” His name leaves your lips like a mantra as tears of pleasure fall from your eyes and down the side of your face into your hairline. “You were never my brother, Caleb! You’re my lover!”

Caleb’s hips stutter as his balls tingle and he cums a little at your words. You said it. The one thing he’s been dying to hear. The one thing he was determined to make you say. “That’s fucking right. You never really hated me. You just needed me to fuck the brat out of you, huh?” His hips pick up in speed until he is thrusting in and out of you at such a speed that it makes drool bubble up in your mouth and your tears to fall faster. He captures one of your bouncing breasts between his teeth and sucks the hardened nipple into his mouth, lathing it with his tongue and circling the areola as he works the fingers of his left hand over your pretty little clit.

His balls smack against the curve of your ass as he feels the telltale signs of his release nearing. He quickly moves your legs from around his waist, placing them on his shoulders as he cages you with his body, his thrusting becomes sporadic. Caleb’s hand returns to rest above your mound and spreads, thumb still resting on that tender button as he presses down on the protrusion of his cock in your lower belly. You let out a squeal as the pressure stimulates you from the inside and your legs lock around his neck. The thick tip of his was constantly knocking against your cervix and the fine dark hairs of his pubes rub so tantalizing against your clit as his thumb rubs fast circles.

“Cum. Cum for me, baby girl. Cum so hard for me.” As if by his command, your juices squirt out of your pussy, drenching his pelvis and dripping down his shaft and balls. “Good girl. You want me to cum? Deep inside you and fill you up so full?” His fingers still work over your sensitive clit until you were screaming and begging for reprieve. “Yeah, you do.” He snaps his hips heavily. Once. Twice. Three more times before stilling, his cock twitches within your depths before his seed floods out the tip.

His cum is hot and sticky as it fills your womb, his hips resuming their slow, gentle thrusts to fuck it deeper and deeper still even as the sheer amount overflows your pussy and gushes out with every slow, deep thrust. His forehead drops against yours, the cooling sweat that beads there making your skin sticky as he pecks at your lips in sweet kisses. Caleb slowly lets your legs down from around his shoulders, his left hand massaging your hips in case there was any lingering soreness.

“You okay, little one? I shouldn’t have been so rough…” His eyes widen when your hand slips from his grip and cups his face. Your eyes were soft as you gave him a smile.

“It was perfect, Caleb. I needed this. I missed you.” Your fingers rub his cheek gently as you lean up and press your lips to his forehead softly. You wiggle your hips, feeling his cum slosh around inside you and blinking in confusion. “Uh…Caleb…”

“Hmm?” He hums as he drops his head to the junction of your neck and shoulder, skimming his lips over the soft skin. “Yes, princess?”

You fidget under him, whimpering a bit when he slowly drags his hips out, cock still hard inside you. “How are you still..”

Lilac eyes peer down into yours as a boyish smile spreads over his lips and a chuckle vibrates in his chest. “You didn’t actually think I was done with you, yet? Nope, we have all night. Round Two? Start.”

2022-25 nymphoheretic - I do not give permission to copy, edit, alter, or distribute my work. Do not adverse on tiktok. Do not repost on any other platform.

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[worstgirlsfuture]

cw for the most longwinded and insane discussion of psuedocest and caleb and mcs relationship in lds.

MY THOUGHTS ARE SUBJECT TO CHANGE !!!!!!!!!!!!! but for now...

MAJOR CW FOR PSUEDOCEST AND SPOILERS FOR CALEB CARDS

like. not only is caleb being a siscon integral to his characterization - it also crucial to understanding what is actually going on in their dynamic because when you remove the familial context (and, in turn, remove calebs sole reason for being KJDSHJDS) none of the conflict of the story will feel meaningful or make any sense

calebs and mcs relationship is run of the mill traumatized sibling codependency. the amount and the extent in which the both of them emotionally rely on each other is reinforced in the myth where it affirms that caleb is basically fucking winter solider and that if mc had the chip in her she would end up with a similar obsession about protecting him.

but caleb has harbored a stronger desire for her since forever.

and MORE than that , i do not think his desire for her genuinely conflicts with his interest in acting as her older brother.

so much of the conflict caleb experiences is about wanting to maintain the image of protection and strength in order to make sure mc never feels completely out of depth and keep himself as a safe space in her life. he makes a promise in her bond as to not restrain her. his priority has always and will always be her family. acting as her dependable gege is something caleb goes to great lengths to do

this is proven again by their hidden waves card where he doesnt want mc to see him sick. he cant be sick, cant show weakness. because he wants her to continue to depend on him for as long as they are live. he wants to continue to be the person she relies on.

the distorted nature of their relationship exists because for calebs desire to monopolize mc and continue acting like her gege are not at odds INTERNALLY. rather, he is under the correct impression that expressing that to mc would alter her already fragile connection and feelings about family.

WHICH IS WHY THE CONVERSATION THEY HAVE IN THE MAIN STORY CAPTIVE BIRD - WHERE CALEB EXPLICITLY SAYS THAT IT WAS MCS MISTAKE TO THINK HE WOULD KEEP ACTING AS HER GOOD OLDER BROTHER IS SOOO DKJFHSJD !!!

thank you mao for the translations on that for affirming the psuedocest in it AND the tragedy in it.

based on all of that and the way i see it - i think the underlying sexual tension is probably something that has existed in their relationship for a long time. something that mc has probably felt but somewhat willfully chosen to overlook or acknowledge because of what it would mean . to what capacity she has understood it is imo still up for debate

TO ME........ i think this is about a willingness to the accept that distortion. the intentional cruelty in deying to mc that he was ever gege in the first place. i do think that this is of course partially because of his frustration over his feelings but also a way for him to make mc confront their relationship more head on. mc sees it a denial of their bond and i think this will require resolving at some point

but because i think caleb knows even better than mc that mc could accept A LOT from caleb simply because of who he is to her. but its not what he wants. he wants HER as she is. to have all of her.

to act as both. to be everything to her she is to him. in order to do that, i think he probably first intends to make mc conscious of him this way. forcefully because its the only way she'll really get it and come to him of her own volition and accept what has probably existed between them for a long time

i think this is also an act of mercy on calebs behalf. because i think it would genuinely be easy for him to get what he wants out of mc on the guise of acting as her brother only. i think it is knowing that he chooses not to do that and instead goes so forcefully in making her aware of him and his desires. i know that sounds insane but for now thats how i see it.

its a matter of caleb wanting to be both her gege and everything inbetween. above and below.

SORRY AND I AM INSANE .

[worstgirlsfuture]

SHH... WE CAN'T GET CAUGHT.

nsfw (18+). includes fingering, breast play, dirty talk, huge cock, unprotected sex, creampie, fwb relationship (it's pretty obvious you like each other tho), mentions of your first time experience with caleb (and other times after that), having sex when another person is just a few rooms away, too much cum, slight praise kink. filthy, filthy, filthy smut from top to bottom. likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!

“Shh... you don't want Gran hearing us, do you?”

You're covering your mouth to stifle your whimpers, but there's no hiding the wet squelches beneath the blanket. You wrap your hand around Caleb's flicking wrist, his fingers buried deep inside your cunt. When he adds another digit, a loud cry of his name is pulled out of you.

Caleb presses a soft kiss against your nape. You're both turned on your sides, your back against his solid chest. “As much as I like hearing you say my name, it'd be a problem if someone came to interrupt us. Remember the last time?”

The last time he's referring to is your risky tryst from a few days back; Caleb joined you in your bath, claiming he wants to “wash your back” for you. As expected, 20% of your time was spent in a relaxing soak where he massaged your shoulders and washed your hair, and the remaining 80% was spent with his head between your legs, coaxing out wave after wave of cum with his fingers and tongue.

The tip of his cock was already inside you when a knock on your door interrupted you, your grandmother asking if you knew where Caleb went because he wasn't in his room. Needless to say, you had to stop what you were doing and Caleb had a difficult time sneaking out of the bathroom.

“That... mmph... and this... is all your fault...” you struggle to say while biting back your moans as he grinds his fingers against a good spot, his thumb flicking at your clit. Caleb has always been too good with his hands. “You always—ah!—do this even when there are other people around...!”

“You wanna know why?” Chuckling, Caleb leans closer to whisper to your ear, lips brushing over your soft skin. “You squeeze me so fucking tight when we're about to get caught.”

You gush around his fingers as he mouths on the shell of your ear, moaning into the palm of your hand. He hums in satisfaction, pulling out his hand from your panties to admire the stringy release between his fingers. “You always cum too fast, pipsqueak. You pent up these days?”

How on earth could you possibly be pent up when you've been fucking Caleb at every opportunity? Every time you're left alone at the house, he fucks you against any flat surface he can find—the door when he's too impatient to go to your room, the bathroom sink because he likes making you watch yourself in the mirror when he's fucking you stupid, and even ate you out on the kitchen countertop at some point.

But the thing is, Caleb is undaunted by the possibility of being caught. So even when your Gran is around, he sneaks into your bedroom to fool around, just like what he's doing now under the pretense of “we watched a horror movie today, aren't you scared to sleep alone?”

Evidently, Caleb has no intention of letting you sleep tonight. He fondles your tits beneath your shirt, the tent in his sweatpants grinding against your clothed ass. “Don't pretend like you're innocent,” he mutters, making you yelp when he pinches your nipple. “You strutted around all day wearing my shirt without a bra, bending down in front of me on purpose... Did you know how hard it was to hold back from fucking you on the spot?”

“T-that was...!” Your cheeks flush with warmth. Sure, you were kind of riling him up on purpose, but that was under the assumption you'd be alone tonight.

“This ass...” he rubs you above your shorts, groaning as he palms at the soft flesh. “...was in my mind the entire fucking day. I held myself back until now, but I can't hold back anymore, fuck.”

He strips you off of your clothes, only leaving his shirt scrunched up above your breasts. He pulls down his sweatpants, and you feel his huge cock slap against your lower back, his pre-cum smearing across your skin. He holds the back of your knee to raise your leg, positioning his cock to your soaked pussy.

“Been waiting for this for so fucking long... Oh, shiiit,” he moans, long and drawn out and dirty as he slides right home, the tip of his dick pounding at your cervix. You squeal into your hand, your cunt clamping down on his cock so tightly but it doesn't deter his fast pace at all.

He reaches so deep like this, hitting spots he normally couldn't when you're in missionary. His huge cock feels like it's carving its own space into your body, coring you out from the inside, and it feels so good that you can't hold back your voice at all.

“Nn... Don't do that,” Caleb pulls away your hand from your mouth when he notices you biting down on your skin to hide your moans. He replaces it by putting his fingers in your mouth, cooing softly to your ear, “Suck. You're going to hurt yourself.”

You suck on his fingers, eyes rolling back to your head as he continues to pound you, fucking your pussy so good. Only Caleb knows how to make you feel so much pleasure to the point you can't think properly anymore. Your fingers could never hope to reach the places his cock touches.

It's how this twisted relationship started in the first place, Caleb catching you touching yourself when you forgot to lock your door. He taught you how to make yourself cum because you didn't know anything, until all you knew was him and his cock. But he was too big the first time you took him in that he had to fuck you loose with four fingers, sucking and licking at your pussy to make you wet enough to accept his thick girth and length. Now, he could slide inside you easily, your body having taken his shape.

Caleb stares at your messy face, utterly endeared. “Fuck, you're so fucking cute...” He takes out his fingers from your mouth, using them to tilt your jaw to meet his lips. He kisses you sloppy, no finesse as you slide your tongue against his, moaning into each other's mouths.  “Mm... open your mouth more... yeah, that's it, baby... good fucking girl...”

“Ah, fuck, Caleb!” you sob, desperately rocking against his cock. “I'm gonna cum, cumming, I can't anymore...!”

“You're gonna cum?” Caleb stops thrusting, making you whine and attempt to move yourself, but he holds onto your hips and pushes you into the mattress, laying you flat on the sheets on your front. He settles behind you, using his weight to pound you to the mattress harder. “Then fucking cum.”

You moan uncontrollably into the pillows, completely forgetting you're meant to stay quiet. Caleb fucks his cock harder, faster, deeper, failing to hold back his own grunts as you tighten up around him, wet heat melting around his dick. “Shit, I'm gonna cum too... I'm gonna cum hard in your slutty fucking pussy... fuck, I'm cumming!”

You squirt around his cock as he fills you up with cum, your fluids making a mess between your bodies and the sheets. You don't realize you're crying out up until Caleb grabs your chin and kisses you once more, muffling the lewd moans you're letting out while he's still cumming inside you, hot and thick. He gives you tiny, slowing thrusts, cock still spurting out semen. “Oh, baby, you did so good...” he sucks on your bottom lip, staring intently at your orgasm face. “Such a good fucking girl for me...”

“So... full...” is the only thing you can say, feeling the sheer volume of one load of his cum in your pussy, warming you from the inside.

“Not full enough, baby.” Caleb peppers your face with kisses. It is then that you realize—with no small amount of fear and arousal—his cock hasn't softened at all. “I still have a lot to give you.”

[worstgirlsfuture]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 35: Goodbye, Little Red Flower

Content warning: Violence, gore, blood, dismemberment, Sukuna POV at the end.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

The Breaking Of The Shell - Hunter As a Horse Doom - Alex Terrible

Chapter 34

The light tap on your bare shoulder almost pulls you from the haze of sleep.

Almost.

But you’re too comfortable to move. Too tired. Caught somewhere between peace and exhaustion with barely any thoughts. You drift, resting on whatever softness you lie on. It feels nice. And smells faintly of a warm, crackling fire and a deeper undertone, like marrow buried in the earth. Dense. Grounding.

Another tap, firmer this time, yet still gentle.

“Psst.”

A voice.

“It’s time to wake up.”

When your eyes drift open, you blink and are greeted by the sight of Sukuna’s messy sheets, a ridiculous mountain of pillows, and your form poured out across his futon, flat on your stomach.

Disoriented, you blink again, pushing yourself up slowly. Turning to sit, you face the room, aching in every muscle, body and energy spent. It feels like you could sleep for ages, especially here, wrapped in the decadence of this space.

A soft clearing of a throat breaks the quiet, and you glance left. Pale morning light filters through the garden doors, illuminating Ren standing beside the raised futon. She cradles a bowl of steaming liquid, her expression furrowed in thought.

“Morning,” she says, her voice polite, her head bowing slightly, but her eyes wander to the nearest wall, avoiding you.

You look down.

Oh.

Right.

You’re completely naked.

Muttering a few choice words, you grab the nearest thing—the massive blue quilt and swamp the fabric tightly around your body. It doesn’t take long for the memories of last night to resurface, and all you wish for is the heavy forgetfulness of sleep.

What do you remember?

Ceramics shattering. Sneaking into the King of Curses’ room in the middle of the night to stab him. All the truths that were finally hatched. Then, the forest battle. Your power. The fire arrow. The shouting. Screaming. Kissing. The sex—gods, the sex. Before, the quiet, whispering, “I should have stolen you sooner.” And finally, the monster letting you go, telling you to depart before sunrise, leaving you here, alone, covered in his…

You look down, cheeks burning with mortification as irritation prickles under your skin at the sticky sensation between your legs. There’s a lot. It’s everywhere.

He has two cocks, after all.

Taking a corner of the quilt, you scrub at your inner thighs, uncaring if you stain his sheets. If anything, you hope it leaves a mess—one small, final reminder that you were here. The act feels petty, but you reserve a corner in your mind that he deserves a whole lot more than this.

Let all his sleeps be ruined by crusty sheets.

Prick.

Peering back at Ren, your eyes flicker to the bowl cradled in her hands, which she seems to be directing toward you. The wafting steam smells of the earth, a grassy edge, maybe something sweet.

“What is that?”

Your prickly tone does little but draw her attention back to you. You level her with a stare. The sting of betrayal still crawls around in your mind, and looking at her directly does nothing to settle it.

“It’s a tea, my La—” Her words falter, lip tucking inward to stop herself.

You tug the quilt tighter, a protective shield.

So, the news has already spread throughout the shrine. This sham of a union is over. Eyebrows calmly arching, you wait for her to recover her voice.

“It’s a preventative,” she says, clearing her throat softly, “against anything... unwanted. Master Sukuna didn’t wish you to leave only to become pregnant.”

Her explanation barely registers before you take the bowl from her hands, careful to avoid brushing her skin—an intentional gesture after last night’s incident. No more shattered ceramics.

“How thoughtful of him,” you mumble, peering into the bowl’s murky contents and inhaling.

Despite the bitterness in your words, you know it’s true. Becoming pregnant would be foolish, and, as Ren said, unwanted. With no home, no clan, and no means of support, bringing a child into this life would be reckless.

“Is this what you and Sayuri would drink?”

You take a sip. Hints of over-brewed root and bark nips at your tongue.

“Not often.” Ren makes a humming sound in her chest. “If ever.” She moves across the room to pluck your ruined yukata that still sits as a rumpled pile on the floor. “Normally, he wouldn’t find completion inside us,” she adds, her voice calm, almost factual. “He would withdraw.”

“Oh.”

You avert your stare to the tea again. Taking a longer sip, then two more, you drain the rest in one long swallow. Wiping your mouth, you add, “I suppose I should feel honoured, right?” You tap the ceramic dish once with a finger before setting it down on the sheets.

Again, the bitterness in your words. They aren’t meant for Ren, but they come nonetheless.

Petty, petty.

She doesn’t respond, and standing at the end of the futon, she hesitates before dropping her chin. 

“I don’t mean to be forward, but—” She smooths your discarded garment between her fingers, as if trying to rub out the stains. “You need to leave,” she continues. The new tension winding through her tone has you sitting straighter. “There’s a force advancing toward Master Sukuna’s domain.”

Your brow creases.

“An attack?” Feet finding their way to the floor, you stand with the quilt wrapped around you. “Similar to previous ones?”

Ren shakes her head softly.

“No.” She hands you your yukata, which you take with careful fingers. “Master Sukuna seems more concerned about this. Apparently, it’s much more organized—and from the capital.”

Your pulse makes a dip. Skips a beat or two.

What you had wondered about last night is coming to pass. Heian-kyō is moving to retaliate against Ryomen Sukuna. The course of events likely tracing to what you asked of him nights ago—the destruction of the Kasai clan…

Everyone. Dead.

Those were her words.

You let the quilt fall, and threading your arms through the sleeves of your yukata, you slip inside.

What would they do if they ever laid hands on Sukuna? Unlikely—but does it matter to you anymore?

Do I even care?

Pinching the front panels of the garment closed, you glance around for the sash—your binding from last night—but it’s nowhere to be found.

Before you can ask any further questions, the door slides open.

Uraume steps into the room. Their pink gaze flickers toward you briefly, but it doesn’t remain. Crossing to a chest resting in the corner, their pale hands move to pile several folded garments into their arms.

You stare at them. At the pink strip staining the back of their head.

I trusted you.

Ren shifts beside you, clearing her throat for what feels like the hundredth time. 

“I’ll prepare some of your things for departur—”  

“I trusted you.” Your voice is aimed at Uraume’s back, but your words are meant for both of them.

The pale-haired subordinate’s hands pause. It falls silent. Then they continue while a pained expression passes over Ren’s face. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Did you all just sit around at the end of the day and laugh at me?” you add, teeth clicking shut. “Recount all the stupid things I must have done?”

With a thump, Uraume presses the chest closed. In the dim light, dust motes swirl, dance, and finally settle. They turn to you, head bowing deeply, taking you by surprise.

“I have nothing to say for myself,” they admit, tone sincere. “And whatever you believe, know this—our actions toward you were genuine.”

“Genuine?” Your laugh comes out humourless. “After lying to me this whole time?"

“Yes.”

They pause, then lift their head.

“But.” Their expression cools, and your gaze hardens. “Your intent was to harm Master Sukuna. My loyalty will always remain with him—just as yours has always belonged elsewhere.”

Loyalty?

You huff, frustration rolling around inside your chest.

“Of course my loyalty was elsewhere. I did this to protect my sister.”

Under Uraume’s white bangs, their eyes exchange a wordless glance with Ren before flitting back to you.

Of course, they also didn’t know this—none of them did. Hidden truths and lies are all that bind anyone here.

“It wasn’t something I chose for myself,” you continue. And yet—what choice did either of them have against the word of the King of Curses? Was there a choice at all?

For a moment, Uraume hesitates, as if there’s more they want to say. But they simply bow their head again.

“Be safe.”

Clutching the stack of garments, they turn, slip gracefully into the corridor and disappear.

You stand there quietly before Ren steps briskly toward the door.

“Please,” she murmurs. “It’s time to go.”

Lifting your chin, you follow her from Sukuna’s chambers, sparing one last glance at the mural—the fading seasons, the red bloom sprouting from the snow—before turning away.

Descending the corridor back to your room feels strange, yet familiar, like retracing steps through a place that no longer belongs to you. When you enter, Ren gives you space. You move quickly, taking only what you need for the journey. Everything else, and anything gifted, remains untouched.

Before changing into a dark, plain kimono and hakama, you wipe your body down as best you can with a piece of cloth, ridding yourself of Sukuna’s touch.

With your leather gloves on, you pause in the doorway. The shattered ceramics from last night have been cleaned, leaving no trace of the realizations they pulled forth. Sliding the door open, you turn left, following the long hallway toward the front entrance. You pass the central hall, passing attendants along the way. They move through the corridors with their heads drawn low, not acknowledging you.

And you wonder—had they known about your gift all along? Perhaps that’s why they kept their distance, treating you like a walking, breathing wound.

Or a sickness.

Pushing the massive front doors open, you step outside. The morning drips with light rain, drizzle clinging to the air as fog blankets the ground in a soupy veil.

Everything is grey—dull, grey, muted, lifeless.

No colour. No warmth.

You exhale.

The clipped tap of footsteps behind you draws your gaze back over your shoulder. Ren stands at the mouth of the corridor, her face unreadable.

“Take care of yourself,” you say with a nod. She bows, head lowered, never lifting it.

Forcing a tight smile, you descend the wet stone steps of the shrine. The sodden ground gives beneath your feet as you make your way to the stables. Inside, your gaze sweeps over the stalls, tracing the familiar shapes of Sukuna’s horses, one after another, all accounted for.

So, he’s still here.

You pull open the door where Ayana waits, but a dull thud draws your attention downward.

There in the hay, your sheathed tantō lies, snug in its scabbard.

You stare at it for a heartbeat. Sukuna must have retrieved it, intending for you to take it. Your mouth twitches faintly, but instead of picking it up, you step over it, leaving the weapon where it lies.

A gift given, and one you’ll leave behind.

Ayana greets you with a gentle nudge, her warm breath coasting over your cheek. Huffing softly, the corner of your mouth attempts to rise.

“Ready to go, girl?” you murmur, circling her with a reassuring pat. Her dappled coat is smooth, brushed to a shine, clear that someone has taken care of her.

“We’ll ride toward the capital. Yuna will likely be waiting there for us,” you say, running a soothing hand along her neck before reaching for the bridle slung over the nearest beam. You begin fitting it over her head, your gloved hands steady as you secure the tack.

“And when this is all over, I’ll find you a place with real pastures. Somewhere with soft grass and open space, plenty of room to run wild.” You adjust the straps. “I’ll bring you something good too. Maybe sweet chestnuts. Or apples from some market we find along the way, the kind that smells like warm honey.”

She whinnies, and you smile at her.

“Freedom. Choices.” You give her a final pat. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

The creak of the stable door opening makes your head tilt slightly. You pause. The heavy footfalls arrive like an approaching storm, the rustle of fabric a whisper, sending searing heat down your spine.

Sukuna’s footsteps might as well be stomping around inside your chest—all loud and disquieting.

But instead of hiding, you keep your focus on Ayana, and don’t look up. You continue preparing her, hands moving with careful precision.

Still, you can’t ignore the faint trace of his energy brushing against you, prodding—almost as if in greeting.

You force yourself to ignore it. To breathe.

You can block it out, can’t you? If nothing else, you’ve learned this much—you are far stronger than you ever realized.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep and low into your belly.

Slowly, the oppressive hum of him dulls. Quieted, but not gone. Never entirely gone.

A stall door groans open. One of his many horses lets out a low chuff, and then his voice—deep and quiet—fills the space, murmuring soft, soothing words to the beast. The familiar clink of buckles follows, the slow pull of leather straps.

He’s leaving now too.

You quicken your pace, finishing swiftly to avoid a final confrontation.

With the saddle fastened, you mount Ayana and steer her toward the main doors, keeping your focus locked ahead—nowhere else. A firm nudge to her side, and you burst from the stables, refusing to acknowledge the flash of red eyes snapping toward you as you race past.

No lasting glances. No words. No goodbye.

Nothing.

You’re already gone.

Erupting down the dirt-packed road with the wind tearing through your hair, the rain picks up. But you don’t mind. This is a first taste of freedom.

Pressed between the towering, muted trees at your sides and the endless curve of the grey sky above, Ayana surges forward, her hooves slicing through shallow puddles.

It all blurs. You don’t look back.

But it doesn’t take long before your mare’s gallop is drowned out by the thundering of hooves from behind.

Before you can turn, Sukuna suddenly appears beside you, his massive warhorse cutting across your path. Ayana rears back with a startled cry, and you grip the reins tightly to steady her, heart pounding as he pulls alongside.

Slowly, he comes into focus.

You haven’t met his gaze since last night, seen his face since that vulnerable moment when he was buried deep inside you, when he turned you away.

Now, eyes finding yours, they move across you, and something fractures behind the scarlet hue of his stare.

He looks so different from only hours ago. Before, he had been lost in pleasure—or whatever other tumultuous emotions had circled in his mind.

Now, he looks ready for war.

A dark charcoal kimono and hakama stretches over his broad frame, the long spear strapped to his back a promise of violence. He appears as a shadow against the pale morning, cut from a deep wound, a stain.

And yet—

Tiny droplets of rain cling to him, softening the edges. Beads dot his lashes, dampen his pink hair to a deeper shade of blush. His eyes blink against the drizzle, and for a moment, the storm touches him too.

Hands loosening on Ayana’s reins, you part your lips to ask why he’s come—only for him to reach forward and crush something against your sternum.

Your chin tilts downward. Pressed against your chest is a thick stack of parchment, its edges curling from the damp. Reaching for them, your gloved fingers brush against the soaked paper, and you avoid his hand. Then your gaze drops lower, catching on the seal pressed into the front. A snake, coiled in red.

They are letters.

Your letters.

The ones he took.

Your eyes snap back to the King of Curses. He looms over you, his upper left arm still closing the space, palm flat against you. He looks out of place, oddly quiet, like he wants to speak but can’t quite force the words free.

Your grip on the reins shifts, leather creaking—the only sound above the steady patter of rain and the breath of the two horses.

Three heartbeats pass before he finally speaks.

“Be careful,” he mumbles lowly, pressing his hand more firmly as though unwilling to let go. His brow furrows. The way he looks at you—it’s there. If only he could unburden himself, let the words crawl free, you might listen.

You wait.

But his mouth and throat are fortified, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that aches.

“Stay off the main road. Don’t ride east, it’s dangero—”

“Goodbye, my Lord.” 

Composed. Formal. Chin lifted.

Your interruption makes him hesitate, lip twitching—before, at last, he releases you. Slowly. Reluctantly. And it’s that reluctance on his face that makes him look like a man who’s taken another blade to the neck and doesn’t understand how.

What does he expect? 

Again, you’ve given him pieces of yourself. And again, he has taken.

The thought twists.

Ruiner.

Tucking the letters deep into the front panels of your kimono, you turn away. Without a backward glance, you guide Ayana forward, and the space separating you stretches wide—like the unseen divide that always existed between your two rooms at the shrine.

Ayana surges ahead. The world blurs into gold and brown. But you only get so far before something inside tugs—an invisible thread pulling too tight.

You risk a glance back.

There’s a final flash of red clinging to you before vanishing, swallowed by the fog and rain, and the four-armed demon dissolves into the grey.

* * * * *

You don’t ride for long before finding a place beyond the main trail to dismount. Under the shelter of a sprawling oak, your mare slows, and you pull the letters from the safety of your kimono.

Settling onto a cold slab of rock, its damp surface seeping through your layers, you decide it’s time to read through them—if only to chase away the feeling clawing at your chest.

An odd ache of sorts.

Glancing down at the parchment in your hands—there are many. Some remain folded and untouched. While others have been folded and refolded, their creases worn soft, as if read over again and again.

Why Sukuna felt the need to keep them hidden, you’re unsure.

Taking the first from the top, you ease it open and begin.

Dearest Sister, I hope this letter comes to you well. Court life has been a marvel—every day feels like stepping into the poetry of a dream. The noblewomen are endlessly graceful, and I’ve started lessons to refine my own gestures and speech. Did you know there’s even a proper way to arrange robes for an audience? It’s all so fascinating, and I feel I’m learning so much. Yuna

Your brow drops. You set it aside and retrieve another.

Dearest Sister, I’ve had the opportunity to meet several suitors from other clans, Zen’in, Kamo. I’m still waiting to meet a man from the Sugawara clan, said to have silver hair and striking blue eyes like the open sea. The others carry themselves differently, some with charm, others with an air of superiority. I wonder what they saw when they looked at me. Yuna

You drag your eyes away from the elegant script, rifling through the stack before selecting another.

Dearest Sister, The dango here is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Soft, sweet, with just the slightest hint of char that, regrettably, left me with a terrible stomach ache. I lack restraint, but how could I when they were served on—

Enough.

Your fingers curl into the parchment.

What kind of letters are these? Not a single word asks about your well-being or safety. Not a single inquiry into how you are being treated at the shrine. She speaks only of herself, every sentence orbiting around her.

Jaw clenching, you shuffle through the rest, searching for a kind word—anything that isn’t self-indulgent. But there’s nothing. It’s always about Yuna. It always has been.

She is the protected.

You, the protector.

She, the gem.

You, the trinket, shoved into a corner.

Her, lovely.

You, anything but.

You’ve convinced yourself time and time again that your needs were never worthy, that you were deemed undeserving. Yet despite her volatile upbringing—one so similar to your own—she could still show you some hint of compassion, some fragment of concern. Couldn’t she?

You keep searching, keep looking, and still, nothing.

A crack runs through your heart, a fractious crumbling. Ridiculous to feel this way. All this from a few damn letters. But you swallow and flip through the papers once more, unfolding and refolding.

There has to be something. 

Your fingers halt on a small, unmarked letter, the parchment lightly stained, its surface rough, absent of any emblem. Discreet. You unfold it slowly, revealing the familiar ink strokes of your father’s handwriting.

For a moment, you simply blink, looking down at the ramblings of a dead man—a man you killed—staring back at you.

To my youngest daughter. I will make this brief. If I am no longer here, I have one simple and final request to offer you. Do not trust the next head of the Kasai clan. Trust no one. Trust yourself. Trust your memories, but know that the mind is a terrible thing when touched. While you remain in the south, under the creature’s eyes, remember your mother. Remember her. Remember. And for all the harm I have caused you, I can only hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me. Your Father. Kasai Takuma.

You stare at it, chest tight.

Forgive him?

Forgive him?

The thought alone feels impossible. A delusion he has no right to ask for. A fucking fool’s errand.

Your eyes sting.

Crumpling the letter, you toss it aside, letting it sink into the wet grass.

The thought burns at you, picking. You push to your feet, pace in agitation, eyes fixed on the wadded paper while the damp earth begins to swallow it whole.

“The mind is a terrible thing when touched…” you murmur, watching the letter start to cave in on itself. “What the hell does that even mean?”

The ink starts to bleed.

Your mouth twitches.

With an exhale, you step closer, grabbing it before moisture can fully soak through, then stare at it again, reading it over and over until his nonsense is memorized.

Because something about this feels wrong. Bone-deep, wrong.

The Kasai clan was destroyed days ago. There is no clan head. No power. No influence.

Once, I think I cared for you, just like your mother had, but I forgot what that felt like.

Your father’s words wander back, unbidden. The same words he spoke before you stabbed him in the throat.

“You’re not making any sense, you bastard.”

Sighing, you let your head fall back, neck tilting as your eyes drift skyward. The rain has passed, but the clouds linger heavy, dragging their swollen bellies close to the earth.

Your heartbeat slows.

Remember.

Remember…

Remember what?

Closing your eyes, you take a long, deep breath. Calm.

Remember.

Remember…

I remember a breeze. A whisper in the dark.

“How are you feeling?”

Your gaze snaps open as a choking scent invades your nose.

A smell.

That smell.

Smoke.

Leather gloves creaking, you curl your hands into fists as your eyes lift to the east, catching sight of thick, dark plumes rising, streaking the sky in an ugly stain of ash.

Something’s burning.

* * * * *

Elsewhere, in a village to the east, some time later…

Screaming. Yelling. Crying.

Flames lick at the grey sky. Huts on fire. Villagers running in every direction.

The King of Curses knows no mercy. Even surrounded by ten, twenty, fifty men, he fights. And when Sukuna fights, he fights viciously. Violently. He fights alone.

From across the burning, crumbling village, five assailants throw themselves toward him all at once. With Hiten out, the demon’s hold on his cursed energy is loose, and he responds in kind.

The first man arrives, swinging his katana with misplaced triumph, aiming for his weapon hand. The sharp edge of the blade descends with a high-pitched wail, but before he can take another step, his blood and guts are already smeared across the ground.

As easy as splitting an overripe peach.

Sukuna grins at the mess and laughs, then lifts his chin from the warm, wet, glistening heap. 

Three more follow.

He’s ready. Muscles in his chest swollen, the upper half of his kimono slung at his waist, four arms draped at his side, he steps forward to meet them.

For a heartbeat, as he moves, the energy of a lesser sorcerer rolls up against him in annoying fits and spurts. It’s distracting, a bit of a nuisance. Lip peeling back, he ignores it, his focus returning to the rushing of feet toward him, the advancing trio moving with well-trained precision.

But training means nothing in the presence of a many-faced monster.

Garments snapping in the heat of battle, Sukuna takes in the insignias woven into their attire—men from Heian-kyō and the Zen’in clan. The latter, he knows, is behind the constant attacks on his domain. For the past month, they’ve pushed his patience, having sat in league with the Kasai clan. Were.

There’s a bright red flash.

A spasm of energy hurtles toward him.

Dodging, he slides into a wide stance, sandals gripping the damp soil. His upper right arm lifts, two fingers poised. Scarlet eyes burn.

Flick!

A sharp hiss rips through the air.

The three men stagger to a stop, shudder, then split apart—torsos sliding cleanly from their hips, their bodies fall in halves to the ground with meaty thuds.

Veins, cartilage, bone, tissue, muscle.

Sometimes, Sukuna enjoys dragging out a fight—testing his opponent’s limits, squeezing out every last drop of potential.

Not today.

Today, he fights to kill. Today, he wants to see eyes wrench wide, watch insides spill pink, feel flesh tear under his hands. The slick heat of blood—he needs it. Needs to drown out the colour of snowmelt, the vision slipping long out of reach.

Pitiful.

He lets himself feel fucking pathetic for one second before turning to the last man in his vicinity.

There are still more to kill.

Lots more.

“Come on!” His canines flash.

He feels insane. Drunk. Blood drunk. Bloodlust.

He wants more. So much more.

The final man raises his hands, fingers aligning into some kind of hand sign.

“Thrilling.” Sukuna’s demonic grin pulls wider.

With a smooth motion, his lower left arm draws back, halberd poised.

He releases it.

The incantation barely leaves the sorcerer’s throat before the blades sink snugly into his windpipe. The man’s cries mutate into animalistic sounds as he crumples to his knees, then collapses onto his back, eyes fixed on the ashen sky.

“How boring,” the King of Curses mutters, stepping closer to the body.

Planting his foot on the lifeless chest, he leans into it, dislodging Hiten from the ruined neck with a slick, hideous squelch.

“Such a waste to use this here,” he scowls, turning the bloodied weapon in his hand with a reverent eye. “It deserves far worthier opponents…” Lowering the haft to the dirt, he lets the blade rest upright. “Perhaps another time.”

He lifts his attention from the spear, falling on the remains of the sprawling village, surveying where the chaos takes shape.

The pests of the Zen’in clan and men from the capital swarm the dirt paths between ruined huts, fire stinging the air as they rip the place apart. He catches sight of others lingering at the edges, biding their time, waiting, but he’s not sure for what.

Four eyes sweeping to the fields beyond, he sees they’re smothered in ash, the homes already burned to the ground before his arrival. This village—once the heart of this domain northeast of the shrine—is as good as lost. Survivors, mostly women and children, pick their way through the wreckage or scatter into the surrounding wilds. Few converge in the distance, forming a group as they attempt to flee toward the tree line—only to be cut down or dragged away.

A month ago, the situation wasn’t this dire. Then again, a month ago, everything was very different. But this assault feels… calculated.

As he moves toward another cluster of assailants, that same flicker of lesser energy brushes against him, making his brow crease in irritation. Again, he ignores it, too busy weighing his next opponent.

Out of nowhere, two horses rush past, their riders racing in the direction he came from. 

South. 

A warning rings out inside his mind, and he doesn’t hesitate to move.

Abandoning the village, Sukuna tracks them, his massive form cutting through the terrain. With a flick of his wrist, the first rider is ripped from the saddle, slamming against the earth.

The second man continues, veering deeper into the brush. 

He doesn’t make it far. 

With a single swipe, Sukuna cleaves through flesh and bone, severing the rider’s leg mid-gallop. The limb hits the ground first. The man follows, crashing into the undergrowth. His horse bolts, vanishing into the trees, leaving its master mutilated in the dirt, groaning in agony.

Through the thicket, the King of Curses moves slowly. Blood pools beneath the mangled figure, staining the rain-softened earth dark. Sukuna reaches him and kneels, fingers curling into the man's battle attire—a layered mix of padded silk and hemp, suited for a warrior of Heian-kyō’s polished courts yet built for combat. Hiten shifts at his side as Sukuna hauls the man upright, their faces close enough that he can taste the sour tang of his breath, can see the fear stretching lines in his features.

“Why are you here?” Sukuna’s voice is a bored, guttural drone.

What he said must have been funny, because his trembling prey smiles at him, baring a row of gummy teeth.

Oh.

Sukuna chuckles.

How sweet.

Canting his head like an animal, the monster’s lower right hand finds its way to the dismembered leg. His fingers crawl deep into the raw, bleeding cavity until the man’s mouth opens in a scream.

“I’ll ask again,” he drawls, pinching an artery between firm fingers. “Why are you here?”

“To collect!” the warrior croaks in pain, blood bubbling onto his chin, some managing to spill onto the mossy ground.

Sukuna’s grip loosens—slightly.

“To collect what?”

Sweat slithers down the man’s brow to settle in the hollow of his cheek. 

“You,” he wheezes, then the grin from before returns, overtaking his shuddering expression. “And to take that whore of a wife off your hands.”

Sukuna’s face turns solid. Emotionless. He says nothing. Even when he imagines tearing the man’s jaw free from its roots, leaving him to choke on his own bile and blood.

“You are sentenced to death for the crimes against the Kasai clan,” he continues, glee painting his words even as his skin pales like a corpse. “Your wife stands accused of conspiracy and treason for instigating a coup.”

Sukuna’s jaw sets. He removes his fingers from inside the bloody stump.

“But, she’s wanted alive.” The man pauses. “There are far greater plans for her.”

The monster’s expression darkens.

“And who said she had anything to do with it?” His teeth are bared despite himself.

Patience.

“A witness,” the warrior sneers. “Someone of higher influence than both of you.”

“Fuck your so-called witness. It means nothing to me,” Sukuna hisses, yanking the man forward until their noses nearly touch. “The Kasai clan is gone. I took them apart.” 

“No.” The man wheezes out a laugh, then licks his bloodied bottom lip. “Not all of them.”

The King of Curses already knows this. And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the accusations, the sentence placed upon him. Let them call him a criminal, a demon, a cannibal, disgraced, wretched—he’s heard it all before. But you? That’s… a different creature entirely.

His fingers flex around the warrior’s clothing, crumpling it further in his grip.

“Who?”

The man’s grin spreads grotesquely wide, every tooth on display.

“The new head of the Kasai clan.” He starts to laugh, his head lolling back in wild abandon.

Only then does Sukuna notice the eyes, the pupils—blown wide, unnaturally so.

“And she’s magnificent.” She. “You’ll see. You’ll see when—”

With a harsh twist, the man’s face is wrenched sideways. His laughter cuts off. Bones splinter. Flesh stretches. Pulls. Tears. 

Sukuna doesn’t stop.

He rips the jaw clean from the warrior’s skull. Blood sprays across him in a fine mist. Holding the chunky mass of bone and tissue in his hand, he turns it slowly between his fingers as though admiring a beautiful flower. Below him, his victim collapses to the ground, his hands flying up to claw at the gaping red hole where his mouth once was. But there’s nothing, and his screams are reduced to wet, gurgling sounds as his body twitches in pain.

“Magnificent, was it?” Rising to his full height, Sukuna drops the shattered jaw. “Let’s see how magnificent Yuna Kasai is when I’m done with her.”

Without sparing another look, he turns, leaving the man to suffer, and saunters back toward the village.

As he walks, he collects everything, thinks about the manipulative little bitch who has finally revealed her hand—turning against you, usurping what remains of the Kasai clan, setting everything into motion.

Like a slow-working poison. And by the time you realize what she’s done, it will be too late.

Once your eyes have opened, it will destroy you.

And after all this, he let you go—knowing full well you were no longer safe.

Safe.

He scrubs a hand across his face, then runs it through his hair, fingers dragging through clotted blood and sweat. With another hand, he grips Hiten, shifting its weight as he slides the weapon’s haft into his obi, the blade rising over his shoulder, still within reach.

Walking out of the tree line, the village comes into view, and that same pressure as before pushes against his senses—a slow, drugging pulse in his veins. Drugging in the way that it’s familiar... 

Sukuna slows, then stops, cocks his head to the side, all his senses straining.

That lesser energy he’s been feeling. Not lesser, just untamed energy. It reaches across him like a stranger but still familiar—known, but not entirely. The face of someone he once knew but never fully understood, even if he wished he had.

But that’s impossible.

Because it’s yours.

Your cursed energy. Here.

You are here.

Why the hell are you here? You can’t be. You were far from this place. He had told you not to ride east. So why does it feel like he’s breathing you in again? Hadn’t he finally rid himself of your presence?

And yet.

Spurts of it tell him something else.

You are here. And you are… fighting.  

His four eyes roll across the surroundings, searching. There’s a wisp of it. He feels it. Then, he moves.

Carving his way through any assailant even as they lunge at him, he slips past every strike, every arc of steel, and every flicker of energy that flares to life.  

Delving back deeper into the village, fire cracks. The wind shifts. Smoke spills down his throat, and the warm scent of death thickens, layered with fouler scents.  

Decay.  

His gaze narrows.  

He moves faster.

The ground slopes under his feet. A natural dip in the land, where runoff pools from the rain. Down past charred remains of a market stall, he steps over a corpse. 

More signs.

Footprints trailing through the dirt, the grass at their edges reduced to black husks. Ash curling over withered reeds. It only goes so far before the rot stops.

Your work.  

He lifts his head.

The village stretches forward, its wreckage bisected by a narrow road snaking through the center. 

More corpses litter the ground. Not just dead—ruined.

Darkness eats at the edges of their skin, flesh slack and mottled, collapsed inward. Their chests yawn open, ribs gaping, organs spilled like spoiled fruit.

So this is the full extent of your power—all from a single touch.

He pauses, taking it in—the tattered scraps of the dead’s clothing, the insignias barely visible through falling soot and ash.

Heian-kyō and Zen’in.

Sukuna steps over the bodies. Another corpse shudders in its final moments, a rattling hiss as bones slump into a heap of innards.

Fresh.

You were here moments ago.  

He breathes it in, takes it in, the reeking taste of sick life on his tongue.  

You’re messy. Inefficient. Brutal. Room for error.

His lip curls.

Reckless woman.

“Where the fuck are you?” he growls, stepping over another pile of split torsos and soured meat. But there it is—your pulse, steady through this slaughter.

Skirting a half-collapsed hut, he follows its pull.

Then, a desperate cry cracks the air.

He stops.

Goes still.

Listens.

His ears catch the sting of metal, the shuffle of hurried feet, and a crowd of voices. 

But it’s you. 

He knows this.

Through the shambles, down shallow alleys, past collapsed walls where fire has eaten at wood and thatch—he moves.

The pulse of your cursed energy bleeds stronger.

The noise ahead swells.

Laughter.

Jeering voices. Too loud.

He rounds the last ruin and steps into an open stretch of the village square.

In the distance, a cluster of men stands in a tight mass all shouting and revelling. Teeth flashing, voices raised as though they’ve just brought down something great.

As though they’ve won.

He moves closer.

The ravenous crowd parts like a vein split open, but there’s no beast lying at their feet.

There’s only you.

The Zen’in clan and men from the capital have you.

Their hands claw at you—pulling, dragging, yanking—before shoving you face-first into the slick mud. Your arms are wrenched behind your back, leather gloves missing, exposing discoloured fingers and hands.

Beside you, one man yanks Ayana’s reins, his knuckles tight around the leather. The mare screams, bucking wildly, panic twitching through every strained muscle. Kicking up dirt, she fights to break free.

But it isn’t enough.

She is losing.

And so are you.

Thrashing, you fight like a wild creature ripped straight from the forest, meant to be bound and butchered.

And you don’t stop. Not even when a man straddles your back, his knees digging into you as he shoves a dirtied strip of cloth between your teeth, wrapping it tight around your head, forcing your cries to collapse into muffled rage. Then he adjusts his grip and pulls. Your spine wrenches into a painful bow, body buckling under heavy weight.

You scream.

And—

Livid. Fucking. Fury.

Clarity comes to a sharpened point.

Jaw clenched, it's incredible how the violence hits Sukuna all at once—so forceful he's certain his teeth crack down to the marrow.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

Another man steps around your struggling form, gripping a branding iron. Its tip glows—a hot, furious thing. Your right arm is wrenched back, palm up, pinned to the ground.

That’s when he understands this condemnation.

裏切り

Traitor. Betrayer.

They’re going to brand you. 

You must feel the heat licking at your skin because he sees your eyes go wild with terror. Sees the moment the screams rip harder from your throat, gag soaking with it.

This sight before him.

The sound of you struggling, fighting, handled like prey—after everything—this is all it takes.

He understands it instantly, viscerally, and an ugliness crawls within him, a weapon unsheathed. That same feeling, the one that gripped him last night slides over his being, the one he felt before he followed you into the forest. That repetition of tiny words all to form a much grander thing.

His.

Always.

But he doesn’t name it. Doesn’t think it. Doesn’t breathe it back into existence.

You were never truly his to begin with.

Sukuna takes a step.

Something must alert you to his presence, because your gaze cuts through the crowd and finds him. And you are furious. Eyes screaming into him, eyes screaming at him. And with that look, the first threads of his restraint toward you fall apart.

The King of Curses takes another patient step. 

He doesn’t need to run.

Time bends for him.

And everyone here will be dead in a heartbeat.

If only he knew of the quiet blade being drawn behind him.

[worstgirlsfuture]

mr caleb 夏以昼 "summer in the daytime*" having a june birthday ok that makes sense

[worstgirlsfuture]

would just like everyone to know that 禁果 "forbidden fruit" is used to describe taboo things you desire, and often has explicitly sexual connotations (typically premarital sex, but in this case it's an easy recontextualization lol)

[worstgirlsfuture]

AIRMAN'S TAPOUT

a graduating airman is to remain standing at attention until a loved one taps him on the shoulder and releases him from his instruction.

l&ds caleb x reader

CW big big feelings (of love), fluff comfort all that good stuff. wc 0.7k

NOTE i was scrolling through my notes and found this gem of an idea from 2021. this was initially supposed to be about an mha character. i like to say that it’s divine intervention that i rediscovered it during the caleb renaissance. 

CRED divider by rookthornesartistry, banner by me

Caleb isn’t sure anybody is going to come for him. He tells himself that it’s fine, that one of his flight mates will tap him out if not. He says this to save face in front of his colleagues; he refuses to acknowledge the small part of him that also wants to be convinced that it’ll be fine. As if it changes the fact that it will be just has humiliating in the end. 

He starts giving out the benefit of the doubt. He only thinks of you when he does so. You probably didn’t get his invitation in the mail. It could’ve been lost in transit, delivered to the wrong address. Even so, you had your own busy life to prioritize; you had a career, maybe you’ve even fallen in love by now. He rapidly blinks the last thought away. 

It would probably be selfish of him to want you to drop everything to see him graduate. But god was he willing to accept that he is the most selfish man of all when it comes to you. 

He’ll be fine. He’s been fine for long enough. He had already made it this far, hadn’t he? Yeah. It’s fine, he decides. You’re probably busy. You have your whole futures to be together. He’ll see you then.

“Gege, guess who.” It comes from behind his shoulder, barely a whisper, as if it was uttered for his ears and his alone. He hears your stupid fucking angelic voice from behind him and for a moment, his brain short circuits. 

He considers for a moment that he is simply imagining it, but he would have to be a damn good schizophrenic if he was. The sound of your voice was clear and alluring, tempting him, daring him to just turn and prove to himself that it truly is you behind him. No, his imagination wouldn’t be so cruel.

It’s undeniably you behind him. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. It takes everything in him not to turn around in that exact moment. 

He maintains his outer composure, legs apart and hands still clasped behind his back, but his posture is no longer relaxed, no longer prepared to pathetically stand and watch his mates be released by their own families, no. He’s stiff now, and his brain is working at a million miles per hour, hyper aware of each component of his body, and it takes him every ounce of strength to keep him from falling limp into your arms. 

His jaw is clenched. He’s grinding his teeth together, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to the point of pain because you’ll do anything but just touch him. For god’s sake, you’re even close enough now that he feels the heat radiating off your body and onto his. He notes the aroma of your perfume wafting up to his nose. He remembers it being from the bottle he told you was his favorite; a semi-truth, since everything about you was his favorite anyway. 

You finally circle around him, positioning yourself directly before him, as close as you can be to him without physically touching. He keeps his head tilted upwards and his face stoic, his only give being the slight furrow of his brows and the pure emotion in his eyes that lower to the sight of you.

You’re here. And you’re looking up at him and smiling and crying and still doing everything but free him from his disposition. He thinks in that moment that you’ll be the death of him. 

His eyes are pleading, desperate for your liberation. At last you take the bait, wrapping your arms around his waist. He’s quick to react. Instantly enclosing you into his own embrace. 

“You’re a tease, darling. So mean to me.” His voice breaks when he mumbles the words into your hair. The feeling of you finally back in his arms, your scent, your warmth, it makes him dizzy and weak. You have a tendency to have that affect on him. 

“Can’t help it.” You giggle, it’s only when he pulls away to look into your eyes once more that he notices the tears he left behind in your hair. “Let’s go home.”

[worstgirlsfuture]

Not going to draw anything from the last chapter for, reasons... So, quick redraw of cover 29.

[worstgirlsfuture]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 33: Ruin

Content warning: Blood (from the previous chapter), light bondage, Sukuna’s two cocks, male masturbation, oral sex/vaginal/anal fingering (female receiving), degradation, spit as lube, rough sex, implied hate sex, double penetration, spanking, choking, double creampie, no aftercare, angst? (probably).

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Tunnel Lights - Chelsea Wolfe (Crosses remix) Change (In The House Of Flies) - Deftones Closer - Nine Inch Nails

* * * * *

Chapter 32

* * * * *

Tips of tongues. Teeth, then hands. Hot and insistent. When Sukuna’s mouth collides against your parted lips, you’re lost. Completely gone. Because the kiss is an assault, a drawn-out battle—one you’ll likely lose but one you’ll not forget.

With his lower hands trapping your hands at the small of your back, you’re helpless against him. A woman tethered, held at his mercy, ready and willing to be offered up to a sensation that feels both forbidden and wrong.

And Sukuna must feel it too, because he takes. Gods, how he takes, like a man starved, denied sustenance for a lifetime.

Mouth opening wider against his, your gasping pants slip through the narrow space between. Your knees grow unsteady at the sound of his heavy breath, coiling through you like sin. It’s everything you’ve imagined him to be. His body, raw power, looming over you, impossibly tall, a beast ready to consume.

Tilting his head, the King of Curses deepens the kiss, the edges of his mask brushing your cheek while the massive hand cradling the back of your head holds you firmly in place, unable to break the embrace even if you wanted to. And that control sends a searing heat through you, yet some defiant sliver inside pushes back. As his dominance sinks down, you rise onto your toes, pushing up into his mouth with equal carnality. 

Laving your tongue slowly across his bottom lip, you earn a guttural grunt in response. Emboldened, your teeth follow on the next pass, pausing briefly before sinking down and biting hard.

A growl travels up inside his chest, and the hand at the back of your head tunnels deeper into your hair. Fingers tightening around the strands, he fists them, and without breaking the kiss, he yanks your head back, wrenching you painfully.

“Fucking bastard,” you breathe into his mouth, the words steaming between you as you drag the spot you bit back between your teeth.

Another graze. Another bite. Harder. Until you taste copper on your tongue. His grip on your hair tightens in warning.

“Reckless little bitch,” he muffles a hiss against you before capturing your lips again while his upper left arm—the only one not touching you—catches you around the waist.

In an instant, Sukuna lifts you, your feet slipping free from the floor, leaving a slick puddle of blood behind. Pressing you firmly against his chest, he strides forward and, in one, two, three steps, shoves you back. The kiss remains unbroken, your spine slams into the nearest wall, and a sharp burst of pain radiates through your wounded body. When a soft cry escapes you, your mouths come apart for the briefest heartbeat. But Sukuna doesn’t let you pull away. On a growl, he crushes you back to him, capturing every sound with the greedy smack of his lips.

You moan, a mix of pain and pleasure. 

Closer.

You need to be closer, or you’ll lose your mind. Which you likely already have.

“More.” A breath into him.

Dizzy, you can’t tell if the word escaped or still lingers, trapped inside your thoughts.

He pushes his pelvis forward, knocking into you, rolling his body into yours. And you can feel them—the swell of his bulge.

Fuck.

“Give me more of you.”

You’re just as uncertain who said that.

Him.

Growling deeply, Sukuna drags his open mouth over yours, and you eagerly part your lips to meet him.

The kiss grows frantic, angry, bordering on violent.

Together, you seek every corner possible, every dip and curve of the other’s mouth. Your teeth release his lip, and your tongues thrust together, his curling around yours. You kiss until you can’t breathe. Kiss until you hear his heavy breath against your face again, and that sound alone draws another moan from your throat, louder and more desperate than before.

Yes.

Madness.

This is insanity.

Lowering your feet back to the floor but keeping you pinned to him, Sukuna’s legs cage around yours, his wide hips sinking forward to trap you between the wood at your back. His upper hands shift to engulf either side of your jaw, thumbs sliding up to press into the soft skin before your ears. He forces your head to tilt up while you try to find every new angle of him you can reach. It’s still not enough—though it should be. You should be thinking of the regret that will follow.

But there’s no room for that now.

No time.

This is a need that demands to be satisfied.

With a slow slide, his upper right hand shifts, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. It feels as though he wants to touch your lips not just with his own but with his fingertips, too—like he’s trying to memorize their shape.

The action momentarily pulls you back. You’re unsure what to think.

But as your mouths realign, the kiss changes.

The earlier brutality eases. Bruising presses soften, replaced by slower, lingering touches. It becomes a lazy exploration. Where his thumbs rest, they trace tiny circles, and your noses nudge and brush together. A deep purr rumbles from his chest, and you grow weak against him. Tongues glide now, smooth and crawling, speaking not of dominance but of something frighteningly tender. 

A longing.

And one more emotion that’s—

“Enough!” Sukuna growls, yanking his head back abruptly.

The embrace topples.

The spell shatters.

Your eyes flick open, and reality crashes back down once more.

Staring up, still pinned to the wall, both your laboured breaths intertwine, caught in the heat where your bodies almost touch. He glares down at you, panting, as if you’d just tried to kill him.

“We’ll not do that again,” he murmurs thickly, voice rough. The eyes on his mask appear a little bit larger, heavy-lidded but burning as they pierce down and into you.

“We’ll not do what? Kiss?” you say, the sneer curving your lips impossible to hide. “Even though you’re the one who had me crushed between you and the damn wall.”

You wriggle in his tight hold for emphasis, and Sukuna leans back, his mouth twitching with irritation.

“If you think you’ll find that kind of warmth here...” His gaze falls to your swollen lips, staring for a moment longer before they lift. “You won’t.”

Warmth.

As if he ever understood what that was to begin with.

You fight back a sardonic laugh that is eager to rise. Even with your limited experience of whatever this warmth is he speaks of, you know there’s no place for it between you and the King of Curses. Especially now. Anything that might have been possible is already buried.

But choices remain, and there’s still something you want.

You want to make this man regret every moment of knowing you. You want him to hurt as he has hurt you. You want to walk away from this, knowing you’ve left a permanent fucking scar on his soul.

You want to ruin him as he has ruined you.

“And what is it that I’ll find here?” You lift your chin, your face solid and emotionless, even as you battle against the sensation of blood soaking through your garment.

The pupils of Sukuna’s ripple-like eyes dance and move across your face, then drop, tracing the lines of your figure.

“You already know the answer,” he coos lowly.

Shifting his upper right hand, it leaves your neck to trail downward, grazing the neckline of your sodden yukata before taking hold of the front panel.

“What we’ve both wanted.”

There’s a pounding starting in your chest. 

While his upper left hand joins the right, his lower hands readjust their hold, keeping your wrists firmly pinned. And slowly, he begins to part the garment.

The pounding turns into a flutter that forces its way through your pulse—whether from arousal or the fact that you’re still bleeding out, you’re not sure. But you refuse to drop to your knees and beg for him to heal you.

“And you presume to still know what that is,” you murmur, gaze fixed on his face, defying the pull to look down at the hands undressing you.

The King of Curses gives another tug at the garment, revealing the curve of your clavicle, and the skin around his four eyes crinkles with a growing smirk.

Arrogant.

Leaning in close, a few unruly strands of pink hair slip free.

“Don’t I?” he whispers smugly, tilting his head, then pushing the fabric open further. Without the pressure of the yukata, the wound on your shoulder trickles a thin line of crimson down your chest, tracing your sternum before descending to the floor.

“Then tell me to stop.” His voice drops, becoming a low rasp. 

That thumping in your heart turns racing, the beat echoing too loud inside your throat. Hands finding more garment, he pushes it open further, exposing the ends of your collarbones and cool, damp skin pebbles where the fabric disappears.

“Tell me to stop…”

Your pulse hums and brightens, heat sliding down your body to your stomach, then settling between your thighs.

“I won’t.”

“Say it.” His aroused gaze dips, lower eyes following the curve of your shoulders as he reveals more of you. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You shake your head softly.

“I can’t.”

Because it would be a lie.

You want to give in to your desires, to be taken by him, to pull him under and keep drowning him.

To keep going.

Sukuna’s hands still, his eyes slipping back to yours.

“Then don’t,” he murmurs.

Away from your shoulders, the ruined fabric is pulled aside. You shudder as the tops of your breasts are exposed. With another slow push, it parts cleanly down your torso, falling off your shoulders and down your arms. The swell of your breasts spill free, and peaked nipples catch in the dim light, but Sukuna doesn’t look. He keeps his eyes held with yours. Your chest rises and falls. More and more skin is revealed. Once the garment catches and hangs loose at the resistance of the waist sash, his upper hands plane smoothly across your stomach toward it, fingers teasing the fabric. You swallow softly, aware that with a single tug, the yukata will fall.

“Look at you…” he whispers, loosening the simple knot slowly. “Covered in blood…” He pulls one end of the tie. “Just like the first time I saw you, all those years ago.”

The sash slides free. The layers drop, and fabric slips from your body, pooling silently on the floor at your feet.

Standing there, exposed before him for the first time, a wave of insecurity peaks, your eyes hesitating under its weight. You fight the urge to look away but keep your attention on Sukuna’s austere expression. He still doesn’t look down at your naked figure. Instead, he leans in, his upper right hand moving to the laceration he cleaved into your shoulder, and with a single sweep, he heals it, the hurt flaring then fading. Gently, he wipes away some of the dried blood with his thumb. After that, his upper left hand climbs around to your back, finding and tending to the final wound etched in there.

Eyes falling shut, you exhale with relief.

But suddenly, there’s a yank at your wrists. Your eyes snap open. Sukuna forces you into an arch as he bends your arms behind your back.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demand, shifting on your feet as he binds you with your yukata sash, tying it tight around your wrists and letting them rest securely against your body.

“That’s funny.”

He pulls away once he’s finished and turns, offering you his muscled back, before striding toward the unlit iron brazier in the corner.

“What is?” you grind out, tugging against the strip of fabric holding you, but it doesn’t give.

Swiping a hand over the brazier, Sukuna revives the fire within. A pocket of soft reds flares, touching his figure in a dark glowing silhouette.

“If you think I’d trust you not to touch me,” he mutters, head tilted down toward the flame, “just to try and kill me while I take you, then you’re proving, yet again, to be far more naive than I thought.”

He pauses, then steps away.

“I’ll not have you touch me again.”

Your nostrils flare. Of course, neither of you trusts the other.

“Besides,” he continues, stepping to the garden door. He pauses in the open threshold, facing the velvet night with his back still turned to you. “Seeing you bound while I fuck my cocks into you while spread out beneath me will be...” He trails off, leaving the thought unfinished. Whatever circles around in his twisted mind has drawn him into silent contemplation.

“You’re aware I can’t use my gift again so soon after you provoked me, right?” you growl, tapping a small step in his direction.

The firelight crackles and cuts, dancing over and illuminating his back and sirwal. It’s still smeared with blood and dirt from your encounter in the forest—an encounter where you awakened something you never knew you were capable of.

“If you were more disciplined,” he spits, resting a hand on the delicate panel of the sliding door, “you could.”

“Not everyone is as cruel and powerful as you,” you snap back, anger cresting in the timbre of your voice.

Those thick, inked shoulders tense and swell.

“A martyr through and through.” Sukuna shakes his head. “And with that, you’re fragile. Always needing someone to mend you after every little hurt!” 

He slides the door shut with a sharp bang, making you jump. The force stirs the air, causing the firelight to flicker, shadows to scatter apart before reshaping themselves again.

“One day, that weakness will cost you everything!”

A notch grabs at your brow.

The fucking hubris of this man.

The urge to yell back at him digs into your tongue. You want to demand why it even matters to him, why he cares at all.

You open your mouth, take another step, but before the words even slip free, he turns, and his eyes fall on you.

You freeze.

In an instant, Sukuna’s anger banks into one of heavy silence.

Quiet.

He takes you in, takes you apart.

Every aspect of you.

Your chest rises and falls, and his gaze follows its familiar path, beginning with your eyes. It lingers there briefly before drifting slowly downward—tracing the curve of your face, the line of your neck, and continuing lower to your torso and hips. His eyes crawl across the apex of your thighs before continuing down your legs, before finally stopping at your feet, perhaps even pausing on the tips of your toes. At the extreme amount of dedication he pours into studying your body, your throat dips softly, and you swallow.

When Sukuna drags his four eyes up, deep hunger darkens the edges of his red irises. The pupils dilate. Swollen and black. They’ve become lust-ridden, and he’s become a different creature in the span of a heartbeat.

Without breaking eye contact, his upper hands move to the knot securing his sirwal, and with a simple tug, it unravels. His lower hands follow, hooking his thumbs into the waistband, and slowly, he pulls the garment down. Your entire body tenses as you watch, your brow furrowing in anticipation. As the fabric slips over his two jutting cocks, they strain against his abdomen, causing blood to rush to your cheeks. Looking at them, it’s difficult to breathe. They sit atop the other, thick and big and hard and in the fiery light, you see the soft, distended veins that run along the underside. You see the tips, swollen and red, leaking with precum, see two black banded tattoos encircling them, one near the base and another below the crown.

He is…

Well, words can’t do him justice.

Squeezing your thighs together, a throbbing settles in your folds. You should be running in the opposite direction, not standing here face-to-face like this, because it becomes harder to look anywhere else, leaving you so exposed and vulnerable, especially after everything that’s happened tonight.

“Sit.”

The command pulls you out of your thoughts, and finally, you avert your gaze. Sukuna lets his garment fall completely to the floor before pointing to the raised futon.

Nervously, you step across the room, your eyes following the shifting patterns of light dancing on the ground to distract yourself. As you near the futon, tucked in the softer shadows, your heart begins to thump out a harder rhythm. Bound and reaching it, you turn and perch on the edge, letting your feet dangle, toes grazing the wooden floor.

The room remains silent.

Soft crackles hiss from the brazier, and warmth fills out the space.

But it’s too quiet. Uncomfortably so.

From the cool blue shadows near the garden door, where Sukuna stands, his lower red eyes watch you, unblinking. Then he finally moves, pulling away from the frame.

“Lay back and open your thighs for me,” he orders flatly, sliding a hand through his hair.

Taking his time to cross the space, his sturdy tattooed thighs flex and strain under his weight, his heavy cocks swaying while resting against his abdomen with each step. Coming to stand at the edge of the futon, towering over you, the slit on his torso begins to part, and the maw awakens. Another flutter rushes into your pulse.

“Are you planning to shove me between its teeth again?” you ask, nodding toward the abyss.

Sukuna says nothing, lost in an inward retreat. He’s gone so withdrawn and guarded that it's painful to even look at him.

With a quiet huff, you edge backward as best you can, keeping your balance until you lie back and carefully drop your knees to the side. Once they rest into the soft, whispering folds of the quilt, your eyes wander up and latch on to his.

“Wider,” he growls, jaw clenching. “Show me the spot that has you aching the most.”

You do, pushing your legs out further until the muscles of your thighs burn. You present him with your core. It’s throbbing, aching and growing wet under his intense gaze dripping over you.

“Better,” he mumbles, raising his two bottom hands to his cocks. “Just like that, keep them open.”

Hands curling around each rigid shaft, he palms them into his fists, and slowly, so fucking slow, wrists moving, he begins to stroke himself.

Up and down, and up and down.

You watch him take pleasure in himself, a little too mesmerized by the soft sound of his skin and the rhythm of his massive hands gliding over his dicks. It’s erotic and intoxicating. And just the very idea that he’s standing before you, pumping himself while his upper eyes rest on your face and the lower pair hungrily devours your cunt, draws a heat across your skin. An urge to touch yourself climbs into you while he works himself, but you can’t, not like this.

“I can see that pretty shine forming while you watch this.” It takes a moment, but slowly, his heavy body relaxes, the tension leaving. His breathing grows audible, and a flush moves across his skin.

“It's making you drip all over my sheets like a filthy whore,” he admonishes you roughly on an upstroke that grows faster, his heavy balls lifting and falling, and your head grows tingly at the sight.

“Tell me, how wet are you for me?”

Swallowing, you subtly lick your lips and push up on your elbows.

“Soaking,” you murmur half-heartedly, too busy watching his cocks drooling for you, watching how his fingers grip tightly around their girth, imagining your tongue or your hands on them, touching the veins ridged down his shafts or tonguing your way over the swollen heads.

Only then do you realize this is the first time you’ve seen a fully erect man before you, and it’s embarrassing how captivated you are by him.

Ryomen Sukuna is, to be clear, perfection.

“Louder!” he orders, his voice a growl. “And bring those perverse eyes up here.”

Your gaze moves to his smirking face.

“I said I was soaking!” you hiss, trying to match his tone with your rising voice. “Asshole…” you finish in a mutter.

Tipping back his head, he reveals the strong column of his throat—a throat you once wondered if you could strangle. Sukuna grins, like the devil himself, before widening his stance and staring down at you along the length of his broad nose.

“Good girl.” The praise is enough to set your blood hot and emerges from his lips in a husky purr, followed by a ragged exhale tearing from the back of his throat. All four of his eyes remain on you, devouring you as you lay stretched across his sheets like an offering.

Aroused, you start to move your hips—soft, lazy undulations, back and forth to ease the tension in your core.

“Fuck,” Sukuna breathes quietly, eyes tracing the subtle movements with his lower eyes.

He likes this.

The skin-on-skin contact of his hands and shafts grows louder, and heat scorches you further as you watch his fists squeeze tighter, his strokes becoming heavier and faster. His mouth tugs slightly, then parts, the muscles along his abdomen flexing and tensing. The tips of his cocks well with more pearly beads, enough that on the lower one, a droplet slides down the length of his shaft until it pulls away and falls to the floor. Your breaths become unsteady at the sight of it. Of his members becoming slick and glistening. They look like they’re aching, desperate to be touched. 

“Look at your sweet virgin cunt begging for me to fuck it,” he grunts past his teeth, and you’re almost panting as his voice becomes coarse with arousal.

Subconsciously, you bring your legs together and squeeze, hips and thighs gently moving back and forth for friction.

“With the way you’re looking at me, practically eating me alive while stroking yourself,” you say, your words catching slightly, “it seems like you want it too, maybe even a little desperately.”

Sukuna’s mouth twitches at your comment. Dangerous to tease him like this, but you keep going.

“You haven’t fucked in months.” You push and grind your thighs harder, and he watches, stroking his cocks in rhythm. “Since the weather was warm.”

Still unsure what’s truth and what’s lies, you watch his reaction closely.

Nothing.

You pause and tilt your head before opening your legs wide for him again, tempting and rolling your hips back and forth.

“Haven’t fucked since—” You raise an eyebrow as if you aren’t afraid of the consequences. “Since the first day I arrived… have you?”

You’re clenching and throbbing around nothing, and the King of Curses’ nostrils flare.

“I wonder why that is,” you taunt, swivelling in tighter circles.

Sukuna stops pumping his cocks but grips them tightly at the base.

“Am I wrong?” Your voice becomes light.

He says nothing, but his mouth twitches. And now you’re fighting a cocky grin. 

So, not a lie?

“You know,” he growls dangerously, dropping his hands from his shafts. “The more you try to speak with such overstated pride…” He steps forward, bending, then reaching so his fingers dig into your thighs. He drags you to the edge of the futon. Your eyes come level with his, indignation spreading across his snarling face. “The more you’re getting on my fucking nerves.”

With his upper left hand curling around the back of your neck, he forces you to sit up on your knees, back arching in a contorted position. He bends further, keeping his eyes with yours.

“Open up for me,” he hisses angrily into your face, gaze darting to your mouth, then back up.

That demand, that stupid demand. He’s said it to you before, and now that everything is laid bare and coming from him again, it sounds so different. 

You hesitate.

Watching you sternly, he reaches down to his upper cock, and runs his thumb along the tip, collecting the precum that has beaded there. 

“I said open.” He nudges his chin and brings his hand forward just shy of your mouth. “I’ll not ask again.”

Catching his gaze, you part your lips, tongue pulling away to peek out slightly. His eyes hood, becoming heated with lust as he stares at your open mouth. Slowly, you watch as he brushes his slicked thumb onto your bottom lip, where he drags it across. Curiosity has the tip of your tongue darting out to taste the pad of his finger. His eyes darken further, while you savour the saltiness of his early seed.

“Since you’re desperate enough to pry into my private life, I’ll tell you.” His voice roughens. Finger pressing harder, he pulls your lip down, revealing your teeth. “No, I haven’t sought out anyone else since you arrived. For a while now…”

He pauses, his words trailing off, and you wonder if he’s reflecting on the seven years spent despising you.

“My thoughts have been consumed… elsewhere,” he concludes with a grumble.

You stare at him, searching his face.

“A truth, for once?” you murmur, his finger still resting against your drawn-down lip.

It steals a half smirk from him, and he nods. Leaving you unsure of what to say. But the expression he wears quickly fades. His jaw doesn’t unclench as though he’s holding back the rest of that truth.

“And with that arrival,” he continues, tracing your bottom lip back and forth, lower eyes tracking the movement. “I’ve wondered for a while what this mouth would look like wrapped around my cock. What it would feel like to do the most depraved things to you.” His thumb leaves your lip, and his hand slips to grip your neck. “To witness you kneeling before my feet and worshiping me while I fuck your throat raw… watch you choke on it until your eyes well with tears that belong only to me.”

His fingertips trace the curve of your neck with care, sliding down to rest in the hollow of your throat.

Words fail to form. The possessiveness behind what he says and the image he’s pushed into your mind. It leaves you with only soft, unintelligible sounds.

Dipping his thumb into the groove of your clavicle, Sukuna pauses.

“However…”

His eyes narrow to dark ruins.

Whatever truth or reflection was there vanishes.

“I’ve waited too long for this.” A growl edges his voice, lip curling back, he bares his teeth.

Without warning, he releases you and pushes you roughly onto the bedding, where you land with a sharp inhale. As you shift, trying to find a comfortable position for your bound hands, you catch sight of him sinking to his knees at the edge of the futon. You look up just as he grabs your ankles, pulling you closer to the edge. Without pause, he roughly hoists your calves onto his broad shoulders and dips his head between your open thighs, working his jaw as he does. Making eye contact with you, he opens his mouth and spits onto your entrance. Your breath catches at the sensation before he reaches forward and starts to rub his thumb along your slit, swirling the saliva up and down and then slowly, he sinks two fingers in deep.

Blinding heat spills across your vision. The intrusive pressure of being filled by him again has your mouth dropping open silently, but a long moan soon follows from up your throat, making Sukuna’s eyes hood.

“That’s it,” he husks, pushing further until you see his knuckles softly brush your skin. “Let me hear you.”

You’ll not restrain yourself any longer.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine around the increasing pleasure of him working your body so well, mesmerized by the sight as he pulls and drives his fingers in and out. Your juices and his spit make soft, sticky noises that mingle with the crackling of the fire.

Erotic.

Pumping his fingers, his lower left hand comes up and switches, replacing his fingers that were in your cunt only to drag them down lower while the other one slips back inside your wet heat. He pauses at your asshole before leaning in to spit there. Your body jumps, and then he’s pressing one solid finger against your tight hole. Shifting side to side, you feel uncomfortable at the pressure and try to shut your thighs closed, but when his eyes shoot up to your face, you still.

“Relax,” he grumbles quietly, looking away and dipping his head down to drip more saliva onto your ass. “I’ll not let it hurt.”

Pushing his upper hands under your asscheeks, he spreads them wide, letting the spit curve down to reach his finger, and finally, with a gentle twist, he slowly breaches the ring of muscle. 

There’s a bright ache.

“Sukuna!” You don’t mean to wince out his name, but it comes along with the new sensation of having that hole filled for the first time.

“There you go,” he coos darkly, working his fingers, pumping them, stretching you open. He brings his head down and adds his tongue to the mess, licking and nipping at your drenched folds before nudging, then flicking right across your tight nub.

You tense, a knot forming in your abdomen, then you’re gone—falling, deeper, farther, endlessly.

Losing yourself to him again.

A pull too strong. 

One you can’t seem to deny.

Fingers fucking into your holes, lips sucking, and tongue moving steadily back and forth across your clit, pleasure darts through you. You’re quickly becoming a moaning mess beneath his mouth. And bound at his mercy, all you can do is let your back arch off the sheets, let your legs press inward over his tattooed shoulders until your heels dig into his skin. The King of Curses muffles a deep grunt into your damp sex and adjusts the hold he has on you.

A tight hold. One you can’t break.

Back and forth, in and out, faster, more pressure.

“Pathetic.” Sukuna pulls his mouth back, red eyes staring up at you from the planes of your body.

“What—ah!”

He adds another finger inside each hole, and your question cuts into a mangled whimper at the stretch. Guiding his mouth back down, he breathes heavily across your cunt, his tongue pushing up and into your lips and assaulting its way across your swollen clit over and over again. And you’re gasping, moaning, squirming in his grasp so much that his upper hands abandon their grip on your ass to pin your hips down.

“Look at that,” he mouths against your slit, tonguing you before tugging your folds impatiently into his mouth, and you clench. He teases your pussy again before releasing it to lift his head.

Both your eyes wander to each other, staying for a moment.

“Look at your tight cunt and ass relishing in being played with by the very monster you failed to kill.”

He pauses.

That look. His gaze is cruel.

“You should be embarrassed!” he sneers.

Humiliation snags in your chest.

“Fuck you!” you hiss, and he drives his fingers deeper to hit a sweet spot making your mouth fall open on a whine.

No longer able to form something combative, your soft pants turn into frustrated groans, loosened muscles trembling and contracting under the constant stimulation as your orgasm builds. Head falling back deeper into the mounds of pillows fitted across the futon, your eyes drift to the ceiling before sliding shut.

“That’s what I thought,” he growls, his words muffled as he eats at you eagerly. “Look how well your body is enjoying this.”

The tip of his tongue lashes back and forth across your sensitive nub until all you hear is wetness clicking. You open your eyes, shake and tremble under his mouth and under his words.

“You enjoy me,” he adds, his licks and sucks becoming firmer, pumping fingers harder, head moving up and down to reach your flushing core.

Back and forth, in and out, faster, more pressure.

You moan loudly.

The approaching orgasm causes a warmth to reach and unfurl inside your belly, forcing your eyes into a soft squint and brows to furrow. Opening his mouth, Sukuna circles and flicks his tongue rapidly across your clit again, and you rupture. Your sex clenches. Mouth dropping open, a desperate cry rips out of you, and you cum, grinding your pelvis to prolong the sensation. And Sukuna is groaning loudly into you, lapping up the arousal that softly gushes out of you.

If the clash between you earlier in the night didn’t wake the entire shrine, the sounds of pleasure he’s tearing from your soul and the ones escaping him surely would.

Both of you undulate together. Breathe deeply together. 

Sukuna drinks and sucks at your entrance, his eyes finding yours, and you watch him.

“And you enjoy me just as much,” you choke out, words lost in your throaty cries of bliss.

“Say it louder! I can’t hear over all your whining and moaning,” he rumbles at you before dragging his tongue around the fingers plunging in and out of your pussy, spit dripping down to soak the ones inside your ass.

Lifting your head higher, you blink down at his massive figure, kneeling at the end of the futon.

“I said you enjoy me just as much, if not more!” you hiss spitefully. “Just admit it.”

Pulling his fingers out of you abruptly, he shoves your legs off his shoulders, pushes you flat against the bedding, and rises. You sit up instantly, but he’s already closing in, crawling onto the futon and toward you. Your pulse kicks into overdrive as you scramble to create space, but his massive body comes closer, his stomach mouth huffing, tongue laving out. And bound as you are, moving away is useless, and he seems to know it. A sadistic chuckle rumbles from Sukuna as he slaps a hand around your ankle and tauntingly reels you back to him. You slide across your backside until you’re face to face, him hovering over you, the grin on his lips widening into something twisted.

Smoothly, he flips you onto your stomach, and your skin sinks into the soft quilt beneath you, but your body stiffens as his lower hands glide possessively over your thighs to your hips before yanking them upward. With your arms pinned awkwardly behind you, tension coils tightly in your chest. It only winds further when his massive frame settles heavily behind you.

“You want to know how much I enjoy you?” he whispers into your neck before swiping his tongue up to your ear. You shudder at the feel of it, pushing back against him with an exhale.

“Yes,” you say softly.

He huffs into your skin. You shut your eyes. 

The heat of his naked body pressing against yours feels foreign, yet everything about this moment feels inescapable, though you didn’t want to admit it.

“I’ll just let you feel it instead,” he purrs deeply, easing a knee between your thighs to spread your legs apart.

His two bottom hands move to grasp your waist, clamping down and hauling you back. Eyes opening, you suck in a tight breath. There’s tension as you feel the press of his pelvis hovering near your backside, and the tip of one of his leaking cocks slides against your seam, sending a thread of nervous anticipation through you.

“And like I said once before.” He loops his upper right arm around your chest. Lifting your torso from off the futon, he keeps you suspended there, arching your body taut like a bowstring in his hold, then takes your jaw into his upper left hand, fingers angling your head back, your gazes meeting. 

“You’ll watch as I enjoy taking everything from you.”

From over your shoulder, his lower left hand leaves your waist and fists his upper cock. Using the arm twining around your chest as leverage, he pulls you back while he comes forward. There’s nudging against your soaked folds, pressure, and then stretching. Your eyes hold onto each other, his red ones boring into you. Strangely, it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Guiding you back, the thickness of his girth starts to fill out your pussy, making your brow softly pinch and mouth drop open. You groan, breathing through it. It aches, acute and burning. The sensation of being taken by him, taken by anyone for the first time, it’s overwhelming. Sukuna starts to breathe heavily, his cock pressing deeper, and you watch his face, the way he concentrates, and the way it twitches. Despite all the animosity, the way he pulls you back—slowly, carefully—his chest rising and falling, eyelids heavy, is gentle. Time spent wondering what it would feel like to be filled and fucked by him, touching yourself, imagining it, and now you’re about to find out.

Once his hips slot against your backside, you’re shaking, and he tosses his head back, exposing the line of his neck.

“You’re so tight.” With his voice taut with pleasure, he hisses the words toward the ceiling, a loud exhale following as his fingers tighten on your jaw. He starts to slide his cock out, then thrusts forward to fill you in again. You moan. It feels good, especially with his lower member gliding and rubbing against your clit, making your belly coil.

Tightening every hand he has on you, Sukuna’s pace is slow but hard, shallow thrusts, easing the heaviness of himself into you. And when longer moans begin tumbling out of your mouth, he drops his head back to look at you.

“You like that little slut?” he growls through his teeth. Red eyes soaked with arousal, his thighs keep flexing, and he keeps pumping into you in rougher spurts, skin slapping sharply, pussy so wet, staring down at you, filling up your body with him.

But suddenly, he eases to a stop.

Your brow folds.

“What are you doing?” Your protest has him grinning.

“It’s time to take all of me,” he coos deviously.

Reaching down with the same hand, he pulls his soaking upper cock from your pussy, and presses the thick head up against your asshole. You gasp, choke on a breath as he feeds it into your hole, taking his time to enter you so you feel every ridge and swell. The tip of his lower dick comes next. Using his left hand, he guides it into your cunt, your legs shaking.

Halfway into you, he tugs back on your hair.

“Eyes here, nowhere else,” he murmurs, pupils swelling to blackness, and he leans forward, pressing his chest into your back. So close and intimate, you nod and keep looking at him.

Fingers pushing into your hips, he comes forward, bringing his pelvis and you together. Deeper. Tighter. It stings. You moan and whine when it comes, both his dicks filling you so completely, your inner walls tighten, squeezing around them until his eyes narrow, and he groans.

Buried inside, he pauses, leans back and looks down.

“Exquisite,” he purrs, rubbing his lower right hand along the curve of your ass while gazing down at you impaled on him. “You’re so perfect like this, taking all this cock so deep and so well.”

Heat fists inside your stomach at the sound of his praise.

“Now...” Slowly, he eases out, body coming away until only the tips rest inside. Meeting your eyes, he lowers his head and releases another drop of spit onto his upper shaft. “Let me break you.”

Inhale. Exhale.

You breathe.

Shaking.

Again, you feel his enormous size, and again, he takes his time. Admiring. And you wait. Panting.

He pauses his savouring, then moves his lower hands, finding their way to your waist while his other hands follow—one sliding into your hair, the other wrapping around your chest to grip your throat, keeping you lifted off the futon. You gasp at the sensation of being held up by him, completely under his control. 

“So perfect, in fact,” he purrs seductively, and out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of him towering over you, the flash of teeth as he grins wickedly.

“That I could just—”

Snap!

He slams his hips forward, burying his cocks inside you.

A harsh, uncontrollable scream scorches up your throat, spilling out and filling the room.

You’re unprepared when he starts to pound into you, driving his lengths deep, fucking you hard like some hedonistic, mindless animal, rutting into you violently. 

And all you can do is surrender.

Surrender to his control. Let go of everything you’re meant to be and fall into chaos. Let him guide your body. Let him take his pleasure just as you take yours.

Thrust after thrust after thrust. Your entire being jerks and sways within his monstrous hold, back and forth. Thrusting in deeper. Harder. The tops of his muscular thighs smacking into the back of yours over and over, his thrusts becoming more brutal than the last, and almost all his weight pushes into you, heavy. Full. You feel so completely full. It’s overwhelming. So much so that only broken, high-pitched sounds escape your lips, mingling with Sukuna’s thick, heaving grunts.

Despite being unable to see his face, the sounds escaping his throat and the way he moves paints it all in vivid detail. Deeper breaths, his mouth slightly agape, brow furrowed with lust, eyes locked on the sight of your bodies colliding—the way your sweaty, wet skin moulds into his hands, how it slaps against him, how he’s taking you apart bit by bit on his massive lengths.

Thrust after thrust after thrust.

Bliss and ecstasy.

It’s so much.

So good.

Eyes hazy, they lift and settle on the fading mural stretched along the wall before you, landing on the depiction of winter, where a single flower, hued in red, peeks through the snow.

A winter flower.  

Surviving just barely.

So familiar.

Dizzy and already fuck drunk. Questions crawl through your mind lazily—things you long to ask and understand. But the way he’s taking you, with such urgency, speaks of something else entirely.

And then, something inside you breaks.  

Overcome by a melee of warring emotion, you toss back your head and chase down your anger, desire and shame.

“Harder!” you shout out your demand of him.

Sukuna’s hips lift back while pulling your body with him, then slams into you once, your whole being shuddering. He pauses, his balls resting against your sensitive clit.

“Harder?” His warm breath tickles against your neck as he tilts your head gently toward him. “Is that what you want? Harder?”

With heavy-lidded eyes, you dip your chin.

Even if it’s from him, you crave a reminder of something beyond self-loathing and emptiness. And you know Sukuna is more than capable. Able to be the one who can unearth you, expose your depths, and bury all the thoughts that follow you.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Fuck me hard. As hard as you can.”

His mouth twitches at your request.

“If you’re so desperate to be claimed like that, convince me. Beg,” he growls through his teeth, staring at your lips, fingers gripping your hips painfully. “Beg for me to take you like that.”

Your skin rages hot. His cocks twitch inside you.

“Please.” It’s the only word you can manage.

“Again!” His eyes flare wide and feral. “Beg me more!”

“Please!” you seethe harshly at him, vision squinting blurry so you don’t see the triumphant smirk spreading across his face. “Take me harder! Just as much as you hate me!”

Sukuna’s whole presence goes taut.

He tenses and stares.

“Please…” you add quietly.

His jaw clenches.

Then, slowly, agonizingly slow, he begins to withdraw—only to pause.

You wait, breath held.

Snarling, he drives back in and starts hammering into you. You let your screams dissolve into sobs. It’s the only thing you can do before his hips surge forward, and he pushes your upper body down to meet the futon, the curve of your ass in the air. Two hands remain on your hips while one shifts to hold you pinned by the nape of your neck. Turning your head to the side, you watch his last hand sink into the bedding next to your face, and then the King of Curses’ chest curves over you.

You can’t breathe.

He’s everywhere. It’s all-consuming.

His large body sheltering yours, hiding the light and only giving you him.

And it’s all you want. Want to forget everything for a moment.

Again and again.

Faster, harder, deeper, he takes you with brutal abandon, his body crashing into yours, fucking into you rough. You are nothing but tension, spiralling out of control. The sound of his balls smacking against your damp skin grows louder than the fire burning in the corner, putting you on the verge of release.

“Yes!” you cry out, the word trailing in your ears, “just like that. Don’t stop!” You push back against him, meeting his rigid pounding, feeling his swollen dicks pulsate.

“Filthy whore!”

His movements grow urgent, rougher. He keeps thrusting, keeps fucking.

“Then take it!” he hisses in pleasure, and one of his lower hands suddenly lifts away from your hips. A splitting pain burns across your right ass cheek, his hand coming away with a loud crack. You whimper, jerking forward uselessly atop the soft bedding, the stinging slap collecting tears in your eyes at the intensity.

“Ah!” you breathe out, and the ache of it all has you clenching around him. “Again!”

He groans.

Thrust.

Your heart hammers.

Crack!

A harder slap collides across your sweaty, naked backside, the sound filling the room. Moaning, you tip your head back, his fingers moving to flex around your throat.

“More!” Another plea. “Make it hurt!”

“Yes,” he rasps in primal satisfaction, his voice so deep and dark it stings, pulling you down further, smothering you in him.

Crack!

Harder.

A louder cry. The skin along your ass burns with agitation, which he soothes with a rub of his palm.

Bringing another hand up, two of Sukuna’s massive hands engulf your throat. Your watery eyes flutter as subtle pressure is applied until your vision dances.

Controlled and dedicated. You know he won’t hurt you—he’s already done enough of that. Even if a shadow within him still harbours the desire, you’re certain, in some way, that he can’t bring himself to follow through.

At least, you hope.

Turning your head to the side, he leans in, bringing your faces close enough to share a breath. Pelvis punching forward, he takes you with his whole body. Fucking you with his supposed hatred. But the way he looks at you says otherwise.

There’s always been two battling sides to him, two sides clashing, and you can see it now as he stares into your ecstasy-ridden face. The way he claims you, like he’s desperate to feel you after all this time. After all this wickedness and madness. But the intensity behind it makes your eyes slide shut. 

“Look at me,” Sukuna breathes quietly.

A gentle squeeze at your neck draws your eyes open. His gaze floods with heat and torment—the same torment you saw that day when you asked about the denial of something he truly wanted.  

Your stomach knots.

“Look at me,” he repeats, his grip firm as he takes hold of your jaw, his thumb dragging slowly over your bottom lip.  

“I am looking at you, Sukuna…” you whisper, your voice quiet and your eyes honest. The bedding stirs under you, shifting with the rhythm of your uneven breaths. “I have this whole time… far longer than all of this.”

The air between you both goes still. Sukuna slows his pace to nothing.

He retrieves his thumb from your mouth, and the King of Curses stares at you.

As if knocked by the small vulnerability hidden there in your tone, his nostrils flare, and his slitted eyebrow furrows deeply. A shadow of something dark slides over his hauntingly beautiful mien.

Now, you want to look away. Every aspect screams for you to, but you know better. Having pried open this small part of yourself. You hold his gaze, and you wait. 

A moment passes.

With the hand pressing against your jaw, he begins to angle your face away from him, forcing you to look at the narrow space before you instead. And with that, he shuts you out completely, raising every wall and sealing himself off.

Instantly, you regret yourself.

“Now, you cum for me,” he demands aggressively from behind.

Sudden weight pushes down on you, pulling you up and out of that momentary quiet. Sukuna dominates his way into you, taking your body and ramming it vigorously into the futon.

In that moment, you exist solely as a vessel for his pleasure.

Two hands gripping your throat and two sliding to hold on to the swell of your ass, he guides you back into a bouncing rhythm. Back and forth, skin slapping together, rebounding you again and again while his massive lengths plunge into your wetness, seemingly trying to take you apart.

And you’re about to. You’re about to come undone. 

So close.

Sukuna squeezes your throat harder, and you squeeze your eyes shut, ready to surrender to the sensations when warmth spreads up your spine, lavishing and crowding across your back. It tingles, wet and sticky, accompanied by bursts of hot air—his stomach maw. Writhing beneath this monster, the massive tongue maneuvers around your hands, licking, twirling along your tailbone and breathing at the centre of your back, sending little bursts of lightning shooting up your body. The muscle moves further down, coming to swipe sloppily around your holes that are being pounded, making them even more soaked.

So filthy and wrong. 

Lovely sin and a lovely perversion.

More.

More of everything.

Face falling forward into the pillows, you cry out in bliss. Bound wrists tugging at your back, your fingers curl into themselves, desperate to grip something, but you can’t.

To your right, the bedding suddenly dips under pressure. Your eyes cut over to find Sukuna’s right foot planted firmly there, his leg extending past your right thigh.

The new angle. The leverage.

He pauses and readjusts his grip on every contact of your body, pulls out, pauses, and drives his dicks into you. Short. Hard. Furious. 

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

So thick and deep inside you.

You scream, climax building to a peak—

“Fucking cum for me!” he roars.

—and then it releases.

“Oh god!” You cum, your orgasm crashing over you, violently and blissfully taking you apart. Screaming, you arch up and back into his tight hold, trying to reach for his hips. Holes clenching and swallowing his swelling dicks, and you’re cursing and moaning, giving him everything. Every bit. All the while, his thrusts turn erratic, unsteady, urgent.

Over and over.

Another thrust.

Another.

Another.

Another!

“Fuck!” he snarls, slamming down one final time and stilling himself balls deep. His cocks pulsate, then he’s pumping you full and tight with his cum. Your nerve endings burn apart as the heat pours into your pussy and ass, holes soaking wet with his seed until it trickles out, hot and scorching down your thighs.

Sukuna lets out a low, guttural groan. Goosebumps flush along your skin at the sound of it. 

Clutching you tight, he rides you through his pleasure while one of his hands leaves your backside to touch the warm trail of release that leads back to where you’re connected. He grinds into the mess a few more times, breaths shaky until he mumbles something quietly to himself before easing his hands away from your neck, and you turn your head to the right, eyes finding the wall.

Muscles tender and trembling, your limbs loose—you feel good, but also numb. You don’t want to feel numb. You don’t want to look at him either. But this is what you wanted—what you took for yourself, damning the consequences.

Easing a bit of weight off you, something nuzzles into your back. Dragging along the curve of your neck, you realize it’s the tip of his nose, tracing a path into your hair. Warm breaths and the faint heat of his mouth graze your nape, making you shiver.

Now, you want to turn around, but you don’t.

The touch lingers before it drifts lower, trailing down to your back.

“I should have stolen you sooner,” he whispers, his voice barely reaching your ears as you lie beneath him. Instead, the words slip into the space between your shoulder blades, searing hot against your skin before dissolving and leaving nothing behind.

Another warm pressure there has you relaxing before it’s quickly replaced with the cool air of Sukuna’s absence. He pulls away.

You don’t make a sound when he does.

And you don’t make a sound as he holds your hips and slides his softening cocks from your exhausted body, and don’t react as his seed drips out of you, don’t move as he begins to undo the tie binding you.

Between you, it’s quiet, only the fabric of the sash whispering as he tugs it loose.

“Since all that lies between us is hatred and distrust,” he suddenly begins flatly from behind.

One more tug, and your hands are freed. Quickly, you bring them forward and push them into your front to hold on to yourself.

“And since there is nothing else but a desire to destroy each other,” he continues, the futon dipping under his weight before his bare feet tap softly across the room. “You’ll have your wish.” 

There’s a pause, followed by the faint rustling of clothing.  

Then, silence.

You listen.  

“Call it a consolation,” he grumbles, “...if you like.”  

Curving your body inward, you don’t turn to look at him, though you can feel his eyes on your naked figure, on his cum that trickles from between your thighs.

“Before you drag me any further into this worthless spiral.” The fire crackles and hisses, fracturing the quiet while he tends to it. His heavy footsteps retreat soon after. “Today. I want you gone.”

The chamber door slides open, stirring the red glow that flutters against the wall you stare at.

“You’ll take your mare and leave before the sun rises… I won’t come for you again.”

Another pause, and you curl tighter into yourself, wishing to vanish into the sweaty, rumpled bedding that smells too much of the sex just shared between you two.

“I release you from this union.”

Your eyes collapse shut against the words.

You say nothing to the King of Curses because you owe him nothing. Because this is what you asked for—what you wanted. You should feel free and unbound. Instead, you feel unmoored and drifting somewhere you cannot name.

Inhaling, you wrap your arms around yourself for comfort.

Now it’s clear why he took you so hard and desperate. He was purging you from his system for good.

A sickness that needed to be culled and then cured.

And he did.

After a moment, Sukuna exhales deeply, his feet tapping lightly against the wooden floor. A pause lingers before the door closes with a soft, muted click.

And with those departing words, his footsteps fade down the corridor, leaving you alone in his chambers—in more ways than one.

[worstgirlsfuture]

this blood eating thing presents the issue of not being able to repulse them in anyway, never being able to get any alone time ever ever ever. like you can’t im on my period your way out of sex, because once they know you’re on your period they wanna put your tampon in for you, or they wanna feel your pad over your underwear, you can’t go without bathing for a few days to try and repulse them with smell, they will love your muskiness or shower with you for Family Time. even if u had a disgusting flu and phlegmed everywhere and felt like shit satosugu are still there to suck on ur face and fuck on that cooch, all the better because you’re so weak and malleable. in one way it’s nice because you can never repulse them, but at the same time you can never repulse them

no because that's what really defines a yandere for me,,, love so constant and so overwhelming, it becomes its own brand of torture,,, there's no excuse you could make that they wouldn't find a way to get off on, no part of yourself you could use as a shield from their affection, just pure adoration layered on so thickly, it'll choke you to death if you don't try to cough it up. when they say they want to crawl under your skin and live there, they say it knowing it'll be a bloody task. also the tampon thing. we mustn't forget the tampon thing.

[worstgirlsfuture]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 32: One Final Breath Of Lungs To You

Content warning: Sukuna gets an extra warning for being a menace, blood, wounds, dismemberment, angst (!)

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Devil’s At Your Door - SWARM, TINYKVT Oh My Goth - Razed In Black Before I’m Dead - Kidney Thieves

* * * * *

Chapter 31

* * * * *

You run. 

It’s all you can do.

Feet pounding against fallen leaves, you tear through damp moss and hurl yourself blindly through the forest. Weaving around trees, veering around rocks, you fight for any semblance of direction, desperate for options—anything to survive this. Because if the King of Curses doesn’t kill you, your own heart will. The muscle slams so violently against your ribcage that the force alone might stop you dead.  

And, fuck, he’s coming.

The monster has given chase.

You can feel him—without needing to glance over your shoulder, without seeing the space you’ve carved between you. His presence arrives heavy at your back. First, it’s his energy that slides across your skin. Then comes the sound of his feet, crashing closer on each step.

Run.

Don’t stop.

It’s all you can do.

You can’t even think—there’s no time, no space to unravel everything you've learned tonight. Seven years ago. Your first encounter. And the way he’s waited for this moment, for you, for this. To see what you’re capable of. To push you. To face you.

And you want to turn around. To stop running. To fight him. Hurt him. You should. He deserves it. But you don’t. 

Branches lash at your face, tearing into skin as you plunge deeper into the dark. You lift your arms to shield your eyes, because this fucking forest seems determined to slow you down. Still, you go.

Run.

And run.

Run until your legs burn and ache, until your feet are covered in dirt, until the fire in your lungs is unbearable.

By the time you spot a massive tree ahead, your breaths arrive in panting gasps inside your throat. You dive behind it, pressing your back to the trunk, struggling to steady your heaving chest. The night is silent, but for the wind and the screaming pulse inside your ears.

Breathe.

You inhale, trembling. Hands tight and only tightening further around the tantō. You look down at it sitting in your palm. Graze your thumb over the engraved markings. His markings.

You hate that it’s his.

Hate him.

Hate him.

“I hate you,” you whisper under your breath.

Another swipe across the hilt. Your hands are a mess. Mottled and discoloured. You can feel your energy ebbing and flowing in your panic and anger. Out of control and only getting worse.

Your head lifts, eyes trailing up the gaunt branches above until they reach into the cold, black sky, where only a few stars sit.

Is this what you wanted?

This is what he wanted.

A slow crunch sounds over the leaves.

You freeze. Whip your head to the noise. You know that terrible sound.

Footsteps.

Closer. And closer.

“Hiding are we?” A deep, disembodied voice rattles through the darkness.

Branches snap to your left. Your eyes jump in that direction, head angling around the tree before pulling back.

The footsteps stop. The forest falls silent.

Quiet.

Back crushing into the bark, you ease along it, away from where you think he’s coming from.

“You’re so much like your father…” You hear him shift again, heavy feet dragging across the ground. “Hiding, instead of facing me.”

The grip on your weapon turns choking.

I’m not like my father.

The creature stops again. 

I’m not like him.

A cruel laugh rumbles from somewhere, sending shivers racing along your spine.  

“I’m aware of where you are,” Sukuna drawls, his voice calm, almost bored, winding through the brush with an ease that makes you hate him more. “Come out for me, snake.”

A gust of wind rattles through the woods, peeling leaves from their branches and scattering them to the ground. The forest breathes with you, alive and waiting.

Licking your lips, you slowly pull away from the tree. There has to be a way out of this. Because how the hell can you fight him? It’s impossible. Your death at his hands feels inevitable.

You could give up. Let the vow claim you instead.

No.

No.

You already know the answer—it’s just one good touch. That’s all you need.

Then, this will all be over.

Eyes scanning the surrounding murk, you back away, soundless.

Don’t breathe.

You hold your breath.

His footsteps resume.

Your eyes dart, searching the dense forest, every shadow, every shape that could be him in the night. Spotting another tree not too far away, you run to it, laying yourself against the jagged wood.

“You know,” Sukuna continues, as if in thought, “I never understood it. How someone could look at me and think, ‘Yes, that’s what I want.’”

There’s a pause. Your heart pounds into your throat as both your eyes and ears strain.

“Did you think you could change me?” His footsteps pick up again. “That I’d return to you after tearing through lives, reeking of blood and skin, just to slip beneath the covers and hold you close? Kiss you like some adoring husband—” Your brow furrows. “—lay my mouth over yours so you could taste the iron of another’s on my tongue? Is that what you were so desperate for? Because I can assure you.” His voice becomes a hiss through clenched teeth. “The taste of flesh under my teeth is far more satisfying than anything you could have given me.”

It shouldn’t hurt to hear him say these things, but it does. Too much. These cruel words break you enough for a sting of tears to threaten your vision.

Taking another step, you back away toward the next cluster of trees.

“Do you remember the first time I touched you?”

You stop.

A quiet breath punches past your lips. You know what he’s doing—goading you, pushing harder and harder.

Attack him.

“How hard you shook under my hand. Your cunt so eager, so fucking hungry. Like a starving dog, finally tossed a scrap of meat.”

Hurt bleeds into rage, climbing deeper inside your chest until its grip becomes choking. That moment, so vulnerable and personal, was something shared between you, and now it’s tainted, reduced to lies and fabrications. He had led you somewhere new, uncharted, all while trying to get close to you for this. And you had been trying to get close to him as well so you could kill him.

Both of you, in your own ways, had sought the other’s demise. Both a betrayal in some way.

More angry tears rise to stand in your eyes, desperate to fall.

“Fuck you,” you mutter quietly, taking another step—then another, the forest floor whispering underfoot.

Lost in your emotions, you barely notice the ground shifting below you. One more step and your heel catches on something brittle. A sharp jab shoots through the soft arch of your foot, and suddenly, you stumble. Panic as your legs buckle, sending you crashing into the dirt. You land hard on your side, the impact jarring your shoulder.

Shit!

Too loud.

Although he’s already aware of where you are, it’s confirmed when his deep, mocking laugh skitters over you.

“Clumsy thing."

Gritting your teeth, you blink down at where you’ve fallen and notice the ground isn’t just soil and foliage. Pale, jagged and sun-bleached fragments shine dully, sheltered within the earth. Old bones. White and broken, your feet tangled in the remnants of what was once a person's ribcage—one of Sukuna’s offerings, left to rot in his mass grave of devoured humans and animals.

Quickly, you retrieve your feet from the skeletal cavity and ignore the scorch of bile rising up from your belly.

You’d forgotten about this hellhole.

How could you?

And yet, you can’t entirely blame yourself. He’s been lulling you into a sense of comfort, slowly eroding your carefully guarded walls over time.

Pushing to your elbows, your gaze sweeps the ground again, and something else amongst the bones snags your attention.

An offering. A relic from long ago. A katana—either deemed unworthy or simply that it never made its way inside the shrine. It’s old and rusted, its tip broken, and its edge dull. But it’s still useful.

Hand engulfing the hilt, you grab it and rise to your feet. Crouching low, your fingers grip the tantō in your other hand. The katana may feel awkward, but you know it will serve its purpose.

At least, you hope.

Breaths shallow and steady, you circle the nearest tree. The only path forward is to kill him. The only way to get there is to attack.

“That’s all it took, wasn’t it?” Sukuna’s voice edges closer.

“Took what?” you spit, stepping carefully around the roots and bones at your feet. “Tell me. I’m dying to hear more of your arrogant voice.”

Weak and small. That’s what he proclaimed you once to be.

But you aren’t.

You never thought you were.

Broken, perhaps—but never weak and never small.

It’s clear now. Ryomen Sukuna never truly knew who you were then, just as you never truly knew who he was.

And that’s fine.

If he calls you a snake, then so be it.

You’re a snake—hiding in the grass, ready to strike.

“Just a touch,” he says. And you know he’s close now. “A sliver of my attention. And you fell apart like you’d been waiting your whole miserable life for it!”

Your eyes narrow.

Attack him.

You roll your shoulders, steadying your grip.

“So needy.”

You step closer to his voice.

“Your soul starved.”

Around the trunk, a flash of pink hair.

“Desperate for affection. Desperate for tenderness.”

One breath in. One breath out.

The monster ambles into view, his muscled back to you.

Attack him!

“Come out!” Sukuna growls, anger flaring. “Show me what that affection of yours is worth!”

From out of the darkness, your voice is a shriek of outrage as you lunge toward him.

The katana arcs. 

Sukuna turns.

Viciousness splits his teeth across his face.

His upper hands snap up, catching the weapon. The impact vibrates through marrow. Jaw clenching, you lean into it, but his grip tightens, his strength cracking the brittle blade.

But you aren’t done.

With his focus locked elsewhere, your other hand darts in. The tantō glints, and you thrust it forward, aiming for his stomach. 

But Sukuna’s lower hands move faster than you anticipate. One clamps around your wrist mid-thrust, the other intercepting the blade before it makes contact, the grip crushing the smaller blade from your grasp.

The tantō falls. A calculated sacrifice.

Because this was never about the fucking weapons.

When the blade hits the ground, you rotate your wrist inside his hold.

Fingers curving inward just enough, you let them graze along the underside of his forearm. The warmth of his skin against yours is nice, the touch intimate.

For the briefest moment, Sukuna’s entire presence stills.

Eyes cutting forcefully upward, a slow, bitter smile rolls across your lips.

“And now you’ll know what I’m capable of,” you snarl.

Your voice doesn’t sound human as your energy pours into your fingertips. And when the power does come, it comes faster than ever before. The King of Curses must sense it, too, because the moment he does, he drops your arm and abruptly steps back. You grin, watching as confusion twitches its way across his face before giving in to realization. 

His arrogance has cost him.

Climbing furiously along his lower left arm, the dappled stain spreads outward from where you touched. He shakes it as if to remove the decay rotting his flesh, and your eyes shine, knowing it will do nothing.

Freedom.  

At last.

You spit out a laugh, a mad, disjointed cackle.

Threatening red eyes jump to you in response, and without hesitation, the monster lifts his upper right arm, two fingers extending, and he brings it down in one brutal strike.

And severs his own arm.

You blink, watching the limb drop to the ground.

Blood spurts, oozing into the brush as the decay carves out its corrosive path. The flesh blackens, turns rancid, cracking and splitting apart, before the corruption eats the dismembered limb entirely, seeping into the earth.

By the time you drag your reluctant gaze back to Sukuna, all four of his eyes have widened, pupils dilating with something that looks disturbingly like exhilaration. Head tipping back, a shudder courses through him, and all his eyes roll, dark and wild.

Shit.

You step back.

Calm.

You back away.

“I always knew,” he murmurs, voice trembling with a sadistic kind of ecstasy. “That you were a sickness.”

Another step.

He rolls the stump of his shoulder, regrowing the severed arm. His mouth curves up.

“But I never knew how much until now.”

Then he moves.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

You hurl the katana at him. He swats it aside like it’s nothing, laughing as it hits the ground.

“You know, the third time you tried to kill me, when I had my nose shoved against your clit, you went for my head.” He circles two fingers near his temple. “I’ll admit, that was clever. The brain is... inconvenient to heal, especially with that—” he gestures toward your hands. “What are we calling it anyway? That nasty little trick of yours?”

You keep stepping back, but he keeps coming.

“A decay of the body,” you state, forcing your voice to sound calm.  

Sukuna nods, expression stamped into one of enchantment.

“And what happens once the rot spreads?”  

Your eyes dart behind you, ensuring you won’t collide with a tree, before snapping back to him.  

“The body can’t sustain itself.” Your words climb an octave. “And it splits open.”

At “splits open,” he looks feral.

“Oh, my darling!” he practically booms, making you recoil. “You are fascinating! And to think, I let you get so close to me with those hands of yours.”

Four eyes drag over you, studying you with a primordial stare equal parts appraisal and disgust.

“Yet here I am, wondering…” His teeth grind into a sneer. “If I should give you another chance to try.”  

Panic spreads as his muscles tense. His naked torso swells, all four hands clenching and unclenching, ready to attack.

“Let’s see if you can.”

You don’t see him move.

In seconds, the distance between you disappears, and he arrives with his upper right hand hurtling forward.

Feet pivoting, you twist into a half turn to avoid the strike. A rush of air brushes past your face—he just missed. But the next blow is already careening toward your head.

Panicking, you drop into a crouch, narrowly escaping. He corrects his stance, instantly driving his lower left hand toward your stomach.

You roll, dodging. Barely.

Up and then—

Left.

Right.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Over.

Under.

Fuck!

It becomes harder to track him—his speed a blur. And he’s toying with you, the strikes landing everywhere but near your outstretched hands. Your torso. Your chest. Your legs. Your—

The ground is gone.

Stomach lurching, you’re whipped into weightlessness, spinning, then crashing back down to the earth. 

Your body tumbles, rolling over and over and over again until you land hard on your back.

Above, the stars are gone. Around you, fallen leaves and twigs puff out. A moment, and only a high-pitched trill rings inside your ears from the heavy impact.

You lay there, gasping, reeling.

Get. Up.

If you don’t, you’ll die.

You blink, then push up to your knees, suck in a tight breath, reorient yourself.

Pressure.

You lift your head.

Sukuna’s energy suddenly surges.

Terror, as you realize—too late—there’s no time to move.

From out in the dark, you see one of his hands swipe the air.

Then pain.

It cleaves into you, hot enough to sear all the way from tendon to bone to the roots of your teeth.

You look down.

Blink down.

Trying to make sense of what he’s done.

Blood. Sticky and warm. It soaks slowly but vividly through the fabric of your yukata, spreading from the clean slash cut into you from shoulder to collarbone.

“Whoops.”

His chuckle reaches you.

“Looks like I missed.”

It’s clear he’s done playing.

Lifting a hand, you clap it over the wound.

It hurts.

Fucking hell, it hurts.  

Fingers trembling, you hold the flayed skin together, desperately trying to stave off the agony.

“You know what happens now.” Sukuna’s voice brings your chin up, and you find him standing at a distance, the width of the dark forest framing him like a throne.

“I’ll take your head next,” he states, his upper right arm extended, the tip of his two fingers pointing toward your neck. “Unless you fight back.”

He starts walking toward you.

“So fight back.”

You blink at him, trying to decide what to do, and all the while, an ache in your fingers throbs painfully equal to the wound he’s inflicted.

Panic? Or something else?

Eyes dropping to your hands, the discolouration now crawls and licks its way up to your wrists.

Your gaze darts back to Sukuna. He’s closer now, but he doesn’t need to get near to kill you—so why hasn’t he done it yet?

“Fight back!” he orders, swinging up his arm.

With no time to think, you dive forward, dropping to your hands and knees, and plunging your fingers into the earth.

You’ve never done this before. But it’s your only idea. One stupid, desperate idea you might not even be capable of.

Fingertips groping, you search. Feel. Look.

Most of the vegetation is lifeless. You need something alive for this to work. It has to be alive. You think, you hope—panic hinging on the faint memory of that night inside the rocky overhang when you destroyed the moss with a touch.

“Come on…” you whisper, teeth clenched as his footsteps draw nearer, louder.

You don’t dare look up. Your eyes stay fixed on your hands, the way they move around through the darkness.

Rock. Dead grass. Broken branches. Fallen leaves. Sap. Soil.

“Come on!”

“Hurry up, winter flower.” His voice ahead coos. “Else, I’ll peel back your skin like pretty red petals.”

“Shut up!”

Sukuna chuckles.

Shrivelled mushrooms. Damp bark. Dirt and dirt and dirt and—

Then you feel it. Cool and soft against your skin.

Moss. Alive.

Quickly, so quickly, you focus, flattening your palms and massaging deeper into the network of its body.

Please fucking work!

The connection gushes. Power slides into your veins, lifting every hair along your body. A floodgate thrown wide open—something unlike anything you’ve felt before.

From where your hands touch, the ground begins to peel away like dead skin. 

Rot spreads.

Everything alive within its path withers, turning sickly brown, then souring into dust. 

It keeps going. Spreading.

Plants and brush disintegrate first, followed by the roots of a nearby tree. With its foundation devoured, it crashes to the ground. Then another falls. And another. And another.

Animals scatter in every direction, screaming and swarming away from you in a hopeless attempt to escape. Birds take flight. Mice, rabbits, insects—anything with legs scrambling through the undergrowth—rush to flee as fast as they can.

And it doesn’t stop.

The chaotic energy inside you keeps wailing. Uncontrolled and untamed.

But you pour everything into it anyway. All your hatred. All your rage. Take it all and feed it toward him. 

Because if he’s taught you anything, it’s that anger is a pathway to power.

Isn’t it?

As if in a trance, your shoulders undulate and dip. Your hands digging into the earth, breaths short, ragged inhales.

This is what you wanted!

Eyes glazed with euphoria, you look up and find the monster. He’s grinning, violently wide, stepping back just enough to stay ahead of the outspread.

“Good girl. That’s it!” He steps lightly, heavy body agile within the chaos. “Show me more. Keep going!”

Confusion paints your expression at his unexpected praise. More than that, the look on his face. He looks pleased, ecstatic, delighted... almost proud. Proud of what you’ve done, of what you’re doing. It’s so disorienting and contradicting that you don’t even notice when the decay slows, its frenzied path tapering out until it stops completely.

The grin on his face vanishes, replaced by a deep frown.

All at once, he’s moving toward you, feet treading through the fractured destruction you’ve just caused.

Moonlight filters through the remaining trees, slicing in pieces and illuminating the powerful lines of his body.

A warning rings out inside your mind.

“I said, show me more of you!”

Before you can move, he reaches where you kneel and bends down. Snatching your wrists, he wrenches your hands from the soil with his lower hands and lifts you up in his grasp.

“Fuck you!” you spit as he deliberately pushes your fingers into clenched fists, his massive hands engulfing yours, ensuring you can’t touch him.

Shoulder screaming in pain, you thrash uselessly against the hold, powerless to free yourself.

Suddenly, his upper left hand clamps around your head. Palm pressing into your face, two fingers part just enough to keep your view unobstructed while the others dig painfully into your jaw.

“When I tell you to show me,” he snarls, his voice deep and cruel, “you show me!”

Before you can respond, something tugs sharply at your yukata, yanking you forward and forcing your back into an arch.

Through the narrow gap between his fingers, you see his maw has opened and is dragging the fabric inward between its massive teeth.  

A feeble cry of rage flies from your mouth, muffling against his palm, legs kicking wildly in the air.

He laughs.

“I wonder what you’ll taste like, crushed inside there,” he hums, then pauses.

The pull grows stronger. Your body edges closer. His laughter grows more manic. You can see him glaring at you through the outlines of his fingers. 

“We can find out. Unless you do something.”

The maw drags you in further, its massive teeth grazing the softness of your hip.

You frantically wiggle your hands, trying to move a finger, any of them.

Nothing.

Panic.

“I hate you!” you shout, your voice ripping through the night, loud enough to echo.

Sukuna’s mouth twitches, throat turning solid. For a moment, you want to look away, but you can’t. Something quiet passes across his features, making your heart stagger. You can’t name it, and you don’t care. It vanishes like everything else.

“You hate me?” he says flatly before his face darkens. “Speaking of hate as though you’ve truly tasted it. What a sacrifice you must have endured.” He leans in while pulling your face closer with his palm. “I’ve fucking despised you for seven long years!”

Another yank. You shriek at him, kick your feet aiming for anything. Dampness soaks your legs. Something wet slides across your thigh. The large tongue presses against your exposed skin through a tear in the fabric.

Your rage mutates, reforms and takes shape.

It's becoming difficult to breathe.

You thrash violently, but Sukuna doesn’t let go.

A strange pricking sensation needles along your hands. With his hand clamped tightly over your face, it’s not something you can see.

But you feel it.

A pulse.

It picks outward and moves, pushing further this time—flowing through your hands and into somewhere else. You aren’t sure, but it stings along your skin.

The King of Curses’ grip suddenly loosens with a growl. His fingers release you, and you drop to the ground on your backside, gasping and coughing for air. 

Looking up, you see the maw with a strip of fabric pinched between its teeth, but the smell of decay has your eyes shooting up. Rot spreads rapidly along Sukuna’s lower arms. The flesh splits, devouring him.

You don’t care how you managed to pull it off, and you don’t wait to see what happens, either. You know what’s coming. He’ll dismember his own limbs to stop it.

Scrambling to your feet, you turn and run.

Get back to the shrine.

Hopefully, now that he’s seen what you’re capable of, the vow is fulfilled.

This will grant you time to get away and maybe enough space to head to the stables, collect Ayana and escape this place.

Sprinting through the trees, weaving around rocks, the blood from your shoulder taps steadily to the ground. Your desperate gait carries you quickly, and slowly, the shrine comes into view, peeking through the crowded trunks of trees.

Bursting out of the forest, you make it into the garden, clambering onto a stone path, before you feel him.

Energy. Pressure. Right at your back.

No!

You try to move for cover, but suddenly, you’re hunching over with your breath torn away.

Another sharp slice carves through your body, this time, across your lower back. The fabric resting there, and the skin, shredded.

Mouth agape, you can’t breathe, the cry of pain lost somewhere inside your throat.

Drip, drip, drip.

Warm blood trickles down your backside, winding in slow currents between your thighs before pooling at your feet.

You stop moving, teeter on your heels, unbalanced by the force of the strike.

There was no hesitation behind that cut. But still, he hasn’t gone for the killing blow. Not yet. Though, like this, you might bleed out before he gets the chance.

Blinking rapidly, you force yourself to move.

You have to.

Because if you’re going to die, it will be inside his shrine, cursing him and this place to hell with one final breath of your lungs.

The slow drag of your legs across Sukuna’s private garden is agonizing, each step a nauseating limp.

When you reach the verandah, you know he’s behind you. You can hear the full weight of his feet.

Pushing yourself up the steps and into his chambers, you bang the door shut behind you. Staggering through the darkened room, you move toward the door leading to the corridor, the passage you’ve walked through so many times, and reach for it.

Where would be the best place to bleed out?

It’s a morbid thought, but the idea of Uraume or Ren having to scrape your broken body off the floor brings a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Because they’re all liars.

All of them.

But none more than the abomination at your back.

Palms outstretched, you reach the door. Your hands, now clear from the discolouration of rot, touch the wood just as the garden door behind you falls open.

You don’t hear Sukuna step inside. 

He’s silent.

But the silence lasts for only seconds.

“Fuga.”

Inside the room, the silver-blue moonlight scattered across the walls is swallowed by a sudden eruption of firey red. Warmth explodes, spreading across your body and sinking deep into the wounds and cold sweat at your back.

Eyes falling shut, you still, dropping your hands limply to your sides.

From your dreams or, rather, memories, you already know what awaits you. Divine flames. Hot and burning with the intent to kill.

How is it that after all of this—after everything you’ve done just to protect your sister—this is how it’s supposed to end?

The sacrifice you’ve made. The bullshit you’ve endured.

When will it stop?

Because you’re tired. 

So damn tired.

Blood pitting against the floor, you slowly turn. The blazing arrow, aimed directly at your chest, illuminates the night from the garden door where it’s been drawn. Its angry glow reflects the fury of the demon wielding it.

Blinking at all that orange and all the red flickering embers before you, you let out a soft, panicked laugh.

Sukuna draws back further, twisting his forearm, the tension in his body visible as he lifts his chin.

From where you stand across the room, you swallow, straighten, and mimic his motion, tilting your head upward to try and meet his gaze. Dying while staring into those familiar red eyes seems a fitting end.

A heartbeat passes.

Then two.

Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, you continue to stand there and wait.  

And wait.  

And wait. 

And nothing happens.  

He doesn’t release it.

He declared you were to die here tonight.

So, why hasn't he released it?

A muscle pulses in his jaw while his nostrils flare. Upper right elbow cocking rigid, he pulls the arrow back further—every tendon standing out against the red glow, the flames shuddering under the weight of his power.  

Again, you brace yourself, expecting to feel the heat of it lancing through your body, flesh burning from bone. And still—nothing. 

Your mouth tightens with frustration.  

“If you’re going to do it, then do it already!” you snarl, hands locking into fists.

A pause.

You wait.

With renewed fury, his eyes harden.

And back, and back, and back he pulls.

Clarity gathers.

A thousand moments stretch out in a single heartbeat—terrible ones.  

Your father shouting, striking you. The cat you accidentally killed under your hand at nine. Waking to the bloody remains of your mother and unborn sibling after touching her. Meeting the King of Curses on the dirt-packed road. The blade in the dark as Sayuri stabbed into you. Onishi’s eyes, cold and cruel. All the nightmares of your sister being violated because of your failure—and all the ones that followed.

You blink, refocusing on the man before you. Watch him hold your life in his hands and force yourself to think of everything else.

Falling asleep warm and safe next to your mother. Your sister’s smile, her words dragging you from the darkest corners of your life. Uraume’s quiet care when you were at your most vulnerable. Strolling through the shrine’s blooming garden with Ren. Ayana, riding her, the cool breeze on your face when she runs.

And still, always last.

All of Sukuna’s hands on you for the first time—the way it felt, the way you didn’t agonize over someone’s touch, his body close to yours. His hands healing you after Sayuri’s assault, and every time after. The look on his face—the fury, the concern—despite his claim to feel nothing.

The flames before you collapse, hissing and dissipating to nothing. They die out. The room returns to cool darkness, smoke lingering for a moment, then curling out the garden door and into the night. The King of Curses lowers his arms to his sides. 

You blink. Furrow your brow. Confused. Angry. Annoyed. Frustrated.

He can’t.

“I knew it,” you breathe, shifting in the bloody slick forming at your feet. “You can’t…”

You pause. Blink again. Try to tame your heart that beats too loudly.

“All these hesitations, the declaration to kill me…”

Another pause.

“You can’t do it,” you say, tilting your head gently, pitying him. “Can you?”

Sukuna says nothing, but his red eyes narrow to dangerous slits.

You take a small step forward.

“You are a hypocrite.”

Another step.

“Spineless.”

One more.

“Just like everyone you claim to be beneath you.” Your voice is quiet before it rises with the hammering pulse inside your veins. “You are fucking coward, Ryomen Sukuna!” you finish in a wild shout, teeth bared.

If ever there was a mistake you couldn’t take back, it was now.

Gone is the hesitation in his eyes, replaced only by aggression. Feet padding softly, you back away as if that look has seared into you. Seared and burned away that hesitation.

From across the room, his powerful legs and gait carry him toward you. In an instant, he barrels into you, wrenching a cry from your lungs. His lower hands seize your wrists, yanking and bending them so your fingers are tucked into the small of your back, unable to touch. 

“You are an affliction. One that should be dead a thousand times over!” he snarls, towering over you, eyes wide open as if he's finally realized something terrible.

His full weight crashes down against you as his upper right hand wraps around your throat and squeezes.

“Then why aren’t I!?” You suck down a ragged breath, fighting against the pressure.

“Quiet!”

When his hold tightens, the veins in his forearm flex and his eyes—so very dark in the dim room—lock onto yours.

“I’ll just have to crush the life out of you.”

With a violent push, you lurch forward, closing the remaining space. Grip tightening, his face dips toward yours, so near you can see the fine striations in his red irises. So close, the rings in his eyes appear endless, their depths pulling inward. His pupils darken, absorbing the silver-blue light, and in them, you see your own reflection.  

But it’s not just your face you read in that gaze. It’s everything else.  

Hatred. Anger. Hunger. Desire. Want.

The pain of wanting. A longing so consuming that your heartbeat stumbles and falls still.

Against all reason, your chin tilts upward, inviting something you can’t quite name, but you, too, feel that longing. And everything else. Every raw, visceral emotion you’ve felt these last few months burns between you like fire.

Sukuna’s grip tightens further. Your throat aches, his fingers jab in, his brow twitching with rage. It creases, hardens, then softens.

And you hate that, hate this duality between him.

Hate it.

Hate all of it.

The confusion. The hurt. The desperation. The torment. The need.

“Do it already!” Agony catches your shout coming out as a strangled hiss.

It falls quiet save for your struggling breaths for air and his heavy breathing. The King of Curses stares down at you with those void, demonic eyes of his, his weight pressing you harder into the floor.

“If we hate each other so much, then finish it!” Your glare clashes with his widening sneer. “Kill me! I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you! So release me from this cursed fucking union!”

His fingers dig deeper, harder, crueller, thumb moulding firmly against your windpipe. Darkness creeps along the edges of your vision.

Trembling, your lashes shudder. Trembling, you try to breathe.

His gaze narrows, his bare torso heaving, nostrils flaring. All four of his eyes drop to your lips.

Your mouth parts in a final, desperate attempt to inhale.

And then—

Exhale.

But it doesn’t come. It’s gone, cut off, swallowed.

A snarl rips from Sukuna's chest as he surges forward, hauling you closer, crushing you against him. The hand squeezing your throat releases, only to bury violently into your hair, fingers gripping the back of your head and yanking you to him. Your eyes widen, you tense, lips nearly brushing his, but he stops, just barely.

A moment of resistance.

Like all the other times before.

You lock eyes, faces so close, mouths parted you feel his breath mingling with yours. Your hearts pound in unison, chests heaving, panting. A small, involuntary whimper escapes your throat, and Sukuna’s jaw clenches tightly in response.

Then, madness takes over.

His mouth slams down while you push up on your toes to reach for him. The desperation, the fury, the need—it’s all-consuming. The pain in your body, the wounds, the exhaustion. Gone.

They all fade to nothing as your starving mouths finally find each other and seal together.

[worstgirlsfuture]

Don’t Call Me Friend

A fic in which you find a cynical man desperately needing medical attention

↳ Millions Knives/Reader

content warning. gender-neutral pronouns, afab reader, mild overstimulation, unprotected sex, profanity, shameless smut, slight fluff, alien genitalia, oral (m!receiving), fingering, creampie, knives has never seen a pussy in his life, probably missing some tags but it’s 8 in the am and im tired

this is a fic trade piece dedicated to @strbrmlk​! Go show them some love, they have lots of Knives content!

minors DNI

8.7k words

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[worstgirlsfuture]

I should be writing, and I should be working, but instead, my hand slipped, and somehow, I sketched Sukuna as a pouting princess kneeling in a river for the next chapter.