Laika Come Home

***

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

“Next.”

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

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

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

“What is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting.

“State your name.”

“Uraume, my Lord.”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Which is how they had gotten here.

“A virgin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

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

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

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

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

“And the latter question?”

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

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

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

“No, sir. I…”

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

So he waited.

“I killed.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed.

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

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

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

“I was seeing spirits, my Lord.”

“Dead relatives?”

“No, my Lord. Curses.”

Interesting indeed.

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

“Jujutsu…?”

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

He wanted to snap their wings.

“Come forth, Uraume.”

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

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

“Watch.”

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

“Open.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We start tomorrow.”

***

Uraume was strong.

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

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

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

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

He could get used to this.

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

Yet, there was always something there.

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

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

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

So why?

What was this restless feeling?

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

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

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

So why?

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

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

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

So, he did what he always did when displeased.

Slaughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what made Sukuna Ryomen whole.

He returned early in the morning, bloodied and buzzing.

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

And yet, the itch he sought to scratch…

“Lord Sukuna?”

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

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

“Uraume.”

“Shall I draw a bath, my Lord?”

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

Why was he on-edge like this?

Why was he off?

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

Fuck.

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

“Uraume.”

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

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

“I’m uncomfortable.”

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

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

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

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

Touch.

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

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

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

“Yes, my Lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come, woman.”

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

A large hand slapped away two smaller ones.

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

“My apologies, Lord Sukuna… I thought—”

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

He played this game sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck

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

“You did well.”

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

“Strip.”

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

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

“Lord Sukuna?”

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

“Leave my sight.”

“Lord Sukuna, let me—”

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

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

But what the fuck was wrong with him?

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

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

“You called, my Lord?”

Uraume.

“Come in… and shut the door.”

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

Uraume.

It was always Uraume.

***

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

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

What did that concubine do?

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

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

“Uraume…”

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

“I’m here, my Lord.”

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

“I’m sorry to hear that, my Lor—”

“Plagued by you.”

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

They’d fucked up.

They’d fucked up.

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

“My apologies, Lord Sukun—”

“You’ve been invading my thoughts.”

A beat.

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

“I can’t bear it any longer.”

Uraume’s head spun.

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

Was this how they’d die?

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

Why?

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

“I wish to bed you, Uraume.”

What?

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

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

“Uraume. Speak.”

“Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

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

“You are a virgin.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

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

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

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

They nodded slowly in his grasp.

“Do you wish to be bed?”

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

“Look at me.”

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

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

Fuck.

“Yes, my Lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

He was waiting for an answer.

Waiting for them.

“Yes… Sukuna.”

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

“Good. Now strip for me, Uraume.”

***

Sukuna had never seen a creature so… tantalizing.

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

But Uraume was not one of them.

They were special.

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

“Sukuna...”

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

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

But this might just ruin him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he took a half-step forward.

“You’re beautiful.”

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

“Tell me where I can touch you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to pick you up now.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Prepare?”

“Stretch your little virgin hole for my cocks.”

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

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

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

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

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

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

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

Uraume nodded against his shoulder.

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

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

Fuck.

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

This did not compare.

Why does the parched man yearn for cold water?

Because it’s delicious?

Because he needs it to live.

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Forget cooking.

He’d be feasting on them from now on.

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

But he couldn’t help himself.

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

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

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

“Sukuna…” The voice was small, winded.

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

They were wrecked.

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

He wanted to swallow them whole.

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

Commit them to memory.

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

Fuck—fuck—fuck—

“Feels weird—Sukuna…”

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

And they were keening.

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

“That’s it… let go for me.”

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

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

“Good, no?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna was dizzy with hunger.

He was being so good to them—so patient.

Surely, he deserved a reward.

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

“Sukuna—”

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

“Yes?”

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

“Stop teasing...”

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

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

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

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

“Be good and keep those legs open.”

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

They were so fucking tight.

“Focus on my lips. Relax your body.”

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

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

“Took my finger well.”

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

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

“How’s it feeling?”

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

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

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

“Trying to swallow my hand whole, huh?”

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

“Sukuna, please—”

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

“Shh… I know. I know.”

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

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

“Sukuna—”

“Uraume.”

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

“Do it properly.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh.

What a fascinating little human.

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

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

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

“Then show me.”

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

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

“I hope so.”

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

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

“I’m counting on that.”

Sukuna could never deny them.

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

Fuckfuckfuck—

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

When cockhead met cervix, Sukuna whimpered.

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

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

“Move, Sukuna.”

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

But fuck was he seeing stars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sukuna—”

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

He hummed against their neck, brows knit in concentration.

I know.

I know.

I know.

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

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

It was so wet.

So good.

So good.

So good, so good, so good—

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

Uraume’s release snuck up on him.

It knocked the wind out of his lungs.

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

And he was cumming.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t stop—”

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

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

“It’s okay.”

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

“Again.”

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

“Sukuna—”

“I told you.”

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

Just for him.

“Once I start, I can’t stop.”

***

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

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

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

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

Sukuna Ryomen was a beast.

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

It was too much.

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

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

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

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

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

“So fuckin’ tight for me.”

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

“Think you can take both now?”

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

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

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

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

“Open up for me.”

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

The tip breached their entrance, and it burned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gonna mark you up so good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spread those legs and open that mouth.”

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

Sukuna spit onto their exposed tongue.

“Behave.”

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

“So full of my seed...”

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

It was too much.

Once again, they attempted to wiggle away.

Once again, they failed.

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

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

***

Sukuna gazed down at his work of art.

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

No. His eyes were elsewhere.

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

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

They were so beautiful. Glowing.

Broken.

His little dove, with broken wings.

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

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

Complete.

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

That freckle.

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

The mark itself? His favourite colour.