Divine Intervention
✩ Sukuna & Dabura
contains sexually suggestive content, multiple partners, rough dynamics, dominance & submission themes, possessive behavior, jealousy, size kink, double penetration implication, power imbalance, voyeurism/exhibitionism tones, degradation & praise mix, aggressive aftercare, explicit language, monster anatomy, mild choking, heavy tension, biting, marking
The world forgot your name centuries ago.
You preferred it that way.
Deep in an overgrown valley, far from human stupidity and sorcerer politics, you kept a tiny shrine. Just moss-coated stone, swaying lilies on the lake, and enough silence to drown an entire war. Peace. Blessed, beautiful peace.
Or…it was peace.
Until certain men started treating your sanctuary like it was some kind of cursed Airbnb.
Which is exactly why you opened your eyes the night someone bled on your doorstep.
You didn’t even bother rising at first, you just sensed it—an intruder crouched at the red torii, aura fractured, heartbeat too calm for someone dying. Only one idiot you knew perfectly matched that contradiction.
“Dabura Karaba,” you sighed, still lying sideways on your tatami. “If you die on my floor, I’ll throw you into the lake myself.”
A low voice answered, raspy with pain: “…Good evening to you too.”
You finally sat up, sliding the shoji open with a flick of your finger. Moonlight spilled over him—blood streaked down his side, his expression painfully neutral, as if apologizing for inconveniencing your night.
He bowed slightly. The bow you hated, because it always meant he was hurt. “May I…come in?”
“Only because you ask nicely,” you muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him in by force anyway. Warm blood hit your wrist. “What happened?”
He blinked, slow. “I was ambushed.”
“By?”
“Someone loud. And annoying.” A beat. “…Your favorite type, apparently.”
You shot him a flat look. His lips barely twitched.
You patched him up with the same ease you would arrange flowers. He watched you with that annoyingly calm gaze the whole time, silent but overflowing with unspoken thanks.
When you wiped the last smear of blood from his jaw, he murmured, “I knew you were hiding out here. I wasn’t sure you’d let me in again.”
You shrugged. “I like quiet, not solitude. And you don’t disturb anything.”
A breath of something warm passed between you.
Which, naturally, was the exact moment the air cracked open outside.
Footsteps. Heavy, arrogant, familiar. Then a scoff.
“Oh, wonderful.” you muttered. “The universe sends me a migraine.”
Dabura closed his eyes knowingly. “You really should put up a boundary.”
“I did. He bites through them.”
The door slid open without permission.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a storm that learned how to smirk. Muscles cut from violence, eyes gleaming with that feral delight he only got when inconveniencing you personally.
“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes landing on Dabura slumped by your knee. “I leave you alone for a century and you start collecting strays.”
Your jaw clenched. “Get off my property.”
Sukuna stepped inside anyway, the tatami whining under his weight. His gaze dropped to Dabura’s bandaged ribs. “Oh? You’re bleeding on her floor? How brave.” He clicked his tongue. “She hates that.”
“I cleaned it,” Dabura said calmly, not bothering to look up.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly. Then laughed. “Shit, you’re so boring. How does she tolerate you?”
You stood up, palm flat on Sukuna’s chest, pushing him back even though your strength barely mattered. “Why are you here?”
He leaned into your touch shamelessly. “To pay a visit.”
“No.”
“To bother you.”
“No.”
His grin sharpened. “…To fuck you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Dabura exhaled through his nose, which for him was the equivalent of a dramatic eye-roll.
Sukuna’s eyes flicked down. “You again. Why are you always here when I want her alone?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Why are you always here when she doesn’t?”
You choked back a laugh. Sukuna did not. “Listen carefully, little stone statue,” Sukuna said, stepping closer. “She and I have unfinished business.”
“She and I,” Dabura replied, just as soft, “have a peaceful house. You’re the disturbance.”
Sukuna froze. His jaw ticked. “No one calls me that.”
“I just did.”
The silence was electric. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Both of you shut up.”
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “He’s getting bolder. Is it because you let him stay here? Hm?” He leaned close to your ear, voice low and wicked. “Or because you let him sleep in that little room near yours?”
Your pulse spiked. Dabura’s eyes sharpened, barely—like a blade unsheathed an inch.
“You’re injured,” he said to Sukuna. “Your right shoulder.”
Sukuna glared at him. “Don’t analyze me.”
“I’m not. I’m stating facts so she doesn’t waste time on you.”
“Oh, look at that,” you muttered, “my two worst decisions talking.”
Sukuna stepped closer, crowding you. “I don’t mind sharing your shrine,” he murmured. “But I won’t be polite about it.”
“You’ve never been polite in your life.”
Dabura rose to his feet despite the pain. “You’re disturbing her peace,” he said.
“And?”
“And she lets me stay because I don’t.” Dabura added.
Sukuna bared his teeth. “Are you implying she prefers you?”
“I’m implying,” Dabura replied, “that she doesn’t prefer noise.”
You burst out laughing before you could stop yourself.
Sukuna snapped his attention to you. “Oh? You’re laughing at him now?”
“No,” you said, wiping your eyes, “I’m laughing because the two of you are ancient terrors of the world and somehow behave like jealous teenagers.”
Sukuna blinked. Dabura looked away, a faint flush coloring his ears.
You stepped between them, hands on both chests—one calm, one heaving with irritation. “Listen carefully,” you said. “I took Dabura in because he needed shelter.”
Your fingers slid up Sukuna’s collarbone. “And you..I tolerate because you’re too stubborn to die.”
Sukuna grinned. Dabura sighed. You continued: “If either of you wants to cause trouble in my shrine, at least do it quietly.”
Sukuna leaned in, breath brushing your lips. “Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, “I can be very, very quiet when I want to.”
Behind you, Dabura’s dry voice cut in, “That’s a lie.”
You snorted again.
Sukuna’s glare sharpened. “Say that again.”
Dabura looked at him, “You’re loud.”
“LOUD—?!”
You shoved your palm over Sukuna’s mouth. “Enough,” you hissed.
He licked your hand. You jerked it back. “Disgusting.”
“Delicious,” he corrected.
Dabura muttered, “This is exhausting.”
You finally exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Both of you,” you said, “sit down.”
Sukuna smirked. Dabura obeyed immediately.
And you realized—you might actually be in hell.
But tonight?
Tonight the quiet shrine in the middle of nowhere was full of tension, heat, wounded gods, and the exact kind of trouble you secretly lived for.
And peace, unfortunately, would have to wait.
“Come with me,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over Dabura’s wrist. “I’ll clean it fully, sweetheart.”
The word slipped out naturally, warm, familiar, the way you always said it when he looked more hurt than he admitted.
Dabura didn’t even blink. He just nodded, eyes softening like he’d been waiting for you to take charge.
Behind you, from the kitchen, came the unmistakable crunch of bone. You didn’t bother turning. “Sukuna, that was wrapped for a reason.”
A low grunt. “He shouldn’t taste this good if you didn’t want me to eat him.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you muttered, tugging Dabura gently toward the inner room.
“…I’m not—” Another crunch. “Okay, maybe I am.”
Dabura followed quietly, steps steady despite his wounds. He didn’t complain, didn’t posture. He never did. That’s what you liked about him—he let you handle him without ego.
You sat him down on the wooden floor beside your futon, kneeling between his knees as you peeled away the last blood-soaked wrap.
He winced, not dramatically, just a subtle tightening of the jaw.
You looked up at him. “Tell me if it stings.”
“It will,” he said, deadpan. “You never dab anything. You scrub.”
You snorted. “Maybe I enjoy hearing you hiss a little.”
His eyes flicked down to yours. “I know,” he said softly.
Something warm pulled in your chest. Another crunch echoed from the kitchen. “For fuck’s sake,” Sukuna growled. “You’re petting him now? Really?”
“I am treating a wound,” you called back.
“Looks like petting.”
Dabura blinked once, then murmured in the same calm tone he always used when insulting Sukuna, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
A wooden spoon clattered against your counter as Sukuna choked on outrage. “I am not jealous—”
“Shh,” you interrupted, pressing a fresh cloth to Dabura’s side. He sucked in a sharp breath and your hand immediately steadied. “Sorry, babe.” Your thumb brushed slow, soothing circles into his skin. “Almost done.”
He watched you like you were something holy. Something safe.
“It’s fine,” Dabura whispered. “Your hands never hurt.”
Behind you came a disgruntled scoff. “Oh, Come on—”
You held up one finger without looking back. “I swear to the heavens, Sukuna—make one more noise and I’ll kick you into the lake to cool off.”
Silence.
Dabura’s breath eased. He lowered his head slightly, just enough that his forehead hovered inches from yours—asking without asking.
You leaned in and let your foreheads touch, feeling the grounding calm of him seep into you.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I always feel better when you’re the one caring for me.”
Your chest tightened. “Good,” you said softly. “Because you’re staying here until you recover.”
He nodded once. Obedient, trusting, comfortable.
From the kitchen, Sukuna muttered under his breath, “I hate both of you.”
You smiled. Dabura didn’t. But his hand slid over yours, slow and warm and deliberate.
He sat down near the kitchen threshold, water dripping from his hair and tracing the deep lines of markings across his bare chest. The horns framed his face like something born out of old myth—dangerous, regal, and very obviously not intimidated by the King of Curses leaning against your counter.
Sukuna eyed him up and down with an expression halfway between amusement and disgust.
“Horns,” he scoffed. “Really? You like horns now?”
Dabura didn’t even bother lifting his head. “Wow.”
Flat. Perfectly deadpan. An answer meant to irritate Sukuna purely by refusing to react.
You stepped behind Dabura and wrapped a towel over his wet hair, ruffling it with deliberate affection, like handling an oversized, battle-scarred dog who only lets you manhandle him.
“Yeah,” you said lazily, glancing back at Sukuna. “I can hold onto them when I ride him.”
Dabura’s breath hitched but only faintly. His mouth almost twitched upward, that near-smile he never showed anyone except you. He leaned subtly into your hands as you towel-dried his hair, head lowering so you didn’t have to reach.
His hand rose without hesitation, settling warm and confident on your thigh. You didn’t stop him.
Sukuna, however, snapped to attention like someone just spit on his throne. “Tch.”
A sharp, disgusted sound—masking something else entirely.
You rubbed Dabura’s hair one last time, intentionally rough, pushing it back from his forehead just to tease him. He lowered his gaze, lashes half-mast, and squeezed your thigh once—a quiet, controlled acknowledgement of you.
Sukuna’s aura spiked so sharply the air thickened. “You dare to touch her in front of me?” he growled, stepping away from the counter.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t even look at him.
He kept his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing once along your skin like a claim he didn’t need to voice.
You finally turned toward Sukuna, face blank. “…Are you stupid?”
Sukuna’s eyes widened—just a fraction. You had seen that look before: the moment his pride took a direct hit.
A slow, threatening smile curled on his mouth. “Say that again.”
“No,” you said. “You heard me the first time.”
Dabura’s voice slid into the tension, low and quiet, “She is not yours.”
Sukuna snapped his attention back to him instantly. “Then what makes you think she’s yours?”
Dabura finally looked up. Eyes sharp as a blade kept in perfect condition. “…She put her hands on me,” he said, tone even. “You can imitate power, Sukuna. You can’t imitate being chosen.”
Sukuna’s smile vanished.
Your shrine fell silent. You placed your hand over Dabura’s, still on your thigh, and squeezed once.
Sukuna’s breath stuttered. Just enough for you to notice. “Touch her again,” Sukuna murmured, voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “and I’ll remove your arm.”
Dabura didn’t blink. “I believe she would remove yours first.”
You smirked.
Because both of them were right. And neither of them could handle it.
You stood up from beside Dabura, his hand sliding from your thigh as you moved. Sukuna’s eyes followed you like a predator tracking movement, jaw ticking, shoulders tense.
You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him. Then you poked his chest. Hard. “Let’s review,” you said calmly.
“One: you kicked my door in.” Poke. Sukuna’s eyebrow twitched.
“Two: you annoyed me.” Another poke.
His aura flared hot, warning, instinctive but you didn’t stop.
“Three: you mocked the horns I like.” Poke. His lip curled.
“And four,” you stepped even closer, head tilted, “you ate my leftover sorcerer.”
Sukuna sneered. “He was stale.”
“That is NOT the point.”
Sukuna leaned down, eyes narrowing, voice low and sharp as broken bone. “You’re awfully brave today.”
Behind you, Dabura shifted slightly, not threateningly, not impulsively, just ready. Unbothered, observing.
The still water to Sukuna’s wildfire.
You ignored Sukuna’s attempt at intimidation completely.
“So,” you said, poking his chest one last time, “What are you doing here?”
His grin faltered. Not much. Just enough that you caught it. He hated being asked that. Hated needing a reason. Hated that you demanded one.
His fingers curled at his sides. “…Visiting,” he growled.
“Wrong answer.”
A pause. His eyes darkened.
“Checking on you,” he snapped, then immediately scowled as if furious with himself for saying it out loud.
Dabura exhaled through his nose—barely audible, but absolutely judgmental.
Sukuna glared past you at him. “What was that?”
Dabura, perfectly calm, “Nothing.”
You turned your head slightly. “That sounded like something.”
“It wasn’t,” Dabura said flatly.
Which only irritated Sukuna more, because Dabura didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bow his head, didn’t show an ounce of fear.
Sukuna returned his attention to you, shoulders tight, expression somewhere between frustration, jealousy, and refusal.
He stepped closer, chest brushing your fingertip. “You want a reason?” he asked, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp. “Fine.”
His eyes lingered on your lips. Then your throat. Then the hand you’d just laid on Dabura minutes earlier.
“I came,” he said quietly, “because you’ve been letting someone else get too close.”
Dabura’s gaze sharpened. Yours did too. Sukuna continued, teeth bared in a half-snarl, half-confession he didn’t want to make, “And it pisses me off.”
“Does it?” you smirked, chin tilting up.
His grin widened into something wicked. “Yeah,” he said, voice dropping low, “it does.”
“Mhm.”
You dragged your gaze slowly over his features, purposefully unimpressed.
“Too bad you’re not the only big guy with good features.”
His smile vanished. “What?”
You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Don’t look at me like that. Dabura has horns.”
Sukuna’s face contorted. “Yes! He has horns, woman.”
You clicked your tongue. “Yeah. Horns. A third eye. Funny markings. Don’t act like you don’t have four eyes, four arms, and funny markings too.”
Sukuna opened his mouth—then paused. Because you were right. Painfully right.
You stepped even closer, voice dropping into a taunting whisper. “I have a type.”
Behind you, Dabura spoke, tone flat, perfectly timed, as if dissecting the situation with cold logic: “She likes monsters.”
Sukuna snapped toward him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Dabura blinked slowly. “I noticed.”
Your smirk deepened.
Sukuna dragged his gaze back to you, jaw flexing, teeth grinding together as he tried to process being compared to someone else.
“You’re choosing him because he has accessories?” Sukuna demanded, gesturing vaguely at Dabura’s horns like they were a personal insult. “This is ridiculous. I’m the stronger one. The more dangerous one. The more—”
You interrupted, tapping his chest twice. “Sukuna. Sweetheart. Strength was never the deciding factor.”
Dabura murmured under his breath: “She likes calm.”
Sukuna snapped, “Be quiet.”
You raised a brow at Sukuna. “…You hear how loud you are right now?”
He froze. Because yes—he was loud. Again. And Dabura wasn’t even sweating.
He sat there shirtless, wet hair dripping, horns gleaming, quietly existing, and somehow that alone was undermining the King of Curses.
You stepped back from Sukuna just enough to look him in the eyes. “You fit my type.” You gestured to Dabura without looking. “So does he.”
Sukuna’s expression darkened into something primal, territorial, and deeply offended. “So I’m competing with that?” he spat.
Dabura tilted his head. “You approached her. Not me.”
Sukuna growled, “I’ll tear your horns off.”
You sighed. “You can eat yourselves alive,” you said, brushing past Sukuna’s shoulder like he wasn’t the most feared curse to ever exist. “I’m going to sleep.”
Silence cracked through the shrine.
Neither man moved.
You didn’t look back—just slid your door open and disappeared into your room, leaving them both standing in your kitchen like two disasters you refused to babysit another second.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Outside? War.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly, like someone had just stolen the punchline he prepared. “She did not just—”
Dabura rose to his feet, water still dripping from his hair, towel sliding off one broad shoulder. “Yes. She did.”
Sukuna turned on him immediately. “Did I ask you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you speaking?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Because you won’t stop.”
Sukuna scoffed, stepping closer, aura snarling around him. “You think I’m going to let her walk away after that?”
“You’re not letting her do anything,” Dabura said flatly. “She chose to leave.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched. He glanced toward your closed door—once, fast, like he wanted to tear it off its hinges.
But he didn’t move. Because if he followed you now, after you dismissed him?
That would mean he was obeying you. Instead he growled, “She thinks she can just go to sleep while we’re—”
“Yes,” Dabura said. “Because she’s tired.”
Sukuna whipped around, rage tightening his expression. “Tired of what?”
Dabura blinked slowly, that quiet patience that always made Sukuna look more unhinged by comparison. “Of you.”
Sukuna’s hand twitched—ready to summon claws, tear something, destroy anything that wasn’t you. And still—He didn’t go after you. He didn’t dare. So instead he spat, “Fine. Let her sleep.”
Dabura stood there, chest rising slow, controlled.
Sukuna glared. After a long moment, he snarled: “She better not be sleeping on you.”
Dabura didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to.
The quiet confidence in his posture said everything.
Sukuna stalked out into your garden like a banished storm, the earth cracking faintly under his steps, the koi scattering as if they knew better than to swim near him when he was sulking.
Good. Let him cool down outside.
Inside your room, the silence felt like warm silk. A soft knock tapped on your doorframe. “…May I come in?”
You didn’t have to sense him. His calm aura was unmistakable.
“Yeah,” you sighed, shifting the blanket up for him. “But don’t bleed on my sheets.”
Dabura stepped in with that effortless, quiet strength of his. He moved with a grace that made the entire shrine feel smaller.
“And don’t poke my eye out either,” you added.
He huffed something that might actually qualify as a laugh.
“I would never.”
You rolled your eyes but lifted the blanket anyway. He slid onto the futon beside you, careful, fitting his body around yours like he’d memorized the shape of sleeping next to you.
He wasn’t warm like Sukuna, who radiated heat like a furnace.
Dabura ran cooler—comfortable and solid.
You melted into him instantly. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you subtly closer. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then you leaned up to kiss his jaw, feeling it tense under your lips.
You felt more than heard the quiet vibration in his chest. Not a purr. Just contentment restrained by dignity.
Outside, a rock cracked under Sukuna’s heel. Dabura’s lips brushed your hair. “He’s so annoyed,” Dabura whispered, amusement feathering his tone.
“Yes he is,” you whispered back, snickering into his collarbone.
A pause. Then, softer: “It’s amusing,” Dabura murmured. “Seeing him so emotional.”
“It is.” You grinned into his skin. “But he’s hot when he’s mad.”
Dabura exhaled silently—the closest he ever got to laughing aloud. “That too,” he whispered.
You both shook with silent laughter and outside in the garden, Sukuna snapped a stalk of bamboo clean in half.
You buried your face more against Dabura’s throat.
He held you tighter, fingers stroking the back of your shoulder with slow, steady movements, completely unbothered by the King of Curses pacing angrily outside your sanctuary like a jealous beast.
The door slammed open so hard the frame protested.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a calamity, jaw clenched so tight a vein stood out along his neck, the air around him vibrating with the kind of rage only wounded pride could summon.
“Move over,” he snapped, voice low and dangerous. “I am not doing this.”
You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t.
Instead you snickered and buried your face deeper into Dabura’s neck, teeth grazing his skin in a playful bite meant solely to make the situation worse.
It worked.
Dabura inhaled quietly, muscles shifting under you, the faintest curl of a smile threatening his normally stoic mouth.
Sukuna looked like he might spontaneously combust. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he snarled, stepping fully into the room.
Dabura lifted his head just slightly, eyes half-lidded, voice soft but not submissive in the slightest. “She wishes to sleep.”
Sukuna barked a laugh. “Oh, she wishes to—? Listen to me, you horned ornament—”
You cut him off by tightening your hold on Dabura’s shoulders and biting him again. Dabura exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.
Sukuna’s eye twitched so violently it could’ve counted as a separate attack technique. “Are you taunting me?” he demanded.
You finally lifted your head from Dabura’s neck, giving Sukuna the laziest smirk you could muster.
“I would never,” you lied.
Sukuna took one long step toward the bed, aura crackling.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just tightened his arm around you slightly, subtle but unmistakably protective.
Sukuna’s voice dropped even lower. “Move over,” he repeated, each syllable vibrating with restrained violence. “I’m not watching you cling to him like that.”
You raised a brow. “You watching is a you problem.”
“It’s everyone’s problem,” Sukuna shot back.
Dabura murmured, quiet as a blade sliding into its sheath: “You are welcome to sit. Not to demand.”
Sukuna’s glare could have shattered stone. But Dabura stayed calm, steady, warm at your back—everything Sukuna wasn’t in this moment.
You stretched out luxuriously against Dabura, just to drive the point home.
Sukuna growled. “Fine,” he bit out. “I’m getting in that bed.”
You blinked. Dabura blinked. Sukuna kicked off his sandals and climbed in on the opposite side of you with the worst attitude known to mankind.
He glared at you. Then at Dabura. Then at the blanket you refused to share. “Move,” Sukuna demanded.
“No,” you and Dabura said simultaneously.
Sukuna clenched his jaw so hard it cracked. And somehow—somehow—that was still not the worst part.
The worst part was that he stayed.
You kissed Dabura’s cheek, a soft brush of lips that barely registered on his skin but burned in Sukuna’s peripheral vision.
Then you stretched out onto your back like a queen entertaining herself with dangerous pets, sighing dramatically.
“Whimsical and fun,” you mocked aloud, voice syrupy with fake wonder.
Sukuna glared.
You turned your head toward him, fingers lazily sliding over his chest—over ink, muscle and heat.
“I’m the luckiest woman alive,” you purred, eyes half-lidded. “Please just never leave my bed again.”
Sukuna looked like he was physically restraining himself from shoving you down and proving a point. Instead, he muttered: “Tch.”
You rolled to your side to face him fully.
Behind you, Dabura shifted closer with silent precision, his bare chest brushing your back, one arm slipping around your lower waist like he’d claimed it before you even asked.
The weight of him behind you, cooler than Sukuna, but solid, grounding, ever-present—felt deliberate. Like he was reminding you he was still here.
Sukuna’s voice broke through, low and lethal: “If he touches my dick, I bite your head off.”
You smirked. “Mine? Why mine?” you asked sweetly, tracing the edge of his jaw with one finger, then dragging it slowly down the markings on his neck. “I’d love to watch you touch each other.”
Sukuna growled. A real sound, deep in his chest. “No.”
You leaned closer, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw, voice a whisper of heat against his skin. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t like it.”
Behind you, Dabura’s hand flexed. Then slowly, very slowly—tightened on your waist.
“Oh?” You turned your head just slightly, back still pressed to his chest. “You’d like that too, huh?”
Dabura huffed something close to a laugh, more breath than voice but his hand did begin to slide lower across your stomach.
You felt every inch of it.
Sukuna watched it happen with fury burning in every line of his face. “I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t,” you whispered.
Dabura’s palm skimmed lower, just under your navel now. A pause. A test. You tilted your hips slightly back into him—permission without a word.
He breathed out slowly behind you.
Sukuna was fuming—silent now, jaw locked, one hand flexing on the sheets like he was seconds from tearing through both of you just to reassert his place in the room.
You smiled against Sukuna’s neck. “Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I won’t let him touch you.”
“Fucking better not,” he growled, eyes locked on Dabura’s hand.
Dabura, behind you, only chuckled low in your ear.
His hand moved slowly over your stomach, his palm cold, fingertips tracing lines with perfect control. He touched like he thought ahead, like he already knew how your body would react.
No fumbling. No nerves. Just quiet, measured possession.
Your breath hitched once. That was all it took to encourage him further. His hand trailed lower. Not greedy. Not impatient. Just claiming.
And while he explored, your own hand drifted over Sukuna’s chest—because he was there, glaring silently, shirtless and carved like a curse weapon, muscles flexing with tension.
He didn’t say anything at first. Let you touch him. Let your fingers map the ridges of his chest, his neck, the ink that wrapped down his arms.
You admired all of him—the impossible height, the mass of four arms coiled like restrained violence, the marks that pulsed with cursed energy beneath your palm.
The sheer size of him. The pressure of being near him.
And, of course, his problems hidden under that hakama, both of which you were fully aware of, fully familiar with, and fully imagining at the same time Dabura’s hand slid lower.
Sukuna didn’t even look at you. Not at first. He just turned his back, throwing the blanket slightly off as he rolled to face the wall like a sulking titan. Like some massive, furious, scolded child who didn’t want you to see how affected he really was.
You grinned.
Then you let go of Dabura’s wrist and leaned over, pressing yourself to Sukuna’s back. Your leg curved around his thigh. Your arm slid over his waist and your hand cupped his crotch.
You squeezed. Just once. Firm and slow. He jerked slightly, jaw clenching, muscles twitching. “You know, Sukuna…” you purred in his ear, lips ghosting the edge of his neck, “Dabura has a split tongue.”
Silence. Tense. Hot. Then your tone dipped into a taunt:
“Wouldn’t you like that?”
Behind you, Dabura exhaled faintly—still touching you, still calm, still present.
Sukuna’s hands gripped the bedding like he might rip straight through the floor. His voice, when it came, was low and violent: “Get your hand off me.”
You smiled into his skin. “Why? You’re hard.”
His back tensed more. All four arms flexed once.
“And you’re jealous,” you whispered.
“I am not jealous,” he growled.
You dragged your hand again—slow, with just enough pressure to feel him twitch. He was already halfway there. And you knew it. “You’d let him suck you off,” you whispered, biting his shoulder lightly. “If I told you to.”
“No,” Sukuna snarled—but it cracked. Just a little.
Dabura, behind you, murmured with maddening calm: “If she told you to, you would.”
You choked on a laugh.
Sukuna shot up in bed, turning his head toward you both with a snarl but he didn’t shove you off. Didn’t push Dabura away.
He just sat there—muscles trembling, cocks straining under your palm, and refusing to admit how badly he wanted all of it.
The heat in the room was thick now. Not just from bodies, but from the raw imbalance of power—the way you lay on your side, both hands wrapped around Sukuna’s twin cocks, stroking slow, uneven, teasing.
The way Dabura’s chest pressed flush against your back, both of his arms coiled around your middle, hands exploring your skin like he was reading scripture he already memorized.
Sukuna was shaking. Not from weakness.
From rage. From the humiliation of this, being pleasured by you while watched by another man. Not just watched—spoken to. Directed. Analyzed.
He was on his side, facing you, panting through his teeth like every second of this was killing him.
Dabura’s voice, low and soft behind you, brushed your ear like silk-laced poison. “Go slower,” he murmured, guiding your wrists with light pressure.
“Not too tight—he likes control, but he breaks when it’s taken from him.”
You exhaled a breathless laugh, licking your bottom lip.
Sukuna’s teeth were bared. “You think I’ll let this—”
“You already are,” Dabura cut in smoothly.
Your grip around Sukuna’s cocks shifted—just the way Dabura instructed. He twitched in your hands.
“See?” Dabura whispered. “He hates this.”
You smiled. “And that’s what makes it so fun.”
Sukuna snarled, jaw flexing hard enough to crack. Dabura kissed the back of your shoulder. His voice dipped lower, filthy but still calm. Almost clinical.
“Stroke the bottom one slower,” he whispered, fingers sliding over your navel now, dipping lower. “He’s more sensitive there. It drives him mad.”
You obeyed.
Sukuna groaned—a raw, furious sound like something scraped from the pit of his throat.
He wanted to throw you down, dominate you, erase Dabura’s presence entirely.
But your hands stayed wrapped around him. And Dabura’s voice stayed in your ear. “He’s close already,” Dabura murmured. “All that pride, and nothing to show for it.”
Sukuna was trembling now. “Shut the fuck up—”
Dabura didn’t stop. “Poor thing,” he whispered over your skin, fingers now between your thighs, barely touching. “You want me to help?”
Sukuna glared at him with murder in his eyes.
And Dabura—calm, dangerous, fully hard now against your ass, held that stare over your shoulder and asked:
“You want me to hold her open for you?”
A beat.
“Would that help?” His tone stayed polite. Too polite. “Would that make it easier, Ryomen Sukuna?”
Sukuna snapped. Not forward. Back. He grabbed your wrist, yanked your hands off his cocks with a growl that shook the walls. His claws dug into the sheets, teeth gritted so hard they ached.
“Touch me again,” he snarled, eyes glowing, “and I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll forget his name.”
Dabura chuckled behind you. “Come up, lovely,” he said softly.
There was no force in it—just certainty.
He pushed himself up and settled back against the headboard, posture relaxed, confident, entirely in control. When he pulled you over his lap, it felt natural, inevitable. Your back pressed to his chest, his legs spreading slightly to make room.
For Sukuna. Just in case.
Dabura adjusted you with deliberate care, guiding your thighs over his own, grounding you there like you belonged. One hand slid under your thigh, steady and warm; the other stayed possessive and slow, reminding you exactly where you were.
You exhaled, breath hitching despite yourself. Dabura didn’t rush. He never did.
“My offer stands,” he said calmly, eyes lifting to Sukuna over your shoulder.
Sukuna hadn’t moved. He was rigid, coiled, eyes burning as he watched Dabura arrange you like something precious and dangerous at the same time. Every line of his body screamed restraint—rage sharpened by want.
Dabura’s thumb traced a slow, maddening line, voice dipping just enough to be cruel. “You want to sulk,” he continued evenly, “or you want your ego back?”
Silence stretched. Sukuna’s jaw flexed. His teeth ground together. “You think this is about my ego?” he snarled.
Dabura hummed thoughtfully, fingers never stopping. “No,” he said. “I think it’s about control.”
Your head tipped back slightly against Dabura’s shoulder. You smiled. “And you hate losing it,” you murmured toward Sukuna.
That did it.
Sukuna came closer, presence flooding the room again, heat rolling off him in waves. He loomed there, furious and magnificent, eyes flicking between Dabura’s hand, your expression, the way you sat so comfortably claimed.
“You’re enjoying this,” he growled at you.
“Immensely,” you replied.
Dabura’s arm tightened subtly around you, protective and provocative all at once.
“She invited you,” he said to Sukuna, tone almost kind. “I’m simply…accommodating.”
Sukuna laughed once. “You don’t accommodate,” he said. “You provoke.”
Dabura finally smiled. “Only when it works.”
Dabura’s arm around your waist held you steady as he slid two fingers into you, firm but slow—like a man unbothered by anything, not even the furious legend standing three feet away. His palm curved perfectly between your thighs, guiding the movement like a ritual.
Your breath hitched. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth parting, lashes fluttering.
And the whole time? You never broke eye contact with Sukuna.
Face locked in a mixture of rage, need, and disbelief that you were letting someone else do this while he watched.
You didn’t flinch. You just reached out and grabbed him.
One of them.
His breath caught. His whole body jerked once like something sharp had struck through his spine.
“Get between my legs,” you said flatly.
A command. Not a request. For a moment, he didn’t move—too many thoughts crashing through the warped temple of his pride.
Then, slowly, furiously, he leaned forward and of course, the first thing this stupid man did was threaten. His eyes, glowing and violent, locked onto Dabura like he might tear out his throat for breathing the same air as you.
Dabura didn’t even blink.
He just pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, keeping his grip firm on your waist—then reached over with the most casual shit-eating grin you’d ever seen, and slid those same fingers straight into Sukuna’s mouth.
“Taste what you miss.”
Silence. Sukuna froze. His jaw flexed. He glared at Dabura like he might kill him in nine ways and still bring him back for a tenth. He didn’t suck. Didn’t bite. Just glared and gave you the filthiest, most betrayed side-eye with all four eyes.
You choked on a laugh.
“Oh? No?” Dabura said, voice mock-polite. His fingers glistened in the low light. “What a shame.”
He licked them clean. Slowly. Still holding direct eye contact with Sukuna.
Sukuna twitched like he might detonate.
Your hand squeezed his cock once. “Poor thing,” you murmured. “Outnumbered again.”
Sukuna’s hands slammed into the mattress on either side of your legs, caging you in, eyes locked on Dabura as if trying to set him on fire by will alone. “You think I’ll let you play with me like this?” he growled.
“No,” you purred.
Dabura’s hands slid to your thighs. He opened your legs wider for him.
The movement was deliberate enough that Sukuna felt it like a challenge. Like an invitation he didn’t want—but absolutely couldn’t refuse.
Sukuna looked up at you with the most offended, betrayed expression you’d ever seen on an ancient curse. All four eyes burning with accusation.
A silent, how dare you.
And still—He knelt between your legs. “I will kill you both,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked, already losing.
“Amazing,” Dabura replied dryly, entirely unimpressed.
He adjusted you again, tilting you just enough, just cruelly enough, to make Sukuna’s breath hitch. One hand firm at your hip, the other guiding without asking.
“Stay with the top one,” Dabura said softly, sweet as poison.
Sukuna growled, lining himself up, shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact. “I will destroy this bed,” he snarled at you. “And you.” Then his gaze snapped to Dabura. “And you will regret this.”
Dabura smiled. “That’s fine.”
Then he pushed you forward. Just enough.
Your breath broke into a moan before you could stop it. Sukuna answered with a rough groan of his own, teeth bared, body going taut beneath your hands like he was hanging on by instinct alone.
Dabura’s grip tightened—satisfied. Not jealous. Watching. For now.
“You’re unbearable,” Sukuna hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re welcome,” Dabura murmured.
You were caught between them, pulse racing, fully aware that this was a mistake, a war crime, and the best decision you’d made in centuries.
It felt criminally good.
Sukuna had you fully caged between his four arms, hips slamming into you with brutal rhythm, bracing himself with one set of hands gripping the headboard—splintering it by degrees—and the other slipping possessively to your thighs.
He shoved Dabura’s hands aside like he was reclaiming you inch by inch.
Dabura didn’t argue. Didn’t fight it.
He just wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, holding you there—like he had no intention of letting go, no matter how hard Sukuna fucked you forward into him.
You felt every inch of both of them.
Sukuna’s rhythm was punishing.
And Dabura—he breathed quietly, every inhale brushing warm against your ear, every exhale timed perfectly with the way your body ground back against the obvious hardness pinned under you. He didn’t move. Just let it happen.
Sukuna’s bottom cock, caught between you and Dabura’s lap, slid helplessly between your bodies—completely useless in the position.
It twitched once, trapped, frustrated, hot as hell and utterly denied.
Dabura felt it. Of course he did.
You moaned, head dropping back into his shoulder, breath ragged. Sukuna growled, low and violent, his fingers bruising your thighs now. “Fuck—you’re the one making it worse,” he snarled at Dabura. “She’s rubbing on me because of you.”
Dabura let out a soft, maddening sound—half a laugh, half something filthier. “Not my fault you’re built inefficiently,” he murmured.
“You want me to tear that smirk off your face?”
“You’d have to pull out first,” Dabura said smoothly. “And we both know you won’t.”
You gasped at that—whether from Sukuna’s thrust, or the vicious tension between them, you didn’t even know.
Sukuna slammed in deeper, teeth gritted, jaw clenched like he was hanging on to his sanity by seconds.
Dabura held you tighter. His mouth brushed your neck. “You’re so good like this,” he whispered, just for you. “Soft and wrecked. You should see yourself.”
You whimpered.
Sukuna snapped. One hand left the headboard and grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you to look forward—at him. “You look at me when you fall apart,” he snarled. “Not him.”
Dabura smirked, lips pressed against your shoulder, utterly unbothered. “That’s not what she was doing a minute ago.”
“Keep talking,” Sukuna growled, rhythm brutal again. “I’ll make you watch her come all over me.”
Dabura’s fingers brushed lower. “Maybe I’ll make her do it first.” His voice was soft. Too soft. “Let me take care of you too.”
He said it with that same calm authority he used for killing—low and deadly sweet—like the idea of pleasuring Sukuna wasn’t terrifying, but mildly amusing.
Sukuna snarled under his breath, still buried inside you, all four arms bracing or gripping or trembling from the sheer violence of his own restraint.
But Dabura didn’t wait for permission. He never needed it.
One of his hands slid down between your thighs, right where Sukuna was thrusting into you and found your clit with surgical precision. The pressure was slow, perfect, maddening.
You twitched in his lap. Sukuna groaned through gritted teeth.
Dabura’s cock, not human in the slightest—long, ridged, alien in its movement—shifted beneath you and slid lower. Around. Forward.
It coiled around Sukuna’s lower cock, slick and smooth and deliberate, wrapping and twisting in perfect rhythm with your movement.
Sukuna shuddered.
He looked down in disbelief as Dabura jerked him off—without touching him, just using his own strange, pulsing body. The way his cock slid against Sukuna’s length was obscene—slow, teasing, designed to drive him insane.
“You—” Sukuna gasped.
Dabura kissed your neck like it was nothing. “You’re doing good,” he whispered—to Sukuna.
Smug. Deadly. Completely in control.
“Keep that pace,” Dabura murmured, his fingers circling your clit with slow, brutal confidence. “Just like that. She’s so close, can’t you feel it?”
Sukuna growled but his hips stuttered. Because he could.
Dabura’s cock twisted tighter. You whimpered. “She clenches when you angle left,” Dabura added, voice lower. “There. You feel that?”
Sukuna bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll come first.”
You cried out, torn between them, devoured between violence and control. Sukuna slammed deeper, groaning, head dropping forward. And Dabura just whispered, “Make her finish, Sukuna.”
Your body arched.
“Right on your cock. Come on.” He added.
Sukuna growled through his teeth—“Fucking hell—”
Dabura’s grip tightened. Their rhythm matched.
Your breath shattered. You cried out, shaking, as Sukuna followed you into it, choking on a moan, his jaw locked and entire body wracked with the kind of climax he’d never admit broke him a little.
Dabura sighed like he’d just cleaned up someone else’s mess.
Dabura slid back just enough to free himself from the chaos, calm even as Sukuna’s release streaked across him—warm, messy proof of what he’d just orchestrated.
He didn’t rush. He never rushed.
He lined himself up with quiet precision as Sukuna finally pulled away from you, breath ragged, eyes burning, both of them still shaking from what they’d just been dragged through.
“Won’t be long, lovely,” Dabura breathed, voice low and intimate, fingers adjusting you with deliberate care.
You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast. “You close already?” you whispered.
“I am.”
That honesty hit harder than any growl.
You shifted forward instinctively, legs straddling him as you leaned away from his chest, body arching toward Sukuna instead. The movement drew a sharp breath from both of them.
Sukuna caught you instantly.
One hand closed around your throat, just enough to hold you there, to remind you who was watching. His grin was feral, satisfied, wicked.
Both of his cocks still slick, still dripping, still twitching with residual heat. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your face. “Can’t even stand on your own.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your hips from behind, grounding you, steady and unhurried. “She’s perfect,” he said calmly. “Let her be.”
Sukuna’s thumb tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to his. “You going to break for him,” he said, almost amused. “Or for me?”
You smiled through it. “Both,” you whispered.
Dabura exhaled behind you, low and satisfied. And Sukuna laughed.
Dabura’s grip was bruising your hips now as you moved—grinding in that rhythm he couldn’t handle much longer. His composure was cracking, but even now he held it together. Barely.
You were straddling him in reverse, thighs burning, hands gripping his legs for balance, body arched forward into—
Sukuna.
Who still had one hand around your throat, holding you upright like a trophy between monsters. He leaned in and kissed you, rough and claiming, swallowing every moan you let slip for Dabura beneath you.
And you were moaning now. Because the shape of Dabura’s cock, those patterns, those shifting, inhuman ridges—were stroking all the wrong places perfectly. Too deep. Too good. Too much.
You whined into Sukuna’s mouth.
Dabura groaned behind you, low and wrecked. His hands gripped harder, holding your rhythm like his life depended on it.
Your walls tightened again. Too close—again.
Sukuna pulled back from your mouth, breath hot, eyes wild, cocks still twitching between your bodies like he hadn’t even begun to calm down.
He looked down at you, then back at Dabura—grinning like a beast. “Mhm…give him that,” Sukuna chuckled, deep and dangerous. “Come on. He earned that.”
Dabura’s breath hitched. One last thrust up into you. His jaw clenched. His fingers dug in as he broke. Spilling into you as his whole body shuddered beneath you.
You cried out for him, head falling forward—right into Sukuna’s chest, mouth open, shaking with your own release. Again.
Sukuna laughed against your ear, low and feral. “You look so good when someone else ruins you,” he murmured. “Almost makes me jealous.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your sides, still trembling, still holding you like you were his.
You were panting now—spent, ruined, caught between chaos and stillness.
Dabura tilted his head back against the headboard, chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths. His eyes were half-lidded, damp hair clinging to his temples, one hand still resting on the side of your ass like it belonged there.
You had no bones left.
You slumped forward, face-first into Sukuna’s chest, arms loosely wrapping around his waist with the grace of a body tossed from a cliff.
Your cheek pressed against his skin, hot, sweaty, still humming with cursed energy and he caught you automatically. Two of his arms circled you tight, the other two just hanging there, as if not sure what to do after nearly killing a bed with raw power and ego.
“For the record,” Sukuna muttered, voice still rough, “I still can’t stand you, asshole.”
Dabura huffed a dry laugh, lazily rubbing his palm over your lower back. “I made you cum really good, huh.”
His smirk could’ve shattered kingdoms. Sukuna rolled his eyes hard enough you felt it in his chest. You just laughed, dead, wheezing, face still pressed into him. It made Sukuna grin like the bastard he was.
You were covered, sore, dripping, and pinned between the two most annoying forces in existence.
And unfortunately…it wasn’t that bad. But here you were.
Cradled by a curse with four arms and an ego problem. Spoon-fed comfort by a horned nightmare with a split tongue and zero shame.
You weren’t sure if this counted as divine punishment or the best decision you’d ever made.
Probably both.
You’d figure it out later. For now? You were tired. Held.
And, unfortunately…They were both staying the night.
Fuck.
That was our little mistake. Wasn’t it? You can leave now. But you won’t.
The Masterlist is here. If that was not enough, you know where to put your request.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ © ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛɢʜᴏᴜʟ
𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮, 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘐.
