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Beneath The Silk: Chapter 11: The Tragedy Of Want And Need

Content warning: smut, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, angst, Sukuna POV at the beginning

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

The Wretched (Remix) - Nine Inch Nails Pleasant Smell -12 Rounds Want - Recoil

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Five years ago…

“Master, we will open the doors now.”

The King of Curses barely acknowledges his most loyal subordinate standing beside him, let alone their words. He is too preoccupied with his thoughts about today—a day he both despises and relishes.

With four arms supporting his formidable body, he sinks deeper into the throne, bracing himself for the monotony of the hours ahead.

The procession of miserable creatures about to crawl through the shrine’s doors, clutching their offerings, will be tiresome. All their pleading, the begging, the crying. All the shit, piss and vomit on the floor. Disgusting.

Yet, it’s the power that accompanies this spectacle that he truly savours.

Sukuna casts a wordless glance at Uraume, who nods in understanding. The doors slide open, and the wretched crowd spills inside.

It’s a wonder he has the restraint not to cut them all down instantly. He considers it, feeling the urge pulling within him. It would be so easy to mutilate every single one of them with a thoughtless wave of his hand.

Subconsciously, he rubs the pad of his thumb against his index and middle fingers on his upper right hand until he allows them to extend.

But then she steps into view.

No one accompanies her. She is alone and filthy.

An ill-fitting robe clings to her frail frame, and her long midnight black hair is slightly tangled. Still, with a bath and a good scrubbing, the bitch might look halfway decent. As she pushes through the crowd and reaches the base of the dais, she manages to stand her ground in his presence.

Interesting.

“My Lord.” She bows and exhales a slow, shuddering breath.

Sukuna taps one of the armrests, taking her in with vague interest.

“What do you have for me?” he inquires, his voice a low rumble.

She raises her head, her eyes dark and murky, like thick, cloying mud.

“Myself.”

“Yourself,” Sukuna echoes, tilting up his chin.

“Yes,” she continues, her voice steady but soft. “I wish to serve you here, and if my Lord desires my body, he is free to have it.”

A flicker of mild revulsion crosses Sukuna’s face. The yawning need that cracked open inside of him two years ago is insatiable—a want that no amount of physical pleasure, whether from a woman’s cunt, his own hand, or the act of breaking someone’s body, can satisfy. But if he is to retain any semblance of control, he needs an outlet.

“Does the woman proposing to become my personal whore have a name?” he asks, leaning forward with a cruel smile cracking across his face.

She lifts her chin.

“Sayuri, my Lord,” she responds, then bows again in deference.

At least she has sense.

Sukuna glances at Uraume.

“Have her cleaned up and fed,” he commands, gesturing towards the dirt-stained woman. “Then send her to my chambers tonight.”

“Yes, Master.” Uraume moves toward the woman and guides her back through the crush and out of the central hall.

From just one look, Sukuna knows that Sayuri’s body would never truly satisfy him. She can try, but ultimately she will fail.

* * * * *

Present day, moments ago…

There are three things you know with absolute certainty.

First, you have a sister you love and would risk anything for. Second, in your father's eyes, you are nothing but a tool for his use. And third, Ryomen Sukuna is a monster—yet he just protected you.

The latter doesn’t sit well with you.

Even as you remain in the gloom of the central hall, with the heavy smell of copper in the air, Ren’s lips move in a blur. Yet, her words are lost to the daze you are trapped under.

He could have allowed that polearm to pierce and rip you apart. But he chose not to.

Why?

You watch as a horde of shrine attendants methodically remove every manner of broken body from off the floor—decapitated bodies, limbless bodies, bisected bodies, bodies with sunken craters. They carry them away, presumably to ready them for preservation and consumption.

He is a monster, yet he protected yo—

No.

It doesn’t sit well with you. A lot of things are starting to not sit well with you.

Turning to Sayuri, you see that she, too, seems lost. Her eyes, soft and unblinking, paint a blank expression. It’s clear why she’s so affected—she has just witnessed her lover being impaled before her eyes.

And you aren’t a fool. You know a rift has begun to crack between you and her. It began the moment you asked about Sukuna’s desires weeks ago.

As far as you’re concerned, she can have the King of Curses. You don’t want him anyway. That was never part of your plan. There has always been one plan.

"Are you all right, Sayuri?" you ask gently.

Her deep brown eyes meet yours. It takes some searching from her to you, but finally, she nods.

"Yes," she replies. "Thank you." Her voice is so small and fragile that it makes your stomach ache.

What you will eventually do to Sukuna will destroy her.

“My Lady, why don’t you return to your chambers, change into something more comfortable, and rest? Sayuri and I will check on you later.” Ren suggests as she surveys your kimono with a heavy stare. During the attempted assassination, you were thoroughly sprayed in a deluge of Sukuna’s blood, and it’s still warm.

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyes drifting between the two.

They nod. Sayuri is a little more hesitant.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll see you both shortly.”

You turn and leave, moving through the quiet corridors and back to your chambers.

As you walk, the weight of the past few hours presses down heavily. Despite the adrenaline pounding, rest is all you need right now. Yet, you know it won’t come easily unless you coax it out.

And it’s a damn shame you know exactly how.

Fantasizing about Sukuna from the other night—how he looked, touched, and spoke—while you pleasure yourself will work like a charm.

Cum for me.

His words.

Pressure throbs between your thighs, and it appalls you how easily thoughts of him get you wet.

Wrong, it’s so fucking wrong.

You walk faster. The door to your room comes into view, and you hurry toward it, wanting to slake your growing need. You slide it open with one gloved hand.

“My Lady.”

Your eyes close the moment Uraume’s cool voice slithers down the corridor.

You turn to face them. They stand at the end of the passage, hands clasped within the folds of their kimono, as still as a statue.

“Yes?” you ask, heart still racing.

“Master Sukuna requests your presence, now.”

Your jaw tightens in response until it’s almost painful.

“For what reason?”

“He wishes to share a meal with you.”

* * * * *

Standing at the door to the private room in your soiled kimono, your agitated hands fidget with your charcoal gloves, pinching and pulling the fabric.

You remind yourself not to be nervous. You have done this before. Meals are straightforward. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing has changed.

So why do you feel so nervous?

You don’t have time to dwell on the thought as Uraume gently slides the door open with a soft click.

Across the room, the King of Curses’ eyes find yours.

Red, red, red—

Breathe.

He glowers from a cushion at the far end of the low table, holding a kiseru between the large fingers of his upper right hand. Behind him, the garden door stands open, allowing the pale mid-afternoon light to spill in, casting his frame in silhouette.

Evidently, he hasn't changed either, still wearing the same blood-soaked kimono. The dark, muted blue fabric is stained with a purplish hue, and the tear where the polearm pierced him reveals a glimpse of his chest.

With obvious reluctance, you stare at it, remaining in the doorway.

“Excuse me, my Lady,” Uraume says, moving around you and inside.

They head to a separate low table, where you spot a tray of various dishes. Curiosity has you surveying them. Rice and vegetables for you, human flesh and organs for him, cooked and cut into small, bite-size pieces.

Unnerved, your eyes drift back to meet four red ones.

Slipping the kiseru into his mouth, Sukuna stares at you unblinking, waiting to see if and when you’ll move from the spot in the corridor, you have so stubbornly rooted yourself in.

He inhales.

Tiny wisps of smoke escape the pipe, and curl upward before disappearing into the damp air behind him.

You take a small step inside.

He exhales a soft, murky cloud, his enormous body relaxing.

Both feet cross the threshold, and a subtle twitch pulls at the left side of his mouth.

You slide the door shut, move toward the cushion set out for you and kneel, knees seeking the plush material. Even with Sukuna sitting across the table, it’s clear he looms over you.

Once settled, a silence descends on the room, broken only by Uraume’s preparations off to the side.

A heartbeat or two later, your husband finally speaks in that low, intimidating voice of his.

“Hungry?”

The word makes your stomach convulse. After Sukuna demanded your presence in the central hall this morning, you hadn’t had the chance to eat.

“Yes,” you murmur, “I’m famished.”

He leans back, giving you a condescending look.

“Famished? How fortunate for you. Uraume has prepared your usual bland meal.” He flicks his lower left hand dismissively toward the food tray.

You pull up a fake smile, only to let it drop immediately.

“Just because I’m not eating something dead doesn’t mean my meal is bland.”

It’s been the longest stretch without eating meat, and you miss it. Desperately. But you refuse to put anything resembling it into your mouth while at the shrine—just in case it’s human.

Sukuna rolls his eyes.

“Tch, idiot,” he grumbles while removing the kiseru from his mouth. He taps the pipe against a small lacquer receiver, depositing the fine ash into a neat pile before placing it on the table.

A breeze rolls through the open garden door as Uraume brings the food over. A mix of pleasant and acrid smells assaults your senses, making you blanch. Sukuna’s meal is placed first, then Uraume glides over to your end of the table, sliding down yours.

“Thank you,” you say.

Looking at the plate, you frown slightly. He’s right. Your food is bland, but you’ll never admit that.

You pick up your chopsticks and glance across the table. Sukuna mirrors your action, holding his own pair in his upper right hand.

The sight is strange. And despite his long, thick fingers, he handles the utensils with surprising delicacy, picking up a piece of tissue with care and dedication. His eyes narrow in strict concentration. It’s as if he’s a savant in the art of devouring human flesh.

Just how long has he been eating like this? Far too long, judging by the wicked look in his eye.

As the meat nears his lips, his gaze shifts to meet yours. He grumbles something wordless at your staring, and you quickly avert your eyes, refocusing on your own meal. You dip your chopsticks into the rice and slot it calmly into your mouth.

At first, the meal commences in heavy silence. There’s just the subtle clattering of ceramics and quiet, calm sounds from outside. But slowly, it’s interrupted by noises from Sukuna’s side of the table.

Unsettling noises…

Crunching, squishing.

One, two. Two slices of sweet potato.

You resort to counting the vegetables piled on your plate to distract yourself.

Tearing, grinding.

Three medium carrots.

Sucking, slurping.

You shudder.

Five shiitake mushrooms, sliced into—

“Before we were wed,” Sukuna says suddenly between bites. You glance at him, and he continues, “Did you flaunt yourself like you did today, or am I just lucky?”

Apparently, he’s still annoyed that you wore your clan’s kimono.

“I was not flaunting,” you reply defensively. “And to answer your question, no, I did not.”

He slowly chews the meat rolling around inside his closed mouth, then swallows it.

“Then what trivial things occupied your time?”

You eye him skeptically.

“Pardon, my Lord?”

His gaze turns heavy and attentive as he stares down the table at you.

“Tell me what filled your days growing up in the Kasai household,” he says.

You stare at him, eyes darting between his dual visage, the black ink decorating his features, and the rigid line that makes up his mouth. There’s an expression there, one you haven’t seen before, one that confuses you.

Something slides into place.

What if I want to know you?

His earlier words claw their way back.

For some unknown reason, you hide your gaze from his, dropping it low to meet your gloved hands.

He can’t be serious. He can’t.

Discussing your time within the Kasai household is fraught with many dark things. Things that are filled with looming threats, abuse, submission, death.

Life was somewhat easier when your mother was alive, but everything began to unravel when she became pregnant with her third child. As your father eagerly anticipated the arrival of what he hoped would be a son—the next heir to the Kasai clan—the atmosphere grew oppressive. You and your sister were treated more like cattle than daughters—though, you bore the brunt of this dehumanization.

When you finally find the bravery, you lift your eyes again. Sukuna is waiting for an answer.

“My days were normal, quiet, filled with small comforts. Mostly, though, they revolved around duty and expectations.” You offer a flat response, carefully avoiding anything too complex or revealing. You have no intention of exposing your vulnerabilities like the other night.

He arches his eyebrow, and a lopsided smirk rolls up on his face.

It occurs to you that you’ve yet to see a genuine smile. One that isn’t mocking, sadistic or maniacal. You might even think him beautiful.

It’s a shame he’s the goddamn devil.

“Are you telling me you weren’t an entitled princess?” he chuckles, loud enough that his mouth opens, flashing teeth.

You sigh, irritation seeping into your breath. He knows the truth and is just toying with you. The bruise your father left on your face the day of your wedding was a clear indication.

“I was not, my Lord,” you say, rolling your chopsticks between your fingers in an effort to distract yourself.

His smirk grows, four eyes narrowing into a sly glint.

“So, I presume you were the dutiful daughter always in the shadow of your more charming sister?”

Honestly, yes, but you didn’t care. Yuna was the more favoured one, the gem of the Kasai clan and for good reason.

“My sister is charming and deserving of the best life has to offer,” you state firmly.

Setting his chopsticks down, Sukuna leans away from the table, his smirk fading. He crosses his four arms over his chest and studies you intently as if troubled.

“And what about you?” He dips his chin in your direction. “The overlooked, perhaps neglected one? Is that your claim?”

His gaze makes you feel like a pitiful sight, stoking the irritation in your gut. You fidget with your chopsticks, his eyes dart, tracking the movement.

“Each of us has a role to play in the family, my Lord. I discovered what mine was a long time ago.”

Sister, protector, and tool—your needs and wants always come last. They always have and always will. Sukuna will never understand that. All he does is consume everything in his path.

A selfish, destructive, calamitous force.

“How sad,” he drawls, smacking his lips and leaning forward again, “it must have been terribly hard for you, growing up in such luxury, even if you had to wait your turn for leftover scraps.”

Your eyes narrow, and you take a deep breath as if the air could sustain the retort caught on your tongue.

“Perhaps, my Lord,” you say, deliberately placing your chopsticks down, “you’d understand if you ever experienced the denial of something you truly wanted, instead of simply taking everything without a second thought.”

Something dark crosses his eyes, like bitterness or something similar to torment. It's an emotion you’d never expect to see but quickly dies as if it was never there.

A heavy pressure fills the room—his energy, which has remained dormant until now, suddenly presses down, squeezing at your lungs. It hurts. Even with the garden door open, the air becomes thick and difficult to breathe.

Your hands curl into fists at your side, seeking reassurance as the tension mounts.

"Be more careful with what you say," he warns, "or I won’t tolerate that pretty mouth of yours for much longer."

You press your lips into a thin line.

Lovely voice. Pretty mouth.

“My Lord,” you breathe, feigning respect with the title, his eyes narrow, “you’ve been quite generous with your compliments today. First, my voice, and now my lips. I can’t wait to hear what else you find worthy of prai—”

A ceramic cup of water is suddenly placed beside your dish.

Sukuna’s energy withdraws, and you suck in a breath.

Uraume, whom you had completely forgotten was in the room, silently moved to your side. This is the second time they seem to intervene, just before you and Sukuna are on the verge of tearing each other apart. Or more so, him tearing you apart.

You inhale deeply through your nose and reach for the cup.

“Thank you,” you murmur, regaining your composure as you lift it to your mouth to take a sip—Uraume bows and steps away.

From behind the rim, you glimpse Sukuna’s stern gaze, watching you intently before he returns to his meal.

Once again, silence blankets the room. Neither of you speaks. You focus on your food, and he on his.

His chewing isn’t as robust as before, allowing you to sit with your thoughts.

When you finally clean your plate, you set your chopsticks down. You have a question for the King of Curses, but uncertainty lingers if he’ll even answer the damn thing.

You watch him closely.

Sukuna, towering over the table, shifts slightly, his upper body tilting forward to balance his massive frame. He lifts his utensils, picking up the last morsel of pulpy flesh.

“What?” he grunts, not looking at you but clearly aware of your pointed stare. “Spit it out.”

You clear your throat and sit up a little straighter.

“All right,” you begin, your voice wavering shy of hesitation. “The man from earlier today… why did you allow him to live?”

Very carefully, Sukuna pulls his four eyes up.

“Which one?” He slips the meat into his mouth and places the chopsticks down with deliberate care as if the act of eating is a sacred ritual.

“The man with the heavy sacks.”

Sukuna chews lazily. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you with apparent boredom.

“There were plenty of men with plenty of heavy sacks.” His tone makes you sigh. It’s dismissive as if the details you’re offering are insignificant.

“The one with the barley,” you clarify, pressing your hands into your lap. “The horse breeder. He mentioned his family. Two children and another on the way.”

Sukuna swallows, his throat bobbing as he considers your words.

“You think that’s why I let him go?” he says, voice edged with a challenge as if he anticipates your next question.

Uraume approaches the table, tray in hand. They begin removing the empty dishes along with Sukuna’s kiseru.

“If not his family—” they take away your dish. “Thank you, Uraume,” you say quickly, striving to keep your composure. “If not his family, then why?”

Sukuna’s eyes harden. He leans back slightly, regarding you.

“If you think I spared him because of his pathetic plea about his family, you’re mistaken.”

“Then why? I don’t understand. Did you just let him go without any reason?” you press, patience wearing thin.

Why did you protect me?

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

“Does it matter?”

You hesitate.

“Well, I was curious because—“

“Then remain curious,” he snaps, ending the conversation.

Your mouth twitches.

Fucking hell.

You lower your gaze, biting back any further questions.

Everything falls back into an uncomfortable silence. There’s just the clattering of Uraume gathering the ceramics and the gentle breeze blowing through the garden doo—

“A family and children? Is that something you want from me?”

At Sukuna’s question, your eyes snap up, and you choke on nothing but air.

You stare at each other. His four red orbs are stern. This isn’t a casual inquiry. It’s a genuine question.

All this talk—about your life, your family, and now this—presses down on you.

You panic, palms itching beneath your gloves.

His eyes flare as if impatient.

“Well?” he grinds out.

You open your mouth.

Uraume reaches over to collect your cup, the sleeve of their kimono momentarily creating a welcome barrier between you and the monster. You focus on the white fabric, taking a moment to calm yourself before it pulls away.

Sukuna reappears.

He has changed his posture, now lounging with his upper right elbow propped on his knee and his fist pressed against the side of his face. The bastard seems relaxed as if this conversation doesn’t rattle him in the slightest.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he drawls.

You swallow back the saliva that pools in your mouth.

“I-I haven’t considered it.”

How could you? The question itself felt absurd, given your circumstances. First, you had already accidentally caused the death of your pregnant mother; the thought of holding a life so small and innocent felt inconceivable. Second, the idea of building a family with the King of Curses was something you could never entertain. Lastly, from your perspective, this entire union is a sham, and you’ll be killing him—preferably soon.

“Perfect,” Sukuna says with far too much satisfaction. “Then there’s no need for you to waste your precious thoughts on such matters.”

That wouldn’t be a problem.

“Just to clarify,” you clear your throat, “you have no desire for a family?”

He scoffs sharply, his disdain clear as he wrinkles his broad nose and leers down at you.

“Do I look like someone who’d want a bunch of noisy brats tearing through here?”

You shift on the cushion, slowly dragging your gaze up the length of his body—past the hole in his bloodstained kimono, past his four powerful arms, until you meet his eyes.

“No, my Lord… you don’t.”

“Well, there’s your answer then,” he says harshly.

You let out a frustrated sigh.

Why the hell did he ask you to join him? The man is unbearable, his arrogance grating. You’re sure the only way to end this torment is to escape this interaction.

Your mouth opens, and the words “May I be dismissed, my Lord?” are poised on your tongue. But before you can speak, Uraume, ever the silent attendant, floats to the table and places a lacquered bowl in its center.

Both you and Sukuna drop your eyes to it.

It’s a bowl of fruit. Pears, grapes, figs. Then you see it—a single peach. It stands out, likely because the season is ending, making it a rare treat. It looks perfectly ripe, and its soft pink skin is reminiscent of Sukuna’s hair.

You drag your eyes up to him.

Oh, but the look he’s giving you. Suddenly, you don’t feel like leaving anymore.

His top lip twitches in warning.

“Don’t, you fucking dar—”

You’re already moving before he can finish. With a devious grin, you snatch the peach from the bowl and settle back on the cushion.

He huffs, crossing his upper arms across his chest.

“I thought you learned your lesson the last time you ate one of those.” His gaze is fixed on your hand as you deliberately begin to remove your right glove.

You arch an eyebrow, slowly peeling away the silk and letting it drop carelessly onto the table.

He tenses, eyes darting to Uraume for a moment.

It’s laughable—seeing the King of Curses lose his composure over how you eat a piece of fruit. The last time you pulled this stunt, he forced you to consume human flesh as punishment. But now, there’s nothing left for him to use against you. He’s already devoured it all.

"Hm," you shrug nonchalantly. “I suppose you’ll have to endure it this time, my Lord. ” Your voice is laced with defiance as you bring the fruit to your lips, locking eyes with him in a silent challenge.

Once again, you surprise yourself with your own boldness.

Your lips part, allowing the soft flesh of the peach to press in. You take a slow, sinking bite, closing your eyes as the sweet juice floods your mouth.

Pulling it away, you chew, swallow, then lick your lips. Sensually.

You throw in a soft groan for good measure.

“That tastes divin—”

“Uraume. Get out.”

Sukuna’s abrupt command has your eyes snapping open.

“Yes, Master,” they respond promptly.

“And close the door,” he adds, unable to look away from your mouth as he gestures toward the garden door with two fingers.

Uraume carries the tray of empty dishes and moves to slide the door shut, cutting off the only light in the room. The dim illumination casts Sukuna’s face in muted shadows, making his red eyes glow.

Your heart pounds, knowing the likelihood of what’s about to happen.

You wet your lips.

This time, you’re ready.

This time, you won’t lose yourself in him again. You won’t fall apart or make a fool of yourself. Today, you will end him. And this time, you're going to target his fucking head.

Uraume moves to the door behind you and slides it open. The clatter of ceramics is heard as they exit the room and enter the corridor.

You lay the peach on the table and then calmly remove your second silk glove.

The door begins to slide shut, rustling along the track.

You glance at Sukuna. His gaze is ravenous, never leaving you for a moment.

You swallow.

The door clicks shut, leaving the two of you alone.

You stand, but he’s already on his feet.

You move, but he’s faster.

Four hands grab you aggressively.

One moment, you’re standing. The next, Sukuna slams you down on the low table, back pressing into the wood, the fabric of your skirts and strands of your hair fan out in all directions. The lacquered bowl behind you topples over, clattering to the wooden floor, the fruit scattering everywhere. You draw in a sharp breath as his upper right hand, which had been cradling the back of your head to cushion the impact, slips away and moves to engulf your entire neck.

“That was rude, my dear,” he growls, hovering over you, his massive fingers squeezing your delicate throat, “I don't take kindly to being challenged, least of all, by my wife.”

You let out a small, stuttering breath.

He grins and tilts his head, admiring your docile form pinned beneath his effortless strength.

“However, I must say, there's a certain charm in watching your attempts at defiance,” he says. The smirk in his voice makes you seethe, but you remain calm. There’s no need to struggle. You’ll only exhaust yourself, and you need your strength.

“Thank you, my Lord. I'll keep that in mind for next time,” you deadpan, peeking up at him through your lashes.

Like the demon he is, that irritating grin spreads wider, making his four crimson eyes squint slightly, and his canines flash menacingly.

Smug, arrogant. You hate that look on him. Hate that it stirs something inside you that you wish you could ignore.

You shove it down and tuck it away.

He leans in, and the hand on your neck tightens, forcing you to tilt your chin upward.

“You know, you lied to me earlier,” he says, voice low. He places his lower left hand on your abdomen with deliberate pressure, letting his fingers graze your garment before sliding to the hem of your kimono. Slowly, he tugs at the fabric, pulling it taut against your body. “Claiming you were doing nothing in your room. But we both know that’s far from the truth.”

You try to shift, but the hard surface of the tabletop offers no relief.

“And what do you think I’ve been doing in my room?” you ask quietly.

As if the next words cause him pain, he clenches his jaw so severely that a vein bulges in his neck.

“You’ve been touching that pretty little cunt of yours,” he hisses, leaning closer, so you can see his pupils blown wide. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Oh.

Just a few words send a pulse of want through you.

You’re in trouble.

"But more importantly, do you know how I can tell?" he whispers arrogantly, gathering more of your kimono, along with your undergarments, into his hand. He lifts the fabric to your thighs, your eyes tracking his every move.

“How?” you breathe, feeling the wetness pool between your folds.

“Because you’ve been acting differently since our incident five nights ago.” His tone turns cold, cutting the warmth you felt moments ago. “You’ve been emotional and irrational. It’s quite pathetic.”

His discerning words make your face scrunch up with anger.

Seeing your reaction, an even bigger smirk appears on his lips and he clicks his tongue, shakes his head, as if scolding a disobedient child.

“I bet it bothers you how exposed I’ve made you feel,” he chuckles, gripping your kimono tightly. “Especially since, despite everything, you still want me.”

With that, he roughly pushes all the fabric he’d been gathering up to your hips, exposing your slick cunt. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden vulnerability.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes drop to take in your throbbing center before looking into your face.

With the same hand gripping your throat, he moves his thumb upward, sliding it across your jaw and gently brushing it along your bottom lip. He then hooks it inside your mouth, pressing firmly.

“Now, go on,” he demands, his orbs like four cold, red stones. “Admit it.”

As your eyes dart across his face, you feel your heart pounding. He stares intently, unwavering, grip tightening at your mouth as he waits for your response.

“Fine,” you mutter around his finger.

He releases his grip, removing his thumb from your mouth and placing it gently against the side of your face. He raises his eyebrow, his expression one of expectant satisfaction.

You take a deep breath and avert your eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about you… while touching myself.”

He scoffs, the sound catching your gaze again.

“You missed something,” he states.

You press your lips into a thin line. You understand exactly what he wants you to say but refuse to give in.

“Say it.”

“No.” You shake your head.

You’re not ready to admit, let alone confess, that you want him, not even to yourself.

He pulls his hand away from your neck and stands up to his full, massive height.

“Fine,” he sneers, looking down at you half-naked on the table. “If you won’t tell me, then your body will.”

Immediately, his upper pair of hands reach down to grasp your ankles and yank them up so your bare legs extend straight into the air. A warmth blooms across your cheeks as you feel a cool draft against your heated skin while he moves you.

Holding your ankles firmly, Sukuna uses his lower hands to slowly loosen the obi at his waist. He lets it slide off before unfastening his ruined kimono's interior ties. He carefully adjusts your ankles between his hands to peel the fabric away, letting it pool around his feet.

Now clad only in his dark grey hakama, his chest is marked with splotches of dried blood from the attempted assassination.

Seeing it, the same question resurfaces.

Why did you protect me?

You want to ask, but before you can, the maw on his torso opens with a deep rumble, its tongue slipping out. You watch it for a moment before Sukuna steps closer and, without warning, drops to his knees.

It startles you to see him like this, kneeling before you.

His upper hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer. Quickly, he hoists both your legs up, so your calves rest on his upper left shoulder, leaving your backside teetering precariously at the edge of the table. He bends down, leans forward, and presses the maw’s tongue against your glistening folds. You gasp at the sensation of the firm, wet muscle contacting your skin.

He holds it there, unmoving, his eyes locked on you.

Anticipation and vulnerability simmer in the narrow space between your bodies.

A heartbeat later, something dark touches his features.

“Fuck yourself on it,” he commands, voice deep. Cruel even. “Show me how much I’ve tainted you.”

Your breathing stops at the harsh demand. It fills you with repulsion. Yet, deep down, a sick desire has taken root.

Even if it’s wrong, you want this.

You hesitate for a moment, nerves getting the better of you. But, with a shaky breath, you lift your hips and push them forward. The tip of the large muscle brushes past your labia, pressing inside your cunt and massaging your inner walls.

The pressure and pleasure are immediate.

A sound caught between a desperate gasp and a whine escapes your throat, and Sukuna wraps his upper left arm around your trembling thighs. The muscles of his forearm press firmly into your soft skin, grounding you with an unsettling feel of stability.

With your arms firmly gripping the table, you brace yourself and begin to move. Your initial motions are clumsy, but with Sukuna's shoulder as leverage, you sway your hips in a sensual rhythm. And it doesn't take long for the slickness between your thighs to increase, allowing the tongue to slide in and out of you effortlessly.

“Ahh,” you breathe as it fills and stretches you, it’s saliva falling directly onto your cunt.

You increase the pace, body moving with urgency, hips bouncing in tiny spurts. You pant and peer up into Sukuna’s face. He doesn’t return your gaze, just ignores you, keeping it lowered to the apex of your thighs instead.

Five nights ago, his eyes never left your expressions, unable to look away. Now, it's as if you no longer exist, barely acknowledging your presence.

That's fine. You don’t need this to be more than what it is.

Backwards then—

You slam your hips forward, hard, grinding them into him. The extra pressure has your brows knitting together, your mouth dropping open, and a guttural moan pouring out.

In response to your desperation, Sukuna tenses. He’s struggling to control his emotions. And despite all his efforts, his mouth twists into a snarl, exposing his teeth.

"Good girl, just like that," he hisses, his voice strained as he fights to suppress a groan that escapes as a ragged grunt.

He continues to do nothing but hold your legs against his body, his grip firm, tight. His orbs roam over your writhing form. His lower eyes follow the rhythm of your bouncing hips, the way your needy cunt fucks the maw’s tongue over and over, creating sounds that become thicker, wetter. His upper eyes still avoid looking into your face, but gradually, they lift, locking onto your pleading gaze.

A moment of unbreakable eye contact passes between you, and soon, all four of his red eyes are heavy-lidded. Yet, he remains emotionless, even as his body betrays him.

It suddenly becomes clear that the King of Curses is warring with himself. His duality is a struggle, like two opposing storms.

And perhaps, it’s something you can exploit.

You grind your hips harder, pressing the muscle deeper just to feel it swirl inside you. Sukuna’s upper right hand moves from his side, sliding it down along your left leg. The pads of his fingers dig into your heated skin before he slides it back up. The brief touch has you pulling your hips back, withdrawing the muscle before roughly pushing it back into your squelching heat.

“Fuck!” A cry rips from your throat.

“Yes,” he rasps, teeth flashing as a deep growl rumbles in his chest at hearing your sweet cries.

You shut your eyes, throw back your head and allow it to rest against the table. Hip’s undulating faster. Throat tossing out short pleas and curses.

Your frenzied actions cause the mixed wetness to trail down the soft curve of your ass, collecting in slow drips that splatter onto the table.

Hearing it, Sukuna’s grip tightens painfully. He’s still trying to hold back.

Peeking your eyes open, you see that dangerous crease split between his mask and eyebrow, spilling into a mixture of desire and anger.

Finally, the King of Curses moves.

Chest rising and falling, he brings his upper body forward, matching your thrusts, pushing the tongue inside your soaking pussy until it stings with pleasure.

As your skin presses against his, you feel the warmth between you intensify, causing sweat to form where your bodies touch. The dried, rust-coloured blood on his chest deepens in hue as the heat builds.

The edge of your mind goes blank, and words you wish had stayed unspoken start to tumble out.

“More,” you quietly moan.

His lip twitches as he pushes forward aggressively.

“You want more?” he growls.

No.

“Yes.” You nod

I do.

Some invisible restraint snaps inside him.

“Then I’ll give you fucking more,” he hisses, withdrawing the maw’s tongue from you, the loss of it making you inhale sharply.

As he rises to full height, you quickly sit up on your elbows in confusion. And there, at that angle, you see them, the rigid outline of his cocks. It’s massive.

He fixates on your wet folds as his lower hands move to the ties of his hakama, tugging on the knot and loosening them.

Your heart races. You aren't prepared for this.

Catching the garment at the top, he begins to drag it down, revealing a dusting of dark hair that starts at his lower abdomen and trails downward.

You sit up fully, panicking.

“Wait!”

He stops.

“What?” he snaps.

“I’m… I’m not ready.”

“Oh, you’re not ready,” he mocks, clicking his tongue.

You nod slowly.

He stares at you for several heartbeats, his hands still resting on his hakama.

Kill him.

Your voice in your head. A reminder.

“I-I want your head between my thighs.” Your tone is only slightly steady.

Keeping your eyes on him, you begin to lean back. Sukuna watches, his gaze hunting you as you lower yourself onto the table again.

“Please,” you whisper, spreading open your thighs. His nostrils flare as you snake your hand down to your cunt to spread your wet folds for him. “I want your tongue on me. I need you to taste me.”

Pretending or not. You desire this, which is a dangerous thing.

“I want more than a taste,” he growls, retying his hakama with a frustrated tug.

Lowering himself back to his knees, the thick fingers of his lower hands slide under your ass, while his upper hands hook behind your knees. Your breath is brought to a halt when he forces your legs up, pinning your thighs flush with your abdomen, exposing you. He curves over your body, the muscles on his shoulders and abdomen rippling like a predator. Your core aches at the sight before you as he lowers his face down to your thighs, his warm breath rolling across your skin.

So close. You tremble.

Sukuna looks up. There's that dark hunger again.

“I will get that confession out of you. One way or another,” he vows, inhaling deeply the scent of your arousal. A deep purr rumbles from his chest as he licks his lips, his tattooed tongue darting out teasingly.

Leaning down, he brushes the flat of the muscle along your swollen pussy lips with a back-and-forth motion. The sensation is maddening as he teases your core, denying what you want. Your mind turns dizzy as you watch him continuing this torment.

His tongue glides up and down, repeating the action once, twice, and then a third time.

Your impatience grows unbearable. You want to fall back, to surrender to the desire, to feel him devour you with the same intensity as when he first laid eyes on you at the wedding ceremony.

“Please,” you breathe out.

Sukuna's eyes dart upward to stare at your mouth, drinking in your desperate plea with amusement. He leans in for a fourth lick, tracing a clear path up the center of your pulsating heat before pulling away, relishing in the torture he is inflicting upon you.

You shift on your back, releasing a frustrated exhale, and he hears you.

With a firm clasp on the back of your thighs, he forces your hips to rise, exposing your wetness to him. And then, that’s when he plunges his tongue between your folds, pushing past your soaking entrance.

Your back arches, his hands pull you closer to his hungry mouth, and both of you groan together.

Loudly. Unhinged. Strangled almost.

It’s better than the feel of his stomach maw. It’s better than anything you’ve felt.

Immediately, he seals his mouth against your cunt. The muscles in his jaw flex with each lick, and suck, trying to swallow you whole. Every swipe of his tongue is more frantic than the last, and you meet him stroke for stroke, undulating as best you can under touch.

"Yes!" you squeal, hands flying up to clutch your knees.

You're going to hell for this.

On a low growl, Sukuna's four hands grip you tightly, anchoring you close while pressing you firmly against the table. The small room fills with slick, sloppy noises, and your panting, harsh and unrestrained, spills out, filling the space.

As if entranced, his brow knits together, and his eyes fall shut just to focus on you. He’s so lost in the moment that he blinds himself to what's coming next.

Focus.

Inhale.

Panting and keeping your eyes on his face, you slowly slide your right hand from your knee.

Hesitant at first, you gently dip your fingers into his pink hair. The strands are soft under your touch. You can feel the texture and the movement as they tickle and dance against your fingers.

You take a moment to admire the sight. To admire him. The way his head rises and falls against your trembling thighs, how he takes starving mouthfuls of you, how you’ve never seen him like this. Almost reverent. Worshiping something other than himself. It's a shame, but at least he will die indulging in two things he enjoys: eating and sex.

Exhale.

You lay your right hand flat against the top of his massive head, your hand looking tiny in comparison. You hold it there for a moment before bringing your left hand to join it.

Though unsure why, your left hand moves, your thumb tracing gentle patterns along his hairline. It’s as if you’re trying to soothe him. Offering a silent apology for what you’re about to do.

Perhaps, one day, when you die and end up in hell, you’ll find him there. Maybe then, things could be different.

As you continue these soft, lingering strokes, you let your hand gently fall to rest against the jutting surface of his mask.

Sukuna’s upper eyes snap open, shooting to your face, his mouth coming to an abrupt stop against your skin.

Shit.

It seems your gentle touch was not appreciated.

You quickly retract your left hand from the right side of his face, weaving it back into his hair.

“Keep going,” you urge softly, dipping your chin downward.

He doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a threatening glare that makes you nervous.

Not knowing what else to do, you lift your hips and grind them against his mouth, letting your slick folds drag across his lips, leaving a glistening path in its wake.

He groans in pleasure and licks his mouth, tasting it before shutting his eyes and diving back into your pussy, drowning himself again. You let out a gasp as his tongue flattens against your skin, followed by the graze of his teeth along your slit. His lower hands begin to roam, fingers exploring your curves. As the right hand ventures towards your crease, you feel a warm wetness as the mouth on his palm opens and begins to lick and probe at your tight entrance.

"Sukuna!" you protest with a sharp intake, hips jerking upwards.

A deep, sadistic laugh reverberates against you.

“Shy?” he mocks before taunting you with another lick at your asshole.

Your brow furrows, lips pinched tight.

“Do not do that agai—ah!”

The tip of his tongue finds its way to your clit, which has you breathing raggedly. Moving his lower right hand away from your ass, he pushes it roughly against your cunt. Caressing you for a moment before sliding a finger deep inside.

“Oh, god,” you whine, slamming your hips forward for more pressure, his tongue working your swollen nub and his finger fucking sloppily in and out of you.

Your heart tumbles at how good it feels, even when you know it should be wrong.

Focus.

Hands bunching in his hair for purchase, you concentrate.

Sukuna twists his finger deeper, making you clench, making you arch cleanly off the table.

Focus…

“Please,” you moan, knotting and tugging at his hair.

His tongue curls and presses around your sensitive nub.

“Please, what?” he mumbles.

Damnit, focus.

“More,” you beg, “I want more.”

He chuckles.

“Admit that you want me, princess, and I’ll give you everything.” He grins into your cunt, the damp heat of his breath coasting over your flesh.

You say nothing.

Fire goes straight to your belly as he swipes his tongue meanly across your clit. You cry out, pushing forward against his mouth, eyes rolling back, mind emptying.

“Sukuna… I…” you breathe, faltering for any words.

Focus!

“Say it,” he urges, licking and sucking your sex, then adding a second torturous finger to pump inside you.

“I-I want…”

Kill him!

Your eyes refocus.

You take one last look at his face, carving every detail into you.

You have to do this.

Sifting inside yourself, you reach for your gift. Hands trembling, you wrangle it and press your fingertips to his skull.

At the touch, his eyes find yours.

Do it!

Then, finally, you—

“Admit it!” he growls.

You hesitate.

“If my Lady isn’t in her chambers, perhaps she’s eating in here?”

“Goddammit! I want yo—”

The door to the corridor slides open.

Your confession dies.

Sukuna’s eyes snap up. Your head whips back.

From your upside-down view, Sayuri and Ren stand in the doorway.

No.

“Get. The fuck. Out,” Sukuna says loudly, mouth pressed to your core.

Neither attendant moves. Both stand frozen.

You meet Sayuri’s darkening brown eyes—the pain and anger you see there claims your arousal. You feel sick.

“Leave!” Sukuna snarls, “Before I kill both of you.”

Ren hastily slides the door shut.

You blink, then tilt your head back. Sukuna resumes his feasting.

“Stop.” Your voice holds a pathetic warning.

He doesn’t. He’s too enthralled. Too busy with his tongue, placing messy licks on your pussy, while his fingers slide inside you.

“Sukuna. Please,” you shudder, rising to your elbows.

He doesn’t acknowledge you.

“Stop!” You press your palms into his forehead, attempting to push him away. “Get off me!”

Reluctantly, he withdraws all four hands from you and steps back with a huff, wiping the juices from his face with the back of his hand. He then rises to his full height.

The blood slowly returns to your limbs.

You plant your feet on the floor, stand with a slight sway, adjust your kimono, grab your silk gloves, and move around the table, quickly heading for the door.

A large hand clamps around your wrist, halting your escape.

"Don’t you dare walk away from me.” Sukuna’s voice is as tight as his grip.

There's conflict in his tone, an emotion. An emotion that makes your insides dip.

"I'm going to my chambers." You try to wrench free, refusing to look at him.

He reels you closer, grip tightening as he leans in. His face before yours, his red orbs burning so close. And yet, so far away.

"I didn’t give you permission to leave," he spits.

"That doesn’t concern me.”

His gaze thins and his voice drops, turning cold.

"Just because I managed to drag an orgasm from your cunt once doesn't mean you have me wrapped around your finger," he snarls. You recoil. "Remember your place, wife. Because I own you."

Those last words hit like a force. Splitting your head open. As if your own cruel father had spoken them.

A poisonous rage has your mouth trembling.

Leave. You need to go.

Your thoughts spiral as you continue to struggle in his hold. When he refuses to relent, you resort to the one thing that might make him release you. Exploit the one thing that you’ve unearthed.

You lift your chin.

"You protected me today. Why?" you demand.

Sukuna’s grip burns, but he remains silent. Your hands curl into fists and his features distort, falling into anger.

"Answer me! Why? Why, did you protec—"

"Get out!” he yells, releasing you with a harsh shove.

You stumble back.

The scoff that falls from your lips has him stepping forward. You step back. You've pushed the monster too far.

With a blank expression, you bow your head, rise, take one last look at his face, recarving every bitter detail into you, and turn away.

* * * * *

For the second time in weeks, the shrine’s ceiling becomes the only view from where you lie on your futon. Looking at it for so long is starting to give you a headache.

You shift onto your side.

But perhaps the headache is from something else.

You squeeze your eyes shut to fight the throbbing.

Today didn’t unfold the way you imagined it would. You fucked things up—badly.

Hours ago, with Sukuna between your thighs and your hands on his head, for reasons you can’t understand, you couldn’t bring yourself to kill him. You hesitated.

In that moment, he was your weakness. And in that moment after, you might have become his by the way things were left.

You drag your fingers across your eyelids. The fatigue that sits there is heavy. Heavier than usual.

The rift that has opened up between you and him needs to be mended. The sooner, the better, before more time slips away.

Sighing, you roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling again.

You need to get closer to him, even if it’s becoming difficult. Not because you want to, of course, but because you need to.

Sitting up, you carefully run your hands over the fabric of your yukata to smooth it into place. You push off the futon, approach the door, and slide it open.

The corridor is silent. It's become a friend you know all too well now.

You take one step out.

A cream-coloured robe shudders to your right, flowing in the darkness.

You stiffen in the doorway, catching yourself before moving any further.

It takes a moment, but you make out the faint outline of a woman, their back to you.

Sayuri?

She’s barefoot, feet tapping delicately against the cool wooden floor.

Her long, raven-coloured hair cascades down her back like a fine river of ink, luminous against the pale garment.

Each step she takes is silent, moving with the grace of someone who’s done this walk a thousand times before. And you already know exactly where she’s going—there’s only one other door at the end of this corridor.

She takes her time—one foot in front of the other, like a smooth, practiced dance.

When she reaches the King of Curses’ chamber, she doesn’t hesitate. Her lithe hand extends and knocks three times against the massive wooden door.

Though the sound is soft, it reverberates deep inside you. And… it hurts.

One heartbeat passes.

Then two.

Sayuri waits.

A third.

She waits.

Then, a fourth.

On the fifth, the door slides open, and a pulse vibrates the air as Sukuna appears at the threshold.

You pull yourself further out of view.

Though you’re far away, you can see him cross his four arms, studying his subordinate before him.