#heiangod

[porcelainrage]

riding true form 'kuna for the first time 18+

minors dni !!

The air was thick with tension. The flickering lantern light danced across the low wooden beams and silk screens, casting long shadows over the massive futon where Sukuna lounged like a king on his throne.

His true form was magnificent and terrifying—four powerful arms, rippling muscle and the unmistakable double length of his cocks standing heavy and flushed against his abdomen. He always managed to amaze and terrify you with how big he was—compared to how small you were.

You were on his lap, heart hammering against your ribs. As one of his favored concubines, you had pleased him many times with your mouth, hands or cunt, but tonight you had begged for a chance to ride him. To have control.

Two things you've never done before, even crazier, Sukuna actually agreed. You had expected him to laugh in your face but..he just agreed.

"Careful, brat," Sukuna rumbled, voice low and amused, one of his upper hands lazily stroking your hair—snapping you out of your daze. "Those greedy little holes of yours have never taken both at once."

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning. "I...I want to try, my lord. I want to pleasure you."

He smirked, your words turned him on way more than he'd like to admit. Your desperation and eagerness to please him was much better than fucking you, though he'd never admit that out loud. "Alright. Show me what my woman can do."

'My woman', the way he easily owned you made your heart flutter. You rose on trembling knees, positioning yourself over him. The sheer size of his two cocks, both thick, veined and far too long made your stomach tighten with equal parts fear and aching want. You've taken him before. You could do this—you had to.

You wrapped a hand around the upper cock first, guiding the thick mushroom leaking head to your already slick entrance. Even after thorough preparation, the stretch as you sank down was overwhelming.

A whimper escaped your lips as the first thick inch pushed inside. Your thighs shook violently. You lowered yourself another inch, then another, painfully slow, your walls fluttering and clenching around the impossible girth.

Sukuna's lower pair of hands settled on your hips, steadying you but not yet forcing. His crimson eyes watched with patience and raw desire.

"Fuck...so tight," he growled. "Look at you—trembling like a virgin on her wedding night. Dumb girl."

You bit your lip, trying to take more. Sweat beaded on your skin. The second cock pressed hot and heavy against your folds, sliding against your clit with every shallow rock of your hips. You managed to sink down further, taking nearly half of the first cock, but your pace was agonizingly slow, your legs burning from the effort of holding yourself up.

Another minute passed with you rocking in tiny, trembling movements, trying to adjust, trying to fit. Sukuna allows you to 'take control' only for a moment longer before impatience filled him.

A chuckle rolled from his chest. In one fluid motion, two of his hands gripped your waist firmly while the other two seized your thighs, spreading you wider. He thrust up hard, burying the rest of the first cock deep inside you in a single thrust, completely bottoming out.

You cried out, back arching as the brutal stretch burned through you. Before you could even catch your breath, he angled your hips and pushed the second cock against your entrance, forcing it in alongside the first.

"My lord wait!" you gasped, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

"Enough playing around," he grunted. "You wanted this. Now take it like the good little concubine you are."

He held you steady, controlling every descent as he worked both thick cocks deeper into your stretched, fluttering holes. The dual pressure was overwhelming—your body so full you could barely breathe, every nerve singing with overwhelming pleasure mixed with pain.

Surprisingly, he wasn't as rough as usual, he was rather relentless setting a deep, punishing rhythm that made your breasts bounce and your voice crack into desperate moans.

Each thrust drove him impossibly deeper, the ridges and veins dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting your cervix in a maddening motion.

One of his hands slid up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple, while another gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Look at me," he commanded. "Look at your lord while he fills you properly."

You moaned, eyes glassy with tears of overstimulation. "My lord..it's too much.."

"Too much?" He grinned, snapping his hips up harder, making you take every inch of both cocks. "This greedy cunt is sucking me in like it was made for me, such a needy girl aren't ya?"

Sukuna had you bouncing on his lap with his four arms, driving both cocks into you again and again. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the chamber alongside your slutty moans and his low groans of satisfaction.

When your thighs began to shake uncontrollably and your walls clenched rhythmically around him, he pressed his forehead to yours, breath hot against your lips.

"Fuck—cumming already? Let me feel how well my girl loves taking me."

"Ohh my—Ryo!" You whined, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, vision whiting out as you screamed his name. Sukuna growled in approval hearing you call him by his name. He kept thrusting through your climax before he finally buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you, thick and hot claiming you completely like he has, many times before.

He held you close afterward, one hand gently stroking your back while the others kept you pinned against his chest, both cocks still buried deep.

"Next time you want to take control," he murmured against your hair, a smirk in his voice, "Make sure you can go the full way yeah?"

You nod weakly, utterly spent and full. "Yes...my lord."

porcelainrage © all rights reserved. no copying or giving my work to ai!

[fr4ng1p4n1m00n]

Behind The Emperor's Throne. Chapter 1

Welcome! I do hope you like my story. I would love feedback, if you can spare the time. This will be a slow upload. TW!! In this story, some things may not be completely accurate.

Rape and Sexual Assault

Abuse (physical, mental, emotional, verbal, sexual)

Animal cruelty or animal death

Self-injurious behavior (self-harm, eating disorders, etc.)

Suicide

Excessive or gratuitous violence

Needles

Depiction of pornography

Kidnapping (forceful deprivation of/disregard for personal autonomy)

Death or dying

Pregnancy/Childbirth

Miscarriages/Abortion

Blood

Mental illness

794 AD - 1185 AD The Heian Period.

I was sixteen when my family sold me to the palace.

Not with tears. Not with shaking hands. Not even with the sort of apology a girl might later dress into something softer so she could bear remembering it. They sold me, my aunt,  the way men bargain over rice, silk, or a stubborn mule.

It was measured, practical, and with far too much relief once the matter was done.

At the time, I thought I would die there. In that spot.

The escorts were not gentle. Their calloused hands left bruises the size of pears on my skin, some would have mistaken me as a popular courtesan. And No. Before you ask.

They did not defile me. They couldn't.

It was only later, when I was told they were considered palace property too. And since they were young boys and men who trained to become noble eunuch's. They had their genitalia removed.

I never felt so lucky and disgusted in the same breath.

I fought like an Iriomote. I hissed, I clawed and spat at them until my lungs grew course and my fingers ran with blood. Theirs and mine. It wasn't until one of them accidentally toppled onto another, which then toppled onto me, was I knocked out unconscious.

When I eventually arrived to the palace, it was a blur and I was not in a kind state. My head was thrumming with an ache I wished I could blame on warm sake and a decent evening. But when I awoke to my deepening realisation, I had come from a merchant clan with no prospects for my own future, Both my parents left me in this world. Alone.

I also refused to marry. But that is another story.

When I was brought in on the back of a wooden cart, my hands were tied with thick rope. My throat felt like dried herbs in the sun and my eyes stung with rage. The men who had escorted me, watched me with displeased frowns, coddling their faces which I was happy to have marked. I remember one telling another..

'Uneme Yoko will surely have her hands full with this one.'

The second man just grunted, I couldn't tell if it was approval on my behalf of against it.

The moment I saw the gates open, I thought I could feel my soul attempt to leave my body. Heavens I wanted it to. Not from the beating. Not from hunger in the pit of my stomach. From the sheer size of it all. The palace was too large, too polished, too full of rules that lived in people’s mouths and eyes more than on paper. Every corridor seemed to hold a lesson, or danger. Every older maid looked at me as though she could already tell whether I would last a month or be sent back out in disgrace to the pleasure district. I learned quickly that a servant’s body was never truly her own. It belonged to the bell that rang, the hand that pointed, the floor that needed polishing, the sleeve that needed mending, the tray that had to be carried without so much as a clink.

We all were like ants behind the imperial chair. No one mattered. One day you were there, the other you were not. I remember the moment I saw one servant who I worked beside for a time, There had an incident with the guards and I spotted her many moons later in a pleasure house outside of the gates with sunken eyes and bruised knees. I had stolen some dried candied fruits from a distracted street vendor and gave them to her. She looked at me as if I were a stranger. In that moment, I was.

Those guards still laugh about the incident to this day. She did not speak after it. I don't remember the colour of her eyes,  but I do remember the pain in them. To this day. Head Eunuch Surei uses her as a warning to not walk alone at night.

It was daytime for her when it happened. She was left alone for no more than 15 minutes in the washing rooms. Her name was Chiyo.

As for me, I began low. Lower than low. Scum on the city street was cleaner than my work.

I scrubbed chamber pots until I was physically ill. Washing cloths until my hands wrinkled and cracked in the water. Carrying buckets, each time I could hear the pop in my spine. Sweeping corridors no one noticed unless a single leaf or speck of ash dared remain. Folding robes that cost more than my whole childhood home, Sometimes the delicate silk would get caught on my calloused hands. Scrubbing bathing rooms. Emptying braziers. Learning which head maids liked silence, which preferred obedience spoken aloud, and which ones only seemed cruel because they had long forgotten what kindness looked like in a place like this.

I was small then. Not in body, I was considered mature, but perhaps in spirit. Quiet in the wrong way. Too careful. Too frightened of making mistakes, which of course only made me clumsy enough to make more.

If I survived those first months, it was because of Natsuko.

She had started not long after me, she too was another fresh faced girl given over to palace service before life had finished deciding what else to do with her. We were not friends immediately. Friendship in the servants quarters was rarely born from sweetness. It came from shared exhaustion, split punishments, and the slow realization that someone beside you was just as tired, just as hungry, just as determined not to let the palace swallow her whole.

Natsuko had a sharper tongue than I did. Better eyes too. She saw trouble before it arrived and had the good sense to step around it....or, if she could not, at least brace herself properly. Where I was soft around the edges, she was practical. Where I still tried to believe people meant well, she had already learned that most orders were not personal, only inconvenient. She kept me alive in all the little ways that matter most to girls in service. By waking me before I overslept, by correcting my sleeves before a head maid saw them crooked, by splitting food when one of us had been worked too long to eat properly, by telling me plainly when I was being stupid. Which was often.

Years passed like that.

And somehow, without noticing exactly when, I became comfortable. Not lazy. Never that. Comfort in the palace did not mean ease. It meant competence. It meant my hands knew their work before I had to think. It meant I could walk the women’s corridors with my head lowered just the right amount, answer senior maids without stumbling over my tongue, and tell from a single call whether I was wanted for laundry, bathing water, polishing, tea service, or disaster.

By then I was no longer the trembling sixteen yearold who thought every mistake would have her thrown out by sunset. I was a palace maid. A good one, if I may be vain enough to admit it. My feet knew the palace stones. My ears knew its moods. My body had learned how to endure long hours and still remain graceful with a tray in hand. I have been here for eleven years. I've survived the death of one King and now serve another which I have never met. Nor seen the hem of his robes.

Natsuko and I had settled into our places beside one another as if we had always belonged there. We worked different tasks depending on the week, but more often than not we still found our way back into the same corners of the palace, sharing glances over spilled tea, badly folded robes, or the occasional noblewoman with more perfume than sense. As maids we weren't accustomed to concubine quarters, unless you had served one of his majesties women.

Lady Asanami. Lady Kiyo. Lady Yorozu. Lady Hanae.

We slept in something similar to a store room, our cushioned beds were a shy of two inches thick. But Natsuko and I always found our place beside one another. We'd spend the night whispering scandals and business adventures we'd like to do. When we started, we fantasised about being concubines. As of late, in our later years, we both agree a respectable teahouse would be profound. And once morning broke, and one shook the other awake. We'd return to our duties, still sold to the palace and far from free.

That morning had begun no differently, though at twenty seven, My routine was accustomed. My legs were prone to swelling and my back remembered the ache of carrying buckets.

I had expected linens, perhaps, or one of the bathing rooms. Instead, I had scarcely finished one corridor by the east wing with Natsuko, we were in mid conversation about the upcoming servants festival, when Uneme Sera’s voice cut through the air behind me.

"Minpei."

Just that. Sharp enough to straighten my spine like a cane to the bottoms of my heel. Uneme Sera was in her early fifties. She too was sold to the palace, and hardened by it.

I turned at once and bowed, still on the floor. "Uneme Sera."

"There is an ink stain in the imperial library," she said, as though she were informing me of a deceased rodent found in the storerooms. "A fresh one spilt by one of the noblemen from the morning meeting. It is to be cleaned properly before it sets deeper into the floor grains. You will go, Natsuko you are to stay and finish the corridors. When Minpei is finished, she will return to help you."

The imperial library.

I blinked once before lowering my gaze again, slightly glancing to Natsuko who was doing the same.

Not because I had never been near it. Servants passed everywhere, eventually with time. If they survived. But the library was not a place girls like me were sent lightly. It was quieter there. More delicate. More dangerous in its own way. Dust and water were enemies. Ink, apparently, was a crime.

Chiyo. The name sent chills in my spine.

"Yes, Uneme Sera." We bother said in unison.

She looked me over once, likely measuring whether I would disgrace her by breathing too heavily on something ancient and priceless. She just began to turn before stopping herself.

"Take the cloths-" she pointed at the rag in my hand, "Finer ones. Not your usual bucket rags. And mind your step. If a single scroll is damaged because your hands are clumsy, I will have you polishing floorboards with your hair."

"Yes, Uneme Sera."

She swept away before I could say more.

For one suspended moment, I simply sat there with the order in my ears, half irritated and half curious. I turned and found Natsuko already looking at me from the opposite wall of the corridor, one brow raised high enough to ask the question without words. 

"The library." I muttered as I approached the bucket, dropping the darkened rag in it.

Natsuko clicked her tongue at once. "What did you do?"

I clicked my tongue back, almost as if to scold. "Nothing."

"Be quick."

"I'll try."

[tojida]

[ TXT ] : are we still fighting ?

𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑬𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑵𝑬 || @heiangod

He wipes at the blood trailing from his nose, wincing faintly as he dabs it away with a bundle of tissues. These fights have been happenin’ more often — (meaner & uglier) — each one escalating like neither of ‘em knows how to stop once it starts. & still, Fushiguro keeps lettin’ himself circle back. Takes him back. Gets taken back. Same damn pattern. When Toji ups & leaves, he doesn’t look back — (won’t meet his eyes ) —just shakes off whatever reaction he’s given, brushes it aside like it don’t stick. Like none of it does.

The phone buzzes against the counter. He lets it rattle there for a while before finally reachin’ for it. Whatever happened might’ve been last night, but the damage lingers. blood gushin’ again every time he sneezes, every time he blows his nose, every time he so much as breathes wrong. It’s been draggin’ on longer than it should. Still, he swallows it down. Pain’s not new.

[ TXT to Sukes ] : …. [ TXT to Sukes ] : yea. now fuck off.

He sets the phone back on the counter with a dull clack & exhales through his mouth. The blood still won’t stop.

[bakisensei]

📐 + 7'10 ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

CLOSED BINGO BOOK LISTING — ⋆ @heiangod

[villain-he]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒  . . . ఠ ͟ಠ ?

A giant, two-faced, four-armed curse built like a freight train with scripture etched across every inch of skin? No one with sense would call him stupid. Unstable? Certainly. A walking omen? Without question. Enough red flags to clothe a battlefield? Absolutely. Saint, however, has never been deterred by warning signs. They are a warning sign. They tilt their head, studying him with slow, unapologetic interest. The unconventional geometry of his face appeals to them, broken up by unique traits and ink. There is something indulgent about a creature that refuses to fit cleanly into mortal proportions. And the build ⸻ By the gods. He looks like a living monument, like some obscene reinterpretation of Atlas caught mid-strain beneath the sky, except this one seems to enjoy the weight. Saint’s lips curve.

❛ ’S a resoundin’ 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇 for me, darlin’. ❜ They lift the back of their hand to their mouth like a proper southern belle scandalized by their own confession. The act would be convincing, if not for the gleam in their eyes.

❛ Sexually or violently, ❜ they add airily, lashes lowering to half-mast, ❛ take yoh pick. ❜ Red irises burn behind that foxy smile, bright and flint-sharp. There is nothing embarrassed about them. Nothing coy beyond the performance. They have no shame. And they are deeply proud of it. Their gaze drags slowly, appreciatively, over inked muscle and monstrous breadth, assessing. Curious. Amused. Entertained by the sheer audacity of the design. Behavioral issues? Saint collects those like heirlooms. Danger? Please. They rest their chin lightly in their palm, expression thoughtful in the most unserious way possible. Built like a catastrophe. A face like a religious experience turned sour. A pleased hum slips free of their lips.

❛ Yeh, I enjoy watchin’ y’throw mortals into utter disarray ⸻ practically exuding retribution from your pores. wonton destruction and mayhem follow you like festerin’ wounds picked open by unclean hands. haaaaah, how lovely. ❜ Saint concludes softly. They used to be so feared and reviled, too. now look at them, practically civil. disgusting.

[kegaare]

"what do you think of him?" cicada call fades in and out of the evening's dreamy haze; he felt as sweat bead down his nape and his hand, unwavering, pinned the segments of a mukade into place. "he is beautiful." suguru assessed his work in spite of the shadow cast over the cork box he dedicated his evening to. "ah? your friend or mine?" kenjaku's laughter joined the screaming of the cicadas. "do you think him beautiful?" he expertly punctured yet another segment and finally pitch dark eyes lift to stare at the man through his incessant loom. "the way one might think a fire beautiful." suguru considered it, considered him. "there are too many fires to choose from. the hearth.. the forge.." his senior laughed again; the lilt catches and tugs in such a way that it made him uncomfortable. it was always this way with kenjaku. unnerving. he wondered if he was the same? he looked toward the centipede again, added yet another support.. it spiraled like pinwheels. "are you trying to be polite? that's so like you. to consider my feelings." his shadow vanished and once more the lantern light feeds over his project, only the flutter of moths to blot the work. "i'm not so sure that it's for you." suguru pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. when next his eyes opened the other man stooped beside him, a small fetish of some sort presented to him like a gift.

he plucked it from his palm and turned it around in his fingers, the pad of his thumb methodical as it circled the knife marks left against the surface of the figure. he recognized it. a charm from one of the cults along the coast. the shape was his; sukuna. four arms were touched, the craftsmanship he found adequate. something made by a child, he assumed, for it was driftwood. he remembered his days scrounging for it on the beach along with shells and other treasures to bring home.

"where did you get this from?" suguru lofted a brow.

"ask a more interesting question."

he scowled. "fine. what is it meant to do?" kenjaku smiled. it split his face apart. "protection." he felt it was more of a burden. regardless.. he tucked it into his sleeve. "you worry he will kill me--" his fellow sorcerer opened the sliding door behind them. "ah? of course not. it's just a gift.. do with it what you will." suguru retrieved the mukade and wrapped it with gash-red silk. all of his preparation now complete, he could dedicate himself to the labyrinth sprawl of his host's abode. veils upon veils upon veils all devouring one another. it was dizzying to navigate the halls. if not for his previous visits he would have found one dead end after another. instead, he was deposited in the expansive tea room of the estate. the smell of lavender, funerary incense, hung heavy in the air. as he walked shadows swelled and expanded along with his; the depth of the sea and all it's creatures of time primordial clung to him. slithering eels and the unfurling of tentacles, he brought the smell of sandalwood and petrichor.

the audience was not one he walked into with fear; it was not ryomen sukuna that terrified him. it was the depths of himself that horrified.

he sat at the low end table, mixed the tea and freshened incense for the king of curses' arrival in kenjaku's liminal space. candle light devoid of source flung upon the byobu behind him outlined scattering of ghost-shadow, yet more fish he carried with him from home. in the limited light, the solitude, he looked tired. a devastating fatigue had settled over him in the time it took to exit the garden and arrive there.

@heiangod , were you born starving?

[ntzenin]

your worm and i both want ramen. :/

 He   looked   at   the   man,   who   was   even   bigger   than   him.   He   tilted   his   head   to   the   side   curiously   before   putting   his   hands   in   his   pockets.   There   was   nothing,   not   even   some bills ,   pockets   all   empty   .        

   ‟      you   should   get   us    some        …            ”  

[fedua1era]

Continued from here @heiangod

She had not been expecting to encounter a demon while she was venturing out in the mountain with the sun rising in roughly an hour. The miko was careless and left all her weapons back at the shrine where she had been staying for the past couple of days. Her first instinct was to bite down, tearing at the flesh that was nearby, while her basket scattered everywhere. Spitting out the blood with disgust, her chocolate eyes glared at him as she felt her heart racing, as he only laughed at her attempts to fight back.

Fear and adrenaline were coursing through her veins as he gripped the top half of her kimono, dangling her into the air as if she weighed nothing. As her mind was racing, trying to come up with a method to escape, she stiffened, feeling how he touched her wrist, bringing it closer to his own lips. As his fangs sank down past the flesh and muscle down to her bone, blood was gushing down from the wound as she screamed from the blinding pain.

Inhaling sharply as tears streaked down her cheeks, she focused her spiritual energy into that wrist the demon would be biting down on. It would be a nasty burn and sting as it fought off his demonic presence. A bright lavender light burst up from her body as she fought off against the demon she using her other hand to attempt to hit him in the face while he was distracted.