#tw humiliation

[justxangelxthings]

Being overpowered is so hot. Feeling small and fragile is so hot. Fear and vulnerability and helplessness are so hot. Humiliation is so hot. Shame is so hot. Corruption is so hot. Being degraded is so hot. Being soft and feminine is so hot. Being degraded for being soft and feminine is so hot. Praise is so hot. Filthy talk is so

#corruption kink #r4p3b4it #rough cnc #soft cnc #cnc kidnapping #cnc somno #r@pe fantasy #r@pe me #mine #tw ccnc #tw humiliation

[ghostbutaliveidk]

HOUSE PET

Pairing - Cassian, Rhysand and Azriel x reader

plot/summary - You accidentally find yourself in front of the three most dangerous men in the world, and they decide to take you and keep you as a house pet.

Warnings - NONCON, BDSM elements but it's not actual bdsm because it's noncon. Spanking. Petplay. Anal. Degradation. Humiliation. Dacryphilia. Face slapping. Forced marriage.

Chapter specific warnings will be added to the chapters.

Chapter 1

#rhys #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #cassian #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #dark fic #tw noncon #tw degradation #tw humiliation #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[riizeblr]

bully reader w small cock wonbin 😵‍💫

o-oh 😳

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: dubcon, humiliation

wonbin’s fingers shakily lower his zipper, eyes trained on the ground, blonde hair fanning his forehead. he looks up at you for a second, a silent plea in his eyes that goes ignored by you as he slowly pushes his pants down his hips. he cups his bulge as his underwear falls, easily concealing his hardening cock.

you feel the ghost of a smile on your lips, scanning the lower half of his body. his hips and strong thighs, pale in color, contrasted by the dark hair at the base of his cock that is still held between wonbin’s firm palms.

you huff in annoyance, “don’t start, wonbinnie. you bitch and cry about how I treat you but you still haven’t learned to listen. I said show me.”

wonbin looks at you, plump lips falling open when you grip his wrist and pull, trying to tear it away from his cock. he holds on, putting up more of a fight than you expected, sucking his lip between his teeth as the stimulation of the constant tugs cause him to harden further under his hand. he nearly grimaces when he feels a sticky string of precum on his palm.

“s-stop,” he stutters, “wait… it-“ wonbin lets out a sound of protest when you succeed and expose his cock.

it’s almost as pretty as he is, but so, so small, the length smaller than your hand. it still stands proudly, bouncing in the air in apparent arousal. the tip is leaking, a slimy string hanging off the angry red head that fades into an enticing brown color that continues down to his base.

“oh my god,” you laugh, “it’s smaller than I thought.”

wonbin stutters over his words, speaking unintelligibly before you manage to decipher his words. “i- no, i-it, no,” his eyes start to water, “please leave me alone.” his knees press against each other and his hands start to reach for his dick, trying to hide it again.

you slap his hand away and glare at him. wonbin stiffens at the look, slowly lowering his hands but keeping his thighs shut tight. “I said, don’t fucking start. I just wanna play with it a little,” you laugh lightly, observing it. you can’t help the way you lick your lips, “I’ve never seen one this small.”

you give it a slap, making wonbin jolt as a gasp leaves his mouth. “I shouldn’t be surprised. of course, wonbinnie has the smallest dick I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait for everyone to find out. you’ll never hear the end of it.” his cock jumps up and down, the sight more arousing than you care to admit.

wonbin’s lip quivers as he watches your fingers ghost over his shaft, trailing down to his balls. he shivers, “p-please, don’t tell anyone…”

“aw,” you mock his pout as you look up at him, “don’t cry! why don’t you want anyone to know, hm? maybe somebody else will wanna play with it, too. maybe laugh at it a little… you seem to like that.”

wonbin feels his face heat up, the blush already on his cheeks deepening. “I d-don’t,” he says.

you simply snort, “sure you don’t.”

your gaze glues itself onto his cock again, finally applying pressure as you easily slide your hand up and down his short shaft. wonbin lets out a high-pitched breath, his hips unconsciously pushing against your fists. the head doesn’t surpass the length of your hand, making you laugh loudly. tears brim in wonbin’s eyes, humiliation running up his body when he realizes.

“there’s no way you can fuck with this thing,” you giggle, tugging him again. “how unfortunate,” you pretend to pout again, “poor little wonbinnie is gonna be a pathetic virgin forever.”

a tear slips down his scorching cheeks, “I-I c-can.”

“yeah?” you tut, squeezing his length tighter as you jerk him off. “who’d you fuck?” you ask, tilting your head as you look at him. you make a face of disgust but a sick feeling of possessiveness weighs heavily in your chest. “your fist doesn’t count.”

wonbin inhales shakily, his hips visibly struggling to keep still. “uh,” he moans softly, looking away from you, “um.”

“who?” you push, tightening your hold further, making wonbin whine as the pain sinks in. he lets out a broken moan when you continue stroking him, harder and faster. wonbin’s pouty lips fall open and his eyes flutter shut. his head falls back, banging loudly against the metal behind his head, his body weakening.

“who was it?” you ask again, determined to get an answer.

#tw dubcon #tw humiliation #i don’t have time to finish this #excuse the ending #discography ! #feat. wonbin ! #wonbin x reader #wonbin smut #riize x reader #riize smut #riize hard hours #riize #wonbin

[levmada]

//TOTAL PWP, male!reader, subby levi, humiliation, daddy kink, overstim | 1k

Levi is so wet and warm inside, you could melt. The same as his mind since the last time you fucked him through another climax and bent him into a tight kneel. Guttural moans dissolved into whimpers for more without knowing what for, and his fist tearing into the greyed sheet next to his head.

You grip the nape of his neck as a moan is punctuated by hips slapping his ass. You're hypnotized by the subtle bounce with each thrust. You grip and squeeze, and watch his back arch tighter.

“Daddy...” Levi gasps. Sloppy wordless murmurs bleed into the pillow under his head.

“Feel good, honey? You like being my toy?”

You lean back more on your knees and grip his hips, watching slack-jawed each time his hole stretches around the thickest part of your cock, so relaxed and wet and giving. You're tempted to just kneel in place and use him like a cocksleeve. He loves every second of it.

“Mmph…! Fuck! A-Ah—mmn—”

“Daddy’s pretty fuck toy,” you moan. Your palm falls and slaps his round ass. “Daddy’s good fuckin’ boy.”

He keens as you fill his tight ass. Half his face is pushed into the pillow, letting you see where sweat has dripped and his open mouth drooled. You can’t remember at what point you fucked him dumb, but you’re not about to stop savoring Levi in this wrecked state.

“Daddy…” he moans. “Daddy, Daddydaddy…”

You hiss through your teeth, your cock twitching caressed by his heat.

“Fuck, Levi.”

You slide out of him, but before he can register the emptiness, you haul him onto his back, his legs folded for his ankles to dangle helplessly, then pinned in place by your hands gripping the backs of his thick thighs. You're sitting up.

Levi’s hazy eyes inch open and seem to register his own helplessness with an ease that's painfully sweet; they’re soft, completely submissive. You might even ask him to say love right now and he’d do it.

"Beautiful, beautiful…"

You rub your shaft up against his hole, to his shiver, before sinking back in. You jolt when your tip first dips past his rim, followed by a groan punched from your chest. You completely fill him in one thrust.

“God, fuck right there—” he moans, both his legs shuddering. He rips one out of your grip and digs his heel into your lower back, pulling, begging.

With a groan, you let him drag you forward into a kneel, bending his knees by his shoulders with his feet dangling, propped up by your own shoulders. This unreal flexibility in the heat of the moment makes you hiss through your teeth.

“Mm…!—Fuck—”

“Oh”—your fingers clench in the pillow by his head, breaths beating—"this is much better, right?—I can watch your pretty face when—ah—you come, baby…”

For your words, or the passion from your stare boring behind his eyelids, he plants his cheek in the pillow, whining your name as he scrambles for you to hold onto. You dip your head and taste his sweat on your teeth.

"I can't I can't—"

"Fuck..." You rest more of your weight on top of him, grinding deep inside and allocate all your attention to watching Levi's terse expression gape and twitch as he gets close. "Are you gonna come again?"

"Daddy," he whines, his blunt nails digging into the side of your thigh. The answer is clear.

"Oh no... So pathetic, aren't you, baby.”

"F-Fuck." You feel a shiver shake through his whole body.

Not enough.

You're practically eye-fucking the pretty tears beading on his lashes as you ease your pace to devastating, slow, deep slams.

You grunt with every one as he keens, miserably. And like a rubber band, his body utterly pinned underneath you yanks tense and tight when your balls smack his ass, then regrettably loosens, only longingly arching, when you leave. Even with nothing separating your bodies. You feel it all.

"No please, daddy fuck, please..."

"Awe... that's so cute." You rest on top of him, like none of it affects you at all.

That's even better, actually.

"So cute," you mutter, chuckling as he moans underneath you. "You tense up when you beg, you know? Then I praise you, and your ass gets even tighter."

"Shutup," he really sobs, his face pushing for your neck out of shame. "I can't when—ugh—too..."

"You're gonna come 'cause I'm talking to you."

"Please pleaseplease—"

"Say it." You take his throat like a loose necklace and pin him back, exposing himself to you. Your thumb crosses his plump bottom lip and dips into his mouth. He licks, mindlessly.

You feel your self-control beginning to melt.

"Say it."

"'m..." His eyes close. "'m pathetic. Ah."

You groan, a pleasant shiver up your spine. Close enough. For a moment you fuck him faster than you mean to, and he latches onto your unraveling quickly.

“Daddy.” Smack. “Daddy.” Smack. “Come on, don’t fucking—stop, faster, fucking faster—”

You groan with a bright sting dragging down your back—Levi’s nails. The pain adds to your surging orgasm. He's so tight inside, quivering around your swelling cock, you can’t keep up this game anymore.

Your lips dip below his burning ear, fist roving down and taking his firm cock. “God, why don’t you come for your daddy?"

Before you’ve even finished the beckon, his muscles lock, his head falls back, and his cock pulses between your fingers. His legs flail at random, trapped beneath you as they are, as his whole quaking body is.

As a euphoric moan explodes out of his chest, you shudder in the throes of his pleasure, 'daddy' being cried in your ear, and fuck him through it.

“Daddy, fuck!”

“Good boy good boy, Lee…”

Like you promised you'd do, you watch all the tension melt off his expression, only leaving bliss. Without his hair to obscure, his delicate features are even more pronounced, sharper, somehow even more beautiful. His cheeks glow bright red, his jaw dropped and wobbling around whimpers.

You kiss his burning forehead, slippery with sweat, as his legs start to shudder past his climax, and you feel your own closing in on you.

His voice is all flimsy and touched by tears. "Come in me, fuck, fill me the fuck up."

“Ahh"—he’s doing it on purpose, squeezing, rippling, throbbing, practically sucking your cock back inside—“Levi.”

You slam in, sloppy thrusts so shallow you can barely consider it fucking. Only a few seconds. When you tip over the edge, your balls clenching, you slam in and still, whining. It's so powerful, only a few heavy strokes are enough for you to release. Levi still moans under his breath with each spurt pumped into him.

So it's not just calling you daddy...

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x male reader #captain levi x reader #captain levi x you #aot smut #tw daddy kink #tw humiliation

[undermine-the-instinct]

Flies in Honey

Mahito/Reader/Yuji Word count 3K

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, EXTREME NONCON, mIndbreak, character death (reader insert)/ You’re already dead prior to this fic, Mahito uses your body, Mahito is his own warning, humiliation, victim blaming, profanity.

Aged up characters. Spoilers for jjk S2. Consider this an Au where Todo dies and Yuji loses against Mahito.

Yuji doesn’t know how he got here.

It's dark, and damp, wherever he is. It soaks into the rags of his clothes and his exposed skin, gravel tearing at his back. He hardly feels it.

The cracks on the ceiling fissure and twist together, but he’d rather look at them. It's better to look above him than what lies before him.

He’s wearing your face. 

Above him, you sigh, breathy and high pitched, Your hips roll into his, and Yuji bites back a hiss. His hands lay limp at his sides.

“Why aren't you saying anything? I thought you would like this.” Your voice is wrong, you’re talking with his voice and Yuji feels the bile rise in his throat.

You switch rhythm, and Yuji chokes on his spit as you bounce up and down his cock. His hands spasm into claws, but no, he doesn't touch you. He won't, he won't.

You laugh. It's so fucked up but he sounds like you.

“You like this better, right?“

“Fuck you–” It was a bad idea to talk. Your– Mahito's hand shoots out and he sticks three fingers into his open mouth to gag him. Two on his tongue, the other on the roof of his mouth, keeping his mouth open. He chokes, but Mahito presses down on his tongue.

He’s going to come again. What number was this? He lost count around the fourth. All he could focus on was the hot coil in his belly, the tightening of his balls and that horrible fucking sound of your warped laughter when he spills, again.

It shouldn’t feel this good. He wants to tear his fucking skin off. He wants to bite down on the fingers in his mouth, he wants to curl into a ball and never wake up.

He's not going to admit to himself he's enjoying this, that he's missed this. It's not you. You're dead. You died, and it's Yuji's fault. All of it is. He got to you, and now he's wearing your likeness like it's a new coat, the bitch.

But damn, it really looks like you.

“I memorized everything about her, you know.” Your fingers leave his mouth, punched out gasps leave his chest while hands drag down his skin, drawing red lines. 

“She was fun to play with. Stubborn too. Kept fighting even when I made her unable to,” he giggles.

“But she made the prettiest sounds when she finally broke. Prettier when we slept together too. She was just like you–Human. Always trying to deny yourselves at your most desperate, out of some half formed sense of dignity. See?” He presses down with your body, chest to chest while your walls flutter around him. Yuji’s eyes roll back, his hands leave bloody gorges  in the ground.

“But human dignity is just the same as human depravity; you can't hide your baser instincts even in the worst circumstances, huh?”

Yuji would fight back, but his head is swimming, and his bones feel like they’re replaced with jello. There is a rage that simmers as he talks though, and Yuji bites his tongue until he tastes iron. It drips through the hole in his cheek. Mahito sees this and sighs.

"Your base instinct is to kill me. My base instinct is to murder your soul. That's what this is." He gestures between the two of them, not breaking pace. His hand drifts down, and he wipes away at the blood on his face, though he only succeeds in smudging it more.

“I did the same thing to her. Took your face and made her tell me how to do it right.”

“You’re sick–”

“I consider myself considerate. It's why you’re here and not dead.” He stops moving, tilts his head and meets Yuji's eyes in an eerie stare you've never given him. “Did you know that was my first time? I liked it.” You, fuck, he tilts your head, eyes pointed up in thought.

“Well, I'm a ‘human curse’ so I guess of course I would.”

“You fucking–” This time Yuji tries to buck him off, get some room in between them to get a hit in, but all he accomplishes is Mahito pushing him down and pinning his hands, going back to his earlier motions. Yuji's weaker now. Maybe its because its your face. He could never fight against you, even while sparring.

“That's how–I was able to memorize it too. All her faces, her sounds, what she likes. I wanted to understand you, through her. And now," a sound, high pitched and miserable leaves Yuji's throat.

"You like it too, right? A perfect replica, right? Wanna keep going?” Yuji just shakes his head, and tries to fight off his grip. But Mahito has more hands, and he remains pinned. He can't help the slight bucking of his hips, and when he notices, Mahito grins, a ruddy flush spreading across your face in a bald faced insult.

He can't breathe. He needs to vomit.

You had gone missing weeks ago, called on a mission to deal with a second grade level curse. Nothing too hard for you, it was a quick job and everyone had thought that you’d be in and out.

But cursed spirits have been acting strange lately, and everyone simply thought that it was due to the encroaching Halloween date. Due to various thoughts and practices towards the day, this was normal. But you had gone missing and the only sign of your whereabouts came from another encounter with the patchwork curse.

He went down to the sewers with Mr.Nanami, following the smallest clues they had towards your disappearance, where they met Patchwork. He had been vague and leering and lewd, and it was the first time Yuji saw Mr. Nanami’s face twist into such visceral rage. He mirrored the feeling, but Mahito had escaped, along with any other clues to where you were.

He had tossed a lump of...something to Yuji with a mocking grin, spongy and pale. They took it back to Miss Shoko, and it was confirmed to be a piece of your brain matter. Your death was confirmed.

Hope had dragged him along, weary and spitting blood, but losing you…was too much. Shibuya. Nanami, Kugisaki, Todo, you… His mind broke. He could feel the cracks. They fought, Mahito had knocked him unconscious, and dragged him to god knows where, and now he’s here.

And now he was faced with this horrible caricature of you, with too wide eyes and a leering grin that reminded him exactly of who was wearing your face.

Mahito didn't even seem that interested in the sex, too busy staring at the way Yuji reacted. His muscle spasms, the way he would jerk away from his touch or forward when he couldn't help it, the blank look on his face that sometimes twisted into an expression of such utter loathing– Or lust, and then his face would twist with such despair, a broken sob dragged from behind his clenched teeth, wrangled and bloody. Mahito felt the dark glee drip honey sweet through his soul, like the slick that ran down his thighs.

You really were a fun experiment. He knew how much you meant to Yuji, and initially just wanted to use you to damage his soul further. But where was the fun with that? You were something special. Yuji Itadori had plenty of friends and mentors, and killing any random person in front of him would always garner the same effect. But there was only one you. He wanted to understand you, and the exact place you held in Itadori’s life.

What made you special? What made you stand out to the one person, his natural enemy? Humans and their romantic relationships always seemed like a Greek tragedy to Mahito; Of course the person you let know all your weaknesses would be the one to destroy you in the end. Love always gave rise to hatred. It gave rise to a particular brand of hatred that made up Mahito, and if he was anything, he was always curious to know the full substance of his soul. That's where you came in.

“We would talk, and I'd have her tell me all about you–” Mahito drawled. “I had to pry out all the other stuff but she eventually spilled. I wanted to know everything you see,” he punctuates his words by slowly pulling himself off of Yuji's cock, before dropping down with a slap of flesh. He watches in fascination as Yuji’s lower belly flutters.

“We made deals the other half of the time. A few less experiments if she talked, or let me touch her.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you–”

“I got bored eventually, after she told me everything, and I took everything I could... I don't even remember what I did to her in the end."

Mahito wondered, if love gave rise to hatred, would you hate your lover for not rescuing you? Or for being the true target of Mahito's morbid intrigue? He never got his answer, you never voiced any thoughts like that, and strangely, he sensed no hatred at all when you died. Not for Yuji, or even for himself. You were probably too broken.

Mahito shrugged. “Oh well. She’s dead now anyways.” An ugly, violent sound tears through Yuji’s throat, and finally his hands reach out to grab at his–your waist with a bruising grip. He shoots up and doesn't let Mahito move, and Mahito is curious about this reaction, so he waits while Yuji catches his breath.

“You…how can you…just do that to people? She never did–she never did anything wrong–” His head comes to rest on your collarbone, and Mahito watches this all play out with an intense curiosity, and a growing glee.

Yuji continues to break down, tears slipping from his eyes down to the soft flesh of your breast.

“What the fuck did you do to her…why the fuck did you take her…" Mahito sighs, lets the familiar timber of your voice take over, and drags a hand through Yuji’s hair. Not as gentle a touch as he made you demonstrate on him, but Yuji shudders, and burrows further into the mimicry.

“Yuji.” At the sound of our voice, your true voice, Yuji's shoulders shake horribly.

So this is grief? Or despair? Mahito remarks. What's the difference? He watches Yuji as he shatters. Yuji sobs, ugly and loud off the sewer walls when Mahito starts moving again, but his hips thrust shallowly into your slick cunt.

Mahito wondered, had wondered, if love gave rise to hatred, then you just needed to love him, right? If he wanted to understand your place in his enemy's life, your place as his 'lover', than you just had to love him, right?  And lovers do things together, they talk about their vulnerabilities, they watch and learn their tics and preferences and dislikes and habits. They stick through the good and bad. And Mahito was….bad.

Yuji continues to sob, but he tilts his head back and starts fucking him back, soft whimpers slipping past his bitten lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry, ah–! Fuck, I'm sorry, I wasn't there, I let him get to you, fuck I’m sorry I let him hurt you–”

This isn’t even about the sex. But Mahito is a disaster curse–he was born from hate. And hate has flavors. Rage, vindictiveness, envy, glee; he’s all of them. And the hatred rising from Yuji Itadori is so potent and despair riddled that Mahito sighs, and in an act unbidden comes with a choked out gasp.

Its sudden. Mahito hasn't orgasmed once this entire ordeal before, but as soon as he does, Yuji groans, deep and guttural. His head flops back to the hard ground, and immediately his gasps turn shallow and fast before he pulls your hips down and comes in thick, hot ropes.

Is it because Mahito is wearing your face, or did he always hold on this tightly to you? Mahito is sure he’ll see dark purple bruises on your skin when he lets go, and Mahito decides he’ll keep them. He’s never fixed you, after all, so bruises were a common sight. He just wonders how it’ll look as it ‘heals’. Maybe Yuji could give him some pointers on the visual front.

Yuji lays there, and cries. The tears cut clean streaks through the blood and dirt and grime, and Mahito stares, and he stares. His pink hair is flat, and stringy with dried blood.

"Why are you pretending you don't like this?"

"What...?"

he tilts your head. "Its sex. Even if you're not one for carnal pleasure I still look like her. I still feel like her. Don't you love her?"

"No...I--"

"You dont?"

"I do, you're just--! Fuck, get off of me--" Mahito swats his hands away, almost halfheartedly, clicks his tongue.

"If you did 'love her' than wouldn't you stop me already? I read a plot like this in a book once... Shouldn't you kill me for 'defiling her memory' or something? You're enjoying this."

"I'm not--"

"You are."

"I'm--"

"You are. Stop denying it. I'm not going to stop if that's what you're scared of." Mahito chuckles.

“What the fuck…is your problem, what do you want?” Yuji gasps out. His breaths are shallow and his voice is high patched, chest rising up and down, up and down, too fast. He runs his thumb over his collarbone if only to feel the rabbit-fast pulse.

“What do I want...?” 

“Why me? Why do you want to break me? ‘Natural enemy?' I don't even know what that means...” Mahito is silent for a moment longer, enjoying the moment, before he leans over. With the use of Idle transfiguration, your mangled face takes up Yuji’s vision, and he feels the breath die in his throat.

“You are my natural enemy Yuji Itadori. But I can't kill you. Physically, that is. So this is the next best thing.”

“You, I–”

“Don't take my words too seriously, I am a curse after all,” Mahito brushes your hair out his face and leers.

“But you seem to think that this is a punishment. This is a reward, Itadori.”

“‘Reward’?” He hiccups.

Mahito nods.

“Without you, I would have never gotten to understand my soul on such an intimate level. I know the essence of my soul because of you.” He leans closer, breath full of mirth and rot.

“And I thought, surely you missed your little girlfriend. And isn't intercourse the most sacred act between two lovers?” Mahito shrugs.

“An experiment for me on whether this would fully break you or not. You can consider it a gift though.”

“You think…you think I want to see her like this?”

“Yes?”

“No!”

“Then would you like to see what's left of her?” Mahito points back to the mouth of the sewer. Tortured, anguish moans rise from there, and Yuji can already guess what was there. Despair grips his heart and rips it out.

“Don't worry, I didn't tranfigure her, actually. I bet I can find the parts of her around somewhere …but only if you ask nicely.” Again, he thrashes, but from battle, or loss, he’s weak.

No, Yuji knows why. He could never raise a hand against that face. Even now, seeing dark purple bruises on a body that even resembles yours makes guilt curl in his chest.

“Get off of me."

“What was that? You're talking so low I can't hear you.”

“Get off of me!” Mahito drawls out a low note, but surprisingly, he does as he’s told. Yuji hisses as he slides off his dick, letting him feel the drag of your walls and how they flutter. It's familiar, and Yuji wants to kill something when he thinks of how this curse must have learnt that from you.

He wants to kill himself when his breath hitches at the feeling.

Mahito gets off, but does not release his hands. The image of an extra pair of hands holding him down creates enough clarity for him to differentiate between the two of you, and Itadori growls under his breath.

Your face smiles down at him, and Itadori tries not to stare back. Just like that, the anger is gone. He’s missed you, after all.

“...You know I'm getting out of here, right?”

“And you’ll try killing me. I know. That's if you don't come back for this, though.” He gestures with a stitched hand the bare curves of your body.

“You’ve killed my puppets, transfigured humans, even the kid ones! Shibuya didn't break you, killing Mister 7:3 didn't break you, or that Gorilla, that hammer woman’s death almost did… but something tells me…”

He slithers up and slots himself against Yuji’s side, and it's an ingrained habit to hold you. He jolts back quickly enough in horror, but Mahito grabs his arms, and keeps them on him.

“Killing me while wearing this face would really shatter you, hm? it's why you didn't stop me when I dragged you here and did what I did. You let me. You let this happen." He shakes his head even before you, fuck, it's done. He denies it, because what else could he do?

Mahito moves to hiss in his ear. 

"Is it because of guilt? You're so human, Itadori Yuji.” And his eyes switch to that familiar silver and blue.

“Even if it's self loathing, I can still sense it. That hatred. You’ll come back, and I'll break your soul down some more each time. Little by little…until eventually, one of us kills the other. That's how this is going to go.” He rests your head on his shoulder, listening to the dull drag of his heart. The movement is so familiar that Yuji could cry again, but he holds it back.

“....So that's how it is.”

“Yup. Oh, and I'm still waiting for my thank you.”

“....” 

He sits up, and laughs at the way Yuji’s eyes go pinprick small, copying your laughter down to a terrifying degree. Yuji doesn't know how, he’s sure you never laughed in a place like this.

“Hate me all you want, it only makes me stronger. But, even if it's unconventional, I still let you see her, feel her. I want a thank you for that.”

And Yuji must truly be broken because what if I really never see her again? What if I never hear her voice or touch her? This here, horrible as it was, was both knife and balm, like peroxide on an open wound. Cleansing and burning.

“....”

“Well?”

If…he just pretends it was you, if he just watches your mouth and imagines….

He used to thank you after sex in the beginning, before you told him to stop thanking you like you were being paid to sleep with him. Of course, this led to the private joke, where you would demand your payment–anytime, anywhere, and he would smother you in kisses. Fushiguro, Kugisaki and even Gojo-san would roll their eyes or tease or gag, but he loved it. He knew you did too, with how often you used the joke.

“...Thank you.”

Fuck, he misses you.

“Nuh uh uh! Not like that!” Mahito shoots up, hovering your face over his again, noses touching. He switches his eyes back for yours, extra arms gone.

“Thank her. Like you used to. Go on.” He's broken. Yuji is broken.

He reaches a hand and cups the side of your face like he used to. You cant into it like a cat, and a fondness rises in his chest, just to be awashed by despair. He has to clear his throat, and still his voice breaks.

“Th-Thank you...” And because he can't help the fact that it's you, it looks just like you, he pulls you down for a kiss. It's so familiar, down to the way you would tilt your head to the side, and your tongue would swipe over the bottom of his lip. But Mahito bites down, reopening a wound from when he bit his tongue earlier. Blood fills his mouth, but Mahito laps it up. His tongue pokes at the hole in his cheek.

He pulls away, and his eyes are still yours, warm and loving, red smeared at the corner of your mouth. He smiles your smile. He speaks in your voice. Soft, so soft it kills him.

“You’re welcome, Yuji.”

#my stuff #my writing #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #mahito #jjk mahito #jujutsu kaisen mahito #mahito x reader #yuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen yuuji #jjk yuji #yuji x reader #dark content #not sfw #minors dni #dark fic #minor dni #tw humiliation #tw noncon #tw mindbreak #tw dead dove #dead dove do not eat #tw implied death #tw implied kidnapping #tw angst #tw victim blaming #ahhh its here #pls enjoy #and do not percieve me #i wrote this all in like two days

[holycollectivedelusion]

Laying on the couch upside down, bored and trying to pass the time playing video games when you hear the door unlock and your roommate come in. You call out a greeting and they merely grunt in reply, obviously in a bad mood, no doubt thanks to work. you just carry on playing your game as they walk over to you and say something and you distractedly agree, too focused on the game. the next thing you know, they're in front of you and blocking the view of the TV. they drop their pants and pull their girl dick out, you see sweat practically dripping from their sack, their thighs glistening in the dim light of the room. the smell alone is enough to clear your sinuses and you can't help but focus on their musk. before you can even ask what's up, they pin your arms down, controller falling from your grip and start grinding their junk against your face, coating it with a sheen of their sweat. opening your mouth to protest, they force their length down into your throat, destroying all resistance your body offers and going as deep as they can. they start getting rougher and rougher, practically mating pressing your throat as you struggle to stay conscious beneath them. you're unable to tell how much time has passed with their dick lodged in your throat, you just hope it's over soon. their movements becoming more and more erratic as they get closer to finishing, you feel relief at being so close to being free. finally they plug your throat completely as they release almost directly into your stomach, their musky and sweaty ballsack pressed firmly against your nose, making you unable to breathe properly as they relieve themselves in you, fashioning you into their own personal fleshlight for the evening. they start pulling out and you taste the remnants of their cum on their cock, you take shuddering breaths, relishing in the fresh air. you look up at them and they smirk, deciding to plunge into your throat a few more times and pound away, just to hear your gagging again. "thanks for helping out" they say, as they release their grip on you and head for the bathroom, finally deciding they're ready for a shower as you lay in the same position, breathing heavily and eyes glazed over.

#cnc kink #trans nsft #petpl4y #musk #tw restriction #tw humiliation #nsft concept #sweat #humiliation kink #sloppy deepthroa

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Mahito x AFAB!Reader

NSFW

Word Count: 2'133

Warnings: Yandere, Dubcon, Implied past noncon, Kidnapped reader, Captive reader, Denial of basic needs, Graphic descriptions of period blood, Descriptions of period cramps, Humiliation, Mahito is a fucking asshole in this. Dead dove do not eat.

Additional Notes: This is disgusting and I'm not sorry for a single moment.

There were just over two hundred cracks in the ceiling.

Two hundred and three, give or take, from the ones you could see.

It was hard to be accurate from your position on the floor. The angle from your little corner combined with the dim lighting of the sewer did you no favors, but you had counted them all five times now.

It was something to do. Something to distract you from the horrendous, gnawing pain that wracked your abdomen.

You had been dreading this day. After two weeks in Mahito’s captivity, you were nervous, but after three? You knew it was no longer a matter of “if” but “when” your period would hit while in his “care”. Mahito liked you too much to kill you, at least for now. He had made that explicitly clear in his extremely chipper response as to why you were still alive, however part of you genuinely wished to join the growing masses of his experiments in the tunnels rather than go through this.

You had nothing. No pads, no tampons, and nothing that you’d normally use to cope with the pain. After discovering the magical combination that eased you through this hellscape with minimal suffering, you had never gone a cycle without it.

But now you were dealing with it in full force for the first time in god knew how long with nothing but the cracks in the ceiling to distract you, and god, what a poor distraction it was.

After the sixth round of counting you couldn’t take it anymore. You could feel the blood oozing through the material of your pants and the cramps were fucking unbearable.

 “I need a new set of clothes.”

Mahito hummed softly in curiosity, giving you a once-over from his spot in his hammock. “What’s wrong with the ones you have on now?”

“I just need new ones.”

“Need or want~?”

“Goddamnit, Mahito, please.”

The slip-up left before you could catch it, and you watched in what felt like slow motion as his expression shifted into sinful delight mixed with intrigue.

You’ve never begged him before. Not once. Not unless he made you.

“Really?” He sat up and turned his body towards you fully - leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Now what could be so dire, I wonder?”

A particularly nasty cramp hit at that exact moment, and it took everything to keep from doubling over and letting him see you like that, but your pain tolerance was not good enough to keep such a display from showing on your face.

He saw it clear as day.

“Oh?” He tilted his head. “Are you sick?”

“No, but I genuinely would rather be.” You muttered, hugging your abdomen and closing your eyes while taking a few deep breaths through your nose and exhaling shakily through your mouth.

The crunch of debris could be heard as Mahito got off the hammock and strode over to you. You opened your eyes in time to see him crouch down to your level.

“You’re pale and you keep wincing, you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick! I’m just-” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collect yourself since the growing exasperation in your tone was only serving to add to Mahito’s excitement over the whole thing.

Might as well rip the bandaid off…

“I’m on my period.”

He blinked, processing the information for a few seconds before he threw his head back and started laughing. The sound was sharp, and it echoed around the room - making you flinch back with a deep frown.

“It’s not funny.”

“Oh, you have no idea how funny it is.” He replied, still giggling as he spoke. “Your period?”

You grit your teeth to the point your jaw ached. “My menstrual cycle, it comes every-”

“I know what you’re talking about.” He said, dismissing your words with a wave of his hand and leaning in closer to you - analyzing everything. “Never thought I’d have a human around long enough to witness it, though.”

Humiliation burned in your face, but you kept eye contact. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Mahito clicked his tongue and lifted a hand to poke at your stomach - easily maneuvering around your attempts to bat it away. “Why should I get you new clothes when you’re going to bleed through those too?”

Another wave of cramps passed through you, causing you to hiss through your teeth. “So you propose I should just sit in my own blood?” Indignation practically dripped off your tone as you seethed.

He shrugged as he changed his position so he was sitting cross-legged in front of you. “You could always take them off,” He smiled. “I won’t mind.”

Of course. Of course, that would be his solution to your problems.

“I’m good, thanks.” You muttered, not bothering to hide the disgust on your face.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” He said as he rested his chin in his hand. “Besides, the longer you sit there doing nothing, the more blood is going to soak into your clothes.”

If looks could kill he would’ve been buried ten times over, but Mahito’s smile only widened in response.

“It’s your choice~.”

Damn him. Damn him to the deepest pits of hell or whatever godforsaken crevasse he crawled out of.

But he was right.

The humiliation felt like it was going to swallow you whole as you reluctantly hooked your thumbs under the waistband of your pants and underwear and pulled them down in one go, refusing to look him in the face the entire time you did so.

The tangy smell of iron hit the air immediately.

“Wow, you bleed a lot.”

His comment did absolutely nothing to help the way you wanted to simply curl up into a ball and cease to exist, and you placed your bundled-up clothes in front of your lower half to preserve some form of modesty.

“Will you help me now?”

He chuckled again, “Now how can I help you if I have no idea just how much you bleed?”

You returned your gaze to him, glaring daggers. “What?”

“I need to know the right stuff to get since clothes aren’t the only thing you need.” He replied so casually that you wanted to strike him across the face. “I’ve read human menstrual products aren’t… what’s the phrase? One-size-fits-all when it comes to flow.”

A twitch went through your eye. “I flow heavy.”

Mahito snorted, rolling his eyes after. “Obviously, but I need to know how heavy.”

You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate on exactly what the fuck he meant by that.

He smiled. “Let me see.”

…Oh.

The simmering humiliation-based anger quickly turned into nearly excruciating self-consciousness, and you pressed your thighs together tightly.

He sucked on his teeth and went to stand up. “I guess you don’t really need my help, then~.”

“No, wait!”

You hated it. The desperation that coated your words as you said them. Mahito only paused and tilted his head at you in that horrifically condescending way he seemed to enjoy so much as he waited for you to comply.

“...How long do you have to look?”

He tapped his chin and looked up in faux thought before giggling again. Like this was all a game, and to him it probably was.

“As long as I need.”

No. Not probably. It definitely was.

Damn him.

You couldn’t even look at him, not wanting to see what kind of vile excitement pulled at his stitches as you moved your clothing to the side and slowly but surely parted your legs. Your gaze was transfixed directly on the wall behind him as he made himself right at home - settling on his stomach with his face far too close for comfort from the most intimate part of you.

The silence was the worst part of it all. What was probably only seconds felt like hours and you made the mistake of looking down to see him just… staring at your cunt. Looking at it with wide eyes akin to a kid spotting a prize at a shitty pop-up carnival game as menstrual blood dripped from you.

His hands felt like ice when one closed around your thigh and the other swiped two fingers through your folds, causing your body to jolt backward in response.

“What the fuck are you-”

“Helping.” He stated simply as he slipped two fingers inside you without so much as a breath of warning.

It made your body seize and your hands shot to his shoulders out of reflex, but you knew better than to try and shove him off. Instead, you gripped onto him, stabilizing yourself as you were forced to endure it.

You just had to endure it.

“Huh.” He hummed, already deep in thought - marveling at the sight of your blood coating his fingers every time he pulled them out and plunged them back in at a horrifically languid pace. “You feel different when you’re like this.”

It felt awful. An achy, churning sensation that added to the usual discomfort you felt whenever he decided to touch you like this. Every time he crooked his fingers he made horrible scooping motions whenever he pulled them back out, and you could feel the excessive wetness as it left you.

It was disgusting. Repugnantly nauseating, and yet he also knew how to play you like a fucking fiddle as he did it. The mortification welled in your soul like the tears that welled in your eyes, and your knuckles went white as they gripped the fabric of his shirt to deal with the building pressure.

“This isn’t helping.” You said, breath catching on the last word.

“Is it not?” He asked, faux ignorance mixed with mirth as he lifted his head enough to look you in the eyes. There was no obvious expression for once, but you could feel the way his soul taunted yours. “Pity, I read orgasms supposedly helped with the pain.”

A whine slipped from your lips as he curled his fingers again, stroking a part of you that should’ve been reserved for lovers. For someone who cared for you as much as you cared for them.

Instead, you were reminded of just who it was between your thighs when you felt him smile against you - stitches bunching against your skin as the motion of his fingers repeated over and over and over again.

“Then again, you’re not quite there yet, are you?”

The sound that left you was strangled, a mixture of a grunt and a whimper that only added to the coil of what you could only describe as despair in your gut.

You refused to call it pleasure.

Each quirk of his wrist was like fire turned liquid with how it burned in your veins. It only grew hotter when he split you open with another finger, causing your hips to jerk against him. He only laughed and pinned them in place with another set of hands.

“Never mind, it looks like you’re particularly sensitive when you’re like this~.”

The curses you wanted to call him died on your tongue as his efforts doubled, blurring the line between disgust and euphoria even further until it finally came to a head. You could feel it in excruciating detail - the pulsing of your walls as they contracted around his fingers and your climax washed through you. The predisposition set upon you by your cycle amplified everything. The good. The bad.

The repulsive.

“There!”

Mahito’s cheerful voice was almost as jarring as the sensation of him pulling back and sitting on his haunches, withdrawing his fingers from you and leaving you with a worse ache than before.

Again you made the mistake of looking at him as he held up his hand, his fingers dark red with a thick glob connecting his middle and index together in a maccabe web.

Bile rose in your mouth and you had to quickly look away in order to prevent yourself from emptying what little stomach contents you had onto the floor when he placed the fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Are you done?” The question was bitter, full of resentment and utter shame as you waited for your humiliation to be complete.

There was that awful silence again, hanging in the air until it was broken by the sound of shifting clothing immediately followed by the sensation of gravity taking hold as you were pushed completely onto your back.

“Not yet,” Mahito answered, eyes gleaming as they stared down into yours - unyielding and completely merciless. 

If eyes were windows to the soul, you couldn’t bear the clarity in how he looked into yours.

And your gaze shifted back up to the ceiling, beginning to count once more.

© absolute-flaming-trash 2023. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

#riri writes #Mahito #Mahito x Reader #Yandere!Mahito #Yandere!Mahito x Reader #JJK #Jujutsu Kaisen #tw yandere #tw period #tw menstruation #tw dubcon #tw period sex #tw blood #tw implied kidnapping #tw captivity #tw implied past noncon #tw humiliation #dead dove do not eat #tw dead dove do not eat

[whumpberry-cookie]

Whumpee without self-respect but WITH some severe back pain.

(Cw: captivity, humiliation, dehumanisation)

(Wr): *knocks Whumpee down and puts their boot on their face* That's where your place is. On the floor.

(W) Can I have a request tho? Could you...eh.. step on my back instead?

(Wr) Oh? Well, you asked for it. *steps and puts their whole body weight into it, expecting Whumpee to squeal in pain*

*loud cracking sound*

(W) Ahh!! Yes, that's the stuff! Now between shoulder blades, my back's killing me.

(Wr) ...? I changed my mind. I don't want you. Get in the car, I'm dropping you out.

(W) What?! NO! I'M STAYING!

(Wr) I SAID GET IN THE CAR!

(W) Wait, I can be useful! I can be your carpet! Your doormat? YOUR TRAMPOLINE!! I CAN'T AFFORD A CHIROPRACTOR!

----------------------------

#my backs killing me i need a hydraulic press doing good work on my upper vertebrae #Step on me? Nah. Step on my back so it cracks juust right. #whump #whumpee #whump prompt #whump humor #whump meme #tw humiliation #tw captivity #captivity whump #whumper #obedient whumpee

[zeninsama-moved]

wanted to write a lil something about big brother naoya... this is my first time writing anything kinda long in a WHILE so i'm proud of myself :') i needed the practice so be nice to me. who knew all it took was incest and piss LMAO also can u believe i used caps for this one <3

tw for incest and piss, themes of humiliation and degradation (mostly the situation, "slut" used once), female reader (she/her prns and petnames like "baby girl" used), naoya is his own warning and he's kind of a dick, maybe a little clan-relevant misogyny if you squint, fingering, naoya gets a boney but this isn't about him, not really proofread u get what u get, naoya has a shitty accent and it's inconsistent

word count: 2.5k

Half an hour into your big brother's tirade, you realize you really need to pee.

All your objections fall upon deaf ears, your big brother telling you to shut up, stay quiet, or fuckin' listen each time you interrupt his ranting to try to ask. It's pointless. So instead, you bow your head in submission, whimpering from the painful straining of your bladder.

Fuck, you need to go. You're not sure how much longer you can hold it, but it's not for you to decide. You know your brother – when he's this angry, he could keep berating you for at least another hour.

You interrupt him once more.

"Please, nii-sama, I've learned my lesson, okay? I'm sorry!"

Above you, Naoya scoffs, arms folding over his broad chest. “I don’t believe that for a fuckin’ second. First you humiliate me in front of the elders, now yer talkin' to me like I'm some kind of idiot? Is that what this is? You think yer better than me?"

It's been a while since you've seen Naoya this upset. Even with his short temper, your sister antics usually only leave him mildly annoyed. Your brother doesn't take it lightly when he feels embarrassed – even worse, undermined – and by his little sister of all people. His little baby of a sister that's meant to walk three steps behind him, bow her head, speak when spoken to. Yes, Naoya-sama. No, Naoya-sama.

"No, nii-sama," you're weeping shamelessly at his feet, your face hot and hands fisting at the skirt of your kimono, all while your bladder strains painfully. "Please, I'm sorry! It hurts, nii-sama, please let me go."

It's probably a matter of seconds now, maybe a minute at best. You're begging, silently praying to whatever Gods are listening that Naoya will take mercy on you and let you up, let you rush to the bathroom in a technique-imbued sprint so you can finally get a release from this pain. You'll even settle for pity at this point, because if you let go now, release your bladder right in front of your brother – all over the tatami, all over your kimono – you'll never hear the end of it.

Imagining the walk of shame to the nearest servant, forced to explain the mess you’ve made in the other room with a heated face and head bowed in shame – all while your big brother laughs – sends a chill through your body.

You don't notice your head fell until Naoya cradles your face, lifting it up to meet his gaze again. He's crouched to your height now, both face and touch uncharacteristically gentle when compared to... well, everything else about him. His palm is warm, yet rough from nearly three decades of back-breaking training and battle.

For a moment, you think you're lucky. Maybe Naoya is finally taking pity on you after seeing you tremble, your bottom lip quivering and eyes wet with tears as you plead for his mercy. After seeing you look weak in comparison to him.

"Hey," he coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb, wiping a tear and relishing in the way you keen into his touch. His baby sister. His sweet girl that's depended on him every day since birth, relying on her onii-sama to guide her. "You know I'm not doin' this to be mean, right? Yer just... gettin' too mouthy for yer own good."

"Naoya-nii," you whimper, voice breaking. "I can't hold it anymore, please."

"Yeah, you can," he sighs. "Dumb baby, just shut up a second and listen to me."

Another gentle hand rests on your shoulder. When Naoya holds you like this, it almost feels loving. He presses a kiss to your hairline, dampened with sweat from your body's exertion. You take a deep breath, trying to will the ache in your bladder to go away. For a moment, it does.

"If ya mouthed off to anyone else, they'd throw yer ass in the disciplinary pit, but not me. Is that why you do it? You know you can be a brat to me 'cause I won't beat yer ass about it? Tell me."

You nod shakily. "Yes, Naoya-nii."

"Look at me."

You do. Naoya's features look softer, kinder, more like the brother you love. The one that would gently push on your back to make you bow when you were young. The one that held your hand and snuck you out of the estate during the summer to show you the fireflies. The one that, despite threatening to leave yer ass out to dry when he catches you meddling in places you shouldn't, always takes the fall for it so you don't get punished.

But he can only do so much for you. For now, at least. When the old man inevitably bites it, making him the clan head, he'll be untouchable. Therefore you will be too.

The urge returns. How did you forget?

Naoya watches your eyes widen, your lips part in a stammer.

"Shh," he soothes, silencing whatever you're about to say with his finger over your lips, then replacing the digit with his own.

The kiss is soft, you try and distract yourself with the feeling of his lips, more assertive than yours, and his tongue softly prying you open. The hand on your shoulder ventures lower, smoothing over linen, fingers digging under your obi to loosen it in a practiced motion. Eventually, he accesses the ties to your kimono, loosening that as well until the fabric parts, exposing your body to him, ignoring your whimpers and pleas of protest.

It's not that you don't want him to touch you, because fuck, you really want him to touch you, you're aching for it. It's the throbbing pain inside that looms over your head in a constant reminder. You can't do this right now. If his fingers touch you, god forbid enter you, you're not sure you'll be able to hold it. The slightest amount of pressure and –

"Look at you," Naoya sighs, allowing himself to be swept up in lust. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, hair tickling your face as his lips trail down your neck and nip at the sensitive skin. "So fuckin' beautiful. My beautiful girl, aren't ya?"

Still, you're keening into his touch. The linen of your kimono hangs limp over your body, Naoya reaches underneath it and palms your breast, groaning silently against your skin. The hand cradling your face repositions, caressing your jaw before pushing two thick fingers past your lips, leaving you no choice but to accept them. You do it dutifully, allowing your brother to glide his fingers over your tongue, even hollowing your cheeks weakly around them.

Naoya takes and takes. It's no different when it comes to your body. The blood rushes to his cock, tenting the fabric of his hakama as it swells. His hands only get greedier, moans sounding more desperate as he gropes at your body, feeling your nipples harden under his palm, your skin so unbearably soft. He wants to sink his teeth in you, mark you in places only he has the privilege to see. He finds the warmth of your mouth so tempting, so inviting, he can't help but push his fingers deeper. You choke around his fingers, coating them in a rush of saliva.

"Open your legs," Naoya orders, hand now resting atop your thigh, both of them still clenched tightly together, attempting to push them apart. Your eyes widen in panic.

"Naoya-nii, I can't," you mutter, shaking your head frantically. "At least let me go first. I'll be fast, I promise–"

"Nah," Naoya teases, lips curling in a sharp grin. "Trained you to be a real good girl, didn't I? You can hold it a few more minutes."

"I can't!"

"You will."

Your body acts on its own, betraying your will and allowing your brother to manhandle you into a position he finds more acceptable. Your legs open so easily for him, giving him access to your now unclothed pussy. Spit-slick fingers rub over your folds, gathering the wetness there. You let out a shaky breath.

"After all, it would be real fuckin' embarrassing if you did," Naoya drawls, his voice always takes on this soft, condescending tone when he teases you. "If you pissed yourself, I mean."

Naoya kisses you again, this time skipping the pleasantries and parting your lips with his tongue, greedily licking against your own to taste the inside of his sister's mouth. You're overextending yourself, trying to focus on too many things at once to forget how dangerously close you are to pissing yourself, because if you were to let go right now, it would get all over your big brother's hand – and then you really wouldn't catch a break. So you try to focus on the softness of his tongue, on the pleasure of his fingers finding friction over your swollen clit.

"I don't wanna," you whimper, voice sounding like that of a petulant child. "Naoya-nii..."

"No?" He mocks, nearly grinning from ear to ear. "Don't wanna piss yourself like a dumb baby? Then don't."

One hand grips your hip to steady you, the fingers on his other finally breaching the tight entrance of your cunt. Your jaw drops, mouth hanging open in a moan. His fingers are thick. He always gives you two right off the bat, claiming he's being generous and prepping you for his dick instead of making you take it. It's funny, how he loves you like that.

His sweet baby sister, opening for him like a flower.

Pleasure sparks through your body as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, providing the right amount of pressure in tandem with his prodding fingers. Your mouth hangs open, unmoving and pliant while his tongue licks into it, kissing the corner of your lips. The fullness of your bladder makes everything feel so much more sensitive, more responsive as your brother works his fingers and and out of your cunt, aided by your saliva and drooling arousal.

Knowingly, his fingers reposition and curve, finding that spot within you and targeting it with the pads of his fingers. It triggers what you've been fighting so hard to hold. For the first time since he started berating you, you move, hands clinging to his clothed forearm, clawing at it in desperation. Your body and mind are on two different pages, the little voice in your head still grounded in reality screaming for you to push him off. Maybe you could swing it with a desperate surge of cursed energy, but your hands urge his fingers deeper, keeping them pressed against that spot.

Naoya seems to like this, cock throbbing at the sight of you trying to get yourself off on his fingers. He can feel your pussy squeezing, sucking them deeper.

"Hey, you forget your fuckin' manners?" He reprimands, though the amused look on his face doesn't match his tone. He's getting off on this, the sick bastard. You know he is. "Gonna ask me first or were you just gonna keep humping my hand like some desperate slut?"

"Please, Naoya-nii," you blurt out, the tightly-wound coil inside you clenching tighter by the second.

"The fuck was that?"

"Nii-sama," you correct, pleading. It's so fucking close. "Nii-sama, please, can I cum?"

Naoya hums, pretending to think it over. His fingers plunge in and out of your cunt at a rapid pace, filling the small room with the obscene squelching of your arousal. Your hips move on their own, desperate to meet his pace, riding his thick fingers to chase the high. Maybe you have the restraint to hold it, let yourself cum on his fingers and still have enough time to rush to the bathroom before it takes a turn for the worse.

"Gonna pull that shit again?" He asks, pace not relenting. "Hm? Gonna lash out at me again like a spoiled brat when everyone can see you? Make me look like a fuckin' idiot?"

"No!"

"Yeah, better fuckin' not. Undermine me again and I'll kill ya. Now cum for me."

You don't need any further prompting. Your body goes lax, walls clamping snug around Naoya's fingers before releasing, soaking them in a hot rush of cum. He fucks you through it, not once stopping or slowing, narrow brown eyes watching your pussy coat his knuckles in a layer of milky white. "There's my good girl," he praises, soft but sweet, only ever meant for you to hear. "There's my good baby girl, that's it, let me have it."

It hits you for the last time before your orgasm even finishes, the relaxing of your muscles. You physically can't hold it back anymore, even if you could, it's far too late.

There's another surge of warmth, the wet sloshing of another liquid streaming from your spread legs and making a mess on your brother's hand, soaking the sleeve of his haori, soaking the tatami, trickling down your inner thighs in clear rivulets. Naoya's jaw drops, eyes widening at the sight. Even then, he can't fucking stop.

"What did I say, huh? Didn't I tell you to hold it?" His fingers press harder at your inner walls, ramping up the pace, desperate to fuck every last drop from you as his cock throbs under his hakama. "You're that incapable, can't even hold your own piss?"

You're fucking horrified.

"I'm sorry, nii-sama!" you sob. "I didn't mean to, I promise!"

"Yeah, yeah," he sneers. "Go on then, let it out."

With no other option, you resign yourself. Your body slumps forward onto Naoya's broader frame, shuddering, the urine releasing in pulsating gushes along with your orgasm, further soaking everything else. Hand, haori, tatami, even the linen of your kimono pooled underneath you. Your body is overwhelmed. Your face burns hotter, eyes drooping in exhaustion and relief. Blood rushes in your ears, heart pounding loud enough, you're certain Naoya can hear it.

The room spins.

Naoya's opposite hand rubs your back in a rare act of affection. It feels different from pity. He kisses the top of your head, then your shoulder, allowing you to come down slowly.

As the rushing of blood quiets, you're too ashamed to pull your face from the crook of his neck.

"Kid, look at me."

"Don' wanna."

"Come on."

Sniffling, you force yourself upright, still kneeling on your jello legs.

Still kneeling on the cold, soaked garments. Gross.

Naoya cradles your feverish cheek. You look cute like this, lips pouted, face absolutely debauched. His heart swells in his chest.

"I'm sorry, nii-sama."

"You kidding me?" He laughs under his breath. "You know how hot that fuckin' was? Almost came in my pants 'cause of you. Wanna see you do that shit again for me."

Embarrassed, you scoff and look away, but your brother redirects you, kissing you once more – chaste, but gentle. Reassuring.

After that, he leans back and starts undressing from the waist up, shrugging off his haori, working on his kimono, all until the soiled garments sit in a heap.

"Now go get someone to clean this shit up."

"Me?" You ask, incredulous, looking down at your disheveled form – still soaked, might you add. "Can't you go find someone to do it?"

"I wasn't the one that pissed myself, little sis. Now get out of here."

#tw piss #tw incest #tw humiliation #drops this and runs #this was good practice #not putting this shit in the tags lmaoooo #mercury writes

[3-2-whump]

The Party

<prev next>

TW/CW: public humiliation, pet whump (I think?), objectification, whumpee on display, whumpee being talked about as if not even there, light microagression towards whumpee (?) This is fun to tag.

By now, Khaled should’ve been used to hearing the faint sound of metallic clinking as he walked. His owner used to bind his feet in cuffs for nearly a year straight when he had first come into his home, leaving just enough chain in between to walk comfortably and not an inch more. That was nearly six years ago, yet even hearing the faint shk shk shk of shimmering chains whenever he moved mentally transported him back to boyhood, when he was scared, shy, and didn’t know what was going on or what was expected of him. Much like tonight.

“Stand up straight, pick up your feet, and don’t look so glum,” Thomas chided.

Easy for you to say, Khaled thought as he eyed his fully dressed owner in envy. The mafia boss was dressed in a three-piece suit as usual, though he had changed into one of the more expensive ones for tonight’s function, a charity ball of some sort. The garnets set into his golden cufflinks glowed like freshly shed blood under the foyer’s lights as he gestured at him.

Khaled wore gold and garnets of his own, except they were…everywhere. They were in his earrings, in his nose ring, studded like pomegranate seeds in his necklace, acting as connection points in the harness-like body chain draped over his bare chest and torso –he was covered in them and still felt naked. A sheer and silky fabric tied unskillfully around his waist matched the color of the sanguine jewels and provided the only shred of modesty in this obscene outfit. Khaled prayed it would not fall off, but he did not favor his chances.

At least I get a break from that chastity cage, he consoled himself.

He straightened his posture and adopted a more neutral expression. His master smiled. “Good boy,” he said, and yet the usual praise did not ease the nervous churning in his gut. The golden bracelets on his wrists, matching the bands on his ankles, clinked softly as the man reached out to squeeze his hands in reassurance. “You look beautiful,” was all he said to him before he dropped his hand and parted the large doors to the ballroom.

Khaled’s skin seared hot under the chandelier lights as he felt the gaze of every patrons’ eyes on him. Keeping his eyes focused on some neutral midpoint ahead of him –like that potted plant, yeah, is that even real? –he followed his master into the fray, swallowing nervously as he heard the heavy doors close behind him. It felt like everyone was staring at him, and from the glances he dared to take from his periphery, he understood why. Every other patron was dressed in formal attire. Even the few escorts he saw -and he could recognize a fellow sex worker when he saw one- were dressed more modestly than him. At least their chests were covered! His face burned with embarrassment, a blush that probably rivaled the cerise garnets, all the way down to his collarbones.

The boss stopped, finally, and so did he as they settled into the corner of the ballroom. They stood next to the bar and very close to the table laid out with several dozen little canapes. Khaled’s stomach loudly rumbled and his mouth pooled with saliva just looking at them. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, which was nearly eight hours ago. He glanced at his master, who was currently receiving a glass of whiskey from the bartender, and he carefully stretched a hand out to reach for the tartlet-thing closest to him.

“No.” His bracelets jingled as his hand was swatted away like he was a misbehaving pet. His master stared down at him as he threw back the shot of whiskey. Khaled drew his hand back to his side. “I’ll feed you when we get home, if you’ve been good, that is.” He sighed, but reluctantly nodded. He cast his gaze down to his sandaled feet as he tried not to think about the ever-present food and the persistent gnawing of his stomach.

A pair of expensive black leather shoes stepped into the top of his vision. “Thomas, so glad you could make it,” the unseen stranger greeted.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” his owner replied, a polite smile in the tone of his voice.

“So, who’s this?” The stranger’s attentions were on him.

“This,” he said boastfully, “is my darling, my dearest, my worst-kept secret!” Khaled wanted to shrink away from the attention, but has master’s hand on his waist reminded him not to. “Come on, Khaled!” He summoned his courage to look up. An older man with a pot belly and a short, dour-faced wife on his arm was appraising him curiously, as if he was an exotic item and not a person. Smile, damn it, an impatient voice rang in his head. He flashed them a shy smile as he looked at them through his kohl-rimmed lashes.

“Your intern?”

“My ‘intern’,” his master clarified.

“He’s a pretty one, how long have you had him?”

“Oh, about six years now, come this spring.”

“Wow! Well, you’ve obviously been taking great care of him!” It was so obvious that this stranger wanted to do more than just look at him, with the way his fat fingers practically vibrated in excitement.

 “Six years?!” a second guest –a tall and thin woman– gasped. Khaled realized by now they had attracted a small crowd of partygoers to the bar, all with the intent to sneak a peek at Don Costa’s boy toy. He ducked his head in shame.

“Mine didn’t even last six months!” the woman whined, trying to garner sympathy.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I just got lucky, I guess,” Thomas shrugged.

“Tell us, how is he in bed?” another guest asked.

“Good, though there’s not much skill in lying back and taking it!” A chorus of laughter accompanied his master’s. He found a scuff on the hardwood floor and pretended that was the only thing that existed.

“Does he speak?” yet another faceless guest asked. The whole semicircle of gawkers fell silent. Khaled dared to look up. All eyes were on him.

“Well, go on, boy, say something,” his master directed.

Khaled wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow him whole.

“W-what should I say?” he asked nervously.

An irreverent number of oohs and aahs erupted from the small entourage.

“Not even the faintest hint of an accent!” the first man exclaimed. “Now tell me, Tom, did you train him to speak that well?”

“No,” his owner admitted, “I mean, I hired a tutor to teach him English, but he trained the accent out of himself on his own.”

“Why, though?”

The stretch of awkward silence indicated they were waiting yet again for Khaled to speak, that they wanted him to answer. Khaled shifted his eyes to the floor again, swallowing past the discomfort of being scrutinized this closely. “Because… I didn’t want to stand out.”

-

“You were amazing!” Thomas complimented Khaled as he watched him shovel take-out falafel pita into his mouth like it was his first meal in days.

“So, this was just a one-time thing, right?” his beloved slave asked, cheeks distended with half-chewed falafel.

“Hey, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Thomas chastised him, “I trained you better than that.”

Khaled swallowed the food and apologized under his breath. “And to answer your question, who knows? They couldn’t keep their eyes off you,” he smirked pridefully. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you, either. He glanced from the road over to his passenger in the car. Khaled had looked every bit as alluring as he had imagined when he was covered in gold and jewels and blood red silk. He would never admit he was hard for nearly the entire time they were at the party, but the evidence probably spoke for itself through the bulge in his slacks. “It’s no wonder though. Red is a good color on you.” And I want to see what you look like in blue next, he mentally added. “I just might drag you out to other parties in the future if we get attention like that.”

Khaled set his stub of a pita down on his lap. Thomas couldn’t help but grimace; what if it left a stain? “Do I have to dress like this again?” the young man asked, though his defeated tone told him he already knew the answer.

“Oh, don’t be so sad about it, you were gorgeous!” I thought about nothing but how to get you alone for the entire time we were there!

“I was nearly naked, Master. In public. In front of strangers. Does that not bother you?”

“So? I like to show off what’s mine,” he shrugged. “Look, when you’re free, you can choose to wear whatever you want, but until then, you’ll put on whatever I give you, okay?” Khaled slumped further into the car seat. Maybe it was a bit cruel to tease him with the freedom he’d never willingly give him. Thomas sighed, feeling a little guilty. He reached out a hand to pat a silk-covered thigh. “It won’t be very often, I promise,” he reassured him.

“Yes, Master,” his pet murmured.Thomas smiled. At the red light, he leaned over to kiss the side of Khaled’s sauce-stained lips.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee

#whump writing #pet whumpee #tw objectification #put on display #tw humiliation #tw public humiliation #tw slight microagression #if you ask very nicely I will draw this outfit I described and share it #or i might just do it anyway if nobody asks

[ghostbutaliveidk]

HOUSE PET 2

Pairings - Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel x reader

Warnings - NONCON. Humiliation. Degradation. Petplay. Spitting. Boot kissing.

Summary - See masterlist

Next chapter - (not published yet)

Previous chapter - HOUSE PET 1

You weren't sure what was happening. At one moment you were in the field, surrounded by the three most dangerous men in the world, and then next you were in a giant, dark bedroom with them.

They stepped away from you. The High King sat on the edge of the bed, smirking at you. The General, grinning lightly, stood on the right and the Shadowsinger, his face blank, on the left.

"Where-" you wheezed. "Where am I?"

"Night court," the General answered, his eyes following the tears that trailed down your eyes, staining your cheeks. "Aw, pretty, don't cry this much. We haven't even done anything, yet." He chuckled as you cried harder, clutching your chest with your arms, trying to hide yourself.

"Why-" you took in a shaky breath. "I want to go home."

"You're home." The shadowsinger's voice was firm and brutal. "Arms by your side." His eyes narrowed as you whimpered and shook your head, begging through your eyes. "Arms at your side."

Your forced your arms down, fisting your dress to stop yourself from hiding. You ducked your head, sniffling.

"Come here," The High King said, curling a finger.

You walked towards him, surprised you didn't fall because of your nerves. He grabbed your waist, with surprisingly gentle hands, and tugged you down between his thighs with your back against the front. His large body was warm against yours, almost enveloping you.

He grabbed the torn neckline of your dress and before you knew it, all of your dress was ripped away, leaving you in just flimsy panties. Your tiny hands stupidly chased the torn fabric, but it disappeared from the High King's hands, leaving you defenceless. You accepted, wiping your tears.

The High King grabbed your knees, spreading your open. Shadows appeared around them, keeping you spread. "Need to check you out, baby," he purred into your ear, making you cringe away. "Don't worry, won't hurt you, yet. Just need to see what's ours. What's mine." He almost growled the last word, raw power dripping from it, making you now bow your head in submission, fear making you want to throw up.

The General reached down and ripped your panties away, throwing them away. The Shadowsinger stepped closer, looking down at your exposed cunt with the General. Your thighs quivered with the urge to shut them, but the High King's hands might as well be made of steel.

Shadowsinger's lips twisted in a barely there smirk. The General grinned. "Prettiest little cunt I have ever seen." He looked at your red face, at the hand you had pushed against your lips to stop yourself from sobbing out loud. "Fucking adorable." He reached down, one finger gently caressing your hole. You flinched, and that was when you felt it.

The High King's cock, too long and too hard. He let out a small groan in your ear, making you flinch again which made his cock dig ever farther against your ass.

"Do you want it?" He whispered in your ear as his general rubbed his one giant finger on your clit. The Shadowsinger watched your face closely, eyes following the tears.

You rapidly shook your head. "Wa-wanna...wanna go home." A twinge of pleasure twisted in you as the general continued rubbing your clit, coaxing it with gentle touches. "Please?"

The king let out a chuckle and then stood, leaving you on the bed, naked. You instantly snapped your thighs shut, wrapping your arms around yourself, hiding your breasts.

He crouched a little, looking you in the eye. "Open your mouth and stick your tongue out."

You did, digging your nails into your flesh.

He spat inside. "Don't swallow. Keep it open."

The general crouched as the king stepped away. He spat inside, too, muttering the same command.

And then the Shadowsinger was there

He watched you drool, some of it falling on your thighs. His two, burnt fingers tugged at your tongue. "This little thing..." He spat on it. "Take it in." You did, but kept your mouth open, knowing better than to defy them. They could kill you in a blink, or torture you for days. They could do anything with you, and you or anyone would never have a say.

"Such a dumb little whore," he muttered. You sniffled at his mean words. He smirked. "Sitting there in front of three dangerous men with your cunt unclothed. So indecent. No one would ever marry you, you'd only ever be fit to be a little cockpet. There to just get your holes used and then returned to your chambers till they are required again." He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck. "Do you understand me?" He said. "You're our pet now."

"P-Pet?" You were a lesser fae, yes. But...a pet? Drool dropped down the corner of your lips, but you made yourself not swallow. You didn't want to know how they'd punish you if you disobeyed.

"Yes," said the High king from where he was pouring himself a drink. "A pet, cockwarmer, cumslut, whore, slut...you're all of those." He smirked at you as you cried harder, his cock visibly hardening. "It should be a pleasure to serve your king. You should be crawling to me, kissing my boots." His eyes narrowed when you didn't move. "What the fuck did I just say?"

You instantly got off the bed, crawling to your king, exposing your holes to the other two men. The High King smirked as you paused in front of him and lowered your head, kissing his very clean boots.

"Stay like that. Head against the carpet. Raise your ass," he commanded.

You did as you were told, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt again on your holes.

"This is how you will present yourself as soon as you hear our footsteps," he said. "Holes exposed, because only your holes matter. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes, your majesty."

"Good. Stay like this. We have some work to do. I will know if you move, so be smart, if that little brain can do that." He walked out of the room, followed by his Shadowsinger and general. "You can swallow now."

. . .

Next chapter - (not published yet)

Taglist - @amygdtjhddzvb

#acotar #azriel #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #cassian #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhys #cassian x you #tw humiliation #tw degradation #tw noncon

[azureashes]

The Queen of Curses

As promised, the long awaited sequel! This is a gift fic for the awesome, amazing, epic, kind, lovely, warm, and all around makes the world a better place @xxdoncrazyxx. Happy belated birthday! <3

--------------------------------------

18+ Minors DNI

Sukuna//Reader - a sequel to a Goddess for the King of Curses

TW: size kink, triple penetration (kinda), drowning, death, impalement (is that a word?), corruption, mindbreak, lots of blood, lots of cum, sexual slavery, violent death, dubcon I guess, (although reader is pretty into it... psycho XD), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, also yandere

„Serve?“

Your voice barely reached your ears. It came out distant, as if someone else had spoken.

“Mm,” Sukuna dismissed with a casual wave of his hand, leaning back on someone else’s throne, one leg crossed over the other, crown and scepter tossed carelessly at his feet. Power was his crown. He had no use for the trinkets of weaker men.

 “They’ve served me well enough,” he frowned, displeased by your hesitation. “Now it’s your turn to serve them.”

You knew your voice would falter if you spoke, so you said nothing. Weakness did not arouse Sukuna’s pity – if he had such a thing – it merely provoked his sadism.

“Don’t tell me there’s a problem… goddess,” the last word was spoken on a sneer as he lifted his chin, the black markings on his face twisting along with his twisted expression.

You swallowed thickly and glanced up at where the cursed spirit sat, perched on the seat of power that only yesterday belonged to a man who had ruled at least a hundred miles in every direction. Today, his skull served as Sukuna’s soup bowl.

Two of Sukuna’s arms relaxed on the elaborately fashioned golden armrests, a third propped up his chin, while the fourth was held out towards you, a single finger beckoning you closer. You had consigned yourself to being his toy, and even after all these months of travelling with him, he had not yet grown tired of your old moniker.

Did he do it on purpose? To remind you that your worth wasn’t nearly as elevated as you had once imagined it to be? Or did he simply relish the knowledge that he had brought a goddess – even a fake one – to her knees? You bit your lip, your mind racing to piece together a suitable reply. The only matter was, in the year since Sukuna had knocked your self-worth from that pedestal, you’d been scrambling along on the floor, trying to piece it back together and figure out where it really belonged.

You were a woman, not a goddess, he had said. And the devil of it was, you only felt like a woman when his crimson eyes were burning into yours as he forced himself onto you. It wasn’t always pleasant, but you savored it all the same. Every scar he left on you was like a badge of honor. Proof of your lived experiences.

But to share you with his lackeys? You didn’t care who or how high-ranking they were. You didn’t care if they were powerful enough for Sukuna to feel they deserved you as a reward, you didn’t want to share your body with anyone but him. Being his vessel was the only worth you had left.

“I simply did not realize,” you began slowly, lifting your chin to return his gaze through half- lidded eyes as you swept towards him in response to his beckoning, your skirts swirling around you as you did so. “That my Lord was in the habit of sharing his possessions with others.”

You marched up the two steps towards the usurped throne solemnly, your eyes never leaving his, until you came to stand in front of him with all the poise of your upbringing. Sukuna lifted a hand towards your face with a deceptive gentleness, his sharp, black fingernails scraping past your cheek as his fingers raked through your loose hair.

“My possessions?” he purred, as if pleased you had come to think of yourself as such. His hand closed into a cruel fist as he jerked you forward by your hair, sending you face first into his lap. You supported yourself by bracing yourself on his knees, but his unforgiving grip did not allow you to rise.

“I do with my possessions what I will,” Sukuna reminded you, his voice serpentine and cold in your ear. “Or else, I break them and throw them away.”

The burning pain in your scalp was not even the beginning of what you knew he could do to you, and you cursed the warmth coursing through your treacherous body, a body that had come to learn that pleasure and pain were devilishly intertwined.

“Then forgive me,” you whispered, turning your face towards him with difficulty, “That I would rather be broken than be made to submit to someone other than you.”

He could be angered or pleased by your defiance, there was no way of knowing, and frankly, you no longer had the sense of self-preservation to hope for either.

The moment held, the air between you taut like a hunter’s bowstring as he frowned at you. You wondered what he was looking for as he searched the depths of your eyes. He would find nothing there but sincerity.

Something shifted in his gaze, and his frown deepened. You could not say whether he was puzzled or surprised, but when his brows furrowed, you were acutely aware that the scales had tipped against you.

“Your insolence reminds me, we need to break in the dungeons, don’t we?” A cruel laugh fell from his grinning lips. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I bet you’ll feel right at home.”

He dragged you down the three steps to the hall and then along further passageways. Some of his minions glanced at you in surprise, but they knew better than to look for too long. He dragged you down roughly hewn steps that led into darkness, and you stumbled along behind him, struggled to find your footing on the irregular stairs. You were greeted with a darkness so thick it was almost palpable against your face.

Apart from the moans of prisoners deeper within the underground prison, the flickering of the torchlight in Sukuna’s hand was the only sound that met your ears.

You started as a heavy, barred iron door swung open with a deafening creak like a cat’s yowling and with a flick of his wrist, Sukuna sent you tumbling headfirst into a prison cell, your face striking the uneven slabs of stone roughly. The iron bars slammed shut behind you with a deafening clatter, rattling the walls with their weight and as you turned to Sukuna, you could see that his maniacal sneer had returned.

Whatever had been puzzling him, throwing you into the dungeons seemed to have taken his mind from it. “Rot here, then, if you’re so insistent. If you won’t feed my men, you might as well feed the rats.” His eyes sparked maliciously, “Or are you too good for them, too?”

You gingerly wiped at the blood on your forehead but steeled yourself and turned to offer the demon a curtsy.

“Thank you, my Lord,” you glanced up at him, wondering what was going on behind the bloodlust in his eyes, behind the ever-present hunger for violence. “I will do my best to enjoy my stay here.”

“At least cry, won’t you?” Sukuna frowned, the pleasure vanishing from his face. He gave you a disappointed look then turned away from you with a yawn, suddenly bored, “Die here then for all I care.” And with that, he ascended the steps and was gone, the thick oak door to the dungeons falling shut behind him and robbing you of what little light there had been.

There was no point crying, you knew. Sukuna could abide your tears, your screams, and your begging. What he could not stand, was boredom. And so, that was what you would offer him in the face of whatever he sought to torment you with. If he wanted a reaction out of you – if he wanted you to alleviate his boredom – he would only achieve that by giving you something you wanted in return.

At least, you hoped that that was how it would work.

--------------------------------------------------

Several weeks passed before Sukuna seemed to remember you. And when you were brought out of the dungeon, hungry and dirty, your hair a ragged mess and your clothes disheveled and torn, you blinked and shielded your eyes from the torchlight – your senses overcome. You were given little time to adjust, however, and hastily ushered down one hallway after another. The further you walked from the prisons underground, the more extravagant these walkways became. The more intricate the sconces, the more elaborate the rugs beneath your feet.

The curses you had grown somewhat close to over the year of travelling together cast sympathetic looks as they led you to what you could only assume was a main hall of sorts. You ran your fingers through your tangled locks and tried to rub the grime from your cheeks. If they had taken you out of the damp dungeon, it could only mean you would now be presented to Sukuna once more. You could only hope he would not attempt to give you away again.

As the black-lacquered, double doors were opened to allow you entry, the grandeur of the opulent room met your eyes, a stark contrast to the stone and iron you had become reacquainted with over the last few weeks. Thick, maroon-velvet brocade hangings were draped from tall windows that ran from floor-to-ceiling, their tassels were woven from gold thread, just like the intricate gold filigree detailing spread across the elaborate curtains themselves. The floors were of marble tiling, interlaid in a mosaic pattern. Tapestries lined the walls, carrying the history of the country Sukuna had conquered, meaningless images now.

All this splendor was lost on the King of Curses, who would have been every bit as imposing and awe-inspiring if he were in a dilapidated hut. As it was, he lounged against an armchair made of the same velvet as the curtains, as women crowded around him in varying states of undress. A buxom blonde with glittering dark eyes stood behind him, her hands sliding down the defined muscles of his chest, across those black markings you often traced with your eyes, and on bolder nights, gingerly, with the tips of your fingers.

Beside her stood a brunette, with eyes of emerald, hanging from his neck, her tongue tracing the prominent veins that ran along the thick column. Two women sat on the floor at either side of him, one resting her head against his knee, the other with an arm draped over his thigh, pressing her heavy breasts up against his calf. Each of them had auburn hair, like polished copper and freckled, sun-kissed skin. Twins. Yet another beauty stood at his shoulder, with skin dark as sin that glowed like burnished bronze in the light of the sun. Long lashes curtained her dark eyes, veiled with mystery and allure. Her thick, coiled hair framed her head like a halo – an image divine.  

But the woman you could not tear your eyes from, was the one perched on his lap. Her silks had fallen to her waist, revealing pert, full breasts and skin like the purest cream. She turned to look at you as you entered, flushed cheeks, sky-blue eyes, hair like liquid ink – in short, she was a vision of beauty like no other. She smiled at you, a pitying, taunting smirk and yet, all your eyes saw were her swollen, well-kissed lips.

You dragged your eyes away from her, a haze of red seemed to cover your vision and you knew you could not allow yourself to be baited into an emotional response. Various other women were spread throughout the room, all equally beautiful. Some lie on their backs, panting with exhaustion, others leaned against the furniture, apparently collecting themselves, while others still were completely motionless – likely unconscious. You did not let yourself consider the alternative state they might be in.

Clearly, Sukuna had made recent use of them. You were aware that he had taken to collecting women after you, although generally you kept to your own chambers and were spared having to interact with them. He took noblewomen of his pleasing, generally the daughters or young wives of the deceased lord or king. If she survived the first night, she was rewarded with the honor of joining his harem – where she would be allowed to repeat the experience until either her body or psyche wore out. Some did not last the night, others survived but lost their minds – which bored Sukuna - and a select few took to their new lives with vigor, like the inky-haired harlot currently warming the cursed spirit’s lap.

Steeling yourself, you straightened your spine and returned your gaze firmly to Sukuna, refusing to allow any feelings of inferiority to creep into your mind. You were his first conquest. And though he might have a collection of queens and princesses, you were the only goddess he had yet to claim, rags or no.

“You called, my Lord?” your voice betrayed no hint of emotion – as level as your gaze.

Sukuna grinned at your non-response, revealing sharp canines and that same glee in his eyes that could always be found when he had thought of a new way to hurt you.

“Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in.” His voice had no use being that sultry, it had no business sending that familiar heat pooling in your stomach after all he had done to you. His deep baritone seemed to penetrate your very skin.  

The tangles in your hair, the stains on your face and clothes, you were as out of place as a swine in an ablution chamber and yet – you refused to be beaten. You were his first, you had to be special somehow. After all, for who else would Sukuna put on such a show?

Sukuna wrinkled his nose as he waved a hand in front of his nose, as if there were an unpleasant stench drifting over from you. “Looks like you’re still alive - even if you don’t smell like it.” His sadistic smirk was still apparent at the edges of his mouth. The women broke into gleeful titters, joining in on his mirth at your appearance.

All he wanted from you was a response. For you to burst into tears. To beg his mercy. Even anger would do, you supposed. And yet, you couldn’t. You wanted something from him as well. And perhaps it was suicidal arrogance that prevented you from giving into him as he wished, but you were willing to take that risk, gambling everything on the hope that he would give to you a piece of himself that he gave to no one else.

You wanted to be something to him. Anything.

“I could not afford to delay, when summoned by my Lord,” you responded smoothly, showing no sign of the discomfort you felt.

“Is that so?” Sukuna purred, resting his temple against the knuckles of his left hand.

“And yet, what makes you better than these morsels?” he mused, running his clawed fingers through the silky, black locks of the woman on his lap. “That you dare to defy me?” Clearly, he still recalled where your last conversation had left off.

You doubted the women present were aware of how literally Sukuna used the term “morsels”. It was a game to him, and you needed to play your pieces carefully, all while figuring out the rules – as viable to change as they were at his passing whim.

“I would not dare, my Lord,” you murmured quietly.

“Then serve my men, brat.” His smirk disappeared and, in its place, an inquisitive light sparked in his half-lidded eyes. Why shouldn’t you be made to serve others, he seemed to ask. Why would you be reserved for him alone?

You wondered if this was still about rewarding his underlings, or simply about drawing a line between the two of you – once more showing you your place.

You weighed your words carefully, “I am ever in service to my Lord, and deem myself unfit to divide my attentions as you propose.”

Before Sukuna could respond, a sharp laugh, malicious and high rang through the room. “You dare to defy our beloved lord?” The woman in his lap gave you a once-over her expression making no attempt to hide what she thought of you. “You poor thing. Like a drowned rat making demands.” She had a melodious, lilting voice but its airy quality was dampened by the mean-spirited manner in which she spoke. She had to know who you were, and as such, fully intended to take you down as a final stepping-stone to becoming Sukuna’s favorite.

As if Sukuna had such things.

“Look at you! You reek of filth and whatever droppings have piled up in the dungeons. Do you really think you deserve a place in Lord Sukuna’s harem?”

She sidled from Sukuna’s lap, so focused on you she failed to see the frown forming on his face.

She flipped her lovely hair over her shoulder, “Serving our master is an honor bestowed upon our royal bloodlines.” She gestured vaguely towards the women in the room. “How dare you put on such airs when you’re clearly nothing but a filthy whore? You’d do well to be grateful to be in his mere presence, and spread your legs for whoever he commands, –“

Her speech was cut abruptly short when Sukuna’s large hand closed around her head, his fingers almost meeting at her face. His displeasure emanated from him in dark waves of cursed energy visible to the naked eye.

“Who gave you permission to speak?” his voice was dangerously low, soft almost, and yet it reverberated throughout the room – a clear threat.

It happened almost too fast to follow, the muscles banding along his forearm flexed, half a whimper escaped her lips as her eyes sought yours in a panicked plea for mercy through the gaps in his fingers, and then his hand closed into a fist and blood spurted violently in all directions. You flinched as the spray of blood spattered across your face and clothing. The women jumped to their feet, screaming.

“Know your place, fool.” Sukuna growled, as he released his hold on the lovely woman, and she crumpled to the ground – her silky hair all that remained of her once-lovely countenance. As the woman fell away from between you, Sukuna’s scarlet eyes, still burning with displeasure beneath furrowed brows, connected with yours.

You held his gaze as chaos erupted all around you. There was intention in his gaze, that he knew what he had done, and could not take it back. He had ceded ground to you. He had flinched first. For all he played the part that you were meaningless to him, he had killed a member of his harem for your sake, and that truth weighed heavy, undeniable between you.

Even as the remaining ladies tore for the exits, screaming and sobbing, you raised a hand and spoke simply and clearly, in a compelling manner you could not unlearn after all your years at the temple. “Ladies.”

A spellbound silence fell over them, as they took in your standoff with Sukuna, the way your eyes were fixed unwavering on one another.

“You are as yet in the presence of our Lord,” you reminded them. They seemed to come to their senses, even as you could hear a few of them sniffling behind you.

Sukuna lifted his chin, apparently at ease with you taking control of his harem. He leaned back into his chair, his eyes contemplative.

“Remove her from our Lord’s presence,” you admonished them, giving them a purpose to overcome their shock. As if startled awake, they shuffled towards the young woman, and after at first being indecisive as to how to proceed, one group took hold of her hands as the other grabbed her ankles and she was carried from the chamber, one way or another. The remaining women hovered uncomfortably.

“Get out,” Sukuna dismissed with a wave of his fingers, his penetrant gaze still fixed wholly on you.

They were all too willing to leave and had departed within seconds, leaving none but the two of you in the expansive hall.

Sukuna regarded you warily for a moment, taking you in from head to toe before beckoning you closer with a single finger. “Come.”

You approached, your chest constricting with feeling. You wanted so badly to mean something to him, for him to give you a new identity after having stripped away your old one. You did not so much as flinch as you stepped through the puddle of blood and drew closer to the fearsome giant of a man seated before you. You slowed just before him, but Sukuna took a crushing hold of your hip and drew you closer still, until you stood between his legs and looked up at him, his nose a breath from yours.

Up close, you looked right into his sanguine irises, glowing with bloodlust, and another kind of hunger still, a hunger you could not help but feel was reserved for you.

“She was right, you know,” Sukuna muttered, his breath ghosting over your lips. “You really are a filthy whore.”

“So long as I am yours,” you whispered back earnestly, your gaze wandering from his probing eyes to his full lips, “I would gladly be less than that still.”

He seemed to consider that, discontent with the direction the conversation was taking. It was just as you had thought earlier, he did not take favorites. But if you were not a favorite, and also not a dispensable member of his harem… then what were you? “You do not bore me,” Sukuna frowned, his hand closing around the nape of your neck, his fingers curling into your tangled hair. “That is why I keep you, nothing more.”

In a moment of weakness, you responded to his callousness with bleeding sincerity. “I need you,” you confessed, your heart rioting in your chest at the thought of being so vulnerable in the face of his unfailing cruelty. “I need you to tell me who I am. What I am. I need to be yours to be anything at all.”

Sukuna seemed to be taken aback at your unprompted confession. He scowled, baring his canines, “You are nothing to me, I’d as soon crush you as fuck you.”

It was truth, plain and simple, and more of a response than you had expected him to entertain. You sighed, resigned, and leaned into him, your hands sliding over his powerful shoulders, your fingers curling into his hair. You knew you could not win. But at least you were in his arms, that had to count for something. “Your wish is mine as well, Sukuna-sama.”

When your lips touched his, he seemed unable or unwilling to play this game any longer. He closed his fingers in a cruel grip on your hair – a hold he seemed to favor -, controlling your movements. He leaned into the kiss, devouring you as promised, consuming and dominating you until you felt your knees go soft as butter – unable to support you. Sukuna’s grip on your hair and hip seemed to be all that was holding you aloft. As if to make good on his threat, you felt his sharp canines bury themselves into your lip, felt blood gush forth and drip down your chin, even as Sukuna sucked at the bleeding gash, drinking down your blood hungrily. The stabbing pain seared through you, accompanying a rush of endorphins to your mind – a mind that could make no sense at all of the jumbled mess of emotions spiraling through you.

Sukuna was the one who had taught you everything you knew about pleasure, and he had taught you that pleasure and pain went hand in hand. You were certain he could push you over the edge by inflicting pain alone. And so, even as Sukuna wounded you and drank of your blood, you could not help but moan into his mouth, light-headed and delirious with need.

You did not see how Sukuna’s eyes slid open, how he regarded you with a questioning gaze. How he began to grasp the truth of your confession - that you needed him to claim you far more than you desired to live. You relished pain, and might even welcome death, in exchange for identity – an identity only he could bestow.

Why did you become more interesting the more he dealt with you? Whenever he felt bored, he only had to summon you to sink his teeth into you, literally and figuratively.

“What will I do with you?” he muttered, scarcely realizing he had spoken against your mouth until you whispered back, “I find myself wondering much the same. Every time you look at me,” you swallowed the blood that pooled in your mouth, “every time you touch me.”

Sukuna took you in from head to toe through half-lidded eyes, as if truly seeing you for the first time since you had stepped into the hall. The clawed fingernail on his thumb traced along your hipbone and he frowned. “There’s not much left of you.” There was no pity in his voice, only complaint.

You did not respond. He was certainly aware of the fare that was to be expected in the dungeons. You’d always come out a little worse for the wear, but this was the first time he had left you there for weeks, and you had grown thinner as a result. But that was only to be expected, surely, he knew that?

“Tch,” he scowled, “shouldn’t a goddess be more resilient?”

“I’m not a goddess,” you reminded him.

“You are whatever I say you are,” his eyes burned with challenge, “Don’t forget it.”

You could not look away, you could not speak, you could scarcely breathe. Something had changed. You did not know quite what it was, but the standoff seemed to have passed and, in its place, there seemed to be a sense of acceptance, an admittance of the fact that your identity was somehow intertwined with his own, against all odds.

You were recalled to the moment as Sukuna snapped his fingers and a cursed spirit, sickly green in hue and covered with boils, spirited out of thin air at your side.

“Prepare a bath,” Sukuna frowned.

The cursed spirit stumbled over himself as he folded the hands of his six arms in a show of obeisance, mumbling a hasty agreement before disappearing altogether.

You waited awkwardly as Sukuna beheld you, his clawed hands running along your form, feeling where flesh had given way to bone during your stay in the dungeons. Your lip bled still, though he paid no heed until it dripped onto the back of his hand. An irritated sound escaped the back of his throat, and he brushed a thumb over your lip, sending coils of dark energy into your torn lip, sealing the flesh closed once more. His cursed energy was like the kiss of ice and sent shivers down your spine, without fail, each time he used it on you. It was a wonder that a force so malevolent was capable of healing at all, and you could feel it pulsing within you, more faintly with each beat, until it dissipated inside you.

You could not help the choked sound that escaped your lips. You had missed him. His touch, his cruelty, the taste of his dark energy. He was far more intoxicating, far more potent than the noxious smoke you had seen the priests partake in on occasion. And far more dangerous.

“You’re weak,” Sukuna scowled, as if confronted for the first time with the reality of your human nature.

You felt heat rush to your face. Hopefully he had not heard the shameful sound you had made. It would not do for you to appear desperate.

“I am only mortal,” you admitted, hoping to distract from your misstep, “you have proven the weakness of our kind at great length these last few years.”

“You dare complain?”

“No, my lord. I simply state the obvious. My kind is not enduring.”

“Hmph.” He released you finally, and your skin almost immediately mourned the loss of his touch. “And yet, you have lived where other women have died.”

You could not quite wrap your mind around that admission. Had he attempted to torment other women the way he had with you? And had they died at his hands? You did not quite know what it would take to kill you. Before Sukuna, you had had no experience with illness, pain, or death. And now, it seemed a given that when Sukuna took you apart, he would put you back together again. When he split your flesh open, he would seal it once more. Why did the others die? Or rather, why did you survive?

Before you could put the matter to question, a pop and wisps of green smoke announced the return of the imp along with other cursed spirits that seemed female in nature.

They had spirited along a large tub of water and several glass bottles of varying tinctures and perfumes. At a nod from Sukuna, they tore your robe from your shoulders, revealing your grimy, naked form to the attendants present – and worse, to Sukuna’s watchful, crimson eyes. The spirits crowded around you, some with rough rags, others with coarsely bristled brushes, and others still taking the various bottles in hand to spill their contents on your head, your shoulders, on the rags they held. Without waiting for a signal, they began scrubbing at your body, purging you of the filth of the dungeons. Thin, spindly fingers massaged your scalp, verbena-scented suds spreading through your hair. The rags and brushes seemed to scrape the skin from your flesh and yet, you could not truly pay them heed, entranced as you were by the way Sukuna’s gaze followed their hands as they scrubbed at your back. His eyes taking in the trace of the suds they drew over your abdomen, the thorough washing between your breasts, soap suds trailing down the length of your legs, the rag washing between your thighs…

It was a different kind of humiliation, to be so intently observed by him, to be so naked in the middle of the hall for all present to see. And even without looking at him, you could feel his gaze on your skin, the way it prickled beneath his intent stare. Finally, they poured bucketfuls of warm water over you, washing away the suds. Sukuna seemed not to care that the scarlet rug running the length of the hall was soaked, or that water was pooling at your feet and flowing towards him. Did he ever care for consequences, when he wanted something?

He crossed over to you and traced your protruding hipbones with a long, black fingernail once more. His frown revealed – likely without his knowing – that he somewhat regretted putting you away for so long. He liked to sink his claws into you, to bury his fangs in you… He could hardly do that when you were almost nothing but skin and bone with no soft flesh to fill his hands with.

His eyes traced your form leaving a trail of burning desire on your skin as his gaze burned a path up your navel, over your dripping breasts, your exposed collarbones, your swollen lips, before at last meeting your eyes. The very world around you seemed to flicker like a mirage as you held his gaze and in the blink of an eye, you were no longer standing on sodden carpet, but in the baths attached to his very own chambers, where innumerable candles were set all along the perimeter of the room, on tables, counters, and windowsills. The flickering, dim light filled the chamber with equal parts light and shadow, that flickered on your faces in turn.

In the center of the room was a basin in the ground, lined by emerald tiles, each with a golden pattern swirling through the green. The basin itself was a bath of sorts, large enough for three at least. It was filled with steaming water that was pale mint in color – an herbal bath it would seem. Rose petals were scattered across the water’s surface, and the scent of earthy herbs as well as a faint note of citrus wafted over in the steam to greet you, almost beckoning you closer.

The sound of water sloshing caught your attention and you turned to see Sukuna lowering himself into the bath. He leaned against the slabs of stone behind him and rested an arm on either side of himself as he released a barely audible, content sigh. Your expression softened. He really was always at attention, braced for violence, muscles tensed in anticipation of battle. You could imagine how the steaming bath water must provide him some rare relief.

He ran a hand through his russet hair and your gaze caught on the droplets of water that seemed to trace down the prominent veins of his muscular forearm. At ease, as he was, his head tipped back, his unruly hair swept back by the residual water of his hand, you were dazed by his inhuman beauty. His features were undeniably those of nobility, a king in the truest sense, you could not help but ask yourself how it was possible for a man so cold and cruel to be so undeniably beautiful. Even the black markings on his face only served to accentuate his bold features.

His dark lashes lifted, and those carmine eyes seemed to pierce right through you, pinning you in place. Unable and unwilling to escape from his all-encompassing gaze, you merely stood before him, drinking him in. He did not beckon you closer, or say so much as a word, but the command in those eyes was clear. “Come.”

And so, you did.

Dipping your toes into the water, the warmth seemed to pull you in, melting you down to your very bones as you stepped fully into the bath. You were keenly aware of his eyes on you as you lowered yourself into the murky waters of the herbal bath, concealing your nakedness. Heat rushed through you that you could not fully attribute to the temperature of the water. You hoped he would not see that the tips of your ears had gone red - and that he would not recognize it for what it was.

You drew closer still, drawn in by an inexplicable magnetism as if his dark essence were a black hole sucking in your very soul. He never took his eyes off of you for a moment, and the effect was intoxicating as he waited, watching, like a predator tolerating his prey frolicking before him in a delusion of safety, not yet in a mood to disillusion it.

You had missed him. You always did. His power was your lifeline. His invincibility, your shield. In his shadow, you were safe from all but him. And you never wanted to be safe from him – as foolish as you recognized that sentiment to be. Water dripped from your fingers as you reached for him, gingerly tracing the inky markings on his face. You ran a delicate fingertip along the line of his jaw, traced his cheekbones with your thumbs, followed those symbols line for line until you could draw them with your eyes closed. When your fingers journeyed lower exploring those same markings on his chest, he tipped his head back, relishing in the sensation.

You remembered the blonde whose hands had brushed past these same markings and your stomach burned with a nauseating, possessive ire. You wanted to purge her touch from his skin, wanted to burn her very image from the scroll of existence until nothing remained but a scorch mark. You leaned in closer to him, replacing your fingers with your lips, and trailed mindless kisses along those symbols, and then, growing bolder still, traced them with your tongue. When a wordless murmur of appreciation spilled past Sukuna’s parted lips, you glowed with pride.

“On your knees, goddess.” Sukuna growled, overcome with desire. What little patience he had, decidedly spent.

You acquiesced, sinking to your knees, the water just above your elbow. He opened his eyes, taking you in, the goddess kneeling in the water before him, water dripping from your hair, disappearing between your breasts. The way your eyes were caught on his shaft, the head of it just peeking out from the water’s surface.

“Well?” he began, seeing your hesitation - that ever present mocking tone painfully apparent. “Should I call in someone else?”

Your eyes snapped towards him, irritated, and he grinned in the face of your upset. You lifted a hand to his member and wrapped your fingers around it - frowning because of course your fingers didn’t close around it - and pleasing him with your mouth, as he was clearly expecting you to, would be a herculean effort. You could see, even without looking at him, that challenging grin on his face and the malicious spark in his eyes.

You alleviated his boredom, he had said, but the thing was – you liked surprising him. You reveled in the expression he made when you defied expectations. When you jumped headfirst into whatever he expected you to balk at. And ever since he had broken you so thoroughly on that table months ago, you no longer feared pain – you feared only abandonment, being discarded as a pawn that had outlived its use by the only one that could seal every split and crack within you with nothing more than his dark aura. The one who could fill you so thoroughly with himself, with his cursed energy, that you thought you might forget having ever felt empty.

The lives of the world were forfeit, their villages were forfeit - all that mattered was staying by his side, drunk on his power, for as long as you were able.

You bowed your head beneath the water and held your breath as you licked up the underside of his shaft, slowing as you reached the bulbous head and broke through the water’s surface. You traced the tip of your tongue along its slit. Sukuna hissed and his head tipped back once more. His muscles tensed, and this time, it was your turn to grin. Using both hands, you cupped his shaft again, and closed your mouth around the head of his cock. Your jaw immediately ached at being stretched so wide but the grunted curse that echoed throughout the bath chamber spurred you on. Water dripped from your face, and you knew you would have to time your breathing precisely to survive this encounter.

Your hands ran along his length with your movements as your head bobbed up and down. Up – you inhaled through your nose, swirled your tongue around the head, twisted your hands, and breathed. Down – your ears filled with water, you exhaled, took him in as deep as you could, and squeezed the remaining length of his shaft between your hands. Again. Again. Again. The guttural sounds that fell unguarded from those proud lips hummed right through you like the most potent drug, driving you to continue. You were feeling quite skilled and proud of yourself, you could do this – you could have him helpless beneath your ministrations.

And then one of his hands gripped the back of your head.

Panic was the first thing that shot through you. Sukuna, in the throes of his lust, would not care if you could breathe. A second hand fell on your shoulder, and you opened your mouth to remind him that you were human, that you were breakable, that you could die – but not fast enough. One moment you saw him, his head still tipped back, two arms resting on either side of him as the other two held you firm, and the next – nothing but water as that impossible length thrust into your mouth, straight towards your throat. You gagged underwater and thrashed, trying to free yourself, if only for a moment, to breathe, to try again with warning, but Sukuna had no cares for your distress. He was concerned only with his own release and if he registered your existence at all, then only as a means to an end.

He attempted again and again, to penetrate the narrow canal of your throat, each thrust only worsening the sensation, your body rebelling against such abuse. Water splashed everywhere as you writhed, desperate for a breath of air, but by the third thrust your throat gave way with an awful popping sound, dulled by the pressure of the water against your ears. The awful penetration was intense, it hurt so terribly that your core tightened in false anticipation of the pleasure that usually followed on the heels of pain.

You struggled to regain some semblance of calm, knowing only a level head would help you hold out long enough to breathe again. But each time he thrust into your throat, your body convulsed in protest, and your lungs burned for air. He pushed your head down with more force as he approached his release, his hips bucking as he drove more forcefully into you, not noticing as your thrashing slowed, your strength ebbing.

You dimly felt his release, as if from beyond a veil. You heard a growl of pleasure, loud enough to shake the walls, loud even through the water. You felt the way his shaft twitched as copious amounts of thick, bitter fluid gushed down your throat. You registered distantly the way it continued pulsing against the walls of your throat even in the aftershocks of his pleasure. And then you felt nothing at all. Not even a sense of relief when his cock finally pulled free from your lips.

Sukuna exhaled, a breathy sound of relief, slow and drawn out – rough around the edges. He dragged a hand through his hair as the world came back into focus. The cool air of the chamber in contrast to the dizzying warmth of the bath, steam still rising, made him acutely aware of each droplet of water where it clung to his skin. He felt alive, powerful, every inch of him thrumming with an energy he only knew when he gave in to his baser urges with you.

You.

Sukuna cocked his head to the side as he took in the sight of you, your wet hair clinging to the skin of your back as you floated, face down, in the bath before him. He frowned. You were not weak. He knew that. Or else, how could you dare to tempt him, knowing you were not a fitting receptacle for his lust – knowing the most fleeting of touches was enough to cost you your feeble life?

You approached him readily, spread your legs for him willingly, and only rarely begged for your life in the face of certain death – uncertain if your climax or the reaper would reach you first.

“Tch.” The sound left his lips unwillingly. He wasn’t ready to let you go yet. You had been the first of his harem, and he was ever expanding it, hoping to find another like you. But there didn’t seem to be another temptress like you on the face of this wretched earth, one who craved him above all else. Above any mortal bonds, misguided virtues, or sense of identity or dignity. You clung to him like he was your salvation – and not your destruction. Your desperation amused him. Everything about you did, and he was not ready to go back to being bored again.

He buried his long fingers into your thick hair, black, sharp fingernails scraping against your scalp as he pulled you out of the water, towards himself. You were alive, albeit barely. And his clear, sanguine gaze roamed the length of you. He was ancient, and he had seen nearly everything there was to see in his centuries of existence. If he didn’t crave the sensation of blood on his skin with a maddening intensity as he did, the mortals might have considered him a god. As it was, he liked the insides of people better than their outsides.

You were a rare exception, he mused as he dragged a pointed, black talon upwards along your skin, past your hipbones, up your navel, along the curve of your swollen breasts, teasing along your collarbones, before drawing to a stop at the prominent veins running down the column of your lovely throat – all the more appealing to his eyes for its fragility. Like glass so thin it might crack with a breath. If your skin tensing beneath his touch was not proof enough, the pulse beneath his finger confirmed – you were alive, still.

Good.

He was far from done with you.

He flipped your positions with no regard to your unconscious state. Your upper body sprawled along the marble tiles, water dripping from you and pooling beneath you as he positioned himself between your legs. Two powerful arms braced on either side of your immobile form as one of his hands gripped your hips, lifting you to meet him as the fourth hand spread your legs for him.

You would have enjoyed this, he thought, if you were awake.

The head of his cock, alert and ready for a second round, prodded at your entrance. Sukuna’s ruby eyes were fixed on your expression, waiting for the moment you jerked back to life. Would it be with a scream of agony or ecstasy? The not knowing was as delicious as the anticipation. He knew he could bring you back from either.

His second cock sprang to life, rubbing against your slit and brushing against your clit as the first member made its way inside you with slow, lazy thrusts. He released your hip and placed a hand against your back, his spread fingers mirroring the bones of your ribcage. He could crush it beneath his hand as easily as he had the head of that shrew who had mouthed off against you. Ruining the moment that had been weeks in planning.

How he had wanted to drag you before him. To see the jealousy in your eyes as he adorned himself with meaningless whores. He had wanted to fuck them in front of you until you begged him to stop – or to take you instead – or to… what? He didn’t know, but he would have eaten up your response regardless. You were terrified of him, he knew, but instead of running from him, you ran towards him.

He ran his tongue along his teeth, hungry for you again. He was beginning to realize it was a hunger that could never be sated. A hunger that might be turned against him if anyone caught on. If you commanded anything more than his passing interest, would you be considered his weakness?

He remembered the feel of the blue harlot’s skull imploding beneath his fingers. Blood gushing to the floor, shards of her skull cutting at his hand, only for the scrapes to be healed immediately by his cursed energy. And between the dripping blood, your eyes meeting his evenly, boldly, unafraid of the sudden display of violence.

Were you his weakness?

The thought prompted something akin to anger within him. He had no weaknesses. With a violent thrust, he sheathed himself within you. Halfway inside you, the head of his cock barred by the end of your velvet core, Sukuna was met with a burning need for more. To prove to himself, to you, to anyone who would dare to surmise otherwise – that you were nothing.

The shaft of his second cock rubbed against your clit, as it slid up and down your belly, the head of his member nestling between your breasts – caged between them and the cool, wet marble beneath you. With each thrust, it slipped up and down between your mounds, heightening Sukuna’s pleasure. The first member pounded into you with abandon, sledgehammering into your body, your unconscious body slamming against the marble with each reckless thrust.

Your eyes flew open in shock as a violent cough consumed you, expelling the water from your lungs. The burning sensation between your legs and a fiery agony in your core confirmed, you were up to your throat in Sukuna’s cock. Drowning in him in an entirely different way. You tried to brace yourself against the marble and lift your body, but Sukuna’s callous hand against your back crushed you back down to the ground ruthlessly, the marble cracking beneath you – or was that just your ribs?

There was pleasure too, ungodly pleasure through the pain. The kind you relished. You groaned despite yourself. Sure, you had nearly died only moments ago. But that was moments ago - almost an eternity ago already. Now you were being crushed beneath him, beneath his gaze, beneath his ministrations.

You turned your head to the side, the only freedom of movement you were allowed and met his eyes. You were reminded of that day so long ago, when he had taken you in your own temple, against a table not quite so hard as the marble beneath you. The way he had met your eyes with a curious gaze then.

This was different.

There was a burning fury in his eyes. A demonic possessiveness. As if the devil had been taken by the devil. He seemed intent to burrow his way straight through you. To prove something to someone, likely himself. Did he want your body, your blood, or both?

How badly you wanted to give whatever it was he would ask of you.

Your lips fell apart and nothing but short, breathy gasps fled your mouth each time he rolled his hips and plowed into you, his grip on your back for purchase, as another held onto your leg still, opening you wide for him as he thrust deeper into you, turn for turn.

A feral growl burned from his chest as the messy, slapping noise of skin against skin echoed through the chamber, water splashing over both of you.

There was an end to your cavern, but Sukuna did not seem to care. His pleasure took precedence over your anatomy, he pounded against your cervix, not caring when your body shook violently with pain, except to pin you more firmly in place.

How your brain was capable of processing such torturous pain at the same time as the heights of pleasure, you did not know. Your mind was a foggy place filled with nothing but the steam of the chamber, the water growing even hotter with the energy rolling off of him in waves and the scent of him, the feel of him, all around you. This would be a good way to go, a dark voice whispered within you.

That second cock pulsing between your breasts, rubbing against your clit again and again in time with the violation of his thick, thick shaft within you was an unholy combination that teased you higher and higher, until you cared not for the pain, for the trembling of your rebellious body. It didn’t understand - the pain was worth it, it was delicious.

The syllables of his name burst from your lips in small, delicious, agonized gasps, as the heat coiling within you tightened further and further into a madness only his brutality could release you from.

You fell from the precipice, shattering around his monstrous cock, at the very same moment that he penetrated your cervix.

Whether it was a scream of climax or of agony, you could not say. It started as one and devolved very quickly into another. But Sukuna was far from satisfied.

Even before your climax had truly ended, the agony tore through you. Tears pooled and streamed from your cheeks in mere moments. The pain was too much. You were too weak. You whimpered miserably. Hot tears mingling with the cool droplets of water that had dripped to the marble.

“Now, now…” Sukuna purred, his mask of mockery not firmly in place through his brutal anger, “don’t give up so soon.”

You sucked in a pained breath as Sukuna slid out of your womb only to bite down on your tongue, muffling a pained scream as he slammed back into that inviolable part of you.

He lifted your face from the marble, drool and tears falling from your face, contorted in pain. “Didn’t you say you were my whore?” he tutted. “What use is a whore if I can’t even fuck you properly?”

There was rage you could not place. Why was he so angry? Had he been holding back all this time? Was this what Sukuna was like when he gave in to his urges? Was this what he needed of you?

“What was it you wanted again?” he growled into your ear. “Identity?” The playful mask was more firmly in place now, concealing the fury that still thrummed beneath the surface.

“Is it worth this?” You felt his tip brush the opposite wall of your womb and bit down on a whimpering sob.

“Aw,” Sukuna mocked, slowing. “Do you want me to stop?”

You knew, without knowing how, that he would kill you if you agreed. This was some sort of twisted ultimate test. A game he was playing with himself, to find out what you were worth.

You’d be damned if you were going to lose.

You were losing sensation in your legs, your ribcage burned – there was definitely something broken – and your throat burned still from his earlier abuse, but you had a fire of your own within you that refused to cool. A blaze that sometimes wanted to swallow the world and spit out the ashes. You’d been raised a goddess, abandoned as an appeasement, and twisted into a slave and a whore. No pain of the body could compare. 

There was nothing you couldn’t take.

“Why?” you seethed, your eyes meeting his with the combined, burning resolve of the Furies of legend, a growl of your own building in your throat, “getting tired?”

He did pause, then, his wrath giving way – however briefly – to surprise. He stilled, his lips curved into a smirk, and then his shoulders shook as he tipped his head back with laughter. It echoed against the walls and fell, cruelly metallic, back to your ears.

“That’s the spirit!” he barked, finally, and using his grip on your hair as an anchor pummeled into you. With even less regard for your well-being, he clearly had every intent of impaling you on his cock – in the literal sense of the word.

A slit on his abdomen teased open, a smirk playing against your posterior, that long, thick tongue you had become very familiar with teasing between the mounds of your backside, seeking out the puckered entrance beyond. One of Sukuna’s hands drew back to clap against the smooth skin and the resounding sting seemed to spread upwards and through you. But it was so tame in comparison to the pain of your insides being rearranged, that it was almost a sensation of relief.

His tongue prodded at your anus and penetrated the tight ring of muscle with something like a laugh as the wet, thick muscle, slid along the tight walls within you, sliding deeper than should have been possible, in and out, further and further along with each poking thrust, wriggling deeper inside of you, tasting every inch of you.

You were completely out of your mind. With the one cock pleasuring itself between your breasts, the tongue inside of your intestines, and the second cock stretching the walls of your womb to their outer limits – it was a wonder you were still conscious at all.

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He was everything, he was everywhere, there was nothing and no one but him. He could have you, he could consume you, he could kill you and keep your corpse to fuck as he pleased. There was nothing he could ask of you that you would not give. They had been lying to you all along, you knew, the Great Evil was your purpose, not to vanquish, but to be consumed completely by it. No heaven could compare, the goddess Terraria be damned. She would have gotten on all fours for him, too, if she could – begging for the favor of his cock.

But she couldn’t, because he had chosen you and you alone.

And then he tore through the walls of your womb.

There was a scream so loud it hurt your ears. You wanted to ask for it to stop but couldn’t work your mouth to form the words – and then you realized you were the one screaming. The anguish was like nothing, the delirium of the pain was addling your brain. You wondered if you were dying.

Sukuna did not stop.

Your scalp burned from him dragging you up by the hair without pause. Your leg ached as he arched it up and used it to anchor himself as he pumped deeper and deeper into you. How you had the presence of mind to register either of those sensations was a wonder to you.

Your scream was never-ending, the need for breath was secondary. Sukuna laughed, loving the sound of your agony. He bent low to kiss the throat that bled such a beautiful, awful sound and then he bit into your flesh, eyes gleaming at the scarlet ambrosia that spilled from your lovely veins.

He tore into you, pain upon pain. Through your stomach, up your esophagus – and now you could truly feel him in your throat.

And then he came with a shudder, a groan of release reached your ears, soft and intimate and lovely.  You felt his release everywhere – or rather you no longer knew where one part of you ended and another began. So attuned to his sensations, his desires, his lust as you were, you too, climaxed through the pain, tremors running through your body as he let you drop back onto the cold tiles. You were in heaven and hell at the same time. It was so like Sukuna to take you there.

You opened your eyes blearily and recognized that the marble had indeed cracked. Just like your ribs. A cough tore through you, pain intensified exponentially by your ravaged insides and when you spit up the blockage, your eyes focused enough to recognize – blood and cum.

When he finally pulled out of you, the one thing stemming your bleeding was torn mercilessly away and blood gushed forth from you with abandon. Blackness tinged the edges of your vision almost immediately at such sudden loss of blood, as your body registered how thoroughly it had been wrecked. Sukuna’s second member, still pulsing, pulled away from between your breasts and the tongue that had been nestled inside your intestines also slipped back out, disappearing inside Sukuna’s abdomen once more. He took hold of you, almost gently, by your shoulders, and turned the two of you back around until you were draped limply over his chest as he leaned back against the cracked marble. He curled your wet hair around his fingers thoughtfully, as the thumb of another hand stroked your shoulder almost comfortingly. You noted dimly that you had been right, this was a good way to go. His eyes fell to yours, meeting your gaze with an intensity you had not thought possible.

When his eyes roamed over you and stopped between your legs, you followed his gaze. It was so much more blood than you had realized. The minty green water was spoiled almost all the way through with coils of thick, red blood. Enough to dye almost the entire bath. There was nothing beautiful left of this bath chamber.

“Why not ask me to stop?” Sukuna murmured, so quietly you only heard it because of how close his lips were to your ear.

You swallowed thickly. You were tired. Tired, physically, of course, but also tired of the lies that had built up your entire life. Sukuna had been the only truth in your life – a brutal, cruel, ruthless truth. But a truth, nonetheless. Was it so strange that you would rather be a true whore than a false goddess? Maybe your sense of gratitude towards him was foolish and mistaken, but it was there. 

“I didn’t want you to.” You admitted, your voice almost lost with your fading consciousness.

Sukuna was silent a moment, stroking your hair away from your forehead as your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his heartbeat as your own faded away.

“Do you still want it?” he muttered, almost hesitating despite himself. That his hesitation was for your sake went completely over your head. With great difficulty, you opened your eyes one last time in confusion. “Identity?” he added, a frown on his beautiful, proud lips, the black markings on his face smooth as the plane of his forehead as he regarded you distantly, making a decision you could not possibly weigh. “I won’t take it back even if you beg.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but your body lacked the resources to bring them to life. Instead, you nodded with what strength you had left. You would always want identity - a true identity - given by none other than Sukuna himself.

Then your eyes closed for a final time as an exhausted breath fell silently from your lips. Sukuna watched you quietly a moment longer, considering your request. A lock of pink hair fell over his forehead as he ran a hand up and down your lifeless arm.

You did not know what you were asking for, but he did. It would be cruel of him, selfish. He paused in a moment of uncharacteristic, unprecedented mercy. But when did he deny himself something he wanted?

Mind made up, he lifted a hand and poised a black fingertip over your chest, beneath which your heart lay hidden, resting at last. All concern for your eventual regret dismissed, Sukuna dragged the sharp talon over your skin, splitting the flesh and revealing the life-giving organ beneath. Why not bind you to his side for all eternity? It was what he wanted and what he wanted was all that mattered.

He cut open your heart, revealing the chambers of the muscle in their final twitches of life. A black smirk twisted his features. Why not? Why not treat himself? Why not enslave you?

He curled the fingers of his hand into a fist, piercing the palm of his own hand until he drew blood. He opened his fist and watched with eager greed as the inky blood that had pooled in his palm dripped down into your open heart.

It took only moments for his cursed energy to do its work. It swirled around you, sealing your heart back shut with a snap, sewing your skin together above it until not even a blemish remained. Your back arched as your heart pumped Sukuna’s blood through you, tainting your own. Your very body raised off of him slightly, lifted upwards by the dark energy coursing through you, healing every wound and injury throughout your ruined body.

The flow of blood that had been spilling out between your legs ceaselessly, stopped abruptly, and the red and green water dissolved into nothing but an inky black surrounding the two of you. Sukuna’s smirk gave way to an unapologetic grin as he watched you change before his eyes, beneath his hands – entirely his. Unbreakable now.

With a gasp, your eyes flew open as a different kind of pain surged through you – a pain akin to anger at its very extremes. Light shone from your form, intermingling with the darkness, burning through your skin. An anguished groan left your lips as you fought the foreign influence, but it was fast, it was powerful. It was Sukuna himself inside you – although in an entirely different way.

And because it was Sukuna, you let him have you. You let him flow through every inch of your being and embraced him – alive, elated, enlightened. It wasn’t unlike a climax to have him delve so intimately into your being, settling into your very nerves, your pores, between your cells. You were alight with him and it was euphoria like nothing you had ever known.

When the delicious torment had finished coursing through you, leaving nothing but the tantalizing tendrils of his being lingering just beneath your skin. You were suddenly awake like you had never been before. Awareness flooded you, of the birds beyond the bath chamber, the water dripping onto the tiling, and Sukuna’s heart thudding darkly, so close to you. You turned on him – suddenly ravenous for him. Needing ever more of him to replace the cursed energy that had stopped coursing through you with such intensity. You wanted him to give you more, to consume you or let you consume him – you weren’t sure which.

You straddled his hips and pinned him against the marble at his back – suddenly stronger than you had ever been – and pressed your mouth to his, with a hunger like nothing earthly. Still, there was an anger within you, just beneath the surface, like a living being, waiting to be provoked to life. His anger, you realized. It was the rage you glimpsed every now and then between his mocking smiles and punishing caresses. An emotion that always lived with him – one you now shared.

You groaned into his mouth, running your tongue along his teeth, biting at his lip, teasing his tongue with your own – coaxing him to fight back, to battle with you, to play with you. But he merely leaned back with a smirk, enjoying your little rush of need. He kissed you back leisurely, slowing down when you needed speed, and gentling his touch when you craved wild, reckless abandon. The damned contrarian. He was doing it just to upset you, you knew.

A growl built in your throat, and he heard it, his grin widening.

“Well, would you look at that?” he muttered, the surprise in his voice causing your eyes to open as well. His expression gave you pause, stemming the raging need within you.

Something was wrong.

You didn’t know what he was seeing, but the look in his eyes scared you, more than anything you had experienced since you had come to know him. It made you feel like you had made an awful, irreversible mistake. It made you want to tear the skin from your face without quite knowing why.

“Looks like there was something of the divine in you after all, goddess.” There was a mocking tone to his low voice, his hushed murmur intimate and forbidden. His breath against your ear sent an icy shiver racing down your spine. His cruel intonation, just the way his voice sounded when he was testing the limits of your capacity for pain, heightened your sense of alarm. Something was terribly, terribly wrong and Sukuna sounded as if it was not at all a surprise to him. You whirled towards the water trying to see a glimpse of your reflection in its inky black, trying to see what he had seen. You held your breath, waiting for the ripples to settle, waiting in horrified anticipation.

And there it was. Whatever he had done to you had changed you. There were black markings on your face, not unlike his own, if somewhat more delicate in appearance, across your collarbones and wrists as well, the design of which cut off abruptly here and there. Your hair and your eyes, too, had gone an inky black, not unlike the water the two of you were submerged in. But interlaced through the black locks were strands of white, stark in contrast – and almost cruel to look at. Just like your left iris, which seemed to have been cut through a third of the way with white, leaving that eye half-black, half-white.

You did not need Sukuna to tell you what it meant. He had turned you into something demonic with his cursed energy, but it had not been able to take over completely because somewhere within you, unbeknownst to you, the power of the goddess had slumbered.

The temple had not been lying to you.

Your world turned on its head as you struggled to come to grips with the meaning of this awful realization.

Sukuna’s hands curled along your waist to meet at your midsection. You saw in the water’s reflection the way he watched over your shoulder as your hands dragged down your face in abject horror. Ever a grin on his lips at your torment.

“You knew this?” you gasped in disbelief. Had he not been the one to disillusion you? To tell you that you were no more than a woman?

Sukuna bent his head to nip at the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Have I ever pretended otherwise, goddess?” he teased against your skin.

The nickname was jarring, and you suddenly realized why he had never given it up. He had known all along what you were. And perhaps destroying your belief in yourself, was how he had broken you down in the first place, defeating you with barely any effort at all. Had you truly attempted to fight him after he dispelled your divine barrier or had that simply been enough for you to concede defeat, convinced you that you were in the wrong place, fighting someone else’s battle?

Now here you were, in the arms of the very one generations of worshippers had prayed for you to defeat, tainted entirely with his blood, his energy. Already, he was parting your legs again, ready to partake of you, liking you even more in this tainted state.

You tipped your head back against his shoulder despite yourself, still wanting him, despite everything. Still willing to give yourself over to the evil that you had been cautioned against your entire life. “Am I a goddess, Sukuna?” you whimpered, the vaulted ceiling above you blurred as tears pooled in your eyes.

His fingers found the apex of your thighs, fully healed now.

“Not anymore,” he laughed cruelly, and you felt your heart breaking into pieces. His fingers slid along your slit, pleased to have been gifted a blank, uninjured slate.

“Then, what - ?” Tears spilled over your cheeks but the question died on your lips as his fingers found their way inside you. Your eyes slid shut and a breathy moan echoed throughout the chamber as your back arched in pleasure. Whatever he had done to you had heightened your sensations exponentially, as your body responded to him in a way that was wholly unnatural, as if every inch of your being was poised in limbo, waiting perpetually for his touch, waiting to submit to him always.

“Mine,” was the answer growled into your ear. The reverberations burned into you through his chest, his voice vibrating through your ear, down your exposed throat.

And then he took you as if that was the only thing that was true, the only thing that mattered.

----------------------------------------

Power.

It spilled out of you, from your very fingertips. Part Sukuna and part something that was entirely your own. Something had broken within you. You saw now, the pieces that made up your being. The divinity, the curse – and the broken woman between the two. All of those were you.

When Sukuna re-entered his harem, with you at his side, a hushed silence fell over the assembled. You had no patience for the harlots before you. Too many of them, no different from the girl in blue who had learned her lesson too late. They, all of them, had made eyes at Sukuna and worse – plotted to have you removed from his side. Sidling up to him coyly as you had seen. They didn’t know about the undying rage within you, how you waited for it to be provoked, to justify a lashing out of power, to give reason to the destruction you longed to unleash.

You saw her one moment, a lovely blonde – the same whose fingers had traced the markings on Sukuna’s chest - whispering something to another behind her hand, her eyes on you. The next moment, the candlelight flickered, and a scream tore through her as the ground at her feet softened, drawing her in. Horror filled her eyes as she struggled to make sense of her predicament. Some eyes amongst the gathering flicked towards you, piecing two and two together.

You made it slow; it was more satisfying that way. She sunk down to her knees, clawing at the flagstones around her, begging for help, but her friends only staggered backward, terrified to be the next to face your ire. She was up to her neck before she turned her helpless gaze toward you, begging for mercy.

But you weren’t feeling merciful.

You did not even glance at Sukuna as the rest of them turned towards you, unsure where to place you, struggling to make sense of the changed hierarchy. But it had changed, and you were feeling charitable enough to educate them on it.

Darkness seemed to gather wherever you focused your anger, your power. And the cursed spirit that was looking at you in disbelief was next. Lest the fools think only mortals were under your thumb.

Not being human, he caught on a bit quicker, and almost immediately began begging for his life. His gaze caught between Sukuna’s mirth and your wrath. Burying him alive would be boring – you had already done that once. What if you crushed him as Sukuna had done? You wondered what that would feel like. You concentrated the air around him, formed it into a solid, invisible cage, and shrunk it bit by bit. You watched the agony contort his face, watched his body shrink in turn, until blood spilled from the split skin of his crushed form – until his bones broke; until there was nothing left to hurt. His screams had abated, and that was the end.

Tch.

You searched for your next target and found that everyone in the room had gone silent and had fallen to the floor, prostrating to you. You frowned and turned to Sukuna, suddenly understanding his awful, murderous boredom. There seemed to be nothing worse.

There was a broken, bitter part of you that mourned your lost mortality, your lost divinity. A part that only found relief when someone else was screaming. Sukuna would understand, and he did. It was ín the subtle inclination of his head, the smirk that teased his lips. His scarlet irises were pleased. He seemed so taken with you that you found it hard to care for the parts of yourself you had lost.

He nodded towards the plateau before you, upon which sat a throne that seemed to have been built into the very ground itself, large enough for two to sit comfortably side by side. It was overlaid with gold, but you suspected stone or iron lingered beneath that. It was the only explanation you could come up with for the formidable seat. High-backed and elegant, intricate designs were fashioned into the metal, inlaid with rubies and diamonds, and cushioned with embroidered red velvet. It was the throne he had sat upon when demanding you service others, but that memory felt centuries old. Distant, irrelevant.

This was the largest kingdom Sukuna had conquered to date and the throne room represented that accurately with its luxury. The palatial chamber was built in such a way as to carry the voice of whoever sat on that throne to every corner of the court. Structured so that wherever you stood, you faced the central figure perched upon that seat of power. The fool who had ruled here had seen to that, assuring that no one dared to turn their backs on him, assuring that he had all present in his view from his elevated seat of power. Perhaps, it was justified in a sense. This kingdom was a hub of trade and wealthy in resources. Not only that – it was located central to the neighboring kingdoms, strategically situated for negotiation, attack, or defense, but Sukuna cared little for that. A throne was no better than chains to him.

Sukuna glanced over his shoulder at the assembly and the bloodlust glinting in his ruby irises was a warning enough to have them scrambling to clear the room. A command they read clearly.

Cowards. Bloodlust of your own still itched in your fingertips, and you longed to see what havoc you could wreak.

The king of curses led you up the few steps to the throne, stopping just before it. He withdrew a hand from where it rested in the crook of his white robe and took hold of yours. Lifting it up to his mouth, he brushed his lips over your knuckles, an action that sent shivers up your spine.

“Rule over this rabble for me,” he commanded, tightening his grip on your hand. Your gaze slid, unbidden over the throne beside you. He wanted you to rule? You could not fathom if it was kindness, generosity, or another form of punishment you had yet to wrap your head around. His mouth was set determinedly, and his eyes peered at you with no hint of that malicious mirth that usually lined his lovely scarlet eyes. There was nothing but earnestness within them, join me, they seemed to say, be on my side. Do as I do.

You held his gaze a moment and understood. He had no interest in ruling, in holding court over his subjects, in negotiating trade and regulations. His only interests were on the battlefield and between your legs. Rule for him and leave him free to cleave through his enemies, their screams echoing in his ears – his own version of nirvana.

You envied him for a moment, suddenly taken with a bloodlust of your own. How you would like to be beside him, cutting down the legions as you had seen him do. Blood and screams thick in the air. Afterwards, you would sate your lust with him in your tents. Each of you ravenous and still drenched in blood. Grappling for dominance until he overpowered you and the two of had had your fill of each other. Bloody and content until you did it all again the next day.

You still weren’t certain how much of these new facets of your personality were your own and how much of it was the natural consequence of Sukuna’s blood within you. It would be too simple to assume it was all his influence and you held no accountability for the dark desires burning within you. In truth, you knew a part of you had enjoyed this even before he had changed you so markedly. You had always enjoyed the display of power that was his wrath on the battlefield. And when his eyes had met yours on your travels, when he had taken you with blood still on his hands – you shivered at the thought. You had enjoyed that even when you were human. Even when you were divine.

But it wasn’t a goddess or a slave he was asking you to be now. Not even a reward for his loyal minions. No, now he was asking something else entirely.

“A queen?” you said quietly, turning from the throne to your maker. “Is that the identity you would bestow upon me?”

He smirked and took hold of your shoulders soothing his thumbs over the tension in your muscles. “I’ve stayed here too long,” he muttered, changing the subject as his hands meandered down your form and untied the sash around your waist. He pushed your robe from your shoulders leisurely, offering no explanation for his actions. Queen or goddess – he could have you whenever he wanted you, however he wanted you. He turned you, entirely naked now, towards the throne and you followed in the direction his hands guided you, struggling to understand what he was after.

He maneuvered you onto the throne, on your knees, holding onto the high back of the solid seat as he positioned himself behind you, his lips at your ear. You felt wickedly exposed and out of place and so you sighed with relief when the frigid air at your back was replaced with his solid, heated form. You wanted to kiss him, but his hand snaked around your neck, taking hold of your chin as he turned your face away from him, giving him access to your throat instead. He nibbled at your ear and nipped his way down your throat as he freed himself from the confines of his trousers, ready to take you on the very throne he was giving you. He ran his hand along his members, and the two fused into one. The very sight of his impossible girth had your heart dropping into your stomach. You could never have taken that before he had turned you.

“Would you like that?” he asked, as he sunk into you slowly, inch for delectable inch, running his tongue along your pulse as he did so. “For them to call you a queen?”

You moaned in delirious ecstasy. You could never have enough of him. Your insides made way for him, welcoming him, needing him. He had changed the very essence of your being. You needed him the way you needed air and water – he could take you anywhere, any way at all, and you would thank him for it.

You arched your back and rocked against him impatiently, feeling him filling your core more completely, and could not help the whines of pleasure that spilled freely from your lips. Sukuna held the sides of the high-backed throne and crushed you between himself and the soft velvet, allowing you to fuck yourself on his cock with a desperation you would have taken care to conceal before. His canines buried themselves in your throat, prompting fresh blood to spill forth and he closed his mouth over the wound, drinking it down greedily.

He rolled his hips into you, his need as great as yours, prompting more needy whimpers from you. It was never enough with him.

With reckless abandon, the two of you found your own rhythm as you pushed against him, driving yourself to new heights. You could feel him within you, deeper than should have been possible, you could see him bulging through your skin, see exactly how deep he was, and you pressed a hand to your skin in awe as you felt him thrust into you with abandon. The head of his shaft was within your very ribcage, you noticed dimly, intoxicated with lust and pleasure. The kind of penetration that had killed you once, but your new body could take the pain. Your new body was made for him.

Gasping, panting, you fell from the heights of ecstasy, tumbling down headfirst through shockwaves of pleasure. When Sukuna suddenly, unexpectedly, pulled away from you. You had less than a moment to grieve the loss of content as he slipped out of you and took hold of your shoulder, turning you until you were sitting properly on the throne. You looked up at him, confused and still dizzy with pleasure. This was where he belonged, standing over you, all enigmatic lethal beauty, looking down on you like a god in judgment. His cock in his hand, his face flushed with lust and desire, intensity burning in eyes as red as your blood that dripped from his lips – the sight of him had your pulse singing in wanton need - and then he came.

His copious seed doused your form entirely. Warm, sticky fluid gushed over your face, over your chest and legs – all over the throne you sat on. Shock and humiliation set in as you tried to make sense of what had transpired. Sukuna braced himself, still, with one hand on the back of the throne as he leaned over you. His cock still dribbling ejaculate onto you. He panted, catching his breath, and then his expression broke into a grin as he took in the sight of you.

Like a cum-drowned mouse.

He took hold of your chin and kissed you on the lips with a tenderness that belied your current state. “No matter who calls you a queen, sweetheart…” he purred, lingering at your lips, heedless of the sticky, white liquid dripping from your chin. “Don’t forget that this is the throne you rule from.”

He leaned lazily over you, reaching down to retrieve the crown on the floor, one he had discarded since occupying the castle. One that had remained there, worthless because Sukuna had deemed it so, and placed it on your dripping head.

“Don’t forget that you are my whore.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes full of wonder despite yourself. He was cruel – and you loved him for it.

“I might forget anyway,” you replied boldly, not bothering to make an attempt at cleaning yourself up. He was clearly enjoying the sight.

His ruby eyes glinted with mirth and malice – a sentiment you recognized now. That sensation you also felt every now and then. Give me a reason, it seemed to say, give me the slightest excuse to unleash my rage on you.

It was tiring keeping it in all the time. You understood.

You crossed your legs paying no mind to the stickiness between them, one over the other, every bit the stature of a queen, even crowned in gold, and robed in his seed.

“You’ll have to come back and remind me.”

A true laugh, short and surprised, fell from Sukuna’s lips. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his grin evidence of how much he was enjoying you. “You can be sure of that.” Both a promise and a threat – and sweeter than any lover’s confession.

Heat pooled in your belly at his assurance, and then without so much as another word, he disappeared.

He was truly gone. He hated being kept indoors, he hated courtiers, and he hated his own clean hands. He needed to be tearing into something, you knew, and so you understood when he went back to war like a lion to his prey. You could not ask him to stay.

You washed yourself and cleaned the throne – and then you ruled.

You oversaw all matters of state that so bored Sukuna and made sure his kingdom flourished. You were determined to have his approval when he saw the progress his capital had made. There was pleasure in all affairs of government for you. You seemed to have a natural affinity towards it. You soon established a reputation as a ruler who was equal parts harsh and fair. You did not relish taking the last sheep of some poor farmer, and so the peasants tended to welcome your rule. The rich and powerful, however, were another story entirely. As were the miscreants who resorted to crime. You relished the moments when a fool came to challenge you. You delighted in all the different ways there were to take a head from a body.

But those challenges soon came to be few and far between as word spread quickly – the Queen of Curses was not to be toyed with. Any slight, real or imagined, was met with a quick and cruel response. Their caution drove you mad with the need for violence. What was the purpose of the power buzzing in your veins, if you had no one to eviscerate with it? More often than you cared to admit, you envied Sukuna’s freedom on the battlefield. What you wouldn’t do to feel someone’s pulse slowing beneath your palms, to feel their blood running between your fingers. If you did not have challengers and fools to punish, what were you to do with this craving for bloodshed?

When boredom became too much to bear, you brought people out of the dungeons to fight to the death in the courtyard square. 18 prisoners fought one another, and you promised the victor freedom. It was a brilliant sight. Your eyes lit up at their desperation, their cunning – their violence. It reminded you of your beloved.

And when the victor kneeled before you, to receive your royal pardon, all exhaustion and weariness – you killed him, of course. There was no lie. It was a freedom, of sorts.

And of course, it would not do for word to reach Sukuna of you pardoning prisoners. On the contrary, you hoped he would hear of your cruelty, of your violence. You hoped it would make him lust for you and bring him back home.

And sometimes, it did. When he heard tell in hushed tones of the Queen of Curses’ latest cruelty. Some horror beyond imagining meted out on whoever had been fool enough to offend her, he hungered for you with a passion that left a trail of broken women in his wake – and still his lust was not sated.

He would be haunted by the image of you, that once pure, innocent face of a goddess stained with blood and smirking in pleasure as you took some fool apart piece for piece. As you murdered and tortured and wanted more still, as you listened to screams the way he did – as songs of praise to your power. And the need to take you, to fill you, to wreck your body with the ravages of his lust drove him to impatience and distraction – and nothing in the world could keep him from you then.

You knew this, of course.

And every time you meted out punishment, crueler than the last, you hoped this was the one that would bring your cursed king home. Because even if all the world called you the queen of curses, you were never more content than when you were his whore.

#sukuna #tw dubcon #tw humiliation #tw degradation #dead dove do not eat #sukuna x reader

[holycollectivedelusion]

Laying in bed with a friend. They've since fallen asleep and you're just chilling on your phone when suddenly you feel their hands traversing your body. You ask them if they're awake and get no response as you turn and see they're still passed out. They pull your hips back to theirs and begin grinding and humping themselves against you. Moaning in their sleep as you realise they're having a wet dream and are using you to get off. You try to remove yourself from their grip but that just makes them grind against you stronger than before. You feel them getting hard behind you and notice that their tip has completely left their shorts and is leaking precum over your clothes. They move their hands fast and trap your wrists together with one hand and pull you closer with the other as they start grunting louder. You feel them tense up and a warm splatter shoots up your back and into your hair as they finally release you and drift back off to a deep sleep, leaving you to clean yourself up.

#cnc kink #trans nsft #petpl4y #humiliation kink #tw restriction #tw humiliation #tw somno #restriction #bd/sm lifestyle #bd/sm puppy #this is the last one for now i promise ill do actual writing in a bit qosjdbaiwktbwiwtg