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darkness fills your lungs; your eyes; your nose- its tendrils slithering through your body, latching onto the comfort of your unconscious mind.
your physical body is resting on something warm- not quite scalding, but enough heat to soothe the bruises that littered along your breasts and thighs.
gifts left by the bane of your existence.
your psyche is elsewhere, out in the fields where your status and identity did not matter. where you were able to remain safe from both humans and curses alike without ryōmen sukuna’s so-called “protection.”
but here, it was the only thing keeping you alive and out of the king of curses’ esophagus.
to your dismay, he’s found you interesting enough to play with, a half-curse, half-human, and one that was pleasing to the eyes.
why then, would he waste such a fine creature on something as meager as dinner? the demon has kept you as a pet for many moons, and intends on keeping you in his tight grasp until you wither away, or until you get used to him. either works.
you had to wake up eventually, sukuna thinks. demands.
the peace never lasts for long with him.
he is a hedonistic creature, little more than a beast of what remained of the sorcerer he was, and you were weak and pliant in his tetra-limbs, right where you belonged.
his carmine, cat-like eyes flicker to your resting figure; your soft breasts smushed against his ribcage, one arm lazily wrapped around his stomach, while all four of his kept you against him.
black nails trail down your curves, the arm closest to you pausing for a split-second, while he debates squeezing your nipples to wake you up.
sukuna had a better idea.
his thick fingers brushed between the folds, easing your cunt to weep for him. your fingers twitch lightly against his abdomen, and he wastes no time; invading your slick core until his middle and pointer fingers were knuckle-deep.
a soft whine leaves your lips, toes curling from the intrusion as he pumps faster, harder- crimson irises narrowing as he impatiently awaits your reaction. his lips stretch at the memory, incisors sharp and eager to mark you up once more.
when your knees inch together but your eyelids remain closed, he huffs in mild irritation. his second hand reaches behind your neck and squeezes the sides, using more pressure when your eyebrows furrow.
ripped away from the calm nothingness, you awake with a violent, convulsive jerk. your arousal leaks around his tattooed wrist as your back arches from the repeated pressure against your walls,and a garbled, muffled cry makes him snicker lowly, the low laugh vibrating against your torso.
your eyes roll back from the lack of oxygen, and you have no time to prepare before your muscles clench up painfully- your hips rocking against the heel of his palm without his assistance as you reach a high he would never let you give yourself.
panting hard, each intake breath stinging your lungs, you reluctantly gaze up at him with a dazed wince.
“sukuna, i-”
he cuts you off with a click of his tongue, his tattooed tongue slithering out to lick at your warm cheeks. “ah ah.” he murmurs, tracing your cheekbone with his tongue.
“mutts don’t talk.”