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underground boxer geto x always-bets-on-him gojo

so fun story my ethical law TF hit me with his car and broke a bunch of my stuff including my drawing tablet and pen. so. if someone wants to draw this on my behalf pls go ahead just tag me.

underground boxer geto x alway-bets-on-him gojo

i get people using AI to write a college essay, ok, i get it. but fiction? whats the point in that? what do u mean ur not consumed by the demons at 2 am to write absolute unhinged cringeworthy trash? nah man call me a luddite but thats not right. what do u mean u need help with story ideas bitch go look at art or music or people or life, there's ur stories right there.

[ #1, Lord!Sukuna x knight!reader, heian-era trueform Sukuna, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, d/s relationship, graphic details, gnc reader, 600+ words ]

pt.2 (jealousy)

Ryomen Sukuna is to feast tonight. You, his right-hand knight, his first line of defence, his ever-faithful dog, his closest confidante, have prepared a banquet: you’ve slaughtered an entire Suguwara battalion. A fine stew they made, but Sukuna is still unsatisfied. 

“Be there no noble or peasant to fill my belly? No ample morsel in all these fertile lands?” Sukuna drawls, brows curled in annoyance. His entire court stands fearing their fates. The stew is finished, so is the rice and the wine.

“Then must I fare pale today?” His anger is terrible. Play your part, strong knight, save these trembling men. 

“O Lord,” You kneel onto one knee amid a parting crowd. “Point your finger and I shall hunt. My bow shall I draw, my sword shall I swing. You shall not go without your heart’s content.”

“Is that all you offer me, then?” His silken robes tinkle as he leans forward. 

“For you, I give you my teeth and nails,” comes your feverish vow. “My self and my soul, too. Pledged yours am I.”

“Hearty words, but my stomach goes unsated.”

“Then request, Lord. The sky itself will not be spared if you desire it so.”

“Will sky-air fill my hunger? I shall dine on something more precious.” His eyes burn crimson-flamed. “Your meat.”  

For a second you are taken aback, but the next one fills Sukuna with your aroma. Your unsheathed sword screeches against the marbled ground as you drag it with you up to his throne. In his lap you lay yourself and present your sword to him: Take it. Carve my flesh out as you desire. It’s all yours, anyway. 

If his courtiers, wives, concubines, soldiers and subjects gawk at the spectacle, Sukuna does not care. He caresses a gentle hand through your hair lest they cover the unwavering sincerity in your eyes. “No,” he declares, “Your deflowered sword shall not touch your skin. You deserve–,” his head leant down to yours, you breathe in the warmth of his exhale, “–a touch more worthy of you.”

You see the delight in Sukuna’s eyes before the horrifying pain rends through the centre of your chest. With one hand he’s broken your sternum apart and digs elbow-deep into your bloody mess of organs. Even with your reversed cursed technique it’s hard to keep awake: the hollow in your chest, the bloodloss, the unimaginable torture of it all pulling you under, away from your Lord’s blazing eyes that are all that you can perceive. You can feel every stretch of his finger inside you, every ripping tissue, every pulse on his heaving breath that echoes a desire that only you bring him. Only you and – found it – Sukuna, robes drenched in your blood red as his eyes, rips your heart out of you. It still beats for him. 

You can only lie limp cradled on his thighs and left arms as he sinks his teeth in, devotedly. An eye on his meal, another on his audience, and two on you. He does not say a word as he eats. What is there to say that you do not already understand? He eats your heart with overwhelming love and respect. 

Sukuna takes his time to chew through each bite, savouring the taste of your rich blood and strong sinews. This heart that nourished you since your birth, the one that stored memories of your childhood loves and dreams, all melt on his tongue. The flavour of your cursed energy, unparalleled. It pairs well with his own. 

He licks his fingers clean when he’s done. Not a single drop of blood of yours is wasted. You’re too pale, lips blue and palms white; Sukuna carries you to your chambers in his own arms. He does not offer to help you regenerate, he knows you can do it yourself. He trusts you. 

When you wake up, you find your sword next to you. Sukuna’s own blood, you can tell by its taste, is drying on your blade.

pt.2 (jealousy) masterlist

a/n: obsession x consumption x devotion my beloved trio