Work Text:
Sukuna has never cared much for the going-ons of mortals. They call his name, and occasionally he answers, but he finds their tribulations so trivial, so boring. How can one expect an immortal being as himself to stay attentive to the same needs, the same lip service, over and over again? There is one voice, though, that calls to him.
Rapid, fervid prayers falling from quiet lips. Desperation bleeds into every drop of Sukuna’s name and he can’t help but take a peak, pulling back the curtain on mortality when the prayers don’t cease as the day drags into night into day into night.
He is struck by the beautiful creature that calls for him.
She is lain out, hands bound above her head and attached to a smooth granite slab, raven hair a haloed mess around her face. Her ankles are fastened tight to the lower corners, forcing her legs spread wide apart with no give to bring them together. Tears streak down the dazzling creature’s face, milky as they carry white powder with them. Pale skin shines under the shiromuku, though Sukuna notes the right side is fastened over the left and the obi is tied loose. It is the same pink-red as the human body’s viscera, a taste that has so enraptured Sukuna in the past, until like everything else, it lost its appeal to immortality.
The moon can hardly hold a candle to this sweet thing’s beauty, and Sukuna finds himself approaching the granite slab. Blood warms the senses as he walks closer, head fuzzy with the silken voice of the bride on the altar. So close, Sukuna can better appreciate the long fingers intertwined in prayer, their nimble shape, the small callouses formed most likely by hundreds of hours playing koto. The shape of petal lips entice Sukuna as they move, dry and cracked though they are, and the shapely swell of small breasts destined to grow large when this bride bears children for her husband are alluring, even through the layers of fabric that would try to hide them.
Looking down her body, though, Sukuna believes he understands why this pearl’s prayers grow fainter. The obi that wraps around her waist are indeed the intestines from her own body and it is not tears that roll down her sharp face, but sweat.
She is a sacrifice, Sukuna concludes, thinking back to the clamor simmering in the base of his skull only three days prior. This means that this treasure is meant for him, his dying bride.
He cannot help the scorn in his gaze as it sweeps out over the village below. Don’t they know to preserve beauty, to indulge in it? It would have been a far better use of resources to keep this one fed and pampered and kept in a whore house, though as sukuna presses his nose into the mess of flesh, tongue flicking out to taste the sweet nectar of blood, he thinks this beauty is too fertile to be anything other than a wife. Her womb would certainly burden the townspeople, but for Sukuna, bring great joy.
An apt sacrifice, then. Perhaps he may grant whatever wish these fools desire, or else smite them for hiding such a perfect bride from him for so long.
Trembling prayers cease as a heavy, worn gaze falls onto the god, watching his face sink into the woman’s open abdomen. With his lower set of eyes, he glances over to see the bride has shifted, the surrounding flames dancing and flickering to tease at the gemstone flashes within her eyes. The beauty’s eyelashes are dewy with unshed tears, long and clumped together. She doesn’t even look bothered at Sukuna being here, only somewhat confused. Her chest heaves with each breath, and sukuna grows more enamored still.
“Unless you are the one i have been calling for,” she murmurs, voice rich and deep, the voice of a man’s, “do not touch me. I am for him only, if he should please.”
Sukuna hums, licking the blood from his chin as he rises from of her innards. “And if he should not please?”
“Then my death will have been as useful as my life,” she pants, sweat breaking out harder as she collapses back against the stone. “that is to say, useless.”
“Tell me your name,” Sukuna demands, dipping a finger between the seam of small and large intestine, running through the wetness that lingers just to hear the pained moan fall from his ghostly bride’s lips. Even her voice, broken and cracking, is a sweet symphony for Sukuna’s ears, as if she was designed just for him.
“Megumi,” the girl answers, panting and distant. “My given name. I am of- of the Zen’in clan.”
“And I am the one you have called for. I am your god, Megumi," Sukuna says, thunder rumbling in agreeance with his declaration. He loosens one of the intestinal ropes to pull it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the sweet flesh as his pretty blessing screams, a true songbird. “Why are you here?”
“Th-there is—“ her voice breaks into another scream as sukuna bites into the viscera, tastes the smoked meats and sweet jams she has been stuffed with. The thread that has sewn her shut can barely keep his notice as he lets the finest cuts of a small child linger on his tongue. A boy he believes, no older than seven or eight. He pairs well with the plum jam and dried dates, all wrapped up in this small treasure made for him.
She finds her voice once more as sukuna chews, stringing words together with some difficulty. “A war,” she gasps, hands spasming above her head. “S’a war wi-ith Gojos.” Another bite, another cry, body writhing to escape the pain, but always she fulfills her requested duty, speech tumbling loose and messy from her lips but tumbling forth all the same. “Sa-sacri—I am a, a sacrifice. Your fav-oh, oh, no, no please—they n-need it to, need it to win.”
Sukuna considers the plea around his mouthful, honeyed apricots and Megumi’s spleen lingering on the crevice of his teeth. The Zen’in left a bride for him and filled her with other people for him to consume, truly, a clan that understood what he sought, a clan with creative thinking, that can make flesh interesting once more. He takes another bite and cannot stop himself from finishing, intestines and pancreas and bladder savored and swallowed. The screams above him are too enticing and such sweet flavor as he has not had in so long are too much for a hedonist like him to resist. Megumi’s voice warbles, begging for mercy, for more, for death. Sukuna lets each cry fill him as much as his bloodied pearl’s tender body does.
He wipes the blood from his face only so that the mouth at his stomach may suckle the remains from his fingertips and looks with delight upon his Megumi. Her breaths are shallow, barely-there gasps. Her pupils are wide, dilated as her jewel eyes grow dull and glassy. Her heartbeat is faint, weak, and her fingers and toes turn blue as death crawls through her body, but even after all this, after the pain her body has endured, still she fights for each breath, clings to life.
“Sukuna,” she praises, the only word she is able to keep whole. “Sukuna.”
“You will be my perfect bride,” Sukuna swears, climbing on the altar to settle heavily over her. Like this, she seems even smaller, carved out and emptied. It takes no effort at all to cut her clothes away, less than a thought, and Sukuna cannot help but moan at the true beauty before him.
A series of moles linger at the dip of her hip bones, one setting just off center on the avulsed skin where her belly button should be. One lies between her spread thighs, another just on the edge of a beautiful, blood soaked cunt. Her breasts are perfect, pert and round, though the left one is slightly larger, Sukuna notes. She does not even seem to register the humid night air caressing her body or how old, dried blood mixes with new. He places a hand in the cavern of her stomach and feels for the most important part, weak cries dancing softly to his ears. He feels within her until his fingers graze her most important part.
Her womb.
Yes, Sukuna knows, this strong woman will bear his children from now until the end of time. It takes nothing at all for his cocks to be ready, aroused by the taste of her flesh alone, though Megumi's body struggles to accept him. Her cunt flutters weakly around the tip of Sukuna’s first cock, but does not widen to meet him.
It is difficult to push in, but his bride should not need something so trivial as fingers on their wedding night. He will focus on her pleasure every night after, but their initial unity is about making a claim, ruining the wife for any other, though Sukuna is certain this tight cunt that struggles to accept him has never seen the love of another—perhaps not even love from the woman who bears it. She makes no sound, now, though her heart still beats and breath draws into her lungs, shallow and rasping.
Even as her body cools, her hole remains hot, wet, slicking with the blood that remains in her body as he tears her open for his use, forcing himself to fit inside, carving a space within her, one that only he may have the pleasure of handling. She is deep, made for him. He nudges against her cervix as hips come to meet the juncture of her thighs. Her mound leaves sticky red kisses against him. Her eyes roll back, hands clenching tight to her bindings, lips open in a gasp as Sukuna sits, letting the dying warmth grow accustomed to his size before he begins pulling out in one long, slow move. Like this, Sukuna’s second cock is left in the cold air to drag along stone. He could fuck back in like this, but it would make little sense when she lays so pliant for him, does not fight against him.
He thinks of how she will fight when vitality is restored to her, how she may scream as loudly as when he was eating her, and tries not to fill her with his seed so soon. He is not fully seated inside. It would be a waste to allow pleasure to take him now so fully.
He allows his lifeblood to simmer before lining his second cock up and with even greater difficulty, forces it within. She chokes, liquid spluttering in her throat, gurgling on spit as her body spasms. Both cockheads press into her overstuffed walls. Even cut open, he can see the way her body bulges for him, stretching and shifting on hardly anything at all. A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest as she lays dying. Her heart stutters, pulsing fast fast faster still and the god moans, pushes in harder, hears the tear of her flesh beneath him. He rocks his hips, little back and forth motions to irritate the wound, to draw forth whatever blood Megumi has left to give.
As he finds himself fully, truly seated within her, he slides his hand up, away from her womb as he begins rolling his hips, fucking her weeping hole with all the force he can muster so that she can feel it even in her death toll.
The hand that slips from her abdomen grazes her diaphragm, feels the muscle still, and pushes it aside.
Her lungs hug his hand as he travels farther up her body, sweat beading along his brow as he fucks her corpse, clawed hand wrapping around her frozen heart as the mouth on his stomach lolls open, tongue slips out to devour what remains: her stomach, her liver, her kidneys, everything that was cut open for him to enjoy. She tastes of divinity itself, feels of it wrapped around him. His hips jerk faster, harder, the tremble in her soft thighs from the force of each thrust rather than any fear or pleasure felt, eyes cast to the heavens, unseeing, as Sukuna presses new life into her, one not bound by the constraints of mortality. He weaves stars into her heart and fills it with the living flame of ichor. He feels it beat beneath the careful sweep of his thumb and pulls his hand free from her ribs, into the now empty abdominal cavity. He makes for her new organs, stronger ones, ones that he may dine on at his leisure without losing her to permanent death. He closes the wound, leaving the pink scars behind to commemorate their wedding night, their night most sacred and presses his lips to hers, breathing life into her, breeding life into her as his hips jerk, losing control as both cocks spill their seed.
Megumi's body absorbs it, semen seeping into her womb and taking, locking her to him for eternity as she takes her first breath, made anew, a being as holy as him.
Her eyes glow with vitality, green flames breaking any lingering darkness.
Sukuna breaks her shackles; she does not run. She wraps herself around him, shaking arms looping around his neck as her legs slide wider apart, finding a home on Sukuna’s hips. Her cunt squeezes tight around his half-hard cocks, a home for him made within her body. She looks at the bulge in the flat plane of her stomach and hides her face in Sukuna’s neck, body trembling with fear and unrealized power.
“My wife,” Sukuna coos, finally bringing all his hands to her body, letting them roam the vast expanse of her skin, calloused palms gliding easily for all the sweat and blood that stains her. “Mine alone.”
Megumi gasps, warm breath stolen from his collarbone where Megumi’s sweet lips hide. “No,” she moans, cunt fluttering all the same. “No, no, I was supposed to die.”
“You did,” Sukuna says, one hand sweeping up her back and into the mess of short, black hair. “Never before have I seen someone die so beautifully, but death will no longer reach you, only life, and the life I fill you with.” He shushes his sweet pearl as a sob chokes its way from her lips, rubbing soothing, possessive circles into her skin. “Be not afraid. You and your clan have found favor among your god. In the morning, you will tell them how their victory is secure, and then back to me, you will come.”
Megumi cries only harder, body shaking, but Sukuna holds him close, rocks his hips within Megumi until her pitiful cries become hiccuped moans, pure slick mingling with the mortal blood that shall never fill her golden veins again.