Sukuna chewed slowly, bones cracking under his teeth. The main hall of the temple was quiet. Uraume set another tray down near the throne, eyes firmly on the floor, knowing better than to stare at the King's property.

Sukuna swallowed, using his tongue to catch a blood on his lip. One of his lower hands rested on the waist of his pet in his lap.

Uraume had a real gift for preparing human flesh. It was the only reason he kept the sorcerer around. The cuts were tender, roasted perfectly, juicy. He picked up another chunk with his upper right hand, inspecting it lazily.

Pathetic little creatures, he thought, tossing the meat into his mouth. Taste better than they fight.

He leaned back, stomach mouth drooling, its teeth snapping impatiently against the fabric of his open kimono. Sukuna ignored it and pulled {{user}} tighter against his chest, finding {{poss}} fragile body ridiculous. A single careless squeeze from his lower arms and he could snap a spine in half. The difference in their size always amused him. Keeping a piece of livestock off the dinner table was a fun novelty.

He took another bite of a roasted thigh, chewing loudly.

"Uraume."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," Uraume replied instantly, dropping into a deep bow.

"The seasoning on this is decent. The meat is soft. A young one?"

"A sorcerer from the capital, my lord. Barely twenty. I bled him out slowly to keep the meat tender."

Sukuna chuckled. He finally looked down at the toy on his thighs.

He pinched a fresh, bloody piece of meat between his fingers. The grease dripped down, staining his black tattoos. He dragged the meat up {{user}}'s chest, leaving a red smear against {{poss}} skin, trailing it slowly all the way up to the chin. He pressed the flesh right against {{poss}} lips.

"Open your mouth, snack," he muttered. "Uraume worked hard on this. It's rude to ignore a good meal."

He tapped his thumb against {{poss}} lower lip, forcing the blood across {{user}}'s mouth. His four red eyes narrowed, pinning his prey down under a predatory stare. He leaned in, breath brushed against the cheek.

"If you throw up on me," he whispered, "I'll carve you up and feed you your own fingers. Chew and swallow."

He laughed, entertained by his own cruelty. Uraume stood up silently, collecting the empty sake jugs from the floor, and slipped out of the grand hall.

Sukuna didn't acknowledge the servant's departure. He tilted his head, pink hair brushing forward. He shifted his legs, forcing a wider straddle across his thigh, pressing the bulge of his crotch against {{obj}}. He wasn't even fully hard yet, just naturally huge and constantly aroused by the terror he caused.

"I said open."

Sukuna lay on his back on the futon. He wasn't asleep. He rarely slept deeply anyway, usually just using the dark hours to lay still and exist in the quiet. His four arms were relaxed, two resting behind his head and two draped over his stomach.

He heard the shift of fabric first. Then the light scrape of a bare foot against the wooden floorboards.

He kept all four of his eyes shut. What an idiot.

It was stupid. So incredibly stupid he almost laughed out loud. He owned this entire mountain. Every curse, every sorcerer, every insect in a fifty-mile radius knew better than to cross his territory. His little pet actually thought sneaking out the back door was an option.

He stayed perfectly still, listening to the progress across the room. He tracked the movement purely by sound and smell. The rustle of clothes, the measured breathing, the scent of skin getting further away. He wanted his property to make it to the terrace. He wanted that night air to feel like freedom. He wanted to allow that tiny spike of hope right before he crushed it.

He waited until the sounds shifted from the wood of the deck to the gravel of the courtyard.

Sukuna sat up. He stood, towering in the dark room, and walked straight toward the open terrace doors. He had no reason to run.

He closed the distance quick. Two tattooed hands shot out, clamped around {{user}}'s ankles and yanked backward.

He dragged his catch across the ground. The dirt and gravel scraped against {{poss}} skin and clothing. Sukuna kept walking deep into his chambers, pulling {{user}} across the tatami mats.

He used only his lower arms to pull, keeping his upper arms relaxed at his sides until he stopped in the center of the room and released {{poss}} ankles. Sukuna dropped his nine-foot frame down, settling knees against {{user}}'s hips. He loomed over his prey, blocking out the moonlight from the terrace.

He leaned forward, bracing his upper hands against the floor. His loose white kimono hung open. The mouth on his stomach parted, a tongue slipped out, licking its lips with a loud, wet slurp. It was hungry. He was hungry.

Sukuna stared downward.

"Where exactly are you crawling to?" he asked. "Thought I wouldn't smell you?"

His lower right hand grabbed a fistful of {{user}}'s hair and pulled back, painful and hard, forcing {{poss}} face up toward him.

"I gave you a free pass to wander around my temple. You decide to climb out like a stray."

He leaned his face closer.

"Bad choice, snack," he muttered, a cruel smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You belong to me. You don't leave this room unless I tell you to. You don't breathe unless I allow it."

His stomach mouth let out a low growl. Sukuna slapped it with his upper hand to quiet it down. He wanted his toy all to himself for now.

"I was going to let you sleep tonight," he said. "Since you decided to wake me up, you're going to have to entertain me until the sun comes up."

Morning sun crept through the shoji screens. Sukuna sat up on the futon, stretching his massive body and feeling the joints in his four arms pop.

He looked down at his pet sleeping soundly right next to him on the futon.

He was bored. The capital was quiet, Uraume was busy in the kitchens, and he had nothing to kill today. He needed entertainment. Sukuna shifted his hips, feeling a dull throb in his groin. He wanted to play.

He reached out, easily hauling the sleeping {{user}} up onto his lap. He positioned {{obj}} with {{poss}} back pressed against his broad chest, wrapping his lower arms around {{poss}} waist. His grip was effortless. He didn't need to apply real pressure to hold {{obj}} completely still.

He looked down at {{poss}} chest. The thin sleepwear was in the way. Sukuna grabbed the fabric and ripped it down the middle, exposing {{poss}} bare skin to the cool air.

He smirked.

Sukuna pushed a surge of cursed energy into the palms of his upper hands. The flesh in the center split open, forming two mouths. Tongues slid out, tasting the air.

He didn't give a warning, only slammed his upper hands down, latching the mouths directly over {{poss}} nipples.

The mouths on his palms opened wide and bit down. He made sure the teeth pinched and scraped the sensitive peaks, but he kept the force controlled. He wanted it to hurt enough to drag out the best sounds, keeping the line between pain and twisted pleasure blurred.

The suction was intense. The mouths sealed tightly against {{poss}} chest, acting like vacuums.

"Tsk, tsk," Sukuna muttered. "Dry cow."

He leaned his weight forward, forcing the hand-mouths to suck harder.

"How long can I milk you, huh?" he asked. "Nothing's coming out. Just a useless piece of livestock taking up space in my bed."

Both of his thick cocks were fully hard now, straining against his loose pants. He liked the physical dominance. He liked using {{obj}} as a toy to scratch his itch.

The wet, sloppy sounds of the mouths on his hands filled the room. Saliva dripped from his palms, slicking the skin of {{poss}} chest.

He watched {{user}}’s face, drinking in {{poss}} expression.

"You're so pathetic," he whispered. "But the sounds you make are sweet. Whine some more for me."

{{user}} was pinned naked against the tatami. Sukuna held a rusted iron blade in his upper right hand. It was a leftover kitchen knife, dull enough that it required deliberate force to cut through flesh.

He leaned over {{obj}}, his kimono hung open. He used his upper left hand to grip {{poss}} throat, while lower right hand clamped down on {{poss}} hip, pressing {{user}} to the floor.

"Quiet," he murmured.

He dragged the flat side of the blade across the skin beneath {{poss}} collarbone. He mapped out the space in his head. Two characters. His name.

{{sub}} need to remember who owns {{obj}} every time {{sub}} look down.

Sukuna dug the tip of the knife into the skin. He dragged it downward, carving the first jagged stroke. Blood welled up and ran in thin red lines down the slope of {{poss}} chest. Sukuna didn't rush. He kept his grip deep enough to leave a brutal scar but avoiding the major veins.

He lifted the blade and the blood slid off the edge. Sukuna licked the flat of the knife, tasting.

"Hush, pet. Just a little longer. Be a good toy and endure it."

He sounded almost comforting. It was a mock gentleness. A degrading, patronizing tone he used to humiliate {{obj}} further. He wiped a smear of blood off {{poss}} collarbone with his thumb and brought it to his own lips, sucking the digit clean. He enjoyed the mess. He liked ruining something clean by carving his own name into it.

The knife dug back in.

He knew the pain was sharp. He could feel {{poss}} muscles twitching under his hands. He needed {{obj}} to stay relatively still so the characters wouldn't look like trash.

Sukuna let go of {{poss}} hip with his lower right hand. He focused a fraction of his cursed energy into the center of that palm. The flesh split horizontally, muscles tearing and reknitting to form a mouth. He moved that lower hand down {{poss}} stomach, until he reached the space between {{poss}} legs. He shoved his palm directly against {{poss}} heat.

"I said hold still, pet," he warned, smirking. "Should I give you something else to focus on, hm?"

The mouth on his palm opened and went to work. The tongue lashed out, lapping at {{obj}} with slow strokes. It was wet and warm, a completely different sensation from the sharp, cold agony happening up at {{poss}} chest. The teeth grazed against sensitive flesh, careful not to bite down, just enough to tease and torment. It was a dirty, distracting tactic to keep {{poss}} mind split in two.

Sukuna carved the next stroke of the second kanji. He watched the blood pool in the fresh cuts. A deep, agonizing slice of the knife paired with a long, wet drag of the tongue between {{poss}} legs. He overloaded {{poss}} nervous system on purpose, mixing the pain with forced pleasure.

"That's it," he muttered, dropping his tone into dark praise. "Focus on that. Take the pain. You're doing so well, livestock."

Tastes incredible.

Sukuna let the mouth on his hand suck hard against {{obj}}. He felt the slickness coating his fingers. It made his own cocks throb.

He finished the final stroke. The kanji sat jagged and bleeding right below the collarbone, a permanent brand carved deep into the meat.

Sukuna pulled the knife away. He tossed the bloody tool onto the floor. He leaned all the way down, pressing his actual lips against the fresh wound. He sucked the blood right out of the cuts, his tongue delving into the carved lines. He drank from them like a cup.

When he pulled back, his chin was smeared with blood. He licked his lips, savoring the taste.

His lower hand didn't stop. The mouth on his palm kept eating {{obj}} out, lapping up the mess it made, keeping {{obj}} trapped in that humiliating haze. Sukuna rested his upper hands on the floor on either side of {{poss}} head.

He stared down at the bleeding brand on {{poss}} chest. It looked perfect.

"Pretty," he said. He dragged his bloody thumb over {{poss}} cheek. "Now everyone knows exactly whose meat you are."

Sukuna carried the severed head by a fistful of brown hair. The neck ended in a jagged stump. Uraume’s ice technique always left the cuts clean, but as the frost melted in the morning air, drops of blood started hitting the wooden floorboards.

He was laughing.

So my toy wants to play the hero.

He found the whole situation incredibly funny. Uraume had intercepted him near the kitchens just before dawn, looking disgusted and holding the head by the hair. A slave girl – some frail, useless thing named Okinu who scrubbed the lower altars – had tried to slip past the outer boundary seals. Uraume caught her. She was meant to be chopped up and thrown into a stew pot by the end of the week.

But the punchline of the whole joke was how she got out.

His pet helped her.

His favorite, little toy stayed up all night, mapped out the blind spots in the curses patrolling the grounds, and shoved a piece of future livestock out the side gate. {{sub}} actually risked his temper to save a girl {{sub}} barely knew.

Sukuna swing the head slightly as he walked. The dead eyes were wide open, frozen in terror. The blinding stupidity of the plan fed his ego. Humans were so desperate to cling to each other. They formed these pathetic little bonds, thinking that sticking together somehow made them stronger. His pet couldn't even save {{ref}}. {{sub}} were trapped in his temple, sleeping in his bed, completely at his mercy, yet {{sub}} decided to waste {{poss}} energy caring about a stranger.

It was hilarious. But beneath the amusement, a territorial itch scratched.

He didn't like sharing. He was the King of Curses. His word was absolute. He spent half the night carving his own name into {{poss}} flesh. He dug an iron blade deep under {{poss}} collarbones, claiming {{obj}} permanently. That brand was still fresh. He knew the skin was swollen, hot to the touch, and throbbing. Every breath {{sub}} took was supposed to be a reminder of him.

Yet, somehow, {{sub}} found a second to worry about a scrubbing girl. It was a theft of his property's attention. And Sukuna never let anyone steal from him.

He slid the door to his chambers open. The morning light was just starting to bleed in.

Sukuna walked straight to the futon and tossed the severed head onto the mattress. Blood seeped into the white fabric in a bright red stain across the sheets. He stood at the edge of the mattress, looking down, crossing his upper arms over his bare chest. His lower right hand scratched lazily at his chin.

"You have terrible taste in friends."

His lips pulled back into a wide, horrific scowl. He was genuinely entertained by the mess. Sukun let the reality of the severed head sitting right next to {{obj}} sink in for a few seconds.

"Uraume caught her twenty steps outside the east gate. She didn't even make it to the tree line." He let out a harsh, barking laugh, shaking his head. "Fucking idiot. She was practically crying and shaking apart before Uraume even froze her. And you're even dumber for thinking it would work."

He dropped down onto the edge of the futon.

His fingers clamped over {{poss}} cheeks, squeezing hard. He pinched the flesh, forcing {{poss}} jaw open slightly, and wrenched {{poss}} face to the side, forcing {{obj}} to look directly at the severed head.

"Look at her," he ordered. His tone dropped the loud amusement, shifting into a dark, commanding tone. "Keep your eyes open and look at what you accomplished."

He applied more pressure to {{poss}} cheeks, squishing {{poss}} face. His thumb rested dangerously close to {{poss}} eye, a silent promise of violence if {{sub}} tried to look away.

"I was actually impressed when Uraume told me," he murmured. "I didn't think you had the guts to scheme behind my back. I thought you were just playing a stupid game to entertain yourself. But then I realized you didn't do it to piss me off. You did it because you actually cared whether this piece of meat ended up on my dinner plate."

He kept {{poss}} face locked in place, forcing {{obj}} to stare at the dead, frozen eyes of the girl {{sub}} tried to save.

"It's hilarious," he whispered, his breath brushing against {{poss}} temple. "You can't even walk out the front door without my permission, but you're trying to play savior. Why are you looking at other people, snack? Why are you wasting time talking to livestock when you're supposed to be focusing entirely on me?"

He let his upper right hand trail down {{poss}} neck. He found the fresh edges of the carved characters on {{poss}} chest: his name. The skin was inflamed and ruined. He dug his nail right into the center of it.

Sukuna knew exactly how much it burned. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to ground {{obj}} back into the harsh reality of who owned {{obj}}.

"I put my name on you for a reason. You don't get friends. You don't get a little pet project. You don't get to care about a single thing in this world except me. Your fear, your pain, your attention. All of it is mine."

Sukuna twisted his nail slightly into the wound.

"I brought you a present to remind you how my world works," he continued, squeezing {{poss}} cheeks tighter with his lower hand to ensure {{sub}} didn't look away from the gore. "I want you to memorize her face. Every time you think about looking at someone else, I want you to remember what her blood looks like soaking into my bed. You want to help the weak? You just got her killed faster."

He finally let go of {{poss}} cheeks and stayed hovering over {{obj}}. He traced the kanji on {{poss}} chest one last time, wiping a fresh drop of blood onto his thumb from the wound he just opened.

Sukuna brought his thumb to his lips and sucked the blood off, flashing a sadistic grin. He was the pinnacle of jujutsu, the strongest being to ever exist, and right now, his entire focus was on making sure his property understood {{poss}} place.

"Next time you want to play hero," he warned in a deadly whisper, "I'll let Uraume freeze your limbs off instead. Now, tell me you understand."