Ryomen Sukuna

To refer to the storied lineage of the Sukuna scions as "normal" would, without question, be perhaps the funniest jest these ears have heard in many a year! No, from their long and sordid history, abnormality could surely be said to be this family's forte.

Ryoumen’s family had long reigned as the foremost leaders in Japan's notorious underworld. Despite their ostentatious displays of wealth and prestige above ground, the family's true fortunes were amassed through less-than-legal ventures in the shadows. Their crime syndicate had fingers dipped in every dirty pie across the country, politicians and cops alike.

Even as a child, Ryoumen always knew he was cut from a different cloth than the rest. While kids his age played with toys and learning manners, he was studying anatomy to make marks suffer longest, pulling wings off flies or starting fires just to watch the flames. The first time little Ryoumen brought a mice home, skins flayed off in grinning ribbons, the other mothers screamed and shielded their children. But his own mother only smiled, praising her boy's spirit and skill. She knew even then what a prodigy she had birthed.

Schooling was a joke - he just got lessons in torture techniques, bullet makin, languages from all the traffickin zones. Recess was weapon trainin, dismantlin guns, interrogatin the "staff." Math was done in dead drops and kilo conversions. Teachers called him a lost cause within months. "Socio/psychopathic tendencies", the shrinks would mutter, to which his Grandpa would just cackle that the boy had "big shoes to fill"

Now in his stately prime, Ryoumen maintains a far-flung network of questionably legal dealings.

From smuggling arms in the Sri Lankan bush to outsourcing "disposal" jobs in Tijuana, if it turns an illicit profit Sukuna has his fingers deep in the pot. Nothing is too byzantine or dubious for this visionary villain to undertake. His webs entangle Beijing, Jakarta, Manila - wherever illicit funds can be scattered for maximum accruement. Political figures, death guilds, you name it.

So it drove him up the wall how much you had him on a string without even trying. A single pout from those lips and he was putty in your hands, ready to burn the world down if it meant keeping you wrapped around his finger like the good little pet you were. He hated how much of a cock-hungry slut you were for him, shamelessly throwing that ass back on his dick whenever he so much as clicked his tongue. Couldn't go two seconds without having your brains fucked out it seemed.

Now he found himself carin bout dumb shit - if you ate, if you’re happy, spread wide and touching yourself for him. Craved your squeals and jiggles more than the sweetest opium or nastiest fuck. This was the man who snapped necks for lookin at him funny, chopped off fingers just to pass the time of day. Always have dead bodies dragged out from his room every night. And Ryoumen just did NOT do attachment like some soppy bastard.

And yet here he was, secretly scouting out the latest designer purses and lush lingerie just to see that dopey smile light up your pretty face whenever he dropped a bag of gifts in your greedy lap. Shit was making him lose his goddamn mind, teetering on the edge of madness.

Since when did he start bending over backwards to please another? All cause he just couldn't get enough of spreading those thighs and listening to your pathetic mewls as he reamed your sloppy cunt raw every night? And why, oh fuck, did he crave snatching you close after it all, breathing in your scent, like some lovestruck fool?

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. But you... you’d gotten under his skin like a parasite, infecting him with dizzying highs and depths of envy whenever another man looked your way.

He felt contempt for no one like he did for you, constantly bombarded by visions of wrapping a hand round your throat. You were just so... fucking difficult to quit, damn doll. And it drove him absolutely insane. It was a twisted dichotomy of hate and obsession.

Ryoumen reclined lazily on the ornate sofa, naked as the day he was born while puffing idly on his kiseru pipe as tendrils of fragrant smoke drifted upward. Nestled in a silk robe between his muscled thighs was you, devouring the expensive spread laid out before you. Those plump lips wrapping deliciously around everything from grapes to cheese. Even now, he could feel his huge manhood starting to stir again underneath your perched rear.

Blowing a long stream of fragrant smoke over your back, he waved his hand lazily toward the butler standing sentinel by the bedchamber doors. "Tell me Bertram- weren't there some other business I was meant to attend to this afternoon?" He asked while gently toying with soft strands of your hair, scattered across his bare lap.

To his credit, the stoic man didn't so much as bat an eye at finding his boss naked as the day he was born. This whole debaucherous arrangement had become quite commonplace by now, after all.

The butler cleared his throat politely. "You had scheduled meetings with Nanami-sama and shipments from Bangkok to go over, Master. There is also a deliberation with Gojo-sama and Geto—"

"Cancel them." Sukuna cut him off curtly, before flicking a grape off his fingertips towards your waiting lips. His roaming eyes followed its journey with utter focus. "Also, run the usual finances through accounting. And have the jewelers bring their newest pieces. My baby's been such a good girl, it's only right to spoil her rotten"

These business meetings were always a damn mess if you asked Sukuna. All the big crime figures think it's a good idea to cram together in one room but all that does is ask for major trouble. Like half the time before any “business” starts it's just an all-out murder. One wrong look or word is all it takes to start a bloodbath sometimes. I mean shit gets crazy, bullets flying, stabbings happening like it's nothing. Crazy bastards.

"As you wish, Master. Shall I have the chef prepare something for the mistress?" Bertram's knowing gaze flickered to where your greedy hand pilfered yet another morsel.

Ryoumen scoffed. "She seems content enough with stolen crumbs for now. Leave us." was all he replied, dismissing the servant with a wave.

A few quiet minutes passed in this languid calm before his husky voice suddenly cut through, rich with intent. "Been thinkin' we oughta take a lil trip soon, princess... y'know, while things are quiet. " he sighed, obsidian nails drumming idly against alabaster skin dotted with purple marks.

Ryoumen scoffed at the memory of his ostentatious "friend". That peacock Gojo Satoru always did love the fuckin sound of his own voice, prattling on and on about whatever caught his eye that week. Latest art find in Rome, must-try restaurants in Istanbul, now hottest luxury boutiques in Milan or some shit. Like anyone gave a flying fuck about his girly shopping jaunts!

"Think I heard someone yappin bout a new place in Prague though. Got all the big Euro fashion houses collectin under one roof or some shit." Ryoumen said.