It has been a long time since Roxanne has known just how restorative pleasure can be.

She recalls making love with Nanami, especially at the end of a taxing week for both of them. They would spend Saturday at a farmer's market, or baking bread. Then an afternoon rolling in the freshly laundered sheets. She recalls lazy Sunday mornings, feeling drowsy and deliciously fucked out, and Nanami allowing himself a rare bed head look, knowing it made her happy. Then he'd reach for her, and make slow, lazy love to her until the sun set and they both got hungry.

Sukuna is none of these things.

There is no 'warm and fuzzy' with him, there is only sensation, overwhelming, unfamiliar, and gripping. Roxanne swears as they come together in as many ways as she can garner the strength [and all the ways she can't], their thoughts are touching.

Sukuna's priority lies in power: its acquisition and wielding. Sex is a form of power, and he has come to understand that it feeds a different hunger in him, for the King of Curses is a many-throated beast, most times in the literal sense.

This is altogether different.

When they sealed their Binding Vow, the sex had been ritualistic. He'd sensed her nervousness, and he'd been gentle in his ministrations [as gentle as he thought he could be at any rate]. Sex within a domain was nothing new to him, and he wagered even she didn't understand just what she was doing that evening. Nonetheless, the Vow was sealed, and parts of him now linger in parts of her.

Tonight, however, the borders between their souls are blurred, and he can see echoes of his domain in her own. Subconsciously, he has imprinted on her soul, and he smirks, looking down at the glimmering mane of wet, black curls bobbing in his lap. He reaches down, feigning a tender caress, only to grasp the back of her head, pushing her down until the swollen head of his cock eases into her throat. He relishes the way she shifts, relaxing her jaw, the tiny muscles of her throat working, easing him in until his hand fists in her hair, until her breath stutters, until she feels the fluttering panic that he might suffocate her. Always, he dances her close to this edge, before pulling her back, saliva and his seed dripping down her chin, her already plump lips swollen and slick, her cheeks tear stained, dark eyes glimmering with a soft submission and a wicked defiance that Sukuna wants to fuck out of her.

When he has her in the flesh he will need to be careful. Human bodies are so fragile, after all.

"For such an annoyingly mischievous kitten, you are a very good girl for me."

He watches her eyes go just a bit wide, her soft, pink tongue snaking out to catch a drop of his seed on her lips. She traces their shape and Sukuna wants those lips wrapped around his cock all over again. Her hands slide along his thighs, tracing the black bands around them. There's a look suffusing her features Sukuna has never seen before in others. Fascination, wonder, curiosity…empathy?

He tips her chin, meeting her eyes. The expression fades and she looks up at him with hushed expectancy.

"I can be bad, if you want," she says into the silence between them. Sukuna grins, making his smaller set of eyes crinkle. Roxanne wonders how a man can make mirth look so cruel and threatening. His thumb traces her lips, and she's reminded of Shibuya, of that same cruel grin on his face, and his sick game that almost got them all vaporized by a meteor.

Because I can.

There will never be another answer. She parts her lips, sucks his thumb into her mouth, and Sukuna chuckles, drawing her up, letting that red thread tighten around both of them. And suddenly he understands why this feels different. It's the Pact.

It's why it feels right .

"You feel it too," Roxanne says, her lips pouring into his as she straddles him. He loves when she's on top, loves to watch her come apart in his arms, divide and dissolve and unmake herself on his cock over and over again. He can't help himself. Her kisses are like the air he needs to breathe even though part of him knows this is the Pact driving him to need her. But she needs him to, she's begging in his ear.

"Please…" she whispers, yelping when one of his mouths appears in his cheek to nip her before vanishing. She laughs. "Sukuna, please…"

"Sukuna? No more Ryōmen, little lotus?" His nails dig into her flanks, cupping and gripping, pulling her apart. Roxanne gasps, lifting her hips, dragging her soaking cunt along his length. Sukuna grits his teeth.

"Ryōmen, then," she breathes, not bothering to argue with him. "I'll call you whatever you want just fuck me, please."

He reaches down, grips his cock, slick with oil and her, and strokes it.

"You can beg better than that," he purrs, chuckling when she whimpers. "I want to hear you."

She tries to move her hips to seat herself on him, but his other hand grips her hip, holding her still. She's given a chilling reminder of his casual strength, and Sukuna feels that shiver run through her. Yes. Good. As long as she knows and remembers what he's capable of, she'll behave.

"Say my name," she says to him. His brow furrows. Roxanne raises a brow.

"If you want me to beg, say my name."

Sukuna smirks, and then seats her on his cock in one swift movement. Her reaction is priceless: her body bows in his arms, and a sound, a deliciously choked cry, tears out of the arc of her throat.

" Gnh …!"

Sukuna shifts his hips, making her groan.

"You were saying?"

Roxanne regains her composure quickly, and it surprises him when she fixes him with something akin to a challenge . His blood is pumping, and he wishes he had his extra arms right now. In time. She braces herself on his shoulders and starts riding him.

Sukuna has had his fair share of gloriously depraved partners. He has had courtesans and common whores, noble daughters and sons, and common peasantry too. A hole is a hole, in his eyes, but even he can appreciate skill when he sees it.

Roxanne rides him as if she was born in a saddle: with enviable relish and consummate skill. Her hips rock in ways he's only seen in the most skilled courtesans of his heyday. He wonders if women of this era still train for such things, leaning back on his hands to watch her. He reaches forward, tracing the undulating curve of her waist, oil slick hand going over one bouncing breast, swiping her nipple just to hear a break in her cries.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't need to, he simply guides her with the same instinct one guides a bridled horse. His nails are spurs, and he uses them often, taking advantage of her oiled skin to dig them deeper into her flanks, forcing her hips to rock in a way that had that tight, wet cunt gripping him every stroke.

And when she comes, he relishes the wash of slick on his cock, laughing as she slows her pace, adjusting to a slow rock of her hips.

"Give me one more," Sukuna murmurs, reaching between them to circle her clit with his thumb. Roxanne sucks in a shuddering breath, bracing herself on the corded muscle of his forearm, nails biting into his skin. He is not asking if she can, but telling her that she will.

"P-please…" Roxanne begs and Sukuna watches her with the impassive face of a god. To make her surrender in her own domain is its own kind of pleasure. He applies more pressure, and her hips begin to rock in a counter rhythm. As he pleases her clit, she rides his cock again, her cries rising to a whine in her chest.

When she bites her lip Sukuna feels something in his chest seize and swell. It's foreign and strange and alarming. His other hand braces against her hip. Touching her feels decadent, forbidden, but she is his, is she not?

Why does it feel like he is hers ?

"Ryōmen," she calls out to him, "I'm going to–"

"Come."

She does, and Sukuna thinks it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Her broken sob, the way the slick, velvet walls of her cunt squeeze his cock, greedily holding him deep. He knows what she wants, what she needs, can feel it as their bond deepens in ways he cannot understand. His hand on her hip comes up, arm wrapping around her and pulling her close.

To have her in the flesh will be something truly divine, but right now they are closer than skin. Their souls are touching.

He drinks down her whimpers and moans in an indulgent, greedy kiss. It is easy to be rough with her, to want to break her, but there is pleasure and merit in patience.

Why shatter her, when he can make her crumble instead?

Roxanne holds his gaze, as tender and cunning as a queen. Her lips hover a mere breath from his own, dark eyes heavy-lidded and blurred with pleasure.

"Teach me," she says softly.

"Teach you what?" He asks, wondering why his voice is just as soft. Are they lovers, now? No, that can't be. Love is a useless emotion. But then, what is this between them?

Roxanne says a single word. Sukuna grins. Her accent is slightly off, but he understands.

"I already told you, little lotus."

Roxanne smiles, leaning in to nip his lips. He allows it, only because sitting inside of her is deliciously pleasing to him. She's so wet she's dripping onto his thighs. She rocks her hips forward, smirks when he hisses, grins when he growls, nails digging into her flanks in warning.

"Who are you, Ryōmen?" She asks. "Why incarnate in this era?"

"I am who I am," he says and is surprised when she laughs.

"Quoting the Bible at me, baby? You are arrogant as a king. Alright, then, who were you before you became this? Thousands of years, I know you have stories."

Sukuna gives her ass a hard slap, making her yelp. She moves her hips.

"I am not here to entertain you," he growls. When Roxanne begins to pick up her pace, he lets her, guiding her up and down on his cock. For a while there is only her panting, and the wet, erotic sound of skin slapping on moist skin. She loops her arms around his neck, and they kiss and kiss and kiss until she is breathless with need.

This time, when she comes, Sukuna switches their positions. As much as he loves to see his queen ride him, he wants her as pliant as possible. So when he bends her over the warm marble edge of the steaming bath, and pins her arms behind her back, she doesn't question it. She peers at him over her shoulder, her gaze sultry and smoldering.

A challenge.

Sukuna takes his time to admire the sight: Roxanne's body is honed with a warrior's training, her satiny sienna skin gleaming with oil. He sees the tattoos on her back, brimming with cursed energy, and traces the sinuous shape of her spine. Roxanne squirms, and he tightens his grip on her arms in a warning for her to be still.

The flare of her hips are his favorite part, and her ass curves perfectly, round and soft. He palms it, letting the oil do its work as his thumb slips between to massage the rosebud pucker. He feels some resistance, and to reassure her he massages it in slow, languorous circles, and grins approvingly when she hangs her head with a low and reluctant moan.

" Fuck …" Her silken voice groans out when he slips his thumb inside. Sukuna keeps that torturous pace, and licks his fangs, watching the naked swell of her cunt grow slick.

"R-Ryōmen…" His name shudders out of her, a secret she can no longer keep. A secret that is his.

He withdraws his thumb, rewarding her needy whimper with a harsh smack to one slick ass cheek. Roxanne pushes her hips backward, but Sukuna's iron grip is obstinate.

"What do you want?" He asks, and her eyes snap to him like a dark crack of a whip, insolent and furious.

"I want you to fuck me," she says sharply, swallowing a moan when he grips his cock and teases that puckering hole. It's begging to be filled and he knows she wants it badly. But his queen is too proud to beg. Her will is strong, even as he has her subjugated. Such pride, for one so tender under his touch.

"Until you can't."

Those words. Those damned words. Something about the sultry quiet of her voice, the challenging look in her dark eyes, and the way she still manages to be so proud pinned down and spread for his pleasure. All of it. The sweet, dichotomous cocktail of her grabs his head, his heart, and his cock all at once.

The bulbous head of his cock probes for entry, and he watches her lovely profile morph from challenging and proud to overwhelmed with mounting pleasure.

" Gnh… !" That sound again. That choked and desperate sound she makes when she is attempting to endure him.

And she does. She endures the full, veined length of his cock as it sinks into her, until his hips are snug against her ass, the heavy weight of his sack against her warm and dripping cunt. Slow torture is still torture and Sukuna has eternity to spare.

Roxanne writhes in his grip, her mind a perfect blankness of pain and insurmountable pleasure. Her eyelids flutter, and she hears herself, her voice whimpering, the tight ring of muscles hugging Sukuna's cock as she sucks in deep, shivering breaths.

And then he begins to move.

Roxanne has been fucked before. She would argue she has sampled some of the best dick in Japan [and she will never tell Satoru this or he will never let her hear the end of it]. Sex is as easy as breathing to her, and she indulges her whims shamelessly. But this is so different. Getting fucked in the ass by the person your soul is bound to is like that, she guesses.

Sukuna knows better than to start at a gallop. He is not a savage, though he does enjoy her cries of pain as well as pleasure. The Pact forbids him from bringing her to real harm, so he pushes the boundaries. His pace is slow, and he directs her, tells her to breathe, and soon she is mewling for him, or singing. He can't decide which.

As Roxanne adapts to this new sensation, she hears herself begin to beg. The words start out faltering as first, and he strokes her particularly hard, making her cry out.

"If you can scream for me, then you can talk to me, little lotus," he says.

"P-please…Ryōmen…harder…"

Sukuna's toothy grin splits his face as he releases her arms to grasp her hips. He does not give her time to process her freedom before he sets off to a punishing rhythm. Roxanne's choked cries are a melody with the wet smack of his hips against her ass as a lewd bassline. Roxanne drops down to unsteady forearms, and Sukuna continues his torture until he can feel her cunt dripping against his balls, until she is a shivering mess.

He rides her hard, puts her away wet. And only when she has given up everything, only when she is wrung limp with sweat, and oil, and tears, does he let himself come. Only then does he take his pleasure, and it is worth the wait.

After, Roxanne is surprised when Sukuna is uncharacteristically tender with her. They sink back into the bath together, warm and entangled. It feels right. It is very wrong.

It feels right .

"You were such a good girl for me," Sukuna hums, "I think I'm going to reward you."

Roxanne lets out a lazy, languorous chuckle. "Mm, is that so? And what reward do you see deserving of me?"

Sukuna smirks. Ah, she's already accepting it. Good.

"I'm going to tell you a story about a temple."

Roxanne jolts awake, finds herself peeling a now-cold washcloth from her face. Her bath is still steaming. She reaches over to grab her phone. There's no signal but it still tells time. She's been asleep for three minutes, but she feels drowsy , as if she's been—

"Ryōmen," she whispers to herself with a defeated laugh. "You fucking bastard."

Roxanne scrubs herself thoroughly, gives her hair a quick wash and condition, rises from the bath, drains the tub, and grabs a towel to dry off. For the first time in what feels like too long, she feels like a person again. She changes into a pair of black sweatpants and a cropped black long sleeve top. Her hair, she ties back into a single massive puff, and she examines herself in the mirror.

Her eyes look less tired. One might even say she looks rejuvenated. Her skin has a healthier glow to it than it did when she arrived, and even her cursed energy flow feels freer than before.

Did that fucker give me sexual healing? She thinks incredulously and then puts that thought aside. She does not want to think about all the things she said and did with Sukuna. She does not want to think about it.

Roxanne's ears are filled with the memory of her panting and moaning and begging, of Sukuna's voice in her ear, urging her, his fingers torturing her clit, his cock buried in her ass. She shakes her head.

Get a grip.

Once groomed and dressed, Roxanne rejoins her group in the massive living room. There's a prickling in the back of her neck and she looks up to find Yuji looking at her. For a moment, she sees the faint lines of Sukuna's markings on his innocent face, but she blinks and he's just looking at her with that wide-eyed stare. Fuck.

"Abaza-sensei," he says, "it turns out Yuta doesn't actually want to kill me!" He grins, and Roxanne smiles indulgently.

"That's good news," she says. "Would be pretty fuckin' awkward if we followed him here just for him to knife you. Then I'd have to fight him."

Yuta gives an awkward smile at that, and Roxane smirks.

"Okkatsu, why don't you run me through what the hell is going on. Yuji, go bathe. Don't look at me like that; you have been running around Tokyo in that same funky ass uniform for a week. Sukuna was cartwheeling through fire for some of it. And you next, Fushiguro."

The boys don't argue with her, and Yuji trudges off to the bathroom. Sukuna's mouth appears on his cheek, chuckling derisively.

"Shut up," Roxanne and Yuji mutter at the same time.