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WARNINGS: Explicit smut, name-calling
"No man has ever survived that curse."
Her laugh cuts the air. It is dangerous. Snorting and derisive. The absolute opposite of the slack-jawed shock on his tattooed countenance.
"Well, then it's a good thing I'm not a man."
Her hands spin in a small, tight circle, focusing the cursed energy in the tiny space of power she traces with her hands. She stares at the man with unblinking eyes. Bears insults down on him with the laughter in her eyes.
"You fucking bitch," he seethes, hissing at the scorn curling her mouth. He does not need his hands to form his own curse. It only takes another vilifying look at her for one more curse to fly in her direction. He breathes an aggravated breath through his nose as one of her servants takes the shot instead, performing the same technique with their own hands.
"Ooh, that one was a little weaker, don't you think?" she mocks, then turns to her servant with a pleased smile on her lips. "Good boy."
The boy simpers at the praise, leaning into the touch the woman pets onto his head. Sukuna loses control at the casualness, the apathy. To have such inferior, lowly beings smile in his presence... for them to have the fucking nerve to even meet his eyes...
He is the King of Curses. Whoever the fuck it is this woman may be, he knows he has to put her and her proletarian flunkeys in their damn places.
His four hands tremble as a wild rush of cursed energy pulses through his veins. A manic grin cuts his frown into a smile.
I'm going to fucking kill you.
But in the next moment, his hands begin to tremble for a wholly different reason. His blood goes cold.
"You know, you aren't that bad-looking for someone with two faces and a mouth on their stomach." The woman traces the frowning tincture of a smile lining his stomach, arm raised into the air in order to reach it. She almost stands on her tip-toes. Even with her diminutive stature she seems to be the most powerful in the obliterated room.
When did she—?
"If you accept defeat, your highness..." A sharp, sardonic quip comes to make him fraught with wrath, "Then I might just let you live and have you become one of my menials instead. You could do plenty with those four arms of yours."
Her fingers have opened the mouth on his stomach. Now she only tries to prick the pads of her strong fingers on the razor-edged ridges of teeth there, awaiting his answer with easy patience. Her hand grows sticky with his slobber.
"She could kill you in seconds, King," the boy from earlier speaks up. "Could just grab that tongue in your stomach and wrench it upward 'till the tip of it comes out one o' your eye sockets."
