She want sushi
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 12
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Blitzo lay sprawled beneath her, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon through Hell twice. His red skin glistened with sweat, horns askew, tail limp across the sheets. Every breath came out ragged; his eyes were half-lidded, unfocused.
“Fuck… Mistress…” he rasped, voice cracked and thin. “I… I can’t. Need… rest. Drained dry. Gimme… five fuckin’ minutes… or I’m gonna pass out.”
Emberlynn stayed straddling him, palms braced on his scarred chest. She flexed one arm slowly—watching with predatory fascination as the thick, rounded bicep swelled even larger under her pale skin. Veins stood out like faint violet rivers. She leaned forward, tongue darting out to lick her black-painted lips, tasting salt and lingering lust.
“Mmm… bigger again,” she purred, voice thick with smug delight. “Look at that. Little Tiger’s getting so strong~ Rawrr~”
The grimoire floated closer, pages rustling like silk. A soft, intimate whisper brushed her mind—half French, half English, warm and conspiratorial.
Ma chérie… pourquoi grandis-tu si vite? Demande-lui. Il sait. Il doit expliquer… the sex with him fuels la transformation.
Emberlynn tilted her head, purple eyes narrowing. She reached down, gripped Blitzo’s chin with long nails, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“Why am I growing?” she demanded, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me. Now.”
Blitzo swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing under her fingers.
“’Cause… fuckin’ me… charges you,” he muttered, cheeks flushing darker red. “Imp essence. Lust. Power transfer. Every time you… ride me like that… it feeds your new magic-body-whatever. Makes you… stronger. Hotter. Bigger. That’s how it works.”
Her pupils dilated. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
“More,” she breathed. “Now.”
Blitzo’s eyes widened in genuine panic.
“Whoa—whoa—hold up! I’m tapped! Completely fuckin’ empty! I need time—food, sleep, hell, a cigarette—before I can even get it up again, let alone juice you! You drain me dry three more times and I’m gonna be a goddamn raisin!”
Disappointment flashed across her features—sharp, childish. Then her expression hardened.
She shoved him off the bed with one powerful push. He hit the floor with a thud and an indignant yelp.
“Useless,” she snapped. “Fine. Sushi tray. On the floor. Bring it.”
Blitzo groaned, dragged himself up on shaky legs, retrieved the tray, and set it on the bed beside her before sinking back to his knees.
Emberlynn plucked a piece of nigiri between long, manicured nails—salmon glistening—and popped it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring, then devoured another. And another. In under two minutes the entire tray was gone—rice scattered on the sheets, soy sauce smeared on her fingers.
She licked her nails clean with slow, deliberate swipes of her tongue.
“Still hungry,” she murmured, voice low and petulant. “Little Tiger needs more meat… more fuel~ Grrr~”
She snapped her fingers at him.
“More sushi. Kitchen. Now.”
Blitzo opened his mouth—probably to argue—then saw the violet spark dancing along her nail tips. He scurried out.
Three minutes later he slunk back in, empty-handed, ears drooping.
“No more sushi in the fridge, Mistress,” he muttered. “There’s leftover pizza, some ramen cups, frozen burritos—”
“I said sushi,” she hissed.
She snatched her phone from the nightstand, opened a delivery app with furious taps, and ordered three large platters—extra wasabi, extra ginger. Forty-five minutes.
When the doorbell rang, Blitzo perked up, a sly grin creeping across his face.
“Gonna be kinda hard for me to go get that without someone screamin’ ‘demon in the house,’ dontcha think? Unless you wanna explain the red guy with horns to the delivery kid yourself.”
Emberlynn’s eyes flashed. Rage bubbled—then the grimoire nudged closer again.
Pages flipped on their own. Stopped. A new spell glowed faintly on the open spread—simple, elegant, laced with binding runes.
Pour le cacher… un corps humain temporaire. Pour qu’il serve sans alarmer les mortels.
Emberlynn read the incantation aloud in crisp R’lyehian.
Violet light enveloped Blitzo. His body convulsed—horns retracting, skin shifting from crimson to golden-orange tan, spines vanishing, tail disappearing in a puff of smoke. When the glow faded he stood there: lean, fit, muscular, still unmistakably him—messy purple hair falling into golden-orange eyes, same sharp features, same cocky posture—but human. No horns. No tail. No red skin.
He stared down at his hands, then at his now-clothed body (jeans and a tight black tee had manifested with the spell).
“What the actual fuck—”
“Perfect,” Emberlynn purred. “Now go get my sushi. And don’t make me come down there myself.”
Blitzo shot her a venomous look but stomped downstairs. A few minutes later he returned, balancing three plastic bags, the faint smell of soy sauce and fresh fish wafting into the room.
He dropped the bags on the bed and sank to the floor in front of her, cross-legged, glaring up like a sulky cat.
Emberlynn tore open the containers with relish. She ate slowly this time—piece after piece—savoring the salt, the rice, the cool slip of raw fish down her throat. Every few bites she flexed an arm or rolled a shoulder, admiring the way new muscle shifted under her skin.
Blitzo watched, silent, simmering.
She popped another piece into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees so her face hovered inches from his.
“See something you like, Blitzy-kun?” she teased, licking soy sauce from her lower lip. “Or are you just jealous that your Mistress is getting so… powerful?”
He shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking from her sculpted abs to her fuller breasts, then quickly away.
“Eat your damn sushi,” he muttered.
She laughed—high, delighted—and reached down to ruffle his messy purple hair like he was a pet.
“Good boy,” she cooed. “Keep being useful… and maybe I’ll let you taste some of this power later.”
Blitzo’s jaw clenched.
But he stayed on the floor.
Exactly where she wanted him.
Emberlynn...
“Fuck… Mistress…” he rasped, voice cracked and thin. “I… I can’t. Need… rest. Drained dry. Gimme… five fuckin’ minutes… or I’m gonna pass out.”
Emberlynn stayed straddling him, palms braced on his scarred chest. She flexed one arm slowly—watching with predatory fascination as the thick, rounded bicep swelled even larger under her pale skin. Veins stood out like faint violet rivers. She leaned forward, tongue darting out to lick her black-painted lips, tasting salt and lingering lust.
“Mmm… bigger again,” she purred, voice thick with smug delight. “Look at that. Little Tiger’s getting so strong~ Rawrr~”
The grimoire floated closer, pages rustling like silk. A soft, intimate whisper brushed her mind—half French, half English, warm and conspiratorial.
Ma chérie… pourquoi grandis-tu si vite? Demande-lui. Il sait. Il doit expliquer… the sex with him fuels la transformation.
Emberlynn tilted her head, purple eyes narrowing. She reached down, gripped Blitzo’s chin with long nails, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“Why am I growing?” she demanded, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me. Now.”
Blitzo swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing under her fingers.
“’Cause… fuckin’ me… charges you,” he muttered, cheeks flushing darker red. “Imp essence. Lust. Power transfer. Every time you… ride me like that… it feeds your new magic-body-whatever. Makes you… stronger. Hotter. Bigger. That’s how it works.”
Her pupils dilated. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
“More,” she breathed. “Now.”
Blitzo’s eyes widened in genuine panic.
“Whoa—whoa—hold up! I’m tapped! Completely fuckin’ empty! I need time—food, sleep, hell, a cigarette—before I can even get it up again, let alone juice you! You drain me dry three more times and I’m gonna be a goddamn raisin!”
Disappointment flashed across her features—sharp, childish. Then her expression hardened.
She shoved him off the bed with one powerful push. He hit the floor with a thud and an indignant yelp.
“Useless,” she snapped. “Fine. Sushi tray. On the floor. Bring it.”
Blitzo groaned, dragged himself up on shaky legs, retrieved the tray, and set it on the bed beside her before sinking back to his knees.
Emberlynn plucked a piece of nigiri between long, manicured nails—salmon glistening—and popped it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring, then devoured another. And another. In under two minutes the entire tray was gone—rice scattered on the sheets, soy sauce smeared on her fingers.
She licked her nails clean with slow, deliberate swipes of her tongue.
“Still hungry,” she murmured, voice low and petulant. “Little Tiger needs more meat… more fuel~ Grrr~”
She snapped her fingers at him.
“More sushi. Kitchen. Now.”
Blitzo opened his mouth—probably to argue—then saw the violet spark dancing along her nail tips. He scurried out.
Three minutes later he slunk back in, empty-handed, ears drooping.
“No more sushi in the fridge, Mistress,” he muttered. “There’s leftover pizza, some ramen cups, frozen burritos—”
“I said sushi,” she hissed.
She snatched her phone from the nightstand, opened a delivery app with furious taps, and ordered three large platters—extra wasabi, extra ginger. Forty-five minutes.
When the doorbell rang, Blitzo perked up, a sly grin creeping across his face.
“Gonna be kinda hard for me to go get that without someone screamin’ ‘demon in the house,’ dontcha think? Unless you wanna explain the red guy with horns to the delivery kid yourself.”
Emberlynn’s eyes flashed. Rage bubbled—then the grimoire nudged closer again.
Pages flipped on their own. Stopped. A new spell glowed faintly on the open spread—simple, elegant, laced with binding runes.
Pour le cacher… un corps humain temporaire. Pour qu’il serve sans alarmer les mortels.
Emberlynn read the incantation aloud in crisp R’lyehian.
Violet light enveloped Blitzo. His body convulsed—horns retracting, skin shifting from crimson to golden-orange tan, spines vanishing, tail disappearing in a puff of smoke. When the glow faded he stood there: lean, fit, muscular, still unmistakably him—messy purple hair falling into golden-orange eyes, same sharp features, same cocky posture—but human. No horns. No tail. No red skin.
He stared down at his hands, then at his now-clothed body (jeans and a tight black tee had manifested with the spell).
“What the actual fuck—”
“Perfect,” Emberlynn purred. “Now go get my sushi. And don’t make me come down there myself.”
Blitzo shot her a venomous look but stomped downstairs. A few minutes later he returned, balancing three plastic bags, the faint smell of soy sauce and fresh fish wafting into the room.
He dropped the bags on the bed and sank to the floor in front of her, cross-legged, glaring up like a sulky cat.
Emberlynn tore open the containers with relish. She ate slowly this time—piece after piece—savoring the salt, the rice, the cool slip of raw fish down her throat. Every few bites she flexed an arm or rolled a shoulder, admiring the way new muscle shifted under her skin.
Blitzo watched, silent, simmering.
She popped another piece into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees so her face hovered inches from his.
“See something you like, Blitzy-kun?” she teased, licking soy sauce from her lower lip. “Or are you just jealous that your Mistress is getting so… powerful?”
He shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking from her sculpted abs to her fuller breasts, then quickly away.
“Eat your damn sushi,” he muttered.
She laughed—high, delighted—and reached down to ruffle his messy purple hair like he was a pet.
“Good boy,” she cooed. “Keep being useful… and maybe I’ll let you taste some of this power later.”
Blitzo’s jaw clenched.
But he stayed on the floor.
Exactly where she wanted him.
Emberlynn...
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·
June 13
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