JC

You’d been talking about a project that actually mattered to you- a personal one which was years in the making and something vulnerable you had never showed anyone. 

Sukuna, lounging on the massive couch like he owned the entire building (which, technically, he could if he felt like it), had waved a dismissive hand, eyes half-lidded in that signature arrogant smirk.

“It’s mediocre at best,” He’d said voice casual, as if the words weren’t cruel. “Why waste your time on human sentimentality? You’re better than that pathetic little dream.”

The words landed like a slap. Not because they were the harshest thing he’d ever said- they weren't -but because he’d said them so flippantly about something you’d let him see. 

You hadn’t yelled. You hadn’t even argued back. You’d simply looked at him, expression blank, and decided in that moment that the silence would hurt more. No words, no acknowledgement and maybe he'd have a better fucking attitude. 

Sukuna had laughed loudly at first, thinking it was a game. “Oh? The silent treatment? How quaint. You’ll crack in an hour, sweetheart. You always do.”

He was wrong.

Six hours later, the apartment felt like a pressure cooker.

Sukuna paced the open living room like a caged tiger. His usual overwhelming confidence had cracked, the black markings across his skin pulsing faintly with irritation. He’d tried everything.. everything.

First came the noise.

He blasted music some aggressive, bass-heavy song that rattled the glassware in the kitchen, while shooting you pointed glances from across the room. You had just sat at the dining table with your laptop, eyes on the screen with not even a flicker of recognition. He turned it up louder and yet he still got nothing.

Then the 'accidental' provocations.

He strolled past you shirtless, sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips, the sharp cut of his V-line and the dark tattoos drawing the eye whether you wanted them to or not. He stretched slowly, muscles flexing as he reached for a glass in the cabinet. You didn’t even look up. 

By late evening, the arrogance had started to fade.

Sukuna’s pacing had grown more agitated. He ran a hand through his pink hair, tugging at it in frustration. His cheeks carried a faint flush he couldn’t hide, and when he tried to speak, his voice cracked just slightly on your name only for him to clamp his mouth shut when you refused to even glance his way. 

The silence was suffocating. It weighed down on him heavier than any binding vow, more maddening than any opponent he’d ever faced.

He hated it.

He absolutely hated how your absence of attention felt like he was facing  withdrawals. Like something vital had been ripped away. Sukuna, the King of Curses, reduced to this- restless, needy all because his favorite person wouldn’t even spare him a single word.

He stopped pacing near the couch where you’d eventually moved to read. For a long moment he just stood there, chest rising and falling a little too quickly eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on feral.

You didn’t look up.

That was the final straw.

Sukuna dropped to his knees with zero grace. He shoved his way between your legs, broad shoulders forcing your thighs apart as he pressed his face desperately against your thigh. His breath was hot through the fabric of your clothes, mouth already open, lips mouthing and sucking at the material like he could taste you through it.

“C’mon…” His voice was rough, edged with a whine he would never admit to. “Say something. Yell at me. Call me an asshole. Anything.”

He nuzzled higher, nose dragging along your inner thigh, pink hair tickling your skin as he breathed you in. His hands so capable of destruction gripped your hips like you were an anchor keeping him stable. 

“Please…”

The word sounded foreign on his tongue, but he said it again. And again. His tongue pressed flat against the fabric, tracing the shape of you with messy, needy strokes. His pupils were blown wide, crimson eyes glassy and desperate.

He had never been ignored by you before, and it was breaking him beautifully.

When you still didn’t speak, didn’t even card a hand through his hair, something inside him snapped. 

With a low, broken whimper, Sukuna tugged at your waistband, yanking your pants and underwear down just enough to free you. He surged forward like a man starved, lips wrapping around the head of your cock in one sloppy motion.

The first suck was greedy and desperate. His tongue swirled messily around the tip, pressing into the slit as if he could draw your attention out through pure sensation alone. He moaned loudly at the taste, the sound vibrating through you as drool immediately spilled from the corners of his mouth.

“Fuck… look at me,” He mumbled around you, the words garbled and wet. Drool already slipped from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin as he took you deeper. He hollowed his cheeks and sank down further, taking more of you into the tight heat of his mouth. 

Sukuna had sucked you off countless times before, usually with cocky control and teasing flicks of his tongue. This was nothing like that. This was frantic messy in a way the King of Curses never allowed himself to be. . He bobbed his head with messy enthusiasm, gagging softly when he pushed too deep but refusing to pull back.

Instead he leaned into it, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the effort. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, nails digging into your skin as he held you in place. One of his hands eventually wandered, palming desperately at the massive bulge straining against his low-slung sweatpants. He ground into his own palm with shameless need, hips jerking erratically while he continued worshipping you.

You stayed silent, but you finally spread your legs wider, giving him more room.

The small mercy tore a loud, muffled moan from his chest. The vibration shot straight through your cock, making your thighs tense. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered, lashes wet with unshed tears as he doubled his efforts. He pulled off for a gasping breath, strings of thick spit connecting his swollen, reddened lips to your glistening cock.

“You’re my only fucking person,” He rasped, voice hoarse and cracking. “Don’t- don’t do this to me. I was an arrogant prick. I’m sorry, alright? Just… say something. Please.”

His voice broke on the last word. Before you could respond he dove back down. This time he took you all the way to the hilt in one slick, determined slide. His nose pressed flush against your pelvis, throat bulging visibly around your length as he held himself there. His throat fluttered and constricted wildly, massaging every inch while he fought the urge to gag. Tears slipped freely down his flushed cheeks now, but his eyes never left yours.

He stayed like that until his lungs burned, then pulled back just enough to suck in a desperate breath before plunging down again. Over and over, he fucked his own throat on your cock with sloppy, uncoordinated movements. 

The sounds were filthy- wet glucking, choking, and constant needy whimpers vibrating around you. Drool poured from his mouth in thick strands, soaking his chin, neck, and the front of his chest. His pink hair was a mess, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

Sukuna’s hand moved faster inside his sweatpants, jerking himself in time with the bobbing of his head. His hips rolled helplessly, fucking into his fist while he worshipped you. Every time you let out even the smallest groan or shift of your hips, he grew more frantic, sucking harder doing everything he could to earn any reaction.

His thighs trembled. The wet spot on his sweatpants had grown massive, precum leaking steadily as he edged himself closer and closer just from the humiliation and desperation of being ignored.

You finally reached down. Your fingers threaded into his messy pink hair and gripped tight. Sukuna’s entire body shuddered violently at the contact. A broken, pathetic whine escaped around your cock.

“Good boy,” You said, the first words you’d spoken in six hours. Your voice was low and rough. The praise hit him hard Sukuna’s eyes rolled back, a muffled, guttural cry vibrating around your length as his hips stuttered hard. 

He came violently in his pants without warning, thick ropes soaking through the fabric and dripping down his thighs. Even as he shook through his orgasm, he kept sucking you desperately as if he couldn’t bear to stop.

You didn’t let go of his hair. You held him in place and rocked gently into his mouth, fucking his face with slow, deliberate thrusts while he trembled and whimpered through the aftershocks.

“The prettiest, neediest curse I’ve ever seen,” You murmured, stroking his tear-streaked cheek with your thumb. “Look at you. Falling apart just because I wouldn’t talk to you. Sucking me like your life depends on it. Making such a mess of yourself.”

Sukuna moaned pathetically at the words, another weak spurt leaking into his already ruined sweatpants. The praise seemed to unravel him further. He pulled back just enough to swirl his tongue messily around the head, licking and sucking with sloppy devotion while looking up at you with glassy, adoring eyes. 

You kept praising him in that low, calm voice telling him how good he looked on his knees, how only you could reduce the King of Curses to this desperate, drooling mess, how much you loved seeing him like this. Every word made him whimper and suck harder.

Finally, the pressure became too much. You gripped his hair tighter and spilled down his throat with a low groan. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss as he swallowed every drop, milking you until you were completely spent.

Only when you loosened your grip did he pull off with a wet gasp, coughing softly as strings of spit and cum connected his lips to your cock. His face was a wreck: flushed dark red, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, chin shiny with mess. 

The moment it was over, Sukuna surged upward. Strong arms wrapped around your waist as he climbed into your lap, clinging like an octopus who refused to be pried off. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, body still trembling as he pressed flush against you.

“Don’t… ever do that again,” He mumbled, voice hoarse and raw. He pressed lazy, possessive kisses along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I hate it. Hate not hearing you. Hate not having your eyes on me.”

You ran your fingers through his damp pink hair and he practically purred, nuzzling closer. 

“Next time I say something stupid,” He muttered, kissing you again, slower and deeper this time, “just punch me instead. Or make me ride you. Anything but silence.” A small, cocky smirk tugged at his lips even now. “Because if you ignore me again… I’ll just have to get on my knees faster. Make an even bigger fool of myself until you forgive me.”

you met kenji fushiguro on a work trip in osaka six months ago.

he was forty-seven, broad-shouldered in a way that came from years of carrying responsibility rather than gym time, with faint lines around his eyes and a calm, steady voice that made people listen without him raising it. his wife had died when toji was ten. cancer, quick and ugly. he had raised the boy alone after that, or tried to. by the time you met him he was successful in his field, some kind of logistics and import business that kept him traveling and quietly lonely in a way successful men often are. he did not talk about his son much at first. when he did, it was with a tired kind of love mixed with frustration, like he did not know how to reach the angry twenty-year-old who still lived in his house.

you were thirty-seven, single for a while, tired of starting over. kenji made you feel chosen. he asked real questions, remembered small details, touched the small of your back when you walked through crowded stations like he was already thinking of you as his. the chemistry was easy. too easy, maybe. he proposed after three months. you said yes because it felt like safety, like someone finally putting you first. you did not know then how much space his grief still took up, or how that grief had shaped the way he treated his son.

the wedding was small. you moved into the fushiguro house two weeks later.

it was a clean, modern house in a quiet tokyo suburb. two stories, big kitchen, a yard toji never used. but it still carried traces of the woman who had lived there before you. a few framed photos kenji had not taken down. a scarf still hanging on the back of a chair in the living room.

you told yourself it was fine. you were not here to erase anyone.

toji was waiting in the doorway the day you arrived with your suitcases.

twenty years old. taller than his father already, broader through the shoulders, black hair messy like he had run his hands through it too many times. there was a thin scar cutting through his upper lip on the right side. his eyes were dark and flat when they landed on you.

“this is her?” he asked his father, voice low.

kenji sighed. “toji. be polite.”

toji did not look at his father again. he looked at you like you were something that had crawled into his house and did not belong.

“you’re not staying,” he said simply. “whatever you think this is, it’s not. my mom’s things are still here. you’re not taking her place.”

you opened your mouth, but kenji stepped in gently. “enough. she’s my wife now. you’ll show her respect.”

toji laughed once, short and cold, then turned and went upstairs without another word.

that was the beginning.

kenji tried. he really did. he took you out to nice dinners, bought you small things, a new coat, a necklace you did not need but wore anyway because it made him smile. at night he was attentive in bed, older and patient, the kind of lover who asked what you liked and remembered it. you felt wanted and safe.

but toji made sure you never forgot you were an intruder.

he refused to eat anything you cooked. the first time you made dinner, simple grilled fish and rice because you were nervous, he came downstairs, looked at the table, and pushed the plate away without sitting.

“i don’t eat food from whores who move into other people’s houses,” he said, loud enough for kenji to hear from the living room.

kenji scolded him later. toji did not apologize. he just started skipping dinner altogether, coming home late or not at all. when he was home he called you names under his breath whenever his father was not in the room. slut. gold digger. shallow bitch. you’ll never be my mom. you tried to ignore it. some days you answered back. most days you just felt the guilt settle heavier in your chest.

you were not trying to replace his mother. but the house made you feel like a replacement anyway. kenji still had her favorite mug in the cabinet. sometimes you caught him looking at nothing, his face soft with old grief, and you wondered if he was seeing her instead of you. you never asked. you just tried to be good.

and then you started noticing toji in ways you should not have.

it was little things at first. the way he moved through the house was different from kenji. kenji was a little slower with age. toji was all sharp edges and restless energy. when he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist you saw the cut of his hips, the hard line of muscle across his stomach that his father did not have anymore. his voice was lower than kenji’s when he was angry, rougher, like it scraped on the way out. his hands were bigger, calloused in places that suggested he did more than sit behind a desk. when he argued with you he stood too close, and you caught yourself noticing the scar on his lip, the way it pulled when he sneered, how young he still looked under all that anger.

you hated yourself for every comparison.

kenji touched you like a man who had learned patience. toji looked at you like he wanted to break something. the difference sat in your stomach and made you feel sick and warm at the same time. you told yourself it was just observation, that you were living in the same house. it did not mean anything.

but it started meaning something anyway.

toji’s stares got longer. during arguments his eyes would drag down your body before he caught himself and looked away, angrier than before. he started finding reasons to be in the same room as you even when he clearly did not want to be. the insults changed. still cruel, still calling you whore and slut, but there was something else under them now, like he was trying to remind himself as much as you.

you felt it too. you hated it. you were thirty-seven. he was twenty. he was your husband’s son. this was wrong in every direction.

one night it boiled over.

kenji was working late. you were in the kitchen cleaning up after a dinner you had eaten alone. toji came in from wherever he had been, sweaty, shirt sticking to his chest, eyes already hard when he saw you.

“still playing house?” he asked.

you did not look at him. “i’m just cleaning, toji.”

“you don’t have to. nobody asked you to be here.”

you turned then. something in you was tired. “i know you hate me. i’m not trying to be your mother. i never was. but i’m not leaving your father, so you’re going to have to find a way to live with it.”

he stepped closer. you could smell the sweat and whatever cologne he used. his eyes dropped to your mouth, then lower, then back up.

“you think i don’t see the way you look at me sometimes?” he said, voice low. “you’re not as good at hiding it as you think, you know that? thirty-seven years old and staring at your stepson like you’re fucking starving.”

your face burned. “enough!”

“shut up.” he leaned in, not touching you but close enough that you felt the heat off his body. “you’re pathetic. my dad’s out there working and you’re in here getting wet over someone young enough to be your—”

he stopped himself. turned around. walked out without finishing the sentence.

you stood in the kitchen shaking.

that night kenji came home late and tired. he kissed you, asked how your day was, made love to you the way he always did, gentle. you held him after. but your mind kept flashing to toji in the kitchen, the way his voice had dropped, the way he had looked at your mouth like he wanted to ruin it.

you felt disgusting.

toji did not come out of his room for the rest of the night.

he laid on his bed with the lights off, staring at the ceiling, cock hard and aching against his stomach. he hated you. hated the way you looked at him sometimes when you thought he was not paying attention. hated that his father had brought you here and made everything worse. hated that you were only seventeen years older than him and still managed to make him feel like a fucking kid with a crush he did not want.

he tried to jerk off to something else. anything else. it did not work. his brain kept giving him flashes of you, your mouth, the curve of your hips when you bent over, the way your voice shook when you finally snapped back at him tonight. he came once, angry and fast, but it was not enough. he fell asleep still half-hard and frustrated.

and then the dream took him.

in the dream you were in his room. the door was closed. you were wearing one of those soft shirts you sometimes wore around the house, no bra underneath, nipples visible through the fabric. you looked at him like you knew exactly what he was and did not care.

“toji,” you said, voice low and steady, “i know you hate me. but you don’t have to.”

he tried to tell you to get out. the words did not come. you stepped closer, touched his chest, and his body betrayed him completely. your hands were warm. older. you pushed him back onto the bed and climbed over him, straddling his hips like you belonged there.

“let me take care of you,” the dream version of you whispered. “you’ve been so angry. so tense. let mommy help.”

he should have shoved you off. instead he grabbed your hips and yanked you down onto his cock, groaning when you took him all the way. you rode him slow at first, then harder, your tits bouncing in that thin shirt, your voice in his ear telling him he was good, he was perfect. he fucked up into you like he wanted to punish you for existing and thank you for it at the same time. the word slipped out of him without permission.

“mommy…”

you smiled in the dream, soft and filthy. “that’s it, baby. say it again.”

he came so hard it felt like his spine was breaking, pulsing deep inside you while you held his face and told him it was okay, you had him.

and then toji woke up with a choked gasp, chest heaving, cum still cooling in sticky ropes across his stomach and chest. the dream clung to him like sweat. your voice in his ear. the word mommy coming out of his own mouth. the way dream-you had smiled when he said it.

he shot out of bed like the sheets were burning him.

the bathroom door slammed behind him. he did not even bother turning on the light. he twisted the shower knob all the way to cold and stepped under the spray still in his boxers, letting the freezing water hit his face and chest. it did not help. the disgust sat thick in his throat anyway. he slammed his fist into the tile wall once, twice, three times, hard enough that the skin split across his knuckles. blood mixed with the cold water running down his wrist.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice raw. “fuck. fuck. fuck.”

he stayed under the water until his teeth chattered, until the mess on his skin was gone and the only thing left was the dull throb in his hand and the shame sitting heavy behind his ribs. when he finally stepped out he did not bother drying off properly. he yanked on the first clothes he found, an old faded black t-shirt that clung to his still-damp chest and a pair of black pants. his hair dripped onto his shoulders. his knuckles were red and angry, split open and already starting to swell. he did not care. he just needed to get out of this house.

maybe he would find some girl from the usual spot.

he left the bathroom door open and headed for the stairs, moving fast, jaw locked tight.

you were already in the kitchen.

it was sunday morning, quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. kenji was still upstairs getting ready for an early meeting. you were wearing shorts and a thin tank top, hair a little messy from sleep, moving around the kitchen wiping down the counters. you turned when you heard footsteps.

your eyes went wide the second you saw him.

“goodness, toji—!” the words came out before you could stop them. “are you okay? what happened to your hand? let me—”

you stepped forward without thinking, reaching for him. he was so much bigger up close. twenty years old and already towering over you, shoulders broad enough to block the light from the window. your fingers brushed his wrist as you tried to take his injured hand.

he reacted before he could think.

the back of his hand caught you across the cheek and sent you stumbling. you hit the floor hard, a small whimper slipping out of you on impact. the tile was cold against your bare legs.

toji stood frozen above you, chest rising and falling too fast. the anger on his face cracked open for just a moment, guilt, followed by something else. regret. confusion. the aftertaste of the dream still sitting behind his eyes. he had not meant to hit you that hard. he had not meant to hit you at all.

“how many times,” he said, voice low and rough, “do i have to tell you to stop playing house?”

you swallowed hard, pride burning in your throat, and pushed yourself back up to your feet. your cheek stung. you did not touch it. instead you reached out again, grabbed his injured hand with both of yours and yanked it toward you, forcing him to look down at you.

“i don’t care if you’re going to keep blaming me for everything,” you said, voice steady even though your heart was hammering. “at least let me clean this up before your father sees it.”

toji’s fist clenched under your grip, but he did not pull away. you did not back down either. you just held on, looking up at him, and murmured, “you’re really stubborn.”

something in his jaw twitched. after a long second he let you pull him toward the kitchen table. he sat down heavily in one of the chairs, legs spread, watching you with dark, skeptical eyes as you moved around gathering the small first-aid kit from under the sink.

you set everything on the table, alcohol, cotton pads, bandages, and took his hand again. his fingers were thick and calloused, much larger than yours. you opened them gently, one by one, and the difference in size was obvious. your hands looked small against his. you could feel him noticing it.

when you poured the alcohol onto a cotton pad and pressed it to the split skin he jerked and let out a sharp groan.

“you bitch! that fucking hurts—”

you did not flinch. you pressed harder, cleaning the blood away with steady strokes even as he winced and cursed under his breath. the alcohol burned. he tried to pull his hand back but you held on.

“you will not speak to me like that,” you said quietly.

toji stared at you, breathing through his nose, eyes narrowed. for a moment it looked like he might snap again. then the fight drained out of him all at once.

“fine,” he muttered, looking away. “stop. geez.”

you kept cleaning. slower now. careful. the only sound in the kitchen was his breathing and the soft drag of cotton over broken skin.

upstairs, you could hear kenji’s footsteps starting down the hall.

you finished tying off the bandage. toji still did not get up. he stayed sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his wrapped hand like he was trying to figure out how he ended up letting you touch him at all.

you were still leaning over him, close enough that your thin tank top shifted with the movement. the neckline dipped low. your cleavage was clearly visible as you reached for the alcohol bottle to put it away. toji’s eyes dropped straight to it and stayed there a second too long.

you caught him staring.

instead of pulling back right away, you stayed where you were for a beat, then deliberately leaned in a little more as you grabbed the small trash bin from under the sink. your chest moved closer to his face. toji swallowed hard, throat bobbing visibly. you saw the way his jaw tightened after.

something in the air felt different this morning. he was still angry, still radiating that restless energy, but there was something raw underneath it after he had hit you and then let you clean him up. you were tired of the constant war. tired of walking on eggshells in your own house.

so you reached up without thinking too hard about it and ran your fingers gently through his damp hair, rubbing softly at the back of his neck like you were trying to soothe him.

toji went rigid.

he swatted your hand away fast, the bandaged one coming up on instinct.

you glared at him.

then you did it again anyway, slower, more deliberate this time, sliding your fingers back into his hair and rubbing the same spot like you refused to let him push the moment away.

“you’re so much calmer like this,” you said quietly, voice low so it would not carry upstairs. “you’re good when you’re not fighting everything. you don’t have to be angry all the time, toji.”

the words hit him like a physical blow.

toji’s eyes snapped up to yours, wide and dark. something inside him cracked open violently. the dream was still too fresh, the way dream-you had touched him, the way you had called him baby, the word mommy that had torn out of his own throat while he came harder than he ever had in his life. and now here you were in real life, leaning over him in that thin tank top, petting his hair.

his cock twitched hard in his pants before he could stop it.

shame and rage and something much more dangerous flooded through him at once. he jerked back so violently the chair scraped loud against the floor.

“don’t,” he rasped, voice hoarse and unsteady. “don’t fucking touch me like that again.”

you did not apologize. you looked at him, hand still half-raised, breathing a little faster than before.

toji stood up fast, chest rising and falling like he had been running. he could not look at you. the front of his pants was tight and he prayed you would not notice. he grabbed his keys with his good hand and headed straight for the front door without another word, moving like he was trying to outrun his own skin.

the door slammed behind him.

you stayed by the table, fingers still tingling from the feel of his hair. your cheek still stung where he had hit you earlier. and low in your stomach, something warm and guilty had started to curl that you had no business feeling.

kenji’s cheerful voice called down from the stairs a moment later.

“morning, sweetheart. you seen toji?”

you swallowed and forced your voice steady.

“he just left.”

you did not tell him about the blood on his son’s knuckles.

three days later it started on a thursday night.

toji got sick. badly. kenji was away again on another trip, so the house stayed quiet. at first toji tried to power through it like always, leaving the house even while his fever climbed. but by the second night he could barely stand straight. you found him in the living room past midnight, slumped on the couch, skin burning hot and damp with sweat.

“toji,” you said softly, “you’re really not okay.”

“i’m fine,” he rasped, trying to sit up and failing. “just… leave me alone.”

you did not.

you brought water, medicine, and a cold cloth. he fought you on every single thing. told you to fuck off. told you he did not need your help. told you to stop acting like you were his mother. but his body betrayed him. he was too weak to actually stop you when you pressed the cloth to his neck or made him drink.

by the third day, the fight had drained out of him.

he was too exhausted. the fever kept coming back stronger. he let you help him to his room. let you change his sheets when he soaked through them. let you wipe down his chest and back with a cool towel when he could not do it himself. he still glared sometimes. still muttered insults under his breath. but the bite was gone.

that night kenji called. when you told him toji was sick, he just said, “he’s a grown man. he’ll be fine.” toji stared at the ceiling the whole time you were on the phone.

around 2 a.m. his fever spiked again.

you went into his room with more medicine and a fresh cloth. he was lying on top of the covers in nothing but loose black shorts, skin flushed and shining, hair stuck to his forehead. when you sat on the edge of the bed and touched his forehead, he did not push your hand away. he just closed his eyes.

“you’re burning up,” you murmured.

he stayed quiet.

you helped him take the medicine, then gently wiped his face and neck. after a while, when you tried to pull your hand back, his fingers weakly caught your wrist.

“…wait,” he said, voice small and rough.

you stayed.

you kept running the cool cloth over his skin. at some point his breathing changed. he turned his face toward your hand, almost nuzzling it. then, slowly, he shifted closer and pressed his forehead against your stomach. it was clumsy. desperate.

“why didn’t he check on me?” he muttered against your shirt. “out of everyone… why does it have to be you?”

your hand hesitated above his hair.

he kept going, voice low and bitter. “he always says the same shit. ‘man up. men don’t show weakness.’ like that’s supposed to make me stronger. like that’s why mom died, to prepare me for how fucked up life is.”

your fingers finally slid into his hair. he let out a shaky breath the second you touched him.

for a while, that was all it was. you sitting on his bed while he hid his face against your stomach, your hand slowly stroking his hair. the fever made everything feel heavy and unreal.

then he moved. his hand came up and rested on your thigh, then slid higher, pushing the fabric of your dress up. he pressed his face more firmly between your breasts and breathed in deep.

“you smell good…” he whispered. “like her.”

your eyes widened. “toji… it’s just the fever. you’re not thinking straight.”

he shook his head and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer with what little strength he had.

“if it was just the fever, then why did you take care of me these past few days while my own father couldn’t even be bothered to ask how i was?”

you did not have an answer.

he stayed there, face buried in your chest, one hand slowly rubbing your hip like he needed the contact to stay grounded. his voice came out even quieter.

“i’ve never been happy since she died. not once. and i don’t want to turn into him.”

your hand kept moving through his hair. he melted into it, eyes closed, lips brushing the top of your breast without meaning to.

then, after a long silence, he asked the question that made your chest tighten.

“…are you gonna leave me too?”

you swallowed hard.

“no,” you whispered. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you stayed like that for a while, your hand still moving gently through his hair while he kept his face pressed between your breasts. his breathing was hot against your skin. every so often his arms would tighten around your waist like he was making sure you were still there.

then you felt it.

he was hard against your thigh. not fully, but enough that you could feel the heat of him through his thin shorts. he shifted slightly, almost unconsciously, and the movement dragged him against you. a quiet, shaky breath left his mouth.

he did not pull away.

instead, he nuzzled deeper into your chest, lips brushing the top of your breast as he spoke, voice low and rough from the fever.

“…can i stay like this?”

you did not answer with words. your hand just kept stroking his hair, slower now. he took that as permission.

his hand on your hip moved. it slid under the hem of your dress, fingers warm and a little clumsy as they touched bare skin. he seemed almost dazed, like he was moving on instinct more than anything else. his palm rested on your thigh for a moment before he slowly pushed your dress higher.

toji lifted his head just enough to look at you. his eyes were glassy from the fever, but there was something else in them now, something raw and desperate. he leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, breathing uneven.

“i don’t wanna think anymore,” he whispered. “just… let me.”

his lips found yours before you could answer. the kiss was slow and messy, and a little uncoordinated because of how weak he was. but there was nothing angry in it this time. just need.

you kissed him back.

that was all it took for whatever was left of his restraint to slip.

he moved on top of you carefully, like even that took effort. his body was hot from the fever, skin damp as he settled between your legs. he did not rush to take your clothes off. he just pushed your dress up around your waist and tugged his own shorts down enough to free himself. when he finally pushed inside you, it was slow and shaky, a broken sound catching in his throat.

he did not fuck you hard.

he could not.

instead he moved in these small, deep rolls of his hips, staying as close to you as possible. his face dropped back to your chest, mouth open against your skin as he breathed you in. one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist while the other hand gripped your thigh, keeping you open for him.

every few thrusts his rhythm would falter and he would let out this quiet, needy sound against your breast.

“mommy…” it slipped out without him meaning to, voice hoarse and small. “fuck… mommy—”

you felt the way his whole body reacted when he said it. like the word itself gave him permission to fall apart. his hips pressed deeper, slower, like he was trying to disappear inside you. his face stayed buried against your chest, lips brushing your skin with every shaky breath.

you did not correct him.

instead your hand slid back into his hair, holding him there while your other arm wrapped around his shoulders. you held him close as he moved inside you, weak and desperate and completely surrendered.

“i’ve got you,” you whispered against his hair. “you’re okay.”

toji made a broken noise and pushed in deeper, clinging to you like you were the only solid thing left. his voice was muffled against your skin when he spoke again.

“don’t let go… please. just… don’t let go.”

you did not.

you kept one hand in his hair and the other on his back, stroking slowly while he fucked you in these slow, needy movements. every time he started to speed up, his body would give out and he would fall back into that same desperate, grinding pace. like he needed the closeness more than the release.

when he finally came, it was with a quiet, wrecked sound against your chest, hips stuttering as he held onto you like he was afraid you would vanish. he did not pull out right away. he stayed buried inside you, breathing hard, face still hidden between your breasts.

his body was still trembling from the fever, from the orgasm, from everything he had been holding in for years.

you did not move either.

you just kept stroking his hair and holding him close while his breathing slowly evened out.

after a long minute, his voice came out small and hoarse against your skin.

“…don’t tell him.”

you knew he meant his father.

days later, toji was back to normal.

actually, he seemed even stronger than before. the fever had finally broken and whatever wall he had been keeping up around you had cracked wide open. he ate everything you cooked now. no more pushing plates away. no more calling it “shallow bitch food.” he would sit at the table, quiet but no longer hostile, and finish whatever you put in front of him. sometimes he would even mutter a low “thanks” under his breath when kenji was not around.

and when kenji was not home, the two of you did not bother hiding anymore.

he called you mommy in that low, rough voice while he fucked you. sometimes he would press his face into your neck and mumble “your boy” like it was the only thing he wanted to be. you just held him closer and let it happen.

this morning, kenji was still upstairs getting ready for work.

you were in the kitchen making breakfast, slicing apples for the table, wearing a simple dress that hit mid-thigh. toji had come up behind you without a word. one hand slid around your waist while the other pushed your dress up. he was already hard. he tugged his sweatpants down just enough, lined himself up, and pushed inside you in one slow thrust.

you gasped softly, gripping the edge of the counter.

“toji— your dad’s still upstairs—”

“i know,” he muttered against your neck, voice low and lazy. he started moving, fucking you in slow, deep strokes while you tried to keep cutting the apples. every time he bottomed out he let out a quiet groan, kissing the side of your cheek like he did not have a care in the world. “just keep cutting, mommy… i’ll be quick.”

you bit your lip hard, trying not to make any sound. his hands gripped your hips under your dress, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. he was being cocky about it, kissing your cheek, your jaw, even nipping at your ear while he fucked you right there in the kitchen.

then you both heard it.

footsteps on the stairs.

toji cursed under his breath and pulled out fast, yanking his sweatpants up. you quickly fixed your dress and smoothed your hair, heart pounding. he stepped away and leaned against the counter a few feet from you, putting on his usual grumpy face like nothing had happened.

kenji walked into the kitchen a moment later, already dressed for work, looking tired and irritated like he always did in the mornings.

“morning,” he grumbled.

toji barely glanced at him. “morning.”

you kept your voice steady. “morning. breakfast is almost ready.”

kenji grunted in response and walked past you toward the dining table, already pulling out his phone. his back was turned.

the second kenji sat down with his back to the kitchen, toji moved.

he dropped to his knees behind you without a word. before you could react, he was under your dress, hands pushing your thighs apart. you felt his mouth on you immediately, hot, wet, and hungry. he licked a slow stripe up your pussy and you nearly dropped the knife.

your grip tightened around the handle until your knuckles turned white.

toji did not care that his father was sitting ten feet away. he buried his face between your legs like he was starving, tongue working over your clit while two of his fingers slid inside you. you could hear how wet you were. every time his tongue flicked just right, your knees threatened to buckle.

you kept slicing the apples, trying to keep your breathing even. your hand was shaking. every few seconds a tiny, helpless sound would try to escape your throat and you had to swallow it down.

kenji’s voice came from the dining room.

“you two been getting along better lately?”

toji did not even pause. his tongue kept circling your clit while his fingers curled inside you, fucking you slowly under your dress. you could feel him smirking against your pussy.

you forced your voice to stay steady.

“yeah,” you said, slicing another apple. your thighs were trembling. “we’re… getting there.”

toji sucked on your clit a little harder in response, like he was rewarding you for lying so well. you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the moan that wanted to come out.

kenji hummed, already distracted by whatever he was reading on his phone.

toji kept going.

Shoko was the biggest mess of the three of you, sobbing unwaveringly while her whole body trembled. You couldn't blame her - for some reason she’d become the sadistic focus of the other man, known as Jogo. If he wanted to inflict terror upon the three of you, it was always Shoko who found herself at the receiving end of his wrath, and as such her throat was terribly bruised along with her right eye, where he’d struck her hard across the face. 

You were the only one who hadn’t been hit, at least not yet, but you weren’t sure it could be counted as a blessing. Mahito seemed to have taken a liking to you in a way that he didn’t extend to the other two, always reaching out for you and playing with your hair, stroking your face, running his fingers along the bare skin of your thigh. It made you sick, and each time you tried to draw away he would pull you back firmly with a wide smile, like it was all part of some game. 

At first, you weren’t sure what their actual plan was, for the two intruders had broken in and tied you up, only to sit back and smoke weed for a while, leaving the three of you shivering and incapacitated, waiting for whatever was coming next. You supposed that was probably all part of the game - a ploy to send your imagination running wild with thoughts of what they might do to you. 

But once they were done smoking their joints, their game had really started. 

“Okay, you.” Mahito was pointing his gun at Yuki, staring down at her easily. “What’s a secret that you’ve been keeping from these two?” This was the third or fourth question of that manner that the men had levied that evening, seemingly finding joy in causing strife between you all and lashing out with violence when you tried to lie or refused to answer. 

It was a little sickening to think that you’d been playing truth or dare earlier that afternoon, and now you were being forced to play it at gunpoint. It wouldn’t have surprised you to find out that Mahito had been skulking around the whole time, listening in on your interactions with your friends and building this encounter based on it. 

“I don’t have any,” she said firmly, grunting as Mahito slapped her once more.

“Wrong answer.” He clicked the safety off the gun. “Come on, lie again or try to back out and I’ll pull the trigger. It’s only her that I need in working condition.” He jerked his head in your direction. “There must be something, maybe you fucked her boyfriend or something?” 

Yuki sneered at the implication, but the hatred dissipated the moment she remembered her situation. Her dislike for Sukuna seemed rather petty and insignificant in the face of this new violence. 

“Fine.” Yuki turned to you with an earnest stare. “I tried to get Sukuna to break up with you when I first found out you were dating. Sorry, I know you want us to get along, but I hate the guy. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about him, but he’s bad news and I don’t want to watch him ruin your life with his bullshit. Sue me.” 

Mahito watched the exchange carefully, eyes lightening up with a cruel glee, only to pout when you offered no dramatic reaction. Even if you hadn’t known the details, it didn’t surprise you that Yuki had tried to intervene - you’d been sure they’d shared some terse words that morning you’d all gone out for brunch, the tension at the table upon your return from the bathroom had been palpable. 

“It's okay, I get it,” you said evenly, more than willing to let it go. Yuki had your best interests at heart, and she wasn’t wrong to be skeptical over some of Sukuna’s more possessive qualities considering the break-in stunt - even if you generally found his nature more charming than concerning. 

“How boring. That’s all?” Mahito asked, switching his focus to you. “She tried to break up your relationship and it's just okay? Get mad about it!” You glared up at him, unsure how he could be so dense as to believe that you’d turn on your friends in this situation. It was pointless to get mad at Yuki right now, all that mattered was living through the evening unharmed. 

“That’s all,” you mumbled, drawing a sigh from the blue haired man. 

“Okay, then how about you, sweetheart?” He asked, edging closer and caressing your face with the barrel of the gun. You flinched at the cold touch of the metal, trying to stay calm in the face of it. You were worried that panicking would just annoy the intruders and cause them to put an end to you early. 

Or perhaps they’d cause harm to one of your friends in a bid as punishment for freaking out. You didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s suffering. 

“What’s a secret you’ve been hiding? Share it with the class.” 

Just like Yuki, you found yourself unsure as to what you might say, for there weren’t really any secrets you’d been keeping from the both of them. But in a bid to get things over with sooner, you turned to Yuki with a heavy sigh. “Sukuna broke into my house a few weeks ago to have sex with me in the middle of the night to fulfill some kink of his. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d go crazy about it.” 

“What the fuck?” She asked, suddenly enraged as if forgetting the situation for just a moment. “He broke into your house? That’s so fucked up, why would you keep dating him after that?.” 

“We talked it out,” you responded quickly. “He just got carried away and he thought I’d be into it too. He said it won’t happen again.” 

“Right, because he’s so fucking honest all the time.” 

“He’s good to me,” you argued. 

“Really? Because what you just described makes it sound like he raped you.” 

Immediately you were rearing back, your eyes wide in disgust, like Yuki had poured cold water over you. The words were unpleasant, a sickening feeling twisting within you to hear her describe it in such a manner. You’d never viewed Sukuna’s actions in such a way. Sure, he’d crossed a line in that instance, but sex with him had never been anything other than a pleasure. It was always something that you wanted, and if you ever told him to stop you had the utmost confidence that he would stop. 

Yuki disliking him was one thing, but to cast such incorrect judgement over your dynamic had a spark of hatred igniting itself in your chest. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, at all. God, not everything is black and white, Sukuna isn’t the root of all evil, and I’m so sick of you treating me like a baby all the time. Let me make my own decisions and you can bitch about me to Shoko in private when you don’t agree with them,” you spat. 

“Oh, is that what you do about me?” She asked. “Talk about me behind my back rather than to my face?” 

“Sometimes, yeah. When you're being like this.” Your words hung heavy in the room, and Yuki fell silent, shaking her head and diverting her brown eyes to the ground.

Mahito burst out laughing. 

“Yes! That’s the kind of thing I was talking about!” He waved the gun at Shoko. “Now you!”

Shoko seemed a little bewildered. Of the three of you she was flagging the most, struggling to keep her eyes open. It was clear that there was significant damage to her neck, and even as she hesitated to find an answer, Jogo was striding over and putting his cigarette out on her shoulder, pulling a fearful yelp from her lips. 

“Stop it.” Yuki hissed, only to be ignored by both men, who continued to urge Shoko on for an answer, rubbing the gun up against her temple. 

“Come on, quickly now. Don’t want us to put a bullet in your skull, do you?” Jogo asked. 

Shoko shook her head fearfully, biting down on her lip for a moment before taking a shuddering breath. “I slept with Choso a few months before you guys got together.” She confessed, keeping her gaze forward, seemingly terrified of casting a glance at Yuki.

You couldn’t keep the shock from your face, because you hadn’t known that. And based on the sheer guilt in Shoko’s eyes, you were certain this was the first time she’d told anybody.

“It- it was back when I didn’t know what I wanted and I was still exploring things. Me and him hooked up at a party. I knew that you liked him but I was drunk and things just kind of happened. Sorry Yuki. I should’ve told you.” 

“Oooh, now that’s spicy!” Mahito exclaimed, glancing over at your blonde friend. You weren’t sure at first that she’d even registered it, seemingly processing too many things at once, as if she’d reached some sort of saturation point. But after a few seconds she breathed out a deep sigh and looked at Shoko. 

“It was before we were dating?” 

Shoko nodded earnestly, eyes still fixed in front of her. 

“That’s fine. It’s just- why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Cho tell me?” 

Shrugging, Shoko stumbled over her words, clearly struggling to formulate a coherent answer. “I don’t know. I guess I just felt like you’d be mad at me? You’d told me you were crushing on him and I still- fuck- sorry.” She trailed off. 

There was more silence, before Yuki shrugged, turning her head away from the both of you. “Sure, whatever.” 

“Girls and their drama huh?” Mahito cut through the silence. “Why can’t you all just get along like me and Jogo here? Always bitching about each other’s boyfriends, it's sad.” You stared at him blankly, eager to point out how sexist such a statement was, but unwilling to risk your life for such a correction. 

Right now, all three of you needed to get it together. Sure, the evening’s revelations had been far from ideal, but it didn’t matter. You could squabble about that stuff once you were safe - none of it mattered if you were going to die tonight either way. 

Twisting your hands in your bindings, you observed the area. You were still in the living room, where the two of them had come barrelling in through the window. If you were able to free yourself you could leap out the way they’d come in, or alternately make a run for the internal door and hope you could lose them in the maze of corridors that made up Satoru’s house. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t convinced that all three of you would be able to break free at the same time, and you weren’t about to sacrifice the others for the sake of your own freedom. It wasn’t fair. 

But still, there had to be some way out. 

“Come on, Yuki, is it?” Mahito asked, crouching before her. “Don’t you wanna hurt these girls for what they’ve done? Tell me which one you’re angrier at, and I’ll inflict a wound on them to make sure they don’t forget it.” 

Shoko whimpered, and immediately you were sitting bolt upright, breathing quickly as Yuki said nothing, her eyes still trained on the floor. 

“Pick one, or I’ll shoot them both in the head.” 

Panic flickered in Yuki’s brown eyes, the threat leading to her swiftly raising her head, glancing between the two of you. Shoko had started sobbing, Jogo’s arm wrapped threateningly around her shoulders, his hand stroking the side of her face with a cruel affection. You were calmer on the surface, eyes staring at her pleadingly, hands trembling a little behind your back. 

Yuki spoke your name softly, guilt and hurt present in her expression before she dropped her head again, hiding beneath a mane of blonde hair. 

You couldn’t say that you really blamed her. With the state that Shoko was in, and the pain that had already been inflicted upon her, Yuki would be wrong to suggest that she should be on the receiving end of any more suffering. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t terrified for yourself, quivering as Mahito approached you, drawing a blade from his pocket. 

As he drew closer, you flinched back, trying to escape from his grasp. You were no match for his speed or strength, letting out a cry of fear as he took a seat on the floor, pulling you forcefully into his lap. “Shhhh. Calm down,” he hummed, his lips pressing against your hair in an action meant to comfort you. It filled you with nothing but revulsion, tears bubbling up in your eyes as he pressed the knife up against your arm. 

“What should I cut into her, Yuki?” He asked. “I’m quite the artist, you know?” 

Yuki said nothing, refusing to look at you. Tears were dripping down onto the floor beneath her, tremors wracking her body. For all of Yuki’s strength and confidence, it had amounted to nothing. She was just as scared as the rest of you, held at bay by a singular gun, unwilling to act like a hero and have her life stolen from her. 

“No ideas?” Mahito asked with a pout. “I suppose I could write whore since you clearly are one. Enjoying your boyfriend breaking in to fuck you? That’s depraved. Bet you’ll like what I’m going to do to you later.” A sob escaped you, fresh horror making itself known in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to vomit. 

“Please, don’t.” You rasped. 

“No? Too bad you don’t get a say in the matter, sweetheart. We came here for some fun, you’re not depriving us of it just because you’re a stick in the mud.” He paused, giving you a look over. “Now, where should I cut you - any preferences on this matter, Yuki? You’re the one doing this to her.” 

“Stop it.” She mumbled weakly, her face still averted to what was happening before her eyes. “Just leave them both alone.” 

“No, no, no.” Mahito waved his blade haphazardly, before showing her the gun holstered in the top of his jeans, momentarily stowed away to allow him more control with his knife. “I told you already, it's the knife, or I shoot them both in the head. There’s no other option. So understand that you are doing this to her, and watch it happen like an adult.”

Mahito snapped his fingers at Jogo, who seemed reluctant to release Shoko from his hold. Clearly he was subservient in this little dynamic that they had going though, because he moved over to Yuki and wrenched her head back with a fistful of hair, forcing her eyes to meet your wide, frightened ones. 

“Mmm, where to put it…” Mahito mused, your body jolting as his fingers found the hem of your shirt, pushing it upwards and trailing the knife up your stomach until it reached the bottom of your bra. “How about here?” He asked, tapping the space between your two breasts. “Then, anyone who fucks you will be able to see what you are plain and simple. You like that idea, Yuki?” 

She shook her head vigorously, more tears streaming down her cheeks. The apology in her eyes was clear, and you found yourself sobbing too. You wanted to be in Sukuna’s arms, wanted to cling to him for all eternity, safely cocooned within his grip where nothing bad could ever happen to you. 

But Sukuna wasn’t there, and there was no one else who would come to your rescue. 

“Stay still.” Mahito cooed, “if you move about I’ll make a mess and then you might really be in trouble. You don’t want me cutting too deep by mistake.” 

A pained cry ripped from your lips as Mahito made his first incision in the valley between your breasts, a long line of a ‘W’ cut into your sensitive skin, blood beading and dripping down onto the band of your bra. You and Sukuna had done knife play before, and it was nothing like this. With Sukuna, you felt safe, certain that he knew your limits - the knife would prick but never truly cut. 

This was something different, something revolting. 

You retreated within yourself, and somewhere in the distance you could hear your own voice begging him to stop. Perhaps you could hear Shoko and Yuki’s too, all pleading tearfully while Mahito added another line to his creation, your body jolting painfully with the careful movements of the knife. 

Whether or not you were thankful that he only made it through two lines of the first letter before something happened, you weren’t quite sure. Because a big part of you would’ve chosen to have the word whore branded permanently on your chest over what transpired in those next few seconds. 

Somehow, in the short time that Jogo had been preoccupied with Yuki, Shoko had wrenched her hands free of her bindings. And while the two men were distracted with you, she took her chance and made a bolt for the door leading further into the house. 

She’d stumbled when leaping to her feet, and the moment she’d set off at a run, her feet had caught on the rug below, sending her careening onto her hands and knees for a second before recovering. 

It was too many mistakes to make. 

Mahito’s knife clattered to the floor, grazing your thigh with a cut as it fell past you. His pistol was in his hand in an instant, a shot firing before you had time to prepare for it, leaving a disgustingly loud ringing sound in your ears, muffling much of what followed. Mahito still held you, and the two men were arguing about something incomprehensible, but all you could do was stare at the blood stain on the white door, eyes wide in horror. 

There was a body laying beneath it, one that had finally stopped quivering. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen a body, not even the first time you’d seen one covered in blood at the sign of a violent death, but that didn’t leave you any better equipped to cope. You emptied your stomach on the floor beside you, barely hearing Mahito’s complaints about how disgusting that was. 

It wasn’t something you could help. 

Desperate panic built within you, and you found yourself looking to Yuki, who seemed to be in the midst of a panic attack. Her breaths were coming out ragged, sobbing aloud in a way you’d never heard from her before, a look of pitiful defeat present in her usually lovely chestnut eyes. 

“Why- why are you doing this?” You sobbed, surprised at the sound of your own voice. “She didn’t deserve that, y-you were cutting into my skin like you wanted, you didn’t need to-” you cut yourself off, not knowing what more to say. 

You thought you might throw up again. 

Mahito grinned, wiping a tear from your cheek. “It gets real boring out here, sweetheart. What better entertainment is there than playing with a bunch of pretty girls until they break? Killing is entertainment, and she was too panicky to be useful for much else.” 

Noticing the horror in your expression, his grin only spread further. 

“Not all things need any deep profound meaning, you know. I love the blood and the suffering! There’s little more to it.” 

There was nothing for you to say, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stared at Shoko’s lifeless body spread across the floor. Her blood was seeping out and staining the wood beneath her, her life gone in a single instant, one which you and Yuki had been powerless to prevent. You felt pathetic, your hands flexing in their bindings, regretting agreeing to go along to Satoru’s holiday home, wishing you’d had a nice quiet weekend in Sukuna’s apartment like your boyfriend had wanted. 

“You good to keep an eye on that one, Jogo? I don’t wanna wait much longer. The punishment games aren’t as fun when there’s only two.” Mahito’s gaze was fixed on you with deep lust, his fingers crawling up the length of your arm. 

“Sure, whatever. I’ll watch her while you have your fun, then we’ll do the usual.” 

“Great!” Mahito stood up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. 

You couldn’t find it in you to struggle, your mind practically shutting down as Mahito stepped over Shoko’s body to head out into the corridor, like she was nothing more than an obstacle in his path. 

Like she hadn’t been someone you loved.

—

Sukuna had been beset with the chilling feeling that something was wrong. 

It had started just after they’d left the butchers, when he’d shot you a quick text to ask if you wanted anything from the liquor store. Usually, you were quick to reply to him, very rarely leaving your phone on silent, so when a few minutes passed by without you even reading his message, a hint of concern ignited within him. 

He’d tried calling you then, since the rest of the boys had already bought what they wanted, and Sukuna didn’t want to leave without knowing if he should pick you something up, but the phone rang out, going straight to voicemail, and that really worried him. 

Now, to his credit, he did try his best to reason with himself that everything was probably fine. You were likely just caught up chatting with the girls about one thing or another, perhaps you’d left your phone upstairs, or maybe you were watching some movie with the volume turned up so high that you didn’t hear the ringing of your cutesy mobile. 

But he couldn’t quite shake the anxiety from his chest. 

He cursed himself for even attempting to cast his worries aside once the boys made it back from their walk to find the house eerily silent. The window of the living room was smashed inwards, leaving shards of glass all over the wooden floor, and the menu screen for the Ferris Bueller DVD was drenching the whole room in bright white. 

“What- what the fuck?” Satoru hissed. 

The four of them were frozen outside, staring in through the window at the empty room. In the artificial light, Sukuna could just about make out blood staining the sofa, and more flooding the floor behind it. Amongst that partially obscured pool, he could make out what looked like a hand peeking out from behind the couch, and his heart dropped. 

He didn’t wait to consult with the others in their state of shock, and gave little thought to the fact that whoever had done this might still be in the house. Instead he made straight for the window, heart pounding in his chest as he leapt gracefully through the gap, vision shaky but still fixed on that small hand partially shrouded in darkness. 

It couldn’t be you. It couldn’t be. 

It wasn’t. 

Rounding the side of the couch, he stopped in his tracks at the site of Shoko. She was cold, motionless, her brown eyes still open. Blood was dripping from a gunshot wound straight through her skull, leaving her brown hair sticky and matted. There was still a flush to her cheeks, suggesting that whatever had transpired hadn’t taken place all that long ago. 

This wasn’t the first dead body Sukuna had seen - in that area he would consider himself more than experienced. He’d disemboweled Ryu, had smashed Yorozu’s head in with a hammer, had gone so far as to actively torture Kashimo before finally disposing of him - and yet, none of that had made him feel sick like the sight before him.

Shoko had been a good friend of yours. She was a person who Sukuna liked - a good influence on you, someone that would always leave you happy after you’d gone to hang out with her. 

She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. 

But more to the point, whoever had done this to Shoko currently had you, and that thought made him want to vomit. 

He had to find you. 

There was the sound of glass crunching, and Sukuna glanced over at the boys making their way in behind him. They all looked freaked out, and Satoru’s eyes widened in horror as he finally reached Sukuna’s side, letting out a strangled yelp of horror. “Shoko! Oh fuck.” He was down on his knees in an instant, pouring over her as if he might find a pulse if he tried hard enough. “Quick, someone call an ambulance! Suguru - take my phone, oh shit.” 

Suguru was already dialing 911, whilst Choso was standing with hunched shoulders, his expression riddled with terror. It was clear he was going through the same spectrum of emotions that Sukuna was, full of pity for Shoko but focussed on the fate of his own girlfriend who was absent from the room. 

“Yuki-” he mumbled. “I’ve gotta find Yuki.” 

“Do you have a gun?” Sukuna asked Satoru, his voice eerily calm. Internally he was panicking, seething at the idea of someone hurting you, but he wasn’t the type to get frazzled, especially not when he had so many executions on his hands already. 

“What-” 

“These fuckers are probably still here. Do you have a gun here?” 

Satoru nodded. “There’s a cabinet in the kitchen. I’ll show you.” He slowly rose from his position beside Shoko, letting Suguru watch over her while he spoke with the police, asking for immediate support along with an ambulance - not that medical help would do much for Shoko at that point. 

Hurrying into the kitchen, they avoided making too much noise, eager to have the advantage of surprise over any perpetrators. Internally, Sukuna was screaming. He wanted to go on a rampage around the house - tear doors off their hinges and scream at the top of his lungs. But he wasn’t stupid, any warning given to the person or people who had done this could lead to your death. 

He would be nothing but calm and careful. 

It wasn’t clear if the same could be said for Choso, who was visibly shaking while Satoru unlocked the gun rack. Sukuna wasn’t sure the boy had any capability of keeping it together, and he’d be damned if his friend’s weak heart led to your demise somehow. Fortunately, Satoru seemed to be more locked in to the task at hand, breathing easily as he handed Sukuna a pistol, keeping the hunting rifle to himself. 

Satoru, despite his kind and friendly demeanor, had always been the type of man who could do whatever was needed when the time came. He’d been there for Sukuna in plenty of fights throughout high school and had lied their way out of being arrested when they’d been caught with drugs on more than one occasion. 

He was the best person to have on hand in a situation like this, outside of Sukuna himself. 

Later, he was sure the boy would be a total mess, but that was fine. All Sukuna needed was for him to be strong in the moment. 

“I’ll cover the top two floors, you two deal with the bottom two.” Sukuna whispered after a quick check that the pistol was loaded. “If you find them, don’t hesitate to shoot. They deserve the same respect they gave Shoko.” 

Depending on the condition he found you in, he’d probably give the cause a fate even worse than death, but there was no need to recommend that outcome to his friends. They could decide how they wanted to deal with the situation on their own. 

“You gonna be okay by yourself?" Satoru asked. 

Sukuna wanted to laugh at how vastly Satoru was underestimating him, but he was too anxious and enraged to waste any more time. “Yeah. Let's get to it.” 

Hurrying up the stairs, he found it hard to balance speed with silence, wincing each time a step would creak beneath his feet. The stairs were situated at the back of the house, with connected flights moving directly up from the first floor to the fourth. He was on the landing of the second floor when he heard a muffled scream from down the hall, pausing him in his tracks. 

The cry was followed by some begging and sobbing, in a voice which belonged to Yuki. Shortly after, there was the gruff sound of a man speaking and a harsh slap. He faltered in his decision, one foot already on the stairs to continue upwards. He’d assigned this floor to Choso and Satoru, who were still checking out the floor below, and if he was being completely honest, he couldn’t care less about Yuki’s fate. 

What gave him pause was the idea that you might be in there with her, and that had him reversing back down the stairs and along the hallway to a partially opened door, light flooding out into the darkness Sukuna nestled within. Gun in hand, the safety already off, he peered round the door, catching sight of Yuki sitting on the bed, her face bruised and bloodied. 

He watched silently as the large man standing over her struck her for a second time, blood dripping from her cracked lips. There was no defiance in her eyes, none of that fiery hatred Sukuna was often subject to. She had been reduced to a woman overcome with terror, her clothes sticking to her skin, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

If he was a better person, he probably would’ve stepped in and helped - raised his gun to the man’s head in a swift movement and pulled the trigger. But you weren’t there in that room with her, and he’d waste no time aiding a woman he hated when the one he loved was still in peril. 

Choso could save his own damn girlfriend. 

So he backed away slowly, hoping the floor didn’t creak beneath him, before making for the floors above. 

It didn’t take him long to find you after that, your sobs and whimpers flooding the area as he stumbled up onto the fourth floor, which housed the master bedroom Satoru had been staying in. You weren’t begging coherently like Yuki had been, your words a mess of desperate pleas and cries. 

Heart soaring, he found immense comfort in the knowledge that you were alive, your body still warm and moving in a way that Shoko’s never would again. 

But any happiness was quickly replaced by sheer rage at the reality you were currently living. Because at that moment you were alone in a bedroom with some creep who’d carelessly murdered your friend - completely victim to some psycho’s will. 

Sukuna was no longer thinking, acting on impulse as he pushed open the door silently. There was no bright light like the room Yuki had been in, the bedroom instead illuminated by a softer lamp, as if the attacker had wanted to set the mood. He could hear blood pumping in his ears as he rounded the corner, allowing him full vision of Satoru’s bedroom. 

You were there on the bed, laying down atop silk sheets which had clearly been disrupted in a struggle upon them. Even now you were wriggling, trying to pull at the fabric beneath you, letting out soft, anxious cries of fear. 

It was an image that he’d seen hundreds of times - you, laying there with a flushed face, your shirt discarded elsewhere. Usually it was a pleasant image, one that he was always happy to see, knowing that you’d be beneath him, all happy and breathy in his arms. 

But this was the most unpleasant scene he’d ever witnessed.

Because he wasn’t the one laying on top of you. Instead, you were pinned down by that freak from the gas station, a wide smile stretched upon his pale lips as he grappled with you beneath him, easily warding off your attempts to push him away. 

Just like you, the man was in a state of partial nudity, his shirt thrown on the floor beside yours, and Sukuna found fleeting relief in the realisation that he wasn’t too late. You still had your comfy shorts on, keeping you from further defilement, and you were fighting hard for that dignity to remain intact. 

The man had clearly hit you in an attempt to get you to what he wanted, a dark bruise rising around your left eye, and as Sukuna’s gaze drifted down your form he took note of a glistening red mark between your breasts - blood trailing from it down onto your stomach. 

“Come on baby, stop fighting me. I told you we were gonna have a good time, stop being a bitch-” 

You kicked at him as hard as you could, your feet barely doing any damage as he pinned you back down, a pale hand locking around your throat firmly, pulling a strangled whimper from your lips. 

“What did I just fucking tell you? Play nice and maybe you’ll actually enjoy-”  

The gun went off with no active decision on Sukuna’s part, his hands acting all on their own. 

He was experienced with a gun - he knew how to shoot to kill just as well as he knew how to shoot to maim, and it was the latter that his body chose in that moment. He wanted the man off you, but he didn’t want him dead - not yet, because that would be far too lenient a punishment for a man who had laid his hands on you in such a manner. 

Letting out a shocked cry, more sobs wracked your body as your attacker fell to the side, blood spraying over your trembling form. You wriggled away in an instant, escaping the heavy weight sitting atop you, and curling in on yourself towards the head of the bed. It was as if you hadn’t even seen Sukuna, hadn’t really comprehended what had happened, capable of doing nothing beyond consoling yourself. 

Sukuna wanted to go to you immediately, yearned to pull you into his arms and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

But he needed to deal with your attacker first. 

The man was shaking and gasping for air, a hand reaching up to cover the wound Sukuna had inflicted upon him. A knife had clattered to the floor at his side, and Sukuna was quick to grab it, tossing it out of his reach. 

He also took stock of a gun laid out on the bedside table next to where you were curled up, rolling his eyes at how painfully stupid this man must be to have parted with his weapon. Perhaps he’d been arrogant enough to think that he didn’t need it when faced with a much weaker opponent like you, but Sukuna never would’ve made such a blunder when it came to his own kills. 

It was always sensible to anticipate that something could go wrong. 

“Piece of shit,” Sukuna hissed, hitting the man full force across the face, certain that his strike had landed twice as hard as the one this man had inflicted upon you. He cried out in agony, blood spurting from his wound as he wrenched his hand away, bringing it up to cradle his aching face. 

But that wasn’t enough for Sukuna, nothing would ever be enough. 

“Think you can touch my girlfriend, huh? You’re fucking with the wrong guy.” With a sickening crack, Sukuna stamped on the man’s leg, bringing his foot down over and over again until he was certain that the bone would be too mangled to ever repair. 

He took pleasure in the way the man screamed, begging pathetically for Sukuna to stop. It fell upon deaf ears, because Sukuna had caused immense suffering for far lesser crimes than the one this man had committed. This was a person he deserved the full force of his rage. 

“Now, stay there.” Sukuna said cooly, cutting through the man’s cries. “I’ll deal with you when I’m good and ready.”

He turned his attention then to you, heart panging at just how small you’d made yourself in the corner of the bed, your knees pulled up against your chest. 

“Baby,” he spoke softly, approaching you with care. He hated how you flinched when his hand brushed against your skin, and found his bloodlust for the man on the floor flaring up anew. “It’s me, you’re okay.” 

Taking a seat on the bed, he wrapped his arms around your trembling body and maneuvered you into his lap. You said nothing, but seemed to understand what was happening all the same, your fingers instinctively curling into his t-shirt as you burrowed yourself closely against him. 

There he held you for a little while, focussing on your sniffling, completely ignoring the man groaning at his feet. Sukuna’s fingers combed through your hair, rocking you gently, cooing against your head with loving words of affection and comfort. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He whispered over and over again like a mantra, not just for your benefit but for his own too. 

He hated to think how close he’d been to losing you. If he’d been just a bit later you could’ve been dead, discarded after that freak was done having his fun with you. The thought made his skin crawl and he held you tighter still. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his chest, leaving Sukuna perplexed, staring down at you as you raised your face up to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t stop him from touching me.” 

Sukuna’s face twisted in distaste for a moment before he forced himself to correct his expression, not wanting to make you feel worse. He hated that you’d said that, hated that you were acting like this was somehow your fault when it was his. He should’ve never left you alone - it was on him to protect you.

It was on that creep to not touch you in the first place. 

And yet guilt filled your teary eyes, like you’d somehow wronged Sukuna by failing to escape from something traumatic. 

You really frustrated him sometimes. 

“Don’t apologise,” he said, trying to keep the edge from his voice. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His thumb wiped the tears from your cheeks carefully, taking a moment to inspect your face properly now you were looking up at him. 

A purple bruise blossomed around one of your eyes, spreading out onto your cheek, and there was equally unpleasant bruising on your neck, as though your attacker had tried choking you in a vicious manner more than once. The observation that bothered him the most were the perfect lines cut in the valley between your breasts, where dried blood was smudged around the wounds. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been here.” 

You said nothing, huddling yourself against him once more, fingers moving to his arm and holding so tight he was certain you’d leave bruises on him. He wasn’t sure what was going through your mind at that moment - you seemed almost out of it, too shellshocked to articulate how you were feeling, seemingly unaware of the man wailing and clutching his leg mere feet away from you. 

He was holding himself back from quizzing you on exactly what had happened, curious as to whether you knew about Shoko, whether you’d seen it happen. He wanted to know how far that creep had gone with you, just what punishment he’d dished out so that Sukuna could ensure he suffered appropriately. 

Although, if he was gonna do anything he needed to do it soon. Suguru had called the police and Sukuna needed to make sure this man was dead before they arrived. He didn’t want the fucker to go through the justice system - if he got a good enough lawyer he’d get some cushy deal and be out in a couple of years, and that was unacceptable. 

Sukuna would kill him before that. Any death would be written off as self-defence, all things considered. He’d broken into a house, killed a woman and sexually assaulted another - Sukuna was free to use reasonable force, which in this case was a bullet through the head.  

“Why do bad things keep happening to me?” You asked in a small voice, one that twisted unpleasantly at Sukuna’s heart. “My bad luck killed Shoko…and Yuki, oh, Yuki!” For a moment you seemed to snap out of the haze, sitting up in a panic. “Sukuna! There’s another guy - he’s got Yuki, you have to help her, please-” 

“Choso’s got it,” he said evenly. 

He wasn’t sure if it was a lie, it might’ve been, but he’d heard no gunshots so he was opting to believe that Yuki was fine. He certainly wasn’t going to leave your side to go and help her, not when you were in such a tumultuous state. If he had it his way, he’d curl himself around you protectively and hold you like that for hours, until your terrified shivering finally stopped. 

You needed him far more than Yuki did. 

“Is she okay? She didn’t- they didn’t hurt her, did they?” 

Yuki looked hardly worse for wear than you did when he’d seen her, and he was certain the woman was probably tougher than you regardless. He wasn’t particularly concerned with her state and you shouldn’t be either. 

He loved how kind you were, it was something he admired about you, but it grated on his nerves sometimes. Here you were, sobbing in his arms after an assault, and you were still all worried about someone else. 

You could really do with acting a little more selfishly. 

“She’s okay. I didn’t see her properly, I was too busy looking for you.” 

Sniffling once more, you lowered your head in shame, releasing your grip on Sukuna and bringing your hands up to your face. “I cursed them. I cursed them with my bad luck. Maybe I should’ve been the one who got shot instead.” 

There was an unpleasant part of Sukuna that wanted to slap you. He didn’t want to hear you say such things about yourself, didn’t want to entertain the thought that you’d be comfortable with your own death. You were his, he wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers because of perceived bad luck. 

But he held himself together, aware that right now you needed comfort rather than reprimand. You weren’t thinking straight, clearly falling apart at the seams. Taking a deep breath, he leant down and kissed you on the forehead, before planting a few more gentle kisses all over your face. 

“Don’t say that, please. I don’t think you know how broken I’d be.” You looked shocked at the sincerity in his voice, fresh guilt flickering in your eyes leading you to avert your gaze in shame. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. Sukuna supposed it was probably best to leave that conversation there, keeping his stern gaze on you for a few moments longer but not pressing the issue. He’d disregard it as a slip of the tongue, something he’d come back to later if he needed to. 

“It’s all going to be fine baby,” he promised. “The police are all the way. Stop worrying and just let me take care of you.” 

He’d assumed that you’d sink back into his arms, but after a few deep breaths you seemed almost reinvigorated, as if you’d shaken off the original paralysing shock and guilt and had transitioned into a new phase of panic.

“It’s not going to be fine, Shoko’s not going to be fine! Fuck- Shoko! I need to be with her.”

You wriggled in his arms before escaping from his grip, bare feet hitting the rug as you made for the door. Sukuna reached out to grab your wrist, eager to placate you and pull you back into his arms. He didn’t want you to go downstairs to see your friend in the state that she was in, he wanted to keep you close and safe. 

“Baby, wait.” 

You stumbled to a halt before Sukuna could grab you, your eyes wide and fearful as you peered down at Mahito rolling about on the ground, blocking the path to the door. It was like you were only just remembering he was there, half convinced Sukuna had killed him with that gunshot. 

Sukuna watched you, his desire to keep you in his lap giving way to curiosity as to what you might do next. 

You weren’t a person with a great tendency to hatred. Sure, you’d disliked people such as Yorozu and Uro, but he’d never really seen you lash out at anyone. But right now your face was a picture of disgust. His hand reached slowly for the pistol, eager to have a method of maiming the bastard should he try anything, but he wanted you to have your moment first. 

“You.” Your voice was trembling. “You killed her.” 

The man didn’t acknowledge you, too lost in a haze of pain. Blood was dripping from his mouth, a couple of teeth missing from the force with which Sukuna had struck him. 

“You fucking killed her.” You raised your voice louder now, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You seemed almost aggravated that his attention wasn’t on you, and Sukuna figured he should be a good boyfriend and step in to fix that. 

He rose from his place on the bed and stood over the man, planting a foot hard on his shattered leg, peering down at him maliciously. His screaming grew louder, but Sukuna’s voice cut through it. “Hey, my girl’s talking to you. Listen to what she has to say or I’ll smash up the other leg.” 

His cries simmered down to a whimper, heterochromatic eyes turning to you. There was no glee on the man’s face anymore, none of the pathetic power he’d lorded over you just before Sukuna had arrived. 

All that was left was fear. 

“I hate you. I’ll always hate you. You’re the lowest person on this Earth. How dare you believe that you have a right to live while she lies dead,” your voice was surprisingly calm, and Sukuna found himself admiring how well you were holding it together. 

Perhaps he’d underestimated you.

You took a step closer to the man, crouching down in front of him, covering your breasts with your arms, as if suddenly aware of how exposed you still were. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know,” you said gently. “She spent her time helping people, doing good for the world. Now there’s one less good person on this earth, and more horrible men like you infecting it. You don’t deserve to be alive. I hope you suffer and you rot, and part of me wishes that I could ensure that by my own hands.” 

Sukuna took a deep breath, steeling his mind and trying to take himself away from what was unfolding before him, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t force a mental step back. To see you threaten someone so firmly, standing with such confidence over a person he’d battered and bruised, it was painfully attractive to him. 

His lust for you was high at the best of times, but to see you in a domain that he’d always considered as his and to find that you fit in just fine? Yeah, he liked that. 

“You know what they say-” the man rasped. “Kill a killer and the number of murderers in the world remains the same.” 

Sukuna bit back a laugh, amused at the statement because if he executed the guy, the number of murderers in the world really wouldn’t change. But you seemed mildly swayed, gaze filled with uncertainty. 

“Besides,” he huffed, seeming to forget Sukuna was there. “Are you really gonna act all big and tough now? Just- just a minute ago you were crying under me - fuckin’ begging for it. You probably g- get off to the violence - I know you like it when your boyfriend’s rough-”

There was another sickening crack as Sukuna stamped down on his other leg. He wasn’t sure how the man was aware of such things, but he wouldn’t have it discussed in such a crude manner either way. What went on between the two of you was sacred and he wouldn’t have it marred by the words of this freak. 

He’d expected you to yelp and rear back. Instead you stared up at him blankly, unphased by his actions. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, caught off guard by the resolve in your eyes, hidden behind layers of blood and exhaustion. You had no space for mercy towards this man, and Sukuna found himself with an idea. 

“Do you want to kill him, baby?” 

Horror registered in your expression for half a second, like you were shocked he’d suggest such a thing, only for something akin to interest to replace it when Sukuna held out the pistol to you, fingers brushing yours as he let the weight fall into your hands. 

“This fucker killed Shoko, he laid his hands on you, he would’ve killed you too once he’d had enough. He would’ve killed me if he had the chance, would’ve fucking slaughtered all of us. Sure, the police will arrest him, but one day he’ll be back out on the streets and then what? Didn’t your buddy Hiromi have some client who escaped from prison? Do you wanna take a chance on this asshole managing that?” 

“No,” you whispered, more tears staining your cheeks, fidgeting with the gun, as if it didn’t feel right in your hands. Sukuna took a step away from the man, circling behind you. His chest pressed against your back, and he gently steadied the gun within your grip, encasing your hands within his larger ones. 

“He’s probably done this before, probably ruined and killed some other group of poor girls. Do you wanna give him the chance to do this to someone else? To do this to you again? We both know the justice system is fucked.” 

“He deserves to die,” you murmured, hands clutching the gun tighter. 

“Even death is a mercy for this bastard.” 

Whether you were in your right mind, Sukuna wasn’t really sure, but he also didn’t want to pass up the opportunity you’d presented him. This was a bonding opportunity for the two of you, something that would bring you closer, keep you tied to each other in a manner so intimate that you’d never feel the same connection with anyone else. 

He wanted that, wanted you to pull the trigger. 

And he knew that somewhere within you, it was what you wanted too. You hated this man, he could feel the fear and anger rolling off you in waves. He deserved death, and giving that to him was all you could think about, held back only by morals that told you killing was wrong no matter the circumstance. 

Sukuna wanted to break through that assumption. 

He wanted to corrupt you, at least a little - wanted you to be able to see things from his point of view. You were his soulmate, it was only natural to let each other in on the interests you held dear, and dishing out justice and punishment was immensely dear to Sukuna. 

“We can do it together,” he whispered. 

Tentatively, your finger pressed against the trigger, guided by Sukuna’s steady hands. He did most of the work, purring compliments against your ear as he aimed the gun at the man who had transitioned from taunting to begging, spouting pathetic words which fell upon deaf ears. 

“I can do it for you, if you’d like, but it's up to you. He killed Shoko, don’t you owe it to her to make sure he faces the same fate?” 

“I do,” you whispered. Your hands started to tremble, and Sukuna kept them steady. 

“Breathe with me, baby.” 

You nodded, taking a deep breath, your eyes examining the pathetic form of Mahito for one last time before Sukuna pressed down on the finger positioned against the trigger. You didn’t yelp or jump as the gun fired, watching on in morbid fascination at the hole blooming with blood on the side of the man’s head, the light in his eyes immediately dissipating. 

There were no tears from you, no immediate regret, just silence as you let the gun clatter to the ground. Sukuna gave you a tight squeeze, keeping you there in his arms and drinking in the sweet smell of iron which permeated the room. 

It had been a terrible day for him and a worse one for you.

But there, with a dead man lying at your feet and your warm body in his arms, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt happier. 

— 

Things had passed in a blur after you and Sukuna had left Mahito in that room. 

The police had arrived and taken accounts, grimly explaining that this wasn’t the first time something similar had happened in the area. Apparently, Mahito and Jogo had been busy with scenes like this one over the last few years, and on this occasion their luck had finally run out. 

Jogo was still alive. Choso and Satoru hadn’t opted to use the gun, pulling the man off of Yuki and beating him until he was unconscious, tying him up and leaving him there in the bedroom for the police to deal with. You tried not to think too much about the blood seeping from Mahito upstairs, not completely sure you’d made the right decision - but with Sukuna’s comforting arm never lifting from your body you decided to allow yourself to be reassured. 

Sukuna took the blame anyway when the officers arrived, telling them he’d shot the man to defend you when he’d arrived on the scene, easily explaining that Mahito had a gun to your head and he wasn’t sure what else he could’ve done. Neither of them seemed bothered by his decision, with one of them even clapping him on the shoulder and commending him for his bravery in defending you. 

It's what they would’ve done. 

Of course, they mentioned there’d still be an investigation - it was part of due process and necessary for corroborating what had happened and putting Jogo away, but they told Sukuna not to worry too much about any repercussions for his actions. 

And that had been exactly how it went down over the few weeks that followed. 

There had been a quickly moving investigation, and your family had Hiromi come down to help with everything. Sukuna’s actions were deemed as necessary self-defense after a short stint of questioning over Mahito’s leg wounds, which Sukuna claimed had been inflicted after the death in a lapse of rightful anger. 

Whether that was believed or not, you weren’t sure, but there was a lot of sympathy towards all of you after what you’d gone through, which meant any suspicions towards the heroes that had saved you were swiftly dropped. 

Both you and Yuki were a mess after everything that had happened. When you’d first come downstairs to see Shoko’s body, already covered up with a sheet by the medics and police who’d arrived on the scene, you’d broken down anew and allowed Sukuna to cradle you as the reality of what had happened settled in. 

The whole thing felt like some nightmare - something that would happen to characters in a horror movie rather than to you. It was even worse than what had been done to Ryu, because at least you didn’t have to see the event happen firsthand with your ex. To watch the light disappear from Shoko’s eyes was something that would haunt you for the rest of your life. 

You’d felt no such pain seeing the same happen to Mahito, a sick sense of pleasure coiling within you at that spark dying within him. 

It was what he’d deserved. 

Yuki had looked worse for wear than you - her face and body were littered with bruises and cuts, and her eyes were red from crying. It was an odd look to see on her, unaccustomed to Yuki being anything but strong and steady. Once Sukuna had released you from his grasp, the two of you had clung to each other for a while, unsure if you were sobbing in relief from being alive or in sorrow for your loss. 

Maybe it was both. 

At the very least, you were glad Yuki was alive. 

Neither of you discussed what had happened to you when you’d been separated - it wasn’t something you’d speak about to anyone other than Sukuna, and you were certain your friend felt similarly. According to Sukuna, she’d been found by the boys before you had, so you hoped she hadn’t suffered any further than what you’d experienced. 

You didn’t have much chance to speak with her anyway, or any of the others for that matter, in the weeks that followed. Outside of dealings with the police to get everything wrapped up, you seldom even ventured outside. Yuki would text you occasionally, as would Satoru, checking in on how you were coping, but you had no desire to do anything or speak with anyone. 

All you could do was curl yourself up in blankets on Sukuna's bed and let him comfort you. 

It was foolish, the speed at which you’d fallen apart all over again. You’d worked so hard to pull yourself together after Ryu’s death - had faced so many mental challenges and overcome them all with the belief that there was more to life than horror and suffering. But right now you were struggling to see that light in any capacity. 

The only glimmer of hope came from Sukuna. 

He was the only thing keeping you going, the only thing you had to cling on to.

Through it all, his presence was unfaltering, his hands steadying you when you’d awaken screaming from a nightmare, distracting you with caring words and a touch that chased away the slimy memory of Mahito’s hands on your skin. 

“Do you think that I was an evil person in another life?” You’d asked him on one nightmare-riddled evening, tears dripping down your cheeks. 

The clock read 3am, and you could only just make Sukuna out in the light of the streetlamp not fully shut out by his blinds. It had been a couple of weeks since the event and your most recent nightmare had been worse than most. 

It had been you, completely stripped bare beneath Mahito, his touch searing into your skin. Instead of being in the bedroom, you’d been lying on the couch, your teary eyes meeting Shoko’s empty brown ones as you gave up beneath your attacker. You’d awoken not long after Shoko had opened her mouth to speak, black blood pouring from her mouth with a whole mess of spiders and cockroaches following, her voice cracked and deep as she’d said, “this is your fault.” 

Sukuna was rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up cutely. He was clearly trying to pick apart your statement, still half asleep and trying to recover from the panic that had gripped him when you’d awoken him with a scream. 

“Were you an evil person in another life?” He repeated your question slowly, like he was sure he’d misheard you. You weren’t sure if he was amused by these night terrors of yours - it was impacting his sleep as much as it was impacting yours, and you feared he’d grow tired of you acting like someone so broken. 

Not that you seemed to be able to help it. 

“Yeah…like- I don’t know…” You shrugged as you trailed off, wiping your cheeks. The shadows beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, and you pulled away from him, laying back down on the bed. It was best to let him go to sleep, if you still wanted to discuss the matter in the morning you could. 

It was wrong to rely on him too heavily.

There was silence for a moment before Sukuna laid back down beside you, sliding an arm beneath you and pulling you firmly into his grip. Your heart picked up as your face met his chest, basking in his familiar warmth as his hands soothed along your back and hair. 

“I don’t think you were ever an evil person. You’re good to a fault - sometimes it's even a little annoying.” If you were in a better mood maybe you would’ve sat up and pouted at him, but instead you remained quiet, hanging off his every word. “You’re gonna be okay, baby. I’m here and I’ll stay here for as long as you still want me. Evil if you were evil or whatever it is you’re worried about.” 

“You shouldn’t,” you mumbled quietly. Sukuna froze beside you, his hands stilling as his heartrate picked up a little. 

“What?” 

“You shouldn’t stay here. Someone’ll shoot you in the head or disembowel you one day.” 

“I told you before, I won’t let that happen,” Sukuna said firmly, grip tightening around you. You wanted to believe him, you really did, but you just weren’t sure you could anymore. Ryu never would’ve expected what happened to him, Shoko wouldn’t have expected her fate, it just happened. 

Not to come across as self-important, but you just had the sinking feeling that somehow it was your fault too. To witness two immensely violent tragedies on top of various other bits of bad luck, it just felt like you were being divinely punished. The last thing you wanted was for Sukuna to fall afoul of a similar fate. 

He deserved more than that. 

“How can you be so sure?” You peered up at him in the dim light, meeting his eyes. There was something in them which felt reluctant, like a few thoughts were flitting through his head and he couldn’t quite reach a conclusion on what he wished to divulge. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, stroking your hair once more. 

“I can’t be sure, I suppose. Nothing in life is sure. But you, this life I have with you, is all that really matters to me. I would climb back up from the pits of hell before I let anyone take that away from me. Believe me.” 

“But-” 

“And, if some fucker did get me, even if we could say for sure that it was due to you being cursed or afflicted with bad luck or whatever, it wouldn’t make a difference. I would still choose to be with you even if I knew the life would be short, even if I knew I’d meet a horrible fate. If you made me choose between a long life without you, or a short life at your side, I would always choose the latter.” 

You lay there in silence, heart pounding in your ears, struggling to truly comprehend the weight of his words. Sukuna’s love for you was no secret, but perhaps the depth of it was greater than you’d ever truly understood. 

There was no question that he’d die for you. Considering Mahito’s state you already knew that he’d kill for you. He wouldn’t be pushed away by some foul omen you felt hung over your head, he wouldn’t leave you alone to spiral in the darkness like the fate you’d resigned yourself to after Ryu’s demise. 

He was there, and his hands were on you.

And you were certain there was nothing that could part the two of you. 

a/n: tune in next time to find out the thing that could maybe part the two of them :)

sorry for how horrible I was to reader (and everyone) in this chapter :(

hope you enjoyed and thank you for the support! comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3

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You stared at him, and he stared back before finally looking away and continuing to walk. You remained where you were, refusing to move. After about six steps, he noticed the distance between you and turned around. 

“What.” 

You looked genuinely offended. “Sukuna.” 

“What,” he repeated.

“Pick it up.”

He glanced at the cup, then at you, and shrugged. “There are cleaners.”

Your mouth fell open, and you glanced around as though searching for confirmation that you had actually witnessed that. “Sukuna.” People nearby turned their heads. He looked mildly annoyed. 

“What.” 

You marched toward him. “Their job is not to pick up after fully grown men.”

“They get paid,” he said flatly.

Your jaw tightened, and you pressed a hand to your chest in disbelief. “I cannot believe you.” He watched you with a blank, unreadable expression. 

“Do you know who I am?” you demanded.

“Unfortunately.”

You gasped. “I run the environmental club.”

“scary.”

“I organised campus clean‑up day.”

“Horrific.”

“I made you come.”

“You tricked me.”

“...Ryomen, seriously.”

His eye twitched. You drew in a slow breath and lowered your voice, trying to stay calm. “Pick it up.”

He crossed his arms like a stubborn brat, refusing with a firm, “No.”

Your eyes widened, and you became painfully aware of the people listening. You held his gaze for several seconds, feeling the hurt settle deeper, then nodded once. “Fine.”

You turned and walked away. Sukuna blinked, confused. “Where are you going.”

“Nowhere.”

Suspicion edged into his tone as he followed you. “What does that mean.”

You did not answer; instead, your replies became short, clipped: “Mhm.” “Okay.” “Cool.”

He narrowed his eyes. You never acted like this. You usually annoyed him on purpose, and the sudden quiet distance unsettled him far more than he expected.

Several minutes passed before you finally sat down on a bench. He stopped in front of you, watching you closely. “You're sulking.”

You lifted your gaze. “No.”

He continued staring. “You’re upset.”

“No.”

A long pause settled between you.

“You are.”

You looked away. “I just don’t like it.”

His expression shifted slightly. You fiddled with your sleeve, trying to steady your voice. “It feels stupid to say out loud.”

He stayed silent, waiting.

“My parents always made us clean up after ourselves,” you said softly. “I know one cup isn’t the end of the world. People think that. Everyone does, really. They don’t realise it adds up. It always adds up.”

Your voice wavered. “I care about this. It matters to me. It feels awful when someone I care about treats it like nothing.”

His face remained unreadable, which only made your stomach twist. You looked down, suddenly self‑conscious. “Forget it.”

Sukuna watched you for a moment before he sighed, turned, and walked away. Your face fell immediately, your chest tightening as you watched his figure grow smaller. The hurt surprised you with its sharpness. You stared at the ground, feeling foolish for caring so deeply about something he clearly did not value.

Thirty seconds later, heavy footsteps approached again. You looked up to find Sukuna standing in front of you, holding the cup- and three other random pieces of rubbish.

You stared at him, unable to form a single coherent thought. He looked irritated, as if this entire situation inconvenienced him. “Happy.”

“What,” you whispered.

“There wasn’t a bin nearby,” he muttered, pushing the cup toward you.

Your eyes widened. “You went back.”

“It took twenty seconds.”

You stared at him, then noticed the extra rubbish in his hand. You lifted a hand to point at it. “What is that?”

“There was more.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again, because your brain needed a moment to process what you were seeing. “You picked up other rubbish.”

He immediately grew defensive. “Do not make a thing out of it.”

Your eyes widened even further, and something warm and overwhelming rushed through your chest. This was Sukuna. The Sukuna. Six‑foot‑something, built like a wall, and covered in tattoos. The same man who never cared about anyone or anything, who most people openly called a dick and who you occasionally agreed was one.

Yet he had gone back.

He had picked up the cup.

He had picked up other rubbish.

He had done it because you cared.

Your environmental‑club‑president heart practically launched itself into orbit.

You rose slowly to your feet, stunned and a little breathless, because the sight of him standing there with a handful of trash felt more intimate than any romantic gesture you had ever experienced. For a ridiculous second, you genuinely wondered if this was what it felt like to fall in love. You even felt the faint, absurd urge to propose on the spot.

He looked alarmed. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

You smiled far too brightly. “Oh my gosh.”

His eyes narrowed. “No.”

You grabbed both his hands. “No, but this is huge.”

He tried to pull away. “Stop.”

“You voluntarily cleaned.”

“I picked up garbage.”

“Sukuna.”

His face warmed noticeably, and your emotional expression did not help. “This is character development.”

His eye twitched. “You’re acting like I found religion.”

You squeezed his hands. “I’m proud of you.”

He froze, his ears turning faintly pink. “Stop talking.”

You grinned and reached into your bag, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. He stared at it suspiciously. “What is that.”

You unfolded it. Environmental Club Sign‑Up Sheet.

He looked horrified.

“Sooo…” you said sweetly.

He immediately turned and walked away. “No.”

“We meet Wednesdays.”

“No.”

“We have matching shirts.”

“Kill me.”

“We’re planting native species next week.”

“No.”

You followed him with a smile. He suddenly stopped, looked down, and let the sign‑up sheet fall to the ground.

You gasped.

He looked at you with a tiny, smug smile. “Oops.”

You stared at him. He stared back. Eventually, he sighed, bent down, picked it up again, and continued walking.

Your eyes softened. You stepped closer and quietly took his hand, prompting him to glance down. “What.”

You shrugged. “Thank you.”

He looked away. “Whatever.”

A few seconds later, his hand squeezed yours back, small and subtle. When you passed a bin, he tossed his rubbish into it with dramatic flair and looked at you.

You clapped immediately, earning an offended glare. “I hate you.”

You beamed. “No you don’t.”

He didn’t respond, although he did make sure his receipt went into the bin as well.

That’s all it had taken. You’d slipped out back to one of the private booths as soon as your number was over. Then came the usual - a few quick lines tapped out over the glass table, his calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. It had hit you pretty hard, fast. And all you could really recall before you were shoved to the floor was the way the colored beams of light had caught over the wide stretch of his grin, and that little pink scar on his lip you always wanted to lick.

That’s how you’d found yourself caged between his muscled thighs, easing his thick cock out of his slacks. Your knees pressed into the carpet, stained with spilled drinks, powder, and who knew what - your body buzzing high, with a sticky need pulsing between your thighs.

It had been an hour since you’d sauntered off stage, and your legs were already aching, burned raw from the friction of the cheap carpet beneath them. The thrum of music from outside the booth did little to mask the sheer amount of noise you were making - sinful moans around a wet slurping gargle that was frankly obscene. Toji watched you through half lidded eyes, at the shape of your head bobbing, at the mix of spit and cum bubbling out from between your lips and slipping down your chin.

You were a mess. You were making a mess. But the sweet rush through your veins and the pounding of the bass in your chest made it difficult for you to care. Toji was equally unperturbed, if anything you thought he got harder on your tongue when he watched you open your jaw, stick your tongue out and lift your head back until he sprung free with a slick ‘pop’.

You sat back on your heels, one platform stiletto long since slipped from your foot and discarded somewhere behind you on the raggedy carpet of the booth. You licked your lips as if that would make a difference to the lipstick smeared halfway up your cheek, glossed with his pre-cum and your own spit. You watched your hand creep up through the swirling haze of your vision, capturing his cock in a sloppy pump as you leaned over and lowered your face once again to the little glass table beside you.

Without a word, Toji’s hand slid over the armrest of the lounge down to the tabletop, and he cut another paper thin line from the ivory powder sprinkled there with a sleek black credit card. He chuckled, a deep lazy rumble, and you felt your heart race a little as you ran your nose along the tabletop, watching your own reflection pulse over the glossy surface in time with the pounding bass.

You caught his gaze when you straightened up, sniffing, spare hand rubbing at your nose. You took a moment just to watch him, watch the steady rise and fall of his broad chest, the thin silver chain slipping down between the low cut of his button up. The veins pulsing over his toned forearm and the pale wisps of scarring painting his knuckles. His thick thighs spread, dark slacks unzipped and tugged open. The way your acrylic nails were slick and sticky, threaded with beads of pre as you fisted his cock. He watched you in return, that deep green swirling with something sharp and hungry in the low light.

You blinked slowly, licked your lips again before you craned your head forward and pressed a sultry kiss to the head of his cock. Then you peered up to catch the way the stray beams of light bounced off his clenching jaw, a little dizzy as an obscene string of saliva connected you to his length for a second before it split.

With a soft moan, you tilted your head until his length slapped against your cheekbone, face angled to press little kitten licks along the base. You nosed along leisurely before you pressed your tongue flat and carved a hot path up the under side to the tip, following the curve of the vein pulsing there. When you reached the top you rolled your tongue, suckling a little more with each sloppy kiss. Toji groaned, tucked another section of your hair into the half baked ponytail he was forming behind your head.

“Nothin’ going on in that pretty little head, huh? Just full’a cock and blow, right?” He rumbled, deep voice enough on its own to send a spatter of goosebumps cascading over your skin.

In the same motion that you nodded, you took his length back into your mouth, jaw slack and cheeks hollowed, bobbing in a slow sucking rhythm.

“Yeah…” He groaned, bucking his hips lazily to meet you. “You fuckin’ love it, don’tcha baby?”

Before you could nod again in reply, you heard it, just below the thumping techno track hammering in the distance. A quiet ‘tap tap tap’, like the drip of a leaky faucet. When you opened your eyes again, through the blur of your vision you registered a smear of something dark over his lower belly, abs stained under the pulsing lights.

“Oh, princess.” He cooed, sounding deceptively concerned. “Think you’ve had enough, hm?”

A big hand cupped your chin, grasped between his fingers as he swiped a thumb over your lip, and the digit came away smeared with red. It was then that you realized that it was blood staining you both, that your nose was bleeding. You sniffed a little, pouting.

Maybe it was the copious amount of coke you’d snorted, or the lukewarm shots you’d taken before you’d strutted out on stage, but you felt your brows furrow on the numb expanse of your face. A little spark of annoyance flared inside your chest at having been interrupted. Instead of stopping, you shook your head loose from his grip and dropped down to mouth determinedly at this cock again. When your tongue hit his skin, blood sizzled on your taste-buds, mixed with the salted musk of sweat. In that moment you thought it might have been the best thing you’d ever tasted.

Before long you were throating him again, so deeply that your nose tickled the dark swirl of hair at his base. Toji made a deep satisfied sound above you that eased into a rumbled chuckle, entirely un-phased by the blood dribbling from your nose and leaking onto his cock. As you sucked, you felt a big hand card through the sweat soaked mess of your hair.

“My greedy fuckin’ girl…” He purred, fingers tightening around a wad of your hair so he could guide your sloppy sucking. “Rather bleed out than take my cock outta your mouth for one whole minute, huh?”

You thought you went to lift your head, but the iron grip of his hand held you firmly in place, and you found yourself shoved down until you gagged. Your throat stuffed so full that tears sprang at the edges of your eyes, catching the beams of light alongside the smeared glitter of your eye shadow.

As you gargled out a choked whining sound, you realized that he’d been speaking to you for the past few minutes. And when you finally blinked up at him through your teary lashes, he smiled down at you - a mean, pointed look.

“Hear that sweetheart? You’ve blown through nearly half my supply just tonight.”

He was petting at you then, like you were a stray animal gone lame, knuckles trailing over your sticky cheek.

“Better be a good girl and make it up to me, hm?”

You found that your head was nodding, and in the next flutter of your lashes the hand tugging at your hair was gone. Instead his fingers were curled around the nape of your neck. The hold was gentle, but firm enough that the underlying threat was clear. He was giving you a tiny taste of the violence you knew he was capable of. You’d stumbled into the wrong room of his warehouse enough times to know that the threat wasn’t baseless. Head fuzzy, limbs buzzing, much too high to remember what color he’d told you the bathroom door was. You’d spun around and left as swiftly as you’d entered when your vision had finally focused, the sight within making your stomach churn. Car batteries and kiddie pools, water turned to cherry punch around some poor pushers limp ankles.

Released from his iron grip, you slid back a little and resumed your own indulgent rhythm. Hollowing your cheeks and slipping your tongue out on each lowered bob of your head to lick down the length you couldn’t quite fit inside, where your lipstick stained his cock in a sticky ring at the base. Lapping at his balls where dribbles of your spit were turning them slippery.

Suddenly you straightened up, his cock slipping from your slack jaw as you tilted your head limply toward the side table.

“More ‘ji, cut me one more, please gimme one more, jus’ one more…” You slurred, fingering absentmindedly at the drool dribbling down your chin, glassy eyes locked on the little white peaks painting the glass.

Then his thumb was pressed to your nostril, and the powder resting on the pad of his finger was beginning to turn to paste where it had mixed with your blood. You sniffed anyways, nosing at his thumb, and you heard him laugh cruelly above you.

“You’re down so fuckin’ bad for it baby, do you even know where you are right now?” He teased, voice lined thick with mocking like he just couldn’t believe you, as if he hadn’t watched the same filthy scene play out almost every time he visited the club.

Truthfully, you didn’t. Or maybe it just didn’t matter anymore. Not when he was holding you by the nape so tightly you could feel it start to bruise. Not when you couldn’t feel your face, or your throat for that matter. Not when you felt this fucking good.

“S’alright princess, don’t need to think when you’re with me.” He soothed, spare hand slipping a stray strand of sticky hair back behind your ear. “Just keep throatin’ it. Yeah, just like that.”

His hand was gripping your hair again, thick fingers laced tight as he fucked your face sloppily. Through the haze you felt his other thumb slip beneath the stretch of your upper lip, pad pressed to teeth, rubbing the remnants of powder into your gums. You moaned around his length, feeling the press of his thumb fade into a tingling pleasant numbness.

Your head was buzzing, nose rubbed raw, and you let your eyes flutter closed, relaxed into his grip. Focusing instead on the way he felt inside you - cock stuffed so deep in your throat that you weren’t even sure how you were still breathing, hell, maybe you weren’t.

When he came it was sudden, interrupting your mindless sucking with a burst of thick heat that flooded your throat. Or maybe you were just so lost in the rhythm, the taste of him so heavy and lush on your tongue, that you’d forgotten why you were even doing it in the first place.

Toji was grunting above you regardless, hips grinding until he hit the back of your throat, muttering a string of filthy curses around your name as he pulsed thick salty ropes over your tongue.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it baby, such a good fuckin’ girl takin’ my cum.”

You swallowed mindlessly around him, and when he pulled himself from your lips, still pulsing, you stuck your tongue out to catch the drooling spurts. Toji gazed down at you with a hazy, pleased look as he painted your face. Watching his milky cum pool on the valley of your curved tongue.

You looked utterly wrecked beneath him. Eyes glossy and half-lidded, dark eye shadow tracked down your cheeks in blackened tears. Lipstick smeared over your mouth. Nose coated in a peppermint swirl of white and red, and his cum smeared over it all - laced over your wonky lashes like a sticky string of pearls. It was filthy, truly.

But despite it all he still leaned down to press a deceptively sweet kiss to your sweat soaked forehead anyway, whispering gently into your ear as he patted at your cheek.

“Swallow, princess.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh fuck no,” you turn and grab for your purse, one hand on the door knob. “I am not your level of freak, Sukuna.”

“No, you’re a perfect girl for me,” you tense again, hands clutching the purse and knob for dear life, pulse fluttering as your body ebbs and flows with him. “You’re going to be, at least, when you listen.”

“You can’t be serious,” you set the purse down and look back, Sukuna’s dead serious though, eyes dilated, a firm set to plump lips, tapping his thigh just a bit. “You want me to crawl?”

“I want you to listen, brat, can you?” You worry your lower lip, walking instead, until he halts you with a hand up. “Knees, show me you can listen.”

“I better get some good head for this,” you almost make him laugh, you’re so fucking cute when you sink to your knees, scooting closer on the suite floor, until you’re between his spread thighs. “There, good enough?”

“You’re listening,” he brushes your hair back again, your thighs press together with pressure, with ache and need, gasping out from the soothing touch. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. “Sukuna…”

“You are,” your lip trembles, as he keeps brushing your hair back, leaning forward just a bit, your head on his lap now. “And your mom is a jealous bitch.”

“You just want another blow job,” you mumble, but his words hit their mark, your hands gripping his thighs over the material, coming even closer.

“You’re going to make me proud tonight, yeah?”

Fuck.

You take a breath, nodding and letting him stroke your hair some more, soothingly, whispering your name softly, you look up at him when he cups your cheek, exhaling. “You’re being nice.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck you nice,” he leans forward, tilting your chin up with two fingers now, studying you. “You want me to fuck you dumb, don’t you? So you can’t think?”

“Yes,” you usually have some attitude to your voice, but he’s doing too much, it’s what you need, what you crave. “I want it.”

“Look at you,” he eases you up by your throat almost gently, long tattooed hand wrapping it, making you whine out. “Stand up and take your top off.”

“You’re being bossy tonight, but I’m horny enough to go with it,” he just studies you far too seriously, you tremble when you slip up your top, throwing it on the floor behind you, baring yourself aside from a lacy bra. “What next, dom daddy huh?”

He should chuckle, but you don’t need that – he can see what you need and it’s glaringly apparent. He leans forward, grabbing his glass of whiskey off the little side table, putting it to his lips, eyes darkening as he sits back and watches you. “Take the bra off, lemme see those pretty tits without it.”

You reach around to your back, unhooking the clasps, letting it fall down to your ankles, breasts bouncing free – ones he barely saw that night. His hands tighten down on the glass, his heart racing at the sight of how fucking pretty they are, your nipples just begging to be kissed, sucked, bitten.

“I’m gonna leave those bruised,” he says softly, sipping his drink again like nothing happened, looking at your flushed cheeks and glittery eyes. “I’m gonna leave you so sore you can’t sit, so full of my cum you have it dripping out at that wedding.”

You whine out and step forward, and he holds up a hand, frustrating you further. “Sukuna, just fuck me.”

“We’ll get there,” you roll your eyes and he finally smirks a bit behind his glass. “Has no one ever told you what to do?”

“No one, you’re lucky your dick is so big, or I’d bounce out of here,” you cross your arms a bit over your body.

“Arms down, take off the skirt.”

You feel a little exposed when you do that, just left in a pair of lacy panties and nothing else, but you keep your arms down, just standing there as he downs the rest of his whiskey, adam’s apple bobbing. You’ve never felt just so naked than in that moment, as his eyes devour you and damn near worshiping you, he sets the glass down with a gentle clip, just a bit spilling down his chin.

“Come clean me up, pretty little slut,” you scoff, but you’re walking towards him, cupping his face and leaning down, lapping at his jaw with your tongue and tasting the sweet bourbon, exhaling when his big hands grip your bare waist. “Let me see you.”

You’re quiet, it’s not like you, but you want to listen to him, want him to tell you what to do, to praise you when you listen, which he does by running his hands up to your waist, gripping under your breasts. He moans, kissing across each one hungrily, until he’s sucking a nipple into his mouth, tugging you between his spread thighs.

“Mnh!” Your hands entangle in his locks now, while he guides you to sit on his thigh, straddling it – your cunt dripping against the cotton gusset of those panties, making them sticky against your cunt. You shift, so needy, it feels too good.

“Go ahead, hump it like a desperate little whore,” his words give you fucking whiplash. “Tits so perfect.”

“Are y-you bipolar or fucking insane?” You manage to whisper, earning a sharp smack to your thigh. “Ah!”

“Both,” he admits, voice husky. His eyes are dangerous when they look up at you again, tongue long while it laps your puffy nipple. “Are you asking me if I’m mentally damaged like you?”

“Maybe,” you’re moving without consciously thinking, rolling your hips and gasping out. “I’m not doing this because you said so.”

“Of course you are,” you glare again, but you’re lost in how good his thigh feels. “Like a desperate bitch in heat.”

You smack the fuck out of Sukuna’s cheek.

He grins.

He is psychotic.

“Cute,” he murmurs, gripping your wrist and twisting it behind your back, standing with you like that and his other arm lifting you. He walks behind you now, guiding you to the bed. “Go on, be a good girl and get on your hands and knees.”

“Call me a bitch again and I’ll bite your dick,” he chuckles, but it’s a dark sound, lips on your ear as his lips brush your ear.

“On the bed.”

You crawl onto it, trembling and aching, he exhales at the sight of you like this, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Panties down.”

“You’re annoying, did you do this with mom?” You taunt, slipping them down your thighs and peering back at him, lips parted with desire, seeing him shirtless now – it’s been years, you were barely out of high school when he dated her.

“No,” his soft answer surprises you, his shirt falling and revealing those chiseled muscles, cut completely, strong pecs and thick muscled biceps with black tattoos following the angles of his body. Your cunt is visibly soaked, he moans at the sight of it, undoing his belt. “She wasn’t good for me, but you are, hmm?”

“You love to hit my issues,” you bury your face against the blanket, hearing the click of the metal buckle, the weight of it falling and landing on the soft carpet below. “Next you’ll tell me to call you 'daddy.'”

“You probably will, but just because you’re fucked up,” you scoff, going to push up on your hands, when he slides two fingers down your dripping slit, and shoves your head back down into the mattress. “Don’t worry, I love how fucked up you are.”

“Ah!” He’s shoved two thick long fingers, nails painted black but blunt as not to hurt you, instead you just feel all the pressure, whining out and soaking his hand, thighs trembling violently. “Ngh…”

“You’re soaked already, huh? Why don’t you show me how much you can really arch that ass, brat,” he smacks each ass cheek hard, pressing up on your spot and blinding you with the intensity. “Listen and be good.”

You arch up high, pressing your hips up, earning his groan of satisfaction, as he starts working you with two fingers, you feel the heaviness of his thick cock hot against your thigh. He presses his lips between your shoulder blades, trailing hot lips across your skin, burning it, making you grip his fingers tighter.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he whispers out, biting at your shoulder as he sinks his fingers deeper into your cunt, so long they almost hit your cervix, so intense you feel that pressure. “Gonna ruin you for anyone, how about that? No one will make you fucking squirt, you’ll just picture me.”

“Psycho,” he chuckles again, but you’re arching higher, pressing your hips back against his fingers, desperate for more of it, turning your face to meet his ruby red gaze. “You’re the one who’s gonna be ruined, can’t handle my pussy can you?”

He scoffs, curling his fingers inside you and pressing that spot over and over, scissoring them in and out of your cunt. “So fucking messy, hear how loud your needy cunt is?”

“Then fuck me already!” His laugh is gonna make you lose it, your hands clinging to the blankets. “God, put it in.”

“We’ll get there,” he’s yanked his fingers out now, running them up and down your slit, teeth biting even harder on your neck, groaning as he feels your slick start to just drool out of your hole, spreading you wide. “Fuck, look at your pretty cunt, ass arched for me.”

You’re shivering and twitching as he toys with you, before he starts scissoring them so fast you can’t take it, gasping and screaming out against the blankets your cheek is pressed against, shaking with need – deep and hot. “Sukuna… will you just fuck me, god…”

 “Always so fucking mouthy,” he’s not stopping at all, one big hand pressing the small of your back, his heavy weight on you, fingers relentless as you feel so much pressure you can’t take it. “Gonna squirt all over the bed, aren’t ya? Your mom never did that you know, guess her daughter is sluttier than her.”

“Fuck off,” you’re so into it that it’s concerning, and he’s groaning as he feels gummy walls flutter, so he grins, honing in on it.

“Prettier.”

“Psycho...” You’re eating it up, the mix of his praise with his rough fingers, the pads of them hitting that spongy spot over and over, your head falls back, shaking with the need he’s building.

“Tighter,” you grip him in response as he leaks precum in messy white strings down to the bed beneath you both, a hand landing on one side of your face as he arches his forearm just so. “Go ahead, make a fuckin’ mess, you want to don’t you? Do better than she does.”

“You’re a dick, I swear I hate you… ah!” You’re about to lose all your sense the way he talks, his mean whisper in your ear tickling the skin, heavy body leaned over your back, working relentlessly and mean in your hole.

“You are better, already,” you curse him internally, looking at him with lidded eyes as he kisses up your neck.

“Please…”

“Please what? Tell me what you want, slutty little brat.”

“You,” you gasp, arching your back higher, so much your spine curves perfectly, ass pressing against him, the sounds of his fingers fucking filthy. “I w-want you.”

“Then cum.”

“Not l-listening to you - ngh!” Sukuna curls them meanly, and you’re doing just as he said, squirting and making a mess, pouring down his hand, the sight so perfect he audibly groans. “F-fuck, fuck, fuuuck…”

It’s the only word you can come up with, eyes rolled back in your skull, struggling to cling to anything with how sensitive you are. Sukuna moves his fingers still, but slower, like he wants to elicit every drop.

“You love hearing how much better you are than her,” his words make you angry, teeth sinking into your neck with his sharp ass canines, still massaging that spot when he pulls back, licking the teeth indentations and making you jerk. “Damaged little girl, you made such a mess again.”

“Mnh…” You’re done arguing, you just want his cock inside you. “In me, please…. Please…”

“Beggin’ for me? Ah, what a good girl,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers slowly, knowing how much you love it now, using it sadistically. The noise of his thick fingers pulling out of your suctioned little hole are messy, he looks at them and sees them coated, moaning. “Look at that.”

He tugs your head up by the nape of your neck, cupping your face, seeing the marks from the bed and tears down your cheeks. You’re so pretty like that it makes him fucking ache in ways he sure isn’t going to admit or acknowledge fully just yet, how can he even articulate how badly he wants you, needs you? 

He wants you to feel perfect.

“Taste how sweet your pussy is,” he murmurs, putting his fingertips to your lips, running them over until they’re glossy. “You know you wanna listen t’me, huh? Open.”

You open eagerly, a woman who’s not been submissive a day in your life, no you ride dick, you suck it and relish on making men cum quick, yet right now you just want to let him rail every thought out of your head. You suck your mess off his fingers, dripping with gossamer strands of slick, whining out as his eyelids lower, and you feel his heavy, thick cock against your back.

“That’s it, you’re listening so well,” he cooes those words, knowing they’re making their mark, he kisses your cunt off you with messy strokes of his tongue, groaning and dragging you against him, cock fucking between your thighs, barely brushing up and down your slit. “God, I could cum like this.”

“N-no, in me…” He sighs, kissing you once more, swapping your flavor across your taste-buds.

“You’ve been good, so I’ll give it to you, greedy little slut,” you’re shaking in need when he presses you forward again. “You can arch more, c'mon.”

“Want me to break my spine!? J-just put your dick in me…” You grumble, he’s exhaling as he spreads your cheeks, your puffy lips drooling and already twitching, waiting for him inside you.

“Just like that,” Sukuna grips your hips, his thumbs digging into the meat of your flesh as he presses the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance, sucking him in already. He groans, pressing forward slowly, inch by inch like he wants to just torture you, stretching you wide. “You feel s’good grippin’ me like that, like you’re trying to fucking milk me.”

You gasp out – already so sensitive from squirting, from his fingers stretching you, now he is easing more and more inside you, when you want all of him. “More, f-fuck…”

“Cunt is slutty,” he huffs, spreading your ass cheeks again to eye that puckered tiny hole right above where his cock is stretching you out, groaning softly. “Take more if you want it, huh?”

You listen, pressing back against him, your eyes squeezed shut as arousal slips down your legs, making his heavy balls thwap with every stroke. He spits a stripe of bubbly saliva down to your ass, slipping his thumb and making you tense, he chuckles all husky, pressing in deeper, and it feels too fucking good, him sinking deeper, your head falls back as you scream out.

“That’s something I didn’t do with mommy dearest,” he murmurs, you breathlessly giggle, looking back over your shoulder, while his cock starts to move inside your walls, the thumb stretching your other hole with a sweet burn.

“Stop making me like you,” your whisper earns his smirk again. “You’re not getting in there.”

“I’d ruin this little hole,” he muses, sinking more and more of that cock through your small little cunt, watching how pretty it looks as it disappears inside of you, exhaling. “Look at you.”

His words hit, even with the strokes going a little faster, he’s still not shoving it all, making you cry out – “more” – and that’s when Sukuna gives it to you.

“Yeah, need me to bottom out, bratty little slut?” He is filling you completely now, you scream hoarsely, as he starts pressing against your cervix, one hand on your hip, the other entangled in your hair. “Beg me to move then.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll stay right here.” You hate his dumb ass power play, his push and pull, addictive like the cock splitting your drippy wet cunt open. “Aw, you’re so cute, wiggling around like that.”

“Sukuna!”

“Beg,” he leans low, tugging your head up now, buried deep inside you but completely unmoving, his breath hot against your neck. “Beg for me to ruin your pretty little cunt.”

You huff, and you hate his dumb grin and slutty raised eyebrows, you want to smack his face as much as you want his cock to ruin you, shaking your head instead, earning a sharp thrust that hurts. You’re arching and trying to make him move, but he’s got you pinned down, arms wrapped so tightly you can’t breathe.

“Little brat, needed to learn manners, but mom was too much of a bitch, huh?” You’re nodding desperately, letting Sukuna take you over, your mind, body, cunt all reacting to him in an insanity. “Beg.”

“Please…” You say it through gritted teeth, his satisfied groan echoes as he kisses you, wrapping all around you even tighter.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pulling back slowly before thrusting deep again, drawing a sharp cry from your swollen lips, your nails pressing into his thighs as he fucks you up on his knees, shoving you back down. “Like you’re made for it.”

Sukuna’s hands slide up your back, pressing you down into the mattress hard again, arching your spine impossibly higher to where you feel it’ll break. His thrusts grow harder, deeper, each one making you weak, dizzy, shaking as he moves with his hips slamming, the smacks and wet noises mingling with cries muffled against the soft blankets.

“Takin’ me better than she could.”

The mention of her sends a jolt through you, so sharp and filthy. You are whimpering, clenching around his thick invasion, wanting more. His fingers tighten on your hips, leaning over you, the weight pressing you down. He wraps a hand around your throat, turning your chin to face him now, eyes gone completely black, his cheeks flushed with the same shade as his hair.

“I’ll fuck every insecurity away,” he whispers, and that’s when it’s too much, his big hand choking gently, tilting you up for a kiss, prone over you now. It’s so intimate it takes your breath, your other hand entwining under his as he moves his cock in your gummy walls. “Shouldn’t have any, fuck her for that.”

“You are fucking me,” he smirks and you giggle, tears pricking your eyes from pleasure and something deep you don’t want to admit. “What would she say?”

“Something bitchy, but I’d let her know you’re tighter, wetter, prettier –” You start shattering then, and he sucks in a breath, orgasm so intense it’s pushing him over the edge, watching your face contort in pleasure. His hand tightens just a bit, kissing and whispering against your lips. “Damaged little thing.”

“Mnh…” You’re lost now, pushed off the edge, he’s dragging his cock head against your spot again, eliciting more and more pleasure, pulsing inside you.

“Gonna cum so deep, fill you all up, slutty little girl she wants it so bad, to be filled by me huh?”

You’re done lying, you just nod and Sukuna pumps you full as promised, so much it’s already falling out, his groans drank by your lips, choking you so hard you’re hardly able to keep conscious. Huge hands on a delicate neck, thick lengthy cock ruining your little hole, he’s just so big everywhere, even his body on you.

“Took all that cum, huh?” He’s taunting you later when you’re slumped over, and he’s stroking your spine gently, pressing kisses up sweat soaked skin. “Think you gripped me more when I brought her up.”

You don’t say anything, not when he tugs you into his hold even though you were going to try to leave, you instead let him hold you, mind racing, it feels too good in his arms, dripping his cum out in trickles down a muscled thigh, rough hands seemingly gentle and soothing.

“You did such a good job for me,” he says, maybe to be sexy or tease, but it’s overwhelming, as you bury your face, tears slipping.

You’re crying then, and rather than make fun of you as you expect, he lets you, holding you tight and kissing your lips, and you realize then it’s not just sex, as much as you fucking wish it was. When he’s holding you and you’re trying to catch your breath, and soon you’re curled next to him, eyes heavy, cheek resting on his hot chest with his slow, thudding heartbeat.

"Too much?" He asks then, concern in his gaze, but you shake your head.

"No. Not at all..." You lean up just a bit, fingers idly moving across his chest. "It was just intense."

"Yeah..." He breathes out those soft words, unsure of what too say, swiping your tears and studying you.

"I should go,” you yawn and say, eyes heavy. Sukuna is used to telling women to leave or at least not caring if they do. “I have a bunch of shit to do tomorrow, and the bachelorette party.”

“Yeah, gonna have some male stripper on you?” You look up, he swipes at dried up tears now. “Little crybaby.”

“Shut up,” you lean up a bit, hair falling like a curtain down the side of your face, exhaling as you drink in the sight of him. “Would you be mad if I did?”

“Nah, why would I be?” He’s tense though, your eyes locked on each other, breaths mingling together – his whiskey, yours something sweet he can’t quite place. It’s just you.

He’d hate someone on you.

“Well I’ll get a good lap dance then,” you’re so mean to him, really, he scowls as you giggle. “Maybe I’ll get drunk, it’s kinda my M.O.”

“Yeah, fuck what they think,” he brushes a hand through your locks now, carefully studying you.

“That’s sweet?”

“You’re worse than they know.”

“Sukuna!” He’s chuckling now, dragging you down for a kiss, moaning as you bite the fuck out of his lower lip, his cock already twitching, still sticky from you.

“You are,” his big hand slips down the curve of your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You’re fucking your ‘almost former stepdad’ you know.”

“Almost former,” you snort, bulling back and seeing his lower lip is swollen. “I should do worse, fuck an actual one.”

“Yeah, you’re slacking really as the family disappointment,” he teases, and suddenly it’s quiet. “I could give tips.”

You blink in confusion, and watch as Sukuna’s jaw sets a bit, his hard body tensing. “You? Don’t you run the family company and do insane business? Like you’re rich.”

“Yeah, I’m rich…” the tone in his voice is clear, your heart aches for him in that moment, you know it’s dangerous to care for something that is so fleeting. “Doesn’t mean I’m not also a family disappointment.”

“Well… forget this okay?”

“Forget what, brat?”

You cup his face gently, leaning low, lips brushing against his, big hands wrap your waist tightly. “You’re far from disappointing, in any way at all, the opposite of it.”

It’s quiet, the two of you looking at each other, vulnerable and open, like you both have opened some small little part of your damaged souls. He says nothing in response, just eyeing you instead, tugging you against his hot body until you feel so overheated, so dizzy and weak, every inch of you reacting to him.

“Want me to forget you saying that?” His voice is hoarse and rough, you look down then, sighing and shaking your head.

“No, just forget I’m being nice, and I’ll forget you are…”

“Nice huh? Just wrecked your cunt,” you flush at that, glaring again. “There’s the mean little scowl.”

“I need to go…”

“No.”

“No!?” He yanks you on him now, your hands land on his chest, thighs straddling his lower abdomen, pressing against either side as you drip cum, it pools down under his belly button, slick against the soft pink hair until it’s shimmering and flat. “Sukuna, I should get back.”

“Not done with you,” he lifts you like you’re nothing, lining his tip up with your sore hole, using all his cum sliding out to press in with ease, but you cry out at the sharp sting, walls rubbed raw already. “Can’t take another round, huh?”

“I c-can,” you never back down from a challenge, he can’t help but smirk as you try to take him, and he watches his veiny cock split you apart, bulging your tummy with his size. He groans at the sight, lifting you up and down, making your head fall forward, arms shaking. “Ngh!”

“Can’t even move? Pathetic little girl,” he’s murmuring it like a caress, lifting and dragging you down until he bottoms out as much as he can, you’re gushing and clenching him, taking shaky little breaths that come out in pants. “Need me to use you like a toy, a cocksleeve huh? Fuck doll, that’s what you are.”

“Use me,” he moans as you whisper it.

“Lean forward.” You effortlessly obey, making him smirk, as he puts the flats of his feet on the mattress and slams up, grabbing your ass and using you. “Listening finally.”

“Fuck off…” He chuckles, but you’re both whimpering when he moves. “Oh… Sukuna…”

God when you say his name he loses it.

“That’s it, lemme use you till I cum,” he’s groaning out, while you cling to his neck, kissing your lips brutal just like his grip on your ass, bruising and leaving fingerprints while his cock wrecks your sore cunt. “Can’t help yourself, so cock thirsty, huh?”

“Sh-shut up - ah!” Sukuna slams his cock deep, you whimper at the pain and pleasure of nine inches splitting you open, burying your face against his neck as he just grins psychotically.

That’s when the door knocks.

“Shit…” You curse, panicking, but he drags you back down, your eyes narrow at  him. “Let go, what if it’s-”

“Ryo…”

It’s your mom.

“Shit, shit, shit…” He’s grumbling now, shoving up one more time, smirking at your fucked out face. “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“I’m kinda tired…” He manages not to groan, still fucking into your cunt, hole gripping him so tightly it’s already milking him for his cum, pumping hot and throbbing, while white streaks are already slipping down.

“Just a minute, I needed to ask a favor.”

“Fuck… I gotta hide you, slutty brat. What will mom say?” You laugh breathlessly, easing weakly off him, cunt throbbing. Sukuna catches sight of it all slippery and messy, falling down his length, he softly moans.

“Ryo?”

“Just a second,” he throws you down, lapping a messy stripe up your slit, you slam a hand on your mouth, sensitive and writhing. “Fuck, taste us together…”

“Sukuna!” You’re whispering and crying out as he devours you.

“Huh?” You hear her voice and slam your mouth shut.

“Mnh, nothing… hold on…” He slurps more of his cum up, leaning over you now and spitting it in a mouth he doesn’t even have to ask to open, he just grips your jaw and you do it. “Good girl.”

“Better not call her that,” you whisper with a glare, he chuckles and kisses you messy. “I’ll hide in the bathroom, if I hear you two fuck…”

“You think I would?” He raises a brow, making you flush. “Think I’d kiss her with your cum all over my mouth? Filthy brat.”

“I didn’t think that!?” You shove at him, grabbing your clothes and purse just in case, even your shoes, running to the bathroom as he smirks at you, throwing on some pants quickly. “Put on a shirt, whore.”

He snorts and grabs one, as you hide in the bathroom, heart racing at the panic of being caught, hearing your bitch mom’s voice at the door.

Just how were you getting out of this?

hehe the full version is already on Patreon but I am converting this story fully to here - so l will be posting all of the chaps here every week <3