sirona.

Is it an alternative universe entirely or an AU merged with the real world?

It’s kind of both. While it’s clearly an AU set apart from the JJK world, it also both is and isn’t part of the real world.

Erythraen Academy (and the magical world as a whole) exists separately from the modern world. It’s essentially another realm, connected to our own by something called the Veil. If you’re familiar with fantasy, mythology, or folklore, you’ve probably encountered a similar concept before.

The Veil acts as a kind of barrier that conceals one realm from another. In myths and folktales across many cultures, it separates our world from others, such as fae realms or the boundary between the living and the dead. In Aether & Ash, it serves the same purpose.

Mages, along with other mystical beings (which do exist in this world and will appear later), can cross the Veil freely between realms. However, non-magical humans wouldn’t be able to pass through it on their own.

Are the houses somewhat of similar depiction as in Harry Potter or do they relate to something else?

No, not really. At least, not in the same way.

In Harry Potter, the house system is largely inspired by real-life British boarding schools, so the concept itself isn’t unique to the series. Each house reflects the values of one of Hogwarts’ four founders: bravery for Gryffindor, intelligence for Ravenclaw, and so on. Students are sorted based on their personalities and traits.

The six houses at Erythraen Academy function differently.

Each house has a mascot, only two of which are directly tied to the Academy’s origins: House Umbra’s Chronos Serpent and House Aether’s Dreamweaver Sphinx. While these mascots represent the general themes and values of each house, students aren’t required to embody those traits to belong there.

At the beginning of their first year, students are given a full week to explore the Academy, ask questions, and figure out where they feel they belong. Erythraen isn’t structured like your traditional K-12 school; it’s closer to a finishing school or university. Students already have a foundation in magic, and while they could technically skip further study, some choose not to.

This is because each house specializes in different branches of magic, often connected to its mascot. For example, House Nocturne focuses on shadow magic and necromancy, House Lumen on healing magic, and House Umbra on sigils and time-based magic. While each house covers more than just its primary specialties, most disciplines fall into broader categories tied to those core areas. For instance, magic related to nature—such as herbology, botanical control, and elemental magic—would primarily be studied within House Lumen, as these align with its focus.

Because of this, first-year students choose a house based on their long-term goals. Continuing with Lumen as the example, someone aspiring to be a healer, doctor, or animal specialist would choose House Lumen. Although students must complete tasks relating to each house during the sorting process, it’s generally difficult to fail the tasks specific to the house they feel suited for.

In that sense, the six houses function more like academic majors. The house a student joins ultimately shapes their future career path. This system also gives students far more flexibility later in life. While each house provides a clear direction, it doesn’t lock students into a narrow set of careers the way some traditional degrees might. Instead of being confined to a specific job path—like how an English or Philosophy degree can sometimes limit options—students develop a broad, adaptable skill set within their magical discipline. This allows them to branch out, combine specialties, or pursue less conventional careers.

Is this universe inspired by a movie/tv series/any other source?

Unfortunately, no, it is not 🫠 I don't actually watch TV or movies very often, so while I do sort of cherry-pick from different ideas I've come across on occasion, for the most part, everything I write is of my own creation.

I do plan on eventually creating mood boards and/or Pinterest boards to help with general vibes and imagery, though! And, of course, if you ever have any other questions, I am MORE than happy to answer! 😁 I do also believe that the further we get into the series, the easier it will be to imagine. It's just that right now, I am a little limited because I don't want to spoil too much by accident.

What timeline is this based on?

I don't have a set year picked out, but I imagine that it's somewhere between 2016 and now.

Are the students practicing magic/studying it different from mortal humans?

This is another “yes, but also no” kind of answer.

Magic isn’t limited to just one type of person. Some individuals inherit it through their bloodlines, others are born with it spontaneously, and some are born as completely ordinary humans who later discover magic and learn how to cultivate it on their own. In that sense, magic isn’t something exclusive; it’s something that exists as a potential in everyone.

The difference lies in whether or not that potential is developed. Not everyone chooses to pursue magic, just as not everyone chooses to develop other skills. It works much like the arts: some people are born naturally inclined toward things like writing, painting, or music, while others may start with no obvious talent but dedicate time and effort to learning and improving. Magic follows that same principle.

Of course, developing magic also means that you must know it actually exists. Most non-magical humans are not aware of the existence of magic in this world.

A good example here would be Maki and Toji. Although they’re born into a powerful magical family, they weren't born with magic like the rest of their family. Instead of being defined by that absence, they chose to cultivate their potential through intense physical training and learning alternative methods of interacting with and using magic.

Much like their heavenly restrictions in canon JJK, what they lack in innate ability becomes the very thing that sets them apart. They develop heightened physical capabilities and a unique relationship with the magical world, proving that being born with something isn't the only clear path to being a master at it.

Is there a uniform code followed by the students or their dressing is similar to modern world fashion?

No uniform! While the Academy does have a dress code, much like all educational institutions, students are free to dress however they wish. Some choose modern world fashion, others are a bit more out there. It's not uncommon to see students wearing capes or ballgowns. The only reason for this is that I think it's a cool concept lol.

Does the Academy have architecture similar to a specific timeline? Eg; Victorian, Roman, Medieval etc etc?

Not exactly. The main buildings at Erythraen Academy take inspiration from High Fantasy and classic Academia aesthetics, blending elements of Gothic and Neoclassical design. That said, the Academy doesn’t strictly adhere to any one architectural style, especially when it comes to the House Sanctums.

For example:

House Lumen leans toward Mediterranean and Classical influences, with airy courtyards, columns, and sunlit spaces.

House Ignis favors darker, dramatic designs inspired by Gothic Revival and brutalist architecture.

House Umbra combines Steampunk elements with Renaissance vibes, giving them a mixed feeling of being both Academic and futuristic.

House Aether draws from Expressionist and Neo-Futurist styles, aligning with their dreamy, out-of-this-world aesthetics.

House Nocturne sticks closely to Gothic and Gothic Revival, embracing shadowy towers, arches, and a darker atmosphere.

House Solara blends Contemporary and Art Deco elements, resulting in sleek, sunlit spaces with geometric patterns and polished finishes, aligning with its bold, bright character.

I'll also take this chance to expand on the layout of the Academy itself a little.

The Academy isn't built on a flat surface or anything like that; it’s literally carved into a massive mountain. The main academic buildings are built into the mountain’s natural slopes and cliffs, with bridges, terraces, and stairways connecting different levels both inside and outside.

The House Sanctums are positioned at different levels of the mountain. For example, Ignis and Nocture are both located deep within the mountain, and Umbra is within the mountain as well, but a few levels further up. Aether is quite literally in the clouds and sky around the mountain, Solara is found on a plateau a little further up from the main entrance, and Lumen is the closest to the main buildings of the Academy.

If I had the artistic ability required to do so, I would draw out the school itself & a map of sorts 😅

You knew that the maze-like corridors stretched deep into the mountain’s heart, twisting and turning in ways that made even faculty and seasoned students lose their way. Narrow staircases wound up into shadowed ceilings, disorienting and certainly a heavy workout.

You’d bet money that you could hit your 10,000-step-a-day goal just by going from one class to another.

Even the land surrounding the school beyond the ancient iron front gates felt massive—a dense sea of towering evergreens, their rough bark nearly black as the night sky, pressing in close like a crowd of silent sentinels.

Erythraen was so big, in fact, that it boasted not just one, but four libraries, each a source of knowledge that was probably older than the academy itself. There were far more books than the shelves could hold: haphazardly stacked on tables, in corners, and even on the floor, as you had quickly come to learn. Some were old enough that their leather-bound spines cracked at the slightest touch, their pages brittle as dried autumn leaves. You feared they’d turn to dust the second you brushed against them.

There was so much to see, so much to learn.

And, of course, there were the Six Great Houses.

You had been sorted into House Nocturne your first night. You'd decided quickly that it was fitting, considering your parents had been aligned with a subsect that focused on shadow magic.

But your sorting had not been normal.

Typically, all first-years gathered deep within the Whispering Woods at the end of their first week, and the ceremony took place in a cavern. The Eclipse Conclave conducted the ritual each year.

Headmaster Delacroix had explained it briefly while he was doing your sorting assessment.

“We give the first-years a week to adjust to the Academy,” Headmaster Delacroix had said, his words calm and practiced, as though he had recited this explanation countless times before. And you were sure that he had. He’d been Headmaster for nearly as long as you had been alive. “They can explore, ask questions, meet the heads of each house, and familiarize themselves with each of the houses. It gives them the chance to see where they feel they belong. Testing the waters, so to speak.”

As he spoke, he'd retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of his deep navy coat, dabbing away the thin line of blood beading along the fresh cut on your wrist. The cloth was already stained in places. You didn’t linger on what the stains could be from.

For a moment, he'd turned away, rootling through one of the drawers in the heavy oak desk behind him. After a moment, he seemed to find what he was looking for, pulling out a small tin and opening it, before handing something to you. A bandage.

He'd offered a lopsided smile alongside the bandage. “My apologies. I’m afraid I’m no good with healing magic. I was sorted into House Aether, you see.”

You nodded wordlessly, taking the bandage from his outstretched hand. Peeling it open with your teeth, you applied it to the cut. Your eyes flicked up to watch him as he reached for a small glass vial, empty save for the few drops of your blood now swirling within it. Without hesitation, he added a pinch of translucent powder, the substance carrying a scent that was faintly sweet, like dried lavender and crushed rose petals.

You hesitated before asking, curiosity gnawing at you. “So, once the week is up… what happens?”

The headmaster didn’t look up as he carefully swirled the mixture, observing how the powder dissolved into the blood. “After that, the Eclipse Conclave and I oversee the sorting process. I’m not sure how familiar you are with them, but they’re essentially the highest governing body within our world. You can think of them as our government. They certainly act like one, what with all the laws and rules they come up with.” He waved a hand dismissively before striding toward one of the many dust-covered bookshelves lining the edges of the room. He plucked a second vial filled with what looked like water from the highest shelf and returned to the desk.

“They assign each first-year a series of tasks, one aligned with each of the six houses. These tasks aren’t particularly long or difficult, but they give us insight into a student’s strengths and weaknesses. How they approach a challenge, where they excel, where they falter.” He paused, uncorking the vial before continuing. “That, paired with what we observe of their personality and, of course, the bloodletting ceremony—”

“The what?” You couldn’t stop yourself from cutting in, your head tilting slightly as you regarded him with narrowed eyes.

Delacroix chuckled, unfazed by your interruption. The sound was warm and amused, and he poured the contents of the smaller vial into the vial of water. It clouded immediately, tiny motes of color swirling like ink in the ocean. Sealing the glass, he gave it a gentle shake before setting it aside. With a gesture to the vial, he explained, “The same thing I’m doing now. Nothing invasive, as you can see. Just a small cut on the wrist and a drop of blood mixed with that very same powder you just saw me use, straight into some water from the cavern. That’s all it takes.”

You frowned slightly, watching the liquid swirl. “But how does it help narrow things down?”

The headmaster picked up the vial again, giving it another shake. “You’ll see for yourself in just a few moments,” he explained, glancing up at one of the many antique clocks above the fireplace. “But, essentially, when a student’s blood is mixed with this special powder—which is rumored to be made from fragments of each house’s mascot, mind you—and then combined with the cavern’s water, the mixture will change its color.” He turned back to you, his lips quirking into a small smile. “The water will take on the color of the house that the student is most suited for. Usually, by the time we reach that step, we already know what the outcome will be thanks to the trials and such.”

You hummed thoughtfully, considering it. “Alright… So then why does the water have to be from that specific cavern?”

At that, Delacroix had laughed, a full-bodied chuckle that shook the desk he was leaning against. He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “Oh, my,” he sighed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t, actually. Not anymore. Really, we could hold the ceremony anywhere. These days, it’s more tradition than necessity. A bit of symbolism to keep the ritual alive.”

You had no more questions after that. Not because you weren’t curious, but because, when your gaze drifted back to the vial, the murky water had begun to change. The swirling liquid darkened, deepening into a rich, velvety purple.

House Nocturne.

All of that being said, you weren’t a first-year. New, yes, but not in the same wide-eyed, eager way as those stepping onto campus for the first time. Your education had been far from the structured, house-sorted traditions of Erythraen Academy. Your parents had preferred homeschooling—not the kind where a child sat at a kitchen table with textbooks ordered from some online shops, but something far more refined. With their wealth and status, they had the means to hire only the best private tutors. Esteemed scholars, master mages, people whose names carried weight in the magical world. They had spared no expense in ensuring that their only child received the best education possible.

Then, just one month after their disappearance, the letter arrived.

A formal invitation from Headmaster Delacroix himself, bearing the wax seal of Erythraen Academy. A full-ride offer. No cost, no conditions, just a place at the Academy, should you choose to accept. The explanation had been simple: he and your parents had once been classmates, friends even, during their time at the Academy. While he had respected their decision to homeschool you, after hearing about what had happened, he felt a responsibility to ensure your education continued.

You didn’t believe that was the full truth.

But even so, you decided to accept the offer. You found yourself bypassing the first two years entirely, stepping straight into your third year.

Erythraen, from what you had gathered, was less of a school and more of an institution. It was somewhere between an elite finishing academy and a university. Most students were over 18, already well-versed in the basics of magic. The Academy wasn’t for novices; it was for those who sought mastery. Some trained for powerful guilds and sects, others prepared for a life spent beyond the Veil—the boundary separating the magical world from the mundane.

But none of that was why you were here.

No.

Your parents had vanished on Samhain. You had been out that night, indulging in an attempt at normalcy, celebrating Halloween with your few mortal friends. When you returned home at two in the morning, the house had been eerily silent in a way it never was. And then, you saw it.

The sigil.

Carved deep into the dark oak floors of your family home, its spirals still fresh, humming with what you knew to be residual magic. Shadows were burned into the floral design of the living room wallpaper, their twisting forms unnatural and impossible to scrub away. A stain left behind not by hands, but by magic.

As terrifying as it had been, you knew, deep in your bones, that your parents weren’t dead. You felt it, an ache in your gut that refused to fade, a certainty that stole your sleep in the weeks that followed and kept you grasping at every lead, every whisper of an answer.

Your parents had always taught you to trust yourself and your instincts.

"Trust your instincts. They will take you further than your eyes ever will."

And your instincts had led you here.

Like a bloodhound on the trail, something inside you had pushed you toward Erythraen Academy, whispering over and over that this was where you would find answers. You had ignored the headmaster’s invitation at first, letting the letter sit untouched on your desk while you exhausted every other option. But after your hundredth dead end in a row, your frustration had boiled over, and you had given in. You had scrawled out your acceptance, apologizing for the delay and asking for further details.

Eight months, two weeks, and five days ago, the headmaster had sent you the invite.

Six months, three weeks, and six days ago, you had sent your acceptance letter.

Six months, three weeks, and five days ago, the headmaster sent you all of the details you needed.

Three weeks ago, you arrived on campus.

Three weeks later, you still hadn’t interacted with the other students. Which was fine. You weren’t here to make friends.

It was for the best.

You weren’t here for “lifelong friendships” or “the challenges of the mind, body, and soul” that Headmaster Delacroix had waxed poetic about in his second letter (the official welcome correspondence, which he later apologized profusely for, calling it a formality).

No, none of that mattered to you.

You were here because something in your life had gone terribly, inexplicably wrong. Because your gut refused to let you rest. Because your parents were missing, and you would claw through the very fabric of reality if it meant finding out what happened that night. The Conclave deemed it a Samhain ritual gone wrong. You knew better.

If, along the way, you happened to learn some new tips and tricks? All the better. But so far, most of the third-year curriculum had been nothing more than a laughable review. It was all things you had already mastered under the strict tutelage of your private instructors long before setting foot on campus.

Fortunately, Professor Delacroix had granted you special permission to skip any lecture or class you deemed unnecessary, so long as you passed every exam with flying colors. A fair trade, really. It freed up your time, allowing you to focus on what actually mattered to you.

Which was why, instead of wasting away in a lecture hall, you were sitting in the Abyssal Archives—one of the four massive libraries that the Academy boasted, and by far the oldest.

Found within the Hall of Shadows, deep in the same labyrinth-like tunnels that housed House Nocturne’s sanctum, the Archives felt more like a forgotten relic than an academic resource. Towering shelves loomed in the dim candlelight, threatening to spill over into precarious, ceiling-high stacks of ancient tomes and scrolls.

It was an easy place to lose track of time. Too easy. You had already spent far more hours here than you should have, combing through brittle pages, chasing the whispers that tugged at your soul.

If there was any place on campus that might hold the answers you sought, it was here.

The sigil from that night was burned in your memory, etched so deeply into your mind’s eye that even if you hadn’t copied it down over and over, you were certain you would still see it, pulsing behind your eyelids every time you closed them.

You just needed to find the damned thing.

Somewhere in these ancient texts, buried in one of the thousands of books of arcane knowledge, there had to be a match. A reference. Something.

And once you found it, you’d have your first real piece of the puzzle.

You had been poring over the books for hours. So long, in fact, that the candlestick you had lit to help you read had burned down to a stub twice now. The milky white wax dripped onto the tarnished brass holder, pooling beside the stack of texts you had yet to sift through. Your eyes stung, dry and scratchy from too much time spent scanning dense archaic script under the dim candlelight.

Honestly, you appreciated the commitment to the aesthetic, but you couldn’t help but wish that Erythraen would invest in some damn lamps.

Maybe it was time for a break. A few minutes to stretch your legs, rest your eyes, get some water, soothe your parched throat. Just a quick walk, you reasoned, already pushing back from the heavy wooden table.

And then…

A giggle.

A fucking giggle.

The soft, breathy sound echoed through the supposedly empty library. You stilled, pulse kicking up slightly.

What the fuck?

You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head slightly, as if the shift in angle would somehow sharpen your hearing. Another giggle followed, then hushed, hurried whispers. A rustle of fabric. And then—

A wet, slick noise.

Oh, hell no.

Your lip curled in disgust as realization dawned.

With an irritated growl, you snapped the book shut and slammed it against the desk with a resounding thud. “Hey!” You shot to your feet, voice cutting through the dimly lit expanse. The giggles and whispers immediately stopped. “Go somewhere else for that shit.”

You were not about to endure the horrors of someone’s makeout session, or worse, while trying to unravel this Gods-damned mystery.

A moment of silence followed. Then came the frantic shuffle of feet and hurried movement deeper in the Archives. A door slammed somewhere deep within the stacks, and you exhaled. Shoulders sagging, you dropped back into your seat. Flicking the book open again, you rubbed at your temple, muttering under your breath.

Finally.

All was well, until it wasn’t.

A pair of hands slammed down on either side of your book, caging you against the desk.

You froze.

Slowly, your gaze dropped to the hands bracketing the pages. Large and calloused, with thick veins coiling beneath sun-bronzed skin. Broad palms, long fingers, tendons flexing subtly under the skin as their grip tightened against the wood. The forearms were strong, roped with muscle, leading up to thick biceps. Two thick black bands encircled each wrist like manacles. Your breath hitched.

Slowly, veeery slowly, your gaze trailed upward, following the path of powerful arms to broad, well-defined shoulders, then to a chest that was, frankly, unreasonably built.

Jesus fucking Christ. Who had muscles like that?

Your head turned.

A smirking face hovered far too close for comfort, crimson eyes locked onto your own. Sharp angular features, a wide, slightly crooked nose, pink hair that was tousled in a way that suggested either pure carelessness or intentional dishevelment. You already knew why it looked like that.

Full lips, pulled into a smirk that teetered on the edge of a sneer, parting just enough to reveal sharp, pearly-white teeth. A pair of black gauges adorned each ear, glinting faintly in the low light. Slits marked his eyebrows, cutting through his sharp expression. Dark, inked lines decorated his face in a symmetrical pattern.

"Can I fucking help you?" You scowled as you glared at the stranger, irritation flaring.

Your hostility only seemed to amuse. His smirk stretched wider, sharp canines flashing under the dim library lights.

"I dunno, brat. Can you?" His voice was low, teasing, even, as he leaned in closer. Close enough, you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His half-lidded eyes flicked over your face before trailing down your neck, then lower still, to your chest—

Yeah, that was enough.

You leaned back sharply, twisting your body away from him as much as possible without falling out of your chair. Your scowl curled into a sneer. "If you have nothing better to do than be a menace, please kindly leave me alone."

A swat of your hand knocked his away from your book, but all you earned was a loud scoff.

A moment later, the wooden chair beside you scraped against the floor, the screeching noise splitting through the library’s quiet. You winced.

Then, he flopped into it, the poor chair groaning under his sheer size. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded if it just collapsed under him. You didn’t even know the guy, but you already knew he deserved it.

Unfortunately, it held.

You could feel his eyes on you as he propped his chin against his hand.

"Why should I?" His voice was a deep, gravelly purr, the kind of tone that might have made you swoon if you were in literally any other situation. But right now, it only made your teeth clench.

One of his large, calloused hands reached out, fingers barely brushing against your hair. Your scowl deepened, and you slapped his hand away. He chuckled as he withdrew, as if he found your irritation amusing.

"Because I'm busy and don't enjoy interruptions," you bit out.

That earned you another laugh—well, more of a scoff, really.

"You shittin' me right now?" He tilted his head, expression darkening when you didn't react. "You were the one who interrupted me, brat."

You physically could not hold back your scoff. "Oh, my bad. Why don't you take your hookups to the dorms and not the damn library if you're so concerned about being interrupted?"

That earned you a shrug. "More fun."

Oh God, this guy.

You decided against giving him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you forced yourself to return to the book in front of you, eyes flicking over the words, trying and failing to slip back into focus.

Minutes passed.

Time blurred together as you finally found your rhythm again, sinking into the text. The silence might have been bearable if not for the unwavering stare burning into the side of your face.

Fucking creep.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Haven't seen you around before," he mused, voice casual now. "But you're too old to be a first-year."

And then, he reached out and flicked your ear.

Your patience snapped.

You slammed your book shut again, knocking his hand away a third time with even more force.

"That’s because I'm not," you said, teeth gritted. "I'm a third-year."

Before you could continue and tell him in plain terms to piss off, he cut in, "Which House?" You narrowed your eyes at him. He raised both hands, palms up in mock surrender, but that insufferable smirk never wavered. "I'm just curious," he drawled. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

You could feel your blood pressure rising.

"House Nocturne," you spat, each syllable dripping with irritation.

And just like that, his smirk stretched wider, like the fucking Grinch’s heart growing three sizes.

"Ooooh," he drawled, eyes glinting with amusement. "You're the new student Headmaster What's-His-Face told me about!" You might have said something about his blatant disrespect toward the Headmaster if not for what he said next.

"I'm Ryomen Sukuna." His expression turned razor-sharp as he leaned in closer. "Head of House Nocturne."

“Oh, fuck you.”

After enduring several more minutes of relentless grilling from Sukuna, his questions veering between infuriating and downright inappropriate, you’d finally excused yourself from the suffocating atmosphere of the Abyssal Archives.

Not that he made it easy.

“What are you doing here instead of being in class?” he’d asked, lounging in that creaking chair like he owned the place, eyes flicking over you with far too much interest.

When you didn’t answer fast enough, he added with a smirk, “And if you’re gonna skip, why the hell would you do it in this dusty old crypt?”

And then, your least favorite of all, spoken with false innocence and a glint in his eyes that told you he was anything but, “Wanna make it up to me for interrupting earlier?”

Absolutely not.

The second there was even a shred of space between his constant teasing remarks and questions, you stood, muttered something that vaguely resembled an excuse, and left before he could trap you in another round of questions you had no desire to answer.

The air outside the archives felt lighter, less stifling. You rolled your shoulders and stretched your arms above your head, sighing gratefully at the sensation of your joints popping and muscles loosening. A slow walk through the quieter parts of the building helped ground you, and by the time you made your way to the kitchens, the scent of warm bread had fully distracted you from the encounter.

You snagged a quick snack and something to drink, leaning against the expansive counter for a few moments to collect yourself. You checked the time and sighed when you realized classes had already ended for the day.

Which, unfortunately, meant the Archives would no longer be the secluded, peaceful haven it had been earlier. The odds of it still being empty were slim. Students would be trickling in soon, if they weren’t already there.

You grimaced at the thought. The one thing worse than dealing with Sukuna was dealing with other people while also trying to avoid Sukuna.

Still, with a deep breath and one final sip of your drink, you turned and headed back toward the Archives. At the very least, you figured you could squeeze in a bit more digging.

You couldn’t help but feel surprised the moment you stepped back into the Abyssal Archives.

Sure, there were a few students scattered across the room now, curled over books at the desks scattered throughout the room, tucked between the looming shelves, whispering in hushed tones, but it wasn’t nearly the crowd you had expected. You’d been bracing for the worst: a packed library full of noise, distractions, and not a single seat to spare. Instead, it was manageable. Quiet, even.

Then again, maybe you shouldn’t have been so shocked.

Most of the students present were faces you had seen in passing within Nocturne’s sanctum. Which, in hindsight, made sense. The Abyssal Archives were far from the main halls of the academy. It was far more likely that students from the other houses favored the closer, better-lit libraries above ground.

Even more surprising was the sight that greeted you when you reached your table: everything was exactly as you had left it.

Your heart gave a little leap. The book you’d been combing through earlier was still lying open, spine slightly cracked from wear. A loose stack of scrolls remained undisturbed, your notes still wedged between them. Even the candlestick you’d lit before your encounter with Sukuna was still burning steadily, its wax having barely dripped down the side. No one had touched your things.

You hummed in relief, sinking back into the high-backed chair with a sigh. Maybe your luck was turning around. Maybe you could actually get something done this time.

That hope was short-lived.

A throat clearing broke through the stillness, and your eyes slowly lifted in mild irritation toward the source of the sound.

Another student stood at the opposite end of your table. He wore all black—fitted black jeans and a snug crewneck t-shirt that clung to his body like a second skin, the fabric soft-looking but stretched slightly at the shoulders and arms. His hair, ink-black and thick, was tied up into two sharp, spiky buns jutting out on either side of his head.

He had a pale, almost sickly complexion that contrasted starkly against the dark circles under his eyes—purple like bruises, as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. The shadows clinging to his face only made his eyes stand out more: large, heavily lidded, and a deep, near-bottomless brown that shimmered faintly under the candlelight. But it was the tattoo across the bridge of his nose that really caught your attention—a single black line that slashed horizontally beneath both eyes.

He didn’t say a word. Just stood there, watching you and seemingly waiting.

You raised a single eyebrow, tilting your head just slightly as you stared him down, silently waiting. If he was going to barge in and interrupt you, the least he could do was get to the point.

He hesitated for a beat, then offered a sheepish grin that tugged lopsidedly at his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, though the nervous pitch to his voice suggested otherwise.

Now both of your eyebrows were up, your expression morphing into an unimpressed look that clearly translated to: Are you sure about that?

He laughed quietly and a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he broke eye contact. “Okay, I do mean to interrupt you,” he admitted, shoulders hunching slightly as he reached into the pocket of his jeans. “But only because I was asked to.”

From the pocket, he pulled out a slightly crumpled, folded piece of paper and held it out to you. You didn’t move right away, eyes flicking between him and the paper before you finally reached out and took it. As you carefully unfolded the note, he continued speaking.

“My cousin asked me to give this to, and I quote, ‘the girl who comes back to this desk,’ which I assume means you.”

You glanced down at the note, irritation bubbling up again as you read it. The words were scrawled hastily in an aggressive, almost illegible handwriting.

Text me if you feel like making it up to me. -Ryomen Sukuna

Of course, he included a poorly drawn winky face and his number, as if you’d be falling over yourself to respond. Your lip curled into a sneer as you folded the note back up, briefly entertaining the idea of setting it on fire with the still-burning candlestick nearby.

You turned your gaze back to the man in front of you, tone dry as desert air. “Thank you,” you said, then added, “I don’t believe I caught your name?”

This time, his smile was softer. A gentle expression that immediately set him apart from his cousin. “I’m Choso Kamo,” he replied. “I’m in House Umbra, but I usually come down here to help out in the Archives. Sorting, filing, that kind of stuff.”

Ah, yes. A life story you hadn’t asked for. But compared to Sukuna, Choso was practically a gift. Quiet, polite, maybe a little awkward, but leagues more tolerable than his shitty cousin who seemed to think that a winky face was flirting.

You slipped the note into your pocket. The urge to set the damn thing ablaze was still very strong, especially with a perfectly good candlestick still flickering within arm’s reach, but incinerating it in front of Sukuna’s cousin probably wouldn’t win you any points.

No, better to save that little act of catharsis for later, once you were safely back in your dorm and far away from prying eyes. Maybe you’d even toast a marshmallow over it.

You gave Choso your name, and he smiled again.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, and at your subtle raise of an eyebrow, he clarified, “It’s not every day we get a student starting so late into the term. And even then, it’s never someone who isn’t a first-year. Word travels pretty fast around here.”

That actually pulled a laugh out of you. “Surprising, considering how huge this place is.”

Choso nodded in agreement, lips curving into something a little more amused. “Yeah, I know, right? But gossip? Gossip is one hell of a drug. And in a place like this…” He gave a small shrug. “People tend to overdose.”

You huffed a laugh through your nose. Okay, you decided, I like this guy. It was baffling, really, how someone so approachable and chill could be related to a human migraine. Somewhere along the family tree, something had to have gone hilariously wrong. Or right, depending on how you looked at it.

He spoke up again. “Sorry, I just… couldn’t help noticing. You seem really focused on runes. Is there a particular one you’re looking for?” He looked at you with wide brown eyes, equal parts curious and earnest, like a puppy who’d found something new and shiny and just had to know what it was. It was honestly kind of endearing.

You hesitated for a moment, wanting to brush the question off with a polite deflection. But then you remembered what he’d said earlier, about how he helped out here, in the Archives. And if there was even a chance he could make your search easier…

“Actually, yeah,” you said, leaning back slightly. “I’ve been digging for weeks, but I haven’t found the right one yet. I was wondering if there’s anything like an encyclopedia? Something that catalogs all the runes and symbols?”

Choso’s expression lit up like you’d just asked him to show off his favorite collection. “Yeah! We’ve got a couple of reference texts that cover pretty much every recorded rune, even the obscure ones. Give me just a sec, I know exactly where they are.”

And before you could so much as blink, he turned and darted into the labyrinth of shelves, vanishing between two aisles with a fluidity that reminded you of the very shadows that lingered in the Archives.

It didn’t take Choso long to return; less than a few minutes, in fact. When he reappeared, he was carrying a stack of three massive books, each one thick enough to be used as a doorstop or a blunt weapon. The leather-bound covers were cracked with age, much like most of the other books in the library; the gold detailing on each was faded and flaking, and the metal clasps on the sides gave soft clinks with each step he took. They looked absurdly heavy. And when he dropped them onto the table in front of you with a resonant thud, the weight of them made the candle flame flicker.

But what surprised you most was how effortlessly he had carried them. His gait had been relaxed, like he’d been toting around feather-filled pillows instead of books that could absolutely double as weapons. Your eyes flicked to his arms, noting the strength hidden beneath the sleeves of his shirt. Definitely a sleeper build. You quickly looked away before you got caught staring.

“These don’t really get used much,” Choso said, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Each of the other libraries has its own set, so if you want to take them back to your dorm, you totally can. Nobody’s going to miss them.”

You nodded, already feeling the stirrings of hope bubbling in your chest. A lead, finally. “Thank you so much, Choso. Seriously. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels a little. “No problem. I’ll let you get back to it, but if you need anything else, just let me know. I’m here every day after classes end.”

You nodded again, mentally filing that information away in your ‘Useful People to Know’ folder. Choso turned and strolled off, presumably to resume his unofficial duties, since, to your knowledge, Erythraen didn’t have any formal librarians. Just a haunted castle full of old books and people like him who clearly liked it enough to keep it all from collapsing into chaos.

You turned your attention back to the stack in front of you, pulling the top book from the pile and opening it slowly, careful not to damage the delicate pages. The scent of old parchment hit you immediately. You exhaled, then leaned in, eyes scanning the first page as you resumed your search.

Maybe this time, you’d find something worthwhile.

The first morning of their so-called “agreement” began quietly.

The kitchen was soft from early morning light, the kind that filtered through half-drawn blinds and made the air look hazy, suspended in gold. Satoru stood at the counter with a bowl in one hand and a box of cereal in the other, pretending that everything was normal.

It wasn’t.

He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on him before he even glanced over. His roommate was leaning against the counter beside him, bare arms folded over his broad chest. His expression was unreadable at first, then the corner of his mouth tipped upward, and his eyes lingered on Satoru as if he were something to be studied. Or, perhaps, devoured in place of breakfast.

Satoru tried to focus on his cereal. His fingers trembled against the spoon, the metal clinking faintly against the bowl. He was grateful for the excuse to look down, to feign interest in the soggy flakes swirling in milk. The tension between them was so obvious and hard to ignore that it made his pulse trip over itself. His knees wobbled before he’d even taken a bite, his stomach tying itself into knots that had very little to do with hunger.

He thought back to the day before.

To the agreement.

Satoru had always had a relatively high libido, that much he could admit, at least to himself. He wasn’t ashamed of it, it was simply a fact. He’d always had a long string of lovers, an endless list of names and faces that blurred together over time. It had always been easy for him. A few texts, a teasing message, and within the hour someone would be at his door, eager to oblige him.

That was, at least, until he’d moved in with Sukuna.

From the very first week, Satoru had realized that life with him would be... complicated. To say the least.

The man was attractive as hell. Tall, broad-shouldered, built like someone who could bench-press an entire fucking car and look bored doing it. His skin was marked with dark tattoos that climbed up his arms and neck, curling over the sharp lines of his throat. Everything about him radiated, “don't mess with me” energy. He was the kind of man who could make a whole room go quiet just by walking into it.

Satoru had tried to ignore it at first—the fact that his new roommate was, quite frankly, the living embodiment of every bad decision he’d ever wanted to make. But it was impossible not to notice Sukuna. The low, gravelly tone of his voice when he spoke. The way he carried himself with unshakable confidence. The casual sprawl of his body on the couch, bare feet up on the coffee table, eyes flicking lazily toward Satoru whenever he walked by.

And yet, despite all that appeal, Sukuna was, quite possibly, the biggest cockblock on the planet.

For reasons Satoru still didn’t fully understand, the man seemed to have a personal vendetta against him bringing anyone home. It didn’t matter how quiet Satoru tried to be, how polite or discreet his guests were—Sukuna always found a reason to intervene. Sometimes it was a gruff comment about “house rules.” Other times it was his mere presence, somehow managing to make the air feel too thick for anyone to stay long.

Which, in some strange way, Satoru could almost understand. The house did belong to Sukuna, after all. Sukuna had a mortgage, a steady job, and the sense to realize that splitting expenses would make life easier for him in this shithole economy.

That being said, Sukuna wasn’t exactly a saint.

For all his talk about boundaries and respecting the house, the man had no issue bringing his own hookups home—regularly. It had become a pattern. Some nights, Satoru would come home to find a stranger’s shoes kicked off by the front door, or the faint sound of laughter drifting down the hall. The bedroom door would close, and soon enough the walls would start echoing with sounds that made Satoru’s stomach twist.

It wasn’t fair.

He told himself that every time he was forced to go out instead, sneaking off to his hookups’ apartments or cheap hotels, pretending it didn’t bother him. Pretending he didn’t care that his roommate got to do whatever the hell he wanted while Satoru was stuck pacing the sidewalk, praying the Uber didn’t take too long.

But what really grated on him were the nights when he didn’t even try. When he just lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, the glow of his phone dim beside him. And from down the hall, Sukuna’s low, gravelly voice would carry through the walls—rough laughter, a curse, a groan that made Satoru’s pulse jump before he could stop it.

He’d roll over, shove a pillow over his head, and try not to imagine what was happening on the other side of that wall. Try not to imagine Sukuna’s hands, his mouth, the way those tattoos might look under dim light and sweat. Try not to imagine himself instead of whoever was lucky enough to be in there.

He’d make do with his own hand, biting back quiet, frustrated sounds into his pillow until exhaustion finally dragged him under.

But last night? Last night had been the end of his fucking rope.

It started with something stupid: he’d forgotten his keys. He realized it halfway to his hookup’s place, and by the time he made it back home, the house was locked tight and all the lights were out, except for the faint glow from Sukuna’s bedroom window.

So Satoru sat on the porch, wrapped in a too-thin jacket as the cold crept into his bones. His breath fogged in the night air, fingers numb as he rubbed his arms for warmth. Every few minutes, he debated knocking, but the sounds coming from inside made his stomach turn with a mix of irritation and something far more complicated.

He waited. And waited. He was sure it’d been hours, but his phone was fucking dead so he couldn’t check even if he wanted to.

When the door finally opened and the stranger limped down the fucking front porch steps to the Uber that had just pulled up and Sukuna appeared in the doorway, sweat-slicked and satisfied, with that familiar smug tilt to his mouth, Satoru saw red.

What followed was an explosive argument.

“Look, I understand that you don’t want strangers in your fucking house, but for God’s sake, I’m sick of listening to you fuck people all goddamn night while I can’t do shit!”

The words came out sharper than Satoru intended, but once they were out, there was no taking them back. His voice echoed through the open space of the dining room, bouncing off the walls. His pulse was a drum in his ears, and the frustration that had been building for weeks finally spilled over in the form of a raised voice and shaking hands.

He tore off his jacket, the fabric catching on his shoulder as he yanked it free, and flung it onto the dining table with a soft thud. The motion did nothing to bleed the anger out of him.

The house still smelled of perfume and sex, and it made his stomach twist.

Across the room, Sukuna barely reacted. He leaned back against the counter like he’d been waiting for this. He wasn’t even fully dressed—just a pair of black sweatpants slung low on his hips, his arms crossed loosely over his broad chest as he regarded Satoru with half-lidded eyes.

Sukuna exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes, and when he finally spoke, his tone was dry, flat, and maddeningly calm.

“It’s my house.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched. The low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence between them, the only sound in a room that felt too small for both their tempers. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way he said them. Like they were little more than a reminder that Satoru was only a guest here, no matter how much rent he paid or how many chores he did to pull his weight.

Finally, he dragged a hand through his hair, fingers catching on the pale strands as he exhaled hard through his nose. He was frustrated to hell and back, tired of feeling like the unreasonable one when literally all he wanted was a little fairness. His chest ached from holding everything in, and before he could stop himself, the words that had been festering for weeks finally broke free.

“Clearly this isn’t working out,” he muttered.

Across the room, Sukuna tilted his head, one brow arching. That look alone made Satoru’s stomach twist further, but he was too far gone now to back down.

He swallowed, then squared his shoulders. “Look,” he said, his tone sharpening, frustration bubbling over. “I have a high libido, but I can’t always go to other people’s houses for hookups. Sometimes it’d be nice to get fucked in my own damn bed.” His hands cut through the air as he spoke, punctuating each word, his nerves barely contained beneath the surface. “So maybe it’d be best if I went to find somewhere else to live. Clearly we—” he gestured between them with a sharp flick of his wrist, “—aren’t compatible as roommates.”

The room went quiet.

For a moment, Satoru expected the same flat, unbothered response as always—a shrug, maybe a dismissive comment about how the door was right there. He was braced for it, ready to feel humiliated but free, finally done with the tension that had been gnawing at him.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Sukuna’s mouth curved into a near-dangerous smirk, and before Satoru could even blink, Sukuna moved.

One second he was leaning against the counter. The next, he was there, closing the distance in an instant. His hands caught Satoru’s hips, and suddenly Satoru’s back hit the edge of the dining table hard enough to make the wood creak beneath him.

His breath caught. His eyes went wide. He damn near folded in half as Sukuna’s body pressed into his space, close enough that Satoru could feel the warmth radiating from him, the scent of smoke and soap filling his lungs. Instinct had him leaning away, spine arching, but for every inch he retreated, Sukuna followed.

Satoru’s hands flew back, gripping the table’s edge for balance, fingers curling white-knuckled around the wood as Sukuna leaned in. All Satoru could do was stare, heart hammering, lips parted, mind racing to catch up with what the hell was happening.

“On the contrary,” Sukuna murmured, his voice low, “I think we’re quite compatible. And I believe I may know the best way for us to fix this little problem.”

Sukuna’s eyes were half-lidded, a shade darker than usual, glinting with the kind of promise that made the air between them feel too hot to breathe.

Satoru blinked, once, twice, mind lagging several steps behind. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out at first was a startled breath. His thoughts scattered like startled birds, leaving behind only the deafening rush of his heartbeat in his ears.

“Y-you mean—” he stammered, the words catching on his tongue before he could even finish them.

Sukuna hummed, the sound deep in his chest, then gave a single, infuriatingly calm nod. “Clearly we both have high sex drives,” he said, as if he were discussing something as mundane as grocery lists instead of turning Satoru’s entire world upside down. “I don’t want anybody I don’t know in my house, and you don’t want to keep going to other people’s houses to get fucked.”

Satoru’s throat went dry, his mind caught somewhere between indignation and disbelief and a dizzying, unwanted flicker of interest. His heart thudded in his chest. He wanted to say something, to push back, to laugh it off, to tell Sukuna he was insane. But when he finally opened his mouth, the only sound that escaped was a small, breathless whine.

Because Sukuna’s hand had just slipped beneath his shirt.

It had slipped beneath the hem of Satoru’s shirt, the heat of his palm searing the cool skin of Satoru’s hip. His thumb traced a lazy circle just above the bone, a touch too gentle to be innocent. The simple contact sent a shiver shooting up Satoru’s spine, stealing the words right out of him.

“Surely, we could help each other out?” Sukuna’s voice had shifted, dropping into a tone that almost sounded innocent. “I certainly wouldn’t mind getting a taste of this sweet ass.”

Before Satoru could even process the words, Sukuna’s hand slid down to squeeze him, fingers digging just enough to make him jump and let out a sharp, involuntary squeak.

What followed… well. 

Satoru had no choice but to categorize it as the absolute best dicking down he had ever experienced in his entire life.

Sukuna had him folded like a goddamned pretzel. He lasted through multiple rounds, somehow still eager even after having hooked up with someone else just hours before. Satoru lost count after the fifth time he’d been stuffed to the brim with the other man’s cum. His body was left sore in every conceivable way, and he was at least 72% certain that he would be walking funny for the next week and a half.

And now… Now he was here, the next morning, with a bowl of cornflakes in front of him. The cereal had gone soggy while he’d been lost in thought, but he tried to focus anyway, chewing mechanically.

All the while, Sukuna leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes tracking him with that dangerous smirk on his face.

Satoru cleared his throat and mumbled through a mouthful of cornflakes, “Can I help you?”

Sukuna didn’t answer right away. He just hummed, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. Then, before Satoru could blink, Sukuna pushed off the counter and closed the short distance between them.

Satoru froze.

Sukuna reached up, his fingers brushing along Satoru’s chin, and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped away a droplet of milk that had escaped the corner of his mouth.

He flinched, just slightly, eyes widening. Quickly, he swallowed the mouthful of cereal that had gone suddenly tasteless on his tongue and turned toward the sink in a hurry.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

He dumped the rest of his soggy cornflakes into the drain, the clatter of the spoon against the ceramic louder than it needed to be. His cheeks burned as he rinsed out the bowl, scrubbing at it with the sponge and a little bit of soap. Anything to give his hands something to do, to keep from looking back at Sukuna, because he could feel that gaze on him still.

“I, uh…” he started, forcing his tone into something casual. “I’m going grocery shopping later.” His words tumbled out too quickly, and he tightened his grip on the bowl. “Do you—” he swallowed, “do you need anything from the store while I’m there?”

It was a weak attempt at small talk, but it was better than letting Sukuna see how pink his face had gotten from a single, stupid touch.

Sukuna moved in close, so close that Satoru felt the heat of him before he even registered the movement.

Sukuna’s body pressed flush against his back, solid and unyielding. Large hands braced on the counter, one on either side of Satoru’s hips, effectively caging him in.

Satoru went still. His pulse spiked, his breath catching in his throat as the realization of just how close they were sank in. He could feel the rhythm of Sukuna’s breathing against his spine, the quiet sound of it somehow louder than anything else in the kitchen.

Then Sukuna leaned down.

The warmth of his breath brushed along the side of Satoru’s neck as Sukuna’s nose traced a slow path from shoulder to jaw. The touch wasn’t a kiss, not quite, but it made Satoru’s body react all the same. His eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh slipping out before he could stop it. His head tilted slightly, instinctively, granting Sukuna more space to explore the curve of his throat.

He could feel the smirk against his skin, the subtle curl of lips that told him Sukuna knew exactly what kind of effect he was having. The man pressed closer, his chest firm against Satoru’s back, his hips fitting flush.

That’s when Satoru felt Sukuna’s cock, hard and unmistakeable, pressing against his ass through the thin fabric of his pants. His breath hitched again, and a rush of disbelief mingled with the heat curling low in his stomach.

How the hell…?

After everything that had happened last night, how was Sukuna already hard again?

He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare speak. All he could do was stand there, every muscle locked tight, his heart pounding against his ribs as Sukuna’s low chuckle ghosted against his neck.

“I was thinkin’,” Sukuna murmured, voice low enough that Satoru almost didn’t catch it over the sound of his own heartbeat.

The words vibrated against his skin, followed by the press of an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder. A shiver rippled through Satoru before he could stop it, his breath catching as goosebumps chased up his arms.

“That’s dangerous,” he shot back quickly, the quip slipping out before he could second-guess it. His tone was meant to be teasing, to take back a little of the control he felt rapidly slipping away.

Sukuna’s quiet snort against his ear made that attempt feel futile.

A second later, teeth grazed his earlobe in a quick nip that made him flinch and suck in a breath. “Fuckin’ brat,” Sukuna muttered, the reprimand sounding more amused than annoyed, his voice making Satoru’s pulse skip.

Strong hands slid up to his hips, fingers curling in a tight grip that pinned him in place. The contact was grounding and dizzying all at once. Satoru could feel the strength in it, the reminder of just how easily Sukuna could move him if he wanted to.

“Like I was sayin’,” Sukuna drawled, voice dipping into that gravelly, dangerous timbre that sent another tremor down Satoru’s spine, “I was thinkin’, what if we make our lil arrangement more interesting?”

Satoru finally set the bowl down in the sink with a faint clink, giving up the charade of scrubbing something that was already spotless. His fingers lingered on the edge for a moment, steadying himself.

He cocked an eyebrow, forcing a lazy nonchalance he didn’t quite feel, and leaned back into Sukuna’s hold just enough to test the reaction. The man’s heat seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“How so?” Satoru asked, his tone light but edged with curiosity.

Sukuna’s chest rumbled against his spine with a low chuckle, the sound reverberating through him. “How about,” Sukuna drawled, “we make it a free use situation?”

For a moment, Satoru didn’t move. The words hung in the air between them, and then he turned in Sukuna’s hold, palms flattening against the other’s bare chest to create a sliver of distance. His fingers twitched slightly against the warmth of Sukuna’s skin, the steady thud of his heartbeat pulsing beneath his palms.

He looked up, meeting Sukuna’s eyes—those dark, molten eyes that always seemed to see straight through him. The heat in them made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“Why?” he asked finally, voice quieter now. It wasn’t that he was against it, far from it. He just wanted to understand what was driving Sukuna this time.

“It’d make sense,” he answered, his tone calm and casual, like they were discussing something as mundane as splitting the grocery bill. His hands stayed loose on Satoru’s hips, thumbs idly tracing small, distracting circles. “We both got high sex drives, yeah? Seems easier this way. No need to dance around schedules or wait till one of us feels like it.”

Satoru’s heart thudded once, hard, and he swallowed. There was something pragmatic in Sukuna’s reasoning, like this was a logical solution to a shared inconvenience rather than a suggestion that had just turned Satoru’s stomach into a knot of nerves.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, catching Satoru’s gaze. “Obviously,” he went on, his voice dropping lower, more serious now, “if one of us ever doesn’t want it, then we don’t do anything. No pressure, no bullshit.”

Satoru found himself studying the look in Sukuna’s eyes. There wasn’t a hint of mockery there, no teasing smirk ready to twist his words. Just honesty, rough-edged and unexpectedly sincere.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, mind spinning even as his fingers curled against the solid heat of Sukuna’s chest. He could feel the slow, steady thump of the other man’s heartbeat beneath his palm—an infuriating contrast to the erratic rhythm of his own.

The silence stretched, until Satoru finally exhaled and gave a small, almost hesitant nod. “...Okay.”

Sukuna’s smirk spread slowly across his face. “Good.”

Before Satoru could even think to respond, Sukuna leaned in and kissed him.

As their lips met, an electric current seemed to course through Satoru's body, igniting every nerve ending. Sukuna's mouth moved demandingly against his own, staking a clear claim that sent shivers down Satoru's spine despite the heat building between them.

Satoru's slender fingers dug into the firm muscles of Sukuna's shoulders as he was pulled flush against the larger male's powerful frame. He could feel the press of Sukuna's sculpted torso, the hard planes and ridges of his abdomen flexing subtly with each ragged breath. It was overwhelming in the best possible way, stoking the flames of desire that threatened to consume Satoru from within.

Sukuna's tongue delved past Satoru's parted lips, exploring with bold strokes. The slick muscle twined around Satoru's own, engaging in a duel for dominance that left Satoru's head spinning. The taste of Sukuna was intoxicating, dark and masculine with an underlying sweetness that Satoru knew he would never get enough of.

Lost in the haze, Satoru arched into Sukuna's touch, craving more contact, more friction. His hips rolled forward of their own accord, seeking to close the last bit of distance between them. The thick ridge of Sukuna's cock pressed insistently against Satoru's thigh, a promise of the pleasure to come that made Satoru's mouth go dry with anticipation.

With a low growl, Sukuna wrenched his mouth away from Satoru's, leaving them both panting harshly. A thin strand of saliva connected their swollen lips for a brief moment before breaking. Before Satoru could even process the loss of contact, strong hands gripped his hips and spun him around.

Satoru yelped in surprise as he was bent forward over the cold porcelain of the kitchen counter. His palms slapped against the surface, bracing himself as Sukuna kicked his legs apart with a forceful nudge of his knee. The new position left Satoru exposed and vulnerable, his ass jutting out invitingly.

He barely had time to catch his breath before he felt the heat of Sukuna's large hands on his lower back, calloused fingertips digging into the smooth skin just above the waistband of his pants.

In one swift motion, Sukuna hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Satoru's pants and underwear, yanking them down to pool around Satoru's ankles. The cool air of the room hit Satoru's newly bared skin, raising goosebumps along his thighs and making his skin tingle with anticipation.

Satoru couldn't help but arch his back, presenting himself further as a needy whimper escaped his throat. He felt utterly debauched like this—bent over, pants around his knees, completely at the mercy of Sukuna's desires. And God help him, but Satoru had never wanted anything more in his life.

Behind him, he could hear the rustle of fabric as Sukuna freed himself from the confines of his own clothing.

The blunt head of Sukuna's massive cock nudged against Satoru's tight hole, smearing pre-cum across the sensitive skin. Satoru gasped and shuddered, his hole twitching needily at the contact. But Sukuna didn't push inside, instead grinding his thick shaft along the cleft of Satoru's ass in a maddeningly slow tease.

Just as Satoru thought he might lose his mind from the delicious friction, he felt a sharp tug on his hair. Sukuna fisted a hand in the white locks, wrenching Satoru's head back at a painful angle. Satoru cried out, the sting only serving to heighten his arousal.

Sukuna's hot breath ghosted over the shell of Satoru's ear as he leaned in close, his deep voice a sinful purr. "Fuck, you're so desperate for it, aren't you? Your slutty little hole is practically begging for my cock."

He punctuated his words with a particularly forceful grind of his hips, the heavy weight of his balls slapping against Satoru's taint. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. Wreck this tight ass until you can't walk straight. Until all you can think about is how good you feel with my cock splitting you open."

Satoru whined high in his throat, overwhelmed by the filthy promises and the relentless stimulation. His own neglected cock throbbed almost painfully between his legs, leaking steadily onto the floor.

Just as Satoru felt the broad head of Sukuna's cock notch against his fluttering hole, a surge of panic shot through him. "Wait!" he gasped out, reaching back to grab at Sukuna's hip. "We need lube, please. I don't want to get hurt."

Satoru's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at having to ask, but he refused to let his pride override his comfort and safety. The last thing he wanted was to be torn up by Sukuna's huge cock without proper preparation.

To his surprise, Sukuna actually paused, considering his words. Then, without warning, two thick fingers plunged knuckle-deep into Satoru's ass. Satoru yelped at the sudden intrusion, his walls clenching around the digits reflexively.

Sukuna's fingers pumped in and out of Satoru's hole, spreading the sticky evidence of their previous encounter. "Looks like you're already well-prepared," Sukuna taunted with a dark chuckle, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "My cum is still plugged up in here, keeping this greedy little ass ready for me."

Withdrawing his fingers, Sukuna brought his hand to his mouth. He made a show of sucking the digits clean, his red eyes boring into Satoru's with a wicked gleam. "But I suppose I can be a gentleman and add some extra lubrication." 

Satoru heard the obscene squelch as Sukuna brought his spit-slicked hand to his own cock, pumping the thick shaft with quick, efficient strokes. The lewd sounds filled the kitchen, mixing with Satoru's ragged breathing.

With his length now glistening with saliva, Sukuna lined himself up once more with Satoru's entrance. The flared head pushed insistently against Satoru's rim, demanding entry. Satoru tried to relax, willing his body to accept the intrusion, but he still tensed slightly in anticipation.

Sukuna took advantage of that momentary relaxation to surge forward with a firm thrust of his hips, the bulbous tip popping past the tight ring of muscle with a slight give. The burn was intense but not unbearable, thanks to the different fluids easing the way.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sukuna grunted, giving Satoru a moment to adjust to the stretch. The head of his cock kissed Satoru's prostate dead-on, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. "This ass was made for my dick, wasn't it?"

Satoru could only moan brokenly in response, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the countertop. He felt impossibly full, stuffed to the brim with Sukuna's thick length.

Slowly, Sukuna began to work more of his massive cock into Satoru's straining hole. Each inch gained was a battle, Satoru's inner walls clenching and fluttering around the invading thickness. By the time Sukuna bottomed out, his heavy balls resting against Satoru's taint, Satoru was seeing stars, his vision hazy.

"Goddamn," Sukuna panted, giving a shallow thrust that made Satoru whimper. "I've never felt anything so fucking perfect. This ass is mine now, understand? No one else gets to have you like this ever again."

Satoru could only moan in response, overwhelmed by the sheer size stretching him open.

Sukuna set a brutal pace right from the start, snapping his hips forward with enough force to make the counter creak beneath Satoru's elbows. Each thrust nailed Satoru's prostate dead-on, reducing him to a mess of moans and pleas.

"Yes, yes, fuck! Right there!" Satoru babbled, pushing his hips back to meet Sukuna's thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely through the kitchen, punctuated by Sukuna's grunts of exertion and Satoru's high, keening cries.

Sweat trickled down Satoru's back as he was ruthlessly pounded into, his lithe body jolting with each impact.

Lost in the haze of pleasure, Satoru could only hang on for dear life as Sukuna used him like a cheap fleshlight. The wet squelch of their fluids filled the air, mingling with the slap of flesh on flesh. Satoru's neglected cock bobbed between his legs, drooling steadily onto the floor and forming a small puddle beneath them.

Satoru whined needily, trying to reach down to stroke himself, but Sukuna's hand shot out to knock his own away.

"Not yet," Sukuna growled. "You don't get to cum until I say so."

Satoru sobbed in frustration, his hips bucking wildly as he tried to chase his rapidly approaching orgasm. The coil of tension in his gut wound tighter and tighter, his balls drawing up close to his body as his climax built.

Satoru was so close, teetering right on the knife's edge of ecstasy. Every drag of Sukuna's cock against his abused walls sent bolts of lightning through his nerves, stoking the inferno burning in his core. His entire being narrowed down to the point where they were joined, the exquisite stretch and burn and pleasure of being so thoroughly fucked.

"Please," Satoru begged, his voice raw and wrecked. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he was denied his release. "Please, Sukuna!"

Sensing Satoru's desperation, Sukuna changed the angle of his thrusts just slightly so that the head of his cock was pounding directly into Satoru’s prostate on every thrust, causing Satoru to see white. At the same time, he reached around to wrap a calloused hand around Satoru's weeping cock, stroking in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts.

"Since you begged so pretty for me, I suppose you deserve a reward," Sukuna purred. "Be a good boy, Satoru. Cum for me like the desperate little slut you are."

Those filthy words, combined with the relentless assault on Satoru's prostate and the tight grip of Sukuna's fist around his aching cock, finally pushed Satoru over the edge. With a strangled cry, his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Thick ropes of pearly cum erupted from Satoru's cock, splattering obscenely across the white kitchen cabinets. Some shots landed on the floor, adding to the growing puddle of their combined fluids.

"That's it, just like that," Sukuna groaned, his voice rough with lust as he watched Satoru fall apart. "So beautiful when you let go for me. Such a good boy, cumming so hard on my cock."

Even as Satoru rode out the aftershocks of his intense orgasm, Sukuna kept up his relentless pace, fucking into him with single-minded determination.

Satoru could only moan weakly, oversensitized and trembling as he was used for Sukuna's pleasure. His spent cock gave a feeble twitch with each drag of Sukuna's cock against his abused walls.

With a final, brutal thrust, Sukuna buried himself to the hilt in Satoru's fluttering hole.

Sukuna threw his head back with a guttural moan as his orgasm hit him. His cock pulsed and twitched inside Satoru's clenching channel as he emptied himself, flooding Satoru's insides with what felt like an endless stream of hot, thick cum.

"Fuuuck, take it all," Sukuna snarled, grinding his pelvis against Satoru's ass as he worked himself through the intense waves of pleasure. His fingers dug into the meat of Satoru's hips hard enough to bruise as he held the smaller male in place, ensuring every last drop was pumped deep into his guts.

Satoru could only whimper and shake, completely overwhelmed by the feeling.

As the last tremors of their shared orgasms faded, Sukuna remained buried inside Satoru for a long moment, both of them panting harshly. Sweat cooled on their skin as they caught their breath.

Then, slowly, Sukuna pulled out. The movement made Satoru gasp at the sudden emptiness, his abused hole clenching around nothing. Before he could even process the loss, he felt Sukuna's hands on his ass, roughly spreading his cheeks apart.

"Look at that," Sukuna murmured appreciatively, watching as rivulets of pearly white cum began to leak out of Satoru's gaping, puffy hole. "Such a messy little cumslut, can't even keep my load inside."

Without warning, Sukuna shoved two thick fingers back into Satoru's sloppy hole, scooping up some of the excess cum and pushing it back in. Satoru yelped at the intrusion, his oversensitive walls fluttering around the digits.

"There, all plugged up. Wouldn't want to waste a single drop," Sukuna said with a wicked grin. Pulling his hand away, he delivered a sharp smack to Satoru's reddened ass cheek, the sound echoing obscenely in the kitchen.

Satoru yelped at the sudden sting, his sensitive skin jumping under Sukuna's palm. Before he could recover, Sukuna was groping the abused globe of his ass, kneading the pliant flesh roughly. Satoru just whimpered, his body limp and pliant, completely at Sukuna's mercy.

After a moment, Sukuna stepped back and grabbed a handful of paper towels from the roll on the counter. He cleaned himself off, then turned his attention to Satoru.

Gently but firmly, Sukuna wiped away the mess from Satoru's thighs and ass, his touch surprisingly tender despite the roughness of their activities. Once satisfied that Satoru was presentable, he helped the smaller male stand upright on shaky legs.

Satoru was still trembling when he felt the gentle tug of fabric against his legs. Sukuna, now composed and silent, had pulled up his own pants before crouching slightly to gather Satoru’s from where they hung around his ankles. The motion was careful as he eased the soft cotton up Satoru’s legs, his knuckles brushing against flushed, sensitive skin.

Once the pants were in place and he was somewhat decent again, Sukuna’s large hands found his hips and gently turned him around. Satoru lifted his gaze, expecting a smirk, a crude comment—something sharp-edged and teasing. But instead, what he found made his breath catch.

Sukuna was looking down at him with an expression that could almost be mistaken for fondness. It softened the harsh lines of his face, dimmed the dangerous gleam in his eyes. And then, without a word, Sukuna leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of Satoru’s nose.

It was light. Fleeting. So gentle that Satoru could only blink, wide-eyed and dumbstruck, as the warmth of it lingered on his skin.

“Pick up some more milk and eggs from the store,” Sukuna murmured.

And just like that, he stepped back, turning toward the hallway. A few seconds later came the muted click of his bedroom door closing.

Satoru stood there in the kitchen, his breath uneven and his mind spinning. The faint scent of Sukuna still clung to him, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to scream, laugh, or collapse.

Instead, he just stared blankly ahead, eyes wide and heart pounding, wondering what the hell had just happened.

The next two weeks unfolded much the same. Once that barrier between them had been broken down, the world shrank to the four walls of the house and the heat that constantly seemed to fill it. Days and nights blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and exhilaration, and Satoru quickly realized that life with Sukuna had been irreversibly altered.

It wasn’t just sex; it was a relentless, consuming cycle. Some nights, Sukuna would come home with the weight of the world dragging his shoulders down. His expression would be dark, eyes stormy, jaw tight from the day’s pressures, and without a word, he’d grab Satoru, pressing him against the nearest surface—counter, table, or even the edge of the couch—demanding every ounce of attention he could give.

Other nights, it was Satoru who took the reins.

He’d slide onto Sukuna’s lap, hips brushing against the other as the man sat sprawled in front of the television, pretending not to notice. He would never openly admit to expecting it, but Sukuna’s hands always found their way to Satoru’s waist.

It was always messy, but that messiness became its own kind of perfection. Neither of them sought anyone else anymore; the world outside their home ceased to matter in comparison to the pull between them. They had all they needed right here, in the sweat, the heat, the bruises, and the whispered names in the dark.

Satoru’s body responded in ways he had begun to learn how to navigate. The dull ache between his thighs became a constant companion, a reminder of Sukuna’s persistent attention. Bruises bloomed across his hips, bite marks dotted his shoulders and neck, and his skin carried a living map of the man’s possession.

He should have been embarrassed, maybe even ashamed, but instead he found a stubborn, almost giddy satisfaction in the marks left behind. Every glance in the mirror, every brush of Sukuna’s hands over them, sent a thrill racing through him.

And yet, amidst the intensity of it all, something else began to change.

Satoru began noticing subtler changes, the kind that weren’t always loud or obvious, but somehow more powerful in spite of that. Sukuna’s edges softened in unexpected ways. The roughness remained, of course, but there were moments now when the man’s gestures carried an attentiveness that Satoru hadn’t thought possible from him.

A few times, Sukuna returned home with small tokens of thoughtfulness.

A plain white paper bag from the cafe down the street would appear on the counter, sometimes containing a slice of Satoru’s favorite strawberry shortcake, other times a caramel-laden, dessert-style coffee that Sukuna swore would rot Satoru’s teeth.

Satoru would tease Sukuna mercilessly, laughing and rolling his eyes at the ridiculous sweetness of it all, yet the smile that tugged at his lips was unshakable.

Their dynamic shifted in other ways, too. Sukuna’s touches, once almost exclusively possessive and commanding, now carried moments of tenderness—long, casual brushes of fingertips against Satoru’s forearm, the gentle tug of hair out of his eyes, the way he’d rest his hand lightly on Satoru’s lower back when they walked through the house together. They were building something in the gaps, something neither of them had intended but couldn’t deny.

Sex had been the catalyst, the fire, but the warmth that followed started to weave a different kind of connection. Satoru felt it in the way he suddenly looked forward to coming home, the way his pulse sped up when Sukuna appeared from his bedroom or leaned against the counter nearby.

It was dizzying, sometimes frustrating, but always theirs.

𓂃⁺‧₊⋆♱⋆₊‧⁺𓂃

The day had stretched longer than usual, a rare quiet that neither Satoru nor Sukuna had expected. Sukuna had been working late. Satoru had already collapsed into bed hours earlier, sheet tangled around his legs and pillow pressed against his cheek, staring at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

The quiet felt strange. He’d grown accustomed to the rhythm between them. And yet tonight, there had been nothing. No tug at his clothes, no rough whisper of his name, no pressing warmth in the dark corners of his room.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Sukuna would come in. Maybe peek in, like he had so many nights before, just to pull Satoru from sleep or drape himself over him. But the minutes ticked by, slow and unyielding, and the dark outline of Sukuna never appeared in his doorway.

Part of him felt disappointed. It had been so long since they’d gone without, and the absence of Sukuna’s presence left a strange, hollow ache inside of his chest. But another part of him, a small, practical part, felt a surge of relief. A night to himself. A break. Time to breathe without the heat of Sukuna pressing into him, time to think without the ache between his thighs clawing at him.

He shifted beneath the sheets, trying to settle his restless body, to convince himself that it was okay. That this rare reprieve was welcome.

But his dreams, as they always seemed to do when he least wanted them to, had other plans.

Satoru drifted off, his breaths slowing, his mind slipping into the space between wakefulness and sleep. His body relaxed, muscles loosening, limbs falling heavy against the mattress. The silence of the room wrapped around him like a second skin, and soon, his consciousness slipped away entirely.

In his dream, the world changed. The familiar walls of his bedroom dissolved, replaced by something darker, more intense, like the inside of a forbidden temple, lit only by flickering torchlight. The air was thick with the scent of incense and wood smoke.

He was laying on a massive bed, its frame carved from black wood, its sheets deep crimson, pooling around the edges like spilled blood. He found himself bound to it, wrists and ankles secured with thick leather restraints, each one tight enough to keep him in place but not painful.

And there, kneeling between his legs on the bed, was Sukuna.

The man looked up at Satoru through half-lidded eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His pink hair fell in tousled waves around his face, catching the dim light. He wore nothing but a pair of low-slung black pants, leaving his chiseled torso bare. The dark tattoos that adorned his skin seemed to writhe in the flickering shadows. He reached out, trailing a single finger up Satoru's thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"You're mine," Sukuna purred, his voice low and dangerous. "All mine. To do with as I please."

His hands slid higher, rough skin dragging over pale flesh. Sukuna bent down, dragging his tongue along soft skin, tasting the salt on Satoru's skin. He nipped at Satoru's hip bone, hard enough to leave a mark, before soothing the sting with his lips.

Slowly, Sukuna moved further down. His breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of Satoru's inner thigh, cool and teasing. Satoru shuddered, a soft gasp escaping his lips. Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and rich with promise.

His hands came to rest on Satoru's hips, thumbs tracing idle patterns on the jutting bones.

Sukuna leaned in, his hot breath washing over Satoru's exposed cock. Satoru could feel the weight of those red eyes fixed on him, drinking in every twitch and tremble. Then, Sukuna's mouth closed around the head of Satoru's dick, warm and wet.

A moan tore from Satoru's throat, back arching off the bed as pleasure spiked through him. Sukuna's tongue swirled around the sensitive crown, lapping at the precum that had begun to leak. He sucked gently, cheeks hollowing as he pulled Satoru deeper into the heat of his mouth.

Each movement was deliberate, calculated to drive Satoru wild. Sukuna took his time, savoring the taste of him, the texture of his shaft against his tongue.

Satoru's hips bucked involuntarily, trying to thrust deeper into Sukuna's mouth. The restraints held firm, keeping him spread open and helpless. Sukuna hummed around the intrusion, vibrations shooting straight to Satoru's core.

He worked Satoru's length lazily, taking him to the hilt before pulling back until just the tip remained between those plush lips. Each withdrawal left Satoru panting, desperate for more. Sukuna's gaze never wavered, those piercing red eyes locked onto Satoru's as if daring him to look away.

As Sukuna bobbed his head, taking Satoru deeper with each pass, his hands roamed over the lean expanse of Satoru's hips and stomach. Fingers dug into the firm muscle, nails scratching lightly, urging Satoru to thrust up into that wicked mouth again.

Sukuna hummed around the intrusion, the vibration sending shockwaves through Satoru's core. He pulled back just enough to run his teeth along the underside of Satoru's length, the slight sting mingling with the overwhelming pleasure.

Satoru's fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white as he struggled to maintain his composure. But Sukuna was relentless, sucking harder, faster, his own arousal evident in the way his cock strained against the confines of his pants. 

Satoru's vision blurred, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he teetered on the edge of his orgasm. Then, just as Sukuna's suction intensified, just as Satoru's orgasm threatened to rip through him, Sukuna pulled away. He sat back on his heels, a triumphant smirk curling his lips as he gazed up at Satoru's straining form.

"Close, wasn't it?" Sukuna taunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "But you didn't get to cum, did you?"

Satoru let out a broken whimper, his body trembling with the force of his denied climax. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, humiliation and frustration warring within him. How could Sukuna toy with him like this?

Suddenly, Satoru's vision began to clear, the haze of lust and desire receding as reality asserted itself once more. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the lingering fog of his dream. As awareness returned, he realized he was still lying in his own bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, heart pounding in his chest.

It had all been a dream.

Sukuna, the bindings, the exquisite torture of being brought to the brink only to be denied release. Yet even as rationality reasserted itself, Satoru couldn't shake the ache between his thighs, the phantom sensation of Sukuna's mouth closing around him. He bit his lip, stifling a whimper, and reluctantly forced himself to relax into the mattress.

The dream had been vivid, almost real enough to make him question what was fantasy and what was memory.

Satoru became acutely aware of the throbbing hardness between his legs as he lay there. He glanced down at his erection and wondered if Sukuna was still awake.

Curiosity and need propelled him to stand, legs shaky from the aftermath of his dream. He shed his clothes quickly, hardly registering the cool air against his heated skin as he made his way down the darkened hallway to Sukuna's room.

Heart pounding, Satoru paused in the threshold, biting his lip as he drank in the sight of Sukuna sprawled across the large bed. Moonlight streaming through the window cast an ethereal glow on the other man's broad, sleeping form. Sukuna's chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his rosy hair a tufted mess against the pillows.

With a deep breath, Satoru stepped into the room, the door clicking softly behind him. He approached the bed, hesitating for a moment before gingerly climbing onto Sukuna's larger frame. Satoru settled astride Sukuna's waist, his hardened cock brushing against the other man's stomach.

Sukuna stirred, a low groan rumbling in his throat as he sensed Satoru's presence. His eyes fluttered open, focusing on Satoru with a mix of sleepiness and growing awareness.

Sukuna's chuckle rumbled through his chest, eyes gleaming with amusement as he registered Satoru's position atop him. His gaze dropped to the glistening cock nestled between their bodies, a bead of precum forming at the tip. A smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he reached up, strong fingers digging into Satoru's hips.

"Look at you," Sukuna purred, his voice husky with sleep and arousal. "So eager, so needy." He tugged Satoru down, grinding their bodies together. "You're such a slut for my cock, aren't you?"

Satoru whimpered, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I-I don't want to be," he protested weakly, even as his hips rocked against Sukuna's.

Sukuna laughed, the sound low and mocking. "Oh, but you do. You love being at my mercy, don't you? Love feeling me deep inside you, stretching you wide."

He released Satoru's hips, instead wrapping his hands around the smaller man's thighs, holding him in place. Sukuna's eyes were fixed intently on Satoru's cock, his own length stirring.

"I'm tired, Satoru. Not doing all the work tonight," Sukuna said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Satoru swallowed hard, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. "But…”

With a sudden move, Sukuna pulled Satoru up his chest until the smaller man was nearly straddling his face. Sukuna's breath washed over Satoru's sensitive cock and balls, making him shudder.

"Sit on my face.”

Satoru hesitated, biting his lip as he stared down at Sukuna. The request sent a thrill through him, but also a hint of trepidation. He'd never done anything quite like this before, and the thought of putting his full weight on Sukuna's face made him nervous.

"Are you sure?” He asked, his gaze searching Sukuna’s eyes for reassurance. “I don't want to hurt you..."

Despite his words, Satoru's cock throbbed with anticipation, precum leaking steadily now. He couldn't deny how much the idea turned him on. And Sukuna's response was immediate, his grip on Satoru's thighs tightening.

"Yes, I'm sure," Sukuna growled, his gaze burning into Satoru's. "Put your weight on me. I want to taste you, Satoru. Want to feel you lose control on my tongue."

Sukuna's words sent a thrill through Satoru, his resolve crumbling under the onslaught of desire. With a soft moan, he positioned himself. His hands flew to Sukuna's headboard, gripping tightly to steady himself while his ass hovered just above Sukuna's mouth. The sensation of Sukuna's hot breath against his hole made his eyes roll back in pleasure.

Without hesitation, Sukuna began to lap at Satoru's hole, his tongue probing and circling the tight ring of muscle. Satoru let out a high-pitched moan, one hand releasing the headboard to come down so his fingers could tangle in Sukuna's hair as he ground down against that skilled mouth.

"Oh god, Sukuna..." Satoru gasped, his hips moving instinctively as he sought more friction. "That feels… Fuck, it feels incredible!"

His roommate hummed his approval, the vibration traveling through Satoru's body and intensifying the pleasure. He continued to feast on Satoru's ass, his tongue delving deeper with each passing moment. He pushed past the initial resistance and Satoru's body yielded to him, muscles clenching and relaxing in time with his ministrations.

Satoru's moans grew louder, more desperate, his hips rocking in time with Sukuna's licks. Pre-cum dripped steadily from his cock, coating his abdomen in a slick sheen. The musky scent of sex filled the air, heavy and intoxicating.

Sukuna doubled his efforts, sucking hard on Satoru's hole as he thrust his tongue inside, fucking the smaller man with his mouth. He quickly found Satoru's prostate, tongue delving deep to stroke the sensitive bundle of nerves within. Satoru cried out, his back arching as waves of ecstasy crashed through him.

"More!" Satoru begged, eyes rolling back. "Please, Sukuna, don't stop!"

Sukuna's fingers moved to join his tongue, pushing two digits past Satoru's stretched opening. They curled inward, stroking that magical spot with precision.

And then, Sukuna abruptly pulled Satoru off his face, leaving the smaller man gasping and bereft. Satoru whined, a note of distress in his voice as he looked down at Sukuna with pleading eyes.

"Don't stop," Satoru pleaded, his cock throbbing with unfulfilled need. "Please, ‘Kuna, need you.”

Sukuna's gaze was intense, his red eyes blazing with hunger as they met Satoru's. "Then take what you need," he commanded gruffly, his voice low and authoritative.

Satoru's eyes widened at Sukuna's words, a thrill of excitement racing through him. Without hesitation, he scrambled down Sukuna's body, positioning himself over the other man's rigid cock. He grasped the thick shaft, feeling it pulse against his palm, and aligned his entrance with the broad head.

Slowly, Satoru sank down onto Sukuna, his body yielding to the invasion. Sukuna's cockhead popped past the initial barrier, and Satoru bit back a cry as he felt himself split open, the delicious burn of penetration spreading through his core.

He stilled for a moment, his hands pressed to Sukuna's chest to steady himself as he adjusted to the new sensation. Sukuna's hands gripped Satoru's hips, guiding him further down until he was seated fully on the thick cock.

Satoru exhaled sharply, his back arching as he savored the fullness. Sukuna's cock stretched him impossibly wide, the ridges and veins providing a textured massage against his inner walls. Every twitch and pulse sent jolts of pleasure through Satoru's body.

"You fit me so perfectly," Satoru breathed, his voice a mix of awe and desire. He began to rock his hips, setting a slow rhythm as he rode Sukuna's cock. Each movement sent sparks of delight dancing along his nerve endings.

Sukuna's grip on Satoru's hips tightened, his thumbs rubbing circles on the tender flesh. "You look so pretty like this," Sukuna murmured, his gaze roaming over Satoru's flushed face and heaving chest. "Love seeing you take my cock."

Sukuna's hands moved to Satoru's ass, squeezing the globes and pulling him down harder onto his length.

Satoru's pace quickened, his body moving relentlessly as he rode Sukuna's cock. The bed frame creaked beneath them, accompanying the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. Satoru's thighs burned from the exertion, but he barely noticed, lost in the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

Head thrown back, Satoru's moans filled the room, each one punctuated by the smack of his hips against Sukuna's. His cock bobbed with every bounce, smearing precum across his abdomen. The intensity of the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and yet Satoru couldn't slow down.

Sukuna's grip on Satoru's hips tightened to the point of pain, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Look at you, bouncing on my dick like a cheap whore," Sukuna sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Such a slutty little bottom, aren't you?”

Satoru's moans faltered, a flush of shame coloring his cheeks despite the intense pleasure still raging through him. But he didn't pull away, couldn't bring himself to stop, even as Sukuna's harsh words cut through the haze of lust. Instead, he redoubled his efforts, slamming down onto Sukuna's cock with renewed vigor, grinding his hips to take him even deeper.

"Y-yes," Satoru admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't help it, Your cock feels too good."

Sukuna's cruel laughter echoed through the room, sending shivers down Satoru's spine. "Of course it does, you filthy slut. My cock was made for destroying tight holes like yours." His hips bucked upward, driving his thick length deeper into Satoru's clenching heat. Satoru cried out, his vision blurring.

"Good boy, keep going," he urged, his grip on Satoru's hips loosening slightly. "Show me what a desperate slut you are for my cock."

Satoru nodded frantically, his mind consumed by the urge to please Sukuna. He rode the other man faster, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his rapidly approaching climax. The coil of tension in his belly wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"S-so close," Satoru gasped, his voice ragged with need. "Gonna cum, 'Kuna... Need you to fill me up!”

Satoru's body tensed, then convulsed as his orgasm ripped through him. His eyes rolled back, a scream of pleasure escaping his parted lips. Hot jets of cum spurted from his cock, splattering across Sukuna's chest and stomach.

At the same moment, Sukuna's grip on Satoru's hips tightened, his own hips surging upward, burying his cock to the hilt inside Satoru's spasming channel. With a guttural groan, Sukuna buried himself to the hilt inside Satoru, his cock pulsing as it emptied its load deep within the smaller man's quivering channel.

Satoru's inner walls clenched rhythmically around Sukuna's spurting cock, milking every last drop of cum from the other man. The sensation of Sukuna's release pushed Satoru’s overstimulated body over the edge once more. He came again, his body shaking violently as his spent cock spurted out pathetic strings of cum.

As the aftershocks subsided, Satoru collapsed forward, his forehead resting against Sukuna's shoulder. Both men were panting heavily, sweat-drenched and sated.

Satoru lay sprawled across Sukuna’s chest, his body boneless and flushed, the slow rise and fall of the other man’s breathing rocking him in a lazy rhythm. For a long while, neither of them moved. The air in the room was thick and warm, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, the faint hum of the city outside barely breaking the quiet between them.

His heartbeat had slowed, though his body still tingled with the pleasant exhaustion that followed. Every muscle ached, the dull throb of satisfaction sinking deep into his bones. Eventually, he shifted, a small, tired sound slipping from his throat as he stretched an arm toward the edge of the bed. His body protested the movement—his thighs trembled, his lower back twinged—but he managed to prop himself up just enough to breathe.

He needed a shower. Or maybe just a damp towel.

But as soon as he tried to pull away, Sukuna’s arms came up to wrap around him. The motion was so sudden that Satoru froze, his eyes flicking up toward Sukuna’s face.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Satoru’s breath caught. For a split second, he forgot how to answer, caught somewhere between nervous and flustered under the weight of that gaze. “I, uh, was just gonna clean up,” he murmured, his tone careful, almost sheepish. “Then head to bed.”

Sukuna’s response was a quiet scoff, followed by the flex of his arms tightening around Satoru. “No, you’re not.”

Before Satoru could form a protest, Sukuna’s mouth was on his.

The kiss wasn’t rough this time. It was demanding and possessive, claiming Satoru's mouth as thoroughly as Sukuna had claimed his body mere moments ago. Satoru let out a soft, muffled sound against his lips, his fingers curling into Sukuna’s chest as he melted into the kiss. When Sukuna finally pulled back, Satoru’s lips tingled, his head swimming in the haze left behind.

“You’re sleeping in my bed tonight,” Sukuna said simply. His tone brooked no argument, not that Satoru could have formed one in that moment even if he’d wanted to.

All he could do was nod quietly.

Sukuna’s grip eased only enough to shift them both, guiding Satoru to his side. Satoru found himself tucked firmly against Sukuna’s chest, his face pressed to the warmth of the man’s skin. Sukuna’s arm came to rest around his back, holding him in place. Sukuna’s softening cock was still buried inside him, but the energy had changed entirely.

It wasn’t lust anymore. It was soft. Sweet, almost.

Satoru breathed in deeply, his lashes fluttering shut as he relaxed into the heat coming off of Sukuna’s skin. The rhythmic thud of the man’s heartbeat filled his ears, steady and grounding, and Satoru found that he didn’t feel the need to move. Didn’t feel like running.

Just staying. Just breathing.

When Satoru had first been unsealed from the Prison Realm, his own death hadn’t been a consideration.

Not for him. Not in that moment, as the air rushed past him, thick and biting with the echo of cursed energy that still clung to the edges of his skin. His mind had been consumed by only one thought: find the bastard who had stolen Suguru’s body and make him pay.

Kenjaku. That was the name that Satoru’s mind supplied him with, the single word twisting and poisoned. He could taste it in the back of his throat, sour and sharp, a reminder of every life Kenjaku had touched and destroyed.

Was, he thought, letting the word linger. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

Was.

It was a reminder that the bastard had already met his reckoning, even if Satoru hadn’t delivered it himself. His fingers itched, restless for the fight he had missed, the vengeance he’d wanted to savor firsthand. But fate—or whatever cruel hand had orchestrated this—had intervened.

It hadn’t been Satoru who struck the killing blow.

No, that honor had fallen to Yuta Okkotsu, the student he had trained, the one who had grown stronger than even Satoru could have expected. The thought alone made something heavy in his chest loosen, a faint relief mingling with the sting of missed opportunity. 

Yuta had ended it. Kenjaku was gone.

All because he had been slightly… distracted, caught up in fighting the one and only King of Curses.

The small, fleeting grin he had allowed himself dropped from his face.

He could still feel the echoes of the battle, the heat of cursed energy crackling against his skin. That bastard had killed him. Somehow, he had cut through Satoru’s defenses, bypassed Infinity, and ended him.

Strangely… he hadn’t minded all that much. There was a calm in knowing that his students were more than capable, that they could finish the fight without him.

And then there was the afterlife, brief and incredibly surreal, where he found Suguru waiting for him, alongside Nanami and Haibara. For a moment, Satoru allowed himself to sink into it. He had been content. Kind of.

But that contentment had lasted barely ten minutes.

What felt like a mere moment later, the world had shifted. Cold air and the familiar weight of his own body surrounded him, and he’d realized with a shock that he was back. Alive. Again.

Apparently, the King of Curses had taken a peculiar liking to him.

Not just a fleeting annoyance or a grudging respect, no, this was something far more absurd. Satoru could still remember the conversation, or rather, the arrangement: the King had struck a binding vow with the elders.

In exchange for resurrecting Satoru, he would relent. He would stop fighting. He would leave everyone alone and refrain from slaughtering any more humans. All because Satoru had… what? Cleared his skies?

Something like that.

Satoru had stared at them for a long, quiet moment, disbelief the only thing on his mind.

Poetic bullshit.

That’s what it was.

The idea that a being so monstrously powerful, so terrifyingly unpredictable, would go out of his way to preserve him, as if Satoru were some kind of collectible, was laughable.

And yet, here he was. Alive. The King of Curses’ reasoning, as obtuse and infuriating as it was, Satoru couldn’t deny the absurd advantage it granted him.

He let the thought sink in, the weight of it heavy but oddly comforting. Not because he cared that the King of Curses fancied him, but because it meant he was back in his own body, back in the world that still had people worth protecting, people who counted on him.

Still, the poetic phrasing, the grandiose bullshit—it made his skin crawl and the corners of his mouth twitch. He had no idea whether to be irritated or bemused, but, true to form, he settled somewhere in between: exasperated and begrudgingly entertained by the fact that a cosmic-level monster had apparently deemed him worthy of preservation.

He was alive and well.

Mostly well, anyway.

His body bore the marks of the battle, jagged scars stretching across his abdomen and along his arms, reminders of wounds that refused to fade completely. Sometimes they throbbed, a dull ache that crept into his bones and made him wince at the wrong angle or even a sudden shift in the wind.

But alive was alive, and that was… something. Enough to keep him moving, enough to keep him in the world with the people who mattered.

Sukuna had constructed a shrine for himself somewhere deep in the forests outside Kyoto. Hidden from the prying eyes of the modern world, yet close enough that visitors could come without too much trouble.

And visit, they did. He knew Sukuna hated it. Absolutely despised the constant parade of Satoru’s former students checking in. Especially Yuji, for reasons Satoru didn’t entirely understand, though the boy’s earnest persistence was part of what made him so endearing.

And because of that, Satoru had drawn his own line.

If he was to exist as some pretty trophy sat on Sukuna’s shelf, there was one thing he would not compromise on. He would not deny the people who mattered to him their right to see him, to speak with him, to check in. No curse, no king, no “World Cutting Slash” could strip that away.

Not even Sukuna.

And that’s how Satoru now found himself alone in his own quarters, the quiet settling around him like a soft, heavy blanket after the storm of voices had faded.

The energy of his former first-year students still lingered in the corners of the room: echoes of laughter, the soft shuffle of footsteps, the occasional scold or teasing remark. Yuji and Nobara had been alive with energy, their excitement bubbling over in waves that made Satoru’s chest ache with warmth.

They had begun to come to terms with the… unusual arrangement. And the way they had smiled, eyes wide and relieved, had been worth every minor indignity, every smirk from Sukuna, every lingering feeling of absurdity in the world. They were simply happy that their beloved sensei was alive and breathing, and Satoru had let himself take comfort in that.

Megumi, on the other hand… Megumi was different.

He hadn’t smiled much, hadn’t joked or teased.

Not like he ever did, really.

But this time was different.

His posture had been tense, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, dark eyes flitting around the space as if searching for a solution no one had asked him to find. The boy was trying, in his own quiet, stubborn way, to accept it.

But it was obvious from his movements, the subtle tightening of his jaw, and the way his gaze lingered a little too long on Satoru, as if measuring whether everything was truly alright, that he was not as okay as Satoru hoped.

Satoru felt a genuine pang of guilt for the kid.

He could see it so clearly, the weight Megumi carried, though he tried to mask it behind measured movements and stoic silence. And honestly, who could blame him? Satoru could barely wrap his own mind around it.

To have your body stolen by a thousand-year-old curse, a being so ancient and cunning it could manipulate lives like pieces on a chessboard… and then to watch that same curse use your own body to slaughter the one person who had practically raised you, who had guided you through every lesson, every fight, every ounce of knowledge you had been able to gather…

Satoru’s chest tightened, thinking of the helplessness that must have gripped Megumi in those moments, the shock and grief and rage all tangled into one suffocating knot. And then, as if fate itself enjoyed tormenting him further, the curse had somehow regained control of its own body, alive and more terrifying than ever, and had taken Satoru as nothing more than a glorified prisoner.

He could see the weight of it in Megumi’s eyes, the subtle tremor in his hands when he thought no one was looking. Satoru wanted to reach out, wanted to say something clever or comforting, but words felt hollow against the enormity of what the boy had endured. All he could do was sit there, letting the guilt settle in his chest alongside a fierce, protective frustration that this entire nightmare had ever happened.

Satoru exhaled slowly, a soft, almost weary sigh that echoed through the quiet of his quarters. His gaze fell on the book Megumi had left on the edge of the nightstand.

At first glance, it seemed insignificant—just a simple picture book, worn at the corners, its cover faded from years of handling. But Satoru knew better. It wasn’t the book itself that mattered—it was the memories it carried, the weight of a past that had been warm and safe, a flicker of light in the dark storm of everything else.

Goodnight Moon.

He remembered the evenings vividly: Megumi and Tsumiki, tucked in their blankets with only their heads peeking out, their small hands clutching the edges as they curled against him on the couch. The soft cadence of his voice reading the familiar lines, the way their eyes would grow heavy with sleep.

That had been their world before curses, before death and battles and incomprehensible betrayals.

And that had been a world where he could just be Satoru, not a pawn or a weapon or a trophy.

It had been Megumi’s favorite bedtime story. And Satoru felt the unspoken message behind the gesture.

He knew Megumi wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, to voice feelings in words. But leaving the book here was a quiet, steadfast declaration. A reminder that even in the middle of Sukuna’s shrine, even in the midst of being treated like a prize, he wasn’t entirely alone. That Megumi, in his own reserved way, had thought of him. Was thinking of him.

Satoru’s fingers traced the edges of the cover, feeling the slight fray where Tsumiki had once ripped it in her haste to bring it to Satoru one night. A small smile tugged at his lips again, warmth spreading in his chest that he hadn’t expected, but that he would cling to fiercely.

A sharp knock on the closed shoji door pulled Satoru out of his reverie.

His hand froze for a moment, lingering on the cover of the book he’d been holding, before he hastily shoved it beneath the blankets and pushed himself to his feet.

“Come in,” he called, trying to make his voice sound casual, though tension still lingered in his tone. He straightened quickly, brushing imaginary dust from his pants as the door slid open.

Uraume stepped into the room. Satoru watched them silently, still trying to gauge what exactly they were—a servant? A follower? Some sort of bodyguard?

He wasn’t entirely sure.

There was an air about them that was both unnerving and fascinating, a calm, unyielding presence that made the room feel just a tad bit heavier.

They rarely spoke, their expression impossible to read. Always cold. Always blank. Like a stone statue carved from the dark granite of some ancient temple.

And yet… Satoru could see it, if he looked closely, in the subtle tilt of their head or the careful way they stood while near Sukuna: an almost imperceptible devotion. Care, hidden beneath layers of formality and discipline, aimed entirely at the man they served. As monstrous as Sukuna could be, Uraume seemed to regard him with a reverence that was entirely unwavering.

Uraume gave a small bow as they stepped fully into the room. “Dinner is ready. Lord Sukuna is awaiting you in the dining room,” they intoned, their voice smooth and utterly devoid of emotion as always.

Satoru exhaled through his nose, letting the faintest edge of amusement curl on his lips. He plastered on his usual indifferent, “too-happy” mask, rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders as he quipped, “Oh, joy. Another gourmet meal served by my overlord. Should I be trembling in anticipation, or just bow preemptively?”

His tone dripped with the kind of teasing arrogance that usually earned him scowls from Sukuna, but here, it simply earned him silence.

Hands shoved carelessly into his pockets, Satoru swept past Uraume, letting his long legs carry him down the polished corridor that led to the dining room. The wooden floorboards echoed faintly under his steps, and the walls, lined with faintly glowing lanterns, cast long, dancing shadows that flickered across the surface with each step.

He could sense Uraume trailing behind him, like a shadow that disapproved of every word that left his mouth. Their distaste was palpable, even when he couldn’t see them.

Satoru’s lips twitched upward, a quiet chuckle slipping out.

They reached the dining room, and Uraume stepped past him to slide the door open for him. Satoru stepped inside, letting his gaze sweep over the room before him. That much, he could admit, he didn’t mind.

He knew Uraume probably hated this. Hated treating him with civility, hated opening doors and making polite gestures as though he were a guest rather than a prisoner, but Sukuna’s orders were clear. And for now, Satoru was just along for the show, like a particularly stubborn decoration placed in the midst of the King of Curses’ carefully curated domain.

And speaking of the big brute…

Satoru’s eyes flicked to the figure at the head of the table, the presence he’d been both dreading and expecting. His chest tightened just slightly, the familiar tension rising, the heat of irritation and amusement mingling as his gaze met Sukuna’s.

There he was.

Sukuna sat at the far end of the dining room, perched on a large cushion laid over the tatami mats. The dying light of the sun streamed in through the large windows, pooling across the floor in muted, golden rectangles, while candlelight flickered softly around the room, casting shadows that danced across his enormous frame. Even sitting still, he looked every inch the monster that stories and whispers had painted him to be.

Sukuna was impossibly tall, his heavily muscled frame filling the space in a way that made Satoru’s chest tighten slightly—not with fear, exactly, but with a careful awareness of the raw power coiled beneath the surface.

Four pairs of thick, corded arms rested casually, but every line of muscle spoke of lethal mastery. Four eyes glimmered faintly in the dim light, each one sharp, calculating, and fully aware of every movement in the room. His broad face and strong nose lent him an almost regal presence, even amid the air of menace that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

Sukuna’s true form was inked with similar markings as the ones that showed up whenever he’d taken control of either of his vessels. Thick bands encircled his wrists and upper arms, large black dots marked each shoulder, and intricate designs traced patterns across his abdomen, chest, and up onto his face.

If Satoru was honest with himself, he had to admit it: the King of Curses was undeniably attractive. In a terrifying, overwhelming way, certainly, but attractive nonetheless.

Every line of muscle, every movement he made, even the way the candlelight caught his features—it all had a magnetic pull that made it hard to look away, even while every instinct in Satoru’s body screamed caution.

The mouth on Sukuna’s abdomen, however, remained unsettling. But Satoru had long since learned to overlook it, to compartmentalize it like he had done with so many other terrifying aspects of his life. It was part of the package, and part of him couldn’t deny the strange, twisted fascination it inspired.

Crimson eyes tracked his movements with unnerving precision as he made his way toward his own seat, carefully selecting the spot at the opposite end of the table. Far enough to maintain a sense of distance, but not so far that it would read as avoidance.

Every movement was measured, but inside, Satoru could feel the quiet, simmering tension and the rush of awareness that came with sitting within Sukuna’s line of sight. The room seemed smaller somehow, the flickering candlelight sharper, every shadow edged with the King of Curses’ presence.

Once he was settled, Uraume began to serve the meal. The scent of freshly steamed white rice mingled with the earthy aroma of miso soup, the tang of pickled vegetables, and the savory richness of nikujaga, while the faintly sweet, earthy scent of kinpira gobo lingered in the air. Each dish was arranged neatly on lacquered trays, a careful balance of color and texture that made the meal as much a work of art as sustenance.

Uraume poured Sukuna a cup of sake first, then, stepping lightly to Satoru’s end of the table, they poured him a cup of steaming tea. Satoru had long since made his distaste for anything alcoholic abundantly clear, and, to his mild surprise, both Sukuna and Uraume had respected it without comment. It was a small courtesy, but one he appreciated nonetheless.

Once Uraume stepped back to stand along the wall behind Sukuna, posture straight and eyes forward, the two of them began to eat.

Satoru ate slowly, letting each bite linger on his tongue, savoring the layers of flavor in the meal. Uraume’s skill was undeniable; the rice was perfectly fluffy, the miso soup rich and comforting, the nikujaga tender and balanced, and the kinpira gobo had just the right touch of sweetness and spice.

Satoru could see why Sukuna kept them around—not just as a servant, but for their talent. A cook like that was worth their weight in gold, and Satoru had to admit, the idea of having someone who could make meals this good following him around was tempting.

He toyed with the thought for a moment, imagining a life where he didn’t have to scrounge together quick meals between missions and battles, where someone took care of the mundane but necessary parts of life.

He suspected, though, that neither Sukuna nor Uraume would approve of a fourth person living in the shrine. Still, it was a fun idea to entertain, a small mental rebellion he allowed himself in the otherwise suffocating structure of Sukuna’s world.

His mind wandered briefly to Ijichi. The guy couldn’t cook worth shit, that much was certain, but he had been kind of close to Satoru’s own servant in his own way.

At the very least, Ijichi had been a good friend, loyal in all the ways that counted, even if Satoru had treated him like shit more often than not. The memory brought a smirk to his face as he lifted another bite to his mouth.

Sukuna’s voice broke the quiet of the dining room, oddly awkward as he attempted what could only be described as idle conversation. “The meal is up to your standards, I presume?” he asked, his crimson eyes flicking to Satoru, expression unreadable but somehow stiff, like he was forcing himself to sound casual. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Satoru’s lips quirked as he leaned back slightly, enjoying the awkwardness radiating off Sukuna. “Sleep? Oh, yeah, just peachy,” he said, voice light and teasing. “Nothing like being trapped in someone’s home to lull you into a full eight hours.” He waved a hand vaguely at the room.

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying irritation, but he held it in check. “Tch. Interesting choice of words,” he muttered.

“Oh, come on,” Satoru said, leaning forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table. “You bring me back from the dead, tell me I’m your trophy now, and you expect me to be all proper and polite? I’m just trying to keep up with your bizarre hospitality standards.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “You are trying my patience.”

Satoru chuckled, letting his tone soften into something close to mischievous. “Am I now? That wasn’t even on purpose.”

The room went quiet again, punctuated only by the soft scrape of chopsticks against bowls. Satoru was delighted by the subtle rise of irritation in the King of Curses across the table.

Satoru set his chopsticks down with a quiet clack, tilting his head as though he’d just remembered something casual and unimportant, even though the question he was about to ask was anything but.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began, his voice carrying a false lightness. “What exactly are your plans with me here? Surely you don’t intend to keep me locked away forever…” He paused, smirk sliding across his face as he tossed out the jab, “Though I don’t mind Uraume taking care of me for the rest of my life until I’m old and grey.”

He punctuated the words with a cheeky wink aimed straight at Uraume, who stiffened where they stood at Sukuna’s back. Their expression didn’t change, but the sharpness in their eyes spoke volumes: they looked as though they’d trade anything for Sukuna’s permission to wring his neck then and there.

Satoru bit back a laugh, but it died in his throat when he shifted his gaze back to Sukuna.

The King of Curses had looked up from his meal, and the smile pulling at his lips wasn’t even close to pleasant. It was sharp, full of teeth, a predator’s grin that sent a chill down Satoru’s spine. His heartbeat quickened despite himself, and for the first time, he almost regretted pushing the subject at all.

Because the moment Sukuna opened his mouth, Satoru realized that ignorance might have been safer.

“I intend,” Sukuna said smoothly, sipping from his sake as if savoring the moment, “to sire children with you. A new era of Jujutsu will rise from our bloodline, children born from the two strongest sorcerers to ever exist. Imagine it. Power unlike anything this world has ever seen.”

For a moment, Satoru just sat there, blinking at him, horrified. The silence stretched between them as he fought to fully understand the meaning behind Sukuna’s words.

“No,” he spoke flatly, voice edged with steel. “No, no. Absolutely not.”

Across from him, Sukuna only arched one thick brow, his expression unbothered. “I don’t think you’re in any position to disagree, pet.” The nickname dripped from his tongue, mocking and cruel, like he enjoyed watching Satoru bristle.

Satoru’s answering laugh was sharp, humorless, a bark of disbelief that only stoked the fury burning through his chest. “Like hell I’m not,” Satoru snapped, scoffing as he surged to his feet.

His sudden movement was so sharp that the low table rattled with the force of it, bowls of rice and soup trembling on their trays. His shadow stretched long against the wall, tall and imposing, but his chest burned with anger that felt dangerously close to panic.

Sukuna didn’t rise to Satoru’s outrage with anger—no, that would have been too easy, too expected. Instead, his voice dropped into something more persuasive, as though he were laying out strategy instead of voicing desire.

“You think too small,” Sukuna said, his crimson gaze gleaming in the candlelight. “You think in terms of now: your students, your fleeting little victories, your short life span. But imagine what our children could be. They wouldn’t just be strong, they would redefine strength. A new age, unshackled by the pathetic weakness of those who came before. Our blood would ensure it.”

He rose from his cushion with the grace of a predator, towering to his full height. The flicker of flame traced shadows along his tattoos, across muscle that seemed carved from stone.

Satoru’s pulse spiked as Sukuna began to circle the table. Satoru tried to hold his ground, his chin lifted in defiance, but each step Sukuna took forward drew an involuntary retreat from him, an instinctive step back that betrayed the tension twisting in his chest.

“Think of it, Satoru,” Sukuna continued, his tone coaxing, even if the hunger beneath it was unmistakable. “A legacy carved not just into history, but into eternity. Our children would walk the earth as gods.”

The tatami wall brushed against Satoru’s skin, and before he realized it, his back was pressed against it, the material cold against him. Sukuna’s shadow fell over him, until there was barely an inch of air between them. The curse’s breath was warm against his face, the scent of sake and smoke curling into his nose, and Satoru realized with a jolt that there was nowhere left to run.

Sukuna’s voice sank lower as he continued. “You don’t understand what I want from you,” he murmured, every syllable heavy, dripping with intent. “I want to hear every sound you make when that mask of yours shatters. Every gasp, every cry, every moan dragged from your pretty throat until you can’t remember your own name.” His lips curved into something both cruel and hungry. “I want to break you open, piece by piece, until all that brilliance, all that defiance, is mine alone to savor.”

Before Satoru could respond, one of Sukuna’s massive hands rose, calloused fingers curling under his jaw before gripping his face firmly, tilting his head up as if he were nothing more than a doll. Satoru’s breath caught, trapped by the weight of that crimson stare burning into his own.

Satoru’s chest tightened. He felt impossibly small and overwhelmed, like a child caught in the gravitational pull of a star. His body betrayed him, trembling ever so slightly despite the effort to keep his composure, every instinct screaming to push away, to escape, but his limbs were sluggish and uncooperative.

He tried to activate Infinity, to put space between them, to reassert some control.

But nothing happened.

The force he normally wielded without any effort faltered, weak and unresponsive. Infinity should have been there, a barrier humming around his body, leaving him untouchable. But it wasn’t. There was nothing. No invisible cushion, no protective hum of energy.

What the hell did he do to me? Satoru thought frantically, his mind racing, teeth clenched as another involuntary shiver ran through him. Sukuna had done something. He must have done something. Nothing else explained why his power refused to work in this moment, leaving him vulnerable in a way he had never allowed himself to be.

Satoru’s voice cracked as he spat the words out. “Did you drug me? You shouldn’t even be able to touch me right now! Infinity should—”

A low, throaty laugh rumbled from Sukuna, rich with amusement. “Oh? Perhaps I should have mentioned sooner,” he purred. “Yes… I might have had Uraume prepare your tea with a special herb. It messes with your technique a bit—not enough for you to notice outright, of course. Subtlety is key.”

Satoru froze, every muscle tensing as disbelief and irritation battled in his chest. “You what?”

Sukuna shrugged, as if it were the most mundane thing in the world. “Ancient knowledge, from the Heian era. Passed down only by word of mouth in the Gojo Clan so enemies couldn’t get their hands on it, naturally. I’m not surprised you wouldn’t know it, seems they lost track of it centuries ago.”

Before Satoru could form a retort, another of Sukuna’s hands rose, sliding smoothly up to rest lightly over his lower abdomen, fingers brushing right over his pelvic bone where his womb lay. Satoru’s stomach knotted, and his chest tightened, every instinct screaming at him to recoil.

“The herb,” Sukuna murmured, his gaze rising to lock onto Satoru’s, “has a rather pleasant bonus. It raises fertility. Makes the body more willing, more responsive. Convenient, wouldn’t you agree?”

Satoru’s mind went blank for a fraction of a second, the words echoing in his skull as he struggled to process what was being said. His Infinity still wouldn’t work, and another wave of helplessness spread through him.

His mind cleared, adrenaline surging through every vein. With a sudden, desperate movement, he shoved against Sukuna’s hands and twisted free, stumbling a bit before darting toward the sliding shoji door. His fingers slammed against the frame as he shoved it open, almost tripping in his haste.

“Leave me the hell alone!” he barked, voice sharp. “I’ll never allow that. You might as well just kill me now if that’s your plan!”

A low, amused laugh sounded from behind him. “Oh, you’ll come around eventually.”

Satoru spun on his heel, his expression hard, eyes blazing. “Never. Not ever.”

He slammed the shoji door shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the quiet hallway, not wanting to wait around to see Sukuna’s reaction.

Instead, once he was safely in his own chambers again, he paced the length of the room, long strides eating up the space, tugging at his hair with frustration and fear twisting together in a knot in his chest. Every muscle was tense, making him feel as though he were a trapped animal, desperate for some semblance of control in a situation that left him powerless, his mind racing faster than his heartbeat.

In the days that followed, Satoru went out of his way to avoid Sukuna entirely.

He refused to join the King of Curses in the dining room, no matter how politely he was invited. Instead, Uraume quietly began delivering his meals directly to his room, setting trays down and leaving without a word.

Satoru barely looked at them, eyes flicking only to the food long enough to make sure it wasn’t laced with anything suspicious, though he no longer trusted the tea that came with it. He ignored it entirely, drinking only water or whatever beverages Yuji managed to bring him during his visits.

He didn’t tell anyone what had happened that night—not Yuji, not Megumi, not Nobara. The weight of the knowledge was his alone to bear.

Satoru knew that sharing it would only cause more worry, more fear for him, and he refused to allow that. He was more than capable of dealing with it. He could handle this himself, he just needed to figure out how.

Late one night, when the shrine was quiet and the candlelight had long since shrunk down to weak, flickering nubs, Satoru lay awake on his futon, staring at the ceiling. His mind refused rest, replaying the events of the last few weeks. And then, the thought came to him: maybe if he played a little more… docile, allowed Sukuna to get close, he could figure out a way to unravel the binding vow that tied him unwillingly to the King of Curses.

Or, if necessary, he could earn Sukuna’s trust enough to find the perfect moment to kill him.

The very next morning, Satoru began to carefully reintegrate himself.

He joined Sukuna for breakfast in the dining room, maintaining his distance at first, but still teasing Sukuna just enough to gauge his reactions. Uraume’s expression remained the same, but Satoru caught the slight tilt of their head, the subtle narrowing of their eyes, as though they were constantly on edge, ready to intervene if he went too far.

By mid-morning, he found himself in Sukuna’s study, perching himself on the edge of a cushioned lounge that he had pulled right to the edge of the desk, across from the massive figure who was buried in scrolls and texts. He leaned forward lazily, resting his chin on his hands, elbows propped on his knees, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

“You know,” he began, voice soft, almost purring, “you really shouldn’t ignore me when I wander into your study. I get bored easily, you know. Somebody has to entertain me.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked up, a faint crease forming between his brows at the audacity. “You are insufferable,” he muttered.

Satoru stretched languidly, rolling onto his side like a cat, letting one hand drape across his chest and the other lightly flick through the edge of Sukuna’s documents. “I mean, it’s not my fault,” he continued, lacing his voice with mock innocence, “you do make a lot of interesting noises when you concentrate. I just like listening.”

The King of Curses’ jaw tightened fractionally, and for a heartbeat, Satoru thought he’d gone too far. But the silence that followed wasn’t one of anger, it was attention. And that was exactly what Satoru wanted.

Satoru had even gone so far as to request that Sukuna train with him—a decision that, in retrospect, might have been just as reckless as asking the King of Curses outright what his intentions were.

He told himself it was for the sake of staying sharp, keeping his body and technique honed, but deep down he knew he craved the challenge, the intensity, and, uncomfortably, the proximity to the man who haunted both his nightmares and, increasingly, his thoughts.

The first time they sparred, Satoru felt something he hadn’t anticipated—a heat that started low in his chest and spread, curling tight in his stomach and loosening his limbs. Sukuna moved with the grace of a predator, every movement calculated and terrifyingly precise.

His chest was bare, the sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting the taut muscles beneath. A few streaks of blood ran across his forearms from the sparring, and his eyes burned with a wild, dangerous energy that made Satoru’s pulse stutter.

When the sparring continued, Satoru had miscalculated a move, and in a heartbeat, Sukuna had him trapped in a tight arm lock. Every inch of Sukuna’s hard frame pressed against him, chest to chest, hip to hip, the sheer weight of the man’s power immobilizing him.

The sensation was dizzying.

Satoru’s mind screamed to focus on his technique, to push back, to break free, but it was a struggle just to keep from melting into the contact, to resist the pull of the heat that seemed to radiate from Sukuna. The scent of sweat and faintly metallic tang of blood was overwhelming, and every movement Sukuna made sent shivers along nerves Satoru hadn’t realized were that sensitive.

He reminded himself, over and over, that this was training, that every lock, every grapple was meant to sharpen his skills. Yet every glance at Sukuna’s grinning face, every flick of crimson eyes over his body, only stoked the fire in his chest further. It was a torment he hadn’t signed up for, and yet, he found himself craving it. Found himself craving the intensity, the danger, and the closeness of a man who could destroy him in an instant but still keep him wanting more.

And as Sukuna’s grip tightened just fractionally, Satoru’s body instinctively coiled with tension, part fear, part arousal, all tangled together in a way that made him simultaneously furious and helpless. The sparring session was supposed to be a test of strength and skill, but for Satoru, it had become something entirely more complicated, and far more distracting, than any combat should ever be.

After that day, Satoru noticed a shift in Sukuna’s behavior. At first, it was subtle—small, almost innocuous touches that he could convince himself were accidental. A hand brushing against his shoulder as Sukuna passed, fingers lingering a fraction longer than necessary. A thumb tracing the back of his wrist while adjusting his stance during training. Even the lightest of these touches sent a jolt through Satoru, a spark he couldn’t quite name, leaving him blushing and uneasy.

Over time, the contact grew bolder. Sukuna would let a hand rest against Satoru’s lower back while guiding him through a stance, pressing just enough to remind him of the man’s presence. Occasionally, when Satoru leaned over a map or scroll in Sukuna’s study, the King of Curses would move in close behind him, one arm brushing his side, chest occasionally grazing Satoru’s back. Each encounter left Satoru’s pulse stuttering, every nerve on edge, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand or trust.

And it wasn’t just the touch. Sukuna’s words began to change as well. His voice dropped lower, softer than before, smooth like honey. Sometimes it was warm and intimate, words laced with care that made Satoru’s stomach flip.

“Feel that, pretty thing?” he murmured one evening, fingers lightly grazing Satoru’s inner forearm, voice low and teasing. “That tension? Every inch of you aches for me, doesn’t it? I can feel it.”

Satoru found himself thinking about Sukuna constantly, caught between outrage and another feeling that he really didn’t want to assign to the man. Every day, the feeling intensified, wrapping around him like invisible chains, leaving him trapped and confused.

Eventually, Satoru decided that enough was enough.

Enough of the teasing touches, enough of the whispered words that left his chest tight, enough of being pressed and prodded like some helpless animal under Sukuna’s watchful gaze. He had to take control again, and, as fate would have it, the perfect opportunity had just landed squarely in his lap.

It was late in the evening, well after dinner. Satoru was sprawled across the lounge chair in Sukuna’s study, one leg casually draped over the armrest, the other bent at the knee. A magazine Yuji had forgotten to grab lay open in his hands, though Satoru hadn’t actually glanced at the pages in a few minutes. His mind was elsewhere.

Sukuna’s presence was impossible to ignore even when he sat silently across the room. Satoru could feel the way the King of Curses watched him. He wasn’t even flipping the magazine pages with any real interest, yet Sukuna seemed to find it captivating.

Satoru hadn’t expected Sukuna to move so quickly. One moment he was sprawled across the lounge chair, pretending to skim the magazine with total disinterest, and the next, the magazine was yanked from his hands.

“Hey! Give that back!” Satoru whined, pouting and flailing a hand halfheartedly toward the King of Curses.

Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he flipped back a few pages, humming low and almost lazily, before stopping. His crimson eyes flicked up from the page to Satoru, sharp and calculating, and then back again.

Satoru’s whine turned into a huff, cheeks flushing pink as he scowled, “You didn’t even ask!”

Sukuna’s smirk widened. He leaned down just enough to show Satoru the page: a few models in lingerie, their poses bold and unashamed. His gaze lingered on Satoru as he let a single finger brush a lock of white hair from Satoru’s eyes, his thumb grazing softly against pale skin. “You’d look good in something light like this,” he murmured. “Blue, to match those pretty eyes of yours… That would be best.”

Satoru’s jaw went slack, his face heating as crimson spread across his cheeks. Sukuna dropped the magazine directly onto his chest before giving him one last appraising glance.

“Think about it,” he said casually before he turned on his heel, leaving Satoru alone in the office.

Satoru blinked at the magazine, wide-eyed and red-faced, every nerve practically singing with embarrassment and something hotter that he wasn’t ready to name.

The interaction planted a seed in Satoru’s mind, one that refused to be ignored. It nudged at him, teasing and persistent, until he found himself thinking about it far more often than he cared to admit.

A few days later, he decided to act on it.

With an easy, disarming charm that was shockingly effective, Satoru managed to talk his way into being allowed a trip into Kyoto. He insisted that Uraume accompany him to prevent Sukuna from worrying, but the moment they stepped into the bustling streets, Satoru had already begun subtly manipulating the situation to his advantage.

They wandered through the markets, stopping at various shops where Satoru loaded up on snacks, sweets, and a few other trinkets meant to keep him occupied. Uraume remained a shadow at his side, stiff and vigilant, eyes scanning every passerby, body tense, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.

But Satoru was a pro at this game.

With careful timing and a few expertly executed distractions, he managed to slip away from Uraume’s watchful gaze. For a few glorious hours, he was unchained, moving freely through the city streets, ducking into stores and sampling everything that caught his eye, his arms slowly filling with bags of treats and indulgences.

Eventually, he reached the destination that had been lingering at the edge of his mind the entire time: a lingerie store tucked discreetly into one of Kyoto’s quieter shopping streets. Carefully, he stepped inside, letting the door close behind him, shutting out the world for a few stolen moments, alone and mischievous, with only the thrill of what he planned next to occupy him.

𓂃⁺‧₊⋆♱⋆₊‧⁺𓂃

After slipping back into the crowded streets and reuniting with Uraume, Satoru kept his triumph carefully hidden. The bags from the lingerie store were tucked inside larger paper sacks from a sweets shop he adored, a place that made his mouth water just from stepping through the front doors. Uraume barely glanced at the bags and allowed him to lead the way back to the shrine without comment.

Once inside, Satoru beelined straight for his chambers. He called out over his shoulder, “Just leave my dinner at the door tonight, okay?” Uraume said nothing in return but Satoru knew they’d heard him. He entered his room and slid the door shut behind him. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the bags as he set them down on the floor.

Hours ticked by. Satoru paced, nervous energy prickling along his spine, biting his thumbnail every few steps. Every so often, he stole a glance at the outfit now laid out on his bed, the reality of what he planned mingling with his anticipation.

Is this a good idea? The thought repeated on a loop, echoing in his mind with every heartbeat as the sun sank lower, casting long shadows across his room.

And yet, even with the nerves twisting his stomach, he couldn’t stop the stubborn certainty creeping in. It has to be a good idea. Satoru knew that this had to work.

Satoru’s mind raced. Every thought circled around the same point: he had to be smart. He had to disarm Sukuna just enough, enough to catch him off guard, to maneuver him into a position where Satoru could take control, reclaim his freedom, and, if necessary, strike first. It was a dangerous plan, and the stakes couldn’t have been higher.

And yet, Satoru’s chest tightened, betraying a different truth. His body and parts of his mind—the parts that were far too aware of Sukuna’s attention and appetite—refused to view the situation as purely tactical. No, there was something else simmering beneath the tension, a heat that made his pulse stutter and his stomach coil with anticipation.

He had already noticed the way Sukuna’s gaze lingered, the way his touches had grown bolder over the past days. That awareness left a complicated taste in Satoru’s mouth. Tonight, he realized, wasn’t just about strategy. It was going to be a test of how far Sukuna would go, how much the King of Curses wanted him, and whether Satoru could maintain enough control to turn it all to his advantage.

Tonight, he would be up close and personal.

Tonight, he would see just how much of himself he could wield, and just how far Sukuna was willing to reach to take him.

𓂃⁺‧₊⋆♱⋆₊‧⁺𓂃

Satoru spent hours preparing, methodically working through each step as though he were performing a ritual.

First came the bath, warm water cascading over his shoulders, steam curling up around him in the dim glow of the lanterns. He lathered himself thoroughly, scrubbing every inch of skin with fragrant soap that carried notes of jasmine and sandalwood, the aroma thick and comforting in the enclosed space. He lingered over his neck and shoulders, massaging tension from muscles that had been coiled tight for days, and felt the stress begin to melt away with each stroke.

Next came shaving, his skin tingling under the smooth glide of the razor. He rinsed thoroughly, watching the droplets of water bead across his torso, and followed it with a generous layer of lotion, rubbing it in until his skin gleamed softly, scented with hints of vanilla, cherry blossoms, and a trace of clove that lingered in the air.

He brushed and fluffed his hair, tugging it into place, then applied a light oil, leaving the air around him fragrant and warm, tinged with the clean sweetness of flowers and the faint, musky undercurrent of spice.

By the time he stepped back from the mirror, Satoru felt transformed. His pale skin gleamed softly, his hair caught the light just right, and the subtle fragrance he carried clung to him thick and tantalizing. For the first time in days, he genuinely felt like a brand new person.

He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, staring at the delicate lingerie laid out before him. The set was soft, lacy, and light blue, the color mirroring his own eyes.

He slid the bralet over his shoulders, feeling the cool lace against his skin, adjusting it until it fit just right. The matching panties followed, snug and silky, the garters clipped carefully to sheer stockings that brushed the tops of his thighs. Every piece felt like armor and temptation all at once, making him hyper-aware of his own body in ways that were thrilling and terrifying.

Once the set was in place, he wrapped the soft white silk robe around himself, the fabric flowing to his ankles and brushing against his skin with every movement.

He rose from the bed, standing by the door and taking a deep, steadying breath. The house was quiet, shadows long from the lanterns in the hall. It was late now, and he wasn’t entirely sure if Sukuna was awake, or if he would be in the mood for surprises.

Finally, he squared his shoulders and walked down the corridor to Sukuna’s room. His hand hesitated at the door before knocking softly, almost shyly. A few heartbeats passed before the gruff, familiar voice replied.

“Enter.”

Satoru took another deep, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. Then, with a final glance down at the silk robe clinging to his frame, he opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him with a firm click that echoed in the room.

Sukuna lounged on his futon, one of his massive arms propped casually behind his head, a scroll spread across his lap. The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows over his sharp features and crimson eyes, making him look every bit the dangerous, untouchable King of Curses he was. When Satoru stepped inside, the paper in Sukuna’s hands lowered just slightly, eyes narrowing.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sukuna drawled, one brow quirking as he let his gaze roam over Satoru from head to toe before returning to the scroll as if he hadn’t even looked.

Satoru’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk, voice teasing. “Oh, I just thought you might be bored, so I decided to drop by. Maybe give you something to look at other than your precious scrolls.” He ran a finger along the edge of the robe, eyes glittering with amusement.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked up again, a predatory smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?” he murmured, voice low. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with that, hmm?”

Satoru’s grin widened. “Well… that’s up to you, now, isn’t it?” he purred, stepping fully into the room now.

He felt the confusion radiating off Sukuna. He bit his lower lip, savoring the moment as Sukuna’s crimson eyes flicked toward him.

The silk robe slipped from Satoru’s shoulders, sliding down like water pooling at his feet, leaving him in nothing but the light-blue lace that clung to him in all the right places. The color mirrored his eyes perfectly, and he could feel the warmth rising in his cheeks even as he stood there, fully aware of the effect he had on the man before him. The soft lace hugged his body, the stockings clinging to his plush thighs, garters holding them taut, and every small movement sent tiny shivers through his body.

Sukuna froze for a moment, his head tilting slightly, the fingers of one hand flexing lazily over the futon beside him as if he had to remind himself he could move—or restrain himself.

His crimson eyes darkened, pupils dilating as though trying to drink in every inch of Satoru’s exposed frame. The smirk that tugged at his lips was dangerous, amusement and hunger dancing together in those lethal eyes. A faint exhale escaped him, nearly a growl.

“Blue,” Satoru murmured, voice soft and teasing. “Like the color of my eyes, right?”

He stepped forward slowly. Sukuna’s gaze followed him, unblinking and intense. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. The air between them thickened with the building tension, and the distance closed until there were barely inches separating them.

Satoru moved another step closer.

Closer.

“Do you like it?” Satoru whispered, his voice soft and playful.

The world shifted in the blink of an eye, tilting in a way that made Satoru’s stomach lurch. One second he was standing, and the next, he was flat on his back, pinned beneath Sukuna’s immense weight before he could even make a sound.

Satoru’s eyes went wide, lips parting slightly as he blinked up at the King of Curses towering above him. The candlelight flickered across the sharp angles of Sukuna’s face, eyes glowing in the dim light of the room, narrowing as he drank in the sight of him.

Two of Sukuna’s massive hands glided along Satoru’s sides, fingertips teasing lightly before curling around his wrists and pressing them flat against the bed on either side of his head. 

Satoru’s chest rose and fell unevenly, breath caught in his throat, pulse hammering against his temples. He could feel the press of Sukuna’s knees on either side of his hips, a terrifying weight that left him entirely at the mercy of the man above him.

Sukuna’s gaze roamed over him, as if savoring the sight of the strongest sorcerer of the modern era splayed beneath him like a work of art. Somehow, Satoru could feel it in his bones, heat pooling low in his stomach, his skin prickling wherever Sukuna’s gaze landed.

“Like it?” Sukuna rumbled. “Absolutely. You’re perfect like this. Every inch…” He paused, tilting his head as he watched Satoru shiver. “Every inch of you is mine to take, mine to see, mine to feel. I could bury myself in you, taste you… And I will.”

Satoru’s breath hitched, chest tightening as the words washed over him. Sukuna shifted slightly, just enough to press down more firmly, letting him feel the strength bound in those thick thighs, the flex of his arms, the subtle brush of his other hands that hovered far too close to be innocent.

Satoru swallowed hard.

Somewhere deep inside, he realized that he didn’t want to fight back.

Not yet.

Satoru’s whole body went taut, muscles seizing. Sukuna’s palms had begun dragging over his sides, calloused skin brushing against the lace and flesh there. The contrast made him shiver, and he bit down hard on his lip to keep the sound that threatened to escape from spilling into the air. The sting of his teeth against the tender flesh of his mouth was the only thing anchoring him.

Of course, Sukuna noticed. His eyes narrowed, lips curling into a smug, knowing grin that made Satoru’s pulse spike. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting against his cheek. Their noses nearly brushed, the space between them was cut down to nothing.

“What?” Sukuna purred, voice velvet over gravel, low and intimate. The sound wrapped around Satoru’s nerves like chains. “Can’t handle a little touch?”

Satoru gasped sharply when Sukuna’s wandering hand slipped lower, fingers splaying across his pelvis before cupping the heat of his pussy through the thin barrier of his panties. The lace and satin did nothing to dull the contact. Every nerve in his body lit up, a shock running straight through his spine as his inner muscles clenched involuntarily around nothing, desperate and wanting in a way that made him fill with shame.

“No—!” The protest died in his throat, breaking into a breathless gasp as Sukuna pressed his palm harder. Satoru’s hands strained against the grip pinning them by his head, wrists aching with the effort. The futility of it only made the panic burn hotter in his chest.

He writhed beneath him, heart hammering.

Sukuna’s smirk stretched wider, his eyes lidded with amusement and hunger. “Oh, no, sweetheart,” he drawled, the word thick with mockery. “You aren’t getting free juuust yet.”

The man’s broad palm left the heat between his thighs, dragging upward with excruciating slowness, calluses scraping lightly as they skimmed his abdomen. Each inch the hand traveled made Satoru’s breath hitch, his muscles clenching. His chest rose sharply when Sukuna’s palm spread across it, pressing flat for just a moment as if savoring the shape of him beneath the lace. Then it slid higher, over his collarbone, the rough skin grazing the fragile line of his throat until it finally cupped his jaw.

With an unyielding grip, Sukuna tilted his head, forcing his face to turn, to look up at him fully. Nowhere to hide, no space left to avert his gaze. The intensity in those red eyes was enough to make Satoru’s heart hammer against his ribs like a wild animal in a cage.

There was no chance to prepare for what came next.

Sukuna’s mouth was on his, the feeling enough to make Satoru’s head spin. The kiss wasn’t soft, wasn’t careful—it was rough and overwhelming, like being caught in a riptide he hadn’t noticed until it was far too late to swim to safety. Sukuna moved with a force and certainty that left Satoru scrambling to keep up, lips dragged apart by a tongue that demanded more from him than he’d ever given anyone.

Satoru tried, God, he tried, to meet the rhythm, to push back, to hold his own, but it was like trying to fight a storm. Every attempt to take even the tiniest amount of control back was swallowed by Sukuna. His lungs burned, chest heaving as the kiss deepened, and he felt his whole body arch helplessly into it, traitorous and desperate.

It was too much.

Satoru felt like he was drowning, pinned beneath the weight of Sukuna’s body and the feel of his lips. His hands strained uselessly against the grip holding them down again, but his struggle only made the kiss harsher, Sukuna’s lips dragging hard over his own like he meant to devour him whole.

And in that moment, for all his strength, Satoru couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but be kissed.

When Sukuna finally tore his mouth away, the sudden absence felt almost cold, leaving Satoru gasping for air like a man dragged up from beneath dark waters. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, lips swollen and wet. A thin, glistening strand of spit stretched between their mouths, and Satoru barely had a second to process it before Sukuna’s tongue swept out.

The King of Curses licked the trail up with lazy satisfaction, eyes half-lidded as though savoring the taste of him. Satoru’s skin prickled with heat, humiliation and something darker knotting in his gut as he stared up at the predator looming above him.

Then Sukuna shifted.

The immense weight above him never lessened, but the balance of it changed—two hands releasing his wrists only for one massive palm to pin them together, just as firmly, high above his head. The strength in that single grip mocked Satoru’s efforts before they even began.

But he refused to stay still.

Arching sharply, Satoru twisted his wrists, tugging with every ounce of stubbornness he had left. His hips bucked up, legs shifting restlessly beneath Sukuna’s caging thighs as he wiggled against the hold, desperate for some sliver of leverage.

It lasted all of a heartbeat.

Sukuna’s other hand pressed down against his lower abdomen, right above the curve of his pelvic bone. The force drove him back into the futon with ease, his spine flattening against the bedding as if he were nailed there.

Satoru’s breath hitched, frustration and panic curling in his chest, but his body betrayed him, shuddering beneath the weight.

“What’s wrong, pretty?” Sukuna cooed, tone deceptively soft, but Satoru knew better. His eyes glinted in the low light, sharp canines catching the dim light as he ran his tongue along them, licking slowly like a cat savoring the anticipation.

Sukuna’s gaze didn’t waver, roaming over Satoru’s frame: the curve of his waist, the swell of his chest beneath the lace, the way his thighs flexed helplessly against Sukuna’s own. Every movement of those crimson eyes made Satoru shiver, even as he tried to mask it behind a stubborn, bratty glare.

“Aren’t you the one who came to me, dressed like this?” Sukuna continued, voice low and teasing at first, then sliding into a growl that vibrated through Satoru’s very core. “Like a proper slut, practically begging me to fuck you.”

Sukuna’s hand trailed to the waistband of Satoru’s panties, fingers thick and warm, tugging lightly on the fabric.

Satoru’s breath caught, chest rising and falling rapidly, as his mind scrambled to reconcile the mix of fear, defiance, and the undeniable pull of desire curling through his body. He hated it. And yet, he couldn’t look away from those eyes, couldn’t stop his body from responding despite every rational thought screaming that he needed to resist.

His hands flexed helplessly beneath the one palm pinning them above his head. Every nerve in his body was alight, a map of sensitivity and shame and want, and he realized with a sinking mix of dread and excitement that he was entirely at Sukuna’s mercy. For the first time, he wondered if maybe he had gone too far.

Satoru’s words caught in his throat, a nervous stutter that barely formed before dying in his mouth. “I wasn’t expecting—”

A low, cruel laugh cut him off. Sukuna’s eyes glinted with amusement as he leaned closer, letting the weight of his massive chest press lightly against Satoru’s own.

“What, were you not expecting me to rise to the bait?” Sukuna drawled. “Thought I made myself very clear that the first chance I got, I’d be fucking your tight body until I collapsed.”

Satoru’s chest heaved at the words, hips twitching slightly beneath Sukuna’s weight, every fiber of him straining with a mixture of defiance and uncontrollable need.

And then it slipped out. A soft whimper, barely audible but laden with more surrender than he intended.

Satoru froze, eyes wide, cheeks burning, his lips parting in disbelief at the sound of himself betraying every thought he had fought to hold onto. He could practically feel Sukuna’s smirk.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Sukuna purred, tilting Satoru’s chin up just enough to trap his gaze. “You can’t hide it from me, pretty. Every little reaction of yours is mine to see.”

Satoru's heart raced as Sukuna's lips crashed against his once more, the kiss growing sloppier and messier by the second. His mind reeled, struggling to reconcile the intensity of their passion with the danger of his situation. But even as alarm bells clanged in his head, his body betrayed him, responding eagerly to Sukuna's touch.

Tongues danced and clashed, the taste of Sukuna's mouth flooding Satoru's senses. He couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, wrists flexing in the man’s grip.

As Sukuna ravaged Satoru's mouth, his hand snaked its way back down the lean expanse of Satoru's stomach, pushing beneath the delicate fabric of the lingerie. Fingers grazed over the smooth skin before delving between plump thighs, slipping past the lacy barrier of Satoru's panties to delve into the slick heat of his pussy. A gasp tore from Satoru's throat, back arching involuntarily as Sukuna's calloused fingers brushed against his sensitive clit.

His hips jerked reflexively, seeking more friction, more pressure. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, Satoru found himself panting heavily, arousal coursing through his veins like lava. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop this, to fight back before it was too late. Yet as Sukuna's finger traced the edge of Satoru's clit, all coherent thought fled, replaced only by a desperate hunger for more of the man’s touch.

Sukuna's fingers continued their relentless assault on Satoru's sensitive nub, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure racing through his quivering body. Satoru's breath came in ragged gasps, his slender chest heaving as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control. 

But when Sukuna abruptly pulled away from his lips, Satoru felt a pang of loss, only to have it swiftly replaced by a sharp cry of protest as the other reached up and ripped his bralet off his body. The delicate fabric fluttered to the floor, forgotten, leaving Satoru's chest exposed and vulnerable.

"Hey!" Satoru whined, voice trembling. "That was expensive! You can't just—"

But his words dissolved into a breathless moan as Sukuna's hot mouth closed around one of his exposed nipples. Lashing his tongue across the sensitive peak, he suckled greedily, teeth grazing the tender flesh. The sensation sent shockwaves straight to Satoru's core, his hips bucking erratically as Sukuna's fingers worked overtime on his aching clit.

Sukuna released Satoru's nipple with a wet pop, a satisfied hum rumbling deep in his chest as he gazed up at the flushed, panting sorcerer before him. "You're so responsive," he purred, trailing open-mouthed kisses along Satoru's jawline. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."

With that promise hanging heavy in the air, Sukuna shifted his attention back to Satoru's needy sex, two fingers plunging deep inside the heat of his pussy. Satoru cried out, back bowing as Sukuna's digits stroked his inner walls, curling to hit that sweet spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids.

Sukuna's fingers pumped relentlessly into Satoru's dripping cunt, the stretch of a third digit forcing him wider, accommodating Sukuna's invasion. Satoru's vision blurred, overwhelmed by the intense sensations coursing through his oversensitive body. Each thrust seemed to reach deeper, rubbing against places that made his toes curl and his mind spin.

Despite the overwhelming pleasure, a part of Satoru's consciousness registered the slight burn of discomfort as Sukuna's fingers stretched him further, preparing his body for something much larger. But the pain was drowned out by the roaring tide of lust, his hips moving of their own accord to meet Sukuna's strokes.

Satoru's climax hit him like a freight train, his entire body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over him. His cries echoed through the room, high-pitched and raw, as he trembled violently in Sukuna's grasp. The man rode out Satoru's orgasm with a smug smile, fingers still pumping lazily inside the spasming heat of his pussy.

As Satoru floated on a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, Sukuna took advantage of the momentary weakness. In one swift motion, he yanked the ruined panties from Satoru's trembling legs, baring his nude form completely to Sukuna's hungry gaze. The cool air kissed Satoru's overheated skin, making him shiver.

Sukuna's own clothing quickly followed suit, the man shedding his pants with a careless toss to reveal what hung heavy between his thighs. Satoru's breath caught in his throat, eyes widening as he took in the sheer size of Sukuna's cocks. Two massive cocks stood proud against the man’s lower abdomen, thick and veiny, each one easily the size of Satoru's forearm. The sight filled Satoru with a mix of awe, horror, and a shameful twinge of desire he couldn't quite suppress.

He stared, transfixed, as Sukuna's large, heavy balls swung beneath the massive dicks, the skin stretched taut over the swollen sacs. Satoru's mouth went dry, his mind reeling at the thought of those enormous cocks filling him, stretching him beyond his limits.

"No, no, no!" Satoru finally choked out in protest, panic rising in his chest. "Those things won't fit! You can't seriously expect to—" 

"They’ll fit," Sukuna replied, his voice low and confident as he gripped Satoru's thighs, spreading his legs wide apart. Satoru tried to resist, making a desperate attempt to close his trembling legs. He let out a startled yelp as Sukuna forced them back open.

"I've been waiting to bury my cocks in your tight little hole since the moment I saw you," Sukuna growled. "And now that you're nice and loose from that little orgasm, I think it's time I claimed what's mine." He positioned himself fully between Satoru's splayed legs. "And you're going to love every fucking second of it."

Satoru couldn’t hold back the whimper that spilled out, eyes still locked on those two massive lengths.

Sukuna noticed and leaned in close, his hot breath fanning over Satoru's ear as he whispered, "Don't worry, pet. Tonight, I'll be gentle. Just one of my cocks will be enough to break you in properly."

A flicker of relief crossed Satoru's face at the promise of mercy, but it was short-lived. Even as Sukuna spoke, the man's lower cock, just slightly thicker and longer than the upper one, rubbed teasingly along the slick folds of Satoru's pussy. One cock was still far too much, yet he knew protesting would be futile.

Before he could muster a response, Sukuna's thick, veiny member caught at Satoru's entrance, the engorged head nudging insistently against his sensitive hole. The feeling sent sparks of pleasure shooting up Satoru's spine, his hips twitching involuntarily. He bit his lip hard, trying to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, echoing in the quiet room.

"Oh, you're already so wet for me," Sukuna purred, pressing the tip of his cock teasingly into Satoru without pushing in fully. Pre-cum leaked from the swollen head, coating Satoru's entrance.

Sukuna began to push forward, the thick head of his cock breaching the tight ring of muscle. Satoru's body stiffened, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat as the initial stretch threatened to tear him in half.

"No, wait—!" Satoru protested, trying to squirm away. But Sukuna's firm grip on his thighs held him in place.

"Shhh, relax. Don't fight it, pretty boy," Sukuna cooed soothingly, leaning down to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along Satoru's cheek and neck. His warm breath ghosted over Satoru's skin, helping to calm the frantic pounding of his heart. “Just let me in.”

Sukuna's hand slid down, thick fingers finding the sensitive bud of his clit once more. He began to rub the delicate nub in slow circles, applying just the right amount of pressure.

As Sukuna's cock sank further into the tight heat of Satoru's channel, Satoru's resistance began to crumble under the onslaught of pleasure. His hips rocked into Sukuna's touch, a low moan escaping his parted lips. The sensation of being filled, stretched, and stimulated all at once was almost overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

"See?" Sukuna murmured against Satoru's ear, his voice husky with satisfaction. "You're doing so well."

With a final thrust, Sukuna buried himself to the hilt within Satoru's dripping cunt. The man's hips pressed flush against Satoru's, his heavy balls coming to rest against the curve of Satoru's ass. The sensation of being so thoroughly, completely filled left Satoru breathless, his body trembling as he adjusted to the intrusion.

Satoru felt like he was bursting at the seams, stretched to his absolute limit by Sukuna's monstrous cock. Satoru could feel every ridge and vein, the heat of their bodies melding together as if they were always meant to be joined in this way. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, a line blurred between pleasure and pain that left him dizzy and disoriented.

"Ugh, you're so huge, I can barely breathe," Satoru grumbled, his voice strained as he struggled to accommodate Sukuna's immense girth.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at Satoru's petty complaint, his grip on the man's thighs tightening. "Watch your mouth, brat," he growled, a warning edge to his tone. Without warning, he pulled out just enough to leave only the bulbous head of his cock nestled inside Satoru's twitching hole.

The sudden emptiness made Satoru gasp, his muscles clenching reflexively. Before he could process what was happening, Sukuna slammed back into the smaller man’s pussy, burying himself to the root once more.

Satoru yelped, his back arching as he struggled to accommodate the brutal thrust. "Ow, ow, easy!" he whined, but his protests only seemed to encourage Sukuna further. The man picked up speed, powerful hips beginning to piston in and out of Satoru's stretched opening.

Sukuna's movements became even more forceful as he gripped Satoru tightly, pinning the smaller man beneath him. He hooked one of Satoru's legs over his broad shoulder and held it there, Satoru’s heel digging into his shoulderblade as Sukuna's powerful body drove into him again and again. His other hand pulled Satoru’s other leg to wrap around his waist, opening Satoru up even further.

Two of his large hands wrapped around Satoru's hips, fingers digging into the tender flesh hard enough to leave bruises, holding the man in place as he continued to pound into his body. His unoccupied hand found its way to Satoru's throbbing clit, rubbing the nub in tight circles that had Satoru seeing stars.

The combined assault on his senses left Satoru helpless, his body writhing beneath Sukuna despite his best efforts to remain rigid. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as the relentless stimulation pushed him closer and closer to the brink of oblivion.

Sukuna's filthy words spilled from his lips like venom, each cruel remark designed to degrade and humiliate Satoru further. "Look at you, taking my cock like a good little slut. Your pussy was made for me, wasn't it? Made to milk my cock dry."

Satoru's cheeks burned with shame. Each degrading statement was punctuated by a brutal thrust, driving Satoru's body up the bed. Despite the harshness of Sukuna's words, Satoru couldn't help but respond, his breath catching in his throat as he whimpered and cried out.

"N-no... please..." he managed between gasps, even as his hips bucked to meet Sukuna's punishing rhythm.

His whimpers turned to cries as Sukuna's cock pounded mercilessly into his tender hole, the rough friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine.

Sukuna slowed his frenzied pace, instead choosing to grind his thick cock deep within Satoru's spasming passage. The fat head of his cock dragged along Satoru's inner walls, now focused on hitting that sweet spot deep within the man's core with each pass. The new rhythm was maddening, drawing Satoru towards the precipice of climax.

"You're so close, aren't you, pretty?" Sukuna purred, voice low and taunting. "I can feel you tightening up around me. Such a responsive little cunt."

Satoru couldn't hold back a high-pitched whine, his body shaking as he teetered on the edge. "P-please... don't..."

"You're going to take my seed so well, aren't you?" Sukuna murmured. "I'm going to fill this tight little cunt up until you're overflowing with my cum. We’ll create and raise a whole new generation of jujutsu sorcerers. Our children will be the strongest, most beautiful beings imaginable, just like you."

Satoru felt his mind teetering on the edge of pure, dizzying pleasure. Sukuna’s words were barely audible beneath the rush of pleasure pounding through him, but a few fragments cut through the haze. “Strong… beautiful…”

His hands, almost of their own accord, drifted to Sukuna’s massive thighs, gripping the hard, corded muscle on either side of his hips. His breath hitched in a whimper as he blinked back the tears forming at the edges of his eyes.

“D-did you just… call me beautiful?” Satoru’s voice cracked, barely a whisper, his wide eyes shimmering with disbelief.

Sukuna’s crimson gaze softened a bit as he slowed his movements, leaning in so that his lips brushed Satoru’s forehead in a feather-light kiss. His presence was still overwhelming, but that small bit of tenderness made Satoru’s chest ache in a different way.

“Yes,” Sukuna murmured. “You’re the most magnificent, beautiful creature I’ve ever had the honor of meeting. Why do you think I asked to have you as a trophy, giving up the fight so fast?” He paused, letting the words settle, letting Satoru absorb them. “It’s not just because I want to sire your children, though that certainly is part of it.”

Satoru’s mind went loopy, swimming from the sensation of being seen, admired, and desired. The tremor in his hands intensified, gripping Sukuna tighter. Every inch of him ached and shivered, caught between disbelief and the pleasure that threatened to erase everything else.

He couldn’t form coherent thoughts—he couldn’t even form words beyond small, choked-out whimpers—but the look in his eyes must have told Sukuna everything anyway.

Satoru's plea tore from his throat, his voice raw with need. "Please, more! I need more!"

Without waiting for a response, Satoru shifted his position, wrapping both of his legs around Sukuna's waist. He yanked Sukuna down by the back of his neck, crushing their lips together in a fierce, demanding kiss. Satoru arched his back, pressing his chest firmly against Sukuna's.

The sudden shift in position forced Sukuna's cock impossibly deep inside Satoru's stretched hole, eliciting a sharp cry from the sorcerer. Satoru's hips bucked wildly, trying to urge Sukuna into a more vigorous pace.

For a moment, Sukuna froze, clearly taken aback by Satoru's sudden boldness. Then a low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against Satoru's lips. His grip on Satoru's hips tightened, fingers digging into the tender flesh as he snapped back into a brutal rhythm.

Sukuna's renewed intensity was nearly devastating, his thick cock pistoning in and out of Satoru's quivering hole. The bed creaked ominously beneath them, the frame groaning in protest.

Satoru's arms wound around Sukuna's neck, nails scraping against skin as he held on for dear life. His hips met each of Sukuna's powerful thrusts, desperate to take him even deeper.

"S-so good... f-fuck me harder!" Satoru begged, his voice hoarse and broken. Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks, mixing with the sweat beading on his brow.

Sukuna's relentless thrusts grew even more savage, his cock slamming into Satoru's soaked cunt with brutal force, bruising his cervix.

With a single, particularly vicious thrust, Sukuna hit Satoru's sweet spot dead-on. The intense stimulation sent the smaller man hurtling over the edge, his body convulsing as a torrent of fluid erupted from his twitching hole.

Satoru's orgasm was explosive. Clear liquid sprayed out in pulsing jets, coating Sukuna's cock and splattering the sheets beneath them in a warm, sticky mess. Satoru's eyes rolled back, his vision going white as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over him. His body shook violently, legs trembling where they were still locked around Sukuna’s waist.

As Satoru's orgasm subsided, his body went limp, completely spent. His legs fell away from Sukuna's waist, sliding bonelessly down the larger man's sides to flop against the mattress. Satoru's chest rose and fell rapidly, breath coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to catch his breath.

Sukuna's cock throbbed inside Satoru, his own release building at the feeling of Satoru's hot, slick walls milking him. With a guttural moan, he buried himself to the hilt and unleashed a torrent of scalding semen deep into Satoru's convulsing pussy.

Wave after wave of his thick, potent cum flooded Satoru's womb, filling him to the brim. Some of it leaked out around Sukuna's still-hard cock, dripping down onto Satoru's thighs as Sukuna grinded against him, ensuring every last drop was deposited inside him.

As the tremors of their orgasms began to fade, Sukuna stayed pressed against Satoru, his softening cock still buried deep within Satoru’s spent heat. Slowly, he lowered his body, letting his full weight pin Satoru to the bed, the press of muscle and warmth trapping Satoru beneath him. Sukuna’s head tilted, brushing against Satoru’s neck, nuzzling against sweaty skin, sending shivers down his spine.

Satoru could feel each pulse of Sukuna’s heart, each faint twitch of his muscles shifting against his own. The ghost of Sukuna’s warm breath across his ear made his skin prickle, and Satoru’s chest rose and fell in time with the rhythm of the man above him.

For a long while, neither of them moved. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, leaving only the quiet rustle of the sheets and the rhythm of two hearts slowly returning to normal.

Sukuna’s body was a furnace against his own. Every small shift drew a faint hum from Satoru, a noise born half of exhaustion and half of contentment. He felt the man’s breath at the curve of his neck, felt the deep rumble of a sigh against his skin. For a fleeting moment, the King of Curses seemed human. Just a man holding another in the soft hush of night.

Satoru’s body felt boneless beneath Sukuna’s weight, his pulse finally beginning to steady. His fingers ghosted along the curve of Sukuna’s spine, tracing the faint ridges of muscle there.

Then, somewhere in that stillness, Satoru felt it. A subtle twitch, deep inside him. Sukuna’s cock, already stirring again, pulsing faintly with renewed life where it still rested within him. He let out a quiet, breathless laugh that sounded almost disbelieving.

“Seriously?” he murmured, his lashes fluttering as he felt Sukuna’s smirk against his throat.

Sukuna only chuckled in response, low and wicked, his lips brushing the edge of Satoru’s ear.

And if that night turned into many more, if they went round after round until dawn painted the horizon in shades of gold and rose; if ten years later they were parents to nine wild, impossibly gifted children, all bright-eyed and clever, who shared Satoru’s eyes and smile, their laughter echoing through temple halls with another set of twins soon to join them; if the great and terrible Sukuna bowed to every whim and every stubborn demand of the man he’d once claimed as his prize, the only being he could never deny—

Well. That was nobody’s business but their own.

Satoru was nowhere near being a newbie in the sugar scene.

At 25 years old, he’d long perfected the art of being desired, of slipping into another person’s life like silk, soft and seamless, until they couldn’t tell where their obsession ended and his allure began.

Most of his adult life had been spent on the arm of someone older, wealthier, and infinitely more desperate to be the one to keep him. Gender never mattered much to him; he didn’t care who was doing the fucking or the financing, so long as they knew how to treat him like the luxury good he was.

He had long ago learned that beauty opened doors faster than ambition ever could. His reflection was its own currency: tousled white hair, pale skin that glowed like moonlight against crisp designer sheets, and eyes like shards of clear ice that could melt into warmth when he wanted something badly enough. And when he smiled, people lost all sense of reason.

The rewards had been worth it.

A sleek, glass-walled condo overlooking Manhattan glittered like a jewel box every night. A sprawling chateau in the French countryside, with ivy climbing its limestone walls and staff that greeted him as monsieur Gojo. An island somewhere in the Pacific, where the ocean was as blue as his eyes and the sun dipped low behind the hills as if bowing to him. Each of his cars—a Lamborghini, a Bentley, a McLaren, a Bugatti—had its own chauffeur, because Satoru couldn’t be bothered to drive when he could be driven.

But he wasn’t stupid. Pretty, yes, but far from naive.

He invested his money wisely, listened to his financial advisor when she spoke about stocks, real estate, and the art of growing wealth without ever lifting a finger. His accounts grew steadily while he lounged in silk robes and diamond necklaces, sipping champagne that cost more than most people’s rent.

And even as his lovers came and went, a revolving door of the rich, the lonely, and the captivated, Satoru never wanted for anything. There was always someone waiting in the wings, eager to buy him something beautiful, to see his eyes light up, to hear that purr of pleasure in his voice when he said thank you.

It wasn’t love. But it was power. And Satoru had always known how to wield that better than anyone.

In all honesty, among all the sugar babies in high society, Satoru was considered the crown jewel of them all.

People whispered his name with a mix of envy and fascination. He was a fantasy personified, a flawless creature sculpted from wealth and want, and everyone knew that to have him—even briefly—was to hold something glittering and untouchable.

Which was why it didn’t fucking make sense as to why he was so goddamned nervous right now.

The city lights slid across his face in streaks of gold and violet as the SUV cut through the night, the hum of the engine a low purr beneath him. Satoru shifted in the backseat for what had to be the twentieth time, crossing and uncrossing his legs, fingers brushing over the smooth silk of his halter neck top to adjust it every five minutes. His nails were a perfect pearlescent sheen, flawless as always, but they drummed against his thigh like he was playing the drums in a rock band.

He exhaled softly, watching his reflection flicker in the tinted window. Every inch of him looked impeccable, of course. The crisp white slacks that hugged his long legs, the way the silky top caught the light like moonlit water, the delicate silver chains at his throat and wrists. Even the white slingback heels were immaculate, polished to a mirror shine. He was perfection dressed in white. An angel of indulgence. A living luxury.

And yet, his pulse refused to steady.

Up front, Ijichi kept his eyes firmly on the road. He’d been with Satoru long enough to know better than to ask questions, but Satoru could feel the man’s awareness.

Maybe he was nervous because of who he was meeting.

The thought alone was enough to make his throat go dry.

Because despite all his experience, despite all the penthouses, champagne, and diamonds, this one was different. This one wasn’t just another admirer with too much money and not enough attention. This one had a reputation. A presence. The kind of man who made even Satoru Gojo second-guess himself.

Ryomen Sukuna.

CEO of CURSED Inc., one of the largest and most powerful cybersecurity firms in all of Asia.

Even the mention of his name carried weight. He was tall, built like a man who didn’t rely on bodyguards to do his dirty work, and possessed the kind of dangerous beauty that made people stare too long before realizing they’d been caught. Sharp features. Eyes the rich hues of blood and wine. A mouth made for sin, yet so rarely seen smiling. His presence filled a room the way thunder filled a sky: loud, electric, and impossible to ignore.

And, perhaps most infuriatingly, he was the one untouchable bachelor in high society that no one had ever managed to claim.

No sugar babies. No lovers. No whispered scandals. Not even a single rumor of a one-night stand that could be traced back to him. Either the man’s NDAs were ironclad, or he simply wasn’t interested in anyone. In a world that thrived on gossip and glittering exposure, Sukuna was a fortress, self-contained and impenetrable.

Which was why, two weeks ago, when they’d both attended that charity gala, Satoru had been shocked when the infamous Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze had locked onto him from across the room.

And stayed there.

All night long, those eyes had burned holes through the crowd, tracking him like prey. Satoru could feel the weight of that attention even when he wasn’t looking, could sense the air change every time Sukuna’s gaze brushed his skin. It was intoxicating. And when the man finally approached him, towering over him, voice low and smooth as aged whiskey, Satoru had known immediately that whatever this was, he wasn’t walking away from it.

He wasn’t fucking stupid.

This was an opportunity. The opportunity.

Catching Ryomen Sukuna’s attention meant more than another luxurious apartment or a new watch collection—it meant legendary status. If he managed to hold that attention, even if just for a few days, his name would be immortalized. Satoru Gojo, the one who snagged the untouchable king of high society.

And so far, Sukuna had only shown more and more interest in him.

The SUV rolled to a smooth stop at the edge of the docks, the low rumble of the engine fading beneath the rhythmic sounds of waves against the pier. The city lights behind them bled into the black sheen of the water, reflections trembling across its surface like veins of gold. Satoru watched absently through the tinted glass, his fingers tightening around the strap of his clutch.

Ijichi didn’t say a word but Satoru could feel the question lingering in the air. Are you ready?

He wasn’t.

They were a few minutes early, and that was fine. He needed those few minutes. Needed to breathe. Needed to collect himself before stepping into whatever this was.

Because ever since that first night, Sukuna had been relentless.

Satoru’s life had always been one of excess, but Sukuna redefined the word. It wasn’t just gifts, it was an onslaught of attention, a constant, suffocating presence that hovered over every part of his day. He woke up to, “Good morning, pretty thing.” Went to bed with, “Sleep well, sweetheart.” Sukuna’s voice haunted his notifications, his thoughts, his breath.

And then there were the gifts.

It had started subtly—flowers, jewelry, a watch that probably cost more than Satoru’s entire wardrobe. But it escalated quickly. One night he’d offhandedly mentioned on social media that he’d been craving macarons from Paris, and by the very next morning, a private courier was at his door with three boxes, flown in overnight.

The Bugatti, though, had been the most outrageous.

He’d been having brunch with his friends, sunlight streaming through the window, laughter spilling over half-empty mimosas. Satoru had been scrolling through his feed when he saw the photo: a post showing off a new model of Bugatti. Without thinking, he’d retweeted it with the caption, “God, she’s pretty.”

Thirty minutes later, the sound of a high-performance engine turning heads outside the little cafe had drawn everyone’s attention. Satoru remembered the way his friends’ chatter stilled, how the entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath as the sleek white Bugatti came to a stop at the curb.

The driver had stepped out, keys in hand, and asked for Satoru Gojo.

He’d nearly choked on his drink.

And as if that wasn’t enough, when he went to pay for his meal, still dazed, still wondering what in the ever-loving hell had just happened, the server had smiled politely and told him that his bill had already been taken care of.

By Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.

Satoru’s reflection stared back at him now in the darkened window, eyes bright and uncertain. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the flutter in his chest.

Whatever this was… it didn’t feel like just another sugar arrangement.

The only thing Sukuna hadn’t done yet was make a move on him.

For all the gifts, the late-night texts, and the dizzying attention that came with being the focus of Ryomen Sukuna’s obsession, their relationship had remained just shy of physical intimacy. They’d kissed, of course. Satoru could still remember the way Sukuna’s mouth felt against his: hot and demanding, rough in a way that left his lips swollen and his thoughts scrambled. They’d made out on more than one occasion, Satoru pressed up against expensive walls or the hood of a luxury car, his breath catching on a low, dangerous laugh that vibrated against his throat.

And he knew what the man looked like shirtless. God help him, he could never forget it.

The first time had been accidental. A loose collar, a button undone, and suddenly there he was: broad chest, black tattoos that curved across perfect muscle, every line and shadow so divinely sculpted that Satoru had actually lost his train of thought mid-sentence. The sight alone was enough to make him ache.

He’d wanted him ever since.

Satoru had tried, oh, he’d tried. All he wanted at this point in his life was to be bent in half and railed into the next century by what he had a feeling was a very well-endowed cock.

More than once, he’d leaned in close, hands sliding up Sukuna’s chest, lips brushing against the man’s jaw, testing boundaries with teasing kisses that left no question about his intent. He was nothing if not bold; seduction was practically second nature to him. But every single time, Sukuna had stopped him.

The man had never been harsh about it. Just a firm hand at his waist paired with a quiet murmur of, “Not yet.”

The first time, Satoru had laughed it off. The second time, he’d been confused. The third time, he was borderline offended. By the fourth, he’d been ready to lose his damn mind. Sukuna claimed it was because he wanted it to be special. Satoru had barely managed to stifle his scoff at that. Special.

Please. Men like Sukuna didn’t do “special.”

But tonight… Tonight felt different.

The way Sukuna’s voice had sounded over the phone earlier had set his nerves alight. His gut told him that tonight, something was finally going to happen.

Satoru exhaled through his nose and pushed a stray lock of white hair from his eyes. Two goddamned weeks of playful teasing, expensive dinners, and heated make-out sessions that ended with him alone in bed, left to take care of himself while Sukuna maintained that infuriating control.

So as he stepped out of the SUV, heels clicking against the dock, one thought burned in his mind.

Sukuna better be a god in bed to make up for this.

The night air was cool and briny, the scent of the ocean thick around him. Lights from the marina shimmered across the dark water like liquid gold. Somewhere nearby, ropes creaked, waves slapped softly against hulls, and the faint sound of music drifted from a distant vessel.

A man was already waiting for him—sharp suit, clean-cut, the kind of professional neutrality that screamed “assistant.” He approached with a polite nod and a crisp introduction. He explained that he was Sukuna’s assistant and that he would be guiding Satoru to the yacht.

Satoru smiled faintly and gestured for him to lead the way.

They walked down the length of the dock, their steps echoing softly. The deeper they went into the marina, the quieter it became—no more chatter from nearby boats, no laughter or music, just the sound of water lapping beneath them and the soft thrum of engines in the distance. Then the assistant stopped and motioned ahead.

Satoru’s eyes widened slightly.

Now that was a yacht.

Massive, sleek, and pristine white, it looked less like a boat and more like a floating palace. The name was painted in bold lettering along the side, though Satoru’s attention was drawn to the gleam of chrome railings, the soft golden lights spilling from its windows, the hint of opulence even from the dock. He’d been on plenty of yachts before—some owned by politicians, others by bored millionaires who used them as party venues—but never one like this.

And never with just him and his sugar daddy.

Sukuna’s assistant turned back to him for a brief moment.

“Mr. Sukuna is in his office on the owner’s deck. He’ll be waiting for you.”

Satoru flashed the man a gracious smile. “Thank you.” The man dipped his head and excused himself, disappearing into the night.

Now alone, Satoru turned his attention to the yacht once more. The gangway gleamed beneath the soft glow of the dock lights as he stepped onto it, one hand resting on the polished railing for balance. His heels made no sound against the deck as he began to explore, taking his time.

He couldn’t help it, he was curious.

From what he could tell, the yacht really was nothing short of a floating palace. Every inch of it gleamed with understated luxury, the kind that didn’t need to brag to make its point. The deck stretched wide and open, framed by sleek railings that glinted under soft ambient lighting. There were not one, but two swim platforms, along with a glittering pool surrounded by plush sun loungers upholstered in white linen. Beyond that, a spa tucked neatly into the starboard side, and a hot tub that steamed faintly under the cool night air.

Further up, Satoru spotted the helipad, and if that weren’t enough, he caught a glimpse of a glass-paneled elevator running through the center of the yacht’s structure.

He let himself wander for a few moments longer, fingertips gliding along smooth railings and the backs of expensive chairs, his heels clicking softly against the teak.

Eventually, his meandering brought him to the main deck’s bar—a marble-topped masterpiece manned by a crew member in a tailored uniform. The bartender inclined his head respectfully, and Satoru flashed him one of his easy, dazzling smiles before ordering a glass of champagne.

The drink arrived chilled, condensation beading against the glass. He took a sip, savoring the crisp fizz against his tongue, letting the alcohol smooth out the nervous tension coiled in his chest. Just one glass. Just enough to steady himself before the main event.

Finally, he made his way toward the elevator. As the lift carried him upward, he caught his reflection in the mirrored panel: perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect mask. Everything exactly as it should be.

The doors opened onto the owner’s deck with a soft chime. Finding the office wasn’t difficult; even from down the hall, he could sense him.

Satoru paused outside the door, heart thudding once, twice. He took a deep breath, then lifted a hand and knocked. Before there was any chance to reply, he turned the handle and stepped inside, his confidence snapping back into place like a second skin.

The office was dimly lit, all dark wood and soft amber light, with the faint scent of spice and smoke hanging in the air. Behind the wide mahogany desk sat Ryomen Sukuna himself, crimson eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made Satoru’s breath catch for just a second.

Satoru shut the door behind him with a quiet click and turned, his lips curling into a sweet smile.

“Well, good evening to you,” he purred, his voice smooth as honey as he stepped further into the room.

Sukuna didn’t speak at first, just watched him, crimson eyes glinting faintly in the low light. Then he gave a low, quiet grunt and pushed his chair back from the desk, the wheels gliding smoothly over the dark floor. He lifted one large hand and extended it toward Satoru, palm open in silent command.

Satoru barely had time to react before those fingers closed around his own, tugging him gently forward. A startled squeak escaped him as he stumbled the last step and found himself pulled onto Sukuna’s lap.

The man’s strength was effortless, as if Satoru weighed nothing at all.

He squirmed slightly, a soft rustle of silk against wool as he shifted to settle comfortably. Sukuna’s chair creaked faintly under the new weight, but neither of them seemed to care. The older man’s arms came around his midsection, broad and solid, caging him in and making Satoru’s heart skip.

Then Sukuna leaned forward, his breath hot against Satoru’s throat.

The first press of lips was soft, followed by another, and another. His mouth trailed down the curve of Satoru’s neck, leaving faint traces of warmth with every kiss. Satoru inhaled sharply, the sound turning into a low, breathy laugh as he tilted his head slightly to give him more room.

“Mmh… someone’s feeling affectionate,” he murmured with a teasing lilt, the corner of his mouth curving as he lifted his champagne flute to his mouth.

He took a sip, the bubbles tickling his tongue, then leaned forward to set the glass down on the desk with a faint clink. His now-free hand slid up to rest against the back of Sukuna’s head, fingers sinking into soft pink hair.

“Ohh, did you have a bad day or something?” he cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. His nails grazed lightly against Sukuna’s scalp as he combed through the strands. God, his hair is softer than it looks.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Sukuna grunted, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he drew back just far enough to look Satoru in the eye. “Y’know, you’ve got it easy.”

Satoru tilted his head, a curious spark in his eyes. He could feel Sukuna’s arm still snug around his waist, the warmth of his palm splayed over his hip. “How so?” he asked, his tone teasing but faintly cautious, uncertain of where this particular train of thought would lead.

Sukuna’s hand moved, sliding up from Satoru’s waist to cup his face with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed over the smooth curve of Satoru’s cheekbone, and Satoru couldn’t help but lean into it, like his body had decided on its own that Sukuna’s touch was something worth melting into.

“Because you’re so pretty,” Sukuna said, voice rough but quiet, “that you can entrance anybody to give you whatever you want without issue.”

For a second, the air felt heavier, charged with something that made Satoru’s pulse skip. His first instinct was to laugh it off, to throw back some flirty remark or turn it into a joke, but the way Sukuna looked at him made that difficult.

Satoru blinked once, then twice, his lips twitching as he struggled not to smile too wide or too soft. The faintest warmth crept into his cheeks despite his best efforts to suppress it.

“Oh?” he chuckled, his voice lilting with mock amusement. “D’you think if you were as pretty as me you’d never have a bad day again?”

Sukuna’s lips tugged into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “I think,” he said, “if I was as pretty as you, I wouldn’t have to work again. Instead, I’d find a handsome, strong, incredibly rich man… perhaps one with, I don’t know, pink hair, to settle down with.”

Satoru froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he processed the words.

He knew exactly what Sukuna was hinting at.

He’d heard this kind of thing before: sugar daddies “subtly” suggesting they were the perfect option for a permanent arrangement. It was a line as old as the scene itself, a test of whether he could be tempted into giving up his independence.

Normally, he would have cut it off immediately. Numbers blocked, cards returned, and occasionally—very occasionally—restraining orders if someone got too aggressive or persistent. Satoru Gojo didn’t settle down. Never had, never would. Every man and woman who had ever funded his lifestyle knew it, knew the rules, and knew that the crown jewel didn’t belong to anyone.

And yet…

His heart, the traitorous little thing, began to pick up its pace. He could feel it hammering against his ribs, warming his chest in a way that wasn’t quite comfortable, but wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either.

He tilted his head, lips curving into a small, calculated smile, though his pulse betrayed him.

Why did the implication behind Sukuna’s words make him want to stay instead of flee?

It was infuriating.

Maybe it was because of how well Sukuna had treated him over the past two weeks—the dinners, the gifts, the attention that bordered on obsessive yet never crossed a line. Maybe it was because of how “exclusive” Sukuna was. Maybe it was because settling down with the CEO might actually be the greatest decision he’d ever make in his life.

Whatever it was, Satoru couldn’t stop himself from playing along a little.

He arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow, lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Yeah? What else would you do if you were me?”

Sukuna hummed, tilting his head slightly as if considering the question, his crimson eyes narrowing in mock thoughtfulness. His hands slid around Satoru’s sides and hips, fingers brushing under the hem of the silky white top, gliding over bare skin. Satoru shivered at the touch, letting his body lean into Sukuna’s palms without a second thought.

“I think,” Sukuna murmured, “that I would decide that this specific CEO, the one with the pink hair, who has wanted me for years now but never made a move because he was waiting for the perfect time, has earned the right to lock me down and receive all of my attention and affection.”

Satoru’s eyes went wide, almost comically so, and his lips parted in shock. “Wait… what?”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. He leaned in, the heat of his body pressing against Satoru’s, and nipped lightly at the delicate curve of his collarbone. “Mhmm. Three years now,” he murmured.

Satoru blinked repeatedly, his mind scrambling to process the revelation. Three years? Three years? His thoughts were a tangled mess, trying to catch up to the words leaving Sukuna’s lips. “Why? Why wait so long?”

“The very first time I saw you,” Sukuna explained, “I knew I wanted you to be mine. But I also knew that you would never want to settle down with some random CEO, so I figured that the best way to get your attention and possibly earn your affection would be to make myself just as untouchable as you yourself.”

Satoru felt his pulse spike, his chest tightening. Sukuna’s lips traced up from his collarbone, ghosting along the curve of his neck before pressing against the soft skin of his jaw in an open-mouthed kiss. Satoru had to bite back a moan, tilting his head back to give the man better access.

Without warning, Sukuna lifted him and stood, his strong arms wrapping around Satoru’s waist as if he weighed nothing at all. Satoru squeaked, surprised, his heels dangling as Sukuna carried him toward the balcony. The warm night air greeted them, carrying the faint scent of salt, and Satoru’s pulse quickened with anticipation.

Sukuna set him down gently onto the large plush couch that dominated the outdoor space. The cushions enveloped him, and before Satoru could fully react, Sukuna climbed atop him, lowering his mouth to Satoru’s in a deep kiss.

Satoru broke away for a moment, chest heaving, lips glistening, and eyes wide. “S-Sukuna… any of the crew on the upper decks could see us,” he gasped, voice trembling.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened with amusement, and he leaned in close, murmuring against Satoru’s lips, “Even if they do, they know better than to say anything.”

The man shifted, pressing his thigh between Satoru’s own. Satoru’s breath hitched at the feeling and he tossed his head back, lips parting around a whimper as the man’s thigh rubbed against him. The sensation was exquisite, coaxing him to arch into Sukuna’s touch.

Sukuna’s hands roamed over Satoru’s body, tracing along his sides, gripping his hips, and dipping to adjust him further against the hard press of his thigh. Every kiss, every press, every movement made Satoru shiver and whine, utterly helpless.

Satoru trembled beneath Sukuna, his pale skin flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat under the warm night air. His breath caught in his throat as Sukuna's fingers found the tie of his halter top. Slowly, teasingly, he pulled the fabric down, baring Satoru's smooth, toned chest to his hungry gaze.

Satoru's heart raced as the cool night air kissed his newly exposed skin, his pink nipples already pebbled with arousal. He gazed up at Sukuna through half-lidded eyes, lips parted invitingly. The larger man loomed over him, red eyes burning with hunger as they raked over Satoru's bared torso appreciatively.

Without warning, Sukuna descended upon him, capturing one sensitive bud between his lips. Satoru cried out sharply, back arching off the plush cushions as wet heat engulfed him. Sukuna suckled firmly, tongue swirling and flicking over the tight nub, sending jolts of pleasure straight to Satoru's core. His free hand reached up to roll the neglected nipple between calloused fingers.

"Ah! S-Sukuna..." Satoru mewled, back arching off the plush cushions. His slender fingers tangled in Sukuna's pink locks, holding him close. Sukuna suckled harder, grazing the tender flesh with his teeth, stoking the flames building low in Satoru's belly.

Sukuna released Satoru's nipple from his mouth with a wet pop, the abused bud glistening in the moonlight. He gazed down at Satoru's flushed face, drinking in the sight of his lover lost in pleasure. A wicked smirk curled his lips as he spoke, voice a low rumble.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this, pretty boy. Dreamt of having you spread out beneath me like this, so responsive, so perfect." His large hand splayed across Satoru's sternum, feeling the rapid flutter of his heartbeat. "You have no idea what you do to me."

To punctuate his words, Sukuna dipped his head once more, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the valley of Satoru's chest before capturing Satoru's other nipple between his lips, suckling hard.

Satoru managed to catch Sukuna’s gaze, his voice breathless as he spoke. “Then show me what you do to me.”

A slow, dark smirk spread across Sukuna’s face, his crimson eyes glinting. “It’d be my honor,” he murmured.

Sukuna’s hands were quick as he tugged Satoru’s silky white halter top over his head, baring his smooth, pale torso to the night air fully. Without hesitation, Sukuna peeled off his own shirt, revealing a sculpted chest streaked with black tattoos, muscles taut and defined, shadowed under the soft glow of the balcony lights.

He shifted and gently sat Satoru up on the couch. Satoru’s legs parted slightly, anticipation coiling in his stomach as Sukuna knelt between them. The man’s lips descended to his lower abdomen, soft and teasing at first, pressing light kisses over bare skin.

Sukuna’s hands were expert, undoing the buttons and zipper of Satoru’s white slacks, tugging the fabric down his legs until he was left in nothing but the lacy white briefs that clung snugly to him—and, of course, his heels. Satoru’s breath hitched, chest lifting involuntarily as Sukuna kissed along his thighs and calves, lips warm and insistent.

One hand moved to his feet, undoing the straps of his heels, slipping them off one by one and letting them fall to the ground. Sukuna’s kisses followed, tracing along the smooth line of his calves, the heat of his mouth igniting every nerve ending.

When Sukuna finally lifted his head, his hooded crimson eyes met Satoru’s, and the sight stole Satoru’s breath entirely. The intensity, the raw confidence, the hunger in Sukuna’s gaze—he had never seen anyone look at him like that. His chest tightened, pulse spiking, and a shiver of both fear and longing ran down his spine.

Satoru gasped softly as Sukuna's hot breath ghosted over the growing tent in his lacy white briefs. The thin fabric did little to hide his arousal, and Sukuna seemed intent on tormenting him with gentle touches and teasing licks. A needy whimper escaped Satoru's throat, his fingers threading through the silky strands of Sukuna's pink hair.

"Mmmm... you're so responsive," Sukuna purred, his deep voice vibrating against Satoru's sensitive flesh. He mouthed at the outline of Satoru's hardening cock, tongue tracing the shape through the delicate lace.

"S-Sukuna..." Satoru whimpered, voice quivering with anticipation. His hips twitched upward involuntarily, seeking more of that contact. Sukuna chuckled low in his throat, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through Satoru's sensitive flesh.

Satoru's breath hitched as he felt the damp heat of Sukuna's mouth envelop the tip of his straining erection through the thin lace of his briefs. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that exquisite friction. Sukuna held his gaze, eyes smoldering with barely restrained desire as he suckled gently, tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive underside of Satoru's cockhead through the fabric.

Satoru moaned loudly, his head falling back against the plush cushions. His fingers tightened their grip in Sukuna's hair, holding him in place as he rutted against the man's skilled mouth.

Sukuna pulled away and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Satoru's lacy briefs and tugged them down his long, slender legs, leaving him completely bare. Satoru's flushed cock sprang free, hard and leaking, standing proud against his toned stomach. Sukuna drank in the sight of Satoru's naked body sprawled before him, a low groan of appreciation rumbling in his chest.

"Shit, look at you," Sukuna growled, his voice rough with desire. "So goddamn perfect. Such a pretty little thing."  His large hands skimmed up Satoru's thighs, pushing them apart gently as he settled between them. Satoru whimpered, hole clenching reflexively under Sukuna's gaze.

Sukuna's thumbs pressed against the inside of Satoru's thighs, spreading him open wider as he leaned in closer. Satoru could feel the heat of Sukuna's breath ghosting over his skin, making him shudder with anticipation. Then, without warning, Sukuna's tongue was there, dragging slowly over his twitching entrance.

"Oh, fuck!" Satoru cried out, back arching off the couch. Sukuna's tongue circled his rim, teasing and probing, before pressing inside with a firm thrust. Satoru's hands flew to Sukuna's hair, gripping tightly as the man began to eat him out with single-minded focus.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Sukuna purred, voice muffled against Satoru's skin. He sealed his lips around the fluttering hole and sucked hard, tongue delving inside to lap at the velvet walls. Satoru rocked his hips against the invading tongue, desperate for more.

Sukuna's tongue stretched him open, delving deep and curling against his walls. He alternated between broad licks and pointed flicks, mapping every inch of Satoru's inner walls.

Satoru writhed beneath Sukuna, lost in a haze of pleasure as the man worked him over with lips and tongue. His cock throbbed almost painfully, smearing precum on his stomach with each roll of his hips.

"P-please, Sukuna," Satoru whined, voice high and needy. "I need... I need..."

"What is it, baby?" Sukuna asked, pulling back just enough to speak. "Tell me what you need."

"I-I need your cock," Satoru whined, cheeks burning with slight embarrassment. "Please."

Sukuna's eyes flashed with hunger at Satoru's desperate plea. "With pleasure, sweet boy.”

With surprising strength, Sukuna hauled Satoru up from the couch, steadying him on wobbly legs. He guided the smaller man to the balcony railing, the cool metal a stark contrast to Satoru's heated skin. Sukuna's large hands gripped Satoru's hips, turning him and bending him over the rail. Satoru braced himself, palms flat against the smooth surface, presenting his bare ass to Sukuna's hungry gaze.

Sukuna's lips trailed feather-light kisses along the elegant curve of Satoru's spine, each press of his mouth sending sparks of pleasure dancing across Satoru's nerves. One large hand splayed possessively over the round globe of Satoru's ass, kneading and squeezing the supple flesh. Meanwhile, Sukuna's other hand dipped below, fumbling with the fastenings of his own pants before shoving them down his powerful thighs.

As the fabric pooled around his ankles, Sukuna's massive cock sprang free, slapping against Satoru's ass. Satoru couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sheer size of the thick, veiny shaft bobbing mere inches from his entrance.

It was long and incredibly girthy, the flared head flushed an angry purple and already weeping with precum. Satoru's hole clenched reflexively, a needy whimper escaping his parted lips as he arched his back even more, presenting himself to his lover.

"F-Fuck," Satoru breathed, voice trembling with equal parts nervousness and anticipation. "Are you sure it'll fit?"

Sukuna smirked at Satoru's awestruck expression, giving his ass a sharp smack. "Don't worry, baby. I'll make sure you can take every inch."

Sukuna gripped Satoru's hips firmly, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he notched the swollen head of his cock against Satoru's twitching hole. The blunt head nudged insistently against the fluttering ring of muscle, smearing copious amounts of precum over the sensitive flesh. Satoru whimpered and pushed back, trying to impale himself on that thick shaft, but Sukuna held him in place, denying him the penetration he craved.

"Not yet, greedy boy," Sukuna purred, voice a dark rumble. "I'm going to savor every second of claiming this tight little ass."

With that, he began to push forward, the thick crown popping past the initial ring of muscle. Satoru let out a choked cry, fingers scrabbling against the balcony railing as he was stretched wide around the invading thickness.

"That's it, take it nice and deep," Sukuna growled, voice strained with the effort of holding back. Inch after excruciating inch sank into Satoru's tight channel, filling and stretching him beyond what he thought possible.

Satoru's mouth fell open in a silent scream of pleasure and slight pain as Sukuna's massive cock stretched him open. His walls clenched and fluttered around the thick intrusion, trying to accommodate the sheer size. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes from the stretch, but he didn't want Sukuna to stop.

"Breathe, baby," Sukuna cooed, rubbing soothing circles on Satoru's lower back. "You're doing so well, taking me so deep. Such a good boy for me."

By the time Sukuna's heavy balls nestled against his ass, Satoru was a babbling mess, reduced to incoherent moans and whimpers. He could feel every throbbing vein and ridge of Sukuna's cock pulsing inside him.

Sukuna grunted, giving an experimental thrust that made stars explode behind Satoru's eyelids. "You were made for my cock, weren't you? Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

Sukuna began to move, setting a deep rhythm as he thrust into Satoru's pliant body. Each powerful snap of his hips drove his thick length in to the hilt, stirring up Satoru's guts and sending jolts of pleasure racing up his spine. Satoru whined high in his throat, fingers white-knuckled on the railing as he pushed back to meet Sukuna's thrusts.

Leaning down, Sukuna peppered Satoru's sweat-slick shoulders with open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing sensitive skin. "That's it, take it just like that," he panted against Satoru's ear. “Such a good boy, taking me so well.”

Satoru could only moan in response, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness and the praise falling from Sukuna's lips. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely in the night air, mixing with their harsh pants and groans.

"You feel incredible wrapped around my cock," Sukuna murmured, one hand sliding around to wrap around Satoru's dripping erection. He stroked in time with his thrusts, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. "Gonna fill this perfect ass up.”

His other hand slid up Satoru's side, mapping the dip of his waist and the flare of his hipbone. He gripped Satoru's chin, turning his face for a kiss.

Satoru whimpered into the kiss, surrendering himself completely. The hand on his chin came up to wrap around his throat, applying a delicious pressure that made Satoru lightheaded.

Satoru gagged and sputtered against Sukuna's mouth, eyes rolling back from the dual stimulation. As the kiss grew more heated, Sukuna's thrusts became harder, more forceful. The slick slide of his massive cock pummeling Satoru's prostate sent sparks exploding behind the younger man's eyelids.

Satoru keened into the kiss, hole clenching desperately around the thick shaft splitting him open. All he could do was hang onto the railing for dear life, letting Sukuna fuck him into the next goddamn century.

"Yes, yes, fuck! Just like that!" Satoru babbled mindlessly, too far gone to care about the volume of his cries.

Sukuna snarled into the crook of Satoru's neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

Satoru could only moan brokenly as Sukuna took him apart piece by piece. The hand around his throat tightened, cutting off his air supply and making everything hazy around the edges. His vision tunneled until all he could see was the starry sky above and the endless expanse of ocean before him. Drool leaked from the corner of his slack mouth as he took everything Sukuna gave him, addicted to the feeling.

Black spots began to dance in his vision, the lack of oxygen heightening every sensation tenfold. Satoru's cock jumped in Sukuna's grip, smearing pre-cum all over the larger man's fingers.

"Fuck, your ass is milking my cock so good," Sukuna growled. "Gonna fill this greedy ass up 'til it's dripping.”

Satoru could only gurgle in response, nodding weakly as much as Sukuna's iron grip on his throat would allow. His entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Sukuna's cock pounding into him and the pressure around his neck. His cock throbbed almost painfully, aching for release.

Just as he thought he might pass out, Sukuna released his throat. Satoru gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as blood rushed back to his head. The sudden influx of oxygen combined with the relentless stimulation proved to be too much.

"C-Cumming!" Satoru wailed, voice raw and wrecked. His orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, back arching sharply as his cock pulsed and jerked in Sukuna's fist.

Satoru's release triggered Sukuna’s own climax. With a broken groan, Sukuna buried himself to the hilt inside Satoru's spasming hole. His cock throbbed and twitched as he emptied himself, pumping what felt like gallons of hot seed directly into Satoru's guts.

"Take it all, baby. Such a perfect boy for me," Sukuna groaned, grinding his pelvis against Satoru's ass to work his load deeper. Satoru could feel the thick ropes of cum painting his insides, marking him thoroughly.

As the last spurts dribbled out, Sukuna slumped over Satoru's back, both of them panting harshly. He peppered Satoru's sweaty shoulders with soft kisses, a complete contrast to his earlier roughness. Satoru’s legs trembled beneath him, knees threatening to buckle, and he had to grip the railing harder just to stay upright.

Sukuna’s sharp crimson eyes flicked down, noticing the quiver in Satoru’s limbs. He carefully pulled out of Satoru's tender hole, watching as his thick seed began to leak out, dribbling obscenely down Satoru's quivering thighs.

Then, Sukuna scooped Satoru up in his arms. Satoru let out a soft breath and curled into his embrace, tucking his face against Sukuna's broad chest. Sukuna carried him back to the couch, laying him down gently. Satoru’s body sank into the plush cushions with a soft sigh.

Grabbing a nearby box of tissues, Sukuna tenderly wiped away the evidence of their passion from Satoru's skin. He cleaned between Satoru's cheeks, mopping up the rivulets of cum, before tossing the used tissues aside.

Satoru’s muscles finally began to relax as Sukuna climbed onto the couch beside him, settling behind him. The heat radiating from Sukuna’s body pressed against his back, and his arm curved over Satoru’s waist, fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on his hipbone. The other hand absentmindedly twined through Satoru’s hair, tugging lightly in a way that made him shiver.

Satoru finally managed to draw a deep, steadying breath, letting the tension drain from his muscles. A grin tugged at his lips, and he let out a teasing laugh. “Well… that was certainly worth the wait,” he murmured, voice still slightly breathless.

Sukuna chuckled in response. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin just behind Satoru’s ear. “I’m serious about wanting you to settle down with me,” he murmured.

Satoru hummed, tilting his head slightly toward the touch. “You know… I may just consider it after tonight,” he replied, voice playful but tinged with sincerity. “We’ll discuss it more tomorrow.”

A soft hum of agreement came from Sukuna “Tomorrow,” he agreed. He settled back into the couch, his hand still tracing circles over Satoru’s hip.

Satoru let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off.