The Decadent Times

22 ✦ ARIA m.list

[toshisdecadence]

Peruse the latest stories at our esteemed newspaper. Minors, beware of the contents below. The newspaper contains mature and dark content.

The stories marked with (m) are mature in nature and contain themes of sex, infidelity, violence, and many more that may not be suitable for minors. Stories marked with (dc) are dark content and contains themes such as consensual non-consent (cnc), dubious consent (dubcon), incest, stepcest, gore, and many more that may not be suitable for some audiences.

The audience is responsible for the content they consume. Read the warnings that accompany each story, and read responsibly.

All Rights Reserved © toshisdecadence 2026. Do not copy, modify, re-imagine, translate, or repost any of the stories below on any other platform or medium.

HAIKYŪ!!

Snowball! (dc) (m) | stepbrother!wakatoshi ushijima x stepsister!reader - What could ever go wrong with being alone with your stepbrother for a week during the holidays?

Accidentally On Purpose (m) | PART 1, PART 2 | athlete!wakatoshi ushijima x popular!fem reader - After reading about the benefits of sex, volleyball star Wakatoshi Ushijima sees no reason not to accept your persistent offers.

?????????? (m) | merman!wakatoshi ushijima x ????!fem reader (COMING SOON!) - ?????????

JUJUTSU KAISEN

Another Notch on Her Belt (dc) (m) | sub!yuta okkotsu x dom!fem reader - You, the resident maneater of the university, set your hungry eyes on none other than the shy and bumbling Yuta Okkotsu.

The Devil Wears Zegna (dc) (m) | devil!suguru geto x archangel!fem reader - Your former colleague, Suguru Geto, now Devil and overseer of the Demonic Realm, is extremely unprofessional.

What A Woman Wants (dc) (m) | dilf!toji fushiguro x rich girl!fem reader - You find yourself tangled in an intense affair with the last man you should ever want—Toji Fushiguro, broke, rugged, and utterly irresistible.

Dangerous Liaisons (dc) (m) | nerd!kento nanami x rich girl!fem reader - Your popular boyfriend is an utter disappointment in bed, so why not entertain the quiet nerd you’ve picked on since freshman year, Kento Nanami?

The Blue Sleeve (dc) (m) | nine-tailed fox!satoru gojo x noblewoman!reader - Fox deity Satoru Gojo, cursed to die by pleasure, hires a broke noblewoman to fuck him to death.

House Rules (dc) (m) | father-in-law!ryomen sukuna x daughter-in-law!reader (x fiancé!yuji itadori) - You thought Ryomen Sukuna was your past, but as it turns out, he’s your fiancé’s father too.

Domestic Disturbance (dc) (m) | stepbrother!sukuna ryomen x stepsister!reader - Your new stepbrother, Sukuna, isn’t the type of man to let your new relationship stop him from going after what he wants.

BLUE LOCK

coming soon!

GENSHIN IMPACT

coming soon!

HONKAI STAR RAIL

ERROR 404: Overload! (dc) (m) | svarog x mechanic!fem reader - You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

?????? (m) | sunday x fem reader (COMING SOON!) - ?????????

MISCELLANEOUS

coming soon!

[toshisdecadence]

Just wanted to say, Dangerous Liaisons is perfection and I am so thankful for your writing 😭🫶🏽

Thank you so so much dear! I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it. I was ovulating so hard when I wrote that and I think it showed… nerd!nanami save me

[toshisdecadence]

Aaaaa i love love looooooved your sukuna fic 💗 hope you have a great day

Thank you so much lovely🥺🥺 I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it!!

[toshisdecadence]

I have been thoroughly used and abused by that stepbro!sukuna fic i can’t believe it took me 1.5 years to power through finishing it. I am out of writing commission for a while 😞

However….. I am recently thinking of cardinal!Choso bc he reminds me so much of Cardinal Richelieu from A Stepmother’s Marchën and nothing does it for me quite like catholic guilt..

Anyway I hope the sukuna fic was decently enjoyable ignore the different levels of effort in the sections bc you can tell I was super enthusiastic in the beginning and then the months grated on me as time went by

[toshisdecadence]

Domestic Disturbance

PAIRING: stepbrother!ryomen sukuna x stepsister!reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, stepcest, incest, dubcon, noncon, rough sex, sukuna is a whole warning by himself, spanking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), creampies, overstimulation, implied multiple rounds, size kink, fingering, public sex, semi-public sex, near-discovery, exhibitionism, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, toxic relationship dynamics, power imbalance, manipulation, degradation, praise kink, breeding kink, pregnancy risk, plan b mention, emotional manipulation, familial tension, stepbrother/stepsister dynamic, enemies to lovers but make it toxic, nasty nasty sex, explicit language

WORD COUNT: 10.5k

SUMMARY: Your new stepbrother, Sukuna, isn’t the type of man to let your new relationship stop him from going after what he wants.

© toshisdecadence

Your mother was marrying for the third time.

You don’t resent that. Your biological father and the one that followed after him were narcissistic wastes of space who only had their money to offer and your mother, regrettably, believed in third chances. No. Her remarriage didn’t concern you much. What you resented was this fucking dinner.

It smelled like dry-aged lamb and forced civility stuffed into a high-ceilinged room accompanied with the backdrop of a small, live orchestral band playing a sad rendition of Tchaikovsky. Jin—your mother’s newest husband—was kind. Genuinely, almost embarrassingly, kind. The sort who thanked waitstaff twice, tipped half the bill, and tried to make you laugh with his puns (without much success). You don’t hate him. Not at all. You think he’s the most decent guy your mother’s ever brought home, given her piss poor track record.

You just hated that he came with a son.

Sukuna.

The bastard currently sat across from you, slouching back against the suede chair, licking his steak knife. Classy. He had tossed some black leather jacket that you guess hadn’t been properly dry cleaned for the years he’s had it over the back of his chair, exposing the extensive black tattoos that lined his beefy arms. He wore a thin black tank top that seemed to hold on for dear life just to cling to his bulky and sinewy muscular body. Underneath the table were his black ripped jeans. Then a pair of beat up black combat boots streaked with mud. So much for a formal dinner. He looked like the quintessential delinquent who spent the majority of his academic years with numerous probations and violations on his silver-studded black leather belt.

The only thing more offensive than his outfit was the look he was giving you as he chewed the chunk he tore from his medium rare ribeye steak. His canines were bared to you like some rabid street dog. It allowed you to see the crude visage of the red meat torn apart by his maws. His lips smacked against each other like a child who hadn’t yet received table etiquette lessons, appraising you from head to toe like a shiny new toy.

Your fingers curled around the stainless silver fork and knife in your hands, your nails digging red crescents into your palm. 

Sukuna had already walked in late. By thirty minutes, mind you. The entrées were served and nearing room temperature when he swaggered in with his hands in his pockets, entrenched in the scent of smoke and something so synthetic and musky that it made your nose twist. He plopped down languidly on the seat across from you. No apology out of his lips. No sign of remorse on his indifferent features. His hair was styled in what seemed to be a pompadour, a violent pink-red shade that reminded you of a nasty bruise and gelled up in the aposematic way that poisonous animals colored themselves.

“Yo,” he had said, addressing his father as if he were simply another peer at his fraternity. “Didn’t know we had company, old man.”

Jin’s gentle face, which seemed uncanny now when he sat beside his son who shared the same exact features—except they somehow looked hostile and wolfish on Sukuna—had folded into something between affection and apology. 

Your mother had stiffened beside you.

“Sukuna, please,” Jin had sighed, patient. “This is your new sister. Introduce yourself.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes had landed on you. And he smiled like a wolf that found its rabbit.

“Shit,” he had said, glancing at your mother. “That’s your daughter?”

Your mother had flushed, pinching her lips pale. Jin cleared his throat. The waitstaff exchanged glances.

Sukuna had leaned back, stretched, eyeing you like he was already ripping off the black dress you wore in mourning and bending you over the table to fuck the mortification out of you.

“Holy shit.” A cruel sneer had twisted his lips. “My new sister’s my exact type.”

Somehow, dinner resumed after, which was why Sukuna was across from you, licking his bloodied steak knife like he was imagining it was you instead.

You cut your lamb despite your limbs trembling from anger. You sipped your cabernet. You didn’t taste any of it.

Sukuna licked his fingers. He dragged a bone across his plate like he was gnawing on it for show. Occasionally, he hummed. A pleased little hum. Not one with a real tune, but a sound that a child would make while tearing butterfly wings in half.

He licked his thumb languidly, sneering as he stared at you with hooded lids.

“Food’s good,” he said, grabbing the table napkin that he hadn’t bothered placing over his lap to roughly wipe his mouth.

No one answered him. The small orchestral band seemed to play a bit louder. As if the shrill violin could somehow drown out the tension in the air. You feebly hope it does.

Abruptly, Sukuna stood.

The chair screeched. He doesn’t excuse himself. Doesn’t bother pushing in the chair. 

“Well,” he said, tossing down the table napkin like an afterthought on his emptied plate, left with remnants of ribeye blood, soaking the white fabric crimson. “I showed up, didn’t I?”

Your blood curdled.

“Nice to meet you, Dad’s new wife.” He took his black leather jacket, sliding it onto his beefy arms.

Your mother offered him a thin, brittle smile.

He turned to you, grinning wolfishly, one hand resting comfortably in his front pocket.

“And my hot sis.”

He left without waiting for a response. You swear you saw red.

The sound of his boots echoed—those fucking combat boots—as he stomped away on the tiled hallway floors until they faded completely.

There’s a long, pregnant pause. And then Jin sighed.

“He’s…” he began, but trailed off, deciding if there’s somehow a diplomatic way to describe an open pervert—not to mention son—calling his new daughter hot.

“He’s acting out,” your mother supplied gently with a sigh of her own. “Jin told me this might happen.”

You didn’t look at either of them. You reached for your wine glass again. You remembered the same crimson staining his steak knife, and how he licked it off languidly with his tongue dragging against the sharp titanium serrations, staring at you like he either wanted to cut you open or eat you. Most likely, both.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Jin said. “He just wants a reaction. He’s always been like this when he feels threatened.” He sighs apologetically. “I’m sorry. He… lost his mom when he was young. And he’s never let anyone replace her. I think this marriage just set something off in him. But Sukuna’s a good kid.”

It’s been three days since the dinner.

The house hasn’t recovered. Neither have you. Sukuna seemed to have a knack for bulldozing through things and leaving them in tatters.

They call it integration, like this was some kind of corporate merger. Like moving a full-grown man into your estate’s west wing wasn’t the architectural equivalent of leaving a lit cigarette in a bottle of bleach.

You were living under the same roof now. A modernist concrete mansion your late grandfather commissioned in the ’80s. Clean lines, high ceilings, a koi pond you’ve never once stepped into. It used to feel sterile in a comforting way. Controlled. Now it smelled like marijuana, vape juice, and a man who didn’t belong there.

Sukuna’s room was supposed to be in the detached guest villa. The one with its own entrance, bathroom, and full-service kitchenette. A perfectly reasonable offer. It was more than he deserved, honestly. But he yawned and said it was “too far.”

Now he was in the room directly across the hall from yours.

The first thing he did was rip the curtains off. The second thing was to start leaving his door open. Always shirtless. Always loud with those crass songs that talked about sucking dick, marijuana, and carjackings. Always watching you.

You tried to ignore him. You tried harder than you’ve ever tried at anything. But he seemed to get a sick kick out of your cold demeanor. Like the mere sight of disdain in your eyes made him shiver in arousal. He was vermin.

You heard him before you saw him.

No, not his footsteps—he didn’t bother softening those—but his laugh. Low and throaty, punching through the quiet. You tightened your grip on your espresso cup. The garden was glassy with early light, still damp from last night’s mist. It should be peaceful. 

But then the sliding door opened.

Of course, he was shirtless. Wearing nothing else but gray sweatpants that hung criminally low on his hips. His tanned torso rippled with layer upon layer of muscle, his arms bulged as he scratched lazily at a hip like he knew exactly where your eyes landed a half-second too long.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Sukuna drawled, like you were lovers and not the unlucky children of newlyweds with matching prenups.

You didn’t answer. You sipped your coffee. The arabica tasted acrid on your tongue.

“Still sulking about that dinner?” He leaned one shoulder against the frame, casual, obscene. The lines of his tattooed thick stripes of black lines, as if a nod to restraints that didn’t exist on him, remind you of carnivorous animals that designated themselves as kings of the wild. “C’mon. It was a compliment.”

“Calling me your type in front of my mother isn’t a compliment,” you said, ice-cold. “It’s a threat.”

His grin sharpened. “Mm. You make it sound dirty. Kinda hot.”

You slammed the cup down too hard. Porcelain clinked against the saucer. You hate that your hand slipped. Hated more the slow drag of his gaze down your robe, silk catching the morning light over the slip beneath. You hated that he made you clumsy. You hate more that you could feel his eyes on your thighs—your robe barely covered your slip. You hadn’t expected to see anyone this early. Even the maids weren’t up and about yet. Certainly not him.

“I’m not scared of you,” you told him, clipped, deliberate. “You’re just a cockroach in Chrome. You’ll be gone in six months.”

He laughed low in his chest, then pushed his palm over the front of his sweatpants, shameless, adjusting himself in full view. Your lips parted in mortification, revulsion, something you refuse to name—a mix of everything.

“Six months? Fuck, princess, I’ll have you bent over before six weeks.”

Heat flashed down your spine. Immediate, treacherous. You masked it with a glare, but your skin betrayed you. The flush at your collar, the way your thighs pressed together under the robe.

You stood to leave. You refused to give him the spectacle he was baiting for.

But as you passed, his hand snapped around your wrist, iron-tight. With one hard tug, he yanked you off balance. You stumbled, and suddenly he was kneeling in front of you, broad shoulders filling the frame of the doorway, his head tilted back to look up at you.

It should have looked deferential. Submissive, even.

But it didn’t.

On Sukuna, it looked obscene: this brute of a man crouched at your feet, staring up through unfairly thick lashes, grin wolfish. For a heartbeat, he looked almost submissive—on his knees, head tilted back—but there was nothing humble in it. Just hunger. As if he was settled into this posture only to imagine what it would take to sink his teeth into your thighs. To slot his tongue against the hood of your clit.

“Do you expect me to bow to you like this, princess?” His voice was rough, mocking. “You think I don’t know you’d love it if I stayed down here, worshipping that spoiled cunt of yours?”

Before you could utter a word, he leaned in, his nose pressing against the gusset of your thin panties, his breath hot against the silk of your slip, inhaling like he meant to taste the air clinging to you. “Fuck, you smell like it already. Sweet.” A heavy inhale. “Wet.”

Your stomach twisted. Rage coiled tight in your chest, but so did something else.

And then his hand was under your robe, fast and shameless, ghosting over the curve of your ass. His fingers pushed the hem of your slip high, and before you could stop him, two thick fingers pressed brazenly against the heat between your legs.

You choked on your own breath. The betrayal was instant. Your body slick against his touch, your thighs locked too late. The heady musky scent that you recognized very well.

Sukuna’s laugh rumbled against your skin, guttural and thrilled. “Knew it. All ice on the surface, dripping underneath.” He pressed harder, dragging across the damp fabric just to feel you twitch. His eyes never left your face, watching for every flinch, every stutter of shame.

“Look at you,” he crooned, low and poisonous. “My perfect little sister. My exact type. Knew you’d open up for me.”

Before you could wrench free, he pulled back just far enough to bring his hand to his face. Slowly, deliberately, he inhaled, lids lowering in mock reverence, then slid those same fingers between his lips. The wet click of his tongue filled the silence. His grin sharpened as he licked them clean, savoring.

“Tastes even better than you look.”

Your fury spiked. The sound of your hand striking his cheek cracked through the room. His head snapped to the side, but the only thing that changed was his smile. It widened, his teeth flashing as color rose in his face.

But instead of recoiling, Sukuna laughed in a low, broken sound that rumbled out of his chest like he'd been waiting for it. His tongue darted to the corner of his mouth, catching a bead of spit like it was proof of your rage. His cocky smirk only widened, shameless, eyes dark with something hotter than malice.

“Fuck,” he growled, almost giddy. You stammered at the crazed glee in his irises. “Hit me again, princess. You have no idea what that does to me.”

You shoved past him, robe whipping around your legs as you stormed down the hall. You don’t stop, don’t look back, don’t acknowledge the sticky heat between your thighs.

But his laughter follows, low and obscene, echoing down the corridor.

Sukuna knew it the second he first saw you.

Not just that you were hot—you were, of course. Straight out of a magazine. Sharp-ass collarbones, expensive skin, lips like you’d sneer while sucking cock. The kind of girl who smelled like spa water and judged him for ordering beer on tap. But that wasn’t it.

It was the look you gave him.

Like you wanted him six feet under the koi pond.

Fuck, he thought, watching you sitting like a queen in mourning, staring at him as if he were somehow beneath the ground that kissed the sole of your heels. That’s it. That’s the one.

His exact type.

Not just beautiful. Unreachable. Vapid and fucking gorgeous. 

He got hard halfway through the soup course. He had to leave early to jerk it in the car, imagining what your face would look like, all pretty and twisted in a disgusted sneer, marred with his fucking cum. You’d probably spit it out, wipe your lips off with those perfect fingers, and glare at him. God, he wanted to fucking wreck you. The perfect princess who had everything.

Life didn’t give Sukuna a lot of things.

No stability. No money while growing up before his dad made it later on. No mom, after a while.

But what it did give him was instincts.

He could tell when a girl wanted him. When she didn’t. When she wanted to slit her own throat before letting him touch her.

And you? You fell into the third.

That just made it a thousand times better.

His dad’s house—your house—was a joke.

Everything’s silent to the point that you’d hear the flapping of a stray fly’s wings inside. The staff don't make eye contact, keeping their heads lowered all the time. The walls felt like museums, stretching on for meters and meters, decorated with paintings by European fucks he doesn’t care to remember. No fingerprints, no noise, no signs of life. His mom would’ve hated it. And because of that, Sukuna does too.

But he wasn’t leaving.

Jin asked him to stay for a few weeks. Said it’d be good for him. Said his new little sister was nice.

He didn’t say you’d be delicious. Didn’t mention the way you held your fork like you wanted to stab him. Didn’t warn him about the robe that stuck to your thighs when you walked past his door in the morning. Didn’t say you were the kind of girl who probably kept vibrators in a silk pouch next to your diamond jewelry.

Princess, he called you now. Because you hated it. And because you are one.

You grew up with chauffeurs tailing your every move. He grew up stealing bikes and fingering girls behind gas stations.

You were trained to be untouchable. That just makes him want to touch even more.

Not out of love—certainly not that. Not even lust, really. But just to see what you’d do when your perfect little world broke.

His dad doesn’t get it. He’s always been that kind. Always expected the best out of others. Especially out of his own son. 

“Give her time,” Jin said, caressing Sukuna’s head. “She’ll warm up to you.”

Sukuna had laughed in his face. “If she warms up to me,” he said, “she’s the one in trouble.”

The dining room was all sharp lines and polished silver, glass chandelier spilling light over the table. Every seat had its place. Every fork had its order. Your mother had drilled the etiquette into you since you were old enough to hold a knife. It was meant for grand receptions, not nightly dinners with a man who treated rules like they were napkins to soil and toss.

Sukuna lounged across from you, shoulders loose, grin lazy. For once, he wore a shirt. Crisp white, though the top three buttons gaped open, collarbone and tattoo peeking like an intentional insult. He wasn’t trying. He never tried.

Your mother and Jin carried the conversation. Work, charity, upcoming travel. You stabbed your salad with precision, refusing to look up. Sukuna chewed with slow theatrics, licking his thumb when the vinaigrette dripped down his wrist. Neither parent noticed. Or maybe they just chose not to comment on it.

Then, mercifully, your mother’s phone buzzed. A car was waiting. Some reservation she’d forgotten. She and Jin excused themselves in a rustle of silk and polite laughter, leaving you and Sukuna at opposite ends of a table built to seat twenty.

The silence swelled. The clatter of cutlery hummed faintly.

You cut your steak into perfect squares. One. Two. Three. You feebly hoped it was Sukuna’s throat you were stabbing your knife into.

The abrupt clang of Sukuna’s cutlery on his empty plate pulled your attention.

“You always eat like that?” Sukuna’s voice carried, low and careless. “So neat. Like a fuckin’ princess. It’s kinda hot.”

You regarded him with a flat stare. “Is that all that your vocabulary is limited to?”

His laugh cracked through the quiet, too loud for the room. “Ah, still pissy about this morning. My bad, princess. Couldn’t help myself. You’re just—” He leaned back, chair tilting dangerously. “—fucking delicious when you’re furious. You know I still feel the sting of your slap? Got me hard all over again just thinking about it.”

Your knife slipped against porcelain. A shriek of steel on china. You kept your eyes down, but your pulse betrayed you, a hammering at your throat.

“See, that’s what I mean,” he drawled. “You can’t even cut meat without thinking about me now.”

Your gaze snapped up. He was watching you lazily, fork balanced between two fingers, tongue dragging along the prongs before sliding it into his mouth. Pink spilled past silver. He sucked slowly, obscenely. A moan. His lips shone when he pulled it free.

“You’re revolting,” you spat.

“Mm. And you’re wet.” His grin widened. “Wanna check, princess? Or should I crawl under the table and prove it for you?”

You pushed your plate away, napkin tossed hard enough to flutter like a white flag that wasn’t one. You rose without another word, heels clicking a sharp exit across the polished floor.

At the door, you turned, words like glass in your mouth.

“Go get your dick wet with someone else, Sukuna. Stop dreaming about something that will never happen.”

You should never have given him the line. Never told him to go get his dick wet with someone else. Because Sukuna listened.

The next night, and the night after, the west wing of the house—your wing, mind you!—turned into a brothel. Women paraded in and out of his room like he’d paid for them wholesale, all cheap glossy lips and cheap perfume. Their laughter filled the hallways, shrill against marble, and then came the real noise: moans, cries, whimpers so loud they rattled the art on your walls.

At first, it was only the sound of a car pulling up too late, too loud. Tires crunching gravel, laughter spilling before the engine even cut. You pulled the pillow over your ears, tried to will it away.

Then the music started. Bass-heavy, muffled by concrete walls but still pounding through the marrow of the house. Voices carried through the halls, high-pitched, eager, drunk on more than champagne.

And then—worse than the grating music—came the first moan.

It ripped through the air like a violation. Followed by another. And another. Then the banging of the headboard against the wall. Heavy thuds. Until the chorus built, shrill and obscene, a cacophony of pleasure orchestrated by one man.

You buried your face in the sheets. You tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But the house gave you no mercy. The walls echoed with it, the floors throbbed with it, every shriek and giggle crawling under your skin. You scorned the soundproofing being only limited to the music rooms.

You caught snatches of his voice between the cries. Cruel and filthy.

Louder, slut.

Spread wider. Jus’ like that.

Yeah, scream for me. Make sure she hears it.

You hated that you could picture it. Him in that wide bed across the hall, body moving between tangled limbs, mouth pressed to someone else’s throat, tattoos dragging over perspiring skin.

But what made bile rise was how similar they all sounded. How their laughter, their little gasps and groans, mirrored your own voice too closely.

It was confirmed when you left your room the next morning. One of them was in the hall, wearing your silk robe. Your robe. Her hair was a shade too close to yours, cut to the same length. She looked you over with lazy disdain, perfume too sweet, clinging to the fabric that belonged to you.

And worse: every girl he brought home looked like you.

Not exactly. That would’ve been too obvious, too easy to deny. But close enough. The same shade of hair. The same curve of the lip. Even their clothes, a silk robe that could’ve been borrowed from your closet, a pair of heels not unlike the pair you’d left by the foyer.

At first, you told yourself you could ignore it.

You weren’t fucking stupid. You practically handed him the idea yourself at dinner. On a damned silver platter, too. You should’ve known Sukuna would take it literally, weaponize it. Malicious compliance. Of course, the fucker must frequent Reddit like he does seedy alleyways and sketchy weed dealers.

So you ignored the footsteps down the hall. Ignored the laughter spilling past midnight. Ignored the way the walls carried the sound of girls choking, begging, shrieking his name. You buried yourself in silk sheets and pressed a pillow over your ears. You told yourself you were above it.

But on the fifth night, you found her.

You’d padded down to the kitchen for water, robe cinched tight, when you saw a stranger leaning half-inside your fridge. Long hair, glossy, almost your shade. Your pearl hairclip glinting in her bun. A bottle tipped back in her hand.

San Pellegrino. Your San Pellegrino.

“Put that down.”

She jumped, bottle clinking against teeth. Slowly, she lowered it, sheepish smile pulling at her lips. “Sorry, I just—he said I could—”

You were across the room before she finished, fingers snatching the clip from her hair so hard she yelped. You threw it against the counter, the crack loud in the sterile quiet.

“Don’t say his name.” Your voice cut like glass, but you didn’t even bother to look at her. You moved forward, wooden sandals ticking against marble, gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder, as though she was part of the furniture. “Do you have any idea whose house you’re standing in?”

She faltered. “I—”

“You don’t,” you went on, ignoring her, tone bored in its dismissiveness. A brief glance at her appearance gave you an idea: tall and slender, pretty, naivety in her beaded eyes. An aspiring model, it seemed. You almost felt bad, but then again, she needed to learn to avoid men who were nothing but trouble. “One phone call and I could end whatever it is you call a career.”

Her breath hitched. You reached out, plucked the bottle from her hand with deliberate ease, as if she were nothing more than poorly trained staff.

“Leave,” you said flatly. 

The girl fled, heels clattering down the stairs.

And that’s when you noticed him.

Sukuna, propped against the doorframe, sweatpants slung low, cigarette hanging from his lips. His eyes burned molten, fixed on you like he’d just witnessed a public execution.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, voice rough with arousal. “You’re beautiful when you’re cruel.”

The cigarette smoke curled between you like a specter. He was shirtless, of course, and that cruel sneer hung on his mouth, half-amused, half-ravenous.

“Clean up your mess,” you said at last, voice smooth as marble. 

Sukuna’s gaze slid over to you. He exhaled a fume of smoke. “What, the girl or the mess?”

You gave him a flat look.

He chuckled, taking a step forward. “Thought you liked it clean. You should thank me. I’ve been recycling the same type just for you.”

“Do you find this funny?”

He plucked the cigarette from his lips, digging the butt into the cool marble countertop. “A little,” he replied with a curl to his lips. “But you know exactly what it is I want, princess.” His fingers curl around a lock of your hair. “You know what you want, too.”

Your fingers twitched by your side. His grin turned wolfish.

“Yeah.” He continued to circle you like a predator stalking its prey. “You keep pretending like you don’t care, but you can’t even sleep through the noise, can you?”

You refused to face him, though his scent—that overwhelming manly musk, mixed with the touches of cigarette smoke—something so wholly him, permeated your very being.

“Won’t you let me make you feel good, princess?” He whispered, thick fingers curling around the strands of your hair, inhaling your scent. “I’ll behave if you do. No more of these women. I can’t cum properly with them anyway. Gotta imagine it’s your pretty cunt I’m fucking to get me going.”

He caught your wrist before you could shove past him, the heat of his palm searing your skin. That lazy, mocking grin he always wore was gone, replaced by something tighter, rawer, like he’d been pacing this room waiting for you to snap first.

“Still mad at me, princess?” Sukuna murmured, stepping in until your back brushed the door. “Or are you just scared I’m right about you?”

You jerked your hand from his grip. “The only thing you’re right about is that you’re disgusting.”

He laughed, low and humorless. “Funny. You only call me that when you’re wet.”

Your jaw clenched. “Move.”

But he didn’t. He leaned in, bracing a burly palm beside your head, his warm breath ghosting your cheek. He wasn’t touching you—he didn’t need to—because he looked down at you like he already had you bent over the nearest flat surface, trembling.

“You hate me,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on your mouth. “But you want me. I can smell it on you every time you come near me.” His fingers brushed your hair, slow, deliberate. 

You shouldn’t have reacted. You shouldn’t have felt anything. But the proximity did something ugly to your resolve—your anger sparking against the heat rolling off him, the sharp tang of his jealousy, the confession he hadn’t meant to let slip.

He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “You think I want those other women? They’re background noise. I can’t even finish unless I picture your little pussy wrapped around me.”

Your breath hitched, not from his words but the honesty in them, shameless and humiliatingly earnest. You saw it now: the tension in his jaw, the restless twitch of his fingers like he was holding himself back from grabbing you outright. Not seduction. Obsession.

“Say you don’t want me,” he whispered. “Look at me and say it.”

You opened your mouth—ready, willing—but the lie stuck like a stone in your throat.

His hand slid into your hair and his mouth crashed into yours, not gentle, not asking. Just the violent exhale of weeks of wanting you alone. You shoved him back, but he only laughed against your lips, catching your wrists and pinning them above your head for a breath, for a tremor, for a moment you should have used to pull away.

You didn’t.

And then the second you leaned into him—just barely, stupidly—he groaned like it broke him.

The room spun. The door slammed. His hands were on your hips, under your slip, dragging you backward toward the bed with something between hunger and relief, like he couldn’t believe you’d finally stopped running.

You told yourself it was only a moment, only heat, only frustration.

But then his knees hit the floor.

Your slip slid off your shoulders.

And he looked up at you from between your thighs like he’d been starving for centuries.

“Spread,” he rasped, spitting on his fingers.

Sukuna’s tongue lapped up at your cunt like a starved man.

Your silk slip has long been thrown somewhere on the floor of his room, leaving your body bare. Your legs are bent over the broad curve of his muscular shoulders, the tangled pink mess of his hair disappearing between your thighs. 

You could hear the sound of your slick decorating your inner thighs. The sound of his saliva as he spat and ate your cunt like it was his last meal on death row.

“Tastes so good, princess,” he mumbled into your pussy, poking his tongue into your clit, flicking at the hardened nub. “Shoulda let me taste you sooner. Spread so good for me right now.”

You understood now why the women who left his room often did so with trembling legs. Why they squealed like dying donkeys beneath him. You could barely find a moment to spare to think coherently, to breathe properly, to process what exactly was going on. All that mattered to you right now was the sweltering heat in the pit of your stomach and the intense pressure of his pumping fingers and tongue exploring every ribbed crevice of your cunt.

“S-Sukuna, ‘m going to—” You managed with a shaky voice, soft hands gripping his hair.

“Cum f’ me. Let me taste it.”

A shiver ran up your spine as you felt him smirk into your pussy. 

“So loud and needy. Are you gonna cum all over my face?”

He groaned again, wrapping his hands around your ass and giving the meaty flesh a harsh squeeze. The sharp tips of his nails dug into the supple skin, forcing you to let out a high pitched yelp. 

“So sensitive. Nobody’s ever dared to lay a hand on you, princess? I wonder what kind of sound you’d make if I slapped you here,” he growled, punctuating his words with a particular pinch to your clit.

“Let me find out.”

The next second, he was standing up, your legs hanging off his shoulders. He walked to your desk chair and sat down, pulling you into his lap so your back was pressed to his chest. You could feel him hard against your ass as he slapped your cunt again and again.

Each slap was harder than the last, leaving stinging red marks over your trembling thighs and sore pussy. 

“So responsive,” he murmured, landing another harsh slap on your cunt. 

His hands ran up your body, tracing up your sides and making you shiver with each touch. He cupped your breasts, squeezing and rolling your pert nipples between his roughened fingers.

“Dripping everywhere.” He slid a hand down between your legs, easily entering you with two fingers. You moaned, bucking against his fingers and chasing your release. 

“Such a needy slut,” he murmured, slowly pumping his fingers into you. 

You moaned again, pressing back against him. His chest was warm against your back, and you felt each movement of his chest as he moved. You tried to form words, but all that came out was a series of whimpers and moans, your brain unable to catch up with the overwhelming pleasure. 

Sukuna chuckled against your neck, his hand moving away from your core and back to your ass, delivering another hard slap. He was moving at a slow pace just to keep you on the verge of cumming, prolonging your sweet torment.

“Beg me to cum, princess.”

“W-what?” you managed to squeak, your legs shaking.

His grip on you tightened possessively, his hands moving back to play with the button of your clit, fingers slipping out of you, leaving you empty. 

“Beg your big brother to let you cum.”

Reason momentarily came back to you, and the situation slapped you in the face. You were on your damned stepbrother’s lap, dripping on his sweatpants and his fingers, on the precipice of an orgasm. Heat filled your face, and your mouth parted and closed in hesitation.

“You’re disgusting,” you managed to grit out. “Don’t say that. We’re not siblings.”

Sukuna merely chuckled as if you were arguing over something so trivial as the weather and not the complicated—and unfortunate—family dynamic between the both of you.

“Does it only count if we’re full-blooded siblings to you?” He pushed his fingers into your cunt again, rocking them into that spongy spot inside of you that had your breath hitching and unable to rebut him. “Sorry to disappoint you, princess. Even if you were my full-blooded sister, I’d still fuck you.”

Before you could react to his words, he was already using his other hand to grip the back of your head, tilting it back so he could pull you into a harsh kiss.

Sukuna had to suppress his laughter as he practically could feel your surprise, repulsion, and disgust. His mouth enveloped yours, tongue pushing against yours, tasting every inch of you.

You quivered in his hold, unable to prevent yourself from succumbing to the burning and blinding pressure building low in your stomach. He bit your bottom lip, dragging it out before letting it pop back. His hand traveled from the back of your head to pinch at the erect nubs of your nipples, his fingers working themselves earnestly in your cunt.

The sensation was too much. Your stomach tensed, your hips quivered, and that thread threatened to snap. It was when he thumbed your clit that sealed the deal.

With a cry, you came around his fingers, your chest rising and falling tumultuously.

He pulled you in a kiss, almost as if to reward you. “There you go,” he murmured against your lips. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Your senses were hazy, still trembling from the pleasure coursing through your body. Indignantly, you managed to form a thought about Sukuna’s ease with a woman’s body. Like a fucking fish in water.

His hand cupped your chin, guiding you to look at the mirror in front of you. Your vanity. You could see yourself, settled on his lap like a slut, your body bare, shimmering with the thinnest sheen of sweat. Strands of your hair clung to your temples, your lips swollen and glistening with his saliva.

“So fucking pretty,” Sukuna muttered hoarsely into your hair.

You registered his hand holding your hips, angling you so you sat on the edge of his thigh near his knees. You caught your breath, hearing the soft ruffling of clothing.

Sukuna freed himself from the confines of his boxers, pressing the warm and hard appendage against your back. You couldn’t see it properly yet with your back facing him. He merely hummed and lifted you, slotting his cock against your pussy, rubbing it against you.

His size startled you. Thick and hefty, then warm and heavy. It matched him, your thoughts wandered unbidden, before you policed yourself by biting down on your lip.

“God, I should just fuck you right now,” Sukuna breathed heavily into your hair, rubbing his cock against the slickened surface of your cunt, humping you. The tip of his cock rubbed your clit incessantly, and you whimpered at the sensation.

“Use a condom,” you breathed out. “I’m not going to let you—ngh—fuck me without—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured dismissively. “But you’re on birth control, right?”

“I’m not, you bastard!”

“What, you don’t wanna have your big brother’s kids?”

“I’m going to fucking kill—”

Your words died on your lips as he lifted you all of a sudden, pushing you to bend over your vanity, faced with the horrified expression on your face. Sukuna towered behind you, letting his sweatpants and boxers drop to his ankles.

The position allowed you a better look of his cock. It was certainly a dick befitting a man like Sukuna. So big it barely held up its weight even when he was fully hard, flushed red, littered with angry veins, already spitting out precum. It didn’t look like it was meant for pleasure. It looked like a weapon used to destroy.

“Think I prepped you enough, princess,” he mused, leaning down to gather your hair in his fist and pressing a kiss on your shoulder. Satisfied, he moved back and held your hips, parting your ass cheeks, slotting his fat tip against your entrance. “I’m gonna use you now, hm?”

You glared at him over your shoulder. “I told you to use a condom. I’m not on birth control. Get it through that thick fucking skull of—”

All your brain function ceased when Sukuna pushed his angry raw cock into your cunt. His expression didn’t even change as it did, save for when his brows furrowed and he breathed harder at the sensation of your clammy walls hugging his length like it didn’t want to let go. The pleasure blanketed your body, forcing you to adjust to his monstrous fucking third leg, before reason knocked on your noggin.

“Pull it out!” You gasped out weakly, pushing at his broad, immovable mass of a chest with one hand outstretched awkwardly behind you, your right hand clutching onto your vanity table for stability. Sukuna looked positively unperturbed on the mirror’s reflection before you. “I mean it, you bastard! I’m not on—”

He pushed in another few inches, and your words faltered on your tongue. “Seems I’m not fucking you good enough if you can still talk,” Sukuna simply said, grunting with effort as he fought with the tight embrace of your cunt. Your walls betrayed you and clenched desperately around him. “One time won’t get you pregnant. If you’re so paranoid, I’ll get you a Plan B. Just want to feel your pretty cunt, princess.”

You mewled out unintelligible words—probably expletives—which Sukuna ignored in favor of shutting you up with a kiss. He gripped your neck to turn your head back and kissed you like an imbecile, practically devouring you. You were certain your lips would swell. You fought back the best way you could, which wasn't much, but you settled for digging the long crescent curve of your nails into the hand he had wrapped around your neck. Sukuna let out an amused huff against your lips, like he noticed a small ant biting him.

Then he drew his hips back slightly, giving you temporary reprieve, before he slammed back in all the way to the hilt.

You cried out from the sudden sensation, the pain from being stretched so thick and so deep, and the simmering pleasure beneath it all. Sukuna grunted into your ear, nudging your poor cervix with the fat tip of his cock. Your lips parted in a silent scream as he adjusted, pushing and pushing like he wanted to reach all the way into your fucking stomach.

“There you go,” he grunted in satisfaction, reaching over to rest a large hand over the swollen area of your lower stomach. “Taking your big brother’s cock so well.”

Your teeth chattered from anger and shame, forced to stare at the visage of your flushed and dazed expression and the swaying of your breasts on the mirror before you.

He fucked exactly how you expected him to.

Deep and rough. Fast and unforgiving. Each stroke knocked the air out of your lungs, rendering you unable to think of anything else other than the weight of his heavy body over your body and the mean pounding he was delivering to your poor pussy. You briefly thought of all the women you had heard crying from his bedroom. How they always left his room disheveled, looking all sorts of broken. How you’d become one of them, too.

“Tight fucking cunt,” he spat into your ear, pulling out with a wet squelch to maneuver you onto your back on the vanity table, pushing your thighs up and folding you so your knees brushed your ears, before he entered once again. The new angle allowed him to reach an even deeper spot inside of you. The one that made you see stars behind your eyelids. Your whines and whimpers and cries fell on deaf ears. He was only listening to the fluttering of your cunt. The wet sound of the creamy ring of slick that had formed around the base of his cock and was dripping down your inner thighs and ass echoed lewdly in your room. The vanity table beneath you groaned and creaked in agony as it held itself up against the inhumane fucking Sukuna subjected you to.

You felt that thread trembling again. You couldn’t believe it. Were you cumming just from penetration alone? From him, of all people?

“About to cum?” Sukuna crooned, leaning down to bite down and suckle on your nipple, earning a squeal from you.

His thrusts deepened, intentful pumps that had your breath stuttering. His heavy balls smacked against your skin. The precipice inched closer. White rimmed your sight, your eyes brimming with tears.

With a deep thrust, you cried out, cumming around him.

Sukuna continued to fuck you through it, pushing you to overstimulation, crying beneath him and weakly pushing him to ease up. He chuckled darkly at your state, letting up.

He pulled his cock out with a soft pop, shining with the sheen of your slick and cum. He lifted you easily with your thighs, and your hands naturally rested on his broad shoulders to steady yourself. He strode across the room to settle you down on your bed.

He looked down at you expectantly, ruggedly handsome face, barely a bead of sweat on it, cocked to the side. He held his still hard cock in his hand.

“Open,” he said simply.

You glared up at him, keeping your mouth firmly shut into a scowl. But he ignored that, looping a hand of his through your hair and pulling you toward his cock. “Don’t make me repeat myself, princess.”

You eyed his flushed tip, just inches away from your nose. He was neatly trimmed, contrary to what you had expected, with a pair of heavy balls. You could smell your slick on him, and a deep and musky masculine scent that drove you dizzy.

You parted your mouth reluctantly, before leaning in and taking his tip in your mouth. Just the tip felt like it was already stretching past the limit of your mouth.

Sukuna tutted. “Is that all the dick you can suck, princess? I expected more from you.”

If looks could kill, he would be six feet under.

He chuckled, mirth dancing in his crimson gaze. He cupped your cheek, guiding you better.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said. “There you go. Look at you, so fucking pretty like this. The prettiest when my cock is in your mouth.”

You followed, acquiescing, and took the opportunity to attempt to take more of him. Your eyes closed shut when his tip snagged at a sensitive part of the back of your throat. Your instinct told you to pull away, but Sukuna’s grip tightened around your hair, keeping you exactly where you were.

“Take it,” he grunted, staring down at you. “Either you do it properly, or I’ll just use your mouth how I want. Your choice, princess.”

You glared up at him, and in a display of your anger, you dug your nails into the flesh of his hardened skin. He didn’t even seem fazed. Nonetheless, you followed, relaxing your throat, easing yourself to take as much of him that you could in your mouth. The stretch was borderline unpleasant.

Sukuna gave you a bored look. “Don’t know how to suck dick, princess?”

You pulled off with a sneer. “I prefer to occupy myself with better things.”

He looked satisfied at that. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you how to suck dick properly.”

You woke to the smell of him.

It was everywhere. On the pillows, tangled in your hair, clinging to your skin like a second layer you couldn't scrub off. The sheets were a mess, tangled around your legs, and your body ached in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, bruised soreness between your thighs that throbbed with every small movement.

You blinked against the morning light filtering through curtains that were not yours. The room was wrong. The ceiling was wrong. The weight of a heavy tattooed arm draped across your waist was very wrong. Memory crashed over you like a bucket of ice water.

You shot up so fast your head spun, shoving at the heavy limb pinning you down. The movement disturbed the man beside you, who let out a low, sleep-rough grunt.

“Mm. Mornin', princess.”

He was shirtless—of course he was—and the sheets had slipped to his hips, revealing the thick lines of tattoos that crawled up his unfairly muscular torso. His hair was a disaster, pink strands sticking up in every direction, and his eyes were half-lidded with that infuriatingly pleased expression he always wore.

You scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed. What the hell—“

“Relax.” He caught your wrist before you could tumble, yanking you back with casual ease.

“Don't touch me!” You wrenched your hand free, chest heaving, and realized with mounting horror that you were completely naked beneath the sheets. Your body had left an indentation on the sheets. You could feel varying sensations all the way from the stickiness on the sheets and the pounding of your back. “What—how did I—“

“You don't remember?” Sukuna's grin was a slow, devastating thing. “Shame. You were pretty vocal about it last night. Screamed my name like you were praying.” He stretched lazily, the muscles in his arms flexing. “Or maybe that was a curse. Hard to tell with you, princess.”

You stared at him, your mind a storm of fragmented memories. The vanity. His fingers. His mouth between your thighs. His eyes peered up at you from the apex of your breasts. The way he'd—

Oh, god.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, nausea rolling through you. “This didn't happen,” you said flatly. “I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare.”

“Pinch yourself, princess. I promise I'm real.” He reached over to the nightstand, and you noticed for the first time the small white box sitting there. He tossed it onto the bed beside you. “Bought you a little present.”

Your eyes focused on the box.

Plan B One-Step.

The nausea intensified. “You—“

“Told you I'd get it.” He shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “You were so worried about getting knocked up. Figured I'd take care of it.”

“Take care of it?” Your voice rose an octave. “You chose not to wear a condom! You—you—“ Words failed you. You grabbed the first thing within reach—a pillow—and hurled it at his head with all the force you could muster with your arms.

Sukuna caught it with one hand, laughing. “You're cute when you're pissed. Look.” He held up the box. “You want it or not? 'Cause I can just toss it. Wouldn't mind seeing you round with my kid, honestly. Would be a nice fuck you to the old man.”

You snatched it from his hand, your fingers trembling. “I hate you.”

“I know.” He said it like it was a compliment. “Come here, princess.” He reached for you, arms wrapping around your waist.

You flinched away. “Don't touch me.”

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered. Darkened. “Fine. Have it your way.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing without a shred of modesty. You averted your eyes, your face burning. “Take the pill. Shower. I'll make you breakfast.”

"I don't want your stupid breakfast."

“Too bad.”He pulled on his sweatpants, that infuriating smirk back in place. “You're not leaving this room until you eat something. You need your strength.”

“For what?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his grin sharp as a blade. “What, you think I'm done with you?”

It became a professional play of pretend.

During the day, you were the perfectly amiable stepsister. You smiled at your mother. You made polite conversation with Jin. You sat across from Sukuna at dinner and treated him with the same cold indifference you always had.

But at night? At night, you were in his room. Every single fucking time.

You told yourself it was just physical. A release. A way to burn off the tension that had been building since the moment you met him. You told yourself you could stop anytime you wanted.

But you didn't stop. You couldn't stop.

Because Sukuna was addictive. The way he touched you, the way he talked to you, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. The way he held you like he didn’t want to let go. The way he fucked you like you were the only thing that brought him pleasure. The way his crimson eyes glinted with a desire so deep that it had your head spinning. It was intoxicating. And you loathed yourself for wanting it.

The first time you almost got caught, it was your fault.

You'd been careless. Too loud. Too consumed by the feeling of his callused hands on your body to remember that the walls weren’t fully soundproofed and your mother had a habit of checking on you both before bed.

A knock on his door practically sent you flying off him. You scrambled for your clothes, heart pounding erratically, while Sukuna called out in a tired and irritated drawl, "What?"

"Your father wants to know if you're joining us for breakfast tomorrow." Your mother's voice filtered through the door. "We're having a family meal before he leaves for his business trip."

"I'll be there."

There was a pause. "Is your sister with you?"

You froze, your hand gripping the edge of the mattress. Sukuna's eyes met yours, unreadable.

"Why would she be?" he asked, his voice perfectly casual. "She hates me, remember?"

Your mother laughed with a brittle, uncertain sound. "Right. Of course. Well, I'll leave you to it then."

There were a lot of close situations. And it was only getting harder to pretend.

At dinner, Sukuna's eyes found you across the table, and you felt it like a physical touch. He didn't bother hiding it anymore. At least, not entirely. His gaze would linger too long on your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your lips. He'd find excuses to touch you: a hand on your shoulder as he passed, fingers brushing yours when he reached for the salt.

Your mistake was that you couldn't stop yourself from reacting.

Your breath would catch. Your skin would flush. You'd press your thighs together under the table and hope no one else but Sukuna noticed.

"Sukuna," Jin said one evening, his voice sharp. "Your manners."

"Just admiring the decor." Sukuna's grin was wolfish. "Nice vase you got there, Dad."

Jin's eyes narrowed. Your mother's lips pressed into a thin line.

You kept your gaze fixed on your plate, your heart hammering.

It happened on a Sunday afternoon.

Your mother had left her phone in the kitchen. She came back to get it. You and Sukuna were in the pantry. Stupid, so fucking stupid, in hindsight, but he'd cornered you there when Jin was in the study and your mother was supposedly out.

The pantry was small. Cramped. Shelves lined every wall, stocked with jars and cans and boxes of things you'd never paid attention to. The air smelled like dried herbs and olive oil and something faintly sweet. Vanilla, maybe, from the bottle of extract on the top shelf.

Sukuna had you pressed against the far wall, your back to the shelves, your dress bunched around your hips. One of your legs was hooked over his hip, the other barely keeping you upright. His hands were everywhere. On your thighs, your waist, your face, tilting your chin up to kiss you.

He kissed like he was starving. Deep, consuming, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. You tasted coffee and cigarettes and something darker, something that you’d come to learn was just him.

His cock was buried inside you—had been for the last ten minutes, ever since he'd dragged you in here under the pretense of "helping him find something." He was thick, impossibly thick, and every time he moved, you felt yourself stretch around him, felt every ridge and vein drag against your sensitive walls.

He wasn't moving fast. He was moving deep. Slow, rolling thrusts that pressed against that spot inside you. The one that made your toes curl and your vision blur. His forehead was pressed to yours, his breath hot on your lips.

"You feel that?" he murmured, his voice a low rasp, his hand pressing against the protrusion on your stomach. "Feel how deep I am?"

You couldn't answer. Your voice was gone, stolen by the overwhelming sensation of him filling you.

"That's it," he breathed. "Take it. Take all of me."

You heard her footsteps before you saw her. The click of her heels on the marble floor. The soft hum of a song she'd been listening to in the car.

Your mother's voice drifted through the wood. "Sukuna? Have you seen my phone? I left it somewhere around here."

You froze. Your whole body went rigid around him, clamping down involuntarily.

Sukuna's eyes met yours. His grin was slow, wolfish. He didn't stop. Couldn’t stop. Rather, he really had no intention of stopping. You could feel it in the way his hips kept rolling, shallow and teasing, like he was physically incapable of pulling away.

"Think I saw it in the kitchen," he called back, his voice perfectly steady. "On the counter. Near the fruit bowl."

Your mother's heels clicked closer. "Oh, thank you. You're a lifesaver."

She was right outside the pantry now. You could see her through the gap in the door; the hem of her pleated skirt, the edge of her cream cashmere cardigan. Three feet away. Maybe two.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your whole body was trembling, your inner walls fluttering around him.

His hand slid up your body, palm flat against your stomach, pressing down. You could feel yourself wrapped around him, could feel the shape of him through the thin layer of skin.

"Feel that?" he whispered, his thumb tracing circles on your belly. "Feel how deep I am? You're so fucking tight around me. So perfect."

Your mother's heels clicked again. She was walking away. "Actually," she called back, and you heard the click of her heels as she started back to where she was standing just moments ago, "could you grab me that jar of olives from the pantry? I wanted to add some to the salad."

No. No, no, no.

You looked at Sukuna. He looked at you. And then he did something so audacious, so utterly unhinged, that even you couldn't even process it.

"Sure," he said. "One second."

He pulled out of you. Slow, agonizing, every inch of him dragging against your sensitive walls. The wet sound of him leaving you was obscenely loud in the thick silence. You felt so empty, so achingly hollow, that you almost cried out.

Your release dripped down your thigh and ass cheek, warm and shameful.

But Sukuna was far from done with you.

He turned you around, pressing your front against the shelves. His chest was hot against your back, his breath warm on your ear. One hand gripped your hip, steadying you. The other reached for the top shelf.

"Stand still," he murmured. "Don't make a sound."

Then he pushed back in.

One smooth, devastating thrust, and he was buried inside you again. This angle was different. Always deeper, somehow, the tip of him pressing against your cervix. Your vision went white. Your knees buckled.

His arm was still stretched above you, reaching for the jar of olives. The motion of his body, the stretch of his muscles, pushed him even deeper inside you. You felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein, felt yourself stretch and flutter around him.

"I see them," he called out to your mother, his voice perfectly calm. "Just gotta reach them."

He stretched farther. The jar was just out of reach. His body shifted, and the movement made him grind against that spot inside you. The one that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You bit down on your own arm to keep from screaming.

"Got them," he said.

He pulled out just an inch—just enough to make you gasp—and then pushed back in as he lowered his arm. The jar of olives, which was usually huge, looked normal in his hand.

"Here you go," he said, pulling the pantry door open just enough to stick his head and arm through.

Your mother was right there. Two feet away. You could see the back of her head, the curve of her neck, the way she smiled as she took the jar.

"Thank you, sweetheart." She patted his shoulder. "You're so helpful today."

Sukuna smiled back at her. Smiled. While his cock was buried in her daughter. While you could feel his heartbeat through his chest, could feel yourself clenching around him involuntarily.

"Anything for you, Mom," he said, and the word Mom was a twisted joke only the two of you understood.

Your mother hummed, pleased with herself. Sukuna had been considerably more “behaved” these days, so your mother came to interpret it as him having come around to the idea of his father Jin remarrying her. "Your father will be so pleased."

She turned away. Her heels clicked toward the kitchen.

Sukuna pulled the door shut. And then he groaned. A low, guttural sound, like he'd been holding his breath the whole time.

"Fuck," he breathed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Fuck, princess. You have no idea what that did to me."

He started to move again. Slow, deliberate thrusts that made you feel every cruel inch of him. His hand slid up your body, cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with want. "So beautiful like this. So desperate for me."

"Sukuna—"

"Say my name again." He thrust deeper, and you gasped. "Say it."

"Sukuna." The word came out broken, desperate.

"That's it. That's my girl."

He reached around, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. He circled it slowly, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and you felt yourself climbing higher, felt that familiar pressure building in your core.

"Cum for me," he whispered against your ear. "Cum on my cock, princess. I want to feel you."

You shattered. But his hand was over your mouth, muffling your cry, and he kept moving through it, kept thrusting deep and slow while you trembled and clenched around him.

"That's it," he groaned. "Fuck, that's it."

His own release followed moments later, a low groan torn from his throat as he spilled inside you. You felt him pulse, felt the heat of him filling you, and you clenched around him, drawing it out.

You stood there in the silence, trembling, his cum dripping down your thighs. His forehead was pressed to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.

"Fuck," he breathed.

You couldn't even form words.

His mother's voice drifted from the kitchen from another room over. Sounds of her ordering the maids and cooks around to set the salads, meats, and various dishes in the fridge.

He pulled out slowly—so slowly that you felt every pulsing inch of him leaving you—and tucked himself back into his jeans. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek. He let you leave first to make yourself presentable, after he gathered the excess cum dripping down your thigh and stuffing it back in your puffy cunt. You escaped quickly to avoid being spotted.

Several moments later, Sukuna stepped out of the pantry just as your mother rounded the corner.

"There you are," she said, cocking her head to the side. "I was about to come look for you."

He nodded, his hand dropping casually to his side, his fingers smeared with your shared cum. But he didn't wipe it off. Didn’t even try to hide it.

Then he did something so audacious, so utterly shameless, that it would have made anyone else privy to what had just happened choke.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean in front of her.

Your mother blinked at him. She had found herself growing slowly desensitized to Sukuna’s apparent distaste for proper manners.

"Mm." He let out a low, satisfied hum. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

"Couldn't help yourself?" She tilted her head. "Did you eat something from the pantry?"

He grinned. "Tried the salad you made. The one in the fridge." He licked his lips, slow and deliberate. "It's really good. You should try some."

Your mother chuckled, utterly oblivious. "Oh, that? I haven't even finished it yet. You must be hungry." She turned toward the fridge, reaching for the salad bowl. "Do you want some more? I can ask the maids to plate it for you."

"No." He stepped closer, his grin wolfish. "I've had my fill."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, casual, unconcerned.

"Don't worry though. I'll be back for leftovers."

[toshisdecadence]

The higuruma scene with him spinning the girl’s chair around in the office… my clit is doing splits!!!

[toshisdecadence]

This is turning into a dark content blog I realize LMAOOOOO

Also, finishing up my stepbro!sukuna fic and hopefully it should be posted within this week!! I’m still not happy with how I did the sex scenes for the two sukuna fics I’ve been working on for basically half a year because my love life has been so dry for so long and the raunchy smut gods are not giving me the revelations I had a year or two ago!!!! Hopefully they’re still (kinda) decent and convey enough of the debauchery I had in mind for Sukuna, bearer of two cocks

[toshisdecadence]

House Rules

PAIRING: father-in-law!ryomen sukuna x daughter-in-law!reader (x fiancé!yuji itadori)

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, stepcest, incest (father-in-lawcest?), age gap (reader is in her mid-20s, sukuna’s in his 50s), dubcon, noncon (sukuna decides he doesn’t wear condoms and cums inside), infidelity, babytrapping (sorta), netorare i guess, degradation (sukuna calls reader slut, whore), rough sex, sukuna is a whole warning by himself, spanking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), creampie, overstimulation, size kink (its never a fic by me without one), size difference, fingering, public sex (yuji is literally inches away lmao), manipulation

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

SUMMARY: You thought Ryomen Sukuna was your past, but as it turns out, he’s your fiancé’s father too.

© toshisdecadence

You hadn’t thought about him in years.

Why would you? College had been a blur of thesis deadlines, internships, questionable meal choices, and that one off-campus apartment with the perpetually broken air-conditioning. And then there was him. The older man who lived in that penthouse some twenty minutes away in the heart of the city, who always smelled like clean cedar and cigarette smoke, who looked at you the way men look when they’re used to getting exactly what they want.

He’d never told you his full name. You’d never asked. That was part of the appeal: he was just a man with a sharp jaw, tattoos through his rippling copper skin, and a wallet that suggested he didn’t need to care about anything. You hadn’t cared either. You were twenty, bored, broke, horny, lonely during exam season, and he’d been… well.

You still remembered how he fucked. Unfortunately.

Yuji’s hand squeezed yours as he unlocked the front door of his family home. Tall and heavy. Double wooden doors. Probably imported from somewhere overseas.

“You’ll like my dad,” he said, giddy with excitement and a bit of fear. Yuji hadn’t told you too much about his family. The extent of what you knew was: his mother had died when he was young, and his father had remained single since. “He’s a little intense, but he means well once you get past the… you know.” He waved his hand vaguely. As if this were a script he’d readied for others all his life. “His whole vibe.”

“Vibe,” you echoed, trying to sound normal. “Right. I’m good with vibes.”

You weren’t. Not when your stomach had been doing slow, confused flips ever since Yuji mentioned that today would be the day he would introduce you to his mysterious and ever-elusive father. Now, you have always thought quite highly of yourself. Parents always approved of you, your friends’ parents always relaxed when they heard you were tagging along with their kid—parents always loved you!—but this was a little different. This was the father of your fiancé. You imagined some strict, suit-wearing businessman. Maybe a prematurely gray professor type. Someone with glasses, maybe? Someone stern, awkward, maybe a little boring.

Yuji nudged you inside before you could get your bearings. “Dad? We’re here!”

The house was nice. Upscale. Too upscale. You had never taken Yuji as a rich kid type in all the years you’d known him, but you had an inkling when he drove up to the famous gated subdivision in the heart of the city, known for its affluent and high-profile residents. Not even a fly could get inside without permission. The house that Yuji grew up in was the kind of place with real hardwood floors, minimalist decor, and that faint antiseptic scent of money. You barely had time to take it in before you heard footsteps approaching. Slow, unhurried, and familiar in a way that made your pulse jump into your throat.

And then Yuji’s father appeared at the end of the hallway.

There was no fucking way.

Older, now. Sharper. But it was him. Unmistakably him. The same crimson eyes that had watched you come undone under him with that sick glee. The same rugged mouth that had left marks on your skin for days. The man who had once pushed you face-down into his cotton pillows and wiped his cum off of your swollen pussy with crisp bills. The same man you had casually, stupidly chalked up to “some older guy with a huge dick and too much money.”

His heated gaze flicked from Yuji to you.

For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

Yuji grinned like this was the most ordinary day in his life. “Dad, this is my fiancée!”

Sukuna’s expression didn’t change. Not outwardly. But there was a quiet, awful curl of amusement in his eyes, like God had opened a window just to laugh. At you, you were sure.

“Well,” he said, voice low and smooth in that way you remembered too well. Your stomach curdled at the nights when that same voice cooed right into your ear, stretching your body to its absolute limit. “Isn’t this… familiar.”

Your blood ran cold.

He shouldn’t have recognized you.

He shouldn’t have remembered anything.

You shouldn’t have slept with your fiancé’s father years before you met your fiancé.

And Sukuna—of course he fucking did—looked like this was the most entertaining thing that had happened to him in a decade.

“Welcome,” he added, gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Yuji’s living room was tasteful in a way that felt deliberate. Dark leather, clean lines, a low coffee table that probably cost more than your entire college rent (which Sukuna had paid most of). You sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded too neatly on your lap, acutely aware of the fact that Sukuna had taken the single armchair opposite you.

A king on a throne.

You had been naked on that lap once. Too many times.

Yuji plopped down beside you, oblivious to the cold sweat lining your spine. “Dad, she brought those pastries you like. Thought we could have them while we all talk?”

Sukuna nodded, slow and polite. “How thoughtful.”

His voice was calm, almost bored. Only you caught the slight rasp under it. Something that used to drag across your skin when he had you pinned and unmoving.

Yuji nudged your knee with his own. “You okay? You’ve been kinda quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just nervous.” True, but not for the same reason as you were before. “Meeting parents and all.”

“No need for that,” Sukuna said. His gaze slid over you with deliberate leisure, lingering just long enough to make your stomach pitch. “I only want to know who my son intends to marry.” 

A diplomatic smile.

“Properly.”

Your lunch threatened to hurl its way out. Yuji, mercifully, didn’t notice.

“So,” Sukuna continued, settling back, crossing one leg over the other like this was a polite interview and not psychological warfare. “How did you two meet?”

Yuji launched into the story. Your mutual friend, the study group, the way you hit it off. Of course, Yuji conveniently let out the raunchy details. You nodded along, pretending not to feel Sukuna’s attention like a hand around your waist.

“And you studied…?” Sukuna asked, eyes never leaving yours.

You gave the name of your degree.

“Mmm.” A thoughtful sound. “I remember.”

Yuji blinked. “You do?”

Sukuna smiled with all his teeth, sharp but civil. “Her field leaves an impression. Demanding, if I recall.”

Your breath hitched. He wasn’t talking about coursework. He was talking about late night complaints you used to whine and murmur into his chest, the way he’d drag you onto his lap and push your sticky panties aside and—

You shut the thought down before it showed on your face.

“Dad,” Yuji said, laughing lightly, “you make it sound like you’ve met her before.”

Your hand closed around a pastry you didn’t want, noting the trembling in your fingers.

“She simply reminded me of someone I was acquainted with in the past,” he said casually.

Yuji, already distracted, was too preoccupied with the sweets to pursue it further.

“So,” Sukuna went on smoothly, turning the conversation with surgical precision, “you’re planning a fall wedding.”

You nodded, feeling your breathing calm a bit. “Yes. We’re finalizing the venue.”

“Good.” His fingers drummed on the armrest, lazy. “Commitment requires follow-through. Consistency.”

A beat.

“Fidelity.”

You almost choked on the walnut tart.

Sukuna leaned forward just enough to look engaged. “And you intend to be devoted?”

Your nails dug crescents into your palm, but your voice wasn’t as firm as you hoped it would be. “Of course.”

“Mmm.” Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, leaning forward just slightly. Close enough to unnerve you, far enough to look like a normal, interested father. “A man should know how his future wife understands restraint. How to take responsibility.”

You met his eyes. The crimson irises of a predator. You shouldn’t have.

There was recognition in them. And, worst of all, memory. And the slow, terrible pleasure of watching you drown in your own restraint.

Yuji waved a dismissive hand, mouth full. “Don’t mind him, babe,” he murmured to you. “Dad’s just being overprotective. He interrogates everyone.” He looked at his father in disapproval. "Stop scaring her, Dad!"

“Do I?” Sukuna said mildly. He watched his son stuff himself full with sweets before turning to you. “I’m only curious.”

“About what?” Yuji frowned.

“What persuaded her,” Sukuna said, “that you were the right man.”

You swallowed. Because the way he said man wasn’t neutral; it was a quiet nudge in the ribs. A reminder of every time he’d pressed you into a mattress and made you forget your own name.

“I love Yuji,” you said carefully. “He’s very kind to me.”

Sukuna’s eyebrow lifted a fraction. You’d miss it if you blinked. “Kindness is admirable.” He paused. “Though it rarely sustains desire.”

Yuji groaned like a kid embarrassed of their parents. “Dad, come on—”

“No, no.” Sukuna’s smile was mild, practiced. “I’m listening. Go on.”

You didn’t. There was nothing else safe to add.

Satisfied, he folded his hands, looking almost academic. “What do your parents do?”

An ambush disguised as curiosity. You managed a steady answer. He nodded along like he actually cared.

“And your work? Your ambitions?”

Another set of normal questions. Except every one felt like he was peeling something back, layer by layer, not because he needed information but because he wanted to see how much pressure it took for you to crack. He liked to see you squirm in your seat.

Yuji didn’t see any of it. He was busy grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

When the subject shifted to the wedding timeline, Sukuna sat forward. Not much, just enough. “You must have many memories from college,” he remarked, casual.

Your heart stuttered.

Yuji brightened. “Yeah, she tells me the funniest stories—”

“Did she?” Sukuna murmured, gaze flicking to you with amusement. “I imagine she learned a great deal during those years.”

The air thinned. You forced a nod. “I think everyone does.”

Sukuna leaned back again, satisfied, like he’d tested something and gotten his answer.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Experience is valuable. It shapes who we become. Especially in relationships.”

Yuji didn’t catch the shift in tone. How could he?

“And what do you value most,” Sukuna asked, “in a partner meant to last?”

Yuji looked at you expectantly.

Sukuna watched you like you were still in his old bedroom, waiting to see how honest you dared to be. Whether you’d tell him what you really wanted from him.

“Stability,” you said. “Respect… and boundaries.”

Sukuna’s fingers tapped the armrest once, twice. Not quite amusement, more like acknowledgement.

“Good answer.”

Yuji had barely finished his pastry before his phone buzzed, vibrating insistently against the glass coffee table. He glanced down, groaned, and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Sorry—work thing. I have to download a report before the deadline. Can I leave you two for a sec?” He kissed your cheek without waiting for an answer. “And be nice, Dad!”

Sukuna didn’t bother pretending innocence. “Always.”

Yuji vanished down the hall toward an empty room, already cursing at whatever file refused to open.

Suddenly, the house felt too quiet.

Sukuna rose from his chair, smoothing the cuffs of his dress shirt. It was an unnecessary, elegant gesture he’d never bothered with in college. He didn’t say your name. He didn’t need to. He simply nodded toward the hallway.

“Come,” he said. “I’ll show you the house.”

You hesitated for half a second. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for him to notice. You followed anyway, because refusing would be loud, suspicious, and Yuji was twenty feet away.

There was nothing overtly threatening about his tone. It was polite. Courteous. The kind of voice a respectable father might use when offering a mild tour to his future daughter-in-law.

But when he gestured toward the hallway, you felt the warning in your bones.

You stood. Because what else could you do? Refuse? Announce in front of your fiancé that you had once let his father—

Absolutely not. So you followed.

The hallway opened into a long, high-ceilinged corridor with dark wood floors and a muted, expensive runner that made your footsteps silent. Framed calligraphy lined one wall. Strong strokes, powerful, unhesitating. You didn’t doubt Sukuna had made them.

He didn’t speak at first. Just walked ahead of you, hands casually in his pockets, the picture of an elegant, composed patriarch. The kind of man people respected on sight. The kind no one questioned.

“This wing is mostly for guests,” he said finally, voice smooth. “Though we don’t host often. Too much noise.”

You stayed a few steps back. It felt safer.

Sukuna glanced over his hulking shoulder. “You used to like noise.”

Your breath hitched, feeling your face burn. “Please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He slowed, pacing beside you now. His broad body still seemed as imposing as it was back then, caging you beneath him. “Talk? Ask questions my son would ask? Show hospitality?” His smile was faint, all cutting edges. “I’m being perfectly appropriate.”

You swallowed hard and kept walking.

He led you through a set of double doors into a high-ceilinged sitting room wrapped in floor-to-ceiling windows. Afternoon light poured in, warm and unforgiving. The dust danced across the floor, illuminated by the rays of light. The room was empty, the kind of space meant for hosting dignitaries or impressing donors.

You felt exposed in it. Too seen.

Sukuna stepped closer. Not touching. He didn’t need to. His presence alone rearranged the air. It felt electric. Like you’d combust if his skin so much as brushed yours.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he said softly. “My son is a good man. Earnest, trusting.” A slow pause. “So trusting.”

You stiffened. “Mr. Sukuna—”

“Ah.” His eyes glinted. “So you do remember my name.”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t need you to.

He walked toward the windows, hands clasped behind his back like he was surveying his property. His voice, when it came, was deceptively mild.

“You ran from our little arrangement very quickly back then. No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone.”

“I graduated,” you said weakly, not daring to meet his eyes. “I moved.”

“You ran,” he corrected lightly. “Which is fine. Youth is like that.”

He turned, leaning back against the window frame. Sunlight cut across his face, highlighting the harsh lines of his face, the quiet amusement pulling at his mouth.

“Imagine my surprise,” he said, “when my son brought you home.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “This isn’t funny.”

“For you,” he agreed. “No.”

He pushed off the window and came toward you. Not crowding, not cornering, but close enough that you could smell the faint hint of smoke and some sharp, expensive cologne. He still wore the same scent he did all those years ago.

“We’re adults,” he murmured. “Capable of politeness.” A step forward. “Discretion.” Another step into your space. “Self-control.”

Your breath shook. 

“We don’t have to make this difficult.”

You almost believed him. Almost.

Then he leaned in, just enough that his lips nearly grazed the shell of your ear, and spoke low enough that only you could hear, the same way he used to: “But you remember how easy you were for me, don’t you?”

Your body went rigid.

He pulled back immediately, expression smooth, composed, hands visible at his sides. Every inch the respectful father giving a dutiful tour.

Yuji’s voice floated closer. “Babe? Dad? You guys down here?”

Sukuna didn’t smile, but something flickered in his eyes. Victory, maybe, or the first spark of a plan.

“This way,” Sukuna said, leading you back toward the safer, brighter wing of the mansion. “We wouldn’t want Yuji to worry.”

The dining room was too formal for three people.

Ten chairs. A long table. Candlelight reflecting off glassware that looked hand-blown and old enough to have a provenance. A private chef moved efficiently at the far end, plating the last course.

Yuji was already tipsy by the time the appetizers left the table.

“Dad always brings out the special stuff when guests come over,” he said brightly, cheeks flushed, swirling the wine in his glass like he had no idea what he was doing. “It’s, um, what’s it called again?”

Sukuna’s eyes didn’t leave you. “Expensive.”

Yuji laughed. You didn’t. Rather, you couldn't.

The chef set down the main course in front of each of you. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No,” Sukuna said. “You’re all dismissed for the night. Clean up tomorrow.”

You felt it immediately—the room shrinking, the air thickening—as the chef bowed and disappeared with the rest of the staff. The sound of the door closing was too final.

Yuji didn’t notice. He was already draining another glass.

Sukuna ate slowly, neatly, as if nothing about this dinner was irregular. As if he wasn’t tracking every flick of your fork, every tremor you tried to suppress. He asked you normal questions, the kind any father might ask.

“So,” he said mildly, cutting into his steak, “what are your plans after the wedding?”

Yuji perked up. “She wants to finish her certification.” He hiccuped. “Maybe start a business later. She’s super dedicated.”

“Mm.” Sukuna’s eyes stayed on you. “She’s always been… diligent.”

Your fork froze halfway to your lips.

Yuji grinned proudly, oblivious. “Right? She never stops.” He giggled, the alcohol thrumming through his veins. “t’s one of the things I love about her.”

Sukuna’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure it is.”

Another glass of wine later, Yuji’s words blurred. “Dad, we—uh, we should—toast. To us. To the future! To…” He blinked. “…food!”

Sukuna poured him a half-glass. No more.

Yuji took it like a dare, drank it in three gulps, and then, mid-sentence, slumped sideways with the graceless collapse of someone whose body had simply given up.

You reached for him quickly. “Yuji—Yuji, hey—”

“He’s fine,” Sukuna said in a tired drawl, like he’s seen the same film play out too many times. “He always falls asleep early when he drinks. Tch. His weakness to alcohol is not something he inherited from me.”

“He shouldn’t be passed out like this.”

“He’s breathing evenly,” Sukuna said, standing. “Here.”

He scooped Yuji up with one arm, as if lifting his full-grown son was nothing. He marched him out to the living room, laid him on the couch, adjusted the throw pillow beneath his head with a surprisingly gentle touch.

Then he returned. Alone.

He sat back down across from you.

Silence settled like a curtain.

And then Sukuna looked at you. Really looked. Without pretending anymore.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move, but the tone of his voice had your body inching to move on instinct. Like it used to for him. “Sukuna—”

“Do you think I’m going to shout across the room like a teenager?” he said, voice soft but edged in that thinly-veiled drawl of ire. “Come. Here.”

You stepped closer. Because you always had. Because your body still remembered the tone he used when he didn’t want to say something twice.

He stopped you with a hand at your wrist. His fingertips were sweltering to the touch, as if he embodied the sun itself.

“You’ve been very well-behaved tonight,” he said, his large hands traveling up your arm, before resting at the curve of your back. “Impressive, truly. I didn’t expect you to hold it together this long. You usually aren’t this well-behaved.”

Your breath stuttered. “I’m marrying Yuji.”

“I know.”

“He loves me.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle whose final shape he already knew. 

“Because I’m not delusional,” he said evenly. “You’re a good partner to him. You’ll make him happy.”

That hurt more than it should have. You didn’t know why.

“And,” he added, “I’m not a monster. I have no intention of breaking my son’s heart.”

Relief flooded your chest. Too quickly.

Sukuna stepped closer. Close enough that you felt the warmth of him, the quiet danger that had never needed volume to be unmistakable. That familiar manly musk and the cool scent of sandalwood that belonged uniquely to him invades your senses. The same way it used to when he hovered above you, or when you gazed up at him between his sinewy thick thighs—

“But,” he said softly, “I’m also a man.”

Your breath caught.

“And I didn’t stop thinking about you just because you disappeared.”

Your stomach dipped. It wasn’t entirely from fear.

“You were mine first,” Sukuna said flatly. There was no boast. Just fact. “I was in you before my son knew your name. I made you a woman.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Don’t say it like that.”

“I could be far more explicit,” he replied calmly. “Consider this restraint.” His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, slow and proprietary.

“I’m not going to ruin him,” Sukuna said, tilting his head to catch your flighty gaze. “But I’m also not pretending you belong solely to him.”

“What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying you were already going to live under my roof.”

Your pulse spiked. You finally looked him directly in the eye.

“Yuji plans to ask,” Sukuna continued, smiling like a poisonous serpent. “He wants support while he establishes himself. He trusts me." His hand snaked from your back down to the curve of your waist like it had always belonged there, his other hand closing around your wrist. "He trusts you.”

You don't breathe for a moment.

“This arrangement was inevitable," he whispered.

Your voice barely held. “And you think that gives you—”

“It gives me proximity,” he corrected. “And honesty.” He released your wrist. It didn’t feel like mercy.

“You’ll be his wife,” Sukuna said, running his fingers through the strands of your hair. “But you’ll come to me when I ask.”

“And if I refuse?”

His expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll step aside,” he said quietly, his hand traveling down to your waist. The spot where he's been buried inside of you countless times. “And I’ll let my son decide how he feels about the woman who once shared my bed.”

Your chest hollowed. He leaned in, lowering his hulking frame until his lips brushed against the skin of your ear.

“That,” Sukuna added with a low, throaty chuckle, “would be cruel.”

Your back hit the couch before you realized he’d moved.

A firm hand at your hip, pressure, gravity shifting. Then he hauled you downward, your knees bracketing his thighs, your breath locked in your throat. Sukuna settled you over him with the kind of ease that made your pulse misfire, his grip unhurried, like this was a position he’d always known you’d return to.

Across from you, Yuji slept on, mouth parted, chest rising and falling softly. Your stomach lurched.

“Can’t we move somewhere els—” you whispered, your words falling on deaf ears as he made work of your clothing; popping your top’s buttons open to pull your breasts our, hooking a finger against your soaked panties and yanking it aside.

Sukuna didn’t tighten his hold. He didn’t need to. His eyes lifted to yours, heavy, expectant, the same look he used to give you years ago when he already knew your body would fold before your mind did.

A slow drag of his fingers along your waist. A touch that was barely there, if any, at all, made your breath stutter. Your body went hot and treacherously soft.

“Still remembers me,” Sukuna murmured.

“No,” you breathed, even as your thighs pressed together tighter without your permission.

His hand slid up your spine—not crude, not groping, just a steadying line of control that made your whole chest tighten.

“Look at him,” he said quietly.

You didn’t want to. You did anyway.

Yuji was out cold. Completely defenseless.

Your throat closed. “This is wrong.”

Sukuna hummed once, low. Not disagreement, but acknowledgment. He lifted his other hand, caught your chin between two fingers, guiding your gaze back to him.

“Wrong doesn’t change what you want.”

Your pulse hammered so hard it hurt. “You’re twisting—”

“I’m stating,” he cut in, voice low, final. “If you truly wanted to run, you would’ve been fighting for the door the moment he passed out.”

His mouth found yours first.

Not rushed—never rushed—but with the unerring certainty of someone who already knew how you would open for him. The kiss was deep, controlled, his lips firm and warm, the faint scrape of stubble grazing your skin. You tasted wine, smoke, something mineral and dark that was just him. It hit you low and fast, that familiar unspooling, your body tipping toward him like it had been waiting for permission.

Your fingers curled into his shirt without thinking. The fabric was thicker than Yuji’s. It was tailored, expensive, and held heat. Sukuna’s chest was solid beneath your palms, unmoving when you pressed against it. He doesn’t adjust to you. You adjusted to him.

His hand slid along your side, slow, deliberate, fingers spreading as if reacquainting themselves with old territory. He knew exactly where to pause. Where to press. Where the slightest pressure would make your breath stutter into his mouth.

Across the room, Yuji exhaled in his sleep. A soft sound. Blissfully unaware.

The awareness sliced through you—sharp, electric—and somehow only sharpened everything else. The leather beneath you creaked faintly as Sukuna pulled you closer, the couch dipping under his weight until you’re slanted toward him, caught between his body and the armrest. You feel held, contained by him in a way Yuji never quite managed. Yuji always checked in, always eased up. Accommodated your desires.

Sukuna doesn’t ease.

His fingers made quiet, devastating work of you—over clothes, beneath fabric, his rough and thick fingers rubbing against your pussy—each movement precise, economical, like he’s tuning an instrument he never forgot how to play. Your hips betrayed you, tilting without permission, chasing pressure you know you shouldn’t want with each intentional rub at your clit.

You broke the kiss with a gasp. He doesn’t chase your mouth, he just lowered his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours, steady where you’re already fraying.

Sound sharpened. The faint hum of the house. The whisper of fabric. Your own pulse thrumming loud in your ears. Smell followed: sandalwood and heat and the clean, faint scent of leather. Taste lingered on your tongue, rich and dizzying. The taste of regret, sin, and ultimate pleasure.

Yuji’s touch had always been earnest. Careful hands, reverent, as if afraid you might slip away if he held too tightly. He was a sweet man. You loved him because of that.

Sukuna was possessive without cruelty. He touched you like something that already belongs to him, like the question was settled years ago and this was merely the answer being revisited.

Your back arched despite yourself when his fingers press just right, pressing against the erect nub of your clit and rubbing it between his fingers. The sensation made you squirm against him, your toes curling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. He caught the movement immediately, palm firm at your lower back, holding you there. Keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Your head fell to his shoulder, breath breaking against his collarbone. His mouth followed—jaw, throat, the sensitive place beneath your ear—kissing without spectacle, without noise, devastating in its restraint.

You shouldn’t compare. You knew that. But your body did it anyway.

Yuji’s warmth versus this heat. Yuji’s kindness versus this intense gravity. Yuji loved you like a choice.

But Sukuna touched you like inevitability.

Somewhere in the room, Yuji shifted again, murmurs incoherently, and the danger of it sends a fresh wave through you, sharp and illicit. Sukuna still doesn’t look away. His focus never wavered, fingers steady, skilled. His fingers finally relented on their assault on your clit, opting to push a thick finger inside of your embarrassingly wet cunt.

You bit down on your lip to keep quiet.

The stretch felt so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time.

Yuji was always the token athletic man back in your college. He was one of the beefiest men you knew, but even he didn’t compare to his father, who was a tank of a man.

“Tight,” he observed simply, sinking until he was knuckle-deep. “Yuji fuck you often?”

You could barely think with how his finger curled inside of you, grazing against that spot that had your hips twitching. “D-don’t ask me that while you’re—”

He added another thick finger. “Yes or no.”

You barely bit back a gasp, feeling tears prick your eyes from the achingly familiar stretch. 

“Yes,” you finally whimpered out in admission. Yuji had a fairly high libido, and he wasn’t one to shy away from fucking you any chance he could.

Sukuna hummed thoughtfully, pumping his fingers inside of you, stretching you out. He had to, or else you’d rip from his cock. 

“I figured. My son should take after my stamina.”

He added a third finger, earning a soft squeal from you. The sound traveled throughout the living room. You immediately slapped your hand over your mouth, your head whipping to Yuji’s direction with your heart stopping in your chest.

Yuji was still knocked out. Drooling on the pillow, too.

Sukuna chuckled at your anxiety. “Want to make this quick, hm?” He pulled his fingers out of you, admiring the wet slick, the creaminess forming and trickling down his palm. “Don’t want him to find out you’re actually my slut.”

He sat down beside you, thick thighs spread wide, and he lazily palmed his hefty bulge. “Well?” He cocked his head at you, raising a thick brow expectantly. “Better make me cum soon before he wakes up.”

Swallowing down your anxiety, you settled between his thighs, soft hands reaching out to unzip him. It was exactly the same view you had all those years ago, gazing up at this domineering tree of a man as you pawed at his cock. You freed him from his boxers, and the same cock that broke you in stared back at you.

It was just as you remembered it. It was so heavy and thick it seemed like it struggled to stand with its own weight, with prominent veins lining its length, the tip flushed an angry red, precum already leaking.

“Go on,” Sukuna said. “Do it like how you used to.”

Hesitantly, you leaned in, wrapping your hands around the base. He was so thick your fingers didn’t even meet. Gently, you wrapped your lips around his tip, the saltiness coating your tongue. He was so warm, that when his thick hands wrapped around your hair, you felt that unmistakable throb in your cunt as you pathetically rocked your cunt against the balls of your feet for some friction.

That doesn’t escape his watchful eye.

“Tch. Can’t even wait for me to properly fuck you.” His grip tightened around your hair, pushing you down further on his cock, causing the tip to jam itself in the back of your throat. You gagged, tearing up from the intense sensation. His scent filled your senses, your nose tickled by the coarse black strands lining his crotch. Sukuna overwhelmed you, his musky cool scent, the salty and tangy taste of his heavy cock, the pain and pleasure of his hand fisting itself in your hair—even your thoughts.

When you reached your limit, your lungs screaming for air, he pulled you off his cock with a sharp pop, a string of creamy drool connecting from your swollen lips to his angry tip. The sharp intake of sudden breath had your eyesight blurry with tears, your nose stinging from the onslaught of oxygen, and your expression fucked out and content.

Sukuna paused at the sight for the briefest moment. Your eyes were teary, streaking your face, drool dripping past your lip, your hair all mussed from his grip, utterly devastated by none other than him and him alone.

Before you could process it, he was already pulling you up to stand. Your hands found the couch to steady yourself, feeling dizzy as you felt Sukuna cursing behind you, parting your legs open for him. The tantalizing sensation of him slapping his tip against your cunt, before rubbing it, causes your breathing to deepen. Tap. Tap. Tap. You felt that deep pit in your stomach, as if your body was already unconsciously making space for him. When his tip parted and rubbed against your folds, not quite yet pushing in, you snapped out of your haze to let reason shine through.

“Condom,” you reminded him in a soft gasp.

He made a sound of displeasure behind you. “You’re worried about that now?” 

“Wear one,” you insisted.

There was a huff. You felt his cock pull away for a bit, and then came the sound of a foil wrapper wrinkling.

Without another warning, he pushed inside of you.

You gasped out, biting down on your own lip to muffle your sounds. You spared a glance toward Yuji, who was still peacefully sleeping without a care in the world, feeling both mortification and arousal swirl in your belly. Behind you, Sukuna hissed, his strong hands finding purchase on the curve of your hip, gripping you firmly as he mercifully allowed you a few moments to adjust to his size.

“Tight as a vice,” he huffed behind you, feeling your gummy walls fluttering around him as if in panic, like it was doing its damnedest best to accommodate his size.

Just the mere sensation of having him deep inside you, practically kissing your cervix, was already pushing you to a near orgasm. Your nails dug into the leather of the couch before you, in disbelief at your own body. Even Yuji had never gotten you to cum this fast, and he was damn enthusiastic about it!

Sukuna didn't warn you before he began moving. He knew your body down to the last centimeter even after all these years. He gathered that your cunt was well adjusted enough. It was bound to after tonight. He’d see to it that you’d adjust to his size again.

“Hear your cunt?” He grunted right into your ear as you whimpered and moaned out softly. The sounds of your slick filled the living room, accompanied with each harsh and firm smack of his hips into your rear. “Yuji might just wake up from the sound of it.”

You clenched around him at that, panicking at the idea. You squirmed, pleading with him softly.

“L-let’s move somewhere else,” you managed weakly despite the brutal force of his thrusts. “Not here, please.”

“You can still talk,” he spoke dryly. “Seems I’m not fucking you hard enough yet.”

His words barely registered before he was pushing you onto all fours on the couch, spreading your thighs wide for him, before he reentered. You moaned out into the couch, feeling all the air punched out of your lungs. Your legs faltered from his brutal pace, but his firm hands kept a strict hold on your hips, holding you upright as he used your cunt as he saw fit.

Your toes curled, your breathing picking up from the searing pleasure coursing throughout your limbs. White hot pleasure made its way to your lids every time you blinked, eyes practically half-lidded from the overwhelming sensation of Sukuna pounding into you like he had something to prove.

Your moans and small pleas for reason—asking him to move to a different location, somewhere other than where Yuji, your damned fiancé, was sleeping—slowly dwindled away into mewls and little gasps.

His thick fingers joined the onslaught on your cunt, flicking at the button of your clit, pressing right at that spot that had your hips stutter and your legs falter once again.

You sobbed out, shaking your head, pleading faintly for him to slow down, that it was all too much, that you couldn’t think, and then the intense warmth poured over your entire body as that pressure in your lower stomach snapped and you came with a moan.

You trembled weakly around him, but Sukuna’s thrusts didn’t ease up. He grunted, a hand wrapping around your throat to hoist your head up. He leaned in, kissing you filthily.

It was wet. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, party silencing your moans, forcing your back into an arch as he continued pummeling his fat cock inside you. You were dizzy from the taste of his tongue, feeling the drool spilling past your lips.

His other hand grabbed a handful of your breast, encompassing the soft flesh wholly. He squeezed at it, tugging and twisting his roughened fingertips against the erect buds of your nipples.

“Didn’t give you permission to cum, slut,” he murmured against your lips. Your blurry eyes gazed into his own, and you saw the displeased furrow of his thick brows, his piercing red eyes rendering you still and pliant. He would usually be angrier, but perhaps he was letting it slide since it had been so long since he’s last fucked you.

“‘m sorry,” you whimpered out breathily, strings of saliva connecting your tongue to his own as he briefly pulled away from your lips to listen to your response.

“You will be,” was all he said, before he was hoisting you up.

Your hazy mind barely registered the change in scenery. He had crossed over to the other couch in two long strides with you in his arms, bending you over so you were face to face with Yuji’s sleeping face.

Your heart stopped in your chest, and a scream almost left your lips if not for Sukuna’s hand wrapping firmly around your mouth and the harsh thrust he gave you as punishment.

“I guess you want Yuji to see me fucking you like a whore,” he sneered from behind. “Can’t keep your mouth shut.”

His left hand reached down behind your left knee, hoisting your leg up so he was allowed a deeper angle, letting your foot settle on the armrest of the couch. Your face burned at the realization that your swollen and sopping wet cunt—stuffed full of Sukuna’s cock—was just mere inches away from Yuji’s peacefully sleeping face.

The fear, arousal, sadness, shame—all of it that welled up within you in that very moment caused you to clench tightly around Sukuna.

He groaned into your ear, his hips stuttering temporarily in their assault on your cunt. You had tightened up so much that he felt like he was being forced out of you.

“Are you getting off to this?” He rasped against your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. “If Yuji wakes up, he’ll see you getting fucked by his old man. You okay with that?”

He finally pulled his hand away from your mouth, letting your mewls slip past your lips. You dealt with his punishing thrusts, all while gazing down at the innocent face of your poor fiancé.

Yuji exhaled softly in his sleep.

It was such an ordinary sound. A small, human thing. The rise and fall of his chest. The faint crease between his brows that only appeared when he’s dreaming of something lighthearted and stupid like living in the Mesozoic era. You knew that face. You’ve kissed that mouth gently in the mornings, traced the slope of that nose with fondness.

Now your breath trembled shakily against the same air he’s breathing.

Sukuna’s grip tightened at your hip, fingers digging in—not enough to bruise, but enough to remind you where you are. Who had you. Who was fucking you. The couch shifted faintly beneath the force of him behind you, the leather whispering with each scrape of your nails.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured near your ear.

Your fingers were trembling. Not only from him. From the unbearable closeness. From the heat of his body sealing against yours. From the obscene awareness that if Yuji’s eyes opened—if they fluttered just once—you would be caught exactly like this. Exposed. Split in two. On a cock you’re not supposed to be cumming on.

Your body betrayed you again, tightening around him. He inhales sharply at the reaction, a low sound vibrating through his chest into your spine. You feebly wondered when he would finally cum. Curse him and his fucking stamina. No guy approaching his fifties should be fucking like this.

The room smelled like sweat now. Like sex. Something irreversible.

“Look at him,” Sukuna said quietly.

You didn’t want to. But you did.

Yuji’s lips parted slightly. He shifted, turning his face just a fraction toward you, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath ghost against your inner thigh. You’d felt that same sensation before. When Yuji was between your thighs, pleasuring you for hours, because he loved being close to you. He loved you. The tenderness of it nearly undid you.

Sukuna’s mouth brushed your shoulder. It wasn’t a kiss, not quite. But a claim.

“You chose this,” he reminded you, softer now.

That certainty was worse than cruelty. You did choose this. You didn’t have it in you to confess to Yuji that you’d been fucking his dad back in your college days when the two of you were nothing but good friends. You didn’t have it in you to admit that the entire reason you even got with Yuji, aside from the fact that he was a gentleman and the sweetest man you knew, was that he resembled Sukuna in the first place.

Of course, he fucking resembled his dad! 

Your nails scraped against the upholstery as another wave of pleasure crested through you, dizzying and humiliating. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, desperate to keep quiet, to keep the fragile illusion that you had not betrayed Yuji intact. Hanging onto the feeble hope that as long as Yuji didn’t know, everything would be okay.

Sukuna moved with slow, punishing deliberation now. Each thrust measured. He moved like this when he was nearing his orgasm, preferring to feel the ridges of your cunt and the slow stickiness of your walls clinging to every inch of him. As if proving something. As if reminding you that this—this overwhelming gravity, this dangerous heat—is what you’d been orbiting all along since you’d walked away from him.

Yuji murmured something unintelligible.

Everything stilled except the frantic hammering of your pulse. For a suspended second, the entire house held its breath.

Then Yuji settled again. His breathing evened out.

Relief flooded you so sharply it almost felt like grief.

Behind you, Sukuna exhaled through his nose, something darkly amused in the sound. His hand slid from your mouth to your throat, not really squeezing, just resting there, thumb feeling the frantic rhythm beneath your skin.

“Always tightening up when you think Yuji’s about to wake up,” he grunted. “Don’t tell me you like this? You want Yuji to see me fucking you better than he does? What a slutty wife he has.”

Maybe you are. Maybe that’s the worst part.

Your forehead nearly brushed Yuji’s as another tremor ran through you. The shame, the desire, the fear—it all tangled together until you couldn’t separate one from the other. You didn’t know whether the tears in your eyes are from pleasure or self-disgust.

Sukuna leaned forward, lips brushing your ear one last time. He bit down on your shoulder, his heavy balls twitching, his hips stuttering, and then you felt the heat of a thousand suns unload into you.

It happened almost before you understood what you were feeling.

A shift. A sudden change in pressure. The sweltering heat. Deep, flooding, and unmistakable.

For a second your mind was too fogged to name it. Your body still trembled from the intensity, muscles twitching, nerves raw and oversensitized. You were bent forward, breath stuttering against the fabric of the couch, Yuji’s sleeping face still inches away.

Then you felt it.

That warmth.

Not outside. Not contained.

Inside.

Your stomach dropped so violently it feels like you’ve missed a step in the dark.

No.

No, no—

Your hazy mind scrambled backward through memory. The beginning of the night. The agreement. The sharp, whispered insistence: Use one. You remembered it. You knew you said it. You remembered the sound of the condom wrapper before Sukuna—

Your pulse turned frantic.

He slowed behind you, breath heavy but controlled, like nothing was wrong. Like nothing monumental had just shifted.

You twisted your head slightly, panic slicing through the fog. “Did you—” Your voice broke, a sob slowly crawling its way out.

He didn’t answer immediately.

That silence told you everything. The room seemed to tilt.

“I told you—” Your throat closed. It came out strangled. Even speaking and breathing became an arduous thing. “We said—”

His hand steadied your hip, firm, almost dismissive. He still hadn’t bothered to pull out. “Relax.”

The word detonated inside your chest. Relax.

You’re not on birth control. Not anymore.

You stopped months ago. Quietly. Because you’d been planning something soft and hopeful and full of light. You’d imagined Yuji’s face when you’d tell him. Imagined laughing, shy and warm, letting him hold you closer and whisper about a future that felt safe.

You were going to let Yuji be the first. You were going to surprise him.

The realization clawed up your throat so violently you think you might choke on it.

You pulled away from Yuji’s sleeping face as if burned, scrambling back, nearly collapsing onto the couch. Your thighs shook uncontrollably. You could still feel it—evidence of what’s been done, the thick syrupy strings of cum trickling down your ass, your inner thighs, lining the inside of your walls—your body too aware, too open.

“Are you insane?” you whispered, but it fractured into a sob halfway through.

Tears spilled before you could stop them. Not quiet tears. Not controlled. Your shoulders hitch violently, chest caving inward as the enormity crashed down on you.

Sukuna watched you. Not confused. Not apologetic.

Just watching.

Then he slowly moved, making himself decent, finding a wet cloth before approaching you.

“I’m not on anything,” you choked out, hands gripping your own arms as if you can hold yourself together physically. “I stopped. I was going to—I was going to—” Your voice cracked.

Sukuna let you sob and overthink as he pushed apart your thighs, wiping away the cum smeared all over your cunt and ass. You pushed and punched weakly at Sukuna’s chest, but he barely even moved or budged, continuing to clean you. You may as well have been an ant trying to bite him.

Yuji shifted in his sleep again, and the normalcy of it was unbearable. He had no idea. No idea that the future you were building in your head—carefully, lovingly—had just been shattered in the span of a few reckless minutes.

You pressed a hand to your lower stomach instinctively, as if you could undo it. As if you could push time backward.

The physical sensation won’t let you forget. The lingering warmth inside of you. The slick reminder between your thighs that Sukuna was wiping away but could never fully erase. Your body felt foreign. Complicit in its betrayal. 

“Relax,” Sukuna said evenly, but there’s something harder under it. Something claiming, as if he didn’t even fully believe what he was saying. “One time won’t get you pregnant.”

“That’s not the point,” you cried, voice cracking open completely. “That wasn’t yours to decide, you bastard.” You punched his chest, sobbing. 

The shame was suffocating. Not just because of Yuji. Not just because of the betrayal. But because part of you had wanted something pure with him. Something untouched by Sukuna’s shadow. A child conceived in love, not in secrecy and spite and heat. And now even that felt contaminated.

Your sobs turned quiet and ragged, your entire body trembling as the panic settled into something colder. 

Across from you, Yuji slept on.

You did everything you could to preserve the illusion of your happy relationship with Yuji. Just hours after Sukuna had fucked you, you had pulled Yuji into your shared room, letting him fuck you raw for the “first time.”

Yuji was eager, splitting you apart, peppering your face with kisses, chanting “I love you” right into your ear. You could only sob out as you told him you loved him too. You could never admit to him that you’ve betrayed his trust and love just hours ago.

Conveniently, Sukuna had left the estate for a business trip in a different city. Before he left, he made sure to fuck you full of his cum in his office all while Yuji worked in his office on the other end of the house.

Two weeks later, the morning came with sunlight slanting through the blinds, sharp and accusing. You sat on the edge of the bed, trembling, sticky sheets clinging to your thighs. Yuji slept peacefully beside you, tangled in the sheets, his hair a mess. Sukuna was not expected to return until tomorrow because of his flight delay. The morning silence was heavier than his presence.

Your hand went to the small plastic stick tucked in the drawer, the one you had almost forgotten in your panic two weeks before. You had been eager to take a test as soon as Sukuna had fucked you. But you waited until you could get the most accurate results.

You held it with a shaking grip, breath caught in your throat. Your warmth seeped into the toilet seat as you braced yourself for the result. Whatever it was, you were already past the point of no return.

One line. Two lines.

Positive.

You froze, mind spinning. Not that it was certain. Not really. You had… made sure. Made sure that if anything came of that shameful situation, Yuji could plausibly be the father. You had… taken measures. After that night, after Sukuna, you had done it with Yuji—careful, precise, desperate in your own way—so that even if your body had betrayed you, you could tell yourself you had a choice. Plausible deniability.

Still, looking down at the stick, your chest tightened. This was real. And yet, somehow, you could almost hear Sukuna’s smug chuckle echoing in your head. Relax, he’d said. As if the universe bent to his will alone.

It was a simple night. The kind that almost convinced you nothing complicated could exist inside it.

The balcony doors were open, curtains breathing in and out with the wind. The city below glittered in patient constellations. Office towers blinked red at their tips, headlights sliding along distant roads like slow-moving veins of light. Everything looked orderly from this height. Like everything was right with the world.

Yuji sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, his tea warming his hands. He held it the way he held most things: carefully, as if afraid of dropping something important. The faint yellow light from inside traced the line of his jaw, softened the earnest crease between his thick brows.

“I just wanted to ask,” he said at last, voice low, cautious, “how you feel about living here. With my dad.”

You didn’t answer immediately. The way his shoulders curved inward when he was uncertain. The way he searched for the right phrasing, even now, even with you. The way he avoided your eyes when he felt unsure. He was open in a way that made him vulnerable. Soft where his father was not.

Your thumb turned your engagement ring slowly around your finger. Once. Twice. The metal was cool despite your skin.

“I know it’s not ideal,” he continued. “I’m still getting established. I can’t really provide yet.” He gave a small, self-conscious smile. “Dad makes it look effortless. I don’t think I’ll ever be as decisive as he is.”

Decisive.

The word lingered.

Sukuna never asked for space. He occupied it. He never waited for permission. He never framed anything as a question. He was a man who moved without hesitation, as if he expected the world to bend over backwards to accommodate him.

The first time after that night, you had told yourself it wouldn’t happen again. You had rehearsed refusals in your head thousands upon thousands of times. A firm, clean, and final no.

They dissolved the moment he called your name.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten. He simply beckoned. A quiet summons from the far end of the house. A knock on your bedroom door when Yuji was in the shower. A hand at the small of your back when no one else was looking.

You could have said no. You told yourself you tried.

But Sukuna did not argue. He stepped closer. He reminded you—softly, almost amused—how fragile certain truths were. How easily they could be misplaced. How one word from his lips could send your life as you knew it toppling down like a house of cards.

And sometimes, if you were honest in the dark with yourself, it wasn’t only fear that made you follow him down the hall.

The house had developed pockets of silence that belonged only to the two of you. His office with the blinds half-drawn. The storage room near the back staircase. In the kitchen pantry. Quick, stolen minutes that left you breathless and furious at yourself in equal measure.

Each time, you promised it was the last. Surely, it would be the last.

“I want to give you more,” Yuji said quietly, pulling you back. “A place that’s ours. Not his. I just… didn’t have another plan. I didn’t want to blindside you.”

You reached for his hand before the silence stretched too far. His skin was warm. Steady. Familiar in a way that made your throat tighten.

“I didn’t need another plan,” you said gently. “I’m fine here. As long as I’m with you, I’m fine.”

“And him?” Yuji asked after a moment, hopeful. “He doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

You thought of Sukuna’s hand resting possessively at your hip as you passed him in the kitchen earlier that week, fingers pressing just long enough to remind you. Of the way he looked at you across the dining table while Yuji talked, his gaze unwavering, almost lazy, like he already knew something no one else did. Of how you had started anticipating the firm and pointed sound of his footsteps outside your shared room with Yuji past midnight.

You smoothed your expression before answering. A sweet smile, warm, and with honeyed eyes.

“He’s not so bad.”

[toshisdecadence]

That ushi fanfic was TOP TIER! It’s been a minute since I’ve see a good fanfic like that

Hi!! Oh my god I just saw this now because I’m finally formatting and getting ready to upload the sukuna fics I’ve been working on for like over half a year LMAOOO

Thank you so so much! I’m so glad you enjoyed my ovulation-induced fantasies of my #1 man. Hoping to get out another ushi fic soon since I’ve had an idea for him but I haven’t really gotten to it yet since I’ve been so busy……….

[pnglove]

[toshisdecadence]

i have two sukuna fics im trying to finish hehehehhehehehehehe i hope to get them out this month

[toshisdecadence]

i don’t want kids but whenever i see wakatoshi the ladadada song plays in my head and i imagine our two story home with our white picket fence and our four kids attending private school

[toshisdecadence]

stepbro!sukuna..... ive been so busy ive been unable to do anything else but just focus on writing that in short increments. BUT I ALSO WNATED TO DO ANOTHER NANAMI FIC THE IDEA'S BEEN IN MY HEAD AFTER READING THIS ONE MANHWA.

im delirious

[toshisdecadence]

i want to do kinktober so bad but like idek where to start. i know for sure i can’t cook up like what my usual 10k+ oneshots so it’ll have to be super short smutty and vile drabbles

some thoughts…… i might make it office au based idek im just getting inspo from my internship

i have one month to decide

also i always saw kinktober as this big thing that the super great and wonderful authors on this site always participated in, and i, a humble gooner, just voraciously ate up their works to fuel my fantasies. idk ill see whether i can do one im way over my head my drafts are staring holes into my behind

[toshisdecadence]

just started my internship, and im already thinking of a nanami office au fic oml im going to eat him alive

SEND ME TO HR!!!

but before that i need to actually finish my sukuna stepbro fic I haven’t touched it in weeks

[toshisdecadence]

ushi got me feeling like one of those kpop stans with parasocial relationships with idols because i’ve been plotting on that man for YEARS when he was underrated and NOW THERES A RESURGENCE OF INTEREST IN HIM AND IM SCREAMING INSIDE

[toshisdecadence]

furudate threatens to release post timeskip married characters in haikyuu

if furudate reveals ushijima as one of them im going to end up on national television. i’m going to go crazy. you’ll see infidelity and cheating everywhere in my tags. yes ushi’s married—married to ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!