He should’ve killed you the moment Gojo introduced you.

“You’ll be helping Itadori,” Satoru had said, ever-smiling, ever-oblivious to the fact that he had just handed Sukuna a personal hell on a silver platter. “She’s my little sister. Try not to corrupt her.”

Corrupt you? You were already broken in all the wrong ways.

It started with your voice.

Too much like your brother’s—sharp-edged and smug—but worse. You were beautiful. Smart. Razor-tongued. You walked like you owned the world and everyone in it should thank you for the privilege. Satoru Gojo’s little sister. A walking nightmare.

You were everywhere Sukuna looked. Every time Yuji blinked, breathed, thought—there you were, laughing at something idiotic, energy crackling like a storm. You knew the moment he slipped through—always. He barely needed to twitch and you’d cut him with your eyes.

“Don’t even try it,” you’d mutter without looking.

“What, already bored of your pet?” he’d snap.

“Some of us can multitask. I can hold your leash and kiss my boyfriend.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t bite.”

When you and Itadori started dating, Sukuna nearly lost it. You—with him?

He watched you curl into Yuji’s chest like you belonged there, lips brushing his jaw, fingers tracing his ribs. Like you didn’t know what you were doing. Like he didn’t feel everything, see everything.

He’d spit venom when he broke through.

“He actually said ‘my queen’ earlier. I’m going to vomit blood.”

“Aww. You’re just jealous no one calls you royalty.”

“I should kill you just for kissing him.”

“You’d have to survive me first. Spoiler: you wouldn’t.”

You never flinched. Never backed down.

He hated you for it. And wanted you for it. Desperately.

So when he tricked Itadori—just a sliver more control, one full day, any time—he waited.

You came like always. Dinner, laughter. Yuji talking too fast. You rolled your eyes fondly, touched his arm, let your cursed energy hum low between you like an invitation.

Then, the bed. Limbs tangled. A shitty show playing.

And Sukuna took the body.

His hand slid over your waist, fingers splaying at the curve of your back like he owned it. His lips—Yuji’s lips, but kissed like they meant war—dragged hotly down your neck, slow and hungry, like he was tasting something forbidden and never going to stop.

Your breath hitched, a soft, startled laugh catching in your throat. “Whoa, baby,” you murmured, low and teasing, “didn’t think you had this in you.”

You weren’t pulling away.

You arched into him. Your cursed energy flared—wild, sparking, tasting his in the air like a challenge—and he answered with heat, with pressure, with a low growl in his throat. Your fingers curled into his shirt. You kissed him back.

And it wasn’t soft.

It was a collision. Tongues, teeth. Breathless and uncoordinated and so real he thought his skin might split apart from it. He kissed like he was starving. You kissed like you were trying to burn him alive.

Then your eyes opened.

And you looked at him.

And you knew.

Silence cracked between you like thunder.

Your chest rose and fell beneath his. Your lips, kiss-bruised and parted. Your fingers still clenched in fabric. His hand still gripped your hip.

The way your eyes locked—wide, stunned, knowing—made his throat dry.

Then you exhaled, stunned and furious all at once:

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

But you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Because one minute ago, you were his. Your mouth on his. Your body begging for more. You felt it too—he knew you did.

His voice came low, ruined and rough, dragging across the air between you:

“You want to know what a real man does to a woman like you?”

His fingers flexed against your skin. Every nerve in his stolen body screamed for you. For more. For everything.

He didn’t know what the hell you’d done to him.

But he wasn’t going to resist it.

Not tonight.

Not with your taste on his lips and your cursed energy still curling around his ribs like a noose.

You weren’t Itadori’s.

You never were.

You were his.

And damn you—damn you—for making him want it.