Chapter Text
The silence of the Shibuya train station was eerie. Death clung to the air like smoke, thick and bitter. Lights flickered over pools of blood and crumpled limbs. Mahito had done his job well—every civilian was gone. Their final screams had long been swallowed by the tunnels.
Sukuna wandered through the carnage with slow, deliberate steps. The soles of Yuji’s shoes squelched against blood-slick tiles, but he didn’t care. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he admired the chaos.
A hint of irritation glinted in his crimson eyes.
“Such a waste,” he muttered, voice guttural, like a beast half-awake. “I’ve been out of that damn brat for five minutes, and this place is already boring.”
Then, movement.
Ahead, past a shattered vending machine and a stack of burned suitcases, three figures stood frozen.
Nanako.
Mimiko.
Jogo.
The girls’ backs pressed into the grime-smeared wall. Their expressions were unmistakable—terror. But Jogo, even with trembling fingers and a strained jaw, looked up at Sukuna with something closer to wariness than pure fear. Respect, maybe. Or calculation.
Sukuna’s grin widened. “Well, look who it is.”
Nanako stepped in front of Mimiko, clutching her phone tight. “Stay away from us!”
Sukuna tilted his head, amused. “You think I’m interested in you?”
He took a step forward. Nanako flinched. Jogo lit a flame on his fingertip but didn’t raise his arm.
“I expected more from Kenny’s little helpers,” Sukuna drawled. “I’m barely warmed up.”
Jogo growled. “We didn’t come to fight. Mahito’s plan was to—”
“I don’t give a shit about Mahito’s plan.”
With a lazy swipe of his hand, a slashing curse technique cracked through the air. Jogo barely dodged, part of his cheek seared off. The girls screamed. Another step from Sukuna, and the concrete wall behind them split open with invisible force.
“I’m here to enjoy myself. You all?” He tilted his head again. “In the way.”
In two seconds, the girls were unconscious on the floor, twitching from the aftershock of Sukuna’s cursed energy. Jogo, scorched and panting, disappeared into the shadows. Not dead, but smart enough to flee.
Sukuna didn’t chase.
He turned.
Then stopped.
A sound—soft, uncertain footsteps.
Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward the west exit of the platform.
And that’s when he saw him.
A figure emerged from the far shadows. Tall. Slender. Dressed in baggy clothes that swallowed his form—hoodie two sizes too big, sweatpants loose on the waist. He looked entirely human. Entirely out of place.
White hair.
Sukuna blinked.
Not from confusion, but… intrigue.
The stranger’s steps slowed as he came into the dim light. His bright blue eyes widened when he noticed the carnage—blood, bodies, cracked tiles—and then they locked with Sukuna’s.
Fear.
Raw, obvious fear.
And something about that expression made Sukuna’s pulse quicken.
“Well, well…” he murmured.
The stranger took a step back, like a deer catching the scent of a wolf.
Sukuna chuckled under his breath. “A survivor? You weren’t supposed to exist.”
The man—no, boy, looked young. Barely older than Yuji. He clutched the strap of a plain bag hanging from his shoulder like it could protect him. That wide-eyed panic, the frantic glance around the station for an escape… delicious.
Sukuna took a step toward him. The boy didn’t move.
“Oh, don’t run,” Sukuna said darkly. “It’ll be worse if you do.”
Still, the white-haired boy took another step back.
Sukuna’s lips curled. “Cute. You really think you can get away from me?”
He raised one hand lazily, his fingers twitching like a conductor calling for a symphony.
The boy flinched—but something flickered in his eyes. A flicker of defiance.
Interesting.
Sukuna’s smirk grew wider, crueler. “You’re not a sorcerer, are you?”
No cursed energy. No aura. Just a soft, trembling body hiding inside oversized clothes. But he held himself upright now, like some inner instinct was screaming don’t show weakness.
Sukuna almost laughed.
It had been over a thousand years. A thousand years of silence, of hunger, of rage sealed in a vessel that wasn’t his. And in all that time, he hadn’t tasted a single body.
Not once.
He rolled his neck slowly, muscles cracking.
And now here he was—free again, standing in the hollow remains of a massacre—and in front of him was something untouched, trembling, divine.
“Maybe this day won’t be so boring after all,” he whispered.
He began walking forward, step by step, deliberate.
“You know,” Sukuna said, voice lowering as he closed the distance, “back in my time, we didn’t ask before taking what we wanted.”
The boy’s breathing hitched.
Sukuna’s eyes flicked down—watching the way the hoodie lifted just slightly with each breath, revealing a sliver of pale skin. His gaze lingered there, heavy, hungry.
“I’ve killed hundreds already,” he said conversationally. “But you…”
His voice dipped into a growl.
“You I might keep.”
The boy’s back finally hit the wall behind him, the platform’s edge just to his left.
No escape.
Sukuna stopped in front of him. Inches apart now.
The boy’s hands clenched into fists, pressed against the front of his hoodie like he was bracing for impact.
Sukuna leaned down, face inches from his, drinking in the blue of his eyes.
“What’s your name?”
Silence.
“Too scared to answer?” Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Pity. I like to know what to call my toys.”
He reached out, fingers ghosting over the hoodie’s hem.
The boy’s lips parted—
“…Satoru,” he whispered.
And Sukuna paused.
The name echoed in his ears. It didn’t mean anything to him—not yet. But something in the way it was said, the breathlessness, the tension…
He liked the way it sounded.
He repeated it in his mind. Satoru.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You look like trouble, Satoru.”
The boy swallowed hard.
Sukuna’s smirk returned, slow and wicked. “Good.”
Then his hand gripped the boy’s waist and slammed him back into the wall.
Not hard enough to break anything. Just enough to pin him.
Enough to make him feel it.
Sukuna leaned in close, breath hot against Satoru’s neck. “Let’s see what kind of noise you make when you’re not screaming in fear.”
And in the ruins of Shibuya, with death behind him and something intoxicatingly alive in front of him,
Sukuna finally, finally began to have fun.
Satoru flinched as his back hit the wall again, his breath catching hard in his throat. Sukuna’s hand didn’t ease up—it pressed firm against his waist, fingers spreading to grip his side possessively. His eyes roamed him now, trailing from the sharp lines of Satoru’s jaw to the way his oversized hoodie bunched at the chest.
“You’re a pretty little thing,” Sukuna murmured, voice rough, dangerously close to a growl. “Wasted on this hellhole.”
Satoru didn’t answer. He couldn’t—his voice was stuck somewhere in his chest, blocked by fear, confusion, and something else he didn’t want to name. Heat pooled low in his stomach, even as instinct screamed at him to move, run—but there was nowhere to go. Sukuna’s presence pressed against him like a curse itself.
And he hadn’t even touched him yet.
Sukuna leaned in, inhaling near his neck. “You smell scared.”
His tongue flicked out—slow and shameless—as it dragged across the curve of Satoru’s throat. The boy jerked, gasping, only for Sukuna to chuckle darkly.
“That’s the reaction I like.”
He was hard already. Had been since the moment he saw the boy standing alone on the platform. The pale skin, the baggy clothes, the huge blue eyes—he looked breakable. Unclaimed. Perfect.
His fingers curled under the hem of the hoodie and yanked it up, exposing smooth, lean muscle and a tiny waist. Sukuna hissed through his teeth. “Oh, fuck yes.”
Satoru sucked in a breath, instinctively trying to lower the hoodie back down, but Sukuna growled.
“Don’t,” he snapped, grabbing both of Satoru’s wrists in one hand and shoving them up against the wall. “You don’t hide this from me.”
Satoru’s chest heaved, helpless under the tight grip.
“I don’t even know you—” he gasped.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Sukuna licked a line down his chest, between his ribs. “You’re mine now.”
With his free hand, he undid Satoru’s sweatpants, yanking them down roughly past his hips. The boy let out a shocked cry, twisting, but Sukuna only gripped tighter.
“Don’t squirm. You’ll make me finish too fast.”
He shoved a thigh between Satoru’s legs, spreading them apart with one firm motion. “Tiny fuckin’ waist,” he muttered against the boy’s stomach, licking a stripe up to his navel. “Tight little body like this—shit, how did I get so lucky?”
Satoru’s head tilted back with a sharp breath, face burning, overwhelmed. “You’re insane—”
Sukuna laughed against his stomach. “Completely.”
He shoved the hoodie further up with his teeth, baring Satoru’s entire torso now. Every exposed inch made Sukuna hungrier.
He reached down and freed his dick—thick, flushed, and already leaking. He didn’t tease. He didn’t warm him up. He didn’t care.
He lined up and pressed forward.
Satoru gasped, eyes flying open. “Wait—!”
But Sukuna clapped a hand over his mouth, the other gripping under his knee, hiking one leg up to his hip. “Shh, don’t scream,” he whispered, breath hot and wicked against his cheek. “Unless you want the whole station to hear.”
And then he pushed in.
One slow, brutal stroke.
Satoru’s body tensed violently. Sukuna groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering as he buried himself deep.
“Fuck—tight.—”
The boy’s back arched, breath choked behind Sukuna’s palm. His nails scratched helplessly against the wall. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes—not from pain alone, but from how full he felt, how wrong it should’ve been to feel this… this good.
Sukuna began to move. Slow, deep thrusts that made the wall behind them shudder. His grip shifted—one hand under Satoru’s thigh, the other curling around his jaw.
He bit his lip and moaned into Satoru’s ear. “You’re clenching so hard around me… you want this.”
Satoru shook his head furiously, but it was too late. Sukuna could feel it. His body was reacting. Welcoming him in, pulsing around his dick like it belonged there.
Sukuna licked the tears from the corner of his eye.
“Pretty little thing like you—never been fucked before, have you?”
The boy shivered.
Sukuna laughed, cruel and delighted. “I can tell.”
He thrust harder. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the empty station. Satoru bit down on a sob, every nerve in his body on fire.
His leg trembled against Sukuna’s hip. The hand under his thigh tightened.
“Let go,” Sukuna growled. “Don’t fight it. Just take it.”
And Satoru did.
He gasped into Sukuna’s neck, panting with every thrust, his walls clenching tight around the thick length splitting him open again and again.
Sukuna grunted, pace roughening, desperate. “That’s it… that’s it—fuck..—”
Satoru cried out as his orgasm crashed over him suddenly, violently, his whole body convulsing as he came untouched. Sukuna felt it—felt him clamp down, milking his dick with spasming walls.
“Shit—” he groaned, voice breaking.
He slammed in deep one last time and came with a guttural snarl, burying himself to the hilt.
Hot, thick ropes of cum filled Satoru, his stomach twitching at the sensation.
Sukuna held him there, panting, chest pressed against the boy’s. Sweat dripped from his temple.
When he finally pulled out, cum leaked down Satoru’s thighs, slow and warm.
Sukuna admired it like art.
“You look better like this,” he whispered, brushing hair from the boy’s face. “Ruined.”
Satoru blinked up at him, dazed, chest rising and falling fast.
Sukuna leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth lazily. “Maybe I will keep you.”
He bit the boy’s lower lip hard enough to leave a mark.
And just like that, Sukuna stepped back and vanished into the shadows of Shibuya once more—
—but he’d be back.
He always came back for his favorite toys.