Chapter 1: The Lollipop Promise
The room swallowed sound, leaving only the whisper of cheap sheets and the low hum of the desk lamp. Its light flickered, making the shadows on the brick wall twitch like something alive. Sukuna’s room always smelled like this—stale whiskey, old wood, and underneath it all, the sweet, cloying scent of her shampoo. It clung to his pillows.
Megumi lay face-down, the worn cotton of his comforter rough against her cheek. Her whole world had narrowed to the weight of him straddling her hips, an immovable warmth. She could feel the hard line of his jeans against the backs of her thighs. Her own breathing sounded too loud, too ragged in the silence.
“Comfy?” Sukuna’s voice was a low rumble, amusement threading through it.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His knuckle, large and calloused, traced a path down the dip of her spine. She flinched, a full-body shiver she couldn’t suppress. He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her.
“Still so jumpy. After all this time.”
His hand smoothed over the curve of her hip, possessive and slow. Then it was gone. She heard the crinkle of cellophane, sharp and intrusive. Her eyes, wide and unseeing against the fabric, squeezed shut.
Something cold and smooth touched the skin just above the waistband of her panties. It traced a slow, deliberate circle around her navel. A cherry scent, artificial and potent, cut through the room’s older smells.
“Look at that,” Sukuna murmured, more to himself than to her. “You’re already trembling. And I’ve barely started.”
The cold object—she knew what it was, the shape was unmistakable—dragged lower, a teasing, relentless pressure over the thin cotton barrier. Her fingers clenched in the sheets. A confusing heat pooled in her stomach, shameful and insistent, warring with the ice in her veins.
“Kuna-nii…” Her voice was a thread, barely there.
“Shhh.” The lollipop pressed harder, a blunt insistence. “You talk too much. Your body, though… it’s saying all the right things.”
With a deft hook of his finger, he pulled the elastic of her underwear down. The cool air of the room kissed her exposed skin, followed instantly by the wet, cold sphere of the candy. He dragged it downward, leaving a sticky, shimmering trail.
Megumi gasped. The sensation was too much—too sweet, too cold, too intentional. She tried to shift, to bury herself deeper into the mattress, but his weight pinned her utterly. He clicked his tongue, a sound of mild disappointment.
“None of that. You’re going to learn something tonight, Megs.”
He leaned down, his whiskey-sour breath hot against her ear. “You’re going to learn how to beg properly. Not the weak little whimpers you usually give me. A real, honest-to-god beg.”
The rounded tip of the lollipop found her, already slick and betrayed by her own body. He circled it, a torturous, slow parody of intimacy. The sugar gritted slightly. Her hips gave an involuntary, tiny jerk.
“See?” he said, satisfaction dripping from the word. “You know what you need. You’re just too stubborn to ask for it.”
He applied pressure. Not with his fingers, but with the hard candy. A slow, insistent push against her resistance. The intrusion was shocking in its coldness, its wrongness. She cried out, a short, punched-out sound, as the rounded end pushed past her tightness.
“There,” Sukuna soothed, his voice a dark caress. He held it there, not moving, letting her adjust to the cold, sweet fullness. “Isn’t that better than nothing?”
Tears welled in her eyes, soaking into the comforter. Her body clenched reflexively around the intrusion, the chill a stark contrast to her own heat. It was humiliating. It was all she had.
He began to move it, shallow, teasing drags that made her breath hitch. The crinkle of the plastic stick was obscenely loud. He was watching, she knew. He loved to watch. He loved to see the exact moment her shame was overcome by a sensation she couldn’t control.
“You want more,” he stated, not asking.
She shook her head, a frantic motion against the bedding.
He pulled the candy out almost entirely. The sudden emptiness was a worse kind of ache. A sob caught in her throat.
“Say it, Megumi.”
She was silent, panting. The air felt thin.
He pushed it back in, a little deeper this time. A jolt went through her. Her back arched, a silent plea.
“Words, little slut. Use your words.”
Her mind was a scramble of need and revulsion. The sweet, artificial cherry taste seemed to fill her mouth, her lungs. She was dissolving into the sensation, into his will.
“P…please.” It was a broken whisper.
“Please, what?” He stilled again, a cruel puppeteer.
“Please… nii-chan.”
He made a soft, approving sound. “Good girl. But that’s not specific. Beg for what you really want.”
He twisted the stick. The world narrowed to that single, horrifying point of sensation. Every shred of her resistance, worn down over years, crumbled to dust.
“Please,” she choked out, the words tumbling into the dark. “Please, just move it. Please.”
Sukuna’s laughter was warm and deep, the sound of pure, gratified victory. “See? Was that so hard?”
He gave her what she asked for. He moved it. And as the rhythm established itself, a pathetic, shameful mimicry of love, Megumi’s last coherent thought was that the most terrifying part wasn’t the candy, or his hands, or the things he made her say.
It was the part of her, deep down, that was afraid he would stop.