Chapter 1: Sibling Rivalry in the Dark
The air in the bedroom was thick, a stale cocktail of sweat, sex, and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood that no amount of vanilla candle could mask. Megumi’s world had narrowed to the brutal, counter-rhythm pulsing through her body. Sukuna’s hips slammed into her from above, each thrust a punctuation mark to his snarling words, while the unforgiving pressure of Yorozu’s strap-on filled her from behind.
She floated somewhere above it all, her cheek mashed into the damp pillow, her dark hair sticking to her temples. Her moans were lost, swallowed by the cacophony of them.
“—always gotta be such a fucking martyr, Yoru. That pathetic act is getting old.”
Sukuna’s voice was a low growl against her ear, his breath hot and smelling of whiskey. His muscular arms caged her in, covered in old ink and newer scratches.
Yorozu shifted behind her, the movement harsh, making Megumi wince. “My act? You’re the one who can’t finish without starting a fight. Is your ego so tiny you need to prop it up mid-fuck?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just a convenient hole.” He punctuated the insult with a deeper, sharper thrust that jolted Megumi’s body. Her eyes, wide and dark, stared unseeing at the cracked plaster of the headboard. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels glowed amber on the nightstand, next to a scattered box of condoms.
This was the space they occupied. Not pleasure, not connection. Just a sweaty, angry theater where she was the stage.
Yorozu’s hand snaked around Megumi’s hip, nails biting into her skin, claiming a piece of her. “You love this convenient hole. You love his sister’s hole. Admit it, you sick bastard.”
“I admit you’re louder when you’re pissed off. It’s an improvement.” Sukuna’s cruel smirk was audible. His hand fisted in Megumi’s hair, not gently, tilting her head back. “Look at her. Doesn’t even feel it anymore. You bored her to numbness, Yoru-nee.”
A new tension shot through Yorozu’s frame. The competitive flash, the desperate need to win, even here. Her movements became more aggressive, a punishing pace meant to prove a point. Megumi’s breath hitched, a tiny sound.
“She’s not bored. She’s mine right now. Aren’t you, Gumi?” Yorozu’s voice dripped with a venomous sweetness. “Tell nii-chan who’s making you feel it.”
Megumi’s lips parted, but nothing came out. What was there to say? They didn’t want words. They wanted a vessel for their war. She let her eyes glaze over, let the sensations blur into a static hum at the edge of her consciousness. The ache in her hips, the burn of stretching, the press of hands that felt more like ownership than touch. She focused on a water stain on the ceiling, tracing its shape like a map to somewhere else.
Sukuna laughed, a dry, hollow sound. “See? Nothing. You’re as interesting as wallpaper.”
“Fuck you!”
The argument escalated, their voices climbing over each other, ugly and familiar. Accusations of past slights, of parental favoritism a decade gone, of who was more broken. The words were shrapnel, and Megumi was in the blast zone. They moved harder, faster, using her body as the weapon to hurt each other.
Just another Tuesday, a numb part of her mind supplied.
A particularly vicious snap of Sukuna’s hips finally shattered her fragile disconnect. A sharp gasp escaped her, her back arching involuntarily. Both of them stilled for a fraction of a second, predatory attention zeroing in on that flicker of reaction.
“There she is,” Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping to a possessive purr. He smoothed a hand down her spine, a mockery of tenderness. “Knew you were in there, Gumi.”
Yorozu bent over her, wild hair curtaining them. “Come for nee-chan,” she whispered, her earlier fury channeled into a fierce, demanding intensity. “Let me feel you. Just me.”
But it was never just one. It was always both. The tsunami of sensation, manipulated and amplified by their competing wills, broke over her. It wasn’t pleasure; it was a system overload, a bright, white noise that erased everything—their voices, their hands, the stale room. Her body seized, a silent scream locked in her throat, waves of involuntary contraction that they rode with grunts of triumph, each claiming her release as their own victory.
Then, the weight. Sukuna collapsed beside her with a satisfied sigh, one heavy arm thrown across her waist. Yorozu detached herself, the strap-on hitting the floor with a plastic thud. She stretched, a lazy, feline motion, and reached for the whiskey bottle.
The silence was worse. Thick with unsaid things, cooling sweat, and the immediate comedown.
Yorozu took a long swig and passed the bottle to Sukuna. “You’re still a child,” she said, but the fight was gone from her voice, replaced by a hollow fatigue.
“And you’re still a nag.” He drank, his eyes fixed on Megumi’s profile. He poked her cheek. “You alive, kid?”
Megumi didn’t move. She watched the dust motes dance in a bruised stripe of sunlight cutting through the half-drawn curtains. She felt raw, hollowed out. A mindless mess, just pieces they’d put back together wrong.
“Leave her alone, Kuna. She’s not your toy right now.” Yorozu lit a cigarette, the first puff cutting through the other smells.
“She’s not your pet either.”
The bickering started again, lower now, a background drone of discontent. Meguli slowly pushed herself up, every muscle protesting. She didn’t look at either of them. She pulled the least-stained sheet around herself and padded, barefoot, to the grimy window.
The driveway below was empty. Then, headlights. Two beams cutting through the late afternoon gloom, swinging wildly, too fast, as a familiar beat-up sedan skidded onto the gravel.
It didn’t park. It lurched to a jerky stop, the driver’s door flying open before the engine even died.
Their father stumbled out. Not the usual, weary slump. This was different. He clutched his side, his face a pale mask even from this distance. He took two stumbling steps toward the house, looked up directly at her window—his eyes wide, panicked—and then his legs buckled.
He folded onto the gravel, motionless.
The cigarette fell from Yorozu’s fingers. Sukuna’s taunt died on his lips.
All the sound sucked out of the world.
Megumi’s hands, pressed against the cool glass, began to tremble.