~T.Jeff : Hamilton the Musical
First time writing lol. I mean don’t be so harsh because my confidence is made of glass but please let me kno
—series—
In the Night — T. Jefferson
In the night: Chapter 1
T.Jeffy- Hamilton: the musical
Thomas’s interest in Y/N pulls him into a position he was previously blind to. They s
Battle Royale — G. Lafayette
Battle Royale
(1) Fresh bread, French Prince
G.Lafayette : Hamilton the musical
Sometimes when you work on a project, there are moments whe
I'll be so for real with you guys, I'm not sure if I'll ever be continuing these fics. They hold a really special place in my heart, but I really can't say. However, I encourage you to make your own ending in your head!
sukuna's convinced he'll never find a mate. he's tried it all, mate pairing programs, rehabilitation. no one wants him. who needs a bond anyway? he prefers the solitude. you're his last hope. an optimistic volunteer thrown at him by that pesky support program in hopes that he'll finally find a mate. will you be the one to show him that he doesn't really wanna be lonely? or will you throw him to the curb like everyone else? well, his rough exterior and unexpected rut truly puts you to the test.
♡ ﹕ 8.6k words
♡ ﹕ this was commissioned by @lycanqueen
꒰ 🍓 ⸰ ✦ 𝓒ws. hybrid au :: human!reader :: smut :: hurt/comfort :: mean!sukuna :: sweet!reader :: possessiveness :: pining :: hybrid ruts :: scenting :: marking :: oral ( f.receiving ) :: face-sitting :: p in v :: rough sex :: mating press :: multiple orgasms :: emotional sex :: overstimulation :: choking :: breeding :: talks of cubs :: creampie ꒱
"Maybe they were right about you. You are a lost cause."
So this rehabilitation agent had guts? Sukuna would give him that much.
The sun pierced his eyes and slitted his pupils as he stared at the man before him, unshaken. Bold, for someone with noting but a flimsy clipboard for a weapon if Sukuna let his temper get the better of him.
He never had an issue with it before. So where were his claws?
"That mean I can finally do my own damn thing now?" He gruffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he propped against his doorway. He ignored his tail that hung low.
The man furrowed his brows. Sucked in a breath. Looked like he was searching for patience in the late afternoon air. His hand with the clipboard dropped as he stood straight.
"You don't get it, do you Ryomen?"
"What's there to get? That I can't play housecat for your domesticity programs?"
"Behavioural programs."
"That've made shit progress."
"It's not as if you make it any easier."
"Your potential mates bore me."
"You scared them off. Every one of them."
The man didn't need to match Sukuna's tone to scathe him. His face never broke clinical aloofness, even with each word loaded. Baggage of the ugly truth: that Ryomen Sukuna was a lost cause.
Countless mates. Five? Six? He lost track. He pretended to forget their names but he remembered every one.
The first left quietly. Said he was too loud.
The second left loudly. Said he was too quiet.
The third claimed she was frightened. The fourth didn't even give him a reason. Fifth and sixth were some ugly variation of all of the above.
Sukuna stopped caring.
He did care, at one point. That's why he let his coworker convince him to join this stupid 'hybrid nature rehabilitation program' in the first place, right? Because maybe tigers were too bold. Too frightening. Too much.
Too much. That's what the last one said.
Well, if he was too much for anyone, maybe they weren't enough for him.
The agent sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose and probably contemplating why he chose to work for a facility that boasted a 100% rehabilitation record. Guess Sukuna was about to ruin that too. As he did most things.
"Look," the man said. His shoulders slumped. "We do not typically give up on our patients, but surely you understand that we've tried everything in the book for you, right?"
Sukuna didn't reply.
"Behavioural therapy. Group counselling. Mate pairings and courses. You've chased away every volunteer and potential mate. Somehow even frightened off your therapist last month."
"She was weak."
"She was doing her job. You act like. . ."
Sukuna grunted. His claws threatening to lash out and tear up his own shirt. "What?" He knew the answer. Knew that sickening word that they all used for him. "An animal?"
The man didn't answer. Didn't have to. He sighed again and checked his clipboard. "This is your last shot for clearance."
"And if I don't pass?"
"You'll be escorted to a private facility."
Hybrids were monitored under lock and key by the state. Sukuna guessed he couldn't really blame them. They were different. Unpredictable.
Animals.
Sukuna regretted ever approaching the program in the first place. If he knew what he knew now— that he was simply built to be on his own, he would have swallowed the furball and bit his own tail. Lived out the rest of his life without the feeling of being watched.
Now, they knew he was unstable. Now, they considered him a threat. Guess his claws really were clipped.
"Thanks to your last stunt, none of the volunteers stepped up for this," the man said, flipping through his clipboard.
Sukuna huffed. "What's the point then? Just ship me off already." At least he'd get to be alone, then.
"Because miraculously, one of our assistants offered to help." The man looked up. "She's new. And your last shot." He handed over the clipboard with a small picture clipped at the top right.
That's the first time Sukuna saw you.
The second time he saw you, you smiled at him. Stupid move, really. For someone so small, so frail— so breakable.
"It's nice to meet you," he's sure you lied as you stuck out your hand. Chirpier than a bird hybrid. Bright eyed as a squirrel. Were they sure that you were human?
"Yeah. Hi." He gruffed, not reaching for your hand. It looked too gentle for him.
You dropped your arm to your side, still smiling, but softer. Before you trotted off to lug the rest of your belongings into his home.
He helped you, of course. Tiny thing like you probably would sprain her spine if she did it all by herself. Pathetic.
This was his last hope? They might as well cage him and ship him off already.
Within a week, he was sharing his space again. The few days of blissful solitude had come to an end. Now, there was a canvas in his living room. Pink body wash and products littered across his bathroom counter. Books from authors he couldn't even pronounce occupying his empty shelves.
You were sweeter than the three spoons of sugar you dumped in your strawberry tea every morning. Softer than the dinner rolls you insisted on making every Wednesday and Friday. Shy. Gentle.
Too gentle for someone like him.
In the beginning, Sukuna had watched you. Like a tiger stalked its prey. Scouring for the first sign of discomfort. A hint of fear. Even those who started off strong couldn't keep up the act for long. Not with him.
Which was what made it so odd.
You were timid, sure. But not afraid of him. Guess he'd give it some time.
Because that's simply his fate now, right? Watch a new volunteer skip into his lair and run off with their tail between their legs once he got too much. No one stayed. Not like they did with everyone else.
Others made hybrid bonding look easy. They'd join circles and find mates in the same week. Same night, even. Claiming it all as 'the right timing'. The right person.
Sukuna was a wrong person. Therefore, no right person would fit. Like an unwanted puzzle piece.
Not that he cared. He didn't need to fit in with anyone. If he was too much for any twisted jigsaw of companionship then he'd simply be the missing piece. A corner piece no one looked for. The one that made no difference to the puzzle. The one that no one needed.
He preferred being alone, anyway.
If this last ditch effort blew up in smoke, he guessed he'd have his wish. Whatever facility they'd stuff him into— at least he would be alone. It was better that way.
By himself, he didn't have to soften his tongue. By himself, he didn't have to pretend that he did not have stripes, claws and canines. Didn't have to soften himself for someone who wouldn't soften for him.
Didn't have to watch anyone leave when he became too much.
You didn't leave.
A week went by. Then two. Three, before he knew it. You rooted yourself into his floorboards like a flourishing flower and offered him the same sunny smile every morning.
"How'd you sleep, Sukuna?" You'd ask, as if you cared.
"Fine." He'd grumble from the coffee machine. The bitter stain on his tongue refused to ever let him return the question.
Why should he bother with someone who was going to sign him off anyway? Might as well show her what she was getting herself into. His poor behaviour and slacking social skills, as his therapist put it.
You never flinched. Humans sure were resilient.
But he was hybrid. And everyone knew that tigers were ruthless.
He wouldn't shroud his nature to make himself more palatable for you. For anyone, ever again.
It's odd. You actually tried.
You adapted your body clock to him. Sukuna woke up drearily early. To catch the dawn on his ears during his morning run. He supposed you started waking up shortly after him. Giving you enough time to ready breakfast for him when he stepped back through the door.
Eggs. Bacon. Any raw protein you could think of. You were unfortunately, a good cook.
"This isn't necessary," he said from the counter, but still wolfed down your perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs.
"Waking up early has its perks." You mused, sipping your tea. Probably strawberry. Or rose. He hated that he now knew your favourites.
You made his bed whenever he wasn't looking. He scolded you for it, the first few times. You insisted it was fine. That you liked cleaning up.
You tried to watch movies with him. Plopped beside him on the sofa and struck him your signature smile.
"Wanna watch something?" You asked, soft. Already dangling the remote. Sukuna couldn't help but compare the size of your hand to his.
He scoffed. "What? Some romcom?"
"Or horror." You bashed.
His instincts told him that a gentle soul like you wouldn't last ten seconds with a horror movie. Still, he indulged you. The last thing he wanted was to endure some stupid hybrid hallmark film.
A slasher flick. He didn't pay attention to the name. All he knew was that you quivered halfway through it and that stirred an urge in his gut.
Urge to what? Now that, he once again had no answers to.
It was warm. Low. The same way he felt when kids dropped their ice creams and mothers tripped in grocery stores. He couldn't name it. But he did drape his arm over the back of the couch. Not grazing your shoulders but, there.
You'd probably have nightmares tonight. Silly girl. Now he would be obligated to return the favour.
Because you did, a few nights ago. When he tossed and turned. Creased his sheets and slashed his blankets. Sukuna wasn't one to dream— but he did have nightmares.
About the darkness. About the cold. About a void that for some, unfathomable reason, unsettled him.
"It's okay, shh." Your voice reached out to him through the shadow. Light against the darkness.
"It's okay. I'm here. Wake up, please."
You were luck he hadn't broken your arm.
His grip was too tight. Claws too wretched. Not lucid enough to realise that he snatched your wrist when he had woken up.
"Get out." His voice rumbled. Eyes bloodshot and pupils tight. Sweat burned his forehead.
It must have not sounded like a threat, or maybe it was your stupid human resilience. You leaned over him. One knee on his bed and your hand ghosting his shoulder.
"You're freezing," you whispered.
He jerked from you. Rolled over onto his side and refused to allow himself to be vulnerable under your gentle gaze.
"I'm fine." He said.
You insisted. Are you sure? — Can I get you anything? — All the things that people said to catch you off guard and then left anyway.
"I said I'm fine."
His voice boomed, final. It was the first time he'd seen you flinch. He did not bother calling out for you as you shuffled out of the room. Assumed your bags would be packed by the morning. Your pink body wash nowhere to be seen on his counters and your books vanished from his shelves.
You didn't leave. Here you were, a few days later, with shaky knees and a horror movie. But insisting that you were enjoying it for his sake.
You never turned tail. Never backed down. Maybe it was more than human resilience. Maybe it was stubbornness.
That's the only thing that made sense to him. Why else hadn't you disappeared regardless of how much steam he'd blown at you? Especially when he was too much.
"Let's get one thing straight."
You had said something stupid one day in the kitchen. Something about being there for him. Some empty promise he had heard mixed and minced several different ways until it lost all meaning.
As if his mood was not sour enough.
Your back pressed into the fridge. His strong forearm shoved above your head. Sukuna's hulking body shadowed yours. Perhaps this was it. Where you finally became apart of that void that haunted his dreams.
"You and I. Are not. Compatible." His ears pinned back to his head. Tail coiled tight. Like his jaw and teeth that clenched.
Still, you held his stare. Even when it burned.
"Not a thing. Not. Possible." He spat. "So stop acting like you aren't just gonna sign me off so I can be caged up."
"I'm not—"
"I want you to."
He cut you off. Sharp as his heave as he craned closer. Close enough to smell your cherry shampoo— but not a hint of fear.
What was wrong with you?
"I want you to sign me off. So that we can stop pretending like any of this is gonna work and that I'm anything but better off alone."
The fridge rattled as he shoved himself off. He expected your knees to shake. Expected you to clamber out of the kitchen and stuff whatever you could into a suitcase for the night.
Instead, you watched him storm off. With those same, achingly gentle eyes.
Why were you so gentle?
Why did you stay?
Why did he find himself being gentler, too?
Of course, Sukuna didn't want to snap at you. You were simply the closest thing. The softest thing. His hands weren't built to cherish the tender.
Yet, tender were his hands, as they cooked for you. If you handled breakfast, it was only fair that dinner was his responsibility. Even if all he exchanged with you were grunts and gruffs, as long as you went to bed full, he was content.
Content? Odd. That wasn't a word in his vocabulary anymore.
His voice dangered tender's territory on nights you'd be out. Work, friends, whatever he never bothered listening to but for some reason found himself worrying over when the street lights switched on.
"Do you need a lift back?" He asked into the phone. Taking note to look uninterested, even if you couldn't see him.
"I should be fine, Sukuna." You chirped.
"You sure? It's almost midnight."
"I'm sure! What's the worst that could happen?"
To a sweet thing like you? A lot. More than he'd like to imagine.
Morals, he told himself. He pulled up in the middle of the morning to pick you up because of his pesky morals.
"Sorry you had to come all this way," you said as you shut the passenger door.
Sukuna considered your dress. Hated himself for it.
"What?" His tongue clicked. "Were you expecting to walk all the way back?"
"What's the worst that could—"
"A lot."
It wasn't like the other times. His voice raised, but didn't roar. His brows narrowed, but didn't glare.
The car ride was silent.
Your smile was sickening.
Cute.
He watched you closer. Not as a tiger stalked prey. Not anymore. He couldn't name this.
He refused to call it gentle.
Even when he carefully observed the way you fixed your hair every morning. How he noted which of your curves that the sun bounced odd of. The soft plush of your body and how your thighs moulded into the couch cushions, or rounded perfectly in your shorts.
Never had he been one to appreciate art— though he stood in front of your canvases and stared at your paint patterns. Swirls of green and blotches of warmth. Illustrations of nature: jungles and wild flowers.
It called to something within him. He assumed his hybrid traits. A tiger yearned for jungle, that was his home.
Home.
Sukuna didn't have a home.
He had a house. He had you. Had pink body wash on his counters and books he'd learnt the names of on his shelves. Had a warm meal every morning and a warmer bed you still insisted on making.
He had movie nights. A running partner. Someone who finally rooted her heels to the floorboards and blossomed in his walls. Stubborn as she was shy.
But not a home.
It was only a matter of time. Until he said something that finally was the thing. Until he'd wake up to your paintings missing, and your shampoo gone. He'd come home to no protein, but a sheet of paper:
I've signed you off. Good riddance.
You told him that you wouldn't, after he insisted it that night in the kitchen.
You padded to doorway of his room, picking at your sleeves with a petal-soft voice.
"All we have to do is clear you for rehabilitation," you said.
Not once did your eyes meet his.
"Then what? I can finally be alone?" He asked, incredulous.
You nodded.
It's what he wanted. What he claimed to want. So why was your agreement a sharp pang between his ribs?
That was then. He assumed your plans hadn't changed much. A silent agreement that if he behaved, you'd leave him be by the end of it all.
That's why he was gentler, he told himself.
Just trying to ensure his goals, he insisted.
For now, he would take care of you as you did him. Whether conscious or not. If it meant that when it was through, he'd get what was best for him.
Solitude.
But if solitude was what he wanted, why did he hate seeing you in others' company?
It was late. Emergency work call. He missed his afternoon cat nap and only scuffed down half of his breakfast.
The sun peeped at him from its sprawl across the horizon. Glaring into the back of his head as he stalked home. Burning him hotter. Hot.
He felt so. Fucking. Hot.
It wasn't even summer yet. Spring had only perked its preppy head. The blossoms bloomed. Their nectar tickled his nose. Couples gifted their flowers.
Sukuna hated spring.
He hoped you hadn't cooked dinner yet. That was his job. His responsibility.
But no, you were outside. Prattling to a neighbour.
All smiles and soft. Cupping your hands in front of you as you listened to the man's stories. The irritable snow leopard that lived next door. With his baby blue eyes and boyish grin.
What were you even doing outside in the first place? Didn't he tell you it was dangerous once the street lights started switching on?
Sukuna did what he did best. He watched. Looming by the telephone wire. Feeling the sun stab into his head. His spine. Feeling the heat gurgle from his gut. Splutter up his lungs. Against the back of his teeth.
That spotted fucker touched your arm.
Sukuna scathed.
Blurred colours. A muffled yelp. His claw caught on your woolly sweater as he snatched your arm.
"Sukuna—!"
Your gasp drowned in the rumble of his growl. Grated from the back of his throat. The leopard backed off. Your muscles tensed under his calloused fingers.
"Inside. Now."
He didn't wait for you to agree nor disagree. Dragging you inside and rattling the walls as the door clattered! shut.
"Su—" he lodged your voice in your throat once more. Shoved your back into the nearest thing— the same splintering door.
Was it hotter inside? Or was that the anger?
A sweat drop sweltered between his brows.
"What the hell were you doing?" As if he had any right to ask. You weren't his mate.
Mate? Of course you weren't his mate.
Then why did his teeth crave to sink into your flesh? Mark you?
His stare hazed. Blinking rapidly. Heaving. The heat blistered into his nerves. Clenched his muscles. Suffocating. It was suffocating.
"Why were you. With him. Why—" he zeroed in. Mistake. Big mistake.
Your scent.
You weren't his mate. Why the hell did you smell like it, then?
Did you always smell this good?
Your gaped at him. Hands stiff on your sides and pressed flat into the wood. Your neck craned to account for the height difference. Were you watching him this time? Was he too much?
His eyes squeezed shut.
"Sukuna," you spoke. His name didn't deserve that gentleness. It ached him deeper today.
"I think you're. . ."
Snapping open his stare, he sucked in breath. Considered your words. The phrase your lips wrapped around.
Rut.
Shit.
He shoved himself away from the door. Away from you. The fire crawled up his throat. Thunked his heart. Thrummed a deep, dark chord in his gut.
The sweat slipping down his spine in the middle of spring confirmed it. He was in rut. With a poor, persistent, pretty human in claw's reach.
"Hey— hey it's okay," you attempted, stepping forward where he stumbled back.
"Don't."
He hissed.
You preserved.
Stubborn. Stubborn, sweet thing.
"Let me help." You offered.
"No."
He tried. Tried to stumble off. Lock himself in his room. He could hump the mattress for all he cared but he wasn't so much as touching—
You took him by the wrist. Might as well have taken his soul while you were at it.
Splintered his restraint.
The door rattled again. Creaked awfully with the weight of him. On you. The thickness of the air. The heat. Your wrists fit well in his big hands. Looked like they belonged there.
You looked like you belonged here. Pinned under him.
His chest heaved. Voice jagged, throaty.
"You don't know what you're getting into." He said.
You gulped. He paid too much attention to your throat. "I did when I signed up for this."
"Do you even know what a rut is?"
"I know you can't be alone right now."
Sukuna's breath hitched.
You relaxed your hips. Let them mould into his. Their plush softness drove him wild.
Lashes hung over deep maroons. The quiet thrummed with your heart beats. His, thundering and wanting. Yours, tender yet eager.
He craned closer. Tuffs of his pink hair tickled your forehead.
"I can do awful things to you." He whispered.
Still no flinches. You never did.
Your eyes batted at him.
"Is that so bad?"
"Yes."
"Show me."
Even the kiss, burned.
Your lips really were petal-soft. Softer than he had imagined. He hated himself for imagining this in the first place.
The knot in his gut wound tight. Urging him to flush you further into the wood. Flush further into you. Patience slipped into the simmer between your mouths. Sukuna kissed you with violence. Nothing contained. Nothing hidden.
He told you that he wouldn't placate himself for you.
Abandoning your wrists, his grip sought your plush. Squeezing your thighs between his fingers gaps. Lifting you into his arms so that your heels pressed into his back. So that he could consume you. Tongues tangling and teeth tackling.
Your hands smacked at his shoulder. Breaths huffed through your nose. A desperate sound that plunged him deeper into heat.
He let you breathe. Barely.
"I can be good for you." Was what you used the privilege to gasp.
His chest rumbled. "Yeah?"
The slope of your throat was so pretty when you gulped.
Sukuna slipped a hand to your cheek. Rough. He couldn't be gentle. Not with you. Not now.
"Gonna be good for me, pretty girl?"
Eyes blown out. Jaw tight. If you said anything other than your whined little yes as his hips ground into yours, he might have lost his mind entirely.
His mouth attacked yours again. Sucking on whatever was left of your lychee lipgloss. Surely bruising your lips in the process. He didn't care. Let him mark you. Everywhere. So that stupid snow leopards didn't get the wrong idea. So that everyone knew what you were.
His.
The home blurred into vertigo colours. The floors creaked under the weight of his footsteps. Sukuna hoisted you with him. Haphazardly avoiding furniture in the stagger to his bedroom. Hands palming at whatever part of your flesh he could reach.
He almost stumbled in the hallway. Caught you against the doorway, one of your hands gripped at it while the other clutched the back of his neck. Fisted his hair between your fingers.
"Sukuna, careful." You whined.
He didn't listen. Too busy humping on your thighs that squished perfectly between his hard body and the cold door. Nurturing his bulge. Tucking its hot curve into the smooth crux of your skin.
"Said you'd be good for me." His growl rumbled on your pulse. Teeth mapping out his new territory: your velvet flesh. "So shut up and take it. Like a good girl, yeah?"
The door swung open. You must have palmed the handle. Feet fumbled in a clumsy waltz. Hands clinging for dear life. He caught you. Kept you pressed against his blazing body as he mouthed down your throat. Latched onto a tender spot. Marked you.
Sukuna handled his ruts the way he handled everything else: alone. His hand, a pillow, and a grotesque amount of tissue boxes. When last had he felt the soft touch of a partner? Held their warmth beneath him while his mind drove him wild with fire?
He was always too much. Too much to handle. Too aggressive. Too big.
But you.
You seemed to want everything.
In the way your nails curled on his shirt. In the pitiful way your neck arched to give him more access. Offering yourself up to him. A pretty deer who craved a tiger's claws in her. His maw latched to your throat.
"You're so eager," he groaned.
You whimpered, "I'm yours."
Fuck.
The mattress sunk. Creaking in retort to the callousness of his shove. Your body moulded into his sheets. Into him, as he staggered over you. Knees digging into the bed. Teeth clamped on the base of your throat.
You jerked. A gasped cry vibrating against his teeth. Palms knocking into his shoulders. To push him off?
No— to grip. Cling. To him. To your mate.
After all, you were his now, weren't you?
Bites bloomed across your neck. Over your collarbone. Down your shoulders. Your clothes threading like ribbons under Sukuna's claws. The sound of fabric tearing accentuated the rough pants and pitched whines in the humid air.
He wanted to speak. Wanted to tell you what a good girl you were being for him. Wanted to grunt into your skin about how perfect you were. Tell you that you were everything he'd been waiting for.
The words lodged in his throat. Sticky on the back of his tongue that could only muster out wet pants and deep growls as he feasted on your flesh.
Every inch of your skin revealed to him was another blessing. Your curves. The dips. The soft slopes of your body. Salivated him all the more.
Your bra never stood a chance. Clawed away. Probably ruined at the wire. He didn't care. He'd buy you a new one. Buy you whatever you wanted if you were gonna carry his cubs.
Cubs.
The word slipped into his mind with ease, and ruined it.
Pupils blown out. Lungs clenching. He made the mistake of eyeing your tummy.
Perfect, round, soft. You'd be the perfect mate. The perfect mother for his young.
The thought spurred his hands rougher. Tearing away offensive fabrics until you were laid completely bare before him. With big, doe eyes batting up at him. So pretty. So his.
From the corner of his eye he spotted your hands slipping. To cover up. Cover what was his. Your wrists were snatched in his hard grip.
"Don't," he warned. Lips assaulting yours. Stealing your breath and tonguing on your whimpers.
"Don't hide what's mine."
Your tits were softer under his tastebuds. Delicate to the harsh swirls of his tongue. So small when compared to his mouth that sought to consume, to claim.
Sweet sounds sighed from your kiss-bitten lips. Your spine curved so that you pressed back into him. Squishing your plush breasts into his face. His groan rumbled into the flesh.
So tender it was maddening. So perfect it was addicting.
Kisses, sucks, bites. He littered your tits in more claims. Feasting on your silk flesh. Fantasising about the image of them larger. Fat and swollen with milk— just as you were round with his cubs.
His cock strained thick in his pants. Flushed hot on your inner thigh. He ground into your warmth. Rutting wildly. Like the animal he always was.
Your hands delving into his hair almost broke him. Almost. He withdrew from your chest. Eyes glowing through the dark as he found your face.
"Taste so good. So sweet." A hand roughed down your side. Cupped your thigh and strung it round his waist.
"Up."
Raw strength scooped you into his palms. Flesh spilling between the gaps of his fingers as he squeezed for good measure.
Your little squeaks were so cute.
Teeth dragged on your flesh. Callous over bites sunk into your gentle flesh. He lapped on the indents of his own canines as he wrest you over him. Shoved your thighs higher. Urging you. Demanding.
"Face. Now. Fucking sit on my face."
Senseless. Each word was a growl. It's a miracle you understood him at all. Maybe you always would. That's how mates were, right?
The cotton of your panties dragged on his collarbone. Frantic eyes darted to your face as your hips locked. Unmoving.
Stubborn little human.
"What?" He husked. Scuffling to shove you over his awaiting face. "I said sit."
Your lips pressed together. Hands scrambling for the headboard. "Wait are you— are you sure? I'm—"
"—driving me mad." He hissed through clenched teeth. The throbbing in his groin pulsed the sickening heat hotter. Seared into the back of his skull. To his hands that groped your ass. To his eyes that narrowed.
"Said I wanna taste you. So get. On."
Was that too much?
Was he too much for you?
No, course not. You wanted to be his good girl. He saw it in your doe eyes batting at him. In the quiver of your lip and the tremors of your thighs. You shuffled over him. Pressing the cusp of your panties against his chin.
"Like this?" You meeked.
"Like this."
Sukuna tugged you over him. Knocking your thighs. You stumbled. Caught yourself with shaky fingers in his hair and an adorable yelp.
The musked cotton scrunched into his nose, his mouth, the rest of his hard face. Stuffing his nostrils with the sweet, intoxicating aroma. His eyes threatened to roll back.
A muffled curse rumbled into your heat. First came his tongue. Abrasive like everything else about him. Lapping on your folds. Drenching the fabric. Trying to suck in your taste through it.
Then came his teeth. Impatient. Tearing into your panties. His head wrest, violent. Claws ripping away the cloth in a feral affair.
Your sweet heat was his reward. Slicking up his face with your clit pressed into his nose.
"Fuck," his groan thrummed. Straight into your velvet. Leaking your pussy into his agitated mouth. "Knew you'd taste s'fucking sweet."
Hands slipped up your thighs. Cupped your ass. Sukuna sought to press kisses to your quivering slit— but you dangled above him. Not pressed, not sat. Hovered.
"Said. Fucking sit."
He hauled you into him. Cramped your thighs into his head. Smothered your pussy into his face. Even with his ears muffled by your plush, he heard your stunned gasp.
The weight was perfect on his head. Your hands were perfect in his hair. Pussy pretty, pulsing, perfect, on his tongue that stroked over your slit. Lathered you in saliva. All the way to your clit.
He darted the muscle. Circled on your bud. Trying to commit to a rhythm. A pattern. It scathed into the heat of his rut. The heat to take, to claim. To make you his. Finally.
Even if you hated him after this.
Even if you signed him off and he finally got what he wanted. Solitude.
Right now, all he wanted was your pussy.
Filthy squirts and sloshes squelched through the room. Brimming the hazed air together with your whines. Moans. Gasps of his name.
He always hated how gently you said it. Like it meant something. Like it ever could mean something. Hearing it broken sounded better. Shaky and whimpered as he fucked you on his tongue.
"S-Suk— kuna, ah."
Sweet. So sweet. Sweeter than he ever deserved. But Sukuna was a greedy man. So he gripped on your thighs, bit his nails into your flesh, and feasted to his heart's content.
"There ya go. C'mon, pretty girl, ride my face."
Spank! went his hand. Clamouring your ass and fisting the jiggles. Pulling you down, harder, closer— till he was suffocating. Suckling on your clit. Guiding your hips into a sinful sway.
Your hips fell into rhythm. Atta girl. Always so sweet for him. Always so obedient. Yeah, if you stayed, you'd make the perfect mate.
He hoped you stayed.
He could make you stay.
Keep you in his bed. Make a den for you. Hold you down and fuck you into his sheets day-in-and-day-out. Fill you up until your tummy grew even rounder. Softer. Until you were swollen. Until you were his.
No. Fuck. That's the rut talking.
The rut talking.
It's the rut that had him palming your ass and squeezing you into his face. The rut that had his mouth kissing, sucking, licking and laving through your creamy mess. The rut that had him fucking you on his tongue and bucking his hip into the air just as yours ground down into his face. Smearing mess all over him.
Yeah. That's the rut. But fuck, if he wasn't drunk on your pathetic moans. Your messy pussy.
Your clit spasmed under the flat of his harassing tongue. Your thighs clamped around his head. Fingers dug into his skull. Even your pain was sweet.
"Shit— kuna." Your voice croaked. Called to him as a mate should. "I'm gonna, fuck. Think 'm gonna. . . gonna—"
His eyes fluttered. Throat rasped.
"Gonna cum? Yeah? Gonna cum, hah, all over my face?"
From between the small gap of your thigh, Sukuna witnessed your face. Eyes rolled back. Jaw slack. Tits bouncing as you rode his face as if he was yours.
He was.
In this moment. In these blurred lines of his rut. Where he pictured you as his mate. Entertained the thought of wanting. Of being wanted. Of not being alone.
He was yours. Even if for a moment.
You sung his name through the haze. Tender even when he ripped you apart at the seams. Delicate even in his claws that threatened to tear into you. Mark you with scars and blood.
Your hips clumsily rocked. Once—twice—locked up in feverish tremors. Your hands bunching his hair. Clinging. Your body hunched over his. Shattering.
Sukuna rode you through an orgasm with his lips latched around your clit. Sucking harsh on its throbs. Teething on its twitches.
You splattered his face in warmth. Sweet, sickening warmth that doused him deeper into his rut's clutches.
"That's it. There you go. Fuck. Prettiest fucking pussy," he slurred into your wetness. Tongue delving between your puffy folds. Lapping up your cum. Greedy.
You toppled over him. Breaths ragged. One hand clutched in his hair and the other on the headboard.
"Wanna— wanna help. Wanna." To his surprise you pulled on his hair. Interrupting his creamy kisses on your slit.
Stares met. His hot. Yours warm. Wanting.
"Wanna make you feel good too."
How pretty you were when you quivered. Lips glossed by drool and lashes soaked with tears. It ached a deep chamber in his heart.
"Wanna be good for me?" He panted.
Your nod was doeish. As everything else about you was. His delicate girl. So fragile in his hands.
He couldn't wait to break you.
The bed creaked again. You squeaked as he hauled you down into the wrinkled sheets. On your back with his hulking weight pressing down on you. His mouth fixed to yours. Magnetic. Addicted. Letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"That mean you gonna let me breed you too, baby?" Catching your lip between his teeth, he grunted. Pressing the swell of his cock between your legs. Staining his crotch in your slick. "Gonna let me breed this sweet pussy?"
Your response was sweet, shy, but oh so eager. A tepid nod, as your fingers slipped to his shoulders. So small. Smaller than him in every way. He took the moment to appreciate it.
You, spread and waiting for him. Your pussy, swollen and twitching. His bulge pressed on your glistening folds dwarfed you entirely.
Oh, how you'd squirm on his cock.
At last he shrugged his shirt off. Shivered when your touch feathered over his chest. He made the mistake of watching your eyes. How they mapped out scars that your fingers traced.
You didn't have to say anything. Your gaze spelt affection he wasn't ready to receive.
"Don't stare at me like that." He gruffed, kicking off his pants.
"Why not?" You asked.
"Makes me think you want me."
"I do want you, kuna."
Damn you.
Damn you and your tenderness. Damn you and that sweet nickname your sugar lips latched onto. Damn you and the way you made his cock throb hard in the strained fabric of his boxers.
He palmed your throat. Focused on your pulse. The control he held over you in the moment.
"Shut up." His hiss muffled with a kiss. Hot and open-mouthed on yours. As if he could suck the words from your tongue and swallow them into his gut that knew better.
Knew that he was better off alone. That this was only for the sake of his rut.
Bulging and angry, his tip nudged between your thighs. Soaking up your arousal. The slippery sensation of your pussy sent shivers down his spine. So wet. For him. Only him.
He let you pull away. Watching as your gaze lowered to his thick cock sandwiched between your folds. Sliding against your slit and dragging on your clit. Your wide eyes eased a chuckle from him.
"What?" He drawled. "Too big?"
"Well. . . yes."
"And every inch's gonna fucking breed you."
He pinned you back into the mattress. Flat on your back with your knees scooped into his big hands. Dwarfed you there too. He pressed them back into you so that they kissed your tits. Folding you in half and completely exposing you entirely to his hungry eyes.
Salivating. He was salivating. Your eyes were too kind for how lewd your pussy spread out for him. Leaking a string of mess. Calling for him. Wanting him.
"Keep your eyes on me, you got that?" Maroon burned into yours. Searching for hesitance. For fear. For something that could cut into this feverish rut and remind him that he didn't deserve you. But no.
You obeyed him.
You wanted him.
His cockhead slotted against your slit. Dipping in to feel the silky sin of your pussy. A deep groan rumbled from the depths of his chest. His brows furrowed. Fuck. When last had he had this?
Blunt nails dug into the backs of your thighs as he sunk in. One inch. Two inch. Three inch. Four— popping through the first tight ring of resistance. Eyes devouring yours the entire time.
He watched your face. How it scrunched up and your mouth parted. How tears clouded your eyes as he pushed past the halfway point.
He stopped.
"You good?" He huffed. Barely gentle.
Very. Gentle.
"Yeah it's— just. . . just a lot." You croaked.
"Too much?"
His face didn't falter, but his heart sure did. His grip loosening on your limbs. Ready to let you go. Free you from him.
But you shook your head. Teary eyed. Twitching smile.
"Not enough."
Hips possessed. Mind a mess. He slammed forward at those two, pretty little words. Till his tip smooched your cervix and his balls squished into your folds. Bottomed out. Filling you to the brim.
The sound you made was sin itself. A blessing. Heaven, hell, and everything in between.
"Oh fuck." You cried, head tossed back. Unable to see him gasping out the same exclaim.
Your syrupy cunt hugged around him. Tight, snug. Nursing on an underside vein and milking him around the tip. Every pulse was your heartbeat, and it devastated him.
Cussing, he pushed down onto you. His heart tugging itself towards yours. To press into your skin as his hips started rutting. Slow, eager.
"Fuck. Look at you take this cock. Like you were born for it," his words husked above you.
Your lashes fluttered. Brows knitting at the centre. He watched your tears threaten to slip as he humped on the sensitive ring that was your cervix.
His tongue clicked. Swapping out a hand on your thigh, he snatched you beneath the jaw instead. Wrenching your face to his hot one.
"Didn't I say keep your eyes on me?"
"M sorry."
"Don't apologise, just take it."
He withdrew. Halfway at first— then shoved back in. The second time was further. And further. Until his thrusts pulled to the tip and plunged back to your womb. Languid, but hard. Sure to make you feel every inch of him pressing into your pussy nerves.
You soaked up his thighs. Splashing his balls and leaking a puddle into the sheets already. The scent was intoxicating. Flared his nostrils and dizzied his head.
The mattress shook beneath the power of his thrusts. Your body bounced with it. He made sure to coil his tail tight around your waist. Held you down like a predator did prey as he fucked you open on his cock.
Pleasure built a knot in his gut. Hot, heavy. Urging his hips to snap harder and chase bruises on your jiggling ass.
Every sound was sin. Sweet. Cries, moans, a whimper than surged into a whine of his name when he removed his other hand from your thigh to instead hold them back with a steeled forearm. So that his palm could press on the bulge swelling up the base of your tummy.
"Fuuckkk," he growled. Ears pinned back to his hair. Jaw hung and canines glinting. "Look at that. See that, pretty girl? What's here?"
You hiccuped, "your— ah. Your cock!"
"Yeah? What's it doing?"
"It's—"
You couldn't answer. Slurred by moans and the delicious drive of his dick stretching you out. He watched your eyes go static.
Spank! his palm landed hot on your clit. Bulging your eyes and jerking your hips up into his frantic thrusts. He laid another. Two. Three— encouraging your pitiful whimpers.
"Asked you a fucking question. What's it doing?"
"It's— hah. B. . . Breeed—"
"Breeding you? Yeah?"
"Uhuh! Breeding. Breeding me s-so . . . s'goood."
Drool bubbled on your lips. Your hands that had tried to scramble on his shoulders and dig your mark into his flesh now fell flat on the pillow. Beside your head. Limp like the rest of your body that surrendered itself to him.
Heat surged down his spine as you clamped around him. Sucking the air from his scathing lungs. Staining his base in a thick, filthy ring of cream.
His hips rammed all the more faster. Harder. Imprinting you into his bed. Your slick. Your sweat. Your scent.
One of your weak hands slipped down. Meeking over to his larger one fixed on your stomach. Wrapping around two of his massive fingers. Or at least trying to.
It strung a deep chord in him. Thin and vulnerable. One he has thought he cut out long ago.
His half slipped over yours. Fingers laced. Pressing you against the bulge he plunged into your tummy. Holding your hand. Holding it tight.
"Sweet pussy's milking me," his grunt fanned your pulse as he swooped down. Mouthing on your neck. Searching for your pulse to feel it race beneath his lips. "Fuck. Wants my cum so bad. Wants my cubs."
"Please!" You slurred.
He swore he could do this for life.
Shoving all the way, Sukuna paused on your cervix. Sweat dripping from his hair. Cock drumming heavy. He clamped you down through your protesting whines.
"Yeah, yeah, shut it." It didn't sound harsh. Especially not with his firm squeeze on your hand.
Slipping out just enough, he watched your juices spray all over him. Mesmerising him. He worked on autopilot. Bundling you into his arms and manhandling you into a different position.
Tossing you to your side, Sukuna slotted behind you. Hips spooning your ass. One strong arm hooked around your neck, choking you on his bicep. While the other strung around your thigh. Wrenching you open for him and his massive cock, that bullied back into your cunt. Squelching your cum and sick in messy streams.
Your angelic cries resonated into his bicep. Making him squeeze it harder against your throat. Headlocking you into his greedy mouth that sucked hickies across your neck.
The angle was deeper. Filthier. Letting him feel so much more of you.
How much smaller you were than him. How you squeezed him just right. How perfect you were in his arms.
Like you belonged.
Shit. Don't go there.
Sukuna tried to drown it out. The returning thought of you. A permanent fixture in his life. Your pink body wash on his counter, that was now his. Your books on his shelves that he could read to you. You, in his living room, painting.
Painting the jungle. Painting home. Being his home.
His cock pulsed hard at the base and sweltered at the tip. The knot in his stomach wound tight. But that thought— that thought gutted him.
That you were here. That you had been here. Warm, and sweet, and soft and for the last few weeks. His.
You could be his.
"No," he wanted it to sound like a grunt. But he whimpered. Panting, heaving, mind dizzy and thrusts frantic—
Sukuna was whimpering.
Your face was pressed into his bicep. Head limp and hand still trying to hold his that clutched your thigh. Still calling his name so sweetly.
"N-No?" You breathed.
Still attuned to him even when he was fucking your brains out.
"Don't want you to leave."
Oh.
Oh.
He hadn't realised that it slipped from his lips. Hadn't realised that through his brutal thrusts— he was breaking. Lost in the burning bliss, the heat, and the warmth of what could be.
Sukuna lost his fucking mind.
"Don't wanna— fuck. Don't wanna be alone." His face fell into your neck. Arms squeezing your body into his. Trying to melt your skin into his. Tuck himself into your warm flesh and the selfish wish you gave him.
Hazed, and hot, and so heavenly yours.
Slick hair pressed into your cheek. His body collapsed onto yours. Pounding his cock up into your creamy cunt. Chasing his blazing nerves as his mouth rambled.
"Don't want you to leave. Don't. Shit. Don't leave me, please, please don't fucking leave me."
His thrusts lost rhythm. As frantic as his rushed whispers. Plunging into your cervix. Bruising your thighs. Clutching you closer. As close as he could muster. As close as it would take to keep you here forever.
"Say you won't— say you," he slurred. Eyes squeezed shut. Words melting into a clumsy splutter of curses. "Say. Say you won't. Say—"
"Won't. Won't. 'kuna I won't— hngahh. Promise!"
That single word. So raw. So true. Choked in a gasp as you tried to nudge your face closer to him.
It shattered whatever pride he had left.
"You promise?"
He croaked. Dangerously hopeful.
You nodded. Cried.
"Promise. I promise S'kuna. Breed me— please."
He should have known you'd be trouble from the moment you first smiled at him.
Heat trapped him. Seeped into every nerve and spasming muscle. Ears drooped. Tail clinging around your waist, as his arms did every inch of you.
He held your hand.
The ache in his hips nulled to the sound of your sweet voice. Tucking promises away in his heart and sealing them with attempted kisses, even when he was choking you.
He felt your orgasm shake through you. Your body locking up as you babbled his name into the humidity. And with that Sukuna finally— finally let go.
Ramming his cock up one, final time. He stilled. Deep and thrumming within you. Heat bursting from his gut and washing over him in a devastating wave of blissful carnage.
Loud and wrecked, his moan vibrated into your back. Hips rocking in small stutters as spluttering, white ropes creamed your cervix. Pouring his thick cum into every inch of your twitching cunt. Brimming you with him and his promise.
"Fucking. . . fuck. . . hah. Take it. Take all this cum in your pretty pussy." Slurs dragged up your throat, to your ear as you face limped into his arm. His voice husked, a vow.
"Just feel me breeding you full. Filling you with my cubs."
You whined, meekly rocking back into him. But he snatched your hips and pressed it down into the mattress with a soft hush.
The throbbing at his base thrummed into swelling. His knot bloomed until it lodged stiff in your cunt. Pulsing with your pathetic little twitches.
He watched your eyes widen and brows furrow. Your body locked up and a whimper strained from your swollen lips. "Mmm. That's your—"
"Mhhm. Just stay still."
Laving his tongue over one of the bites, Sukuna held you near. Savouring your warmth.
The silence finally didn't feel like a void. Even if it was heavy.
He held onto the moment. Clung to its peace as the warmth simmered into cooling sweat on your flesh.
You broke the quiet first.
"Did you mean that?"
He didn't answer you. But his hand cupped your tummy. Fingers still laced in yours as his face tucked against the back of your shoulder.
". . . Was it too much?"
He never thought his voice could ache.
You tried to shift again, and despite the lump in his throat, he clicked his tongue. Squeezed your thigh in warning. "I said stay still, didn't I?"
"You're never too much. Not for me, Sukuna."
There you went, saying his name like it meant something.
Nudging your face to his, Sukuna licked at the tears on your face. A tender act he never thought himself capable of. "Don't say shit like that."
"That I want you? Or that I love you?"
His breath hitched.
Once the knot settled, he pulled out. Hesitantly— especially with your heat still clinging to him.
"You love me?" He muttered, laying a kiss on your cheek. Then to your jaw. To your shoulder. Down your body until you were on your back.
Calloused thumbs swept your folds back. Eyeing the lewd streak of cum leaking out of you.
His eyes found yours as you spoke, tender.
"Do you want me to say it again?" One of your hands raked into his hair.
His face nudged between your thighs. His hummed approval followed the flat of his tongue. Laving up your slit. Licking away the mess and holding your thighs open amidst their intense shivers.
Even as you whined. With your eyes on the brink of tears. They were still soft for him.
"I love you."
You shouldn't.
He shouldn't.
But he still said it back.
"My mate."
Low, and grumbled, not those three words but something that spelt a deeper bond. One he finally had.
After licking you clean, Sukuna bundled you up into the sheets. Pushing himself from the bed and returning with a warm towel and a water bottle.
He cradled the back of your head as he gave you the water.
Worshipped your flesh as he wiped you down. Tracing over bruises and bites. His mark.
And when you were finally tucked into his arms. Dozing off with your head nestled on his heart that now beat for you. His tail curled around your leg and his claws soft on your curves. Sukuna understood.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ you spend three years convinced your academic rival sukuna hates you back, only to find out he’s been hopelessly in love with you the entire time.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, secretly soft!sukuna, academic rivals to lovers, forced proximity (paired final project), sukuna wears glasses, miscommunication is the villain, competition as flirting, first kiss, oblivious idiots in love.
the thing about hating ryomen sukuna was that it had never been a conscious decision.
you couldn't point to a specific day, a singular moment where you looked at him and thought, yes, this is it. this is the person i will dedicate a concerning amount of my emotional energy to despising. it just happened, the way moss creeps over stones or rust eats into metal — it happened slowly, quietly, and then all at once.
maybe it was because you were always neck-and-neck for the top of every class, your names sitting side by side on ranked assignment lists like they were married to each other against both of your wills. maybe it was because sukuna had this infuriating habit of leaning against your shared locker bank every morning, arms crossed, watching you approach with that half-lidded expression that managed to convey how utterly beneath him he found you without him having to say a single word. maybe it was because sukuna never let you win at anything — not group projects, not debate club, not even the stupid karaoke contest at utahime's birthday party last semester where he absolutely butchered a journey song and still somehow got a higher score than you.
whatever it was, the hatred was there. it lived in your chest like a second heartbeat, hot and familiar, something you could always count on when everything else felt uncertain.
you hated ryomen sukuna.
and you were pretty sure he hated you too.
this was simply the natural order of things, as stable and predictable as gravity — you walked into a room, sukuna was there, the air got thicker, you glared at each other, and the universe continued spinning.
it had been like this since freshman orientation when you accidentally took the last chocolate chip muffin from the dining hall cart and sukuna had been reaching for it at the exact same time; your fingers had brushed, and sukuna had looked at you like you'd personally insulted every single of his ancestors, and then he'd muttered something under his breath about how he 'should have known'.
from that day forward, you were locked in.
so when your professor announced the paired final project for advanced literary theory — a fifteen-page analysis of narrative unreliability that would make up forty percent of your grade — and then proceeded to assign partners alphabetically, you felt the universe's cosmic joke land squarely on your shoulders.
"aizawa is with burnham, carlson is with davis... nakamura is with park, and (l/n) is with sukuna."
the room didn't go silent, but you wouldn't have heard it if it had. all you could hear was the rushing of blood in your ears as you turned your head, slow and dreadful, like a defendant watching the jury file back in.
sukuna was already looking at you.
he sat two rows over, sprawled in his chair like he'd been poured into it, all sharp angles and lazy menace. his pink hair fell across his forehead in that careless way that made you want to push it out of his face just so you could see him scowl more clearly. his jaw was set, his mouth a flat line, and his eyes — those stupid, arresting eyes that shifted color depending on the light, red one moment and almost brown the next — were fixed on you with an expression you couldn't quite read.
you glared at him.
sukuna raised one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to be annoyed with you.
"great," you muttered, slumping in your seat. "just great."
the thing you didn't know — the thing you couldn't know, because nobody tells you these things, because love doesn't announce itself with trumpets and flashing signs — was that ryomen sukuna had been in love with you for three years, two months, and approximately eleven days.
it had started with the muffin.
not because of the muffin, exactly, but because of the way you'd looked at him when your fingers touched. everyone else in the dining hall flinched away from sukuna — he knew how he came across, all sharp edges and sharper tongue, the kind of person who looked like they'd bite if you got too close. but you hadn't flinched. you'd looked at him, and there had been something in your expression that wasn't fear or deference or any of the other things he was used to seeing.
you'd simply looked at him like… he was just some guy who wanted a muffin.
and then you'd taken it anyway, which was either deeply stupid or deeply brave, and sukuna hadn't been able to decide which, but he'd known, suddenly and completely, that he needed to figure it out.
so he'd started showing up at your locker, not because he wanted to intimidate you but because sukuna wanted to see if you'd look at him like that again. he'd started competing with you for grades not because he wanted to beat you but because sukuna wanted you to notice how hard he was willing to try, how he sharpened himself against you like a blade against a whetstone. he'd challenged you to the karaoke contest because you'd laughed at something utahime said — a real laugh, the kind that crinkled your nose — and sukuna had wanted to be the reason you made that sound, even if it was because he was singing badly on purpose.
none of it had worked the way he wanted.
somewhere along the way, the wires had gotten crossed so completely that sukuna didn't even know how the hell to untangle them anymore; his attention had curdled into something you perceived as hostility. his proximity had become a threat instead of a hope.
and ryomen sukuna, who had never been good at explaining himself, who had spent his whole life building walls instead of bridges, had no idea how to tell you that every time you glared at him, he felt like he was swallowing glass.
so he didn't tell you.
sukuna just kept showing up, he just kept competing, he just kept finding reasons to be near you, and let you believe whatever you wanted to believe.
it was easier that way. really, it was easier than admitting that he thought about you constantly, that he had a folder on his phone full of screenshots of your discussion board posts because he liked the way you structured arguments, that he'd memorized your coffee order from watching you get it so many times (oat milk latte, extra shot, cinnamon on top, which was objectively an incorrect way to drink coffee but he loved that about you anyway).
it was easier than saying; i don't hate you. i never have. i think i would burn the world down if you asked me to, and that terrifies me more than anything else ever has.
so when professor okamoto announced your pairing, sukuna's heart did something violent in his chest, and he had to physically stop himself from smiling. he raised one eyebrow instead, giving you his most unreadable look, and watched your face crumple with displeasure.
god, you were beautiful when you were annoyed.
yeah… sukuna was so, so fucked.
you agreed to meet in the library on tuesday afternoon, mostly because you wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. the sooner you started, the sooner you'd be done, and the sooner you could go back to pretending ryomen sukuna didn't exist at all.
he was already there when you arrived.
this was infuriating because you were fifteen minutes early, specifically to avoid this exact scenario — walking in to find him already settled, already comfortable, already looking like he belonged in a way that made you feel like an intruder in your own study space.
sukuna had claimed the corner table by the window, the good one with the natural light and the extra outlets, and he was bent over a laptop with his reading glasses on.
you stopped dead.
sukuna wore glasses.
you had never seen this before, you had no idea sukuna even needed them, and the sight of them — wire frames, simple and unexpectedly kind against the boy’s sharp face — made something in your chest do a strange little flip.
he looked way softer like this, less intimidating, and you hated that you noticed. you hated that you noticed that the sleeves of sukuna’s sweater were pushed up to his elbows, exposing the lean lines of his forearms. you hated that you noticed the way his hair fell when he was concentrating, how he kept pushing it back with an absent hand.
you hated that you noticed anything about him at all.
"you're staring," sukuna said without looking up.
you bristled.
"i'm not staring. i'm assessing the enemy's territory."
now sukuna looked up, and the glasses made him seem almost approachable for half a second before his expression settled into its usual mask of mild disdain.
"the library is not enemy territory. it's simply a library. with books. which we both really need for this project we're both required to complete."
"don't sound so excited about it."
"i'm not excited about anything involving you."
that stung more than you wanted it to.
you told yourself it was because you were proud, because you hated being dismissed, because sukuna's opinion shouldn't matter to you but it did, it always had, in the same way a splinter mattered — small and sharp and impossible to ignore.
you dropped your bag on the table with more force than necessary and sat down across from him, pulling out your laptop and notebook and pens with aggressive efficiency.
"let's just get this over with."
"eager to escape my company?"
"desperately."
something flickered across his face, there and gone so fast you couldn't name it. he looked back at his screen.
"okamoto wants us to focus on unreliable narration in gothic literature. i've pulled some secondary sources. there's a reading list in the shared document i started."
"you started a shared document already?"
"i'm not an idiot."
"i never said you were."
"you were thinking it."
you opened your mouth to argue, then closed it because he wasn't wrong, and also because there was something in his tone that didn't sound like his usual condescension. it sounded almost... tired. like he was exhausted by this dance you two did, even though he was the one who kept leading.
the silence stretched between you, strange and unfamiliar.
you'd never spent this much time alone with sukuna before; your interactions were always in crowded hallways or full classrooms, always brief and barbed, always with an audience. now it was just the two of you and the soft sounds of the library — pages turning, keyboards clicking, someone's phone buzzing somewhere in the stacks.
you could smell his cologne; something woodsy and warm, nothing like the sharp, cold scent you'd imagined he'd wear. it made him seem closer than he actually was.
"so," you said, because you had to say something, "gothic literature. fun."
sukuna looked at you over the top of his glasses.
"is that a genuine statement or are you being sarcastic?"
"do i ever not sound sarcastic?"
"no," sukuna said, and then, quieter, "i know."
you didn't know what that meant, and you didn't ask.
the first week of working together was exactly as miserable as you'd expected.
you disagreed about everything — thesis statements, source selection, whether or not to use first-person in the analysis, the correct way to cite a multi-volume work.
sukuna was methodical to the point of obsession, wanting to outline every paragraph before writing a single word, while you preferred to write freely and shape the chaos into something structured later. he thought your approach was inefficient. you thought his approach was suffocating.
"you can't just write without knowing where you're going," he said on thursday, staring at your laptop screen like it had personally offended him. "that's how you end up with a directionless argument."
"it's not directionless, it's exploratory. there's a difference."
"there isn't."
"there is if you have any imagination at all."
sukuna’s jaw tightened. "i have imagination."
"huh. could've fooled me."
the words came out sharper than you intended, and you saw something shutter behind sukuna’s eyes. he looked away first, which he never did, and when he spoke again his voice was carefully, deliberately flat.
"just write the outline. we can argue about methodology later."
you wanted to push. you wanted to know why he looked like you'd actually hurt his feelings, which was ridiculous because ryomen sukuna didn't have feelings, not ones that could be hurt by the likes of you. but something about the set of his shoulders stopped you, something about the way he'd gone very still, like he was bracing for impact.
so you wrote the outline.
and sukuna was right, which made it worse.
by the end of the second week, something had shifted.
you couldn't point to exactly when the hell it happened, but somewhere between arguing about the reliability of jane eyre's narration and debating whether rochester was a gothic hero or just a guy with too many secrets, the edges of your interactions had started to soften.
you still bickered constantly, but it felt less like warfare and more like... a game. a familiar rhythm you'd both fallen into without meaning to.
sukuna started bringing you coffee.
not every day, and not in an obvious way either; he'd just show up to your library sessions with two cups from the campus cafe, one black for himself and one that smelled like cinnamon and oat milk, and he'd set yours on your side of the table without a single comment.
the first time it happened, you stared at the cup like it might explode at any moment;
"what is this?"
"coffee. it's a beverage. people drink it to stay awake when they're doing academic work."
"i know what coffee is. i meant—why did you get me one?"
sukuna shrugged, not meeting your eyes. "you always look like you haven't slept. figured you needed it."
it was such a strangely considerate thing to say, so unlike the person you thought you knew, that you didn't know how to respond. you just wrapped your hands around the cup and let the warmth seep into your palms, watching sukuna over the rim as he settled into his chair and opened his laptop like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
the coffee was perfect, exactly how you liked it.
you didn't think about what that meant.
you definitely didn't think about how sukuna would have had to pay attention to know your order, how sukuna would have had to remember, how sukuna would have had to deliberately choose to get it for you even though you'd never asked and never thanked him properly.
you just drank the coffee and tried to ignore the way your heart was beating.
on the third week, you caught sukuna staring at you.
not the usual staring — the kind where he was waiting for you to finish a thought or watching your face for a reaction during an argument. this was different; this was soft, this was the way people looked at things they wanted to keep.
you'd been reading a passage from wuthering heights aloud, doing the voices for the different characters because you were a huge nerd and because it made sukuna's lip twitch in a way that was almost — almost — a smile. you were in the middle of heathcliff's "i cannot live without my soul" speech, and you'd gotten dramatic with it, leaning forward with your hand pressed to your chest, and when you looked up to gauge his reaction, sukuna was just... looking at you.
not at the book, not at the table, but at you.
sukuna’s expression was naked in a way you'd never seen before. all the usual armor was completely gone — the sneer, the boredom, the casual cruelty he wielded like a shield.
instead he looked almost... awed. like you'd done something miraculous just by existing in his general vicinity.
your voice caught in your throat.
"sukuna?"
he blinked, and the mask slammed back into place so fast you almost believed you'd imagined the moment before.
"what?"
"you were staring."
"no, i was just listening."
"you looked—"
you stopped, not sure what you'd been about to say. you looked like you loved me, maybe, but that couldn't be right because ryomen sukuna didn't love anything, certainly not you, certainly not like that.
"you looked weird."
"i always look weird."
"you don't," you said, before you could stop yourself. "you look, you know, normal? i mean, not weird. usually."
sukuna's eyebrows went up.
for a long moment, neither of you spoke. the library's heating system kicked on with a low rumble, and somewhere across the room, someone laughed quietly, and you were acutely aware of every single inch of space between you, of how easy it would be to reach across the table and touch sukuna’s hand, of how badly you wanted to.
you didn't. of course you didn't. but you wanted to, and that was new, and that was terrifying.
"finish the passage," sukuna said finally, his voice rougher than usual. "you were at 'i cannot live without my soul'."
you looked down at the book, at heathcliff's desperate words, and felt heat rise to your cheeks.
"right. yeah. okay."
you finished the passage, but you couldn't look at sukuna while you did it.
the confession happened on a thursday, and it happened because of a paper cut.
you were both hunched over a stack of printouts, cross-referencing quotes, and you were tired — the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from too many late nights and too much caffeine and the slow, creeping realization that you didn't actually hate the person sitting across from you, that maybe you'd never hated him at all, that maybe you'd been wrong about everything for three entire years.
you reached for a page at the same time sukuna did, your fingers brushing against his, and you both froze.
his hands were warm.
you'd expected them to be cold, because everything about sukuna seemed cold, but no, they weren't. his hands were warm and broad and surprisingly gentle when he pulled back like you'd burned him.
"sorry," you said, and meant it.
"don't be sorry for touching me," sukuna said, and his voice was strange, tight, like the words were being pulled from somewhere deep. "i don't—i don't mind."
you looked at him.
really looked, the way you hadn't let yourself look in years; his hair was messy from running his hands through it, his glasses were slightly crooked, and there was a tension in his jaw that you'd always read as anger but now seemed like something else entirely. something held back, something waiting.
"you always mind," you said quietly. "you always mind when i'm near you."
sukuna's breath caught, and you saw it, the way his chest stopped moving for just a second, the way his fingers curled into fists on the table.
"is that what you think?" he asked. "that i mind?"
"you act like you do. you've always acted like—"
"i know how i act." sukuna cut you off, and there was something raw in his voice now, something that made your stomach drop. "i know exactly how i act. do you think i don't know? do you think i haven't noticed that you flinch every time i walk into a room, that you tense up when i stand too close, that you look at me like i'm something you stepped in?"
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
"i know," he continued, and now he wasn't looking at you anymore, he was looking at the table, at his hands, at anything but your face. "i know you hate me. i've known for years. and i don't—i don't blame you. i'm not good at this. i'm not good at people. i don't know how to be anything other than what i am, and what i am is someone who makes you uncomfortable, apparently, which was never—"
his voice actually cracked, and you felt something splinter inside your chest.
"that was never what i wanted."
"sukuna—"
"just let me finish."
sukuna pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice was muffled.
"i need to say this. i've been trying to say this for three whole years, and i just keep messing it up, and i don't care if you hate me after, i just really need you to know so i can stop—so i can stop pretending—"
he dropped his hands and looked at you, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bright, and all the air left your lungs.
"i don't hate you," sukuna said. "i have never hated you. not once. not even when you took the last muffin at orientation, which was a crime against humanity and i'm still not over it. not when you argued with me about romantic poetry in sophomore lit. not when you told professor tanaka that my interpretation of frankenstein was 'reductive and borderline misogynistic', which, for the record, it wasn't. i don't hate you. i've never hated you. i—"
sukuna stopped, swallowed, and looked at you like you were the scariest thing he'd ever seen.
"i love you," he said, and the words came out small, almost bewildered, like he was discovering the truth of them in real time. "i love you so much it's embarrassing. i love your laugh and the way you argue and how you do the voices when you read out loud even though you think nobody notices. i love that you're competitive and stubborn and terrible at asking for help and you always push your hair behind your ear when you're thinking. i love that you took that muffin even though you knew i wanted it because you don't back down from anything, including me, especially me, and i—"
his voice broke again, and he laughed, a short, helpless sound.
"i've been in love with you since freshman orientation. i've been in love with you for three years, and i've been so busy trying to get your attention that i didn't notice i was just making you hate me. and that's—that's on me. that's entirely on me. but i needed you to know. before we finish this project and you never have to talk to me again. i needed you to know that none of it was hate. not on my side. it was never hate."
the library was silent.
you could hear your own heartbeat, loud and unsteady, you could feel the blood rushing to your face, your hands, every part of you that had suddenly come alive.
sukuna was looking at you like a man awaiting execution, his chest rising and falling too fast, his hands shaking slightly where they rested on the table.
you thought about three years of mornings at your locker. three years of competitive grading. three years of him finding reasons to be in your orbit, even when you made it clear he wasn't welcome at all.
you thought about the coffee, the glasses, the way he knew your reading voice and your coffee order and the fact that you pushed your hair behind your ear when you were thinking.
you thought about how you'd actually never hated him either; at least, not the way real hatred felt cold and dead. your feelings for sukuna had always been hot, always been alive, always been demanding your attention when you wanted to focus on anything else.
you thought about the muffin.
"you're an idiot," you said.
sukuna blinked. "what?"
"you're an idiot," you repeated, and your voice was shaking, and you couldn't stop the smile that was spreading across your face, wide and disbelieving and probably ridiculous. "three years. three years of fighting over grades and arguing about literature and competing in karaoke contests, and the whole time you were just trying to get me to look at you?"
"to be fair, it worked. you looked at me constantly. just—not in the way i wanted."
"because i thought you hated me!"
"yeah, i know! i realize that! i'm aware that my communication skills are—"
"abysmal?"
"i was going to say 'deeply flawed', but yes, abysmal works."
you laughed.
you couldn't help it; it bubbled up from somewhere deep, somewhere that had been wound too tight for too long, and suddenly you were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down your face, and sukuna was staring at you like you'd lost your mind, which honestly you might have.
"i don't hate you either," you managed, between gasps. "i never hated you. i thought i did, but i don't think i know what hatred feels like anymore because every time i tried to hate you, i just—i just kept noticing things. like the way you tap your fingers when you're reading. and how you always hold the door for people even though you pretend not to. and you helped that freshman find their classroom last week even though you were late to your own class. and you look at me like—"
you stopped, swallowed, and looked at him.
"you look at me like i matter," you said softly. "and i didn't know what to do with that, so i called it hatred. because it was easier than admitting that maybe i wanted you to look at me forever."
sukuna made a sound, something wounded and hopeful all at once, and then he was moving — not dramatically, not the way they do in movies, but slowly, carefully, like the boy was approaching something that might spook.
he reached across the table and took your hand, his fingers sliding between yours, and you both looked down at where you were connected like it was the most incredible thing either of you had ever seen.
"so," sukuna said, and his voice was unsteady, "just to be clear. we both wasted three years being convinced the other person hated them, when actually—"
"when actually you have the emotional intelligence of a brick and i'm apparently blind."
"i was going to say we're both complete idiots, but yes, that's also very accurate."
you squeezed sukuna’s hand, and he squeezed back, and the smile he gave you was nothing like the ones you'd seen before; this one was real, this one reached his eyes, softened all his sharp edges, and made him look so sweet and so hopeful and so terrifyingly beautiful.
"what now?" you asked.
sukuna looked at your joined hands, then at your face, then back at your hands.
"well. i have a fifteen-page paper due in two weeks, and my partner is very distracting."
"your partner is sitting right here."
"i know." sukuna lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, feather-light, his eyes never leaving yours. "trust me. i know."
you spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, but you didn't get any work done.
you talked instead — really talked, for the first time in three years. you told him about the muffin, how you'd only taken it because you'd seen him reach for it and wanted an excuse to touch his hand, how you'd spent the rest of the day convinced you'd imagined the whole thing. he told you about the karaoke contest, how he'd picked journey specifically because he'd overheard you say it was your guilty pleasure, how he'd sung badly on purpose because he wanted to see you smile.
"i can't believe you can actually sing," you said, propping your chin on your hand. "and all this time i thought you were just terrible at music."
"i have many hidden talents."
"like secretly being in love with me for three years?"
sukuna’s ears went pink.
"that's not a talent. that's a crisis."
you reached across the table and touched his face, just because you could now, just because he was yours to touch. his stubble was rough against your fingertips, and he closed his eyes when you traced the line of his jaw, leaning into your palm like a cat seeking warmth.
"i'm sorry," you said quietly. "for all the times i was mean to you. for assuming the worst."
"don't be." sukuna turned his head and pressed a kiss to the center of your palm. "you gave as good as you got. it's one of the things i like about you."
"one of the things?"
sukuna slowly opened his eyes, and the look in them made your chest ache.
"i could give you a long list. it would take a while. we might need to order dinner."
"we're still in the library."
"the library has a cafe."
you laughed, and he smiled, and when he kissed you for the first time — soft and slow and a little awkward, both of you smiling too much to do it properly — you tasted coffee and cinnamon and something that felt like coming home.
the thing about loving ryomen sukuna was that it had never been a conscious decision either.
it just happened — it happened the way spring follows winter, the way flowers naturally turn toward the sun, the way your hand found his under the library table and held on like you'd been doing it your whole life.
synopsis-- you've been telling yourself that you're absolutely done with ryomen sukuna for about a month. Now, he's making it known that he's not done with you. Would you open up if he knocked on your door?
- probably very ooc, soft!sukuna
- guys i've never written angst before so this was a learning curve, how many of yall are taking back exboyfriend!sukuna tho
- wc: 1,777 (dayum)
- not proofread,,,sorry
a/n: first fic back...kinda nervous? in no way am I a professional at this, but once I heard BTS's hidden track, "come over", I knew I had to make this AHH. I'm not gonna lie, I got super self conscious with my writing, struggling between first and third person. erm, I decided to write in first for this FIRST fic back, but lemme know if its a little... weird.
The dent in your bed serves as a clear sign of how much you've been sulking. Tossing and turning, yet nothing seems to relieve that void-like feeling in your stomach, or the elephant-like pressure within your chest.
How can you be so exhausted when you've only just woken up?
You could think all you want about the factors that could've affected your precious sleep, but you've already accepted the idea that you've spent all night, eyes wide in the darkness, thinking about him.
Enough of that.
It's been a month of radio silence. You've built up your belief that one morning, in the distant future, you won't even remember him.
Or so you pretend to believe. Especially when you're still wearing his hoodie to sleep.
The first message hit your phone at 11:03 am.
ryo : can I come over?
Fuck.
You stare at your phone for what feels like eternity.
What could he possibly have to say?
It was just a month ago where he had given you the cold shoulder, claiming that there was nothing to talk about, and he was done.
Over some stupid fight between the two of you. You can't even remember the reason for the breakup. It's kinda sad. Both of you had been too stubborn to back down, and his ego firmly stood in the way of any chance of reconciliation.
And now? he's the name popping up on your screen.
you let out a sigh, like you've been holding it in for a month. of course, you waited at least an hour before responding.
12:17 pm
y/n : excuse me?
you're sure he could hear the appall through the phone. It takes four seconds before the three dots jump rhythmically. Has he been waiting by the phone for your response?
12:20pm
ryo : I just want to say that I'm sorry
you can't help but roll your eyes
12:21pm
y/n : well good thing you have a phone. is that all?
the three dots begin to jump as soon as the delivered icon turns to read.
12:30 pm
ryo : don't be such a brat. I'll be there tonight, ok?
12:34 pm
y/n : there's no need to come over. there's nothing to talk about.
Your final text message appears to be rejection, but you know that when Ryomen sets his mind on something, there's no stopping that man.
'What the fuck do I do?' you began pacing around your messy room. 'Should I clean my room?'
'Wait, why would I let him into my room? Let alone come over to my place?' you thought to yourself, knowing your body would betray your mind and let him in anyway.
Faced with internal turmoil, you began to start moving anyway.
You spent an hour in the bathroom, both cleaning and taking a shower. If he asks why you smell like cherries and vanilla, you made a mental note to deny such an absurdity.
Those dishes that have been sitting for a week were done in fifteen minutes.
The dimly lit bedroom was tidied within thirty, even though he wouldn't be going in your room. It was just a precaution. right?
You shoved all of his remaining belongings into a cardboard box. Part of you hoped that you'd never see these things ever again. Deep down, part of you hoped you did.
And you waited.
Like a stupid dog waiting for its owner.
You thought you'd be able to handle the sinking feeling in your core, until the sound of your doorbell rang throughout the apartment. The feeling deepend.
Taking a glance over at the clock hanging on your wall. It's 7:36. You've waited 7 hours for this man? 'What am I doing?'
After a grounding breath, hand shaking on the doorknob, you slowly twist and open the door.
And there he is. The man you haven't gotten out of your head for a month. The sole reason for your misery (or so you tell yourself). He appears nervous, switching his weight between feet, his face looks like he's anticipating something unfavorable. 'Is he sweating?' can't be.
He brought a bouquet, audibly clutching it in his right hand.
"Flowers? for what exactly?" you spoke after a long beat of silence between the both of you. You watch him take a deep breath.
"..to apologize."
Internally, you scoff at the poor execution of his plan.
Flowers. After a month. How thoughtful.
Yet you can't hold his piercing gaze for any longer, and you're first to look away. You barely noticed how hard you're grabbing onto the doorknob. Hesitantly, you pull the door open and invite him in. You did clean up, after all.
And somehow, you found yourself standing across from him in your kitchen. He leans with his hip on the counter while your back faces him, arranging the flowers in a vase as you try to compose yourself. the kitchen seemed like a better battle ground than the living room or bedroom.
"...Do you have anything else to say?" arms moving with purpose to arrange the flowers, yet you try to hide the uneasiness in your movement. Your turn around, awaiting a response.
You take a closer look at him, and to be honest, he looks just as bad as you do. The bags under his eyes are prominent, and his pink hair strands are in disarray. He's definitely taken this as bad as you have been.
"...Just wanted to check on you."
"And you waited a month before doing so?"
It accidentally slipped from your mouth, and he was quick to notice your own surprised reaction.
His gaze breaks from yours. He can't help but stare at the floor like a scolded child.
"You've been doing okay, haven't you? so why would you come flaunt your triumph here?"
His eyes meet yours once again
"I'm lost, y/n"
"..uh, obviously not. you said you were coming to my place is and-"
"-Without you." Those scarlett eyes are captivating, hypnotizing, even. "I can't let you go."
Taking a deep breath, trying to suppress the squeezing feeling in your chest, it's like he's toying with your heart in his hands.
"..You let me go when you decided we were done."
"And I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I don't know how to make it up to you, but I know that I need you back in my life"
His breathing becomes heavier, definitely more audible, as his hands start fidgeting. You can't help but wish those hands were on you. what?
It's almost like he's trying to see how much it'll take for you to forgive him.
You don't know what to feel, but you're ready to let him know how you've felt for the past month.
"..How am I supposed to believe that, when you were soooo confident in your decision? did you even think before making the choice?" you dont realize that you've taken a few steps towards him, beginning to close the gap.
" y/n, I-" He tried to bud into your sentence, failing quickly
"-I'm not done. You know how stupid I felt? Like I actually thought you'd give a fuck about me? Yeah, you're real quiet now."
For such a large, built, and usually intimidating man, he had sunken into his own frame, holding the shame brewing in his chest. You could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, anticipating what you'll say next. He notices your beaming eyes, how they're awaiting a response before continuing.
"I do give a fuck about you. Thats why I'm here." The pain starts to seep into the center of your chest. "I'm here to fix things. I want to fix things. With you."
'Why does he get to show up and act like he can fix things?' He can't, he doesn't get to.
"I needed you a month ago. And you couldn't even look me in the eyes. I needed us to talk this out then, not now. I can't fucking stand you." Your words leave your mouth with a sour taste, knowing that deep down, you've waited for the day that you saw him again.
You've gradually moved closer, a mere foot between your bodies. You can smell his cologne, not able to form a coherent thought. God, you really did miss him, and you can't deny it.
You catch his eyes move down towards your lips, before moving back up to meet your gaze, searching for hesitation or disgust. He doesn't find any.
"...then why are you standing so close? hm?"
Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him move closer, catching his shadow move through your eyelids. In one switch movement, his lips are on yours.
The kiss is hungry, almost cathartic, as you feel the tugging at your heart strings. This is so wrong. He's your ex, he's been your ex for a month. But you can't help but move your lips against him.
His arms close around you, caging you in and holding you firm. You can feel how hot his body is, even through his hoodie. Your hands grasp onto the fabric, clinging like your life depends on it.
You pull away to catch your breath, scared of this moment ending, and unable to look him in the eyes. He ducks down to catch your gaze, his right hand coming up to grab your chin.
"Say it. Say you don't feel it too. And I'll drop it."
Chests heaving, trying to take in as much air as possible.
"...I-I.." Finally, you're at a loss for words. Conflicted between your mind, who's telling you to end this before you get hurt again, and your body, that melts right into his touch.
Is this worth trying again? Can this relationship truly be salvaged?Catching the hesitation in your eyes, he lets out a huff.
"Do you want me to beg? Is that what this is?" those darkened eyes sent shivers down your spine. He shifted, and your heart sank at the loss of heat in front of you, worried to lose him again.
He dropped to his knees, leaning forward onto you, giving you a better look at those prominent eye bags, the messiness of his hair, god, he's exactly how you want him. Pleading and nervous, shifting below you, apologetic and begging, pretty much made up for the past month.
You take a deep breath
"I do feel it..." Clinging onto him again to ground yourself.
"...we can try again." the whisper slips off your lips as you lean down to capture his lips in a kiss. His eyes flutter shut with relief.
And surely enough, you woke up on your dented bed, not so lonely at 9:45am, entangled with the man you missed the most. This time, you wouldn't let each other go.
NOBLE ✦ heian!sukuna and his new arranged wife!reader...who barely looks at him, let alone fucks him... | NSFW. oral (f. rec). slight degredation. manhandling. a steamy onsen. ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა (3.6k)
Life had been a series of decisions made by everyone but you.
Being raised under strict rule and watchful eye just to be sold off to the wealthiest, most respected man in the country wasn't something you fought exactly, you knew it was a battle you wouldn't win.
They could treat you like a prize sow, but that didn't mean you'd sit there getting fat and happy and filled with babies like one.
Especially not when you were being unloaded onto a warlord.
Sorry, not a warlord, the warlord.
Unrivaled and undefeated, Sukuna Ryomen wore blood and ash to your first meeting as casually as he did his kimono.
Draped, loose, open in the front like he didn't care who gawked at his chiseled chest or the thick black ink that wrapped his body and disappeared into the robe.
You kept your head low but your eyes on the bored, tattooed face of the man who didn't even seem to be listening to the details of your ceremony taking place the following week.
Sukuna got one look at your expression, your posture, your dress, and was about to write you off as yet another mindless, well trained insect who got off on following orders. You certainly looked the part.
But as the meeting finished and you rose to your feet, lowering to a deep and respectful bow, you muttered something at him.
"I do hope you plan to bathe before the ceremony, I can smell you from here."
When you straightened, your face gave absolutely nothing away. But there was venom and fire slithering behind the courteous tone.
When you walked off to follow your mother and father, you did not look back.
But you... you insulted him. Told him he stunk right to his face and shattered the image he'd built in his head in the moments you knelt across from him.
Maybe you weren't the polite, sweet, mindless doll your parents raised you to be.
Well, at least you wouldn't be boring.
...
Oh, how he had come to regret those words.
Sukuna didn't think much about how his life would change once he was married. He'd be expected to make an heir, but it wasn't like that would affect his life.
Ha.
Hard to make an heir when his wife refused to acknowledge his existence, god forbid sleep in the same bed.
Hard to make an heir when his balls were full and the only seed he spent was on pretty, fluff-for-brains concubines, or eventually, when he could hardly stand to even look at them, his own god damned hand.
Being married to you wasn't only not boring, it was hell.
He had to wonder which of the many heinous acts he'd committed thus far in his lifetime had landed him living punishment in the form of you.
Probably all of them.
But Sukuna wasn't only a sadist, but a masochist just the same.
Sure he glared and sneered and scoffed at your back as you walked out the moment he stepped in a room. Making a snide comment under your breath as you passed him just to set his teeth grinding away.
Sometimes he would bark a, "Know your place, woman." At your disappearing form, catching your shoulders shaking the slightest bit. Like you were fucking laughing.
It made his blood boil and hands itch to do something. To retaliate, to show you your place and put you in it.
You were supposed to be a wife. Subservient and devoted in every way to him and his wants, his needs.
That’s the thing, in every technical way, you were. You ran the household, ate meals with him when expected, attended ceremonies and political gatherings when it was called for. On the outside, you were absolutely perfect.
And in some backwards way, you really were perfect for him.
A match in fire and callousness, you didn't let it rage out of control like he could. You kept it in check and used your seething as an underhanded weapon.
One that really got you what you wanted, because now you had all the freedoms of a wealthy noblewoman, and you had Sukuna reluctantly wrapped around your pretty little finger.
You knew he was not the person to have worked up and left on the edge, but it’s not like you particularly gave a shit. It was amusing to see how his crimson eyes lingered as you passed in the hall, some staff member in tow as you listed off your preferences and plans for a gathering. The way his nostrils flared as he caught your scent.
No, it slapped him across the face. Invaded his senses and had all four of his fists clenched.
He told himself you were just another woman. His wife, sure, but no different than any other concubine. But the way his hands itched to reach and grab you at the waist, rip your obi off and squeeze the soft curve instead, to pull you in and bury his face into the crook of your neck and breathe so deep he’d never get your scent out of his sinuses.
The way he ached to have you sat on his lap taking every inch of him, to fill you until your belly swelled with his babies. Fucked his heir into you.
He’d never had the urge to breed before, and it was really fucking annoying. It made him feel like a fucking animal, and he hated it.
Sure he sated animalistic needs, eating, fucking, killing. But they didn’t control him.
Sukuna could level civilizations singlehandedly, raze villages to the ground and upheave the world just to toss it on its head. He was a warlord—no, the fucking warlord, and his pretty little wife had him tearing his own hair out.
God, he needed to relax. This wasn’t him. He didn’t let emotions run his life, and he certainly didn't let people run his life.
Meanwhile you and your life carried on just the same. Ate dinner and sipped fine tea imported from the mountainous regions to the east, strolled the gardens full of fresh blooms and the low buzzing hum of cicadas, stripped free of your yukata with the help of your attendants and left to soak in the hot spring watching the sun set on the land.
On your land.
You supposed being married to the brute wasn't so bad after all.
Steam rolled off the water, lifted by the light breeze that rustled leaves and set chimes twinkling.
It was peace. You were exactly where you wanted to be, and certainly enjoyed it, but you couldn't deny you craved something just a little more. Something exciting.
“B-but sir! Please, wait!” The shrill, panicked voice of an attendant rang out just outside the door into the onsen and you whipped your head around just in time to see it slide open with a bang!
And behold, your husband.
Taking up nearly the entire doorway with nothing but a towel barely hanging on around his hips. So short the black rings inked on each thigh were visible.
It left you speechless, to see so much of him so bare. That he’d be brazen enough to walk right in on you so indecent. But you dipped quickly, putting your body underwater up to your neck and covering your breasts.
“What do you think you're doing in here?” You lifted your chin, dignity intact even as you hunched to maintain a shred of modesty.
Sukuna froze in the entrance, ruby eyes wide and stuck on you for a long moment until he finally broke and stepped into the room.
“Bathing. I believe it was you that requested me to, no?” He quirked a brow, bare feet slapping the stone as he walked toward the steps into the water.
The same attendant hurried in behind him, coming to crouch next to you. “Ma'am, your towel? Would you like to—”
“Leave us,” Sukuna dismissed her without a look, halted and about to get in.
You took the towel and muttered that you were fine, that she could go. She bowed low to you both and then that was it. You were alone.
Well, alone with your husband.
Who at least had the decency to go against tradition and leave the scrap of towel on and covering where thick black lines dipped low on his abdomen.
You studied each other for a moment. Your hands cupping your breasts and his crossed over his chest and planted on his hips.
You broke the stare first, turning to look out at the open scene and he started down the steps. He sank into the water and you watched from your periphery as he eased back, running a damp hand through his dusty pink mess of hair and rested two muscled arms on the stone ledge.
It was the first time you'd ever been alone with him, and you refused to look at him or speak first.
“I despise how they hover.” Sukuna's gruff voice cut through the silence and you did not look at him as you retorted.
“That is their duty. An attendant would not be properly fulfilling their role if they were not present when needed.”
Sukuna barked a laugh, “Well, you'd know all about that now, wouldn't you?”
Your head snapped to the side and you looked him right in the eye with brows furrowed. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
“Don't act oblivious now.” He tch'd, casting his gaze out at the view instead of you. “Stupidity does not suit you.”
You blinked. A few times. And despite the heat of the water, felt warmth race across your cheeks.
Was he really so callous?!
He caught your slight shock and smirked, “I assumed you'd be fleeing about now, is something the matter?”
“I will not be bullied out of my evening soak.” You huffed.
“Bullied?” Sukuna scoffed, “You've had quite a soft upbringing if this constitutes bullying in your eyes.” He could see your face twist, fire flickering in your eyes as he prodded you and all he could think was finally.
“You know nothing about me, so do not speak as if you do.” You almost sneered as you hissed it at him. Like he'd truly struck something.
And Sukuna was not one to back down when he struck a nerve.
“I know enough to know you're a sheltered, well mannered brat. If there is more than that, I have not seen it.” He said it like a challenge, like he was daring you to show him there was more.
He had no fucking idea what he was talking about. Sukuna was a brute, blood and dirt still under his dark fingernails from the havoc he likely wreaked just before coming to interrupt your evening.
So fast the water splashed the ledge, you snatched the towel and wrapped it around your body under the surface. It was flimsy and lewd, but better than your hands.
His eyes went wide, gripping the ledge as you rose to your feet. Waist deep in the water, the towel clung to your form and had him swallow visibly.
“You seem to have certain expectations of me, does it upset you that I have not met them?” Your head cocked, taking a step forward.
Sukuna did not waver on the outside, simply sneered, “I am no stranger to disappointment.”
Your eyes narrowed into a glare that threw daggers at him and god, he felt his heart skip a beat as you cut right back with, “Well, neither am I.”
The water rippled around you as you took step after step closer to him. “I never asked to be married off to the likes of you.”
“That makes two of us.” He shot right back, rising to his feet as you drew close enough to look down at him, making you tilt your head back a bit to keep your eyes on his.
They betrayed you though and flickered to his chest, following the black lines that cut down his abdomen. Water dripping from his bare body, the tiny scrap of a towel heavy on his hips, soaked and clinging to his muscled thighs.
God, why did he have to look like that?
“Brute.”
Surely you'd be the death of him.
“Prude.” His brow lifted like a dare and you stepped right up to the challenge.
“Whore.”
It surprised even you and as it left your lips you saw the shock hit Sukuna like a slap to the face.
Too far?
“Why you little—” He snarled, grabbing you at the waist with one hand, nails pressing in enough to make you gasp as he brought his face close and held you in place. “You dare to speak to me like that?”
“So all those women, you mean to tell me you keep them around for idle chatter? Please.” You scoffed and Sukuna lifted a brow, lips pulling into a slow smirk.
“What’s this? Is the brat jealous?”
You? Jealous? Pfft, ridiculous.
He wasn’t about to tell you that it had been weeks since he’d last even tried to be with another woman. That it disgusted him to even think of. That he couldn’t.
But here you were, right here in his grasp, trembling a little but not pulling away. A crinkle to your nose like he just caught you red handed. And that certainly stirred something in him.
“You… your—” You stammered a little and his smirk split into a grin. Sharp and gleaming. He could feel your heart racing away under his grip. A clear of your throat and you refitted the blades in your gaze. “Clearly, your delusion knows no bounds.”
“You’d think it delusion that a woman would be jealous of another bringing pleasure to her man?” He hummed, grip softening on your waist slightly just to slide down to your hip. Your lips parted and he could see your thighs squeeze under the surface as he stepped closer.
“Or maybe you like the thought.” He mused, so close you could feel the heat of his body and his breath on your skin as he laughed once, low and gruff. “Maybe you touch yourself at the thought of another woman bouncing on my cocks, screaming my name in ecstasy."
Wait… what?!
You had to have heard that wrong. Sure the brute had four arms but that would just be…
It took a moment to gather your thoughts and hiss a meek little, “Never.”
“Do you ever touch yourself?” He hummed again, dipping underwater to trace the edge of your towel, grazing bare skin and making you swallow. “Or are you too prudish for even that?”
You could just shove him away and storm off. In fact, why weren’t you doing exactly that?
Heart racing, you could feel your pulse between your legs, squeezed together as your belly tightened. His eyes bored into you like he knew exactly what was happening. How traitorous your body had become.
Lips parted and wavering, you hesitated to answer.
Sukuna Ryomen could always sense blood in the water, and he knew it was time to strike.
He moved, his face coming down so close to yours, but still out of reach. Thick fingers dragging over the bare skin of your thigh, he pressed up between your legs and sent a jolt of lightning ripping up your spine. You yelped and gripped his arm with both hands, but he didn't move. Just held pressure and studied how your face twisted and flushed.
“Tell me to stop,” He said, voice hoarse and quiet.
“S-s—ah! S… S-kuna,” You whimpered his name, clinging to his tattooed forearm. God he could feel you throbbing against his fingers and his cocks—already stiff, twitched. Ready to spear you on both and fill you with him until you sobbed.
“Yes, brat?”
You squirmed, eyes squeezing shut. What the hell was happening to you? “I… I can’t—”
“Look at the prude, coming undone and I haven't even done anything. Do you want more?” He rubbed a slow, tiny circle on your clit and your cunt clenched around nothing.
“Mmph—god,” You gasped, using his arm to support yourself.
“Use your words, brat. Ask me nicely, and I’ll make you see stars.”
The way he spoke to you, shit… you must have been out of your fucking mind. Or so horny you could barely stand. Either way, you pried your eyes open and met his.
“Please,” You whined, so filled with pressure you could hardly stand it and the word almost had him on his knees.
“Please what?” He held firm even as you glared weak little daggers at him, that fire burning behind your pretty, glazed eyes.
“Please,” You couldn’t believe the position you’d landed yourself in. You couldn’t believe just how good it felt… “Make me see stars.”
Restraint snapped with a low groan and his hands were on you. It was a blur and you could hardly keep track of how surrounded you felt. One slipping up into your hair, two squeezing down your sides and pulling at the towel—barely hanging on and about to give—
Ah, yep, there it goes.
Hit the water with a wet plap and you were left fully exposed.
His finger found your slick entrance and he pushed inside. Barely even half of it but your eyes went wide with how thick it was and you squeaked nonetheless, starting to protest but Sukuna shut you up.
He hefted you up like you were nothing, slotting your thighs around his hips and his own covering let go just the same as yours.
God how he was dying to use you, feel you squeeze around him like you did his finger. But you weren’t quite ready for that yet.
So he pulled your hair, tilting your head back as he brought his mouth down on yours, lips pressing yours open and delving in with his tongue.
The sound you made into his mouth, tongue tangled with his as you gave in and let your hand thread up into his hair, nails dug into his bicep, it was lewd and perfect and exactly what he craved.
“You're still a—ah—brute,” You panted between kisses, gasping as he squeezed your ass and spread your cheeks, grinding your bare pussy on his abdomen.
“You're leaking on me,” Sukuna growled, tugging harder at your hair. “Maybe you like that fact.”
Before you could protest, something wet squished against your pussy. You jerked with a gasp and started to squirm, but Sukuna had you trapped in his grasp and wasn't exactly keen on letting you go.
“Ah, you asked for this. Stars, remember?”
“Wha-what is that?” Your voice pitched as he held you against the thing flicking up on your twitching clit.
It felt amazing, electricity shooting through your limbs with every movement, but it was foreign. Big but softer, unlike how his hand had been.
“You like it, don’t you? Like riding on my tongue?” He nipped at your lip like it was obvious.
His tongue?
Your nose crinkled, “What are you—oh my—mmph!” His tongue thrust into your mouth again as his… uh… other tongue prodded at your hole.
Sukuna groaned into your mouth, tasting you—all of you. Legs pinned wide open for the wet muscle to work its way inside. Slick hitting the tastebuds making his eyes roll.
God you tasted fucking good. One taste and he was surely addicted, just like he was to your scent.
The feeling of it squirming and exploring deeper, licking up into your gummy walls as sharp teeth grazed your clit, it had you keening and bucking in his arms. The stretch was unreal, and had you struggling to breathe.
“Fuck…” He rasped, pulling back to watch as you writhed, brows knit and bitten lips pushed out in a sweet little pout. You looked perfect, you felt perfect, walls pulsing around the length squelching in and out.
He was fucking you with it, and you were on the verge, ready to explode from a white hot pressure filling your belly. Shit… this had to be a sin of some kind.
Sukuna tugged your hair, leaning you back and supporting your weight to give you both a full view of how he stretched you out. “Look at that. Poor little pussy can barely handle the whole thing.” He thrust that tongue in deep and curled and you cried out.
“Oh god! I-I can't—”
“Do it,” He commanded and whatever was holding the dam back, broke. Head thrown back, your chest heaved with a strangled noise erupting as you spasmed, nails raking down his arms.
As slick leaked into his maw, trembling in Sukuna’s grip as he groaned with the feeling, the taste of you coming undone, your fuzzy mind went…
Stars…
As you rode the last waves, he pulled out of your twitching pussy, giving your clit a flick and humming a laugh when you jolted.
“Well, where did all that attitude go? Speechless already, brat?” He mocked, watching your lashes flutter and eyes struggle to focus into a glare. On fire with a flush that raced across your cheeks and chest.
“Pu-put me down you fiend.” You huffed and pushed weakly at his chest and Sukuna barked a laugh. Grinning wicked and feral with gleaming canines and your tummy clenched all over again.
“No-no, I’m not done with you.” Your knees hit the hard stone as Sukuna sat back on the ledge, thighs spread over his, letting your weight drop into his lap and right onto his cocks, pushing your hips back to grind you against the thick lengths. The feeling had you choke on air and despite thinking he would destroy you if he stuck one in, god forbid both, your cunt throbbed and you were painfully aware of how empty you felt.
“Not even close, wife.”
this is for u @interlude-enternude <3 it was supposed to just be a drabble but i love us torturing suki too much :3 m. list | divider by @/kthice <3
MDNI 18+ 〃 Ryomen “beefin’ with my chick while I’m in jail” Sukuna.
A/N: it's finally here oh rejoice i am free flies away
Criminal!Sukuna who’s scary as fuck. He’s so jacked it borders on obscene – muscles stacked on muscles and veins crawling beneath tattooed skin, shoulders stretching at the seams of his uniform. He’s got this sorta unperturbed vibe. Real musky and muscular, stalking around like he’ll beat up the first guy that looks at him wrong.
Criminal!Sukuna who got locked up for some undisclosed highly illegal bullshit nobody ever gets a straight answer about. Speculations are thrown around the prison yard – drug dealing. Drug trafficking. Body-part-trafficking. Cannibalism (yay!).
He doesn’t bother to correct anything. Just sits in the corner with an arm slung over one knee, brooding, grumbling “King of Curses, they used to call me..” beneath his breath. The nutjob.
Criminal!Sukuna who has the whole wing convinced there’s no way in hell he’s got a girl on the outside. Surely not. He’s so immature and ill-natured – even more so than his cellmate, Gojo. Which is saying something.
To the little lady who might end up having to deal with this brutish man, well.. Gojo extends his sincerest condolences. He’s fairly certain any sane person would run for the hills.
You are not sane. He supposes this is why you and Sukuna get along.
Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.
Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.
He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.
Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.
𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸
Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.
There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.
“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”
Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.
“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”
“Maybe.”
The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.
“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”
A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!
You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”
He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.
Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds.
He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.
He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.
He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?
He’s excited. Very. In many ways.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.
Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.
God, he’s missed you.
“You’re staring.”
“..you’re breathing.”
“Yes, that tends to happen.”
His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.
He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.
Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.
He likes you a lot.
The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.
Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.
His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.
He can’t be bothered to care.
He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.
Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.
“Hold still, woman.”
“I am holding still, you dolt–”
There’s a sharp crack!
All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.
Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.
Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.
“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”
“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”
He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”
Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.
Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.
Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.
It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.
The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.
Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.
Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.
His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.
“..say you love me.”
Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.
“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.
“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”
His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.
Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.
You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.
“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”
Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.
Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –
“..missed this pussy.”
He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.
But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.
Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.
When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.
Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.
He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.
–––
Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–
.
Where the hell are you?
Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.
Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.
DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–
You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.
“Hi,” you sniff.
His eye twitches.
“Woman.”
“Yes?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.
Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.
He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.
“You told me you were seeing someone.”
You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”
“Maybe means yes.”
“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”
“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”
“Our apartment.”
“Same difference.”
You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.
Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.
What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.
It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.
And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?
You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.
“There is no guy,” you snort.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”
“You know where the apartment is.”
“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”
You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.
It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.
“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”
He glares down at you. You smile back.
And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.
“Missed you,” he murmurs.
You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.
“You big baby.”
Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.
Still, the itch never leaves.
Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.
“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”
You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.
Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.
But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.
── synopsis .✦ after being seperated from your herd during a violent storm, you find yourself on the outskirts of hunter!sukuna's territory. getting caught in one of his bear traps results in his hesitant rescue, promptly followed by a reluctant stay at his cabin in the middle of the forest. however, with heat season around the corner, you can't help but thirst over the pink-haired, hunk of a man!
── contains .✦ female reader, hunter!sukuna, deer hybrid!reader, virgin!reader, graphic descriptions of injury, awkwardness, eventual smut, heat cycles, hurt/comfort, hunter x prey, p in v, praise kink, antler pulling (reader is a caribou), breeding kink, fingering, loss of virginity, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, creampies, mating press, missionary, doggystyle, teasing, mdni!
── word count .✦ 5.9k!
The forest whispered secrets through the canopy of ancient pines, their needles rustling like distant murmurs in the cool autumn breeze.
You had been wandering for days, maybe weeks – time blurred in the endless green haze. Your herd, the tight-knit group of caribou hybrids you’d grown up with, had scattered during a sudden storm.
Panic had driven them one way while fear rooted you in place, and now you were alone. Your doe ears twitched at every snap of a twig, your tail flicking nervously against your back.
The world felt too vast, too silent without the familiar scents and sounds of your kin.
Your bare feet padded softly over the mossy ground, the chill seeping into your skin despite the layers of scavenged clothes: a threadbare sweater and pants that hung loose on your slender frame.
Hunger gnawed at your stomach, but worse was the isolation, a hollow ache that made your steps falter. You pushed on, ears perking at the faint trickle of a stream ahead. Water. Relief.
But as you stepped forward, agony exploded in your right leg.
Metal jaws clamped down with brutal force, yanking you off balance. You crumpled to the forest floor with a sharp cry, the bear trap’s teeth biting deep into your calf. Pain radiated like fire, hot and unrelenting, as blood welled up, soaking your pant leg.
Your tail thrashed in panic, ears flattening against your skull. You clawed at the dirt, trying to pull free, but the trap held fast, chains rattling against a buried stake.
Tears blurred your vision, sobs escaping in ragged bursts: trapped; alone. The forest seemed to close in, indifferent to your plight.
Hours passed – or was it minutes? The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that danced mockingly around you.
Your leg throbbed, the bleeding slowing to a sticky ooze, but weakness crept in, sapping your strength. You tugged weakly at the trap again, whimpering as fresh pain lanced through you.
That’s when you heard it: heavy footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, crunching through the underbrush.
He emerged from the trees like a shadow given form: Ryomen Sukuna, though you didn’t know his name yet.
Broad-shouldered and towering, his frame filled the space between the trunks. His pink hair caught the fading light, spiked and wild, and his face bore tattoos that twisted across his skin.
Crimson eyes scanned the area with predatory sharpness. He wore simple clothes: a black shirt stretched taut over his muscled chest, pants tucked into boots caked with mud.
A hunter, you realized with a jolt, the rifle slung over his shoulder confirming it.
His gaze locked onto you, and for a moment, the world stilled. Those eyes narrowed, assessing. You froze, ears pinning back, tail curling tight against your body.
He was enormous, intimidating, his presence radiating a quiet menace that made your heart hammer. He stepped closer, boots thudding softly, and you shrank back, the trap’s chain jerking your leg painfully.
“What the hell…” He grumbled, voice low and gravelly, more to himself than you.
Crouching a safe distance away, he placed his elbows on his knees, studying the trap. His eyes flicked to your face, then to your ears and tail, noting the hybrid traits without surprise. The forest was full of strays like you.
You whimpered, trying to scoot away, but the pain shot up your leg, forcing a gasp from your lips. Blood trickled anew, staining the leaves beneath you.
“P-Please,” you whispered, voice trembling, “help…?”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out slowly, gloved hands – rough from years of handling traps and rifles – testing the mechanism.
The trap was one of his, set for bears that wandered too close to his territory. He hadn’t expected this.
With a grunt, he pried the jaws open, the metal groaning in protest. You yanked your leg free the instant it gave, scrambling back on hands and knees, ignoring the fire in your muscles.
Freedom hit like a rush, but it was short-lived.
Your injured leg buckled immediately, sending you sprawling. Blood smeared across the dirt as you tried to stand, leaning on a tree for support.
Panic surged: you had to run. He was too big, too dangerous. Hunters like him didn’t take kindly to intruders, hybrid or not. Your ears flicked wildly, catching his steady breathing behind you.
You bolted – or tried to. The first step was agony, your calf screaming as you limped forward, tail streaming behind like a flag of distress.
You made it ten paces, maybe fifteen, before your vision swam and your knee gave out. You collapsed against a fallen log, clutching your leg, sobs wracking your body. The forest spun, the pain too much, the blood loss making your head light.
Footsteps again, closer this time. Sukuna stood over you, arms crossed, his shadow engulfing you. He debated it then – you could see it in the furrow of his brow, the way his eyes traced your trembling form.
Leave her, a voice in his head probably said. She’s not your problem. The woods were cruel; strays didn’t last long.
But something held him – maybe the way your ears drooped in defeat, or the blood pooling beneath you. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head.
“Idiot,” he grunted, though whether to you or himself, you couldn’t tell.
Before you could protest, strong arms scooped you up, one under your knees, the other around your back.
You stiffened, ears flattening, a startled yelp escaping as he lifted you effortlessly. His body was warm, solid, the scent of pine and earth clinging to him.
“Don’t squirm.” He commanded flatly, voice devoid of warmth but not cruelty. “You’ll bleed out faster.”
You went limp in his hold, too weak to fight, your tail brushing against his arm.
The walk to his cabin was a blur of jostling motion and throbbing pain, the forest fading into twilight. His log cabin loomed ahead, sturdy and isolated, smoke curling from the chimney. He kicked the door open with his boot and carried you inside, the warmth of a fire greeting you like an embrace.
The interior was sparse: wooden walls lined with shelves of jars and tools, a stone hearth crackling with flames, a worn couch and table.
He set you down on the couch gently – surprisingly so for his size – propping your leg on a stool. You watched him warily, ears twitching, as he fetched a first-aid kit from a cabinet. His movements were efficient, no wasted energy.
He knelt before you, gloved hands peeling back your torn pant leg to expose the wound. It was ugly: deep punctures, torn flesh, but not broken bone.
You winced as he cleaned it with antiseptic, the sting making tears well up. He worked in silence, his focus intense, those four eyes flicking between the injury and your face to gauge your pain.
“Hurts.” You whimpered, more to fill the quiet than anything.
“Yeah, no shit.” He replied curtly, wrapping the bandage tight. No more words.
He stood, towering over you again, and pointed to a door. “Bedroom’s that way. Rest.”
You nodded, hobbling to the small room with its simple bed and quilt. Exhaustion claimed you instantly, the pain a dull roar as sleep pulled you under.
The first week blurred into a rhythm of silence and necessity. Your leg healed slowly, the wound scabbing over under Sukuna’s reluctant care.
He changed the bandages daily, his large hands surprisingly deft, but he never lingered. Meals appeared on the table: stew from rabbit or vegetables he’d grown in his garden, bread baked in his oven. You’d eat while he sat across, staring into the fire or sharpening a knife, the scrape of metal the only sound.
Awkwardness hung thick in the air. You’d catch him watching you sometimes, those crimson eyes giving him an unnerving depth, like he saw more than you wanted. Your ears would perk at his approach, tail flicking nervously, and you’d avert your gaze, focusing on the window where the woods pressed close.
One evening, as rain pattered against the roof, you sat by the fire, leg propped up, sketching idly on a scrap of paper he’d left out: simple lines of trees and your lost herd.
Ryomen entered from outside, shaking water from his hair, his shirt clinging damply to his broad chest. He glanced at your drawing, pausing.
“You draw.” He noted, not a question.
You nodded, ears twitching. "A little, but I’m not any good. Helps... pass time."
He grunted, hanging his coat. "That yer herd?"
“Yeah… I lost them.” You whispered, tail drooping against your back.
Silence again. He poked at the fire, sparks flying. “Woods eat loners.”
You swallowed, the words hitting too close. “I know.”
He didn’t press, just ladled stew into bowls and handed you one. You ate in quiet companionship, the rain a soothing backdrop. His presence was a wall – impenetrable, but not hostile.
Subtly, you noticed things: the way his shoulders relaxed slightly when you didn’t flinch at his nearness, how he’d leave extra blankets when nights grew cold.
By the second week, you could hobble around the cabin unaided, testing your leg on short walks to the door.
The forest called to you, but fear kept you inside: fear of the wild, and oddly, of leaving this strange sanctuary.
Sukuna watched from afar, his debates internal now. Why keep her? But he did, fetching herbs from the woods to brew tea for your lingering ache.
One afternoon, sunlight filtering through the windows, you found him outside chopping wood.
The axe rose and fell with rhythmic power, muscles flexing under his shirt, sweat glistening on his tattooed skin. You lingered in the doorway, ears perked, mesmerized by the controlled strength.
He noticed, pausing mid-swing. “Leg better?”
“Yeah,” you admitted softly, stepping out gingerly. The air was crisp, pine-scented. “Thanks... for everything.”
He wiped his brow, eyes meeting yours. “Don’t mention it.”
You smiled faintly, tail swishing. “What’s it like? Living here alone.”
A shrug. “Quiet. Suits me.” He resumed chopping, but slower, as if inviting the conversation. “You? Herd’s loud, right?”
"Comforting," you admitted, leaning against the porch rail. “But yeah, noisy. Miss it sometimes.”
He nodded once, axe embedding in the block. The silence returned, comfortable now, laced with unspoken understanding. You stayed there, watching him work, the slow thaw between you beginning to crack the ice.
Days stretched into the third week. Your leg strengthened, scabs slowly fading to pink lines.
Interactions grew in tiny increments: a shared glance over breakfast, where he’d push the salt your way without asking; evenings by the fire, where you’d read an old book from his shelf while he whittled wood into shapes: abstract, fierce things that mirrored his character.
One night, thunder rumbled outside, echoing your long-ago storm. You woke sweating, ears flat, tail tucked, the dream of separation vivid. A creak in the hall: Sukuna, checking on you as he sometimes did silently.
“Bad dream?” He said from the doorway, voice rough with sleep.
You sat up, nodding. “Something like that. Just– got reminded of the herd again is all.”
He hesitated, then entered, sitting on the edge of the bed. His weight dipped the mattress, but he kept space between you. “You’re not alone now.”
The words hung, simple but weighted. Your ears lifted slightly, fluffy tail twitching. “I know.”
He stayed until your breathing evened, his presence a quiet anchor. No more words, but the gesture spoke volumes.
As the weeks waned, the awkwardness softened into something tentative, unspoken.
You’d help with small tasks: stirring pots while he hunted, your tail brushing his leg accidentally, sending a jolt through both of you. He’d grunt apologies, but his eyes lingered longer, tracing the curve of your ears, the sway of your hips as you moved.
One crisp morning, you stood at the window, gazing at the woods. Freedom beckoned, but so did the man behind you, his footsteps approaching.
“Thinking of leaving?” he asked, voice low.
You turned, meeting his gaze. "Maybe. But... not yet."
A rare smirk tugged at his lips, tattoos shifting. "Good."
The crisp mornings gave way to warmer days, the forest awakening with a subtle shift in the air. Leaves unfurled brighter greens, and the underbrush hummed with the stirrings of life.
You felt it too – a restlessness deep in your core, a warmth that bloomed unbidden as heat season edged closer. Your body, attuned to the rhythms of nature like the rest of your kind, began to respond.
It started faintly: a flush creeping up your neck when you caught sight of Sukuna across the room, your doe ears twitching more frequently, your tail flicking in short, agitated bursts.
You shifted in your seat during meals, crossing and uncrossing your legs, the wooden chair creaking under the subtle movements.
Sukuna noticed, though he gave no sign of it at first.
As a human, his senses weren’t sharpened like yours, but the cabin was small, the air thick with shared space. Your scent – earthy and sweet, like wildflowers crushed underfoot – grew stronger each day, weaving through the smells of woodsmoke and stewed meat.
It lingered on the blankets you’d borrowed, clung to the air when you passed him in the narrow hallway. He caught it one evening while sharpening his knife by the fire, the blade gliding smoothly over the whetstone.
You sat nearby, mending a tear in your sweater, your fingers fumbling slightly as another wave of heat flushed your cheeks.
He paused, the scrape of metal halting for a beat longer than usual. His eyes flicked toward you, then away, jaw clenching subtly.
The scent hit him fuller now, stirring something primal he shoved down deep. He resumed sharpening, the rhythm faster, more deliberate, as if to drown out the distraction.
“Pass the salt.” He began gruffly when you both reached for the bowl at dinner, his hand brushing yours briefly.
The contact sent a spark through you, making your tail curl tight against your thigh. You pulled back quickly, ears flattening, a soft pink tinting your skin.
“Sorry.” You squeaked, voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire.
You shifted again, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch, the movement drawing his gaze for a split second before he looked back to his plate. He grunted in response, forking into his venison without another word.
The silence stretched, heavier now, laced with an undercurrent neither of you acknowledged.
You could feel his awareness, the way his broad shoulders tensed when you stood to clear the table, your hips swaying just a fraction more than necessary as the warmth pooled low in your belly.
Nights grew warmer, the quilt too heavy some evenings. You tossed in the small bedroom, ears perked to the sounds of the cabin settling – the creak of floorboards as Sukuna moved about, the distant hoot of an owl outside.
Your scent intensified with the rising temperature, seeping under the door like an invitation you hadn’t meant to send. He lay in his own room, staring at the rafters, the air thick with it.
Human or not, it affected him: a tightening in his chest, a heat of his own that he ignored by focusing on the hunt planned for dawn.
He rolled over, groaning into the pillow, willing sleep to come.
By midweek, the signs were impossible to miss.
You found yourself lingering near him more, drawn by an instinct you couldn’t name.
While he chopped wood outside, you watched from the porch, your flush deepening as sweat traced lines down his tattooed arms, his shirt clinging to the broad expanse of his back.
Your tail swished restlessly, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the ache in your leg long forgotten but replaced by this new, insistent pull.
He glanced up once, axe pausing mid-air, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. The scent wrapped around him, sweet and insistent, making his grip tighten on the handle.
“Need something?” He asked, voice rougher than usual, eyes locking onto yours – all four piercing, unreadable.
You shook your head, ears drooping slightly as you stepped back inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Heart pounding, you pressed a hand to your warm cheek, wondering if he could hear the rapid beat from outside.
He swung the axe harder after that, embedding it deep into the block with each strike, the physical exertion a barrier against the growing tension.
Afternoons brought small tasks that amplified the awkwardness.
You helped sort herbs he’d gathered – drying them on racks by the window – your fingers brushing his as you passed bundles.
Each time, you flushed, shifting away with a quiet apology, your tail flicking against his leg once by accident. He froze for a heartbeat, the contact electric, your scent blooming sharper in the confined space.
“Watch it.” He warned, not harshly, but stepping back to give you room. His movements grew more deliberate, putting distance between you under the guise of efficiency.
Yet he didn’t send you away. Meals remained shared, silences filled with the subtle dance of avoidance.
One evening, as twilight painted the cabin in soft oranges, you sat by the fire, knees drawn up, trying to read but finding the words blurring. The heat simmered under your skin, making you shift restlessly, the couch cushions sighing under you.
Sukuna entered from the porch, carrying a pail of water, his frame filling the doorway. Water dripped from his hands, and he set the pail down with a thud, the sound echoing your quickened breath.
He caught the scent again, stronger now, mingling with the damp earth on his clothes. It pulled at him, testing his resolve, but he crossed to the kitchen, back turned, pouring the water into a pot with unnecessary focus.
You watched his shoulders, the way they rose and fell with controlled breaths, and felt your own flush spread, ears twitching forward. It was obvious, you knew – your shifting, the way your eyes lingered – but so was his effort to remain unaffected, the subtle clench of his fists at his sides.
“Cold out there?” You questioned softly, breaking the quiet, your voice laced with the warmth you couldn’t hide.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not really.” A pause, then he added, “you warm enough?”
The question hung, double-edged, and you nodded too quickly, tail curling around your ankle. “Yeah. Fine.”
He turned back to the stove, stirring whatever simmered there, the spoon clinking rhythmically. Neither pushed further, the tension coiling tighter in the unspoken space between you.
Heat season loomed, promising more, but for now, it simmered in glances and silences, building like the fire before you.
The days blurred into a pattern of restraint. You’d catch yourself staring when he whittled by the window, the knife carving precise lines into the wood, his large hands steady despite the undercurrent.
Your scent filled the cabin more each morning, greeting him upon waking, and he’d open the windows wider, letting the breeze carry it away – or so he told himself.
But it followed him into the woods during hunts, a ghost that made his steps heavier, his focus sharper on the prey to distract from the pull back home.
One afternoon, rain returned, soft and steady, drumming on the roof. You paced the living room subtly, unable to sit still, the flush permanent now on your skin.
Sukuna returned soaked, shaking off his coat in the entryway, water pooling at his boots. The fresh rain mixed with your scent, creating something headier, and he paused, inhaling deeply before schooling his expression.
“Wet out.” He pointed out flatly, hanging the coat and avoiding your eyes as he toed off his boots.
You nodded, shifting from foot to foot near the fire. “Smells like it.”
Your ears perked at his approach, tail swishing once before you stilled it. He moved to the hearth, adding logs with efficient motions, his arm brushing close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him.
A shiver ran through you, not from cold, and you stepped aside, cheeks burning.
He didn’t comment, just stoked the flames higher, the warmth chasing the chill but amplifying your own. Dinner passed in near-silence, forks scraping plates, your leg bouncing under the table until you caught his glance and forced it still.
Obvious wants hung in the air: yours in the flush and fidgets, his in the way he lingered at the table after, eyes tracing the fire instead of you.
As night fell, the rain a lullaby, you retreated to your room, the door a flimsy barrier. Your scent permeated everything now, a silent confession.
Sukuna sat up later, alone by the dying embers, rubbing a hand over his face. Unaffected? Hardly. But he wouldn’t act – not yet.
Heat season arrived without mercy, your body igniting from the inside out.
You didn’t fully understand it – clueless to the full implications, your deer instincts overriding any sense of propriety. The cabin felt smaller, the air thicker, and every brush of fabric against your skin sent sparks racing through you.
You paced the living room in nothing but one of Sukuna’s oversized shirts, the hem skimming your thighs, your scut wagging erratically behind you. Your ears flicked at every sound, and a persistent ache throbbed between your legs, making you shift your hips without thinking.
Sukuna watched from the kitchen, his eyes narrowing as you bent over to pick up a fallen book, the shirt riding up to expose the curve of your ass. Your scent flooded the space, heady and intoxicating, pulling at him like a tether.
You straightened, oblivious, and stretched your arms overhead, the motion arching your back and pressing your breasts against the thin fabric. Nipples hardened visibly, and you let out a soft, unwitting whimper, rubbing your thighs together as you moved to the couch.
He gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening, forcing his gaze away.
“Gonna cut wood.” He decided, voice gravelly, grabbing his axe and stalking out the door before the temptation grew any stronger.
Alone, the heat clawed deeper. You tried to distract yourself, but your body betrayed you: fingers trailing absently over your collarbone, down to the hem of the shirt, lifting it slightly as you sat on the floor by the fire. Legs parted just enough to ease the pressure, you rocked subtly, a flush painting your cheeks rosy.
It wasn’t deliberate; you just needed relief from the fire building inside. When that failed, you wandered, drawn to his room by the familiar scent of him on the sheets.
Climbing onto his bed, you buried your face in his pillow, inhaling deeply. The ache intensified, and before you knew it, your hips ground down against the soft mound of fabric, a desperate friction that made your tail flag up.
Tears pricked your eyes as the motion brought fleeting sparks of pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. You humped the pillow pathetically, soft sobs escaping as your body wept for more. Clueless to how vulnerable you looked – shirt hiked up, ass in the air, ears flattened in frustration – you kept moving, chasing the elusive release.
Outside, the axe bit into wood with rhythmic thuds, each swing a release for Sukuna’s pent-up tension. Sweat beaded on his brow, his muscles flexing under inked skin, but your scent clung to him even here, a ghost in the breeze.
He worked longer than needed, trying to outrun the pull, but eventually, the pile of logs satisfied him enough to head back. The cabin door creaked open to silence: no soft footsteps, no shifting on the couch.
“Sweetheart? Where are you?” He called, voice echoing off the walls. No answer. Frowning, he checked the kitchen, the porch, then pushed open his bedroom door.
There you were, on his bed, hips rolling against the pillow in desperate, uneven thrusts. Tears streaked your face, your doe ears trembling, tail flicking in distress.
The sight hit him like a punch – your flushed skin, the way your pussy glistened with arousal, lips parted on quiet mewls. His cock twitched hard in his pants, blood rushing south as he stood frozen in the doorway.
“Kuna… mmh!” Your voice came out small, broken, as you lifted your head, eyes glassy with need. You didn’t stop moving, hips grinding down instinctively, but shame flickered in your gaze. “Help... please? It h– hurts…”
He crossed the room in two strides, the door clicking shut behind him. Towering over you, his broad frame cast a shadow, vermillion eyes dark with hunger.
“Fuck, angel…” He growled low, sitting on the bed’s edge and pulling you up by your arms.
You whimpered at the manhandling, body pliant in his grip. “W-Wait—”
“I’ve been holding back for weeks. Watching you tease without even knowing it, and that damn scent everywhere…”
His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears, and he kissed you then: gentle at first, lips soft against yours, tongue coaxing your mouth open. You melted into it, mewling softly, your hands clutching his shirt as the ache pulsed hotter.
He broke away, breathing ragged. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart. But tell me if it’s too much.”
You nodded frantically, pleading with your eyes, and he eased you back onto the bed, stripping the shirt from your body. Naked now, you shivered under his gaze, but the heat made you bold – legs parting slightly, inviting him without words.
He shed his clothes quickly, his thick cock springing free, veined and heavy, tip already leaking. Your eyes widened, clueless innocence mixing with raw want, and you reached for him tentatively.
“Gentle, pretty thing.” He murmured, praise lacing his voice as he settled between your thighs.
His large frame loomed over you, the warmth of his body contrasting the cool sheets beneath. One hand stroked your hair, fingers tangling gently in the soft strands near your deer-like ears, which twitched at the touch.
You felt exposed, your hybrid tail flicking nervously against the mattress, but his presence grounded you, making your core ache with need.
He didn’t rush to claim you fully. Instead, his free hand trailed down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, then dipping lower to your inner thigh.
“So ready f’me, aren’t you?.” Sukuna said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through your spine.
His fingers brushed against your slick folds, and you gasped, hips bucking instinctively toward the contact. “Mmf!”
He chuckled softly, the sound dark and approving. “Easy, pretty. Don’t wanna hurt you yet..”
His thumb parted your pussy lips gently, exposing your clit to the air, and you whimpered, your antlers scraping lightly against the pillow as you tilted your head back. He watched your reactions closely, his crimson eyes intense, drinking in every quiver and soft sound you made.
“Tell me what you want.” He commanded, his tone firm but laced with that teasing edge that made your heart race.
“T-Touch me... please.” You breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation.
Your hands clutched at the sheets, nails digging in as his finger circled your entrance, gathering your wetness. He pressed one thick digit inside slowly, the intrusion stretching you just enough to make you moan.
It was nothing like his cock, but the sensation was electric, your walls clenching around him immediately.
“Like that?” Sukuna asked, his lips curving into a smirk as he crooked his finger, brushing against that sensitive spot inside you.
You nodded, a whine escaping your throat, your tail thrashing side to side. He added a second finger, scissoring them carefully to open you up, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
The stretch burned faintly, but it melted into pleasure as he began to pump them in and out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles over it.
Your breath hitched, legs spreading wider to give him better access. “S-Sukuna... it feels... ah!”
The words dissolved into a cry as he increased the pace, his fingers thrusting deeper, curling with each withdrawal to hit that bundle of nerves again and again. Wet sounds filled the room, obscene and intoxicating, your arousal coating his hand.
He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, nipping at the soft fur there. “You’re soaking my fingers, pretty girl. So tight and perfect for me.”
You arched into his touch, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath. His other hand left your side to cup one, thumb flicking over your nipple, pinching just hard enough to make you yelp.
The double sensations overwhelmed you: his fingers fucking into your pussy, stretching and filling you, while his mouth descended to your neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin where your pulse fluttered wildly.
“More... gimme– gimme more,” you begged, your voice breaking, hips grinding against his hand shamelessly.
He obliged, adding a third finger, the fullness making your eyes roll back.
“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He growled approvingly, his fingers pistoning faster now, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust.
You could feel the pressure building, a coil tightening low in your belly, your deer ears flattening against your head as pleasure bordered on too much. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but from the intensity, your body trembling under him.
“P-Please..!” You
“That’s it, let go for me.” Sukuna urged, his voice husky as he watched your face contort in ecstasy.
He twisted his fingers inside you, rubbing relentlessly against your g-spot, while his thumb pressed harder on your swollen clit. The combination shattered you – your walls clamped down on his fingers, pulsing as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave.
“Mmh– Ryo!” You cried out, body convulsing, thighs quaking around his wrist as slick gushed over his hand, soaking the sheets beneath.
He didn’t stop immediately, drawing out your release with slow, gentle strokes until you whimpered from oversensitivity, your tail curling around his arm in a weak attempt to pull him closer.
“Good girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers with a wet pop, bringing them to his lips to taste you. His eyes locked on yours, dark with promise.
He flipped you suddenly, manhandling you onto your hands and knees with effortless strength, your body pliant under his touch. You scrambled to steady yourself on the mattress, palms sinking into the soft fabric, knees spreading wider as your tail lifted instinctively, baring yourself completely to him.
The cool air kissed your dripping folds, a brief respite before he positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock teasing your entrance.
“You want it rough, pretty thing? Begging like that.” His voice was a gravelly command, laced with amusement and hunger.
Before you could respond, his hand came down on your ass – a light slap that stung just enough to make you yelp, the impact sending a ripple through your flesh. Heat bloomed across your skin, mingling with the ache between your legs.
Then he thrust back in from behind, the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper, his cock spearing into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.
“Oh! Kuna… so– so big!” You sobbed in pleasure, the stretch more intense now, every inch of him pressing against your sensitive spots as he bottomed out.
Your arms trembled, threatening to give out as you pushed back against him, desperate to feel him everywhere. The slap had left your ass tingling, a warm contrast to the cool sheets, and you arched your back further, presenting yourself like the submissive hybrid you were.
Ears flattening completely, you let out a string of moans, each one higher pitched as the pressure built anew. His hand moved to your antlers, tugging them firmly to guide your head up, forcing you to arch more, your neck straining in the best way.
“Hah, fuck, crying for my cock, hm? Such a good girl, taking it all.” Sukuna’s praise washed over you like liquid fire, igniting your emotions – pride in pleasing him, a deep-seated need to submit, to be his.
He kept the pull steady, not painful but insistent, making you feel owned as he rutted into you. Each thrust was deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the drag of his veined length against your walls making obscene squelching noises.
Your pussy fluttered around him, juices coating his shaft and dripping down your thighs, the physical sensations overwhelming: the burn in your muscles from holding the position, the slap of his hips against your reddened ass, the way his cock throbbed inside you, hot and unyielding.
You rocked back to meet him, your tail brushing loosely against his thigh in an instinctive gesture of affection amid the roughness. The orgasm you’d felt building earlier surged closer now, coiling tight in your core, your clit throbbing untouched but stimulated by the indirect pressure of his invasions.
Sukuna’s breaths grew ragged, his hand on your hip sliding forward to press against your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his own cock moving inside you.
“Shit, you’re tight... milking me so good.” He muttered, his voice strained with his own rising pleasure. He released your hair momentarily to deliver another light slap to your other cheek, the sound sharp in the room, making you clench harder around him.
The duplicity – pain and pleasure – pushed you closer, your sobs turning into keening cries as the tension wound unbearably tight.
He tugged your antlers again, gentler this time, but enough to keep your gaze forward. His thrusts lost a bit of their rhythm, becoming erratic as he chased his release, but he didn’t let up on the depth, each one punching the air from your lungs.
You felt him everywhere: the heat of his body over yours, the possessive hold, the way his cock pulsed with impending climax.
Emotionally, it was intoxicating; you were his, completely, and the thought alone made your walls spasm.
“Gonna fill you up, angel. Pump you full until you’re bred, carrying my scent forever.”
The words made you whine, clenching harder, and you came again: shaking, tears streaming as waves crashed over you. “Ah! I’m gonna– cumming!”
He chuckled, voice strained. “Fuck, listen to you. So desperate for my cum. Nghh– an’ you’re shy now? After slutting out on my—haah—bed?”
You hid your face in the pillow, flushing deeper, but your hips ground back, asking for more without words. He pulled out briefly, flipping you onto your back once more, hooking your legs over his shoulders.
The position folded you, letting him drive in deep, balls slapping against your ass with each rough pound. His eyes – the prettiest, deepest red – locked on yours, wild and possessive. “Don’t hide, sweetheart. Want you looking at me when you cum again.”
Pleasure dumbed your mind, thoughts scattering into nothing but him – his cock stretching you, his grunts, the pull on your hair as he leaned down to capture your lips.
You came a third time, crying out his name, body convulsing as he chased his own release.
“That’s my girl.” He praised, thrusting erratically. “Milk me dry, pretty thing. Gonna breed this pussy.”
With a final, deep shove, he buried himself and came – hot spurts flooding you, his groan rumbling through his chest. You felt every pulse, the warmth spreading, and it triggered one last, shuddering orgasm from you, tears of pure bliss soaking the sheets.
He collapsed gently atop you, still inside, peppering your face with soft kisses. “Good job, angel. Took me so well.”
You panted, cockdrunk haze settling, shying into his neck with a whimper.
He chuckled tiredly, stroking your back. “Heat’s not over yet, sweetheart.”
NOBLE ✦ heian!sukuna and his new arranged wife!reader...who barely looks at him, let alone fucks him... | NSFW. oral (f. rec). slight degredation. manhandling. a steamy onsen. ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა (3.6k)
Life had been a series of decisions made by everyone but you.
Being raised under strict rule and watchful eye just to be sold off to the wealthiest, most respected man in the country wasn't something you fought exactly, you knew it was a battle you wouldn't win.
They could treat you like a prize sow, but that didn't mean you'd sit there getting fat and happy and filled with babies like one.
Especially not when you were being unloaded onto a warlord.
Sorry, not a warlord, the warlord.
Unrivaled and undefeated, Sukuna Ryomen wore blood and ash to your first meeting as casually as he did his kimono.
Draped, loose, open in the front like he didn't care who gawked at his chiseled chest or the thick black ink that wrapped his body and disappeared into the robe.
You kept your head low but your eyes on the bored, tattooed face of the man who didn't even seem to be listening to the details of your ceremony taking place the following week.
Sukuna got one look at your expression, your posture, your dress, and was about to write you off as yet another mindless, well trained insect who got off on following orders. You certainly looked the part.
But as the meeting finished and you rose to your feet, lowering to a deep and respectful bow, you muttered something at him.
"I do hope you plan to bathe before the ceremony, I can smell you from here."
When you straightened, your face gave absolutely nothing away. But there was venom and fire slithering behind the courteous tone.
When you walked off to follow your mother and father, you did not look back.
But you... you insulted him. Told him he stunk right to his face and shattered the image he'd built in his head in the moments you knelt across from him.
Maybe you weren't the polite, sweet, mindless doll your parents raised you to be.
Well, at least you wouldn't be boring.
...
Oh, how he had come to regret those words.
Sukuna didn't think much about how his life would change once he was married. He'd be expected to make an heir, but it wasn't like that would affect his life.
Ha.
Hard to make an heir when his wife refused to acknowledge his existence, god forbid sleep in the same bed.
Hard to make an heir when his balls were full and the only seed he spent was on pretty, fluff-for-brains concubines, or eventually, when he could hardly stand to even look at them, his own god damned hand.
Being married to you wasn't only not boring, it was hell.
He had to wonder which of the many heinous acts he'd committed thus far in his lifetime had landed him living punishment in the form of you.
Probably all of them.
But Sukuna wasn't only a sadist, but a masochist just the same.
Sure he glared and sneered and scoffed at your back as you walked out the moment he stepped in a room. Making a snide comment under your breath as you passed him just to set his teeth grinding away.
Sometimes he would bark a, "Know your place, woman." At your disappearing form, catching your shoulders shaking the slightest bit. Like you were fucking laughing.
It made his blood boil and hands itch to do something. To retaliate, to show you your place and put you in it.
You were supposed to be a wife. Subservient and devoted in every way to him and his wants, his needs.
That’s the thing, in every technical way, you were. You ran the household, ate meals with him when expected, attended ceremonies and political gatherings when it was called for. On the outside, you were absolutely perfect.
And in some backwards way, you really were perfect for him.
A match in fire and callousness, you didn't let it rage out of control like he could. You kept it in check and used your seething as an underhanded weapon.
One that really got you what you wanted, because now you had all the freedoms of a wealthy noblewoman, and you had Sukuna reluctantly wrapped around your pretty little finger.
You knew he was not the person to have worked up and left on the edge, but it’s not like you particularly gave a shit. It was amusing to see how his crimson eyes lingered as you passed in the hall, some staff member in tow as you listed off your preferences and plans for a gathering. The way his nostrils flared as he caught your scent.
No, it slapped him across the face. Invaded his senses and had all four of his fists clenched.
He told himself you were just another woman. His wife, sure, but no different than any other concubine. But the way his hands itched to reach and grab you at the waist, rip your obi off and squeeze the soft curve instead, to pull you in and bury his face into the crook of your neck and breathe so deep he’d never get your scent out of his sinuses.
The way he ached to have you sat on his lap taking every inch of him, to fill you until your belly swelled with his babies. Fucked his heir into you.
He’d never had the urge to breed before, and it was really fucking annoying. It made him feel like a fucking animal, and he hated it.
Sure he sated animalistic needs, eating, fucking, killing. But they didn’t control him.
Sukuna could level civilizations singlehandedly, raze villages to the ground and upheave the world just to toss it on its head. He was a warlord—no, the fucking warlord, and his pretty little wife had him tearing his own hair out.
God, he needed to relax. This wasn’t him. He didn’t let emotions run his life, and he certainly didn't let people run his life.
Meanwhile you and your life carried on just the same. Ate dinner and sipped fine tea imported from the mountainous regions to the east, strolled the gardens full of fresh blooms and the low buzzing hum of cicadas, stripped free of your yukata with the help of your attendants and left to soak in the hot spring watching the sun set on the land.
On your land.
You supposed being married to the brute wasn't so bad after all.
Steam rolled off the water, lifted by the light breeze that rustled leaves and set chimes twinkling.
It was peace. You were exactly where you wanted to be, and certainly enjoyed it, but you couldn't deny you craved something just a little more. Something exciting.
“B-but sir! Please, wait!” The shrill, panicked voice of an attendant rang out just outside the door into the onsen and you whipped your head around just in time to see it slide open with a bang!
And behold, your husband.
Taking up nearly the entire doorway with nothing but a towel barely hanging on around his hips. So short the black rings inked on each thigh were visible.
It left you speechless, to see so much of him so bare. That he’d be brazen enough to walk right in on you so indecent. But you dipped quickly, putting your body underwater up to your neck and covering your breasts.
“What do you think you're doing in here?” You lifted your chin, dignity intact even as you hunched to maintain a shred of modesty.
Sukuna froze in the entrance, ruby eyes wide and stuck on you for a long moment until he finally broke and stepped into the room.
“Bathing. I believe it was you that requested me to, no?” He quirked a brow, bare feet slapping the stone as he walked toward the steps into the water.
The same attendant hurried in behind him, coming to crouch next to you. “Ma'am, your towel? Would you like to—”
“Leave us,” Sukuna dismissed her without a look, halted and about to get in.
You took the towel and muttered that you were fine, that she could go. She bowed low to you both and then that was it. You were alone.
Well, alone with your husband.
Who at least had the decency to go against tradition and leave the scrap of towel on and covering where thick black lines dipped low on his abdomen.
You studied each other for a moment. Your hands cupping your breasts and his crossed over his chest and planted on his hips.
You broke the stare first, turning to look out at the open scene and he started down the steps. He sank into the water and you watched from your periphery as he eased back, running a damp hand through his dusty pink mess of hair and rested two muscled arms on the stone ledge.
It was the first time you'd ever been alone with him, and you refused to look at him or speak first.
“I despise how they hover.” Sukuna's gruff voice cut through the silence and you did not look at him as you retorted.
“That is their duty. An attendant would not be properly fulfilling their role if they were not present when needed.”
Sukuna barked a laugh, “Well, you'd know all about that now, wouldn't you?”
Your head snapped to the side and you looked him right in the eye with brows furrowed. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
“Don't act oblivious now.” He tch'd, casting his gaze out at the view instead of you. “Stupidity does not suit you.”
You blinked. A few times. And despite the heat of the water, felt warmth race across your cheeks.
Was he really so callous?!
He caught your slight shock and smirked, “I assumed you'd be fleeing about now, is something the matter?”
“I will not be bullied out of my evening soak.” You huffed.
“Bullied?” Sukuna scoffed, “You've had quite a soft upbringing if this constitutes bullying in your eyes.” He could see your face twist, fire flickering in your eyes as he prodded you and all he could think was finally.
“You know nothing about me, so do not speak as if you do.” You almost sneered as you hissed it at him. Like he'd truly struck something.
And Sukuna was not one to back down when he struck a nerve.
“I know enough to know you're a sheltered, well mannered brat. If there is more than that, I have not seen it.” He said it like a challenge, like he was daring you to show him there was more.
He had no fucking idea what he was talking about. Sukuna was a brute, blood and dirt still under his dark fingernails from the havoc he likely wreaked just before coming to interrupt your evening.
So fast the water splashed the ledge, you snatched the towel and wrapped it around your body under the surface. It was flimsy and lewd, but better than your hands.
His eyes went wide, gripping the ledge as you rose to your feet. Waist deep in the water, the towel clung to your form and had him swallow visibly.
“You seem to have certain expectations of me, does it upset you that I have not met them?” Your head cocked, taking a step forward.
Sukuna did not waver on the outside, simply sneered, “I am no stranger to disappointment.”
Your eyes narrowed into a glare that threw daggers at him and god, he felt his heart skip a beat as you cut right back with, “Well, neither am I.”
The water rippled around you as you took step after step closer to him. “I never asked to be married off to the likes of you.”
“That makes two of us.” He shot right back, rising to his feet as you drew close enough to look down at him, making you tilt your head back a bit to keep your eyes on his.
They betrayed you though and flickered to his chest, following the black lines that cut down his abdomen. Water dripping from his bare body, the tiny scrap of a towel heavy on his hips, soaked and clinging to his muscled thighs.
God, why did he have to look like that?
“Brute.”
Surely you'd be the death of him.
“Prude.” His brow lifted like a dare and you stepped right up to the challenge.
“Whore.”
It surprised even you and as it left your lips you saw the shock hit Sukuna like a slap to the face.
Too far?
“Why you little—” He snarled, grabbing you at the waist with one hand, nails pressing in enough to make you gasp as he brought his face close and held you in place. “You dare to speak to me like that?”
“So all those women, you mean to tell me you keep them around for idle chatter? Please.” You scoffed and Sukuna lifted a brow, lips pulling into a slow smirk.
“What’s this? Is the brat jealous?”
You? Jealous? Pfft, ridiculous.
He wasn’t about to tell you that it had been weeks since he’d last even tried to be with another woman. That it disgusted him to even think of. That he couldn’t.
But here you were, right here in his grasp, trembling a little but not pulling away. A crinkle to your nose like he just caught you red handed. And that certainly stirred something in him.
“You… your—” You stammered a little and his smirk split into a grin. Sharp and gleaming. He could feel your heart racing away under his grip. A clear of your throat and you refitted the blades in your gaze. “Clearly, your delusion knows no bounds.”
“You’d think it delusion that a woman would be jealous of another bringing pleasure to her man?” He hummed, grip softening on your waist slightly just to slide down to your hip. Your lips parted and he could see your thighs squeeze under the surface as he stepped closer.
“Or maybe you like the thought.” He mused, so close you could feel the heat of his body and his breath on your skin as he laughed once, low and gruff. “Maybe you touch yourself at the thought of another woman bouncing on my cocks, screaming my name in ecstasy."
Wait… what?!
You had to have heard that wrong. Sure the brute had four arms but that would just be…
It took a moment to gather your thoughts and hiss a meek little, “Never.”
“Do you ever touch yourself?” He hummed again, dipping underwater to trace the edge of your towel, grazing bare skin and making you swallow. “Or are you too prudish for even that?”
You could just shove him away and storm off. In fact, why weren’t you doing exactly that?
Heart racing, you could feel your pulse between your legs, squeezed together as your belly tightened. His eyes bored into you like he knew exactly what was happening. How traitorous your body had become.
Lips parted and wavering, you hesitated to answer.
Sukuna Ryomen could always sense blood in the water, and he knew it was time to strike.
He moved, his face coming down so close to yours, but still out of reach. Thick fingers dragging over the bare skin of your thigh, he pressed up between your legs and sent a jolt of lightning ripping up your spine. You yelped and gripped his arm with both hands, but he didn't move. Just held pressure and studied how your face twisted and flushed.
“Tell me to stop,” He said, voice hoarse and quiet.
“S-s—ah! S… S-kuna,” You whimpered his name, clinging to his tattooed forearm. God he could feel you throbbing against his fingers and his cocks—already stiff, twitched. Ready to spear you on both and fill you with him until you sobbed.
“Yes, brat?”
You squirmed, eyes squeezing shut. What the hell was happening to you? “I… I can’t—”
“Look at the prude, coming undone and I haven't even done anything. Do you want more?” He rubbed a slow, tiny circle on your clit and your cunt clenched around nothing.
“Mmph—god,” You gasped, using his arm to support yourself.
“Use your words, brat. Ask me nicely, and I’ll make you see stars.”
The way he spoke to you, shit… you must have been out of your fucking mind. Or so horny you could barely stand. Either way, you pried your eyes open and met his.
“Please,” You whined, so filled with pressure you could hardly stand it and the word almost had him on his knees.
“Please what?” He held firm even as you glared weak little daggers at him, that fire burning behind your pretty, glazed eyes.
“Please,” You couldn’t believe the position you’d landed yourself in. You couldn’t believe just how good it felt… “Make me see stars.”
Restraint snapped with a low groan and his hands were on you. It was a blur and you could hardly keep track of how surrounded you felt. One slipping up into your hair, two squeezing down your sides and pulling at the towel—barely hanging on and about to give—
Ah, yep, there it goes.
Hit the water with a wet plap and you were left fully exposed.
His finger found your slick entrance and he pushed inside. Barely even half of it but your eyes went wide with how thick it was and you squeaked nonetheless, starting to protest but Sukuna shut you up.
He hefted you up like you were nothing, slotting your thighs around his hips and his own covering let go just the same as yours.
God how he was dying to use you, feel you squeeze around him like you did his finger. But you weren’t quite ready for that yet.
So he pulled your hair, tilting your head back as he brought his mouth down on yours, lips pressing yours open and delving in with his tongue.
The sound you made into his mouth, tongue tangled with his as you gave in and let your hand thread up into his hair, nails dug into his bicep, it was lewd and perfect and exactly what he craved.
“You're still a—ah—brute,” You panted between kisses, gasping as he squeezed your ass and spread your cheeks, grinding your bare pussy on his abdomen.
“You're leaking on me,” Sukuna growled, tugging harder at your hair. “Maybe you like that fact.”
Before you could protest, something wet squished against your pussy. You jerked with a gasp and started to squirm, but Sukuna had you trapped in his grasp and wasn't exactly keen on letting you go.
“Ah, you asked for this. Stars, remember?”
“Wha-what is that?” Your voice pitched as he held you against the thing flicking up on your twitching clit.
It felt amazing, electricity shooting through your limbs with every movement, but it was foreign. Big but softer, unlike how his hand had been.
“You like it, don’t you? Like riding on my tongue?” He nipped at your lip like it was obvious.
His tongue?
Your nose crinkled, “What are you—oh my—mmph!” His tongue thrust into your mouth again as his… uh… other tongue prodded at your hole.
Sukuna groaned into your mouth, tasting you—all of you. Legs pinned wide open for the wet muscle to work its way inside. Slick hitting the tastebuds making his eyes roll.
God you tasted fucking good. One taste and he was surely addicted, just like he was to your scent.
The feeling of it squirming and exploring deeper, licking up into your gummy walls as sharp teeth grazed your clit, it had you keening and bucking in his arms. The stretch was unreal, and had you struggling to breathe.
“Fuck…” He rasped, pulling back to watch as you writhed, brows knit and bitten lips pushed out in a sweet little pout. You looked perfect, you felt perfect, walls pulsing around the length squelching in and out.
He was fucking you with it, and you were on the verge, ready to explode from a white hot pressure filling your belly. Shit… this had to be a sin of some kind.
Sukuna tugged your hair, leaning you back and supporting your weight to give you both a full view of how he stretched you out. “Look at that. Poor little pussy can barely handle the whole thing.” He thrust that tongue in deep and curled and you cried out.
“Oh god! I-I can't—”
“Do it,” He commanded and whatever was holding the dam back, broke. Head thrown back, your chest heaved with a strangled noise erupting as you spasmed, nails raking down his arms.
As slick leaked into his maw, trembling in Sukuna’s grip as he groaned with the feeling, the taste of you coming undone, your fuzzy mind went…
Stars…
As you rode the last waves, he pulled out of your twitching pussy, giving your clit a flick and humming a laugh when you jolted.
“Well, where did all that attitude go? Speechless already, brat?” He mocked, watching your lashes flutter and eyes struggle to focus into a glare. On fire with a flush that raced across your cheeks and chest.
“Pu-put me down you fiend.” You huffed and pushed weakly at his chest and Sukuna barked a laugh. Grinning wicked and feral with gleaming canines and your tummy clenched all over again.
“No-no, I’m not done with you.” Your knees hit the hard stone as Sukuna sat back on the ledge, thighs spread over his, letting your weight drop into his lap and right onto his cocks, pushing your hips back to grind you against the thick lengths. The feeling had you choke on air and despite thinking he would destroy you if he stuck one in, god forbid both, your cunt throbbed and you were painfully aware of how empty you felt.
“Not even close, wife.”
this is for u @interlude-enternude <3 it was supposed to just be a drabble but i love us torturing suki too much :3 m. list | divider by @/kthice <3
synopsis 𐙚 a whole week of tutoring ryomen sukuna not only feels like teaching a rock, but also makes you do things you never thought you'd do— all for a fratboy who just needs a little unconventional push.
pairing 𐙚 frat!kuna x nerd!tutor!fem!reader
content 𐙚 mostly smut (p in v) and kinda fluff. p with plot. sukuna is a cocky manwhore lowkey, a bit mean and in denial for half of the fic. he gets soft towards the end. reader's more of a sarcastic, kinda strict nerd, not fully shy, but inexperienced. i tried my best not to make reader very specific (failed) first kiss, virginity loss (reader's). cursing ofc. masturbating and handjob mentioned. desc of kuna sleeping with someone else. he's kind of a dumbass (academically). a lot of petnames used. kuna calls reader ''miss tutor" for fun (where the fuck did i get that from?) dirty talk. reader is very awkward at one point, a typical correct answer -> taking clothing off game. fingering, pussy eating, multiple orgasms for reader, protected sex, aftercare + happy ending because i became a fucking romantic half way thru this. wc: 7.1k (im so sorry?) ignore typos this is genuinely some bullshit fr. i added texts for fun bye
ryomen sukuna is a man of many interests. music, gym, delicious food, good alcohol, athletics... and pussy.
but studying? that shit is out of his fucking dictionary.
when 'shithead elliot' as he liked to disrespectfully call the head of the life sciences department told him about the tutoring that was absolutely necessary for him to at least get more than the failing mark, he knew he couldn't avoid you.
sukuna's not stupid. if you've been recommended to him as a tutor by that jackass, it means you're smart— smart enough to get him to pass that stupid cross-faculty course that isn't even fun to him.
so, on monday, he shows up.
juuuust after five PM.
you've been waiting for an hour. one whole hour of sitting on your couch, shifting to your kitchen for a quick snack, going through the course objectives and material that you saved on your laptop, so you can start as soon as he comes. but this guy is a whole hour late, and he thinks that stupid smirk of his will make everything better?
you huff, standing there in a warm sweater and jeans, because you'd also just returned from college (early because of him), but that wasn't of any use now, was it. "ryomen sukuna?"
crimson eyes land on you with default disinterest, and sukuna pauses. based on your boring ass text replies, he'd expected you to be.. different. like some sort of campus background character he wouldn't even spare a glance at.
anything but a sweet looking pair of glasses, arched brows and those lips tugged into a gorgeous frown. your eyes are narrowed, delicate eyelashes framing them behind thick lenses. his thoughts are interrupted when you speak again, tilting your head slightly as you lean against your door.
"you are sukuna, are you not?"
"in the flesh." he recovers from his little moment, and you swear that you almost see his irises flare up with something. pride at being acknowledged? excitement for studying the course he has fucked up this semester? you don't know.
and frankly, you don't care, because his texts were enough for you to ask around about him and realise that this man is one mean guy. this is probably the one time you let yourself judge a book by its cover, because people have told you.. things.
he steps inside after you gesture for him to come in. all tall and muscular, holding a book and pen, taking up space and seeing your apartment from a height that you've never had a chance to observe from. his bold, dark ring-tattoos around his arms are visible as he stretches nonchalantly, humming in a way that vibrates through his chest. he follows you with the grace of a big panther, footsteps heavy even without his boots.
"already takin' me to your room after denying my idea to come to your house? bold choice, doll."
and of course he had a mouth on him.
"my name is y/n," you correct him quietly as you move to, and god, you've told him your name four fucking times. how much more agonizing can this get? "sit here, sukuna. i'll go get my laptop."
"i'm on your bed, y/n. think you can call me 'ryo' now," he smirks, purposely emphasizing your name and knowing you won't do what he mentioned. not when you don't know each other at all. his eyes follow your frame as you walk out of the bedroom to fetch your device. damn, you've got pretty lookin' legs.
he knows he can't think like that, but he can't help it! it's just that his brain instantly links the feeling of soft sheets and a warm, clean detergent scent— right to his dick.
it's just how things are after being invited over to so many dorms and off campus apartments, and most of them end up looking almost the same with fake vines on walls, aesthetic mirrors, cute figurines on shelves sometimes, smelling like victoria's secret or dior perfume.
your room is oddly different from any of the ones he's seen so far. your walls are a nice color. he sees a whiteboard on the wall to his left, a busy-looking desk with scattered papers, a bookmarked sci-fi book, and those whiteboard markers kept in a cylindrical pencil holder that looks like it was made by a 10 year old.
on his right, there's a few comic books. some manga? were those physical kpop albums? crochet supplies? the fuck was he doing? he couldn't care less, he was here for some shitty ass tutoring for a shitty ass course.
but then you walk back in, laptop in one hand and a cool water bottle in the other.
your face says it all— you mean business.
the first two days were hell.
after he showed up with literally just one notebook and a half used pen, probably borrowed from some guy next to his seat, you knew— this guy wasn't even putting in effort for this, there's no way he actually put in effort to understand the course in the first place.
you had to start from the very basics.
diagrams, flowcharts, classifications, multiple choice questions, teaching him the rules about how to underline organism names or italicize them in print. he was actually surprised that you had so much faith in him, that you actually believed he could learn all of that if you explained it slower with that quiet, calm voice of yours.
still, all you got from him was—
"the fuck is this?"
"why is it spelled like that?"
"oi, why're you still calling me sukuna? didn't i fuckin' say you could call me by my first name?"
"pfft, that's an easy diagram."
and he'd proceeded to make an impossibly bad drawing of cells clumped together. just.. circles. he'd looked at you like you were the one for not seeing the vision— he didn't even know what differently shaped cells were!
however, there was one more thing you observed.
those crimson eyes always wandered.
you almost thought you were being self centred at one point, for thinking that one of the most well known frat guys was checking you out.
so, in today's session, you decided to test that theory.
subtly, of course.
the sun sets outside your bedroom window, faint orange light falling over half of your room while the other is dim. you're seated on your bedroom floor, because apparently sukuna says he can't sit on any of your 'cutesy chairs' without breaking them. it's sort of true— those were old plastic chairs from your early high school days that had become quite weak through out the years. he's simply too big for them.
you religiously try not to dwell on that.
sukuna's got his— no, your pencil between his teeth like it's a cigarette, dangerous looking white canines flashing unnecessarily while he twists the pencil left and right with the support of his tongue. he silently reads through some stapled pdf printouts in his lap, dark eyes travelling over the typed out words in quick side-to-side movements. it's disgusting. you don't want to stare at his mouth or the movements of his tongue any longer.
you still do, for the next few seconds.
however, you don't let it distract you from your main objective today.
he did notice your clothes when he walked in an hour ago, just like you expected him to, but it seems that even sukuna was in denial of his sudden, unconventional weakness.
you're pretty. however, he never goes for the strict ones, or the quiet ones, or the ones who look so boring on the surface. just not his thing, y'know? and you're kind of all three of those categories to him, even if he doesn't know you well enough personally.
maybe you think the same way about him and his personality.
that's probably good, right?
you're leaning over to mark a paragraph on the sheet that's laid over one muscle thigh of his, lightly running your red pen at the start and end of the words with parentheses, all while wearing a tight little silk blouse. the two buttons at the top are undone and your cleavage spills against the soft fabric, not vulgar but not modest either, and that is not boring.
no pair of tits could ever bore sukuna, but you have some extraordinarily nice ones—
"ryomen." you huff, glaring at him through your glasses as you catch him exactly where you wanted to, keeping your expression stoic even when the thought of his gaze on your body makes you feel warmer than usual. "the sheet is down here. you're looking elsewhere."
the gentle taps of your pen against the paper save him from going further down the gutter. he grunts, mad at himself for even thinking about you like that. this wasn't how he was supposed to feel, damn it. you were the last person he wanted to fuck. you were boring! all you did was study and do your little hobbies and look so sweet, like you'd frown at him in that adorable way even if he was bending you over and—
"damn, chill out, miss tutor." he grunts out, feeling oddly flustered. the fuck was his problem? he never got flustered. it was always the other way around. "i was listening. continue."
sukuna manages to survive this session without you noticing his awkward shifting on the carpet.
he's gonna have to rub one out when he gets home later.
and he still mentally swears that it's not because of you.
after sukuna leaves, you're left with a sense of perverse satisfaction and mild embarrassment.
never in your life have you tried to seduce a guy. seeing it happen in real life, even for a minor moment, still has you a little shaken up. maybe it also makes you a little more confident in yourself.
it's questionable, you know that. it shouldn't matter whether a stupidly sexy frat boy looks at you or not. your worth is never dependent on how many pairs of eyes are staring— and yet, sukuna's eyes make you feel all too tingly, because it's like he's trying to resist you but it's futile.
does that make you powerful or does that make him weak?
whatever it is, you've confirmed it; ryomen sukuna's performance is not promising even after three days of tutoring sessions, and if you have to get him to actually improve his grade, you're going to have to resort to more creative measures.
on the 4th day, sukuna wakes up in his bed with a fucked up muscle in his neck and the light weight of a girl he doesn't know, snuggled into his side. the first three seconds feel perfectly familiar, in the sense that he's back to being the asshole who doesn't ask names and just fucks women until they forget about his lack of manners. he feels relieved.
then he remembers exactly how he ended up here.
after returning home from your third session, he'd lost his goddamn mind.
he had been so used to his usual rotation of people.
this pretty faced tutor just had to come and wreck it all into a mess, and he hated it.
he didn't know who it was that he was trying to prove wrong— just himself, because no one else knew that his mind was being fucked with by some student he'd never even heard of until three weeks ago. full of spite and disbelief, he convinced himself to call one of his usual girls.
his jaw clenches when he remembers how she whispered in his ear a few hours ago, giggling when he ended up coming all over his abs just three minutes after her touch.
it wasn't her.
he was that pent up from the mere sight of your cleavage. fucking pathetic.
he shifts out of his bed in an instant— bare ass naked, already half hard from the thought of you. the sight pisses him off further. he grunts, tapping the sleeping brunette's bare thigh a few times, urgent and firm. "oi. rise and shine, woman. don't you know the drill? get your pretty ass out 'fore i come back from my shower."
she whines sleepily in protest, piercing sukuna's ears with the shrill sound, but her own muscle memory makes her reach out for her bra on the floor anyway, and she's in the process of putting it on when he disappears into his bathroom.
a few hours pass by after that, and now he's here.
he stands outside your apartment with an actual backpack slung over a strong shoulder this time. his crimson irises meet yours with his usual cocky glint in them as he walks in without needing an invitation, clicking his tongue. "i smell pasta."
"i only made a portion for myself," you speak with a blank expression, lying through your teeth. you made a lot, knowing that a guy as buff as him definitely eats like crazy. sukuna just smirks, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the strap of that backpack. it was probably empty as fuck, aside from the condoms he usually kept stacked in there. not that he plans to use them with you. never.
your words bring rare amusement, and he responds with a faint pout on that sinful mouth. "you're a mean, mean girl, miss tutor."
...and i want to do things to you.
that goes unsaid. brushed under a rug somewhere in his mind.
you sigh, rolling your pretty eyes and walking ahead of him in the hallway of your bedroom. he takes in your outfit. pretty simple. leggings and a hoodie. why were you wearing socks? were you cold? sick, perhaps?
why the fuck was he worried? pathetic.
"sukuna—"
"ryomen."
"...right. ryomen, i'll be honest with you, even though our sessions have been short so far, i'm assuming you must have learned enough to go through a tiny little test."
your room invites him again as he enters, tossing his bag on the floor and sighing as he flops down to his usual spot, resting that muscular back against the side of your bed. "a test? hah. i'm gonna fail it."
there he goes again, with that shitty mindset. what a dumbass. you kiss your teeth in mild frustration (or maybe just nerves, for what you're about to suggest). "will you fail it if i tell you what you get for every correct answer?"
there's a long pause. just silence, as his eyes narrow and he stares up at you through dark eyelashes, resting his head back against the edge of your bed and stretching out one strong leg with a quiet grunt from the relief in his muscle. "like what? a boring lil' toffee?"
he's not prepared for your next words. you swallow hard, and your heart is pounding against your ribs as you finally take a seat in front of him, hugging your legs to your chest as you rest your chin on your knees. you maintain the eye contact. you look stunning, he thinks.
he watches the way your lips part, his adam's apple bobbing once, waiting patiently— very uncharacteristic of him.
"i'll ask you a total of 10 questions. you have to answer me. for every correct answer," you pause again, struggling to say what you've never really said to anyone before.
sukuna catches up fast. his eyes widen slightly as he tilts his head slowly to one side, like he knows what's coming— and can't (won't) do anything to stop it.
"for every correct answer, i'll take off one article of clothing."
you must be insane. maybe you are.
but he's worse. he's not sure he even deserves this, but he'll take it. he'll take anything you give him, damn it. pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
"...fuck yeah." his voice is low, almost angry at himself for being so eager. for already getting hard at the possibility of being smart enough to get this bullshit right and have you all to himself—
no, you never said you'd let him have you. he can't assume that you're his to have. you don't need to be treated like that. oh, if only he knew how you spent hours shopping for the thong you're wearing under those leggings.
with a deep breath, you slide your laptop in his direction.
"you have 15 minutes to go through the material once— upto page 47. i think that's where we stopped yesterday."
"got it."
the way he physically locks in after speaking almost makes you smile. his strong hands grip your laptop, balancing it on one thigh and bending the screen back a little so he can read through. his eyes move rapidly. hungrily. like he's digesting all that information to spew it out in the next hour.
he'll get this bullshit right. if he doesn't, he'll never look at you again. this is his one chance to get more than a glimpse and less than a touch—
"i didn't think you'd agree," you whisper quietly against your will. it just slipped out, and there's no going back now. his eyes slowly drift up to your face, staring through your glasses for a short moment.
"why?"
"dunno. just thought— maybe you'd think i'm being silly, trying to make things interesting. i know i bore you."
sukuna is suddenly hit with a pang of guilt. 'silly' for wanting to motivate him and use his shameless weakness for a better purpose. that's what you thought?
sukuna can't believe his ears or his eyes. you look awkward, like the whole idea of this is bizarre and new to you, and you don't know what you just started.
"y'know i'll try hard to pass even if you don't set stupid ass conditions like this."
you look up, blinking slowly in quiet awe as he continues speaking.
"i don't wanna see you losin' clothes unless you want to show me. not for me to try and focus for once. is that what this is?"
"no," you answer truthfully, biting the inside inside of your cheek to control your mouth from speaking more of your real thoughts further. "i'm ok with it— with you seeing me."
"good." he replies instantly, even if his jaw is working twice as hard as he looks back at the laptop screen. his breathing is heavier now. "'cause i'm gonna fuckin' ace this shit, then ace the actual exam, and take you out. you good with that, miss tutor?"
your stomach feels funny with butterflies erupting from his words because you didn't expect that. you expected a cocky remark, some kind of dirty joke about being able to seeing you naked if he succeeds— but it seems like ryomen sukuna is just as full of surprises as you are. nodding slowly with a slow blink of your eyes, you bite your bottom lip.
the rest of the ten minutes go by in pure silence. your room feels smaller with him in it. the carpet feels irritating on your skin already, and you shift in an effort to be still and comfortable. sukuna huffs, but he's really focused on revising.
eventually, it's time for the test.
you quietly begin with the first question— reading from your phone's notes app, because you prepared them already. you play with the fabric of your leggings nervously with your other hand.
he takes a minute to think.
and then he's answering with confidence, even if he can't pronounce certain organism names correctly. "i don't know how to fuckin' say it— i know how to spell it, though. don't worry, won't forget to underline it when i write it in the exam."
for the first time, your gaze softens in amusement and nervousness both— and with a gentle nod of your head, you murmur quietly. "you made mostly correct points. i'm not worried about the nomenclature. i trust you."
his mouth quirks up in a small smirk. his shoulders relax and he leans back again, expectant and waiting, and you almost hear him curse under his breath when you slowly peel off and toss away your socks.
the second question is where he gets frustrated. "fuck. i just read that shit— can't remember a thing."
"s'okay," you speak quietly, staring deep into his eyes with an obvious hint of attraction that wasn't shown until today. "take your time. think, ryo."
how the fuck is he going to be able to form a proper thought when you're calling him that?
he grunts, running both of his rough palms down his face as he closes his eyes. "nah. next question, angel. i'll get it for sure."
sukuna misses the next, too. and the one after that.
3 wrong, 1 correct. 6 remaining.
that meant if he wanted you out of your stupid leggings, your hoodie, whatever t shirt you were wearing underneath, and your underwear? he has to get five more answers correct. even better if he gets all of them.
shit, he feels pathetically horny and pressured at the same time.
when he gets the fifth one right, even if it took him a long moment of tugging at his soft looking hair and glaring at the floor like it had all the answers— he almost groans with relief and need.
he's hard for the nth time around you. still not used to it, though. not when you notice it easily, from the way he shifts on the floor. the way your skin looks slightly sweaty tells him everything— you're flustered.
"well?" his deep voice comes out in a soft breath, an eyebrow raised in a silent question as his tongue runs over his bottom lip slowly.
you're beyond nervousness now. all that's left is an ache between your legs and sparks under your skin as you slowly pull your dark hoodie over your head and tug it off slowly— the action making your hair messy and leaving you in a white cami top.
"fuck," he curses, greedy eyes taking you in. "next question. hurry, woman. i'm not gonna last here."
your voice wavers when you ask the next question.
he answers again. the sentences flow out of him as he moves now to be closer to you— crawling over to your form with a gaze that makes your body feel hot all over, settling in front of you but not touching you yet. "c'mon. i know it's correct."
you nod stiffly, swallowing with a bone-dry throat. sukuna watches the cami top fall aside from your hands. your tits sit prettily in a comfortable bra. they heave with each little hitch in your breath from his close proximity.
he's going to lose himself in you one way or another.
might as well surrender now.
you're already turning to find your phone again so you can get to the next question, but a strong hand captures your chin between the thumb and index, and before you know it, ryomen sukuna is kissing you like he's going to devour you.
a tattooed hand wraps around your jaw, holding you in place as his tongue messily intrudes your mouth. you moan instantly, trying your best to keep up with the sloppy exchange of spit, even if the sound is quiet and barely there, and he growls against your lips with barely held restraint, tugging at your plush bottom lip to satisfy himself temporarily. "fuck, y'taste so sweet. never been kissed before, huh? yeah, fuckin' knew i was the first. good shit. next question."
his lips follow an invisible path down your neck. open mouthed kisses, wet and sloppy against your skin as he crawls over your body— trapping you against the floor as he lays you down on the carpet. your body is arching already, hands hovering over his shoulders like you don't know where to put them. "'kuna.. hah.."
his hips slot in right between your legs, and god, he's never felt anything this close to heaven until now. you're so fucking warm between those soft thighs, that he's already close to spilling into his jeans.
"i said, next question. let's get these fuckin' pants off, miss tutor."
"e-explain the— ah.. the—"
"the what?" he grunts, shifting further between your legs to grind his clothed cock against your thigh. oh, he's so heavy and hot against you.
you repeat— no, you whine out the question, and he's never heard a sound so sweet.
he pauses his kisses down your neck for a second, trying to focus through the scent of your skin as you shudder— his nose runs along the line of your neck as he lets out hot puffs of air against you. waiting to charge. waiting to devour. waiting. wanting.
he answers.
simultaneously, his big hands tug your leggings down your legs in two long pulls— the material catches slightly at the curve of your ass. his touch is greedy, but not rough yet. calloused fingers run along your hip bone in a hungry dance of their own.
the pad of his thumb runs over the edge of your thong— and the sound of his heavy breaths against your collarbone make you whimper out in pure need. his eyes flutter shut at the sound. no amount of self loathing or silent scolding will help him retreat from this. "wore this for me, hm? should've known miss tutor had tricks up her sleeve..."
"mmh," your voice comes out breathless, already overwhelmed by the sheer strength of his muscular frame pressing you into the carpet— and he looks straight out of a dream, hovering above you with a thin little chain dangling right over your face. "you look so good, 'kuna."
your words are like fire to his already flaring confidence, and soon enough, sukuna tugs his own dark tshirt off, and your jaw practically drops open in amazement.
he's bigger like this.
it's not a new fact, but seeing the proof is still different. his chest is puffed out, even more so when he breathes like he's trying to get a hold on himself. the bold onyx rings around his bulging biceps and veiny wrists make saliva pool under your tongue.
"just good? tch," he rolls his shoulders back like he's preparing for a damn fight, pressing one palm beside your hand as he glides above you again, keeping himself just a few inches away. the space between you two practically buzzes with warmth and need.
against all logic, you reach out hesitantly, only to rest your warm palm over his abdomen. you watch him inhale sharply. his nostrils flare as his head tips back just so— baring that strong neck and throat to you with a deep grunt. you can't help it, a quiet, needy sound leaves from your glossy lips right after him.
his hand wraps around yours, pulling your touch away from his abs, and his grip is so, so gentle it surprises you. "c'mon," he urges, "i'm still playin' fair, miss tutor. next question."
you almost want to say, fuck the test. fuck me instead.
but you grab your phone with trembling fingers and breath out the question with a shaky voice, setting the device aside.
sukuna can't think anymore. he blinks slowly, once, twice— it's useless. he's picking up your scent through your leggings. you're wet. he wishes he could just feel how wet— wishes he could touch your pussy and find out how pretty it is. wishes he could make you cum around his fingers and see that usually stoic face go all shy with pleasure. he bets you've never even touched yourself, being so damn busy with your fuckin' academics— just how neglected is that pussy? how greedy would she be if he just brushed a hand over her?
"can't," he grumbles against your skin, holding the back of your knees and pushing your legs back, earning a squeak of surprise from you.
the way your thong slips between your puffy lips in the most teasing manner makes him malfunction. "can't think. fuck, fuck— never seen a pussy this enticing—"
"ryo, please," you whine now, brave from your own arousal. you run your hands up his front, over those big pectorals and up to cradle his face between both palms, redirecting his almost-drunken gaze to your eyes. "forget about it. i want you, please."
"want me where?" he's quick to ask, already leaning back down to kiss over your collarbone and finally down to your chest.
your skin is coated with his saliva because of his messy kisses, his warm tongue glides over the top of your breasts until he noses over the curve of your bra and groans into the softness of your tits. "real fuckin' soft. i'm gonna take my sweet damn time with these."
meanwhile, sukuna's hands wrap around your waist in a tight grip, holding you down because he knows you'll squirm when he bites at the underside of your chest. he plays with your nipple tthrough the fabric, spit soaking the material and adding more to the friction as his tongue flicks back and forth over the bud, and giving the same treatment to the other. "sensitive lil' thing. you like this shit, huh? tell me where you want me. say it, miss tutor, or i'll fuckin' stop."
"want.. want you— hnngh, down there," you manage to speak between soft gasps from his bites, running your fingers through his pink hair and holding his head closer to your chest.
he lifts his head from your chest, eyes half lidded but alert as ever, and for the first time, you see sukuna staring at you with undisguised want. "heh, think that pussy can take me?"
you nod eagerly, biting your bottom lip, only for his thumb to tug it free from your teeth as he presses the pad of it against your tongue. a dark laugh escapes through his glistening mouth when he watches your innocent lips close around his thumb, your glasses fogging up from his hot breath as he rests his forehead against yours. his tone is almost a little amused. "goooood girl. such a needy tutor i've got. want my cock right away, hah? well, it's not that fuckin' easy, baby."
he nudges your legs apart with one knee, easily maneuvering you to stay flat against the carpet as his mouth travels down your bare stomach, leaving a hickey at the nearest rib and finally (impatiently) reaching down to the source of your sweet, heady scent.
"before you can even think of takin' me," he shakes his head, retracting his thumb from your mouth and pressing it directly over your clothed clit— the outline of it under the damp fabric is so cute he almost wants to take a photo and keep it to himself. "you gotta come around my fingers first. then my mouth. that's law."
you stay still, even when your eyes close and roll back into your head from the constant pressure of his thumb, your second heartbeat throbbing against the calloused fingertip until he starts to slowly rub in tight circles.
"cute," he laughs lowly as he watches your hips twitch in response, as if he finally found the right word to describe you. "you're so cute, princess. you ready?"
he doesn't wait for your answer. he knows you now.
one hand tugs the thong off you in two seconds— the fabric tears easily from his grip, while two thick fingers slide up your entrance, collecting the slick there and coating your clit with it, like he's preparing his favourite fucking meal.
sukuna dives in. no doubt, messily. your pussy is so soft, so sweet, he can barely hold back when he kisses it, moaning into your hot core with rough fingers spreading you open, watching your sweet cunt flutter under his gaze as he blows a teasing puff of air right over you. "cute. so cute. gotta make you moan louder, miss tutor. don't be shy."
"ryomen!" you moan right after that command, not because he told you, but because it feels so good. your brain is already foggy as it is— but when he fucks those fingers into your warm, tight pussy, you jolt with each curl of his digits.
"hah, ryo, ahhhnn.."
he grins, wide and dangerous, licking a long stripe from where his fingers plunge in and out of you with each little squelch, flicking the tip of his tongue just riiiiight over your clit until you're squirming again.
he clamps a beefy arm over your tummy, holding you down— no, pressing you down, because he just realised that he fucking loves your soft stomach. "so fuckin' tight. poor lil' cunt, probably wondering how this happened? her owner's a naughty tutor, that's what happened."
the amusement in his voice is downright cocky now, familiar to the sukuna you've heard things about— except... you understand exactly why he's got such a 'bad' rep. he's so fucking good at sex, no wonder people whisper things just to bring his name into the mud. one more thrust of his fingers makes your opinion flip like a switch. he's perfect, and people just talk shit because they haven't experienced him.
and now? you were the one experiencing the best of the best, that was ryomen sukuna.
squealing loudly, you arch your back off the floor— a mix of your arousal and his spit sliding down between your ass and down to the carpet. no, that carpet was new! as if sensing your thoughts from your flushed face, sukuna's smirk widens and he only goes faster, making your insides clench around his fingers with already trembling thighs. "ah— hah, 'k-kuna! can't— m'feelin' like.."
"mmh?" he nips at your shaking inner thigh, sucking a dark hickey into it because he's a possessive bastard who wants to see the mark bloom when he takes you out tomorrow. "gonna cum on my hand? gonna let me taste ya?"
nodding frantically, your hand tugs at his pink hair with a loud moan, a sound so filthy you can't believe it's coming from you. "yes! i- yes, please! please, ryo? please, i'm gonna—"
he's heard the sound of pathetic, slutty begging multiple times in his life.
but from your lips?
devastating.
"i fuckin' got you, sweet thing," he growls against your sopping wet cunt, and you swear his fingers only grow faster, pressing against your gummy walls until you're screaming and muffling your sound with a hand on your mouth, tears pricking at the corners of your sweet eyes. "oh my— oh, ryomen!"
your first ever orgasm hits you harder than he expected— you're crying already, pretty feet kicking back and forth in the bliss of it all, tits rising and falling in your half-worn bra, and you haven't even seen him fully naked. he's definitely leaking into his boxers at this point, but nothing can distract him from the beautiful sight of your pretty face being all messy with salty tears and that cute, scrunched up expression. "god, y're just so pretty. already cryin' over me, heh— that won't do, doll. you still have ta take my cock."
"hey, you with me, miss tutor?" sukuna lifts his head from the middle of your thighs, slowly coming back up. your tears are wiped away gently, and then his warm tongue tastes the salt on your skin, lips leaving surprisingly gentle kisses all over your warm cheeks, his nose accidentally brushes against the lens of your glasses, blurring one half of it. you finally give him a lazy smile, still recovering from the pulsing between your legs that remains even after your high. "mhm... yeah. want your cock, now. please?"
"don't need to tell me twice," he huffs in that same annoyingly confident manner, one hand gently patting the side of your thigh as he squeezes the flesh, tugging your legs apart once more.
"aight. open up, nice and wide— yeah, that's my girl."
are you his girl? are you really?
fuck yeah, you are, he decides right away.
something in your stomach lurches at the statement. at the possessiveness in it. the version of you that existed before sukuna walked in your apartment a few days ago, would have denied. the safety of your comfort zone would have devoured you whole, keeping you from anything like this.
"yes, i'm your girl, ryomen." you whisper suddenly while he's unzipping his jeans, and for a second, sukuna feels that odd, heavy pang of what he recognizes as affection now, that he's never felt for any other women before. your words are so genuine, he can't just brush them off. he's not that mean, even if his flushed cock is aching for your pussy and all he wants to do is sink into you.
sukuna leans over your face, breathing heavily into your space and brushing his lips against yours once again. just gentle nips at your mouth, your tongue. the soft sounds of the kiss filling your room, and you bring a hand up to caress his cheek.
he pulls away, still holding himself in one hand as he pumps his fist once, twice, thrice— grunting out with great difficulty because speech is intensely complicated when he's already on the brink of bliss. after showing you, he rolls the condom on (that backpack was finally useful). "look at what you do to me. not just today. you've been doing it since i first came over."
"so," he continues and his mouth twitches in pride, letting the head of his cock dip between the slick, puffy lips of your cunt as he sighs shakily in unison with your soft whine. "no goin' back, miss tutor. this pussy's mine, you got it?"
"yes," you respond breathlessly.
sukuna pushes in slow— a strangled, almost pained grunt vibrating through his chest as he feels the tight walls of your cunt stretch around himself.
"fuck. breathe, pretty," he encourages you while you wince at the stretch, and he loves the way you flutter around him when he calls you that sweet name. what a cute little observation.
and as the minutes pass? he uses that to his advantage every single chance he gets.
right there on the soft carpet of your bedroom, sukuna ryomen fucks into you like he's made for it, like this was the purpose of his goddamn life— big hands holding your thighs open, folding you in half as he ruts into your dripping cunt until you're screaming in pleasure once more.
even you cry out, "mmngh, hah, s-s'kuna! t-too much!" he doesn't stop. he can't stop. not when your pussy takes him so fucking well that he physically can't do anything but keep pounding into you, hips flush to yours and strong arms holding you down, thumbs pressing into your hard nipples as he flicks the peaks to make you squirm further. "nah— nah, don't fuckin' complain now. y're my girl. my sweet girl, so you'll— fuck, take it. hah.. i know you can."
your body is at it's limit, all from one orgasm from his fingers and now his fat cock is splitting you in half— there's not much you can do to stop yourself from gushing all around him without warning. "oh, fuck, p-please, 'kuna! i-i can't—"
"yes, you can," he grins widely. feral. "i feel ya, miss tutor— this greedy cunt's practically eatin' me up— heh, fuckin' made for my cock."
wild, crimson eyes look down at you with so much admiration that it makes your breath catch mid orgasm— struggling to maintain the eye contact when he squeezes one breast and presses his forehead to yours. "don't look away. fuck, f-fuck, y're milking me, shhhiiiitt."
the dazed, fucked out look in your teary eyes, combined with your silly little glasses going askew from his sloppy, hard thrusts makes him reach his own high— and he spills into the condom with a loud, feral growl that not only makes you clamp down on his length, but also contributes to your third, oversensitive orgasm instantly.
"oh, fuckin' hell, you comin' again, miss tutor?!"
he barks out a choked laugh right after, and he keeps going, riding out your intense aftershocks with slower, more directed thrusts as he kisses that spot deep, deeep inside you— making you heave for air and grab at his strong biceps. your nails scratch down on tattooed skin due to the pure bliss. "'kunaaaaa! i— hnnngh, ah! ah— hah... ha.."
you're so tired, you can barely even keep your eyes open by the time he pulls out of you and holds himself above you with a strong palm as support— his voice coming out soothingly deep before your vision blurs. "relax, pretty. came so hard, all for me— you're so mine already."
"mine, mine, mine," he chuckles against your skin, leaving a soft kiss over your cheek and slowly wraps an arm around you to support your back. "oi, don't pass out on me, i haven't shown you my special tricks yet!"
you sigh shakily, eyes fluttering open again, cock-drunk and flushed. it seems the warmth between your legs still hasn't fully died yet. or maybe you're just shocked. "t-tricks...?"
sukuna barks out another laugh— loud and hearty this time, carrying you up with ease as he slowly stands while finding the strength in his long legs after being on the floor for so long. "fuck, i was kidding. well, not really, but— rest for now, cutie. i'll clean ya up."
"mmh..." you chuckle quietly in response to his laugh. it sounds so genuine all of a sudden. feels too real. his words curl into your fuzzy mind like a lullaby, and you nuzzle his shoulder. "m'kay."
fuck, he might just be in love.
sukuna spends the next twenty minutes cleaning between your thighs— after finding a clean cloth in your bathroom and being so gentle, he even shocks himself. since when was he fond of aftercare going further than a 'goodnight'?
"pretty girl," he whispers against your skin, bringing the soft covers over your body, pressing a quiet peck to your forehead and gently taking your glasses away from your face. he folds them with the utmost care, setting them aside on the table before shifting into bed with you. "the prettiest i've ever seen. and all mine now. that shithead elliot did me good."
a/n: genuinely if u stayed till the end i'm gonna assume you have a fantastic attention span because this was some long ass boring ass bullshit that i gave up on halfway >_<
