𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋮ Sukuna's an angel. Or at least, that's what he used to be before he was cast out for his disobedience. He's dragging himself— torn and bloody through whatever godforsaken forest he had crashed in. Everything looks bleak for Sukuna until he spots your little cabin on the muddy riverbank. Perhaps you, the clumsy witch residing within its wooden walls, can grant him salvation.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋮ wc : 7.7k, a little self-indulgent whoops, angst (idk Sukuna gets kicked out of heaven), idk how coherent this plot is either pretend it happens in a span of months, religious themes, slight fluff, eventual smut, true form sukuna x fem!reader, descriptions of injuries, blood, two cocks (only one is used), oral (fem recieving), fingering, piv sex
art creds :: please let me know the artist of the third image, have tried looking everywhere </3
Angels were made not to feel arrogance, fury, pain — all those emotions that made us human.
Sukuna knew that was a lie the second he was cast out, the heavens above tearing his white wings straight from his back and leaving two gaping wounds in the process. The sky split as he fell, shaking the core of Earth itself with a blinding light surging through the gap left behind. It was the sort of light that burned through the fallen angel, all the way down to his very bones and set him alight from the inside.
Divinity unravelled into sin.
Sukuna's back throbbed in agony, a pained howl ripping through his throat as he continued to fall.
And fall.
And fall.
Wind lashed against his defiled body. The experts called this spectacle another shooting star, a meteor streaking its way through the night sky. Onlookers gasped in awe as he disappeared into the black horizon. They couldn't be further from the truth.
Sukuna kept falling — all the way until the taste of betrayal in his mouth turned into mud and dirt. He had crash landed into a forest in the death of night, a shell of what he once was. A crater had bloomed where he had landed, the forest ricocheting like shrapnel over him — yet Sukuna refused to succumb to the pain.
An unbridled rage gripped him as he lay there, twitching as the blood ran down his back.
How dare they?
He was made out of light, fire, and yet the heavens stripped him of his glory — all because he refused to submit to a lesser being made of clay. Sukuna's arrogance had resulted in him getting cast out, and to that he spat on the ground. What he had left was defiance as he pushed himself up, muscles rippling as his chest rose and fell shakily. His breath was ragged as his four red eyes scanned the dark surroundings.
Beneath him, the soil soaked in the red of his blood, the precious liquid having dripped out of his wounds where his wings should've been and down the curve of his spine. Dying alone here wasn't an option for Sukuna, however. He wasn't about to give the heavens a reason to rejoice. He wasn't about to prove their judgement of him as final.
That was why he grunted low, forcing himself to move despite the way his back screamed in protest. The effort was truly ugly — all the grace he had in his former body having evaporated out of him the second he was ousted.
Two of Sukuna's four palms skidded momentarily against the mud before he mustered up the energy to stand tall. He swayed once, then twice.
Sukuna did not fall.
Spite won over anything else, allowing the forest to part before him as he moved through it. The branches thwacked against Sukuna, until they gradually thinned and the stubborn roots began to lose their grip on the earth below. Moonlight washed over his body, baptising his nudity that he was so painfully aware of. He wasn't ashamed, not at all. Sukuna was irritated at this indignity bestowed upon him.
He pushed on, feeling the ground slope beneath his bare feet until the air grew clearer around him. It felt cooler, damp, and the odd sound of running water met Sukuna's ear. It was clear that the source came from a river now that he was face to face with it.
Water.
A pang of thirst hit him — something that he had never felt before his exile. Sukuna's body moved towards the source of life without thinking, until he had sank onto his knees and gulped until the liquid threatened to bubble back up. Only then did he rise once more, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand.
When he scanned the area once more, nothing in particular stood out. But then Sukuna's eyes widened, trying to make out the shape in the darkness that resembled something akin to shelter squatting by the riverbed. A faint glow bled through what must've been the windowpanes. Above sat a chimney from which light smoke curled out in thin tendrils that dissolved into nothingness.
It wasn't anything grand by any means, but it was enough. It felt alive, something Sukuna wasn't accustomed to yet. He stared after it for longer than he meant to, his scarred skin tense and prickling with something he couldn't name.
Each step grew heavier than the last as Sukuna set his target on the hut. He was still bleeding, still clinging onto survival — shaking violently as defiance mixed with exhaustion. Yet he dragged himself on, all the way until his knees finally gave out from exhaustion.
The night went on, swallowing the pitiful fallen angel's body. His nails dug into the dirt, and just for one hopeful second, Sukuna thinks he could pull himself back up like he has done before.
But he couldn't.
His eyes shut, and consciousness flickered away. The very last thing Sukuna was aware of was a feminine hum followed by a sharp gasp, a figure looming in front of him as he passed out.
For the first time since Sukuna fell, he didn't rise — not for a while.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"Why I outta— ah. You're awake, it seems."
Was he?
Sukuna's head swam, nausea hitting him as consciousness came floating back in small fragments. He found himself unable to breathe, body shooting upwards as a terrible cough wracked his lungs. The scent invading his body was herbal, bitter and left him gasping for air as you watched — clearly unimpressed.
"You can stop that, y'know," you muttered, cracking open a window and letting daylight in. "My precious herbs aren't that bad."
When the worst of the dry heaving had subsided, Sukuna grimaced, looking down to see his upper body bandaged and lower half covered with a blanket of some sorts. He then raised his head, taking in the wooden beams of what was presumably your hut. Oddities were strewn around everywhere in the small space, cluttering your living area with metal trinkets and hanging ropes of garlic amongst other things.
And then he registers something soft underneath his hulking body — a narrow bed that was almost folding in half because of his weight. Honestly, it was a miracle to you that it was still intact.
Above all else, one realisation had hit Sukuna — you had touched him.
His gaze snapped at you as you stood a few steps away by a cluttered table packed to the brim with various bottles.
"Woah, what's with the look?"
Sukuna's jaw tightened, and then he tried speaking. He cleared his throat, testing out the words on his tongue.
"I assume that you were the one to have . . . moved me."
You swallowed, choosing not to lie. There was no need to — you two were the only ones there for miles around. "That I did."
"That is rather bold of you to touch something that was once of pure divinity," Sukuna pointed out, shifting so that he was seated upright. The searing pain in his back had gone, replaced by a deep but manageable ache that seemed to resonate inside of him.
"Whatever you were, that doesn't matter now," you pointed out, unaware of his circumstances. "You landed on my property, all bloody and battered and you probably should take it easy for a while."
Sukuna's eyes narrowed at you as he attempted to stand. Immediately, a hiss left his throat.
"Don't move like that, you'll tear something." Your voice was firm as you stepped closer without thinking. Above his shoulder, your hand hovered in uncertainty — had you upset the man?
Sukuna sat back down begrudgingly, slightly stung at the dismissal of his status. The bed creaked once more in protest, and you swore you heard wood splintering somewhere. The sound made you grimace, yet your voice took on a more gentle tone. Something was clearly wrong with whoever this man is, and something in you said that he was capable of far more than he let on.
"Well . . . you can stay here as long as you like. Just be careful, please. I made this furniture myself and it took quite a while."
That got a different sort of reaction out of Sukuna. His mouth twitched — barely.
"You house a fallen angel," he mused, looking up at you, "and your flimsy chairs are your main concern?"
Your eyes widened, the pieces of the puzzle slowly connecting together in your mind. Fallen angel? Well, that would have explained the two large gashes on his back. "Is that what you really are, Mr . . . ?"
"Sukuna, and yes. That I am."
You mumbled out your own name, suddenly falling quiet as you took in this new revelation. Sukuna cocked his head, studying you curiously. "Your silence intrigues me. Tell me — should you not be scared, little one?"
"Of what?"
"Of what I am."
You thought for a second. It wasn't like you were completely unafraid of what Sukuna was — finding him in such a vulnerable state was more than a sure sign that danger lurked not too far away. But if you thought deeper . . .
"I'm well acquainted with things that are out of the ordinary," you explained, choosing your words carefully. "A fallen angel is bound to be another addition to that."
"And what makes you so special?"
"I didn't say I was special," you blurted, trying to preserve your image. "I'm just a witch— or, well, a practising one."
Sukuna hummed low, the sound rumbling in his chest.
"That explains the wards you have hung around this hut."
He wasn't wrong — for the sake of your safety, you had cast a ward many moons ago to keep out any negative energy away from you. Sukuna wasn't at all surprised that he had bypassed that. You had let him in willingly, after all. Whether that was a good choice on your end, well, time would have to tell.
"I didn't know you could see them."
"I can see many things the human eye cannot," he replied simply.
And then your mouth ran faster than your mind could, a sceptical look shooting Sukuna's way. "Doesn't seem that way to me, considering the fact that you crashed face first into the ground."
Silence.
You grimaced — it appeared that your horribly timed attempt at a joke didn't land well. No pun intended.
But unexpectedly, a rush of air left Sukuna's nose. It was short and sharp, more out of disbelief than anything else. It even startled him, making him adjust the mildly amused look on his face into one of irritation.
"Your mouth runs carelessly, little one," he said.
"Seems as though I'm not the only careless one around here." You were really testing the waters now.
Sukuna stared at you, so you stared back.
Really stared.
You thought he would retaliate, but he didn't. An awkward cough from you filled the silence. Then, some shuffling as you moved in place.
"Anyway," you said, "I've tended to your back as you can see.
"I can indeed," Sukuna said flatly. "I'm not quite fond of the . . . smell."
Figures.
A sigh left you as he watched you wander off, the sound of clinking meeting his pierced ears. When you came back, bottles of various liquids occupied the space in your hands — ranging from the deepest yellows to creamy whites. "These are just some home remedies I used after washing your back. I'll need to apply these again when I change your bandages."
"And when will you be doing that?"
"Now. Because as you can see, you're bleeding through the old—"
"Absolutely not."
A pause.
"Absolutely yes," you argued. "You may be of higher power but that doesn't mean you're invincible to infection, especially now that you're on my turf."
Sukuna simmered in his seat, refusing to look your way.
"I suppose you'd like to reopen all your wounds then?"
. . .
That got him to turn, just enough for you to carefully roll the bloodied bandages off his torso. You could ignore the four arms for now as you set the bottles of ointment to the side, face to face with the large gashes running down Sukuna's shoulder blades. The skin had split, making you wince as you tried not to focus too much on the injuries in front of you.
As you worked, your mind raced yet again — what atrocities had he committed to be deserving of such treatment?"
A grunt dragged you out of your thoughts. The ointment was slippery between your fingers and Sukuna's wounds stung terribly so as you applied it onto his skin. "If you could handle that fall, you can handle this, Sukuna."
"That does not mean I want to," he bit back as curtly as he could. It was all too much for the fallen angel, having wound up in some witches hut and being tended to like a stray dog. But what could he do except take it? That was why Sukuna stayed in his seat, body tense as he chose to restrain himself.
"There we go, nice and calm," you squinted, drying your hands clean and fetching a fresh roll of gauze to wrap around Sukuna.
"I am choosing patience," Sukuna gritted out, lifting up his arms one by one as you manoeuvred around him. You nodded, making sure he was securely patched up whilst the river outside continued to splash against the bank. The world around you both continued to move, and the heavens above remained a silent witness to what was going on with their fallen angel.
Sukuna — the being who had sworn not to kneel to anyone, remained in his seat on top of the creaking bed beneath your wandering hands.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Sukuna was making better progress than you had initially expected. Time trudged on, creeping in through the small things — like the light beams across your wooden floorboards shifting across your rooms. The river outside, too. It ebbed and flowed with each pass of the moon.
His bandages needed changing less often, slowly but surely. With the passing of time and somewhere between medicinal care to boiling weeds, living with Sukuna felt like less of a pressing matter and more of a routine.
A much welcome one, too.
It was far from a miracle the way Sukuna healed, but he was able to ignore the faint burn of the muscles of his back as he followed you around your hut. The skin had closed unevenly, causing it to scar and raise. That was a better outcome than infection, at least.
Soon enough, Sukuna picked up on your habits. Being cooped up with you made that easy, but not once did Sukuna intend for that to happen. He noticed that you woke up at precisely 5 a.m without fail, shuffling in and out of the bedroom you had so kindly given him as you went about your day.
You also had the tendency to speak to inanimate objects, banging pots and pans out of frustration when your spell casting didn't go right. Sometimes, you'd even practise in front of him — the former angel sitting there unimpressed as you tried potion-making.
His mouth would twitch without fail, every damn time when a plume of smoke would erupt in your face.
There were things about Sukuna you noticed as well. First of all, he hated wearing shirts. It took a lot of bribery on your end for him to let you fashion up a pair of loose pants for him to wear so that you didn't accidentally see them again. By them, you meant his twin pair of cocks. The imagery made you shudder, and it was one you would like to forget.
To compromise, he wore the baggy pants in exchange for being allowed to walk around topless. It was more 'freeing' for his four arms, which you supposed made sense. He sported quite a few tattoos he would rather not have explained, but at least they were nice to look at.
You also noticed how he liked to push your limits — doing nothing when you tripped over thin air or snagged your clothes against a stray hook in your usual fashion. He'd sit there, face passive and wondering how it was possible for you to be this unintentionally clumsy.
Oh, and he'd also push his body beyond the limits of what was acceptable, sending you into a panic whenever he feigned a grimace on his face.
"Don't push it, Ryomen," you warned, brows knitted as Sukuna tried walking the length of your hut without having to use your walls for support. He managed, but that didn't mean you couldn't see the sway in his step.
He scoffed, turning his head to look at you. "I am merely standing, little witch."
"You look like you're about to bolt out of my front door," you shot back, waving your favourite wooden stick at the man. "Sit."
Sukuna sat down without even realising, and when the realisation did hit — it was already too late.
You scurried off to make food, feeling a pang of hunger hit you, and Sukuna was also the perfect test subject for new recipes. He stayed rooted to the spot, bristling as a pang of annoyance hit him. He stayed quiet, staring into the wall and pretending not to notice how obedient he was around you.
Sometimes, silence was something you learned Sukuna needed. He'd have his off days, where his shoulders would hunch and the searing pain in his back would bring back spiteful memories of what had got him cast out of heaven. You would listen to Sukuna shift around until you found him in the morning sleeping upright.
His gaze would drift off, latch onto nothing as something ugly and scornful swirled beneath the red.
You never pried, no matter how much you wanted to.
Sukuna knew you wanted to as well, but you knew your limits. Those dark periods would pass, much like the rain over your hut, and everything was okay again — momentarily, but it was enough.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"I just fixed that, Ryo," you complained, the nickname slipping out from between your lips like second nature. Perhaps it had been a couple of weeks since you had first begun to nurse Sukuna back to health. There had been no talks of sending him off elsewhere now that his condition had improved rapidly. Quite frankly, you didn't want him to go anywhere either. You told yourself he was quite good with the handiwork.
Except for now, that is.
A rake stood between you both, the wooden handle having splintered after Sukuna had taken it from your grasp. He had intended to rake up the leaves, but his grip was far too powerful. He patted the splinters off of his hand, staring down at the useless tool.
". . . I can fix it.
You let out a snort, shaking your head incredulously. "Not even my magic can turn that heap of firewood back into what it once was."
"Allow me to."
Sukuna's words made you cock a brow. "Do you really want to? I don't see any point—"
"This was my doing, so I will fix it," he said simply, as if he was telling you about his day. There wasn't any sort of challenge in his tone, which you could appreciate. It was simply just a matter of fact statement from Sukuna, to which you hesitated for only a second and nodded.
"Go ahead, then. But I'm putting you on time out if you break anything again."
Fair enough.
Sukuna was only gone momentarily as he returned with a branch. Without skipping a beat, he carefully fashioned a makeshift handle with his black nails and handed it to you before you could even process what he had done. You blinked then shifted out of neutral, wrenching the old splintered handle out of the rake and replacing it.
Lo and behold, it was completely functional.
"Well, would you look at that," you chuckled in disbelief, inspecting the rake from all angles. Sukuna reached out, intending to take the rake from you so that he could try out raking again — but then he stopped.
"Show me."
You gawked up at Sukuna, evidently startled.
"What do you mean 'show me'?"
"How you wish for me to rake your garden," he lifted up all four of his eyes off of the ground to meet yours, clarifying what he meant. "I do not wish to make the same mistake as before."
A smile broke out on your face then before you pursed your lips, not wanting to annoy the man. You demonstrated, opening your fist then closing it gently around the rake handle. Sukuna watched attentively before you handed the tool back to him. Your fingers brushed against his — and he went very, very still.
"Ah, ah. Gently. You don't need to flex your hand so hard."
Your fingers carefully adjusted his, until you could no longer see the wood threatening to bend under his grip again. Somewhere under your conscious, you noticed how Sukuna's breathing had deepened, but you were more focused on the way he mimicked your prior movements with utmost care.
The rake held in his grip.
"There you go! I told you not everything needs brute force."
Sukuna regarded the rake with thinly-veiled interest and turned his nose up. "Control, little witch," he murmured softly, "is incredibly difficult."
"Yes, but you're learning. Within time, you'll be able to handle anything with utmost care."
An odd look passed over Sukuna's face at that. He seemed almost pleased at your praise. That was why he went back to raking in silence as you supervised. His biceps flexed and relaxed with each almost reverent pull of his arms over the leaves. Something akin to affection settled in your chest, to which you swept away much like Sukuna was doing with the leaves.
When he had finished, he carefully propped the rake against the wall of your hut and turned in your direction.
"Is this acceptable?"
You nodded, quite pleased with how it had all turned out. "Of course. You did a great job, Ryo."
At the nickname, something in Sukuna stirred. He felt as if he had a purpose once more, and the feeling was addicting. A thoughtful yet dark look passed over his eyes before he turned his head away and nodded. "Then I will remember for next time," he said quietly.
He really did — having been caught by you several times testing out his grip on various items in your home. And each time without fail, your pulse picked up at the sight.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Church bells.
The sound was wrong in Sukuna's head.
It started off quiet at first — just a simple, distant toll that echoed all the way until the sound weaved its way through the forest. It hit your hut, making your head perk up one lazy morning whilst Sukuna picked berries off a nearby shrub. You frowned, trying to put a finger on what could possibly be going on.
"You hear that, right?"
Of course he did. How could he not?
The second ring of the bell resonated back into Sukuna, the sound too sharp as it pressed against his skull and branded him in a way that made his vision spark out at the edges. Before he knew it, Sukuna was shaking — his body having reacted before his mind could.
The air around him grew hot, until sweat beaded at his temple and rolled off in slick streams.
The third toll of the bell would prove to be Sukuna's unravelling, the ground under his feet cracking with a dry, splintering sound. His muscles spasmed painfully — causing a low snarl to claw its way out of his throat before he could swallow it back.
"Sukuna—?"
You were visibly startled at what was going on, looking at the increasingly hateful look on the former angel's face. The bell tolled once more, striking through flesh and bone and reigniting old pain on the scars on his back.
As if heaven itself was reminding him of his cursed status once more.
Your face paled, reminded of the wards that were around your hut. The air seemed to hold its breath, reacting to the unholy presence Sukuna was bleeding out onto your land.
"Sukuna," you called out firmer this time. Despite your common sense screaming at you not to approach him, you did. "What is that? What— are you okay?"
Before you could blink, he turned to face you. For the duration of a heartbeat, you could see something feral in Sukuna's eyes — something that was ancient and powerful and most likely forged from the depths of hell itself.
"Do not dare come close to me."
You flinched — wondering what on earth had come over you.
And then the bells rang again, the realisation hitting you like a bucket of cold water. In between your wards and what was most likely wedding bells, Sukuna fought the innate urge to kneel — pummelled by the weight of reminder of exile once more.
Sukuna didn't look at you when he spoke once more, his words landing heavily between you. He didn't speak out of anger this time — but out of finality.
"I should not have stayed this long around you. The heavens have noticed, and you are not safe with me."
You opened your mouth to speak, blood rushing to your head as you tried making sense of Sukuna's sudden collapse. Then, he cut you off.
"I should not have stayed this long," he repeated, getting off of his knees with his shoulders squared. You stared after him, in utter disbelief as he walked towards the forest and let it swallow him whole. And whilst the bell kept ringing in the distance, a sickening feeling bubbled up in your gut — making you follow shortly after.
Perhaps your inability to think rationally was the sole reason why you were able to follow Sukuna. He had made incredible progress, light almost invisible the deeper you went. But the claw marks on the bark of the trees served as your guide as the bell chimed once more. The sound may have been muffled now, but it was no less potent — dragging out noises so visceral from Sukuna's chest.
"Sukuna?" You called out, frustrated grunts leaving you as you nearly tripped over a tangle of branches.
Not once did Sukuna stop.
He was in your line of sight now, which had to count as something. It was a marvel that he was still moving, all the way up until he reached a crater in the ground.
Sukuna then staggered in his step. You almost slipped in mud, yet pushed on.
The man dropped onto one knee, exhaling sharply and wincing like it hurt for him to do so. Sukuna's nails tore through the dirt, like it'd anchor him — but to no avail.
This happened all whilst the bells echoed over and over, but this time? Sukuna openly let his body shake as you came closer yet again.
"Do not—," he croaked, cursing your stubbornness. "I am warning you again. Do not come any closer if you value your life."
You did slow, yes. But did you stop?
No.
"You can't even stand, Ryo," you stammered, trying your hardest to keep your voice steady. As always, Sukuna shook his head, attempting to hide his evident weakness.
"And since when has that ever been your concern?"
"Since you landed in front of my hut all those moons ago," you vented, throwing your hands up in the air. How ridiculous.
Another toll interrupted you, causing Sukuna to grind his teeth down until something in his jaw cracked. All four arms braced against the forest floor, back bowing almost violently. It hurt to watch.
"You do not understand. You will never understand," Sukuna snarled, teeth digging into his tongue. His anguish was evident, rendering you speechless in its intensity. "This-this darned sound. It kills me."
"So let it. I'll figure out the rest."
Your words, incredibly foolish, got his attention. He looked up, red eyes bloodshot as disbelief crossed the pained lines on his face.
"Stupid witch. You are nothing short of reckless."
"I know, but I'd rather you let me try something instead of trying to deal with it all alone."
Ring.
Whatever little control Sukuna had left had vanished into nothingness — causing his entire body to give out. You were positive he could hear your heart beating erratically in your chest as you cursed and tried dragging him to a nearby tree. It didn't work — Sukuna's body was nothing short of dead weight.
"Fuck—," you gritted out, choosing the second best option. You propped him up against you, letting him slump against your front — his forehead on your shoulder. A low sound left Sukuna then — broken and agonised.
"Sukuna," you whispered, not exactly expecting a response.
He didn't.
Without hesitation, you gently pressed your warm palms over Sukuna's ears after ridding them of any mud. He stiffened in your hold as you both sat there in the forest, taking in the way the sound of the bell dulled considerably — enough to give him some relief. What once was laboured breathing that rattled him to the core, turned into something uneven yet steady at long last.
"We can just stay here until the bell stops," you murmured, eyes honed in on Sukuna. For a long, heavy minute, he didn't move.
But then more of his weight shifted onto you. You grunted, deciding to just let him be. You didn't know how much time had passed, but when you finally were able to remove your hands?
Sukuna didn't move.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Days passed.
Sukuna was okay again, but there was one thing nagging in his mind. He brought it up one evening as you tapped away at one of the loose floorboards with a hammer.
"You have removed the wards," he mentioned casually.
. . .
"Yeah, of course," you said without looking up. The hammer continued to strike the nail, digging it further in place as Sukuna watched intently.
"And you did so knowing of what I'm capable of. What other dangers linger outside of your door."
Sukuna was right — by removing those very wards that had kept you safe for so long, you were inviting all sorts of dangers in. But none of that seemed to matter. Not anymore.
"Well, they hurt you," you shrugged, setting the hammer down once you were done. "I didn't want to keep something like that around."
Sukuna's eyes dropped to your hands, the same ones that took care of him without hesitation, without expecting anything back in return.
"You touched me back then," he continued. "I explicitly told you not to come near me, yet you did anyway."
You gnawed on your lower lip, shaking your head. Did he seriously expect you to just leave him there?
"You were in pain. What else did you want me to do?"
"That is no excuse, little witch," Sukuna pressed on — but there wasn't any ounce of hostility in his voice. "I do not recall you asking for permission to touch me like that."
That got you to stand up and truly look at Sukuna in the eyes. "And if I did ask for permission that day, would you have said no to me?"
He didn't answer, not right away. The river outside seemed to grow louder, overtaking the silence as you waited for a response. And a response he gave, even if it was far from what you had expected him to say.
"No. Not at all."
The words settled over you both, solidifying whatever odd bond was between you.
"Then don't expect an apology from me," you grinned slightly. Sukuna only stared back, a fond look crossing his face. "You won't get one."
"I cannot help but question why you are not afraid."
"I was, actually," you corrected gently. "But that wasn't enough for me to leave you in that state."
"And so you stayed." Sukuna's voice dropped into a quiet murmur. "You covered my ears in that forest when you could have simply left me, and you stayed."
"Of course I did, and I'd do it again. You needed someone back there, Ryo."
Silence.
"And what about now, little witch?"
A dangerously loaded question indeed, but you were not one to shy away from anything that much was clear.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"I find myself liking your touch more than I should. Why is that?" Sukuna teased one evening. You were sitting with him, legs against his as you stitched up a tear in his pants. You didn't want to answer that — solely because you didn't trust your mouth to say anything rational.
Sukuna let out a whistle of air through his noise out of amusement. "Your silence says more than any words you give me the pleasure of hearing."
"Can you just go back to disliking idle chatter? You talk too much," you huffed, tugging the needle through the fabric and ignoring the heat flooding onto your face.
"Ah, but look who remains seated by my side," Sukuna remarked coyly. He shifted ever so slightly, causing your thigh to rest against his bulky one.
It's just an accident, that's all, you told yourself — but neither of you corrected your direct physical contact. You pulled the thread a tad too strongly, movements faltering because of him. You cursed, adjusting your grip on the needle.
"Careful," Sukuna warned. "You will end up hurting yourself."
"Well, then stop distracting me," you scoffed, shooting a half-hearted glare his way.
"Oh? Am I distracting you?" Sukuna tilted his head to look down at you, all four of his eyes studying you with an intensity that made your stomach twist almost pleasurably. "I am simply sitting still. You are the one shaking, little witch."
"Excuse me? I am not shaking—"
"You most definitely are shaking."
You exhaled shakily, finishing off the last stitch before packing your needle and thread way in the cookie tin you kept them in. "You should stop staring at me like that, then."
"Like how?"
"Like you're a pervert who's about to touch me."
That elicited a throaty chuckle from the former angel next to you, which was the happiest he's ever sounded. "I would not have called it perverse. I thought I was becoming rather acquainted with what you humans call 'intimacy'."
Sukuna's words had your pulse quickening almost drastically. It was difficult to navigate this entire situation with a being as unstable as him, but the thrill was like no other. You dared to glance his way, eyes meeting red.
"Since when did you care about intimacy?"
"Since I met you."
Sukuna leaned back, one arm thrown over the back of your patchwork couch behind you. You willed your mouth to move, finding that it had suddenly run dry. "You sound almost sincere, y'know. I could almost believe that you're not joking."
"When have I ever been one to crack jokes like this around you?"
In your silence, Sukuna pressed on.
"I crave your touch more than I have ever craved the validation of the so-called God that cast me aside like nothing. You quietened the burn in me, little witch, and I find myself reluctant to be anywhere but here."
When you refused to look at him, Sukuna had to take matters into his own hands. He had spent many nights contemplating your dynamic, knowing that you were just what he needed to tether himself to earth. Yes, it was selfish, but Sukuna was also a risk taker — and he'd do anything to prove himself worthy of your affection.
With that, Sukuna removed himself off of his couch and kneeled between your legs. You spluttered, accidentally kicking out of shock. This prompted him to gently grab your foot with a practised softness, two of his four hands kneading at your calf. "You can't possibly be serious—"
"I am. And I intend on showing you my devotion."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Sukuna stayed true to his word.
Curiosity won over, melting with the innate urge to love you the way he deemed fit. Of course there was a more romantic way to go about it, but having his mouth on your cunt was heavenly — pardon my language.
He stayed on his knees as if he was in worship, hands having settled on your waist after dragging you off the very edge of your couch. The springs groaned, inaudible as Sukuna's mouth latched onto your pussy after spreading your lips open with two thick thumbs. His tongue was nothing short of thorough, exploring each and every fold despite inexperience rendering his movements sloppy.
But that was how you liked it — it was raw, sincere. You cried out, one hand bullying its way into Sukuna's hair and tugging as his lips found your clit. "So eager for me already. I must be doing something right."
And he was — languidly sucking your clit into his mouth and grazing it with his sharp teeth. "Oh, God," you keened out, back arching off the couch. Your whines melted into a sharp squeal when Sukuna slapped the side of your thigh.
"Language."
"My bad— ahhh," you choked out, feeling one thick finger slide deep into your cunt. It appeared that Sukuna's nails had retracted, leaving you to writhe and clench around his digits as they explored your gummy walls.
Sukuna hadn't felt a heat like this before, and quite frankly — he was addicted. He was inexperienced when it came to the subject of sex, but gazing down on humanity for as long as he used to had given him enough of an idea of what to do.
Sukuna stood up, hands now gripping your ass as he folded you in half and plunged his tongue in. He loomed over, drinking each and every drop of moisture your pussy had to give him. Your legs twitched, hooking over his shoulders and around his neck to lock him in place. The fallen angel couldn't breathe — but he had never felt so alive in his cursed existence.
"Th-that's so filthy Ryo . . ."
Your voice cracked at the nickname, eyes lidded at the way he parted from you with a wet pwah. Sukuna had pulled back enough, revealing his wet, tattooed chin and glossy strands of your slick connecting his face to your mound.
"Filthy," he mocked, licking a fat stripe up the expanse of your aching pussy. "I am worshipping you, my dear witch — and not even the heavens above can drag me away from you."
He was serious, too, drawing out shrill cries that sounded more divine than any choir he had ever heard. Sukuna was dead set on drawing one orgasm out of you with his tongue first before even beginning to think about his own stirring of his loins.
And that he did — curling his tongue deep within as your first orgasm washed over you. It was so incredibly hot, the way the sensation seemed to clutch at your womb before spreading throughout the rest of your body. Sukuna's mouth didn't stop, not until you were sobbing out weakly from overstimulation. It was only then he set you back down on the couch, casting his eyes down on the prominent tent both cocks had formed.
You noticed too — mustering up enough energy to sit up and tug at the drawstrings.
"Come here," you rasped. "Please."
Sukuna swallowed, nodding as the feeling of instability cascaded over him for the first time in weeks. But when he lowered himself down once more, forehead against yours as he freed both cocks — he felt anchored to you once more. His lips found yours, slow but steady in its movement, and you kissed back.
The sound of your lips on his, smacking and tugging eagerly filled the room, accompanied by a surprised yet pleased moan at the way you could taste yourself on his tongue. "You're shaking, Ryo."
"I know, I know," Sukuna whispered, drawing your lower lip into his mouth. "You have that effect on me, my dear."
His kisses resumed, all whilst a hand tangled in your hair before settling around your throat like a rosary. Sukuna didn't squeeze — he simply let his hand stay there, feeling the way your pulse felt so alive under his hand. He revelled in the way that he was the one making you feel like this.
When he finally pulled off of you with a final kiss to your temple, Sukuna's weeping tip smooched the entrance of where he so desperately wanted to be inside of. It caught against the rim of your hole, popping in ever so slightly before he backed off. It was too much for the man, his hips beginning to move on their own.
"You want this, right? Please tell me you do," he begged through gritted teeth. You clenched around Sukuna, trying your hardest to suck him back into your warmth.
"If you do not fuck me right now, I swear—"
Again, that was all the confirmation Sukuna needed. He only needed to use one cock, the upper one having been jerked off by one of his free hands.
A brief panic flooded you when he pushed in, pussy convulsing as you tried adjusting to his inhuman size. But you could handle it — Sukuna knew you could as his fourth hand travelled down to grope at a breast. He rolled a taut nipple under his palm while you clawed at his bare forearms, relishing in the mild pain before his fingers found your clit. The relief that flooded him was almost unbearable as your mild discomfort ebbed away into growing pleasure.
That was when Sukuna finally let go.
His name left your mouth half garbled as he bottomed out into you, your pussy stretching in ways it never had before.
"F-fuck, Ryo—"
Sukuna had to still, the two of you panting in near unison as you processed the feeling of his blunt head almost kissing against your cervix. Each plump vein adorning his cock had you fluttering around Sukuna, making him drop down and press his forehead to yours once more. His breathing came out ragged, four eyes having squeezed shut as he processed the feeling of being inside someone for the first time.
"You are so-so warm," he uttered. "You feel so alive."
You didn't have a chance to respond, hips bucking as Sukuna withdrew his hips. The dragging pull out of you felt like an eternity before he fucked back inside — making you feel each aching inch that he reserved for you alone. Sukuna watched the way your pussy clung onto him, etching the way it sucked him back into his memory.
Then, he saw the way your eyes threatened to shut on him, a blissed-out look crossing your face as his thrusts grew in tempo. Sukuna rolled your clit between his fingers, making you gasp sharply and come back to reality.
"Eyes on me," he drawled, hips not stopping for even a second. "I want to be the one you look at when— fuck, I make you fall apart on my cock."
You don't know where he had learned to talk like that, but it wasn't like you minded. After all, Sukuna had noticed you get increasingly more wet, making the glide all that more delicious as he rutted into you. The slick sounds of skin meeting skin filled the hut, obscene in all its glory. It felt primal, and Sukuna had truly never felt better.
At one point, Sukuna had lost himself so deep within the throes of pleasure, and his mouth had started to run. "Tell me, I need to hear it," he asked greedily, desperately. "Would you damn yourself for this? For me?"
A laugh left you, shaky and delirious as you nodded. "Yesyesyes, mmh. D-don't stop please," you gasped out, clutching onto Sukuna like he was your lifeline. "Heaven is right here with me, Ryo—"
That was all it took for Sukuna's entire pace to change. He fucked you like a man possessed, driven by the carnal need to mould your pussy to the shape of his thrusts. His upper cock leaked profusely, smearing the bulge in your belly with pearly white.
Heaven, heaven, absolute. Fucking. Heaven.
You had spoken the truth — it was right there with you both. Sukuna buried his flushed face in the crook of your neck, biting down with as much restraint as he could manage and littering your neck with a scattering of marks. "My salvation."
One hand splayed over your stomach, pressing down as you cried out for the nth time. Orgasms had bled into each other, until your nails had raked down the healed scars on Sukuna's back. It was that sensation alone that elicited a full body shudder from the former angel.
A warmth filled you up from the inside, your vision blacking out as you came alongside Sukuna. He stayed buried deep, having slotted his lips against yours but not moving. You were cocooned within his safe arms, your head cradled in one of his hands. You both twitched against each other, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm and taking in the way Sukuna's cock continued to leak steady roped of cum.
Neither of you moved right away either. Sukuna stayed where he was, half kneeling and half slumped over you.
Then he slid out of you, gently hushing you when you grimaced at the floods of cum that seeped out of your hole and leaked into the couch. Well, it was due time for it to be replaced anyway.
Despite having pulled out, Sukuna didn't stray too far away from you — taking a long moment to catch his breath with you seated firmly on his lap. Aftercare was a concept foreign to him, but he'd figure something out — somehow.
"You're very . . . quiet right now," you mumbled hoarsely, prodding fun at the man.
He did that thing again instead of laughing outright — exhaling through his nostrils in fond amusement. "I am listening to your heartbeat, my dear witch. Do not interrupt me now."
You grabbed one of his hands, placing it atop of your bare chest and letting him feel your pulse properly.
"Like this," you coaxed, looking up at him. The river outside continued to ebb and flow, the water curling against the riverbank the way your fingers did around Sukuna's tattooed wrist. He closed his eyes and hummed, relishing in calm after the storm.
For the very first time since his fall, Sukuna felt no pain in the silence that followed.
tags 18+ minors dni !! very self indulgent hehe … i’m so soft for him y’all don’t understand 🥹
his lips are cold at first. always cold, like he’s been pressing his mouth to the rim of a glass full of ice just to feel something. you’ve learned to expect it but it still makes you gasp every time, that first shock of chill against your warm mouth, and he loves it. you can feel him smile into the kiss, that infuriating curve of his lips that says got you.
he doesn’t rush. satoru gojo could move faster than light if he wanted to but he kisses you like the world outside doesn’t exist. his hands find your face first, always. long fingers spanning your jaw, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in slow hypnotic circles. he tilts your head to the side and deepens the kiss, easing you into it, letting you feel every second of it. his bottom lip slots between yours and he just rests there for a moment, breathing you in.
then his tongue traces the seam of your lips, asking, always asking even though he knows the answer will be yes. you open for him and he hums into your mouth, pleased and low, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. he tastes like sugar and something sharper underneath, like the candy he definitely stole from your stash and the mint gum he chewed to cover it up. his tongue curls against yours lazy and thorough, exploring, and his teeth graze your bottom lip just hard enough to make your breath catch. he soothes it immediately with a soft sucking kiss that leaves your lip slick and tingling.
his mouth wanders. it’s a problem, actually, because he can’t stay in one place for long. he pulls back from your lips and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the bow of your upper lip, then the tiny crease where your smile would be if you weren’t so breathless. he kisses the tip of your nose, your cupid’s bow, your cheek. by the time he’s finished mapping your face your eyes are closed and your lips are parted.
he kisses your closed eyelids, left then right, feather-light. his lips brush your lashes and you feel them flutter against his mouth. he exhales a laugh and the air ghosts warm over your skin.
then he’s at your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, then up the other side. he finds the spot just beneath your ear and latches on, sucking gently, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. he kisses the shell of your ear, the delicate skin behind it, the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. he breathes there, nose pressed to your skin. “you’re so warm,” he says, “smell so good.”
he kisses your throat. your collarbones. the hollow at the base of your neck where he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting against his mouth. he stays there for a long moment, just feeling it, and when he pulls back his eyes are dark and half-lidded and his lips are pink and kiss bitten and wet.
he kisses you on the mouth again, harder this time, less controlled. his composure slips and his hands drop from your face to your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him. he kisses you like he’s starving, like the taste of you is the only thing that keeps him human. his tongue slides against yours and his teeth click against yours because he’s smiling again, he’s always smiling, even now. especially now.
his hands roam. up your sides, down your back, fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to touch all of you at once. they settle on your lower back and he presses you closer, impossibly closer, and he’s so warm now, all that cold burned away by the heat between you. he kisses the corner of your mouth again, your chin, the tip of your nose. a quick peck to your forehead. your left cheek. your right cheek. back to your lips.
he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, and you can feel his lashes brush your brow.
“hey.” he says, voice wrecked.
“hey.” you breathe back.
he kisses the bridge of your nose. “you’re my favorite.”
you roll your eyes but you’re smiling, he can feel it.
summary ⸺ satoru begs you to attend a meeting with the higher-ups, but not for the reasons you thought. inspired by this art by @/baobei-bu!
warnings ⸺ SMUT, gojo is a warning by himself, VERY public sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, no penetration, fingering, fondling, making out, panty-ripping, exhibitionism, kinda cucking but the only ppl humiliated and humbled are the higher ups, porn no plot, but plot if you squint, reader is a strong independent woman (until gojo charms her, bc who wouldn't turn into a cockslut for gojo?), this took me at least five hours to write for no good reason?, not edited (like always....)
a/n pls enjoy and thank u to the queen for making such delicious art (p.s. go to their twitter for nsfw ver i squirted)
general masterlist
“Pleaseeeee,” Satoru has his face buried in your chest, nuzzling in further while complaining. It’s almost comical how he—head of the biggest clan in Jujutsu—is leaning down to match your height. You, meanwhile, stand firm, arms crossed, regarding him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection as he leans down to meet your gaze. “Will you come with me?”
The question comes as the dreaded meeting with the higher-ups looms, a gathering he's been dodging all day. It technically began ten minutes ago, and you barely managed to wrangle him into his formal kimono just twenty minutes earlier. You sigh, fingers brushing his hair. “Satoru, you know what they think of me. I'm not exactly their favorite person.” You’re both standing in the middle of your shared bedroom, you imploring him to be on time for his meeting to avoid getting even further shit from the higher-ups.
Mind you, you’re the more rational one between you and Satoru—in fact, most of the people who know you would agree that you’re a very mature, wise person in general (with the exception of some circumstances, of course). And despite the respect your skill commands, the higher-ups have never warmed to you, not since you refused to play a pawn in their games. Marrying Satoru, the one jujutsu sorcerer they could never control, only amplified their discontent. They see you both as threats—powerful sorcerers bonded in defiance.
At the mention of "higher-ups," Satoru's pout deepens, and his pleading voice grows more insistent. “Pleeeease,” he drags out, practically whining. “I have separation anxiety.”
You feel a pang of sympathy. These meetings are miserable for him—hours trapped in a room with men twice his age, trying to dictate his every move. “I don’t know, Satoru…” you murmur, hesitating.
But Satoru takes advantage of your softening resolve, hugging you tighter, his face pressing into you again. “Don’t make me go in there alone!” he says, his voice muffled. “You have no idea how much you silence them. One word from you, and they all think twice. I’m already one step away from wanting to kill them all.”
A sigh escapes you as you realize he’s not letting up. And while you’re reluctant, you know that your presence, your opinion—one of the few he truly values—might actually give him a sense of calm in that harsh room. “Alright, alright,” you concede finally, hand smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. "But no making a scene."
His answering smirk is smug, giving you a fat, sloppy kiss on your cheek that you’re not afraid to show your partial-disgust about. You all but have to wrestle him off of you white he’s smothering you in kisses, getting out something about how much loves you, oh so thankful to have such a wise wifey like you as you get ready in a kimono similar to his and head to the limo waiting outside of the manor you and Gojo reside in.
As soon as you get in, Gojo turns sharply to Ijichi, who’s shifting the gear. “Put the divider up.”
“O-Okay, Gojo-san.” A little intimidated by the commanding tone in your husband’s voice, he quickly presses the button to activate the screen, and Gojo pounces on you, grabbing you and hoisting you up by your sides to put you on his lap.
“Satoru!” you exclaim, surprised as he captures his lips with yours. His hands roam your body as he moans, almost obnoxiously, because he knows you’re always paranoid whenever he initiates anything in public. Your crotch aligns with his thigh, big and stuffed with muscle as he drives your hips to grind on him, and despite yourself and your circumstances, you find yourself leaning into his touch.
“My pretty wife,” he purrs, now trailing kisses down your jaw and into your neck. “So pretty, so supportive.”
Despite his dizzying movements, you try to get a hold of yourself. “Satoru, we shouldn’t be doing this here. We need to discuss what to sa—”
“Fuck that,” he sighs, so breathless that you want to cave in.
“No, but—”
His eyes darken, and his hands start creeping up your legs, going slowly and slowly closer to your pussy. “Baby, you know I value what you have to say,” and his fingers graze your folds, making you leak even more with his teasing, “but I wanna listen to something else.”
He drags his index finger up and down your slit, making you whimper. His fingers then prod into your hole, putting pressure there but not quite delving in. “Satoru,” you whine out, clutching his upper arms as he has his way while toying with you.
“Yea, that’s what I wanna hear,” he groans, giving you a kiss. It is then that he rewards you with inserting his digit in, curling to hit your spot as he fingers you. HIs other arm is around you, holding your panties’ crotch to the side to allow him to touch you. “My good girl.”
As he’s touching you, the squelching sounds fills the enclosure you’re in and you’re desperately praying to God Ijichi can’t hear the lewd things the both of you are doing in the back. You’re just reduced to whimpering, unable to reject Satoru’s dizzying touches, his free hand leaving your panties to grope at your inner thighs, ass, and breasts. It’s like he’s devouring you with his kisses, urgent, as he continues curling his fingers.
Between kisses, you try to get out a “Satoru—mmph,” smooch, “we shouldn’t be—mm” smooch, “shouldn’t be doing this here!”
“What,” he drawls, and with the glint in his eyes you know the fucker’s trying to toy with you, knows what he’s doing is mischievous. “I can’t touch my wife?”
Before you could utter a response, however, the limo suddenly slows, and the sensation of using the brakes to stop the car makes you sober up. “We’re here, Satoru we need to go—-” As you’re trying to rip yourself off his lap, he pulls out the finger that was inside you and uses his hand instead to entangle it with the crotch of your panties, pulling and pulling until the cloth is nothing but shreds, falling off your body.
Oh my god, you were not paid enough for this shit.
With his oh-so-irritating eyes—the same ones that you spent despising in your early school years—he looks at you through his pretty white lashes as he makes a show of sniffing the now tattered shreds that were your panties and putting them in his pocket. Under your kimono, you can feel your slick escaping your panties as the cool air wafts through it, landing on your pussy. You look at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
He giggles, giving you a kiss on the cheek while helping you off his lap, putting a hand on your head to make sure you didn’t bump your head against the car’s ceiling. “Let’s go and deal with those hags, my love.”
To be honest, you don’t really understand why Satoru is so handsy today. He’s on some sort of man-ovulation, you think, as you stride into the room. Even ripping off your panties was a bit excessive, if not out of pocket (no pun intended). Breaking out of your thoughts, you grounded yourself in the present, noticing hostile eyes turned towards your husband, and then you. You match their barely-subtle glares with a stink eye of your own, holding your chin up as you walk past them dismissively. Just as you’re about to take a seat next to Gojo—being mindful of your kimono so you don’t flash any of these old bastards—one of them speaks up.
“Gojo-sama, why is this woman here?”
You continue to take your seat, noticing Satoru’s jaw clenched. But right as he’s about to say something, you cut in for him. “This woman,” and you smile, deceptively sweet, “is the lady of the clan. It would do you well to remember the hierarchy of the Gojo clan.” You don’t need to turn to look at your husband to know he has a proud smile on his face, making no effort to hide his smugness. What shocks you instead is that he swings an arm around you, effectively dragging you closer to him until you’re basically sitting on his lap, and his hands go to roam your sides.
Now, some old grandpa starts talking, commencing the meeting, on their usual bullshit of the need for extermination of Sukuna’s vessel, but Satoru pays them no mind. Instead, what they receive in response is non-committal hums as his hands drag themselves up your stomach and down where your legs are crossed to the hem of your kimono, and then under.
Any semblance of paying attention to the meeting and responding to their infuriating beliefs leaves your mind as you blank out, panicking that Satoru is trying to commit public indecency with you. As an argument erupts between the higher ups about something, you turn to Gojo to furiously whisper, “What is wrong with you today?! Cut it out.”
In your life, you’ve fought many curses, first grade and even special grade included as you climbed up the ranks of Jujutsu sorcery despite having a non-sorcerer upbringing. What you will never be able to defeat, however, is your husband’s charm. Satoru knows what he’s doing as he lets out a deep moan in your ear, making you squeak and become even more flustered, as he continues to make lewd noises, puffs of his breath fanning across your neck.
a/n gojo the type to start moaning randomly to make you fold #sorrynotsorry
The indecency of all of it—-Gojo basically whimpering in your ear sweet nothings like good girl, that’s my wife, gonna let me finger you in front of all these ugly hags, right?—-being loud in your ear but also just quiet enough that you’d only hear made you so wet, heat throbbing between your thighs as Satoru’s hands start rubbing your fold. It’s a teasing touch, one not enough to satisfy you but to stimulate you nonetheless.
It’s just when his index finger starts slowly circling around your clit that you buck your hips slightly, making him look at you teasingly, peering down at you from above your shoulder. “Oh you liked that, didn’t you?”
“I hate you,” you puff out, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck as Satoru’s circles on your clit get more tangibly, simulating you oh so deliciously. To make sure you hold yourself up, you set your elbows down on the table, Satoru’s arms engulfing you as you’re forced to take whatever touches he’s giving you under the table.
“She’s so loud,” he whispers, pointing out the noises your pussy was making as his digits roved over your folds. The squelches were tangibly there, audible to anyone who would strain their ears. You could tell your lack of response to the meeting was catching attention, because there were several eyes towards you, waiting for something; it was then you realized that they had posed a question but were simply too fucked out to respond.
A voice comes out to reprimand your husband sharply. “Gojo-sama, this is hardly appropriate.”
Satoru chuckles, not stopping his ministrations as he picks up a cup filled with water, his smug gaze still turned towards you while observing and appreciating your every hiccup and reaction. “Can’t my spouse attend this meeting? I value her opinion above everyone else’s in this room, after all,” he drawls, lodging his chin in the curve of your neck. “Besides,” and he flashes a dangerous grin to the man who spoke out, “weren’t you the ones who were oh so worried about me not having an heir?”
At this point, you’ve filtered out all noises, focusing and honing in on the sensation of your orgasm coming. His digits are playful, curling up to hit your g-spot repeatedly, his palm tickling your clit. Each time he hits your spongy spot a bout of electricity runs up your body, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm.
“But guess what,” and he gives you a kiss on the cheek, despite the aversion the rest of the higher ups have to any displays of affection, “we can solve that problem right here, right now.” He punctuates it with a harsh sink of his fingers into your plush cunt, and, with that, you finally cream his fingers, a result of Satoru teasing you all day now. You try to temper the shakes wracking your body by slamming your fist against the table, trying not to moan out.
It seems that no one’s seen you riding out your orgasm out so visible, because there are gasps around the room at how obscene Gojo’s suggestion was. “It is shameful of you to be saying such things, Gojo-sama!” one of them sputters out, red with anger and outrage.
Your husband not so subtly rolls his eyes. “Then don’t bring it up all the time, old man.” Satoru knows how touchy and vulnerable you are right after you cum, so he’s running his hands softly up and down your thighs to quell your quivers affectionately. “Actually, what about this? You all haven’t witnessed us consummate our marriage, correct?” He smirks. “What about witnessing the heir-making next time?”
general masterlist
a/n pls see the vision like i want gojo to claim me and rail me into next tuesday while the higher ups just watch uncomfortably like maybe i am a freak like that. like gojo would be so obsessed with how he's claiming you in front of the fuckers that piss him off so much...might do a part two if pookiesa like this :P
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ sukuna spends six months confessing his love through flowers and their hidden meanings, only to realize you’d kept every single one without ever knowing why he gave them to you.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, nerd flower!sukuna, yearning, acts of service as love language, friends to lovers, idiots in love, a lots of flower symbolism / hanakotoba, hand holding, kiss, sukuna is blushing!!, secretly romantic sukuna.
the campus greenhouse had always been sukuna's favorite place, which was something most people wouldn't expect if they only knew him from his reputation.
people only saw the sharp jawline, the permanent furrow between sukuna’s brows, the way his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than any one person deserved. they heard his dry humor, his quick wit, the way he could cut someone down with nothing more than a glance and a few carefully chosen words. they didn't see him here, elbows braced against a worn wooden table, fingers gently tracing the petal of a peony like he was handling something sacred.
you watched him from across the table, chin propped in your palm, half-listening to the lecture he'd launched into about fifteen minutes ago; something about victorian flower language, about the way people used to say things they couldn't speak aloud through carefully arranged bouquets.
sukuna’s voice was lower than usual here, way softer, as if the greenhouse demanded a certain reverence that even ryomen sukuna couldn't ignore.
"—and the thing is," sukuna said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't currently cradling a potted orchid. "people think it's all just romantic bullshit, but it's not. it's practical, really. a way of communicating when the words won't come out right."
sukuna’s tattoos shifted when he moved, those dark lines that crawled up his forearms and disappeared beneath his sleeves. you'd always liked that about sukuna; the way the boy never bothered to hide them even when professors gave him pointed looks on the first day of classes.
he was all sharp edges and hard lines, but then he'd show up at your apartment with a sprig of lavender tucked behind his ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you're not listening," sukuna said, but there was no accusation in it, just a statement of fact, accompanied by the faintest quirk of his lips.
"i am," you lied, sitting up straighter. "you were talking about... flowers saying things."
his eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
"i was talking about specific meanings. symbolic language. there's a difference."
sukuna set down the orchid and reached for another pot, something small with delicate white blooms that you didn't recognize. his fingers were careful, deliberate, the same way they were when he rolled a cigarette or tied his shoelaces or did anything that required even the slightest bit of precision.
it was hard to reconcile this version of sukuna with the one who'd shoved his way through a crowd last week just to get to the front of the coffee shop line, all elbows and impatience and barely concealed irritation.
"this one," sukuna said, holding the pot up so you could see. "is stephanotis. it means marital happiness, but also a willingness to be led. which is stupid, honestly, because why the hell would anyone want to be led anywhere? but the victorians were weird about a lot of things."
you laughed, and something in his expression softened just enough that you almost missed it.
sukuna had been leaving you flowers for months now.
not in a romantic way, or at least you'd assumed it wasn't romantic because this was sukuna, and sukuna didn't do romance. he did late-night study sessions that turned into ordering pizza at two in the morning. he did stealing your clothes and pretending he hadn't noticed they were yours. he did showing up at your door with a single yellow tulip tucked behind his ear and then plucking it out to hand to you like it was nothing, like he hadn't just walked across campus with a flower in his hair and dared anyone to say something about it.
you'd kept all of them, pressed between the pages of textbooks you never opened anymore, tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror, dried and hanging from string tacked to your bedroom wall. there was something about the way he gave them to you; casual and offhand, like he'd just happened to find them and thought of you.
but sukuna never said why, he never explained the meaning behind any of them.
well, until now.
"so then you've got your roses, obviously," sukuna continued, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
the movement pulled his t-shirt taut across his shoulders, and you looked away before he could catch you staring.
"red for love, white for purity, yellow for friendship. but that's way too simple. anyone knows that. the real interesting stuff is the obscure ones."
the afternoon light filtered through the greenhouse glass, casting everything in a warm, golden, and beautiful haze. dust motes drifted between the two of you, slow and lazy, and a bee hummed somewhere in the corner, drunk on something sweet and pink that you couldn't name.
sukuna's voice washed over you like honey, and you found yourself sinking into it despite your best efforts to stay alert.
"like gardenias," he said, and your heart did something strange in your chest because he'd given you gardenias. three weeks ago, tucked into a mason jar on your desk after a particularly brutal exam week. you'd thought they were just pretty. "they mean secret love. the kind that can't be spoken aloud. which is dramatic as hell, but victorians loved drama almost as much as they loved repressed emotions."
he said it like a joke, like he was mocking the very concept, but his fingers had gone still on the table with no fidgeting, no gesturing; just stillness, and the way his gaze darted away from yours for a fraction of a second before snapping back.
you thought about the gardenias, pressed between pages 87 and 88 of your ancient history textbook, still faintly fragrant when you opened them.
"and peonies," sukuna went on, reaching for the plant he'd been touching earlier. "they've got a few meanings. shame, anger, but also romance and prosperity. it depends on the context, really. the victorians loved context, too."
a little pause.
"mostly, though, they symbolize a happy marriage. or a wish for one, anyway."
sukuna had given you peonies on your birthday. a whole bouquet of them, pink and lush and ridiculous, shoved into your arms with a gruff 'happy birthday, idiot' before he'd disappeared into the kitchen to make you dinner. you'd cried a little, though you'd blamed it on allergies.
your throat felt tight now, but you weren't sure why.
"basil is hatred," sukuna said, ticking off on his fingers now, counting down some internal list. "which is funny because it's also a cooking herb, so who knows what that says about italian grandmothers. ivy means fidelity. rosemary is remembrance. lavender is devotion, but also distrust, because again, context matters."
lavender. he'd left a sprig of lavender on your pillow last month after you'd fallen asleep on his couch.
you'd woken up to the smell of it, and to sukuna making coffee in the kitchen, humming something tuneless under his breath. you'd kept it tucked behind your ear for the rest of the day, and he'd looked at you differently after that; softer, maybe. or maybe you'd imagined it.
"what about camellias?" you asked, and sukuna’s hand paused mid-gesture.
your voice sounded strange to your own ears, thin in a way that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with the way your heart was suddenly trying to escape your ribcage. because he'd given you camellias too. pink ones, tied with a bit of twine, left in your backpack after a study session two months ago. you'd found them while looking for a pen and spent the rest of the night trying not to overthink it.
sukuna's jaw tightened for just a fraction, just for a second, but you saw it because you were looking, because you were always looking, even when you told yourself not to.
"camellias," sukuna repeated, and the word came out rougher than the others. he cleared his throat. "they mean... longing. desire, mostly. but specifically the kind that's acknowledged and accepted. not secret like gardenias, not hopeful like peonies. just... wanted."
the silence that followed was heavy and thick with something unspoken. a bee buzzed, a leaf drifted down from one of the hanging plants, landing softly on the table between the two of you like a tiny green question mark.
you thought about all of it.
the tulips and the lavender, the gardenias and the peonies, the camellias and the stephanotis sukuna had given you just last week, white and fragile and tucked into your coat pocket. you thought about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he always, always made sure you ate even when you forgot, even when you were too tired or too stressed or too something to take care of yourself.
you thought about the yellow tulips he'd given you first, and what he'd just said about them meaning friendship, and how maybe that had been the beginning. maybe sukuna had started there on purpose, testing the waters, seeing if you'd accept something small and simple before moving on to gardenias and secrets and things left unsaid.
"why are you telling me this?" you asked, and your voice barely trembled at all.
sukuna's eyes met yours, and for once, there was nothing sharp in them. there was no challenge, no defense, no carefully constructed walls. there was just him, just ryomen sukuna, the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met with his flower meanings and his pressed specimens and his soft spot for things that grew from the dirt.
"because," sukuna said, and his ears were turning pink, actually pink, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. "i've been leaving you flowers for six months, and you haven't said a single word about it. and i thought maybe you didn't know what they meant, and i couldn't decide if that was better or worse than you knowing and not saying anything anyway."
sukuna's hands were shaking slightly.
you'd never seen sukuna's hands shake before, not once in all the years you'd known him. he was always so steady, so sure, so infuriatingly composed, but now, his fingers were curled into loose fists on the table, and the faint tremor in them made something ache behind your sternum.
"so which is it?" sukuna asked, and his voice cracked on the last word. just a little. just enough. "did you know?"
you thought about the gardenias pressed in your textbook, the lavender behind your ear, the peonies on your birthday, the camellias in your backpack. you thought about the way you'd told yourself it didn't mean anything at all, that sukuna wasn't capable of meaning anything, that this was just something the boy did because he was strange like that and unpredictable and full of contradictions.
you thought about how badly you'd wanted to be wrong.
"i didn't know," you said, and something in sukuna's expression flickered, dimmed.
you reached across the table before he could pull away, before sukuna could retreat back behind whatever wall he was scrambling to rebuild. your fingers brushed his knuckles softly, and he went very, very still.
"i didn't know the meanings. but i kept all of them. every single one. they're in my apartment, sukuna. pressed into my textbooks and taped to my walls and stuffed into my jewelry box. i've been sleeping with lavender under my pillow for three weeks because i didn't want to lose the scent."
sukuna's breath caught; you heard it, the tiny hitch that he tried to disguise as a cough.
"that's—" sukuna started, but stopped, and then he swallowed. his throat worked around words that didn't seem to want to come out. "that's really fucking weird, actually. keeping flowers for months."
"you're one to talk," you said, and your lips curved into a smile that felt wobbly and fragile and too big for your face. "you're the one who gave them to me."
"yeah, well." his ears were still pink, spreading now to his cheekbones, and you'd never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. "i'm in love with you, so it's different."
the words hung in the air between you, simple and devastating. there was no fanfare, and no dramatic pause, simply sukuna being sukuna, saying the thing he'd probably been trying to say for six months through petals and stems and carefully chosen blooms.
"you could have just told me," you said, and your voice was shaking now, but so were your hands, and so was he, so it didn't really matter.
"where's the fun in that?" he asked, but his voice was rough, and his eyes were bright, and when you squeezed his fingers, he squeezed back like he was afraid you'd disappear.
outside the greenhouse windows, the afternoon was fading into evening, gold bleeding into amber bleeding into the soft purple of early dusk. the bee had gone quiet, the leaves had stopped drifting, and the only sound was your breathing and his, mingling in the warm, humid air.
"i'm in love with you too," you said.
because it was true, because it had probably been true for longer than you wanted to admit, because sukuna was a nightmare and a softy and the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met, and you'd spent six months tucking his gifts between the pages of your life like pressed flowers of your own.
sukuna closed his eyes just for a moment, just long enough for you to see the way his shoulders dropped, the tension draining out of him like water from a cracked vase. when he opened them again, sukuna was smiling. a real smile, not the sharp-edged thing he showed the rest of the world, but something small and private and almost shy.
"good," sukuna said, and then, quieter; "i have more at my apartment. flowers, i mean. i was going to give them to you tomorrow, but—" he shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. "seems like a waste to wait."
your heart turned over in your chest, sweet like honey.
"show me," you said, and when he stood up and offered you his hand, you took it without hesitation.
sukuna’s palm was warm against yours, calloused from god knows what, steady now that the worst part was over.
he led you out of the greenhouse and into the cooling evening, and neither of you let go, not even when the campus paths grew busy with other students, not even when someone whistled and sukuna flipped them off with his free hand, not even when you reached sukuna’s apartment and he had to fumble for his keys because he simply didn't want to release you long enough to find them.
his apartment smelled like him, like cedar and something floral you couldn't name.
there were flowers everywhere — on the kitchen counter, on the windowsill, in a vase on the coffee table that was definitely too small for the arrangement it held. you spotted roses and tulips and something dark purple you didn't recognize, and sukuna followed your gaze and went pink again.
"i might have gone overboard," sukuma admitted, finally letting go of your hand so he could gesture vaguely at the chaos. "i wasn't sure which ones you'd like best, so i just kind of... got all of them."
you walked over to the windowsill, running your finger along the edge of a potted plant you didn't recognize. it was green and leafy, unassuming, nothing like the showy blooms scattered around the room.
"what's this one?" you asked, turning back to look at him.
sukuna was standing in the middle of his own living room like he'd never seen it before, like he was seeing it through your eyes and finding it lacking. he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you'd never seen him make, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur.
"basil," he said. "it means hatred, remember? i got it as a joke. thought it would be funny to have something that meant the opposite of everything else."
you laughed, and the sound seemed to break something loose in sukuna. he crossed the room in three long strides and stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at his face.
"i meant it, you know," sukuna said, and his hands hovered near your waist like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch. "every flower. every single one. i meant all of it."
"i know," you said, and you reached up to cup his face in your hands, feeling the slight roughness of his jaw beneath your palms. "i know now."
he kissed you then, soft and careful, like you were something precious he was afraid of breaking. his lips tasted like coffee and something sweet, and his hands finally settled on your hips, and the basil sat on the windowsill behind you, tiny and green and full of meaning.
when you pulled back, sukuna’s eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. he looked sweeter like this, softer, like all the sharp edges had been sanded away by the simple fact of being wanted back.
"i'm still mad you didn't look up the meanings," he said without opening his eyes. "six months. i could have just told you in the first week and saved myself a lot of anxiety."
"but then i wouldn't have gotten the flowers," you pointed out, and sukuna snorted, and you felt the vibration of it all the way down to your bones.
"i would have given you the flowers anyway," he said, finally opening his eyes. they were darker than usual, soft with something you were learning to recognize. "i probably would have given you flowers even if you'd laughed in my face. it's a problem, really. my therapist would have a field day."
you laughed again, and sukuna smiled again, and the evening stretched out before you both, full of possibility and pressed flowers and the quiet understanding that some things didn't need to be spoken aloud to be true.
but it didn't hurt, you thought, as sukuna pulled you toward his couch and wrapped his arms around you like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it.
!Ryomen Sukuna; who falls in love with the concubine he hated the most
Every woman brought to his estate understood the rules of survival before they even crossed the threshold.
You bowed until your forehead touched the tatami. You spoke only when spoken to. You anticipated his moods, read the terrifying language of his four eyes, and offered flattery or tears depending on what type of amusement he was seeking that day.
To center your entire existence around Ryomen Sukuna was the only way to ensure your head remained attached to your shoulders.
Except you didn't.
You hadn't knelt when he first entered your quarters three months ago. You had been lying on your side, propped up on an elbow, reading a translated scroll from the northern provinces, and you had merely shifted your gaze to look at him, entirely unimpressed by the sudden, heavy drop in atmospheric pressure that usually accompanied his presence.
"Stand when I enter," he had commanded, his upper eyes narrowing into dangerous, ruby slits.
You had turned a page. "Then leave and enter again. Perhaps I will feel like it next time."
The attendants behind him had turned white as ghosts, bracing for the inevitable spray of blood. Sukuna’s jaw had set, a terrifying, low growl vibrating from his chest. But you hadn't trembled.
You hadn't scrambled to fix your posture. You had just looked at him with an expression of profound boredom.
If he wanted to kill you, he would kill you. Fawning over him wasn't going to change his nature, so you simply refused to waste the energy.
He hadn't killed you. Instead, he had left, the doors slamming shut with enough force to rattle the shoji screens.
And that was the exact moment the nightmare began. Because from that night onward, Sukuna became an insufferable, permanent fixture in your life.
"You are eating that wrong."
You stopped your chopsticks halfway to your mouth, letting out a long, slow exhale through your nose. It was midnight.
You had been looking forward to a quiet, solitary meal of cold rice and pickled plums, but Sukuna had simply materialized in the corner of your room ten minutes ago, dripping wet from a thunderstorm, and had proceeded to sit directly on the edge of your bedding.
"I am eating it the way I have eaten it for more than twenty years," you said, not looking at him. "If my technique offends you, the door is exactly where you left it."
Sukuna scoffed, leaning back on his palms. His massive, tattooed frame took up half the space in your small room, his lower arms crossed over his chest while his upper right hand casually reached over and swiped a plum straight from your bowl.
"You have a wretched attitude," he remarked, popping the fruit into his mouth and chewing lazily. "The women in the east hall weep with gratitude if I so much as glance toward their courtyard. You look at me like I am a stray dog that ruined your garden."
"Stray dogs are quieter," you muttered, finally looking up to glare at him. "And they don't steal my food."
Sukuna’s lower mouth twitched into a sharp, jagged grin. He loved it. The realization turned your stomach, a strange, dizzying mixture of irritation and heat.
He didn't come to your room because he wanted a concubine; he came because he was a creature driven entirely by conflict, and you were the only person in the entire empire who refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight. You gave him nothing. You gave him a wall of pure, unbothered apathy, and it was driving him entirely insane.
He leaned forward suddenly, crowding your space. The smell of the storm, ozone and rain, rushed over you. Before you could pull back, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your jaw.
It wasn't the brutal, bone-crushing grip he used on his enemies. It was controlled, a heavy, unyielding restraint that forced your face up toward his.
"You should fear me," he murmured, his upper eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. His thumb thumbed the soft skin right beneath your lower lip, a deliberate, electric friction that made your toes curl inside your robes. "A single flick of my finger, and this pretty little throat splits wide open."
You met his gaze evenly, refusing to let the wild, frantic thudding of your heart show on your face. "Then do it. I'm tired of your bragging."
Sukuna froze. For a second, the silence in the room was deadly. Then, a loud, booming laugh tore from his throat, the sound rough and genuine as he released your jaw, shifting his weight until he was practically draped over your lap, his heavy head resting casually against your thigh.
"Insufferable," he muttered, closing all four of his eyes as if he owned the space. "Utterly insufferable."
You stared down at the King of Curses currently using your legs as a pillow, your hand hovering over his unruly pink hair, entirely tempted to shove him off. But you didn't. You just sighed, picking up your chopsticks again, ignoring the way his subconscious weight felt entirely too natural against you.
The shift happened. In Sukuna’s dictionary, words like love or devotion were meaningless concepts invented by the weak to justify their dependency. He would never admit to favoring you. If anyone asked, he would simply say you were a minor amusement, a dull distraction from his boredom.
But the rest of the estate wasn't blind.
The servants noticed that the rare silks brought from the western raids, the ones Sukuna usually threw into the treasury to rot—somehow kept finding their way into your wardrobe because he had casually grumbled that your current robes looked "like rags."
The guards noticed that if Sukuna left your courtyard irritated, he was significantly less likely to execute someone in the main hall.
And then there was the incident with the lord of the northern clans.
During a formal banquet, the lord had made a passing, disparaging remark about your status, calling you an "eccentric, useless mouth to feed" who didn't know her place.
You hadn't even heard the comment; you had been across the pavilion, systematically ignoring Sukuna’s attempts to make you try a cup of sake.
But Sukuna had heard it.
He hadn't made a scene. He had simply stood up, walked over to the lord’s table, and dismantled the man’s entire lineage within three seconds, leaving the pavilion drenched in red before sitting back down next to you, casually picking up his chopsticks as if nothing had happened.
"You're exhausting when you're angry," you had murmured, wiping a stray drop of blood from the sleeve of your robe with a click of your tongue.
Sukuna hadn't answered. He had just grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until you were forced to use your sleeve to wipe a smudge of gore from his cheek instead. He hadn't asked. He had just assumed your hands belonged on his skin.
Late one evening, weeks later, the heat of the summer had turned the air thick and oppressive. You were lying awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, when the shoji screen slid open without a sound.
Sukuna stepped inside. He looked exhausted, the heavy marks of a curse battle still lingering in the tension of his shoulders. He didn't speak. He just shed his heavy outer robe, letting it hit the floor, before crawling directly onto your sleeping mat.
"Go away," you groaned, trying to roll over to the far edge. "It is too hot for this."
"Silence," he grunted, a large, heavy arm snaking around your waist from behind. He hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive body completely enveloping yours.
His chest was blazing hot, a furnace of pure cursed energy, and his face buried itself directly into the crook of your neck.
"You cling too much," you muttered, though you didn't actually fight the hold. It was a useless endeavor anyway.
"What nonsense," Sukuna rumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his lower arms tightening around your hips, anchoring you so securely to him that you could feel the rhythmic, heavy thud of his heart against your spine. "You are small. You fit here. Stop complaining."
You lay there in the dark, his breath warm against your skin, his long, sharp fingernails absentmindedly tracing patterns into the fabric of your garment near your ribs.
He was completely unaware of how intimate the gesture was, how entirely possessive his body became the moment he was near you. He thought he was just resting. He thought he was just taking what was his.
You turned your head slightly, looking back at him. His eyes were closed, his expression unusually peaceful in the dim moonlight.
"You're an idiot, Ryomen Sukuna," you whispered softly.
A faint, arrogant smirk touched his lips, though he didn't open his eyes. His hand moved up, his fingers lacing through yours with a casual, unthinking pressure, locking your hands together against the bedding.
"And you are still breathing," he murmured into your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction more. "Be grateful I find your stupidity so entertaining."
You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his terrifying, inescapable warmth, finally accepting that while the King of Curses would never say the words, his actions had already rewritten the entire world around you.
c/w: porn w no plot, modern au, established relationship, multiple orgasms, scent kink, p in v, oral (f receiving), tongue fucking, cum eating, showering together, reader has a bush :P
a/n: hot af in the uk rn and thought aboutttt uhhhhhhhhhhh whatever this is… hot, sweaty sex w sukuna 🤤🤤 not important but the ice cream i was imagining while writing this was a magnum also ooc sukuna probably ok bye enjoy
"I'm going to die," you announced.
It was hot. It had been hot for days, and you had been suffering through it miserably. Your apartment was a shitty old one with no ac, and the fan you were using was being far from helpful, blowing warm air around your room while you lay on your bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Opening the windows was useless, there was no cooling breeze, only the suffocating lapping of even more warmth at your body. Those were shut now.
"You're so dramatic," Sukuna muttered from his position on the floor.
He was faring a little bit better than you were. He had found a long forgotten packet of ice cream at the back of the freezer earlier, and had been taking his sweet time finishing it off. You kicked his shoulder with as much effort as you could muster before flopping flat on your back again.
"Fuck you. Ice cream stealer."
"You didn't even know it was there! I didn't either! It was," he paused, searching for the words, "divine intervention. I was supposed to find this ice cream. It's saved my life."
"What about my life!?"
"You'll live."
"Ugh. You're terrible."
Sukuna hummed in agreement, going back to his ice cream, licking the vanilla up enthusiastically. You glared at the back of his head from your position on the bed, but dissolved into a fit of tired giggles at the way he had styled his hair, it was up in a way that would keep the ends of it from tickling his skin, and making him warmer.
You sighed heavily, turning on your side and closing your eyes. The curtains were drawn in a feeble attempt to keep the heat out, but it slithered through anyway, a hazy image of the sun covering your bed, where you were lying.
The sudden dip in the bed next to you had you raising your head in confusion. Sukuna was shuffling you closer to the middle of the bed so he could slot in behind you, sliding an arm below your waist, so he could clasp his hands together over your stomach.
"Absolutely not. Get away from me. We're gonna mould into a new human if you stay this close to me for too long," you said, clawing at the sheets as he pulled you closer against him.
"We'd make the best new moulded human. You were too far away," he replied, nuzzling into your neck. "I missed you."
"Yeah, cause you're like a fucking heater. Gonna cook me alive," you said, thrumming your fingers against his hands clasped around your waist. "When you wake up from falling asleep, I'll be dead and roasted, and then you'll eat me like nothing happened."
"I bet you'd taste good."
"The best."
"D'you wanna fuck?" he asked against your ear.
"Are you insane? Do you want me to actually die?"
"No," he replied, taking your lobe between his teeth, biting it gently. "C'mooonn, let me make you feel good. Consider it my apology to you for stealing the last ice cream even if I didn't know it was there until it fell out of the drawer."
His fingers danced over the waistband of your panties, snapping the elastic against your stomach gently. You had decided to forego wearing any bottoms today since you hated the extra layers when the weather was like this, and you absolutely were not going to leave your apartment under any circumstances.
"I'll do all the work," he whispered, fingers going lower, rubbing you through the thin material. "All you have to do is lie there and make those pretty sounds you know I love."
You sighed, pushing back against him as his fingers slipped under the elastic, index finger running up and down your slit a few times before he circled your clit lazily. Warmth pooled low in your stomach as they moved slowly and unhurried, almost methodical. Sukuna nipped at your ear again, jolt slithering down your spine along with the sweat that clung to you.
You could feel him rutting against you, rubbing his growing bulge against your ass slowly, in time with his fingers. You grabbed his arm, rocking yourself against his fingers, whining quietly as his other hand came up to your chest, squeezing your tits gently.
Your panties were damp, your slick leaking out of you as Sukuna swiped at your clit, and you leaned back against him, breaths coming out in short bursts as the muscles in your stomach went taught and the coil within you became ridiculously tight.
"Are you gonna cum for me?"
You nodded as you bit on the inside of your lip, hard enough that you faintly tasted blood, crying out as the hazy pleasure of your orgasm washed over you. You craned your neck to turn around to kiss him, moaning into his mouth as he continued to circle your clit, your body bowing against him as you rode your orgasm out, nails digging into his arm.
Sukuna licked into your mouth, tongue running against yours slowly. His lips were still cold, the lingering taste of vanilla flooding into your mouth as you kissed. He pulled back slightly, smirking as you chased after him. He pecked your lips once more before he removed his hand from you, but keeping them beneath the material of your panties.
"Lift for me."
"I thought," you huffed, lifting your hips a little, letting him pull your panties down your legs, "you said that you would be doing all the work."
"My poor princess. I'll make it up to you, don't you worry your pretty little head about it."
Sukuna nudged at your closed thighs with his, opening them slightly. He ran a finger up and down your slit before dipping a finger into your pussy shallowly a few times, spreading your release over you. You jerked as his fingers ghosted over your clit, pressing back against him when he retracted it, against his bulge. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, pressing his face into your neck, his grip on your waist bruising.
He was so close it was intoxicating. His body heat seeped into you, his chest plastered against your back, one hand at your waist, the other palming your tits through your tank. He mouthed at your neck, lapping up the sweat that trickled down the slope of it.
You let your head fall against the bed to give him more space as he continued to kiss your neck, tongue dragging up your skin slowly until he came to your ear again. He nibbled at the soft flesh of your lobe, catching the piercing you had there, pulling it gently, your back arching at the jolt that fluttered down your spine, making you whine quietly.
You could feel him moving behind you, the ruffling of clothing breaking through the misty pleasure of his thigh moving slowly between your legs. Sukuna held your leg up as you felt him glide his cock against the length of your slit, rubbing the head of it against your clit for a moment, making you sigh.
He positioned himself over your entrance, thrusting the tip in shallowly a couple times before he eased into you with a slow, methodical pace, which made the stretch of his thick cock both more bearable and agonising in how the pleasure built up as he sunk into you, his frenum piercing dragging against your walls, heat spreading from the warmed metal. You choked out a moan as Sukuna filled you completely, buried snugly in you, his fingers trembling slightly against your thigh as he exhaled.
"Fuck," he hissed. "You're so warm."
"Obviously, you idi–" you broke off with a whimper as he pulled out almost all the way before burying himself back inside you, fucking you slow, hard, and deep.
Your vision watered as the hand he was groping your tits with snaked down your front to rub circles around your clit, drawing another moan from you as you pressed back against him. You jerked into his hand, tension building steadily with his slow thrusts.
The sensation of him filling you continuously, and the unrelenting circling of your clit had you clenching around him, head falling against the bed, breathing uneven as you chanted his name. Your nails dug into your palms as you came, indenting them, pain smoothing out into pleasure as your orgasm flooded through you.
Sukuna continued to slide in and out of you at an agonisingly slow pace, his nose buried in your neck, panting against your skin as your body shook from the overstimulation. You curled forward, eyes watering at the feeling of him filling you, his piercing dragging over your walls, the warmth that spread through you making you pant.
Sukuna, mercifully, removed his hand from your clit, trailing it up your chest, placing his palm flat on it so he could push you back against his chest. He tucked his chin over your shoulder, eyes on your chest as he pulled your tank down, your tits spilling out of them.
He cupped one of your boobs, his hand encompassing it quickly before he pinched a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You felt his lips spread into a smile against your cheek as he continued to tweak at it, feeling it stiffen as he tugged at it gently before moving to the other one. You arched into his touch, whining as he repeated the actions on your other nipple. You clenched around him as he pinched it tightly, catching him off guard.
"Aah, fuck!" he exclaimed, his arm falling away from your chest.
Sukuna's fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh painfully as he groaned in your ear, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. Your legs trembled in his hold as he fucked you messily, relishing in the overstimulated cries he drew from you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours, and the obscene squelch of your bodies meeting filling the room.
"Give me – give it to me," you gasped out, gripping his hand on your thigh.
"You want my cum? Want me to fill you up?"
"Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, voice breaking. "Please, please, S'kuna."
He didn't reply, but he bit down harshly on your shoulder as he continued to plunge into you relentlessly. You clenched around him tightly, whining as he swiped messily at your clit, making him moan hoarsely into your skin, shuddering as he emptied himself inside you.
He thrust into you lazily through his orgasm, his grip on your thigh still tight as he fucked his cum as deep into you as he could. Your breathing stuttered as his piercing dragged against your g-spot, making your vision spot, and Sukuna let out an amused huff behind you, dragging the tip of his cock over it again.
You clawed uselessly at his thigh as Sukuna continued his assault on your g-spot, your other hand holding his arm still circling your clit in place as you moaned breathlessly, your thanks coming out incoherent. Your thigh spasmed in an attempt to close it, but Sukuna's grasp on it was like steel, holding it open as you jerked helplessly in his hold as your orgasm crashed over you.
Sukuna continued to rub your clit through your orgasm, his hips still rolling into yours slowly. Your body shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm, vision hazy, and a new sheen of sweat glistening across your skin. Sukuna lapped up at the stray beads, his tongue cool against the heat that seared through you.
"Taste so good," he murmured against you, nose bumping against your jaw, "smell good, too."
He released the thigh he was holding, dropping it gently on top of your other leg, fingers brushing over the indents left on it briefly before he rested it on your waist, fiddling with the hem of your tank top. He pulled out of you slowly, moving away so he could turn you onto your back. He kissed you quickly before moving down the so he was between your closed legs.
Sukuna nudged at a thigh with his nose, opening them slightly to watch the cum that leaked out of your cunt trickle down your thigh. He exhaled heavily against your skin before dragging his tongue up your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. He brought a finger to your pussy, collecting the cum that continued to slide out, and pressed it back inside, grinning up at you.
He hooked one of your legs over his shoulders as he lowered himself onto his elbows, resting his head on your thigh, and leaned forward to bury his nose into the hair on your pubic mound, inhaling your scent deeply, eyes sliding closed as he groaned quietly.
"You smell so fucking good," he breathed out against you, tongue darting out to lick a strip up your pussy, making you writhe.
He pulled back to suck on his fingers before running them through your cum-slicked folds, and eased them back into you gently. You fidgeted beneath him, body still jittery from your previous orgasms, making Sukuna laugh softly as he looked up at you to gauge your reaction.
His fingers moved slowly, curling up to brush against your g-spot. You moaned softly, bringing your hands up to thread your fingers into Sukuna's hair. You looked down at him with bleary eyes as he leaned down to flick his tongue against your clit, lips spreading into a smile as you tightened your grip on his hair, keeping him in place.
He continued to pump his fingers into you steadily, his tongue dragging up against your clit, making your back arch off the mattress as you rode his hand. The pressure in your abdomen built quickly, and you draped your other leg over Sukuna's shoulders, pressing him closer to you as you bucked up into him, gushing into his mouth and over his chin.
You flopped back onto the mattress, chest heaving, rivulets of sweat trickling between your breasts from the heat and the sex. You blinked down at Sukuna, who made no move to come back up to lie next to you, and your eyes widened as he parted your folds with his fingers and pressed his tongue inside you.
"Su– Sukuna…" you whined.
Your whole body trembled as he began to thrust his tongue into you, slurping up at your mixed releases, eyes closed, and eyebrows furrowed as he groaned against you. You twitched in his hold, beyond oversensitive, torn between attempting to move away or grinding up into his mouth. You choked out a moan as he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his lips around your clit, and sucking on it hungrily, his muffled groans vibrating through you as you tightened your grip on his hair again.
As you tugged on his hair, pulling him closer to you, Sukuna slid his tongue into you again. You rocked against his face, thighs clamping tightly around his head, the feeling of his tongue licking into you, and his nose brushing up against your clit overwhelming. Heat spread through you, your body shaking as you neared another orgasm. Sukuna didn't let up, obscene squelching coming from him as he continued to lap up at his cum, breaking away only to swallow it down, and take in gulps of air before going back in.
"I – I'm close, Sukuna. Make me ah, make me cum," you whispered, sweeping his hair off of his forehead.
His eyes gleamed smugly up at you as you continued to deliriously chant his name as you ground into his mouth, his tongue circling your entrance before he flattened it against your clit. He stayed still, letting you fuck yourself on his tongue. You huffed out a laugh, gripping his hair once again, moving your hips slowly.
"Fuck you," you moaned, twisting his locks tightly between your fingers, making him groan into you. "'I'll do all the work' my ass."
Sukuna's lips spread into a smile, his eyes closing as you dug your heel into his back again, the rolls of your hips becoming arrhythmic as the heat within you became unbearable. You arched off the mattress as you chased your orgasm, eyebrows drawing together at the tightening knot low in your stomach.
You blinked blearily down at him as you continued to move, raising your head as you noticed the slight movement of his hips against the mattress.
"Are you gonna fuck, are you gonna cum with me, Sukuna?" you breathed out, pulling him closer to you again, the glide of his tongue against you making you fall back against the bed, chest heaving. He moaned in reply, rutting against the mattress more as you tightened your thighs around his head.
The knot within you snapped abruptly, and your back arched off the mattress, continuing to grind against his tongue as you clenched around nothing, his name spilling from your lips as you sucked in shuddering breaths. Sukuna groaned loudly, hips stilling as he began to move his tongue again, lapping at you, drinking down your juices until your body was shaky, legs twitching as you let them fall away from his head.
He continued to lick at you until you placed your foot against his shoulder, weakly pushing him away, and he complied, laying his head on your thigh. You released his hair, smoothing it off of his forehead as he looked up at you, satisfaction clear on his face, his eyes sparkling.
Sukuna crawled up your body, bracing himself above you before he leaned down to kiss you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, the taste of yourself seeping into your mouth as his tongue ran over yours. He was so warm, his body heat radiated off of him in waves, rippling against you, running over your skin as you kissed.
He placed one final peck on your lips before unceremoniously flopping on top of you, face buried in your neck as he exhaled heavily. You writhed underneath his weight.
"Get off of me, you oaf," you groaned, slapping his back. "I feel gross and sticky. Clean me."
He pulled away from you, eyes glinting. "Oh, I can clean you. Where do you want me to start, your neck, or your armp–"
"I meant shower me!" you exclaimed, face heating.
"You ruin all my fun", he complained, rolling off you.
He sat up and slipped a hand beneath your back, easing you up into a sitting position. You held your arms up as he peeled your tank top off, tossing it behind him.
"That's not where the dirty clothes go," you said.
"I know," he replied, smirking down at you as he helped you stand.
"You're gross."
He hummed in agreement, hand slipping into yours as he lead you down the corridor to the bathroom.
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