pennie @penniewrites - Tumblr Blog

Apr 22

01 | THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM

[frat!kuna x f!reader] synopsis — you and sukuna miss each other twice, but you get lucky enough to roll the dice one more time. word count — 29.8k+ words warnings — MDNI 18+ alcohol, drugs, drinking and substance abuse, implied underage drinking, implied sexual relations, college shenanigans, strong language, banter, plot with porn, slight slowburn, smut, female reader, reader is described as bratty and pretty with big eyes and female genitalia, hair and height are only relatively mentioned, flirting, pain kink, tattoo kink if you squint, size kink if you squint, stomach bulge, public kissing, dry humping, thigh riding, choking, pinching, lots of kissing, teasing, oral kink, pet names (baby, bunny, etc.), edging, power struggle (sukuna is mainly dominant, reader is a slight switch), dirty talk, sukuna talks you through it, muscles, very graphic and descriptive smut, hair pulling, oral sex, p in v sex, fingering, praise kink, degradation kink, slight dacryphilia, overstimulation, missionary, doggy style, prone bone, consent and safe words are very important, brat taming, slight dumbification. there’s probably more that i’m missing, so please lmk if you see anything. author's note — this took up approximately 61 pages in my google docs, so please enjoy. first ever fic, not beta read but i did proofread it at 2am if that counts. idk if i know how to write smut i just... wrote it, ig. i apologize for all the build up, i’m just a sucker for a bit of a slowburn. honestly no clue how this is going to go, so lmk if you guys like it.

The first time Ryomen Sukuna sees you, it's at his frat party.

It's a Friday night, syllabus week, and the gentle breeze that ruffled through the air was still warm from a summer that would soon give way to the autumn rain. Every kid in college, drunk or not, was taking advantage of this holy trinity, and his frat is no exception, beating the others to throw the first 'Welcome Home' party of the semester.

It’s a free invite tonight, though they still prefer to keep a ratio, and the house is packed to the brim. People spill out onto the large patio and down the steps to the front lawn, leaving a trail of crushed red solo cups and mangled beer cans in their wake, a growing mess for the pledges to clean bright and early tomorrow morning. The girls stumble about in giggling cliques, and the guys try to intercept where they can, still a little rusty from the summer. Music booms from the basement of the house, where Gojo's likely trying his hand at the DJ booth, causing the ground to tremble with the bass as the beat echoes its way up and out into the night air. A group of pledges had transformed the kitchen into an open bar in addition to the one in the basement, complete with an array of handles and coolers, and Choso’s pretending to know how to mix drinks while stepping off to the side to press little packs of whatever his customers desired into their palms. The backyard, on the other hand, was supposed to be off-limits, but that notion is quickly abandoned when someone jumped into the pool, beckoning others to follow suit. Even the upstairs is filled, claimed by the high and horny.

All in all, the party is a raging success. The only thing missing is another drink in his hand and a girl wrapped around his arm.

Which, normally, Sukuna prioritizes fixing above all else, but Shoko was still complaining to him about her landlord, and Geto was sure as hell taking his sweet time to get back to his girlfriend. He left Shoko in Sukuna's care a couple of minutes ago when a pledge ran up to them, all out of breath over some guy puking in the bathroom, and Sukuna knew better than to test Geto when it came to Shoko. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, but Geto liked to be safe and there's always the occasional drunk idiot.

Honestly, Sukuna’s surprised Geto isn’t back yet; he could barely go an hour or two without talking to his girlfriend.

"—and I keep texting him about the ants, but he neve—Hey!" Shoko snaps her fingers in his face, effectively pulling him out of his reverie. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah," Sukuna mutters, barely even glancing down at her as he shamelessly watches a group of girls dancing on the table set up outside. Its original purpose was beer pong, but Sukuna wasn't complaining.

She squints at him, hands on her hips. "Liar," she counters, and then, without looking back, "You're watching that blonde stripper with the boobs."

He finally looks down at Shoko, who had let her sleek dark brown hair grow out past her shoulders, but was otherwise still the same since they'd met back in high school. He, however, looked almost nothing like the boy she'd met in her freshman year, save for the same intense eyes and the golden tan.

"She's not a stripper," he says with a roll of his eyes, tipping his Corona up to take a swig.

Shoko looks over, and Sukuna follows her gaze to see the blonde peel her top off and swing it over her head, earning well-deserved cheers. She turns back to him with a raise of her brow, and he can only grin in response. When he looks back up, the blonde is staring straight at him, eyes raking down his body.

"Yo, did Geto text how long he was gonna take?"

Shoko frowns and turns her phone over in her hand, the light washing over her high cheekbones and the little mole under her eye. Her notifications only include a couple of texts from friends and an email from some tight-ass professor, but nothing from Geto.

"No, he mu—" her eyes slip past him for a second before doing a double-take, her expression replaced by an immediate grin. "Oh my God!"

She rushes past him, almost clipping his shoulder in her excitement, and Sukuna has to hold back a sigh, used to this behavior. The blonde is still looking at him as she swings her hips, and he's tempted to just walk over. Judging from the chorus of laughter that bubbles from behind him, Shoko wouldn't mind, so he turns to tell her, fully expecting to see that one friend from her high school whose name he can't ever remember.

Instead, it's you.

He can't quite make out your face yet—Shoko came barreling at you so hard that you two spin as you hug, your head tucked over her shoulder—but the first thing he does is aptly note the curve of your ass in those jean shorts. You've rolled over the hem of them and paired it with a summery little tube top made entirely of sheer lace, save for the sturdier fabric up top, bunched in a sweetheart neckline. He has ample time to appreciate the soft swell of your chest and the line of your spine with those dimples at the base before you pull away from Shoko.

She says something to you, but it all blends into the buzz of conversation and music in his ears as he studies you. The high points of your face are all shimmery, your cheeks colored with a faint blush, and your hair has caught a hint of frizz from the heat, but it only makes it seem more alive as it falls loose and sways, wild with motion. Your eyes squint a little when you laugh at whatever she's said, crinkling at the corners and almost painfully expressive, all big and glimmering with that contagious sort of delight.

You don't see him, not yet, but he finds himself waiting for your gaze to fall on him.

"Oh, a couple of minutes ago," you say, glancing around the party behind you, and he realizes you must be answering a question. "Hime's here somewhere, too, but I kinda lost her when I went to get this."

You hold up a seltzer, one of those low alcohol percentage ones that tastes more like soda than booze, and shake the can, a shallow splash showing that you'd almost finished it. He takes the opening.

"Need a new one?"

Sukuna steps closer, bringing himself into your orbit. He thought you were pretty when he saw you from the side, but when you turn to look at him for the first time, it makes him pause for a second.

You blink up at him, lashes long and fluttery, as they cast shadows on your cheekbones, and you've got this smile, lips plush and glossy but only slightly, as if it's worn off since you first applied it. Your tongue comes out to wet the bottom pillow, a quick slip of pink, and it sends a little thrill down his spine.

You, on the other hand, seem almost unbothered, giving him a once-over as if his interruption has slightly inconvenienced you. He has to admit that it’s pretty hot.

"They told me this was the last one," you tell him, nodding your head in the direction of the house.

"Oh," Shoko jumps in before he can answer, "I should've introduced you guys earlier."

She gives him your name, and he rolls his tongue over his teeth, silently testing it out with a cocky little nod that doesn't seem to impress you. When she gives you his name, however, you offer no reaction, and that sparks something in him.

You know who he is. He's certain of it because even if you didn't frequent the frats—which he's also certain of because he'd know if he'd seen you before—his face is plastered on the game posters cluttering every inch of campus, and the hockey team's Instagram page has a follower count that surpasses the student population.

Instead, you're ignoring him, or at least, ignoring who he is. There’s an itch in his chest when he realizes what you’re doing, and he hasn’t decided if it’s annoyance or intrigue yet, but it draws him closer to you, nonetheless.

"He's the VP here," Shoko adds, and that seems to catch your interest. There's a little glint in your eyes now, a bit of an impish look that he has a strong urge to tease out of you.

"Does being vice mean you'd know if they keep a secret stash of these somewhere?" you ask, tilting your head, playful and innocent all at once.

It makes Shoko chuckle next to you, and he can't help but crack a grin, half his signature smirk and all pure sin.

"We normally do," he admits, one hand casually slipping into the pocket of his dark-wash jeans, "but why not go for something stronger?"

You arch a brow, and he ignores the sharp look Shoko gives him. She got annoyed when he hit on her friends, but any pretty girl standing in his frat and looking like that in the soft, warm wash of the fairy lights is fair game to him.

"What about a beer?" he offers, and you can see his canines poking out from behind the stretch of his smile, a touch lower now and near-predatory. "Or we can go for a round of shots?"

Normally, that's all it takes. That inviting tone, the dark look in his eyes, the way he angles his head a bit to make it seem like the entirety of him is focused down on you.

Too bad you know better.

You shrug, turning to Shoko. "No thanks," you say easily, wrinkling your nose a little. "I don't like the taste of beer."

The brief look you give him after, the subtle-but-impossible-to-resist challenge that flashes in your eyes, keeps him from cutting his losses and going back to the blonde. Nothing against her, of course. He imagines that if she could move like that while dancing on an old piece of wood, she'd be pretty good in bed, but, more often than not, he likes the fight, the chase, the sear of heat on his skin before drowning that fire, and it's clear you do too.

"Noted," he says, meeting your gaze with an unrelenting one of his own. "I'll go grab that drink for you."

He moves past you and Shoko to the open door of the house, not missing the way you watch him move for a second before ultimately going back to your friend. He takes that bare moment of attention as a win, heading back into the house through the masses.

No one needs to be moved when Sukuna makes his way through a crowd; people simply part to let him through without even being asked. He has that air about him, the weight of his reputation preceding him, and people watch as he passes by. He avoids the looks the girls give him and catches the eyes of a few of his frat guys, half-heartedly bumping his fist against theirs and accepting a couple of heavy-handed thumps on his back before he enters, making a beeline through the heavy thrum of bodies for the bar.

Choso is, as expected, lazily leaning on the wall to the side, his dark hair spiky with sweat as he aims an easy grin at a girl who's currently passing him a half-smoked blunt. It's about a hundred times more humid in here than outside, and the smoke curling up against the ceiling wasn't helping. Sukuna had no qualms with setting his bottle down and striding over to him, plucking the blunt out of his grasp and grabbing a fistful of his collar to pull him up off the wall and drag him back to his post.

"Yo—" Choso protests, albeit weakly, and stumbles over his feet as Sukuna shoves him behind the counter. "The hell's the matter with you!?"

"Long Drink," is all Sukuna offers him as he nods at the back cooler, tossing the still-hot blunt into an abandoned cup of mystery liquid and watching it hiss. "With cranberry juice and salt on the rim."

Choso looks mildly irritated, but a slow grin grows on his face when he processes the order.

"Salt on the rim?" he teases, but goes to grab the Long Drink, anyway.

"Just shut up and make it," Sukuna mutters, rolling his eyes as he takes his beer again and downs the rest of it in one go. "And get me another beer."

"Who's the girl?"

Choso cracks the can open and slides it over to Sukuna as he grabs the cranberry juice from the side. Sukuna takes a big enough swallow to make room for an extra splash of cranberry juice before sliding it back across the damp wood.

"None of your fucking business."

It doesn't deter Choso, who was a year younger yet infuriatingly unafraid of him, as he empties the last bit of cranberry juice into the can.

"You just dragged me away from my most loyal customer," Choso counters, glancing back at the girl who was waiting for him with a pout and hazy eyes, and he gives her a wink, pulling out the salt. "I think you owe me."

"Don't owe you shit," Sukuna grumbles, leaning heavily against the counter.

Choso pours the salt onto his palm, lifting it slightly to roll the lip of the can in it. The cold water from the cooler makes the crystals stick, and he manages to angle it so that none of the drink spills.

When Sukuna goes to grab the drink, Choso pulls it back out of reach, raising a brow. He has half a mind to grab him again, but he didn't want to risk spilling that drink.

"You wouldn't know her."

"Try me."

Sukuna hesitates for a second, and then gives him your name and watches as a faint flicker of recognition passes through his eyes. It's honestly kind of hard to see anything pass through them with how bloodshot they were, but he's known Choso long enough to figure it out.

"Shoko's friend?"

"Y'know her?"

He shrugs and sets the can and another bottle of beer down in front of Sukuna.

"Seen her around," he says, and that's all he gives him before going back to his girl, letting her press him up against the wall again.

Sukuna doesn't ask for more, taking both drinks in one hand and heading back out the way he came. As soon as he clears the doorway, he turns to find you and Shoko where he last left you, still talking near the hedges.

You're laughing at something she's said again, a bright, twinkling sound that floats above the violent thrum of music, and he moves to the side as he approaches you, coming up from behind. He presses the cool metal of the can against your bare shoulder, startling you and making Shoko roll her eyes at his antics.

You jump a little and turn quickly, not exactly scared but definitely surprised, and something that smells dangerously like smoke sparks in your eye when you see the culprit. Your brows pull down in a furrow, and you open your mouth to likely tell him off when you're suddenly distracted by the drink, different from any other one you've gotten tonight.

"What's this?" you ask, carefully avoiding his touch when you take the can from him and suspiciously eyeing it.

He grins, devilish in both intent and looks. "Try it."

You glance down at it and back up at him. "It's open."

He hums and doesn't offer you anything else. You notice the little crystals on the rim, a couple of clumps slipping down with the condensation, and bring your thumb up to wipe a little off.

"D'you spike it?" you ask, but there's no real accusation in your tone.

"It's salt," he says, watching you lift your thumb to your mouth and taste the crystals, lips pursed around it as you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

Jesus.

"And?"

"Can't ruin the surprise," he shrugs, crossing his large arms as amusement dances in the explosive red of his eyes. "What? Y'don't trust me?

You turn your head to Shoko, looking for confirmation, and she rolls her eyes again but nods, pulling a cigarette packet from her pocket.

"He's stupid," she says as she pulls a stick out, "but he's not that stupid. Worst case, it tastes like shit."

"Best case," he counters, still watching you as you regard the can skeptically, "it's the best thing you've ever had, and you fall to your knees thanking me."

That gets a laugh out of you, short and sudden. "And then what?" you tease, bringing the edge close to your mouth. "I tie my hair up and return the favor?"

Behind you, Shoko snorts around the cigarette in her mouth, patting her pockets for a lighter, and Sukuna's grin only sharpens as you take a sip, watching your tongue peak out again to lick a bead of salt and seltzer from the corner of your mouth.

"Only if you want to," he flirts, and savors the way your eyes light up at the dare.

"Well," you simper, taking another sip, "only if you beg real nice for it."

The words somehow satisfy his ego and ignite his pride simultaneously, urging him to best you at this little game you two were playing now, but before he can, you take another sip and glance up at him.

"This isn't bad."

It's his turn to raise a brow now, stepping closer into your space. "You sound surprised."

"I am," you say, not backing down. "What's in it?"

"Trade secret," he answers, and watches the way your eyes drop to his mouth when he brings the beer bottle up, hooking his teeth into a gap and loosening the cap so it pops off.

You know what Sukuna's doing, you've seen it done a hundred times before, but this somehow makes your nerves go all electric, as if it's new. You can't explain the shiver you have to tamp down as you watch him, all pointed teeth and scathing insinuations.

"And what do I have to do to kno—"

You're abruptly cut off by a loud buzzing from your back pocket, and you slip your phone out to look at the Caller ID. Sukuna mourns the loss of that sentence as he sneaks a look at your phone, catching 'Utahime Iori' before you swipe your thumb across the screen and lift the phone up to your ear.

"Where the hell d'you go?" you ask, only slightly exasperated and mostly fond.

You take another sip and catch that smirk of his as he watches you do it, rolling your eyes and turning to scan the crowd for your friend. He can barely hear the voice on the other side, but it makes you stand up on your toes, eyes now tracking the crowd for a target.

"No, I don't see hi—Oh, shit," you interrupt yourself, a low mutter under your breath. He turns to see who you're looking at, but he has no idea who to look for in the throng of party guests. "Yeah, yeah, I see him now. Don't worry about it, I'll come get you."

Shoko looks up, cigarette still unlit and her search for a light unsuccessful.

"Want me to come with?"

Shoko and Utahime were friends from high school, the type to roam the same circles but never really grow close until recently, when they rekindled their friendship last semester. That was how you met Shoko, when Utahime brought her to your shared apartment one day to have dinner with you and the two other roommates, and you and Shoko became fast friends.

You're about to agree when you glance over her shoulder and see a familiar dark-haired man stride your way, eyes trained on her. Geto's hair was up in the classic half-ponytail, and he barely registers the person he shoulders past on his way here, patting his jacket pocket for something.

"No, it's okay," you say, jutting your chin to Geto to get her to look. "Your boyfriend's back."

Shoko turns, half a smile already on her face as he finally gets to you guys, pulling out a lighter and flicking it beneath her cigarette, hand curled around the flame to keep it from blowing out. He glances up at the company and gives you a short smile, which you return, before looking at Sukuna.

"Had to kick the motherfucker out," he tells him, and Sukuna only nods, gaze still on you and the way you lick the salt from the rim, humming lightly at the tang of it.

"I can still come and help," Shoko offers, but you just shake your head.

"It's fine," you reassure her kindly. "Hime's fine, I'm just gonna go bring her out."

At the end of the line, Hime's still rambling from the bathroom she's hiding in, telling you about her almost-encounter with the man at the other end of the lawn, and you offer short words of affirmation as you begin to step away.

"Okay," Shoko shrugs, already settling into Geto's side as his hand finds home in the curve of her waist. "Come see me before you go, though."

"Yeah, we will," you agree, already a couple of feet out, but, before you go, you look at Sukuna, who's still watching you with those eyes that you'll likely think of later tonight. "Thanks for the drink—No, babe, not you, just keep talking."

You turn, too preoccupied with Utahime to see the way his brow furrows, the way he considers following after you. He doesn't think you'd mind. The drink seems to have softened you up a little, and he's not sure if he could convince you to end up in his bed tonight, not with the way you seem to be able to keep up with all his moves, but maybe he can get you into a corner for a couple of minutes and convince you of some other things.

He's about to, actually, ignoring the look Geto's giving him above Shoko's head right now, before he feels the light scrape of nails dragging down his biceps. When he glances down, he finds the blonde from earlier, still clad in only a black lace bra and a small denim skirt, looking up at him with dark eyes and a sultry little pout.

It's almost like instinct, the way his arm curves around her as he lets her reach up and whisper something into his ear, but he only half-hears what she's saying as he watches you walk away, eyeing the teasing glimpse of your ass under those damn shorts.

The second time you see Sukuna, it's actually probably from some Instagram post of the hockey team or one of those large posters of the players hung up in the gym. The second time you meet him, however, is at the bar, about a week or so after your first encounter.

You honestly weren't expecting to see him so soon after the last time, if at all.

You'd left kind of suddenly, tracking down Utahime after she'd locked herself in the basement bathroom because she saw the guy she'd gone on a date with last week fully making out with another girl. So, you stayed in there with her as she ranted about it, affirming that 'yes, it's really weird that he'd do that when he called himself a shy guy with not a lot of experience on his Tinder' and 'no, I don't think being drunk excuses his actions, especially when he told you he wanted to go exclusive with you really soon—even if it was weird that he said that on the first date'.

You weren't sure how Utahime kept attracting these sorts of men, but you are sure that she should probably stop looking for men at all on Tinder.

When you did finally manage to coax her out of the bathroom, much to the annoyance of the long line waiting behind the door, you couldn't find Shoko anywhere. You didn't think it wise to keep looking around when Utahime was currently at the stage of grief where she was promising to brutally 'fuck him up' in some really creative ways, so you both ended up leaving without saying bye, though you did send her a quick text.

You guys didn't go home right after, however, as you found yourself at a different frat when two of their brothers eyed you and her passing by. You'd both flirted a little, doing what you had to do to skip that line and get a direct invite inside, where you 'accidentally' lost them in the crowd near the cute DJ. The party was smaller than the other frat and the guys were a little sleazier, but the DJ, who had been watching you and Utahime dance for about ten minutes before inviting you up, was apparently specifically invited.

He wasn't a frat guy, but a supposed rising star who balanced the terribly burdensome life of being a DJ and a college student with a trust fund. You didn't really care about that, though, or how low his hands settled on your hips, because he was a good kisser and he let you play all the songs you wanted.

He'd slipped his number into your phone that night, and you'd texted sparsely over the next week before he invited you to come see him play here, at the bar that was a twenty-minute walk from your apartment.

This time, both Chloe and Tara joined you and Utahime. You all lazed about your shared apartment for most of the day, taking turns in the shower before turning on the speaker music and compiling all your going-out clothes into one pile. Shots were tossed back, the two bathrooms were split between hair and makeup, and you guys took pictures for the photo wall behind the couch before leaving the apartment, fashionably late and already tipsy.

By the time you got to the bar, the alcohol had settled into your system, and you were comfortably drunk, coordinated enough to text him that you were in line. It was good that you did because the line was awful, and after a bit of flirting—all four of you bunched together and crafting responses on your behalf—he came out for a second and brought you guys in immediately.

And then he led you through the dense crowd, the vibe electric and frisky tonight, to the DJ booth at the front end of the bar, painted in swatches of neon lights from the strobes above. There were some other people on the platform, too, all with the same bright pink wristbands and instructions not to crowd the DJ too much. He, on the other hand, didn't really seem to care, keeping one girl by his side at all times.

Tonight, it seems to be you, his hand resting just above the swell of your ass as he leans in to say the same variations of 'You look really hot' in your ear. Again, you don't really mind because he actually is a decent DJ and he knows how to match your vibe, but you need a break from him and his liquor-scented breath and the lines of white powder streaking his keyboard for a minute, so you retreat to the back-end of the platform to dance with your roommates.

And here you were, wedged between Utahime and Tara while Chloe was pressed to your side, all of you rolling your hips and swaying your arms above your heads to the music. Some heady mix was playing right now, and for a second, you're kind of glad you left him because he'd likely take advantage of the beat and slip his hand lower on your ass and grind on you.

Which, generally, you didn't mind when you were this drunk, but doing it in front of such a large crowd was a deal-breaker for you. As far as you were concerned, not every other kid from your college needed to see him practically dry hump you on stage, no matter how cute he was.

You're not certain how much time passes while you dance up on that stage with your girls, but eventually the track switches and a more rhythmic beat ripples through the air. You swing your hips to the music and bop your head, adjusting to the faster tempo. Just as you find your groove, a warm hand settles on your lower back, and you don't have to open your eyes to recognize the scent of tequila as a warm puff of air curls against the nape of your neck.

"Hey, baby," Evan mutters low against your skin, lips dragging up the side of your neck. "Why don't you come back to the booth?"

His hand slips around to your front, his intentions clear as he presses up behind you. You tilt your head to the side to let him mouth at your jawline before looking up at him with a little grin.

"You done with the set?" you ask, turning in his hold to drape your arms over his shoulder, looking up at him from underneath your lashes.

He dips his head lower, nose brushing yours. "Almost. C'mon."

You let him lead you out from the back of the platform, pressing close to his side as you shuffle through the horde. His hand slips down, testing the boundaries, and you let it.

You're no fool, you know what it all means, and you know exactly what you want from it.

When you get to the DJ booth, you're greeted by a group of three other guys and two girls, all crowded around the setup. One of them is leaning over it, reddish-brown hair flopping forward before he suddenly tosses his head back, shaking his head and sniffing, palm coming up to rub his nose. The guy to the side, a familiar-looking face with spiked dark hair and darker eyes and a tattoo running across the bridge of his nose, spots the two of you first.

“Hi Choso,” you greet, yelling over the music.

“Hey,” he greets back, a slow grin growing as he tilts his head down at you. “Haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Y’know him?” Evan asks, and you nod.

Who on campus didn’t? Even if one didn’t buy from Choso, his name would echo in their conversations. He wasn’t the only dealer on campus, but he was by far the best, boasting a wider array of picks than what any other plug could get you here. You personally hadn’t ever directly bought anything from him, but you’d been with Shoko a few times last semester when she’d snagged a blunt from him.

“Want anything?” he asks, hands stuffed in his pockets, and glances at Evan’s arm around your waist. “It’ll be on discount tonight.”

“Discount?” You laugh, a little unbelieving but less on edge with the buzz of alcohol and the familiarity of Choso, even as the two other guys are now eyeing you as you stand next to their friend. “For what?”

“First-time buy,” Choso offers with a shrug. “Always see you around, but you never ask for shit.”

That causes all heads to turn to you, and Evan chuckles in your ear, warm and lacking any real judgment.

“You’ve really never bought anything from him?” he teases, bringing you out in front of him as you roll your eyes and shrug.

“No,” you answer, throwing Choso a mock glare over your shoulder, as if he’d just outed some big, awful secret.

“How come?”

His friends are suddenly at your side, respectfully far enough but still in your space. The pure redhead, the one with freckles dusting his pale skin, grins at you.

“Wanna get something for me instead?”

The girl beside him, with a septum piercing and plum-colored hair, elbows him with an annoyed look.

“Shut up, Ty,” she nags, and then steps up to you, looping her arm through yours. “Obviously, she’d rather give it to me.”

You giggle beside her at his expression. She’s not overbearing in the slightest, and her touch is gentle enough for you to feel at ease. She smells like weed and vanilla, a curious combination that has you drunkenly leaning into her a little.

“Why the fuck would she get it for you and not me?”

They go off into a little argument while you still stand at her side, and Evan’s distracted by his other two friends, who are messing with the knobs on his DJ setup. Choso is talking to the other girl, someone that you only faintly recognize, probably a face you’ve seen here and there.

Before you can bring yourself to tune into their argument or even venture back to Evan’s side, there’s a prickle at the back of your neck. You’ve been turned away from the dance floor until now, but when you look back, craning your neck to take in the sight of a rolling throng of sweaty bodies, you don’t see anyone watching you, though you could barely see anyone ‌with how dark it was. Still, the sight of so many people below you, even if most of them are lost in their own worlds, unsettles you, and you decide you need a little more alcohol if you’re going to stay up here.

When you look back, you find Evan back in front of you, crowding close again. You place a hand on his chest, keeping him from coming closer and kissing you or something in front of all these people. He gives you a confused smile, hand coming up to grab yours and pull you in so his mouth is near your ear.

“What’s up?” he asks, still loud as the now violent thump of the beat reverberates through the space.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” you tell him, pulling back just a little to see him nod. “I’ll be right back.”

The girl next to you, with her arm still looped around yours, leans in too.

“I’ll come with,” she offers, and you nod along.

She makes quick work of dragging you two through the space and off the stage, readjusting to hold your hand so that you could stay tethered in the dense thicket of people swerving this way and that. You keep close to her as you two duck and weave past them, giggling and a little giddy from what you already had tonight.

Normally, you aren’t one to buy drinks at the bar. The prices are insane, and your father always checks your credit card bill, so you tend to get the guys to pay for you, but sometimes, when you’re drunk enough, shooters call out to you with an allure you can’t ignore.

“So, what’s your name?” she yells over her shoulder.

The feeling of being watched follows you, but you still can’t really make anything out in the darkness, even with the sweeping streaks of neon lights. The music is just as loud here as it was closer to the stage, reverberating through you from the ground up. You have to yell your name out to be heard.

“What’s yours?”

“Amaira,” she says, a little softer now that you guys have finally got to the point where the crowd has thinned out a little. “How d’you know Evan?”

You glance back, catching his sandy blonde curls at the DJ booth, his headphones slightly askew.

“Met him at a frat last week,” you answer as you both make your way over to the bar on the other end. “We texted a little, and he told me he was playing tonight.”

She nods as her hair glints in the low light, and you’re beginning to think it’s actually more maroon than plum.

“TDX?”

“Yeah, he was playing there.”

“No way,” she says, surprise creeping into her voice as she turns to look at you. You didn’t notice it before, but she has a lip piercing that matches the gold septum ring. “I was there too.”

“Really?” You two make it to the bar, and you lean against the wood, waiting for the bartenders to finish with their current customers. “I didn’t see you.”

She shrugs. “I was hopping around different frats that night,” she explains, tapping her long nails on the grain. “We were probably there at different times. You a senior?”

“Junior,” you reply. “What about you?”

“Same,” she says, and then continues when you give her a curious look. “Evan’s actually my older brother’s best friend. You probably saw him up there—the guy doing coke on the records?”

“Oh, yeah,” you remember, rubbing the back of your neck to ease the goosebumps despite the heat. “I don’t think I actually saw his face, though.”

“Lucky you,” she snorts.

Just then, a group of girls stumble up to the bar on Amaira’s other side, and one of them seems to recognize her, nearly falling on her as they hug. They start to chatter animatedly, and another one takes a step toward you, an invitation to talk, but the bartender taps the counter to get your attention, and you decide to order first.

“Two lemon drop shots, please,” you say, elbows braced on the wood.

“Make that four,” a voice adds from behind you, gravel-rough and shockingly familiar enough to make your stomach swoop pleasantly.

You turn to see Ryomen Sukuna standing closer than you expected, an arm coming up to hold the counter next to you as he leans over, eyes glinting. Your shock only lasts a second before you raise a brow, the same attitude you gave him the first time you met warring with the urge to play nice and let him do whatever he wanted to do with you.

The attitude wins, obviously.

“I’m not paying for that.”

The deep-throated chuckle he lets out makes your nerves buzz in a way alcohol couldn’t compare to. It settles deep in your gut, curling up with the satisfaction of being able to pull it out of him, as you lean back against the bar counter.

“Put it on my tab,” he tells the bartender above your head, and you grin, a little more reckless tonight than usual. You silently thank Tara for that extra shot she made you take before you left the apartment.

“Does your tab have a limit?” you ask cheekily as you flutter your lashes up at him.

The entertained smile he gives you seems more predatory than anything, sharp canines teasing the plush of his bottom lip. To your side, the group of girls had stopped talking the second they saw him approach you, and now they explode when he gives you that signature grin, but you can barely hear it with the way his presence drowns them out.

Sukuna’s presence had the effect of drowning out a lot, actually, and you’d noticed this at the frat too. You aren’t sure if it was that imposingly broad set of shoulders, the sheer width of his toned biceps, those tattoos curling up his neck from the collar of his shirt. He’s intense in a way that makes your toes curl in their black boots, the crimson of his eyes flickering with something dangerously dark, the set of his jaw made sharper by that one set of tattoos that traced the line of it, the faded scars that littered his tanned skin.

Whatever it is, it makes the world fade away into practically nothing behind him when he focuses all that intensity on you. The line of his shoulders, the towering height of him above you, the arrogant tip of his head, the messy locks of his faded pink hair falling over his forehead—all make you feel simultaneously like the only girl in the world and like you’re in some terrible trouble. At the frat, you were able to distract yourself with Shoko and the chaos around you, but here, with the way the darkness warps around him, like gravity bends to center around Sukuna, he’s impossible to escape.

And he knows it.

Sukuna’s other arm reaches to the bar behind you, effectively trapping you against the wood for a long second. He savors the way your breath catches when he does, the way your eyes briefly flicker down and then back up. You’ve been intentional with the way you meet his gaze directly, unafraid and bold, but he has the urge to crowd closer and loosen that control you hold over yourself.

Instead, he takes two of the shot glasses the bartender put out behind you, pulling his arm back to offer one to you.

“No limit,” he says, watching as your fingers cleverly take the shot from him without ever actually making contact. It makes his grin grow wider, makes you feel you’ve somehow fallen into some trap. “S’long as you give me a reason to keep it open.”

He can almost predict the arch of your brow by now, and that obstinate flash in your eyes. You’re not exactly trying to resist him, but he can tell you’re going to make him work for it.

“Cheers.”

You clink your glass against his before you both tap them on the wood and tip them up. He finishes his before you do, and it gives him time to watch your throat work on the swallow underneath a thin sheen of sweat.

He saw you before you saw him, dancing at the DJ booth with that blonde guy who clearly isn’t keeping you occupied enough. You were magnetic up there, the sway of your hips intoxicating, and even as Geto tried to convince him to slip into the back section for athletes, he kept to the balcony on the second floor, watching you.

When you talked to Choso, he knew he was in, because right after you stepped off the stage, Choso caught his eye and gave him an imperceptible nod. It told him that you and that DJ weren’t anything serious, just a little fling that, if he plays his cards right tonight, he could easily disrupt.

You bring the glass down, setting it back on the bar counter as your face scrunches at the taste.

“Too strong?” he asks, though the burn of alcohol hadn’t even touched him.

“No,” you say, shaking your head and rubbing your nose, “too sour.”

“Seriously?”

You glance up at him, your smile a little sheepish but unapologetic. “I don’t really like sour things.”

“You ordered lemon drop shots,” he reminds you, and, for some reason, you weren’t expecting the snarky side of him, but it thrills you anyway.

“They’re sweeter at the other place,” you defend yourself. “Besides, that tasted more like lime.”

He laughs again, and you’re well aware that he could just be doing it to get into your pants, but you can’t help the pride that slips down your spine.

“Alright,” he considers, tilting his head. “So no beer and no sour things.”

“You’re keeping track?” you ask, though it comes out less like a question and more like a statement, and he doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed.

“You’re on my tab,” he says, handing you another shot, and this time, you let your fingers brush over his in a feather-light touch, the contact gone before he can even take advantage of it. “Gotta know what to order, don’t I?”

You don’t drink your shot yet, just holding on to it, and he waits you out as your free hand comes up to fiddle with the shiny pendant of one of the gold necklaces draped around your neck and down the open expanse of your chest in your low-cut black tank top with the lace of your red bra peeking through. It’s inevitable, the way his gaze drops down to the rise of your boobs and the detail of the lace, and then further down to the tight black skirt you paired with it, dangerously short as it covers your ass and very little else, wondering if you had a pair of matching panties underneath.

“You said I had to give you a reason to keep the tab up,” you backtrack, still playing with the gold coin pendant, and you can’t help but smile at how distracted he is. “Why’s it open right now?”

He hums, gaze darkening as he takes you in. “Well, for starters, this outfit is doing you a lot of favors right now.”

You roll your eyes despite the little ego boost it gives you, and glance away with an amused huff, as if you can’t believe that’s what he’s focused on right now, even though that’s exactly what you want him to see.

“Plus,” he says, drawing your attention back to him and his nearly-blown pupils, “you’re interesting.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, giving him an incredulous look but letting his hand slip from the counter to your waist now. The size of it settles on at least half the span of your hip, hot and heavy against the thin layer of fabric that separates skin, and it nearly makes you dizzy.

Christ, if his hand had that effect on you, you can’t help but wonder what the rest of him could do.

“You barely know anything about me,” you counter, refusing to be distracted by his maneuver, no matter how the heat of it brands your skin.

“I know you don’t like beer or sour things.”

“Oh, yeah,” you scoff, sarcasm dripping from your teeth. “That’s really the crux of my personality.”

“I also know you use big words to flirt.”

“Crux is four letters,” you deadpan, and he shrugs, that little smirk of his never leaving.

“Four letters in an order that makes no sense to me,” he admits, and then lowers his head just enough for you to have to tamp down the shiver that runs up your spine. “Besides, what do you know about me?

Now that he’s got you pressed up against the wood, close enough to cause a rumor, you can make his cologne out past the other strong fragrances and the tang of sweat and smoke that hangs in the air. The woody scent makes your head spin, cinnamon and leather undercut by something lighter, something you can’t quite put your finger on. It nearly makes you step closer, just to try and figure it out, but you don’t because you recognize that glint in his eyes, so you choose your words carefully.

You had to keep up, but you couldn’t give away too much.

“You’re in a frat, you play hockey, you get in a shit ton of fights,” you list off as you give him a measured look, your gaze dragging from top to bottom and then back up. Those are all the usual things, the things everyone already knows about him, but then he watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and his hand flexes on your waist when your eyes snap up to his, daringly bright with a small smile that tells him you’re up to no good. “And you’ve got a pain kink.”

That shocks him for a second, long enough that he barely notices when you knock your glass against his, tap it on the wood, down the shot, and scrunch your face up again.

“I swear they’re using lime in this.”

“Where’d you get the pain kink from?”

You roll your eyes like it’s obvious. “Well, one, you aren’t denying it,” you point out, grinning with pride at your little detective work. “And, two, no one gets that many face tattoos without liking it.”

“Well, everyone’s got a thing for pain,” he retorts, and then taps his glass on the wood and tosses his own shot back, sliding it back over to the bartender.

“Everyone?” you repeat, crossing your arms over your chest.

His smirk sharpens, and your eyes catch on his canines. “You gonna tell me you don’t?” he asks as he takes one more step closer, causing you to crane your neck as his fingers begin to slide up your side and his voice drops an octave. “You gonna say you don’t like it when it stings just a little before you feel all good?”

Oh.

You can’t help the way something tightens at the base of your core at his words, the way the idea of it flashes in your mind and makes your breath catch with the anticipation of it. And you know he sees it too, you can tell with the way his fingers press on your ribs, the gleam of victory that flashes in the smoke of his eyes.

When he leans in closer, your lashes flutter and your heart thuds painfully fast, and you can’t tell if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

You’re saved by a loud voice and a flash of messy white hair.

Satoru Gojo is the antithesis of Ryomen Sukuna in nearly every way possible, but it’s those few exceptions that allow him to drape a heavy arm over his friend's shoulder and yell in his ear without getting punched in the face. Not that Sukuna doesn’t look like he wants to, though, because the way his face goes blank in shock and then very quickly darkens with anger as his hands are thrown to his sides in tightly clenched fists suggests that he’s close to knocking Gojo out for the interruption.

“Hey!” Gojo yells, or maybe just says, because while you haven’t had very many interactions with the man, you’re pretty certain this may be his regular volume at all times. “Have we met?”

You laugh, beguiled by both the randomness of the question and the annoyed look Sukuna’s giving Gojo right now. The two shots are beginning to settle into your blood, making the bar a little hazier than it is, but it also gives you enough courage to stay relaxed, still leaning against the bar coolly as if two campus celebrities weren’t currently placing the spotlight on you right now.

“No, I don’t think so,” you answer, not unkind but honest as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “But I think you know my friend.”

“Who’s yo—”

“Get away from her, you white-haired freak.”

Utahime, with perfect timing, appears behind him, shoving his shoulder to get past him and settling into your side. Her arm goes around your waist, yours goes around hers, and she rests her chin on your shoulder as she glares at her high school enemy.

“Came to save you,” she tells you, fully serious in a way that makes you giggle and lean into her, a familiar warmth wrapping around you when your best friend is near.

“Consider me saved.”

“Utahime!” Gojo exclaims, despite her clear disapproval of him. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know,” she says, tone dead. “I was hoping to keep it that way.”

“Hi,” a voice interrupts, and Amaira interrupts from the side where she’d been watching alongside that group of girls.

You realize they must have been waiting the entire time you and Sukuna were talking, and the idea of all those stares sours something in your stomach. They don’t seem to mind, however, as they crowd closer, and the more people that enter the conversation, the more space grows between you and the pink-haired man, yet you can still feel the heavy weight of his stare on you, his eyes stormy. It’s cold now that he’s not as close, the skin of your ribs still burning with the phantom of his touch.

“I didn’t know you and Sukuna knew each other.”

The way she says it isn’t rude, but it’s expectant and Utahime stiffens next to you. You smile despite it, pointedly ignoring the way he’s currently burning holes in the side of your face with that laser-like glare of his.

“Not really,” you answer truthfully, glancing at him. The tension is thick in the air, and the alcohol doesn’t help, but you endeavor to be unbothered, anyway. “We kind of just met.”

“Really?” she perks up, stepping forward and inviting herself into the circle.

“Yeah.”

You look over at him to find him gazing at you with hooded eyes, something suspiciously dark flashing in his eyes, as if he’s daring you to go through with your next move. It’s an odd crossroads you’re at right now, and it’s not exactly like you want to hand him over to her, but you don’t want to show him the want swirling in your gut, and you kind of like how your denial seems to get under his skin.

You can’t help it; you’ve got just as much pride as he does and you can’t resist the challenge.

“This is Amaira,” you introduce, smiling with a vindication that comes more from the way his jaw clenches than from being friendly. “Amaira, Sukuna.”

You take a small step to the side, urging Utahime to shuffle over a bit. His eyes drop to your feet, tracking the movement, and then back up to yours, his body coiled like he’s about to follow. The idea of the chase sends a hot thrill down your spine.

You’re still standing in front of him, just a little past him now, with Amaira on your left and Utahime on your right. Gojo, standing on Sukuna’s right, introduces himself to Amaira, and the group of girls she was talking to also invite themselves in, introducing themselves to the famously charming hockey player. Sukuna, on the other hand, is still watching you, confusion and annoyance and something that looks faintly like interest rippling in the red glow of his eyes.

Before either of you can do anything, Utahime turns her head to you, coming close to your ear so that she doesn’t have to yell over the music.

“I don’t wanna interrupt or anything…”

“You’re never interrupting.”

“This guy keeps bothering Chloe,” she tells you, and your eyes scan the crowd to find your friend. “Tara and I tried to pull her away, but his friends are, like, intercepting or some shit.”

You find Chloe off to the side, gold cuffs glinting in her braids as she shakes her head, looking increasingly uncomfortable the longer she stands there talking to some dark-haired guy. His back is to you, so you can’t make out his face, but it’s clear that he’s saying something to make her shrink away from him.

“Did she tell him about Dante?” you ask, finding Tara talking to two guys who must be the guy’s friends, looking annoyed and trying to get past them.

“He said, and I quote, ‘you should break up with him.’”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew,” you mutter, and take her hand in yours. “Let’s go get her.”

Before you can take a step, however, Sukuna leans to the side in front of you, tilting his head.

“Heading out?” he asks, brows raised. That smirk on his face had dropped since Gojo came, but there’s this little quirk at the corner of his mouth that tells you he’s not given up yet.

The girls on your left suddenly fall a little quiet, watching the interaction with probing eyes, waiting for an opportunity to slip in.

“I’ll be right back,” you say loudly with a very wide, very fake smile as you glance at them and then back to Sukuna. “In the meantime, you should tell them about your open tab offer.”

They descend without hesitation, fluttering around him with loud giggles and long manicured nails twirling longer locks of hair. It surprises him long enough for you to slip by, but apparently not long enough for you to make a break for it, as he catches you by the arm before you can lead Utahime out.

The contact sends a jolt through you, his hand calloused and warm and impossibly large, wrapping around your upper arm. You have to crane your neck up, looking at him expectantly, as if you’ve got better and bigger things to do than deal with whatever he’s got going on right now.

He’d find this annoying if it weren’t so well-played.

“Seriously?” he asks, voice low and a little incredulous, like he can’t quite believe you’re about to leave right now.

“What?” you ask innocently as you tilt your head and bat your lashes up at him, voice low enough for only him to hear. “You can have a pain kink, but your wallet can’t?”

You slip out of his grasp with surprising strength, disappearing into the crowd just as he turns his head to look. He’d follow you, but Gojo keeps him in his place with his arm slung around his shoulders as the girls crowd the bar.

It is, after all, on his tab.

The third time Sukuna sees you, it’s back at his frat.

It’s a Saturday night this time, maybe two weeks since that night at the bar, where he blew nearly two hundred dollars on drinks for him and that group of girls who were, apparently, the new executive board of Zeta Tau Alpha. It luckily boosted their previously less-than-flattering opinions of the brothers from Delta Kappa Epsilon, but the praise he got from his frat for it fell flat when he thought about the missing heat of you that night.

He normally didn’t bother with the chase; he had no reason to, but something about the way you’d managed to slip out of his grasp just as his fingers were closing in sparked some sort of urge in him. He wasn’t sure when he was going to see again, but he’d already made his mind up about it.

Therefore, he supposes it’s a good thing Gojo is forcing him to man the entrance of the frat tonight, even though it was that asshole’s fault in the first place, because Sukuna’s the first to notice you. He’s been standing here all night, arms crossed with an expression that warns anyone against arguing about the entrance fee or about how that girl with a see-through top got in for free and they didn’t.

He’s currently hearing out a group of four girls who are trying to convince him that they know someone in there, debating whether he should just let them go in or not, when he spots a familiar face go up to Gojo. She’s got a little drunken sway in her gait, but she walks with purpose, her black-blue hair styled with a large white bow in the back, bangs falling over hazel eyes that glare up at the president of DKE without fear.

“Utahime,” Gojo greets, unbothered by her unmistakable hostility, grin widening. “How have you been?”

She rolls her eyes and gives him some barbed answer, arms crossed and tongue just as sharp as it was when they were in high school. Sukuna recognizes her as Shoko’s friend from when she and Geto just started dating, though he never remembers her name because she refused to hang out with them if Gojo was there. It was easy for her to avoid him back then, even as their friends dated, because Shoko and Utahime went to a different high school than Sukuna, Geto, and Gojo.

Now, however, she was finding it increasingly difficult, especially when Shoko was always at his frat.

Sukuna watches them banter a little, but more so, he’s looking for you. He’d found out from Shoko that you and Utahime were good friends, with the added benefit of being roommates, and the last two times he’d seen you out, Utahime wasn’t far behind. That, however, was all he could get out of her before she got suspicious and asked him why, and he had to make his escape before Geto recounted the embarrassing story about how his bank account suffered that night. She still laughs every time she sees him now.

He’s glad she’s not out here right now to watch him scan the growing crowd outside the frat house for you. It’s a mess, barely resembling an actual linear line, and people shove and push to get to the front. It’s so packed that he can’t really make out faces or individuals, even as he tries to find the exact shade of your hair or the tune of your voice or the tone of your skin.

Just then, Utahime reaches out into the crowd, barely glancing back at it behind her as she still argues with Gojo, and tugs, causing you to come stumbling out of the mess. You’re obviously not paying attention to where you are, completely unaware of your surroundings as you frown down at your phone, glossy lips pressed in a purse, and eyes narrowed at whatever’s upsetting you on your screen. If it weren’t for Utahime leading you with your limp hand in hers, you’d have probably gotten lost in the churning crowd.

She holds on to you as your attention stays stuck to your phone, brows furrowed as you concentrate on typing something out with only one hand. The pale glow of the screen lights up your face, and he can make out the subtly transparent glitter that streaks your cheekbones and the tops of your eyelids, sparkling in the night. You’ve got a deep blush he can make out past the dark, and your lashes are heavy, all feathery and deceptively innocent as you blink, hair falling in a styled curtain around your shoulders and framing your face.

Before he can say anything, Gojo moves to the side, letting Utahime in for free despite the annoyed look she throws at him. He spots you behind her and deviously grins up at Sukuna over your head, ignoring the glare Sukuna gives him as Gojo taps your shoulder to get your attention.

“Hi!”

“Hi,” you respond before you can even look up all the way, the word an instinct more than a response as you drag your eyes away from your phone to see—

Gojo?

You’re turned away from Sukuna, so he can’t see your expression, but he can tell you're surprised by the way you do a double-take and realize what frat you’re about to enter. Your head swivels, clearly looking for him, and he gives you a shameless grin when your gaze lands on him, reveling in the way you look so caught off guard, like a deer caught in headlights.

But then Utahime gives your arm another hard pull, clearly unaware of your predicament and simply in a rush to get away from the white-haired frat boy, and, again, you stumble and disappear into the crowd inside.

And, again, Gojo stops him from going after you.

“Dude,” Sukuna snaps when Gojo pulls him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Dude,” Gojo mocks with a roll of his eyes. “We’ve got entrance duty.”

“You’re kidding,” Sukuna deadpans, but the irritating grin on Gojo’s face tells him he is very much not.

“Relax, Casanova,” he teases. “Our shift ends in five minutes. Maybe you can use the time to strategize how not to let her slip away this time.”

Sukuna scoffs and shoves Gojo’s hand off, but still complies. True to Gojo’s word, the shift ended in five minutes, but apparently it took the new set of frat guys an extra five minutes to find the entrance, for which they promised to take up cleaning responsibilities tonight when catching sight of Sukuna’s glowering scowl.

It then takes Sukuna another ten minutes to find you, because you’re not at the bar or the basement or the backyard, which are the main hotspots tonight. The lawn stays thankfully clear of too many people this time, and the upstairs has been labeled as off-limits and blocked off, all of the rooms locked so that a repeat of that earlier frat party didn’t happen. He did not appreciate finding that threesome in his room.

He sees both Shoko and Utahime lounging by the pool, but you’re still nowhere to be found, so he does a second sweep of the basement, where Gojo was up on the stage again, messing with the setup of a very disgruntled-looking DJ. They keep having to switch the DJs out at each party because they’d all get annoyed that Gojo would end up taking control while dozens of girls gathered at the bottom of the stage and danced to the music, no matter how terrible the mix was.

Sukuna shoves through the compact crowd, using his height and build to his advantage as his eyes rove over the eager faces with a disinterested glance. It’s too dark to be able to make anyone out, and the flashing LED lights seem to hinder more than help. He reaches the other end of the basement and still doesn’t see you, so he heads to the bar at the back, getting a drink while reevaluating.

And then, of course, he spots you.

You’re actually not in the basement at all, but standing outside the double French doors that lead out to the backyard. He hadn’t seen you earlier because you’re keeping to the entrance, and the wooden back patio is positioned right over it. It’s a clever little hiding spot, and he can understand why you choose to stay there because you’re currently in the middle of what looks like a heated argument with that blonde guy from the bar.

You are not enjoying this conversation. Not that you enjoy a lot of your conversations with men; you found they had little substance to add, but this one in particular is grating on your nerves.

“—and can you blame me for thinking that we worked really well?” Evan asks you, running his hand through his hair as if he’s the one being tested right now. You’ve half a mind to throw the drink in your hand at him, but you don’t because you’re practicing being civil right now.

“You’ve lost your mind,” you answer plainly. “We fucked for an hour, you have no idea if ‘we worked well’ or if it was just that you ended up finishing, like, three times.”

His face reddens, and it’d be entertaining if you weren’t so annoyed. Apparently, he wasn’t too proud of how excited he got when you were making out.

“I didn’t fin—It was twice!”

“Sure, bud,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you say. S’not like I was there or something.”

“I’m not saying we have to be a couple,” he grits out, ignoring your comment. “Why not fuck buddies or something? You had a good time, didn’t you?”

Disregarding his make-out session thing, you actually did have a good time. Unfortunately, ‘good’ was all it was. You came twice, and that was honestly enough for you, each high giving you a nice buzz before you inevitably came down. It was more than the regular guy could do, but it was just so…

“Yeah, I don’t wanna do that.”

“Why not?!”

“‘Cause I said so,” you snap. “It was nice while it lasted, and now it’s done. Get over it.”

“That makes no sense!”

“It doesn’t have to,” you counter. “All that needs to make sense to you is that I’m saying no.”

You could tell him the real reason, tell him about how, at some point, you’d watched the seconds tick by for a minute, but this conversation was already dragging out longer than you’d like, and you don’t think he’s the type to let go of something like that so easily.

“Well, it makes no fucking sense when you don’t give me a fucking reason,” he argues, getting more agitated by the second.

“Hm,” you hum in mock consideration, and then take a step to the side, your patience running thin. “I can’t lie, that seems more like a ‘you’ problem than a ‘me’ problem. Imma give you some space to figure that out.”

You turn on your heel, ready to leave him and hit the pool, when you stop in your tracks at the shadow that lingers in the doorway, familiar in its size.

“Trouble in paradise?” Sukuna asks, voice deep enough that even when he speaks at a normal volume, you can still hear him beneath the thumping bass of the music coming from the basement. He seems amused, his tattoos stretching up the line of his jaw as he smirks at you. You have to ignore the way your stomach flips for the sake of decorum.

“Hey, man,” Evan says behind you, “we were in the middle of something an—”

“Actually, I was in the middle of walking away—”

“—and it’d be great if you could leave us alone to talk.”

“No!” you cry out, turning your head to give him an exasperated look. “How much clearer could I possibly be? We’re done talking!”

“You didn’t give me an actual answer or rea—”

“Sounds like she gave a pretty clear answer to me,” Sukuna interrupts and then looks down at you, crossing his arms over his chest. The ink shifts, the dark bands around his wrists and biceps almost swelling as corded muscles ripple underneath the skin. “Do I need to kick him out?”

“No,” you mutter, looking away from his arms. You didn’t want to waste any more time on this, and you were quickly losing focus with Sukuna in front of you. Apparently, you can’t catch a fucking break tonight. “It’s fine, we’re done.”

You move to pass Sukuna and hopefully find Shoko and Utahime when you feel a hand come down on your arm. Your response is immediate and sharp, twisting out of Evan’s grasp and whipping around, temper snapping.

“What the hell do you think you’re do—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before Sukuna steps in front of you, deceptively fast for a man of those proportions. His broad back, clad in a thin black shirt that stretches across the span of his chest, nearly eclipses Evan fully out of your vision, and you find yourself blinking up at the arcs of ink on the nape of his neck, below the buzz of dark brown hair.

“She said fuck off,” he says, and it’s neither aggressive nor loud, just in that monotone voice that’s somehow intimidating all on its own. “Only reason I’m not dragging your ass out of here is ‘cause she said so, and I don’t wanna be seen next to a little bitch like you.”

You have to lean to peek around Sukuna, and you’re glad you do because Evan’s face is as red as a beetroot right now, and that is really not his shade. He glances at you, his brown eyes and thick brows pulled into a furious expression, and then back at Sukuna. Evan is a tall-ish guy, maybe a couple of inches shorter than Sukuna, and muscular, but there’s really no comparison between the two of them. Even if he looks like he’s about to throw a punch, he knows better than that.

Instead, he turns without a word and stomps away like, you have to admit, a little bitch.

You watch him go as Sukuna turns back to you.

“Wow,” you say blankly. “That went against, like, everything in Conflict Resolution 101.”

He shrugs. “Never took that class.”

“You probably should.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything in response, just keeps his arms crossed as he studies you, face unreadable.

The theme tonight is ‘Party in Ibiza’, and you don’t disappoint. You’ve got a mini skirt on again, this one somehow a touch shorter than the last one, with a bunch of sequins and glitter swirling around the dark pink material, and a plain burgundy halter top with a deep neck to match. You’re decked out in gold accessories, the pendant necklace hanging low, a cuff snug on your left arm, your little dangly bracelets catching the light, and you’ve got a small white purse that hangs off your shoulder. The outfit leaves little to the imagination, and your skin subtly shimmers in the night every time the faintest light washes over you.

He can’t even blame Evan for wanting a second chance with you tonight. Too bad he’s here.

You squirm underneath his stare, warning bells ringing in your head, but you can’t help yourself.

“How long have you been standing there?”

That brings the arrogant smirk right back to his face, and you almost immediately regret asking.

“Not long,” he answers vaguely, and then glances over to watch Evan turn and stomp up the stairs to the back patio. “Three times, huh?”

You blink, confused for a second before realization dawns on you like a tidal wave of embarrassment, and you groan, your eyes fluttering shut.

“I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, glaring at him as you take the last sip of your drink, pressing the cool material of your can up against your neck to calm the heat.

Instead of listening, he takes a step closer and leans down, shadows shifting over his face and amusement dancing in his expression. “How many times did you cum?”

Your eyes snap to his, brows furrowed at the low baritone of his voice. “I’m not telling you that.”

He hums. “You talked about how many times he came.”

“In a private conversation,” you argue, genuinely lost on how you’ve come to be in this situation right now, “that was between him and me.”

“You said it in a public space,” he says. “Makes it a public conversation.”

“Wha—No, it doesn’t!” you exclaim. “You were just eavesdropping.”

You can tell he’s enjoying getting a rise out of you, and you shift the can to a spot higher on your neck, quelling the flush of frustration simmering in your blood. His eyes drop down, clearly not ready to leave you alone.

“You gotta stop drinking this shit,” he says, and then moves to take it from you, quicker than you can react.

“It tastes good,” you protest as you watch him read the description and scoff.

“Not even twelve-year-olds get drunk off of this.”

You squint at him. “How many drunk twelve-year-olds do you know?”

He ignores the question and shakes the can a little. His tattoos seem somehow more prominent tonight, under the faint glow of the fairy lights outside, and he’s dressed in a simple black tee and baggy jeans, which you’re pretty sure is the combo he was wearing the last time you saw him at his frat.

“There’s nothing left in here,” he says, and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s almost like I drank it.”

“Why didn’t you just throw the can at him?”

“‘Cause that would be littering.”

He laughs at that. “Seriously?” he taunts. “You’re afraid of littering.”

“God forbid a girl cares about the planet,” you huff, crossing your arms and turning back again to walk away from him now.

You’re certain that a couple more minutes in his vicinity would actually have you go into certifiable psychosis, and he’d enjoy every second.

Just as you cross the threshold of the door into the basement, Sukuna rounds up beside you, long legs catching up to you faster than you can escape him. He grabs your arm and pulls you forward through the crowd, toward some destination only he knew.

“Hey!—” you yelp in surprise, having no choice but to stumble after him. His hold is surprisingly gentle for how rough his palm felt against your skin, burning your arm. “What’re you doing?”

“We are getting drinks,” he answers, looking back over his shoulder at you with a wicked grin. “Real ones, not whatever that shit was.”

You have neither the time nor the space to argue, and you can’t muster a loud enough yell over the music that booms through the small space. People are jumping up and down to the beat, bumping into you and nearly knocking you off your feet, but Sukuna’s grasp helps you stay upright. You’ve no choice but to keep close to him as he effortlessly parts the sea of people, all of whom are too busy admiring him to notice you slipping by.

He comes to a stop at the bar, and you have to scramble not to bump into him, maneuvering your arm out of his hold. You lean against the counter and try to peer over to see what they have. If you’re going to be here with him, you figure you might as well get a drink. When you glance around to see if it’s self-serviced, you find a familiar face behind the counter, pouring someone drinks from a pitcher of concerningly green jungle juice.

“Is Choso always your bartender at these things?” you ask, turning to see Sukuna already watching you, expression mild and smirk ever-present.

“Not just a bartender,” Choso answers, drawing close to you two as he winks at you. “Also a dealer. Discount still stands, by the way?”

“Discount?” Sukuna asks, crowding closer so you can hear him, and you feel his warm breath break against the side of your neck. He’s not touching you, not yet, but he’s close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

“First-time purchase,” Choso answers before you can.

“You’ve never bought from him before?”

You actually glare at Choso this time. “You enjoy doing that, don’t you?”

He just grins in response, already pouring a pair of shots even though you didn’t hear Sukuna ask him for anything. You roll your eyes and turn your head to look at Sukuna, trying to ignore how intense this man was, especially when he was bearing it of his attention down on you like that.

“No, I haven’t bought anything from him, and no, I won’t use the discount on buying anything for you.”

Sukuna chuckles and comes in closer as he grabs the two red solo cups Choso places on the counter.

“Alright,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp. “For you.”

You blink when he pulls back a little, and you realize he’s waiting for you to take the shot.

“No chaser?” you ask, looking up at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I can’t take this without a chaser,” you press, and then bring the cup close to your nose to sniff the contents, but you don’t get to before his hand is nudging your cup away.

“Don’t smell it,” he chastises. “You won’t be able to drink it.”

“I can’t drink it either way,” you argue, looking up at him with big eyes. Something hot coils in his chest when you do that, and his imagination works overtime, but he has to push it aside when you double down. “I need a chaser.”

He rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the way they flicker for a second, the crimson almost glowing in the dark. The party roars on behind him, but it all fades into the background. You feel like you're on a rollercoaster when you’re near him, your stomach dropping and heart thudding at an irregular beat, suddenly all too aware of the effect he has on you.

“You’re a junior,” he says. “You can’t go through three years of college and not know how to just take a shot.”

“I don’t know anyone who ‘just takes a shot’!”

He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cocky grin.

“I don’t know anyone normal who does that,” you correct yourself.

“I’m not normal?” he teases, but still reaches over the counter to grab another cup and a large bottle of Pepsi.

“You’re abnormal.”

“Back with the big words.”

“Abnormal has two more letters than normal.”

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that stupid grin again, the one you’re pretty sure girls have dropped their panties for, and now you’re wondering if it would really be so bad to join their ranks. You ignore the beginnings of want swirling within you as he hands you the cup of soda and knocks his shot against yours. Even after you thump it down on the counter, you regard it suspiciously, and he lets out an annoyed sigh, gently pushing the cup up to your mouth.

“Drink.”

You do. And it tastes fucking awful. You have to squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath to keep yourself from gagging, feeling the burn warm your chest enough to make it ache. You sip the Pepsi almost immediately after, but it takes a little for your taste buds to register it, and those few seconds in between are literal hell.

“Jesus,” you choke out, eyes still closed and lashes pressed together.

“You good?” he asks, and even though you can’t see him, you know he's grinning.

He looks down at you, face all scrunched up like the night at the bar, and he has the urge to reach up and press his fingers into the apples of your cheeks. He wonders if Evan did that, if he wrapped his fingers around that pretty little column of your throat, if you moaned all sweet for him, and he has half an urge to tilt your chin up and check for the telltale bruises. He doesn’t, however, and just watches you rub your nose again, like a habit.

“No,” you answer, blinking rapidly because you think there are tears from how disgusting that was. “That’s bad. That’s, like, really bad. What the hell is that?”

He leans over the counter again to sneak a peek at the handle. “New Am,” he informs you. “Green Apple.”

“It should be called Bad Apple,” you mutter, swiping under your lashes and still sipping on the Pepsi. “That was phenomenally terrible.”

“Do your words get bigger the more drunk you get?”

You give him your best withering look, not certain if he’s messing with you or not.

“It’s a little concerning that you consider ‘phenomenal’ a big word.”

“It’s an abnormal word,” he taunts, and you have to scoff, but you can’t help the stupid little smile he pulls out of you.

Sukuna pours you another shot before you can protest, and then pours one for himself as well. He doesn’t take it yet, just sets the handle back down on the counter and shuffles closer so that his face is only a couple of inches away from yours. He’s leaning against the bar to bring himself down to your height a bit, and you shiver at the scalding press of him against you, unable to keep it down. He smiles at you like he knows something you don’t, those canines making their presence known again, and you think about Evan, who left a singular hickey on your neck, but then you look at those teeth again, and you think about them on your skin, sinking into you—

You gonna say you don’t like it when it stings just a little before you feel all good?

“Cold?” he murmurs, low and deep, breaking your trance as heat flushes up inside you again.

“No,” you say, a little too fast and a little too breathless, but before you can regain your senses—

“Why don’t you do it?”

You furrow your brow, lost and unnerved by his gaze, stuck in place as your mind goes all blank.

“Do what?”

“Fuck him again,” he says, jerking his head back in the direction of those doors, where Evan left, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s personal.”

“Why’d you fuck him in the first place?”

You study him for a second before you answer, taking in the stripe tattooed across the bridge of his nose, the slits in his brows, the probing glare of his red eyes. It’s not judgement, but he’s looking for something.

“Why?” you throw the question back at him, taking a sip of Pepsi and arching your brow. “Jealous?”

He shrugs, somehow gracefully for a man with such a broad span of shoulders. They seem to swallow you whole right now, narrowing your world down to just you and him and the buzz of alcohol that’s warming your blood and loosening your tongue.

“Just wondering,” he answers, though it gives you nothing. “You did leave to go fuck him.”

“I left to go help my friend,” you correct. “He was just… there after that.”

“You could’ve come back,” he says, and if anyone else would’ve said that, it would’ve sounded terribly pathetic, but pathetic is a far cry from Ryomen Sukuna, who’s looking at you with too much confidence, too much of that dark something swirling in his eyes.

“You seemed preoccupied,” you taunt, needing humor to break through the haze that clouds your head.

His eyes narrow at you, and a thrill shoots through you like lightning at the way he looks at you like you’re trouble. “You owe me two hundred bucks for that, by the way.”

The amount makes your eyes widen and your head jerk back in surprise. “You spent two hundred dollars on their drinks!” you exclaim, your voice dropping to a whisper as if it were a secret.

“The hell did you expect when you told them I was giving out free shit?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

“You could’ve said no!”

“To the entire exec board of ZTA?”

You squint in confusion. “ZTA?” you ask, and then suddenly recognize the acronym when you say it out loud. “Oh, shit, the sorority!”

“Yeah,” he mutters, and then gives you a curious look. “How do you not know what sorority your friends are in?”

You shrink a little, stepping back and trying to hide the growing smile behind your cup, but nothing escapes Sukuna, whose gaze hardens as he follows you. You take another one, your back thudding against the wall of the basement, and it sends sparks skittering in your core, excited and nervous at the same time. He ducks his head, eyes sharp as he keeps up with you to close the distance again.

“What?” he demands, and you let out a weak little laugh, at which he draws his brows together.

“Don’t get mad.”

“What?” he asks again, not really looking any less upset, but you had to admit, he was somehow hotter like this, with that divot between his brows and the stern set of his mouth and the tension in his jaw.

“Well… they’re not really my friends.”

His face drops for a second, and then turns thunderous. “You offered free drinks to strangers on my tab?!”

“No!” you backtrack, even though that was fully the truth. “They were just more like… acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances?” he repeats, and you nod. “Right. What are their names?”

You blink and try really hard to think of at least one of their names, but you don’t think you actually talked to any of them, and you’re terrible with names, so your chances are shot.

“Amy?”

His expression goes blank for a second, and you’re uncertain if Amy was actually someone there or not, but then annoyance flashes across his face again, disbelief coloring his groan, and he presses down on the bridge of his nose. He’s close enough that you can feel the sound rumble through his chest in the small space between you two more than hear it, and it makes your insides twist, has your breath catching in your throat.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” he complains, but you can’t detect any genuine heat behind it, so you giggle, unable to help yourself.

“I was being nice!”

He looks at you like he can’t believe what’s coming out of your mouth right now. And, to be fair, he can’t.

“You’re insane.”

“I’m generous,” you counter, cheeky and eyes so bright that he can’t help but lean in closer, his chest barely brushing yours, but you don’t seem to notice, or, if you do, you don’t seem to mind. “And now, I made you look generous. So, actually, you should thank me.”

“Thank you?!” he repeats, incredulous, and you beam up at him.

“You’re welcome,” you simper, and then take another sip from your cup.

Sukuna just watches you for a long second. Your amusement fades a little when those red eyes stare down at you like that, all rich and violent with something you don’t dare name yet, but the alcohol has sunk deep into your system by now, dizzying you enough to deafen the little voice inside of you that screams at you to run.

“What?” you ask, almost defensively.

Sukuna doesn’t answer, just blinks once, then twice, and then suddenly tips the shot back. You almost choke on your Pepsi when he does, finding yourself watching his Adam’s apple bob, the tan of his throat stretched out in front of you with the ink of his tattoos creeping around the sides. A perfectly timed flash of light streaks his body in red, and you realize how close he’s gotten without you noticing, his chest brushing against yours with every exhale. One more step would bring him close enough to—

“You owe me,” he says, tossing the cup onto the counter.

You watch it bounce off, but never see where it lands because suddenly his arm is blocking your view, braced on the wall behind you, the sleeve of his black tee stretching around the flex of his biceps. When you look back at his face, he’s closer than before, slightly crooked nose a couple of inches from yours.

“I’m not paying you two hundred dollars.”

“Then tell me why you won’t fuck him again,” he bargains, and you draw your brows together in equal parts confusion and annoyance.

“I’m not doing that either!”

“It’s one or the other,” he shrugs, and you’re only faintly aware of the party that rages on behind him.

The music changes beat, something low and heavy and loud enough that you can feel it thud in your chest, matching your heart rate. His eyes glint like rubies in the dark, messy pink hair falling forward to tickle his forehead.

“Since when are those my choices?”

“Since I made them,” he answers simply, gaze pinning you in place.

You ignore the shiver up your spine at the dominance of his tone, ignore how it makes you want to shift in your spot.

“And since when do you decide what my choices are?” you scoff, attempting your very best to seem unaffected as you cross your arms. It’s a feeble attempt to keep space between you two, but it’s all you’ve got right now.

“Since you made me pay for random girls at the bar.”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” you argue.

“You got two hundred dollars on you?” he asks, and you channel your irritation into a glare, which is a lot easier said than done right now, when he’s leaning over you in a way that makes you feel smaller than you are.

You roll your eyes at him, nonetheless. “Do I look like I have two hundred dollars on me?”

Sukuna’s eyes drop, roving over you in a slow drag that sends goosebumps down your arms. You can almost feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers on your upper thigh, the inch of skin between the hem of the top and the waist of the skirt, the deep cut of your top that shows off your boobs, pressing up and together with the way you have your arms crossed. When he looks back at you, his pupils are wider than before, an overwhelming darkness nearly eclipsing the jarring red of his eyes.

“Why not let him fuck you?” he repeats, voice dropping an octave.

“Why are you so obsessed with this?”

Sukuna continues like he didn’t hear you. “He didn’t make you cum?”

You huff out an incredulous laugh, sounding amazed for all the wrong reasons. “Let me guess,” you sneer. “You think you’re the only guy on campus who can make a girl cum?”

The grin he gives you is pure sin, rows of neat white teeth gleaming in the dark, the tips of his canines teasing you. His tongue rolls over them, and heat pools in your stomach, pitching you down and making you unable to look away.

“No,” he admits, making your eyes snap up to his, and now he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “But there’s a difference between making a girl cum and giving a girl a real orgasm.”

Fucking hell.

You need to get a grip because suddenly your knees feel a little weak, but when you attempt to take in a steadying breath, the scent of cinnamon and leather and something just barely sweet shoots straight up to your head, making the world spin. You try to get your bearings, but the press of him is so close, so intoxicating that you can barely think straight right now.

“I’m not talking about this,” you mutter, and then move to slip out from the other side, but he’s quicker, his other arm coming up to fully trap you between the basement wall and the muscled wall of his chest.

You turn, anger flashing in your eyes, but he interrupts before you can voice your annoyance.

“Fine,” he concedes, not sounding like he’s surrendering in the least. “Don’t tell me why you won’t fuck him again.”

“Thanks,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Can I go no—”

“Why not let me kick the loser out?”

You blink up at him, equal parts shocked and agitated by his insistence. “Seriously?”

Sukuna shrugs, even though he’s still looking down at you with that devilish promise, the one that sends electricity zipping through your nerves. “S’not like you were gonna go home with him tonight.”

“Just ‘cause I didn’t want to have sex with him again doesn’t mean he deserved to be publicly humiliated,” you exclaim.

“So he has a small dick, and you feel bad for him,” he says simply, as if he’s just summarizing your words instead of twisting them.

“What! No, that’s not what I—”

“He has STDs.”

“He doesn’t have ST—”

“He moaned a different girl’s name.”

“Stop!” you exclaim, smacking his arm with the back of your hand. Obviously, it doesn’t even make him flinch, and you cross your arms again, though you can’t keep the little laugh from tugging at the corner of your mouth. “He didn’t have a small dick, he didn’t have STDs, and he didn’t call out a different girl’s name! The sex was fine, he was just—”

You cut yourself off, but it’s too late.

Sukuna’s looking at you now like you’ve just fallen into his trap, with a sharp grin. Regret immediately courses through you as you lean your head back against the wall and groan, shutting your eyes as if that’ll block everything out or reverse time.

“Don’t stop,” he teases, and he shuffles closer as the thin sliver of control you’d managed to maintain wavers.

“Stop talking,” you mumble, refusing to open your eyes.

“Oh, c’mon, you were just about to say it,” he insists, and you open your eyes to just look at him.

You’ve no idea how you got here, crowded up against the wall, caged in by thick arms on either side of your head, facing a man that was more legend than human. You knew what Ryomen Sukuna was before you knew who he was: the infamously brutal hockey player who liked to fuck around and leave a trail of lovesick girls in his wake, who always knew how to get what he wanted.

So what’s he doing here, pressing up against you like he can’t stay away, probing for answers that he seems far too interested in? The first time, at his frat on the first week of school, you’d thought it was a fluke; he just saw a girl that looked easy and was friends with his friend so why not go for it? The second time surprised you, but you’d chalked it up to the abrupt way you’d left at the frat. Maybe he was just testing if you were still a viable option.

This time, you have no idea what it is. You left him to pay for random girls, slept with a different guy, and actively refused to fall for all the old tricks. You entertain the idea of this being a dare, a bet between frat brothers, but you barely even know them, much less them you. Besides, it’s not like you’re some unconquerable virgin, you’re just a regular college girl who doesn’t have time for a relationship but does have needs. You fuck around here and there, but not enough for it to turn into gossip, and certainly not enough to spark interest.

“Well?” he asks, raising a brow. “He was just what?”

You consider telling him.

It’d be a little embarrassing for you, sure, but you know how to spin it to your advantage. You could picture it clearly. The only issue is that you hate the idea of being clumped into a collection of wins for him, just another notch in his belt. It isn’t that you want to be his one and only or anything like that, it’s the idea of adding to his inflated ego that gets to you. But…

But it’s not like he’s going to be your one and only either. You’re not the type to get attached so easily, and neither is he. And it’s not just his pride on the line, yours stood to gain just as much, if not more.

So, slow enough that his gaze drops to watch you do it, you uncross your arms and drag your nails ever so lightly up his arm and over the veined expanse of tattoos and skin. His other arm flies to your waist, grip flexing, branding the exposed skin that he held in his calloused palm. When you reach his shoulder, you lean in a bit to the other side of his head, just enough to bring your mouth near his ear, and pause to let a little puff of air roll across his neck, pushing up on your wedges just slightly to stretch your body up against his, feeling the toned mass of him against you, and then—

“Boring,” you answer, dragging your nails up his neck now, lips just barely brushing against the other side of neck. “Didn’t press me into bed like I wanted. Didn’t make me wanna beg for it.”

His grip on your waist tightens, your name on his tongue as either a threat or warning, you can’t tell, but it sends a hot thrill down your spine and straight to your panties either way. You don’t respond to him, just focus on the tension that settles in his jaw, bringing your hand to stroke the line of it.

“Didn’t have me crying at the stretch of him,” you say, breathing the words into his skin now, your lips still just the tease of a touch as you pull back, stare deliberately focused on the pillows of his lips before you look up at him through your lashes. Sukuna’s red eyes are now fully dark, glittering with the sort of hunger that twists in your gut, and you can’t help your taunting little smile. “Think you could do better?”

Sukuna doesn’t respond. Something snaps in him, hot and desperate, as he lunges, and then there’s the rough press of his lips against yours.

He’s not gentle with it, and he’s certainly not sweet. Sukuna kisses you with the raw sort of passion that has your knees faltering, lips moving against yours with a need that floods you with heat. His tongue licks against the seam of your lips, and his hand, the one not on your hip, comes up to the junction between your jaw and neck, thumb pulling at your chin to coax your mouth open for him, relishing in that little gasp you give.

It takes you a second to process, but then you’re kissing him back, trying to match his pace and intensity, just as hungry as him. He tastes like liquor and mint, and it makes you desperate for more, chasing the burn of it on your tongue, and your lips slide against his with the same force. Your other hand slides up his chest and to his neck, keeping yourself anchored to him as he kisses you so hard it makes your head spin and your lungs burn.

You pull away, trying to get some air, but he follows you, hand slipping from your jaw to tangle in your hair and tilt your head back as it hits the wall behind you, having you melt into him with a broken moan. He swallows the sound, the kiss turning bruising as he smiles against you, licking deep into your mouth. His fingers stretch across the span of your side, pressing into your ribs and brushing at the sensitive skin underneath your boob.

You have to push against his shoulders to get him to pull back for a second, just enough to catch a breath before he’s descending on you again, urgent, open-mouthed kisses that you can only gasp into, leaving you slumped against the wall.

“Sukuna,” you mutter, trying to keep the needy little whine out of your tone as he brushes your lips against yours again, and then once more as the hand in your hair shifts. “Wait, I need—”

You don’t get to finish before he’s moving down, pressing wet little kisses down your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut, head tipping back against the wall. Your breath catches when both his hands grip your waist, nearly engulfing the entirety of it and venturing dangerously high while he pushes his hips against yours in a dirty grind, the pressure eliciting a whisper of a whimper on your lips as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Come up,” he mumbles against your skin, and when you don’t answer, he nips hard at the spot between your neck and jaw to get your attention, making you yelp.

“What?” You’re all breathless and distracted, and it goes straight down to his cock as he pulls back.

“Come up,” he says again, watching with a dark satisfaction at the way you blink up at him, lips glossy and parted around little huffs of air. “My room.”

He ducks his head down again, lips brushing against your spit-slick ones. “We don’t have to fuck,” he murmurs, “but I’m not gonna do this in the fucking frat basement.”

You let out a breathless laugh, and then tilt your head up to kiss him properly. His hands squeeze the skin of your waist, but it only makes you bite his bottom lip briefly.

“If I go up to your room,” you say against his mouth, “I’m gonna want to fuck you.”

“Then come up,” he urges, and you hum, leaning up a little more to kiss him again, but he leans back, hand coming up from your waist back to your hair to tug at the locks and keep you from following him. He grins at the way your brows immediately furrow, and you glare at him, still fiery even after all this. “Gotta use your words, baby.”

You ignore the way the nickname sparks your nerves and roll your eyes. “Yes, fine, up to your room.”

Your hands have fallen to his chest with the distance between you two now, and you clench the material of his shirt to pull him back to you, impatient, and he lets you guide him with a deep chuckle. His hold on your hair tightens, and your scalp stings a little, but it twists into something hot in your gut.

“Couldn’t fuck the attitude of you, could he?” he mutters against your lips before indulging in a couple more kisses, his tongue scorching and heavy against yours.

“Shut up.”

“Brat.”

You begin to get lost in the rough press of his lips against yours again, melting into the feverish weight of him as his thigh comes between your legs. It presses against your heat just right and makes you squirm against him, electricity racing up your spine and making your head all dizzy, but then he retreats. You’re about to snap at him, but then he pulls you forward by your waist as both hands settle on your hips again, turning you around and urging you forward.

“Stairs,” he mutters from behind you, into the top of your hair, and you follow as he takes you to the stairs that lead up out of the basement.

The press of him behind you, large and tense, has you stumbling forward, wanting nothing more than to stop and let him crowd you up against the wall again. Sukuna’s got a near-bruising grip on your hipbones as you climb up the stairs quickly, your ass brushing up against him, and you can’t help but purposefully press it back into him at times, the silence between you two thickening with tension as his fingers tighten.

When you come up the last step, you stop, unsure of where to go now that you're facing the large foyer of the house, with what looks like a living room to your left and a kitchen to your right. He bumps up against you from behind, not expecting you to stop so suddenly, and you instinctively turn to ask him. Before you can, however, Sukuna’s hand comes up, quicker than you can process, and grips your jaw to force your face forward, thumb and finger pressing into your cheeks, and something behind your navel pulls taut.

“You turn around right now,” he warns, voice low against your ear, and you shiver in anticipation against him, “and I’m not gonna be able to stop myself from fucking you against this wall.”

You’re distinctly aware of the prominent press of his length against your ass, and your panties grow damp, but you grin despite the warning. You hold on to the forearm of the hand on your jaw, nails digging in lightly.

“Alright,” you say, and you can’t keep the laugh out of your tone, even as you feel him squeeze your jaw with a warning. “Which way do I turn?”

His hand drops back to your waist, and he doesn’t answer, just pushes you to the right and then around the end of the wall to another set of stairs. You have to keep your balance by holding onto his forearm and the railing, especially when his feet nudge yours at a pace that’s faster than what you’re used to. He makes quick work of having you walk up the second set of stairs, dipping his head to drop burning kisses on your exposed shoulder. It makes your steps stutter, but he continues to push you forward, unapologetic.

When you get to the top of this set of stairs, you find someone standing there on his phone, blocking off a hallway behind him and a loft with a couch and TV to the right with another hallway at the other end. You blink in surprise, and he looks just as shocked.

“Oh,” you say. “Hi.”

The guy, who looks to be younger than you, opens his mouth to say something before Sukuna interrupts.

“Move,” he basically orders, and when the kid glances behind you, his eyes nearly double in size before he all but jumps out of the way.

You can’t say or do anything before Sukuna’s pushing you again, nearly shoving you into the hallway past the loft, and you stumble.

“Hold on,” you gasp, feeling like you’re about to fall forward, but his tight grip keeps you upright. “Ow, hey!”

He stops at the end of the hallway, turning to the last door on the left wall. You’re still in front of him, so you reach for the brass doorknob, twisting only for it to stop halfway.

“What the—”

Sukuna kisses up your shoulder and neck, teeth nipping at the skin like he’s on the hunt for something. You’re about to mention the door, but then he finds that sweet spot just below your ear, and it sends sparks ricocheting through you, making your knees buckle. You melt into him the second he brushes the hot swell of his lips against it, head tipping back onto his shoulder, a quiet half-moan—more of a wispy breath than anything—leaving you as your eyes shutter, and you feel him smirk against your skin.

“C’mon,” he says, viciously proud as his teeth tease at the spot, hard enough to make you have to tamp down your whimper, squirming in his hold, but one arm wraps around you, trapping you in place, while the other braces against the door. “Get the door for me, baby.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, and you reach back to push against his chest, trying to think past the fog that clouds your mind as his hand starts to explore, fingers dancing at the waistband of your skirt. “The door—Sukuna.”

He lifts his head at the emphasis on his name, allowing you to shove him away a little, but not far enough. You’re both breathing hard as you turn your head to look at him, heated breaths mixing in the air between you, and his gaze drops to your lips.

“What?” he says, still looking at your mouth and beginning to nudge closer.

You nearly give in, the press of him behind you and scent of him too disorienting to focus, but the cold metal of the doorknob grounds you enough to pull back.

“The door,” you say quickly before he can interrupt again. “It’s locked.”

He blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting that. He glances at the door, then you, then the door.

“Fuck.”

“What?” You twist around as his hand moves from your waist to his pat at his pockets.

“Need the fucking key,” he grumbles, and you lean back against the door, legs weaker than you realized.

“You need a key to get into your room?” you ask, watching him fumble for them as you cross your arms. Your breath is still heavy, your pulse roaring in your ears, and you fight to steady both.

“It’s an old house,” he huffs, finally finding it tucked into his back pocket.

“So you locked yourself out of your room?”

He lifts the key to fit into the keyhole. “No,” he mutters, fiddling with the knob. “I locked the room so that other people wouldn’t get in.”

“Well,” you hum, watching him struggle, “now we can’t get in.”

“Fuck!” He pulls the key back out and jangles the knob before trying it again.

“Who even wants to get into your room so badly?”

“Last time it was open,” he says, pushing at the door, “three people decided to experiment in here.”

You blink, eyes travelling up the expanse of him. He’s hunched over the stupid doorknob, muscles coiled with the same tension that tugs at your gut and pulls you toward him. His wrist twists, veins prominent in the low lighting before disappearing into the flex of his biceps, and his other hand is still leaning against the door, right next to your head. His shirt is pulled taught across his shoulders, and rises as he messed with the lock, a sliver of toned muscle and the band of his underwear peeking through. Your throat goes dry at the hint of his v-line, the trace of dark hair leading down, and you have to force your gaze back up, ignoring the fever rush that blooms deep within you.

“Three people?” you repeat absentmindedly, voice a rasp, and then you realize what he’s saying and your face scrunches up. “There was a threesome in your room?”

He tries the key a third time, fiddling with the knob before finally glancing up at you, and his eyes narrow. “I thought I told you not to turn around.”

You grin up at him, all slow and sweet. You inch closer to him, the scent of amber and honey invading his senses as you wind your arms around his neck, leaning up on your tiptoes. It takes Sukuna a great measure of control not to shove you back against his door and kiss you senseless, maybe slide his hand up your thigh to the apex of you, as he works the damn key.

“I don’t remember,” you say, infuriatingly innocent as you lean close, forcing him to look at you. “Tell me why again?”

God, you’re a fucking vision right now. Your pupils are blown, eyes large and dark with a need he wants nothing more than to smother, and your lashes bat up at him in a way that makes his pants tighten impossibly. Your hair’s a mess from when he had his hand in it, and you tilt your head up at him like sin in the form of a woman who’s about to bring him to his knees.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the pledge watching you both, and Sukuna knows what he sees: the shorter than short skirt, the rumpled top, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the stretch of you against him.

He leans down and kisses you hard enough to have you shuddering against him, the hand braced on the wall above your head coming down to give your ass an appreciative squeeze, one he’s certain the pledge watches. You gasp into his mouth as he does, moving your plush lips against his with just as much pressure, your tongue licking into his mouth with coy licks, soft but just as intoxicating.

Jesus.

He pulls away, frustration broiling in his gut as his hand rests against the damn doorknob. You don’t seem to be deterred by the wave of anger that rolls off him in a swell of heat, pressing fervid, open-mouth kisses down his jaw and neck. You lick at the pulsing vein in his neck, teeth scraping skin, and he hisses, palm pressing against your ass.

“Fuck this fucking fuckass door,” he snarls. Just as he thinks maybe you can use Gojo’s room, he feels your shoulders shake against him, and when he looks down at you, he finds you stifling a laugh against his collarbone, eyes gleaming and lips pursed to keep it from escaping. “Are you fucking laughing at me?”

“Not at you,” you try, the excuse flimsy as you pull away from him, hands still braced on his chest. “With you.”

“I’m not laughing,” Sukuna deadpans, and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles up at that, turning your head away, but it’s useless because he catches it anyway.

The hand on your ass comes up to curl around your hip, and his fingers pinch the skin there with a sharp, harsh twist.

“Ow!” you wince, looking up at him in surprise, your eyes wide with humor and shock. Your hand flies to his wrist, fingers settling on the thick bands of ink. “What the hell!?”

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he mutters, dipping his head down.

He brings his arm up from your waist to wrap around the side of your neck, thumb pushing your head back as his lips hover over yours. Sukuna smirks at the way your breath stutters, lashes fluttering, but he keeps you in place, not letting you push forward to kiss him again, and the denial makes your eyes flash with a fire he wants to devour.

“At least I’m not the one who can’t get the door open.”

He scowls as you jerk your head out of his grasp and take the key from him, twisting around. You pull at the door, and then push, testing the lock, before carefully slotting the key back in, gently trying to tell where it catches in the mechanism.

“You’re not getting in,” he says, with a finality that makes you turn your head to glare at him as he stands there with his arms crossed.

“Wanna bet?” you ask. “Two hundred dollars.”

“You already owe me two hundred dollars.”

You shrug, inching the key in a little further. “So I’ll be out of debt then.”

“Or you’ll be four hundred dollars in debt,” he counters.

“Aw,” you coo, making his frown harden. “Are you worried about me?”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, and then shakes his head. “Fine,” he concedes. “Two hundred dollars. But I’m expecting every penny of the four hundred when I win.”

Your eyes glint at the dare, and you turn back, focusing all your attention on the knob. The key slips in a little further, the mechanism still not giving way for it to turn. You work slowly, twisting every couple of seconds to see if the tines have aligned with the lock yet. Sukuna huffs behind you, but you ignore him and keep at it. Your chest burns with hazy desire, yes, but right now the fire of the competition rages a little brighter, your pride rearing its head in the face of his blatant disregard.

“This isn’t fucking working,” he decides after a couple more seconds. “I think Gojo’s roo—”

Click.

You turn your head slowly, a too-wide grin aimed right at him, and his eyes narrow.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Uh-oh,” you say in a sing-song tone, turning the key further.

“Shut up,” he glowers.

You tut, twisting the knob as the lock gives way and the door swings open. “This is not a good look for you.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Oh, man,” you say with a laugh, stepping in as you turn to him and walk backward. “I’m holding this over you for, like, ever.”

“I swear to God—”

You turn around again, ignoring him in favor of his room. There’s the low, warm wash of a lamp he’d left on earlier in the corner of the room at his desk, and it makes the shadows stretch dark and long. Old movie and band posters are plastered on the walls, tacked with surprisingly deliberate care. His desk is in the right corner of the room, his bed tucked into the left corner, and a window in between them with a short shelf of random notebooks and knick-knacks beneath it. There’s a dresser on the right wall next to his desk, and his closet is to the left past the foot of bed, while there’s a closed door on the other side of the entrance.

“Hey, this isn’t bad,” you apprise, and Sukuna watches as you venture in further, eyes dropping to the open back of your top, the way your skirt hugs your ass and practically nothing else. He shuts the door behind him and locks it, silently crossing the space in a few steps as he reaches for you. “No wonder that threesome wante—mmph!”

Sukuna grabs you by the back of your neck, palm firm and wide as he spins you around and crashes his lips into yours. It pulls a sharp gasp out of you, one he swallows as he presses his lips against yours with a bruising force, tongue licking deep and dirty into the crevice of your mouth. You try to keep up with him, but it’s nearly impossible as he keeps your head tilted at the angle he wants, keeping you from fighting with him on it. You stumble with the force of him pushing against you, and he slams you against the wall with a harsh thud, your spine stinging as the hit knocks the breath out of you.

Your lungs burn again, and you press at his chest, but he doesn’t give, just keeps kissing you, sliding spit-slick lips against yours and you're powerless to do anything but respond, having to rely on him to keep yourself upright as you meet his kisses with your own messy ones. When he finally pulls away, you gasp for breath, vision swimming, head thick with lust and falling back on the wall. He doesn’t give you time to find your breath, pressing kisses back down your jaw, harsher this time, teeth testing the fragility of the skin there.

Your breath stutters, fingers coming up to tug at his hair while your other hand squeezes his shoulder, nails digging into flesh. Sukuna drops his hand from your neck to skim over your ass and then up the curve of your back, hot and heavy as it slips beneath your top, tracing up the line of your spine and leaving a burning trail in its wake. His legs part yours, the thick muscle of his thigh bunching as he flexes it, his other hand on your hip to pull you down. The thin material of your lace thong does nothing to keep you from feeling the rough friction of his jeans against your core, and you jolt, pleasure sparking below your navel.

“Fuck—ngh,” you whimper, not being able to keep it in as you grind down, heat flooding your panties and light flashing behind your closed eyes.

Your hips buck, searching for more, but his hand on your hip forces you to stay still, controlling the slow roll of you against his leg. His teeth nip at your neck, where your pulse kicks in your throat, and you feel him bite down when you try to override his grip on you, trying to move your hips on your own. Instead, he goes infuriatingly slower, as if punishing you.

“Sukuna,” you whine, nails digging deeper into his shoulder with frustration. He doesn’t let up, just pulls your hips in a torturously sluggish pace over his leg as his other hand slips to the front to cup your boob. “Want—ah!”

He gives a firm squeeze, kneading the flesh in his palm with a hard pressure that has your nerves buzzing. His fingers find the pebbled nipple through your top, almost painfully hard, and tug at it, the cloth brushing against the sensitive skin. You barely swallow the moan threatening to breach, but then he twists it, harsh and sudden, and you can’t help but cry out, skin smarting with a dizzying thrill.

His hand travels back up, ghosting the heated skin of your fast-rising chest and over the dip of your collarbone and up the delicate column of your throat to grab your chin, thumb and forefingers gently pressing into your cheeks again. At first, you barely notice, more focused on trying to squirm out of his hold so that you can shift yourself on his thigh, only to find yourself no match for his strength. Then, however, he taps your cheek, and your eyes flicker open to find him looking at you, hooded gaze nearly unrecognizable with how dark it's gone.

“Eyes open, baby,” he murmurs, and you blink, then groan, trying to move your hips again but not being able to escape his hold.

“Sukuna,” you snap, ignoring the way his fingers press tighter at your tone. “Would you just fucki—”

You’re cut off by the painful force of his thumb and forefinger against your cheeks, tightening around your jaw all of a sudden before loosening enough to have you pouting up at him.

“Behave,” he warns, but you can’t help the way your face scrunches up with irritation when the hand on your hip completely stops, keeping you pinned in place on his thigh. Something glints in his eyes, and you fight through a frustrated sigh before you realize it’s humor.

“What?” you ask, nose wrinkled and a little petulant because you’re not finding anything funny right now, especially with the way he’s refused to let you move.

He grins and leans in closer, lips teasing yours with a gentle brush while his hand on your jaw keeps you from tilting your head up to kiss him fully.

“Anyone ever say y’look kinda like a bunny?”

You blink, convinced you heard him wrong, and blink again, but he just watches you with that sick, amused smile folding itself into his smirk.

“What?”

“Y’look like a bunny,” he repeats, leaning in to indulge in a too-short kiss before pulling back a bit again, making you bite back an annoyed groan. “Screw your face up all cute like one.”

“I do not—”

“You do,” he says against your mouth, and then kisses you again, harder this time, nose bumping against yours, and you try to chase him before he’s shifting back. “Got an attitude like one, too.”

You’ve genuinely no clue what he’s talking about right now, but you do know that you’d like him to talk less and try to fuck you more. Still, if there’s one thing about you, it’s that you’ll always bite.

“Who died and made you the expert on bunnies?” you snark, rolling your eyes, and your hands go to tug at his grip.

Surprisingly, it loosens, and you falsely believe this is your chance, but then he thumbs at your bottom lip and jerks his leg up, stealing a surprised gasp as it hits your core just a little to the side from where you need it. Pleasure builds in you, but then dissipates faster than it came, leaving frustration swirling alone in your belly. He uses the opening to slip his thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue as he grabs your chin again, jerking your head a little.

“They can also be fucking brats,” he mutters, as if lost in thought.

Your teeth instinctively close on his finger, and his eyes narrow as he presses down harder, trapping your tongue with the calloused pad of his thumb.

You don’t loosen your bite, harsh enough to leave indents, you’re sure, but not enough to break skin or draw blood. Not yet, anyway. He leans in, mouth brushing against your cheekbone before going to your ear, and his hand tightens to a promise of bruises on your hip. Then, before he says anything, he guides your hips in a slow, purposeful roll that has your clit catching on the perfect press of his jeans, a knot tightening in your gut at the added delight and you let out a soft sigh, lashes fluttering.

“C’mon, bunny,” he whispers, voice pitched low. “Behave.”

There’s a second of hesitation, and then your teeth lift. If that’s what he’s promising, then you can do without having him lose a finger.

“Good girl.” The praise slips down your spine like oil, going straight to your clothed cunt, pulsing with need.

He does it again, guiding your hips at the exact angle you need it, and you squirm in his hold at the way it twists into something deep in your core. The muscle of his thigh flexes beneath you as you let out a breathy little moan, and he tucks his head into the crook of your neck, mapping the expanse of it with wet kisses and sharp canines dragging across the skin. His thumb presses further into your mouth as it falls lax, and you cry out around it when he finally allows you to buck your hips in a desperate rut against the texture of his jeans.

“There you go,” he mutters darkly, eyes peering up at your face. “S’good when you fucking behave, isn’t it, bunny?”

You can’t respond with your tongue pinned by his thumb, only whimper as you roll your hips faster.

The pleasure builds in you, sharp and thrumming behind your navel, but it lingers somewhere out of your reach, and you urge him to quicken the pace, desperate for something more. His hand retreats from your jaw, thumb smearing spit down your chin as he kisses you again. Your arms fall over his neck and shoulders again, hands tangling in the messy pink locks.

Then, without warning, both of his hands fall to your hips and hoist you up. Your legs wrap around him by instinct, and your whine at the loss of pressure against your cunt is muffled by the hot press of the kiss.

He moves away from the wall, and your arms scramble around the width of his shoulders and neck, keeping yourself anchored to his chest as you continue to kiss him and he carries you to the bed. You’re suspended in the air for a couple of seconds before Sukuna lowers you onto the mattress, deceptively gentle in the wake of the bruises he’s sure to have left on your skin. The soft cushion of his comforter meets your back, and your legs fall to the bed while your arms drop from his neck down to the hem of his shirt.

You can feel the toned muscle as he pushes you onto the bed, and you want more. You tug on the hem and he separates from you to reach back and yank on the collar of his shirt. The scene of you has your mouth going dry and your panties wet, his triceps swelling as he pulls his tee up off his head in a swift move to reveal the large expanse of his chest and the carved muscle of his abs, glistening with sweat in the low light.

You drag your hand up his torso, feeling his abs contract under your teasing touch as your nails scrape over the ripples of his chest. He leans down to kiss you, knee braced between your legs as his hands smooth down each thigh to your calves. You’re barely aware of the way he fiddles with the straps of your wedges, only hearing the thud of them fall to the carpet when he lifts his head up again.

“Word,” he murmurs, still leaning over you as you blink up at him.

“What?”

You’re a different kind of pretty when you’re staring up at him with those big eyes and blank stare, skin flushed, hair pooling on his sheets, chest pushing against his bare skin with each labored breath. It takes a great deal of strength not to lower himself again and kiss you, have you gasp into his mouth in that way he was quickly finding drove him insane.

“Safe word,” Sukuna explains, and then leans down just enough to tease you. “Y’know what that is, right?”

“I know what it is,” you grumble, lashes fluttering and head tilting up subconsciously. “S’just… I don’t know.”

He arches a brow, his quiet little smile mocking you as he his breath breaks against your lips. “Don’t know what, bunny? Just gotta think of a word.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to try to ground yourself, but it doesn’t work. “I don’t know,” you repeat, annoyance edging your tone as you open your eyes again. You reach up to pull him down, but he resists. “Can’t think.”

His smile widens, pride dancing in his eyes. “Can’t think?” he murmurs, hand slipping into your hair and tangling in the locks again to keep you in place. “What? Did I fuck you stupid without even touching you yet?”

The words sober you up a little, not enough to break through your desire but enough to have you glare up at him. Instead of responding, you hook your fingers around the dangling silver chain around his neck and pull hard enough to surprise him, lips coming down to meet yours again. His hands find themselves on your torso, hot enough to steal the breath from your lungs as they slide up the plane of your ribs to burrow beneath the flimsy material of your top. You lift yourself up on your elbows and let him drag the top up and over your head, breaking the kiss.

“You think of one, then,” you challenge before retreating, watching him flounder for a word with a smirk of your own, his brows furrowed in thought.

There’s a brief wave of insecurity that washes over you when his eyes drop to your naked upper half, nipples hardening in the cool air and chest rising with each breath. It’s quickly doused over, however, with a dark thrill that slips down your spine when his palm skates up to your boobs, cupping the heavy flesh and his eyes flicker with simmering lust.

“Well?” you ask expectantly, breathier than you’d like it, and his eyes lift to yours to find a smug expression at his silence.

He glowers and leans down to kiss you so hard that it almost hurts, wiping the grin from your face and pushing you back into the bed. The calloused skin of his hand is rough against your skin, more so as he squeezes your boob, the other one this time, and his fingers find the bare nipple, twisting. You moan into his mouth, leg hiking up to his hip, as his other hand slips down to your thigh, and then up the last bit of decency your skirt was keeping.

“We’re using colors,” Sukuna says, breaking away again. “Y’know those?”

You hum, trying to tug him back down. “Red, green, yellow,” you answer quickly, and he allows you to kiss him again, and again, and again.

His fingers creep up to the crease of your thigh, finding the delicate lace of your thong hugging your hips there. He twists the material, pulling it tight, and you shudder.

“Color?”

“Green,” you gasp out as he lets it snap back against your skin, melting into the sheets when his thumb finds your clothed clit, electricity jolting through you.

He draws small circles over the ruined fabric, watching as your expression shutters into one of pure pleasure. He goes slow, just like earlier when you had you up against the wall, and your hips buck with need as his other hand continues groping at your chest.

“Jesus, y'r fuckin' soaked, bunny,” he mutters into the skin of your jaw. “What’re we gonna do about this, hm?”

“Sukuna,” you whine as he moves your panties to the side and slides a deft finger through your drenched folds.

His smiles, nipping at your jaw as his finger gathers the wetness there, and then teases your entrance, the thick width of it prodding with barely-held restraint. And then, without warning, he pushes in a singular finger, all the way up to his knuckle, and your head falls back onto the sheets with a gasp. He goes slow again, letting you adjust, as he pumps it in and out before adding a second one, and the stretch stings for just a moment before he’s pushing on that spongy spot inside and making you whimper.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as his head travels lower, nosing at your neck and biting at your collarbone before taking your perky nipple into his mouth, already a little sore from earlier. His tongue laves over the skin, hot and heavy, as his fingers continue to press into you and his thumb lands on your clit just as his teeth clamp down on your nipple, making you cry out. He moves to your other boob, doing the same thing while making you moan out into the air before his mouth travels further down.

“Pretty fucking girl,” he mutters into the skin below your belly button, and something in your stomach flutters as his lips land on the sensitive skin there before it twists into the deep pleasure thrumming within you. “Pretty fuckin’ tits. Pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

The knot behind your navel tightens, pulling taut at the words and the constant pressure of his fingers inside you and the wash of warm breath that lands on your exposed folds. You can’t help the way you tighten at that, growing wetter by the second, so much so that his fingers have started making wet, squelching sounds as they scissor you open. He’s far down enough that you can’t reach his shoulders anymore, but your fingers go to his hair, both hands running through the already mussed locks.

Before you can even say anything, there’s the thick, hot press of his tongue against your clit, and you let out half a moan before one hand flies up to cover your mouth, suddenly all too aware of your volume. The music from two floors down still echoes up here, but you doubt it’s loud enough to mask all your sounds, especially if there was someone in the room over.

“Fuck no,” Sukuna snaps immediately, and his large hand wraps around your wrist before pulling it down and pinning it onto the sheets.

“Wait,” you whimper, but Sukuna doesn’t pay attention, licking a stripe up your folds, tongue pressing onto your clit at the end again. “Your roommates—mmm—”

“I don’t give a shit,” he says, and then groans into your pussy, the vibrations making you jolt. “Fuck, you taste good.”

“They’re gonna—” you’re interrupted by your own low whine when you feel a third finger prod at your entrance, preparing to enter. “They’re gonna hea—haah!”

His third finger enters all of a sudden, cutting off your protest as the stretch burns before melding back into pleasure as he continues his pace, driving his fingers in and out of you. His mouth fully descends on your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, and you have no chance against the moan that tumbles out of your mouth as your eyes screw shut.

“Fuck them,” he mutters, coming up for a breath and watching your chest heave, covered in a fine sweat already. His fingers go still inside you, and the other hand leaves yours to come down to your thigh, pinching the skin on the inner side. “Eyes on me, bunny. I’m about to make you cum for the first time, wanna watch and hear you fall apart for me.”

You gasp at the sting, lashes fluttering open before you raise yourself up on your elbows. You look down to see Sukuna looking up at you, dark eyes glittering in the low light with a wicked grin on his face.

“Good girl,” he praises, and the pleasure that warms over you only intensifies. “You look away, and I stop. Understand?”

You nod, but his fingers tighten on your thigh again, and you rush to do what he wants before he pinches you again. The command is silent, but loud in your head.

Use your words.

“Yes,” you rasp out, your voice pitchy and gaze never straying from his. “Yes, okay, I understand.”

You barely get the words out of your mouth before he’s dipping his head down between your thighs again and foregoes all teasing. Instead, he’s got his mouth on your clit again, fingers driving up into you at a mad pace as they press down right where you need them, and waves of pleasure wash over you. You writhe in his hold, thighs automatically trying to close at the sudden intensity, but he used his arm to keep one leg pinned to the mattress.

You’re still propped up on your elbows, eyes hooded and gaze unfocused as you whimper and moan, not being able to keep your head from tipping back as his fingers quicken and your walls flutter around him, tightening with need.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Fuck, I’m close—ngh—”

He doesn’t break away, and the knot in your stomach grows tighter, threatening to break as the waves wash over you higher and higher. His tongue is relentless, bullying at your clit without mercy, and you gasp as you feel yourself right on the edge of it.

It’s when his teeth land, nipping at your clit and making it hurt as much as it feels good, that you come, a white wash of pleasure surging over your head and making your face contort with a silent moan. The orgasm ebbs, sparking in your nerves, but he doesn’t stop through it all, keeping the same pace and intensity as you slowly come down from your high.

Then, suddenly, the pleasure grows into too much, and you realize Sukuna isn’t showing any signs of moving away. It turns sharp in your stomach, cramping with overstimulation, and you try to scramble back from him.

“Sukuna—wait,” you whimper, and then yelp when he gently clamps his teeth down again. “Hold on!”

He doesn’t let go, the hand on your thigh going up to lay heavy across your stomach and keep you in place. You’re unable to keep yourself up anymore, falling back on the bed as your hands scramble to his hair, unsure if you’re trying to tug him away or keep him there.

“Wait, Sukuna, I can’t,” you whine, toes curling as you kick your feet. “S’too much, too much—”

You manage to free yourself for a second, but then he pulls his fingers out of you in a sudden move, making you gasp, and grabs your hips, pulling you back down with a growl. His mouth goes back to your cunt, tongue invading without warning, and you squirm violently, hips bucking up.

You cry out as he pins you down and eats you out without giving you time to breathe, and the pain slowly bleeds back into pleasure as the same knot in your stomach tightens. You can’t help but melt back into the sheets, thighs trembling by his head as your fingers tighten in his hair. Pleasure thrums in you again, this time sharper and faster, making your core twist with anticipation.

Then, just as you begin to catch that edge again, he shifts up and away, and you whimper as you tilt your head down to take him in. His chin glistens in the warm lighting as he kisses his way back up your body, and your hands slip from his hair to his back, feeling the muscles ripple underneath the skin as he comes up to meet you with a filthy kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, the salt of you staining his lips as they turn hopelessly messy with desperation and desire.

His hands are braced on either side of your head as one knee comes up to harshly press down on your pussy, and the rough fabric of his jeans startles you, making you jerk with a whine.

“What is it, baby?” he asks in a teasing tone in-between hard kisses that make it impossible to focus on what he’s saying. “C’mon, use your words.”

You can only shake your head, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure sparks behind them, but not strong enough for you to grab. One of his hands comes down to wrap around your throat, the subtle pressure making you dizzy.

“I don’t—ngh,” you whimper as he shoves his leg up higher, and then lets it slip to the wrong side. He’s toying with you, and you know it, but you’re so lost in the frenzied desire fogging your mind, you can’t bite back. “Fuck—haah—Sukuna!”

“Can’t give you what you want if you don’t say it,” he tuts against your cheek, and your hands scramble to the front, slipping down to his belt. “Look at me.”

Sukuna’s fingers squeeze at the sides of your neck in a thinly veiled warning, and you force yourself to peel your eyes open to look at him. He’s panting just as hard as you, but his eyes gleam as he’s clearly enjoying the way he’s got you on the hook.

“There she is,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours in a barely-there kiss, and you fight to keep your eyes open.

You groan, trying to buck your hips again, but his leg isn’t at the right angle anymore.

He hums, a rumble in his chest that you can feel reverberate through you. “Wanna hear you say it,” he tells you. “Won’t do shit until you tell me what you need, baby.”

“I don’t know,” you huff, squirming in his hold again, but his grip keeps you stuck in place. “Need—fuck—need more.”

“S’not enough.” Sukuna clicks his tongue, pulling away and keeping you pinned against the mattress with his hand on your throat. “Gotta be more specific, bunny. Had such a fucking mouth on you earlier, didn’t you? Use it.”

Something sharpens in you, and Sukuna must see it in your face because his gaze narrows as he glares down at you, hand around your throat flexing, a threat this time. A silent tension hangs in the air for a couple of seconds as frustration surges in you, both at him and your lost pleasure.

“Why?” you ask, breathless but still sharp. “Don’t know how to fuck a girl unless she tells yo—”

You’re interrupted when his hand tightens around your throat, hard, cutting off your air, and one of your hands flies to his wrist, nails digging into the inked flesh there.

“Careful,” Sukuna growls, voice deliciously deep, eyes glittering dangerously. “What’d I tell ya, hm? Behave.” His nose bumps against yours, lips hovering over yours as he loosens his hold enough to make room for you to gasp. “I’ve got all night and this pretty little throat in the palm of my hand. I’d play real nice if I were you right now, bunny.”

You can only take in pathetic, little breaths as his hand stays pressed up against your throat. The control makes your head all fuzzy, and the searing weight of him pinning you doesn’t help nor does the buzz of your recent orgasm humming in your veins. It’s his eyes that keep yours open, fully blown and daring you to look away, to defy him.

“You,” you mumble as an answer, but then his fingers begin to tighten again, and you force yourself to say it out loud, cheeks burning. “Your cock. Please.”

Sukuna’s expression shifts, darkens, and his jaw tenses as his tattoos shape the contours of his face. He ducks down and kisses you, teeth clashing and tongues in a messy battle, and you’re drowning in the haze of him again, unable to breathe when he’s stealing kisses like that, yet unable to pull away.

The hand on your throat comes down to pull your skirt and thong, and you lift your hips to help him tug them down your thighs. You kick off the material as soon as you can, leaving you completely bare, and then your fingers fumble with the leather before it gives and you make quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans. He groans into your mouth, shoving you further into the sheets when you cup him through his boxers, toying with him through the fabric.

He doesn’t stop kissing you as you slip your hand into the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, and then down further to pull the nearly intimidating thick length of him out, stroking it a couple of times as you twist your palm. Sukuna drops his head into the crook of your neck again, panting hard against your skin as the mass of him nearly crushes you.

He’s, with the risk of being blunt, huge. You look down to see the ruddy head of his cock, flushed and dripping with pearlescent pre-cum that you swipe with your thumb and bring down the long length of him. You can’t wrap your fingers fully around him, either, and your pulse races at the weight of his hardened cock in your palm.

He groans into your shoulder, the sound traveling through you, when you let your nails gently settle against the veins that run up his length, dragging across the sensitive skin when you give him another pump, this one slower but your grip harder as you press down on the underside.

Condoms,” you remind him, and watch as he huffs in annoyance but reaches over you to the drawer on his nightstand, pulling it open sharply and digging through before finding the little foil sachet.

You take it from him and rip the packet open with your teeth, completely aware of the way he watches you while you do it as you take the condom out and begin to the roll the latex down his length, pausing every couple of seconds to toy with his patience.

“Stop teasing,” Sukuna warns, nipping at the already-sore skin of your neck, but you only hum in response, continuing to roll it down and then pump him slowly.

You feel bolder than before, and you bring your other hand up to cup his cheek as you tilt your head to bring your mouth near his ear.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, smirking when his hips thrust just an inch up into your hand. You can feel his jaw clenching underneath your other hand, and you keep at it. “Want you inside me, Sukuna.” You give him another stroke, faster this time. “Wonder if you’ll fit.”

He lifts his head up, and one hand comes to push your wrist into the bed next to your head while the other one stays braced on the mattress. His expression makes your stomach flip, nerves tingling, as he looks down at you with eyes so dark you can’t look away.

“Color?” His voice is barely a rasp, the carnal hunger that plagues ‌both of you thick and heavy in his tone. It catches you off-guard for a moment before you realize what he’s asking you.

“Green.” You’re breathless, looking up at him with large and hazy eyes.

“Good,” he says, and then down in a little closer. “You’ll make it fit, won’t you, bunny?”

Your gaze drops to his lips, shiny in the warm lighting, and you can only hum in response.

“C’mon, baby,” he mutters against your lips. “Put it in for me.”

You swallow, suddenly unsure of what you’re doing in the face of his confidence, but you obey anyway. You twist your hand around his length again and slowly guide him to the apex of you, breath catching a little when the hot head of him nudges against your clit.

You guide him lower, your heart thudding against your rib cage, and then let out a low, little whine when it notches against your entrance. It’s only then that you realize the size of him compared to you, when the pressure of him is lined up against you.

Fuck, is it even going to fit?

Before you can voice your concerns, he gives a barely there thrust of his hips, and the tip of him pushes in, stretching your entrance in the most gloriously painful way possible. You gasp and your hand flies up to his shoulders to steady yourself.

“So fuckin’ sensitive,” he says against your ear, and he gives another shallow thrust and the tip of him bullies its way in, nestled against your walls now as your nails dig into the muscled flesh.

“Wait,” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. “Wait, I don’t think it’s gonna—”

“It will,” he says, and then slides in another inch, making you whine.

Your hand comes down on instinct, pushing at his chiseled torso to get him to stop for a second, but it doesn’t deter him as he eases in another inch, impatient and clearly trying hard to restrain himself.

Your reaction is immediate; you’re more than wet enough for that third thrust to work smoothly, but it has you arching your back with a whimpery little moan, walls fluttering wildly around the thick pressure of him. Sukuna slips his arm around your waist and keeps you in place, already familiar with the way you squirm when it gets too much.

“Fuck,” he grunts, rocking his hips a little as you clench around him. “Shit—so fucking tight, bunny.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he cuts you off, and then rocks his hips in a wide circle that has your legs turning into jelly. “Gotta relax f’me, bunny, gotta let me in.”

“I am relaxed,” you huff, but even when you say it, you know it’s a lie as you have to force yourself to go a little more lax.

Without warning, Sukuna gives a hard thrust, the rest of him sliding in and going deeper than anything you’ve ever taken before. You cry out, hips bucking, as he bottoms you out, and you swear you feel the tip of him touch your cervix as a pang of sharp pain shoots through you, and then a wave of pleasure washes over the cut of it.

Your eyes are squeezed shut and it feels like he’s just punched the breath out of you, the consuming pressure of him making your head go all fuzzy, too much and just enough all at the same time. Sukuna’s mouth is buzzing at your jaw as he rolls his hips, causing bright sparks to dance in your veins, and then his steady breath rolls over the shell of your ear.

“Eyes open,” he reminds you, and then gives a sharp, sudden nudge that has you gasping for air as your lashes flutter open in shock when he knocks against your cervix. “C’mon, bunny. If you’re gonna act like a brat, then I’m gonna fuck you like a brat.”

“I’m not a br—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Sukuna pulls out almost all the way, his large tip coming back far enough to stretch your entrance again before he slams into you, harder than before, and cutting you off.

“Ah—haah—Sukuna!”

He doesn’t give you time to adjust to either his pace or the width of him or how deep he sinks into you, just takes it and goes the way he likes it, which is something you should’ve known from the beginning. Honestly, it’s something you think you already knew, because this only results in you getting wetter.

“You are,” Sukuna grunts, teeth biting into the most sensitive parts of your neck and shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby, ‘cause I’m gonna fuck you ‘til your all sweet and dumb for me—”

Thrust.

“—and then you’re gonna be a good girl and thank me—”

Thrust.

“—and then maybe I’ll be nice and fuck you all over again.”

He picks up the pace just a little, thrusting into you with deep strokes that have you feeling every drag of his cock against your walls. The width of him burns, the way his tip slams into your cervix stings, the friction of his jeans and cold metal of his belt against your thighs hurts, but all the pain slowly begins to bleed into pleasure as it all ignites something hot and twisting inside of you.

“How’s that sound, bunny?” he asks, and you attempt to answer.

“Sukuna—s-shit—wait—hngh—oh fuck!”

You can barely get the words out as they all melt into moans and whines and whimpers that join the cacophony of skin slapping against skin and the embarrassingly wet squelch of his cock sliding through the gathering wetness of your pussy.

“C’mon, baby,” he urges. “Gimme an answer. Or was all that—mmph—attitude just for show?”

“F-fuck—haah—fuck you,” you gasp out, and you open your eyes just enough to see that devilish grin grow wide on his face before he picks up the pace, this time much faster.

The new speed has his hips snapping forward to slam against you, and it steals the breath out of your lungs. It’s brutally hard and fast and has you squirming, fingers tangling in the sheets as you tighten them into fists. That knot behind your navel begins to tighten again, hurtling you toward the edge that you’d been denied a couple of minutes ago. Your mouth falls open in a silent whine, unable to move away from the sheer intensity of him, and he kisses his way up past your cheek to your mouth, messy with tongue and spit and teeth.

“What was—fuck—that? Hm?” he grunts, and you can’t answer, can barely hear him over the overwhelming press of him above you and the sounds of sex that nearly deafen you. He seems to find your amusement in this as he snorts. “Go on, bunny, tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

One hand, the one not keeping himself braced above you, slides up your torso and grabs your boob, giving it an unforgiving squeeze. It sends lightning shooting to your core, and you feel yourself approaching the cliff's end faster and faster.

“Fuck you feel good,” he says against your lips. “Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. You gonna milk me dry? Gonne come all over my cock, baby?”

You nod desperately, arching your back and gasping when he slaps your thigh hard enough to make the skin sting.

“Asked you a fucking question, bunny,” he reminds you, and then, because he’s cruel and you’ve apparently got a thing for masochists, drives into you at a new angle, keeping your hips lifted off the bed.

It has him hitting a spot that makes stars dance in your vision, has you writhing in the sheets with a loud whine. You can feel the arrogant curve of his grin against your cheek, and the proud puff of his chest as he uses both hands on your torso to keep you hovering in place while he fucks you.

“Fuck, Sukuna!” you cry out when he hits it again, the tender spot making your blood run hot.

“Right there, bunny?” he teases, and then kisses you hard, teeth playing with your bottom lip. “That’s the—shit—spot, huh?”

Your hands go to his shoulders again, nails making imprints on the flesh without care, as you try to push at him, the feeling suddenly too much. “Hng—Wait! Sukuna—ahhh—hold on—”

Sukuna does neither, and instead continues to thrust into you hard and deep enough to abuse that sweet spot inside of you, hitting his mark with his snap of his hips. He’s relentless, grunting above you as he pushes you to that edge, where you dangle for a breathless moment before the band in your stomach snaps.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!”

You come hard around him, white-hot pleasure consuming your body as blood roars in your ears and fire floods your veins, traveling from your core to your limbs. The world around you becomes a distant hum in the face of such as intense orgasm, but Sukuna doesn’t stop, fucking you through it as your walls clench unbelievably tight around him, velvet-soft and sopping wet. Your high triggers his, and his thrusts become more desperate, sloppy, as he buries a groan into the crook of your neck and comes with a few rough pumps.

He stays there for a second, breathing so hard that his chest presses down against yours with every exhale. After a couple of seconds, while you’re still in this haze of warmth, he lifts his head and pulls out, making you whine at both the stretch of him and the loss of it. You have to fight a little ground yourself, pressing your lips together and trying to think past the buzz of your orgasm. You only look up at him when you hear a crinkle above, and then the smooth tear of foil.

Sukuna is rolling another condom down his cock, not nearly as slow or gentle as you’d been, and before you can find the words to ask, he’s flipping you around and manhandling you onto your arms and knees.

“Sukuna, wha—”

Smack!

You yelp when his hand comes down on your ass, slapping the flesh with a heavy palm and making the skin smart with a tight burn that runs straight down your spine and sparks into something hot in your core. He does it again, and you barely conceal the low moan that threatens to spill. One of his arms stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place, when you feel him lean down, abs and sculpted chest pressing against your back as his mouth comes to your ear.

“Color.”

You don’t answer at first, you can’t with how sudden the change is, but then he spanks you again and you’re startled into a response.

“G-green,” you gasp out, lurching forward a little with the momentum but rebounding because Sukuna was right when he said everyone likes a little pain now and then.

“You sure, bunny?” he warns, deceptively soft lips brushing against your heated skin. “‘Cause once I start, I’m not stopping ‘til I’m done.”

You shiver beneath him, arms holding you up with barely enough strength. You can feel his hard length pressed up against your ass at this angle, and, somehow, you feel yourself grow a little wetter despite the way your last orgasm still lingers in your nerves, making you more sensitive.

You nod, but then there’s another sharp blow, and you can’t keep back the cry that ends in a little moan.

“Last time I’m gonna warn ya, baby,” Sukuna growls. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you whimper, “y-yeah. I’m—it’s green.”

Sukuna doesn’t even give you time to think before he’s shifting his weight back to push deep inside you again, not giving you the chance to adjust before he’s all the way in. His hands go to your hips, long and thick fingers spanning almost the entirety of your waist as he groans when he’s sheathed all the way in. The new angle has your arms trembling when the rush of pleasure hits you again.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts out, pulling back and slamming in again, and your walls flutter around him, a little sore from the overstimulation but the heat in your core burns hotter than ever. “Dripping all over my sheets like a fuckin’ slut.”

He doesn’t bother with getting you readjusted to the pace, just gives you brutal, almost punishing thrusts that have you moaning every time he bottoms out at the end.

“Ahh—fuck, Sukuna! Hng—haaah—”

You don’t have much control over yourself, either, because he uses the unforgiving grip he has on the fat of your hips to bring you back into him with every thrust, his hips slamming into your ass with each shove. Sukuna reaches a different sort of depth with this position, and you can feel the weight of his cock against your walls as he continues at mind-numbing speed.

“C’mon, bunny—ah fuck—”

The moans that tumble past your bitten lips are near pornographic, and they only make him grunt and drive into you harder, determined to get more out of you. You’re so fucking tight around him, Sukuna swears you’re trying to milk him dry, like he hadn’t already had his cock inside you and stretched you out with three of his fingers. The velvet hot press of you has him losing all rationality as he chases the hot pleasure twisting deep within his gut.

It matches what’s swirling in your belly right now, sparks dancing in your veins as the thick pressure of him never lets up. Heat thrums a steady beat within you, and each thrust has you whimpering beneath him and growing weaker.

One of his hands slips from your hips up your chest and to your throat right as your arms falter, shaking harder now with how fast he’s going. His fingers wrap around the column of your neck, and you feel the press of his palm against the center before he’s pulling you up in a violent motion, his grip tightening so hard that you can’t breathe for a second. He’s now got you on your knees with your back flush against the toned muscle of his chest, one hand wrapped around your waist for support and the other still choking you while he fucks up into you with sharp, brutal thrusts.

His grip on your throat slackens just enough to let you gasp as your fingers scramble at his wrist.

“Fuck, Sukuna!” you cry out, the new angle sending him somehow deeper within you, making you feel sore and so inexplicably good at the same time.

He chuckles behind you, albeit still panting, and his voice is in your ear. “That’s all you got, bunny? I’m—haah—fucking you so good all you can say is my name?”

“No—ngh—”

“No?” he teases, and you can barely hear him over the pleasure that buzzes in your ears, tightening and twisting deep within you as you begin to lose yourself to the feeling again. “C’mon, then, tell me how good I’m fucking you.”

“So good—ah s-shit—s’full,” you gasp out. “I can’t—haah ahh—”

“Yeah, baby?” he urges, breath hot as it breaks against the bruised skin of your neck. His hand around your waist comes to grab one of your hands and brings it down to your torso, pressing it into the soft skin of your stomach. “Feel that, bunny?”

You don’t at first, but then he pushes into you so hard that it hurts for a blinding second before the pleasure doubles and you feel the bump of him beneath your skin. When he withdraws, you feel that too, and on his next thrust, you can feel him burrow into you, hot and flush against your palm. You whimper, melting back into him, and your head tips back onto his shoulder.

“S’me fucking you so good, you can feel it from the outside,” Sukuna groans into your ear, and your body shudders with the effect, that heat in you growing and taking over your senses. “You’re gonna cum for me and you’re gonna feel me fuck you through it.”

You’re already shaking your head, gasping with a moan at the feeling of your orgasm nearing. It feels like too much, like a wave you won’t be able to come up from, something that will overtake you and pull you under without mercy, but Sukuna also offers no mercy.

“Wait, Sukuna—mmph—”

He cuts you off with a messy kiss, the hand on your throat forcing your head to the side as your teeth clash and his tongue invades and claims your mouth. He drinks that sweet little moan, the whine that breaks from your throat, and kisses you so hard your lips start to go numb.

“What’d I say about being a fuckin’ brat, hm?” he growls when he pulls away, and then drives into you with a relentless fury, his other hand still keeping your palm flat against your stomach to feel it all. The pressure from outside makes you dizzy as he bites at the shell of your ear. “Told you I’m not stoppin’ until I’m done, and I meant it, bunny.”

Sukuna seems to be close to as well as he ruts up into you, hips losing their rhythm but never their roughness, and the uneven thrusts are what start to beckon the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm. The heat of your core makes you flush, blood searing hot in your veins as you feel that familiar twist behind your navel tighten to the point of no return.

“Gonna cum,” you whimper, arching against him, but there’s no escaping his hold. “Fuck, Sukuna, m’gonna cum, gonna—haah ngh—”

“Yeah?” he mutters darkly, thrusting up into you with a frenzy you can’t keep up with. “C’mon, bunny, cum for me. Want you to cum—fuck—all over my cock, can feel you fucking—ahh—squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—fuck!”

He turns your head to kiss you again, keeping you in place with one hand on your throat and the other pressed on your stomach, over the bulge of his cock inside of you, and you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, your eyes squeezing shut as your vision blanks and you’re left gasping against his lips in the face of an orgasm that fills your nerves with a shattering thrill. Your walls clench around him, milking him as he continues to fuck you, and your stomach cramps with the intensity of your orgasm, your limbs thrashing and trembling in the aftermath. It seems to go on forever, and Sukuna doesn’t stop to let you breathe, keeps kissing you as he chases his own high and comes with a low, raspy moan as he buries himself so deep inside you that you can feel him against your cervix again.

“Fuck,” he groans against your mouth, hips stuttering as the orgasm runs up his spine and spreads heat over his nerves as he spills into the condom. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

You whimper as he pulls out, and his hands leaves you, gently enough to lower you back onto the bed, and you hold yourself up on your arms for a second before the effort is too much and you have to brace yourself on your elbows. You’re panting hard, skin slick with sweat and head all dizzy and the blood in your veins fizzing with heat and pleasure. Your pulse races, and you push yourself forward on the bed, intent on settling onto the sheets and letting the buzz fade away, but then Sukuna’s hands are on your hips again.

He pulls you back with a tight grip, making you yelp, breath catching as he leans down, the muscled weight of him hovering over your back as his cheek presses against your shoulder.

“Where ya running off to, bunny?” he snarls, and you jolt at the still hard press of his cock behind you. He must’ve slipped on another condom without you noticing, and you scramble against the mattress.

“Wait, Sukuna,” you plead, “I can’t. S’too much, I—”

“Don’t fuckin’ care,” he snaps, and then you feel the head of him back at your entrance and you try to move, but he’s everywhere—behind you, on top of you, and, now, about to be inside of you again. “Gonna cum for me again, bunny, whether you wanna or not.”

You cry out as he pushes the thick head of him through, and your walls flutter and clench with pure overstimulation, unsure of whether to take him in deeper or push him out. It doesn’t deter him, he shoves further into you with a grunt, and the wetness of your three previous orgasms allowing him to slide in without resistance.

“Still so fuckin’ tight for me, baby,” he groans out when he bottoms you out with a particularly rough thrust, and he must’ve punched the air out of your lungs because you can’t breathe for a second. “Color?”

It takes you a second to find your voice, but it comes to you with a needy rasp. “Green.”

One of his arms is braced on the pillow above your head and the other one snakes around your waist to play with your clit. You jerk against him, overwhelmed, but you’re reminded of the way he’s like a solid rock pressed up on you, making you perk your ass up and bury your face into the pillows. He stays buried to the hilt inside of you, the fullness of it making everything go hazy again, made worse by your fresh orgasm.

“Sukuna,” you whine into the sheets. “Please—haah—”

“Please what, bunny?” he taunts , long fingers drawing circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves and making your core twist almost painfully with too much pleasure. “Please more? Please don’t stop?”

You open your mouth to answer, though you’re not even certain what you’re about to say, when he pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back into you, sharp and hard, and anything you're about to say tumbles out as a moan into the sheets. He doesn’t stop there, rutting into you with a desperate grind of his hips, seemingly almost as gone as you are and needing that next orgasm.

“Ahhh—Sukuna, please, I—hnghh—”

He tuts, voice slightly strained as he keeps you pinned down. “You said it earlier, didn’t you bunny?”

You whimper, confused and unable to concentrate with the way he’s pounding into you without pausing, making you jerk forward and deeper into the sheets with each thrust. You feel the fabric grow wet as your jaw goes slack, drool slipping out the corner of your mouth.

“You said—f-fuck—said you wanted someone who pressed you—haah—into the sheets,” he repeats, and something far away in your mind sparks with recognition of your prior words to him, back when you were teasing him downstairs. “Said—shit—you wanted someone to make you beg for it.”

Sukuna’s half falling apart above you, but his words are as sharp as his thrusts, and he doesn’t let up even as he rambles in your ear. You whine, loud and desperate, beneath him, as he knocks up into you with such a brutal push that the rough drag of it against your already sensitive walls has tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“So I—ah—fuckin’ did.” He continues circling your clit, fingers slipping in your wetness, and the movement is just as rough as the rest of him. “And now—mmf—you’re gonna cry for me while you cum.”

“Haah ahh—Sukuna,” you sigh, and sniffle, and then there’s that sharp twisting in your gut, the familiar twinge in your nerves that tells you that you’re close even though the pleasure is all barbed in your core, catching at the most delicate parts of you. “Fuck!”

“Such a good—oh fuck—good girl,” he groans against your skin, tongue hot as he mouths at your jaw, “letting me make a fucking mess of you.”

You moan into the pillows, arching your back and pushing your ass out further to take each of his thrusts as you reach back with one hand, fingers finding purchase in the faded reddish-pink locks.

“Want—hngh—want you to—fuckfuck—cum with me,” you manage to whimper out.

“Nasty fucking girl,” he sneers. “Gonna make me work for it, hm? Fuck—fine then, c’mon, bunny, take it.”

He picks up the pace, renewed by the heat that courses through him at your words, and it makes you moan out loudly as the praise and degradation make your head spin. He reaches a new depth in this position, bruising your cervix with every harsh thrust he ruts into you, and you can’t do anything but take it, whining into the sheets and writhing uselessly beneath him. The pleasure thrums hot and insistent in your gut now, inescapable, and you tug at his hair because you can’t get the words out.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Sukuna chants, lost in the feel of you, the tears and the wetness and the soft moans and the desperate whines and the way you squirm as you're trapped underneath him. “Cum for me, bunny.”

His orgasm crests, and his fingers are heavy and messy on your clit, unrelenting as he draws circles and feels you clamp down, fluttering around him that way you did when you came last time. Your orgasm hits you like a train: one minute you’re on your way there and the next it’s crashing into you without warning, ripping a long whine out of you as it singes the blood in your veins and has you collapsing beneath him into the sheets. You tremble as it steals the strength from your bones and the thoughts from your head, but Sukuna doesn’t let up, dragging out both of your highs with stuttering hips and sloppy thrusts, and each new drag of his cock against your walls sends bright white-hot sparks down your spine and into the very tips of your fingers.

Eventually, the weight of him settles on you as he tires as well, and you pant into the sheets, still floating with the remnants of the high. He stays there for a long moment before slowly pulling out of you, and making you wince, torn between the relief of having the overwhelming pressure of him out and the empty feeling that has you feeling almost incomplete. Sukuna rolls over, and you turn your head as you lie on your front to watch him land on his back next to you, chest rising and falling rapidly as he recovers from his own high, tattoos glistening with sweat in the lamplight.

The air reeks of sex, humid and heavy as it presses down on both of you, and the sheets are damp beneath you. The music from the basement has subsided a little, but you’re a little too gone in the haze of your orgasms to decipher what that means right now. You’re spaced out, barely registering Sukuna throwing his arm across his head and over his eyes as you both catch your breath in tandem.

He comes to a little faster than you do, moving his arm to turn and watch you. You look gone, eyes unfocused but breath slowing down, and he can’t help but smirk as he takes in the curve of your back, the way you’ve nestled into his sheets.

Sukuna flops his hand down on your head, ruffling your hair, and you blink out of your daze. The little scowl and huff you give him is less a true reaction and more instinct because the high that still buzzes in your veins has made you a little slower right now, but you try to shove his arm away from you regardless. It only makes that stupid smirk of his widen into a grin as he shifts to face you, face shadowed by the light behind him and tattoos carving out his sharp features.

“So,” he begins, voice still a little raspy, and you aren’t even fully aware of the way you raise your brow at him, “that was better than your little DJ, right?”

You groan and roll your eyes. The banter helps you ground yourself, and you push at his arm, still on your head, again. You’re honestly no match for his strength regularly, but after four mind-numbing orgasms, your arms are genuinely nothing compared to his.

The little struggle adds to his amusement, and he chuckles as he leverages himself closer to you, eyes glinting red as he watches you. You’re more lethargic than him, and he'd half-expected you to pass out or something, but there’s still that spark in your gaze that enthralls him, makes him consider pinning you down and fucking you again just to feel that fire singe his skin.

Plus, you look so damn pretty all fucked out like that. He decides, however, from the lingering tremor in your limbs, to give you a break. A physical one, at the very least.

“I definitely made you cum more than he did.”

author’s note — umm yeah. anyway, this is a one-shot, but it’s also kind of a test run because i have this whole idea for a short fic and this would be the first chapter. lmk if you guys would be into that. otherwise, i might just leave it here. thanks for reading, and i hope y’all enjoyed!

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