chii ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Chii ^_^ | 20 | multi fandom but mostly jjk <3

[pixeld0ll]

HAIIII im chii!!! (she/her) 20, a uni student, professional hyperfixator on hot fictional men ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ MDNI 18+ pretty please ^-^

recent fics: tear you apart |pt.2 |pt.3 |pt.4 (coming soon!)(sukuna x f!reader, nsfw, mdni)

revenge is best served in bed (sukuna x f!reader, nsfw, mdni)

| MLIST | RULES | MORE

[xxnghtclls]

Rkgk

[kaimanbruh]

And there he was again. Yeah

[meddness999]

The ideal way to end a day🤭

[yunamoona]

ᯓ☆ grumpy overwhelmed Sυƙυɳα who complain complain complains about his needlessly loud giggly gf who can’t shut tf up

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ‘women’ like once. he’s annoyed but like lovingly— fluff, cuteness aggression. armpit sniffing implied. just one fart joke, ur honor.

You like laughing at shit just to laugh at shit, don’t you? Get called a chatterbox or something when you were a kid? Yeah, he bets.

The way you always have something to say— even when there’s nothing to be said— is something that precariously teeters on frustrating and endearing to Ryomen. You make noise for the sake of making it. It’s like you can’t go more than ten minutes without testing the functionality of your voice box. Like you're paranoid your larynx might’ve just up and left, cords and all. It hasn’t— never will.

Even if it did, he’s almost certain you’d find a way to keep jabbering on, filling the world and his tired ears with your nonsense.

Still, he's always listening to you. Believe it or not, he never really forgets anything you tell him.

Sometimes he fears what vital information and memories his brain’s pushing out to make room for how the producers of the tv show you’re watching right now have stopped caring about the plot and your fan theories for the finale. Or your lamenting about how your favorite primer is water-based— but oh, your favorite concealer is silicone-based, so you can’t mix them. Whatever the hell that means. And why you’ve been laughing at the water spot on the ceiling for the last however many minutes. Your favorite color. The name of the barista that never makes your drink right.

At this rate Sukuna’s half convinced with all the space the “you” files are taking up in his head that one morning ten or less years from now he’ll wake up not knowing how to do long division. Or maybe forget the faces of his parents.

Maybe it’ll just go into overload, system shutdown, and he’ll be completely brain dead. Even then he thinks the sound of your laughter would still echo in the hollow space between his ears.

You laugh at everything. Over the stupidest things. Ridiculous things.

When he heard your shriek from where he was dinner prepping in the kitchen, the metallic clattering of the dropped knife didn’t even finish rattling against the tile floor before his heavy footsteps had thud thud thudded all the way across the apartment to the bathroom.

His palm against the door had harshly swung it open before his other hand could even pretend to twist the handle with that god awful weak latch. He’d braced himself for the worst case scenarios: slipped and hit your head. Cut a gash up your leg with the razor. Dropped your phone in the toilet.

His own pulse was drumming so loud in his ears from the initial adrenaline-fueled reaction that he didn’t even register that you’d been choking yourself on giggles before he’d even shoved the door ajar.

You’re soggy, dribbling a puddle of water at your feet as you bent forward with elbows on the sink, shoulders shaking with your towel clinging for dear life against your damp skin. Two sticks of deodorant are clutched in either of your hands— his deodorants, he registers now that he recognizes the red color and labels.

“What. What the hell’re you screaming for?” He grunts, concern beginning to settle and mild irritation taking its place.

“Th…you…tiger..” is all you manage to wheeze and snort. Ryomen’s scowl congealed into something uglier, bemused.

“Hah??”

It’s then that you pull out your deodorant to compare it to his. Gentle Shea Butter next to TIGERCLAW. And PRESTIGE.

He grunts. “And?”

He just doesn’t see the humor in his intensely masculinely named deodorant like you do. Definitely doesn’t think it’s something to scream like a banshee and garner another noise complaint over.

There’s nothing funny about him rubbing Tigerclaw and Prestige on his pits, he’ll try to convince you of such with a grimace wrinkling the bridge of his nose and between his brows. He’s never heard you complaining about how he smells, so what? It’s a good antiperspirant. Prestige smells good. And Tigerclaw. Yes he has two scents, he likes to alternate…fuck you.

He wishes you both could’ve lived your lives with you being oblivious to that forever. The occasional, “oooh, baby, you smellin’ extra prestigious today,”’s from you right after you lean in to take a comically large hefty whiff under his arms are aging him. Early. Poorly.

But if it’s not his super macho man deodorant you’re losing your marbles over it’s…everything else.

God forbid you find a new phrase to repeat over and over again. A song to spontaneously break into at the slightest hair trigger.

He’s learned that every combination of vowels and consonants in his vocabulary are potentially live bombs on a minefield he must tread with caution.

Like last week, after you’d both spent the evening out and finally made it back to the car. When you chanced a glance his way you found twin vermilions already eyeing you— he’s no idiot. He saw the faint upturn of your lip and the giddiness in your posture. You had just thought of something you thought was downright hilarious that you wanted to talk about all the way back to the apartment. Immediately, he attempted an interception.

“Here,” He reached towards the center console, disentangling a cord and gesturing it to you. He moved to start the engine. “You can have aux on the way home.”

Instantly he knew he'd made a mistake. The biggest beef steak.

Unmistakably your eyes glimmered, scrunching as your mouth gaped wide and inhaled a breath with force comparable to Kirby. He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew it was too late.

“YOUR DADDY WAS HOME WHEN YO—“

Your top-of-the-lung belting was swiftly capped by a callused palm clamped over the entire lower half of your face.

Your flurry of giggles were muffled and reverberating against his hand, his body haphazardly thrown over the center console in his attempt to shush you. “Dammit, woman, will you let me drive? Just hootin’ and hollerin’. For no reason, huh?”

You don’t respond exactly, just blow as hard as you can against his palm until it makes a PLLLBBBBBTT! sound, like a gassy wet fart. Which immediately launches you into a cacophony of snorts and snickering. Oh wow.

It’s not funny. It’s not. It's lowbrow. It’s so not funny that Ryomen has to close his eyes and fight the corners of his lips trying to lift and the dry huff of amusement trying to climb up his throat. He only wants to laugh because you look so damn goofy. All glowing with happy tears in your eyes, just looking at him in that way that makes his heart thrash around in his chest. Like you don’t know what the clumsy, graceless melody of your laughter is doing to him.

God, he could just take a bite of you.

With a click of his tongue that should be frustration but instead signals surrender, he lets his lips slant into a sharp-toothed grin.

“Okay, alright. s’at funny? Yeah??”

You nod rapidly, but stiltedly against his palm. Big smile. “mmhm!”

“Yeah. ‘hyeh hyeh hyeh.’” He mocks your giggles with a sneer, not quite releasing you just yet. Instead he closes in on you, for what reason you can’t discern until you're already shrieking— nasally, because he’s angled his head and pinched your nose shut between his teeth.

A relatively gentle bite before he finally lets his palm slide off your face and around to the back of your neck. He doesn’t bother waiting for you to stop laughing (cause he knows you won’t stop.) before he bridges the gap, the warmth of a steadying palm at the base of your neck as he tries to kiss more than just your teeth, if you’ll allow it.

You’ve done something awful to him. Bewitched him, even.

Ever since he’s met you Sukuna’s found himself uneasy, irritated sour in the absence of your laughter, your voice, your nonsense.

an ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 is this anything im sleepy ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ my mind is plagued by internet and pop culture references theyre like half my vocabulary …

m.list

[sukurena-deactivated20260124]

NOT CLICKBAIT .ᐟ : TIKTOK RITUAL GONE WRONG .ᐟ

(header was too cute but i’m scared of tumblr !!)

pairing. true form!sukuna x fem!reader

synopsis. a viral tiktok “summoning ritual” is supposed to be a joke—until the lights go out, your phone dies, and sukuna himself appears in the dark behind you. you didn’t mean to call him, but he answers anyway… and he’s not leaving without taking exactly what you unknowingly offered.

warnings. 1.2k. explicit sexual content. trueform!sukuna. monsterfucking. dubcon. breeding kink/creampie. stomach mouth. also gave him a hand mouth for the hell of it. rough sex. overstim. manhandling. crack humor mixed w dark themes.

rena's note. LMFAO do nawttttt take this too seriously i was laughing so freaking hard while writing this and also pls don't do tiktok "rituals" if you don't know what you're doing. sukuna will NOT appear, results may vary. also unedited we don't believe in such sorcery here

you only do the ritual because your friends said you wouldn’t. that’s it. that’s the whole reason you’re kneeling on your bedroom floor at midnight with a cherry-scented red marker and a vanilla candle from target, filming yourself for tiktok like an idiot.

the video instructions were simple enough—draw the sigil, light the candle, say his name four times, don’t look away—so you follow them, narrating sarcastically into the camera like the algorithm is your audience and not your potential executioner.

the first two repetitions of “ryomen sukuna” do nothing. not even a flicker. you almost feel embarrassed at how hard you’re trying to look scared for the video.

but the third time you say it, the candle flame shivers, and you lean in with a dramatic gasp for effect—until the flame snaps out completely on the fourth name. at the same exact second, your lamp dies. your phone shuts off. every piece of technology in your room gives up like you just summoned an EMP instead of a demon.

the silence that follows is awful. too thick. too heavy. the kind of silence that feels listening. you open your mouth to call out—maybe blame the surge protector—but then you hear it: breathing. slow, deep, and absolutely not human. it comes from behind you, warm enough that the air shifts against the back of your neck.

your whole body locks up. the only thing you can make yourself whisper is, "oh my god he's behind me isn't he..." but the way you say it is so shaky you immediately want a do-over.

a voice answers you instead. “you really butchered the sigil.”

it’s low. too close. and when you whip around—because fight-or-flight clearly didn’t load fast enough—you see him. he towers over you, shoulders broad enough to block the corner of your room, four glowing eyes blinking open one by one, markings crawling over his skin like living ink. he looks sculpted out of old nightmares, fangs glinting as he studies you kneeling on the floor in pajama shorts.

“this is who summons me now,” sukuna says, sounding personally offended, “little girls smelling like cupcakes with dollar-store candles?”

you’re shaking, terrified, mortified—and somehow, stupidly defensive. “hey, it wasn’t dollar-store,” you snap. “it was on sale.”

he stalks closer, each step vibrating through the floorboards, and you swear you can feel the heat of him before he even reaches you. his head tilts with exaggerated curiosity, four eyes narrowing. “so you called my name,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower, darker, “because you were… bored?”

you open your mouth to deny it. to explain the tiktok trend. to reclaim a sliver of dignity. but what comes out is a pathetic, “maybe i was… content creating?”

he laughs. an awfully rich sound that curls around you. his claws trace your arm—lightly, teasingly, sending your pulse into frantic overdrive. “humans,” he sighs, crouching down until he’s eye-level with you. “always summoning demons when they’re lonely.”

he reaches out, two of his hands sliding around your waist, dragging you closer with effortless strength. the other two tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet all four of his eyes. “and you,” he murmurs, breathing against your neck, “have been calling for me far longer than tonight.”

you swallow hard. “i—i didn’t mean—”

“you meant every word,” he cuts in softly. “your voice shook saying my name. not from fear.” his thumb grazes between your thighs, slow and taunting. “from need.”

your legs tense immediately. he notices. he smirks like a monster aware of its effect.

“so tell me, brat,” he whispers, leaning in until your lips almost brush, “should i send you back to your little phone video… or give you what you really summoned me for?”

your body answers before your mouth does. and sukuna definitely feels it.

you don’t actually get a chance to answer him—your mouth opens, your brain short-circuits, and all that comes out is a choked little noise that absolutely gives away every unholy thought you’ve had since he appeared.

his grin sharpens, stretching slow and feral across his face, all fangs and glowing eyes—like a predator who just discovered its prey is conveniently self-marinating. “oh,” he purrs, claws flexing against your thighs. “so that’s a yes.”

“uhm, i didn’t say yes—” you start, voice pitching embarrassingly high.

he laughs. the kind of laugh that suggests people died to the sound of it in the past.

“sweetheart,” he says, dragging you into his shadow with one impossibly strong hand, “your thighs answered for you.”

the worst part is he’s right—your legs are practically hugging his forearm like he’s the last tree in a tornado. you try to pry them apart. you fail instantly. “that— that’s just a reflex—”

“mm,” he hums, leaning down to sniff the air near your neck like some unhinged demonic bloodhound. “so is arousal.”

you swear you black out for half a second.

he lifts your chin with two fingers, long, clawed, glowing faintly—and forces your gaze up. “do you know what happens,” he murmurs, “when a human calls my name during a ritual?”

you shake your head.

“i claim something.”

you swallow. “what do you— what do you claim?”

he presses his hand flat over your lower stomach, heat rolling off him in waves that make your skin prickle. “everything you offered without realizing.” his thumb trails downward in a slow, wicked line. “and humans,” he adds, voice thick with amusement, “offer so much when they’re lonely.”

your cheeks burn. “you keep saying i’m lonely—”

“aren’t you?” he asks. no teasing now. just too-intense honesty that sees straight through you.

you hate him for it. you hate how right he is. you hate how it makes your thighs tighten again.

his bottom hands scoop under your knees, lifting you like you weigh less than a pillow—carrying you backward until your back hits the wall hard enough to rattle the picture frames. you squeak—legitimately squeak—and instantly want to die.

he smirks. “adorable.”

“I’M NOT—”

he shuts you up by placing one giant, clawed palm over your mouth—not roughly, but with the bored confidence of a demon who knows you’re not going anywhere. “quiet,” he murmurs. “there are rules, brat.”

he leans in, lips ghosting the shell of your ear, breath too hot. “rule one,” he whispers, sliding a hand up your inner thigh so slowly you feel every centimeter, “you don’t summon me unless you’re prepared for consequences.”

your heart tries to exit your body through your spine.

“rule two,” he continues, claws grazing the edge of your shorts, “you don’t lie to me.”

you try to speak. he gently tightens his hand over your mouth. “i said quiet.”

you whine into his palm.

he grins again, all wicked teeth. “and rule three…” his head tilts, all four eyes locking onto yours, hungry and bright. “once you call to me—i don’t leave until i’ve taken what you owe.”

your breath stutters.

“and you,” he adds, voice dropping to a sinful growl, “owe me more than you realize.”

your body goes hot enough to melt the paint off the walls.

“s-sukuna—” you try to say, muffled behind his hand.

“mm?” he hums. “ready to confess what you really wanted?”

you shake your head violently.

he laughs again—delighted and cruel in a way that makes your stomach drop, and your thighs clench.

“then i guess,” he says, claws hooking into your waistband, “i’ll just have to make you admit it.”

sukuna doesn’t bother waiting for your nerves to calm. he doesn’t even give you the chance to finish that shaky “yes” sitting on your tongue—because the moment your voice cracks, the moment your thighs twitch, he decides he’s done teasing.

his claws drag your shorts down so fast the air chills your skin, and you squeak—hands flying to his wrists on instinct. like you’re going to stop a twelve-foot demon with forearms like carved stone.

he looks down at your shaking hands then back at your face, all four eyes blinking slowly.

“…really?” he asks, deadpan.

“i— i’m nervous!” you hiss.

“you should be,” he says calmly. “i’m about to ruin you.”

he smirks, and drags one massive hand down your torso, fingertip tracing the waistband of your underwear. “cute little human,” he murmurs, claws hooking the fabric, "even cuter panties."

“i’m TRYING TO PRESERVE MY SPINAL HEALTH,” you snap, voice cracking like a preteen boy.

he laughs. a horrible, evil sound that echoes off the walls.

“oh, sweetheart,” he says, tugging your underwear aside with two fingers like it’s nothing, “your back is the least of your concerns.”

his middle hand—the one bracing your ribs—slides down, two thick, hot fingers pushing between your legs. and the moment he feels how wet you are, how fast your pulse jumps, how your hips jerk helplessly toward his touch—

his whole expression changes.

his grin turns dangerous. hungry. like you just handed him a gift he didn’t expect.

“look at you,” he rumbles, leaning in until his lips ghost your jaw. “so fucking wet for a demon you summoned by 'accident'.”

you shake your head desperately. “i— i didn’t— it wasn’t—”

he thrusts two fingers into you with zero warning. you arch so hard your soul leaves your body.

“didn’t what?” he asks, voice silk and knives. “didn’t mean to call for me? didn’t mean to bend your legs like this and open yourself up like a desperate offering?”

your nails dig into his shoulders, useless. “sukuna—please—”

he curls his fingers inside you and your eyes roll.

“that’s more like it,” he whispers.

he pumps his fingers slowly at first—too slowly—forcing your body to take the stretch of him, your walls clenching tight around knuckles thicker than you’re used to. every motion drags a pathetic sound out of you, half-moan, the other whimper, and he fucking loves it.

“humans,” he rasps, “always pretending they’re innocent until they’re spread open and begging.”

you try to glare at him. it just looks like you’re about to cry. he thrusts harder. your glare disintegrates.

“mm,” he hums, licking up the side of your neck, “there it is. that’s the face i wanted.”

his thumb presses to your clit, circles once, and your entire body jolts like you’ve been tasered. he grins, all four eyes drinking in every twitch. “overstimulated already?” he mocks. “i’ve barely touched you.”

“you’re—” your breath stutters, “—you’re huge—”

“you haven’t seen anything yet.”

oh god oh god oh god oh god—

he pulls his fingers out, leaving you throbbing, empty, desperate. you gasp at the loss, hips chasing his hand, and he snorts.

“needy little summoner,” he says, wiping your slick onto your thigh with a possessive swipe, “you invited a demon into your bedroom and thought i was going to be gentle?”

“i thought—” your voice cracks— “i thought it would be a prank—”

he actually pauses. “…a prank?”

“YES— TIKTOK PRANK CULTURE—”

he leans back and stares at you like you’re the dumbest creature he’s ever encountered. “you tried to prank a demon king.”

“…maybe.”

he laughs again—sharp, cruel, thrilled.

“dunno. sounds like you deserve this, then.”

before you can ask what this is, he frees himself—thick, huge, inhuman, marked with the same cursed patterns as the rest of him—and your brain shuts off like a power outage.

you slap a hand over your own mouth. “THAT’S NOT— THAT CAN’T—THAT SHOULDN’T FIT—”

“it will,” he says simply.

“HOW—”

“because,” he purrs, dragging you down the wall until your legs wrap around his waist, “you called for me. and when humans call for a demon—”

he positions himself, head pressing hot and heavy against your entrance—

“—their bodies change to take one.”

you scream. he grins, and then he pushes in.

not all at once, he’s not trying to shatter you—but deep enough that your vision goes white, your nails carve into his shoulders, and you swear you’re floating.

“fuck,” he growls, bottom hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “tight little ritual girl.”

you gasp, shaking. “sukuna—slow—slow—”

he kisses your throat once. shockingly tender.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises.

and then he moves. deep. stretching. filling. your body fighting and yielding all at once, every nerve ending lighting up, your voice cracking into broken noises you’ve never made before.

his laugh rumbles against your chest. “sound pretty when you suffer.”

“this isn’t— suffering—” you gasp.

“no?” he asks, dragging out slowly before thrusting back in harder. “then what is it?”

you choke on a moan. “i don’t— i don’t know—”

he presses his forehead to yours, all four eyes locked on your trembling mouth.

“lust,” he whispers.

“fear.”

“devotion.”

each word punctuated by a slow, brutal thrust.

your orgasm hits so fast you don’t even warn him—your whole body clenching around him, back arching off the wall, vision shattering in a burst of white heat.

sukuna moans—low n surprised.

“there you are,” he breathes, hips bucking harder as he chases your shaking release. “screaming just the way i like.”

you can barely think, barely exist, held up only by his claws and the cursed strength in his grip.

“don’t pass out,” he warns, thrusting deep enough to make you cry out again. “i’m not done collecting what you owe.”

sukuna doesn’t move you to the bed—he doesn’t even bother pretending this is anything gentle. he just drags you into his lap, settles you right over the heavy length of his cock, and watches your thighs tremble as you slowly sink down onto him again.

“go on,” he murmurs, voice low, taunting. “sit on it.”

your knees shake as you lower yourself, inch by inch, until you’re filled—stretched—opened around him in a way that makes your breath catch. he groans low when you bottom out, claws gripping your hips like he’s stopping himself from thrusting up into you.

“fuck,” he rumbles, all four eyes drinking in the sight of you impaled on him. “you look perfect sitting on my cock.”

you whine—half overstimulated, half drunk off how big he is—and he pulls you forward, pressing your chest to his. his bottom mouth, carved across his torso, opens with a hunger that makes your stomach drop.

“you wanted this, didn’t you?” he says, voice curling into your ear. “wanted to be used everywhere at once.”

before you can answer, before you can even think, his lower mouth latches onto your clit—hot, wet, wicked—and your entire body jolts like lightning shot through your spine. his tongue is long, strong, obscene, flicking tight circles around your swollen clit while his cock throbs deep inside you.

“sukuna—oh my god—” you choke, legs shaking violently.

his upper arms pull you tighter, holding you open over him, forcing you to take every sensation. his lower arms slide up your torso, his thumbs brushing your nipples before his second mouth leans in—the one across his cheek—and closes warm lips over your breast.

he’s everywhere.

mouth on your clit. mouth on your nipple. cock buried deep inside you. hands squeezing your hips, thighs, waist.

and he just watches you fall apart.

four glowing eyes locked on your face as you tremble, as your head tips back, as your thighs clamp around his torso. he looks almost proud. almost reverent. like you’re a show he summoned for himself.

“that’s it,” he murmurs against your skin. “ride me. look at how pretty you are when you can’t even hold yourself up.”

you try—god, you try—to move your hips, to grind down on him, but the hot suction on your clit steals every ounce of strength from your body. your legs give out with a cry, and he laughs against you, tongue dragging slow, deliberate strokes that make your vision blur.

“my poor little summoner,” he mocks softly. his mouth on your chest sucks harder, tongue circling your nipple until your back arches helplessly. his lower mouth seals tighter around your clit and you feel it—heat coiling, snapping, drowning you.

“sukuna—i’m gonna—i can’t—”

“you can,” he growls, his claws digging into your hips. “you’re going to cum sitting on my cock while i taste you.”

you scream—actually scream, as everything snaps, your orgasm hitting so violently your body goes limp in his hands. he holds you through it, his mouth devouring every twitch of your clit while his other tongue flicks lazily at your nipple, teasing you through the aftershocks.

you collapse forward, trembling, panting against his shoulder. he finally pulls back—both mouths wet, tongue dragging across sharp teeth as he smirks.

“sit up,” he commands softly.

you whimper. “…why?”

he grips your ass, guiding your hips in a slow roll over his cock, and your whole body shivers.

“because,” he says, voice rumbling through you like thunder, “i’m not done yet.”

you barely get a second to breathe. sukuna lifts you effortlessly, claws sinking into the plush of your thighs as he drags you down onto his cock again—one brutal, sudden thrust that knocks the air right out of your lungs.

“ngh—sukuna—!” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

he growls, pulling you tight against his chest while your walls flutter violently around him. “there you are,” he rasps. “tight little cunt trying to milk me already.”

you shake your head, delirious. “n-no i—”

“you are,” he corrects, thrusting up into you, slow at first, then deeper, harder, each stroke hitting the softest, most devastating spot inside you. “squeezing me like you’re begging for it.”

your breath stutters. “for— what—”

“to be bred.”

the word punches straight through you. your thighs clamp around his waist without permission. your back arches. your whole body tightens around him in a way that steals his breath.

all four of his eyes flare, so bright and wicked.

“mmh. there she goes,” he murmurs, voice thickening, claws digging deeper into your flesh. “that little human body wants to be filled? is that it?”

you gasp, nails scraping his chest. “i—i didn’t say—”

“your cunt said everything.”

before you can argue, before you can even breathe, he flips you—one massive, terrifyingly fluid motion—pressing your back to the bed and folding your knees up to your chest. you yelp, and he chuckles darkly.

“don’t worry,” he purrs, lining himself up again. “i’ll give you what you’re too afraid to beg for.”

he slams into you so deep you swear you’re levitating, tears springing to your eyes. his hips piston into you with brutal precision, each thrust punching a moan straight out of your throat.

“fuck— yes— oh my god—”

“that’s it,” he snarls, bracing a hand beside your head while the others hold your legs open. “take it. take me deeper—”

you’re already close again, embarrassingly fast, body trembling underneath him like his cock is rewiring your nervous system one stroke at a time.

“sukuna— i’m gonna— i can’t—”

“cum,” he orders, leaning down to bite your collarbone, sharp teeth dragging across hot skin. “cum for me.”

your orgasm hits violent, hot, and overwhelming. your walls tighten around him in relentless spasms, squeezing him so tight he groans, all four eyes narrowing in pleasure.

“fuck— you’re gripping me—” his thrusts get rougher, messier. “—gonna fill you— gonna put it so deep it sticks—”

you sob, legs shaking uncontrollably.

“please— please, sukuna—”

he slams deep—one final, shattering thrust—growling low against your throat as he spills into you. thick, heavy, pulsing heat floods your already-overwhelmed body, and the moment you feel it, you whine.

he doesn’t pull out. he keeps you folded tight, hips pressed flush against yours, making sure every drop stays exactly where he put it.

“there.” he breathes, voice low, satisfied. “now you’re marked. properly.”

you lay there, limp as a noodle, staring at the ceiling like it personally ruined your life.

sukuna watches your expression shift from post-sex bliss → dazed confusion → existential crisis. then he smirks.

“what’s wrong, little summoner?”

you blink up at him.

“…this all started because of a tiktok…”

he bursts out laughing—like actually laughing—four eyes crinkling, fangs out, head thrown back like you just told the funniest joke in the underworld.

“humans,” he wheezes. “you let me restructure your insides because of a social media dare?”

you shove weakly at his chest. “it wasn’t— i didn’t— shut up.”

he grins wickedly, leaning down until his forehead presses against yours. “no.”

you groan. “you’re honestly the worst demon ever.”

he kisses you—once, his hand smoothing down your thigh like he’s already planning round two.

“and you,” he purrs, “are never downloading that app again.”

“why—”

he pulls out slowly, obnoxiously slowly, and watches his cum spill out of you with a delighted hum.

“because,” he says, licking his thumb before pushing it back into you, “i don’t want competition.”

© sukurena — do not copy, repost, or translate my work !!

[yenayaps]

no money? no problem! pizzadeliveryguy!sukuna x opportunist!reader

cw: backshots, slight degradation, reader lies on the spot after seeing how beefy the pizza guy was, just a fun little drabble based off this ask

“you’re kidding,” the man groans, sliding a hand down his face as he holds a warm box of pizza in the other. “you couldn’t have told me that when i called 5 minutes ago, asking for fucking directions to get here? ‘fucks wrong with you??”

a lot.

he doesn’t get paid enough for this. the fact that you’re the last delivery of the night makes this all even worse— he could’ve been home by now! lounging back on his couch with an ice cold beer, watching a show, not out here in the freezing cold as some chick looks at him all doe-eyed, probably thinking you can sweet talk your way out of this.

and you can. you absolutely can. you’re ready to do more than just talk your way out of this. “i’m so sorry,” you feign innocence, just barely hiding how giddy you are. “i swear i thought i had $20 on me.”

“you got a venmo or something?” he continues to be annoyed, trying to ignore that fact that you’re barely dressed and a little too happy for a girl who claims to be broke. though he must admit, the silk shorts and tank top look pretty damn cute.

“i don’t have a phone.”

“no?” he clicks his tongue, holding back a laugh at how ridiculous of a lie that is when you had just spoken to him over the phone. he rests his arm over the door frame and leans down, lips curving to a grin as he continues to entertain whatever this is. “well what do you have then, sweetheart? gotta have somethin.”

it all happened faster than you thought it would.

“who just lets the pizza guy in like this, huh?” he heaves, balls slapping against your clit with each thrust, filling the living room with the lewd sounds of harsh slaps and wet squelches.

“i don’t know,” you say through struggled moan, barely able to form a thought from how he has you— on your knees, back in the craziest arch as he delivers the deepest backshots, fucking you dumb on your couch that won’t stop creaking. “i- i just—“

“you’re just, what?” he laughs, not letting up on the brutal pace he’s had from the start. he grabs a fist full of your hair, yanking you up to mutter in your ear. “a fuckin’ slut?” he chuckles as you pathetically nod. a hand snakes around you and pressed against your lower belly. “you really are a little slut, look how good you’re taking me. you feel me? feel how fuckin’ deep i am?”

“uh-huh,” you whine from the way he continues to press down on to the bulge on your tummy and taunt you. he was big. everything about him was. he was strong too, having to hold you close to him so you didn’t fall forward each time he slammed his hips against you. “it was so worth it though— fuck— feels so good.”

he smirks, satisfied with the praise. “yeah?”

“mhm— shit, right there,” you cry out, making him shove you back down as he continues to give you exactly what you want.

how could he not? especially when you’ve been so sweet to him.

he grabs both your wrists and pulls them back, keeping you in that perfect arch while he pounds into you, just hammering through your walls and hitting your sweet spot every. single. time. it’s insane, you’ve never been with anyone that’s made you cum this much. who would’ve thought it would be him.

he was clearly experienced, it was the direct result of him being attractive as hell, and he knew it. but this? getting the chance to live through something that was straight out of some raunchy porno? of course he took you up on your offer. a lucky man he was.

“yeah, that’s it. cum for me. show me how good this strangers making your pussy feel,” he groans, watching the creamy ring around the base of his cock grow thicker and thicker.

god, he was nasty— not just in the way he fucked you, but with his words, the way he talked you through it as if he didn't already have you a sobbing mess from the way he was manhandling you. he was fucking shameless and it all unfortunately goes straight to your core, making the pressure in you build up even faster.

at this point he's just working it out of you. you might be a crying, babbling mess, but this was light work for him. pulling you back, making you take each and every inch he was stuffing into you with ease.

"c'mon on, give it to me," he continues to encourage you, roughly. it's not like you had much of a choice to begin with-- not with how fast he was going, and definitely not with how he straight up abuses your sweet spot, the fat cock of his cock just hitting it over and over again.

and the orgasm doesn't just hit you, it fucking tears through you and you don't even recognize the sound you made when it did. you don't know whether you should be embarassed or grateful for how hard the guy made you cum.

not that it stays on your mind for too long, you're easily pushed into overstimulation while he chases his own release. your ears are still ringing, all you can hear are the rough grunts above you and the wet schlick everytime he drags his cock out of you. a couple harsh thrusts later and he's cumming too. you can feel his dick throbbing and you're almost disappointed that you made him wear a condom.

almost.

you had to remind yourself that he was stranger for fucks sake.

"you sure you don't have a phone?" he continues to heave, trying to catch his breath as he slowly pulled out of you.

"...why?" you ask nervously, thinking he's still going to make you pay. that would've been beyond unfair. you might just start crying again.

he scoffs. "so i can get your number, lyin' piece of shit," he ends up scolding you.

but in time you'll quickly realize that this pizza guy loves his women on the crazier side, and you were not getting rid of him anytime soon.

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[animesmutspace]

smart mouth <3

ღ heian era sukuna! x female! reader. smut. mild choking, spanking, restraint, manhandling, size kinks. in between a mini blurbie and a whole fic tbh i couldn't decide :)

ღ ღ ღ — sukuna doesn't really know when you developed your habit of talking back to him. he had taken over your village just a couple of years ago, and decided to keep its residents as servants for the building of his new palace. you never liked him, doing your duties to the barest of minimums, and while your words seemed affirmative to his demands the glint in your eyes was malicious.

sukuna knew that he needed to fuck the attitude out of you.

his last straw was when you had lied saying that you cleaned his library, only to find dust settled all over his thousands of years old books when he entered last.

your ass was spanked raw. there was severe bruising on each ass cheek, tears streaming down your face on the other end of his lap. he didn't even bother to use his own hand, he had simply grabbed one of his slippers and beat your ass until it was genuinely purple, relentlessly. and when he was done, petting your butt in an effort to comfort the sobs wracking through your whole body, he heard the faintest mutter of "aren't you supposed to be the strongest being in all of creation?"

if sukuna was mad before, he was livid now. his small act of grace of giving you a light punishment was met with such arrogance that he could not contain himself any longer. he grabbed your hair to drag you upright, and to his shock, he saw a crazed smirk on your tear-ridden face, the glint in your eyes ever-more ferocious.

you've been in doggy style ever since. his front pressed to your back, your legs in between his, his dick was cramming itself in places you felt too much. his tip kissed your cervix one too many times, and every time you would try to inch forward for relief, his rough hands grabbed your torso closer to him, to his unrelenting dick. there was no where you could go.

and to sukuna, your screams were absolutely pathetic. undeserving. you did this to yourself, he thought. his hand reached over and shoved itself into your mouth, grabbing your tongue, applying just enough pressure for you to understand that he could take your life at any point. and if he wanted to, there was nothing you could do. he enjoyed the pitiful upwards look you gave him, fearful not just for your life but for your future ability to speak. serving as a reminder that sukuna could easily take your way of expressing yourself with absolutely no hesitation. there was no space for one of your smiles.

sukuna's deathly calm expression mirrored on all four of his eyes looking down on you was enough for you, squirting all over his steady cock and bed. your sounds grew even more miserable when you realized that he wasn't going to stop. in fact, his other three hands moved across your body to reach your nipples, where they twisted so powerfully that even more tears streamed down your face. woeful attempts at saying please please please have mercy were made, but alas, this was your punishment. it was his responsibility at the end of the day to ensure that his servants feared him.

nothing but wanton, borderline painful moans echoed throughout the palace, serving as a reminder to anyone who defied sukuna. smart mouths deserved the worst punishments the most.

[crude-saint-deactivated20260130]

✦ trueform!sukuna takes on another concubine

You are not jealous.

You repeat this to yourself as you pace your quarters well after the sun has dipped beneath the auburn horizon and the stars have kissed the tapestry-like sky—moonlight weaving through your velveteen drapes and casting a glow on your finicky distress. Your soles pelt the icy tiles with each unstaunchable and restless step, the cold as your only grounding measure.

You are not jealous.

If anything, you’re thankful. Thankful that you aren’t expected to be the sole bed warmer to a man who severs heads when he’s merely nettled and spews venom at even a sideways glance.

That grating seven letter word is entirely out of your vocabulary as a concubine to the strongest man to walk the earth; RYOMEN SUKUNA.

But still.

Something aches in your chest as you think of her—younger than you, brighter, softer—writhing beneath him while he expels his worldly stresses. While she calls out his name, his title, and he groans for her and just her.

His newest addition to an empty harem.

You plop down at the edge of your bed, picking at your cuticles and feeling your lip tremble.

As a concubine, you cannot express the feelings swirling deep within the recesses of your mind. A green serpent taking root in your psyche. It is entirely unheard of, and utterly shameful. You have no place to do so. Sukuna does not belong to you. He doesn’t belong to anyone. 

He’s called you his on more than one occasion. Whether he was knuckle deep inside your fluttering heat and lapping at you, or when he’s dismissed the servants meant to bathe you after the fact and took matters into his own hands. Held your back against his chest in the hot spring, lounging like this was commonplace when you’d rarely ever seen his sharpened edges softened as such.

But thanks to a gift from another kingdom after protecting their territory, they’d offered up one of their daughters to be his and his alone.

Sukuna didn’t grumble, didn’t turn her away—instead, he barely offered a reaction and waved her towards the palace grounds.

Today marks his first night with her. Perhaps she’s desirable over you, something he realizes as he finishes inside.

A tear runs errant down your cheek as your mind betrays your heart, generating and conceiving notions that make your gut wrench.

And then you hear a knock at the door. Quickly followed by another.

Before you have the chance to respond, the door is being pushed wide open.

Candlelight from the sconces adorning the corridor walls flood inside, illuminating your fidgeting lady-in-waiting, her fingers curled around the doorknob like it’s meant to keep her steady.

“The King is throwing a fit and demands to see you, My lady.”

Your eyes flicker wide.

This is it, you think. Another has taken his heart and replaced you. Now, he must toss you aside.

You swallow thickly before making your way out of your room, quivering fingers curling in your nightgown.

It is not a far walk, yet it manages to stretch into an eternity. One where you contemplate your final moments in the only walls you’d ever known, where you wonder what kind of legacy you will leave behind. Will his future concubines use your story as an example? That they are nothing but disposable and temporary to a King that chases pleasure, breeds chaos and contempt.

It’s when you stand before his chambers that it truly settles in. The room where you’d spent most of your nights—tangled in limbs and silk with a man feared across the lands—will now be where you’ll be formally exiled. Or rather murdered, if he’s feeling rather merciless this fateful evening.

“Where is she?” 

Your heart stutters. The low, wrathful voice of his rolls around in the cavity of your chest like a rumbling thunder, muffled through thick layers of oak.

You push the doors open, step inside and shut the doors behind you. You keep your head downcast, fingers clasped before you, the image of reverence—lest you upset the man any further, lest you become the target for his vitriol. “You have summoned me, My lord.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you take a chancy peek towards the bed, not sparing your heart in the slightest for what you may see. But, where you’d expected to spot his new lover draped across the indent you’d left, you are met with nothing. 

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Are you avoiding me?” He grunts, striding towards you slowly with a prominent crease between his eyebrows. Two of his hands are clasped behind his back while the other two remain planted firmly at his waist. He’s in nothing but a kimono split down the middle, his preference for evenings left to lounge in the privacy of his chambers, not leaving much to the imagination. “I will not tolerate such disobedience.”

Your brows knit as you meet his gaze, shrouded in ambivalence. “...No, My lord. I was told that another was accompanying you for the evening.”

Disgust brews in his fiery irises, like a fire lapping at your skin and leaving scalding wounds in its wake. “Another?”

“In the council hall earlier this evening,” you clarify. “You had taken in a woman as a kept mistress, so I excused myself to my own quarters.”

There’s a silence as he reads your expression, fingers twitching at his waist. “I see.”

You drop your gaze again, and you can feel the enlightenment of something settle on him, cogs ricketing and chugging in his brain.

And then he’s closing the distance and gripping your forearm.

You don’t fight it, but Sukuna is not one dabble where he is unwanted, so something uneasy churns in his gut. He’s isn’t particularly rough if something upsets him when he can just deal with it simply—banishment, murder, the whole nine yards.

He pushes you onto the bed and points towards the headboard.

You follow his gaze, bewildered, and return his look with even more puzzlement.

“That pillow has your dusting powder from two nights ago,” he huffs, lips snarling as if you’d somehow just done him a disservice and flashing a canine like he might tear into you.

“My deepest apologies. I will fetch a servant to replace these at once, My lord—.”

When you attempt to stand to your feet and hurry past him, he places two hands on your biceps and pulls you before him. Not roughly, but firm. Keeping you in place.

He stares down at you from the bridge of his nose, expression suddenly pinched up.

He’s uneased at how vacant you peer back at him.

“I said,” he grumbles, leaning down and frowning. “That pillow has your dusting powder. Not another woman’s—yours.”

You feel your stomach tumble over in your chest like a drunkard.

If anything, Ryomen Sukuna is not one for words. Yes, for vituperation and diatribes, but to reserve space for such warmth is past him.

Or so you thought.

His grip lessens and you glance back towards the pillow, heat emanating from your nape up to the crowns of your ears, before you’re meeting his gaze again.

The fire has softened, nearly snuffed out. Replaced with reassurances you never could’ve expected.

You know he won’t say anything else. But you are aware of what he’s aiming to express; in all time, there has never been another concubine for the King of Curses—and there never will be.

There is just you.

You don’t know what that means for you in the future, but you find yourself leaning into his touch for the first time without any doubt, without a tinge of unease or green gnawing at you.

A hand lifts to cradle the back of your head, and your worries dissipate like they’d never ever even nestled in your gut like a rock, fluttering away in the night. His lips brush against yours like he’s sealing a promise onto them, claiming stake and affirming what you’d longed for. His hands caress you with something akin to possessiveness—almost a quiet desperation that maybe he’ll never bare his soul to another like he does with you.

And soon, you learn that he simply gave quarters to that young lady. Made sure she was bathed, fed, given tasks to keep her long days busy away from home.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t have to announce it, but his chambers are reserved for himself, and his sole concubine. And that’s the way it shall stay, forevermore.

[gojodickbig]

your palms braced against the ridges of sukuna’s chest. his skin burned hot under your touch, muscle sharp beneath it and lower—his stomach was right behind you. he leaned back, two arms on your shoulders to keep you steady and the other two gripping your hips as though you’d already been claimed.

“why do you hesitate?” his voice was a low snarl, “was it not you who begged to be taken by me? come—let me taste your cunt, do not make me command twice.”

you bit your lip, but lowered yourself anyway, dragging your folds across the line of his torso until you found his mouth. the tongue shot out and licked you in one slow stroke and the moan it pulled from you was embarrassingly loud.

he laughed, chest shaking beneath you. “so shameless. your body weeps already, yet i’ve not even split you open.”

“… n-need more..” you whimpered, pressing yourself closer.

“ask me properly, slut,” sukuna growled, his crimson eyes dark and glittering. “you don’t dare to demand anything from your king.”

before you could respond, one of his strong hands smacked your ass, making you gasp and shiver.

“p-please… please, lord sukuna… more… i need more… i’ll do anything… please…” you moaned, pressing yourself against him, desperate to earn his attention.

his grin widened, wicked and satisfied. “that’s better. such shameless sounds. in my time, a woman who moaned so sweet was considered a gift from the gods.”

the stomach mouth latched on, lips sucking tight around your sex, tongue thrusting into you like it wanted to swallow you whole. you cried out, clinging to him, nails dragging over the inked skin of his shoulders.

then one of his hands slid lower, palm opening, tongue unfurling wet and long. it licked up your thigh, circling your clit with cruel slowness until you gasped.

“look at you,” sukuna rasped. “spreading yourself over my flesh, letting me feast upon your depraved place. do you not fear me? or is it fear that makes you this wet?”

“i’m not afraid,” you managed, voice shaking, “i-… you don’t—ngh!—you don’t s-scare me!”

you whimpered, rolling your hips, each thrust of his tongue inside you met with the maddening flick of the other on your clit. the obscene, wet sounds filled the chamber, every drag of your cunt over his mouths making him grin wider.

“ride them,” he commanded suddenly, grip tightening on your hips. “take what you crave, woman. do not dare play innocent now—you came to be unmade.”

“y-yes… please, lord sukuna…” you moaned, burying yourself into him.

you obeyed, grinding harder, chasing the pressure. the tongue in his palm pressed relentless circles against your clit, while the one buried inside you curled and stroked with merciless precision.

“good… yes,” sukuna drawled, voice thick with hunger. “a dutiful little thing. moan for me. let all the hells hear how you spend yourself on my tongue.”

your release came fast and violent, body arching, thighs shaking as you broke apart. his arms pinned you down, grinding you through the aftershocks while both tongues drank you greedily.

you collapsed forward, panting, forehead pressed to his shoulder. he tilted his head, four eyes gleaming at you and he licked his lips.

“pitiful,” he murmured, though his grin betrayed satisfaction. “but yet you still tremble, you’re begging for more. do you feel it? your weak human body betrays you, woman. aching for my touch even as you weep from it. bet this greedy little cunt couldn’t even bear my cocks.”

“lord sukuna i don’t think i can—” you whimpered, clinging to him.

“you will. you came to me.” his palm tongue teased your folds again, “cry, curse me or call me demon, i don’t care, woman. you will give yourself to me until nothing is left.”

[crude-saint-deactivated20260130]

(𝐟𝐭. 七海 建人) 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄

‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋... 𝐂𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: your boyfriend, ryomen sukuna, gets off on you being fucked vanilla style by a nice guy—insert sweetheart nanami kento.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: NSFW/MDNI, pre-established relationship (boyfriend sukuna, nanami is sukuna’s coworker), explicit sexual content, heavy sexual tension, dubious infidelity dynamics, cuck sukuna & secret admirer nanami, voyeurism, confessions, exhibitionism, blindfolding, making out, enthusiastic consent, moaning a different name, fingering f! receiving, cover found on my dearest kash's @creampress. divider by cafekitsune & kodaswrld. 3k words | for my nanami fuckers @prosypepper & @swearimnevergivingup <3

Ryomen Sukuna was a hedonistic man by nature. He hunted pleasure in every form, going as far as indulging in anything despite the possibility of the common consensus deeming it taboo or indecent.

The man excessively consumed ale like it was a physiological need, made a point in emphasizing his comfort though never avoiding anything like a coward, and anyone could point out the selfishness emboldened in his personality as simple as the thick black lines streaking his wheat-tanned skin.

With you, his hands roamed every inch of flesh with a sadistic greed—always taking and never quite one to cease his gust. But you enjoyed it just as much as he did, eyes glossing over with saccharine glory and making a mess across his pelvis nearly every night.

Though now, he was dipping his toes into something abhorred, something nascent for the two of your sex lives. 

Something that would require him to relinquish something dear to him.

And though Sukuna was a possessive man, he was far from insecure.

Hence him pitching an idea to you one night in the throes of passion, mere hours after seeing you interact with his pragmatic colleague that never failed to perk up whenever you were around. 

Tonight, the pink haired man has his arms resting on a cuck chair molding leather seat in a dark corner of a dingy hotel room, eyes narrowed as he nurses his whiskey. The paint is peeling from the walls, the carpets are threadbare and stained, and if he can drone out the two other people in the room muttering between each other, he can hear the faint drips of water from the leaky bathroom faucet.

He eyes the way the blond fumbles with the strings along the back of your gown, fingers slipping ungraciously as he mutters apologies beneath his breath.

Like a fucking moron, quite frankly.

According to curly-haired singer Russ, women like to be treated rough in bed, to put it simply. He knows first-hand that at least you do, with the way he has you gagging in absolute pleasure around his dick while he cages his bulging thighs around your head.

But, for once, he wants to see how you look at the hands of a nice guy. The kind of man who keeps his distance and never quite jumps the gun until the lady does, who offers to pay the cut-price hourly fee of the motel room despite being invited, who takes things slow and dandy, who relishes in gentle, caring sex.

Nanami was a giver, who would sacrifice his own pleasures for others.

Something completely foreign to the near seven-foot tall man who practically only knew how to take.

Sukuna drags a hand across his jaw as Nanami’s fingertips linger along the bevel of your spine with caution lest he make you uncomfortable.

He huffs in irritation, strained impatience. His deft fingers would’ve had you bared long ago from the confines of your satin slip, but the guy before him can’t seem to get it right.

Though, you seem to enjoy it. Pupils blown and lips curled as you peer past your shoulder with a gentle coo. “Need help?”

A sigh of resignation leaves tensed-up Nanami, adjusting his glasses and motioning for you to take the reins with an outstretched palm and a frown.

Sukuna scowls, thumb digging into the prominent crease between his furrowed eyebrows at his colleagues' incompetence. “C’mere.”

You oblige, padding over to your boyfriend and taking a seat on one of his muscled thighs. Sukuna quickly works the fabric and has you undressed in moments. You perk up, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek before making your way over to the bed.

Nanami, who now has blush bleeding into his cheeks like he’d never seen any more than a woman’s ankle before, can’t tear his gaze from your nude form. There was no way in hell the guy was a virgin—he saw the way women fawned over him at the office.

But he’d clearly never been an addition to a couple before, tolerating an audience or throwing himself into depravity.

Desire shimmers in his auburn eyes opposing his stoic expression. He clasps his hands before him, lowering his head into a reverent stance. “If this is too much, Sukuna-san, we can stop here—.”

A challenging laugh leaves the claret-eyed brute, enough to have the junior straightening his back and keeping that likely flat expression Sukuna always found so intriguing. “What kind of man are you, Nanami? Hm?”

Your gaze bounces between the two of them, feeling the stiff tension that makes your scalp tingle and itch unattended.

“I’m sorry?” 

Provocative silence ebbing on offense lulls in the air as they glare at each other.

Placated now from baiting him, Sukuna takes a swig from his frosted glass. “Enough. If this is something you do not think you are fit to handle, you know where the door is,” Sukuna states curtly, motioning towards the locked door of the room with his glass in hand.

You watch Nanami’s usual aloof expression falter just for a moment, jaw clenching with enough tension you believed his teeth may crack. The silence spoke numbers, heavy with the weight of what he wanted to say but rationalized that he should keep it to himself. He lowers his gaze, mulling the situation over in his head.

But it’s not when you place your hand onto his forearm and send a gentle smile his way that he makes up his mind.

Without a word, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, hazel irises settling on yours with such a finality it makes your body shudder. Then, he lowers his head, lips ghosting over yours and warm breath making yours catch in your throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this?” He whispers, a secret tied just between the two of you.

You hiccup at the confession, eyes bulging wide, before his lips slot against yours. Your lashes dust shut, an eruption of butterflies in your chest as his scent envelopes you like a promise, sophisticated but undeniably manly. He places one hand behind your head, cradling it fondly like a baby dove, and guiding you backwards until he has you laid out on the bed.

His frames bump into your forehead, earning a giggle from you that has you pressing against his shoulders and breaking the air-depriving kiss. You tug his frames off, folding them shut and sliding them into the pocket in his blazer above his heart.

He has to conceal the way his heart clenches at your beauty, eyes narrowing and committing the sight to memory.

And then he’s back on you again. Slow, passionate, enough to make your heart soar. He breathes you in like a physiological need, jaw opening and closing against yours with a laggard acclimation, as if your breathes are shared and your body has conformed to one.

Your fingernails drag against his scalp, a throaty groan leaving Nanami that’s sent straight to your loins and makes your skin buzz.

He pulls away to say something, but you tug him back by his tie and slip your tongue between his lips.

His hands come down beside you—a show of control, restraint. Like he can pull away at any time. 

But, you know he won’t if he’s enjoying this even half as much as you are.

Sukuna adjusts in his seat, watching as Nanami’s body shadows over your bare frame, movements languid and slacken. Carefully, he sets the glass down, and rests both arms over the rests and studies your writhing forms carefully.

You are clearly enjoying it—legs parted and wrapped around Nanami’s waist like a secured ribbon double-knotted and not coming undone any time soon, though there’s no grinding of your panties against his clothed pelvis. No rush, giving Sukuna the idea that you’re satisfied enough with Nanami’s mouth on yours.

Sukuna’s cock twitches in his briefs, the thought of slipping his cock into your tight cunt clouding his mind.

The blond’s hand finds purchase on your waist, perfectly-gelled hair now coming undone from your hands as silky strands feather over your skin. Nanami drags a calloused finger up your navel, enough to get you shivering and choking on your gasps.

A textured palm cups the mound of your breast, the fancy lace digging into his palm as he gropes you in a drawn out manner that has blood roaring in your ears. Your erect nubs catch on the fabric of your bra, a whine tumbling from your parted maw.

You tug on his bottom lip, hard enough to make his expression pinch in sexual frustration.

And then you feel it, his bulge pressing against your heat.

“N-Nanami—.”

“Kento,” he cuts you off curtly with a grunt, trailing down from your lips to right below the lobe of your ear, the warm fan of his breath making your skin flare. “Or Ken. I’ve known you long enough to discard such pleasantries.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, the slightest bit unsettled with how much his bedroom talk is turning you on. And it was true—you’d stop by the office to drop off lunch or paperworks for Sukuna routinely, running into Nanami plenty of times to strike up conversation that melted from small talk to catching up.

Never could you have imagined to see this side of him though.

“Waking up, going to work, drinking at h-home,” he huffs, tongue dancing across the slope of your jaw and making you tense up. “A meticulous routine I find quite exhausting.”

He pulls away for a moment, a hunger swirling in his irises glistening molten lava. “But when I’d see you,” he runs his tongue over the bottom of his lip, a hand coming up to pin one of yours above your head and intertwine your fingers, your world tilting on its axis from the notion he was on the verge of admitting. “I didn’t feel as lonely.”

Nanami doesn’t taint your skin with his touch, making a mental note when Sukuna pulled him aside privately and explicitly stated that he didn’t want to find any markings of this night as a reminder strewn across your body like a sullied canvas.

He was territorial in that sense.

So the kisses he peppers are gentle, never nibbling on the supple skin or sucking on it until it purples. He finds the valley of your breasts, his cheek pressing against the cup of your bra as he snakes a hand behind your chest to undo the clasp with a lot more precision compared to earlier.

His fingers ghost over your skin with enough reverence to make your chest bloom in need like an unfurled night flower, senses fuzzy as he peels your bra off and admires the gentle jiggle of your freed bosoms.

Leaning forward he swirls his tongue over the erect nubs, teeth grazing the areola and sending sparks up your spine.

You fist the sheets at his delicacy, his simple chasteness that has your mind spinning.

His free hand drags down your belly button, pressing against your abdomen and making you groan, tears prickling your vision.

“Let me see her.”

The sudden voice makes the both of you go still, nearly forgetting the looming threat of a man perched in the dark corner.

Nanami swallows thickly, before leaning up and brushing the hair from his face.

Sukuna’s lids narrow, shadows painting him in a menacing light that has your heart leaping into your throat.

But after the silence drags into what feels like an eternity, he lifts his whiskey glass and tosses the rest of it back in one thick gulp. “Spin her around. I wanna see your fingers slipping into that tight cunt.”

Moments later, you’re splayed out spread-eagle, panties tossed aside as the two men ravish you with their eyes.

Nanami peels his blazer from his stocky form and tosses it over the foot of the bed before curling a finger beneath his collar and loosening his tie.

Leopard print fabric in hand, he straddles you, hovering over your form with knitted brows.

“Have you ever been blindfolded?” He poses, a curious tilt in his head.

You stifle a snicker at his warmth, before tossing Sukuna a knowing glance. “Uh, yeah. I have.”

But that isn’t enough for the altruistic man.

“I, uh… need to hear you say it,” he states, swallowing his pride and averting his gaze while the crowns of his ears tinge a hot-red. “That you want me to do it.”

You nibble on the inside of your cheek, though the small flit of giggles leaving you is practically inevitable. “You can blindfold me, Kento.”

You can see the small way he lights up at that, though the guy isn’t much for smiles. He leans down, delicately wrapping the stiff fabric around your eyes with about fifteen pauses of asking “is this okay?”

Finally, once you're situated, he moves his way down the bed and you feel his hand curl around your thigh, tugging it flush against his waist. His weight settles in the space on the mattress between your legs.

His lips find yours again, a tender and chaste kiss before he murmurs in your ear. “Tell me you want this.”

Your stomach inverts at his gravely and gritty tone, pressing your cheek into the itchy pillow to hide your embarrassment, heat swelling to your face. You can’t even see the blatant adoration swirling in those hazel irises as he scans your pinched expression.

You whine, bucking your hips up to his dripping heat against his pelvis, putting a firm hand pressed your waist down. 

“I need to hear it, darling. Tell me how much you want this.”

Sukuna doesn’t know when, but his presence gone unchecked has him fisting his cock slowly, belt tossed aside and slacks tugged down. Pearly pre-cum trickles from his slit, all blood in his massive form rushed south from how much this debauched sight was turning him on.

His fingers curl and squeeze his base adorned in salmon-covered pubes, running a thumb over the tip of his angry, mushroomed cockhead, pants growing heavier in his isolation.

He wants to see where this goes, how your body responds to the touch of another man.

You feel Nanami’s hand come down and stroke your hair soothingly, your head leaning into his touch and melting from the unadulterated intimacy you’re nearly unfamiliar with. You didn’t know how much you craved this until now. “W-want this, Ken…”

Your lashes flutter against the fabric, tugging your lips between your teeth as you await his touch, stomach rising and falling with each shallow breath.

You clench around nothing, walls leaking a sappy fluid that’s soon collected by a cold fingertip.

You wince, a hiss trickling from your lips as the finger drags between your puffy folds. Careful, deliberate, gentle.

You feel lips against your jugular, legs closing in around the waist between your legs pressing you down into the sheets.

The thick finger dips into your entrance as the kisses turn rougher, breaths mingled heavier into heady pants. Your hands rake through his hair, head tilting back.

But it feels choppier now, no gel and tousled.

“K-Ken…?”

You don’t get the pleasure of an answer as the single finger doubles, stretching your sopping walls open with a scissoring motion that has you seeing stars, each curl and pump slow and deep enough to draw guttural noises from you.

A stilted grunt leaves you—hips canting and chasing the pleasure as the palm grinds slowly against your neglected bud desperate for relief. Your divinity is staining the fingers with slick, a greedy part of you reaching for more as your soles press into the bed and your waist moves with a sentient mind of its own.

Then, the fingers curl against the velveteen roof of your walls, dragging against the gummy muscle and nearly coaxing your orgasm from you, refusing to leave your trembling body quietly.

A grunt leaves their lips—one that makes you see red.

Ruddy and violent eyes, wild and spiky hair.

You see streaks of black, too. Not the shield covering your eyes, no. But rather thick black lines trailing a massive body like a stained canvas, defiled with manship and allure.

“Ryo,” you whimper, barely even taking notice of the name leaving your lips. 

Again and again, you call out for him like a decree binding you to the brute of a man.

Heat climbs up your nape, hot and passionate and downright humiliating.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, his lips leave your throat, curtly latching onto your clit.

The cry that leaves you is torn, ripped from you as your orgasm blinds you and numbs your ears into dull ringing.

You’re a mess on the sheets. Sweaty, limp, pathetic.

The blindfold is lifted from your eyes and you’re met with blown hazel pupils. He slips his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself, saccharine and syrupy.

Carefully, you turn your head to peer at the mirror hanging from the closet.

No evidence left across your body.

You peer to your other side laggardly, only to see Sukuna palming himself in the dark.

The smug grin is enough to make your heart leap into your throat.

“Think someone misses you,” Nanami breathes out in horror, sliding his frames back on and carding his fingers through his hair. He starts to gather his bearings, ignoring the prominent bulge in his beige slacks, tossing his clothes back on and regaining a sense of collectedness and returning to his old self. “The two of you have a good night.”

You and Sukuna don’t even bid him farewell, a thick tension strung between the two of you. One only to be cut by his curt and clipped words and rough touch.

He sets his glass down, unfussily. But he doesn’t get up.

He waits for you to come to him, claim what’s yours. 

Show him where you truly belong.

a/n: lmao why’re sukuna and reader giving “hey, we saw you from across the bar.” 😭 comments and reblogs are always so so appreciated, i’ll see you guys next time <3.

[crude-saint-deactivated20260130]

‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎(両面 宿儺) 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊‏‏‎‎

‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋... 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘

‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you like the adrenaline rush. he likes the thrill of the chase.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: NSFW/MDNI, DUBCON, dead dove, fem!reader, primal play, predator/prey dynamics, chasing, leashing, erotic asphyxiation/choking, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, orgasm control/orgasm denial, oral f! receiving, overstimulation, degradation, ass eating, fingering, scratching, dacryphilia, marking, edging, sukuna makes reader bark for him, slight blood (sukuna bites reader), passing out after orgasm. divider by cafekitsune & kodaswrld. 3.8k words

𝐚/𝐧: KICKIN’ OFF MY VERY FIRST KINKTOBER WITH SOME PRIMAL PLAYYY let me know what you think my dears, comments and reblogs are always so appreciated! please heed the warnings as this is NOWHERE near vanilla.

“On the count of three.”

You purse your lips, toes digging into the ground as you ready your arms by your side, every neuron firing with each inhale of chilly night air you take to fill your lungs. Your fists ball and unfurl as you try to hold onto your wits that steadily begin to slip between your fingers.

“One.”

Something spikes in your chest, heavy and tilting. Nausea, excitement, lust? Most likely a convoluted mix of all three.

“Two.”

You swallow thickly, eyes narrowed and focused on the dark forestry ahead. You still have time to back out. Time lulls in the air as your breath catches, all rationale and sensibility gone with the whistling wind of dusk.

This is deranged—a hell of a lot more wild than the mushrooms protruding from the Earth and scattered around you. But a part of you is searching for that, needing the high to coil through your bloodstream and live in the sinews binding you together.

You want this. But with Sukuna? It’s a steep price to pay, one as vertical as the drop-offs across the forestry into brush dozens of feet down.

“Three.”

You buck forward, bare feet meeting the spongy-wet dirt and picking up grit and mud. Your heart is roaring in your ears, coupled with the creaking and groaning of the looming oaks at every angle and the spur of wildlife at night.

With practiced expertise, you dodge every lowly hung branch and bundles of shrubbery. You’ve got doe-wide eyes, trying not to stomp straight onto a jagged rock and keep your stamina steady.

Who knows how long you’ll be out here tonight, avoiding the bared canines of something, someone, lurking in the shadows? It’s hard to keep your guard up when you feel the looming presence of a predator stalking you like prey.

Sukuna, a starved stag, and you, the fawn-eyed scrambling deer searching for sanctuary amongst an outland full of creatures.

He gave you a five minute head start, but if Sukuna had it his way, you’d be given an hour and a muzzle across your mouth just to dig the knife deeper that you were a mutt to him tonight with no survival instincts that he’d have almost no issue ensnaring.

The only reason the two of you found yourselves in the woods was because you owed the guy—an asshole of a landlord looking for about a hundred reasons not to fix your leaky faucets or broken heating system even if it was included in the contract.

Especially when your drunken ex-boyfriend managed to run into your mounted TV and tear off half of the drywall.

Okay, maybe another reason you were out here was that he excited you with his spurred and depraved imagination, but we’ll get into that later.

You knew the deadbeat wasn’t going to pay a penny for repairs after you’d dumped him, so you tried to work your charm with the crimson-eyed and sharp-tongued landlord.

Initially, Sukuna found it suspicious, when you’d show up with your monthly check for rent in a skimpy outfit and accidentally stumble into his arms. He’d grumble something irritated, wondering why you were dressed like a call girl and you had to hold back your twitching hand from socking him right in the jaw, instead sliding him your number and letting him know to give you a call if the check didn’t cash.

He muttered something disgruntled about having your number on file, but his words died on his tongue as you stepped away and you felt his claret irises locked on your swaying ass, your skirt giving away the curve of your underside.

It wasn’t until long that he had you bent over his rental office desk, half-filled housing vouchers and leasing documents scattered and slipping onto the carpeted floor. His fists wrapped in your hair, tugging it back as he slammed his hips into your fluttering cunt enough times to make you forget your name.

Your hookups may not have been the greatest of ideas you’d conjured up, but with the little amount you had left in savings, you knew that you had to do something to pay off your debt.

And fucking your landlord was the best approach you came up with.

Sneaky hookups when he was about to call in for the day was the best the two of you managed. He’d swear up and down that if you invited him into your apartment, he wasn’t going to have the hawk eye of a business man checking for things to quote you on and would keep his eyes trained on you while he fucked your brains out. But the giant hole in your living room would probably call to anyone’s attention.

When you finally had the guts to bring up the massive elephant in your living room after a few weeks of hooking up with Sukuna and walking sideways from how sore you were, you had no clue if you were hearing things correctly.

“What play?”

He crossed his one leg over the other, leaning back in his rickety desk chair and carding his fingers through his hair with all the collected composure of a seasoned poker player placing their bets. “Primal play. I think it’ll be a bit of fun to get outside of this fucking office and do something for once.”

You agreed, the smallest bit concerned when you showed him the massive hole and he shrugged like it wasn’t going to cost him a pretty penny.

So after the two of you picked a date where you had a night off with no commitments, you did some digging.

Only to finish your worldwide web search figuring that maybe you’d discovered something about yourself.

You’d arrived that fateful night in your gym-wear, Sukuna the same though he tugged his muscle tee up and over his head and discarded it, cracking his knuckles along his skull and shaking out his legs. You didn’t even have the shame to avert your gaze, hungrily drinking in his toned body and feeling a well of fear form in your gut knowing he’d have no problem getting his hands on you.

“So you’re the hunter?” You suddenly posed, tugging your lip between your teeth as you toed your shoes off, bending into a pigeon pose and feeling your heart soar with excitement.

He hummed, blown pupils dragging over your form, admiring his hunt of the night. “That makes you my prey,” he snarled, leaning over you to press you deeper into your bend and letting his hands grope over your ass shamelessly. “Catching on fast, hm?” He whispered, gravelly tone tickling your lobe and making you cower away from his change in sensuality.

Something was different tonight. No, it wasn’t the fact that you were trying out primal play with a man you barely knew in the middle of the woods past nightfall. 

Sukuna was different—more in tune with his touch, his character.

This was definitely something he’d been wanting to do for a while now and your background check on his criminal record didn’t show anything concerning besides his three speeding tickets and suspended license.

Adrenaline junkie, maybe, but you wouldn’t put it past him knowing his personality and the job he caged himself into.

Five minutes into your death sprint, you realize you are severely out of your league considering the sedentary lifestyle you kept outside of work and social commitments, steadily catching up to you.

And so is Sukuna.

Your back tingles, that eerie feeling of being watched. Stalked. The thought of him lurking in the shadows and waiting for his moment to pounce makes your stomach invert every couple of minutes.

You can’t hear him, cowering behind a rotten fallen log and feeling the damp and gritty bark press into your bicep.

It’s ominously silent, besides your heady pants and the bustle of nightlife. The occasional howl of a fox. Animals burrowing beneath tree roots. Soft yips in the night.

Your wide eyes search your surroundings, thankful that Sukuna had given you a flashlight lest it get too dark, but that also meant giving your location away to the predator clipping your heels and following your scent.

You aren’t ready to resort to that.

You push off of the cracked ridges of tree bark and continue your ascent, keeping your teeth clamped shut and avoiding any fallen twigs that’d snap underfoot and echo across the fairly quiet woodlands.

Bending over, you brush the grit at the bottoms of your feet off and continue your trek, sweat beading at your browline.

A half hour passes, your stamina declining as you slow to a walking pace rather than jogging, conserving your energy.

You find a quiet nook below a short drop-off, someplace where you can hide out for the next 30 minutes before you can call it quits and win whatever charade was going on here.

As hot and well-endowed Sukuna is, you’re feeling a bit competitive and want to see if you’re able to leave unscathed.

“Just a simple game of hide and seek.”

“If you can stay hidden for an hour, you win and I’ll even throw in a couple months rent free.”

“Losing isn’t quite so bad, though, is it? You’re getting a special little prize either way. The grace of a caring landlord, or your hunter fucking you out of your mind.”

Tantalizing, no?

The thought makes your cunt quiver.

You hate the fact that your thighs begin to grind against each other, chasing a familiar friction. You're suddenly picturing the bruises Sukuna routinely leaves scattered across your body after a particularly rough quickie—his textured fingers digging into your hips, the love bites marking his territory.

That pussydrunk expression he dons as his fingertips pump into your pulsing hole while he sucks on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

His hand curling around your throat, wild snarl and red-rimmed irises galore watching your eyes roll into your skull while he pounded into you.

“Fuck,” you groan, pulling your knees to your chest and ignoring the fact that your cheeks are just heating up at your lewd thoughts.

To your luck, Sukuna was perched just above you, eyes scanning the dark treeline when he heard your disgruntled groans of chagrin.

He hides the minute tug of his lips, somewhat entertained at just how stupid his little mutt is to be caught in his palm, before leaping and landing right in front of you.

Your head shoots up, eyes wide and full of fright, enough to make his dick tent in his sweats.

It’s far too dark, and you can barely make out the figure before you. A wolf? A bear?

It quickly scampers off out of view, not without growling and making your heart squeeze like it’s caught in the jaws of a trap.

You hear its paws hit the wet dirt, clawing and breathing heavily, beady claret eyes fixed on you past fallen vines. You scramble for your flashlight, tugging it out of your pocket and flicking it on, wanting to meet the face of the creature you’d meet your demise to.

Your stomach drops immediately.

Sukuna.

He snarls, tongue dragging across his lower lip in hunger.

“Found you.”

A yap leaves you as you hop to your feet and try to scamper past him, but your efforts play out futile as he drags you back by your midsection with terrifying ease.

A satisfied grunt rattles from him, pupils blown wide and swirling with a primitive appetite you’re pretty sure only you can satiate as of right now. He clicks his tongue, tossing you over his shoulder and making his way in the opposite direction. “Not so fast, little lady. Looks like I’m victorious,” he huffs out, a chuckle following his smug comment.

It isn’t long until Sukuna’s got you pinned to a mighty oak, toying with the hem of your leggings and tugging them down with your panties, ass on full display for him. The side of your face digs into the rough cracked texture like it had earlier, jagged imprints blooming across your heated cheek.

Your gaze trickles upwards, moonlight filtering in past the leaves and casting an ethereal glow over the two of you like this is kismet afterall. It was inevitable, and foolish of you to think you could hide away from him.

“Was this your best attempt?” He quizzes, massive and textured hands spanning over the globe of your ass and spreading you wide.

You whimper unabashedly, then tug your lower lip between your teeth, heady noises no longer carrying with the wind. You peer down past your shoulder, Sukuna’s tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he plays with your flesh.

Sukuna taps the side of your thigh, and you meet his furrowed eyebrows. “None of that. I wanna hear you tonight.”

Your bottoms and underwear pool at your ankles, both of your hands now held behind your waist as Sukuna laps at your cunt like a starved dog, your juices and his saliva trickling down his sharp jaw. He spits on your pussy, a wanton moan strangled out of you from the recesses of your throat at the sudden contact, before he’s dipping his tongue into your entrance and puckering hole alike. 

His face mashes into your ass, with the hunger of a man before his last meal.

“Sweaty,” the tattooed man whispers directly into your core, the fan of his breath making your stomach knot tight, your shoulders aching from how desperately you’re trying to squirm free but his grip is firm, unrelenting.

He licks at your perspiration, a shameful shudder sent in waves over your skin as he indulges in your bodily fluid brazenly. “But sweet.”

He fondles your skin, tongue dragging languid strips across your inner thigh before he marks it with a harsh bite, almost teetering on the edge of territorial.

Tears prick at your waterline, chest pressed uncomfortably against the tree trunk, erect nipples grazing the rough surface and only spurring your need further.

The entire scene is vulgar, depraved. A part of you is grateful that your only witnesses are Mother Nature and her wildlife.

Sukuna keeps you pinned there long enough for you to be whizzled down to a babbling mess—drool trickling from the seams of your lips and your eyes threatening to roll into your skull with each tantalizing drag of his tongue.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he mutters between your puffy folds, enjoying the way your knees buckle and quake with each upward drag of his tongue, his own lips thwacking against your own.

He catches every bead of arousal that trickles from your sensitive cunt, guzzling it down like saccharine nectar, a cub finding a honeypot.

“P-please let me cum,” you whimper out after ages, ass canting against Sukuna’s face, desperate to tip over the precarious edge he has you leaning on.

A gravelly chuckle leaves him in response, far too high on your taste with tan cheeks bled pink to think soundly, discarding the fact that you were reduced to a pathetic heap in his grasp. He lets out consecutive tsks, before curling his freehand around your thigh and toying with your clit, watching how your body responds to his fingers pinching your pulsing nub. “Haven’t finished playing with my toy.”

Your whines are strained, throat exhausted from groaning and squealing with every rough touch from Sukuna that he only drags on without yielding. He’s got his knees dug into the dirt below him, not even caring that he’s staining the fabric nor that his kneecaps will probably be bruised from how long he’s been in this position.

Releasing your restrained hands, you immediately fall forward, hands smacking the tree bark and gasping for hair. Sukuna wastes no time ruthlessly pushing his fingers into your tight cunt, watching your walls spasm and suck him in. 

“Greedy little thing,” he sighs out, almost in awe at how well you take his thick fingers—how your spasming walls suck him in, whimpering and crying out oh so adorably.

You don’t last long, though—prematurely orgasming before he gets a chance to drag his fingertips against that sweet spot.

You scream out, head tossed back and waist pushed into a deep arch as stars blot out your vision, your peak hitting you harshly and relinquishing the strength in every muscle in your body that had been wound tight for far too long.

You’re dizzy, knees buckling and chest caving with slick trickling down your thighs. Sukuna is quick to hold you in place, massive arms swaddling you before he’s got you pressed against the tree trunk again, his bare abdomen flush against your back.

His attack on your throat launches, canines dragging against the protruding veins dangerously and leaving deep, red marks along your collarbone. Curling his fingers around his waistband, he tugs the cottony fabric down along with his boxers and aligns his tip with your entrance.

He tosses his head back with a groan at the stark contact, cock twitching and aching against your palpitating core. “You like this, huh?”

You’re barely able to get a sound out, stomach fluttering and residing with monarchs.

“Like the feeling of me watching you, creeping on you.”

His tip drags through your plump folds, swollen cockhead trickling with pearly pre-cum, slathering you in his juices.

“Being reduced to a pup in my grasp, yipping and pawing at me.”

You’re lightheaded, fingers twitching at your sides, clawing fecklessly at his thighs pressing against the back of yours.

It’s hard for Sukuna to not let this get to his head, thankfully all the blood in his body has seemed to rush south.

Then you feel it, something cold and leathery wrapping around your throat. You peer back, watching Sukuna tie a black strap around his hand with a smug grin. “Been wantin’ to leash you for quite some time. Whatcha think?”

You hiccup, fingers reaching up to feel the ringed collar he secured around your throat.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You hate that you find this incredibly hot, your pussy throbbing with your heartbeat, feeling the slight tug and firm grip of the supple material tightening around your throat. Not strangling, but enough to leave you dizzy and wondering if you’ve reached tall white gates in the heavens.

“Please… ‘K-kuna,” you strain out, hips bucking against his and allowing your head to lull backwards, giving into his carnal desires.

Slaked, the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Attagirl.”

Finally, while you’re swallowing thickly and trying to hold back a whine, he pushes in, maw parting as he slowly stretches you open on his girthy dick.

Your eyes shoot open, fingernails dragging against bark like your last lifeline, final preservation amidst a rocky storm.

You’ve fucked him, ergo raw, plenty of times, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the colossal size. Especially when you're already this sensitive.

It all looks so captivating, so endearing to the man sheathing you with his cock. You’re practically running from the pleasure, waist bucking forward, then right back against his pelvis as if your body just can’t quite decide to seize to the sensation or not.

Tears cascade down the mounds of your cheeks, brain turning to mush as you try to accommodate his length, bullying its way into you—carving you from the inside. His grip on the leash tightens, and you feel yourself choke both on the air draining from your lungs and his cock pressing into your diaphragm.

Bulging, prominent veins drag salaciously down your treacly walls, his length twitching with each involuntary flutter of your pussy. He hadn’t known how much he craved fucking you like this until he saw that naive, ghastly look in your eyes, cowered into a make-shift cave like a spooked rodent.

He couldn’t mount you any quicker.

Ravenously, he takes in the sweat dripping down your back in errant, cascading trails, the jiggle of your ass as his pelvis smacks into you at a cadence that has you gasping at your babbling words, where your bodies are conjoined and his cock buries deep into your hole with each chasmic rut.

He drags you closer to him with each piston inside you, your arms flailing as you attempt to gather some semblance of stability but fail miserably.

He bows forward, his core tightening as his high approaches. But he’s not totally fulfilled yet.

“Wanna cum?” Sukuna snickers as he inhales sharply, underscored veins dragging against your gummy walls and rendering you speechless.

You nod, fervently. You’re not sure how much more you can take given how sensitive you are.

Though, Sukuna’s ruts only come to a slow, teasing, borderline painful. Your head dips, about ready to yield to your orgasm but the man now groping your tits doesn’t seem quite ready.

“Then bark for me, baby.”

You freeze up, heart leaping into your throat. Of course Sukuna would have you pay penitence during primal play like you’re some fucking yawping pup.

But you’re despairing, on the edge of full-on sobbing with how overstimulated you are under his touch.

A few contemplative moments pass, the sexual frustration dangling in the spaces between you and begging to be cut, enough time to let you simmer in shame.

Then, without warning, an elongated whine trickles from your puffy lips, followed by a lamentable woof.

Sukuna grins. Wild, slaked. His hand comes down on your ass before his thrusts pick up again. “Good girl,” he grunts into your ear, as if the entire thing is rather titillating for him.

A strangled cry is torn from you, frantically scrambling across the tree trunk as his mushroomed tip slams into your cervix repeatedly, bruising your sappy insides.

You’re not even quite sure if you’re breathing at this point anymore, your climax hitting you like a reinforced tank against a flimsy wall when Sukuna’s teeth clamp down over your shoulder. His bared incisors and canines meet your collarbone with enough force to break skin.

He seeds ribbons into you, stuffing you like a turkey on Thanksgiving, painting your throbbing hole white.

You clamp down a few times, milking the brute of every last drop, hisses leaving him as his orgasm subsides.

Your eyes roll back into your skull, swiftly collapsing in his arms before he’s got the chance to play with you any more, and you’re out cold.

Quickly slipping your bearings back onto you lest you catch a cold, he gives his cock a few tugs before tucking them into his sweatpants.

You’re sound asleep, sweat clinging to you like a second skin, chest rising and dropping steadily. You’re covered in dirt and grit, imprints across your face from the jagged tree bark and a deep red wound along your shoulder.

You only lasted two rounds. 

Sukuna clicks his tongue, before cooing, dragging the back of his hand across your cheek fondly. “Looks like this pup needs some more training.”

He won’t mind covering your costs and fixing whatever you manage to destroy if he gets to hunt you down like scampering prey again.

a/n: thanks for reading! comments and rb's are always appreciated. see you sweethearts in a couple of days with more depravities with sukuna.

[tonycries]

Older bf!Sukuna who rolls his eyes and tuts whenever you get impatient to take one of his “biiig stretches”. Covering your whiny mouth with a grunt about just how needy you were- before giving you every single inch. Hey, he never said he was immune to you, okay?

Older bf!Sukuna who leaves marks for daaaaays. Who picks you up in his intimidating bike and puts your helmet on for you with a glare at whatever classmate was trying to talk you up today. They never bother you after that.

Older bf!Sukuna who just can’t help but puff his chest bigger and stand to his full towering height when you run into one of your loser exes. Quirking up a brow n’ going, “Oh? Was this the wimp that couldn’t even get you wet, girl?”

Older bf!Sukuna who blushes whenever you tease him for being “edgy.” Seriously, all black compression shirts, all black pants, black nail polish - and a frilly bow you tied around his beefy biceps as a joke; but he still kept it on for the entire day.

But don’t tease him about it unless you want him to fuck the smugness out of you real quick.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation, nsfw, mdni

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: In such a bad mood today, decided not to make them kiss.

part one. | part two. | part three. |

“When do you feel the most loved?”

That question was like a broken record in your head, repeating itself over and over. You didn’t have an answer for him when Nanami asked that during your last session. It’s been a couple weeks since you had cried into that man’s chest, and you two had put in a lot of work into helping you set boundaries and stand up for yourself.

Now, it’s time for the really hard part which requires a lot of self-reflection into why you are the way that you are. Nanami’s last question had painted itself with glue and stuck itself to your brain, and you needed to begin your journey to find the answer.

As you step into your home, silence greets you. The house is still and exactly as you left it this morning when you went to work. A sigh escapes your lips as you can feel a list of chores being cultivated in your mind.

Mrow. A solid fluffy being presses itself against your leg, rubbing against you. At least someone’s happy with your arrival.

“Hey Tux,” you greet your little tuxedo cat, reaching down to pat him on the head. A quick glance to the food bowl shows you why he’s being so agreeable for loving. Your husband didn’t feed him. Typical.

You put your things down on the kitchen counter before you feed your needy kitty. He quickly loses interest in you once he hears the sound of food hitting his bowl.

That’s when you notice this house isn’t as you left it this morning. New dishes are in the sink… waiting for you to clean them. Clothes are on the floor next to the hamper… waiting for you to pick them up. The trash was somehow overfilled… waiting for you to take it out.

You rake your fingers through your hair, internally cursing. “Babe!” your husband calls out, managing to hear you over the game sound in his headset. “I’m ready for supper whenever you feel like cooking.”

No greeting. No asking how your day was. He was simply acknowledging your existence because he was hungry — like Tux, except Tux was at least decent enough to show any sort of affection while asking for what he wanted.

The answer to Nanami’s question still remains unanswered in your mind, but it’s stark clear to you now. You don’t feel loved. You’re not appreciated. In this house, you’re the maid who sometimes sleeps with the head of house.

*** *** ***

Pure unadulterated euphoria courses through his veins. A choked off gasp followed by a deep growl rumbles from his chest. "That's it..." Nanami absentmindedly pants. His head tilts back, revealing his adam's apple and five o'clock shadow.

His cock throbs in his hand, pulsing with each wave of pleasure that takes ahold of him. White streams jet out, painting his chest with spurts of cum. The image of you sitting across from him is burned into his mind.

Grabbing a few tissues from his bedside table, he meticulously cleans himself of his own cum. Before he can even get clean, the guilt sets in. He's crossed yet another boundary again today.

He knows that sometimes our minds wander while we indulge in self-pleasure, but he's never let himself fantasize about a client. He's never even accidentally thought about one while he was in the act. But you managed to sneak your way into the forefront of his imagination, and in his mind, you weren't wearing a stitch of clothing while begging for him take you and show you pleasures you never even knew were possible.

"God," he scoffs to no one in particular. He's not a man of faith. He's a man of science - of higher morals, but he was slipping into debauched territory and quickly.

He glances over at his phone, briefly considering giving Kusakabe or Higuruma a call, but he decides against it almost immediately. He didn't want to hear the harsh truth - he was in too deep. On everything ethical, he needs to step away from your case and refer you to a colleague, but he also can't stand the thought of not seeing you again.

The hour he gets with you each week has become his favorite, and when you're not in his office, you're on his mind. Against his better judgment, he grabs his phone, but he doesn't call anyone who would give him sound advice.

Kento Nanami: Good evening, I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you were doing well. Our appointment is set for this Friday at 2 o'clock. Let me know if we need to reschedule. Take care.

The text is sent before he can think better to himself. He's texted clients like this in the past, especially his younger generation of clients. Typically, they'll respond with short barely thought out replies, or they'll give him a call to chat briefly. It helps promote the therapeutic relationship.

He's definitely never felt a shot of dopamine when one replies.

Y/n: Hi Mr. Nanami, I'm having hard day. I'll make it through. Thanks for checking in. I'll be there this Friday. Wouldn't miss it. Take care.

His stomach twists from the thought of you having a hard day, and he can feel his anger burn like an inferno towards your husband. He doesn't even have to ask. He knows he's the reason why.

Kento Nanami: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything that I can do to help you?

Your body almost instantly relaxes after reading his message. It’s as if you recognize him as your safe place.

Y/n: Are you free for a quick phone call?

Your phone buzzes a couple of minutes later, and you silently step away from the kitchen out onto the back porch away from your husband. He’ll probably be to engrossed in whatever the hell he’s doing to even notice your absence.

“Hello?” You press the phone against your ear, feeling your heart flutter from nervousness. This strangely felt more intimate than a session, maybe because Nanami technically wasn’t getting paid to talk to you right now.

A low, timber voice that belonged to your counselor responds, “Hey there, is everything alright?”

You chew on your bottom lip as you think of what to say. You didn’t want to act like this was some sort of emergency because it’s not, but you did need to talk to someone after your epiphany today.

“No, no I guess not. I mean, physically I’m okay. I guess I may have hurt my own feelings.”

Nanami listens on the other end of the phone. His chest feels tight as he listens to the sound of your voice. You’re like a song stuck in his head, except he’s beginning to realize that he doesn’t want to stop listening to your melody. “Why do you say that, darling?”

The pet name slips from his tongue so naturally, as if you really are his darling. His cheeks warm from his mistake, but he makes no effort to take it back.

You wet your lips as you look out into the yard. You’re standing in the house that your husband bought for the both of you, and you’re reminded of the closing day.

It had been stressful while house hunting. Nothing had caught both of your eye. It seemed like you two were looking for the exact opposite when it came to homes.

“Well, seeing as though I’ll be making a majority of the mortgage payment, I believe I should get the most say,” your husband said, waving off the idea of an at-home office space for you to use. “We’d probably just renovate it into a kids room one day anyways.”

When you two toured this location, you hated it. The cell service was shoddy, and it was an extra half hour away from your work. However, your husband saw the old bones of the house, and the argument ended there.

Within just a week, you two had signed papers, taking out a mass amount of debt for a property you didn’t even like.

Tears fall past your cheeks before you’re recognizing that you’re crying. “I don’t feel very loved.” The words come out as a sob, and you have to muffle your mouth with your hand out of fear your husband may hear you. Would he even care?

Nanami’s eyes zero in on his keys. His jaw clenches, thinking about how easy it’d be to drive over there and whisk you away. Alas, he knows it’s not the right thing to do.

“Did something happen?” he asks, fighting his inner rage to keep his voice calm and level. He tries to remind himself that you don’t need another brooding man in your life. You need someone who listens.

“It’s more like what didn’t happen,” you murmur back into the phone, sniffling softly as your warm tears continue to fall. You groan as your face feels all sticky now. “I… I’ll talk more on Friday. I just needed to hear your voice.”

I needed to hear yours as well, he thinks to himself. Instead, he answers with, “You can call anytime you need. I’ll always be available for you.”

A soft self-deprecating laugh racks your chest. “Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Nanami.” You imagine how much you could probably pester him, using his good nature to your advantage.

Nanami’s laugh sounds like pure honey. It coats your body in a thick warmness that can’t be replicated otherwise. It makes you want to make him laugh more — to be the reason he laughs and smiles.

“I think I can handle you, darling. Please be kind to yourself. I look forward to seeing you on Friday.”

As you both say your goodbyes, Nanami realizes that he doesn’t care about what the ethics say. This feels right. You’re both taking comfort out of the relationship. What’s so wrong about that?

Taglist (50/50): @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah @aldebrana @pandabiene5115 @petrichorvzlia @stargirl-mayaa @simssssssss5 @des-todoroki @nevvynev @dysphxriaii @rjreins @sukunawhores @nanamin-chan @mullermilkshake @thelostkira @anuncalledbridge @elliehenry24 @williamafton26 @ambiguouslady42 @princesa-querida @nina-from-317 @musiclover2119 @zeunys @solemxly @v1x3en @seobinghard @sleepy-overdreamer @ryomenslvr @ilovechanyeol16 @sadbutbadxxsblog @00frenchfries00 @nanamin-chan @erenspersonalwh0re @ynackerman9499 @nina357 @sexylexy12 @mostly-sunshine @ginaluvsyou @pixeld0ll @solariaazz @fatcouchpotato @kgetou @heh123321 @itelya @whatelsecouldgowrong @nina357 @momoewn @mjsjshhd @yourgirljasmine5 @littlelambiii

[swearimnevergivingup]

choking on nanami’s fingers whilst he fucks you  (18+)

“open,” his voice is gentle yet commanding, and you instantly obey, lips parting around two thick fingers until they press down heavy on your tongue. your mouth welcomes them, running your tongue over his wedding band as he pushes deeper, brushing your throat and making you choke. the taste of salt on skin, the subtle metallic tang of gold, the heat of him invading your mouth — it’s all you can focus on as drool slips down your chin and wets the sheets below.

“wider, baby,” nanami’s knuckles brush your lips as he slides his fingers deeper, hitting the back of your throat until you gag noisily. hot tears quickly collect at your lashes, threatening to fall, but he only praises you softly, low and warm against the shell of your ear. “that’s it,” he murmurs. “what a good girl.”

you barely hear him. not when his cock pushes inside, thick and unyielding, stretching you open inch by inch. the pressure builds with every snap of his hips, knees threatening to give out under the weight of his force. the burn is sharp, dizzying, delicious all at once, and your cunt flutters helplessly around him as you struggle to adjust.

“does this feel good?” he rasps, pulling his fingers out just enough to allow you a brief reprieve before pressing them right back into your willing mouth. “not having to think? is this what my pretty wife wanted?”

“ken-to—” you moan, but it’s a broken, pitiful sound from the back of your throat as you gag around his digits. your tongue circles the ridges of his wedding band, the metal warming against the heat of your mouth. everything else fades away into white noise. all that matters is the weight of him pushing deeper into you, his hand gripping onto your hips and keeping you in place, and the low groans from his chest as he fucks you.

there’s no better proof of devotion than this, no better reminder that you’re his — with your husband’s cock inside you, his fingers in your mouth, and his name spilling wrecked and raw through your lips as you cum hard around him.

[sorreleia]

۶ৎ heian!sukuna fucking you on your wedding night — possessiveness, overstimulation, size kink, multiple orgasms, hand on throat & stomach, breeding kink, no mercy 2.7k words — m.list

The wedding feast had ended hours ago, though laughter and drunken shouts still carried faintly from the outer halls. You had been led away long before the others, veiled and silent, escorted to the private chambers prepared for the King of Curses and his new wife.

The room smelled of sandalwood and burning incense. Crimson silk draped over the futon, embroidered with symbols you didn’t dare study too closely. Offerings from the clan leaders lined the low tables—sake, charms, even a lacquered box of coins—all tokens of their submission to him.

You sat where the maidservants had placed you, still dressed in layers of bridal silk, the weight of them suffocating. The painted veil had been lifted, but the heavy kanzashi pins still dug into your scalp, reminding you with every throb of who and what you now belonged to.

The doors slid open, and Sukuna stepped inside. His robes were ceremonial, though already loosened, his collar open to reveal inked markings across his chest. His four eyes found you instantly, and despite the sharpness of his grin, he didn’t speak right away. He only looked, and it was enough to make your pulse stumble.

When he finally crossed the room, his movements were slow, deliberate, his presence swallowing the air between you. He stopped before you, gaze dragging over your silks, your painted lips, the nervous twist of your hands in your lap.

“Wife,” he murmured, voice low, almost curious. The word rolled from his tongue like he was testing it for the first time.

His hand reached down, claws careful as he tilted your chin up. Not rough—not yet. Just enough to make your breath catch. His eyes studied you, all four of them drinking in the sight of you, as if he’d been waiting all night for this.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, grin widening faintly. “What’s this? Do you think I’ll break you?”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing warm against your ear. “I won’t. Not tonight.”

His hand slid from your chin to your waist, claws deliberate against the silk, the faint scrape enough to make your skin prickle beneath the layers. He didn’t need to say much; his presence alone pressed the vow into your bones—unshakable, inevitable.

The first kiss wasn’t soft. It was a drag of his mouth over yours, demanding, heat spilling between your lips when his tongue parted them. You met him back, hesitating at first, then leaning into it when he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath.

He drew you to your feet, robes whispering around your ankles, before guiding you down to the futon in one unbroken motion. The silk peeled away under his hands, layer after layer undone with impatient strength. His eyes drank in every strip of skin that was revealed, the smirk tugging faintly at his mouth betraying nothing but satisfaction.

When his mouth closed around your breast, the sound you gave him wasn’t meek—it was startled, but it carried heat. Your hand lifted on instinct, tangling in his hair, holding him closer instead of pushing away. That pleased rumble in his chest deepened, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin before he sucked harder, intent on marking.

Your thighs squeezed together, but this time when he forced them apart, you let them fall open willingly. His hand lingered there, over the damp spot blooming through thin fabric, his claws curling just enough to tug at the barrier. His gaze flicked up to your face—expecting hesitance.

Instead, you looked back at him, eyes hooded, lips damp from his kiss. A small, sly curve formed at the corner of your mouth.

“My bride.” He let out a low laugh, sharp and hungry. Less words, more teeth—dragging the last of the silk away with little care whether it tore, baring you completely to the night air.

When the last layer of silk slipped from your body, you didn’t scramble to hide yourself. Instead, you leaned back on your elbows, chest rising and falling, letting him look—no, daring him to.

His gaze raked down, slow and deliberate, and the smirk that carved over his mouth looked like it could devour you whole.

“Pretty little thing,” he muttered, voice gravel-thick as his hand settled on your thigh, thumb dragging along the sensitive inside. “Already dripping for me.”

You tilted your chin up, a faint laugh slipping past your lips, soft but edged with heat. “Would you rather I wasn’t?”

That caught him. The amusement in his eyes sharpened into something darker, something more dangerous. In a blink, he was over you, his mouth crushing against yours, his weight pressing you into the futon.

“You’ll learn,” he growled against your lips, fingers hooking under your knee and hiking it high over his hip. “That I don’t need you smart-mouthing when I can wring every sound I want out of you.”

Your hand slid down his chest, nails grazing the hard muscle there before slipping lower. “Then prove it,” you whispered, breathless but daring, eyes locking with his.

His laugh was low, cruel and delighted, as if he’d just been given a challenge he already knew he’d win.

“Careful, wife,” he said, dragging the blunt head of his cock against your slick folds, slow enough to make your breath hitch. “You’ll regret asking me for more.”

He didn’t give you time to prepare. With one brutal snap of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt, the stretch searing, tearing a gasp from your throat. Your body arched against him, legs trembling as he held you down, one massive hand braced against your stomach just to feel how deep he filled you.

A grin carved across his face, jagged and wicked. “That’s it. Split wide open on me,” he rasped, voice rough with hunger. He pulled back only to slam into you again, harder, the futon creaking beneath the force of his thrusts.

Your nails scraped helplessly against his shoulders, your breath breaking into ragged cries, but Sukuna didn’t slow.

If anything, your helpless writhing only spurred him on—hips snapping forward in a relentless pace, his free hand locking around your throat to keep your gaze on him.

“You begged for this,” he growled, leaning close enough for his teeth to scrape your skin, “and now you’ll take every damn inch.”

The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your voice tumbling free in shuddering moans you couldn’t swallow down, your body yielding and clenching around him no matter how rough he was. Sukuna’s grin widened at the sight of you unraveling beneath him, his pace brutal, merciless—driving you higher, wringing out every sound, every twitch, every desperate arch of your back until you had nothing left to hide.

His claws dug into your thighs as he pinned them open wider, forcing you to take every relentless thrust.

The sting only made your walls flutter tighter around him, and he laughed, low and guttural, as if savoring the way your body betrayed you. Sweat slicked down your skin, sticking to the silks beneath you, your hands fisting the sheets like you could anchor yourself against the storm he was tearing through your body.

“Good,” Sukuna rumbled, voice thick with cruel satisfaction as your legs shook. “Break for me. Ruin yourself on my cock.” He snapped his hips harder, brutal pace never faltering, every drag of his length pulling ragged moans from your throat until they blurred into helpless cries.

Your body gave and gave, trembling under his weight, yet he offered no reprieve. Not when he could watch you shatter again and again, every orgasm dragged from you like a confession you could no longer hold back. The more you begged with your trembling body, the more his grin carved wicked across his face, determined to wring you dry until there was nothing left but your ruined voice and the ache of his name on your tongue.

His thrusts only grew rougher, the bruising pace rattling through the bedframe as he caged you beneath his weight. You were gone, every thought splintered into the dizzying haze of overstimulation, tears streaking hot down your temples.

Your body arched and bucked against him, but there was no escape—Sukuna kept you exactly where he wanted, his claws biting into your hips as though daring you to try.

Your walls fluttered violently, dragging another broken sob from your lips as another orgasm ripped through you, leaving your body trembling and weak.

Still, he didn’t slow. Didn’t stop.

Sukuna reveled in it—the wrecked, breathless state you were reduced to, the way you clenched around him like you were begging even when your voice failed you.

“Pathetic,” he snarled, though his grin was carved wide and sharp, eyes burning with hunger. “Falling apart this easy. And you thought you could handle me?”

He pressed forward, bending you nearly in half, driving so deep you saw stars. The brutal pace stuttered only at the last second, his growl reverberating against your skin as he buried himself to the hilt. Heat spilled inside you in thick waves, Sukuna holding you down through every twitch of his cock, as if determined to brand you from the inside out.

Even then, he didn’t let go.

His palm pressed firm against your stomach, feeling the outline of himself inside you, while his other hand gripped your throat—possessive, unyielding. He stayed there, buried deep, chest heaving with ragged breaths as his grin softened into something darker, hungrier.

You were ruined, trembling, a slick mess beneath him, yet Sukuna only tilted his head, watching you with hooded eyes.

“Not enough,” he rasped, hips rolling shallowly, grinding against your swollen walls just to make you flinch.

“I’ll keep you like this all night.”

Requested by anon!

[gojodickbig]

+18. arguing with sukuna during sex.

you were already pissed before sukuna even pushed you down on the mattress. it started stupid, like it always did—him leaving his shit everywhere, the kind of careless little habits that stacked up in your chest until you snapped. his boots were right in the middle of the living room where you’d tripped over them twice, jacket balled on the couch, wrappers on the counter like the trash was a mile away.

you’d asked him to clean it up three times but he just lit a cigarette and muttered something about you being “naggy,” and walked away.

so when he crowded you against the bed, heavy frame pressing you down like you weighed nothing, the first words out of your mouth were sharp as glass.

“you never listen to me.”

he rolled his eyes and that made your blood almost boil. “stop bitchin’. jesus christ, you’re always complaining about something,” his voice was low and dismissive.

“don’t dismiss me like that!” you shoved at him, palms flat against his chest, but he barely budged. his tattoos shifting over his chest as he leaned down.

“what? you mad over some boots on the floor?” his head tilted like he couldn’t believe you were serious. “that’s the big fight?”

“it’s not just that!” your throat burned, eyes stinging from more than just anger. “you never take me seriously. ever. i say something and it’s like talking to a wall.”

“oh, here we go again.” he just smirked, his weight pressing heavier between your thighs. “y’know, i think you’re more sexy when you open your mouth for moaning and nothin’ else.”

you opened your mouth to curse him out, but his cock was already pressing against your entrance, sliding slow over how wet you already were and you hated yourself for it.

“ryo—don’t touch me when i’m talking, you bastard!” you hissed, even though your hips twitched at his drag.

“y’know what? forget what i said, you sound real fuckin’ cute when you’re mad.” and with one hard thrust, he buried himself inside you, the breath rushed out of your lungs in a broken cry.

your legs jerked up, curling around his waist without you meaning to.

“what?” he mocked, pulling back just to slam forward again, the sound of your bodies smacking together sharp in the quiet room. “you gonna break up with me over dirty laundry, princess?”

“yeah.” you clung to his shoulders, nails already biting. “maybe i will.”

his grin dropped. he grabbed your chin in his tattooed hand, forcing your eyes open as his hips worked deep and steady. “yeah? and this what a breakup looks like? you cryin’ on my dick, takin’ every inch while you whine?”

“fuck you—”

“already doin’ that, baby.” he rocked into you harder, the head of his cock dragging against the spot that made your back arch. “say it again. tell me you’re leavin’ me. lemme hear it while i’m balls-deep inside you.”

your lip trembled from the burn of pleasure coiling tight in your gut. “see?! you don’t take me serious—” you whispered, voice breaking over the moan you couldn’t swallow.

“nah,” he leaned close, mouth brushing your cheek, his voice was rough. “i think i take this pussy very seriously. every time i’m inside, you forget whatever dumb shit you were yellin’ about.”

“you’re such an asshole,” you gasped, nails dragging angry red lines down his back.

“and you’re still spreadin’ your legs for me.” his thumb pressed hard against your clit, circling rough, making your thighs jolt. “tell me i’m lying.”

“s’kuna—”

“tell me i’m lying, baby, c’mon,” his tone snapped sharp, demanding and his hips hammered down faster. “tell me you aren’t enjoying being fucked dumb on my cock.”

you broke, voice spilling high and raw. “die.”

“yeahhhh, keep talking like that, i’m close.” his grin was feral, his forehead pressing to yours. “c’mon, baby, say it. say you fuckin’ love this cock too much to leave.”

your eyes blurred, frustration mixing with tears. “i hate you.”

“you hate how much you need me.” his pace turned brutal, pelvis grinding against your clit every time he bottomed out. “hate how your pussy grabs me like it’s beggin’ me to stay. feel that? you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.”

you moaned, biting down hard on his shoulder, clinging despite yourself. your body betrayed every word

“you don’t fucking listen, ever,” you panted again, voice trembling as your thighs shook.

“i’m listenin’ now.” his voice was a low growl, breath hot and ragged in your ear. “and all i hear is your pretty cunt cryin’ my name and beggin’ for more. that’s the only talk that matters right now.”

“that’s not—fuck—” your head tipped back as he slammed deeper, the bed frame groaning under the force.

“not what? not fair?” his laugh was harsh, cruel, teeth flashing as he looked down at you wrecked under him. “life’s not fair, sweetheart. and you? you ain’t leavin’ me. not when you cum this hard on my cock.”

his hand left your chin, wrapping around your throat just enough to hold you still and to make your eyes flutter open and lock with his.

“look at me when you say it. tell me you’re breakin’ up with me.” his hips snapped harder, rougher, driving every word into you. “say it while i’m stretchin’ this pussy out.”

your body shivered, pleasure tearing at the edges of your anger. “i—i hate you,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“then fuckin’ hate me.” he fucked into you faster, every thrust a punishment, his thumb pressing even more harder on your clit. “hate me while i’m deep inside, makin’ you cum like no one else ever will.”

your moans pitched higher.

then he saw it, he felt it and his grin turned sharp as a knife. “that’s it. break on me. show me how bad you wanna ‘break up.’ cum on this dick like the needy little slut you are.”

your body gave out, the orgasm crashing hard, clenching him so tight he cursed.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—” you sobbed, nails clawing his back bloody as your thighs shook.

“good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, thrusting through your release, sweat dripping from his temple onto your skin. “goddamn, you feel too fuckin’ good. gonna fill you up, make sure you remember who the fuck you belong to.”

the words slipped out weak while you were still trembling, “i hate you—”

he laughed before spilling hot thick cum inside you, hips jerking as he pumped you full. “yeah, keep sayin’ that while you’re stuffed with my cum.” he kissed the side of your jaw, his breath heavy. “we both know you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

he collapsed onto the bed next to you then, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his neck, cock still soft inside you. he rolled onto his side and nudged you gently with his shoulder.

“oi, look at me,” sukuna murmured, his voice softer now.

you turned your head away, pressing your face into the pillow. “no. i hate you,” you muttered, trying to hold onto your anger.

he chuckled, brushing a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “i love you too.”

“shut up,” you snapped, nuzzling further into the sheets. “no. i hate you. you’re awful.”

he laughed, leaning over to press a kiss at the curve of your neck. “stop hating me for two seconds, yeah? you’re shaking.”

“i’m not—” your denial was weak, trembling slightly against him. you huffed, staying stubborn, even though your body still buzzed from the aftershocks. “i’m fine. really. stop talking.”

he leaned closer, slipping his hands under your shoulders to turn your head toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. then he kissed you.

you sighed, pressing against him, finally letting a little of the tension slip away. “i still hate you,” you mumbled again.

“mh,” he murmured, pulling you close. “bet you do.”