you trudge in through the hallway, kicking off your heels after a night out. as the designated driver you hadn’t drunk at all leaving your exhaustion un-numbed by any hypnotic.
turning around mindlessly you crash into a wall.
the wall being well your boyfriend’s pecs. tattooed arms wrap around you, his chin coming to rest on your head.
“took you long enough” sukuna grumbles rubbing your side.
you lift your shoulders, shrugging “girls night”. you thought that to be self-explanatory. moving away from his arms you walk towards your room followed by sukuna’s sulky presence.
“kept me waiting all damn night” he huffs sounding almost whiny. almost.
you start to take off your earrings slowly slotting them aside as sukuna watches highly impatient, you pull your hair out of your bun and take your bag off your shoulder.
then you take things out of your bag, lipgloss, lip-liner, digi-cam and your phone putting it on charge. again, although his jaw ticks sukuna lets you take your time, knowing how important it was for you to put everything away properly.
his patience is cut short when you start to meticulously comb out and oil your hair.
seriously? did every damn thing need to happen now? he wondered.
you take off your makeup dutifully double cleansing for good measure and finally finally you decide to change into something comfy.
sukuna eagerly watches you take off your dress, bra slinging right off, and panties discarded.
oh sweet sweet reward.
you pull one of his shirts on, ready for bed.
“that took all fucking day” he throws you over his shoulder carrying you to bed.
landing softly on the mattress you rise up on your knees pulling him down by his collar and give him a quick peck.
Sukuna turned out to be a lot less brave when you dragged him into a lingerie store.
✦. cw : fluff
The initiative was yours. Entirely and completely.
Because if you’d left it up to Sukuna, the whole “updating your wardrobe” process would’ve come down to one single thing: he would’ve just yanked off whatever you were wearing with his teeth, shredded it to pieces, and then licked his lips in satisfaction while staring at your outraged face.
“You said it was old and you were sick of it,” he would’ve sneered. “So I helped.”
But today is different. Today, you’re the one leading him into the store.
You feel how his hand, usually holding yours with lazy ease but still firm, suddenly tightens when the glass doors of the boutique slide open with a soft hiss, letting out a wave of air-conditioned coolness laced with the sickly sweet scent of vanilla and jasmine.
Sukuna stops dead at the entrance.
His gaze, heavy and oppressive, slowly drifts across the space as he tries to process what exactly he’s looking at.
Lace. Silk. Satin.
Bras in every color and cut, displayed on mannequins with perfect bodies, hanging in neat rows on racks, and stacked enticingly on the shelves.
Panties, thongs, boyshorts, briefs, tangas, tiny, almost weightless scraps of fabric that honestly don’t even look like enough material to make one proper piece of clothing...
Sukuna looks like he’s just been forced into an enemy lair packed with traps.
You bite back a smile.
“Welcome! Looking for anything special?” an overly cheerful sales associate immediately swoops in on the two of you.
“Thanks, we’re just looking for now,” you answer for both of you, already feeling Sukuna turning into a statue behind your back.
He, a broad-shouldered man towering a good two heads above you, the kind of man who makes some people’s knees buckle just from one glance, is now very noticeably hunching his shoulders, trying to make himself look smaller.
Sukuna ducks his head further into his shoulders when you tug him along into the maze of racks. His eyes dart around too fast, too nervously, like he’s terrified someone might catch him looking at a red lace set.
When you let go of his hand to step over to a display of pieces that caught your eye the moment you walked in, he visibly glitches. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him stare at his suddenly empty hand for a couple of seconds before sharply shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. Then the other one into the other pocket.
His shoulders rise even higher, and now Sukuna is just standing in the middle of the aisle, dark and brooding as a storm cloud, looking for all the world like a giant abandoned dog whose owner tied him up outside a supermarket.
“Look how cute this one is,” you mumble under your breath, running your fingers over soft pale blue satin. “Or this one, with the little beads...”
You slip a sky-blue bra off the hanger, delicate lace trimming the edges, and hold it up against yourself as you turn to face him.
“Well?”
Sukuna shifts that heavy gaze to you, looks at the little thing in your hands, then at you, and one corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. Mild confusion mixed with skepticism.
He doesn’t say a word, but you understand perfectly.
He doesn’t like it.
Without a word, Sukuna takes you by the shoulder and gently but insistently turns you around, nudging you onward toward the next rows.
“Too cute?” you mutter.
Sukuna gives you a flat look that answers everything.
“Okay, got it,” you snort, hanging the blue bra back up.
You keep moving along the racks, stopping every now and then to show him one thing, then another.
He watches a fuchsia lace set with complete indifference, while a black one with little metal rings earns the slightest flick of his brow. But when you reach the section with the most scandalous lingerie, the kind made of thin strips of fabric and strings, Sukuna stops on his own.
You pick up something that vaguely resembles a bra, two tiny triangles of sheer mesh connected by a delicate chain, and hold it against yourself.
“What about this?”
Sukuna says nothing.
He just stares at the contraption, and a look crosses his face that you’ve never seen before. His lips twist faintly, his brows drawing together. He looks from the “set” to you, then back to it again, and you can practically see the question spinning in his head about whether this is actually clothing.
“Why the hell?” is the only thing that leaves his lips.
You snort with laughter, hang the “spiderweb” back up, and drag him onward.
Eventually, you gather up a decent stack of more or less normal sets, at least by your standards, and disappear into the fitting room.
“You stay here,” you toss over your shoulder as you slip behind the heavy curtain.
A second later, you hear a muffled sound full of dark irritation and resignation:
“Tch.”
The fitting goes on as expected.
You turn in front of the mirror, checking how one set fits, then another. And when you get to the last one, black, with thin straps, you realize you got the size wrong.
The panties from the set fit perfectly, but the bra is too small.
“Sukuna!” you call, poking your head out from behind the heavy curtain, and there he is.
He’s standing with one shoulder against the wall, staring absentmindedly at his nails. The second he hears your voice, he jerks and looks at you like you’ve just saved him from dying of boredom.
The relief on his face is almost insulting.
“I grabbed the wrong size...”
You hold out the black bra to him. Sukuna takes it like it’s not a piece of women’s clothing, but a live grenade with the pin already pulled. He turns and heads straight back into the store before you even finish explaining.
He doesn’t need instructions.
He’s a grown man.
He can figure it out.
Sukuna reaches the right rack.
Stops.
Looks at the hangers where the exact same model is hanging. Looks at the tiny tags with numbers and letters. Looks at the hangers again. There’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes that he tries to crush under pure stubbornness.
Sukuna stands there for too long.
One minute. Two...
His brows knit together into a deep crease between them. He flips through the hangers, but mindlessly, just to keep his hands occupied. And that’s exactly when the sales associate catches up to him.
“Can I help you?”
Sukuna freezes. Slowly, he turns his head toward her, trying to hide the faint panic under a mask of arrogance.
“What size are you looking for?” the sales associate presses.
Sukuna says nothing.
His jaw clenches so hard the muscles in it jump.
He looks at the tag in his hand again, then at the girl, then somewhere off to the side, like he’s searching for an escape route. And then he does something so insane that if you’d seen it, your jaw would’ve hit the floor and you would’ve smacked him.
Slowly, like it physically pains him, Sukuna raises both hands in front of him. His palms, big and broad with long fingers, curl slightly like he’s holding something... like he’s trying to show her the size of your breasts.
“Like... about this size,” he says, voice low but steady.
Absurd.
The sales associate lets out a confused:
“Huh?”
Her eyes dart from his hands to his face and back again.
“You... um... maybe you should ask the girl who came in with you?”
A heavy silence settles in the air.
Sukuna drills her with a look, but inside, you know for a fact, he has already cursed the day he agreed to come here with you.
Without saying another word, he sharply turns, snatches the first bra he sees off a hanger, completely different model, by the way, and marches back with determined steps, nearly taking out a mannequin on the way.
Sukuna yanks the curtain aside and, without looking at you, shoves a black lace bra into your hands.
“Here.”
You look at him. Then at the tag. Then back at him.
Sukuna stands there staring hard at the floor, waiting.
“Honey,” you start as gently as possible. “That’s still not my size. And it’s a different model.”
His shoulders visibly drop.
He exhales in a way that sounds almost doomed, enough that you nearly feel bad for him.
“What exactly am I looking for?” he grits out through his teeth without meeting your eyes. “Tell me. I’ll remember.”
You clearly and slowly spell it out: model, color, size. He listens, and you can see his lips moving, silently repeating it to himself.
Then he nods and leaves.
A couple of minutes later, Sukuna comes back with a victorious but still slightly shell-shocked look and hands you the correct one.
“This?” There’s tension in his voice.
“This,” you smile. “Thank you.”
His gaze drops, just for a second, to where the black straps cut across your skin.
Sukuna looks away, his gaze skimming over the floor and off to the side before he mutters:
“Need help?” he asks, and it sounds almost innocent, if you didn’t know him better. “C’mere. I’ll do it,” he grumbles, and without waiting for permission, decisively parts the curtain and wedges himself into the cramped fitting room with you.
Sukuna, being Sukuna, a man who’s seen you naked, touched you, fucked you hundreds of times, of course can’t just walk away. His pride took a hit during this little trip, and now he needs to feel like he’s back on familiar territory.
The tiny fitting room gets hot instantly.
His body fills up the whole space, looming over you. In the mirror across from you, you can see his unreadable face, but his eyes...
His eyes say more than enough.
“Tighten the straps for me, please,” you ask. “A little tighter.”
Sukuna swallows, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob.
He steps closer.
His fingers settle on your waist, thumbs brushing your skin in slow, absent strokes before they drift higher, toward the clasps. He fumbles with the hooks, and the feel of his breath brushing the back of your neck sends goosebumps racing down your spine.
When the straps are finally tightened, he doesn’t take his hands away. If anything, his palms settle against your hips, his fingers curling just a little, stroking the skin where the edge of your panties meets your body.
The touch isn’t possessive. Not rough.
If anything, it’s almost careful.
Like he’s forgotten where he is for a second.
Almost… mesmerized.
“All done?”
“All done,” his voice comes out low, roughened.
You can feel his chest pressing against your back.
“Sukuna,” you breathe, already feeling heat flood your cheeks. “Out.”
You lightly jab him in the chest with your elbow. Sukuna braces himself, clearly not wanting to leave, but then he huffs something under his breath and finally slips back out behind the curtain, leaving behind nothing but a faint dizziness.
You exhale, trying to calm your racing heart.
A minute passes. Then two.
You’re already assuming he’s just standing outside waiting when suddenly the curtain jerks again. His head pokes back inside. On his face is a strange mix of pride, faint embarrassment, and some almost boyish hope.
In his hands is something that makes you stumble over your own irritation.
It’s a set in a deep wine-dark shade of silk, trimmed with the finest lace. The panties are barely more than a few interwoven strands of lace, the bra isn’t much better, and on top of that there are a couple of straps meant to wrap around your waist and thighs.
It’s an upgraded version of that set he’d stared at so skeptically in the beginning.
“This one,” he says with a nod.
Sukuna doesn’t ask what you think.
He just holds the set out to you, but you can still see the silent question in his eyes.
Well? Did I do good? Do you like it?
He picked this out himself. For you.
You have to bite the inside of your cheek not to smile.
Something warm and dangerously soft twists in your chest.
“It’s beautiful,” you say sincerely, and his face softens just a little.
Ten minutes later, the two of you are standing at the register.
The price the cashier rings up makes you internally flinch, but Sukuna doesn’t even look at the display. He silently hands over his card, radiating calm like none of this concerns him in the slightest.
He pays, takes the bag, and then reaches for your hand. This time, his grip is steady again, possessive, as he leads you toward the exit. Outside, the evening air cools the heat in your flushed face.
“I thought you liked tearing my lingerie apart,” you tease as the two of you head for the car. “You always do.”
Sukuna stops, glances down at you for a second, squinting.
“Not this time,” he says, voice low and smooth. He leans down to your ear, and his hot breath burns against your skin. “This time, I’m just gonna peel it off you nice and slow. Just like you always ask.”
Sukuna straightens like he didn’t just ruin your ability to think, smug as ever, then tugs you toward the car while your cheeks still burn...
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!)
He is often grumpy, as emotionally accessible as a rock, and he can't even stand 90% of humanity. The fact that he has a girlfriend at all should be considered a new wonder of the world.
And with you -his Girlfriend, it's not different.
You've never heard him say “I miss you,”
and of course an “I love you” is out of question.
but sometimes—just sometimes—he slips.
you slowly begin to wake up, a familiar warmth on your back, big warm hands lie lazily around your waist - suddenly you hear a soft grumble,“...mhmm... you smell... nice...” time stops Sukuna- still half asleep, buries his nose deep in your neck. You stop breathing, you don't think, what did he say, clearly you must have heard it wrong, right?!
“You like how I smell?!?” your voice shoots up—you can't believe what came out of his mouth, you're sure you must have died in your sleep and now you've woken up in heaven.
“..nope.. never said that..,” he immediately backtracks when he comes back to his senses- realizes what kind of lovey-dovey nonsense he babbled in his half-sleep.
“Oh yeah, you can't take it back now...”
“Please stop talking, you are ruining my mood” he mumbles in your hair and takes another deep breath of your scent, like a little junkie who doesn't want to admit that he has an addiction problem.
“Ohhh kunaaa... you loooove meee give me a kiss..” your voice begging for his lips. You try to wiggle your way out, but his big arms won't let you move an fucking inch, Clearly he doesn't want to see your smug grin because of what his dumbass said in a moment of weakness.
“Woman, silent now.” a large pillow lands directly in your face, trying to quiet your overly happy babbling.
“You're an ass,” you murmur into the pillow, but your grin only widens under the soft fabric.
“Yeah, and you better not forget that.”
----
Sorry, wrote this quickly on my way home.
Hope you like it anyway, love yah.
---
The candles flickered low in the quiet room, their glow catching on the sharp lines of Ryomen Sukuna’s face as he lounged against the headboard like a king tolerating courtly entertainment.
You knelt in front of him with a small basket of skincare products, trying very hard not to look intimidated.
“Explain again,” Sukuna drawled, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “Why I am allowing you to smear strange potions on my face.”
You held up the bottle defensively. “Because even the King of Curses deserves glowing skin.”
He scoffed. “My skin is flawless.”
“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, already pumping cleanser onto your fingers. “Close your eyes.” For a moment, you thought he might refuse out of pure spite. Instead, after a dramatic sigh, he obeyed. “If this displeases me, I will—”
“Yeah, yeah. World-ending consequences,” you said lightly, gently pressing your fingers to his cheeks.
His skin was warm beneath your touch. You expected him to flinch, but he stayed perfectly still, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you worked in slow, careful circles.
“You’re being surprisingly cooperative,” you teased.
“Do not mistake tolerance for weakness,” he replied, though his voice had softened a fraction.
You rinsed the cleanser away with a warm cloth, patting his face dry. He didn’t stop you when you brushed your thumb lightly over one of his markings. “Does this bother you?” you asked quietly.
His gaze sharpened. “No.”
“Good.” You smiled and reached for a face mask. “This one’s hydrating.”
“You are fortunate I find your fussing amusing.”
“Admit it,” you said, smoothing the mask over his cheeks. “You like being taken care of.”
A pause.
“…Continue.” You bit back a grin.
When the mask was set, you sat back on your heels. Sukuna opened one eye, inspecting you instead of the product. “You look pleased,” he observed.
“I am. You’re trusting me.”
He clicked his tongue. “I trust no one.”
But he didn’t move away when you leaned closer, resting your forehead lightly against his. The faint scent of the mask mixed with the warmth of him. Minutes later, you wiped it off carefully and finished with a light moisturizer, tapping it into his skin.
“There,” you said proudly. “Radiant.”
Sukuna reached up, catching your wrist before you could pull away. His thumb brushed your knuckles, almost thoughtful.
“If anyone else attempted this,” he murmured, pulling you closer, “they would not survive.”
You smiled softly. “Good thing I’m not anyone else.”
A faint smirk curved his lips as he drew you into his side, letting you stay there—an unspoken allowance far rarer than any throne.
“Next time,” he said quietly, “you may explain this ‘serum’.”
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 requests open & i will gladly take any suggestions/shows
dividers: tagged in my intro & mlist
a/n: my first fic guyss, opinions and criticisms are welcome (pls help me)
thinking about making bf! sukuna try boba and he gets fucking jump scared by the balls at the bottom of the drink.
'they are tapioca balls' you say, taking a sip of your own drink.
he has a weird look on his face as he chews, wondering why they stick to the roof of his mouth.
'it's meant to taste like that.' you reassure, 'it's for flavour'.
'flavour my ass' he murmurs, cautiously taking another sip. it's too sweet for him but he'll drink it. whatever you like he'll try. at least once.
but since then he's not been opposed to getting boba with you but maybe the bursting balls instead or just plainly getting strawberry milk tea because it reminds him of his childhood.
18+ bf!kuna accidentally hears you sing (about him)
sukuna steps inside your apartment. how many times did he tell you to lock the door when you were home alone? before he can call out your name, he is stopped in his tracks by the faint sound of music. huh.
slowly, he pads over to the kitchen, where the sound is coming from. he stops, suddenly breathless.
fucking hell. it's not like he's a teenager with a crush.
he is an adult with a crush, but the adult part should amount to something, right? he shouldn't feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs when he sees you, sweep in your hand, singing and dancing without a care in the world.
sugar, yes please!
won't you come and put it down one me?
you sweep to the beat, making a bigger mess than before, and swing your head wildly, your hair coming lose from your ponytail. sukuna can't help but watch, mesmerized, cause this side of you is different than the one he knew. you, who is sure music doesn't leak through your ear-buds in the library. you, who always sits in the first row at lectures, answers questions nobody else knows the answer to. you, who gets flustered when someone asks you for something.
that is not the you he knew. right now, you were unhinged, dancing like there was no tomorrow. you were screaming the lyrics from the top of your lungs, voice high-pitched. not good at all. you shake your shoulders as you put the sweep away and take something out of the oven. then you start unloading the dishwasher and setting down the table.
sukuna's heart swells with l-... liking. his eyes are still glued to your dancing form and he plans to take you in until you finally notice him. the way you dance is innocent in a way, fluid movements punctured by little breathless moves. you try to moonwalk and fail comically, but that does not stop you from shuffling sideways, dishes in your hand. you bang on them as you would on a tambourine and then you do the most unexpected thing.
you start to throw it around in a fucking perfect circle. sukuna literally feels his eyes bulge out from his head. how and why and when are his three questions. how do you know how to do that? why do you know how to do that? and when have you ever done that before? at a party? where every single creep and weirdo could ogle your perfect ass - and when he says perfect, he means it. fuck. and you're still singing, totally unaware of his turmoil. or even of the fact that he is there.
you bend down and open a drawer full of utensils. after rummaging for a few seconds, you pull out a wooden spoon, which you use as a microphone.
i just wanna be there where you are
and I gotta get one little taste
kuna, yes, please
won't you come and put it down on me?
because of the way you drag your hands over your curves, he doesn't even realize at first that you said his name. his name.
that's when his restraint finally breaks. with three steps, he closes the distance between you. he grips your hips roughly and you gasp, hands coming on his shoulders as he lifts you onto the counter.
"kuna! when did you get here?" your face is red and your lips a little bit dry. he wants to kiss them, to feel them. you open your legs on instinct and beckon him closer. he nestles comfortably between your legs, arms bracketing you on either side.
"a while ago," he says, nosing at the skin under your jaw. "did i interrupt something?" you can feel his smile against your neck.
"so you saw..."
"saw everything, babe. were you singing about me?" sukuna licks a wet stripe all the way to your mouth, then kisses you sweetly. the little menace. your face goes a pretty red, but you anchor your hands in his hair, feeling the rough strands of his fade.
"who else... mhm!" you moan as his large hand brushes over your breasts, trailing over your stomach and coming to rest heavily on the inside over your thigh. god, you were grateful you decided to wear shorts cause you get to feel his warm skin right over yours.
"should i give you... some sugar?" you can't even answer - yes, yes, please! before he drops to his knees. he licks you through the material of your shorts, tongue flat against it. your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into flesh.
sukuna looks up at you, ready to devour, one eyebrow arched. "no panties?"
"you came earlier than expected..." he hums as if the answer is of little importance to him, and strips your shorts off. without a single look or word of assurance, he dives in, tongue lapping at your already soaked folds. it's electrifying and you can't help but cry out, a short sound that stops in your throat as he grips your thigh, spreading your legs even further apart. god, you love it when he does that. should you...
unexpectedly, you clamp your legs over his head, squishing him in between your thighs. and then those big hands of his are on the meat of your thighs and he's prying them apart with ease. you whimper, pussy throbbing.
"woman, you're driving me insane, you know that?"
"ah, kuna, please..."
"alright then..." and he puts two fingers inside of you, wasting no time to curl them just the way you know gets you cross-eyed and dead-brained. your toes curl by his ears, your entire body tenses and then you feel his mouth latching on your clit and sucking and you're gone. you come with a cry, thighs spasming and nails digging into the muscles of his back as you slump forward.
"baby, so pretty."
and he's not lying. he almost came in his pants. he's painfully hard, but he doesn't say anything. he'll manage, he thinks.
"kuna, love..." you grab his chin and bring your mouth together, tasting yourself, all the while your hand is mischievously trailing lower, lower... until you feel the hem of his pants. you pull him out.
sukuna looks at you as if he didn't expect to be granted this.
"do it quick, alright? the food's getting cold."
"fuck, baby." and then he adds, almost as an afterthought, smirking. "i already ate."
a/n: 2016 is back so of course i had to use this song. also have some kuna who's not ready yet to admit that he is in love.
Bf!Sukuna makes you cum after you argue with him!!!
tags: smut, fingering, hatefuck (kinda), angry sukuna, you love making him mad, fem reader
Let's be honest. You love irritating Sukuna. The way he raises his voice at you with that stern expression isn't especially delightful, but the attention is. You just couldn't help but love it.... the tension, the attention. It was all just delectable <3
However, it's just been too long since the two of you had a really good fight. You ponder, rolling over on your mattress. What will make him completely lose it? You could 'accidentally' break something, but no, that's so cliché. Maybe leave your dirty dishes on the table? Well, even that ploy is embarrassingly overused....
Frustrated, you decide to get up and wash some laundry until an absolutely legendary idea strikes you.
There it is!!! His favorite black robe, lying over the dryer. Sukuna wears this thing like a second skin--he'd be devasted if something happened to it. A downright devilish grin spreads across your face.
Reaching for the bleach, you unscrew the cap and carefully pour the tiniest bit of liquid onto the garment--enough to anger him, but also not so much that you couldn't pass it off as a 'mistake'.
Patiently, you lie in wait in the bedroom. Soon enough, you hear the unmistakable noise of Sukuna's keys in the lock, and you feel almost giddy. Making his way to the bedroom, Sukuna greets you, then heads to the bathroom for his routine after work shower.
Listening to the gentle patter of the water, you're practically teeming with excitement. He's going to be so, so angry. Eventually, the water stops and Sukuna steps out the shower. Absentmindedly, he reaches into the small linen closet for his robe. He doesn't even notice the stain at first, but once he turns towards the mirror, he's already fucking livid.
"Woman, what have you done this time?" His voice has an uncomfortably cruel chill to it.
"Oh 'Kuna, don't be mad. I was a bit clumsy earlier today when I was doin' the laundry."
He just glares at you. So, you decide to push further.
"I did you a favor though, honestly. It's time for you to toss that tacky rag."
And just like that, he's roaring to life.
Storming towards you, his voice fills the room. "Do you find it amusing to tarnish my belongings?" His eyes are wild, and you can tell that he's had a long day.
Stepping so close to him that you can feel his breath graze your neck, you whisper, "Of course I do, baby."
In one swift motion, he's grabbed your hair and pinned you to the wall. Hastily, Sukuna pulls your tiny shorts down, along with your panties. "Unless you want me to throw you out of the house like this, you're going to behave for me. Am I clear?"
You nod greedily.
Deftly, he pushes two of his thick, rough fingers inside of your dripping cunt. "Already fuckin' wet. Whore." You mewl sweetly, clearly enjoying yourself. His fingers feel so much better when he's angry. Sukuna starts pumping his digits into you, maintaining an unsettling amount of eye contact. When his fingers brush against those sensitive nerves in the back of your pussy, your legs quiver. Taunting you, he mutters, "You like this so much, don't you? Nasty girl."
Just when you're about to hiss out a salty response, he speeds up. As if his fingers slamming inside of you weren't enough, his palm is also slapping up against your sensitive clit. Messily, you groan, "More, Sukuna, I need more--"
"My fucking bad girl wants to cum?" Eyes bleary, you eagerly shake your head yes. So, Sukuna picks up the pace to a relentless speed, all while managing to circle his thumb around your clit. Back arching against the wall, you buck your hips wildly into his fingers, just to get a little extra stimulation. And, as the sounds of his fingers plunging into you grows louder, you feel yourself growing so close.
Observing your erratic bucking, Sukuna lowers his head to your neck. Roughly, he bites and presses sloppy kisses into your skin the way he only does when you anger him. "If you don't cum right fucking now, you aren't gonna cum for a very long time."
And just like that, your orgasm hits you like a truck. Blissfully unaware of just how loud you're being, sultry moans spill from your lips while your pussy quivers around Sukuna's fingers. He hums in satisfaction, still fucking his fingers into you a bit. Coming down from your high, your hips stutter and you become acutely aware of how fatigued you are. With a sigh, your legs give way, and Sukuna scoops you up.
"Oh poor baby," he mocks. "Good thing I'm here to pick you up, huh?"
"Thank you," You whisper weakly. In the back of your mind, you wonder if Sukuna knows you do all this shit on purpose just for things to turn out this way.
He definetley does, and he likes it just as much as you do
bf!sukuna who decided to chill with he whole demon overlord thing and become your boyfriend but trust that does not mean he's any weaker, he's just... more domesticated if you will, he may have no one who rule him but he'll listen to whatever you say and obey
but it's not like anyone picks problems with him enough to get into a confrontation, who would want to fight a 7 foot demon who looks like he could break a log with his bare hands and has the muscles of a literal god (your god that is)
trust he's your personal anything, your cold? he'll be your heater you need a bodyguard for a night out with your friends? there he is you need something off the top shelf while grocery shopping? he'll do that no hesitation
(i wanna write more of this, i thing of bf!sukuna like... a really big domesticated dog iykyk)
