𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔢𝔵
frat boy sukuna x reader - 18+
synopsis - it’s sukuna’s birthday and you thought it’d be fun to gift him you as his present considering you have a flirtatious friendship. Things quickly escalate and get hot between the two of you
a/n: I’m really bad at writing smut so please ntm! I tried
You know exactly what you’re doing the moment the idea settles in your chest.
It hits while you’re walking past a store window. Mannequins dressed in lace and silk, confidence stitched into every seam. You slow without realizing it, head tilting, lips curling into a slow smile.
Sukuna’s birthday.
“Yeah,” you murmur to yourself. “That’ll work.”
The next few days are spent preparing. Shopping bags pile up at your feet as you weigh fabrics in your hands, imagining his reaction. His stare. That brief pause he gets when something actually catches him off guard. You choose carefully. Nothing accidental. Nothing rushed.
When Gojo catches you sneaking into the frat house later that week with bags tucked under your arms, he squints suspiciously.
“Why do you look like a menace right now?”
You blink innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Toji eyes the bags. “That’s a lie.”
Choso crosses his arms. “What are you planning?”
You hesitate just long enough to make it dramatic.
“It’s for Ryo.”
That does it.
Gojo’s grin spreads immediately. “Ohhh. It’s that kind of gift.”
You groan. “Don’t make it weird.”
Toji laughs. “Too late. Whatever it is, he’s gonna lose it.”
You sigh, smiling despite yourself. “I might need help setting something up.”
Gojo claps his hands together. “Say less.”
Later, you find sukuna leaning back in his chair when you spot him across the lecture hall, arms crossed, expression bored like today means nothing. You slip into the seat beside him, nudging your knee against his.
“Hey, Ryo,” you say casually. “Happy birthday.”
He looks at you, surprised for half a second before that familiar smirk settles in. “You remembered.”
“Please,” you scoff. “I’m not heartless.”
He glances at you sideways. “What, no big plans?”
You shrug. “Maybe. You?”
He snorts. “The guys are doing something. Probably loud. Probably stupid.”
You hum thoughtfully. “Well… lunch is on me.”
That gets his attention.
He leans closer, eyes narrowing playfully.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, standing and grabbing your bag. “Birthday privilege.”
Lunch is easy. Laughing. Stealing bites off each other’s plates. Brushing hands like it means nothing. He’s relaxed. Unaware.
And you are sitting on a secret so good it almost makes you giddy.
By nightfall, the frat house is unrecognizable.
Lights. Music. Bodies everywhere. Sukuna’s name shouted across rooms, drinks pressed into his hands, attention he pretends not to enjoy and very clearly does.
The house is already loud when you push through the front door. Bass rattles the floorboards. The air is thick with sweat, cheap cologne, and alcohol. Someone shouts your name from across the room and you wave automatically, scanning for a familiar face.
And there he is.
Sukuna leans against the kitchen counter like he owns it. Red cups litter the surface in front of him. He’s halfway turned toward the room, arms bare beneath a sleeveless black tee that looks designed to show off how broad he is. Tattoos curl down his biceps, disappearing beneath the fabric. When he laughs, low and rough, the sound cuts through the noise just for you.
His eyes find you.
They always do.
One brow lifts, slow and knowing. The corner of his mouth quirks up in that cocky grin he only uses on you.
You barely take two steps into the kitchen before he straightens and closes the distance, crowd parting easily around him.
He stops close enough that you can smell the beer on his breath and feel the heat of him.
“Took you long enough,” he says. “Thought you ditched.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s your party. I figured you’d be too busy being a menace to notice.”
His gaze drags over you, slow and unapologetic. When his eyes meet yours again, something sharp and warm flickers there.
“Please,” he murmurs. “I always notice you.”
Your stomach flips. Annoying. Dangerous. Familiar.
You’ve known Sukuna since freshman year. Study groups that turned into late nights. Late nights that turned into this. Not dating.
Not hooking up. Just tension. Constant, crackling tension that never quite snaps.
He presses a red cup into your hand without asking, fingers brushing yours deliberately.
“Drink,” he says. “You’re too sober.”
You arch a brow. “Bossy.”
His grin widens. “You like it.”
You hate that he’s right.
You drink slowly, eyes never leaving his over the rim. He notices. Of course he does.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “You keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna get ideas.”
You lean closer, shoulder brushing his chest. “It’s your birthday. You’re allowed ideas.”
He laughs under his breath. “You’re a menace.”
“And yet,” you say sweetly, “you won’t move away.”
He doesn’t.
The music grows heavier, bass thudding through your ribs. Someone bumps into you and Sukuna’s hand finds your waist instantly, firm and familiar.
“Easy,” he mutters.
You glance down at his hand, then back up at him. “You guarding me now?”
His thumb presses in. Subtle. Possessive. “Someone has to.”
Gojo appears, already half-drunk. “There you are!” He slings an arm around Sukuna’s shoulders. “Birthday boy. You vanish and everyone’s asking where you went.”
Sukuna barely looks at him. His eyes stay on you. “Was busy.”
Gojo follows his gaze and grins. “Ah. Yeah. That tracks.”
The crowd pulls you toward the living room. The music’s louder here, bodies packed tight. You end up near the center of it without really meaning to. Or maybe you do.
You move with the beat, loose and confident. You feel eyes on you. Not just Sukuna’s.
He notices immediately.
When someone spins you playfully before drifting away, Sukuna’s jaw tightens. He steps closer.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself?” he points out.
You tilt your head. “Am I not allowed to?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replies. “Just noticing.”
You smile. “Good.”
The lights dim. The music slows. This time, he doesn’t ask. He pulls you in by the wrist, bodies fitting together easily.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he murmurs near your ear.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you don’t know exactly what you look like right now.”
You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “And what do I look like?”
His eyes drop to your mouth. “Like trouble.”
You grin. “That’s what I was going for.”
Later, you collapse onto the couch together. His arm drapes along the backrest behind you. You lean into it.
“You’re being suspiciously well-behaved,” he says.
You glance at him. “Is that a complaint?”
“Just means you’re planning something.”
You lean closer. “Good thing I’m not lying.”
His fingers hook lightly at your waist.
“Come upstairs,” you whispered in his ear.
His brow lifts. “Yeah?”
You step closer, lips near his ear. “I have a present for you.”
That does it.
His mouth curves into a lazy grin, eyes darkening with interest. “I like the sound of that.”
You don’t give him time to say anything else. You take his hand and lead him through the crowd, past shouted greetings and curious looks. He follows easily, like he trusts you, like he’s already decided whatever this is will be worth it.
Upstairs is quieter. The bass dulls into a distant thrum as you pull him into his room and shut the door behind you.
You turn on him before he can speak and push him back onto the bed. Not rough. Just confident.
He blinks, surprised, then laughs softly as he sits back on the mattress, hands braced behind him.
“Well,” he says. “Didn’t expect that.”
“Sit,” you tell him.
His smile widens. He doesn’t move.
“You’re enjoying this,” he says.
You step back, letting the distance stretch. Letting him look.
“Maybe,” you reply.
The room is dim, soft light catching on his tattoos as his gaze tracks every movement you make. You hook your fingers into the hem of your top.
“This is for you,” you say quietly.
You lift it slowly, watching his reaction as much as his eyes follow the fabric. When it comes off, his breath visibly changes. Sharp inhale. Slow exhale.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.
Then, softly, “You did this on purpose.”
You nod.
His eyes drag over you, unhurried, like he’s taking his time on purpose. “You look…” He stops, jaw tightening. “Fucking hot.”
You smile despite the heat in your cheeks. “Happy birthday.”
He pushes up onto his elbows, gaze never leaving you. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”
You step closer, standing between his knees. His hands hover, not touching yet, like he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.
You don’t.
You rest your hands on his shoulders instead, leaning in just enough that your breath mixes.
“I wanted to surprise you,” you murmur.
“You did,” he says immediately.
His hands finally settle on your waist. Warm. Steady. Possessive without squeezing.
“This feels dangerous,” he adds, quieter now.
Your heart thumps. “Do you want me to stop?”
He shakes his head. “No. I want you to keep going.”
The admission hangs between you, heavy with everything neither of you will say out loud.
You lean down and kiss him.
Slow. Deliberate. Just enough to promise more.
When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes half-lidded.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
You smile. “You like trouble.”
A soft laugh leaves him. “Yeah,” he admits. “I really do.”
His hands roam, confident and rough, gripping your waist, your thighs, lifting you just enough that you squeak in surprise.
He grins against your mouth, then kisses you again rough this time. When he pulls back, his expression darkens
“On your knees,” he says demandingly.
“Only if you want.”
Your heart pounds.
You sink down without breaking eye contact.
Sukuna exhales slowly, eyes darkening. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Good.”
He threads his fingers through your hair not pulling yet, just holding.
“You’re doing great already,” he adds, voice low and approving. “Such a good slut”
The praise hits like fire, curling in your stomach like a promise
You smile.
“Careful,” you murmur, eyes lifting lazily to his. “You sound like you’re enjoying this.”
Sukuna huffs out a quiet laugh, grip tightening just a little in your hair. “Oh, I am.”
His thumb slides under your chin, tipping your face up. “Just checking you’re still with me.”
You lean into his touch on purpose. “Very much.”
His gaze darkens instantly.
“Good,” he says. “Then don’t rush.”
You don’t.
Your hands trail up his thighs slowly, deliberately, feeling the muscle shift beneath your palms. He watches you like he’s cataloguing every move, jaw tight, eyes burning. When you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach, his breath stutters despite himself.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re doing this to torture me.”
You glance up, lashes lowered. “It’s my gift. I get to enjoy it too.”
That earns you a dangerous grin
“Cocky,” he says approvingly. “I like it.”
You take your time, kisses slow and teasing, letting the tension coil tighter. His fingers flex in your hair, still not guiding, just there, reminding you exactly who you’re playing with.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “All confident tonight. You been planning this?”
“Maybe,” you say sweetly. “Think it’s working?”
His head tips back against the wall with a low groan. “Yeah. Too well.”
When his hand finally tightens just enough to send a spark straight through you feel it everywhere. Not pain. Control. Heat.
“You still good?” he asks, quieter, because for all his mouth, he means it.
You nod. “Don’t stop.”
That’s permission.
His composure fractures just a bit then. His breath goes uneven, hips shifting as he mutters your name under his breath, like it slips out before he can catch it.
“I’ve wanted this,” he admits, low and rough. “You have no idea.”
You pause just long enough to look up at him, smug. “I had an idea.”
A laugh escapes him short, breathless. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course you did.”
His hands slide down your arms, firm and appreciative, thumbs brushing bare skin. “You’re dangerous,” he adds. “Coming in here like this on my birthday.”
You smile. “You love dangerous.”
“Unfortunately,” he says, eyes dragging over you, “I really do.”
A sharp laugh leaves him as you sink down in front of him, gaze never leaving his. His breath catches—not because he’s surprised, but because he’s trying not to show how much he wants this.
“Fuck,” he mutters, one hand finding your hair automatically. Not pulling yet. Waiting.
You tilt your head just enough to look up at him, smug. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
That does it.
His grip tightens, guiding instead of forcing, breath turning uneven as the tension finally snaps. He tips his head back, teeth sinking into his lip like he’s holding himself together by will alone.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just like that.”
But it doesn’t last long.
“Hey—” you start, pulling back just a bit when you feel him move.
In one smooth motion, he’s got you flipped beneath him, the mattress dipping as his weight settles carefully between your legs. He looks down at you, eyes dark and intent, hands braced on either side of your head.
“No,” he says, decisive. “My turn.”
You blink, surprised—and warm in a way that has nothing to do with the room. “Kuna, I’m supposed to be—”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to your stomach, then lower, voice muffled but amused. “For my birthday,” he says calmly, “I wanna get you off.”
Heat floods your face. “That’s not how gifts work.”
He chuckles softly. “It is today.”
he creeps up to your neck, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses on it as your hands flys in his salmon hair, tugging hard.
Everything else was a blur.
"kunaaa.." you whine, a mischievous grin appears on his face as his mind goes slightly fuzzy from the nickname but he pays no mind to that.
"ngh–shit, keep moaning f'me."
your legs are locked around his waist, nails dragging down his back with each nasty thrust. his balls smack against your ass
he has you in the nasiest mating press, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues to pound into you roughly until your damn near screaming out from his cock is kissing your cervix. "kuna, m'so close! please don't stop pleasepleaseplease" useless rambles escape your mouth, his free hand finds your clit, rubbing tight circles on it
"cum f'me, give it to me babe”
clear liquid gushes out of you, coating his cock and stomach before drenching the sheets below you. You’re shaking from the shock but sukuna continues pounding you, your pussy giving one tight squeeze and he's burrying himself to the hilt as he cums in you.
"fuuuck, got my cum in this sweet pussy." he smiles before pulling out slowly, giving your clit a smack and grinning when you whine.
You guys both lay still to catch your breath before sukuna gets up. You’re so tired you don’t bother to get to see what he’s doing. After a few minutes, he comes back with a warm damp rag to clean you up with.
“See?” he murmurs, pulling you back against his chest, smug satisfaction in every syllable. “Worth it.”
You shove at his shoulder weakly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re smiling,” he shoots back.
Later he’s cuddling up to you, tucking you in his neck as you both drift to sleep
Eventually, the room goes quiet. The party downstairs fades into nothing. As he’s cuddling up to you and you’re tucked in his neck both of you drifting to sleep.
Morning comes gently.
Sunlight spills through the curtains, catching on bare skin and rumpled sheets. You wake wrapped around each other, his arm heavy over your waist, your face tucked against his chest like it belongs there.
The door creaks open.
You barely have time to register it before
“Oh my god.”
You groan. Sukuna doesn’t even flinch.
Gojo stands there, phone already up. Click.
“Absolutely not,” you mutter, burying your
face.
“This is gold,” Gojo says, delighted. “You two look disgustingly domestic.”
“Get out,” Sukuna says flatly.
“Too late,” Gojo replies, already backing away.
“The group chat’s gonna love this.”
The door shuts. Footsteps retreat downstairs.
Sukuna snorts. “Worth it.”
You laugh despite yourself, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “You’re never living this down.”
He shrugs, tightening his arm around you. “Could be worse.”
You glance up at him. “How?”
He smirks. “Could’ve missed out on my best birthday ever.”
You shove him again but you don’t move away.
(nanami fic coming soon!!)
