SUKUNA HAD you currently on your hands and knees, his hands holding firmly onto your waist, red marks forming under his fingertips. His hips smacked against your ass with each of his deep thrusts. Your whole body jerking forward each time.
Tears rolls down your face, not because it hurt but because it felt so good. You had always been a little shy in bed with Sukuna but tonight was different, you had been so desperate for him all day you couldn’t hide how much you needed him.
“Harder..” you whined, he slaps your ass hard, leaving a red mark blooming on your skin. “Yeah? You want to be fucked like a slut?” You could only moan in response.
He grabs a handful of your hair, tugging your head back, you back arching further. “What’s the magic word?” He taunted with a smug smirk on his face, but he had never expected his innocent girl to be begging to be fucked harder.
“P-please.” You choked out and he harshly lets go of your hair only to push your face into the pillows to hit at a deeper angle. He pulled his cock out almost all the way, till only the tip was in before slamming back into you. A broken moan escaping your lips, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, your tears staining the pillows.
“You like that, hm?” His cock hitting your cervix over and over again, hitting the perfect spots deep inside you. “Fuck, yes..” you moan out. A grin spreading across his face, he loved seeing this side of you that he had never experienced before.
He grabs your throat, pulling your head back up, squeezing it tight enough for you to feel it. Your breaths coming out uneven. “Such a fucking whore.”
His words make your walls flutter around his cock, feeling yourself get closer, and he felt it too. “You close?” He slows down his thrust purposely, pausing your upcoming orgasm. You whimper from the sudden slow movements, desperate to finish.
You try move back on him but his hand moves off your throat and to your ass, spanking it again as a warning, the slap echoing through the room. “Beg for it, doll.”
“Please,” you say desperately, tears falling down your face, his thrust slowly picking up the pace. “Please what?” He slaps your ass once again, harder than last time.
“Please.. please fuck me.” You sob out, a satisfied smirk tugging on his lips. His hand runs over your ass where he slapped it, soothing it over. “Good girl, that wasn’t so hard, hm?”
He returns back to pounding deep into you but not slowing down this time as your orgasm builds back up. Your breaths ragged as your body trembled, your walls clamping down around his cock making him curse under his breath.
His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing it quickly, dragging out your orgasm. Pleasure rushing through your body, a moan teared from your throat as the feeling of his cock pounding deep inside you and with his fingers on your clit at the same time your body was overwhelmed with pleasure.
The thrust soon become erratic as his own orgasm creeps up on him, his grip on your hips painful as he buried himself deep inside you, filling you up with his release, a deep groan slips past his lips.
He keeps his cock inside you as it starts to soften before eventually pulling out, your body collapsing against the bed. He chuckles lowly, patting your ass. “Didn’t think you could be such a slut.”
For Sukuna, it’s clearly his favorite time of the year.
He’s sitting on the small bench in the fitting room, legs spread wide, arms crossed over his broad chest. His red eyes follow your every movement with an almost animalistic intensity.
The cabin is narrow, the air already thick with tension. He insisted on coming in with you “so no one sees you when you open the door.” In reality, he simply refuses to let anyone else lay eyes on you in these outfits.
You turn slowly in front of the mirror, wearing the first pink bikini he picked out. The top is a tiny triangle that barely contains your breasts, and the bottom is a thong.
You shift slightly, making a little movement to test how the bra sits, then flash him a smile over your shoulder while arching your back to show off your pretty ass.
“Do you like this one, Kuna?”
Sukuna lets out a low, deep growl, jaw clenched. His cock hardens instantly in his pants, straining painfully against the fabric. He hates the idea of other men seeing you like this, but fuck, he loves seeing you wear it for him.
“Yeah… a lot, baby,” he replies in a low, rough voice, trying to keep his tone neutral. His red eyes slowly drag over your curves, lingering on your barely covered ass.
You laugh softly, a light, teasing sound, then start removing the pink bikini. Sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off you for even a second.
You slip into the second one: a bright orange-yellow bikini. It’s pretty much the same as the pink one, except the bottom is a string thong that leaves most of your ass exposed. The vivid color contrasts beautifully with your skin.
You turn to face the mirror, adjust the top slightly so your breasts sit properly, then slowly pivot to show him the result.
Sukuna stays silent for a few seconds. He just watches you, pupils dilated, breathing a little heavier. His cock is now fully hard, forming a very obvious bulge in his pants.
You make a small movement, arching your back to push your ass out, and throw him a playful look over your shoulder.
“What about this one?”
He stands up slowly, towering and imposing, and steps right behind you. His broad chest brushes against your bare back. One of his large hands slides onto your hip, the other goes straight to your ass, firmly grabbing the soft, round flesh.
“This one…” he growls against your ear, voice deep and thick with desire, “…makes me want to fuck you right here in this fitting room.”
His fingers slip under the thin string of the orange thong, tugging on it lightly before letting it snap softly against your skin.
“You know I hate the idea of anyone else seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nibbling on your earlobe. “But fuck… you look so beautiful. So mine.”
He presses his hard erection against your ass, making you feel just how affected he is. His free hand moves up to your breast, kneading it through the thin fabric of the top.
“Turn around,” he orders softly.
You obey. The moment you face him, he pins you against the cold mirror of the cabin. His lips crash onto yours in a possessive, hungry kiss. His tongue invades your mouth while his hands slide down to your ass, gripping and spreading your cheeks slightly.
He breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips:
“Take it off. Right now.”
You smile, breathing hard.
“Here?”
“Yes. Here.”
His fingers are already sliding under the strings of the orange bikini, tugging at them impatiently.
“I want to see you naked. And then… I’m going to fuck you against this mirror so you remember who this body belongs to.”
He doesn’t even give you time to do it himself. His impatient fingers yank sharply on the strings of the orange bikini. The knot comes undone easily and the tiny piece of fabric falls to your feet, leaving you completely naked in front of him in the narrow cabin.
He takes a step back, red eyes burning, and shamelessly looks you up and down. His thick cock strains obscenely against his pants. “Fuck… look at you,” he growls, voice rough. “Naked just for me.”
He steps close again, pressing you against the cold mirror. The contrast between the icy glass on your back and the heat of his body against your front makes you shiver.
His large hands grab your ass, spreading your cheeks, and he presses his erection against your bare pussy.
“You feel how hard I am?” he murmurs against your mouth before kissing you fiercely. His tongue claims yours as he slowly grinds his thick cock against your soaked folds, spreading your arousal over the fabric of his pants.
You moan into his mouth, hands gripping his broad shoulders. He’s so big, so dominant in this tiny space.
Sukuna breaks the kiss, panting, and slides a hand between your bodies. Two thick fingers slip between your lips, stroking you slowly before pushing deep inside you.
“Already so wet…” he growls with satisfaction. “You get this soaked just from me staring at you in that bikini?”
His fingers fuck you slowly and deeply, curling to rub your G-spot with every thrust. His thumb finds your swollen clit and starts circling it fast.
You arch your back against the mirror, a sharp moan escaping you. “Kuna… someone might hear us…”
“Let them hear,” he answers in a dark voice. “Let them know I’m fucking my wife in the fitting room.”
He pulls his fingers out, quickly lowers his pants and frees his thick, veined cock. It’s hard, curved, the head already glistening with precum.
Without another word, he grabs your thighs, lifts you like you weigh nothing and pins you against the mirror. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.
With one powerful thrust, he buries himself completely inside you.
You cry out, head falling back against the glass. He’s so big, so deep in this position. Sukuna groans against your neck, teeth clenched, and starts fucking you with slow but brutal strokes.
Every thrust makes you slam against the mirror. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy echoes in the small cabin.
“Look at you,” he pants as he pounds into you. “Legs spread wide, getting fucked in a store… You really are my little slut, aren’t you?”
He speeds up, fucking you harder and deeper. One hand slides between you to rub your clit mercilessly while the other supports your ass.
“Kuna- harder please! Ugh-” you beg, voice broken.
He smiles against your neck, arrogant and satisfied, and gives you exactly what you want: wild, deep thrusts that make you see stars with every stroke.
The mirror shakes behind you. Your moans grow higher, harder to contain.
Sukuna bites your shoulder to muffle his own groan. “You’re going to come for me, baby like the good girl you are.”
His fingers on your clit move faster. His thrusts turn frantic. Your orgasm hits you brutally. Your body clenches violently around him, walls spasming as you come hard, a muffled cry against his shoulder. Your legs tremble around his waist.
Sukuna lets out a deep growl and buries himself to the hilt. He comes inside you with force, hot, thick jets of cum filling you completely. He stays buried deep for a long moment, pulsing, emptying every last drop.
When he finally pulls out slowly, a thick white stream of cum immediately leaks from your pussy and slides down your thighs.
Sukuna sets you gently back on your feet, holding you up because your legs are still weak. He looks at you with a possessive, satisfied smile, then slides two fingers between your folds to collect some of his cum that’s dripping out.
He brings them to your mouth.
“Open.”
You obediently lick his fingers, eyes locked on his. He leans in and kisses you slowly, tasting himself on your tongue. He gives your ass a light smack with an arrogant smirk.
“Get dressed before I decide to fuck you a second time in this cabin.”
SYPNOSIS. in which you reunite with your childhood friend—except now he’s a stupidly hot, heavily tattooed, nationally famous basketball player!
PAIRING. basketball player! sukuna x f! reader
WC. 4.3k
CONTENT. MDNI. porn with slight plot. oral sex (f receiving). penetrative sex (protected). dirty talk. praise kink. marking/bruising. overstimulation. cute post sex type shit. childhood friends to lovers. sukuna's kinda famous.
A/N. art by 0010.jfh on ig! i didn't proofread ;3
number 1. forward. the one they call the king on the court.
ryomen sukuna.
the lights in the arena buzz overhead, harsh and bright, casting long shadows across the polished court. the crowd was the loudest. it's mostly home fans, but you see a few pockets of visiting supporters chanting his name like it's a curse and a prayer at once.
he's everywhere tonight. pink hair slick with sweat, tied back loose so strands fall into his eyes when he drives. black ink crawling up his arms and neck, visible under the sleeveless jersey—his team's colors, white and black. muscles flex with every cut, every pivot, every brutal screen he sets that sends opponents stumbling. it makes you wonder, when exactly did he get so hot?
you knew sukuna from childhood.
back then he was just 'kuna, the scrawny little terror kid with knobby knees, always covered in dirt from head to toe after he'd rolled in mud for fun. his pink hair always looked wild and unbrushed, sticking up in every direction after he'd climb trees or chase stray dogs through empty lots. clothes torn at the hems, knees perpetually scraped, hands grubby from digging in the dirt.
he'd show up at your door smelling like grass and sweat and whatever weird snack he'd scavenged. one time it was a half-eaten candy bar from the sidewalk, another time apples nicked from someone's yard... he would be grinning with those too-sharp baby teeth, offering you the grossest half like it was a gift.
"dummy, play with me! i got this for ya."
he was messy in every sense possible. his room a disaster of comic books, action figures, and mystery stains. he had a temper too, quick to flare if anyone looked at you wrong. he'd punch a kid twice his size once for tugging your braid too hard. according to him only he gets to make fun of you.
sukuna would always get you into trouble—from sneaking into abandoned houses to racing bikes down hills without helmets, coming home bruised and laughing.
but he was your mess. the one who'd shove bullies away, share his stolen snacks even when he was starving, sit with you on the curb after dark when your parents fought.
he once was everything.
then came the day his dad got a job offer away. moving trucks rolled up one summer morning while you were still asleep. he gave no warning or goodbye. you ran to his house barefoot, heart in your throat, only to find the front door already locked. you stood there staring at the for-sale sign until your mom dragged you home.
he didn't communicate either. no calls, no nothing.
weeks turned to months, months to years. you stopped looking for pink hair in crowds, stopped expecting that familiar "dummy" yelled from across the street. life moved on. you moved on.
or so you thought.
now here he is... the scrawny kid who once tripped over his own feet is gone. replaced by broad shoulders, veined forearms, jaw sharper now, shadowed with stubble he probably doesn't bother shaving during the season. the tattoos started showing up in high school pics you glimpsed online once—black lines creeping up his arms first, then his neck, chest, probably more hidden under the fabric.
you're sitting a few rows up with your friend and she leans over during a timeout, "isn't he so hot?"
you almost choke on your drink but your eyes dart to him again.
"...yeah. he is."
she grins like you just confessed something juicy. "told you... i wouuuld risk everything for him."
you hum noncommittally, looking back at the court.
when the game ends, his team wins comfortably. the visiting fans cheer while everyone else heads for the exits. your friend stands up, already zipping her jacket.
"okay i'm ready to bounce. you coming?"
"go ahead, i need to use the bathroom real quick. i'll catch up at the car."
she gives you a side-eye. "you sure? don't get stuck in line."
"i'll be fine. text me when you're there."
she shrugs and heads off with the crowd. you wait until the section is mostly empty, then stand and make your way to the concourse. the bathroom is quick, cold water on your face trying to shake off the weird mix of nostalgia and nerves. you step back out into the hallway, heading for the main exit doors.
and stop short.
sukuna's there.
leaning against the frame of the exit like he's got nowhere better to be. still in his game uniform, a towel draped over one shoulder with his arms crossed.
he looks up the second you appear.
that slow smirk curls his mouth.
"knew it was you." his voice is low probably from four quarters of shouting.
you swallow. "how'd you even—"
"i saw you third quarter," he pushes off the doorframe, takes a step closer. "you came to watch me?"
you cross your arms, trying to look steadier than you feel. "i came to watch the game."
he snorts. "how cold... bummer i'm disappointed."
you glare at him as people are still trickling past, it feels like the hallway narrowed to just the two of you.
"you look different," you say quietly.
"yeah?" he tilts his head, eyes flicking over you. "you don't though, still bite your lip when you're nervous."
you stop doing it instantly which makes him smirk.
"it's been a while."
you exhale, "yea it has."
he scratches the back of his neck, glancing down the hall toward the locker room. "look. i smell like ass and i need to shower. wait for me? players' exit is right around the corner—black doors by the loading dock. five, maybe ten minutes. i'll change fast."
"my friend's waiting in the parking lot."
"tell her you ran into someone or don't, your call." he steps closer again. "but don't leave."
his eyes hold yours like he's begging for you to say yes.
"...okay."
"ten minutes," he repeats. "don't make me come looking."
he disappears down the corridor toward the locker room, the black doors swing shut behind him, leaving you alone in the hallway with the faint hum of the arena’s ventilation.
you pull your phone out fast to text your friend.
hey i’m actually gonna stay a bit longer. ran into an old friend from back home. catching up real quick.
the reply comes in seconds.
OLD FRIEND??? who tf is this and why am i just hearing about it now
you bite back a laugh, typing one-handed while you start walking slowly toward the loading dock side.
you pocket the phone after the convo, and keep walking. you find the black double doors easily, a faded “authorized personnel only” sticker half-peeled off. you lean against the wall next to them.
the minutes drag. you check your phone twice. seven minutes... nine.
then the door bangs open.
sukuna steps out fresh shower. damp pink hair pushed back messy, black hoodie zipped halfway over a plain white tee, gray sweats slung low on his hips. he’s carrying a black duffel over one shoulder, tattoos peeking at the collar and cuffs.
he looks annoyingly good.
“you actually waited.”
"your ass told me to wait."
"yeah i did and you actually listened." he teases, his eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before meeting yours again. "that's new. used to take three dares and a threat before you'd do anything i said."
you huff a small laugh, "maybe ten years ago 'kuna."
"'kuna" he leans one shoulder against the wall beside you, echoing his own nickname. "missed that, i missed you."
you freeze up, he's not subtle.
"i sure hope you missed me too, sweetheart."
"keep dreaming."
"i have been." he pushes off the wall. "c'mon we're not staying here. my car's out back."
you follow him through the loading dock doors into the night. the lot is mostly empty now, just a few staff cars and his matte black jeep. he unlocks it, tosses the duffel in the back, then opens the passenger door for you without a word.
you slide in. the leather's still warm from the heater he must've left on. he drops into the driver's seat after you.
"you hungry?"
"starving."
he nods once and pulls the jeep out, headlights sweeping the empty lot before hitting the dark street.
settling feels easy, it's like you never separated in the first place. it's so comfortable.
you watch the city lights slide over his profile. your thighs press together without thinking. ten years gone and somehow you still get a weird feeling whenever you stare at him.
he keeps one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.
"there's this place five minutes from here," he says after a minute. "pretty sure it's open all night. the burgers are kinda greasy but the fries are actually decent, you down?"
"im down for anything."
he pulls into the small lot. there's a faded red sign buzzing "open 24 hrs," two trucks parked crooked, windows glowing yellow. inside it's warm, the waitress waves you to a back booth without a word.
you slide in across from him.
after choosing from the menu, he orders two double cheeseburgers, extra fries, onion rings, two black coffees. when the food lands he pushes the basket of fries your way first.
"still steal the crispy ones?" he asks, already taking a massive bite.
you snag the crunchiest one. "you always let me take your food."
"someone's gotta keep you fed." he chews, eyes flicking over your face. "you look good, really good. different but same."
you feel the heat crawl up your neck. "you too. the tattoos... when did you even start those?"
he glances down at his forearm, "uh, high school? got the first one the week i turned sixteen...thought it'd make me look hard. hid them for a few years after that till i got a bit older and stopped giving a fuck what anyone thought." he continues, "now they're just part of the package."
you watch the way his forearm moves when he reaches for another fry, veins standing out, tattoos stark under the fluorescent light. your stomach does something stupid again.
that simple innocent action did something to you.
face to face with him really feels different. you remember the scrawny kid again. the one with dirt under his nails; now those same hands are bigger, rougher, and the thought of them on you possibly after this makes your pulse throb between your legs. you shift in the booth, trying to play it cool, but your leggings suddenly feels too tight and your skin too warm.
"they suit you," you manage to say, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.
he smirks, catching the way your eyes linger. "yeah? you staring at them or at me?"
"shut up and eat your burger." you give him a glare which he laughs at.
you eat in comfortable quiet for a while, stealing glances at each other over the table. every time he licks salt off his thumb your mind flashes to what that mouth could do somewhere else. every time his tongue darts out to catch a drop of ketchup you feel it low in your belly. you keep replaying the way he looked at you in the hallway—like he already knew exactly how this night was going to end.
you also know that you shouldn't get your hopes up too high. this might just be a regular catching up thing. you're not entirely sure what sukuna is like now so you shouldn't be too careless.
he finishes first leaning his back against the booth, watching you again.
"you eat slow."
"well stop watching me."
"i'm not," he says trying hard to sound innocent. "im just looking in front of me?"
you flip him off as you finish the last onion ring, push the basket away. he pays with cash then stands, offering his hand.
you don't question it, wanting to know how touching him feels like again. his palm is warm and rough, he doesn't let go until you're back at the jeep.
sukuna opens your door, waits for you to slide in, then closes it gently.
you watch him round to the driver's side, he starts the engine asking for your address. the drive to your place is quiet except when he hands you his phone so you can save your number. eventually his hand finds your thigh halfway there, his thumb stroking slow circles, inching higher until you're shifting in the seat.
when he parks in front of your building but he doesn't kill the engine right away. you guys sit there, his hand still on your thigh, staring straight ahead.
"this is you," he says quietly.
you nod. "yeah."
he exhales slow. "get some sleep. text me tomorrow."
it's over again... he's leaving again.
even a proper goodbye from him doesn't feel good.
now is the time to be brave.
so you lean over to kiss him, a soft and lingering kiss just enough for him to remember you after tonight.
"night, 'kuna."
sukuna's dumbfounded watching you walk away. the sweet girl he knew would've never dared to initiate.
when you step inside, the apartment is dark and quiet. you kick off your shoes, drop your keys on the counter, head toward your bedroom. you smile to yourself still tasting him on your tongue.
you make it three steps inside when the knock comes.
impatient knocks.
you open the door.
he’s there—sukuna's outside your door. hoodie half-zipped, hood pushed back so his pink hair sticks up in every direction. there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, breathing a little too quick, like he ran the stairs.
his eyes are dark, almost black in the hallway light, pupils blown wide. he looks wrecked and desperate.
“couldn’t leave,” he says. “couldn’t walk away again."
you grab the front of his hoodie, yank him inside hard enough his shoulder bumps the doorframe.
he crowds you against the wall so fast your back hits with a soft thud. his mouth crashes into yours, his tongue pushing in like he’s been starving for it. your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping through fabric, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left.
he groans low when you bite his bottom lip. one big hand slides up under your shirt, the other cups the back of your neck. you feel his hips roll forward, his thick length already straining against the sweats, pressing right between your legs through your leggings.
“fuck,” he mutters, lips moving to your jaw. “been hard since i saw you... couldn’t focus on the fucking game.” he continues, “saw you in the stands and all i could think about was bending you over the railing, fucking you right there while the crowd screamed my name.”
“you’re disgusting if that's true.”
“yeah?” he bites the spot under your ear. “then why’re you grinding on me like you want it?”
you don't answer him, you don't need to. sukuna already knows how right he is. you want him bad.
you shove at his hoodie. he yanks it off one-handed, white tee following so fast. now you see all his tattoos—black and jagged across his chest, ribs, curling down his arms. he looks carved, dangerous, and the sight alone makes your cunt clench around nothing.
“bedroom 'kuna."
he doesn’t argue. he scoops you up, your thighs hooked over his hips. he carries you like you weigh nothing, only to drop you on the mattress when you reach the bedroom.
you’re already kicking your shoes off. he pulls your leggings and underwear down in one rough pull.
then he grabs your ankles, yanks you to the edge of the bed so your ass is right at the corner. spreading your thighs wide with rough hands as holds them open. he stares at you long enough you feel exposed.
“lemme see,” he hurries. “lemme see what i’ve been missing all these years.”
he drops to his knees between your legs. he leans in and drags his tongue up your slit, tasting every inch from bottom to top. you gasp, not expecting him to start so quick.
he groans against you like you’re the best thing he’s ever put in his mouth.
“shit,” he breathes, lips brushing your clit. “taste even better than i remembered dreaming about. sweet little cunt...been starving for this.”
"y-you dreamt of me?"
“yeah,” he says almost embarrassed but not quite. “saw one of your posts online maybe… a year ago? i couldn't stop looking at one of your pictures,” he drags his tongue over your clit again watching you shudder. “couldn’t find a way to message you without looking like a fucking creep. didn’t know if you even wanted to hear from me."
he continues, "but i couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. jerked off to that one picture more times than i’m proud of. kept checking your profile like a stalker, hoping you’d post something new. but my girl's so quiet so nothing ever came. so yeah… i dreamt about you. a lot.”
he dives back in before you can respond—tongue pushing inside you now, fucking you with it while his thumb rubs messy circles over your clit. you cry out while he groans again like he’s the one getting off.
“should’ve reached out,” he mutters between licks. “should’ve slid into your dms but i was a coward...not anymore.”
he spits on your clit, he watches it drip down then shoves two thick fingers inside you.
"s-shit! oh my goood."
“gonna make up for lost time,” he rasps. “gonna eat this pussy till you’re crying, then fuck you till you can’t walk. gonna fill you up so many times you’ll be leaking me for days.”
he curls his fingers inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your hips jerk off the bed. his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking hard now. all happening as he watches your face the whole time. your thighs start shaking around his ears, one hand fisted in his hair, the other clawing at the sheets like they'll save you.
"kuna f-fuck...i'm—"
he doesn't stop, if anything he goes harder. your back bows, breath punching out in short, broken gasps until the orgasm hits. you come on his tongue and fingers, it's both sloppy and greedy, not stopping until you're whimpering and trying to push his head away from oversensitivity.
he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and climbs up your body slow, caging you under him. his cock is straining against the gray sweats, a dark wet spot already soaking through where the head leaks. he kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan into his mouth without shame.
"need to be inside you," he says against your lips. "been thinking about this too fucking long."
you nod, breathless. "got condom in that drawer."
he leans over, yanks the drawer open, rummages for a second and comes up with a foil packet. he pauses, eyebrows lifting as he looks back at you.
"you keep these around?"
your face heats. "yeah. just… in case, you know."
he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling the condom down his length slow while he watches your face. "just in case what? you actively fucking anybody right now?"
"no," you say quickly. too quickly maybe. "haven't in a while."
"are you?" this time you ask.
"no," his smirks, "after this i am." he strokes himself as he continues to look at you. "because after tonight nobody else is touching this pussy, understood?"
you swallow hard, nodding.
he strokes himself once more through the condom. he’s long—longer than you expected. he kneels between your spread legs again, his blunt head nudges your slick folds, parting you just enough to feel the stretch begin.
“eyes on me,” he orders.
he pushes in slow letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper. your lips part on a silent gasp... the burn your feeling is exquisite, bordering on too much. halfway in he pauses, breathing through his nose like he’s fighting for control.
“fuck… so tight,” he moans. “gonna ruin me, aren’t you?”
you can’t form words yet, just a shaky whimper. your nails dig into his biceps, leaving crescent marks on inked skin.
he rolls his hips experimentally, grinding the base against your clit when he's all the way in. the pressure makes your back arch, a broken sound slipping out. he stays there letting you feel how deep he is—how completely he’s claiming the space inside you.
"so full 'kuna! so fuuull."
then he starts to move.
punishing thrusts that make the headboard knock against the wall. the rhythm is brutal from the start. he doesn't care for gentleness—every snap of his hips jolts your body forward, breasts bouncing under your thin shirt that he still hasn’t bothered to take off.
“look at you taking it,” he growls. “so proud of my girl."
he hooks one of your legs over his elbow, opening you wider so it's easier for both you and him. your eyes roll back, you can’t help it.
“that’s the spot, yeah? gonna make you come again... g-gonna make you soak my cock while i’m balls deep.”
your hands scramble for help—he hisses at the sting when you scratch his skin but fucks you harder for it, like the pain flips a switch.
“harder,” you manage to gasp, surprising even yourself.
his laugh is breathless. “greedy little thing.”
he shifts his weight, plants one knee on the mattress for leverage, and drives into you with punishing force. the bed creaks dangerously; something on your nightstand rattles. you don’t care. all you can feel is him stretching you open over and over until your mind blanks out.
he leans down, mouth crashing against yours in a open-mouthed kiss. messy as your tongues slide together, sharing the taste of sweat and sex and earlier orgasms. when he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brush yours with every word.
“gonna come inside this condom so fucking hard,” he pants. “then next time—next time i’m doing it raw. gonna pump you full till it’s dripping out, mark you from the inside so you remember who owns this pussy.”
"b-but i already know."
"not enoughhh... shit cum baby, fuck!"
your orgasm reaches when he suddenly goes faster, your whole body giving in around him. walls fluttering and milking him so tight he curses through gritted teeth. your cry is muffled against his shoulder as you bite down, hard enough to leave teeth marks.
he doesn’t stop though. continues to thrusts without slowing down, chasing his own release. until his rhythm stutters, hips slamming erratically.
“fuckfuckfuck! take it—”
you feel him throb inside the condom filling it while his fingers dig bruises into your hips, holding you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
for long seconds neither of you moves. the faint smell of sex and his soap hanging heavy in the air.
finally he eases out slow, both of you hissing at the loss. he ties off the condom and tosses it, then collapses half on top of you, heavy and warm. one arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
his lips brush your temple, surprisingly soft after everything.
“go again?”
“no,” you rasp, voice hoarse from all the crying out you’ve done. “i’m tired, ‘kuna.”
the arm around your waist loosens for you to breathe easier. he shifts his weight, rolling mostly onto his back so you’re no longer pinned, though he keeps one hand splayed possessively over your hip.
“yeah? fair. you took it like a fucking champ.”
“can’t believe i had sex with the king of the court.” the words slip out sleepy and half-teasing, muffled against his chest. you feel the low rumble of his laugh start before you even finish the sentence.
you peek up through your lashes. his eyes narrow, the same look he used to give you when you’d call him out for cheating at street basketball as kids.
“never call me that,” he says.
you blink, innocent. “what? it’s true. they literally chant it. there are signs, jerseys, fan accounts. i saw one girl with your face tattooed on her—”
he cuts you off by rolling fast, sudden enough that you squeak, pinning you under him in one fluid motion.
“say it again,” he dares, voice dropping to that dangerous purr he saves for when he’s about to do something mean in the sweetest way. “go on. call me king of that shit one more time.”
you bite your lip to keep from grinning, but it’s useless. “king—”
he attacks.
fingers dig into your sides without mercy, tickling you ruthless. the spots he’s known since you were nine, the ones that make you fold instantly. you shriek, twisting under him, legs kicking uselessly as laughter punches out of you in helpless bursts.
“s-stop kuna... fuck—mercy!”
“nah,” he growls against your neck. “you don’t get to call me some arena nickname after i just fucked you stupid. that’s not my name to you.”
his hands move higher, under your ribs, relentless. you’re gasping, tears pricking your eyes from laughing so hard, trying and failing to shove his wrists away.
“okayokayokay," you surrender. "‘kunaaaa i'm gonna pee!”
he finally eases up after that, his palms flatten over your ribs, holding you down without tickling.
“better,” he mutters. “you call me ‘kuna but never that other shit. that’s for them, not you.”
“possessive much?”
“damn right.”
“fine,” you whisper. “no more king. just my ‘kuna.”
18+ ⸝⸝⸝ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 is not okay after making out with nerd!reader. it’s worse when you show up at his door…
part 1 | part 2 below | part 3 | part 4
you don’t dare speak about it—about the way his body betrayed him, about the heat that flooded the room before either of you knew what to do with it.
until a week passes.
sukuna seems… alarmingly different.
he’s tense and distant, like he’s keeping himself out of your reach on purpose.
he used to show up at your dorm unannounced, leaning in your doorway like he belonged there, asking what you were studying before plopping onto your plushie filled bed like it was his.
now there’s barely anything.
no late night knocks at your door when you were supposed to be studying. no lazy texts. not even his familiar presence lurking outside your lectures to scare people away.
you find yourself replaying everything, searching for where you might’ve gone wrong. had you’d embarrassed him? made him angry? crossed some line you hadn’t even known was there?
so now you standing outside his dorm.
you’d been here for a full three minutes.
you don’t even know why you’re here. panic, probably. impulse. the gnawing fear that if you don’t do something, the distance would harden into something permanent.
you smooth your sweater down for the third time, push your glasses up your nose, then knock before you can talk yourself out of it.
once. then twice.
footsteps approach on the other side of the door.
it opens—and sukuna freezes.
he looks like he’s been caught doing something illegal. eyes widening just a fraction, posture stiffening like he doesn’t quite know where to put himself. his hair’s messy, like he’s been running his hands through it too much.
and he’s shirtless.
your brain short circuits.
you’ve seen him in tank tops, loose shirts, jackets half zipped—but this is different. bare skin, sharp lines of muscle you absolutely were not prepared for. your gaze drops before you can stop it, then snaps back up, mortified.
“oh—” you blurt. “i’m sorry, i didn’t— i can go—”
his brain tries to catch up to the fact you’re literally standing in front of him, but all he can seem to focus on are your eyes glued to his bare chest, lips parted like you’re trying—and failing—to keep from staring.
“no.” too quick. he clears his throat, jaw tightening. “it’s fine.”
it very much does not feel fine to either of you.
the silence stretches. uncomfortable. heavy. you’re suddenly acutely aware of how close you are, of how warm the hallway feels, of how you can’t quite stop yourself from staring even when you try.
you swallow.
“i just…” your fingers curl into the hem of your sweater. you take a deep breath and manage to spit it out. “you’ve been avoiding me.”
his expression flickers—something sharp passing through it before he schools it back into neutrality.
“haven’t been avoiding you.”
right.
that hurts more than you expect.
“oh.” you nod, too fast. “okay. i just— you used to come by all the time and then you stopped and i thought maybe i…” your voice falters. “did i do something wrong?”
the question hangs there.
for a split second, he looks genuinely appalled.
“what?” he snaps, then catches himself. “no. no— you didn’t.” immediately, firmly. like the idea offends him. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
your shoulders loosen just a little, though your heart is still pounding.
“then why—”
he looks away, hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. you notice how tense he is now, how carefully he’s standing, like he’s trying not to move too much.
“i just needed space,” he says finally. not meeting your eyes. “that’s all.”
it’s not an answer, not really. it feels purposefully incomplete.
you hesitate, then nod. “okay.”
another pause. thicker this time.
you shift your weight, eyes betraying you again, flicking briefly—accidentally—over his chest before you can stop yourself. heat floods your face instantly.
he notices.
his jaw tightens, breath hitching just enough to give him away. he takes a subtle step back, like he’s putting distance between you on purpose.
and suddenly, the explanation doesn’t sit right.
“space from… me?” you ask quietly.
he stiffens.
“no,” he says too fast. then corrects himself, slower. “not from you.”
you frown, fingers curling into your sleeves. “then what?”
he doesn’t answer right away. his gaze drifts past you, down the hall, anywhere but your face. the silence stretches long enough to make your chest ache.
“you don’t just disappear for a week for no reason,” you say, sterner now. “if i did something, i’d rather know.”
his eyes snap back to you. you almost wish they hadn’t. there’s something raw there, something tightly leashed.
“you really think that?” he asks, low.
you shrug, small, looking down and mumbling. “i don’t know. i overthink. you know that.”
that seems to hit him harder than anything else you’ve said.
he does know that. and the thought of you agonizing over this, wondering what you did wrong is enough to make him flinch. he’s been trying to keep his distance, avoid temptation, but here you are, standing in your goddamn oversized sweater like this is just an everyday conversation.
he almost laughs. there’s nothing everyday about badly he wants you right now, how much he aches to pull you in.
he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “you didn’t do anything,” he says again, firmer. “i’m not mad at you. i just… needed to get my head straight.”
“about what?” you press, heart thudding.
another pause.
he takes a step back, then another, stopping just inside the doorway. like he’s choosing distance on purpose.
“…about you,” he admits, barely above a mutter.
“me?”
he swallows, jaw flexing. “don’t make me spell it out.”
that only makes your confusion worse.
“i don’t understand,” you say honestly. “you’re acting like i did something wrong, but you keep saying i didn’t.”
his mouth twitches, almost a smile, but there’s no humor in it.
“yeah,” he says. “that’s kind of the problem.”
he finally looks at you again, really looks—eyes dark, expression strained, like he’s holding something back by sheer force of will.
“…i didn’t want to scare you off,” he says.
the words are soft but they hit harder than anything else he could’ve said.
you blink. “scare me off how?”
his jaw tightens immediately, regret flashing across his face like he’s said too much. he exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, like he’s trying not to unravel.
“by being too much.”
you stare at him, genuinely baffled. sukuna? scared of being too much? the guy who never hesitates, never second guesses, himself, never backs down?
you scoff. you’ve gotten used to him. what was his problem now? “you couldn’t scare me even if you tried.”
he laughs, dry and low, a sound that’s part exasperation, part disbelief. it’s not a full laugh—more like the sound of someone trying to keep himself from unraveling. then he pulls himself back into his room and plops back onto his bed, hands covering his face, letting out a long, slow breath.
you follow him inside, closing the door behind you, heart hammering. you try not to look—really try—but it’s hard not to notice the way his torso stretches across the bed, the faint trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweatpants, and the way his muscles flex even as he’s slumped down.
your stomach twists, and you force yourself to stare at his hands instead, at the way they lace together over his face in frustration.
he mutters, voice muffled through his hands, “fuck. it’s just… i’ve been holding back from doing things i shouldn’t.”
your stomach flips, and for a moment your brain freezes. heat rushes to your cheeks in realization, heart hammering. you know exactly what he’s talking about.
it takes a second for your words to catch up.
“but— what if i… what if that’s something i want?”
he freezes. his jaw tightens, eyes widening in disbelief. “what?” he manages, voice rough. “you… you want it?”
you nod, blinking rapidly, suddenly very aware of how close you’ve gotten to him. “uh huh,” you admit quietly. “i want you.”
he blinks again, then leans back slightly, running a hand through his messy hair, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “seriously? why? fuck— i still don’t even know why you like me. why you’re with me.”
you bite your lip, fiddling with your sleeves. “because… you’re… nice,” you say softly, like it’s almost too simple to say aloud.
he freezes mid motion, hand hovering over his head. “me?” he repeats, incredulous. “nice? i’m nice? don’t call me nice, nerd.”
you nod vehemently again, cheeks heating further at the name he always lets slip. “…yeah. you are.”
he lets out a short, harsh laugh, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. “nah,” he says, voice almost bitter, “that can’t be true.”
“it is,” you insist. “you noticed me. spent time with me when i was lonely. you were the first guy who called me cute. you didn’t use me for help like other people do because i’m a nerd. you—”
“stop.” the word cuts through sharp. “only i can call you that.”
before you can even process it, he’s moving—hands on your waist and pulling you forward. you barely have time to gasp before you’re settled onto his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, your hands instinctively flying out to brace against his shoulders.
you freeze.
so does he.
for half a second, neither of you breathe.
his grip is tight, like he’s afraid if he loosens it even a little, he’ll lose you—or himself. his chest rises beneath you, warm and solid, and the closeness hits you all at once. too close. way too close.
“don’t,” he mutters, low and strained. “don’t say shit like that like i’m some good guy. like i deserve you.”
your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it.
“why?” you whisper, eyes wide behind your glasses. “i’m just telling the truth.”
his jaw clenches. he looks everywhere but your face—your shoulder, the door, the wall behind you—like meeting your eyes might be the last straw.
“because i can’t—” he cuts himself off, swearing under his breath. “because you’re making this really fucking difficult.”
“it doesn’t have to be difficult! i’m telling you i want you sukuna,” you reply, just as exasperated.
“you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
there’s a beat.
you swallow, nerves buzzing, and shake your head—small, but sure. “but i do,” you say quietly. “i know what i’m asking for.”
that finally gets him to look at you.
really look at you.
your words hang in the air soft, but unshakable. and for the first time since you walked in, he doesn’t look away. his fingers twitch against your hips like he’s fighting the urge to pull you closer or push you off entirely.
“you don’t know what i want,” he mutters, voice rougher now. “what i need.”
“then tell me.”
his eyes drop to your lips, then back up—and something in him cracks.
“i want to kiss every part of you until you can’t say my name without shaking,” he says low, “i want to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are just by looking at how i touch you. i want… all of it.”
he swallows hard—like admitting that terrifies him more than anything else ever has.
“so no. you only think you know what you’re asking for.”
your pulse skyrockets—but instead of pulling back, your hands slide up his shoulders and settle behind his neck.
“i’m still not going anywhere.”
he stares at you like you’re a miracle wrapped in glasses and an oversized sweater that drives him wild.
“i’ve thought about that too…” you admit.
that seems to knock the air out of him.
he stares at you for a long second, like he’s trying to decide if you’re serious—or if he misheard you entirely.
“…really?”
you nod, nails curling into his skin without realizing it. “really.”
his throat bobs as he swallows. his hands stay at your waist, firm but still restrained, like he’s holding onto the last thread of his self control.
“you really shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he says again, quieter now. not a warning. more like a confession. “i just… i don’t want to be that guy who takes advantage of you.”
“but you’re not taking advantage of me! i- i may not have any experience but i’m not clueless.”
he exhales sharply through his nose, eyes flicking over your face like he’s measuring something fragile.
“are you sure?” he asks, slower now. “you get flustered just kissing. i don’t want you regretting anything.”
your face goes hot instantly. “i— that’s not—”
he watches the way you stumble over your words, like it proves his point. “see?” he mutters. “that’s what i mean.”
something in you sparks, embarrassment tipping into indignation.
“you’re one to talk,” you blurt. “you’re acting like i’m—” you stop yourself for half a second, then barrel on, flustered and bold all at once. “you’re the one who got hard when we were making out!”
his eyes go wide—dark, sharp, and utterly unguarded—and for a moment he just stares at you, jaw tight, like he can’t believe you actually said those crude little words.
“…what?” he mutters, voice low, rough, almost strangled.
you blush harder, looking anywhere but him. “you heard me.”
he swallows audibly, like he’s trying to force down the heat rising in him. for half a second, he doesn’t move. then, one hand shoots up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“…you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he growls, voice husky. “i shouldn’t— i can’t—”
“i said i know!” you snap back, trembling. “i know what i’m asking for! how many times do i need to say it?”
that seems to finally break something in him.
his free hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek, and before you can even think his lips are on yours.
it’s fierce, unrestrained, and utterly consuming.
you freeze for a fraction of a second—then melt into him, hands gripping his shoulders as his body presses against yours. the world narrows to the heat of him, the brush of his lips, the way his chest rises beneath you.
he breaks the kiss only to drag it along your jaw, teeth grazing your bottom lip, thumb stroking your cheekbone, eyes dark and desperate. “you have no idea what you just said,” he growls, voice rough against your ear.
you shiver at the noise and the way his lips press against your jaw. your fingers tangle in the messy strands of his hair as heat blooms through you.
“i think i do.”
he chuckles—almost feral—and his hands tighten at your waist, sliding lower, thumbs brushing just over the curve of your hips. “you’re insane,” he groans, nipping lightly at your earlobe, “i’m losing my mind.”
he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and heated, pupils dilated. “you really want this?” he asks, voice rough, each word deliberate, testing you.
you nod, cheeks flushed, pulse pounding. “i do. i want you.”
that seems to push him over the edge. he presses you flush against him as his other hand frames your face again. his lips slam back onto yours with renewed force, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, each movement demanding and consuming.
your back arches instinctively, breath hitching, and he grunts deep in his throat. his hands roam, memorizing, claiming. the subtle heat of him—the firmness of his chest, the tautness of his muscles—makes it impossible to think.
“you’re gonna regret saying that,” he murmurs between kisses, but there’s no warning left in his tone—just raw, unrestrained need.
“i won’t,” you gasp, fingers clutching his hair tighter, body pressed impossibly close.
he hums against your lips, a sound of dark satisfaction, and for the first time, he lets himself stop holding back entirely, each kiss, each brush of his hands, pushing you both further into something you can’t—and don’t want to—escape.
he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, breath heavy, eyes dark and dangerous. a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“so you came here just for this, huh?”
your face heats, and you shake your head, fumbling over your words. “no! i… i didn’t! i just— wanted to…talk.”
he raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly on his elbows, still holding you close, grin widening. “talk,” he repeats, voice dripping with amusement. “right.”
you can’t help the small, nervous laugh that escapes. “i did! but—”
“but what?” he prompts.
“i just… didn’t expect… this to happen.”
his smirk softens just a fraction, though the dark amusement never fully leaves his eyes. “hm.”
he hums, mock contemplative, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with the back of his hand. “and here i thought you came just to drive me insane.”
you let out a small, exasperated sigh, shaking your head again. “i—i didn’t!”
his grin widens, wicked. “sure. keep telling yourself that.”
then, without warning, his thumb slides up and presses firmly against your kiss bitten bottom lip, pressing, dragging lightly, teasing.
you gasp, breath catching, eyes widening as heat floods through you. your fingers clench at his shoulders instinctively, heart hammering in your chest.
“…sukuna,” you whisper, voice trembling, “st-stop…”
he doesn’t stop. he just tilts his head, smirking down at you, eyes dark and calculating. “oh? thought you said you wanted this. thought you could handle it.”
you swallow hard and force your words out even as your chest hammers. “i- i can.”
his smirk twists wider, “oh? really?”
you nod, fingers digging into his shoulders. “yeah.”
he leans in closer. “then be specific,” he murmurs, thumb still teasing your bottom lip. “tell me what you can really handle.”
you swallow, cheeks burning hotter than ever, and finally whisper, “i- i can handle you touching me.”
his eyes widen ever so slightly, then narrow. “is that so?”
“uh huh.”
without warning, two of his calloused fingers slip between your lips, testing, pressing, and you instinctively part your mouth to welcome them.
he hums, low and approving, eyes locked on yours. “you really mean that,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers lightly over your tongue.
you nod, mouth full, unable to look away.
he chuckles, a dark, dangerous sound, and doesn’t pull away. instead, he tilts his head, pushing just a little further, pressing his fingers deeper into your mouth, making you gasp around them.
“good,” he grunts. “because once i start i wont stop.”
you shiver, heat pooling low in your tummy.
“suck them,” he orders, voice low and rough, almost a growl. your breath catches and you let out a startled sound around his digits. “don’t test me. i said suck.”
your body betrays you, hot and quivering on his lap, and you obey, lips hesitantly sucking his thick fingers. you squirm on top of him, suddenly imagining how they would feel inside you, the heat between you spreading, every nerve alight.
he hums approvingly once more, eyes locked on yours. “god… you’re so eager. you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
you whimper softly, cheeks burning, and before you can react, he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop.
before you can process it, he’s flipping you over onto his bed. your back hits the mattress, breath catching as he settles over you.
“we can go slow,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “tell me what you wanna do first.“
you gulp. you already know what you want. what you’ve wanted. your gaze drops to his fingers, still coated in your own saliva. “c-could you… um… finger me?”
he grunts roughly like the words kill him. “knew you’d say that.”
he shifts, one hand braced beside your head, the other hovering just above your waist—fingers still glistening from your mouth. his breath is uneven against your neck.
“say it again,” he growls. “say it like you mean it.”
you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “finger me?”
his eyes darken.
“again.”
your face burns, but you whisper it—bolder this time, “please sukuna...” you beg, “i want you to finger me.”
he makes a sound low in his throat—like he’s losing himself—and finally moves. one hand tugs gently at the hem of your sweater. “off,” he murmurs. “i wanna see you.”
trembling, you obey—lifting the fabric over your head and tossing it aside.
he sighs a curse under his breath. “look at this pretty little bra. wore this for me?”
you whimper. don’t answer because really, you don’t know. maybe you did.
he grins.
and then his hands are back on you—hot, slow—as one drifts to the waistband of your jeans that suddenly feel too tight.
“relax,” he murmurs against your lips.
your hands clutch his shoulders. “i’m trying,” you breathe, arching against him. he nips at your jaw, fingers dancing over the buttons of your jeans.
he chuckles, voice low and strained. “you’re so damn impatient.”
you whine and protest, “m’not.”
“mmm right.”
you shiver and he only smiles against your skin. and then, oh so slowly, he’s unbuttoning your jeans and pulling down its zipper.
he tugs them. “c’mon. lift your lips for me, baby.”
you do and then he tugs your jeans all the way down, slow and steady—leaving behind goosebumps in his path. your own breathing seems far too loud in the silence of his dorm.
the jeans hit the floor and you shift on his mattress, suddenly feeling too bare. too exposed.
he pulls back for a moment to look at you, at your flustered look and at the way your chest rises and falls. he looks just as wrecked, lips swollen, eyes intense, chest heaving.
he swallows.
“god. look at you.”
you cover your eyes over the frames of your glasses. you whine his name in embarrassment.
he catches your wrist, pulling your hand gently away from your face. “don’t,” he murmurs, voice rough but soft. “don’t hide.”
your breath hitches as he leans down, brushing his lips over the bridge of your nose, then the corner of your glasses.
“you’re so damn cute like this,” he admits, almost grudgingly. “all shy and flustered… wearing these thick glasses like you didn’t come here to ruin me.”
he kisses you—soft at first, then deeper.
“leave ‘em on,” he growls. “i wanna see you come apart with them all crooked on that pretty face.”
the unsolicited visual and his vulgar words make your cheeks heat even further.
you were gonna leave them on anyway.
you couldn’t see shit without them and he knew that.
a smirk quirks his lips, as if he’s reading that thought.
he kisses your jaw. your nose. then he makes his way down your neck, kissing your collarbone.
your breath hitches again, head tilting back to give him access—letting out a soft whimper as his mouth brushes your neck.
“so sensitive…” he murmurs between kisses.
his mouth keeps moving lower and lower—onto the valleys of your breasts. and then down to your stomach. his nose drags gently across it, electrifying every inch.
you can hardly breathe.
he trails kisses down your belly, fingers brushing your ribs, the skin there quivering under his touch. he pulls back to look at you. just looks. and you try not to squirm under the scrutiny.
you manage a breathless, “stop staring.”
he grins, dark and hungry. “make me.”
you try not to roll your eyes. you really do.
but he’ll be making them roll for a different reason soon anyways. he’s too close to where your aching cunt is leaking for him.
“sukuna…”
he hums. his hands flit to your panties. “want these off?”
you nod shyly.
and then you’re gasping, fingers curling into the sheets, head tilting back as his lips brush lightly over your hipbone. he peels off your panties little by little. your breathing is labored. you’re flushed. and he’s taking his sweet time with you.
it’s driving you nuts.
when they’re finally all the way off, you clench your thighs together feeling too exposed to him.
he clicks his tongue. “none of that,” he murmurs, pressing a hand to each thigh and gently forcing them apart. “you gotta let me see you if you wanna feel good.”
you gulp nervously. but still, you let him pry your legs apart without anymore resistance. his eyes darken once they fall onto your slick cunt. he can see the way you tremble and clenche around nothing.
you look at him. he looks back, a moment of quiet that makes the air seem heavier. he doesn’t say anything.
oh no. does he think it looks weird? ugly? you—
his words shut up your internal panic, “fuck. she’s so fucking pretty. can’t believe she’s this wet just for me…” his words come out almost strained.
the sound that leaves your lips would’ve been humiliating if you cared enough.
he finally reaches out, fingers finding your aching clit, making you jolt. he circles it once—slow, driving you mad—and you whimper, hips bucking without permission.
“ah-ah,” he murmurs, pressing down just a little harder. “stay still.”
your breath hitches. you try to obey.
he teases you like that for what feels like forever—light flicks, lazy circles—until you’re trembling and leaking onto his sheets.
only then does he slide his middle finger deep inside.
you cry out, back arching off the bed.
he groans at the sound—at how tight you are—and mutters against your thigh, “fuck… knew you’d feel this good.”
there was nothing—nothing at all—to prepare you for this moment. for how thick and long just one of his fingers were. you clench around him, eyes watering, breath coming in short gasps.
“too much?” he murmurs, watching your face like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
you shake your head—fast, desperate. “n-no… it’s just never— ah…”
your hands clutch helplessly at the sheets underneath you.
he crooks his finger inside you and you clench with a whimper.
“hmmm? your tiny fingers never reached this far, huh? is that what you’re tryna say?” he tuts and pouts mockingly, “i dunno if it can even fit another.”
you gasp at the words, jaw dropping.
“no! ‘kuna, please!”
“please what?” he drawls, slow and cruel, curling that finger just right—hitting a spot deep inside you that nobody has ever been, making your back arch off the bed. he thrusts it in and out slowly, hitting that sweet spot every time he gets deep enough. “you gotta be specific, baby. i’m not reading minds here.”
tears prick the corners of your eyes—half from sensation, half from frustration. his smirk widens.
“say it,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb over your swollen clit in maddening little circles. “tell me you want two fingers. tell me you want me to stretch you open.”
your breath hitches—you’re trembling all over now.
“ugh— pl-please ‘kuna? wanna try another—”
and oh… the way his nickname falls from your lips so sweetly because you can barely get the words out? how could he ever deny you?
he leans down to press a kiss to your trembling stomach.
“there we go… that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
he slips in a second finger and you cry out.
it burns—just a bit—and you can feel yourself clenching painfully around them.
he shushes you, his touch soft and soothing. he kisses anywhere he can reach. your stomach. your hip. the inside of your thigh.
“does it hurt, baby? should i slow down?”
you shake your head with teary eyes, legs threatening to close around his hand.
it like too much and too little all at once.
“no! ngh— i- i just need to get used to them— oh!”
your words die when he curls both his fingers inside you, hitting your sweet spot when he moves just barely.
he grins, pleased.
you feel so damn tight around his fingers. he has to be careful not to let his eyes roll back at the sight of you.
“you want me to start moving them or do you need a minute, sweetheart?” he breathes out. you swear his voice is even raspier.
you try to ignore what the pet name does to you, your fingers reach for him desperately, needing something to cling to—he obliges by taking your hand.
“yeah? you need somethin’ to hold, baby?”
“mgh— y-yeah—” you whimper pitifully.
“yeah what? want me to move or keep holding ya?”
your bottom lip trembles. “both.”
“oh… mhm. that’s my smart girl.”
he starts to move—slow, deep curls inside you—and your whole body seizes at the sensation.
tears slip from the corners of your eyes again, and you squeeze his hand where it’s laced with yours like it’s keeping you grounded.
“you feel that?” he murmurs, watching your face with dark fascination. “me stretching you open? filling you up?”
he scissors his fingers inside you to puncture his words and a broken noise escapes your lips—half sob, half moan—as his fingers work deeper.
“that’s right,” he coaxes, thumb brushing over your clit again in slow circles. “just let go for me. take it. feel good?”
“y-yes! really good…” you moan.
and that little noise does him in.
he grits his teeth, hips jerking forward against the mattress on instinct. almost like he wants to replace his fingers with something much bigger.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, watching your puffy cunt clench around his fingers. “you say that like you wanna make me lose control.”
your only answer is a whimper as he picks up the pace—deeper, faster.
his thumb presses harder on your clit and your back arches violently off the bed.
“you gonna cum for me soon?” he grunts against you, the squelches in the room sickeningly pornographic. “i wanna feel it.”
you feel something inside you threatening to snap and you nod.
“good girl. you gonna cum and make a pretty face for me, hm?”
you can hardly speak. so you nod again.
he smiles at it. his pressure on your clit moves. you clench around him.
“y-yes! i’m—i’m gonna—”
your hips stutter, thighs trembling violently as his fingers work inside you, relentlessly.
“that’s it,” he grunts, voice rough with need. “cum on my fingers. let me feel how much you want it.”
you cry out his name as it hits—a sharp, bright wave unlike anything you’ve ever felt that crashes through your every nerve. your cunt clenches around him in hot pulses.
he doesn’t stop. keeps moving those fingers through it all, drawing the pleasure out until you’re gasping for air and thrashing under him, glasses fogging, still gripping his hand.
only when your whimpers turn shaky does he finally pull free—and even then, he drags them slowly across your clit one last time.
you shudder hard.
“look at this mess,” he murmurs darkly, lifting his glistening fingers to show you—then without breaking eye contact… he sucks them into his mouth.
your breath catches all over again.
he licks slow and deep like a fucking animal then smirks at the taste of you.
“sweet.”
“sukuna…” you pant, scandalized as if he hadn’t just been fingering you, moving your hands to push your glasses up.
he catches your hand before it reaches your face, guiding it back down.
“leave ‘em crooked,” he smiles against your neck. “i like you all messy like this. my pretty little nerd isn’t so proper now, is she?”
you whimper as his weight settles over you—hot, heavy, unmistakably hard where his cock grinds against your thigh.
he drags a rough kiss along your jaw. “still with me, baby?”
your fingers clutch his shoulders and you nod. “y-yeah...”
his grin is pure sin. or maybe that’s how you see it with what he’s just done.
“good.”
the way he looks at you—with pupils blown and lips still wet from tasting you—makes your cheeks flush all over again. your cunt still wet and sensitive and throbbing—and you can’t believe you’re about to say what comes next.
“wait… i— i wanna taste you too.”
he freezes.
his eyes widen and looks like he’s stopped breathing.
“...what?” he rasps, voice barely there.
you push up on your elbows, shaky but determined. “i want to taste you,” you repeat—softer this time, but still sure. “please…”
he stares at you like you’ve just ripped the world out from under him.
“fuck.” he laughs, runs a hand through his hair. “let’s save that for another day, yeah? let me get you cleaned up first.”
you pout.
but he’s already heading to his bathroom.
so much for post nut clarity.
maybe you should stick to not saying the first thing that comes to mind.
sukuna returns a beat later with a warm washcloth and a glass of water. he kneels beside the bed, helping you sit against the pillows. his touch on your skin is gentle. tender. you can barely meet his eyes as he works between your legs. he’s silent through the whole process, gently wiping, so tender it makes your chest hurt, handing you water to drink.
he tosses the cloth aside once he’s done and crawls into his bed with you.
your eyelids suddenly feel heavy. you hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.
“c’mon. get some rest. don’t you have an early lecture tomorrow?”
“uh huh…” you mumble. he knew your schedule better than he knew his own. “but you’re still hard…” you yawn, eyes already fluttering shut as your rest your head against his warm chest.
“shut up, brat.”
he gently takes off your glasses and sets them aside. pulls you closer so your head is tucked under his chin.
he feels you nuzzle into his body and he can’t fight the soft smile that tugs at his lips. he lets his arms curl around you protectively.
you let out a little sigh of contentment as you relax against him, feeling safer than ever.
he pulls you even closer, breathing you in, and eventually you fall asleep just like that—tucked in his arms.
>> next ch / series masterlist
shy series taglist! @gg-trini @luredlilac
also tagging people who commented for a part 2 (hope you guys don’t mind)🥹 @hoebiii @tobesocoldasyou @sloppyfrenchfries @iwantnewfyp @kiakiabby @silverserpentsofhogwarts @nutellajade @letiziabordas @userizzzzup @lost-fantasy @tewstupidfaman
taglist for pt 3 is closed (bc i’m loosing track of people to tag) but you can still be added to the shy!reader x jjk men taglist or my full taglist here!
also I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK ALMOST A MONTH…😭 i hope it was worth the wait! this has to be one of the most favorite things i’ve written.
You were a sweet, shy pharmacist who only wanted quiet shifts and clean labels—until Sukuna Itadori, a 6'5" MMA menace on meds, decided his favorite side effect was “seeing her face” and started treating refills like weekly dates. Now he flirted like it was a sport, handed you VIP tickets like prescriptions, and kept insisting you were the only “aftercare” he trusted.
cw; pharmacy au. smut. oral. pnv. MDI 18+.
The pharmacy always smelled like clean paper and lemon disinfectant—sharp, bright, a little too honest.
You lived in that honesty.
Your hair had been behaving for exactly nine minutes, pinned back in a way that made your long brown ringlets look like they were politely waiting their turn. Your badge sat straight on your chest. Your scrubs were neat. Your voice stayed soft, like you kept it in a velvet-lined box and only opened it for people who deserved gentle.
The afternoon line moved in patient little shuffles. A toddler cried at the front end of the store, and somewhere in aisle seven, someone dropped a jar of pasta sauce with the dramatic commitment of a Greek tragedy.
You didn’t even flinch. You just counted tablets, checked an interaction screen, and thought, Please let everyone be kind today.
That was when you saw him.
At first, it was just a shadow crossing the pick-up lane—too tall for the world, shoulders filling the space like the building had to breathe around him. Then the details sharpened: pale pink hair buzzed close, a face that looked carved out of irritation, tattoos climbing his arms like black vines that had decided to stay forever.
He stood there like he didn’t wait in lines. Like lines waited for him.
One of the pharmacy techs—Mika—smiled her retail smile and chirped, “Hi! Name and date of birth?” The man’s eyes moved, slow as a blade leaving its sheath, and landed on you behind the counter. Not on Mika. Not on the register. On you—like your existence was a new sound he was trying to locate.
“Ryomen,” he said, voice low and flat. “Sukuna Itadori.” Mika typed, still smiling. “And your birthday?” He recited it, bored, eyes never leaving you. That alone was unsettling—most people looked away when they gave personal information, like it was polite to pretend they weren’t handing you a piece of themselves.
Sukuna didn’t pretend anything.
Mika’s expression shifted the smallest bit when she saw the profile. New patient. New meds. The kind of prescriptions that came with notes and caution flags and the invisible weight of someone finally saying, Alright. We’re going to try something different.
She reached for the bag in will-call.
Sukuna’s hand rose, palm out, stopping her like a traffic light.
“No.” Mika blinked. “Um—sorry?” He nodded toward you with his chin, like it was obvious. “I want the pharmacist.”
A small pause fell into the air. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just… present. Like the pharmacy itself tilted its head.
Mika glanced at you, eyebrows lifting in a Can you take this? question.
You exhaled through your nose—quiet, controlled—and set your tray down.
“Of course,” you said, stepping forward.
Your voice was gentle, but your posture was pure professionalism. You didn’t hurry. You didn’t shrink. You simply arrived at the counter, hands folded, eyes lifting to meet his.
Up close, he was worse.
Not because he was handsome—he was, in that dangerous way people warned you about with the phrase trouble. Not because he was tall—though he was, towering enough that you had to tilt your chin to keep eye contact. Not because he was built like a door that lifted weights.
It was the look in his eyes.
Red-brown, sharp, watchful. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to be disappointed and was still hoping you might surprise him.
“Mr. Itadori?” you asked, because you were polite even when your pulse tried to sprint. “Sukuna,” he corrected.
You nodded once. “Sukuna. I’m Y/n. I’m the pharmacist on duty.” His gaze flicked to your name tag, then back up. “Y/n,” he repeated, like he was testing the shape of it in his mouth.
You slid the bag toward you, glanced at the label, and kept your tone calm. “This is your first fill with us. I’m going to review your medication with you—dosage, common side effects, and what to avoid.” He leaned in a fraction, forearms on the counter. Tattoos flexed as he moved. The scent of him reached you—clean soap and something mineral, like cold metal warmed by skin.
“Side effects,” he murmured. “Yeah. Let’s talk about those.” You kept your face neutral, but your brain whispered,
Please be normal. Please be normal.
He wasn’t.
“What’s it do to my sex drive?” he asked, casually, like he was asking if you had paper or plastic bags. Mika made a strangled sound behind you. Someone in line coughed, suddenly very interested in the greeting cards.
You stared at him.
He held your gaze with the calm confidence of a man who had never been embarrassed in his life. “And before you say ‘everyone reacts different,’” he added, voice dropping, “I’m an athlete. I need my body working. All of it.” Then he gave you a slow blink that was somehow a wink without technically being a wink. “I can go all night,” he said, like he was sharing a fun fact. “It’d be a tragedy if the meds took that away from the world.”
Your expression didn’t change.
It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the implication. You did. Unfortunately. Vividly.
It was that you refused to reward it.
You lifted the leaflet, tapped it once with a neatly trimmed nail, and said, “Sexual side effects are possible. If you experience changes, you should speak with your prescriber. Do you have any other questions that are actually relevant?” Mika choked harder. You heard a stifled laugh from somewhere down the line.
Sukuna’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, like your deadpan had struck something in him that wanted to live. “Mm,” he hummed. “I like you.” You kept reading off the counseling points like your life depended on it. “This medication should be taken once daily. Try to take it at the same time each day. It may cause drowsiness, dizziness, nausea—”
“Will it make me less… angry?” he asked, quieter now.
That one landed different. Not flirtatious. Not stupid. Just raw, slipped under the counter like a note you weren’t supposed to see.
You softened your voice without meaning to. “It can help. Especially if you give it time and take it consistently.” He looked at you like he didn’t enjoy needing anything. “Time,” he repeated, as if the word tasted bitter.
You nodded. “Time. And routine.” He stared, then reached into his pocket and placed his ID on the counter—too carefully, like he didn’t trust himself to move too fast. “Y/n,” he said again, and your name sounded like a warning and a compliment in the same breath. “Tell me the truth.” You met his eyes. “Okay.”
“If I take this,” he said, “am I going to feel like someone else?” Your throat tightened, just a little. You’d heard this question in a hundred different forms—Will I still be me? Will my thoughts still belong to me? Will I lose my fire? Will I lose my edge?
You didn’t give him a rehearsed line. You gave him the truth you could safely hold.
“It shouldn’t erase you,” you said softly. “It should give you more space to breathe inside yourself. If it ever feels wrong—if you feel numb or unlike yourself—you talk to your provider. We adjust. We don’t suffer in silence.” Something flickered behind his eyes—annoyance, relief, suspicion, maybe all of it braided together.
Then, because he was him, he tilted his head and said, “So you’re saying you’ll take care of me.” Your cheeks warmed. “I’m saying I will do my job,” you replied.
He smiled this time. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… pleased.
“You’re sweet,” he said. “It’s cute.”
“I’m professional,” you corrected. “You’re both,” he said with a smirk, you handed him the bag and the paperwork. “Do you have any allergies?”
“No.”
“Any other medications you take?”
“Sometimes protein powder,” he said. “Sometimes violence.” Mika audibly inhaled like she’d just swallowed a cough the wrong way.
You blinked once. “We’ll start with the protein powder.” He chuckled—low, brief. The sound startled you more than his words. It made him seem… human. Like there was a person in there under the anger and the edges.
He took the bag, but didn’t move away. Just stayed, leaning in like the counter was a fence and he didn’t want to leave the yard you stood in.
“So,” he said, “when do I see you again?”
“Your next refill date is on the label,” you told him evenly.
He lifted the bag, glanced at it, then looked at you again like the label was a suggestion, not a schedule. “Yeah,” he said. “But what if I have questions?”
“You can call the pharmacy.”
“I don’t like phones.”
“You can ask any pharmacist.” He stared at you. Slow. Heavy. Like he was setting down a decision. “No,” he said simply. “I’ll ask you.” You held your composure like it was stitched into your ribs. “We have multiple pharmacists.” He leaned closer, voice dropping into something that vibrated in your chest. “I need the real one.” Your stomach flipped, traitorous and soft.
You didn’t curse. You didn’t snap. You didn’t flirt.
You simply lifted your eyebrows. “Sukuna, are you refusing counseling from anyone else?” He stared back, completely serious. “Yes.”
Mika’s eyes went wide with Is that allowed?
You exhaled quietly, like you were releasing a patient prayer.
“Fine,” you said. “If you have questions, you can ask me when I’m on duty.” His mouth curved again—victory, wrapped in velvet. “Good,” he said. “Because I do have a question.” You didn’t even sigh this time. You just waited.
He tapped the bag lightly. “If this makes me calmer,” he said, “and less obsessive… will I still want things?” You watched his face for the joke, for the crude punchline, for the easy innuendo.
It didn’t come.
Instead, his eyes stayed on yours, too intent, like he meant things in a way that wasn’t just about bodies.
You swallowed. “Most people still want things,” you said carefully. “Sometimes they want them in a healthier way.” He nodded once, like that answered something he hadn’t said out loud.
Then he straightened, finally stepping back.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.” You lifted your chin. “Take it as directed.” He paused at the edge of the counter, glanced over his shoulder.
“And Y/n?”
“Yes?” His gaze slid over you—not lewd, not careless. Just aware. Like he noticed the way you held yourself, the way your softness didn’t mean weakness. “Maybe one day,” he said, voice lazy again, “you’ll let me give you my own personal medicine.”
Mika made a sound like a dying battery.
You stared at Sukuna with the same straight face you’d given him all along.
Then, very calmly, you said, “If you’re experiencing delusions, that is a side effect you should report.” For a second, he looked stunned. Then he laughed—real laughter, low and dangerous and delighted—and walked out of the pharmacy like he’d just won something.
You stood there, hands folded, heart doing a ridiculous little dance inside your ribs.
Mika leaned in, whispering, “Who was that?” You watched the automatic doors slide shut behind him, the winter light swallowing his silhouette.
You spoke softly, mostly to yourself.
“Trouble,” you said.
And as you turned back to the counter, the phone rang—one of those sharp, ordinary sounds that kept the world moving—while you tried very hard not to wonder how soon “next refill” could possibly come.
Friday nights at the pharmacy always carried a particular kind of exhaustion—one that clung to your sleeves and crawled up behind your eyes, the kind that made the fluorescent lights feel personal.
So when you heard, the next morning, that Sukuna Itadori had fought the night before, something in you tightened.
Not curiosity. Not excitement.
Just… a quiet, reluctant awareness. Like a storm report you didn’t ask for, but still read anyway because you needed to know where the wind might hit. You didn’t follow his career. You didn’t watch clips. You didn’t scroll past headlines the way other people did when they wanted to feel alive through someone else’s chaos.
You didn’t like fighting.
You liked calm. You liked clean counters. You liked the soft clink of pill bottles. You liked order, and routine, and the steady reassurance of labels that told you exactly what something was meant to do.
And yet—when you got dressed that morning, you took a few extra minutes.
You fixed your curls until they fell in obedient ringlets, glossy and thick, framing your face like they belonged there. You smoothed a little cream into the ends with careful fingers. You put on the smallest swipe of mascara, barely enough to count.
It wasn’t for him, you told yourself.
It was just… for you.
But your reflection looked back with an almost-suspicious sweetness, and you felt your cheeks warm as if your mirror had caught you hoping.
The pharmacy doors chimed sometime after nine.
You didn’t look up right away. You were checking a profile, eyes scanning for interactions, mind in its tidy little corridor of clinical focus.
Then you heard the change in the air.
The subtle pause at the counter.
The way your tech’s voice lifted—nervous, amused, trying not to sound intrigued.
And you knew.
Mika cleared her throat. “Uh—hi. Can I help you?” A familiar low voice slid over the counter like smoke. “Yeah. I’m here for the pharmacist.” Mika tried. She really did. “We can counsel you—”
“I don’t want ‘we.’” You could hear the smirk in his tone. “I want her.” You closed your eyes for half a second.
Not because you were angry—though you were definitely annoyed—but because your heart did something completely unhelpful, fluttering like a trapped thing.
You set your pen down with exaggerated calm, then stepped out from behind the workstation.
Sukuna stood there in a fitted hoodie that looked like it was fighting for its life across his shoulders. His buzzed hair was still damp, pale pink and close to his scalp, and he had that post-training heat clinging to him—clean sweat, sharp soap, something metallic and bright.
He looked… awake.
Not in the polite way people looked awake after coffee.
In the way a blade looked awake after being sharpened.
There was a faint bruise at the edge of his cheekbone that hadn’t fully yellowed yet, and a small cut near his brow like a careless punctuation mark.
His eyes found you instantly and the second they did, his mouth curved, slow and pleased.
Like he’d walked in already knowing you’d be pretty.
You hated that your pulse noticed.
You approached the counter, posture perfectly professional, voice soft enough to be kind but firm enough to be a boundary.
“What was going on?” you asked, because he always arrived like a disruption and acted like it was your fault.
Sukuna didn’t even pretend to be here for a refill.
He pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the counter toward you with two fingers.
A ticket.
Black, glossy, heavy stock—one of those tickets that didn’t look like paper so much as a promise. VIP lettering caught the overhead lights.
You stared down at it.
Then you stared up at him.
“What is this?” you asked, even though you already knew. Your stomach had answered before your mouth did.
His smirk deepened. “My fight.” You blinked once. “Tonight?”
“Tonight.” He tilted his head, watching your face like he was waiting for some reaction he could collect. “You should come.” You didn’t touch the ticket. Like it might burn you. Like accepting it would be the same as agreeing to something you hadn’t said yes to. “Sukuna,” you said gently, “this is—unprofessional.”
He leaned closer, forearms resting on the counter like he belonged there. Tattoos flexed beneath his sleeves. His voice dropped, warm and too intimate for a pharmacy at nine in the morning.
“You’re a pharmacist,” he murmured. “You like… aftercare.” Your face stayed neutral on pure willpower. “Aftercare isn’t a medical term,” you replied, even though the words sounded a little too careful leaving your mouth, like you were stepping around a puddle you didn’t want to admit you’d noticed.
His eyes flickered, amused. “It is if I say it is.” You glanced down at the bruise near his cheekbone, the cut at his brow, and felt something tender tug at the inside of your ribs—something you didn’t want to name.
“Why are you giving this to me?” you asked softly.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Because I want you there,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Your throat tightened.
You kept your voice steady. “I don’t—watch fighting.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “Watch me.” You looked at him, and his gaze held yours, steady and bold and too sure.
Then he tapped the ticket lightly with one knuckle.
“And after,” he added, lazy and cocky again, “you can fix my bruises.” Your brows lifted. “I’m not a nurse.”
“You’re close enough.” His grin sharpened. “You’ve got that gentle little voice. You’ll do great.” Mika made a small, helpless noise behind you, like she was watching a rom-com she hadn’t paid for.
You exhaled, the sound barely more than air. “This is inappropriate.” Sukuna straightened, as if he’d heard you but didn’t accept the premise.
He set the ticket down with slow certainty—like a man placing a coin on a counter, already convinced the purchase was complete.
Then he leaned in one last time, eyes on yours.
“See you tonight, Y/n,” he said.
You opened your mouth to argue.
He turned and walked away before you could.
Just left the ticket there.
Like you were going to pick it up.
Like the world always did what he wanted.
The doors chimed as he exited, and the pharmacy felt too bright again, too normal, too clean for the way your heart was misbehaving.
Mika crept up beside you, eyes sparkling with wicked delight. “He is… actually insane.” You stared at the VIP ticket like it might start talking. “He shouldn’t do that,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her.
Mika’s smile widened. “He’s not exactly a ‘should’ kind of man.” You swallowed, still staring down.
All day, the ticket sat in the back of your mind like a little weight.
Between counseling patients on antibiotics and explaining prior authorizations and repeating the same gentle script you’d always used—Take with food, call us if you have questions, no, don’t double up, yes, please drink water—your thoughts kept drifting.
Not to the fight.
To him.
To the way he’d looked at you like you were something he wanted to keep in his hands.
You tried to focus. You really did.
But you caught yourself imagining his bruises.
His cut.
Your fingers—gloved, of course—dabbing antiseptic.
The absurd intimacy of tending to someone who was built for damage.
The idea made you feel warm and ridiculous.
And nervous.
Near the end of your shift, Mika leaned against the counter, casual like she wasn’t about to push you off a cliff.
“You’re going,” she said. “I’m not,” you replied automatically.
Mika hummed. “You’re going.” You frowned. “Why are you acting like you control my decisions.”
“Because I like joy,” she said. “And because you’ve been walking around all day like someone put a secret in your pocket.” You tried to look offended. It didn’t work. Mika waved her hand. “Leave early. We’ve got it handled. Go… do whatever this is.”
“This is nothing,” you said, but your voice came out too soft, too unconvincing.
Mika’s eyes narrowed. “Your mascara begs to differ.” Your cheeks warmed instantly. “I always wear mascara.”
“Mm-hm.” She smiled like she’d caught you stealing candy. “Go.” You hesitated long enough for your conscience to wrestle with your curiosity.
Then you sighed.
“Fine,” you said quietly, like you were agreeing to a chore instead of a choice that made your stomach flutter.
You went home and stood in front of your closet longer than you should have.
You told yourself you were dressing comfortably.
You told yourself you didn’t care what you looked like.
You told yourself the black long-sleeve was just clean and simple and easy, but when you pulled it on and it hugged your curves—when the mirror showed you soft and shapely and a little too pretty for your own comfort—you paused.
Not because you were trying.
Because you weren’t.
You chose jeans that fit the way they were supposed to—snug at the waist, fitted at the thighs—and when you turned sideways, you let out a small breath, surprised at your own silhouette. Your hair fell down your back in thick ringlets, framing you with that natural softness you couldn’t hide even when you wanted to.
You didn’t add jewelry. No perfume. Nothing dramatic.
Just you.
Just… slightly braver than usual.
The drive to the arena felt surreal.
Streetlights blinked on one by one like the city was exhaling into night. Traffic thickened closer to the venue, headlights pooling like water. You followed the signs, parked, and sat for a second with your hands on the steering wheel, heart tapping an anxious rhythm.
You could still turn around, you told yourself.
You could drive home.
You could return to your quiet apartment and your safe routines and pretend you’d never accepted anything from a man like him.
But your fingers had already touched the ticket.
You got out of the car.
The arena loomed bright and loud, all banners and bodies, and you felt small walking toward it—small, and out of place, like you’d wandered into someone else’s movie.
At the entrance, security scanned your ticket.
The staff member’s face changed—respectful, quick. “Right this way.” You swallowed. “Okay.” They led you through a corridor where the sound of the crowd grew heavier with every step—bass thumps of music, shouts like waves, the electric hum of anticipation.
You were guided into the private area.
It was quieter than the main seating, but it still throbbed with noise beneath it—like you could feel the energy in the floor. Plush seats, a small table, a view that made your stomach dip. People in nicer clothes sat around you, laughing, sipping drinks.
You sat stiffly, hands folded in your lap, trying not to look like you didn’t belong.
Because you didn’t.
A screen lit up with highlights, and the announcer’s voice rolled through the arena like thunder.
Your palms dampened.
You didn’t like violence. You didn’t like the idea of bodies as entertainment. You didn’t like the way the crowd sounded hungry and yet… you were here.
Because Sukuna had looked at you like you were the only soft thing in the room worth reaching for.
Lights dimmed.
The first fight began.
You flinched at the first sharp impact—two bodies colliding, the sound somehow louder than it should’ve been. You tried to focus on the rules, on the structure, on the idea that this was controlled, sanctioned.
But your shoulders stayed tense.
You found yourself watching the referees more than the fighters. Watching for safety. Watching for stopping points. Watching for the moment someone would say enough.
You took slow breaths, the way you taught anxious patients to do when they came to pick up meds they didn’t want to need.
Around you, people cheered.
You didn’t.
You simply watched—eyes wide, heart uneasy—trying to understand why anyone craved this.
And then, between fights, a movement near the VIP entrance caught your attention.
A familiar shape.
Too tall. Too broad.
Sukuna appeared at the edge of the private area like he owned the air itself.
He wasn’t in his fight gear yet—still in warmups, loose pants, a jacket zipped partway. His hair looked freshly dried again, and there was a calm to him that made him even more dangerous, like all the anger had been leashed tight for later.
His eyes swept the room.
Then landed on you.
And the smirk returned, immediate and satisfied—like a lock clicking into place.
He walked over with unhurried confidence, gaze never leaving your face. People glanced up, murmured, shifted to make space without being asked.
He stopped in front of you, towering just enough that you had to tilt your chin again. “Well,” he said, voice low, amused. “You came.” Your heart stuttered.
You tried to sound composed. “You left the ticket.”
“That was the point.” He leaned down slightly, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in your ear, not in public. “I wanted to see if you’d do what I asked.” You frowned, though your cheeks warmed. “That’s… manipulative.” He shrugged like it was a compliment. “And yet.” You exhaled softly. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
He studied you—your curls, your black top, the way you held yourself like you were trying to be invisible and failing.
His eyes darkened with approval. “You look good.” You blinked. “Sukuna—” He cut you off with a lazy little smile. “Don’t start. Just take it.” Your lips parted, then closed.
You forced yourself to ask the sensible thing. “Are you hurt?” His gaze flicked over your face, then softened—almost imperceptibly. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”
That answer should’ve unsettled you.
It did.
He sat down—too close, far too casual—like it was normal for him to fold himself into your space. His knee brushed yours, and the contact sent a small spark up your leg, stupid and bright.
“You look like you want to run,” he murmured.
You stared forward at the cage. “I don’t like this.” He hummed. “I know.”
You glanced at him, surprised.
He met your eyes. “You’re too soft for it.”
You didn’t like the way that sounded—like softness was a limitation.
But the way he said it… wasn’t insulting.
It sounded protective.
It made your throat tighten anyway.
Sukuna leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head like a man settling into a theater seat. “Just watch. I’ll make it quick.” You frowned. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can.” He turned his head, gaze pinned to you again. “Because you’re here.” Your heartbeat stumbled.
Then an official approached, speaking quietly to Sukuna. Sukuna listened with a bored expression that didn’t match the intensity of the room.
He stood, towering over you again.
His eyes dragged over your face—slow, possessive in a way that made you want to scold him and blush at the same time.
“Stay,” he said.
You blinked. “I wasn’t—”
“Stay,” he repeated, voice sharper now, like it mattered. Like you mattered.
You nodded once before your mind could argue.
Sukuna’s mouth curved, satisfied.
Then he walked away, disappearing into the corridor like a promise you didn’t know how to hold.
A few minutes later, his name boomed over the speakers.
The crowd erupted.
Your stomach dipped.
Lights flashed. Music surged. The atmosphere changed—thicker, wilder, like everyone suddenly leaned forward at once.
And then he was there.
Sukuna stepped out into the arena lights, and the roar around you became physical—vibrating through your bones, rattling the air in your lungs. He moved like he belonged to that sound, like it fed him. Like he wore noise the way other men wore cologne.
He looked… different.
Not softer.
Not calmer.
Just focused—cold, bright, terrifyingly controlled. His shoulders rolled once. His jaw flexed. His eyes scanned the crowd, then lifted briefly toward the VIP section.
You swore he found you instantly.
That smirk flashed again—quick as a match strike.
Your heart jumped.
Then the cage door closed.
The bell rang.
You braced yourself without meaning to.
The first exchange happened fast—feet shifting, hands snapping out, the sound of gloves and skin and impact echoing in a way that made your stomach twist.
You hated how much the crowd loved it.
But you couldn’t look away from him.
Sukuna moved like a predator.
Not frantic. Not sloppy. Every motion had intent. He slipped a punch like it was nothing, countered with something sharp and clean, forced the other man back with the effortless confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power he had.
Your hands curled in your lap.
You didn’t cheer.
You didn’t smile.
You just watched with a growing knot of worry that made your throat tight.
Because you’d seen bruises on him before and you’d realized, somewhere in the middle of counting pills and fixing curls, that you didn’t like the idea of anyone hurting him.
Not even if he chose it.
The other fighter rushed him, trying to close distance, and for a second you felt your breath catch—fear flashing through you like a cold splash.
Sukuna didn’t even look panicked.
He caught the clinch, turned it, drove the man back into the fence with brutal efficiency. Not excessive. Not theatrical. Just… decisive.
Your stomach turned.
The referee watched closely.
The crowd screamed.
Sukuna worked—short strikes, pressure, control—and when the other man tried to twist away, Sukuna dragged him down with a takedown so clean it looked like choreography.
You flinched at the sound of bodies hitting canvas.
Then Sukuna was on top, posture low, heavy, controlling. Not wild. Not cruel. Just complete.
It was horrible and mesmerizing all at once.
Your fingers pressed into your palm until you felt your own pulse.
The other fighter struggled. Sukuna adjusted. The referee hovered.
And then—so fast you almost didn’t understand it—Sukuna shifted, locked something in, and the other man tapped.
Tapped.
It was over.
The bell rang again.
The crowd exploded like fireworks.
You sat frozen, heartbeat pounding, relief washing through you so hard it made you dizzy.
Sukuna rose, chest heaving, sweat gleaming under the lights. He looked to the referee, then to his corner, then—like he couldn’t help himself—his gaze cut up toward the VIP section again.
This time, he didn’t just glance.
He stared.
And you felt it—felt the way his attention wrapped around you, heavy and sure, like a hand at your waist.
Then he smirked.
Like he’d done it for you.
Your cheeks warmed, even as your stomach still churned.
The officials swarmed him. His team surrounded him. Someone lifted his arm. Cameras flashed.
You sat there, a soft thing in a loud world, trying to steady your breathing, trying to convince yourself you hadn’t just watched a man win a fight and felt… something embarrassingly close to pride.
Around you, people stood and toasted and laughed.
Mika texted you a single message:
HE WINNING???
You stared at your phone, then at the cage, then back again.
You typed:
Yes. He’s okay.
You paused, then added:
I think.
Your phone buzzed with her reply almost instantly.
GO FIX HIS BRUISES, ROMANTIC DOCTOR LADY.
You didn’t reply.
Because your heart was still trying to climb out of your chest.
A few minutes later, movement stirred in the VIP corridor again.
Sukuna appeared, freshly towelled off but still damp, still warm with adrenaline. He had a new bruise blooming along his ribs, and his knuckles looked red and sore. There was a faint split at his lip that made something in you ache.
He looked wired.
Alive in a way you didn’t understand.
His eyes found you immediately.
And when he walked over, the crowd noise seemed to dull around the edges, like your world narrowed to the space he took up.
He stopped in front of you, smirk sharp, voice low.
“See?” he said. “Quick.” You stared at the bruise, then at his lip, then up into his eyes. “You’re bleeding,” you murmured.
His grin turned wicked. “You sound worried.” You straightened your shoulders, trying to reclaim professionalism like a shield. “It’s… my job to care about injuries.” He leaned closer, eyes bright. “That’s not your job.” Your breath hitched, very small.
He tapped his lip with a knuckle, as if inviting your gaze. “You gonna fix it?” You swallowed. “Do you have a medic—”
“I do,” he cut in smoothly. “But I wanted you.” Your face heated. You tried to keep your voice calm. “Sukuna, you can’t keep saying things like that.” He smiled like you’d told him a joke. “Why not?”
“Because…” You hesitated, honesty snagging in your throat. “Because it’s not appropriate.” His gaze softened for a split second, then sharpened again with that cocky edge he wore like jewelry. “You still came,” he murmured.
Your lips parted. Closed.
You hated how true that was.
He bent slightly, lowering his mouth closer to your ear, voice dropping into something that made your skin prickle.
“Come over,” he said. “After this.” You blinked, startled. “What?”
“My place.” His eyes held yours, steady and daring. “We’ll have drinks.” You didn’t curse, but you felt like your brain did. “I—” You swallowed. “That’s… that’s not—” Sukuna straightened, smirk returning like a familiar sin. “Relax. I’m not saying we’re getting married.” Your cheeks flamed.
He looked pleased by that too.
“I’m saying,” he continued, voice lazy, “you came all the way here, watched me do my job, and you’ve been staring at my bruises like you want to press kisses on them.” You nearly inhaled wrong. “I have not,” you whispered.
His smile widened, pure menace. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not,” you lied softly.
He leaned down again, just enough that his voice felt like it brushed your skin. “Come over.” You stared at him—this towering, tattooed man with a split lip and a smug grin, looking at you like you were the prize he’d already claimed.
And you should’ve said no.
You should’ve stood up, thanked him for the ticket, and left.
Instead, your heart beat quietly, insistently, like it had its own agenda.
Your fingers tightened around the edge of your seat.
And Sukuna watched you—patient in the most dangerous way—like he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.
You heard yourself say it before your brain could intervene. "Okay." The word came out soft, barely more than a breath, like you were afraid if you said it any louder, you'd scare yourself into taking it back.
Sukuna's eyes flashed—something dark and pleased and victorious all at once. "Yeah?" he murmured, leaning closer, like he wanted to make sure he'd heard you right.
You nodded, throat tight. "Just… for a little while." His smile curved slow and dangerous. "Sure," he said, in a tone that suggested he didn't believe the 'little while' part for a second. "Just for a bit." He straightened, offering you his hand.
You stared at it—bruised knuckles, tattoos wrapping around his wrist like they were holding something wild in place—and then you took it.
His palm was warm, rough with calluses, and when his fingers closed around yours, you felt the strength in them. Not crushing. Just… present. Like he could hold on as long as he wanted and you wouldn't be able to pull away.
He helped you stand, and suddenly you were too close to him, the heat of his body radiating through the small space between you. He smelled like sweat and clean skin and something faintly metallic, and it made your head swim.
"You drove here?" he asked.
You nodded. "Yeah."
"Follow me, then." He released your hand slowly, fingers trailing against yours as he let go. "I'm not far." You swallowed and nodded again, not trusting your voice. The walk back through the arena felt surreal—like you were moving through a dream where everything was too bright and too loud and your body didn't quite belong to you. Sukuna walked ahead, glancing back every few steps like he was making sure you hadn't bolted.
You hadn't.
But you thought about it.
Your car was parked in the lot, and when you unlocked it with shaking hands, Sukuna leaned against the driver's side door of a sleek black car a few spaces down—something expensive and low to the ground that looked like it had opinions about speed limits.
"You good?" he called over.
You looked at him across the parking lot, standing there like he owned the asphalt, and your stomach flipped. "Yeah," you called back, voice steadier than you felt.
He smirked. "Don't get lost." Then he slid into his car, and the engine purred to life—a low, rumbling sound that you felt in your chest. You got into your own car, gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor you to reality, and watched as he pulled out of the lot.
You followed.
The drive wasn't long, but every minute of it felt like your nerves were being pulled tighter and tighter, wound around a spool that was running out of thread. You kept your eyes on his taillights, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts that all contradicted each other.
This is a bad idea.
This is exciting.
You should turn around.
You don't want to turn around.
He's your patient.
He's not your patient right now.
Your hands tightened on the wheel.
The city lights blurred past, and then you were pulling into an underground garage—concrete and steel and the echo of your engine cutting off as you parked beside him. Sukuna was already out of his car, waiting, hands in his pockets like he had all the patience in the world now that you were here.
You got out slowly, clutching your purse like it might protect you from your own decisions.
He tilted his head toward the elevator. "Come on." You followed him across the garage, your footsteps too loud in the quiet space, and when he pressed the button for the elevator, you stood beside him in silence.
The doors opened with a soft chime.
You stepped inside.
He followed, and the space immediately felt smaller—too warm, too close. He pressed a button near the top of the panel, and the elevator began to rise.
You watched the numbers climb.
15… 20… 25…
Your heart climbed with them.
When the doors finally opened, you stepped out into a hallway that was all clean lines and soft lighting, and Sukuna led you to a door at the end.
He unlocked it with a keycard, pushed it open, and stepped aside.
"After you," he said, voice low and amused, like he knew exactly how nervous you were.
You stepped inside and stopped.
The penthouse was… enormous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, showcasing the city sprawled out below like a carpet of lights. The space was open—sleek, modern, expensive in a way that didn't need to announce itself. Dark hardwood floors, minimalist furniture in shades of black and gray, a kitchen with marble countertops that gleamed under recessed lighting.
It was beautiful.
And it felt… empty.
Not physically—there was furniture, art on the walls, a massive sectional sofa that looked like it had never been sat on—but emotionally. Like no one really lived here. Like it was a space designed to impress, not to comfort.
Your apartment was small and cozy, full of throw blankets and plants and mismatched mugs. It smelled like vanilla candles and old books. It felt like home.
This felt like a showroom.
"You like it?" Sukuna's voice came from behind you, and you turned to find him watching you with that same unreadable expression. "It's… big," you said softly, because you didn't know how to say It's beautiful but it doesn't feel like you without sounding presumptuous.
He smirked. "That's what she said." You blinked at him, and despite everything—despite your nerves and the surreal nature of being here—you felt a laugh bubble up in your throat.
You tried to suppress it.
Failed.
It came out as a soft, helpless giggle, and Sukuna's smirk widened into something that looked almost like a real smile. "There she is," he murmured, stepping closer. "I was wondering if you were gonna stay scared all night."
"I'm not scared," you said, even though your pulse was racing. "Liar." He moved past you into the kitchen, and you watched as he opened the fridge—a massive stainless steel thing that probably cost more than your car. "What do you want to drink?" You hesitated. "Um… water?" He glanced at you over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Water."
"Yes."
"You sure? I've got—" He rattled off a list of things you barely registered, your brain too busy trying to keep up with the fact that you were in Sukuna's penthouse, alone, at night, after watching him fight. "Water's fine," you said, voice a little firmer. He shrugged, pulling out a bottle of water and a bright blue Gatorade for himself. He poured your water into a glass—actual glass, not plastic—and handed it to you.
Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and the contact sent a little spark up your arm.
"Thanks," you murmured.
He twisted the cap off his Gatorade and took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed, and you found yourself staring at the line of his neck, the way his tattoos disappeared under the collar of his shirt.
You looked away quickly, taking a sip of your own water.
"Sit," he said, nodding toward the sectional.
You moved toward it, perching on the edge of one of the cushions like you might need to run at any moment. The leather was soft and cool under your thighs, and you set your glass down on the coffee table—a slab of dark wood that looked like it had been carved from a single tree.
Sukuna dropped onto the couch beside you—not across from you, not at a polite distance, but right beside you, close enough that his thigh almost touched yours.
You felt the heat of him immediately.
"So," he said, leaning back and draping one arm along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing your shoulder. "You gonna tell me what you thought?"
"About what?" you asked, even though you knew.
His smile was slow and wicked. "The fight." You looked down at your hands, folded in your lap. "It was… intense."
"Intense," he repeated, like he was tasting the word. "That's it?" You glanced at him. "I don't like violence."
"I know." His gaze was steady, unrepentant. "But you watched anyway." Your cheeks warmed. "You asked me to."
"And you came." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "Why?" You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I don't know."
"Liar," he said again, softer this time, and his fingers brushed against your shoulder—just a whisper of contact, but it made your breath hitch.
"I'm not—"
"You are." He shifted closer, and now his thigh was pressed against yours, solid and warm. "You know exactly why you came." Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "Sukuna—"
"Say it," he murmured, and his hand moved from your shoulder to your hair, fingers threading through your curls with a gentleness that didn't match the intensity in his eyes. "Say why you came." You stared at him, at the bruise on his cheekbone and the split in his lip and the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
"Because you asked me to," you whispered, his smile was slow and satisfied. "Good girl." The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how much you liked the sound of them in his voice. His hand slid from your hair to your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You're so fucking sweet," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's gonna ruin me."
You didn't know what to say to that.
So you didn't say anything.
You just sat there, frozen, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.
"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.
You should have.
You should have said stop and this is a bad idea and I need to go home.
But you didn't.
You just looked at him, your lips parted, your breath coming too fast.
And Sukuna smiled like he'd won something— his thumb traced your lower lip, and your breath caught.
"You're not gonna tell me to stop, are you?" he murmured.
You shook your head, just barely.
"Fuck," he breathed, and then his mouth was on yours. The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined—not that you'd been imagining it, except you had, you absolutely had—it was rough and hungry and tasted faintly of blood from his split lip. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you like he'd been thinking about it for days.
You made a soft sound against his mouth, and he groaned in response, his other hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer.
You went.
Your hands found his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the heat of his skin, and you kissed him back with a desperation that should have embarrassed you but didn't. He pulled you into his lap with an ease that made your head spin, and suddenly you were straddling him, your thighs on either side of his, your hands braced on his shoulders.
"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, pulling back just enough to take you in—your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the way your chest was rising and falling with quick breaths. "You're so fucking pretty." You opened your mouth to respond, but he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your shirt.
You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his hips shifting beneath you in a way that made you acutely aware of how hard he was. "Sukuna," you breathed, and his name in your voice seemed to do something to him.
He groaned, low and rough, and his hands moved to your hips, grinding you down against him. The friction made you whimper, and he did it again, harder this time, his mouth moving to your neck. "You have no idea," he muttered against your skin, teeth grazing your throat, "how long I've been thinking about this."
Your head fell back, giving him access, and his mouth was hot and demanding, sucking marks into your skin that you'd have to cover tomorrow.
Tomorrow felt very far away.
His hands slid under your shirt, palms rough and warm against your bare skin, and you arched into his touch.
"Bedroom," he growled against your neck. "Now." You nodded, breathless, and he stood with you still wrapped around him, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you across the penthouse.
You should have felt self-conscious—about your weight, about how desperate you must look—but Sukuna held you like you weighed nothing, his hands firm on your ass, his mouth still working against your neck. He kicked open a door and carried you inside, and you had a brief impression of a massive bed and more floor-to-ceiling windows before he was laying you down on the mattress. You looked up at him, breathless and flushed, and he stood over you for a moment, just looking.
"You're gonna be the death of me," he muttered, and then he was on you again, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress in a way that made you feel safe and trapped all at once.
His hands were everywhere—pulling off your shirt, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, sliding your jeans down your legs until you were bare beneath him except for your panties. He sat back on his heels, looking at you spread out on his bed, and his expression was something between reverent and predatory.
"Fuck," he breathed.
You resisted the urge to cover yourself, your hands fisting in the sheets instead.
He pulled his own shirt over his head, and you got your first real look at him—all hard muscle and ink, tattoos covering his chest and arms in intricate patterns that you wanted to trace with your fingers.
You reached up, tentative, and he caught your hand, bringing it to his chest.
"Touch me," he said, voice rough.
So you did.
Your fingers traced the lines of his tattoos, the hard planes of his muscles, and he watched you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.
When your hand drifted lower, brushing the waistband of his pants, he caught your wrist.
"Not yet," he said. "You first." And then he was kissing his way down your body—your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. His mouth closed over one nipple, and you arched off the bed with a gasp.
He hummed in approval, his hand sliding down your stomach to the waistband of your panties. "Can I?" he asked, and the fact that he asked—that he paused to make sure—made something in your chest tighten. "Yes," you breathed.
He hooked his fingers in the fabric and pulled them down, tossing them aside, and then you were completely bare before him. He settled between your thighs, his shoulders forcing your legs wider, and you felt exposed and vulnerable and so turned on you could barely think.
"So fucking pretty," he muttered, and then his mouth was on you.
You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, and he groaned against you, the vibration making your hips buck. He ate you out like he was starving, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, and you were already so wound up that it didn't take long before you were trembling on the edge.
"Sukuna," you gasped, "I'm—"
"Come," he growled against you. "Come on my tongue." And you did, your orgasm crashing over you in waves that made your vision white out, your thighs clamping around his head as you shook apart.
He worked you through it, only pulling back when you whimpered from oversensitivity.
When you finally came back to yourself, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Good?" he asked, voice smug.
You couldn't even form words. You just nodded, breathless and boneless.
He chuckled, low and dark, and then he was stripping off the rest of his clothes.
When he was finally naked, you couldn't help but stare.
He was… big. Everywhere.
Your eyes widened slightly, and he noticed, his smirk widening. "Don't worry," he said, crawling back over you. "I'll make it fit."
You were on your hands and knees on his bed, your back arched, your face pressed into the expensive sheets that smelled like him—clean and sharp and male. Sukuna was behind you, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other wrapped around your front, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles.
And he was fucking you.
Hard.
Deep.
Fast enough that you couldn't catch your breath, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but take it and moan and feel. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your neck. "So fucking perfect." You whimpered, your hands fisting in the sheets, and he thrust harder, the sound of skin against skin obscenely loud in the quiet room. "You like that?" he muttered, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. "You like me fucking you like this?"
"Yes," you gasped, the word barely coherent. "Yes, oh, yes—" He groaned, low and rough, and his hips snapped forward again, burying himself so deep you saw stars. Your second orgasm was building already, coiling tight in your belly, and you could feel yourself getting wetter, could hear it in the slick sounds of him moving inside you.
"That's it," he growled. "Fuck, you're dripping for me. You gonna come again? Gonna come on my cock?" You nodded frantically, beyond words, and his fingers moved faster, his thrusts harder, and you were right there, right on the edge— And then he laughed.
Not a cruel laugh. Not mocking.
Just… amused.
"Fuck," he said, his rhythm faltering for just a second. "I forgot to take my meds." Your brain, fogged with pleasure, took a moment to process that, and then you felt him shift, his body leaning away from yours slightly, and you heard the sound of a pill bottle opening. You turned your head, dazed and disbelieving, and watched as Sukuna—still inside you, still hard, still moving in slow, lazy thrusts—popped open his prescription bottle with one hand.
He shook two pills into his palm, tossed them into his mouth, and then reached for the water bottle on his nightstand.
He took a drink, swallowed, and set the bottle back down.
All while still fucking you.
"Sukuna," you groaned, half scandalized, half delirious. "Are you serious right now?" He leaned back down, his chest pressing against your back again, his mouth right against your ear. "What?" he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement. "You told me to take them at the same time every day." You made a sound that was half laugh, half moan, because this was obscene and inappropriate and somehow the hottest thing that had ever happened to you.
"You're insane," you gasped. “Yeah," he agreed, and then he thrust hard, making you cry out. "But you like it." You couldn't argue with that.
His hand returned to your clit, and his pace picked up again, faster now, harder, and you were so close you could taste it. "Did I do a good job?" he growled in your ear, his voice rough and possessive. "Taking my meds like a good boy?" You whimpered, nodding frantically. "Say it," he demanded, his fingers pressing harder. "Tell me I did a good job."
"You did," you gasped. “God, Sukuna, you did so good—" He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back, and his thrusts became almost punishing, chasing his own release now. "Gonna fill you up," he muttered. "Gonna make you come one more time and then fill this pretty pussy up. You want that?"
"Yes," you sobbed, because you were so close, so fucking close— "Then come," he growled. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it." And you did.
Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your whole body seizing, your walls clamping down around him so hard he cursed. "Fuck, fuck, yes—" He thrust twice more, hard and deep, and then he was coming too, groaning your name into your neck as he spilled inside you.
You collapsed forward onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, both of you breathing hard.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then Sukuna shifted, pulling out slowly, and you whimpered at the loss.
He rolled onto his back beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest still heaving.
You turned your head to look at him, your body still trembling with aftershocks. "You really just took your meds in the middle of sex," you said, your voice hoarse.
He lowered his arm and looked at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Yeah," he said. "I did." You stared at him for a moment.
And then you started laughing.
You couldn't help it—it was absurd and ridiculous and so perfectly him that you couldn't do anything but laugh, your body shaking with it.
Sukuna watched you, his grin softening into something that looked almost fond.
"You're fucking cute," he muttered.
You were still laughing, breathless and spent and completely wrecked, when he pulled you against his chest, and for the first time since you'd met him, Sukuna looked like a peaceful menace, a menace you had to refill his prescription in 2 weeks.
But maybe the only medication he needed was just his pharmacist.
this was a brain rot idea I had like a long time ago, you're welcome😩
“jesus fuck woman— loosen up would’ya?” sukuna gruffs out, gripping your thighs tightly as he fucks you relentlessly in missionary, music blaring in the level below as it’s a typical friday night.
“i would if you’d slow the fuck down—ngh!!” you moan. sukuna laughs.
“yeah right. you like it rough. your pussy’s a dead giveaway, brat.” sukuna says as he leans down. he nips at your neck as he pummels into your squelching cunt.
“i swear if you leave any marks on my neck, i’m going to slap you when i see you next— shit you’re so deep!” you scratch at his back as you moan loudly.
“you know i get turned on when you’re angry with me baby” sukuna lets out a breathy laugh, followed by a groan.
“i’m serious kuna! spring breaks— fuck— coming up. i’m going home to see family!” you moan, your hands moving to shove at his tattooed pecs.
“fucking fine woman.” sukuna sighs and moves his biting mouth down to between your tits and nips at the skin.
“you don’t need to literally eat me kuna just fuck me” you sigh.
“aww but you’re too pretty not to. just a little nibble baby” sukuna teases with a devilish smirk on his devastatingly handsome face.
“you’re a nuisance sukuna. fucking annoying” you breathe, the end of your sentence coming out as a whine.
“yeah? my dick annoying too or just me?” sukuna chuckles, fucking you deeper out of spite.
“just you. hate you.” you moan, gripping his shoulders as he leans over you. “oh fuck..right there kuna that feels fucking amazing” you breathe out, followed by a pornographic moan.
“yeah? fuckin’ pretty when you moan like that f’me. gonna come? make a mess?” sukuna asks, keeping at it to continue hitting that spot.
“ohhh fuck! kuna just like that!” you say, throwing your head back.
“mmmhhmmm shit—squeezin’ me, woman” sukuna folds over on top of you, hiding in your neck.
“ohhmygodddd—i’m—” you cut yourself off as your eyes roll back and your back arches. your cunt gushing around sukuna.
“fuckin’ waterworks baby” sukuna laughs which quickly turns into a groan. “y’want it inside baby?”
“yesyesyes!!” you moan, legs quivering. sukuna holds you down as he finishes inside with the sexiest groan you’ve ever heard.
you both sigh when you’re finished riding out your highs. he slumps against your neck, his big, muscular frame just engulfing you. you scratch his scalp gently, causing him to melt into you.
“you’ve ruined me for other women” sukuna sighs against your neck.
“good” you smirk. he then gets up, lifting you up with him and walks you both to his bathroom to clean up.
sukuna using his body weight and fucking you til you pass out ˙𐃷˙
sukuna isn’t fucking you right if he doesn’t have you suspended in the air and fucking you against the wall or on your back and squishing you while he fucks both dicks inside of you.
he likes using both because he loves hearing that gasp of disbelief when he slides them in, how fast your hands flew up to grab onto something, anything; it got him even harder.
they couldn’t even fit all the way; the majority of it was left out because he knows you couldn’t handle it if he pushed 10 full inches deep inside of you, but he likes to imagine it.
the sounds you would make while your face is pressed against the mattress.
the little muffled sounds while you cried out for him, how tight you would be while you clenched around him, his dick so deep he can see it poking in your stomach.
he thought after him fucking you almost every day and every night you would get used to the feeling of his body crashing down on you and you taking both of him at the same time, but you always failed.
tensing up while each dick slid inside of you and his body came down, covering every inch of you.
“there you are. can you breathe down there?”
laughing to himself as he does the first thrust, his ear up to your neck to hear that muffled gasp and feel your butt lift up into him.
his dick soaked from you, he wasn’t even halfway in and he was already touching your sweet spots and feeling you drip down his shaft.
each thrust is getting deeper and wetter.
one of his hands sliding underneath you to feel himself going in and out. his whole hand covering your stomach, his fingertips pressing in to anchor himself.
sukuna rarely said anything when fucking you, a few snarky jokes here and there, but he really wanted you to take in the sensation; he wanted you focused on his dicks and how they were moving inside of you.
pressing a finger right beneath your belly button to feel you squirm and squeeze even tighter, purposely putting more weight on you.
letting his body sink into yours every time.
i have one more request to do but the jjk finale inspired me teehee
SYNOPSIS. You didn't think getting dared would leave you stuck in a closet with both your enemies, Sukuna and Toji..
CONTENT WARNING: 18+ only, alcohol mention, party setting, tension, arguing/banter, forced proximity setup, strong language, Tojikuna x reader, rough sex, degradation, choking, spanking, hair pulling, slapping, oral sex (deepthroat, face-fucking), anal play, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, sloppy kissing, fingering, double penetration, spit play, threesome, competitive teasing, possessiveness, voyeurism between the two men, overstimulation, breath play, nipple torture, forced eye contact, cum swapping, ass slapping, throat fucking, pussy stretching, clit slapping, marking with bites and hickeys, power play, edging, forced orgasms.
The bass from the speakers practically rattled the walls of the apartment, heavy enough to make the floor vibrate beneath your shoes every time another song switched. The entire place smelled like cheap liquor, perfume, sweat, and whatever overly sweet candle someone had burning in the kitchen to cover it all up.
People crowded every corner of the apartment shoulder-to-shoulder, yelling over music that was way too loud, laughing like they owned the place, stumbling into each other with red cups hanging loosely from their hands.
And honestly?
You already wanted to leave.
“You’re not seriously leaving after ten minutes,” your friend scoffed beside you, grabbing the sleeve of your jacket before you could even think about reaching the front door. “We literally fought to get you here.”
“I didn’t ask you to fight,” you muttered flatly, trying to ignore the way somebody nearly slammed into your shoulder while running past. “I came, didn’t I? That should count for something.”
“It counts for you being dramatic.”
“I’m dramatic because this place smells like regret and bad decisions.”
Your friend barked out a laugh. “That’s every college party.”
“Exactly why I hate them.”
She rolled her eyes before shoving a drink into your hand anyway, immediately getting distracted when someone across the room called her name. The second she disappeared into the crowd, you exhaled slowly, finally alone for maybe the first time since arriving.
Your gaze drifted around the apartment lazily until—
Oh.
Absolutely not.
Leaning against the far kitchen counter like he owned the entire building stood Toji Fushiguro, dark shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, one tattooed arm resting against the marble countertop while he spoke to someone beside him.
Even from across the room, he carried that same infuriatingly relaxed expression he always wore, like nothing in the world could genuinely bother him.
And next to him—
Of course.
Because apparently your night wasn’t miserable enough already.
Ryomen Sukuna sat lazily on top of the counter itself, one leg hanging over the edge while he scrolled through his phone with complete disinterest. The second his eyes lifted though, sharp crimson gaze locking onto yours through the crowd, something smug flickered across his expression immediately.
Like he found this funny.
Like fate itself had personally delivered entertainment to him.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
“Nope,” you muttered under your breath, already turning away.
Unfortunately for you, Sukuna noticed.
“Well, well,” his voice called out loudly over the music. “Look who decided to show up.”
You closed your eyes briefly.
Ignore him.
Actually ignore him.
You continued walking toward the living room, pretending not to hear him, but that only seemed to amuse him more.
“Hey,” Sukuna called again. “You deaf or just rude?”
“You tell me,” you shot back without looking at him.
A few people nearby immediately reacted with loud “ooohs,” sensing tension like sharks smelling blood in water.
Bad. Very bad.
You heard footsteps behind you before someone suddenly appeared beside you effortlessly.
Toji.
“You always this friendly at parties?” he asked casually.
You looked up at him with visible annoyance. “Do you always follow people around uninvited?”
“Only when they look irritated. It’s entertaining.”
“Glad I could provide tonight’s comedy show.”
Toji’s mouth twitched slightly, almost a smile, which only irritated you more.
Sukuna approached a second later, slipping beside Toji with his hands shoved into his pockets. “She’s been in a bad mood since the first time I met her.”
“You make everybody miserable,” you replied instantly.
“And yet here you are talking to me.”
“I’d rather chew glass.”
“Ouch,” Sukuna mocked dryly. “That one hurt.”
Toji let out a low chuckle beside him while you glared at both of them equally.
You genuinely couldn’t stand either of them.
Toji with his calm, unreadable attitude that somehow made every sarcastic comment sound worse, and Sukuna with his arrogant mouth and constant need to provoke people just because he could. The two of them together were unbearable. Loud in completely different ways. Cocky in completely different ways. Somehow always making every interaction feel like a challenge.
And for some reason, they both loved bothering you specifically.
“Why are you staring?” you snapped finally.
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “You look annoyed.”
“I am annoyed.”
“Cute.”
“Say that again and lose teeth.”
Toji snorted softly under his breath.
“You threatening people already?” he mused. “Party barely started.”
You crossed your arms. “Maybe I’d be nicer if certain people disappeared.”
“Aw,” Sukuna mocked. “She missed us.”
“I hope both of you trip down a flight of stairs.”
“That’s not very nice,” Toji said lazily.
“I don’t care.”
Before either of them could answer again, a loud voice suddenly cut through the room.
“TRUTH OR DARE!”
A chorus of cheers immediately erupted from the living room. Someone dragged over chairs while people crowded onto couches and the floor in messy circles. Multiple voices started yelling names, demanding people join.
You already knew this was going to become a disaster.
“No,” you said immediately.
“Yes,” your friend answered immediately after, appearing out of nowhere to grab your wrist again.
“I’m not playing.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’d rather throw myself out the window.”
“Too late.”
Before you could protest again, she physically shoved you down onto the couch beside the group. Unfortunately—truly unfortunately—the only open spot left happened to be directly across from Sukuna and Toji.
You stared at her in betrayal.
She grinned unapologetically before disappearing into the crowd again.
Traitor.
The game started normally enough. A few harmless truths. Dumb dares. Somebody had to text their ex. Someone else had to take a mystery shot from the kitchen and immediately regretted it. Laughter echoed constantly around the room while the atmosphere grew louder, messier, warmer.
Still, every single time your eyes accidentally drifted up, one of them was already looking at you.
Toji lounged comfortably against the couch like he didn’t have a single care in the world, dark eyes heavy with amusement whenever you glared at him. Sukuna was worse somehow, openly staring without shame, like he enjoyed watching you slowly lose patience.
Which he probably did.
“You’re glaring holes into us,” Sukuna commented eventually.
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
“Barely.”
“Try harder.”
Someone nearby burst out laughing.
“This tension is insane,” another person muttered.
“They act like divorced parents,” somebody else added.
“I’d rather die,” you said immediately.
“Toji, blink twice if she secretly likes us,” Sukuna said dramatically.
“She’d stab both of us first.”
“Correct,” you answered.
Then suddenly—
“Your turn.”
You blinked.
Everyone was staring at you now.
A grin spread slowly across someone’s face from the opposite couch. “Truth or dare?”
The room grew louder instantly with anticipation.
You should’ve picked truth.
You knew you should’ve picked truth.
But unfortunately pride had always been one of your worst qualities.
You leaned back slightly against the couch cushions, refusing to look nervous even when Sukuna’s eyes narrowed with interest.
“Dare,” you answered confidently.
Immediately, the entire room exploded.
“Ohhhh no.”
“She’s done for.”
“Make it evil.”
“I have the PERFECT one—”
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Why do you sound excited?”
Your friend covered her mouth dramatically like she was trying not to laugh.
That was never a good sign.
Then someone finally spoke.
“I dare you,” they started slowly, grinning wider when your expression immediately darkened, “to spend ten minutes locked in the closet with Toji and Sukuna.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
You stared at them.
“No.”
The room erupted into screams and laughter instantly.
“You HAVE to!”
“That’s the dare!”
“No backing out!”
Your jaw dropped slightly as you looked around at the cheering crowd in disbelief.
“You people are actually insane.”
Sukuna leaned back comfortably, looking entirely too entertained already. “I think it sounds fun.”
“Of course you do.”
Toji glanced toward you lazily before standing from the couch in one smooth motion. “C’mon,” he said casually. “Don’t chicken out now.”
You looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
Then at Sukuna.
Then at the closet door across the apartment.
Then back at your so-called friends who were practically dying laughing already.
This night was going to kill you.
── დ ──
“That’s actually stupid,” you said flatly while the entire group around you dissolved into obnoxious laughter. “Like genuinely. You all need hobbies.”
“Ten minutes!” someone yelled.
“You’ll survive!”
“Maybe!”
“Lock the door!” another voice shouted immediately after.
“Oh my god,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face.
Sukuna looked like he was having the time of his life already, lounging back against the couch with a grin sharp enough to start fights. “You’re overreacting.”
“You make people miserable for fun.”
“And?”
“And I don’t voluntarily spend time with people like that.”
“Toji,” Sukuna said casually, not taking his eyes off you, “she’s hurting my feelings.”
“I think you’ll recover,” Toji answered lazily.
That smug asshole actually looked amused.
You glared at both of them. “You know what? Forget it. I’m not doing this.”
Instant booing erupted around the room.
“NO BACKING OUT!”
“Scared?”
“She’s scared!”
“I am not scared,” you snapped instantly.
“Then prove it,” Sukuna said.
Your eyes narrowed.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
That stupid smug expression on his face only made it worse too, like he’d already won something before the game had even started.
You hated that.
Especially because half the room was now staring at you expectantly.
Your pride was seriously a disease.
“Fine,” you bit out finally, standing abruptly from the couch. “Ten minutes. Then I’m leaving.”
The crowd cheered dramatically.
“YEAHHH!”
“To the closet!”
“This is the best night ever.”
“It’s the worst night of mine,” you muttered.
Somebody immediately grabbed your shoulders from behind before physically steering you toward the hallway while laughing hysterically. The closet door near the laundry room was already being cleared out by people acting like this was some major event.
You looked back once, hoping maybe—just maybe—Toji or Sukuna would decide this was dumb too.
Unfortunately, both of them followed behind without complaint.
Of course they did.
Toji walked with his hands in his pockets, completely relaxed, while Sukuna looked almost excited by the chaos unfolding around him.
“You both look way too comfortable with this,” you complained.
“Toji’s comfortable everywhere,” Sukuna replied.
“That’s because unlike you, I don’t talk constantly.”
“Funny coming from the guy who acts mysterious to avoid conversations.”
“Toji acts mysterious because he’s old,” you cut in.
A few people nearby lost it laughing.
Toji looked down at you slowly. “Old?”
“You heard me.”
“That attitude’s crazy for someone about to be trapped in a closet with me.”
“Oh, shut up.”
The crowd practically shoved all three of you inside before you could say anything else.
The closet door slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed everything instantly except for the faint strip of warm light beneath the door.
Then—
Click.
The lock.
Outside, everyone burst into loud laughter.
“DON’T KILL EACH OTHER!”
“Ten minutes starts NOW!”
“Someone set a timer!”
“This is so toxic!” someone wheezed.
Your jaw clenched immediately.
The closet was small.
Way too small.
Like uncomfortably small.
The air already felt warmer with three people crammed shoulder-to-shoulder between hanging coats and stacked storage boxes. Your back pressed awkwardly against the wall while Toji stood somewhere to your left and Sukuna directly in front of you.
Close.
Too close.
You could barely even move without brushing against one of them.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Outside laughter and muffled music bled through the walls while silence settled heavily inside the cramped space.
Awkward.
Painfully awkward.
Then Sukuna finally broke it.
“Well,” he drawled lazily, “this is intimate.”
You stared at him in disbelief despite barely being able to see his face properly. “You are unbearable.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
A low chuckle came from Toji somewhere beside you.
“There she goes again,” he murmured.
“Oh my god, are both of you always this annoying?”
“Yes,” Sukuna answered immediately.
“Toji’s slightly less annoying than you,” you muttered.
“Wow,” Sukuna deadpanned. “I’m devastated.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Toji,” Sukuna sighed dramatically, “why does she hate me?”
“Probably your personality.”
“See?” you pointed vaguely into the darkness. “He gets it.”
“Careful,” Sukuna warned teasingly. “You compliment him too much and he’ll start thinking you like him better.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Short.
Accidental.
But both of them noticed immediately.
You realized it the second silence fell again.
“…What?” you asked cautiously.
“You laughed,” Sukuna said.
“No I didn’t.”
“You literally did,” Toji added.
“I breathed.”
“That’s embarrassing,” Sukuna mused. “You’re getting comfortable around us.”
“I would rather get hit by a car.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“And you’re obsessed with irritating me.”
“Maybe because your reactions are entertaining.”
You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly against the wall— and instantly regretted it when your shoulder brushed directly against Toji’s chest.
Your entire body stiffened.
The closet suddenly felt even smaller somehow.
“Relax,” Toji said quietly.
“I am relaxed.”
“You jumped.”
“I did not.”
“You definitely did,” Sukuna added smugly.
You wanted to strangle both of them.
Outside the closet, your friends were still laughing loudly every few seconds, probably imagining all kinds of ridiculous scenarios already.
Meanwhile you were stuck in a cramped dark space slowly losing your sanity.
Then Sukuna suddenly spoke again.
“You know,” he said casually, “I think she likes you more.”
“Oh my god,” you groaned immediately. “Not this again.”
“Toji got a laugh outta you.”
“You two are acting like middle schoolers.”
“You didn’t deny it though.”
“I literally hate both of you equally.”
“That sounds dishonest,” Toji murmured.
Your eyes narrowed.
Even in the dark, you could practically hear the amusement in his voice.
“You’re really confident for someone trapped in here too,” you shot back.
“I’m not trapped in here with you,” Sukuna said lazily. “You’re trapped in here with us.”
“You are so corny.”
“You smiled again.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
The confidence in his voice made your stomach twist with irritation.
Or maybe something else.
You didn’t want to think about that possibility.
Then suddenly, movement.
Toji shifted closer slightly, probably trying to lean against the wall better in the cramped space, but the motion forced you forward unexpectedly.
Right into Sukuna.
Your breath caught instantly when his hand grabbed your arm automatically to steady you.
The entire closet went quiet.
Completely quiet.
His grip wasn’t rough.
That somehow made it worse.
Your heart stuttered stupidly in your chest as you looked up—and realized just how close he actually was now.
Too close.
Close enough to feel warmth.
Close enough to hear breathing.
Close enough that if either of you moved even slightly—
“You good?” Sukuna asked softly.
Softer than before.
Different.
And before you could answer, Toji suddenly leaned down near your ear from behind, voice low enough to send heat straight up your spine.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re getting nervous.”
You hated how easily Toji could say things like that—calm, close, completely unbothered while the air between all three of you felt like it had thickened into something harder to ignore. His voice was right behind you, low enough that it didn’t belong to the chaos outside anymore. Outside, your friends were still laughing, still shouting nonsense through the door, still treating this like a joke.
Inside, it didn’t feel like one anymore.
“I’m not nervous,” you said quickly.
It came out sharper than you meant it to.
Sukuna let out a quiet laugh in front of you. “That was immediate. That’s usually a tell.”
“Shut up.”
“See?” he continued, like you hadn’t spoken at all. “She’s defensive now too.”
“I’ve been defensive since I got shoved in here with two people who I hate the most don’t know when to stop talking.”
“Toji doesn’t talk that much,” Sukuna added casually.
“Don’t drag me into your argument,” Toji replied.
But he didn’t move away.
That was the problem.
None of them did.
The closet was still dark, but your eyes had adjusted enough now that shapes were clearer—Sukuna in front of you, shoulders slightly angled like he was still blocking the narrow space without even trying. Toji behind you, closer than before, his presence steady and heavy in a way that made it impossible to forget he was there.
And you.
Stuck in the middle of it.
Perfect.
“Ten minutes is a long time,” Sukuna said after a beat, voice lighter again. “We could actually get to know each other.”
“I already know you’re insufferable.”
“That’s surface level.”
“There is no deeper level I want to explore.”
Toji hummed faintly behind you, almost like he was amused by the back-and-forth rather than participating in it. “She’s consistent at least.”
“Don’t compliment me,” you muttered.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It felt like one.”
“Then you’re imagining things,” he said simply.
That should’ve ended it.
That should’ve ended it.
It didn’t.
Instead, Sukuna shifted slightly forward. Not enough to touch you—but enough that the space changed again. Like he’d decided standing still wasn’t enough anymore.
“You’re still avoiding eye contact,” he noted.
“There’s nothing to look at.”
“That’s a lie,” he said instantly.
Your eyes snapped up.
Bad decision.
Because he was already looking at you.
Fully focused now, no humor in the expression this time—just that familiar sharp attention that made it feel like he was picking apart every reaction you tried to hide. Like he was waiting for something.
“You’re really serious about hating us, huh?” Sukuna asked.
“I don’t do fake reactions,” you said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
A pause.
Then Toji, quieter: “She doesn’t hate us.”
You turned your head slightly, immediately irritated. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t even sound phased. “If you actually hated us, you wouldn’t still be standing here arguing.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“It kind of is,” Sukuna added.
“Oh my god, you two are so—”
Your words cut off when Toji shifted again.
closer.
Not aggressive. Not sudden.
Just… closing distance in a way that made the cramped closet feel even smaller than it already was.
You could feel him now.
Too clearly.
Your voice lowered without permission. “Can you stop moving?”
“Why?” Toji asked.
“Because there’s nowhere else to go.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
Sukuna laughed under his breath. “He’s enjoying this.”
“I’m not enjoying anything,” Toji replied, but there was something faintly amused in it anyway.
You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to ignore the way your pulse felt annoyingly aware of every inch of space—or lack of it.
Outside, someone shouted something indistinct.
The group still existed.
The party still existed.
But it felt distant now. Like another room entirely.
Inside the closet, the silence stretched again.
Then Sukuna spoke, softer this time.
“You always this tense around people you hate?”
“I’m not tense.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Toji added, like it was fact.
"Oh shut the fuck up," You shot a look toward him. “Why are you agreeing with him?”
“Because he’s right.”
That made you pause.
A second of silence followed—heavier than the others.
You hated that your body was reacting before your brain could catch up. Hated that you were hyper-aware of everything: the warmth, the proximity, the way Sukuna wasn’t joking as much anymore, the way Toji’s voice had dropped lower since earlier.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to feel.
It was supposed to be stupid.
Funny.
Over in ten minutes.
Not… this.
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “You’re thinking too hard.”
“I’m not thinking at all.”
“Liar.”
You scoffed. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you don’t back down easily,” he said immediately.
That landed differently than you expected.
Not teasing.
Just observant.
Toji’s voice followed, quieter again. “And I know you’re not scared of us.”
Your breath caught for half a second before you forced it out.
“That’s not what this is,” you said.
“Then what is it?” Sukuna asked.
You didn’t answer immediately.
Because the truth was annoying.
It was cramped space and too much attention and two people who refused to treat you like you were invisible in a room full of noise. It was them watching you like you were something worth reacting to instead of someone easy to ignore.
It was—
“Ten minutes,” you finally said. “That’s what this is.”
Sukuna hummed. “We’re halfway through.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Toji shifted again—slower this time. Careful, but still closing distance in a way that made your back instinctively press further into the wall.
Not from fear.
From awareness.
“Relax,” he said again, softer than before.
You let out a short laugh. “You keep saying that like it means anything.”
“It does.”
“It really doesn’t.”
Sukuna took another step forward.
Now there was barely space left in front of you at all.
“Here’s something I’m curious about,” he said.
You narrowed your eyes. “Of course you are.”
“If we were actually the problem,” he continued, ignoring you, “you would’ve left the moment the door opened.”
You froze slightly.
“That’s not—”
“But you didn’t,” he finished.
Silence again.
Thicker this time.
You opened your mouth to argue—
—but Toji leaned down slightly behind you, close enough that his voice brushed the edge of your ear again.
“Time’s almost up,” he murmured.
And for the first time since the door closed—
you realized you weren’t thinking about the ten minutes anymore.
You were thinking about how close they still were.
How neither of them had moved away.
everything would change.
── დ ──
The closet felt smaller with every passing second, the air thick and heavy with their combined scents—Toji’s earthy musk mixed with Sukuna’s sharper, almost metallic edge. Your back pressed against the wall, heart hammering as their bodies boxed you in without a single inch of space left between you.
Toji’s broad chest hovered inches from yours, his scarred hand already resting on your hip like he owned it, while Sukuna’s crimson eyes locked onto your face with that predatory smirk, one hand braced above your head on the shelf.
Your confidence cracked first. You swallowed hard, voice coming out shakier than you wanted. “This dare is stupid. I’m leaving.” You tried to push past Toji, but his grip tightened instantly, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise.
“Running already, doll?” Toji’s voice dropped low and rough, no trace of his usual lazy drawl. He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “Door’s locked from the outside for the next ten minutes. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Sukuna chuckled darkly, stepping in to block any other escape route, his larger frame crowding you from the side.
“Look at her face. All flushed and pretending she doesn’t want this. Pathetic little thing. You’ve been eye-fucking us both all night and now you act shy?” His hand shot out, gripping your chin to force your gaze up to his. “Stay. Or we make you.”
You slapped his wrist away, anger flaring hot in your chest even as heat pooled between your thighs. “Fuck off, both of you. This isn’t funny anymore.”
But your protest died when Toji’s free hand slid up under your skirt without warning, fingers dragging along your inner thigh until they cupped your pussy through your panties. The thin fabric was already soaked.
“Wet as fuck,” Toji growled, rubbing slow circles over your clit. “Told you she likes it when we team up on her. Enemies or not, we both know what this slut needs.”
Sukuna’s hand joined his, yanking your panties aside roughly so two thick fingers plunged straight into your cunt. The stretch burned deliciously as he curled them deep, scissoring your walls while Toji’s thumb kept grinding your swollen clit.
You gasped, knees buckling, but they held you upright between them. “She’s dripping down my hand already. Greedy hole sucking me in like it’s starving.”
You moaned despite yourself, head falling back against the wall as they worked you in tandem—Sukuna pumping his fingers hard and fast while Toji slapped your clit lightly, sharp little stings that made your hips jerk.
Their mouths descended at once. Toji claimed your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss, tongue shoving deep and tangling with yours while Sukuna latched onto your neck, biting and sucking marks that would show for days.
Spit trailed down your chin from the messy kiss, and Toji pulled back just to spit into your open mouth before diving in again.
"Open wider, whore,” Sukuna snarled against your throat, adding a third finger to stretch your pussy wider. “Gonna ruin this cunt before we even fuck you.”
He pulled his fingers out only to slap your pussy hard, the wet sound echoing in the tight space, then shoved them back in knuckle-deep. Your walls clenched around him as another orgasm built fast and sharp.
Toji yanked your top down, freeing your tits so he could pinch and twist your nipples viciously, rolling the sensitive buds until tears pricked your eyes. “Look at these pretty tits bouncing while Sukuna fingers you stupid. Bet you want both our cocks stuffing you full, don’t you? Say it.”
You shook your head, defiant even as your body betrayed you, hips rocking down onto Sukuna’s thrusting fingers. “N-no… fuck you.”
Sukuna laughed, pulling his fingers free to shove them into your mouth instead, making you taste your own arousal. “Suck. Clean them like the nasty cumdump you are.”
While you obeyed, gagging slightly on his thick digits, Toji freed his cock and rubbed the fat head against your soaked folds. He didn’t wait—slamming inside in one brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs. Your walls stretched painfully around his girth, but the burn only made you wetter.
Sukuna freed his own cock next, pressing it against your lips. “Choke on mine while he wrecks your pussy.” He gripped your hair tight, forcing his length down your throat in one go.
They both had you gagging and moaning around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as Toji pounded into you from below, each thrust lifting your feet off the ground. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur while Sukuna face-fucked you mercilessly, balls slapping your chin.
They competed for every reaction—Toji spanking your ass with sharp cracks that left your skin burning, Sukuna biting down on your nipple hard enough to draw a cry around his cock.
When Toji pulled out to flip you around, bending you over so Sukuna could take your pussy next, the pink-haired man didn’t hesitate. He drove in deep, railing you with punishing strokes while Toji spread your ass cheeks and spat on your tight hole, working one finger inside your ass to stretch you for more.
"Gonna take us both,” Toji rasped, lining his cock up with your ass once Sukuna pulled back slightly. They worked in sync, double penetrating you in the cramped closet—Toji’s cock spearing your ass while Sukuna’s filled your pussy to the brim.
The stretch was obscene, your body shaking as they thrust in alternating rhythms, filling you completely with every snap of their hips. Sloppy kisses landed wherever they could reach—your shoulders, neck, mouth when they turned your head—while degradation spilled from their lips.
“Such a filthy slut, taking two cocks like you were made for it,” Sukuna grunted, slapping your clit in time with his thrusts. “Cum on us. Now.”
You shattered hard, pussy and ass clenching around them as waves of pleasure crashed through you. They didn’t stop, fucking you through it and into another, then another, until your legs gave out.
Toji came first, flooding your ass with hot cum that leaked out around his cock. Sukuna followed seconds later, pumping your pussy full until it overflowed, thick ropes mixing with your juices.
But they weren’t finished with you yet. Toji pulled out slowly, his cock still half-hard and glistening, only to spin you around and drop you to your knees on the closet floor. “Clean me up, doll. Use that pretty mouth like the cock-hungry slut you are.”
His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you forward as you opened wide and took him deep, tasting the mix of your own arousal and his release on your tongue.
You gagged as he thrust shallowly, spit dripping down your chin while Sukuna knelt behind you, spreading your cheeks and shoving two fingers back into your cum-slick ass.
He worked them in and out roughly, scissoring to keep you stretched and open, his free hand reaching around to slap your clit in sharp, stinging bursts that made your hips buck.
Sukuna’s voice was a low growl against your ear. “Look at this greedy little hole still twitching for more. Bet you want us to switch this time—my cock buried in your ass while Toji wrecks that sloppy cunt again.”
He yanked his fingers free and replaced them with the thick head of his dick, pushing in without mercy until his hips met your ass. The burn mixed with pleasure as he started pounding, each thrust forcing you further onto Toji’s length in your mouth.
Toji held your head steady, forcing eye contact as he fucked your throat, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. “That’s it, mama. Take it all. Choke on this dick while he ruins your ass.”
They moved in tandem again, double penetration hitting deeper in this new angle. Sukuna’s hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling you back onto him with every snap of his pelvis, while Toji’s cock slid in and out of your throat, saliva and precum mixing in messy strings.
Your body trembled through another orgasm, walls fluttering around nothing until Toji reached down to rub your swollen clit in tight circles. Sukuna leaned over your back, biting down on your shoulder as he came again, pumping another thick load deep into your ass.
The sensation triggered Toji, who pulled out just enough to paint your tongue and lips with his second release, forcing you to swallow every drop before shoving back in to make sure you took it all.
Finally spent, they eased out of you, cum leaking from both holes in thick trails down your thighs. Toji helped you to your feet, his touch surprisingly steady as he tugged your clothes back into place with a smirk.
Sukuna wiped a stray streak of release from your chin with his thumb, pushing it between your lips for one last taste. The charged silence lingered for a beat, their bodies still close, breaths mingling in the tight space.
Then the closet door clicked open from the outside, light spilling in as laughter echoed from the party beyond. You stepped out on shaky legs, their eyes following you with that same unified hunger, the night far from over.
── დ ──
The noise of the party hit you all at once.
Music. Voices. Someone shouting over a drinking game across the apartment. The bass vibrating through the floor hard enough to pull you back into reality after what had just happened behind that closed door.
Except reality didn’t feel real anymore.
Not when you could still feel their attention on you like heat crawling across your skin.
The crowd immediately exploded the second all three of you stepped out.
“OH MY GOD.”
“NO WAY.”
“Why do they all look like that—”
“I KNEW SOMETHING HAPPENED.”
“Shut UP,” you snapped immediately, glaring at your friends while trying desperately to ignore the smirks spreading around the room.
Unfortunately, your voice lacked its usual bite.
Which only made everyone react worse.
Sukuna walked out behind you looking entirely too pleased with himself, hands shoved lazily into his pockets while people immediately started yelling questions at him from the couch.
“How was it?”
“Did anyone die?”
“You look evil right now.”
“I always look evil,” Sukuna answered smoothly.
“Toji?” someone else called.
Toji only shrugged once, calm as ever, though there was something unreadable sitting behind his expression now. Something quieter. More dangerous.
Then his gaze flicked toward you again.
Your stomach tightened instantly.
Yeah.
You needed air.
Now.
“I’m going outside,” you muttered quickly.
Nobody stopped you this time.
The apartment balcony was colder than expected, crisp night air hitting your face the second you stepped outside. The city lights blurred in the distance beneath the dark sky while muffled music still pulsed faintly through the walls behind you.
Finally.
Silence.
Well—almost silence.
The balcony door slid open again less than thirty seconds later.
You didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.
“You always run away after getting your brains fucked out, brat?” Sukuna’s voice teased lightly.
“I’m not flustered.”
“Sure.”
You rolled your eyes, leaning against the railing. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“No.”
Another presence stepped onto the balcony.
Toji.
Of course.
“You two asshole's travel in pairs now?” you muttered.
“Seems like it,” Sukuna replied.
For a moment, nobody said anything.
For a moment, nobody said anything.
The tension from the closet still lingered heavily between all three of you, quieter now but somehow more dangerous outside the chaos of the party. The city wind tugged lightly at your clothes while distant sirens echoed somewhere far below.
Then Toji spoke.
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
You looked over at him. “You say that like you can read minds.”
“No,” he answered simply. “You just get quiet when something matters.”
That caught you off guard enough to shut you up for half a second.
Sukuna noticed immediately.
“There it is again,” he said with a grin. “That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you don’t know what to say.”
“I always know what to say.”
“Not tonight.”
You hated how right he was.
Everything tonight had thrown you off balance in the worst possible way. They got under your skin too easily. Knew exactly how to provoke reactions out of you. And somehow, despite all the arguing and tension and constant fighting—
you hadn’t walked away.
The realization sat heavier now than it did in the closet.
You exhaled slowly, staring out over the city lights. “You both are seriously annoying.”
Sukuna laughed softly. “There she is.”
“But,” you admitted reluctantly, “I guess tonight wasn’t completely terrible.”
A dramatic gasp came from Sukuna instantly.
“Toji, did you hear that? She likes us.”
“Don’t push it.”
Toji’s mouth twitched faintly, almost another smile.
The balcony fell quiet again after that, but this time it wasn’t awkward.
It was easier.
Warmer.
Like something between all three of you had shifted permanently.
Inside the apartment, your friends were probably still losing their minds trying to figure out what happened in that closet. Tomorrow would be unbearable. The teasing alone would probably haunt you for weeks.
But strangely enough?
You didn’t really care.
Not when Sukuna was leaning lazily against the balcony doorway watching you with open amusement.
Not when Toji stood beside you in comfortable silence like he’d always belonged there.
And definitely not when, for the first time all night, you realized you were smiling too.
Maybe this night had changed everything after all.
Comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡
A/N: this story style was heavily inspired by @jazzthatonewriterchick and this whole story was requested from @sirensdairy
