⋮ minors dni. selfship-coded, suggestive, reigen x reader, slight angst, mentions of alcohol consumption (i guess, it's probably 99% juice lol)
same old, same old.
cool air and cream-colored moonlight filter in through your open window. the chill leaves a raised path of goosebumps along the exposed skin of your arms — ones wrapped around reigen's neck.
his kiss is one of want, but his hands? they may be anything but. they squeeze and slack at your waist, fingers digging into your skin to pull you closer before all but retreating altogether. you can almost make out the inner turmoil in his head, the one he's having all the time when it comes to you. the two halves of his brain arguing over the ethics of making out with his employee.
at the end of the kiss, the side of professionalism loses once again. reigen wraps an arm around your waist, hugging you tight, brushing the hardness behind his unbuttoned work slacks against your core. he tugs gently at the collar of your blouse, kissing along your neck, sucking hickeys into the skin. marks he'll act borderline repulsed by the next day, causing a petty spat before everyone else arrives. responding to "you're the one that put them there, dumbass" with his own "we were tipsy, i got carried away".
and despite that lame and tired and repeated excuse, reigen barely puts up a fight when you accompany him to whatever small bar he's heading to after work. doesn't put a halt to your flirty comments fueled by alcohol. entertains them, in fact. gets more touchy than coworkers should be, because you like it, because he likes how you giggle when he whispers against your neck. follows you to your apartment, or leads you to his if it's closer. he starts with a kiss that's controversial in his mind, and ends with his clothes on the floor and tangled in the sheets with you.
sometimes you wake up in time to catch him leaving. sometimes you don't see reigen until you make it to work that day, where he acts like nothing happened, nothing changed, you're still his annoying little psychic secretary with an attitude he's forced to tolerate. damn all the sweet nothings he said to you last night. until the next time. same old, same old.
part vi. one last meeting with sukuna before winter break
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ cw. fingering, reader gets her period, kissing, squirting, mild bloodplay, fluff, they're both being idiots, both povs
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ wc. ~4k
series masterlist
In light of you leaving campus for winter break, Sukuna's managed to lure you into his dorm one last time.
And how did he manage to lure you?
By telling you he has an unused felting kit… which you can try out only at his dorm.
Except as soon as the door opens, he's already pulling you onto his bed, informing you that you get to do your "dorky little crafts" after he's done with you.
Then his lips are crashing onto yours—you panic a little as he starts squeezing your tits and grinding his erection into you.
Meanwhile his hand slides lower, no doubt on its way to slip into your underwear.
"Wait," you gasp, managing to get away from his greedy mouth.
"What."
"What about your r—"
"I stole his keys," Sukuna quickly reassures you. "The idiot didn't realize before he left the dorm. He won't be able to get in."
He tries to kiss you again but you pull back once more, frowning.
"Are you really denying him of his rights to this living space because of… me? That's unethical. I don't want to have unethical sex."
He doesn't even flinch—only tightens his hold on your waist. "Well you're not going anywhere—so would you rather have him walk in on us? Maybe get a real good look at what a slut I make outta you—"
"Sukuna!" you squeak, feeling a bit scandalized. "Okay, fine… just… stop talking like that."
"Oh, so you're not wet right now?"
You gulp. "I'm always wet. I drink a lot of water."
"Right," he hums, fingers sliding down your belly just till the band of your panties, till—
"Wait."
You stop him again, grabbing his wrist.
"What now?!"
For a second you just stare helplessly because honestly it's kind of an embarrassing thing to admit—just as much as it is stupid.
"I, uh…"
"Spit it out woman."
"...So you know how I shaved last time?"
You swear his face drops a little just from recalling it. "Yeah, I remember."
"So it's been growing out—because you refuse to let me shave it—and it's in that weird prickly stubble phase and it's so itchy all the time and I hate it."
"I don't care," he says flatly.
"No, like its really bad and so itchy and gross—"
You squeal when he suddenly hooks two fingers into your waistband with a casual ease and pulls them down to expose your mons where new hair is beginning to sprout.
"Hm. Looks fine. Just stop scratching it, idiot," he comments, so unmoved he almost seems bored.
Slapping his hand away to try and preserve a little bit of your dignity, you shoot him an indignant glare.
"Can you not?! It's so uncomfortable feeling them poke out of my underwear like some… hedgehog."
"I'd still hit that even if it was a—"
Sukuna starts too quickly, before pausing and thinking.
"…Nevermind."
Before you can question him, his lips are pressing back onto yours.
These days, when you nip and worry at his lip, he leans into it, letting out a sound that’s suspiciously close to a purr.
This time you don't flinch as his fingertips slide lower and lower, slipping into your underwear and over the stubbled skin of your mound to brush against your clit.
You sigh into his mouth, thighs tensing as you press yourself into the touch, especially when he begins rubbing small circles on the bud.
And just as you start to really get worked up—he breaks the kiss, breath a bit heavy as he peers down at you.
"Turn around," he rasps, already pulling his hand out to manhandle you into the position he wants—you laying up against him, back to his chest, soaking in the heat of his muscled body.
"What's the point of telling me to do it if you're just going to do it for me?"
"Shut up," he tells you, but not unkindly. "And can you relax? Stop acting like you don't even like me."
You didn't even notice your body was automatically wound tight, reflexively tensing away from him—from the intimacy of this position.
"What?! I showed you my trinket collection."
Which, for you, translates to "I do like you."
Luckily Sukuna's somehow picked up more of your language than he ever intended to, so he gets the memo.
He rolls his eyes—normally he'd push you into him to force you into that state but he knows if he does that you'll just become even more stiff.
So instead, he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck.
One hand climbs up to gently squeeze one of your tits, the other one finds its way back into your panties to toy with your sensitive clit till it perks up under his touch.
And just like that, you're loosening up like honey in warm water.
"See? Not so bad, huh?"
You only make some small whimper.
Sukuna enjoys it too much seeing how you unravel just from this—some wet kisses sucked and bitten into the delicate skin of your neck along with a little bit of clit play.
"Wanna take these off?" he suggests, snapping the band of your panties.
You pout ever so slightly. "…I don't wanna see my hedgehog."
The soft laugh that he lets out after is more so amused than mean.
"We can get under the cover. It's kinda cold anyways."
After a second you nod—then comes about three minutes of you wriggling out of your bottoms under the sheets.
You hesitate before slipping off your underwear. Even knowing you’ll be hidden from direct view, you’re still not used to the vulnerability of simply being… bare, with someone else so close.
And it doesn’t help that a few too many dreams of being helplessly nude in places you shouldn’t be still cling to you, prickling unease along your skin.
But with a few coaxing words and kisses from him, soon you're tugging your panties off to quickly ball them up and put them to the side.
"Good. Just try to relax," he murmurs into your hair as he pulls your thighs apart under the cover, settling you in till your ass is right on top of where his pants are starting to tighten.
You're already shaky, breathing uneven as his finger ventures lower to stroke your sticky slit.
You shiver as he circles the entrance, never quite fully slipping in but feeling the wetness collected there.
He teases you until finally—
"Sukuna… please—"
You swallow. "You should finger me."
You say it like its just another random objective fact or observation you're spitting out.
"Oh, I should?"
"Yes—it's the right thing to do."
"Mhm. Well I guess since you suggested so nicely…"
He shifts you to get easier access.
"One or two fingers?"
"One… for now."
He obliges your request, slipping a single finger in. It's not really a stretch but even then it feels a little strange at first — having something other than your own fingers in there.
"I've been waiting to feel you from the inside for so long," he murmurs.
"Good thing you're not my surgeon."
You nervously blurt out the joke—then mentally slap yourself after for saying that stupid shit in the middle of sex.
Though at this point it doesn't even throw him off nearly as much as it should—he only sighs again.
"How about you just keep that pretty little mouth shut unless it's to make some cute noises for me."
You decide that's probably a good course of action for you.
Soon you're relaxing again as his finger moves inside of you—not fingering you yet exactly, more like… exploring.
Feeling along the ridges and texture of your fleshy, slick covered walls.
Then at last there's pressure as he starts massaging a certain spot.
For a few seconds you don't feel much—more like someone's probing inside you. Those few seconds drag on till you start considering just faking it when suddenly—
You moan.
Loudly. Uncontrollably—like you don't expect that noise.
He hums like he did though… like he was waiting for it.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he whispers. "Needed this bad, didn't you?"
Your brain feels like mush—like literal soup in your skull.
"Mhm," you whine, a little too needy that a coherent version of you would've liked.
He doesn't let up and your muscles tense, core clenching as sweat starts to bead your skin.
"Oh, f-fuck—"
You—who normally doesn't like touch—are practically fawning over him. Pressing your cheek into his warm chest, drowning in the faint smell of him.
So when his fingers slide out, you hate the pathetic little noise you let loose.
He only smirks. "Patience… just wanna see how wet you already are."
Before you can say anything, his fingers pull out from under the cover—and both of you freeze.
Glistening, bright crimson coats his finger.
A beat passes.
Then naturally, Sukuna's first reaction is alarm.
"Fuck—did I hurt you?!—"
Meanwhile, your reaction is pure mortification.
You can't rmembee the last time you felt this much hatred for your period… except maybe during your last period.
"I got my period," your nerves confess for you. "I knew I'd get it some time soon but not right now since I was only having ghost periods all day so I thought I'd be okay for a few more hours—"
"Ghost period? What the fuck is a ghost period?!—"
"Like I get cramps and sometimes I even feel something slipping out and I'm so sure I got my period but then I check and there's literally nothing there it's just a false alarm— Can you please wash your hands? Ohmygod this is so embarrassing I'm so sorry—"
Sukuna looks over at you panicking—meanwhile he's more than relieved that it's your period.
Suddenly you pause mid sentence to nervously ask. "…Why are you looking at me like that."
Before you even give him a chance your embarrassment envelopes you again and you try to wriggle off him—only for his other arm to tighten around you.
"Stay. It's okay, I don't mind some blood."
"It isn't just blood, that's my shed endometrium actually," you mutter hoarsely.
"Whatever—"
"And what about your sheets?! Do you know how h—"
You’re bringing up a very reasonable and valid point.
But when you've got him going like you have right now, the area of his brain responsible for rational practicality has pretty much shut down.
"I don't care," he hisses. "It's hot."
You freeze and give him a look. "Stop fucking with me—"
He lifts the blood (endometrium) covered finger and sucks it clean—making the most obscene show out of it too—as you stare in… you're honestly not sure what you're feeling.
"You…"
He grins. "Protein."
Then he's already back to sliding his hand between your thighs and carrying on like absolutely nothing happened.
"Sukuna…" you start nervously.
"Besides… blood makes really good lube," he whipers into your ear. "See?"
A second finger pushes into your heat—not stretching you but certainly filling you from inside.
They get back into rhythm and you already feel yourself going dumb.
"…You mean endometrium," you barely manage to weakly correct him.
"Alright, you're banned from talking again."
"Bu—"
Suddenly his other hand is lifting to force his thumb between your lips despite your startled squeak. "Here… how about we give your mouth something else to do."
You don't know if the effect’s intentional or not but with your verbal outlet blocked… your mind blanks in the best way possible.
No more noise.
Just him.
His fingers sliding to rub even deeper into you.
His thumb in your mouth.
You don't even realize you've started running your tongue around it and sucking softly.
The pleasure intensifies as he curls his fingertips into the soft pockets of flesh right next to where your cervix protrudes.
He massages it… and you seize.
Of course, you can't pinpoint where exactly it's coming from, just that it radiates outward from deep inside you, filling your whole body till your head lolls back and your spine bows.
When you masturbate with your own hand you intermittently take short breaks to give your body a second or so of relief—and you never knew how much you've needed those few seconds till now.
Your muscles are contracting tight, abs beginning to burn from the buildup of lactic acid.
Sweat drips as you overheat like you've got a fever, body under so much strain that you arch into him with your eyes rolling back, unable to get anything out more than a few choked whimpers around his finger.
Sukuna's zoned in, feeding off every micro reaction as he feels you tremble so violently it seems like you might just explode
It snaps.
Tears drip over your waterline as you fall apart, pelvic muscles working overtime and… a hot rush of watery fluid for which you’re too far gone to care about.
However, Sukuna's cock twitches at the sensation of your sticky walls sucking him in… and he grins when he feels you gush around his fingers, absolutely soaking your entire cunt till its dampening his bedsheets.
Nevermind that your teeth are digging into his finger.
It almost feels like relief as your orgasm finally finishes and frees its grip on you, leaving you to go limp on him.
As you catch your breath he slides his fingers out from between your legs and out from underneath covers.
"That's not fair," you murmur breathlessly. "Why does it never feel that good when I finger myself?"
"Same reason it wouldn't feel as good if I sucked my own dick."
"That's because sucking your own dick would feel less like getting your dick sucked and more like you're sucking dick—"
He shuts you up by dangling his bloody fingers still dripping with your
"Look at that," he tells you almost proudly, holding his bloody fingers still dripping with your juices right in front of your face.
You recoil, wrinkling your nose. "Ew stop, go wash y—no, do not lick it again—"
He pauses with his fingers just centimeters away from his lips.
"Either you use your tongue to clean or I use mine… which is it?"
You stare at him as though you're being physically pained.
"Exactly," he concludes, already sucking his fingers clean.
You don't want to see how gross he's going to be about it, so you avert your gaze as you start your post-coital yap.
"That was intense. I feel like if sex and orgasms didn't feel good they'd probably be horrific and, like… really painful. Good thing orgasms have analgesic properties because I didn't even know my abs could crunch for that long… ohmygosh, do you think I'll be sore tomorrow? Like delayed onset muscle soreness—"
Sukuna keeps quiet though his eyes are on you, listening to you ramble. His (not so) well-kept secret is how endearing he finds it… like you're relaxed and comfortable enough that a good orgasm just opened you up completely to feel light and easy.
Because you're noticeably less rigid now—your body melting into his like it's meant to be there.
He doesn't even notice he's absentmindedly running his nails along the soft skin of your belly in an almost affectionate gesture.
Suddenly you pause, as if remembering something. "Also just to be clear I did not pee myself on you—I know it probably really felt like that but I swear I have excellent bladder control—"
"Relax, princess I know what squirting is. And yeah I know it doesn't shoot out like a literal geyser in porn."
"It wasn't pee I did not pee myself! Even if it is pee I do not suffer from incontinence—"
He shrugs. "It's okay if you did, not like I'd mind—"
Your jaw drops. "I— What?! No— Is this a piss kink? I do not have a pee kink. That's weird— Ohmygosh, do you have a piss kink?!"
"…Wouldn't call it a kink, but it's not exactly a turn off—"
Your hand flies to your mouth, eyes widening… though now that you think about it, pee really isn't much worse than period blood.
But you need to keep up the act because under no circumstance can you let him know you're actually kind of chill with it—
Suddenly he's lifting the covers—you're alerted with a cool breeze across the throbbing, dripping mess he's made out of your pussy.
And even worse—
"Mhm, love that smell—"
You shriek, yanking the sheet back down. "Do you hate me or something?"
"Relax, I've literally had my nose in your pussy before—"
By now you've learned that anytime Sukuna says relax, anything that follows is bound to provoke the exact opposite reaction.
And still, you're at a loss for words at what to possibly say to that.
Rolling his eyes, he once again throws the cover back.
You're lucky your period barely just started—because the sheets aren't terribly stained. Still you insist on helping Sukuna change them after getting cleaned up (and shoving a wad of balled up toilet paper in your panties as a temporary makeshift pad).
And after you're done you turn to pick up your bag when—
Sukuna frowns. "Where you going? Roommate probably won't be back for like another two hours at least."
You blink. "I mean we did that and we also finished our project, so like… is there something else you wanted to do?"
It's a genuine question—Sukuna doesn't know why it makes him falter.
Sometimes your cluelessness makes him feel like an absolute idiot.
And this time he almost lets you go too.
But he takes a deep breath and steadies himself instead. "We can just… hangout or something… Won’t see each other after this because of break," he half-jokes.
He hates that dumb face you make that always makes his chest flutter like he's a teen girl with a high school crush instead of a grown man.
Except you're trying to hide it, clearing your throat because you don't want to misread the situation and assume that all of this is something more than it actually is.
Assuming the bare minimum leaves no room for disappointment.
"Are you… sure? I don't wanna bother you or anything since, you know, you've ‘got a life’ and all—"
"Just… stay."
"No seriously it's okay I don't expect any like… emotional obligations or something, I don't know—"
He glares at you. Like an actual ice cold glare, before crossing his arms.
"You're not allowed to leave."
"What? What do you mean ‘not allowed’, I can literally walk out the door right th—"
"Try it."
You gulp.
His stony glare doesn't let up—just keeps you pinned in place.
"…And I still have a felting kit for you to try.”
Somehow that's what makes you drop your bag again—and beam.
That's how your end up in his bed again under the covers (pants off, panties on) aggressively stabbing some felt with a needle to make something he can't identify.
Sukuna's flat on his back next to you, pretending like he's simply scrolling his phone and half-listening to the documentary you put on as background noise.
Like he isn't drowning in oxytocin as you lean on him and yap idly, colored wool spread everywhere like shed feathers.
"Did you know a recent study actually showed that menstrual blood is incredibly rich in stem cells and greatly speeds up the process of wound healing? And about 385 of the over a thousand proteins in period blood are unique to period blood—"
"Mm, so I was right about the protein… you letting me eat that next?"
You freeze—which only spurs him on.
"Heard it helps with cramps… and makes your period go by faster."
He says it in that low voice and with that stupid smirk and a hand on your side… and you clear your throat as blood runs to your cheeks. "Stop distracting me."
Every so often you make a small, satisfied noise as you stab the needle into the wool with intense concentration.
“You’re gonna poke your finger,” he says without looking up.
“I haven’t yet,” you reply proudly. “Statistically, that’s impressive.”
He snorts.
Half an hour passes like that — quiet, domestic in a way neither of you comment on.
Then you clear your throat.
“Okay,” you say, sitting up straighter. “I’m done.”
He finally looks over.
You're holding something out toward him with both hands.
It is… objectively awful.
A lumpy, misshapen felted creature with uneven stripes, one ear bigger than the other, legs that are more suggestion than structure. Its body is round to the point of absurdity.
You beam anyway.
“It’s a tiger,” you announce.
He blinks at it. Then at you.
“…Is it.”
“Yes,” you state firmly. “Because tigers remind me of you.”
He squints. “Why is it so fat.”
You gasp, offended. “It’s not fat. It’s seasonal.”
“Seasonal.”
“It put on weight for the winter,” you explain seriously. “For insulation.”
He stares at the thing for a long moment, silent.
Too long.
Your smile wavers.
Then you laugh, a little too fast, already pulling it back. “Okay, yeah, it’s bad. I know it’s bad. I just— it looked better in my head. It’s fine, I’ll just—”
You turn away, reaching for the wool pile like you can unmake it if you don’t look at him.
Before you can, his hand closes gently around your wrist.
“Hey.”
You freeze.
He takes the felted tiger from your hands before you can protest and turns it over, examining it like it’s something delicate.
“You made this for me?” he asks.
You shrug, suddenly shy. “I mean. Yeah. I thought it’d be stupid if I didn’t give it to you after spending all this time on it.”
He looks at it again. The crooked stripes. The ridiculous round body. One beady eye slightly higher than the other.
Then he says, very plainly, “I love it.”
You blink. “You… what?”
“It’s the best gift I got all year," he adds with a small grin.
Your chest tightens painfully.
“…Are you just trying to make me feel better about it?”
"I don't care about your feelings enough to lie to you."
He sets the tiger on his nightstand, carefully, like it belongs there.
“It’s mine,” he adds. “You don’t get to take it back.”
For some reason, your eyes sting.
“…Okay," you laugh softly.
He reaches out, pulls you back against his side with an easy familiarity that feels dangerous in hindsight.
And pretends to go back to his phone.
But every few seconds, his gaze flicks back to the ugly little thing on the nightstand.
And he thinks, distantly, with something like awe, you made this for him.
Sometime later after you've left, his roommate returns and the oaf dares to makes a comment on the creature sitting on his nightstand.
Said roommate learns very quickly to never, ever insult the felted tiger again.
