After a tragic accident erased your memories, you no longer remember the man you married. Unfortunately for you, Ryomen Sukuna remembers everything. And he'll do whatever it takes to make you remember him too.
Everything was so much weird.
When you first opened your eyes, the world was a blur of harsh lights and a rhythmic, annoying beep that made your head throb. A crowd of people were hovering over your bed, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror and desperation. It felt like they were looking at a ghost or maybe a god that had suddenly fallen from the sky. The moment you blinked and stared back at them with blank, unrecognizing eyes, the room dissolved into quiet, breathless weeping.
You were completely utterly lost. Who was the woman with the dark circles under her eyes calling herself Shoko? Why was she gripping your hand like her entire world was ending? You knew your own name y/n echoed clearly in the empty caverns of your mind, but beyond that single fact, there was only a vast, terrifying void. You understood the modern world. you knew what a smartphone was, you recognized the concept of Wi-Fi, and when you mumbled those details, the doctors in the room let out collective, gasping sighs of relief.
But the real shock came twenty minutes later.
The heavy door to the hospital room burst open with a violent slam. A man lunged inside like a madman, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. You had never seen anyone look like him. His hair was a soft, striking shade of pastel pink so pretty and unexpected that you wondered for a fleeting second if he had dyed it just to stand out. Dark, intricate tattoos mapped across his skin, curling around his sharp cheekbones and framing his eyes. And those eyes... they were a piercing, burning red, swirling with a volatile mixture of terrifying rage and profound, shattering sadness.
You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.
"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.
You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.
"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.
Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.
When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.
"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"
You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."
The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.
"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.
"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.
"And do you know where you are right now?"
"A hospital?"
"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."
You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign
So you were married.
"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."
The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.
Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?
"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."
You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.
"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.
The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.
"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.
"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.
To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.
"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."
You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.
An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.
You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.
"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.
"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.
"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.
"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."
"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"
"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."
He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.
"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."
He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.
Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.
As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.
"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.
'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.
"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.
It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.
You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.
Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.
"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.
He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.
"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."
You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.
"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."
"Okay" you hummed softly.
His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."
You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.
"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"
His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.
"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.
He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.
"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"
"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"
"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.
"Why?"
"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."
You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."
The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.
"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."
"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.
"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.
Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."
A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.
Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.
Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.
When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.
And then, there was Sukuna.
Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.
To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.
He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much
His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.
At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.
The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.
Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"
"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.
"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.
"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."
The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"
You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."
You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.
"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.
"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."
You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.
"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.
The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.
As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.
Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.
Crash!
The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.
You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.
You froze.
Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.
Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.
You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.
Pink hair.
The backyard.
The jazz music.
The napkin.
A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.
The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.
When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.
"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.
You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.
But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.
As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.
"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.
Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.
Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.
"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."
Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.
"I fucking love you" he whispers
(not me me writing all night just for 36 like and one reblog😣🙏🏾)
riding your boyfriend satoru for the first time (o^^o)
you're already halfway down when you realize you might have bitten off more than you can handle.
satoru's cock stretches you open inch by inch, and even with all the prep—his fingers, his mouth, the way he worked you open on the bed of his dorm room until you were dripping and begging—it's still a lot. he's big. you knew that from the way he'd felt against your thigh, from the way he'd groaned when you'd wrapped your hand around him earlier. knowing and feeling are two very different things.
"easy," he murmurs, and his voice is lower than usual, rougher. his hands are on your hips, thumbs pressing into the jut of bone there, but he's not guiding you. he's holding you steady. letting you set the pace. "easy, sweetheart. breathe for me."
you do. shaky inhale through your nose, slow exhale through parted lips. your thighs are trembling where they're bracketing his hips, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of him. he's propped up against the headboard, shirt long since discarded, hair a mess of white silk falling into his eyes.
he looks wrecked already, and you've barely started.
"that's it," he says, and there's a strain in his voice that wasn't there before, a tightness around the edges. "you're doing so good. just—take your time."
you sink lower. another inch. the sensation is overwhelming—full, hot, stretching you in a way that borders on too much. your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails leaving crescents in his skin. he hisses, but it's not from pain.
"fuck," he breathes, head falling back against the headboard. "fuck, you're tight."
you pause, breath catching. "is that bad?"
"no." he laughs, but it comes out strangled. "no, it's not bad. it's—" he grits his teeth, jaw working. "it's a lot. in a good way. keep going."
you push down further, and finally, finally, you're seated fully in his lap. his cock is buried to the hilt inside you, and you feel impossibly full, stretched around him, your body struggling to accommodate his size. you stay still for a moment, just breathing, just feeling.
his hands slide up from your hips to your waist, palms warm and slightly sweaty. he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read—hunger and wonder and something softer mixed in.
"okay?" he asks.
you nod, swallowing. "okay."
"good." he shifts beneath you, and you feel him twitch inside you, making you gasp. his lips curl into a smirk, but it's strained, his composure crumbling at the edges. "now move when you're ready. however you want. i've got you."
you start slow. experimental rolls of your hips, testing the angle, the friction. each movement sends sparks through your nerves, makes your breath stutter. his hands guide but don't push, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin.
"like that," he says, voice rough. "just like that."
you find a rhythm. rocking forward, grinding down, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the quiet room. his head falls back again, eyes fluttering shut, and you watch his throat work as he swallows.
"you feel incredible," he rasps. "god, you have no idea how good you feel."
you pick up the pace, bracing your hands on his chest. the new angle makes him hit deeper, and you moan, head dropping forward. he takes the opportunity to lean up, catching your mouth in a kiss that's all tongue and teeth and desperation.
when he pulls back, he's breathing hard. his bangs are plastered to his forehead. there's a flush spreading across his chest.
"you're doing so well," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "fucking—perfect. you're perfect."
you roll your hips harder, chasing the friction, the pressure building low in your belly. his hands grip your waist tighter, and you can feel him fighting the urge to take over, to flip you and fuck you into the mattress.
"close?" he asks.
you nod, too breathless for words.
"me too." he laughs, shaky. "fuck, me too. you're gonna make me—"
he cuts himself off with a groan, his hips bucking up into you despite himself. you gasp at the sudden depth, your walls clenching around him.
"sorry," he grits out. "sorry, i just—you feel too good. i can't—"
his composure is crumbling. the infuriatingly cocky sorcerer is falling apart beneath you, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking where they hold you. he's babbling now, half-words and broken praises, telling you how good you are, how tight, how perfect.
"come for me," he gasps. "please. i need to feel you—"
you do. the command, the desperation in his voice, the way he's barely holding himself together—it pushes you over the edge. you clench around him, a broken moan falling from your lips as pleasure rips through you.
he follows a second later, with a groan that sounds almost pained, his hips thrusting up as he spills inside you. you feel every pulse, every hot rush of him filling you, and it draws your own orgasm out until you're trembling and spent.
you collapse against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, breathing hard. his arms wrap around you, pulling you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"holy shit," he mutters.
you laugh weakly. "good?"
he tilts your chin up, kissing you slow and deep.
"perfect."
a/n: requested by a lovely anon it was so much fun 2 write hihi
you insisted on going to the horror movie night with your new boyfriend, sukuna, after overhearing his idiot frat brothers whispering about you.
“she’s really soft.”
“i've never seen ryo with a girl like her.”
“watch her piss herself at the first jumpscare.”
laughter all around.
and maybe it was stupid, but you wanted to prove them wrong. prove you could handle the same things as the girls he usually kept around. cool girls. confident girls. mature girls who didn’t cling to their boyfriend’s sleeve every five minutes.
so you sat beside sukuna and in that freezing theater, chin lifted stubbornly, pretending your stomach wasn’t already twisting from the opening music alone.
for the first thirty minutes, you held it together.
barely.
you got by closing your eyes at the scarier parts and subtly whispering to sukuna to tell you when it was over.
then the movie hit you with the most horrific, satan-spawned jumpscare imaginable.
you shrieked so loud the entire row flinched.
your hand jerked violently.
and your ice cream launched directly into satoru gojo's face.
silence.
then satoru yelling, “WHAT THE HELLY?”
suguru and toji snickered.
and suddenly you were crying.
partly because you’d just assaulted sukuna's friend with matcha soft serve after you'd spent a whole minute outside the theatre convincing all of them you weren't scared in the slightest before you'd gone in.
partly because that was some really good ice cream you'd just wasted.
partly because everyone was staring.
but mostly because that movie was fucking terrifying.
sukuna immediately grabbed your wrist and stood up. “aight, we’re leaving.”
you hid your face in his arm while his friends snickered behind you. humiliation burned hot in your chest as he guided you out of the theater, your legs still shaky.
outside, the cold night air hit your cheeks.
“sorry…” you mumbled miserably.
sukuna snorted. “it's fine, baby. gojo deserved it, he was being an asshole."
you whined, covering your face. "i wasn't talking about that!"
he laughed under his breath, but there wasn’t an ounce of cruelty in it. just amusement. then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, “i’ll take you home, yeah?”
you sniffled and nodded. “that was scary.”
“i know, babe. i'm sorry,” he opened the passenger door for you, buckling your seatbelt himself with surprising gentleness. “should’ve known that shit would freak you out.”
“it was my idea…” you hiccuped.
“i still shoulda said no.” he shut the door and rounded the hood of the car.
the few seconds you sat alone were awful. your eyes immediately darted to the rearview mirror. the backseat looked way too dark. you stared at it, fully convinced some horrifying demon woman was about to crawl over the seats and kill you.
the driver door opened and sukuna slid in and caught you staring.
“…you looking at your little friend back there?”
you gasped, “kuna, don’t SAY that!”
he barked out a laugh while starting the engine. “you want another ice cream?”
your watery eyes widened hopefully. “…yeah.”
“thought so.”
by the time you reached your apartment complex, you were clutching a drive-thru soft serve with both hands while sukuna walked beside you toward your door.
you were finally calm again.
until he kissed your forehead, patted your ass lightly, and turned away. “see you tomorrow, babe.”
terror immediately flooded your face. you grabbed his arm so fast he almost stumbled back.
he looked down at you with a blink. then sighed. “…should’ve expected that.”
your eyes welled up again. “y-you’re leaving?”
“nah.” he unlocked your apartment and walked in beside you. “just wanted to see your face.” sukuna lied smoothly.
you blinked. “…oh.”
“cute reaction though.”
you huffed at him before setting your ice cream on the counter. “um… i need to pee.”
“okay?” he said, lifting a questioning brow, not quite sure what this has to do with him.
you awkwardly twisted your fingers together before looking up at him nervously.
a beat passed.
then sukuna sighed the sigh of a man accepting his fate.
a minute later, he was inside your bathroom aggressively yanking the shower curtain open .checking the cabinets. looking behind the door.
“there.” he deadpanned. “no demons.”
you stood in the doorway anxiously. “is it safe?”
“yes.”
“…promise?”
“baby, if something attacks you while you piss, i’ll personally beat its ass.”
you considered that seriously.
“…okay.”
you stepped inside cautiously.
“stand by the door.”
“stand by the—” he repeated in disbelief, before he stopped himself with a long exhale. “fine.”
“and turn around.”
“baby, i’ve literally seen you naked—”
“TURN AROUND.”
“bossy as hell,” he muttered, turning around anyway.
“and cover your ears.”
he stared at you over his shoulder in disbelief. “why?”
"i don't want you hearing me pee!"
sukuna sighed slowly. then lifted two resigned hands to his ears.
“not all the way though,” you continued nervously, “or you won’t hear me scream.”
sukuna closed his eyes and covered his ears, “that all, princess?”
“mhm!” you chirped brightly, kissing his cheek. “thanks honey. you’re sooo brave.”
he looked up at the ceiling like he was asking the universe for strength.
• ꒰ ۶ৎ ꒱ ::. waking husband!sukuna up to tend to your pregnancy cravings :: cw mentions of pregnancy.
sukuna woke up to being shaken harshly by his heavily pregnant wife, her strength surprising him.
“babe.” you said softly as you continue shaking your 250-pound husband with all your might.
“mnh?” sukuna murmured, still asleep.
“im hungry..” you whine, still shaking his moveless body.
“theres food in the kitchen baby.”
“i dont want any of that…” you whispered. “wake up. you have to go to the gas station.. seven eleven. i want a hot dog from there.” you murmur, punching at his chest to wake him up.
“okay! okay! im up, im up baby. where ‘ya want me to go?” he asked, getting up to put a pair of sweatpants on.
“seven eleven.. i need a hot dog. and mayo. and pickles.” you say to him, sitting up to watch as he starts putting his shoes on.
“is that it?” he asked staring at you in disbelief.
“a minion popsicle too..” you said, pulling the covers over your chest and laying a pillow under your swollen belly.
“okay baby ill be back just don’t fall asleep please” he said, kissing your cheek as he left.
he stood shirtless in front of the teenage cashier, holding a hot dog, a jar of pickles, a packet of mayonnaise, and a minion popsicle.
“dont ask” he murmured, shaking his head as he payed for everything.
sukuna arrived home at exactly 3:19 am, drowsy but alert.
“baby, im home.” he said walking throughout the house to find you.
living room? no.
bathroom? no.
bedroom? yes.
he found you laying in the bedroom completely knocked out as if you’d never woken up and sent him outside at 3 in the morning.
he sighed heavily, put everything in the fridge, sat on the bed and ate the popsicle by himself while he scrolled on instagram.
♪ Prompt | Town Without Pity - Gene Pitney | “Only those in love could know”
♪ Summary | When Steve Rogers sent you to find his oldest friend, he didn't plan on you deciding to stay hidden instead.
♪ Warnings + Tags | Bucky Barnes needs a hug, reader is down bad, brief talk of nightmares
♪ Phoenix Chirps | I love a good healer!reader, especially when paired with Bucharest Bucky who literally deserves all good things ever.
♪ Word Count | 300
⏮ Prev | Masterlist ⏯ Event Masterlist | Next ⏭
"You cannot be fucking serious," Steve Rogers' voice was tinny as it came through the radio on the old, beat up table. "I sent you to find him, and that was it."
Drumming your fingers softly, you glanced over your shoulder at the large man sleeping under a single threadbare blanket. A permanent crease between his eyebrows forming as another nightmare likely took hold. You made a mental note to somehow get something thicker, worried the chill was making the nightmares worse.
"He's very charming," was your weak excuse for wanting to stay hidden away from the world. Call it selfish, or at the very least self sabotaging, falling for a man who wasn't the most mentally stable. Yet, something in your soul was drawn to him. In a way words couldn't begin to explain.
"And I thought you were professional enough to keep your feelings in check. At least tell me where you are," came his demand.
Your gaze was still fixed on Bucky, one of your hands outstretched, a faint golden glow emitted from your fingertips. The light washed over the exposed skin of his knee, his features softening almost instantly. At least your magic could provide some relief while he battled demons you couldn't extinguish.
You knew what would happen if you turned him in, like Steve wanted you to. Even if Bucky was Steve's oldest friend, you doubted even Captain America could save him from whatever fate the United States government surely had in store for the former Winter Soldier.
"I'm not going to do that," you answered finally.
You could almost see Steve's pinched expression now at your insubordination. "Can you at least tell me why?"
A small smile pulled at the edge of your mouth. "I'm afraid only those in love could know, Captain."
“you run your mouth all day long, do you have nothing to say for yourself woman?” his voice was laced with condescension, while he had you pressed against his sheets, his four eyes taking in the entirety of your form.
you were pressed against him, a pair of his arms holding your thighs far apart, leaving you completely and utterly exposed underneath him.
your moans were loud, bordering on cries while he cock practically split you in half, the sickening squelch practically echoing in his chambers, while his nails dug into the flesh of your thighs.
“hck—i stand by it—” you softly moaned against his sheets, writhing in his grasp while his arms held you down further, pushing your thighs further in until he was practically folding you in half.
“tch. calling me small huh? how’s this for small, my love?” the nickname sounded almost sweet, until he pounded into you with a thrust that was near brutal and you swore you can hear yourself breaking under his grasp.
he was massive, painfully so, everything about him just big, and terrifying. you knew that. but of course, with your massive ego, you’d never let him win. not while he was almost breaking you while he thrust into your poor sopping cunt, while you were folded in the meanest mating press—his cock bullying you to near submission, while he grunted in your ears, his nails nearly bruising your poor thighs.
“nngh—ah-has no one ever told off the big, bad king of curses before?” you garbled, your drool pooling at the corner of your lips while his hips moved against yours.
“keep ‘yer mouth shut you goddamned brat.” he spat out, his eyes glossing over the sight of you underneath him, a sobbing, mumbling mess—but somehow your spunk hadn’t died down. even while your poor brain was fucked through, while your poor pussy was drooling around his massive cock, you still found a way to run your mouth.
“mmph—is that all you’ve got ‘kuna?” you moaned, your voice honeyed and sweet, and that’s what made him ultimately snap. he pulled out of you almost instantly, flipping you over to your stomach, lifting your hips until they alighted with his, holding you up while a pair of his arms found the column of your throat, his nails pressed against it while he thrust into your hips until you saw stars.
his nails grazing your pulse while you whimpered against his hold. fuck he knew exactly what to do to get you to squirm.
one of his palms found the flesh of your ass, kneading it right before a sharp smack!! echoed in the room.
“haah-mmph please, that’s w-what’s gonna get me to shut upph-?” his sheets were now soaked in your sweat and drool, while he continued to hold your waist up with a grip that was painful but gods it made your pussy clench and flutter around him until he was practically moaning in your ears.
he rocked his hips against yours once more, right before spilling inside of you, his warm cum flooding your poor cunt while he continued to rock his hips against yours while you slowly came down from your own high.
“now you wouldn’t want to waste what your king gave you right?”
you could feel the come dribbling down your poor bruised thighs while you slowly dropped your hips to the mattress.
“like hell i will.” you replied almost immediately with your slick covered thighs, your dazed expression and your tear stained face.
looks like it’d take a lot more than that to fuck you stupid. and sukuna was always up for a challenge.
“keep this up and i’ll have you take both of my cocks the next time.” he chuckled into your ears slowly.
“ ‘m sorry what?!” is all you managed to gasp out against his chest before he carried you off to the baths.
maybe being insufferable had its perks after all.
this is genuinely so old i think it’s from feb/march.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside rain tapped lightly against the windows, streaking the glass with silver lines while the clock on the microwave blinked 2:13 AM in dull green numbers.
You sat curled on the kitchen floor in one of Sukuna’s hoodies, knees against your chest, staring blankly at nothing and still you hadn’t turned the lights on.
Hadn’t answered your phone.
Hadn’t moved for almost an hour.
And when the front door finally unlocked, you didn’t even look up.
Heavy footsteps paused immediately.
Then—
“Baby?”
His voice changed instantly.
Not the rough, cocky tone he used with everyone else. Soft. Careful. Like he was approaching something fragile.
Sukuna dropped his gym bag by the door and crossed the apartment fast, crouching in front of you.
“Hey,” he murmured. “What’re you doin’ down here in the dark?”
You shrugged weakly.
He looked at your face for a long moment, red eyes scanning every little thing—the exhaustion under your eyes, the untouched tea beside you gone cold, the way your fingers trembled inside his sleeves.
And his entire expression softened.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
The nickname nearly broke you.
Your lips pressed together hard as tears burned suddenly behind your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered automatically.
His brows pulled together immediately. “Why the hell are you apologizing?”
“I dunno… I just—” Your voice cracked. “I can’t stop feeling like this.”
Sukuna exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was physically forcing himself to stay gentle.
Then he reached out carefully, sliding both hands under your arms.
Before you could protest again, he lifted you effortlessly into his lap and sat against the kitchen cabinets with you tucked against his chest.
Warm and safe.
One large hand rubbed slowly up and down your back.
“Have you eaten today?”
“…No.” A tiny shake of your head.
He sighed quietly and pressed his lips to your temple.
You hated how pathetic you felt. Hated how dependent this moment made you seem.
“I’m ruining your night,” you mumbled.
That made him pull back immediately.
His hand came up to cradle your jaw firmly, forcing you to look at him.
“Don’t say shit like that.”
“But—”
“You think I care about anything else when you’re hurting?”
Your throat tightened.
Sukuna wasn’t good at pretty speeches. He wasn’t poetic. Wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things.
But he loved hard.
Completely.
“You don’t gotta pretend around me,” he said quietly. “If getting through the day is hard right now, then it’s hard. Doesn’t make you annoying.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
He wiped it away with his thumb instantly.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
And there was nothing cruel in his face. Nothing impatient.
Just worry.
“You stay alive long enough for me to love you through this, aight?”
That did break you.
A sob escaped your chest before you could hide it, and Sukuna immediately pulled you fully against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly.
“I got you,” he whispered into your hair. “I got you, baby.”
No rushing.
Just his warm hands rubbing your back, fingers threading through your hair, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.
Eventually, when your breathing calmed a little, he shifted enough to stand—still carrying you.
“Kuna—”
“Nope. You’re not walking.”
Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you.
“There she is,” he murmured with a faint smile.
He carried you to the couch, wrapped you in blankets, then disappeared briefly into the kitchen.
You heard cabinets opening.
The microwave humming.
A minute later he returned with instant ramen, cut fruit, and water balanced carefully in his tattooed hands.
“You’re gonna eat a little,” he said. “And then I’m putting on that stupid baking show you like.”
“You hate that show.”
“Yeah,” he said flatly, handing you the bowl. “But you smile at the old lady with the cupcakes, so now I’m emotionally attached to Brenda.”
You laughed again—small and watery.
Sukuna pretended not to notice the way your hands shook when you reached for the chopsticks.
Not because he didn’t care.
Because he knew you hated being watched when things got bad.
So instead, he leaned back into the couch beside you, one arm stretched across the cushions behind your head while the baking show played quietly on the TV.
Some overly cheerful woman was crying over sponge cake.
You sniffled. “She dropped it for like… three seconds. Why’s she acting like someone died?”
“She’s weak,” Sukuna said immediately.
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth.
There it is.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Sukuna always noticed.
You managed a few bites before your appetite disappeared again, and when you started absentmindedly stirring the noodles instead of eating, his eyes flicked over.
“That all you can do?”
You nodded guiltily.
“Okay.”
No disappointment.
He took the bowl from your hands and set it aside before tugging you closer until your legs rested over his lap.
Sukuna’s fingers kept tracing slow patterns against your calf through the blanket.
Your head eventually tipped against his shoulder, exhaustion dragging at you now that the worst of the crying had passed.
Quietly, you whispered, “Do you ever get tired of me?”
The room seemed to still.
Sukuna looked down at you slowly.
“Tired of you?”
You instantly regretted saying it.
“It’s stupid, forget it—”
“No.” His hand slid up to the back of your neck gently. Don’t ask me something and then take it back.”
Your chest tightened.
He studied your face for a second before speaking.
“I get tired of the way you talk about yourself.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“I get tired of seeing you hurt,” he continued quietly. “I get tired of watching you apologize for existing.” His thumb brushed your skin softly. “But you?” He shook his head once. “Never.”
The sincerity in his voice hurt worse than anything else.
Because part of you still didn’t understand how someone like him could say things like that and mean them.
“I’m hard to love,” you whispered.
Sukuna actually frowned.
Like the statement irritated him.
“Says who?”
“…Me.”
“Well, your brain’s a liar sometimes.”
You stared at him.
And he looked so genuinely certain.
Like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
“You know what you do when I come home?” he asked suddenly.
You blinked. “What?”
“You peek through the blinds when you hear my bike outside.”
Heat crept into your face immediately. “I do not.”
“You do,” he said smugly. “Every damn time.”
“That’s creepy. Why are you watching me watch you?”
“Because you’re cute.”
You groaned softly and hid your face against his shoulder.
He chuckled under his breath, deep and warm, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“And every morning,” he continued, quieter now, “you make coffee and forget your own cup because you’re busy making mine exactly how I like it.”
Your throat tightened again.
“And when you think I’m asleep, you fix the blanket on me.” Another kiss against your forehead. “You remember what days are hard for me without me saying anything. You leave little notes in my lunch even though your handwriting sucks.”
A weak offended noise left you.
“There she is again,” he murmured softly, smiling.
Then his expression gentled.
“So don’t sit here and tell me you’re hard to love.”
Your eyes burned all over again.
Sukuna noticed immediately and sighed dramatically.
“Ah, shit. C’mere.”
He pulled you fully into his chest before the tears could fall again, wrapping both arms around you and laying back against the couch with you on top of him.
You listened to his heartbeat while his hand stroked slowly through your hair.
Steady.
Patient.
Safe.
After a long silence, you mumbled against his shirt, “You’re too good to me.”
“Nah,” he said easily. “Just good to the right person.”
And for the first time in weeks— the heaviness in your chest didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.
By the third episode of the baking show, you were practically glued to him.
Not that Sukuna seemed to mind.
One of your legs was tangled with his, your face buried in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around his waist beneath his hoodie like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go for even a second.
Every time he shifted even slightly, your grip tightened again.
He noticed.
But instead of teasing you immediately, he just rested his chin on top of your head and kept rubbing slow circles into your back.
“Tired?” he murmured.
You shook your head against him.
(what a lie)
He could feel it in the way your body melted heavier into his every minute.
Still, you clung tighter.
Sukuna glanced down finally, amused warmth flickering in his eyes.
“You tryin’ to crawl inside my ribcage or what?”
“Maybe.”
Your voice came out muffled against his throat.
A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest.
“Dramatic.”
But his arms wrapped around you even tighter anyway.
You inhaled slowly, comforted by everything about him—the smell of his cologne and rain, the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
It made your chest ache.
Because lately everything in your mind felt exhausting and heavy and loud— except him.
With him, things went quiet.
“You’re comfy,” you mumbled sleepily.
“I better be. You use me as a damn weighted blanket every day.”
“…You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
You lifted your head just enough to squint at him.
He was already smirking.
Liar.
Your expression softened before you could stop it.
God, you loved him.
Loved him so much it scared you sometimes.
Sukuna noticed the look immediately.
His brows lifted slightly. “What?”
“Nothin’.”
“Bullshit.”
You hid your face again.
He snorted softly. “Baby.”
One hand slid under your jaw, gently forcing your face back up toward him.
His expression shifted the second he really looked at you.
Not teasing anymore.
Just soft.
“What’s goin’ on in that head?”
You stared at him for a second too long before the words slipped out quietly.
“I really love you.”
The room went still.
Not awkward.
Just full.
Heavy with something warm and overwhelming.
Sukuna’s entire face softened in a way almost nobody else ever got to see.
His thumb brushed slowly over your cheek.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded, eyes already getting shiny again from how intensely you felt everything tonight.
“So much,” you whispered. “Like… too much.”
A tiny crease appeared between his brows immediately.
“There’s no such thing.”
Before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you.
Slow. Careful.
You melted instantly, hands grabbing the front of his shirt while he held your face so gently it made your chest hurt.
When he pulled back, he stayed close enough for his forehead to rest against yours.
“I love you more than anything,” he said quietly.
And Sukuna almost never sounded vulnerable.
But he did now.
Raw and certain.
“You hear me?” he murmured. “More than anything.”
Your eyes filled completely this time.
“Oh, c’mon,” he sighed softly, smiling a little as he wiped beneath your eyes. “Why’re you cryin’ again?”
“You’re just…” You laughed shakily. “Too sweet.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not.”
“Hm.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me.”
You smiled for real then. Small.
Beautiful enough to make his chest ache.
There it is.
Sukuna stared at you for a moment like he wanted to memorize the sight.
Then you suddenly climbed fully into his lap without warning, wrapping yourself around him again.
He blinked once.
“…Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You cling harder than a haunted doll.”
But his hands were already settling securely on your waist.
You tucked your face into his chest with a content little sigh.
“I just wanna be close to you.”
The honesty of it nearly killed him.
Sukuna leaned back into the couch, one hand smoothing through your hair over and over.
“Then stay close,” he whispered.
So you did.
And sometime later, long after the baking show ended, Sukuna looked down to find you fast asleep on top of him— still holding onto his shirt tightly even in your dreams.
He smiled so softly no one else would’ve believed it.
Then he pulled the blanket higher around you and kissed your forehead carefully.
“Love you too, clingy girl.”
hai! Ive been so busy this month, i wrote this after several episodes in which i felt 100% like reader and I thought it was a good idea to write something, so as not to make other people feel alone.
original work, do not stole, copy, plagiarize my work - sturduststrails
sukuna's voice was unfairly sexy. and when i say unfairly i mean it's really unfair to sound so hot when asking or saying something that should be normal. he doesn't really understand where you're coming from — but you swear his voice lowers anytime he's serious, with that sharp edge and yet trying to sound gentle at the same time.
his voice usually sounds the hottest when you're injured — doesn't really matter if it's because you fell on your own or someone else hurt you. when you're alone with him for no one else to see he sits you on the couch and knees infront of you — something he would never openly do infront of anyone but his wife — taking your injured ankle in his hand, analysing the severity of it while literally talking you through it — asking questions almost tenderly.
you're sitting there silent, appreciating the situation even while being hurt — it's not everyday he's so compassionate. the man inbetween your legs is gently touching the wound, thumb brushing where it looks the worst. and then like always, his voice dips deeper like he's more bothered — maybe even worried, about you being in pain than yourself "does it hurt here?" his fingers thighten just enough for you to feel the pressure, making you nod with a frown on your face.
"what about here? it hurts, yeah?" he's applying the same pressure and it stings way worse than the other point — you wince, leg flinching slightly at the feeling — it's not a obvious movement but he notices anyway. "mhmm i see. my poor wife. i will get uraume to tend to your injury. after you're done i excpect you to come find me and tell me how you're feeling."
there it is — his voice sounding strangely comforting for such a scary man — but there's nothing scary about the way he gets on his knees to tend to your injury, or his almost soft voice distracing you from the pain. and somehow, your cheeks getting warm from the intensity of it — the tone he's using usually reserved for the bedroom and yet — it has the same heat.
you just nod — barely listening to what he's actually saying — wanting nothing more for him to keep babying you like he always does no matter the seriousness of the injury. maybe you should start saying it hurts between your legs...
sukuna was tired of the bitchy girls he always had to deal with — wether they were from a one night stand or a girl that got hooked from his flirty antics, it always ends the same way — he rejects them and they run off to start rumors.
so yeah, he was done with girls. okay,maybe not completely, he still had some late night fucks after a party, but not without making clear that's where it ends. but other than that, he basically quit the game.
imagine his surprise when he fell in love with a stranger not even a week after that. yes, you heard that right, he the playboy himself fell in love. no less than with a girl he didn't even know before.
it wasn't an extraordinary day or night, just their usual frat parties where half the campus would come to drink or make out with someone. except this time, his eyes landed on a woman who couldn't look more out of place — even while being dressed up all pretty, a look on her face like she couldn't wait to get back home.
if someone told him that not even ten minutes after spotting you, he would have a conversation about how he had the perfect nipple atonomy for piercings, he would laugh or look at them like they were crazy. except this time, he's not laughing.
"i'm serious, have you never thought about it? they are like the perfect size and color." he's unsure how to respond — he's not even sure if he should answer at all.
"...no? i mean maybe? like one or two times." his usual confident, flirty voice falters, like it's the first time a girl talks to him without showering him in compliments. like he's expecting you to laugh it off and tell him you're joking.
well, you're not. "you probably should, dude. but don't let the same piercer as the one who did your eyebrow piercing do it. it's really off center." sukuna takes in second to replay your words in his head, and when they finally connect, he looks like he aged ten years.
"excuse me?"
you don't seem to notice his passive aggressive tone, or you just blatantly chose to ignore it. "yeah it should be way over here. yours almost looks like an centered one." you apparently also don't notice the way he genuinly flinches when you reach to point with your finger at the right placement.
he doesn't even try to look or understand where you're poking him — he's just looking at you with a dumbfounded expression. and god knows why, he felt fucking butterflies in his stomach, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.
there's just no way he, out of all people is feeling a spark because a girl is criticising his uneven piercing. he pushes the thoughts aside and a small smirk forms on his lips. "you know, that's not how i thought the conversation was gonna go."
and bless your heart, because you genuinly have no idea what's strange about this conversation. "oh, i'm sorry, did you want to talk about something else?" you sound extremly worried all of a sudden, like you didn't mean to hurt his feelings.
your strange personality doesn't seem to shy away the man infront of you — no, he's even more intrigued now. "how come i don't know the name of such a pretty girl?" it's supposed to be flirty, but sukuna should probaly have known better.
"that's probably because we never talked before. usually people tell you their name when you meet for the first time. otherwise people may think you're stalking them because that's kinda creepy knowing someone's name without asking y'know. but i know you're sukuna, not because im some weirdo who's stalking you it's just you're known as the community dick no offense intended."
the more you ramble on the more sukuna looks like any hope he had to take you to his room left his eyes. he probably should've known you wouldn't take the hint — definetly his fault. after a second of processing your speech his eyebrows shoot up in a mix of confusion and offense?
"...community dick?" his mouth open and closes like he wants to add something to his queestion but he has no idea what to say. the worried look on your face returns for the second time this evening, realising you're talking before thinking.
"no, yes, kind of? there's like nothing wrong if you like pleasuring women , actually that's like really nice of you, it's kinda empowering y'know like feminist and all."
any sign of seriousness leaves his expression and a rare sight for the fratking — a genuine laugh escaping him at your poor attempt of sweet talking yourslef out of calling him a slut.
there aren't many moments where sukuna actually really laughs when talking to girls — a charming smile being all it takes for most to drop their panties.however, it seemed like you had no interest in dropping anything at all.
except for your drink.
right on his bare chest.
it was an accident — truly, someone shoved you off balance and your drink spilled right on his abs, the sudden cold liquid making him hiss at the contact.
his eyes look down at his muscles seeing them drenched in a sticky substance, the alcohol making it's way down to wet his pants.
you gasp, hand covering your mouth. "oh my god — i'm so sorry. there are like no napkins anywhere near— wait i have an idea." he's about to tell you it's no big deal, he was shirtless after all — he could just jump into the pool or whatever but he stops dead in his tracks when you bend down.
right until you're face to face with his stomach.
he's about to ask you what you're doing — but freezes instead the moment your tongue darts out to lick the drink. "wh-what are you doing?" he sounds genuinely at a loss of words. you only answer after making sure no liquid would have time to go under his pants. "all good! your pants are totally save now no worries."
well he is worried — just not about his pants, but the boner he hopes you won't notice. he's unsure if this was supposed to be some kind of seducing tactic — but looking at your innocent expression he discards that idea. you really had just licked a man who you met ten minutes ago and looked like you had no idea how it looked to anyone watching.
there's a rare pink tint at the tips of his ears and he opens his mouth to say anything — but closes it once he realises he has no clue what to say. he also really doesn't know if he should feel as turned on as he is.
"thank you..?" it comes out like a question, like he's unsure if he should be thanking you. you're either ignoring his bewildered expression or you just don't even notice it at all.
"you're welcome. no prob." there's a moment of silence, neither of you knowing what to say until he breaks it.
"so is there a chance i can get your number?" to make sure you understand where he's going with this he adds, " romantically."
yeah he may have not thought the evening would turn out like this, but who is he to complain if his girl got a lil kick to her? after all — he still bagged the number.
usually, before bed, sukuna slides his hand down your panties, placing his large hand over your mound and keeping it there. why? whenever you build up the courage to ask, he simply just shoots you a sharp glance, saying "it’s warm. stop asking questions, woman."
imagine his surprise when he mindlessly slides his hand down, only to feel you were completely bald down there this time.
you’ve never seen sukuna so genuinely confused. his usually bored, irritated expression had faded, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"brat, where is it."
you look over at him, shrugging. "where’s what?"
he feels around a little more, double checking, nope — not a single hair. “don’t play dumb with me, woman. the hair. where is it."
you were just as confused as he was. did he really love your bush that much?
“i shaved it?…" you respond, watching a slight frown form on his face, similar to a grumpy cat — honestly, anyone else would look at him and assume his entire family had been killed or something.
in your defense, you just felt like changing it up, assuming he wouldn’t care much at all. if you knew it’d affect him this much, you wouldn’t have plucked even a singular hair away.
"why the hell would you do that," he growls, his initial confusion quickly turning into irritation. “put it back, i don’t find this amusing."
you can’t help but let out a soft giggle, feeling sukuna pull his hand out from beneath your panties, two arms crossing in silent annoyance like a kid who’d just had their candy stolen.
"kuna’, it’ll grow back… i didn’t realise you liked it so much," you smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. his expression remains the same, though he doesn’t push you away, silently accepting your affection.
"don’t let this happen again," he demands.
"awwh! you miss it," you tease, poking his chest playfully. he catches your wrist in his hand, grip demanding, yet not firm enough to hurt.
౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader
[adult boutique au] - ongoing series
❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue:
you're a virgin.
you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞
౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is 24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. mild love triangle with gojo. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. sex toys & explorations of safety in kinks. destigmatization of virginity & sex. smut & piv. virginity loss. see masterlist for full cw.
౨ৎ wc ; 11.1k.
౨ৎ art ; ackshuallyvalerie
main masterlist || series masterlist || ⪡ prev || next ⪢
The door rattles on its hinges as the smell of approaching rain floods the shop’s interior. You can’t be sure whether the wind or Sukuna’s hand carries the door hard enough to slam on its hinges, his expression untelling. Little has changed since you asked him to be whatever the hell you are now two days ago, but you have noticed one thing, as small as it is.
His gaze lingers on you.
Not in the kind of way one might hope. You get the feeling that in spite of the fact that he’s still mildly inconvenienced by you, you equally surprised him. It’s as though he thought he had you figured out and now he’s trying to understand what he missed where once he was sure he had you read back to front like an open book.
It’s unnerving. The flapping of wings in the pit of your stomach is exchanged for a more ill-seated churning when Satoru leaves and Sukuna takes his place. Yesterday when you didn’t have the gumption to ask how the hell this arrangement was meant to work, you might have called it nerves, but by only day two, it’s just frustrating.
The brute glances up from whoever he’s texting, visibly fiddling with his lip ring that shifts each time his jaw ticks.
You meet his gaze from behind your phone, dropping the device from your gaze when he doesn’t waiver.
“Do you mind?”
His head tilts an inch, his chin raised just enough that his smirk feels condescending. “Not at all.”
You can’t decide whether you prefer Sukuna when the weather in his world is stormy or when it’s sunny and he’s amused. They’re a different brand of asshole.
“You know, asking you for help was pretty fucking hard to do in the first place,” you begin, frustrated with the theatrics of your co-worker. His brow cocks as you pin him in place with your words. “So I’d appreciate it if you stopped making me feel weird about it.”
His lips press into a thin line, any hint of amusement fading. “Look,” he begins with equal frustration. “I’m not trying to make you feel weird for asking for help. I don’t give a shit how you learn about what we sell, even if it’s because of Satoru. I told you that from the start. If you want someone’s instruction, whatever. That’s fine.” He pushes up off the counter, all six-foot-something of him towering over you. “You’re allowed to ask questions about sex, especially here. But you knew from the start what I’m like.”
The demeanor he carries himself with that gives you the sense he thinks he’s above not just you, but everyone, still simmers under his skin. You can see it in the way he carries himself, like that egotistical mindset never fades.
But you can’t be upset when he’s honest with you, and open too in the subject that makes your stomach flutter. His words aren’t comforting, but they settle your frustration and nerves. Something in the way he’s direct and has nothing to hide reminds you why you ever asked him in the first place.
Pushing his fingers back through his hair, he shakes his head. “Why not just tell Satoru you don’t have experience?”
Your shoulders rise and fall as you face him. “It’s not…” You sigh, your gaze falling. “Just about Satoru.”
“Then what’s it about? What’s getting to you so much that you asked me?”
Running your tongue over your lower lip, you worry it in between your teeth. When it takes you a moment too long to reply, Sukuna grunts questioningly again, pushing for an answer.
“I just…” you stall, scratching your shoulder. “I shouldn’t still be a virgin at this age, right?”
Somewhere under all of that snide overconfidence is a man who was raised right, in spite of all of his shortcomings and his belittling behaviour. His nose scrunches, his head shaking from side to side in short, disbelieving movements. “What? Who fucking cares, that’s your choice.” Then, something else dawns on him as he starts up again before you can answer. “Wait. You’re a virgin?”
“See, it does matter! And whether it’s Satoru, or any other guy, they’re just gonna think I’m a prude or something because I haven’t–”
Running a hand over the faint stubble along his chin, his jaw briefly hangs open as he listens to your retort. When you keep going, at last he interrupts. “No, it doesn’t matter.” He pauses, pinning you in place with adamance. “The reason I’m asking is because I want to make sure you actually want to do this shit with me,” he states plainly, no amount of teasing present in the serious gaze he fixes you with. “I’m not fucking around when it comes to boundaries and consent.”
As much as his condescension and total righteousness is frustrating, you can appreciate his ability to be serious when there’s a need. At least he has a couple of redeeming qualities under all of those layers of snide narcissism.
Shutting your eyes as you try to formulate an answer, you give a short shake of your head. “Look,” you sigh, waving a hand through the air as your lashes flutter. “I don’t know what possessed me to choose you,” you begin, earning a snide huff from the other party, “but I wanna do this. I’ve tried dating apps and things but I feel like it’s so hard to meet people organically and I finally found someone I really like, so I just don’t wanna mess things up with Satoru, okay?” Your shoulders hang as his expression remains largely unreadable.
Your closing remark has your co-worker dragging his hands down his face. When he finally drops them to his sides with a plop as they hit the denim of his jeans, he gives a haphazard shrug. “All this for that asshole,” he mutters. “Why start with an arrangement like this, anyway? Why not go to the bar if you’re so against dating apps? It’s not like some one night stand means anything either.”
You grimace. “I want someone I trust.”
He won’t admit it, but it’s humbling to a man like Sukuna. Not because he doesn’t think of himself as trustworthy, but because he’s given you no real reason to put so much of your trust in him. He’s been cruel from the start and only a few days ago was reminding you that no matter your deal, you aren’t friends.
He’s still for a long time, a genuine disgruntled frown unrelenting.
“Fine,” he gruffs at last. “For the record though, Satoru wouldn’t care that you’re a virgin. If he did, he’d be a piece of shit.”
If only your mind would wrap itself around that concept. Twenty some-odd years on an earth that treats virginity– particularly at your age– as taboo has taught you otherwise.
“Oddly insightful from you.”
Displeased as you throw snide commentary back at him, he takes another step forward. “No matter what you think of me, I wasn’t raised wrong.” His tone is low, almost dangerous, and you’re surprised when warmth spreads to the pit of your stomach. You’re grateful he’s already turned back to his laptop as you find yourself blinking at nothing in particular. “What did you want to try anyway? And you’re buying, FYI. This is for you, not me.”
You hum thoughtfully as you find yourself staring between the gaps in the shelves at the far end of the story. Your gaze briefly stops upon reaching the vibrators, which feels like a fairly low barrier of entry.
“A vibrator?” You query.
Sukuna, leaning over the counter on his elbows with his back facing you, rolls a muscle in his shoulder. “Sure.”
His lack of enthusiasm has you grimacing. “We get an employee discount, right?”
“Half-off.”
“That’s pretty good,” you comment in an attempt to make conversation as you slip out from the counter and walk to the wall to look over options.
He hums his agreement, typing as his eyes skim whatever project he’s working on.
Taking the hint, you let your attention drift back to the wall of silicone and plastic. Although there are a variety of different options, you’d made up your mind a while ago upon hearing Sukuna’s explanation.
With a small black bullet vibrator in a discreet box with a purple-blue gradient in-hand, you make your way back to the counter, setting it aside. Whether out of curiosity or a subconscious movement, Sukuna’s attention flips to you as he evaluates the box on the counter. He languidly shoots you a glance before you fall into nothing more than background noise for him once again. You don’t get much of an idea of his thoughts on your choice, if he has any.
And much like his silence on your choice, that’s how you spend the evening, aside from when he teaches you to close. Over the past month or so you’ve grown to find the dead air less and less uncomfortable and no longer feel the need to fill it. He still shoots you a disapproving side eye every time a customer asks a question that’s left to your anti-social co-worker because you can’t answer it, but it’s noticeably less harsh.
By, like, a fraction. He’s irritated still, but he’s not outright disappointed.
You call that a win.
You’re pretty sure your friends back home would call it sad.
But you can’t talk to Yuki or Choso about your arrangement with Sukuna anyway, so you suppose it’s not worth thinking too hard about it.
By the time you’re flipping the open sign and turning the lock on the door, Sukuna is ringing up the vibrator you chose, along with a bottle of something you didn’t add. He slides the payment terminal towards you as you make your way back. You don’t question his judgement upon finding the label to say toy cleaner. With your card in-hand, you find yourself hovering hesitantly over the payment terminal.
The question atop your tongue feels stupid.
“What?” Sukuna gruffs when you don’t speak your mind.
“Is this… a good choice?”
He sucks in a breath, measured. “It’s a fine first choice. It’s kinda cheap, but it’s a good starting point.”
“I know the quality and how long it’ll last would be affected, but does how cheap it is affect much beyond those two things?”
Another breath, but it’s equally measured. He picks up the box, his gaze darting across the lettering that covers it. “If it was your only toy, I’d say to invest in something better, but if we’re trying a lot, cheap is fine.” His mild expression seems to pick you apart when you’re faced with sanguine irises that flicker across your face. There’s the faintest hint of an upward quirk of his lips when he catches your pout.
“You never actually answered my question,” you mumble snarkily, snatching the box back from him.
No longer tempering his amusement, he shifts to the other foot with a full-blown smirk. “It’s a cheaper plastic or silicone. Less durable, the motor inside will give out quicker, and the battery won’t last as long. It’s louder than more expensive ones, too.” He glances at the box, a thoughtful narrow to his eyes. “It probably runs on watch batteries, which get expensive the more you go through.”
You recall him mentioning that to a customer, but given the circumstance, you suppose he’s right that it won’t matter. Nodding, you tap your card without another thought. He takes a bit of extra time to show you the remaining closing procedures which feels less like a courtesy and more like a curse given that you run on his clock at his will now, but you suppose a couple of extra hours won’t hurt here and there.
Even if you won’t be paid.
Shutting off the lights at the back, you make your way to the door where he waits. “So,” you start, digging through your bag for your keys, “my place is pretty noisy, should we–”
“Where do you live?”
“Oh, uh– I’m next to the station on third street.”
“Good. Meet me at the pub on the corner.”
You blink as he tosses you the store keys, barely managing to catch them in clumsy fingers. Before you can even protest, he’s already getting into the old but well-maintained black Honda across the street.
“O-kay,” you mutter to yourself, turning back to the door as you pull down the security shutter, locking both it and the glass door. His engine has already rumbled long into the distance by the time you finish fiddling with the old finicky locks and get in your beat-up vehicle. “You have to wait for me anyway, asshole.” Your muttering somehow feels better left for the world to hear rather than internalized.
The ride to the coffee shop has you once again replaying every life decision that brought you to this point in life. Maybe you should have given time to that guy who was trying to flirt with you in the library. Then again, you were studying for your final. Maybe you should have indulged the man who told you that you were pretty at a karaoke bar once. Well, no, he was creepy.
You’ve just been focusing on yourself and your fingers have done the trick anytime you were horny.
Not to mention, you can’t help but find that you don’t see yourself in porn and it doesn’t leave you feeling satisfied. That’s not even beginning to mention that much of what you found feels performative, which doesn’t cut it at an adult shop.
Though, that’s a lie too. Because at the end of the day although you are curious and this is something that you’re intrigued by given your environment lately, you’re equally hoping to impress Satoru.
Maybe Sukuna’s right that you should just tell him.
But that also feels like an uphill battle.
Stupid. This whole thing has you feeling like you’re overthinking everything and in an effort to stop thinking so damn much, you shut your car off and push into the pub.
Sukuna’s sitting in a booth at the back, already nursing a drink in one hand. His opposite arm is lazily strewn across the back of the booth, his gaze following you with that striking intensity that never fails to make your hair stand on end. Slipping in across from him, you watch as he leans back, completely at ease. As much as his arrogance can piss you off, his ability to remain calm and even puts out any fires your nerves threaten to stoke.
“Want anything?” He asks, jutting his chin towards the drink menu. Curiously, you flip to the first page before Sukuna’s hand comes down authoritatively, stopping you from browsing the menu he just offered. He flips to the back page confidently. “Non-alcoholic only.”
Fixing him with a scowl, you point towards his drink. “What are you drinking, then?”
He slides it an inch closer to you, an offer to test him. “Non-alcoholic IPA.” He lifts his hand from the menu, finally allowing you to browse your options as he leans back again. “We have rules to go over. Need your head on right and your consent after.”
As much as you don’t appreciate his commanding nature, you can admit it settles your nerves that he’s taking this seriously. He’s so flippant and dismissive when he wants to be that the soberness with which he’s treating the situation is reassuring.
In fact, it’s even a little hot, as much as you don’t even want to so much as think of the compliment. Truthfully though, you appreciate that he knows when to turn the damn attitude down.
Inhaling slowly, you look over the menu, waiting for the waiter to arrive. You order a Pepsi just for the sake of having something to hold and hide your fiddling as Sukuna’s gaze scarcely departs you.
“I thought we went over the rules already?” You ask when you finally have something to focus on. The condensation is cool against your fingers, a much-needed departure from the facetious personality across from you.
“Of the agreement, sure.” He starts, bringing his glass to his lips as he leans back casually. “But I’m not doing this without knowing what you want.”
“I thought I–”
He doesn’t give you the time of day, glass still held between his fingers as he leans forward on his forearm. “You want me in charge, yeah?”
You blink, nodding.
“You understand that that puts me in a dominant position for our agreement, correct?”
Your cheeks warm as you nod again. “That’s kinda what I wanted,” you admit quietly.
He hums, a hint of his teeth gleaming behind a smirk. He lets the moment hang a second longer, basking in the way you squirm under his gaze. Throwing back what’s left of his drink, he sets the glass on the table with a dull clank. “Right,” he begins, “so you’ve never been with anyone before?” He asks, growing more serious again.
His ability to casually swing back and forth between both moods is beginning to piss you off.
“Yeah, you know that,” you reply snarkily.
His eyes narrow. “Not what I mean, sweetheart. You ever done anything with anyone? In any capacity?”
You chew on your lip briefly. “I gave a guy a handjob once,” you admit quietly, painfully aware of the public setting.
Sukuna’s eyes avert for a moment as he considers how to approach things. “That's it?”
“I– Yeah, can you stop asking?”
His throat bobs as he swallows, frowning. He lays his thoughts out plainly, straight to the point and without the arrogant attitude. “Think what you want of me, but I’m not trying to embarrass you. I already told you it doesn’t matter. I’m asking because it gives me a good sense of where to start.”
Sitting upright, you nod slowly.
“Do you masturbate?”
With every question, you swear your face gets warmer. “Yeah.”
“But no toys?”
“No.”
He rolls his jaw, prodding his tongue against the side of his mouth. “Alright. I can work with that. Do you know what you like when you touch yourself?”
“Do we have to do this somewhere so public?”
He snorts. “No one’s listening. The closest table is so sloshed you’d think it’s three in the morning,” he points out, motioning over your shoulder. Admittedly, he’s right. There’s a group of three women and two men all slumped over, eyes red-ringed and laughter bubbling from within.
With a sigh, you turn back to him. “Fine. So what rules do we need to go over, then?”
“I need to know what’s completely off-limits for you.” He taps a finger once on the table. “I’m kinky but there’s shit I’m not into either.”
“Okay, um,” you take a moment to consider the toys lining the walls and some of the porn you’ve seen while browsing. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t think I’d be into whips or spanking.” Sukuna hums. “I know the candles are for… wax play, right?”
“Mhm. Some people like the pain.”
“I don’t think I would want anything painful.”
He nods his agreement. “Anything like that is off the table.”
Tapping your nails along the sides of your glass, you wrack your brain of the items that line the walls at work. “I don’t think I’m into collars or muzzles or anything.”
“Alright. No pet play. You not into being tied up, or just the pet part?”
Your hesitation is brief as you consider the difference. “I think I’d be okay with being tied up,” you muse. “Not yet, but–” you shrug, cracking a smile. “It sounds kinda fun.”
Sukuna smirks. “She’s a little kinky, I like it.” His lidded expression sends heat up the back of your neck and straight to the pit of your stomach. You adjust the way you’re seated, crossing one leg over the other as you focus on the glass in front of you. Amused, your counterpart pushes for details. “What about gags, handcuffs, and blindfolds?”
“I’d be open to those.”
His smirk grows, teeth bared just enough to call it a grin. “Alright. No whips, and pet and pain play are past the ceiling. Anything more intense than that’s off the table, yeah?”
You nod, grateful that he isn’t leaving you to try to come up with things when you’re scarcely familiar with the products at your own job.
“Hair pulling? Choking?”
You take a moment to consider it, but nod. “That’s fine.”
That seems to be the majority of his questions as he leans back in his seat again, stretching his arms overhead. He has that same expression from the day you originally made the agreement, the one that makes you feel like you’re no longer background noise in his world. Like you’ve surprised him and he’s willing to humor you.
“Alright. Anything else we can go over if it comes up,” he shrugs. “I just needed a baseline.” Yawning, he takes a moment to let his thoughts settle as he works out details in his mind. It gives you a moment to reset, gratefully taking the opportunity as you lean back in your seat, no longer fixated on your glass.
It occurs to you in that moment that he’s surprisingly quelled your nerves. You can’t place whether it’s through making a point of doing this in a public setting but ensuring this stays between you, or the way he’s actually maneuvering this conversation in a way that makes you feel open and in charge. Either way, you have to hand it to him that for a guy who’s made it clear he isn’t fond of people, he’s good with them. With you.
He spends a moment thinking things through before at last continuing. “Are you familiar with the traffic light safe word system?”
You meet his gaze, shaking your head.
“I need you to understand that even if I’m the dom, your word is my law. You tell me green and you leave shit in my hands to make you feel good. You tell me yellow and we’ll stop for a bit to figure out what you don’t like or what doesn’t feel good. You tell me red and my hands are off of you. What you say goes, you understand?” He leans forward with an intensity that seeps straight to your bones.
“Okay. I understand.”
“Good.” His shoulders rise and fall as he sucks in a breath, letting it out gradually. “And for the record, no kissing. No making out. No sex.”
As he repeats his rules, you press your lips into a thin line at how much he loves to remind you that you aren’t friends and these aren’t benefits. “You mentioned.”
“I’ll take my shirt off if it makes you comfortable, but that’s all you’re getting from me.”
“How sweet,” you comment dryly as he completely ignores your previous retort.
He grins, shrugging like the chivalrous man he is. “You didn’t ask for love, sweetheart.”
“And if I had?”
His grin stays in place, his chin lifting an inch as he regards you with the kind of expression only someone as conceited as Sukuna himself can manage. “Then you’d be switching to morning shifts.”
You want to roll your eyes, but you can at least respect his honesty, even if it’s painfully self-centered. You suppose it’s in part why trust comes easily with him. It’s not out of respect or friendship, but rather the simple fact that he doesn’t sugarcoat things. For better or for worse, he means what he says and has nothing to hide.
Jutting his chin in a motion to your nearly-finished glass, he keeps that painfully smug expression as he gruffs out a question. “Ready to go?”
Downing the last of your drink, you nod as you make your way to the bartender. She rings up your drinks together, only for Sukuna to step aside for you to pay.
Chivalry might just be dead, after all.
Your counterpart shoves his hands into his pockets with a haughty smirk, watching every micro expression cross your face as realization tents your brow, before twisting into a glare. Sukuna’s gait is entirely casual as his boots hit the pavement outside. When he comes to a halt by his car, his hand settles on the roof. “Send me your address,” are his last words before he ducks into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles on and his music begins in an instant, a booming bassline that’s faintly familiar, but it’s too muffled to make out.
Sucking in a breath, you let the music fade as you head for your car, sending him your address just around the corner. You take an extra moment to make it to your car, breathing in the cool summer night air. The ever-present murky smell of smog hits you the moment the sharp scent of alcohol dissipates, but you’ve grown accustomed to it by now. The air on your skin is refreshing, and gives you a moment to think.
In spite of his frustrating tendencies, Sukuna treats sex– in all forms– differently from the men you’re used to. Not just men, but everyone. Even your closest friends. It’s not an expectation, it’s not something that requires any pressure. It’s whatever you want it to be, and whatever you’re comfortable with.
You appreciate the fact that in spite of you wanting him to take charge, this is all still at your beck and call. Sukuna says everything like it is. As much as you despise that for how plainly he’ll point out any fault the moment he finds it or throw you under the bus in a heartbeat when he sees himself as a man who’s always in the right, you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t make things into a spectacle either.
How many parties have you been to where ‘never have I ever’ turned into a wave of judgement, or a game where you found yourself lying to avoid it? How many times have you avoided parties altogether, hating the way all concepts surrounding you seemed to change over something that shouldn’t be everything it’s so often perceived as?
Hell, growing up in an era where sex was perceived as something cool and sold to adults through media only to be thrust into a new era where censorship is pushed more than education, it was bound to twist the perception around virginity.
Your own insecurity is an unfortunate side effect of those two very things clashing with one another. Just like your insecurity in the impression you’ve given Satoru, regardless of if you’ve actually spoken to him or not.
Which is why Sukuna’s attitude around sex is a breath of fresh air. There’s no judgement from him that you’ve abstained for so long.
And for that, you find yourself excited as you pull up to your house.
The man in question is parked before you even arrive, standing at the brick staircase by the time you lock your vehicle. The three-story building towers overhead, yet he still looks big at the base of the stairs.
His arms are crossed as he leans back casually, eyes on his phone. The racing jacket he sports hangs heavily over his broad shoulders. It looks like a replica F1 jacket of sorts, and in spite of its large size, the muscle definition beneath the tank top clinging to his skin is still obvious. It’s almost unfair that he’s so attractive and such a dick.
Just as the thought crosses your mind, his crimson eyes lift from his phone screen. He pockets it, looking you up and down once before letting you lead the way. You pull the front gate open without a word, unlocking the inner door and shutting it to latch behind you. Your apartment resides on the second floor, a single room backing onto the subway. Convenient, but noisy as all hell.
You like to think of it as the epitome of what it means to chase your dream, but in reality you know it’s little more than measly tape to cover up the fact that it feels more like failure. You’ve only been here for a couple of months and played at a couple of crappy venues that didn’t turn out well and you aren’t about to give up now, but your apartment fails to feel like home.
When you flick the lights on, it gives a warm glow to the run-down apartment.
“Make yourself at home,” you offer of the small space. It’s nothing more than a studio with a bathroom. A kitchenette sits at your immediate left with a microwave, fridge, and a single plug-in hot-plate, while your bed is pushed into the corner at the back. You’ve managed to fit a small TV on a table in the corner, and a tiny couch beside it, but that’s about all there is to see of your small space. Wallpaper peels at the top corners and there are stains and scrapes over the old wooden floor that could very well be older than you.
You’ve done what you can with the space. Over the couch is a number of signed and framed band posters and by the TV sits a cork board with memorabilia pinned to it. Old concert ticket stubs, set lists, and guitar picks all pinned or clipped in place. A lamp sits behind the TV in the corner that makes the space feel more warm, giving light to the two gaming systems sitting under the table. It’s not perfect, but it’s very you.
As you set your keys and bag on what little counter space you have, Sukuna takes in the sight of the small space, his gaze lingering on the signed posters and memorabilia before landing on your guitar, leaning against the couch haphazardly.
“You’re a concert girl?” He queries. It’s hard to get a read on where the question comes from when his tone lacks any real interest or enthusiasm.
“When I could afford it,” you agree with a wry laugh.
He hums, kicking his shoes off and dropping his jacket beside your guitar on the couch. He plops down on the double bed, picking up a drumstick sat on the small night stand wedged between the bed and the tiny table the TV sits atop. He twirls it on a finger as he continues to look around while you fiddle with the box for the bullet vibrator you got, picking at the tape keeping it shut.
Like a sixth sense, your hair stands on-end when his striking gaze settles on you again. He continues to fiddle with the drumstick, but his expression is otherwise unreadable. His slightly narrowed gaze gives you the idea that something is on his mind. “What?”
“Just thinking,” he mutters, his gaze dropping the full length of your body again.
Standing still at the counter, you chew on the inside of your cheek as he checks you out. Or something similar to that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this question would arise. A part of you had hoped to avoid it, but given the nature of your agreement with Sukuna, the question doesn’t bother you as much as it might from someone else.
“I won’t be offended, you know.”
The drumstick stills in Sukuna’s fingers. “About what?”
“If you ask.”
“Can you be fucking direct?” He sneers, his eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he fixes you with the kind of gaze that would have made your skin crawl a month ago. Back then, you would have taken it for genuine frustration, but you know now that this is a man who finds pleasure in the fact that one look can make someone avert their gaze.
But you don’t budge, turning to face him with the bullet vibe in-hand. “You wanna know why I’m still a virgin if I’m open enough to ask you for this arrangement.”
You can’t blame him. You get the feeling you’re a year or two older than him based on the fact that you graduated already and he’s in his last year. Your reply even seems to intrigue him as he leans forward just enough to show interest. You have his attention, although he doesn’t say it. He may not judge you for it, but you certainly can’t blame him for being curious. After all, your request was a bold one in the first place.
With a sigh, you set the toy on the counter as you manage to free it from its packaging. “You know how I told you I’m from a small town?”
“Mhm.”
“How small do you think I meant?”
He shrugs, having clearly never considered the question. “Ten thousand,” he throws out a haphazard guess.
“Four hundred people.”
His nose wrinkles at the mere thought. Fitting for a guy who seems well-versed in navigating life in a massive city.
“So my options kinda sucked with guys my age,” you laugh dryly, returning to the counter where you set the toy down. You turn to him suddenly, a finger held out pointedly towards his chest. “Don’t even get me started on the older men.”
He snorts, barely more than a push of air from his nostrils that gives way to his amusement.
“It was one of those roadside attraction towns where our whole thing was like,” you wave a hand through the air, looking for the right words to describe it. “Having one of those weird statues or whatever that people will pull over to see.”
“Yeah? So what weird thing did you have, then?”
You crack a smile. “The world’s largest garden gnome.”
He blinks in disbelief, in sudden understanding of the whole situation. One single garden gnome painting a whole picture of who you are and how you grew up. “Damn. That blows.” There’s something so strangely friendly in the interaction that’s unbefitting of everything he is, but for a moment you forget this is Sukuna you’re speaking with.
You laugh. “Yeah. It’s not even the world’s largest anymore from what I’ve been told. So now we’re the ‘original’,” you make finger quotations in the air, “world’s largest garden gnome.”
He snorts again, pushing a hand back through his hair. “No wonder you like punk music. You did need to get out of your town.”
You surprise even yourself at how heartily you laugh. When he’s not being a stick-in-the-mud, it turns out he’s kinda funny. In fact, when he isn’t acting like he’s above you, there’s even a sort of warmth to him that you don’t mind. Whether it’s a public front and he’s dropped the curtain for a moment or he’s growing more comfortable with you is yet to be determined.
Or maybe this is like a one time event that you were lucky enough to witness.
“You must have gone to the city pretty often if you go to a lot of concerts,” he muses. “No interest in hooking up with a guy or doing this shit with someone before now?”
You frown, glancing up from the instructions on the bottle of toy cleaner as you loosely skim them. “I never really considered any of this until the shop. And I’d rather be with someone I know.”
He grunts in irritation before you even finish the first sentence, but he lets it go by the time you finish. At least his frustration with you is purely on a work level. “You don’t know me,” he points out. “You don’t know jack shit about how I am in bed and you barely know me outside of it.”
“I trust you, though.”
His gaze drifts to the floor, something stoic passing over his expression as he allows the thought to sink in. “You trust me,” he parrots dryly, for no other reason than to solidify them for himself. You open your mouth to elaborate, but he’s already talking over you before you can spit out a second word. Infuriating man. “Right. And now you want me to show you the ropes–” he pauses at the irony of his statement, a smug smirk returning to his lips. “Literally.” He stands up from your bed, tossing the drumstick aside in the midst of his amusement.
With a roll of your eyes, you stop whatever narcissistic or teasing comment was about to leave his parted lips, steering the conversation another way before he’s too frustrating to handle. “I can make a guess.”
Sukuna pauses, stepping towards you with curiosity. “About–” he raises his brows. “What I’m like? In general, or in bed?”
“Both,” you shrug. “You like to be in charge. You like to have someone who’s willing to admit that you’re better at something and you like to be mean about it. You like when people feel small around you, it makes your ego feel good like the big man that you are.”
Where you expect offense, you only find amusement, which unfortunately isn’t in your favor either. At the end of the day, he’s still running this interaction like he owns it. His head tilts, his grin unrelenting. The way the muscle shirt he sports clings to his chest as it rises and falls feels unfair. He’s a tease without trying, all because he has the fortune of being hot. “Oh?” His voice comes low, a grit to it that sends heat between your thighs. “Are we guessing, or psychoanalyzing?”
You shrug. “It can be whatever you want.”
His gaze flickers around your face as you move past him to the spot where he was just seated. The amusement laced through sanguine eyes as he watches you sits under your skin in the kind of way that has you grimacing. The way he picks you apart so effortlessly is a shadow compared to the pile of things about him that frustrate you, but you hate the way it gets under your skin.
He has no issues making himself at home either, moving his jacket aside so he can manspread obnoxiously on the couch across from your bed. Your brows tent downwards as he doesn’t hesitate to reach for your guitar either, as though he knows that, too, will get under your skin. “Here, I’ll move that.”
You dart towards him, picking the instrument up before his fingers can graze the neck, setting in on the stand it should have been on anyway. His brow quirks, head tilting as he watches your every movement. The way he moves through life so easily is grating.
When you take a seat again across from him on your bed, you tap your foot a couple of times on the worn wood below. It sounds hollow, even beneath your clothed feet. “So… What should we do?” You query, praying you can find a rhythm with him that makes everything more comfortable.
A smile curls at the corners of his lips. “I told you. You’re–”
His words come to a quick halt, expression twisting into disbelief and clear concern as your apartment rattles briefly, before the obvious noise of the subway passing behind the building follows, and the room settles as it comes to a stop. Unphased, you await his next words.
“You fucking live with that?”
You shrug. “Yeah. I uh– didn’t really realize it would be an issue until I moved in.”
A puff of air leaves his nose, his eyes trailing between you and the window where the train’s shadow cast across the floor moments ago. “How the fuck do you sleep? The subways run all night.”
“They’re less frequent at night,” you offer.
“How the fuck do you get off with that noise?”
Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you shrug. “It’s just background noise.”
Sukuna hangs in a state of disbelief for a moment, crimson boring into you like even he’s questioning how the fuck he got here now. When the moment settles, he runs his tongue over his teeth and shakes his head, muttering a curse under his breath. “You’re something.”
“Thanks,” you reply dryly. The nerves of opening yourself up to someone buzz more as you draw Sukuna’s attention away from the train. Your leg bounces involuntarily, a hollow thump to it as you wait for a reply to your question, no matter how snarky it’ll inevitably be.
But the arrogance never comes. His eyes flicker down to your leg, the previous curl of his lips gone and replaced with something far more staid. With a hand on the couch’s armrest, he moves across the small room with ease, his large frame casting a long shadow over the floor as he blocks the lamplight. Your heart pumps hard against its cage, jumping to your throat when his palm settles on your leg, pressing it to the hardwood to stop its pace.
“Relax.” His voice has a sultry tone that feels foreign to you yet lived-in, like he knows just how to pitch his voice to send it like a shock straight to your stomach. You shift at the sensation, drawn to his gaze as he leans in with a brazen chuckle, clearly pleased that he can affect you in such a way. “Stop talking. Stop thinking. About all of this shit. About me, about the job, the money, the train. Turn your brain off.”
He’s right, painfully so, about every little thing on your mind. But the most relief you usually get is a warm cup of tea on a cool night, and even then it’s disturbed by a train every few minutes. It’s not like you haven’t masturbated, particularly since starting at the shop, but your brain always seems to need something to latch onto and porn feels so performative you can’t get into it.
Sukuna gives you something to focus on, taking the bullet vibrator from within your fidgeting hands as his other hand glides from your thigh to your torso over your shirt. His thumb frames your breast, the sensation sending a shiver straight up your spine. He uses just enough force that you could call the pressure he uses to guide you back onto your bed a ‘suggestion’ rather than a command.
“Give me a color.”
“Green.”
“Good,” he hums, low and smug as you watch his smirk grow into something painfully self-assured and egotistical as he flashes his teeth. You don’t have time to be annoyed when your lashes are already fluttering as he drags the bullet vibrator in his palm over your clothed pussy with just enough pressure that your breath catches. “And it’s not even on yet,” he purrs in that ever-condescending tone.
“I should have asked someone less–”
He grinds the vibrator against your clit in an effort to stifle your attitude, shooting you a smug smirk when it works. “But you didn’t.”
Your scowl barely has a chance to form before it dissipates as he glides a thumb beneath your shirt. The sensation has you shivering as he scrutinizes every micro expression you make when his thumb glides over the sensitive skin of your bare stomach. Goosebumps rise in its stead, inevitable as your body reacts to the sensation. You jolt when his touch is so feather-light that it feels more ticklish than something sensual, and like everything else he picks it up and files it away for later.
When he stops at your hipbone and dips two fingers beneath your waistband, you instinctively suck in a breath, stiffening. His movement pauses, eyes narrowing as he fixes you with a sharp gaze that you recognize as instruction.
“Green,” you breathe.
Something smug in his expression has you swallowing your pride at the realization that submission came easily. He’s too keen to have not noticed how you’re not running your mouth anymore, and you don’t need to read between the lines to know that he enjoys that fact.
With your consent, two fingers drag your pants down, haplessly discarded as his gaze trails the length of your legs slowly. You can’t make out what he’s thinking, your hair standing on end as some part of you longs for warmth in a partner who might revere you, but that isn’t what you asked for. It’s not who Sukuna is.
When his eyes meet yours, they narrow an ounce. “Stop worrying,” he admonishes the thoughts he seems to be able to sense as though your insecurities are written in the air for him to see. It warms your cheeks further than they already are. When he catches the twitch of your brow, whether it’s a tell that he’s correct or some bratty form of defiance, he brings a hand to your jaw, his thumb and finger forcing you to keep his gaze. “I’m serious. Bodies are all different, and–”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Suku–”
His thumb and finger shift until he’s pressing your cheeks together to shut up your protests. “Everyone is different. You should be. Stop fucking worrying.” He loosens his grip enough to allow you to nod, no longer pursing your lips. “Focus on my hands. Focus on the feeling. Don’t think about the fucking train that’s gonna pass in three minutes. Don’t distract yourself.”
He releases your face, shifting his hand until he’s prodding your abdomen pointedly with a finger. He waits for your gaze to follow before continuing.
“Masturbation is one thing because you know exactly what you want and can make yourself finish quickly, but bringing another person into things changes how your body and brain work.” He moves his hand back to the bed as he leans over you, watching with a faint smirk as the other hand presses the small vibrator, still off, into your clit and you take in a sharp breath. “If you get distracted by all the dumb shit going through your head and don’t stay focused on how you’re feeling, your body won’t let you cum. You’ll go straight into overstimulation without orgasm, or your body just won’t respond. It’s common as shit and a lot of people don’t think they can cum with a partner.”
You blink at how strangely insightful and educational the tattooed prick can actually be. Your shoulders fall into the mattress as you focus on the pressure of the hard silicone pressed into your clothed pussy.
There’s another side to it as well that has your mind ready to reel into something far more tangential, as much as you know you should listen to his advice. The fact is that the very same man who told you not to expect love or care from him is sitting here reassuring you, all the while explaining to you just how much he understands the human body. It’s not just from a biological or fact-driven perspective either, he’s putting your pleasure first.
Sure, it’s worth acknowledging that at the end of the day your arrangement does revolve around your pleasure, but Sukuna’s not just insightful. In one way or another, it’s caring. Whether he wants to acknowledge it or not, you’ve heard horror stories of men not being able to find the clit and it’s driven you further into insecurity surrounding the very concept of sex as someone with no experience.
Sukuna isn’t just skilled or good as you’re sure he’ll put it. He’s put time into this. Not just the kind that comes with being with people, but the kind that comes with research and education.
You knew he could talk about toys without batting an eye.
This is deeper.
He flicks your forehead, eyes flashing with irritation as you protest with a yelp. “What did I just tell you?”
“You’re just kinda being sweet,” you excuse yourself, blinking at him from where he’s crouched over your lower torso.
Something flashes in his eyes. “Don’t fucking mistake being good at what I do for sweetness.” His lip curls, the word dripping in disgust like the very concept is venomous to him. “Or do I need to remind you that this is a fucking deal and the moment this shit’s over you’re nothing more than my co-worker who doesn’t know fuck-all about the product?”
You let out a disbelieving scoff at the way he manages to kill the vibe entirely over what you might consider a compliment. “You’re right. You’re a dick.”
He straightens as he takes command of the situation once more, making himself look bigger as he leans over you. He shifts the reins like he owns your every reaction and can predict the situation. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the bullet vibe on, the vibration a sudden and intense sensation even over your panties. It’s a stark contrast to what your fingers feel like.
“Now stop thinking.” He drags the vibrator from your clit back across your clothed slit, your lips parting as you arch into the sensation.
“How am I supposed to focus when you’re being such an ass?” You grit in spite of the pleasure.
“Now you know why I’m good at this shit.”
He drops the attitude again as he manages to turn you on without the sensual touch or words of a partner, but rather through other methods.
Keeping a steady, albeit low vibration setting over your clit through your panties, he slips a hand under your shirt again. His thumb glides smoothly over your nipple, raising goosebumps along with his calloused touch. Sharp crimson eyes fix on the way your gaze finally shifts from his movements to the ceiling, your hands reaching for the blanket laying over the mattress. Your fingers curl into the cotton as all thoughts of insecurity and Sukuna’s attitude finally dissipate and all you’re left with is a tingling sensation that spreads warmly to your extremities.
“Thaaat’s it,” he guides you in a low tone that acts like sparks in your mind, kindling a fire that burns out whatever last thoughts served as a distraction. At last it’s just you and the sensation of his finger circling your nipple, slow and sensual as he takes the time needed to work your body up to a point where the vibrator won’t be too much.
The mattress dips as Sukuna shifts, his footsteps lost on you as the train passes by the window. It’s nothing more than background noise with your exterior senses dulled to focus only on touch. You blink at the tattooed man as the noise of the vibrator is silenced, lidded eyes watching his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.
“Color?”
You swallow hard. His gaze lowers as he watches the movement, every tiny detail catalogued as he reads your reaction.
“Green,” you reply, breathless.
He gives a nod, fixed still on your expression when he gives the first tug. On instinct your legs twitch to close, so he guides you through the nerves rather than ignoring them. “You’re good,” he gruffs. It’s not soothing, but somehow it settles a modicum of the uncertainty that comes with putting your trust in someone else in such a vulnerable way.
Once they’re over your knees, he tugs the panties off, sending them across the room.
You still can’t help instinctively trying to hide yourself from him, squeezing the blanket tighter between your fingers as the cool air of your apartment reaches your dripping core.
“You want my shirt off?”
The question hangs before you, eyes dipping down to the black muscle shirt he sports, tight over his built chest. It’s the kind of thing you would spot at a gym, but it’s just loose enough over the rest of his torso that it looks less like he’s showing off and more like he effortlessly owns the look and everyone else is just mirroring him.
Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. When you meet his gaze again, it’s smug. He knows every last word that just ran through your head like he’s heard it before and the thought should piss you off, but you can’t be too bothered when he sets the vibrator on your abdomen and grabs the hem of his shirt with crossed arms. He pulls it up over his head with intention, flexing his biceps as he does so and sets it aside. Conveniently, his shirt doesn’t fly across the room.
The tattoos that curl around the sides of his neck snake over his shoulders in thick off-black lines that curve over his pecks. There are another set of bands similar to his wrists on his upper biceps and circles at his shoulders. They sharpen the persona given off by his intense egoism and dyed black hair, but they also accentuate his muscles in the kind of way that has your pupils dilating as you trail over the lines before falling to his abs.
As if that sight isn’t a show enough, at the base of his abdomen is a snail trail that you fix on just enough to earn a chuckle. It’s startlingly pink, matching the roots you spot every few weeks when they grow out.
Your hips shift as your stomach clenches at the sight. The cool air makes it obvious how turned on you are, and when you look back up, Sukuna is smirking. You’re feeding his ego more than you could know.
Satisfied with your reaction, he settles both hands on your thighs, slowly pulling them apart. Exposed to him once again, you find that action has surprisingly replaced your nerves with something far more debauched that has your mind racing.
This time, in all the right ways.
When your legs stay spread, he picks the vibrator back up, flicking it back on in one deft movement. The bed dips when he settles between your legs, dragging the vibrator through wet folds and over your clit, you arch into it with a soft moan. “Now you’re getting it,” he smirks as at last you let go of the endless stress of thoughts and give in to pleasure. “A bullet vibe is too small for much else besides placing direct pressure on the clit,” he explains as though your mind isn’t on another plane. “So it works best with other forms of stimulation.”
He keeps the small vibrator pressed directly to your clit. Your head falls back into the mattress, balling the fabric of your blankets up into your fists.
“You gotta work with me if you want this shit to work,” he continues, his hand pressing your thigh down when he adds additional pressure to the vibrator and your legs jolt shut on instinct. “What feels good?”
“I– hah–” You blink, cloudy eyes fluttering open to drag across the ceiling until they find his gaze, impossibly red and horribly smug as a moan tears your words apart. “The pressure is nice.”
“Nice?” He parrots the word, dripping in amusement. “I’m using a vibrator on you, don’t mince your words.”
You arch into the sensation in spite of his chatter, but he pulls away when you don’t reply immediately. Swallowing hard, you adjust your grip on the blankets and blink as your mind reels trying to catch up to what he wants. “It gets me a lot closer when you press it into my clit.”
He hums.
“But it’s kinda nice when you take it away too, makes the feeling l-last longer,” you stammer over the sentence when he tests your words, pulling it away for a moment. Your hips jolt, but the sensation is nice.
Vibration isn’t like your fingers. It’s far more intense and works you to the edge quicker when Sukuna knows how to maneuver the toy. “That’s called edging,” he gruffs, pulling the vibrator back as he waits for your eyes to meet his again. “This is a pretty tame form of it, but the human body wasn’t built for a vibrator so you’ll cum too fast if I don’t and it’s not as good.” You nod weakly, gaze flickering back down to the small device that he’s still holding away from your body. “Some people like being brought to the edge and coming down over and over, though. If that’s something you wanna try, that’s fine, but let me learn what you like first.”
You nod again, chewing on your lower lip as you buck your hips into his waiting hand.
He clicks his tongue, amused. “Eager.” Before you can retort with something equally cheeky, he presses the vibrator back to your clit as the stimulation curls through your body again, warm and welcome. It blossoms from your stomach to your chest until you can feel yourself teetering at the edge again, only for Sukuna to pull back. “Finger yourself.”
“What? Me?”
“You fucked stupid already?” Condescending prick. “Yeah, you. I told you, a bullet vibe works best with outside stimulation and I wanna see what you do to get off.”
You huff out a sigh, but your fingers slip from the blanket, down your body until you feel slick gather along your fingers. They’re cold, the thin windows giving way to a chill that seeps into your skin. The sensation has you sucking in a breath when they touch your skin, one finger slipping first between your folds, cool and pleasant, and then another. You work yourself open at a comfortable pace and adjust your hips until you find a rhythm and depth that feels nice, though it’s nothing compared to the vibrator.
“Could you cum just from that?”
“I don’t think so,” you breathe.
He hums in acknowledgement, pressing the vibrator with gradual pressure back into your clit. Your fingers stutter, pausing altogether. “Keep going,” he mutters. Even through the fog of bliss, you follow his instructions and keep the pace, your fingers curling into your walls as they begin to convulse around you.
Your breaths turn to soft, somewhat shy, moans with every second the vibrator spends pressed to your sensitive bundle of nerves. The world around you is fuzzy and you swear you can even hear the static that gathers at the edges of your vision. When your abdomen begins tensing and the rhythm of your fingers grows less accurate, more frantic, he uses more pressure to elicit the exact reaction he’s looking for. The sensation throws you over the edge without warning, hitting you in waves far more intense than the best orgasm with your fingers has ever given you.
As your body reacts to each wave of the orgasm, muscles clenching in time, the vibrator shifts slightly and the sensation heads straight into overstimulation. Sukuna reads the reaction and pulls away, letting you come down naturally. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you stare up at the rickety old ceiling.
Letting go and giving in entirely to the pleasure feels good. Your thoughts don’t race. There’s no constant stream of what needs to happen for the rest of the day or when you’ll head to the bar for your next gig. You’re just on cloud nine.
You feel Sukuna rise from between your legs. He moves around the apartment like he owns the place, opening the only door that doesn’t lead out without asking, and returning with a towel.
Pushing up onto your elbow, you hold out a hand expectantly, but Sukuna holds it out of reach. “No. I told you you’re not getting sweet, but I’m not leaving you without aftercare.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, folding the towel into something more manageable before holding it out for you to wipe your fingers on. “An arrangement like this,” he waves the folded towel haphazardly between you once you’re done with it, “means that the person in the dominant position should be helping clean up and make sure the sub is in the right headspace.” He speaks so matter-of-factly, you have a hard time believing this is the same guy who asked if you applied for the wrong job.
Tonal whiplash if you’ve ever heard it.
“If you ever have sex with someone who puts you in a submissive position and doesn’t give you aftercare, dump the prick.”
Truthfully, you’re not sure Sukuna has any right to call someone a prick, but you nod regardless. You’re not about to protest when he is cleaning you up and has gathered your panties and pants for you.
Once he’s satisfied, he sets the towel aside and pulls his shirt back over his head. He grabs you a glass of water as you cover yourself back up, and is surprisingly domestic as he checks in on you. “Feel good?”
“Yeah.”
“See what I mean when I say the bullet vibe is best with outside stimulation?”
You blink up at him from where he’s standing, a neutral expression plastered to his face as though nothing’s happened and there isn’t a tent in his pants. “Yeah, I guess.”
His eyes narrow, chin tilted up slightly. “You guess?”
“Sorry. I just don’t know what to do now.”
Unbothered, he simply nods, his gaze passing to the window as a train casts a dark shadow over the apartment, gone in a split second. He runs a hand through black strands of hair, revealing the pink at the roots before crossing his arms over his chest. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been… whatever we are, with someone.”
He snorts. “Can’t say I have either, sweetheart. Just talk with me until I know you’re back in a normal headspace. Tell me what worked and what didn’t.” He brings a hand up to his shoulder, rubbing the muscle along his back idly as he stands a short distance away.
Now fully clothed, you sit upright. “Okay.” Letting out a breath, you navigate the blissful fog still hanging over you in search of something to answer. “I appreciate that you took your shirt off,” you admit, heat climbing your spine as it curls up to your ears. You press on, grateful that he doesn’t make a big deal out of it in spite of his minute smirk. “I liked when you used pressure, but it was a lot when I came.”
He hums. “That’s overstimulation. Was it a lot in a bad way?”
Your brow knits together in thought. It was too much in the moment, but you don’t suppose you’d label it as bad. “No. Not exactly. Just too much.”
Shifting to the other foot, he considers your words. “Overstimulation is a pretty common kink. There’re a lot of people who like being pushed into that territory because it is a lot but the stimulation is also pleasurable and it can push you to cum again pretty quickly.”
“I think I saw that in some of the porn I tried watching.”
“I would say it’s one of the more common kinks in the kink community. Makes sense.”
You nod slowly, considering the sensation as you shift, your body still feeling particularly loose. “I think I’d try it.”
“Sure,” he agrees, seeming to only half pay attention when he pulls his phone out. A dim blue light illuminates the lower half of his face before he shoves it back in his pocket. “You seem good. Feeling alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. I’m leaving.” He turns abruptly on his heel, tossing his jacket over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. “Clean the vibe,” he reminds you. “And don’t use it too often. We’re not built for electronics, we’re built for fingers. It’ll fry your nerves and regular stimulation won’t feel as good.”
You nod solemnly, his advice adding up. “Wait!” You call when his hand rests atop the old door knob, the golden paint chipping away as it gives up the facade of luxury. “You don’t want anything?”
“No.”
You shake your head. “Why did you agree to this, then?”
He pauses, turning fully to face you. His gaze travels to the darkened path over the wooden floor where enough steps have been taken that the wood has physically worn away. “It’s convenient,” he offers, “having you take my shifts. It’s…” he trails off for a moment, his tongue running over his lower lip. “It’s helpful, really.”
You’re shocked at the sincerity behind the admission, like in spite of how frustrating and egocentric he can be, he feels he owes you honesty.
“But you’re right.” He lets the words hang, pools of cerise washing intensely over you as your head tilts quizzically. He blinks as he searches for the words to put his thoughts together. “Look, it pisses me off that you applied to this job in the first place, but you’re here now and Jillian likes you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “There’s fuck-all I can do about that and you should have known this shit before applying.”
Your eyes narrow as he repeats something you’re getting real sick of hearing. You can’t say you’re sure how this goes with the statement ‘you’re right’, either.
“But this shit is hard to learn if you don’t have an in.” His hand leaves the door handle with a hollow metallic clang as he takes a step towards you. He’s still across the apartment, but it bridges a gap of sorts. “Sex is treated as something you’re not supposed to talk about and kinks are taboo. So finding resources brings you to all sorts of sketchy sites or outdated books because the resources surrounding it suck.” He shrugs. “You should have a way to learn and experiment without feeling stupid for not knowing shit or for asking questions.”
“You literally called me stupid for asking a question not even ten minutes ago,” you interject.
“I didn’t call you stupid. I asked if I’d already fucked you stupid, because the question was stupid.”
You throw your hands in the air at his brazen reply, in disbelief that he can somehow manage to be simultaneously the most frustrating man on earth and unusually open and honest on topics that deserve discussion.
“It’s not stupid to ask questions about sex, or toys, or rules, or anything that makes you more comfortable. It’s not stupid to ask questions about your body or ask me to adjust to something that feels better.” He begins his clarification as though it helps at all. “It’s stupid to ask who I meant when I said ‘finger yourself’ when you’re the only other person in the room,” he snorts, amused as you shoot him a deadpan expression. “And it’s stupid as all hell to apply to a store where you don’t have any fucking clue what we sell.”
“You’re–”
“Yeah, yeah. Save it for later.” He makes a quarter turn, hand on the handle again. “I gotta go. See you at work.”
And with that, he’s gone.
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౨ৎ a/n ; helloooo!! thank you all so much for all of the support :') i couldn't possibly have imagined all the love for this series, so it seriously means a lot.
i've gone for what i think is a fun writing challenge for myself in giving sukuna and reader both a very interesting dynamic, while also showing that sukuna's views on sex are very different than traditional ones bc of his line of work. we'll see more of satoru's perspectives as well and where those views come from!! reader, of course, struggles with insecurity in spite of the fact that she is bold and confident and slowly but surely we'll see more of that come into play in further chapters as well as where it comes from.
Baby!Yuji realizing his resemblance to dad!Sukuna.
°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔
You noticed that six-year-old Yuji had been looking in the mirror a lot lately. He was constantly studying his face and playing with his hair. As he did the exact same thing right now, a fond smile touched your lips. You walked up behind him, resting your hands gently on his small shoulders.
"Looks like someone really loves looking in the mirror."
He turned to you and smiled.
"Mommy! I look like Daddy!" he said.
"Ah, so that's why. You were discovering how much you look like your dad."
"Look, my eyes and my hair... just like his!"
His excitement made you giggle. You ruffled his hair and kissed his rosy cheeks.
"Yes, baby. You're a mini version of your dad."
Lately, everyone who saw him kept saying how much he looked like his father. The boy had heard it so many times that he actually started to notice the resemblance himself.
When Sukuna walked into the room, Yuji shared his discovery with him too.
"Daddy, look at me!"
He widened his tiny eyes as if to prove it and pointed at his pink hair.
"Look, we're exactly the same!"
A small, smug smile appeared on Sukuna’s face.
"You're your father's son, kid."
Hearing his dad's words, Yuji's face lit up. But then, a sudden thought about you seemed to cross his little mind.
"I don’t look like Mama."
You pouted slightly.
"You didn’t have to say that right to my face, Yuji."
Sukuna let out a short chuckle, a lazy, playful smirk on his lips.
"Sorry about that," he murmured. "My genes are just a bit too stubborn."
You rolled your eyes.
Encouraged by his dad's laughter, the little boy turned back to the mirror with a proud grin.
"My lips, my nose... all Daddy!"
You let out a soft laugh.
"Yeah... You really do look like your dad."
"I didn’t know you loved your father quite this much," Sukuna teased, a hint of deep amusement in his voice.
Yuji hugged Sukuna's legs tightly and looked up at him.
"I love my daddy sooo much!"
Sukuna ran his hand through Yuji's pink hair, ruffling it gently.
Wearing Garrett Graham’s jersey hadn’t been part of the plan.
If anyone had asked you, you would’ve said you’d rather wear a rival team’s hoodie to a Briar game than give Garrett the satisfaction of seeing his name on your back — not because you hated him, despite what Logan kept saying, but because Garrett already walked around like half the campus was wrapped around his finger. You weren’t about to join the list of girls making that worse.
Which was exactly why you nearly dropped the case of beer when you heard his voice from the kitchen. “She’ll wear it.” Garrett sounded far too confident for someone who had absolutely no business talking about you like he had you figured out.
You stopped outside the doorway, brows furrowing as you balanced the case of beer against your hip. “You’re actually delusional.” Logan laughed, and a bottle clinked against the counter. “She called you a walking ego problem yesterday.”
Garrett chuckled. “Yeah, and ten minutes later, she stole my fries.”
“That doesn’t mean she likes you,” Tucker pointed out, sounding amused.
“It means she likes annoying me,” Garrett corrected, and you hated how easily he said it, like it was a fact he kept in his back pocket.
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, no. There’s no way in hell she’s wearing your jersey.”
Your stomach tightened when you heard your name.
There was a beat of silence before Garrett spoke again, slower this time, like he was smiling around the words. “Fifty says she does.”
And that was the moment you decided Garrett Graham was going to suffer. Not because you wanted him to win the bet. He absolutely wasn’t going to win the bet. You weren’t about to become a pawn in whatever stupid male-ego competition the hockey team had going on before the playoffs. Still, the idea had already lodged itself in your brain, and suddenly, refusing to wear the jersey felt like letting him think he’d gotten under your skin.
So you wore it — but on your terms.
The thing was ridiculously big on you, because of course it was, the navy fabric falling over your frame and nearly reaching mid-thigh. His last name stretched across your back like some terrible joke, bold white letters that made Allie stop chewing the second you stepped out of your room.
“Oh, my God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, already laughing. “You’re evil.”
“I’m supporting the team,” you said, grabbing your bag from the counter.
“You’re actually trying to kill Garrett Graham.”
You shrugged. “Then I hope the team has a backup captain.”
The rink was already loud by the time you got there, the student section packed and buzzing with the kind of preseason excitement that made everyone forget about homework and actual responsibilities. You found Dean immediately because he waved like he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes texting you to ask where you were. But the second his eyes dropped to the jersey, his entire face changed.
“No.” Dean shook his head before you even sat down. “Nope. Absolutely not.”
“What?” you asked, glancing around like you had no idea what he meant.
“Take that off.”
“In public? Dean, there are children here.”
Allie snorted beside you while Logan, who’d come up into the stands for two seconds before warmups, looked like Christmas had come early. “Oh, Graham’s going to be useless.”
“Why would he be useless?” you asked, all wide eyes and fake innocence.
Logan’s grin only got wider. “You’re a menace.”
The payoff was immediate, the second Garrett skated onto the ice.
He didn’t see you at first, too busy saying something to one of the first-years near the boards. Then Dean yelled something, Garrett glanced up toward your section, and his eyes landed on you — or more specifically, on his jersey.
The puck slid clean off his stick.
You smiled and gave him a little wave.
Garrett stared at you for a second too long, mouth slightly parted like his brain had short-circuited, before Logan shouted something from the bench that made half the guys turn to look. Garrett blinked, caught himself, and shook his head, but the tips of his ears had gone red.
It was the best thing you’d ever seen.
The whole game felt like that. Every time Garrett skated by, his eyes found you. Every time they did, you pretended to care about literally anything else — the scoreboard, your phone, the girl in front of you. Dean was losing his mind when Garrett took a cheap hit and immediately got back up like he hadn’t just given half the arena a heart attack.
But when he scored in the third period, his eyes went to you first. Not the bench. Not the crowd. You, wearing his name.
The grin on his face was dangerous — all adrenaline, ego, and something that made your thighs press together before you could stop them.
By the time the game ended, Briar had won, Dean had yelled himself hoarse, and you were starting to think this might’ve been a terrible idea.
“I’m riding with Allie,” Dean announced as you walked toward the parking lot, still glaring at your jersey as it had personally betrayed him.
You frowned. “Congratulations?”
“You need a ride or what?”
“I drove here.”
Dean narrowed his eyes like he already knew you were going to ignore him. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
You pressed a hand to your chest, deeply offended. “I would never.”
Allie coughed like she was hiding a laugh, but Dean was too distracted by Tucker calling his name to notice, which left you standing by your car in the half-empty parking lot, pretending very hard that you weren’t waiting.
You were shifting your bag higher on your shoulder when you heard his voice.
“Cute jersey,” Garrett said, sounding far too pleased with himself.
Your lips pressed together before you turned around, trying not to react to Garrett walking toward you with his gear bag slung over one shoulder, damp hair curling from his shower, and his suit jacket open like he hadn’t just spent sixty minutes trying to ruin your life on ice.
“Thanks,” you said, looking down at yourself. “Some guy gave it to me.”
Garrett stopped in front of you, his gaze dragging over the jersey slowly enough to make your stomach tighten. “Some guy?”
“Yeah. Tall, annoying, thinks he’s charming.”
His mouth curved. “Sounds like your type.”
“You wish,” you said, trying very hard not to smile.
He stepped closer, the smell of soap and cold air coming with him. “I think you wearing my name proves I don’t have to wish all that hard.”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I only wore it because I overheard your stupid little bet.”
Garrett’s brows lifted, but the surprise lasted only a second before amusement settled over his face. “You overheard that?”
“Every single word.”
“And you still wore it?” he asked, like that proved something.
“To make a point, obviously.”
“What point?” he asked, voice dropping as his fingers caught the hem of the jersey and brushed your bare thigh.
The touch was light, barely there, and still made your breath catch.
Garrett noticed, because of course he did. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back to your face with a look that made you want to kick him.
“That I can make you look stupid whenever I want,” you said, though your voice wasn’t nearly as steady as you’d hoped.
Garrett laughed quietly. “You think I looked stupid?”
“You dropped the puck,” you said, trying not to smile.
“I scored,” he said.
“Eventually,” you said, unable to hide your smile this time.
Garrett moved closer, and suddenly your back was against your car, his hand still caught in the hem of the jersey like he was trying to remind both of you whose name was on it. “You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t like me, you watched me pretty closely tonight.”
“You take up a lot of space.”
“And you like looking.”
“I like judging,” you said, even though your voice had gone a little too soft.
His thumb slipped beneath the fabric, brushing your hip, and your body betrayed you again with the smallest shift toward him. “You gonna keep lying to me out here, or are you gonna get in the car?”
Your eyes went wide.
Garrett tipped his head toward his truck a few spots over, expression far too calm for someone who’d just dropped that into the conversation. “Because if you want to prove another point, pretty girl, I’m all ears.”
You should’ve told him to fuck off. You should’ve gotten in your own car and gone home. Instead, you walked to his.
The second the door shut behind you, Garrett kissed you like he’d been holding himself back for hours. Messy and impatient, like every look across the rink had been building toward this. His hands found your waist and pulled you across the backseat until you were half in his lap, and your fingers immediately went for his tie because you’d been thinking about that since the parking lot.
“You’re so fucking smug,” you breathed against his mouth.
He smiled against your mouth. “You’re in my car wearing my jersey.”
“I hate you,” you muttered.
“No, you don’t.”
Garrett’s hand slid up your thigh, slow enough for you to stop him if you wanted to. You didn’t. You only parted your legs a little more, hating the way his breath caught like that alone could ruin him.
“Can I?” he murmured, his forehead pressed to yours.
You nodded, but his fingers stayed still.
“Words.”
“Yes,” you breathed, face burning. “Touch me.”
His mouth curved against your cheek. “Good girl.”
Your body reacted before you could be embarrassed, hips shifting into his hand as his fingers slid beneath your shorts and pressed against the damp lace of your underwear.
Garrett went quiet for half a second before laughing under his breath. “All this attitude, and you’re already soaked?”
“Don’t make me regret this,” you breathed.
“You won’t,” he said, like a promise. He pushed your underwear to the side, fingers sliding through your wetness. “I’ve been thinking about this since you walked in with my name on your back.”
A moan slipped out when his fingers circled your clit, slow and steady, and Garrett kissed you again to swallow the sound. His hand moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, fingers dipping lower to tease your entrance before pushing one inside.
Your head fell back against the seat. “Garrett.”
“There she is,” he murmured, mouth moving along your jaw. “I was wondering when you’d stop pretending.”
You wanted to respond. Really, you did. But then he added a second finger and curled them both, hitting a spot that made your hand fly to his wrist.
His grin turned infuriating. “Right there?”
“Shut up,” you breathed.
“That’s not what you meant.”
His thumb worked your clit as his fingers moved inside you, slow at first, then faster when your hips started chasing his hand. It was obscene — the sound of it in the quiet car, the fogged windows, the fact that you were riding his fingers in a parking lot because you’d been stubborn enough to wear his jersey.
“Look at you,” Garrett said, voice rough now, less teasing as his eyes dragged over your face. “Acting like you didn’t want this.”
“I wanted to prove a point.”
“You did.” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Now come for me.”
The words pushed you over faster than you wanted to admit, pleasure snapping through you so sharply your thighs shook around his hand. You buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound, and Garrett kept going until you grabbed his wrist, too sensitive and breathless.
He moved slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and your stomach turned over at the expression that crossed his face.
“You’re disgusting,” you whispered.
He smiled. “You’re staring.”
You kissed him before he could say anything else, hands already reaching for his belt because one more smug comment would’ve ruined you completely. Garrett helped you, breath catching when your palm brushed over him, and suddenly, nothing was funny anymore.
“Condom?” he asked, voice rough as you shifted in his lap.
“I’m on the pill,” you murmured against his neck. “And I’m clean.”
“Me too.” His hands settled on your hips, thumbs brushing beneath the jersey. “You sure?”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, at his flushed cheeks and dark eyes and the way he was still waiting, even though tension sat in every line of his body beneath you.
“Yes,” you said, looking right at him this time. “I’m sure.”
The first stretch made your mouth fall open, Garrett’s grip tightening on your waist as you took him slowly, inch by inch, until your thighs were pressed to his and both of you were breathing like the game had only just ended.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the seat. “You feel so good.”
You braced your hands on his shoulders and started moving before you could think too hard about it. The angle was too much and still not enough, every roll of your hips dragging a rough sound out of him while the jersey bunched around your waist.
Garrett watched you like the sight of you was slowly undoing him.
“You look good like this,” he said, voice low and rough. “Wearing my name while you take my cock.”
Your walls clenched around him, and he cursed under his breath, hands tightening on your hips as he guided you faster. “Yeah? Does that do something for you?”
“Garrett,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“No, come on,” he said, thrusting up into you and cutting off whatever you’d been about to say. “You had a lot to say earlier.”
“You’re annoying.”
He laughed softly against your mouth. “And yet here you are.”
The worst part was that he was right. The even worse part was that it only made you move faster. His hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and your whole body jolted.
“There you go,” he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “Give me another one, pretty girl.”
You shook your head, even though your body had already started chasing it.
Garrett kissed you, softer than his voice, like he knew you were close before you did. “I’ve got you.”
That was what did it. Not the smugness. The softness. The way his hand held your waist like he was keeping you together while he let you fall apart.
Your orgasm hit hard, pulling a broken moan from you as you clenched around him, and Garrett followed with a groan against your throat, his hips jerking beneath you as he came.
For a few seconds, neither of you moved. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, his hands warm beneath the jersey as his fingers traced slow lines up your back like he’d forgotten this was supposed to be a joke. A bet. A bad idea.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You nodded against his shoulder.
His hand stilled instantly. “Words.”
“I’m okay,” you breathed.
He kissed your temple, gentle enough to make your chest ache.
“You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter now, “the bet was bullshit.”
You lifted your head enough to look at him properly.
Garrett’s eyes met yours, and for once, there was nothing smug about him. “I just wanted an excuse to see you wearing it.”
Before you could answer, Garrett’s phone lit up on the seat beside you.
Dean.
Then your phone buzzed too.
Dean: Where the hell are you?
Garrett glanced at the message, then back at you with a look that was dangerously close to a grin.
A knock sounded against the window, and both of you froze instantly.
Dean’s voice came from outside the truck, suspicious and entirely too close. “Graham?”
summary:: A drunken game of Truth or Drink seems like a good idea. Until it doesn't.
warnings:: 18+,you were ROBBED of smut,I was too lazy..but it's there just cut off lmao,dirty talk,drinking a LOT,enemies who aren't really enemies because reader loves him
word count:: 4k
A/N:: I love you all sm 😭 the number of likes on my winter soldier fic mealts my heart.
It had been three months since Valentina dragged you out of the dark and into this team .The Thunderbolts...or the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts,as you liked to joke.A collection of beautiful disasters, all of you running from a past that refused to stay buried. You didn't belong here, but then again, none of you did.
Yelena was the first to let you in, though she did it with a blade hidden in her palm. She tasted like cheap vodka and expensive cigarettes. At first, she looked at you with those 'assassin eyes', but it didn't take long for the ice to melt into a sisterly warmth.Well...her sister is dead but that's besides the point.
You spent nights sitting on the cold floor of the armory, sharing sour candy and talking.Alexei was different. He was like an old photograph of Soviet glory. He’d drink until his eyes went misty, clapping his heavy hand on your shoulder, calling you little bird. He loved to talk about the old days.
Then there was John Walker. The cheap version of Captain America. He looked like a golden boy from a 1950s poster, but you learned early on not to look too closely into his eyes—there was too much paranoia there, too much hunger for a redemption he would never get. You two didn't talk much; you just exchanged understanding glances in the hallways.
Ava was a ghost in every sense of the word. You would find her in the quietest hours of the night. You spent hours just sitting near her, simply sharing the silence.
Antonia was different. In the training room, she was flawless,but behind that skull mask, you saw the girl who had been stripped of her soul before she ever had a chance to live. Sometimes, you would find her staring out the rain-streaked windows, her gloved fingers tracing the glass. You’d bring her a cup of black coffee, placing it gently beside her.
And then, there was Bob. He looked so innocent with his wide, boyish eyes and that nervous, charming smile. But you knew the tearing darkness that slept inside him. He’d sit on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs, rambling about comic books or his favorite diners, holding a mug of tea with trembling hands.
James Buchanan Barnes.You two didn't get along.From the very first day he hated you.You never called him Bucky. That sweet name belonged to a boy who died in the snow eighty years ago. To you, he was just Barnes.
“Be nice to her,Bucky,” Yelena would hiss. “She is new. Stop looking at her like she stole your youth.”
Yelena had tried to soften him, telling him to play nice, to ease up on the new recruit. But he didn't know how to be soft. And you didn't know how to back down.
Three months of petty warfare. If you walked into the mess hall, he’d leave his coffee to go cold and walk out. If he was cleaning his knives in the lounge, you’d play some loud jazz on the record player just to watch the muscle in his jaw twitch. It was a game.
Lately, though,he tried to be better. He didn't hate you anymore. He never really did. But he didn't like you either. You were an itch under his skin.Too bright and happy.
You had never hated him. Not for a single second. All the petty warfare, the loud jazz, the sharp remarks—it was never out of malice. You only started acting cold because that was exactly how he had greeted you from the very first day.
It cut deep, because while he was glaring at you like you stole his youth, you were secretly falling for him.
You didn’t know how you ended up here.
The neon sign above the bar was buzzing, a flickering pink line that blurred every time you blinked. The air smelled of cheap whiskey, spilled beer, and the sweet scent of Yelena’s cigarettes. You were drunk. Not the fun, dancing kind of drunk, but the cinematic kind where the world moves in slow motion.
You vaguely remembered a mission. There was smoke, cold wind and Valentina’s satisfied smile. Then, Yelena’s arm was around your shoulders, promising that you had survived, so now you had to drink.
She kept sliding shots of cheap vodka across the sticky wooden table. “To being alive,” she had laughed, her eyes bright with a manic kind of joy.
And now, she was gone. Probably somewhere on the makeshift dance floor, or picking a fight with a local trucker just to feel the adrenaline.
The rest of the team was just as wasted, but you were definitely the worst off. That’s the tragic price you had to pay for being Yelena’s favorite; she poured love in the form of burning vodka shots, and you drank it down like holy water.
The others were all doing their own thing. Alexei and John were shouting too loudly over a splintered dartboard. Ava and Antonia were near the jukebox.
Except for Barnes.He was sitting right next to you on the sticky barstool, his metal shoulder almost brushing against yours. He wasn't playing the games or joining the noise. He was just nursing his drink in silence, his dark eyes staring into the amber liquid.
You looked at him, your vision slightly blurred and a reckless courage took over.“Truth or drink,” you slurred softly, tilting your head to the side so your hair fell over your shoulder.
You tapped your sticky glass against his with a soft clink. “Bet I could take you, Barnes. Last one standing wins. The one who passes out or backs down first is the loser.”
“No,” he said. “Go back to the base. You’re already halfway gone.”
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” you whispered, leaning a fraction closer, close enough to smell the leather of his jacket and the sharp burn of his drink. “And you’re scared.”
Finally, his dark eyes shifted, locking onto yours. He didn't want to play your games. He never did, but you were an itch under his skin, and he needed to teach you a lesson.
“Fine,” he murmured. He slid his glass a fraction closer to yours. “Warm-up question. Why do you play that loud jazz every time I’m in the lounge?”
He leaned back slightly, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew the answer, of course. He just wanted to hear you admit that you liked pushing his buttons.
“Because I like watching the muscle in your jaw twitch,” you whispered, leaning in just close enough to feel the cold radiating off his leather jacket.
You locked your gaze onto his and, without a single word, you tossed the burning liquid down your throat anyway.You slammed the empty glass onto the sticky wood, taking the drink just to prove you could handle the fire.
“My turn, Barnes,” you whispered. “Tell me about the dream. The one that wakes you up at four in the morning every single night. What is it about? Truth... or drink.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched—not because of the jazz this time, but because the memories were already clawing their way up his throat.
“You don't want to know about my dreams, kid,” he said. “They aren't cinematic. They're bloody.”
He didn't give you a chance to answer. Without breaking eye contact, he raised the glass to his lips. He swallowed the burning whiskey in one smooth motion.He slammed the empty glass back onto the sticky counter.
“One-one,” Barnes murmured, his pupils blown wide under the flashing lights “My turn. And I'm done being nice.”
“Why did Valentina bring you in?” his voice dropped an octave. “You laugh with Yelena, you play your little games, but you don't look like a cold-blooded killer. So tell me the truth. What did you do that Val think you belonged with the rest of us?”
You looked at the vodka, and for a second, the room took a heavy tilt. Your head was spinning, the buzz of the alcohol finally catching up to your bloodstream, but you refused to let him see you falter.
“I didn't do anything,” your voice catching slightly in your throat before you hardened. “That’s the joke, Barnes. She recruited me because keeping me in a cage with the rest of you is easy.”
You didn't give him a chance to dissect your words or see the sudden vulnerability in your eyes.
“Two-one,” you slurred, leaning heavily against the bar, your shoulder pressing directly into his. The room was definitely spinning now. “My... my turn.”
“Why do you stay?” you asked. “You hate Val. You hate John. You... you look at me like I’m a ghost. If you’re so miserable, Barnes... why don't you just walk away into the snow again?”
He reached out, his heavy metal hand steadying you before you could slide off the stool.
“This isn't a situation I can just walk away from. I made too many mistakes,” his voice incredibly low, almost drowned out by the sudden roar of Alexei hitting a bullseye across the room.“Two-two, kid. And you’re about to pass out.”
The game stretched out. One shot after another, the empty glasses began to pile up between you on the sticky counter.
You took another drink. He matched you, ounce for ounce, his super-soldier metabolism keeping him dangerously sharp while your walls completely crumbled.
By the time you reached the next round, you were leaning so heavily against him that you could feel the steady thud of his heart. You were completely intoxicated, not just by the cheap vodka, but by the suffocating proximity of him.
“My turn,” Bucky slurred. You tilted your head against his shoulder, looking up at his jawline. “Truth or drink... Have you ever looked at me and thought about something other than killing me?”
“All the time,Barnes,” you murmured. Your gaze dropped to his mouth, before coming back to his eyes. “But trust me... some of the things I think about doing with you are much more dangerous than killing you.”
Before he could even process what your words ment,a shadow cut through the pink neon glow.Yelena materialized out of the bar, appearing from absolutely nowhere. She leaned against the counter right next to your stool. She looked a little messy from the dance floor, but her sharp green eyes were completely clear.
“Alright,Bucky,” Yelena hissed. “Game over. She is completely wasted.” She reached down, gently wrapping her hand around your arm to pull you slightly away from his leather jacket.
“Come on, little girl,” Yelena murmured, her tone softening as she looked at you. “It’s time to go. It would be better if I took you back to the base before you try to fight a super-soldier with kisses.”
Barnes didn't say a word. He just slowly leaned back, his metal hand retreating into his jacket pocket, though his dark eyes never broke contact with yours as Yelena began to pull you up from the stool.
Yelena guided you away from the stool, your legs felt like jelly, the alcohol making the entire bar tilt violently. You were halfway to the door, wrapped in the protective grip of Yelena’s arm, when his voice stopped you.“Hey,” Barnes called out.
You forced your heavy head to turn, looking back over your shoulder.He lifted his empty glass in a mock toast, his silver fingers catching the light one last time.
“You backed down first,” he murmured. “That means you're the loser.” Before you could slur a comeback or break away from Yelena to prove him wrong, Yelena let out an annoyed sigh and pulled you out into the cool night air.
The cool night air hit your face as Yelena practically bundled you into the passenger seat of her vintage car. The engine roared to life with a low purr, cutting through the quiet of the empty streets.
You leaned your head against the cold glass of the window, watching the streetlights as the car sped away from the dive bar.
“You look like a sad puppy,” Yelena murmured, her Russian accent wrapping around the words. “A sad, incredibly drunk puppy.”
You groaned, closing your eyes because the motion of the car was making your stomach do dangerous flips.
“You know,” Yelena continued. “I have seen you deal with Alexei’s endless stories. I have seen you sit in the dark with Ava. But tonight... the way you were looking at Bucky. The way he was looking at you.”
She paused, before turning her head slightly toward you.“Do you have a thing for Barnes?” she asked directly.
“I always had,” you whispered.Yelena didn't speak for a long moment. The only sound was the steady hum of the tires against the asphalt. She looked at you with a soft understanding in her eyes.
“He is an idiot, you know,” Yelena murmured softly. “He doesn't hate you. He never did.”
She knew what you didn't. Barnes had kept his distance from day one because you were too much for him to handle. To a man who had spent eighty years in the dark, bleeding into the freezing mud, you looked entirely too perfect. Too kind. Too happy.
You were a walking reminder of everything the world had stripped away from him, a beautiful light that made his own grumpy soul feel incredibly heavy. He didn't know how to be soft around someone like you, so he chose to be sharp.
“You two,” Yelena sighed. “A match made in a very beautiful, very ruined paradise.”
When the car finally screeched to a halt in the cold underground garage of the base, the alcohol had completely won. The world was spinning in blurry loops and your legs flat-out refused to function. Yelena let out a soft sigh, she hooked her arm around your waist with unexpected gentleness, pulling your arm over her shoulders to support your weight.
She carried you through the quiet hallways all the way to your room. Opening the door, she guided you inside and let you sink onto the edge of your unmade bed. The room was dark, lit only by a faint streak of moonlight cutting through the window.
“Alright, come here, my little disaster,” Yelena whispered, a soft smile touching her lips.She knelt on the floor in front of you, showing patience as she untied and pulled off your boots. She stood up, grabbed your favorite oversized hoodie from the back of the chair, and gently guided your arms through the sleeves.
Once she helped you crawl under the heavy covers, she walked over to your nightstand.She set down a glass of water and two painkillers for the inevitable morning ahead. Right next to the pills, as a little inside joke, she dropped three of the sour candies she had saved from the bar earlier.
“Drink the water. You will thank me tomorrow,” she murmured, leaning down to softly brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead.
You were already drifting off, your eyelids too heavy to hold up under the weight of the vodka, but you could still feel her grounding presence.
“Sleep. Barnes isn't going anywhere. He’ll be waiting in the mess hall tomorrow with his terrible coffee.”
With those words, she slipped toward the exit. Before shutting the door, she took one last look into the dark bedroom, and she left you alone with your dreams.
The next day dragged slowly.Your head was heavy with misery, the heat of the cheap vodka still humming beneath your skin. But the hangover was nothing compared to the quiet panic tightening in your throat. You were bracing yourself for the moment he would claim his victory. He was the winner. You were the loser, and according to the rules of the game, your fate was in his metal hands. You expected him to tell you your punishment.
But morning bled into afternoon, and the base remained quiet.When you walked into the hall, your eyes automatically searched for him. He didn't even lift his gaze. Later, in the lounge, you sat perfectly still, watching TV — Barnes was just a few feet away. He didn't mention the bar. He didn't say a single word about his victory.
Weeks bled into one another and the silence between you became a permanent resident in the base.Seven days turned into fourteen, then twenty-one, until a whole month had slipped through your fingers. And through it all, James Buchanan Barnes never made a single mention of that night. Not a word.
The truth was, James wasn't trying to be cold; he was completely terrified.
He remembered every single syllable that had slipped from your lips that night. He remembered the exact way your voice had dropped into that breathless whisper: “Trust me... some of the things I think about doing to you are much more dangerous than killing you.” The words had scorched him deeper than any bullet ever could.
But as he had watched Yelena practically drag your stumbling body out of the bar, he had made an assumption. You were wasted. You were halfway to passing out. In his mind, there was no possible way you could remember a single thing you had confessed to him.
Every time you walked into the mess hall, his heart did a violent thud against his ribs, and he had to look away just to keep his hands from shaking. He was convinced that if he mentioned the game, or his victory, he would accidentally expose the raw tension you had left burning between you.
...
The rest of the team had cleared out hours ago, desperate to drown their sorrows in expensive liquor. Yelena had tried to drag you along, but you just couldn't find the energy to put on smile tonight. You didn't have the heart to fake it. So, you stayed behind.
You padded into the kitchen. You hadn't bothered with shorts or a robe, safely wrapped in your soft,oversized pajama t-shirt that fell just low enough to cover your backside.
Your heart stopped.There, near the window, was Barnes.He was sitting perfectly still on a barstool, a half-empty glass of amber liquid resting between his fingers. He was wearing a soft henley shirt, its sleeves pushed up to reveal the textures of his human skin and the silver of his cybernetic arm.
His dark gaze was fixed on you, as it traced the long line of your bare legs, taking in the vulnerable way the oversized shirt hung loosely off your shoulders, before finally locking onto your eyes.
You needed something to do with your hands, something to anchor you to the room. You reached for the kettle, filling it with water just to hear the splash drown out the thudding of your heart.Barnes broke the silence first.
“I thought you went out with the team,” he said. “Yelena was making enough noise to wake the dead before they left. I figured you'd be right there next to her, drinking whatever garbage she handed you.”
“I wasn't in the mood,”you murmured, your voice almost lost to the hum of the heating water.
“You should've gone,” Barnes murmured, his silver fingers tightening just a fraction around his glass.
The kettle clicked off with a snap. You turned around, poured the boiling water into your mug, and watched the water slowly turn into a deep, dark amber.
Holding the hot mug between both of your hands to warm your trembling fingers, you finally took a deep breath. Instead of running back to the safety of your room, you took a slow step toward him.
Your bare thighs brushed against the cold wood of the kitchen island as you hopped up, sitting on the counter right next to him.You were so close now that your shoulder was almost touching his human one.
You took a small sip of your tea, before you looked him dead in the eye.“You've been avoiding me,” you murmured.
“Funny,”he rasped, as his eyes dropped to your mouth before climbing back.“Thought you were avoiding me.”
“I had a reason,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly, letting your hair fall over one shoulder just like you did that night at the bar. “You're intimidating, Barnes. You walk through these halls like you want to be left alone in the dark.”
He leaned a fraction closer, his human elbow resting on the counter right next to your knee.“You've been sitting in the dark with Ava, drinking coffee with Antonia... but the second I walk into a room, you turn into an ice queen.”
“Only because you taught me how,” you shot back. “You set the rules on day one,Barnes. You looked at me like I was a mistake Valentina pulled off the street.”
“You weren't a mistake,” he said. He looked down at your bare legs curled up against your chest, his gaze lingering on your ankles before coming back to your face. “You were just... too sweet. Too bright.This place is a graveyard, kid. People like me... we don't know what to do with someone who still knows how to smile”
You let out a soft laugh, shifting slightly on the counter. “I don't smile around you,” you pointed out. “Around you, I just play loud jazz and try to ruin your mood.”
“Do you remember?” he asked suddenly. “That night at the bar. Before Yelena dragged you out. Do you actually remember what happened?”
“I remember some things,” you admitted softly. “It’s a bit blurry... but I remember the game. I remember the vodka.”
“Did you mean it?” he murmured, his dark eyes searching yours with a desperate hunger.You blinked, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. “Mean... mean what?”
Bucky froze. He watched your face, looking for any sign of a lie, but when he saw only genuine confusion the hopeful light in his eyes instantly died out. He leaned back slightly, pulling his human hand away from the counter.
“Never mind,” he muttered. He looked away, staring out at the rain-streaked window. “If you don't even know what I'm talking about, it clearly didn't matter to you anyway. You were drunk.”
He thought you forgot. He thought the words that had scorched his soul for a whole month were just a meaningless, alcohol-fueled joke to you.You set your mug down on the counter with a soft click, refusing to let him retreat into the dark again. You leaned forward, reaching out until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“If you're talking about what I said right before Yelena interrupted us...” you whispered. “then yes, James. I meant it.”
Bucky didn't move,didn't even breathe. The sudden silence was so loud you could hear the rain tapping frantically against the glass.Then, the coldness in his eyes completely melted, replaced by a dark fire that made your breath catch in your throat.
He leaned in closer, trapping you against the counter. His human hand slowly slid up your bare leg, his warm fingers wrapping around your knee, while his silver hand rose to cup your jaw.
“In that case,”James whispered. His dark eyes locked onto your mouth, his thumb gently tracing your lower lip. “I want to collect my prize."
His lips crashed against yours. It was a breathless kiss, full of a hunger he had been starving himself of for an entire month. You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, your hands automatically flying up to grip the fabric of his shirt. He groaned deep in his throat, his silver fingers tangling into your hair to tilt your head, deepening the kiss.
He didn’t let you breathe. The kiss went on and on, bruising and desperate. Barnes groaned against your mouth, his silver hand sliding from your jaw down to the small of your back, pulling your hips flush against his.
When he finally pulled his lips away by a mere fraction of an inch, his forehead rested against yours.
“You have no idea what you've done, coming out here like this,” he murmured. He shifted his weight, stepping completely between your thighs, crowding you so deeply against the kitchen counter that you were entirely trapped.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, making you gasp softly as his hot breath scorched your neck.
“We're starting right here on this counter,”James growled softly against your skin, his silver fingers tightening on your waist, lifting you just an inch higher. “But we aren't stopping here. I'm going to take you in every single corner of this house. In the armory where you hide, in the hallways where you look at me, and in your bed until you forget your own name.”
You didn't answer with words; you couldn't. Instead, you untangled your fingers from his shirt and buried them into his dark, soft hair, pulling his head back down to yours.
The kiss that followed blew the previous ones away. It was pure fire in the middle of a freezing kitchen.
avengers!bucky seems to hate you, and you find his hatred for you kinda hot
cw: 18+ minors dni — fem!reader, avengers!reader, frenemies to lovers, reader is lowkey a freak, suggestive content
bucky barnes masterlist ༻ navi
you honestly shouldn’t find bucky’s hatred for you hot.
the way he sighs when you walk into a room, or the way he grumbles under his breath when you’re both paired together on a mission. the way his eyebrows furrow and his lips pinch together in a thin line, just makes you want to climb his big body like a tree and maybe that thought is crazy, but god forbid a girl is attracted to a six foot something man with massive biceps.
you let out a proud grin when you manage to sneak your leg under bucky’s and slam his back onto the mat.
you see the way bucky clenches his jaw, sitting up with a frown.
“awh dont be upset that i kicked your ass while sparring… again.” you let out a high pitched laugh, running away as soon as bucky jumps to his feet.
“you piss me the fuck off.” bucky grumbles, going to the side to take a sip of his water.
“i know.” you shrug, coming closer to him since he’s made it obvious that he’s not going to chase after you like last time.
“i don’t know why though.” you sigh, sitting down on the bench beside him. “i really don’t do anything bad to you, i just… exist and to you that is somehow a problem.”
you hear bucky let out a long, loud sigh, before he gets up. “cmon let’s go again.” he says, cracking his neck.
you roll your eyes, realising that he just completely ignored everything you just said.
this happens all the time and now it’s starting to get annoying. every time you try and have a normal conversation with him that doesn’t include cussing or cursing, he ignores you.
you stand up crossing your arms. “no.”
“no?” bucky repeats, his eyebrow raising.
“no.” you say again. “im done. im always nice to you, i never cause any problems for you and you. you’re just ugh.” you throw your hands in the air because you can’t exactly tell him that even though he’s never once said a positive thing about you, you still want him to rail you into the fucking mattress.
you let out a frustrated sigh, picking up your water bottle and walking out of the training room.
before you can even get close to the door, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back.
you gasp, when you’re spun around so you’re facing bucky. bucky who’s jaw is clenching so damn hard, you’re surprised he still has his teeth in his mouth.
“wha—mmph” you eyes widen in surprise, when bucky roughly crashes his lips against yours. your eyes quickly close, when you feel him push you against the nearest wall, his hands sliding around your waist. you kiss him back more fiercely, pushing your tongue in his mouth and nibbling on his bottom lip. he groans, one of his hands wandering down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze before he pulls his mouth away.
he pants, resting his forehead on yours. “that’s fucking why i can’t speak to you. or look at you. or be any fucking where near you, because everytime you smirk at me, or look at me with those damn ‘fuck me’ eyes, all i can think about is bending you over the nearest fucking surface.” and with that, he turns around and walks out of the training room.
for the first time ever, you’re left speechless.
you wanna be one of the first to read my bucky fanfics? why don’t you ask to join my taglist :)
AN: hehe just a lil something until i publish my main fic 💋
𐙚 — I’m the Type to Bend Over, Take all the D*ck !
𐙚 JJK men [GOJO+GETO, CHOSO, HIGURUMA, NANAMI, TOJI+SUKUNA] x fem!reader | artwork by @/thatsallitchief | divider by @/cursed-carmine | mdni | m.list
𐙚 If there was anybody on campus that everyone wanted to get their hands on, it was you. Luckily for some guys, their wishes came true.
𐙚 a/n: these are separate but if you squint hard enough they’re connected :p
𐙚 Satoru Gojo ! ft. 𐙚 Suguru Geto !
[blowjob, slight hair pulling]
It all started at frat!jo's party.
“Well aren’t you just the prettiest star with my cock in your mouth?”
Satoru’s hand had a fistful of your hair, holding you steady while he fucked that pretty throat of yours. He finally got his hands on you after trying for for-fucking-ever. Satoru liked pretty things, and the way his heart leapt the moment his eyes landed on you for the first time was cartoonish. And it seemed you were friends with everyone except him! Even his twin brother ?! But fuckkk it was worth the wait.
“Fuck- that’s a good girl take it.” Your eyes, your pretty eyes looked up at the white haired male while he stared right back down at you. He moans at the way your knees spread on the floor, skirt hiked upon your waist while your fingers teased that pearl between your legs. So wet, the eye rolling whimpers making your pussy throb. “Gonna c—um so deeep down your- fuck- throat star.”
Frantic fingers rubbed at your clit, hips rutting against the wet fingers. Saliva began to leak down your chin, tears caught up in your waterline. And Satoru…oh Satoru. Your hips sputter against your fingers- they didn’t feel fast enough to match the speed he fucked your throat. Pretty blue eyes rolled, mouth falling open as he pushed your head deeper onto his big cock, warm globs of cum filled the space while your pussy fluttered, swallowing every drop.
“Now Satoru, who throws a party and isn’t even present- woah.” The door opens, pretty boy Suguru Geto stares at the scene in shock. Now, he’s walked in on Satoru plenty of times, but the shocker was you.
You smack Satoru’s hand in your hair, his eyes shooting open as you released him from your mouth. “Sh-Shit star wait m’still sensitive-“ All 8 thick inches, pink tip leaking sadly at the loss of warmth
“Shut up! I thought you locked the door? Stupid.”
It’s Suguru who closes the door (after stepping in and locking it). “I got to say, I’m quite surprised to see you Y/N. Thought you didn’t like Satoru.” A teasing smirk raises on his lips, Satoru’s long arm wrapping around your shoulder, cock throbbing against your skirt.
“Was all just sexual tension, right star?” A slap to your ass has you scoffing.
“You come to join Suguru?” He asks excitedly, and that’s how you ended up with your skirt wrapped in Suguru’s fist while he fucked you into Satoru’s mattress like his life depended on it. The white haired man watching while he stroked his sensitive cock to match Suguru’s rhythm. Other than the beats of the music outside, the rhythmic thump ! thump ! creak-thump ! of Satoru’s bed showed. the poor wall behind it no mercy.
“Mmmhp- f-fuck slow down-“ Breathless broken moans pouring into the soft material below you. So wet that Suguru slipped in and out of you with ease, his thick cock head bullying that sweet spot inside of you. So deep that your pussy squeezed around him, the wet squelches of your pretty cunt messily painting a white ring around his cock.
“Hah— hahhh fuck Angel- y’feel so good..”
“S-Sugu-“ Your broken whines send Satoru’s thumb to cover his tip, cum threatening to spill over that pretty face of yours. Suguru shudders, eyes squeezing shut. His hand finds the center of your back, pushing you down to deepen your arch. “O-OH—!” Your body trembles, his biggg dick slipping even deeper into your waiting heat.
“Gonna cum so deep Angel- shit- shit— cumming…fuckkkk”
Fuck. Satoru wanted to take a picture at the scene, his cum splattering across of your face while Suguru’s cock was buried to the hilt as he filled you up, and you better not waste anything.
𐙚 Choso Kamo !
[ sex while under the influence, smoking during sex, fingering, squirting ]
You’ve always been plug!Choso's favorite customer.
You never once had to pay for a damn thing, all he asked for was company while he smoked. Choso who liked you so much (just as much as about anyone) he bought you pretty pink papers to roll your weed up in.
“Stop..teasing Cho.”
Choso who spoiled you so much he called you Princess, and you didn’t mind. The same man who had his pretty lips wrapped around your lipgloss stained blunt. Red eyes low while he lazily rubbed the thick tip of his dick over your cum coated hole. Like the princess you were, you had that pretty back arched for him just the way he liked you to, pink lacy panties pulled to the side.
“It’s so wet princess..” He sighs, tilting his head back as he took a hit of the blunt, inhaling the smoke before passing it down to you.
See, Choso liked taking his time with you. Every movement he made during sex was calculated, he knew what spots made you scream, and he knew what spots would have you squirting all over his bed. Many people wanted you, but Choso had you. He didn’t want to date, just company while he smoked…and pussy.
With his focus on that pretty gaping hole of yours, ready to take him again, Choso fed you like you wanted- like she wanted. Low groan escaping his lips, your eyes closing feeling yourself make room for his big dick as you sucked him in. His hands trembled lightly at your hips, fingers digging into your skin. Inch by inch he pushed all those inches deep inside.
“Mmmfuck Cho-“ You gasp softly, your other hand fisting the sheets while he rocked against you steadily. Your lips kissed the blunt, inhaling the smoke. The moment you took that deep breath, Choso pulls allll the way out with a pop ! before shoving his cock all back in.
“Shitttt, Princess.” He whines, your warm gummy walls swallowing him, begging him to go deeper. But Choso knew what you wanted, he always knew. Shaky hands hold the blunt up towards him. The room stuffy with sex and weed. The slapping of skin echoing throughout as he pounded into that pretty pussy slow but so hard. “Need to fill you up hm?”
The blunt passed back and forth between you two, the pap pap pap sound getting louder by the second. “A-Ahh Cho——w-wait fuck-“ Your head was spinning, mouth agape while he hit that spot over and over again. Drool spilled from your lips, and Choso looked down with those red eyes…
You cry out, the blunt between you two gets put out by Choso so he could fuck you faster with no distractions.
The sight so pretty he wanted to take a picture. “Rub that pretty clit for me princess…that’s right- good girlll.”
Bite marks on the back of your shoulders (that he’d definitely get yelled at for later), your pussy sucking him in and creaming. That white ring getting bigger and bigger by the second. “Right there-“ You groan, fingers making quick work of the sensitive pearl between your legs as you leaked down your fingers.
“Mmm right here?” He smirks down at you, biting his lip while he angled for that spot— that spot he knew drove you crazy.
It only made him want to go faster. To cum inside of you again. “Wanna see this hole— mmph— dripping when m’done-“ Your eyes roll, a shuddering sigh as your body relaxes, a cool breeze pouring over you, your pussy squeezing around him- milking him.
“Th-There she is..” Choso buries himself inside of you, angling at that spot to pour alll of his cum into. “Hahhh fuck..” He lets his head fall back, letting out a soft groan as he planted his seed.
“Spread open, princess.” his voice soft in your ear, inch by inch of his slick coated cock pulling out from your leaking pussy.
“mmmph..” you hold your pussy open for him, his cum seeping out and dripping down onto the soft surface of his bed. Your fingers take a quick dip inside, a small sigh leaving your lips while you throbbing around the digits as more of his cum poured out. Choso always came a lot.
Choso stroked his cock at the sight. Both of you sensitive to the slight overstimulation. But you held it open for him, and his cock slips right back in and out, in and out as you tug gently at your clit. Your legs had a slight tremble to them, eyes squeezing shut while he rutted back into you.
𐙚 Nanami Kento !
[choking, squirting]
It’s always a hassle when you don’t want to go to the gym with 𐙚 med student!Nanami, after promising you’d lock in this time.
“M-M’sorry Nana- f—fuck s’too deep-“
“Hahh…You’re not sorry, sweetheart. You do this every week.”
Your poor couch wasn’t ready for the “at home” exercise Nanami had planned for you this week.
“Does it hurt?” He hums. The firm grip on the back of your neck loosened. Your breath unsteady as your legs shook with a wet globing mess of his cum mixed with your juices trailing allll down your thighs. Shaking your head, you hiccuped, the cushion pillow beneath your head caught majority of your cries and pleasure filled tears.
“Feels good…” You whine, pretty pussy squeezing around Nanami’s thick cock that was buried to the hilt inside of you.
“Yeah? Where does it feel good sweetheart?” He coos, voice soft in your ear. Nanami’s hips pull back, dragging his longgg cock with him until the thick head pops ! out of your pussy. He took a long swipe of his cum pouring from your hole before he thrusted back in all at once. You squeal, the grip on your neck tightening back to just the way you liked it- the way Nanami knew you liked it.
“Ri—-ight there- !” A sharp gasp is pulled from your body, Nanami’s hand finding a grip on your ass cheek to see the mess he was making. Sweet groans spilled. Nanami’s glasses began to fog. He throws his head back, biting down on his lip with a small smack ! of your ass that has your pussy squeezing around him.
“Yeah? You like when I fuck you here sweetheart?” Cock bullying your puffy pussy. You swear you could feel him right in your heart with the repeated thrust thrust thrust he poured into you. And fuckkk you were so wet, Nanami couldn’t help the loud whine dripping from his lips.
“—-um— gonna…gonna cum ‘gin Nana.” Your eyes squeeze shut. Your warning whimpers did nothing for the man pounding into you. He made it worse- thick fingers leaving your ass to that pretty pearl right between your legs. “Nana-“
“She’s taking me so well, sweetheart.” His thrusts slowed, fingers rubbing circles around your sensitive clit that has your hips jerking. “Listen to that…” The wet sounds echoing across your apartment alongside your moans would definitely be a complaint from your neighbor later.
The fingers worked at your clit. Pound after pound he poured into you, tugging at the sensitive nerve until he felt that wet splash onto his thighs. “Fuck fuck— fuck !” The loud broken whimper of your high came crashing down, Nanami’s fingers still rubbing- his cock still fucking into you while you squirted.
“Good girl, sweetheart.” His hand leaves your neck, his body feeling hot as he leaned over you, kissing the pretty tears away from those pretty eyes. “So good for me, hm?” He cums with a shuddering sigh deep into your womb. The warmth making you shiver, repeated kisses littering your cheek as you panted against the pillow.
“We’re going to the gym tomorrow. Right sweetheart?”
𐙚 Toji Fushiguro ! ft. Ryomen Sukuna !
[degrading: reader gets called a slut, blowjob, fingering, spanking, choking, public sex, anal]
Now, college is fun. You’re a smart girl who has good grades. A smart girl who likes to party and have fun also. But too much fun can cause you to get pulled over by your favorite policemen. Unfortunately, the moment you got pulled over this time you were fucked.
“I know this car. Damn, you must like getting pulled over doll?”
“Tsk tsk. Brat, can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
The taunting voices of 𐙚 police officer ! Toji and 𐙚 police officer ! Sukuna had you sighing as they knocked on your window.
Sukuna lets out a laugh, the both of them leaning on either side of your door— Toji taps the window with a smirk on his face. You let your windows down as you leaned your head on your steering wheel.
“What is it this time? You high?” Sukuna asks, straight up as he peered into your window. It wasn’t your first time getting pulled over by the two- in fact it’s always them when you get pulled over, and fuck they loved their job a bit too much when it came to you.
“No sir…” Which wasn’t entirely a lie, you were high but you’re sober now from how long you were over at Choso’s…
“Mmmhm. So why’re y’swervin like that this time of night, doll face?” Toji gruffs out as he shakes his head, tapping the roof of your car. “Cmon get out, you know the routine.”
Sukuna watched as you unbuckled your seatbelt, and he opens the door for you. The pink haired man’s flashlight flashed into your car as per the protocol, but you all knew they weren’t really going to arrest you.
Two of Toji’s thick fingers beckon you forward. His eyes trailing up your exposed legs curiously, a smirk curling in the corner of his scarred lip. It really wasn’t a good time. You were in really short shorts with one of Choso’s t-shirts that was a bit big on your frame that it exposed your bite mark littered shoulder, and the faint hickey’s littering your neck. No bra.
And then he got a realll good look at you. Your face flushed in embarrassment (and something more), your lips puffy looking, and most importantly…you squeezed your thighs together. Even Sukuna caught on and gave a knowing look to his partner.
“Hiding somethin’?” Sukuna’s deep voice from behind you sent shivers down your spine.
“No sir, Officer Sukuna.” You squeak. His body walking around yours as he looked you up and down, curious brow raised. Toji snorts, patting his shoulder as the taller man joined his side.
“Who was it this time? That Gojo boy?”
“Or is it the uhh- shit- what’s the long haired ones name?”
“Suguru Geto?”
“Yeah that one.”
The two cops laugh, beginning to talk about how much Satoru got on their nerves and how many parties they’ve had to give warning to. You roll your eyes, shifting in your step. “It was neither.”
Toji licks his lips as their focus turns back towards you. “Alright doll face. Sure I don’t need to check between those legs this time?” You bite your lip at the footsteps nearing you again. His thumb grazes your chin, tilting your head up and fuck he smelled good.
“I’m sure, Officer Fushiguro.” Your voice sweet, innocent sounding just the way everyone hears it while you bat those pretty lashes….Except Toji knew it was bullshit the moment you started acting sweet. His eyes narrow. Pulling back from you he starts walking to their car, talking Sukuna on the shoulder. The taller man pulls you in by your waist.
“What I tell you ‘bout lying brat? Hm?”
The road was dark apart from the orange hue of the campus streetlights nearby. Your body was hot as you whimpered against the dark hairs resting at the base of Toji’s cock, bent over with your legs spread, Choso’s cum leaking down your pussy while Sukuna spreads the soft skin of your ass open to watch.
“Lost your damn mind, doll face.” His big cock stretching your fucked lips, his hand finding your hair and tugging. A loud smack ! to your ass as you squealing around the twitching muscle, pre cum sliding down your throat.
Toji finds a slow steady rhythm at first, and oh…those pretty eyes looked up at him. “That’s it…take it.”
“You spoil her too much.” The man behind you huffs at his partner. Toji tugs at your hair, pulling a moan right out of you while he smirked.
“Shit- can’t help it. She’s s’pretty —heh- with my dick in her mouth. Aren’t you doll face?” He groans, saliva dripping down to his heavy balls that slapped against your chin.
You hear the clink of Sukuna’s belt being unbuckled, those thick fingers caressing your clit, making you shiver as you rolled your hips slightly for more friction. However, cum still dripped from that pretty pussy. “Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” He curses before those two fingers slip into your hole with ease- with familiarity. A loud squelch ! echoed throughout the dark road as he curled them inside of your heat.
“Fuckin slut.” And his fingers reached deep, causing you to squirm. You whine, hips pushing back. “Mmmph ‘Kuna-“ Your moans muffled. Your hand found the thick of Toji’s thighs to steady yourself while he fucked your throat.
“Tch, he pumped you full too.”
He adds another finger, the trio working you open. When it came down to Sukuna and Toji, you genuinely had to brace yourself. Toji’s cock slips from your mouth for you to take a breath, “Tongue out.” His hand holds your chin, watching your mouth fall open.
“That’s a good girl.” He stroked his cock with the collected spit. Two long strokes of his deep pink cock, the tip thick and almost red. Two thick veins underlined it down to his base. He tapped it against the flat of your tongue. Your tongue licks the dribble of pre cum, kissing the gorgeous tip. You hear Sukuna let out a soft groan behind you, his thumb rubbing your clit as his fingers fucked you faster.
“right there-“ you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut for a. “p-please m’so close ‘Kuna—“
“Gonna take care of you doll face.” Like they always did.
“Let us show you grown men fuck.”
“You’re really hardheaded. Thought I told you I didn’t want this pussy to be filled the next time I fucked you?”
Your head leaned back onto Toji’s shoulder, his big hand squeezing around your throat. “Sh-Shit— ahh- ah please!” Fast fingers rubbed at your clit. His cock fucking into the welcoming hole of your ass, while Sukuna’s big hands held your thighs spread wide open.
“Please what?” His hips slammed into yours, biggg cock stretching out the gummy walls of your pussy wide.
“Can’t take it-“
“Oh you can take it.” Toji huffs in your ear, the flushed head of his cock slipping in and out… in and out with ease. The sticky mess acting as lubricant between your legs. Your legs that shook violently in Sukuna’s grasp.
“M-Mhm..feels s’good don’t it?”
“Yes—! Yesohfuckohfuck”
They found a steady fast rhythm that had you hiccuping. The sounds of skin slapping and your incoherent moans echoed throughout the dark road. Anyone could drive by and see you being fucked by them.
Toji’s groans were loud in your ear. “Takin’ us s’good doll face…like a goood slut.”
“To—ji!” You whimper.
His grip on your neck loosening, “Yeah? You like that pretty girl? Like us fillin’ you up?” and he coos, bringing his fingers to your lips, “Spit.”
Saliva drips down your chin, the gathered spit going straight between your legs. You yelp, hips bucking as the feeling rushes over you. The wet splash between your legs splattered, only making them go faster.
Sukuna lets out a warning grunt. His face a light shade of pink, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Gonna fill you up the way I want to. Understand brat?”
“mm-‘hmm” You whine out, lips parting, your moans growing louder by the second. Between the cocks filling your holes, the fingers rubbing your clit, and the hand around your throat- fuck you could do this for days.
“Dont ever let me catch you like this again.” Sukuna’s voice was hot in your ear, Toji’s chuckle following after. Your insides were so warm. Letting out a breathless moan, you relax against Toji’s chest. Your holes full as they pulled out.
…and as a safety precaution, Sukuna drove you back to your apartment while Toji drove your car there.
𐙚 Hiromi Higuruma !
[public sex, pussy eating]
𐙚 law student!Higuruma abided by campus rules- any rules for that matter. He did things fairly by the law, he was a future lawyer after all.
“I—oh fuck-!” Sometimes, he didn’t. Very rarely.
His hands were hot on your thighs as he held them up, your back against the cool polished wood of the table. Front and center in the campus courtroom used for mock trial. Hiromi found his face buried comfortably between your legs.
His tongue lapped at your slick coated folds, moaning at the taste. Higuruma loved being between your legs after all. The way he ate you out with care, his nose rubbing against your clit. Your pussy dripping with saliva and your juices.
“You taste heavenly, have I ever told you that my sweet girl?” The way he ate you with care, the smell of your body oil filling his nose while he dove deeper into your heat. His tongue took a long stripe up to your clit, carrying your juices with it while he sucked on that pretty pearl.
“Hiro— ah-ah-“ You whimper, withering in his grasp. Your hand found his hair, pulling him in deeper. His tongue slips into your hole, your warmth welcoming him, and he groans. Your slick made a mess of his chin, his lips, and his nose.
“Mmfuck sweet girl. Tase’ so good.” His eyes close for a second, just taking in you. Fuck you drove him crazy. He lets up for just a bit, big eyes staring up at your skirt. You were still in your outfit, panties pulled to the side while he tongue fucked you.
“M’so close Hiro…f-fuck keep licking there.” The sloppy sound of Higuruma salvaging his meal echoed throughout the large empty room, sky dark outside. You were in there after the building closed for the day after all, even after the janitor did his rounds.
Two of his fingers slip there way into your hole making you squirm. He curls his fingers alongside his tongue, pressing up against that sweet spot inside of you. Your legs shook.
“Give it to me…You know what I want.” He spits a fat glob into your hole, fucking it right into you as as he panted, smug smile on his lips as he loosed his tie. You let yourself fall apart, his fingers reaching deeper into your pretty pussy.
“Gonna cum Hiro-“ You whimper. Higuruma’s tongue latches back onto your sensitive clit with such a loud nasty suck. “Ohh oh fuck- shit- shit- Hiromi!”
He still sucked on your pearl as you squirted. His fingers still fucking sloppily into your pussy, the wet squelch getting wetter by the second. You whine, pushing his head away, you pussy throbbing from the hard wave of your orgasm.
Table wet beneath you, legs spread wide open after Higuruma stands up straight to look down at your panting body. His tongue swiped across his lips. Painfully hard cock straining his pants. His thumb traced sweet circles on your inner thighs, cooing softly. “Such a good girl…mm I have to reward you now, don’t I?” His warm body leans over yours, wet kisses trailing up your body until they landed on your lips.
You whine, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pulled your legs to wrap around his waist, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as you pulled him in closer. He rutted against your unclothed pussy, groaning softly into your mouth. “On your stomach.” He taps your thigh gently.
Now, Higuruma made sure you stayed out of trouble. You were his sweet girl after all. He took care of you in the best ways that he could while keeping up with his studies. He didn’t worry about any other guys, because Higuruma knew the way he made you break had you coming back to him each and every time.
“This is what you wanted, am I right?” His hips slam against your ass, the grip on your hips firm but gentle. Your hands held on to the front of the table, as you look back at him. His tired eyes were closed, head tilted back in pleasure, adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. Higuruma’s hair was tousled from the way you pulled on it, and his face a sweet shade of red.
“Just- just what I needed Hiro…” You moan, lips falling open. It was no secret that Higuruma’s dick was big, dark and pretty, long enough to kiss that spot inside of you and farther with every thrust. And your pussy loved it. Loved the feeling of being full of Hiromi Higuruma’s cock, the top law student of his class.
“Yeah?” His hand comes down on your ass with a smack ! making you moan louder.
“Yes—fuck yes!”
“You’re always running back to me Sweet Girl.” He deepens your arch, pushing the center of your back just a bit before he picked up pace. Smack ! Smack ! Smack ! the room echoed. Higuruma swallowed all of your broken moans. Your legs shaking, the grip on the table turning your palms white.
His hand rubs your back, to your shoulders, to the front of your neck. You yelp as he pulls your head back, your mouth open as pleasure filled tears slip from your pretty eyes. “Look at you…so beautiful.” He shudders. “Want me to cum inside?”
You’ve never said yes more quickly in your life. You could feel him deep inside, bulging your stomach. Higuruma lets out a groan, hand hot against your neck. “Rub your clit for me sweet girl, wanna cum at the same time.” He grunts, his deep groans like music to your ears.
Fingers rub at your slik coated clit, your pearl tingling with every thrust- with every touch. Your whole body buzzed, eyes rolling. “M-Mgonna cum— fuck fuck I f-feel it- Oh-!”A loud moan is ripped from you with one final thrust from the man, his cock buried to the hilt as he cums deep inside of you, fucking every last bit into that pretty pussy.
He pulls out once soft, not even the slightest drop of cum spilling. “Hold it in.” The hold on your neck softens, and you lay your head on the table, body tired. Sweet kisses litter your back as you panted.
summary:: You have a bio exam tomorrow and you're nervous.Lucky for you — your boyfriend knows how to get you calmed.
warnings:: 18+,smut,fingering,HUGE size kink,reader is not described as small...but it's hinted,CHOKING,praise,reader is stressed. Oh-did I mentioned that he fingers her with his metal arm? So i guess metal arm kink lmao,he calls reader sweetheart
word count:: 3k
A/N:: as another warning I would like to add that this oneshot contains a lot of biology phrases.(Nothing serious, it's basically highschool level tbh) So don't get traumatised.
The desk lamp glowed honey-gold against the dark blue walls of your room, turning the mess of biology flashcards into something almost holy. Outside, rain tapped softly against the window.
You sat on your floor in an old sweater that smelled faintly like vanilla detergent, highlighter stains painted across your fingers like bruises. Your notes were everywhere — scattered open textbooks, half-empty coffee cups, desperate little reminders scribbled in the margins,like remember ATP — adenosine triphosphate.
You were drowning in mitochondria, cell division, Latin words that curled around your brain.
Right...brain! Cerebrum or whatever.
Your knee bounced anxiously while you reread the same paragraph for the fifth time, lips moving silently.“Ribosomes synthesize proteins…”
Nothing stayed inside your head.You groaned softly, letting your forehead fall against the edge of the mattress beside you.God, you were tired.
A soft knock echoed through the apartment, sudden enough to make you jolt upright.Your pen slipped from your fingers.
For a second, your heart kicked hard against your ribs. You stared at the door, breathing shallowly while the rain tapped against the windows.
Another knock came,but slower this time...and familiar.You frowned, brushing hair out of your face. “It’s open,” you called weakly.
The handle turned and then he stepped inside.Bucky Barnes — loverboy.Tall, broad, impossibly solid in the dim yellow light of your room. His dark red henley clung to his chest from the rain outside, hair damp around his face, metal hand catching the low glow of your desk lamp.God,you loved that henley.
His eyes moved over the disaster surrounding you — biology notes spread across the floor, empty coffee cups, your tense shoulders curled inward like you were trying to survive yourself.
“I should’ve never given you that spare key,you scared me.” you muttered, dropping your face into your hands dramatically.
Bucky closed the door behind him with a soft click.“Nah,” he said quietly, toeing off his boots. “Pretty sure you’d be dead by finals week without me.”
You peeked at him through your fingers.“I’m serious,” you groaned. “I think biology is actually trying to kill me.”
Bucky hummed sympathetically as he crossed the room. The floor creaked beneath his weight.“C’mere, sweetheart.”
Your cheek pressing into the damp cotton of his shirt. His heartbeat was slow and steady. Nothing like yours.
Bucky’s big hand moved up and down your back awkwardly, like he was trying to calm a frightened animal.“It’s just a test,” he murmured.
You pulled back immediately, staring at him in disbelief.“Just a test?” you repeated.Bucky blinked once. “...Yeah?”
A laugh escaped you.“James Buchanan Barnes,” you said slowly, “if I fail this exam, my GPA drops, my scholarship gets reviewed, my future dies, and I end up living in a shoebox apartment surviving on instant noodles.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.“You already survive on instant noodles.”
You gave him a look“Bucky.”
“Right. Sorry.”He tried again.“You’re smart,” he said carefully, like he was placing glass on a shelf. “Smarter than anyone I know.”
You groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “That doesn’t help either.”
“Right,” he muttered under his breath.The room fell quiet.Bucky looked genuinely distressed now, metal fingers flexing against his knee. You could practically see him trying to fight an invisible enemy and losing horribly because the enemy was your nervous breakdown over molecular biology.
Back in the forties, he probably could’ve fixed things with a cigarette, a kiss to the forehead, and stealing somebody’s car.But this?Biology finals at one-thirty in the morning?This was defeating him.
Bucky sighed, a deep rumble vibrating against his chest. His large, warm hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers gently kneading the tense muscles at the base of your skull.“That’s enough, sweetheart.Pack it up. Bedtime.”
“No, no, no,” you stammered, pulling your head away and immediately throwing yourself into a defensive position. You slid back down to the floor, grabbing your ATP flashcards with both hands like a shield. “I can’t sleep. If I sleep now, my brain will perform a factory reset. Have you heard of sleep-induced information purging? Because I just made it up, and it feels scientifically accurate.”
His eyes stayed serious. He dropped down onto the floor beside you, stretching his long legs out carefully between the minefield of open textbooks.“You didn’t make up a science rule, you just drank your body weight in espresso,” he pointed out, gesturing with his metal index finger toward the stack of empty mugs in the corner.
“Look at you. It’s past two in the morning. You don’t even know your own name right now, let alone the... what is this? What’s a mitochondria?”
“The powerhouse of the cell!” you blurted out instantly, sounding like a malfunctioning robot.
“See? You know it,” Bucky nodded, nudging his shoulder against yours. His damp hair smelled faintly of the rain outside, but his body was throwing off pure heat. “But if you don’t get at least a few hours of shut-eye, you’re gonna collapse right onto your exam paper tomorrow. Your head won’t be in the game. I know that look. Guys in the trenches used to get it right before—”
“Do not use trench warfare as a metaphor for my biology final, Barnes!” you groaned, burying your face back into your hands. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway. My brain is vibrating. If I close my eyes, I just see chromosomes pulling apart. I’m losing my mind.”
Bucky watched you quietly for a beat, his jaw shifting as he weighed his options. Then, without a single word of warning, he reached out, scooped his arms under your knees and back, and hoisted you right off the floor like you weighed absolutely nothing.“Bucky! What are you doing?! Put me down!”
“Rescue mission,” he muttered shortly. He turned and carried you the two short steps over to your bed, navigating the cluttered floor with terrifyingly perfect balance, making sure not to step on a single notebook.
He dropped you onto the mattress with a soft thud, but the second his hands left your waist, you were already scrambling backward. Your hands gripped the edge of the blanket, your eyes darting back toward the floor where your flashcards lay scattered.“Bucky, I’m serious, I need to look at meiosis one more time—”
“No, you don’t,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He didn’t follow you onto the bed right away. Instead, he stood at the edge, unlacing his damp boots and tossing them aside. When he looked up, his blue eyes were dark, fixed entirely on you. “I told you to rest. You’re not listening.”
“Because I can’t!” your voice cracked slightly, the sheer exhaustion and caffeine making you desperate. “My brain won’t turn off. I can’t just lie here and stare at the ceiling. I need to study, Bucky, please—”
“Sweetheart,” he interrupted, and there was a new, low vibration in his tone that made the breath catch in your throat. He crawled onto the mattress, his large, heavy frame looming over yours until you were pressed back against your pillows. He trapped you between his arms, his metal hand resting flat against the mattress right next to your head, pulsing cold against the sheets while his human hand gently caught your chin. “I know you can’t turn your brain off. So I’m going to do it for you.”
You blinked up at him, your heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. “What?”
Bucky didn’t answer with words. He leaned down, his damp hair brushing against your cheek as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He pressed a warm, slow kiss right against your pulse point, inhaling the scent of your vanilla detergent and sweet sweat. A soft, involuntary shiver wrecked through your body, your hands automatically coming up to grip the fabric of his red henley.
“Bucky...” you breathed, but it lacked any of the protest from before.
“Shh,” he murmured against your skin, his thumb caressing your jawline. “Don’t think about the test. Don’t think about biology. Just focus on me.”His human hand slid down your neck, over your collarbone, and down to the hem of your oversized sweater. His touch was burning hot against your bare skin as he slowly slid the fabric up, his eyes never leaving yours.
Before you could even process the shift in the room's atmosphere, Bucky shifted his weight, sliding down your body. His large hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he parted your legs, settling himself comfortably between them on his knees.
“Bucky, wait,” you gasped, your fingers knotting into the sheets. “The notes—”
“Forget the notes,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning across your inner thigh, making your toes curl instantly. His metal hand slid up to cup your hip, holding you perfectly still. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart. Just lay back and take it.”
The cool metal of his index finger brushed against your inner thigh, a stark, shocking contrast to the intense heat radiating from the rest of his body. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening into the mattress as he aligned himself. Bucky didn't rush. He watched your face closely, his blue eyes dark and heavy with an intense, protective focus.
Slowly, deliberately, he worked his metal finger inside you.The sensation made you arch off the bed with a sharp gasp, your back curving as a wave of pure pleasure crashed through the exhaustion fogging your brain. The smooth, unyielding surface of his vibranium hand was completely different from anything else—perfectly sculpted, rhythmic, and incredibly precise.
“There you go,” Bucky murmured, his low voice vibrating right through your skin. His human hand remained firmly anchored on your hip, heavy and warm, keeping you grounded while his metal finger slid deeper, finding a rhythm that made your head tilt back into the pillows.
"Bucky, oh god," you whined, your previous anxiety completely evaporating, replaced by the overwhelming feel of him.
He flexed his hand slightly, curling his finger inside you to hit a spot that made your breath catch entirely. Your hips hitched upward instinctively, seeking more of the sensation. A low, dark rumble of satisfaction approved from his chest.
“I told you,” he whispered, leaning up slightly so his warm breath fanned over your stomach, his damp hair framing his face like a shadow. “Just focus on me. Nothing else exists right now, sweetheart.”
He added a second finger, the intricate plates of his hand moving seamlessly together.You reached down blindly, your hands finding the thick muscles of his shoulders, clinging to his red henley like a lifeline as he began to move faster, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
The slick, friction-heated metal of his fingers slid deeper, and your walls tightened around him in a desperate, subconscious reflex. A dark groan tore from Bucky’s throat at the sensation, his broad shoulders tensing as he felt just how tightly you were gripping him.
“God, sweetheart” he rasped, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
He leaned over you, his chest pressing against yours, trapping you beneath his heavy warmth. “Look at you.Taking me so good,bet you could take my cock”
Your breath hitched at his words, the blunt weight of them hitting you harder than the pleasure rippling through your core. You looked up at him, eyes wide and heavy-lidded, your hands gripping the damp fabric of his henley even tighter. The sheer size of him looming over you—broad-shouldered, thick-chested, and completely overpowering—made the thought of it feel impossible.
“I can't,” you gasped out, your voice cracking slightly as your hips twitched against his hand. “Bucky, no... you're too big. I couldn't.”
“Is that right?” he murmured, his gravelly voice vibrating against your lips as he leaned down, hovering just inches from your face. “Too big for you, sweetheart?” You nodded frantically against the pillow, a soft whine escaping you as he hit that perfect spot again.
You nodded frantically against the pillow, a soft whine escaping you as he hit that perfect spot again.Bucky’s smirk widened, a wicked, knowing glint flashing in his dark blue eyes. He didn’t slow the relentless, perfect rhythm of his metal fingers, but he leaned in even closer, the heavy heat of his chest pressing flush against yours.
“Don't give me that,” he rumbled, his voice dropping into a low, teasing purr that vibrated right through your collarbone. “I notice how you look at me. Especially lately, since I've grown more muscles. You look at me like you're drooling, sweetheart.”
The heat in the room felt stifling as a mix of embarrassment and realization washed over you. You tried to glance away, but the intensity of the moment held your attention, making it impossible to look anywhere else but into his eyes.
Gathering what little courage you had left, you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Bucky?” you whispered, your voice trembling, smaller and more fragile than it had been all night.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he rumbled, his gaze locked onto yours.You bit your lower lip, shifting beneath his heavy weight.
“Can you... can you do something for me?” You hesitated, the next words catching in your throat before coming out very, very shyly. “Could you put your other hand on my neck?”
Bucky’s fingers stilled inside you for a fraction of a second, the sudden pause making your hips hitch in protest. His brow furrowed slightly, his blue eyes searching your face, dark and unreadable.
“Why's that?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, rough and careful all at once. “Why do you want my hand there?”
“Um... to...” You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, mortified but desperately craving it. “Just to apply pressure there. Please.”
The request hit him like a physical blow. You opened your eyes just in time to see the exact moment Bucky went completely feral.“Christ, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice entirely ruined.
In a flash of movement, his large flesh hand came up, his thick fingers wrapping completely around the front of your throat. He didn't squeeze to hurt, but the weight of his palm was heavy, instantly pinning you into the pillows. The sudden, intense pressure against your windpipe sent a shocking jolt of adrenaline straight to your core.
“You want me to choke you?” Bucky growled, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear, his breath scorching hot. “You want to feel how heavy I am? You think you're too small for me, but you want my hand right here while I make you come?”
You let out a fractured, high-pitched whine, your hands flying up to grip his thick wrist. You weren't trying to pull his hand away from your throat; you were just trying to hold onto something stable while your entire world spun out of control. Your hips hitched upward instinctively, desperate for the friction, your inner muscles squeezing his fingers in tight, frantic pulses.
“Yeah, just like that. Squeeze me,” Bucky ordered, his thumb pressing firmly against your jawline to keep your head tilted back. His dark blue eyes burned down into yours, watching your pupils dilate, tracking every flush of color on your skin. “Take it all, sweetheart. Don't you dare close your eyes.”
The combination of the restricted breath, the heavy, dominant pressure on your neck, and the wicked speed of his hand was too much for your coffee-addled, exhausted brain to handle. The anxiety of your biology final was completely incinerated, replaced by a blinding, white-hot crest of pure pleasure.
Your back arched off the bed, a breathless, choked-off cry catching in your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clamped down on his metal fingers in a violent, helpless rhythm, milking him for everything you were worth.
Bucky let out a low, victorious sound, keeping his hand firm on your neck for a few seconds longer, riding out the peak of your climax with you until your hips finally stopped trembling and slumped back into the sheets.Slowly he slid his fingers out of you, the sudden absence leaving you feeling completely breathless and empty.
He released the pressure on your throat, his large flesh hand immediately sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of pure overstimulation from the corner of your eye.
“Good girl” he whispered, his voice softening, though his chest was still heaving from his own exertion. He crawled further up the bed, pulling your limp, shivering body straight against his chest, tucking your head securely under his chin. “Next time, you're gonna take all of me.”
