sandy

“Throw it out, Ijichi.” Gojo snarled, tapping his long tobacco stick against the low table. The kiseru was made of polished bamboo, its sleek body donning the silver emblem of the Gojo clan—it had been scratched out. It gleamed like a blade.

The heir to the Gojo clan - at least in name - had his back turned to his audience. Soft morning sunlight filtered through silk curtains and illuminated his strong figure, draped in Gojo-blue. It was almost against everyone’s will, including his own, that he had grown tall. Broad. Traditional woodblock prints. Sandalwood incense from the local temple. Books upon books of high literature surrounding him. He’d read them over hundreds of times. 

Seated upon a plush blue zabuton cushion with silver threading; he was surrounded by opulence and even more loneliness. Most days, Gojo sipped his time away with that damn bamboo stick and his books—training and convening with others had long been banned since it became obvious that the heir had no talent in cursed energy. Which wasn’t supposed to be- he was supposed to be The Strongest. He was supposed to be…something else. Someone else. So they hid him away.

They forgot about him. 

Out of sight, out of mind. Right? 

Except for Ijichi Kiyotaka, the one resident at the Gojo Estate that knew the enigmatic Gojo son beyond just whispers and the occasional flash of white hair ‘round hallway corners. Disappearing quicker than one catches it.

The envelope crumples in Ijichi’s hands as he speaks, “But master-”

“Do not call me that.” His voice isn’t too loud. And yet, it cuts through the attendant’s voice with its simple simper—“What have I told you, Ijichi?”

“M-my apologies…Gojo-san.” 

Gojo had his head semi-turned over his shoulder. And from that brief profile, Ijichi sees that even that title manages to make the other man’s lip curl—though he doesn’t say anything more. He merely turns back to his tobacco as the bespectacled man starts to blubber once more. 

“I-I just meant to say…” Tone wavering. Tone beseeching. He’s shuffling forward on both knees with the envelope held out, “-that this might be something of interest, ma- Gojo-san.”

“What? A marriage proposal?” Gojo scorns after a deep exhale. The tobacco at the end of his pipe still remains inflamed when he sets it down on the table, and finally turns properly towards his attendant. His only. Gojo isn’t so presumptuous as to call him his only friend- but sometimes he can’t help but feel that way. Steely blue eyes narrow. “Does it look like I have the patience to entertain what is so-obviously a joke, Ijichi?”

“But—” Ijichi can’t help but stir. “You’ve been leaving this proposal without reply for four days, Gojo-san. And it seems that in that time, they’ve contacted the Estate five times just to make sure it was delivered.”

He raises a ghost-pale brow, “Then it seems they don’t know I’m without cursed energy.”

Ijichi squirms uncomfortably. He pushes his glasses up, “I-it seems that in that time, the council of elders had taken…liberties to inform them of this circumstance.”

Gojo takes his tobacco and taps it impatiently on the table. “And?” He runs a hand through his hair—what else could he have expected from them? Fucking bastards. 

To his surprise, Ijichi ducks his head down ever-so-slightly. And though the Gojo heir might not have those special eyes that deemed him as part of the family - he could still see that the other man seemed to be hiding a faint smile. “And…it seems they were still interested, Gojo-san.”

There’s a pause.

Gojo takes another deep inhale.

“Is that so…?” His words were low and lazy—but Ijichi could see right through them. He could discern that faint furrow between his master’s brows as he mulled over the thought, let it twist and turn and take over his mind. Everyone he knew didn’t spare him a second glance at him once they found out about his predicament. 

They would fawn over him and his blue eyes during those stuffy social functions he was dragged to as a child - back when the elders still seemed to think he had a chance of his cursed energy showing up as he grew - and then ‘discreetly’ be pulled aside by some attendant or the other to be…told. ‘Normal eyes’ was what he commonly heard. Then they’d avert their eyes from him all night.

It took him some years before he understood why, and then he’d started refusing to join these functions. After that, they stopped asking. 

Visitors from far-off lands would bring him gifts and candies whenever they visited the Estate on official business; and he’d stand outside the meeting hall as they requested to see the ‘little one’. Only to be told by his very parents that there was nothing to see - he had no cursed energy. There was nothing impressive about him. 

He never saw a single one of those candies.

The dojos of the Gojo Estate would be in an uproar morning after morning; and once - just once as a child - he had asked to join. The head instructor had shared a pitying gaze with his top student, and Gojo had sprinted out of the place before they could utter a single word. They can keep their pity—he didn’t need a single one of them.

He didn’t need anyone.

Not the tutors, nor the attendants, nor the kids of those higher-ups that all looked at him with pity in their eyes- that’s part of why he latched onto Ijichi and made him his only attendant. 

He never did so.

That, and Gojo liked his glasses. 

Wherever news of Gojo’s lack of power spread, it became infected like a disease.

Which is why he couldn’t understand you. 

“Gojo-san?” Ijichi’s tentative voice breaks through his torrent of thoughts, and Gojo’s still slightly dazed as he looks up at the other man - how long had he been silent? Shaking off whatever had come over him - it’s not quite like him to reminisce - he stands and walks to one of the open doors—facing a private section of the Gojo gardens. Butterflies flicked from flower to flower, and trees swayed serendipitously in the winds. He watches one of those multi-colored wings flap to foxglove and then off into the sky. Watching such a sight, he couldn’t help but feel so small.

The Gojo Estate was beautiful, but deadly. 

And so were those with its name. 

“Write them a response apologizing for taking so long.” Gojo keeps staring out at the summer day as he speaks, and the other man jolts to attention. “And tell them…” He wasn’t sure who he was waiting for: Ijichi who was noting this down, or himself. He swallows and clasps his hands behind his back—“Tell them that I accept.”

He has always hated feeling small. 

“Let’s see how they truly like The Strongest.”

.

.

.

The elders were prepping and poking at him like some dessert the next evening.

News of his acceptance had spread like wildfire. 

And before he knew it, they were rubbing his skin red and raw - until milk-water seeped into his every pore. Dousing him in clouds of perfume. Painting his plump lips just the faintest cherry-red—just enough to be enticing, or so they said. Smoothing down the invisible creases on his expensive cotton hakama; threaded cranes and reeds took flight from their hem, the silver emblem of the Gojo clam burned deeply into his back. He couldn’t find much of a difference between this and a dog collar. Play nice. Don’t bite. 

Do tricks for the pretty lady. 

Or so he assumed he would have to. 

At some point, he wondered whether they were oh-so-fervently preparing him in the hopes of getting rid of him. And his hypothesis was only exacerbated when those elders caught each others’ eyes and smiled as they were bidding him farewell. “Make our family proud.” His father had told him.

Farewell. Farewell.

The towering, palace-like gates of the Gojo Estate grew smaller behind him, and he determined that even if he wasn’t getting picked - he was never coming back. 

And so he was here.

Gojo was escaping one Estate and being led straight into another; grander, more gilded. The prestige radiated off of it in waves and made his stomach turn to knots as he was led inside - Ijichi by his side - past winding hallways and antiques displayed, then singled out and told to sit in the meeting chamber amongst a row of handsome men. Ijichi nods reassuringly at him and steps outside. 

Gojo’s sighing greatly before sitting at the very end of the row - attempting to twist his legs into the poised positions that the others were taking on top of the tatami. There were about twenty of them; backs straight, legs tucked, proudly dressed in robes with their family names. They stood out in their multi-color robes and reminded Gojo of old-fashioned puppets. And even among these handsome men they were attempting to out-handsome one another.

It was almost pathetic- really. 

As they wait for you to arrive, your suitors would jut their heads out and take a good look at the competition—then if they assess that one seemed to be giving them too much of a run for their money, they’re primping their hair n’ polishing off their jewels. The Gojo Estate had given him none - probably didn’t trust him with them. 

He feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat as, one by one, they snuck glances at him and sat just a little taller. And yet, they couldn’t meet his height.

That didn’t matter, however.

In this society, all that mattered were one’s powers - and should one not have strong powers, then it’s the connections. Gojo had none. 

Ah, to get this over with…

Soon, footsteps resound and the sliding doors rattle. Gojo gets the urge to look up as they open, but he’s tampering down the temptation and keeping his eyes fixated on the ground as he always does. It came as second nature to him. Next to him, he feels the other candidates stiffen and do the same. 

“The Madam enters.” Wheezes out a male voice, old and reverent. 

There’s another step as someone - presumably you - steps inside the meeting hall, and then they’re all placing their hands in front of them and bowing. Bending in unison at the waist. It wasn’t common to bow to someone he knew was just a year or two younger—but you were already the Madam of your clan, and they were mere heirs after all.

Him, not even that.

“At ease, please.” Your sweet, sweet voice echoes out and sends goosebumps skittering across his skin. Gojo’s not sure what he expected - but this…”Thank you for coming. Your presence shall be rewarded plentifully.”

“We’re grateful, Madam.”

“W-we’re grateful, Madam…” Gojo follows up belatedly. His pulse quickens. His thighs squeeze. He feels stares hone in on him at that exact moment, and he’s sure that one of them was yours.

Gojo attempts to press himself down on the tatami even deeper- to fold himself in half and make himself invisible. His eyes widen and the smooth woven surface stares up at him. His palms sweat where they were clenched. It’s not that he cared about what anyone here would think of him - but if he were to get out of here and escape, then drawing any attention to himself doesn’t help. 

His heartbeat thunders in his chest—ba-dump! 

But you don’t single him out. And Gojo’s unsure whether or not to breathe out a sigh of relief once he hears what seems to be a soft chuckle coming from your direction—he can’t risk it twice.

And after a beat, Gojo hears your footsteps start to make their way down from the other end of the row. Step after step. Stare after stare. Second after second, he assumes you’re taking your time assessing each candidate before moving onto the next. And behind your nearly-soundless steps were your gaggle of elders- “This is a descendent of the Kamo clan—” They’re not quite whispering to you, “Very powerful. Very respectable family.”

“I see.” You say, and you’re walking past the Kamo descendent.

“O-oh and this one…the Fujiwara clan. Not the wealthiest but-”

You hold a hand up, “Yes, thank you.”

“Zenin Nao-”

“Not at all.”

Whoever that was - Gojo’s heard of the Zenin clan in bits and pieces through the walls of meeting chambers he wasn’t let into - withers in his bow. Whatever he’s heard of the man hadn’t been favorable in the first place, so he has to bite his lip to hold back a faint chuckle—so caught up in the action that he nearly doesn’t notice the shadow padding over to him. He nearly doesn’t notice that you’ve walked right up to him. 

It’s the elders that get his attention before you do.

“Ah- and this is the…” Gojo doesn’t need to strain his ears to hear what they’re saying about him. He’s heard it time and time again: that slight hitch in their tone, the way they bring up a hand to cover their mouths but still look at him. “The heir to the Gojo clan.” Spat like a curse.

“The hair gave it away.” There’s none of that derision in your tone. “How beautiful.”

A shiver runs down Gojo’s spine.

And it’s not long before yet another one of your council members is tugging at your sleeves, “Madam, this is the…”

Another speaks up- “The note that was delivered—”

“That forgotten son.” And another.

“Silence.” 

You’re saying it so serenely, and yet it manages to get every single damn one of them to shut up. Every single one of them—that were hungry and clamoring for your attention; frothing at the mouth to reveal his open secret. If only it was so easy for him. The silence stretches terribly, until the tension was so thick that it was hard for him to breathe. 

And before he knows it, Gojo’s feeling a soft hand touch his shoulder. 

Lightness fills him. Just ephemeral and fleeting. 

And your voice speaks out in a much warmer tone, “Please. At ease.” 

Something seems to uncoil inside him as he straightens- why he was following your every word, he has no idea. But soon enough, he’s back in his resting position and looking down the row of other candidates that ogled him. 

You chuckle kindly once more, “The others have long since been sitting. You may go easier on yourself.” Through his peripheral vision, he senses you crouching down in front of you.

And so he’s finally looking up—

Now, Gojo Satoru could describe your features, or your clothes, or the color of your eyes- or even the degree of your smile. He looks back on this moment - not even in the far future, mere split-seconds later - and thinks he could pinpoint the exact angle that the light flooding into the chamber struck the side of your face. But the only thing he registers right now is that if heaven were real, then this might just be the place. And he’d run straight into its awaiting arms-

Your awaiting arms. 

Then as quickly as that flare of madness appeared, he’s shaking his head. Trying to clear his mind - whilst you wear a look of slight bemusement on your face as if you could read his thoughts.

Gojo’s just able to pull himself together and flicker his sapphire eyes open—when you’re standing up and addressing them all. Speaking loud and clear- “I have chosen.” 

Cold water douses him- or at least feels like it. And the other candidates in your row of suitors shiver like they were experiencing something similar.

One of the elders shifts his gaze nervously between him and you, “Y-you have chosen, Madam?” 

Another one clasps his hands in delight and beams, “As per my recommendation- the Kamo boy, Madam?”

“No no—it should be the Abe boy.”

“The-”

One hand raised to signal silence. You’re running your serious stare down the row of men that sat rigidly awaiting your decree.

Each one blenches a little as it reaches them, as though it sent bolts of electricity through them.

Eventually, they’re stopping on him. 

On Gojo Satoru.

And he meets your gaze shyly- with bated breath.

“It’s him.” The calmness before the storm. “I choose him.” Before the chamber seems to explode into the indignant noises of the other candidates, the pleas and coos of elders attempting to stop you from making any rash decisions. The air seems to still. The pipes seem to burst. Outside, it’s evident that some of the house staff had been peering through the cracked-open door and eavesdropping on the ceremony- and their surprised squawks add to the cacophony.

And in the middle of the noise - the center of attention - you and Gojo share a look in silence.

Your hand raises once more. 

“Silence. I will not repeat it.” A slight hardening in your tone. It’s there to remind them all that you are the clan leader, after all; amongst the youngest to be handed the mantle, amongst the most successful to make your Estate surge in social and economic standing. “He is to be my husband—” Turning to look at him. “-if he so wishes it.”

And you had chosen him to be your husband.

There’s a terse silence- and everyone turns their heads towards Gojo before he realizes that they were waiting for his answer. Most of the other men glower at him as if to say he was stupid if he messed this up-

“Y-yes.” Nodding unsteadily. It seems like the kind of thing that he’d have to ponder over - but it comes to him as though his mind had already been made up, without him knowing. “Yes.” Yes, he was sure. 

“Yes, Madam.” The guy next to him hisses.

One of your head council members all but begs at your feet, “B-but master, he has no cursed energy…”

“Elder, must I repeat myself once more?” It seems like an off-hand question—almost jovial. But clearly the elder knows better than to push, and he’s shrivelling back up once more.

With a wave of your hand, you’re dismissing them. “And so if that is all, the other candidates shall have to forgive me- but I wish to spend some time getting to know my future husband. I hope you understand. Refreshments will be available in the East gardens.” As they start to exchange glances and stand, you turn to your balking elders—“And that goes for you, too, dear elders.”

They stir.

They look at each other- as if for confirmation.

Before one nudges the other - and they can do nothing but walk. Walk away with a mere glance—past the ogling house staff, following the murmuring young men. 

Despite how much your attendants try to take a peek at him- the sliding doors shut. 

Rattling; those trundling vibrations soak into the walls and reach all the way down to Gojo’s toes. Making them curl as you sit in front of him: close enough that his heart thunders, far enough that you wouldn’t be able to hear it. Though by the look on your face, he almost has his doubts…

“So…” You’re placing your face in your hands and taking a good look at him. “Something tells me you’re not one for small talk?”

“Why have you chosen me?” He jerks his peripherals to meet yours, and stares at you squarely. “They were right- you know—” Gojo gestures at the doors behind you, “I don’t have any cursed energy.”

“I was right.” You mutter to yourself, “And as for why I chose you…hm…” 

He almost thinks you won’t answer the question, when you’re cupping your hands in front of you and letting them emanate a soft golden glow. Gojo knows what it is instantly- he’s spent so many years wishing he had the same, after all. Even the tiniest ember of it.

You’re shaping the air in your hands as though molding the radiance; it fractures and bends like sunlight between tree branches. Beautiful. He’s never seen anything more beautiful. As if his thoughts caught your attention, you’re half-smiling up at him. “Do you know what this is?”

“Cursed technique.” He whispers.

You nod, “And can you take a guess what it does?”

“Something to do with darkness and light? Vanquishing darkness?” Gojo cocks his head. 

“In a way…” You’re gesturing for him to reach out—and he brings his arm out somewhat tentatively. The moment your fingertips touch his skin, that radiance seeps warmth throughout his body- it floods him with that same light feeling from earlier. “Feel that? It’s your mask being taken off you.” Gojo looks at you in confusion. “My cursed technique reveals people’s true emotions and thoughts- the good and the bad. The honest. I can read them all.”

“And mine…?” He gasps. How wondrous. Those of the Gojo clan were often stuck on bending space and the physics of it all. Your technique just seemed so…human. 

You smile, “Something like cursed energy doesn’t matter to me. You were the only one that didn’t want me for my name or status.” Fingers sliding across milky skin - feeling more of him. Reading more of him. His gasp catches in his throat as you continue, “You were angry. And tired…” Brows furrowing. “-and a little scared.”

“I am.” He swallows- throat dry. “I was. But what’s that to you?”

“And then there was something else…” Bolts of lightning seem to explode wherever your fingertips traced, and he’s feeling his pulse heighten. His half-lidded gaze bores into yours—“You were aroused calling me ‘Madam’.”

And then Gojo Satoru just seems to melt-

“I wasn’t-”

“You were.”

“I was-” There was no use hiding it. He’s leaning backwards—even though his hands remained where they were, aching for your touch. Gojo’s words come out in jagged pants, wet and blistering; perspiration starts to formulate on his skin. “I was. And it’s all your fault I had to hide a boner from some damn elders.”

“You were…what?” You tilt your head coyly. Gojo Satoru. From the moment you saw him, you knew you wanted him.

And one wouldn’t need a cursed technique to know how he felt- a rosy blush rises to his cheeks. “I was, Madam.”

Was it getting even hotter inside this damn room? Gojo’s almost subconsciously letting those expensive robes of his flap open, just the barest slivers of pinkish skin. 

“How perverted.” You’re tutting. Starting to lean in now, “But that’s alright. Because right now, you’re feeling something else, too.”

Whispering. Octaves higher. He looks like he’s in for a battle- there’s a carnal glint in his eyes that’s hard to mistake. “And that is…?” Challenging. 

“You wish to kiss me so badly.”

And so he does.

He does, he does, he does- he’s not sure who’s reaching for whom first. But suddenly your lips are on his and he’s moaning into your mouth—loud and openin’ up in a gasp before you’re capturing his lower lip between your teeth and teasing him just a little. 

Nibbling.

The chamber light flickers for just a second- but neither of you notice it as Gojo bucks. Straight off the smooth tatami and reachin’ his carnal hips up into yours. The simple action is enough to make Gojo fist at the fabric of your clothes, white-knucking them until he’s hearing a little riiiiip—! 

You’re breaking the kiss with a gasp- and his lips still chase yours ravenously. “Now, now…we aren’t even married yet. Not that I care, but what would the council say?”

“I don’t care.” Gojo pants out hot n’ heavy into your mouth. Before one hand snakes up the back of your neck to guide you into a deep kiss once more- “I don’t fucking care.”

“E—mmpf.” He’s sucking sloppily on your tongue, dragging the tip of your tastebuds between his lips n’ tasting. Like it’s the sweetest damn thing he’s ever tasted. Brows crinkling in frustration whenever you’re attempting to half-heartedly break off and continue speaking- “Eager- oh, are we? Something tells me that someone’s a little…inexperienced, hm?”

And you didn’t need your cursed technique to read him - Gojo blushes straight down to the roots of his ivory hair. 

His nose crinkles, “I am. I’ve never touched a woman- anyone before.”

“And that’s perfectly alright.” You’re reassuring him, hands coming up to caress his heaving chest. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can take it slow-”

“No—” Gojo gasps as though you’d just cussed him out. Hands trembling on your body - fabric bunching, fingers white-knuckling. He’s holding onto you like you were a lifeline. “No no no no- I would rather…if you would like to—”

You’re letting your warm cursed energy out.

“I want to taste your lips.” He admits, wincing at the way it sounds so crude being said out loud. “Your…other lips.”

“Oh.” Your mouth parts. Before a rush of pleasure seeps through you- “Then why don’t I get on my back, hm? I want to see your pretty face.”

He almost feels faintish just hearing the words.

In next to no time; you’ve positioned yourself flatly against the tatami mats—and dragged him right on top of you, of course. Gojo’s body eagerly climbs up your own, the light from above creating a halo-like effect on him, and admires you for a few seconds- kisses your lips once more- before he’s pressing a thorough trail of open-mouthed kisses down your body. 

Between your tits. Down the side of your hips.

Gojo’s then moving back and chastely peckin’ up your inner-thighs before he’s reaching that wetness in-between. The heat of your cunt just radiates between your legs- you were already so drenched n’ pulsing. 

That tick-tick-tick of your cunt presses against his face as Gojo shuffles aside your layers and nuzzles in. Even through your underwear, it was making his mouth water already.

Without a single warning, Gojo lets his greedy tongue drip out and gives your clothed pussy a gooood lick. From bottom to top.

His tongue flickering back in. That damn light inside the meeting chamber flickers against once more- and you’re immediately bucking up into his touch. “G-Gojo—”

“That’s my father’s name. Instead call me…” He murmurs, throat smoky. With a sudden squelching kiss—placed right where your swollen folds were the plumpest, the heir to the Gojo clan struggles to push himself even deeper. Even closer. Even more desperately. “Satoru.”

“Satoru.” You repeat.

And he looks as though he’s in ecstasy.

In what seems like the far-off distance, there’s a sudden burst of something sharp- shards. The observation lingers in your mind and you’re realizing that it sounded like a lightbulb or one of the antiques being dropped. 

But there’s no time to think about it too deeply—because in the next few seconds, you’re weaving your fingers through Gojo’s dampened white hair. Twisting them into a grip so deliciously painful for him, and dragging his pretty face back between your legs. A sudden moan rips from your throat- “Your future wife wants you to eat her out, Satoru.”

He’s on you so fast - nudgin’ his head nose-deep - that you think it might’ve been teleportation. “Yes, Madam.”

And how could he ever deny a command from you?

It’s the only thing that whirls in Gojo’s dazed mind- it’s the only thing his body even seems to be running on. Before he even registers what he’s doing, his fingers are reaching up to swipe aside your soppin’ panties. Fuck…you’re so pretty he feels a moan slip out. Muttering a ruined prayer between your legs- before the slender tip of his tongue darts out and slobbers.

A lick straight down your wet crevice.

A lap around the outer area where your slick had accumulated.

“Mmmpf—” Gojo breathes through his nostrils n’ lets them flare. He lets his eyes widen. He lets his jaw drop.

Just the faintest glimmer of your essence trickling down the side of his mouth. 

And Gojo’s going crazy.

With a croaked, crackling groan at the back of his throat- he’s hooking a bulky arm around your left leg and tugging—manhandling you to him in a surprisingly primal way. Your pussylips are slammin’ against the edge of his chin, and he’s probing his tongue even deeper. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Why is she so sweet…”

Feeling the pressured intrusion of his tongue - the way his slippery muscle expands the first inches of your muscle so well - you’re merely arching up into his mouth with a keen. “Ohhh, just like that—”

“Huh? What- that’s not…” And for a few seconds there, you think he’s merely babblin’ away to himself. But when Gojo fishes his sloppy tongue back out and thrashes it even harder- nose pressing up determinedly against the nub of your clit - that’s when you’re realizing that something else might be at play here.

That’s when you’re letting your chin drop to your chest, and discovering Gojo already staring at you with large, hallowed eyes- straight up at you.

That’s when he’s becoming even more frenzied as he sandwiches his lips between your puffy folds and makes out with them. Those girthy inches of his tongue drawing out languid slurps and sounds that make his cock twitch. “Th-that’s not what I asked, Madam.” He’s rubbing up against the sensitive inner parts of your thighs, “That’s not the answer to my question, right?” From the way he looked, you genuinely couldn’t tell whether he was joking or dead serious.

“Satoru, what do you…” Getting on your elbows to look down at him.

But it’s almost too late. Because Gojo has his mouth hooked ‘round your sweet, sweet pussy and his zig-zagging tastebuds driving you wild—“Why are you so sweet?” Almost as wild as Gojo was driving himself. “Why are you so hot? So ready takin’ my tongue? Just fucking—stickin’ to me like that- your pussy’s trying to chase me when I kiss her.” 

“O-ohhhh—you’re sure this is your first time?” You can merely sob.

Those sky-blue eyes of his flash with some amusement.

“So fucking…” And you’re not sure if he even hears you - you’re not sure whether Gojo can register anything other than the dessert platter in front of him right now. As if on cue, that leaky hole of yours empties out numerous wads of sap that smear down his cheeks. He welcomes it with what almost feels to you - and your technique - like a purr. And this last word is spat out in what almost feels like a growl- “-addictive?”

It’s almost accusing.

Though not really, and Gojo’s honed canines jut out as he lavishes a few kisses on your clit. Soakin’ it up enough to reach a hand up and pinch.

That glistening nub of yours grows even fatter n’ needier as he squeezes it between two cold fingertips. His thumb and his index. Just the sight of it is enough to make his mouth salivate once again, and all those gluey ribbons of saliva end up getting spat on your pussy once again.

Gojo’s pluggin’ it up with his crowned fingertips before it can get the chance to trickle out. Like a waterfall. “You must have done something to me…” The realization hits him.

“E-excuse me?” You ask.

“It’s your cursed technique- isn’t it—?” Gojo’s then scissoring two digits inside you and starting to pummel your gooey insides with them. Each movement causes the prettiest orchestra of squelches that enter his eardums like fucking music-

“It wasn’t.” Squealing. Soaring your hands through his hair. He scours every inch of you with a single thrust- the sheer length of his fingers, ending off with those knobbly swollen tips. 

They were so moldable n’ he’s gluing them to your softest orifices like adhesive. “I p-promise it wasn’t…” Saliva starts to stream from one side of your mouth—your mind’s turning to mush with every passing second. Without even thinking, you grab him by the scalp and guide his face closer between your legs. The cavern of his pretty pink mouth opens with a soft ‘yes, ma’am’ and Gojo then latches onto your throbbing clit. “Why? Do you feel any different, Satoru?”

“Feel different?” At that question, Gojo has to physically lurch away from your pussy to look up into your face n’ make sure that you’re serious. You were. “Feel different?”

“Y-yes…?” Slightly taken aback.

Gojo genuinely lets his head tip backwards- with a bout of crazed laughter. 

Short. Breathless.

It echoes around the room; and you’re sure of it—this doesn’t sound anything like the Gojo Satoru you’ve known. Until now. There’s a feral twinkle in his eyes that you can’t quite discern once Gojo surges his head forward and kisses your pussy once more. French kisses.

This time, his pupils were mere needlepoints around a sea of faintly-gleaming blue as he wraps his lips around your clit and peers up at you. A grin plastered across his face- he knows you can feel it, because you’re just squirming so much. “Sweetheart, I don’t just feel different…” Those roverin’ tips of his enter your hole once more, three of them propelling inside your slippery channel. “I think I am different.”

A shiver runs down your spine. What did he mean by…

Gojo’s eyebrows raise—“What do I mean by- hah, that? Well…I can feel your pussy reeeeeeal good-” His nose crinkles as yet another wave of slick slips down his throat, “-I can feel every clench, every pulse, every bead of slick.”

And then he increases the pace of his thrusts, until the brutish knuckles of his fingers were reddened. 

Starting to swell.

Pump after pump.

Hit after hit.

The most ruthless swipes that messed up your insides. Leaves his mark on there like a last name; Gojo adds in a fourth finger just when you think you’ve been stretched-out to your maximum limits—

“And…” That flexible end of his tongue lifts off of your clit. He curls it tenderly in front of your entrance- just in time for a pearly bead of slick to escape you and end up dappled straight on his tastebuds. “I can predict wherever they start to drip.”

Your mouth gapes open.

And though that was impressive, your mind’s occupied with something else entirely. 

You yelp and sit up on your elbows straighter. How did he know? He read your mind. He’s reading your body. You thought he didn’t have cursed energy?!

But as though reading your mind was something he did everyday, he continues.

He’s using those special antics to slash his mouth near-vertically across your own slit and end up draaaaaagging his textured tastebuds on top of your clit. Making you shake with every single spark of pleasure running up your body, whilst his fingers only prod ‘round even deeper. Swivelling around. Stirring you up from the inside. Squelch after squelch. “I can sense where you feel the best.” Gojo’s lips are flappin’ away animalistically between your legs. “I can tell just how good you feel—”

A sudden bite at your clit.

You’re yelping, “Fuh-fuuuuuck!”

““See? I can tell your pretty pussy liked that.” Gojo’s fluttering his pale lashes playfully. A smirk upon his maw. “I can tell that you like it when I do- ngh, thiiiiis—” Scissoring his fingers and flickerin’ his tongue on top of your clit, “And especially when I do this.” Making you throw your head back as he nibbles on your knob once more. Just as he had predicted - you shiver underneath his tongue, and he’s gapin’ his mouth wide to let those droplets cascade into his mouth. Those blue eyes of his nearly glow in excitement—“And I can tell…actually, I can see that you’re feeling good all the way from here—” 

He presses down on your clit using the tip of his handsome nose. 

Then glides his left hand up your front- as far as he could reach, he’s soon squeezing your left tit. Then the right. Alternating. There’s a strange buzzing sensation floating over your nipples whenever he touches them…“To here. Even higher up to that- hah, pretty head of yours, the way s’lighting up.”

“Lighting up…?” Just to make sure, you spare a glance down at yourself. “Satoru, what are you talking abou- oh.”

But then he’s hittin’ his fingertips damn near your g-spot, and it feels good enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, your entire body’s on fire because of how good you feel. And I haven’t even gotten to it yet.” 

“My g-spot?” You babble.

He’s nodding like a drunken man. “She’s been waiting for me- pulsing, y’know?” Gojo trundles out through his husky breaths, “Throbbing. Needing. Just aching for my attention.”

“Th-this really can’t be your first time…” You mumble weakly, barely audible enough.

“And guess what?” He breathes- octaves away from normal.

“What—?”

Gojo was staring at you with wide, almost-bulging eyes. His gaze was glazed over and yet- still so frenzied, enough so that you swear the irises surrounding his pupils were glowing—“I can see where she is.”

With that said, you’re feeling the hardest- sloppiest thrust of his fingers yet. 

A direct hit onto that cute heart-shaped button of your g-spot. Gojo doesn’t need to move his fingers ‘round to feel for where that particularly soft area was—he knew where it was instantly. And the most crazed smile splashes across his face, twisting his lips, as he’s watching you shatter underneath him. He knows when you’re reaching your high before you yourself do.

“You’re cumming for me…” He inhales hollowly. 

Eyes widening, “I am?” It’s suddenly hitting you then: that spread of warmth from the pit of your stomach, up your spine, n’ fogging up your mind. Your pussy was just battering away at a staccato- your legs were thrashing where Gojo pinned them down with his upper half. “I am.”

Gojo merely crushes his face deeper and fucks you through the best orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. Fingers nothing but a blur. Nose nuzzlin’ deeper. “I would never lie to you, Madam.”

“Fuck…”

Tongue dipping straight into your slippery hole, then alternating between rolling over your clit. Wave after wave.

The bliss is almost too much to bear - it washes over your body, setting your limbs alight with the electricity of your orgasm. That dopamine. Those white stars. And Gojo’s pressing on your g-spot accurately upon every single peak, such dogged need. “Oh, and I can s-see it—” 

“Satoru-” You’re keening out. Your hands reach up to muss up Gojo’s ivory strands, grabbing and lavishing his mouth across your clit. He’s sucking it inside and hollowing his cheeks out—“Th-that wasn’t anything my cursed technique did. This was all you, baby.”

“Oh…”

And with that awed expression upon his attractive features, he’s finishing up with the last few dredges of your orgasm. Letting the bliss course through you - Gojo then unlatches himself from your sensitive cunt with a loud pop! The last thrust of his fingers ends off with the faintest flicker of blue lightning…

You both catch it and gasp-

Gojo’s meeting your eyes with his frenzied ones. It’s then that you’re getting a good look- a proper one.

Gojo Satoru’s eyes were always such a beautiful blue. But now…they had a wreath of so many different shades - sky-blue, cobalt-blue, denim-blue, indigo, some almost as pale as white - playing within them that it looked like jewels. Like something out-of-this-world. It glowed with power.

And he doesn’t need to read your mind to know—

“Six Eyes.” Gojo breathes, “It’s finally awakened.”

“Oh my god-” You’re immediately attempting to surge up - and Gojo firmly presses you back down on the tatami. As if he already knew what you were going to say. “Satoru, we need to inform someone—we need to send summons to your Estate elders immediately-”

“Maybe.” He cocks his head with something akin to a pout.

And you’re staring up at him in disbelief, “Don’t you want to prove them wrong? Don’t you want to take your rightful mantle as head?”

“Maybe…” Gojo murmurs once more, and his brows knot in the middle. “But more than that- there’s something else I want to do first.”

His first time, that is.

Before you know it, Gojo hovers his body upwards- then he’s tugging open your robes. He’s leaving you half-bare. And then moving onto his, Gojo stares you straight down as he damn-near tears through the four attached straps of his hakama, the belt, the pieces tucked. Harsh. Almost violent. 

It makes your cunt quiver just for a moment—and Gojo’s letting his jaw drop as though he could feel the fucking thing.

As though he’s listening to it. Worshipping it. He then manages to free his red, ravaged cock - glistening at the top with so much slick, and then turning into a peachy pink towards his base. Girthy tip, even girthier middle. His shaft was looooong and oh-so-proudly decorated in numerous zig-zagging veins, disappearing into the tufts of curly white at his hilt. He’s so damn hard that he twitches in the air a few seconds after release. 

Almost immediately afterwards, Gojo’s tall frame collapses on top of yours. Body wracking with shivers. 

Gently folding both your legs over his shoulders; they trembled with the aftermath of your previous high, and a wicked smile plays upon his lips as he bends and bends you until the top of your knees hit your chest. 

He gazes down at you through the gaps in his ivory hair, “May I fuck you using my powers, Madam?”

Your mouth parts.

Gojo had flushed cheeks. Damp skin. His eyes faintly a-glow- and the most primal glimmer flickering within them.

Bolts of lightning dart from the edges of his peripherals and crackle in the sensual air between you two. The newest user of the Six Eyes in the Gojo clan. You’re wrapping both arms around Gojo’s clammy neck and pulling him to you - instantly, a whiff of jasmine hits you. “Please do, future head of the Gojo clan.”

He shivers.

And then he’s entering.

Just the large, globular tip of him—the very edge of it that feels almost scorching against your entrance. He doesn’t even need to sink all the way inside to stretch your hole ‘round himself, gluing his slit to the channel of your cunt - those walls that seem to just gulp him up. It’s heavenly enough that Gojo’s letting his head duck into the crook of your neck, mouth opening up in turgid gasps. “Oh- I’m fucking my Madam.” One jerky thrust. “My wife.”

“Sh-shit…” Your teeth clench. Your toes curl. And your pussy’s clenching around him like a vice. The stretch of him…it was like nothing you’ve felt before. 

“Feels good?” Gojo asks, through strikes. His swollen shaft drags in n’ out at a dizzying rate, and with those Six Eyes of his - you knew when they were about to activate down at you, because the fizzes of lightning would grow more concentrated - he’s managing to point out your g-spot instantly.

Directly mazin’ between your fluttering wall. Pushing his rounded tip against that bundle of nerves- still so sensitive from your previous orgasm that even the merest brush sets your body alight…

Gojo reels his hips back n’ starts fucking you in quick, thorough thrusts that echo out into the room as plap! after plap! He’s cementing his toned v-line to the front of your pelvis, and letting out drunken giggles at the way your g-spot quivers for more after every whack—these damn Six Eyes really did manifest at the perfect time.

In no time, you’re feeling your walls turn to a gummy mess- ruined by his cock. Moaning out, “Go even deeper, husband-”

“O-oh.” His hips stutter mid-thrust. Not even bottoming out yet. “Ohhhh, don’t just say that-”

“Why not?” Fluttering your lashes up at him innocently. 

Gojo then trembles- he clamps his jaw shut as though he didn’t know how to respond…or didn’t trust himself to. His knees hike up the tatami floors as though attempting to burrow himself even deeper—and then back n’ forth again as if conflicted. Conflicted. Gojo grazes his pearly whites down the side of your throat and murmurs, “Because c-call me that again n’ m’gonna cum…”

Just a few thrusts.

Not even bottomed-out.

An he was going to fucking cum- just because you called him that?

Your interest piques. “Maybe I want you to-” Angling your head so that his hair tickles your face, and your lips graze his ear lobe. “-husband.”

“Ohhh, I beg for mercy, Madam.” And he genuinely sounded serious.

“Husband?”

But it was too late- Gojo sprints his right hand down to clasp his hilt. But it was too late. 

No matter how tightly he’s squeezing right there - where he was suddenly bulging even thicker at the thought of going inside you - Gojo’s ruddied tip leaks out a singular drop of ivory sap. And then another. And then another. 

Until soon enough, he was coverin’ the entire front of your cunt. Eyelids shuttering. Throat cracking.

Gojo’s dipping his head down and watching as the mushroomy tip of his shaft almost explodes in a downpour of his cum- so much of it stored up. The warm wetness trickles over your pussylips like a glaze and ends up getting smeared by his blushin’ cockhead, stirring it around with the hand at his base. “Sh-shit.” Gojos takes his lower lip between his teeth, in an effort to keep the whimpers out of his voice. “Shit, I can’t believe you made me- ngh, cum before you. What did I tell you?”

“And I said I wanted it, didn’t I?” You’re grinning.

“And I can never deny my Madam- ngh.” The prettiest noise at the back of his throat- he’s breathing it into you as you two kiss. Once you’re breaking apart, Gojo’s finding himself bucking short, stunted semi-thrusts without his hazy mind having even realized it—“B-but about this mess…can I fuck it inside?”

“Hm? I don’t feel a mess.” It’s true - you felt the initial splosh! of his creamy white cum leaking out. But after that you didn’t feel it streak or dribble.

You’re both looking down and finding- “What’s…” That the large majority of his sap had accumulated around his fat tip, and though it was deliciously thick—there seemed to be another barrier that kept the cum from leaking. An invisible forcefield. 

Gojo’s breath catches once he realizes, “Infinity.”

“What?”

 But without answering, he’s merely swervin’ around the crowned head of his cock and watching as the glistening cum moves ‘round it. Doesn’t exactly touch it. “Infinity.” All the air seems to escape his lungs- and electrify around you two. Gojo looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. “I can manipulate Infinity- I have Limitless.” Blue lightning scatters across his skin.

“Both? Both—?” Awe pumps through every atom of your being. It was impossible not to recite just what you’d learned in your jujutsu lessons years ago: “There hasn’t been a Six Eyes and Limitless user in the last 400 years.”

“I know.” He probably knew more than anyone else. And his lips twitch at the edges- he presses his sweaty forehead to yours. “I know.”

“Satoru, you’re probably one of the strongest sorcerers of two- maybe even the strongest.” Tone picking up in pitch and volume- and frenzy. The ends of your sentence wavered just a little bit at the fresh intrusion of his cocktip, twitching and glazed in cum—and something far more powerful. A layer of Infinity that pushed your sodden walls apart even further. “A-and you’re using it to fuck me—?!”

Another rugged thrust. “What else would I use it for?”

But of course, the suggestion of anything other than feelin’ your sweet, sweet pussy wrapped around him felt almost like blasphemy. 

Gojo’s snowy brows furrow at the sudden rush of power- and it takes a little getting used to the ebb and flow of cursed energy, the urge to bend and mold space at his will. But right now he had more important things on his mind. And no matter how much his mind raced—it halted for one thing. One idea.

And the most crazed - almost bemused - grin breaks across his face. 

Crooked and slightly off-kilter; he’s focusing all his energy on lacquering that long, looong cock of his with a shatter-proof layer of Infinity. Almost like a…“Condom.” Gojo utters without meaning to. 

The half-shocked half-aroused look on your face is enough to make him continue.

“Like a c-condom.” The girth of his tip starts pressing in once more—this time with the added, minute measurement of his Infinity layer. And if you thought that he was big before, then now…and with the added fuzziness of cursed energy? The slight buzzing vibrations that penetrated your inner walls? You’re being driven absolutely insane—

And he’s just fuckin’ to fit inside.

“It feels s-soooo—ngh.” Your voice cracks almost pathetically. “Big.”

“Just big?” Gojo shovels in just a few more inches- almost like it’s never-ending. 

Your toes curl. “Long.” You babble. Wringing your moans into the column of his throat - Gojo’s immediately turning his head and capturing your lips with his. “And so- ngh, veiny.”

“Oh? You can still feel them past Infinity?” He asks.

“Y-yes?” As if you could ever not feel those prominent lines imprinted onto his shaft. They formulated the most lecherous patterns that seemed designed to massage your sweetest spots specifically. Just rubbin’ and rubbin’ and making explosions of pleasure burst behind your eyelids—“I can feel e-each and every one-”

“Count them.”

Your eyes flutter open, “What?”

Another few more vicious thrusts- pointed. “Count them.”

Then Gojo’s pressing a chaste peck onto your cute cervix- loving. Pressing a heart-shaped indentation with his cockhead, it squishes ever-so-slightly against the very back of your cunt—and Gojo glides his shaft exhaustively back and forth. Making sure you’re split open on every single vein and indent, and even stimulated by the soft hairs at his base that tickle the top of your folds.

Perhaps The Strongest trills, “I’m waiting~”

“Oh- please.” You’re suddenly brought out of your cockdrunken reverie. Spending every remaining speck of sense in you to count- “There’s a really big one down the middle and…ngh…” Though with the added layer of Infinity coating him, you’re thrown into a frenzy attempting to accurately feel for how many veins decorated his thick shaft. “And then one more- two—?”

Lovingly, he kisses your lips…“Incorrect.”

Your jaw drops.

“Try again.” Gojo smiles sweetly.

And then you’re being fucked even harder- even deeper into the tatami floors until you’re sure the grounds of your Estate would be tattooed against your back. The mats lift and creak as he pummels a few more repeated- thud-thud-thuds against those velvety orifices. “Three-” You manage to gasp. “No- five.”

“Hmmm, wrong again.” Almost with a pout- the fucking nerve of him to pout.

And then he’s holding you to him as he funnels you even harder. The scruff of his happy trail dragging down your clit. 

With a huff, you have nothing else to do but hold onto his sweaty, thrashing body for dear life. And with a monumental effort; you’re pushing your thighs ever-so-slightly together and clenching—as hard as you could, you’re suctionin’ off his pistoning cock. Milking him.

Gojo’s brows immediately furrow, and a crack appears in his irresistible grin. He’s letting out what almost sounds like a whimper- before nipping at the sensitive skin on your throat. “Oh…”

“Is it- hck! I think I got it…” You’re uttering. Everything about the way he was fucking you now was just messy and sloppy- from the way his clammy skin stuck to yours, to the way his precum was now drivelling through the layers of his Infinity, to the thump! of veins brushing against where you needed him the most. “It’s six- fuuuuck—”

He’s staring at you with dazed, tear-filled eyes. Unresponsive.

“It’s six, isn’t it?” You ask. Squeezing your heaven-like walls around him once more just to make sure- hard. “It’s six- fuuuuck, can feel six of you just massaging me inside.”

Breathing ragged. Brain ruined.

Gojo stows in his silence as his hips keep rammin’ away into you - he doesn’t need to think about it. He just can’t stop.

You’re running a hand across your stomach, feeling for where he was exerting the most pressure inside your goopy cunt. Shapin’ you to him from the inside out. “A-all the way—here- oh.”

“Correct.”

Rudely, Gojo smacks your hand away and replaces it with his, instead. 

Lightning sticks to his fingertips like a second skin, just the most miniscule display of it. And yet, not in the least less powerful. You already know that Gojo’s using his Six Eyes before he starts to speak, “Here. Your walls. Your g-spot. Your womb—they love my cock s’much. All six veins, and all nine inches. Feel that twitchin’ there?”

Stupidly, you’re nodding.

“That’s your pussy begging for more-” Slapping his hips to yours with such aggressive thrusts- each one felt incredible. Each one was hitting eeeevery single spot he needed to and more. Curvin’ the luscious tip of his shaft against your drippin’ wet cervix, “That’s your pussy begging for it- even harder Faster.”

“P-please—” You’re keening. Hands racing up to claw at his bulging biceps.

“Again and again-” Without a single warning, Gojo reaches his free hand down and slaps! your neglected clit. The buzzing cursed energy there makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. “She’s begging to be filled up by me. To feel the seed of the Gojo heir dripping out of her…” Lovingly, he caresses your clit. “She aches until she can keep feeling me between those pretty legs as she walks.”

Another spank.

“She’s obsessed with the strongest, isn’t she?” Whatever quivering, twitching sensations that he can sense with those heightened powers of his—it makes him croon. “You make me so- hah, honest. Good thing m’obsessed with her, too.”

“Enough- I need you to do it.” You sob. “Do it, Satoru- ngh, I want you to cum inside me.”

“I would, it’s just that…” He trails off- just the faintest bit of rationality in his face. “I don’t know how m’gonna take this damn infinity off, sweetheart.” It’s just then that you remember his little ‘condom’ experiment. “Can you try squeezing?”

“Squeezing?” Gawking. But you do.

Just like before, you’re clenching your soaked walls- and it makes the powerful sorcerer buck. Even though he closes his eyes, you can discern his peripherals moving haphazardly behind them—affected. And Gojo pummels out a few more vicious battering rams before he gasps out. “Again.” Head falling into the crook of your neck. “Again- harder.”

And so you do. “L-like this?”

“Harder.”

Practically keeping his cock hostage.

Just one - one - stuttered probe of his ravaged length thereafter- and he’s entirely shattering. Not just in terms of the Infinity that scatters into nothingness—but because the faintest sensation of your tender walls, and he whispers. “I-I think m’gonna…”

“Shut up and cum inside me.” You retort.

And with a single thrust- Gojo dribbles out hot, white cum for the second time tonight. Hard. Powerful.

The minute his splatterin’ cum breaks through his Infinity to end up stirred inside your walls—an emission of powerful cursed energy emanates from his body. It singes his skin. It makes the air tense between you two. 

The sudden spike in pressure makes the lightbulb above you shatter-

Only to rain down on the two of you, getting safely discarded by the forcefield of Infinity that Gojo had mindlessly cast as it began falling. And after every single plunge into your gooey, hot depths - scattered bursts of lightning bolt from Gojo’s eyes; eventually skittering around his body and making antiques around the two of you crack the further he crescendos into his euphoria.

Just like before, he was losing it. Except, this time, it’s ending up seeped at the very back of your pussy.

Glistening down your walls and ended up plastered to your cervix.

Using his Six Eyes, he’s managing to fuck every single webbed wad until they’re reaching deeeeeeply at the very back. The very back. Until not a single ounce was left leaking between your legs, and he could see every droplet of it puddled right at your womb- Gojo would rather die than waste a single drop. 

And through it all as he fucks you, you’re crashing into your nth high- one after the other. More than just your second.

You dig your nails into Gojo’s muscular shoulders and moan out his name. “Satoru- Sa—” Kissing him deeply. Soft echoes of it still crackle at the back of your throat as he keeps pushing you through peak after peak, wave after wave. “Oh, it feels so- ngh, keep going. It feels so good.” One after the other.

“I can…tell…” So dazed that it was getting hard to speak even. Gojo was overstimulated and working his body to the bone.

The Gojo heir finally opens his eyes again- and you’re feeling a carnal jolt go through you as you’re taking in just how much power whirled beneath them.

Ravenous.

Raging.

His Limitless and his Six Eyes seemed to be battling one another for predominance. Both of them were winning - which just meant that every spark of pleasure he felt was another lightbulb cracked, or a handprint seared into tatami flooring, or a piece of furniture hovering.

So overstimulated. 

“I-I need to think of…” Gojo’s eyebrows knit together, and he keeps his gaze downturned to where the two of you were connected. A sheen of sap spread between your inner-thighs, and you’re tugging him even closer. “Need to think of a way-”

“A way to do what, Toru?” You’re asking, after he trails off.

“A way to do…” Those hands twiddlin’ with your clit then form a complex array of signals; not quite practise, but more so just going with intuition. His cursed energy must have a lot to say to him after being cooped up in there for so long. “-this. Unlimited Void.”

There’s a mantra- then a flash.

Then you’re feeling space and time itself bend between your legs. Between your legs. It was like the twisting of air around you, the strange feeling of a vacuum running through your entire body. 

And the lights of your entire Estate seem to be shutting down; before you blink through the darkness and make out the shape of Gojo staring lovingly down at your stuffed cunt. The way it bloated around his girth. The loads of cum that kept on trickling out. Your pussy that had a…strange tingling surrounding it that had nothing to do with your own cursed energy-

“Unlimited Void.” Gojo helpfully explains, “That way, I can cum inside your pussy forever.”

“Forever.” You breathe out. “Oh.”

Nuzzling you, “Such a complex mantra. I could only do it because of you.” He highly suspects that it was your honesty technique that helped him face his powers, after all. 

You’re unsure how long it takes - but Gojo’s then buckin’ the two of you through another one of his orgasms. Then another one. Then another one- he twists his arm behind his neck and keeps your ankles interlocked, manhandling you backwards whenever he needed to. 

Whenever he felt like movin’ you instead of his fatigued body. 

Again and again.

He just can’t seem to fill you to the brim now. Squelching between every stuffed thrust. 

Cock rock-hard still and doused with so many layers of his own cum. It was just the messiest experience to be stuffing you full like so - no Infinity would’ve been able to hold this back.

Eventually Gojo’s limbs were heavy, his hamstrings aching, his bangs sticking to his forehead. Knees pushing up against the floor in an attempt to clamor upwards—though he just kept sloppily dropping and falling and fucking you as best he could. He was practically collapsing his large body on top of yours n’ merely rutting his cock sloppy in and out - not even proper thrusts. In and out. “Ngh- feels like you’re going to cum again.” He eventually utters.

Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your head. “I can’t possibly-”

But a twist of his cursed energy-covered fingers on your clit, and you’re feeling your next orgasm soar through you. Flashing fast. 

“Oh…Satoru.” As he’s churning your insides through another one- you feel a sudden splat! of something wet hitting your shoulder. Eyes snapping open.

That’s when you see that the oh-so-enigmatic Gojo Satoru was crying from overstimulation.

And you didn’t need his Six Eyes to see that he was cumming again- only, this time, he was cumming blanks.

Pretty face scrunched up.

Cheeks glistening with tears. Chin wrinkled. 

Choking out sobs at the back of his throat. 

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth, and he’s gagging out a few thick sobs as translucent sap empties out from the end of his cock. His heavy balls having had enough—Gojo’s body was practically forcing himself to stop…but he couldn’t.

No matter how much he was cumming, it still wouldn’t be enough to fill up the Unlimited Void he’d casted on your fucking pussy.

And after a few more ruinous strokes, Gojo’s lurching his head up. 

By now, you could reach that look in his eyes. “What?” You ask suspiciously.

“I read this- hah, don’t squeeze me like that I’ll…” Too late, he was pumping out a few more drivelling wads before continuing. “I read this extract in a textbook about Limitless once- that some users have the- ngh, ability to bend space and make a sort of…clone of themselves. Multiple.”

Your jaw drops. “C-clones…” Your cunt already quivered with excitement- letting out a lecherous sound of cum sprayin’ out.

He could read those feelings in you instantly- and he nods. You always did make him so honest. 

“How about it, Madam?”

.

.

.

The elders already knew that a new user of Limitless and the Six Eyes had manifested. 

Because at that very moment, the world had shook. 

It had been impossible for anyone but the two lovers to ignore. And perhaps it was already time when that lone silhouette had stalked all the way to the Gojo Estate: shoulders tense and his blade glinting in his hand. They could say that Gojo Satoru hadn’t been born with cursed energy, but no one could say that he hadn’t clawed himself a reason to live. 

Something to live for - someone. 

And now, the cruelty of those that had come before was redundant. 

That night - after leaving you wiped-down and tucked-in - Gojo had donned his robes and stepped outside into your sprawling gardens, still sore. There, he’d experimented with the rumored teleportation that Limitless users were said to have—and perhaps it really was true what you’d said.

Maybe he really was The Strongest.

Because in no time, Gojo was trained enough to teleport to the Gojo Estate had thought he’d never come back to. Certainly not to finish the job.

With his silver blade, decorated with the silver emblem of the Gojo family, he made those sleek floors run red. Between trees, he was a shadow. He stained the gardens with the foxgloves and the trees he’d always loved - he supposed that no butterflies would be visiting these gardens ever again. 

At least he wouldn’t be.

And as Gojo cut down the last one of those elders, he memorized the look on his face. Nothing of the pity and hatred he’d seen all throughout his life—they all wore the same expression now.

Shock. Fear. Knowing - so this was the power of The Strongest.

Some were happy to merely witness it before they died. What an honor it was, to die by his hands.

Gojo wondered whether it scared them more that he’d found his powers, or that he’d come to hone them. Whichever it had been, he hoped they knew now - he was always someone strong. 

He was always strong. The last swing of his blade.

Everyone was gone now - his relatives, his elders, his tutors. It was just the outsiders to the Gojo clan that he commanded to run—Ijichi himself had likely taken up quarters at your Estate, and he was determined that no harm should come to the innocent. 

But did that make him just as cruel? 

He cares not.

Overnight, Gojo Satoru became the head of the Gojo clan, he became a myth: The Strongest. Said to be talked about for centuries to come.

But that was for later.

Gojo steps back on the edge of the portico overlooking the gardens - a sunrise before the Sun could make an appearance. Then he focuses his newfound cursed energy and prepares to teleport right to your side, he couldn’t bear the thought of you waking up alone—everything else could be thought of later.

Right now he had a wedding to plan.

A/N. Honestly could write a whole series of this…

his mind was moving slower than he’d like to admit. the lack of sleep, and stress from the rolling events of the last few weeks. all of it had his movements delayed, so when he felt the first touch of someone’s lips on his, he couldn’t help, but sink.

his lips moved against hers, eyes closed briefly until he felt the unfamiliar force of someone’s tongue pushing into his lips. this isn’t the same type of a kiss that always had him reeling. that’s when he’s suddenly pushing the the sorority president off.

his jaw clenches at the interaction, shoving through the crowd, to get some fresh air. this better not get that psycho attached to him again, he curses.

sukuna presses his fingers to his eyes, rubbing them aggressively before finally looking up. chest suddenly tugging.

you were a few feet away by the benches. head thrown back laughing. the weird fuzzy lighting from the fairy lights strewn above the backyard illuminated your face like a halo. pretty. you probably just arrived, he thinks, pushing past a few more men to head to you.

however, his stomach twists the moment the whole group comes to view.

there you were smiling, as gojo leans close to you, laughing at something shoko had said, his hand casually feeding you smarties that you’re both sharing. your lips part with ease, touching his fingers as you take the candies into your mouth, before he’s retracting his hand and dumping a handful of smarties into his mouth, and licking the same fingers after.

you don’t seem bothered in the slightest, even as your eyes close laughing a little louder, slapping gojo’s chest lightly leaning against him, and gojo has an arm wrapped around the bench behind you. the entire thing left a bad taste in the vp’s mouth.

“move.”

sukuna suddenly appears beside gojo, hand coming to the white haired man’s head, shoving it lightly.

“woah, where’d you come from?!” gojo’s still laughing as he easily moves to the bench beside geto. your eyes flick up briefly, before turning your attention back to nanami.

“keep going, kento,” you say, unbothered as sukuna plops himself beside you, legs spreading on instinct and arm taking gojo’s spot on the back of the bench.

sukuna sips his drink, “what’re we talkin’ about?”

gojo laughs, “oh this girl is hitting on ken hardcore at his work study and he basically—“

“you don’t have to explain the whole thing again. just let him finish,” your cold words cut the conversation, silencing everyone. satoru pauses awkwardly glancing between you and sukuna. everyone feels a sudden shift in the air as sukuna’s brows pinch in mild confusion.

nanami clears his throat, “yeah, uh so after I went back to my desk and—“ his story trails on, sukuna does his best to focus, but it was difficult when he’s glancing over at you and sees how tight your shoulders are, arms and legs crossed, back resting against the bench, but avoiding his arm. you also weren’t laughing as loud as he’d seen before.

did something happen? sukuna leans over, voice low so only you can hear.

“when’d you get here?”

you take a deep breath, itching your chin, “dunno probably over an hour now,” you don’t meet his eye, so you miss the annoyance that crosses his face.

“you should’ve texted me, so you didn’t have to wait here—“

“I wasn’t waiting,” you cut immediately, eyes sharp. sukuna pauses, even more confused at the expression itched on your face. “I’m talking with my friends, it’s not like I’m sitting around waiting for you all the time.”

“did i say all the time?” he snaps back in quick irritation at your targeted attitude.

you huff out a sigh, turning back to nanami just for shoko to have noticed the tense interaction between you both and interrupt with your name. “you didn’t finish telling me what happened with your meeting.”

utahime clasps her hands, “oh my god yeah! you haven’t told me yet!”

that’s when your stomach drops.

“what meeting?” geto glances up from his phone.

“she had a meeting this morning with her screenwriting professor who really really likes her and invited her out for brunch,” utahime gushes on your behalf.

“oh yeah, I forget you minor in film,” geto hums. all the attention now on you, including sukuna’s, body turning slightly to listen.

“yeah,” you smile, “it was fine. she was really nice, complimented all the stuff I did this semester, said she really sees me having a good future if I wanna pursue film, and told me to keep in touch.”

“and the internship?” utahime leans forward, eyes bright, you almost hate yourself for cursing her out in your mind. specifically coming here as to not think about this morning.

“it’s like whatever.”

“what d’ya mean?” shoko presses.

you laugh, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you feel all their eyes on you. “like she didn’t fully bring it up and the conversation was going pretty well so I didn’t wanna ruin it.”

“but—“

“it’s fine,” you laugh, “film isn’t even my major so let’s just talk about something else. it went well so that’s the good thing,” you stop them from asking anymore questions, and both utahime and shoko give you sympathetic looks understanding immediately; while the boys don’t fully grasp what’s happening and easily change the subject.

sukuna however, similar to his friends, didn’t fully understand what the meeting with your professor meant, but he does notice how you went from laughing, to tense and short, to not speaking at all now. your eyes distant as you disassociate completely. mind wandering back to the morning brunch.

“anyone want more drinks?” he stands, counting geto, shoko, and nanami. then he calls your name, “come help me.”

“oh i can help,” nanami moves to stand, but sukuna shoots him a glare, hand wrapping around your wrist tugging you up before anyone could protest, ignoring the way shoko’s lips part.

you don’t have time to argue, when this large man is suddenly dragging you towards the house. “I can walk myself,” you twist your hand free, “jeez,” you mutter, glancing up when he halts with you. your breath catches, cheeks flushing at the expression on his face. “what?”

“are you mad at me?” his tone is clipped, irritated. your lips part. “did something happen?”

“what,” you’re baffled by how forward he is, glancing away in annoyance. “nothing happened, I’m fine, clearly.”

“yeah, you’re very convincing,” he scoffs, getting closer, seeing if he can read your thoughts.

you put your hand up to keep him from getting in your space, “well I’m tired from studying, and the meeting…” you grumble the last part, making his brows pinch.

“thought you said it went well,” he says, you roll your eyes.

the nerve. seriously, you should make interrogations a goddamn condition…then again, you’ve done plenty of that with him.

“no it didn’t go well, that was a lie. I was lying. she’s not responsible for awarding the internship, even if its part of her department, so she really just wanted brunch because she liked me or whatever,” you ramble, head falling back, as exhaustion seeps from your pores. sukuna frowns, stepping forward to touch your waist, just for you to step back oat the mere contact. “don’t.”

“don’t what,” he follows, but you take another step back, sharp glare targeting him.

“I’m not in the mood for you to touch me is what,” you huff, cheeks flushing at the confusion on his face. god, he’s so annoying. you swallow a thick lump in your throat, lips parting, tight pounding in your temple, “so don’t.”

sukuna stops, brows pinching, knot twisting in his chest.

a loud commotion breaks your conversation, both of you glancing in the direction with annoyance, expressions unnervingly identical. a couple of guys from another frat were picking up girls and tossing them into the pool. one of which was the pearl’s president who is making a show now of stripping her pink skirt and white top after coming out of the pool.

she manages to hold everyone’s attention, men and women alike catching their breaths as she glides her hands down her curves soaking up all the wandering envious glared like a fuel, almost as if the humiliation sukuna had targeted to her was being wiped clean. her eyes cut through the crowd in seconds, landing on the one person that she begs to look at her, sukuna.

you notice immediately, and the ugly bubble of disgust crawls up your spine, causing you to dramatically roll your eyes, brushing past the soccer captain.

sukuna immediately turns, the half-second he spent glancing at the commotion was enough time for him to grow sick of the sight and follow after you. you try to head back to your friends, but he catches your bicep again, easily tugging you to his broad chest.

“we’re still talking,” he meets your eyes, noticing your gaze locked on the sorority president who seems to be watching you both closely. her eyes are livid, you can see it from here, she whispers something to one of her friends pointing at you.

sukuna’s brows pinch, and the stupid unfiltered part of him decides to shove itself out as follows your line of sight, then glancing at you again, “did you see?”

your body goes rigid.

party falling silent,

you feels sick and annoyed all at once, and it only gets worse when sukuna’s starts talking, “she kissed me, we didn’t fuck,” he’s defending himself before you get the chance to say anything. your throat constricting as you sigh.

“I’m not—“

“so you are mad at me,” he snaps aggressively, grip tightening around your bicep, making you squirm slightly. “you could’ve said something if that’s what you’re thinking about.”

“dude, chill,” you huff, shoving his hand making him let go immediately. “god, you’re so dramatic,” you mutter, brushing your arm as you glare up at him. “I’m not mad at you jeez. I’m just fucking frustrated with my own stuff — again not everything’s about you,” you scoff, finding it amusing how you don’t even believe your own words to fullest. “or are you the only one that’s allowed to be upset about things?”

his jaw clenches.

you glance between his dark crimson eyes. he’s not saying anything.

but you don’t want him touching you. why?

you can’t even admit to yourself why! so now you’re glancing at his lips, cheeks flushing and vision turning a sick red knowing who’s lips had just been on his.

it wasn’t yours from this morning…it was some other girl…some girl that’s glaring daggers across the yard, scrambling to figure out who the fuck you are.

someone that forced herself onto him.

so why is it getting harder for you to breathe? why are you seeing red when you glance down at his pretty lips.

why are you getting more angry when he easily bends down to your height, exhaling heavily like he’s holding himself back because you told him not to touch you. all of it was causing your heart to beat faster than usual, noticing the way he looks over your features. grip clenching, tempting to crawl up to touch your waist—

“kuna!!”

a cold sticky splash hits sukuna straight in the face. you jerk back in shock.

“what the fuck!” he barks, hand coming down on his face, wiping the beer off his face.

yorozu, only wearing her pink lingerie, stands with the evidence in her hand, an empty solo cup, her chest heaves dramatically, eyes bloodshot and crazy, whipping her head to you now.

your eyes widen when the girl suddenly steps towards you. “who the fuck even are you?” she snaps with such judgement, looking you up and down like some rat from the subway. you seriously can’t help the way you step back in absolute cringe. face twisting like you smelled something atrocious,

“oh my god, this is unreal,” you scoff, brushing past her and getting away from the entire crowd of people that seem to be stuck in some cringey ass high school drama movie.

by the time you find your friends again, gojo and utahime are standing on their tippy toes trying to see what the commotion was all about on the other side of the yard.

“what’s goin’ on?” gojo asks when you appear out of the crowd.

you glance over your shoulder, face in a perpetual state of disgust and cringe, “that president that sukuna supposedly ‘hates’, threw a drink at him.”

“what?!” gojo and geto both get on their feet. “what’s he doing now?” geto asks.

“dunno, I left when she got up in my face,” you sit back on the bench with a loud huff. geto and gojo glance at each other again, and in seconds they’re pushing through the crowd stumbling through to find their friend, praying things haven’t escalated.

your remaining friends look back at you, clearly for some explanation. but instead, your fingers pinch your nose, head falling back.

“you okay?” utahime quietly comforts sitting beside you. she presses her hand over the one on your lap, and you feel a damn crack inside you. throat running dry in moments.

god, this is so exhausting.

you can feel the familiar hot stinging behind your eyelids, afraid to even respond not knowing what’s stirring inside you. your thoughts and feelings all a mess, and now all you can feel is the sinking in your stomach and the overstimulation of what was supposed to be a small mixer. you just wanted him…

“is she okay?” you can hear gojo’s distant voice as shoko answers. the attention feels like you’re being some sensitive baby that can’t take someone getting up in their face. you can! but that doesn’t mean you want any of the drama. that’s quite literally the main fucking reason you had this agreement! it was all too much, too much for someone who already had a pretty shit way of organizing her thoughts!

“here, i got you some water,” gojo sits on the other side of you, but your unable to take your hand off your face now, knowing exactly what’ll happen if you do.

you swallow thickly, before muttering a short. “thanks.”

“what happened?” shoko attempts to take the attention off of you as geto returns a few moments later, with a very angry sukuna huffing right behind him.

“the last time we’re ever fucking inviting that fucking psychotic ass sorority!” sukuna is swearing up and down as he pulls his beer drenched shirt off, tossing it aside and airing his baseball cap before putting it back on backwards.

geto glances over his shoulder, spotting most of the main kappa phi pearl members huddled around their deranged president. “yeah…just stay away from her or we’re gonna be caught in another problem.”

“I have been!” sukuna throws his hands up in exasperation. “I’ve been keeping my distance from that bitch all fucking night—“

“but you kissed her.”

the group goes silent.

everyone turns to you. shoko’s brows pinch in concern as utahime looks absolutely baffled at the reveal. however, the boys look even more shell shocked, as they stand still, including nanami.

sukuna’s jaw is taunt. red irises gleaming under the fairy lights, gaze locked on you.

“when did you kiss her??” gojo’s eyes snap to the man, who’s eyes haven’t left yours, noticing the slight gloss that shines over them.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he snaps coldly.

your brows pinch in irritation, “shoko.”

“we both saw you,” she agrees.

sukuna’s eyes are livid, adrenaline and sleep deprivation pumping through his veins as he glares at you in disbelief, and you reciprocate it with an annoyed shrug and a look that basically screams what?

“I told you I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me— doesn’t mean I asked her to go insane like she always fucking does,” he defends, words aggressive and heated.

you roll your eyes, “you kissed her back though.”

“are you fucking kidding me?!”

“dude we literally saw, right shoko!” the more defensive he became, the more heated you got.

shoko hums nodding her head, and as calm as she looks right now, shoko can’t help glancing at utahime as they both look between you and sukuna in worry. same for the other three men who are frozen in place.

“so you’re saying I asked for it!” he snaps.

your eyes widen, throwing your hands up towards him, “who’s the one putting words in my mouth now! if you don’t want drama, don’t kiss a million fucking people.”

“so kissing you and her is a million people?” he barks.

“you’re unbelievable—“

“what! I’m just repeating exactly what you’re saying. you forgot to add the part that we’re not dating, we fuck. fucking and kissing are two different fucking things!” his aggression only adds more punch to his words making you catch your breath in shock. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend, so I don’t know what the fuck you’re getting pissed about.”

you look around the group, putting one hand up, “raise your hand if you heard me say anything about him being my boyfriend?” no one raises their hand. “no one? yeah, that’s because that wasn’t even my point, dumbass,” you huff. “what i was saying is if you don’t want drama, don’t make any.”

“I wasn’t!”

“so did you or did you not kiss her back?”

sukuna groans loudly, “she threw herself at me!” he hits his chest, “are you not hearing that fucking part? do you have selective hearing or some shit?” sukuna aggressively taps his temple like you’re some simpleton.

you roll your eyes, “for someone supposedly smart, you’re really fucking dumb.”

“says you! jesusfuckingchrist!”

suddenly gojo and utahime are stepping in, getting between the both of you as she loops her arms with yours getting you to stand. “let’s go breathe.”

“yeah, take a break,” gojo pushes his friend to sit in your spot as utahime drags you further into the dancing crowd beside the pool.

“oh my god he’s such a dick,” you huff, face hot with anger and mind still pounding. utahime fans your face with her hands as she nods.

“it’s okay, it’s okay, everything that you said made sense, he’s just an idiot,” she agrees, body moving to the beat to get you to loosen up. luckily no one can hear your conversation over the music.

you help fan your face with your hands, inhaling sharply as your head tilts back, “never said he was my boyfriend,” you mutter.

“she’s pulling shit from her ass and I’m the dumb one!” sukuna continues to curse, grip so tight on the bottle, no one would be surprised if it shatters in seconds. “you all know how fucking insane that twisted bitch is — why the fuck would I get involved with her again??”

they all agree with him, nodding along, and humming and union, except for shoko, frowning. she quietly smokes her cigarette, eyes narrowing at the shirtless soccer captain.

it’s been a couple weeks since you started this deal with sukuna, and unbeknownst to you, your two closest friends are unsure how to feel about the relationship. shoko knows how stressed you are, you’re both bio majors on pre-med tracks, and while she takes her stress out by smoking cigarettes or weed — she knows you have a different source of relief, one that she vaguely knows about from freshman year.

the memories of freshman year when you first met by being paired for a group project in the fall. as much as you smiled and laughed, you were closed off, more than shoko was. it was to the point where shoko who had assumed you’d grown close and would be considered close friends, had no idea what you were struggling with until winter break.

she swallows thickly remembering you laughing the next day and vaguely explaining to her that you were on antidepressants, but you were trying to slowly wear them off, since you weren’t heavily reliant on them. but you accidentally miscalculated which caused the dark episode you had when she came by.

shoko was hesitant to leave you after that, but you reassured her over and over. nevertheless, the uneasiness she felt towards that moment left a lasting impact, even years later.

by the time your first year ended and the next year began, you were moving differently. you were still you, but there was a heaviness on your shoulders, something that utahime thought she could make better by telling you these speed dates she’s doing.

while shoko doesn’t like to think everything is so linear, or black and white. there were just so many blind spots to you, but what she knows is your stress, and your adamant refusal to have any drama or external problems weigh you down more than you already are.

which leads her to hating, but subtly relying on the man in front of her. the same one that had taken your stress away ten-folds for blocks at a time. but now it’s looking like he’s just going to add to it now.

shoko holds the nicotine in her lungs, letting it simmer inside before exhaling your name, “she doesn’t like drama.” she starts, turning the mens attention to her. “that’s really almost everything to it. you denying it and just stirring the pot is drama in it of itself.”

sukuna scoffs, “she was stirring the fucking pot by getting me to admit to something she already fuckin’ believes!”

shoko rolls her eyes in disbelief. men.

“she wasn’t trying too—“ shoko starts, but the man cuts in.

“I need a fucking drink,” sukuna stands back up, shoving through the crowd.

shoko shakes her head, even she can admit that your stress is being targeted towards the frat boy, and maybe seeing utahime trying to get you to dance instead of cool down didn’t look like the best idea.

utahime isn’t a party girl, but she’s also the best person to go to a party with. especially when she’s having you jumping up and down to house music with no alcohol in your system.

the music is too loud, the bass vibrating straight through your ribs, bodies pressing in on all sides, sweat-slick and carelessness.

you let your eyes close. just for a second.

the image of sukuna kissing yorozu resurfaced behind your eyes making your jaw clench. your stomach churns thinking about exams in a few days. all of it was making your feet feel lighter , your heart pounding faster trying to escape, and your senses start to lose ground.

you sway, weight shifting back as someone bumps your shoulder, and you’re not fully realizing the slight slip of your heel until you’re tilting back without thinking. body weightless for a moment, and gravity hanging you midair.

and the music cuts out in a single, ugly splash.

the water swallows you whole.

the shock steals the breath from your chest. as you sink, blowing bubbles at the loss of air in surprise.

after a moment, you break the surface with a sharp inhale. heaving as your shirt clings to your chest uncomfortably, heavy against your skin. you blink the water from your lashes, dragging a hand down your face. perfect, you think. catching your breath.

“are you okay?!” utahime pushes the crowd to get to the edge of the pool while your head is tilting back, staring up at the night sky in complete boredom. great, really this is great.

across the patio, sukuna just cracked open a beer when he hears the splash sharp enough to cut through the music. he glances up in annoyance, someone better not be fighting, or jumping off the fucking roof, but then he sees the ripple, and then spots you.

his brows pinch, stepping forward, glancing to see if it was any of those dipshits that tossed you in. but you were standing still in the pool like you chose to be there.

something tight and ugly coiled in his chest.

a few people crowded the edge asking if you were okay. some guys still in the pool swam over to check on you, since you scared a few with the sudden fall and splash. you don’t answer right away. your eyes half-lidded, completely unconcerned, like the world didn’t just knock you off your feet, literally this time.

sukuna doesn’t remember setting the beer down.

but by the time he gets to the pool, his jaw is clenched, and his shoulders are rigid. you’re brushing wet hair out of your face with annoying calm. bringing obvious attention your chest. your shirt clings to you like a second skin, the collar wet and sticking low on your chest revealing most of your cleavage. the hickey he marked your skin with last night prominent, but it wasn’t enough to keep almost all the men around you from checking you out. especially the pebbling of your nipples through your sheer shirt, your thin bra doing absolutely nothing.

you don’t even notice, you’re entirely somewhere else, staring at the reflection of the lights wobbling on the surface.

but sukuna notices.

his jaw tightens so hard it aches. he steps in fast. his broad shoulders cut through the half-circle of bodies like he’s clearing a path on instinct alone. he opens his mouth, already halfway to saying something stupid and vague—some bullshit or anything that will get you out of the water and away from these perverts eyes—

then two hands slams into his shoulder blades. hard and rough.

he stumbles, more from surprise than force. his boots skid on the wet concrete as someone shouts his name. but once he turns, it’s too late. the shove sends him backwards. and there’s a split second where his eyes meet yours.

then he hits the water.

the splash is loud. bigger than yours. the cold shock drags the breath out of him as he goes under. the crowd oh’s all turning in disbelief, everyone looking to see the perpetrator.

sukuna suddenly breaks the surface. hot steam was leaving his ears as he swears loudly, water streaming down his face, finally snapping you out of your disillusion.

you blink.

“oh,” you say flatly, like he just walked into a room instead of being shoved into a pool.

sukuna glares at the edge of the pool, cap floating in the water and hair plastered to his forehead. he looks feral, like a wet tiger. furious and somehow still very aware of the fact that you’re standing a few feet away, wet shirt clinging, eyes finally focused on him.

the laughter around you grows, the party rolling on, but sukuna doesn’t hear any of it.

he only sees you.

and the fact that now everyone else does too.

“did you get thrown in?” he barks in your direction.

you shrug.

he mimics your shrug in irritation, “fuck is that supposed to mean? yeah or no?”

you roll your eyes, “no I wasn’t shoved,” you tsked, moving to the edge. sukuna watches you closely, eyes following every moment, along with all the men staring you down. you carefully climb out, water falling from you as utahime helps you.

“did you fall in?” she mutters in confusion, because one second you were dancing beside her, the next she heard a splash and you were gasping out.

you flush, head hitting her shoulder, “can we leave?”

she nods frantically, arm wrapping around yours as she leads you away. both of you ignoring the fuming man still in the pool.

shoko and the rest had came to the pool after the commotion, the boys gravitated to their overly pissed vice president, while shoko met you and utahime half-way.

“it’s over,” sukuna starts, easily hoisting himself out of the pool, abs clenching and beefy arms flexing as water cascades down his toned chest, “end the mixer, we got what we want.”

gojo frowns, “but the nights still young.”

“I did see a couple people start puking,” geto grits in annoyance.

“and more people have been coming since the videos of the apology were posted,” nanami adds, causing both geto and gojo’s eyes to bulge, both feeling sukuna’s eyes close in controlled anger.

“pull the plug,” he utters through clenched teeth. gojo groans in annoyance, dragging his feet towards the dj as geto glances back at his wet friend. the man was standing completely still, strong arms crossed, reeking of chlorine and alcohol and face pulled into a permanent scowl. he quietly observed shoko and utahime across the yard as they squeezed your drenched shirt, while you tried to brush them off. a weak attempt when he sees you give up in seconds and just close your eyes in exhaustion.

geto glances silently between sukuna and you, brows pinching in thought. everybody in the frat was beginning to get a hint at your relationship with sukuna. many of them had a list of go-to girls they’d call up for a quick fuck. however, geto and gojo were beginning to realize how you’re starting to become the exception for most of sukuna’s rules.

it was odd in a way, seeing sukuna staring daggers at you across the yard, deaf to the complaints that echo through the crowd.

gojo had taken the mic to conclude the hectic mixer, people moaned and groaned, dragging their feet as he cut the music. sukuna watches you closely, eyes narrowing when he sees a few guys stop by you, unable to make out a word, but he can see them eyeing your chest.

“I’m gonna cut the music in the house, do you wanna round the people upstairs and in the basement?” geto pats sukuna’s shoulder, but the man shrugs him off, ignoring what he said to head in the opposite direction of the house.

you’re completely worn out from the day, shoko was checking her phone to call an uber for you guys, while utahime did her best to airdry you.

“s’ whatever, we’ll just take the subway if the uber guy won’t let us in,” you mutter in defeat. however, utahime just whines lowly, brows furrowed.

“I wish I brought a jacket. we’re not getting on the subway when you’re basically see through,” utahime huffs, lips parting before catching something behind you, her face going dead still.

“what?” your brows furrow, following her line of vision over your shoulder.

sukuna stands directly behind you, brooding aura towering over the three of you, hair damp and water still dripping from his jeans as he eyes your chest. you frown, hands coming up to your collar, pulling the sticky shirt from your skin to shake it out. “you need something bud?”

his frown deepens, “parties over.”

shoko and utahime roll their eyes, “yeah we’re leaving,” utahime tsks. sukuna, however, pays the girls no mind, keeping his gaze locked on you and the annoyance itched in your face.

fuck, you’re so goddamn irritating! his mind screams, veins straining in his arms. it was almost impressive how you could get under his skin with just a look. he can practically read what your face was saying. you won’t believe a word he says.

his hand moves on its own, touching your wet cheek with his thumb—

“uber’s here,” shoko interrupts. you barely bat an eye as you brush past the fratboy, heading around the house with utahime beside you and shoko behind, both girls rolling their eyes at the man.

while the only good thing that happened today was the uber letting you ride soaked, sukuna had a longer night kicking people out of the frat. luckily nanami stayed for a bit to help, along with yuno, as members started dragging people passed out in the basement and the yard. geto kept dragging gojo by the ear because he kept flirting with girls.

nonetheless, today is really the gift that keeps on giving. a handful of pledges are cleaning up the kitchen as the older members start shoving people out. sukuna had just thrown some guy slamming the front door shut just when a familiar figure descends the stairs, dawned in one of his sweats and tshirt.

“fucking christ,” sukuna inhales sharply, walking away. “get the fuck out.” he doesn’t even care to point out his clothes on the sorority president.

“sukuna,” she cooes wickedly. “i forgive you.”sukuna’s vein twitches. “i know you’re angry at me, but i just wanted to say sorry. I can make it up to you, I didn’t wanna throw that drink on you but people were whispering about you and that girl, and I just couldn’t help it,” her small arms reach for the man’s bicep, just for the cord inside him to snap.

he shoves her arm off, her small frame stumbles back.

“don’t fucking touch me!” his dark orbs cut through her instantly, goosebumps breaking out across her skin. “if you touch me one more time, I’ll snap y’er fucking neck.”

the air between them goes quiet. a few stragglers glance as they make their way to the exit followed by a couple pledges shooing them with brooms.

yorozu swallows a lump, eyes shining with quick tears that further annoy the frat boy. she takes a cautious step forward, “but I said I’m sorry—“

sukuna clicks his tongue, loud and heartless. “when I told ya I never wanted anything to do with you, I wasn’t fucking joking. it’s not my fault you got y’er brain fried because i fucked you twice, and ya think I want anything to do with you after. but if you need me to say again, here it is. I. hate. your. fucking. guts,” he spits with shameless cruelty.

her lip trembles, “y-you don’t have to like me. we can just have sex.”

“sex?” he scoffs, “I’d rather fuck a brick wall then stick my dick anywhere near your loose ass cunt again. we only fucked when i was piss drunk,” the girl is already in tears. wet lips parting. “and I didn’t even like it then, and I like anything drunk.”

“you don’t mean that!” she sobs.

“I do,” sukuna tsks in disgust, walking past the sorority president, but the second her fingers make contact with his passing bicep, he snaps. “fuck off!” sukuna’s shout had her flinching, and the entire house stilling.

he side steps yorozu, looking straight at two members “someone get her out of this house.”

—

utahime and shoko both crashed at your place for the night. the two girls deciding on it themselves, unfortunately, you didn’t have the guts to reject them. so instead you silently stood under the hot water, mind desperately trying to forget the events of the night as you closed your eyes. the water slowly cascades down your body, washing off the all the chlorine and stench from the party.

you could barely keep your eyes open in the uber, but now your mind won’t stay quiet. instead it felt like you were being punished as thoughts of yorozu making a scene at the party, a drink getting thrown at sukuna, your meeting this morning—

a sudden knock interrupts your thoughts. “sorry, I really needa pee,” utahime pokes her head in.

“yeah ‘s fine,” you reply behind the curtain.

the night — as long, loud, and chaotic as it was — ended abruptly with your body hitting the bed like a dropped sandbag. you grumbled to shoko and utahime that you couldn’t keep your eyes open, even though the truth was the opposite: you were exhausted everywhere except your mind, which refused to shut up.

now the apartment is silent, save for the soft, uneven breathing of your friends. shoko is folded awkwardly on the air mattress in the living room. utahime is half-buried in a throw blanket on the couch, both dead to the world. meanwhile, you’re lying awake in your room still, eyes open, body heavy, and brain still sparking like a live wire.

you wanted the silence of sleep to take over, to quiet everything. but it wasn’t coming easy. the meeting earlier today replaying in your mind…your exams…that annoying drama filled kiss.

your throat tightens as you glance at the antidepressants on your nightstand. you don’t crave them. you resent them. you’ve been successfully wearing them off for the last few weeks. you’ve been sleeping much better since another relief has taken it’s place, one that fills your mind and body with a shot of dopamine. but as three am ticks by, the silence grows teeth, and you finally let a finger nudge the lid.

the trazodone bottle makes the smallest click when it opens, obscenely loud in the quiet. you swallow thickly, dry-mouthed, pulse still humming from long day, and the absence of a certain tattooed frat boy as a distraction you’re trying very hard not to think about.

you shake out a single pill and glare at it like it personally wronged you before chasing it down with a lukewarm sip of water. it doesn’t knock you out. it doesn’t save you. it simply smooths the jagged edge of awareness, dulling the quiet just enough for you to stop wanting to crawl out of your own skin.

not a cure, or a setback…just a pill for the night.

and even that feels like defeat.

unfortunately, sukuna didn’t have a pill to quiet the demons. instead his shower consisted of a growing fire inside him. annoyance and irritation scratching at his insides as he replayed the moments that have lead him into punching his shower wall until it cracked, and his knuckles bled.

“fuck!”

his back heaved with each breath, eyes bloodshot as he eyed his bruised hand. none of it able to snap his mind from spiraling.

his heavy footsteps rattled his room, mind pounding and thoughts like daggers. how could he be so worked up after he’s so close to the end of the semester? but after the stunt yorozu pulled, and now you’re throwing it back in his face, every path he takes feels like battle. and of all the things currently unraveling in his life, his fucking sex buddy wasn’t supposed to be an added problem. that was the whole point of the fucking agreement!

sukuna groans face buried in the mattress, pillow over his head.

a kiss? was it the action that set you off? or was it because it was yorozu? if it was the latter than he wouldn’t blame you. either way, you didn’t even know her like he did, how could you get so worked up over that. and from what he could tell, the sunken look on your face, the exhaustion you were desperate trying to hide — you should’ve just stayed and let him fuck you. that’s why he’s here.

nonetheless, it didn’t matter how many circles sukuna thought himself into. his mind kept him awake for a majority of the night, unaware of your own thoughts that snuck into your dreams.

starting from this point on, it was a waiting game.

sunday morning arrives too quickly. the pill never fully pulled you under, but it softened the night enough for you to function, like applying a blur filter to a scene you didn’t want to watch in high definition.

shoko and utahime kept a close eye on you when you all went out for coffee. your movements were slightly sluggish, your reactions a bit delayed, and your emotions dulled. neither of them questioned it at first, considering how utahime was slightly hungover from last night, and shoko was chugging her coffee like it would quiet her nicotine addiction.

now, the three of you are camped out at the library long before noon, claiming your usual corner table with your notebooks, ipads and laptops out. the half-finished coffees surrounding you. the atmosphere is studious, but restless.

the calm before a week that’s about to devour all of you.

your eyes stay glued to the page, but your mind keeps cutting elsewhere…the argument, the pool, the drink spilled, the confrontation with the sorority president, her voice like ice against your spine.

you groan internally, despising how often the memory resurfaces, but you hate even more how sukuna is distracting you. you drag your pen across your notebook, trying to rewrite what you’d just been thinking before.

shoko yawns, mumbling something about regretting the drinks she had towards the end of the night. your pen freeze on the page. utahime’s eyes widen, noticing your sunken expression.

“hey,” she nudges you with her foot under the table, her expression sharper than her tone. “do you wanna talk about…you know?” she tries to soften her voice for you. shoko finally realizing what she’d said, her cheeks flushing, why’d she bring up the party!?

you glance between your friends, smiling, “i was just thinking about the meeting I had.” you notice both your friends fall quiet. eyes filled with pity. you laugh quietly, tone laced with rejection, tapping your pen on the table, “kinda embarrassing how I thought I’d actually get an internship—“

shoko’s brows pinch tight, “don’t say that. this happens to everyone. I didn’t get a thousand internships either. that shouldn’t be a direct reflection of your abilities,” shoko huffs, her mind still pounding from her hangover. but utahime nods along, just as serious.

“yeah, remember I told you, it could still be beneficial in the long run. everything happens for a reason,” her hand squeezes your forearm.

the sudden confidence in you pouring from your friends was…suffocating.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head. “yeah,” you mutter, the slight dejection in your voice completely going over your friends heads as they smile. neither of them realizing the amount of rejection you’re nursing. how their belief in whatever you wanna do in the future is making you feel even more insecure. why are you even trying to pursue something so hard? you should just keep your attention focused on your exams, and medical school….

utahime tries to read your distant expression, nibbling on her cheek. shoko and utahime exchange glances wondering if this was a good time. it was the selfish part of them that wanted to know.

“have you heard anything…?” utahime cuts the study session again. you glance up with a raised brow. “from him?”

your heart skips a beat, palms clammy and the instinctual eye roll was hard to control as you scoff. “that’s the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

“that’s good, what he did gave me the biggest ick ever,” shoko adds, with utahime nodding erratically.

“yeah you don’t need that type of energy around you. you definitely deserve someone better,” utahime’s firm words seem to hit you the wrong way as you sigh.

your eyes cut up to your friends, half lidded with a hint of irritation, “he was never my boyfriend. I don’t wanna explain this again.”

“we know we know, we’re just saying he’s just so ugh—“ utahime going into further detail about last nights events wasn’t helping your pounding headache and growing nausea.

meanwhile, across campus, sukuna wakes up like he’s been resurrected by bad decisions. his head splits first, then the world slowly loads around it.

he’s completely overslept. the frat house is unnervingly quiet, sunlight slicing through his blinds like a punishment. then he registers his phone’s nonstop vibration — notifications, tags, blurry photos, videos, comments he’ll never read.

a disgruntled groan leaves the beast as he lazily swipes through the notification on his lock-screen, then drops the phone on his chest with another groan. hundreds of messages. a thousand shitty reminders of last night.

but not a single notification from you.

the absence hits harder than the hangover. not dramatic, or poetic. just… noticeable.

you flip a page. sukuna rubs his temples. both of you brace yourselves without saying it out loud: exams start tomorrow, summer is close enough to smell, and the next week is going to feel a lot longer without the other to drown in.

a week of hell.

sunday was spent a majority in the library. utahime left towards the late afternoon after finishing her essays. she only has two finals this week — unlike you and shoko — I guess that’s the perks of being a fashion major, and business minor.

you, on the other hand, felt like every passing second studying was like you were crawling your way out of hell. your body was sinking and your mind was wandering. the food truck food between you and shoko was only keeping you alive, not satisfying your hunger.

either way, the next day is when things slowly began to fall apart. specifically after your first exam.

the monday sun hits the courtyard like a spotlight. everyone looks exhausted, a little dehydrated, and stressed as hell. you, shoko, and utahime are halfway through lunch when utahime freezes mid-scroll, eyebrows shooting up.

“what?” shoko sips her iced coffee.

uathime is almost pale, turning the phone to shoko. you glance up, noticing both their frozen reactions.

“woah, i wanna see,” you say, crawling before they can react. and of course—

the biggest sorority on campus — kappa phi pearl — posted multiple different party recap photos/videos of saturday’s mixer at delta alpha stride. except the recap is basically exposing everything in pink glitter.

“what the…” you lean over, eyes narrowing at the first slide of their third post.

front and center: a photo of their president, yorozu, drunk-grinning, breasts pushing out of her top, hands gripping sukuna’s collar, and mouth pressed to his in the kiss he clearly did not initiate that night.

a wave of nauseous crawls up your throat. his crimson eyes are half-lidded in the photo, one brow raised, hand already mid-motion pushing her off-frame, irritated. but seeing him kiss her again, had an unwelcome feeling twisting in your gut for the second time.

“why would they even post that?” utahime scoffs in shock.

your finger just swipes to the next slide: the fight.

sukuna is on the patio, wild hair damp under his backwards baseball cap, shirt drenched from yorozu’s spilled drink, veins sharp with anger, jaw tight like it was carved specifically to ruin lives. and his finger was pointing at someone off-screen.

“when was this?” shoko questions.

you lick your bottom lip, breath-controlled. “I think after she threw her drink at him and I walked back to you guys.”

the comments however were eating that slide up:

‘not him fighting the air again 😭’

‘anger issues from our captain!! moreee🫦🫦’

‘red flag but… like… smashhh😍’

‘what’s his @…for b-blocking purposes ofc🙈’

‘when was this?? i always miss the drama!’

shoko cringes at the comments, while you swipe to the next slide…and of course it’s a video of the pool, and you just happen to be falling into it at the same moment.

“you’re not even part of the sorority??” utahime exclaims in disgust. “why would they choose this video??”

“I guess because those sorority girls are dancing on the side,” shoko tsks. your brows furrow as you watch yourself. your soaked shirt clinging to your chest for all their followers to see. however the camera pans back to the sorority girls on the side, and they start….laughing.

“what the fuck?!” shoko and utahime’s shout, jaws slack in shock, including yours.

“wait guys…” you turn to them in disbelief. “are we in high school again?”

“that’s literally insane,” shoko’s dumbfounded. “why’re you catching strays?”

“no for real, what the hell??”

this can’t be real? you’ve never been apart of any drama in college because it was so easy not to be apart of it, unlike high school. but after one night, it seems like your luck has run out.

“I’m gonna report them,” utahime starts, shoko hums as your head drops back.

“they don’t even know my name, why would they even include that in their recap?” your voice is laced with annoyance.

utahime tsks, “forget about them, I’ll handle it, especially because I can say some shit about your shirt literally showing everyt—“ utahime stops herself. “and we’re definitely skipping suguru’s shitty pool party this week too.”

“and we still have so many exams,” shoko whines, immediately letting reality set as you lean back into the sun.

“this sucks,” you mutter, fingers picking at the grass. your eyes drift towards the library you’ll inevitably end up in later. there was nothing distracting you from the overwhelming doom of finals week…and now this drama, and you don’t have a buffer. no sukuna.

‘wait who is the pool girl???’

‘the chlorine knew what it was doing😩’

‘she fell in and still looked hotter than everyone’

‘surprised no one jumped in after her🥵’

sukuna’s blood boils with every comment he scrolls through.

the boys had sent pearl’s recap posts to the groupchat, and after gojo came crashing into the vp after his final. sukuna was forcefully shoved their instagram page in his face, to see the multiple recap posts. gojo is swearing up and down about the first recap post they uploaded, where it was multiple different videos of his humiliating apology, minus sukuna’s part, he was livid. all the while sukuna is immediately recognizing himself on the cover of the next recap post.

“what the fuck?”

sukuna stops in the middle of the sidewalk. grip tightening around gojo’s phone.

“yeah man, there’s a thousand fucking angles of this goddamn apology and—“

sukuna quickly pulls out his own phone, finally checking the notifications he’s been avoiding since yesterday.

“not that—why the fuck would they post this shit?” sukuna grits, jaw tense as he sees the photo of yorozu kissing him. the comments are a mess, different people wondering if their favorite tiktok influencer/ sorority president is dating this guy. people tagged him a million times in their now deleted stories. a couple other fraternities and sororities that were there that night, posting their own recap posts with the apology, the fight he had on the patio, or him falling in the pool.

the worst one was their were just as many random comments about you. even though many girls had jumped in the pool, it was seeing your nipples through your shirt that sent many into orbit. or that bored expression you had that had so many commenting about how nonchalant you looked completely drenched.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” sukuna swears, quickly swiping through all the photos. there were more of him randomly, and gojo. it was normal for a recap post, but their captions were beyond misleading.

“tell me about it,” gojo swears, arm crossed as he glares at his phone. his speech playing from the speaker. “why wouldn’t they add your part.”

sukuna scrolls through the group chat briefly.

“a lot of the sororities unblocked us though. but I can’t stand this humiliation,” gojo grits, ruffling his white hair as he glances around, then stops… “did you get any texts from,” gojo mutters your name cautiously.

sukuna freezes.

“haven’t checked. been studying since yesterday,” he mutters sharply, cutting any further discussion. gojo hums, rocking on his heels catching the vp’s attention. his brow cocks in irritation at his friend. “what?”

silence followed the one word question, but sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he noticed gojo glancing over his shoulder. nodding subtly in the direction.

it had been less than forty-eight hours since the night. however, the ugly pit that sank deep in his gut was immediately triggered by your presence on the courtyard.

you were laying on the grass beside shoko and utahime. eyes closed under the spring sun. your lips parting still talking to your friends.

the unexpected twist in sukuna’s chest left a bad taste in the back of his throat. the memories resurfacing in seconds as his jaw locks. you hadn’t texted him, or called, but he also hadn’t reached out either. why would he? you were accusing him of everything!

“i was gonna say hi,” gojo treads carefully, eyeing his friend for any reaction.

sukuna shrugs his backpack higher on his shoulder. his gaze sweeps over you again. the wind gently brushes your hair as you sit up on your arm. you’re pointing at utahime as you say something.

“I’m gonna gooo nooow….” gojo drags each syllable, taking slow steps onto the grass of the courtyard. his hands in his pockets as he looks back at his grumpy friend.

sukuna shoots him an unamused expression, lip curled in a scowl at the white haired man’s antics. “then go.”

gojo frowns, “you don’t wanna say hi to your girlfriend?”

the word immediately triggers the tatted man, the vein in his temple snaps. he shoots a sharp glare at gojo as he turns on his heel. “fucking dick.”

gojo laughs, running after his friend. “I’m kidding I’m kidding! you’re so sensitive!” he throws his arm over sukuna’s shoulder, just to be shoved off by said man.

unbeknownst to either of them, your eyes had drifted from utahime to the commotion a couple feet behind her. your expression dulled at the sight of the six foot so athlete. he looked offensively good for someone just walking out of a final. his jeans sit low on his hips, a clean black t-shirt stretched slightly over a frame built from a strict schedule and diet, and a backwards baseball cap that only makes him look more like a hot fratboy. the familiar plain backpack hangs off one shoulder, and his headphones are looped around his neck.

of course, you recognize the familiar white haired man walking beside him, oversized hoodie half-zipped, sunglasses on, grinning like he’s just said the most diabolical thing ever. he nudges sukuna’s shoulder while talking, but sukuna barely reacts, hands stuffed in his pockets, posture loose, steps slow and sure, like the courtyard parts a little just for him without him noticing.

you wonder if other people see him the way you do? wait—

“you wanna head to library now?” shoko cuts your thoughts, ripping your attention away from the retreating men.

“yeah let’s go,” you stand, ignoring the slight flush that dusts your cheeks when you notice shoko and utahime glancing back. both catching sight of the men you were looking at.

“oh,” utahime slips, eyes trying to meet yours, but you’re already walking in the opposite direction.

as stressful and chaotic the week has been, sukuna still attempts to let off some steam with a run after his exam.

spring is melting into summer, humid and merciless, and it shows on him: sweat-drenched shirt clinging to a torso carved by D1 soccer conditioning, athletic shorts riding high on his muscular thighs showing off the bands of ink that wrap around each thigh, calves glistening from the pump, and headphones peeling off his ears as he crosses the yard. his backwards cap never moves, casual, and infuriatingly attractive, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat running down his face— even cardio couldn’t shake the arrogance out of his silhouette.

he’s breathing hard, body and temper still calibrating back to baseline when he returns to the house like a quiet storm cloud. the door slams harder than intended, rattling the crooked banner the new pledge-turned-members half-hung for friday’s pool party.

the frat is anything but quiet as sukuna crosses the house stepping onto the patio to see a majority of the members hanging out in the hot weather studying, or fooling around.

“oh! captain how was your run?” a younger member, also apart of the soccer team comes up to the sukuna as he grabs an energy drink from the cooler.

“fine,” sukuna dryly replies, still lost in his mind when he notices one of the new members. the first-year is sitting on the outdoor couch, legs kicked up, sorting through the week’s mail like it’s arts and crafts. folders, packages, envelopes, junk flyers from ads… and one sleek black folder stamped with a foreign crest that makes sukuna freeze mid-sip.

the first-year doesn’t notice the silence curdling behind him. his fingers flip the folder open, careless and nosy, like a guy who’s forgotten he was a pledge just a week ago. sukuna knows that folder. the same way a wolf knows its territory. his name is printed on the front, bold, clean, important. the first-year squints at it like he’s trying to solve some puzzle sukuna never gave him.

“hey…you guys get folders like this often?” the kid says, voice a little too loud for someone who’s inches away from committing a crime.

sukuna moves before anyone can blink.

one second he’s across the patio, the next his shadow is towering over the first-year, swallowing the afternoon sun whole.

he suddenly rips the folder from the kid’s hands. it was primal. the paper crackles in his grip. a few of the frat brothers look up from their beer-less studying circles, from the pool cleaning equipment, from their phones, and immediately feel the air shift.

“the hell do you think you’re doing?” sukuna speaks, low and molten. no tremor or shout, but simmering control.

the first-year feels his stomach drop to his ass, heart racing as sweat builds on his forehead. “i didn’t—i was just— it thought it was an a-ad—“ he sputters excuses, but sukuna doesn’t hear a single syllable. the air around him sharpens as the members exchange glances. because sukuna snapping is normal. but sukuna grabbing a folder like it contains someone’s soul? that’s new.

they feel the warning signs lighting up one by one.

“don’t fucking open the mail,” sukuna spits, just as gojo is stepping out onto the patio, decked in his usual sunglasses,completely shirtless, and swim shorts hanging low on his hips, unashamed of the fresh hickey decorating his sharp v-line, or the scratches down his back, or the girl disappearing out the front door.

“what’s going on—“ gojo reaches for a juice box, then stops. his eyes catch the folder in sukuna’s hand, the air grows thicker. “oh shit.”

sukuna frowns, cutting the punishment he was about to inflict on the first-year short. he crosses the patio, passing gojo with a silent threat not to speak as he enters the house. but gojo isn’t one to listen to threats, as he follows the vp.

“yo, when’d they email you?”

sukuna ignores him, heading towards the stairs to his room.

“dude?! i thought you weren’t—“ gojo huffs when sukuna continues up the stairs, completely ignoring him. geto is stepping out of the bathroom freshly showered, towel held by one hand when he hears gojo shouting. “well i’m happy for you, asshole!”

geto raises a brow as sukuna passes him— immediately noticing the folder.

“oh shit.”

sukuna grits, jaw tensing.

“when is it—“ geto starts, just for sukuna’s door to slam in his face. geto looks down the stairs, making eye contact with gojo as the two exchange irritated looks due to their hot headed friend. “fuck is his problem?”

gojo throws his hands up in an exasperated shrug. “don’t know. he was the one giving me shit over winter break for getting in one.”

geto hums, brows furrowed, “he’s been a dick all week.”

“stop talkin’ shit outside my door!” sukuna snaps from his room.

back inside, sukuna drops the folder on his bed, his breathing is still, eyes sharp as if he can read the contents through the black concealment. his beefy arms cross in thought, his mind spiraling as he stares holes into the folder.

this is both the best outcome, and the worst possible timing ever.

sukuna snatches the folder ripping it open.

the days felt like centuries. every final felt like a part of your lifespan being sucked away. each moment spent studying something you know you’ll definitely forget, felt like absolute torture and humiliation. reading the same question on the exam, and remember studying that exact topic, but forgetting how to solve it, was just god laughing at you.

but the cherry on top was returning home wednesday night with most of your finals under your belt, only two left, but you were so lost in your mind that you couldn’t recognize the man standing beside a parked car, hand in his pocket talking on the phone.

your headphones blasted music that’ll definitely be the cause of your hearing loss in a few years. you unlock your apartment, shoulder dropping, letting your bag hit the ground, already feeling the exhaustion of the day building up behind your eyes, ready to cry in the shower—

“you’re here!” a loud squeal sends you flying ten feet in the air, just as a little four year-old comes crashing into you.

“what the—“ you stumble back, holding the little girl, keeping your balance as you glance up, wide-eyed. “when did you get here??”

standing just a few feet away was jennie, your older sister, aka. the person you trust the most in life, and your biggest op.

“we’re in the city for sami’s meetings, our flight leaves friday, did you not see him downstairs by the car?” jennie asks, crossing the tiny living room to reach you, her arms wrapping over your shoulders for a tight hug. “i tried calling you, but i guess you were still in class.”

“finals actually,” you mutter, arms loose around her frame, forehead dropping on her shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

your sister coos, squeezing you tighter before pulling away. “well i bought you some pastries.”

“i want some!” your niece, yazzy, huffs by your leg.

“you had some,” jennie picks her up as she steps further into the apartment. you quietly glance at the suitcase by the couch, along with nice dress your sister was wearing, a couple of yazzy’s toys were also lying around. “did you have dinner yet?”

you shake your head, following her to the kitchen.

“mommy got you spaghetti and chicken!” yazzy claps, as your sister laughs lightly, you smile.

“we got dinner for yazzy, i asked them to box some pasta for you too,” your sister pulls the box of food from the microwave to keep it warm. “i put the pastries over the fridge, to keep ‘em away from this one,” she pumps yazzy up on her hip for emphasis.

you sit at the small kitchen table, grabbing the box of pasta. “thanks, you didn’t have to get me so much food,” you cautiously glance at her as she sets yazzy back down. “are you guys gonna stay the night?” a small part of you twists at the thought, but you shove it down. “I have the air mattress too, so i can take the couch and you and sami can sleep in the room with yazzy since i need the lights on to study.

you sister picks at the table, still standing across from you avoiding your eyes, “favor?”

your frown.

she smiles, full of semi-guilt, “sami has another fundraiser, it started an hour ago…and i was wondering if you could watch yazzy for the night so i can go with him.”

“jen.”

“I’m sorry, i tried calling you all day, but you weren’t answering!”

“i had finals—“

“all day?”

“I was studying, I wasn’t checking my phone,” you huff, glaring at your sister. your throat constricts as yazzy makes noises a few feet away with her toys. the tv playing some cartoon. “you couldn’t get a nanny for the night?”

jennie glares back at you, the type that makes you roll your eyes, “you know I don’t like that.”

“but you can get a personal driver in a city you don’t even live in,” you bite back coldly.

her tongue clicks, “that’s completely different.”

“whatever,” you grumble, neither of you breaking eye contact, until she glances over your face again.

“you look dead.”

you frown, “it’s almost like it’s not finals week, exactly why I can’t watch yazzy.”

“I’m asking for one thing idiot. it’s her bed time anyways, let her sleep the night and I’ll pick her in the morning before your class—“

“final.”

“yeah, whatever,” jennie always has a way of getting under your skin in seconds, and the easiest possible way is making you feel like shit for saying no, especially to her. “dad was also telling me to check on you.”

your frown deepens, finally glancing away.

“asked me if I knew you weren’t taking your mcats this summer,” she drawls, you briefly glance for her reaction. “I told him I knew.”

“what the hell??”

she sighs, sitting in front of you, her arms cross, “I wasn’t going to lie if he directly asks. I just wanted to check on my baby sister—“

“don’t say that,” you cringe.

she laughs, “well I wanted to make sure you’re okay—“

“and dump your kid on me—“

“your niece, who you haven’t seen in awhile,” she cuts in coolly, because when is she not?

you gasp, “I literally saw you guys in the summer. sorry you didn’t feel like visiting over winter break.”

your sister waves you off, “well are you doing okay?”

“yeah, I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth, and your sister immediately narrows her eyes.

“I thought you were getting off the antidepressants?”

your jaw tenses, eyes narrowing harshly, “why’re you going through my stuff?”

“technically this is still my apartment—“

“your husbands,” you correct.

she brushes your comment, again, “the bottles are like empty.”

“dramatic much? there’s still a few left. I’m just taking them this week, literally not your problem,” you huff, regretting the fact that she knows about this part of you. she has a cruel way of throwing any secret you tell her, back in your face.

“well when you act like a snappy bitch then I’m not dramatic since you have such an attitude,” she coldly claps back.

your blood freezes, annoyance boiling up inside, “you’re so annoying,” you mutter, standing up, completely over this interrogation.

jennie’s eyes narrow as you grab your bag from the front door. “why do you always get so defensive? I’m just talking to you, and you always get so butt-hurt?”

“I’m not butt-hurt, I just hate the way you talk to me like I’m an idiot,” you roll your eyes, already feeling the face your sister makes when she’s irritated and ready to rip you apart. it was a face that you felt deep in your soul, you knew and hated it so much.

“more like sensitive,” she points. your eyes roll into the back of your skull. “ignoring me?”

“whatever, go. I’ll watch yazzy,” you snap, “you’re so annnoying,” you mutter, not low enough for jennie to miss it though. you toss your bag into your room, making the four year old glance back at you and her mom from the couch.

“maybe take another pill too cool the flip down then,” jennie says as she crosses the small apartment to yazzy, kissing her forehead. “be good to auntie.”

your arms are crossed, weight leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom, beaded curtain resting on your back as you watch your sister grab her purse, fixing her heels on. she glances up at you, matching your harsh expression with her own. “call dad. him nagging me is annoying as hell.”

“almost like that’s not my life every freakin’ week,” you snap coldly.

“alMosT liKe tHat’s nOt mY liFe evERy weeK,” she mimics. your blood pressure spikes in seconds, successfully rage baiting you like the perfect older sister. “night.” she disappears with an eye roll, door shutting behind her.

your head drops, mind pounding as you hear your four-year old niece singing in the living room.

your sister brought up dad in the worst possible time, because now you’re spiraling as you pull up your phone, tapping your dad’s contact to read the multiple messages he’s sent you since the last time you spoke to him at the library. not only was he sending you forms to fill out for the hospital, he was sending you other doctors contacts, and their kids contacts who are in med school now. fuck!

“can we watch a movie together?” yazzy cuts in from the living room. you glance over, the girl is smiling so brightly it was blinding, and quite exhausting, it was nearing nine at night and she was not looking close to being tired.

“yup, lemme shower real quick and we can watch.”

one movie led to another, then another, until the soundtrack of kpop demon hunters was playing on repeat in your head, especially because your niece keeps rewinding every song.

the overwhelming pit in your stomach grew larger. it was amusing to think you could study while also sitting with her. the music and her four year old voice singing along felt like pure torture. the headache grew into a twisting sensation in your temples, head dropping back on the couch.

you love her to death…but seriously…

“again, again!” she jumps in front of the tv as she rewinds the song to golden.

the looming shadow of tomorrow’s exam made you feel worse. your stomach began hurting with the anxiety of failure…

as the night grew, you had to forcefully shut the tv after the clock struck eleven. the four year old would not stay still unless you laid beside her until she fell asleep. but the second you left her on your bed to go back to the living room to study, she’d suddenly appear beside you again.

“yazzy,” you sigh, exhaustion seeping through your bones as you stand up carrying her back to bed.

“don’t leave,” she mutters under her breath, small hands clutching your shirt. “I can’t sleep alone.” you sigh in defeat, humming. praying this time she’ll actually fall asleep so you can slip away again.

however, your prayers, once again, are not answered.

instead, you feel the moment you close your eyes, they were opening again, but the sun was up.

you wake up disoriented, the kind of heavy confusion that comes from sleep you never meant to have. the bed is warmer than it should be, sunlight harsher than it has any right to be, and your niece is already awake, blasting the same movie from last night.

your heart jolts awake before the rest of you does. you blink once, twice, and then it hits you like a thousand pound brick: you passed out, halfway off your meds, and completely off your shitty schedule.

you launch yourself out of bed, as the world tilts. your eyes quickly look around stumbling out of your room, landing on the floor after tripping on one of yazzy’s toys, scrambling over to grab your phone off the coffee table.

yazzy follows you with her eyes, music blasting from the tv behind her like a soundtrack to your mental breakdown.

the screen lights up. 9:34 AM.

“fuck!”

your exam is at 10. campus is 20 minutes away on a good day. and you still need to walk to the station—maybe the bus is faster—

“that’s a bad word,” yazzy giggles, your brows crease, determined, albeit frazzled as shit. you stand up, senses sharper than they should be as you glance around the apartment like a crazy woman.

“mommy is not here yet?”

she shakes her head, sitting back on the couch, legs swinging as she looks at you standing in front of her.

you swallow thickly, not a single notification from your sister.

“I’ll pick her up in the morning,” you mutter under your breath.

you’re dialing before your lungs fully refill. it rings. rings again. you pace back n forth, glancing around your apartment. “come on, come on,” you mutter. your feet quickly grabbing your bag and shoving your laptop and random notes in, stuffing your keys and id in. you were failing to parent and student at the same time.

yazzy walks over, tugging your shorts. “I’m hungry,” she looks at the kitchen, your eyes folllowing.

fuck it, you quickly grab the box of pastries over the fridge ripping it open and handing her two pastries. “you wanna quickly change?”

you run as fast as you can grabbing some clothes from the suitcase your sister left for her and handing her the clothes to change while you grab socks for yourself, a zip up hoodie and a baseball cap.

“are we going?” yazzy’s confused as she pulls the clean shirt on, her pajamas on the floor.

“yup, mommy’s gonna meet us in front of my school,” you start walking out the door, niece in hand, and bag over your shoulder.

then finally, jennie picks up. music, chatter—of course, she’s at some other event.

“you said morning!” you hiss, whisper-yelling like the walls are judging you, racing down the stairs, “it’s morning so where the hell are you?!” you spit.

“I texted you to tell me when your class was, you didn’t answer,” she says coolly like your entire morning isn’t hell right now.

you can’t breathe, your heart was pumping in your ears, and your blood was on fire.

“I fell asleep,” you spit like it was her fault, which you’re unfairly putting on her, but you could care less. “my exam is at 10, I’m leaving the apartment now—“

“where’s yazzy—“

“she’s with me, I’m not a freaking idiot. so you better be in front of the arts and science building ten minutes before I get there,” you snap.

“okay,” she aggressively snaps back, hanging up on you.

your blood spikes, groan curdling up your throat as you squeeze your nieces hand, holding back a scream.

on the street, the spring heat slaps you again. sweaty toddler beside you, your bed hair hiding under a baseball cap, backpack half-zipped, phone trapped in your hand. you speed-walk like you’re being chased, heart racing, eyes darting. you can’t even tell if people are staring at the college girl dragging a toddler into the bus. but you know you look insane. you feel insane.

yazzy swings your linked hands happily, oblivious, giggling when you jog a little once you arrive at your stop. quickly exiting the bus, you cross the street faster. meanwhile, you’re spiraling — panic, rage, and anxiety.

you can’t think, you check the time on your phone every second a minute passes. yazzy is still blabbing about the movie, humming golden under her breath as you slowly start panicking once it reaches 9:57 and you don’t see jennie anywhere near your building.

you tighten your grip on yazzy’s tiny hand sprinting to the building, whispering a prayer that your sister arrives in the next minute or you might just kill her.

but it’s not until the clock strikes ten, does a slick black car pull up to the curb, your chest is heaving from running and the hot morning sun. while your sister steps out of the backseat, composed as can be.

“mommy!” yazzy smiles, running to her mom the second you take a step towards her.

“hi baby,” jennie easily scoops up the little girl, eyes flicking up to you with guilt as you step back. “thanks, and you didn’t tell me what time last night so you can’t blame me—“

“whatever,” you snap, turning quickly to run into the building, not having a single second to spare as you run up the flight of stairs to your lecture hall.

you’re praying that your professor hasn’t closed the doors yet, and maybe you shouldn’t have, because the moment you step into the lecture, a sheer layer of sweat clinging to your skin, and chest heaving in your pajamas. you’re realizing you’re not ready for this exam at all.

nonetheless, you quickly mutter an apology to your professor, quickly grabbing the first available seat as the exams are being passed throughout the lecture hall.

the quiet shuffles and scribbles of pen on paper fill the lecture hall as the exam commences.

with the morning you’ve had, you have to read each question thrice before you’re able to even attempt at answering the question.

unbeknownst to you, a familiar frat boy is sat three rows back. his pink hair just as unruly as his appearance. however, the second he sees you storming into the lecture hall, along with two other people that were late, he feels completely uneasy.

maybe it’s because there was an empty seat beside him. or that shoko hadn’t greeted him when she took her seat a few rows back, hiding from any TA’s. but seeing you again since the courtyard, left that unfamiliar twist in his gut again. the one that clenched up in concern seeing your flustered state as you came running in.

his mind was internally screaming. forcing every braincell to focus on the exam in front of him. ignoring everything else.

the thudding in your chest doesn’t seize until the last ten minutes are left, and you’re going back to the questions you left blank, quickly scribbling down a guess before standing up and handing your exam to a TA.

the weight of the morning hasn’t fully set in once you step out into the spring heat.

did shoko finish already? in your alert state, you’d completely ignored everything around you, so it’s possible shoko had finished and left or is still in there. either way, your head tilts back, allowing the morning sun to grace your face. the buzzing in your bag suddenly starts again pulling you a frown from your lips.

then you feel a shadow.

your heart skips a beat. your lashes flutter softly, glancing up at the source. and you hate yourself. truly. your stomach twists and churns in confusion, and your throat feels tight and dry at the sight of him.

“what happened to ya?”

there was a softness to his casual tone. his own appearance wasn’t impressive, looking like he’d rolled out of bed too. however, his eyes didn’t look like a damn that was about to burst just from a single touch, like yours. but it did look like he’d melt between your fingers the moment you meet his eyes. he swallows thickly, holding his breath when you glance away, shrugging…then your hand slowly comes up to your face, thankful for your baseball cap now.

“I’m just…” you swallow. “that was hard.”

sukuna hums, fingers cautiously reaching for your wrist. index finger caressing the bracelet around your wrist.

“i guessed on like…all of it,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes to hold back your exhausted tears.

sukuna could feel his heart thudding against his chest. the events and unwelcome fight you’d had last weekend quietly haunts his mind like a silent cloud, unsure if it’ll turn into rain, or get winded away. the bags under his eyes were similar to yours, clearly pulling an all nighter to study for the exam. but the tugging in his chest, wouldn’t stop, even when you brushed a finger in the creases of your eyes.

“how bad do i look?”

he blinks, eyes locked before he looks over, giving you a shrug. “not too bad.” his hand gently tips your cap back to get a look at your face. “you do have some dried drool here,” he lightly taps your cheek, an amused snort leaving his lips.

“seriously?” your hand comes up quickly, face hot as you lick your thumb and rubbing it off. “so embarrassing,” you mutter.

even after the exam, the heaviness that weighs down on your shoulders doesn’t disappear. and sukuna towering in front of you only stirred an unknown feeling inside you that you’re not ready to address. especially when he’s still playing with your bracelet, then your necklace, thumb brushing your collarbone, as he takes a deep breath.

“where’re ya heading now?” he asks, tone gruff, but slightly soft around the edges.

“to shower, then come back and study,” you glance over your shoulder. “don’t know if shoko finished yet—“

“y’still have another exam later?”

you shake your head, “tomorrow morning is my last one.” sukuna quietly nods, gaze still on your chest. “do you have any exams left?”

he nods, “last one is tomorrow too.”

the air quietly shifts, neither of you wanting to address the elephant in the room. his aura is silent, like a resting beast, unsure if you should wake him up or not. your heart picks up at the silence as another beat passes between you, when you hear chatter from a group beside you. your brows scrunch, overhearing a couple sentences.

“is that the captain?”

“I thought he was dating yoro?”

sukuna gaze darkens, the two of you glance at the group of sorority girls, with their similar bright colored outfits. his sharp brows scrunch, the tattoos on his face seem much more intimidating. especially when you feel that ugly twist in your stomach again, along with the prickles of disgust.

your casual step back automatically draws sukuna’s attention back to you. his hand slips from your wrist as you suck in a sharp breath.

sukuna frowns, frustration quickly boiling up like his cup has been steadily rising since the mixer. his temper has never been his best quality. “don’t just—“ he starts, cutting himself short when you start walking away.

sukuna easily follows you, hand brushing your back, before standing in front of you. “just tell me if the deals over.” he stares into you, cornering you. “your fuckin’ choice.”

the sun beats down, heat stinging as sweat trickles down his forehead.

“why am i being put on the spot?” you mutter, embarrassment crawling up your spine as you glance away.

“y’er the one that caught an attitude, ignoring me tellin’ me not to touch you,” he claps back, immediately pushing your buttons as your eyes shoot up to him.

“me?!”

sukuna rolls his crimson eyes, snarl pulling at his lips, “just tell me if ya still want this deal.”

“it sounds like you don’t want it anymore since you think I’m treating you like my boyfriend, which I never ever wanted” you throw his words from the mixer back in his face.

“that’s not what I meant when I said it,” he spits, neither of you addressing your pounding headaches, or the twists in your chests every time the other responds with the same cruelty and lack of empathy.

you shrug sarcastically, “well it’s hard understanding anything since you’re the one that caught the attitude, and just started yelling at people.”

sukuna can hear his brain pounding against his ears. the blood pumping through his strained veins, grip tightening around the strap of his backpack. his eyes narrow, glancing over the flush across your face caused by the heat, the slight rising of your chest, and the gloss that shines across your lips.

“you didn’t answer the fuckin’ question,” he seethes between clenched teeth.

you frown. heart pounding.

do you still want this agreement?

after everything, and the rise in blood pressure he’s been the source of, the added stress from his drama. all of it was just a big. fat. headache.

…but is it bigger than the one you’ve already been nursing. with classes, assignments, medical school, jennie, dad…

was sukuna making it worse…or is he something else?

you swallow thickly, glancing over his features. for a big man, he was radiating exhaustion, like he’d fall over with a small push. the intimidating scowl on his face couldn’t fully mask the uncertainty behind his eyes. something you couldn’t fully read either way, but pray he’s more sure when your lips part, “do you still want it?”

sukuna is a cold man. his walls built up like steel, and reach the sky. you barely see a shift in his expression, if there is any, when you throw his question back.

“seriously?” he grits, low…unsure.

his gaze doesn’t leave you. his eyes quietly track down your figure as his mind rewires. it was difficult to form concrete thoughts about you. his emotions have always been scattered, it was the same reason he avoids relationships. the unpredictability and responsibility it adds, was not something he needed in his life right now.

however, you rarely, if ever, bring that level of stress to him.

you were nosy, but nothing compared to the craziness he’s had the displeasure of being with. you were also gentle when you’re alone, even more gentle when you’re tired. your hands are soft when they touch him, your body is even softer when he’d caress you when he’s deep inside. your stamina is surprisingly impressive, and you can handle him — at least in bed.

the agreement was working.

you were his perfect drug. no responsibility, no guilt. and yet, he’s ignoring the truth in this feeling. the one that physically forms into a twist in his chest.

his tone is stern, “I asked first.”

the perfect outlet was starting to slip through your fingers, but you couldn’t admit it first. not because you didn’t want him at the drop of a hat, but because you couldn’t form a solid opinion on the man. it was a rollercoaster of emotions, and you’re not even sure how to have a conversation about a non-relationship deal—

your thoughts cut, flinching at the loud horn.

sukuna steps back in surprise, arm immediately in front of you, pushing you back with him, away from the crub. a car suddenly pulls up beside you.

“what the fuck—“

the swears are ready to spill from his mouth, cursing off the crazy ass driver and the honking — until you push his arm aside.

“sorry,” you huff, an unfamiliar tone reaching your voice as you quickly walk towards the car, anger stirring behind your eyes. “I have to go.”

sukuna is completely frozen, silently watching you disappear into the SUV, barely catching sight of another woman in the car with you before its speeding away.

“what the fuck?”

sukuna was left completely in the dust, and the worst possible solution to his unaddressed, bubbling anger, is allowing his teammates to drag him out to the bar that same night.

a majority of them have finished their finals, and wanted to finally celebrate the end of the season. they’d invited coach toji, but he declined, something about his son. either way, the division one soccer team packed into the crowded university bar and started a line of shots. a game was playing over the bar, as men and students shout as they drink.

sukuna knocked back the first shot without ceremony, but without resistance either. the liquor scorched a straight line down his throat, a familiar heat he could manage. his teammates hollered around him, already halfway to tipsy after the second round, but sukuna remained unnervingly steady like a rock in a river.

he enjoyed the team like this, uncomplicated, unfiltered, alive. he knew his role without having to explain it.

more of the team poured into the bar, shouting his name from across the bar. sukuna barely juts his chin in acknowledgment, the cold exterior familiar to the soccer players. they knew the type of person their captain was. they’d witnessed him roaring on rainy fields, bleeding for wins, screaming tactics until his voice cracked. they knew the passion burned in their captain. it was the reason he was their captain and not their ace (debatable) gojo, who flaunts his talents almost every match.

speaking of the devil. gojo slides into the booth after his fourth shot, already flushed, already buzzing, and immediately launches into pool-party planning.

“do we seriously have to talk about this now?” The goalie, and also a senior member of the frat, groans.

“yes! it’s tomorrow, and it has to be banger so people will forget that shit I said last weekend!” gojo screeches, pulling at his beautiful snowy locks, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “people,” he hiccups, cheeks flushed, “people have been coming up to me, telling me about my small dick—I don’t have a small dick!”

laughs echo across the table.

“it’s not funny!” gojo snaps.

“like that’s stopped any girls from sleeping with you this week,” geto snorts.

“that’s not the point, it’s about my reputation,” gojo seethes. he then proceeds to dive in full, halfway through the night, assigning tasks to anyone who breathed in his direction. “kegs, ice—someone handle buying the drinks,” he said, waving a hand dramatically, then pointing at sukuna without hesitation. “captain, you’re on beer duty,” gojo assigns with a hiccup.

sukuna exhales through his nose. trying to keep himself neutral, but internally, something twitched. he didn’t mind picking up the liquor. he minded being volunteered without warning. worse, the other members on the team and frat perked up, sensing opportunity, already piling on other drinks onto him like they were offerings to a volcano they didn’t realize was active. this was supposed to be a relaxing night.

geto watched the exchange, swirling the condensation on his glass. he didn’t comment, but he didn’t need to. the tension was already sitting between them like a fourth player at the table—quiet, coiled, inevitable.

sukuna’s gaze drifted upward toward the bar TVs again. A striker missed a penalty on screen, the crowd groaning in collective agony. sukuna felt the moment like a physical blow, fingers tightening around his glass. soccer was the only place his emotions were allowed to be big. everything else had to fit into a smaller container. and you weren’t here to fill the silence between those containers anymore.

that was the real problem.

the argument from earlier kept looping in his head, uninvited. the team celebrated around him, blissfully unaware that his world had narrowed down to one question: did you still want this deal, or was it just him clinging to a distraction that suddenly was biting back?

the bar was loud now. not celebratory loud—chaotic loud. most of the students on campus that finished their exams packed the bar. his team was scattered across tables, sukuna tried to escape gojo’s rambling to the other end of the raised tables, stool screeching the ground only for the president to follow, yapping more as he bought more drinks.

multiple conversations were overlapping. one teammate argued about grades, another about summer tournaments, and gojo, gloriously unbothered by anyone’s internal climate, kept directing traffic like a drunk general who assumed everyone was on the same page.

sukuna’s jaw ticked. a micro-movement. a seismic warning sign the team would’ve noticed on any other day, but they were too drunk, liberated from exams and wanting to celebrate, oblivious to the pressure rising in their captain.

sukuna was growing more irritated by the second, people behind him brushing his back occasionally to get through the crowded bar. his grip tightens around his glass, his forearms flexed. still no outburst yet, but he could feel the air slowly bend around him.

then someone bumped into him. hard.

it wasn’t a brush. not accidental shoulder contact. it was a full-body collision.

the drink in sukuna’s hand lurched outward, sticky liquid splashing across his shirt, jeans, and lap before he could blink. the table shook on impact.

the bar was still in full motion, unaware of the beast they just woke, except for a few teammates who went dead silent.

the liquid soaked into fabric of his clothes. ice cubes skittered off the table.

then he stood up.

the scrape of the stool against the wooden floor was like a gunshot.

and the cord on his temper snapped.

without a second thought, or warning. sukuna lunged at the perpetrator, a completely shitfaced grown man, but sukuna just saw red. his fist connected with a violent crack that made the entire bar collectively flinch.

“woah!” one person yelled, multiple people stepping back causing a few chairs to topple.

“sukuna, chill—” but the sentence never finished. the team surged up, not to join the fight, but to contain the scene. but sukuna was already grabbing the man’s collar, sending another punch straight to his face.

the guy he hit, staggers back into another table. glasses shattering as more people scramble, cursing sukuna out. but a circle formed instantly, the universal draw that a fight brings.

“fuck is your problem?!” the man shouts at sukuna, wiping blood from his lip.

“watch where the fuck you’re going pig,” sukuna bites, chuckling darkly the second the man lunges at him. his core tightens maintaining a little ground before he’s raising his elbow, driving it down onto the man’s shoulder making him cry out in pain. “fucking piece of shit!” sukuna aggressively shoves him off, knee driving into the man’s rib, just in time for geto to grab sukuna

it didn’t fully stop him, but it shifted his balance enough for the rest of the team to wedge themselves between him and the other man crying in pain.

“get the fuck off me!” sukuna tried to shrug geto off, but two other teammates are holding him back alongside the black haired man.

sukuna’s vision is narrowed on the guy who made the mistake of bumping into him when everything thing around him was already picking at his nerves. his temper, way past his control, was now sparking due to his drunken stupidity.

the bar staff rushed in. “out. all of you! NOW!” a bartender barked, pointing at the door like some referee.

sukuna wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing heavier now.

“fucking kick these pricks out, they started it!” the man shouts, pointing at sukuna and his teammates.

sukuna waves his arm in front of him like a mad man reeling for another go. “you’re fuckin’ bitchass is slamming into everyone and can’t fuckin’ take a punch when you’re asking for it!” sukuna barks like a rabid dog.

“dude, you’re gonna get us banned!” yuno tries to cut, but sukuna isn’t hearing it.

“If ya want us kicked out, come kick us out y’rself!” sukuna baits him.

but the bartender is already grabbing the phone dialing the cops. that’s when gojo seems to blink at geto and the other drunk members quickly step in like a team.

“we’re out,” geto and the team shove sukuna further away, dragging him out of the bar before the cops arrived.

the bar door slams behind them.

it was difficult for sukuna to cool down afterwards. the adrenaline of the bar fight pumping his veins alive, chest heaving as they all continued the celebration/planning at the frat. but sukuna was busy drinking, the stinging down his throat numbing his thoughts.

“dude, you wanna be hungover for your exam?” yuno cuts in, watching his captain reach for another beer.

“nothing new,” sukuna mutters, slightly off balance as he stands, heading up stairs. his knuckles were cut from the few punches he’d thrown at the bar, but he could barely feel it with the amount of alcohol in his system.

the events of the week all accumulated to friday.

the end of the year pool party.

everybody off from exams. well in a few hours. sukuna was beyond hungover, pounding headache waking him up in time to review a couple notes before heading to his exam. his eyes silently glance at the black envelope on his desk, the familiar crest sending chills down his spine.

“don’t forget to buy the drinks for tonight!” gojo shouts from the kitchen, pouring a very sugary flavored cereal into a bowl.

sukuna mutters in acknowledgment.

summer was right around the corner, and the quiet anxiety building inside him was a clear sign that something was going to happen.

his mind was in the clouds as he went through the motions of the day. his eyes read each question, memory luckily intact as he answered the open ended questions. his legs carried him to the TA like a robot, eyes cold as he handed his last blue book exam of the year.

even as he stuffed his face with a turkey sandwich, chugged an energy drink before hitting the gym, showered in the locker-rooms like he was scrubbing a layer of skin, all of it felt like he was on autopilot.

and the only thing that managed to snap him back to reality was spotting you across campus hopping on the bus.

he’d just stepped out of the gym, when he saw you. it was another hour until the party. his jaw clenched reaching for his phone as he quickly pulled up your messages, the bus is pulling off the curb as he taps your number.

waiting for you to pick up felt like hell.

but once you did, the weight on his shoulders felt just a pound lighter.

“hello?”

sukuna scratched his jaw, he hadn’t thought about what he was going to say when he called. it was all just a domino affect now. “hey.”

you’re silent for a moment. “you need something?”

he clears his throat, walking towards the liquor store off campus. “was thinking about our convo yesterday…”

you shift on the bus seat, “what about it?” you don’t mean to sound dry, but you can’t help it, not when he’s being so vague.

“can we continue it?”

your throat feels dry, clearing it as you glance out the window, nail picking at your jeans. “you finished your exams?”

“yeah. i’m grabbing drinks for the party righ’ now. can we talk when you get here later—“

“I’m not going to the party.”

sukuna’s face twists, “why? you get free entrance, and free drinks—“

“and free drama?” you quickly retort, inhaling sharply. “yeah, i’ll pass on the end of the year bitch fits.”

“there won’t be any drama,” sukuna grimaces with annoyance, stepping into the liquor store. “everyone is celebrating.”

“have you not been on social media?” you accuse, “i don’t even use insta that much, so it’s weird as hell getting posted on some influencer’s sorority page.”

sukuna’s jaw ticks, “she’s fucking crazy. that shouldn’t be surprising—”

“ryo.”

the warning in your tone just sets the man off. “what? y’er acting like it’s my fault,” sukuna aggressively shoves the drinks into the cart, “I’ve had her blocked for a year—“

“dude, relax, we’re just talking,” you huff on the other line, his aggression quickly dissipating.

he tsks, rolling his eyes, “whatever, I can’t fuckin’ ditch the party so if y’er not gonna come then—“ beep

you hung up.

“what the—“ WHAT THE FUCK?!!!!

everything was red from that point onwards.

his knuckles cracked in pain as he stormed out of the liquor store. blood pumping in his ears when he tossed the drinks into the uber. anger clouding his vision as he stood at the entrance of the frat. and full blown aggression when he’d kick men out of the party for trying to bypass the entrance fee.

but even with him as a rabid guard dog running security at the front, the party was alive in under thirty minutes. music blasting off the walls, lights flashing inside and outside the house, and people already jumping off the roof flipping into the pool. it was five times bigger than the mixer the previous week, almost everyone on campus knew which frat party they were heading too.

it was the perks of being an infamous athletic fraternity, everybody knew who they were— they were either fans of the athletes on the field or court, or wanted to fuck them. or they would rather be at a party with the biggest fraternity and most exclusive house on campus.

either way, half the campus is packed into the house.

gojo was trying not to get drunk, avoiding every single drink that’ll immediately have him flushed and slurring, all so he can clean up his reputation.

“is utahime not coming?” yuno asks, the central midfielder, and non-frat member, glancing at gojo and geto for an answer.

geto shrugs, “shoko ain’t ‘ere either,” he looks over the crowd, spotting sukuna at the front, sharp brows pulled tight as three sorority girls surround him, manicured fingers pointing at him with anger. “ya think that’s why he’s all pissed and not because someone isn’t here?”

gojo and yuno look over at their captain. it was clear the sorority girls are hounding the short-tempered frat boy.

“uh-oh,” gojo steps down. “should we—“

suddenly a loud thud shakes the house. everyone sharply turns at the source, which came from their vp slamming his palm into the doorframe, smoke coming from his ears.

“he’s not—“ yuno quickly runs after gojo and geto as they push through the forming crowd.

“I’m not dating y’r fuckass friend, so none of you are getting in here without paying the fee!” sukuna barks, blocking the kappa phi pearl girls from entering, a line beginning to form behind them.

“so you kiss her and try to ride off her fame then?”

“yall posted that shit not me!“ sukuna snaps, just as his friends reach him. “I don’t need shit from your psycho president—“

“woah ladies!” gojo laughs, stepping between his friend and the girls. “what’s going on here?”

sukuna tsks, glaring at the girls, knowing exactly who sent them here. “sororities are supposed to go in for free, but your dog isn’t letting us in,” one girl huffs.

sukuna’s glare cuts through them, their eyes quickly darting away from his face. gojo laughs, pushing sukuna further into the house, “yes well,” gojo licks his teeth, his own anger bubbling remembering their recap posts. “that’s with the sororities we have good faith with,” he shrugs dramatically, “and well…yours isn’t one of em.”

geto snorts beside his friend, as yuno takes a step away. definitely not wanting to get mixed up in his teammates fraternity drama.

“but our president is dating your vp—“

“for fucks sake,” sukuna shoves gojo, storming out of the party.

the anger of an entire week curdled in his gut like something spoiled and fermenting. even though finals are over, the relief never came. instead rumors are starting to flood across campus and now these parties only seem to be a big headache, especially because it finally marks the end of the semester and now summer looms. which means facing everything he’s been putting off….his step-mom. choso’s attitude. family ghosts. and conversations he’d rather swallow glass than have.

the warmth in the air feels mocking, like the world was laughing at him as he unravels.

the subway ride is torture in motion. every stop gives him another second to think, and every second sharpens the anger instead of dulling it. the kappa phi pearl recap posts flash in his mind, that unbearable smirk of the sorority president pressed against his mouth in pixels, already pushing the rumors around him like poison. like comments he’s been checking everyday just to see more and more people sexualize your fall, as if he isn’t staring and screen-recording the video.

then the black folder that sits in the back of his brain, heavy. something that could crack his life in half and he hates that it exists. hates that it’s something that’s come now, forcing him to decide.

by the time he emerges from the station, the city feels alive. city lights still humming, late-night cars passing, and people walking in and out of restaurants and bars.

he walks fast, face stern, eyes sharp, his hair is damp from the heat, shirt sticking to him, the picture of masculine calm to anyone who doesn’t know better. but he was burning inside.

his phone is already in hand when he turns the corner. there’s no greeting, no softness, just a single text sent to you reading:

I’m five minutes away.

he wasn’t asking a question, or for a request. he was deciding. you were the one thing that worked, the one thing he could crash into, the only place the anger ever went and came back quieter. and now he needs it again.

needs you again.

even if he’d rather twist it around and torture himself than admit what that churning in his chest really means.

he has tunnel vision. he pays no mind to the couple strapping their daughter in the suv outside your building, or the glances they give him as he buzzes your apartment repeatedly, until the door finally clicks, and he’s whisking himself inside, door slamming behind him.

“did that man buzz her apartment?” jennie looks at her husband, brow raised. sami glances back at the door, sukuna’s figure disappearing further into the building.

he shakes his head, “don’t think so.”

jennie frowns, eyes narrowed, “you sure?”

“yes, cmon we have to get to the airport,” sami ushers his wife into the back of the car, “you were talking to her for awhile,” he adds, a bit agitated at the rushing.

jennie shrugs, door closing behind her husband as she looks out the window. “I don’t think she’s coming home for the break now,” she mutters as sami signals the driver to go.

sukuna doesn’t wait for the elevator. he heads up the stairs. six flights between him and the one place he’s already decided he’s going. his lungs burn from the run, his legs ache from the week, but anger is his only fuel. halfway up, he’s practically jumping steps, taking them two, three at a time, hands barely grazing the rail. and by the sixth floor, he shoves the stairwell door open.

your apartment door appears at the end of the hall like a finish line. he doesn’t stop to breathe. or think. knuckles connect with wood rapid and heavy. the hallway is quiet except for the ringing impact in his ears, until your door finally clicks open.

he sucks in sharp breath once you come into sight. and a sight you were. heat crawls up his chest in seconds.

“thanks for the warning,” you sarcastically huff, unaware of the night he’s had, or him yours.

but he doesn’t care, shoving your bratty attitude aside, “can we talk now?”

“you couldn’t have texted me earlier?” your brows pinch, glancing over him. he was completely out of breath, broad chest heaving under his shirt.

“I texted you,” he cuts, not processing his mistakes at all. you swallow a thick lump, allowing him inside, with a sigh. the door shuts behind him. sukuna kicks his shoes off, following you inside as you pick the toys still on the ground. the tv paused on some cartoon. “did you have someone over?” he picks up a princess sippy cup off the counter.

“yeah. they also came uninvited, like you,” you mutter coldly, tossing the sippy cup into the sink. his jaw ticks, eyes tracking down your figure, eyeing your ass as you bend down to pick up a few more toys. your shorts ride up, hugging that ass of yours so deliciously.

“you said you didn’t wanna talk at the party,” sukuna grumbles, glancing away once you stand again.

“true,” you toss the toys into a bin in the closet.

you clear your throat, chest hot as you glance at the big man. his hard exterior was beyond intimidating, especially when you can see he’s clearly wound up. “you go first,” you say kicking the blankets off the couch allowing him to sit. but you sit on the coffee table in front of him, his eyes briefly glancing at your plush thighs as they push against the surface.

“I asked you a question yesterday and you ditched me, then you fucking hang up on me today,” he huffs, arms crossed and thick thighs spreading.

damn he’s so hot, you avert your gaze, “the first one wasn’t my fault, and the second one was because you were getting angry—“

“of course I’m angry, we were talkin—“

“dude, seriously stop yelling!” you huff, sharp breath escaping your lungs in exasperation.

sukuna couldn’t handle any of it. his emotions are raging inside him like a typhoon, and you were right in front of him. “what do you want?” he cuts, coldly, sitting up. “do you want the sex still? because I do. it’s been pissing me off all week that we’re not fucking.” your cheeks flush, heart thudding quicker. “but you’re the one that’s pissed so do you wanna add another condition or cut the whole thing?”

your jaw tightens, glancing between his crimson eyes. “no kissing other people,” you say, taking a breath to clarify. “like you can, I don’t care about that. It’s more the person. I don’t want any drama with your sororities, especially with some influencer and if you still wanna have sex or whatever with them, then yeah, I wanna end it.”

sukuna nods, jaw ticking, “I didn’t ask her to kiss me, by the way.”

“seriously,” your eyes narrow in annoyance. sukuna tsks, sitting on the edge of the couch, coming closer to you. “I don’t care.”

“you do,” he pokes, “just say it. i know you think i kissed her back—“

“because you did,” you snap, standing up in anger, but, his hand clutches your wrist pulling you back down with a cute yelp.

“it was an accident,” he spits like venom, but his jaw ticks, and he continues. “but yeah, no kissing other people—“

“that’s not—“

“so deal is still on?”

your jaw ticks, eyes flicking over his face, blood flowing loudly in your ears, as you glance at his wet lips, the crease between his thick brows, his narrowed eyes, his face so close to yours—

“yes.”

your lips crash onto his.

his surprised hum easily morphs into a hungry growl. his legs push up to stand, hands immediately pulling your shirt off. your hands quickly shove your pants and panties down as he unbuckles his belt unzipping his jeans. he groans as you distract him, hands peeling his shirt off, shoving him back on the couch climbing on top.

you were fully naked, while he was still half dressed. his calloused palms easily gravitating down your waist to grab your ass squeezing. he swallows your moan as you start rocking on his bulge sticking out of his unzipped jeans.

“fuck, you’re so good,” he husks, voice dropping an octave as he grabs your ass, kneading the flesh, before he sinks a finger inside you from behind. “y’er fuckin’ soaked baby,” his laugh is hoarse against your lips, the carnal sound sends shivers down your spine and another wave of hot arousal pools between your legs. “gonna stretch this pussy out?”

“yeaah,” you moan, the soft sound he’s been yearning to hear for days. “need you so bad, ryo,” you coo into his lips, panting softly as you kiss him. your mind slowly begins to quiet. your only thoughts are of him. his lips, his hands, his touch, his voice—

shit. his jaw slacks, hips bucking as his mouth opens wider for you, tongues messy as they collide.

your vision grows hazy in seconds. choking on whines as he pumps two fingers into your sopping cunt, unbothered by the wetness that stains his pants as you tremble above him. your nails rake through his pink locks, the other flat on his chest panting into his mouth.

“need me so bad?” he repeats, tongue hanging out as you start lapping it like a needy touch-starved puppy. you’re perfect. he curls his fingers inside you, pressing against your gummy walls, arm keeping you firmly against his chest as you arch into him. the aggressive pump of his fingers earns a pitched whimper from your pretty lips. “you’re fallin’ apart and we just got started, ya shouldve texted me first,” there’s a slight clip in his tone, one that has you grabbing his jaw aggressively.

your lips hover over his, brows pressed tight, all the while he’s got his middle and ring finger shoved up your pussy, stretching you open. your quiet aggression pours onto your tongue, “i didn’t wanna kiss you after that bitch shoved her tongue down your throat.” your fingers squeeze his sharp jaw, manicured nails digging into his skin leaving crescent marks. “didn’t want her sloppy seconds.”

his eyes are lidded, pupils dilating as he looks between your heated orbs. you were fully unclothed and completely vulnerable on top of him, and his cock is twitching violently at your attitude. especially one that so easily gets under his skin in the most allusive way imaginable.

“what’re you doin’ now then?” sukuna bounces his thighs making you jump on his lap, tits bouncing at the movement. “lickin’ up her sloppy seconds?”

your spit collects in your mouth as you lean further up. your manicured thumb gently caressing his bitten lips, tugging the bottom lip down. his jaw slacks with ease, a glint in his eyes as he watches you closely.

“I’m cleaning you.”

was all you say then a glob of spit falls directly into his mouth.

fhhuuck…..a throaty groan escapes the man’s chest, fingers sliding out of your pussy. grabbing your ass as he feels your spit slide down his tongue. his hips buck up violently, throat bopping as he swallows.

“more,” he rasps.

your lips curl, smashing your lips again. this time he lets you take control, lets your tongue invade his mouth, lets you rinse him of whatever residue you imagined that bitch left on him.

you were the best drug. some anomaly on his lap, bare skin warm against his, and sukuna is unraveling with a hunger that feels humiliating in how total it is. his hands are everywhere at once, your waist, your spine, the back of your neck. chest hot with how you’re consuming him. he’s gripping you like he’s memorizing your touch again, like you might evaporate if he doesn’t keep contact. his kisses meet yours with just as much fever, teeth grazing your lip just enough to make you inhale sharply against his mouth. the sound goes straight to his cock, bucking up as you hump him quicker, syrupy pussy soaking his boxers through his open fly.

you’re addictive, and now he can’t put you down.

your scent should be calming, but it just felt intoxicating in its gentleness and warmth. he buries his face in the curve of your shoulder for half a second, breathing you in like he’s stealing air as you catch your breath. “you smell so good,” he leaves open mouthed kisses along your neck, dragging his mouth back to yours.

every wet, hungry kiss leaves him more gone than the last, more irritated at himself for the lack of resistance. even when he’s losing it, you’re sitting there completely naked on him like you know exactly what you’re doing.

but you don’t.

the worst part is, you feel the same way.

you hate how easily you fit against him. how right he feels. how little effort it takes for you to want more of him, not realizing how little resistance he’s giving you in return.

the week has shredded both your nerves, but right now none of that exists. not finals, step-moms, futures, grudges, or pride. there’s only your mouth on his. your body pressed into him like a solution he doesn’t deserve, and his restraint finally snapping.

“haah fhuck, keep rocking y’er hips,” he husks kissing you harder, deeper, like he’s drowning and you’re the tide. his palm slides down your spine to hold you flush against him. perky tits pressing into his firm pecs, hips rolling harder up as you hump his bulge, whimper slipping out.

there was no softness from him, no sweetness, just pure masculine desperation. consumption that says more than any confession ever could, and your body was speaking the same language.

your hands drag up and down his arms, hands squeezing his bulging biceps, threading through his hair tugging, until you’re panting erratically, lips parting in an silent moan as you unravel softly from the aggressive humping. sukuna hums in satisfaction, lip curling into a devilish smirk as he cracks a hard spank on your ass as you desperately grind on the wet spot you left until you’re shivering.

you pant directly into his lips, like you’d just run a hundred meters. but really it was just him.

“ryo,” you call, lashes fluttering against your flushed cheeks meeting his eyes.

his arms squeeze your torso, palm splayed on your back and ass, lips hovering over yours, gently kissing the corner of your mouth, “hmm?”

“I really…” your words are breathless, like it takes so much willpower to speak, “really,” you lean up, hand rubbing his shoulder, and neck, “wanna fuck you righ’ now.”

sukuna’s cock shots a small pathetic amount of cum into his boxers. “you—“ he chokes, lips back on yours to mask the humiliating moan that escapes his throat.

you whine, climbing off his lap, just for him to instinctively reach for you as you stand between his legs. his hands grabbing your hips leaning on the edge of the couch, to keep you close, hands grabbing your ass, lips connecting to your lower stomach, kissing up your belly button, licking your skin.

your nails tangle in his hair before you’re pulling his arm from around you, lightly tugging him to stand.

the silence in the apartment would be deafening if neither of your hearts were beating erratically. but he couldn’t help how worked up he was getting when you’re leading him to your bedroom. your hips swaying naturally as you hold his wrist, walking across the apartment completely naked. his eyes rack down every dip and curve. his hand falling to grab his crotch, hand cupping himself through the open fly, squeezing some relief behind your back.

by the time you enter the bedroom, beaded curtains clanking behind you, his lips are back to attacking yours. his thumbs easily hook under his boxers and pants, pushing them down kicking it aside, heavy cock bopping into view. your fingers brush the painfully hard girth, tip flushed a hot red, veins protruding on every inch, and globs pushing out of his slit as he grabs your face, deepening the kiss.

“do i needa prep ya some more?” he husks against your lips, kneeling onto the bed and crawling between your legs. you shake your head, arms locked around his neck pulling him down, hips bucking up and back arching.

“no s’ fine, jus’ want it inside me,” you mutter against his lips, humming as he reaches for the box of condoms, quickly tearing one open.

“whatever ya say, babe,” he doesn’t even look as he rolls the condom on, your arms already grabbing the roots of his hair dragging his lips back down to yours. you couldn’t last a second without his tongue on yours, like every kiss was brining a part of your soul back.

neither of you have fully recovered from the week you’ve had. instead, you’re drowning your shortcomings in sukuna’s body, and his yours.

his cock nudges your entrance, catching your clit before teasing your clenching hole. your lips part as a pitched moan escapes.

“y’er gonna let me in?” he teases, chest heating at the sight of your blown eyes meeting his. “gotta loosen up down there.”

“It is,” you huff, nails scratching his overgrown undercut, “put it in.”

he smirks, pushing his hips down, slipping inside with a stretch. you hum at the first inch filled, and when he’s grinding the rest of his impressive size into your small hole, you’re back to your pathetically hot gasps and moans.

sukuna was a selfish man. of course, he’s good in bed because he satisfies his partners, but he knows exactly when to break them in, using the little strength they have to his full advantage. but it was never as fulfilling as it is when he’s with you.

you’re already in tears, arched back on your hands and knees, your arms stretched out in front of you as he thrusts into you from behind like a wild animal. grunts and swears spewing from his mouth, hand cracking down on your ass like a punishment, spanking each cheek until you’re moaning at the after burn.

“fuckin’ slut, clenching up every time I spank this ass,” he chuckles hoarsely. “everyone lookin’ at that video of you,” he seethes, remembering your soaked shirt with over a thousand likes from the sororities instagram. yes, he was checking the count every day. “flashing these slutty tits to everyone—“ his hand reaches under to grab your breast, cruel fingers pinching your nipples.

you cry out, slamming your hips back into his, hand falling over his on your breast. “i was wearing a bra—ngh ah!” your lips part with another broken moan.

his bulbous tip drags out, before he’s slamming back into, hitting your cervix.

“those comments were fuckin’ disgustin,— pigs haah jerkin off to you—“ he seethes, pushing your lower back into the mattress, hands grabbing at your hips as he picks up the pace.

“mmph—ryo— keep ngh—wanna cu—uh-cum!” you were babbling like a dumb little slut. your brain was mush by the time he’s pressing you into a deeper arch.

“there we go, baby, ya’ missed me handling your little body like this? hmm—fuckin’ ya how i want ngh—better than any of those sh-shit-heads,” he groans, thrusts brutal, carnal grin and glint in his eyes, slamming in knowing you feel every inch, every vein, every pulse.

“y-you missed me, ryo,” you babble, lips covered in drool as you turn your head on the mattress, vision blurry with tears.

fuck you were mess, sukuna cracks a viscous smile, cheeks hot and red from the sight.

“I’m so haah good,” you praise yourself, something that elects a physical reaction from the man as he feels his cock twitch violently inside your clamping hole. “my pussy can h-handle a-all of ryo—ahh!” you cry out as he shoves his entire weight behind one thrust without warning again.

“fuck—you talk too much,” he growls, fucking you fast and hard, just the way you like, his hand covers yours, interlacing it on the mattress, using it as balance. “ya think this pussy can handle me all night?”

“mhmm,” your eyes roll back after another mind numbing thrust, your body shivering as you clench up, creaming around him for the third time that night.

“let’s see about that,” he snorts, already flipping you into another position, taking full advantage of your pliant body and dumb bratty attitude.

you’re in tears by the fifth round, he’d only came twice, condoms tied and tossed on the ground, his face now buried between your legs as you cry out. your hips arch up, lifting off the mattress as you tug his hair, eyes clenching closed as you let out hiccuped moans.

sukuna groans into your pussy, tongue shoved deep into your pussy, swallowing your sweet syrup straight from the source. your arousal bursts on his tastebuds, his hand locking under your hips keeping you arched high as he eats you out like a starved man.

“ryo—haah please— too much!” you’re gasping as he sucks your clit, tongue circling the puffed bud like you aren’t on the brink of passing out.

“thought you said y’can handle this?” he snorts, spitting on your pussy aggressively, hand replacing his mouth with vicious rubs to your clit. you whine loud and hot, hand stretching out to his wrist, but he’s moving quicker than you can process. his condom covered cock is piercing your pussy again, the stretch lethal as your moan pierces the walls of your bedroom. “there we go! haah ah fuck! even tighter than before,” he groans, quick, sharp thrusts hitting your sweet spot. your vision blurs with tears as he pulls out again, mouth shoved back to your pussy, drinking you up. he was filthy….possessed.

“ryo!” you’re sobbing, choked hiccups making his cock throb, shoving his girth back into your pussy. his hips erratically forcing you into another orgasm as your hips raise off the bed. your arm stretches out to him, weakly pushing at his pelvis, while the other grips the sheets beside your head.

“c’mon, gotta let me cum too, brat— pussy still wants more,” he groans, the squelching has grown much more lewd, filling his ears as his thumb falls on your clit.

“I can’t—I can’t—“ tears fill your eyes as your legs start to shake, gasping as he leans down capturing your lips, subtly trying to distract you from the overstimulation, mind guessing when you’ll tap out, begging internally you won’t.

“s’ okay, I got ya baby, fhuck—“ he groans, kisses messy, tongues and teeth clashing as he pulls away. his large palms push your thighs further apart, abs tensing as he drives his cock deeper.

tears cling to your lashes as your hand extends out again, strength weak as you try to push him away. however his hand only pushes your hand down, biting his lip as you scratch his sweaty happy trail, his thumb easily falling on your clit, rubbing tight circles again.

“haah ah—“

his thrusts are so deep the squelching more obscene. “shiit—this pussy is loud as fuck,” he smiles devilishly, face flushed.

you were impressed how well you keep up with sukuna, truly. but i guess there has to be a moment where his athletic capabilities will exceed your own libido, like tonight.

his forehead and chest are covered in a sheer layer of sweat, accentuating the tattoos that mark his skin like sin. his god-like defined abs flex, biceps bulging as he keeps your legs spread for him like some toy, thumb still working your clit like second nature, unbothered by how overstimulated you’re getting. he keeps his ears peeled for the safe word which hasn’t left your lips yet.

your sopping hole sloshes and squelches, embarrassing sounds leaving it with every thrust.

“y’ want the neighbors to hear this pussy don’t ya?” he snorts, thrust sharp. “want em hearing their neighbor getting fucked hard by sum’ guy, right?” his thrusts grow erratic, talking himself into his nearing climax, groaning deep when you cry out, hips raising off the bed trying to squirm away, nails scratching his pelvis. “answer me,” he bites, thick thighs spreading, thrusting up.

you’ve lost practically all words, shaking your head with tears watering your eyes, lips glossy and looking absolutely dumb on cock.

“liar.”

at this point, he’s lost all sanity, chasing his relief as you try to push him away, whining and moaning his name like it’s the only word blasting your mind. chanting a spew of babbled curses as your legs start to shake uncontrollably.

“r-ryo—i—“ your lips part, eyes fluttering as tears slide down the corners.

“m’ fuckin close—ngh—you’re getting so tight righ’ now—fuck, gettin’ so wet you’re sucking me in,” sukuna never realizes how much he talks in bed especially when he’s nearing an orgasm, because he’s always fucked the other person into oblivion.

“b-but this is—haah—“ your incoherent response was the only warning he gets until he’s feeling a gush splash his abdomen. your cry pitches higher as another wave of squirt pulses out of your pussy.

“shiit,” sukuna hisses, pupils are black, hips stilling for a second as he processes what just drenched his abs and pecs. “squirting?” he groans moving inside you, keeping himself lodged inside, even while you’re practically crying arms weak as he pushes his thumb over your overstimulated clit. “didn’t know this fuckin’ pussy can squirt. that’s a new one,” he swears, keeping his thumb on you, rubbing quicker, in pace with his thrusts, getting you to squirm even more, foot managing to press to his pec.

“ryo!”

he growls, pushing your legs back around his torso, and pinning your wrists to the mattress. he’s leaning over you, keeping your legs trapped around his large body, driving his veiny girth into your sopping pussy. he groans into your nape, sharp teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck, marking the soft skin. his hips roll into yours, grinding against your sweet spot, coarse pubes rubbing against your clit.

“p-pleasee!” you gasp, choked squeak escaping your throat and ultimately pushing the selfish man over the edge. the cord snaps just as you squirt again, pushing him out.

“fuck—don’t push me out—“ he groans, peeling the condom off, rubbing his cock head through your gushing hole just as he shoots ropes of hot thick cum all over your pussy and tummy, painting you in his white load.

that was the chance you needed to close your legs, trapping his cock between them, completely out of breath as you gasp.

sukuna groans, head tilting back, throat bopping as he holds your knee, feeling you squeeze his sensitive cock between your plush thighs. he can’t stop himself from bucking into the soft flesh, groaning once more as another load shoots out of his tip, reaching your tits and abdomen.

you whine, hand reaching down touching the cum lazily, legs parting just for him to attack your lips again.

“could y’ always squirt, or was that a first for ya?” he husks against your lips, hands on your hips, clutching you tightly, wanting to go back inside you reaching for a condom—

“ryo, i can’t—“ you exhale, shaking your head, heaving breathlessly. “give me a second, please.”

he stills, mind slowly recalibrating.

“yeah,” he nods, kissing your lips again as he moves beside you, his cock half-hard as he spreads his cum all over your belly, marking his territory. he’s kissing your neck and shoulder as you catch your breath, legs still shaking.

even with your head in cloud nine, and sukuna beside. it was all confusing. his scent filled your head, warmth spreading to you. your body carefully turns to him, arm moving across his shoulders to hug him, lips finding his.

don’t think about it.

everything with him is physical. even with your body telling you it was enough, even with your mind trying to push real thoughts to the forefront of your head, you still lick his bottom lip, slower and lazier than before. “you’re still hard after that?” you say softly.

his hand squeezes your ass, “first time ya squirted one me, course m’ gonna be hard as shit,” his tongue finds yours, humming as you carefully sit up.

you sigh, leg moving across his lap, “i told you…” you lick your lip, “i can take you…and you stupid cock….one more round.”

sukuna’s grin widens, sharp teeth on display as his arm stretches over, “slide on top, princess,” he nudges your hip, as the other hand grabs a condom, tearing it open by the time you’re straddling his lap, lips finding his again.

he lazily kisses you back, tongues caressing as he slides the condom on. he easily slips himself into your hole with a drawn moan. “theeere we go,” he coos, thrusts starting slow, humming against your lips. he slowly and surely builds up his pace, beefy arms holding your ass up. you whine against his lips, squeaking when he has his feet planted flat on the mattress, now using your gushing hole like his personal pocket pussy.

sukuna couldn’t function anymore.

your moans directly flow from your lips to his ear, face buried in his neck as he abuses your limp body feeling you unravel again. his mind completely getting consumed by you, shoving any other thought or uncomfortable twist in his gut, deep deep down.

and as sukuna bathes in the bliss of being in your bed for the first night in days, he was also blissfully unaware of what was unfolding miles away with his fifteen year-old brother.

“are you sure about this, man? didn’t you say your brother didn’t want you talking to her?” ino says, turning in the passenger seat to look at choso in the backseat fixing his hair in the front mirror.

his other friend, mechamaru who’s a few months older and has his license, also glances at his friend from the drivers seat. “yeah—like you can’t tell your brother that we drove you here, o-or mr. toji, so you can’t tell yuuji, he can never keep a secret—“

“i’m not tellin’ em shit,” choso huffs, swallowing the lump in his throat as he glances at the lit diner. “jus’ wait for me here, ‘kay?” mechamaru and ino exchange looks, irritating the boy, a scowl pulling at his lips, “what?”

“well,” mechamura starts, turning to face choso, “you don’t want us going in with you? like we can sit at another table, make sure nothing happens, keep an eye on things.”

ino nods, “for sure for sure— like you don’t know her, like what if…”

“what if what?” choso frowns at his friends, clicking the backdoor open. “she’s just a lady, I’ll be fine.”

mechamura and ino nod, biting back anymore concerned words towards their friend and his decision to do this. choso fixes his backpack on his shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets as he quickly walks up the sidewalk. he can hear his heart pounding against his chest, hands clammy as he grasps the diner’s handle, swinging the door open.

the bell rings overhead.

only a few customers sat around. it was getting late, so there was only one waiter working the tables. choso steps further in, glancing over the booths. his amber eyes scan each table, biting his cheek when he turns to check the other side of the diner— suddenly a woman stands beside a booth.

choso’s breath catches.

her short black hair was the same color as his.

her eyes the same as his.

the shape of her face too…

choso swallows again, glancing over the woman, taking her in for the first time in years. it wasn’t a picture, or video….he barely remembers her, did she look better then or now…he can’t remember.

“choso, honey. come have a seat,” her voice though….that sounded different.

choso quietly walks up to his mom, kaori.

[ next chapter ]

a/n: holy hell— that took an eternity. there was a bunch of plot in this one, so thank u guys for reading through it!! I know u guys had so many guesses on what was going to happen after sukuna and yorozu’s kiss, I def went in a more logical direction since this is a series instead of a one shot, so I feel it’s better to be grounded in reality for more hurt and angst in the future — esp since neither of them take full accountability of their actions & reactions, it’ll cause more issues when their putting bandaids over open wounds, inevitably making them more prone to infections. i hope u guys who wanted reader to kiss gojo/geto/toji/nanami understand tho LOLLL.

Gojo's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound comes out.

And then you lift your head.

Just slightly -Sukuna's grip loosening for a fraction of a second as he adjusts his angle- and your tear streaked, fucked stupid face turns toward the door. Tongue lolling out. Eyes rolled back so far the whites show. Drool connecting your lips to the sheets in shiny strings.

Gojo's heart stops.

That's-

He knows you.

He's seen you. Curled up on the common room couch with Toji, sharing a blanket, stealing bites of his ramen while he pretended to be annoyed. Laughing at Toji’s terrible jokes. Wearing his oversized hoodies.

That's Toji’s girlfriend.

“The door” Sukuna grunts, hips never faltering, “was locked for a reason, four eyes.”

“S-Sukuna-“ Gojo's voice cracks, strangled.

Sukuna doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. He just turns his head- slowly, lazily, like a predator acknowledging prey that poses zero threat and grins.

“Like what you see?” Sukuna's smirk is practically audible as he pulls out slowly -you whimper at the loss- giving Gojo a full, glistening view of his cock, veins pulsing, slick with your arousal. Then he slams back in, punching another scream from your lungs.

“I-I-“ Gojo stammers, textbook slipping from nerveless fingers.... He should leave. He should definitely leave. But his feet are rooted to the floor, and his cock is hardening traitorously in his sweatpants, tenting the fabric in a way that's impossible to hide. Fuck fuck fuck-

“I- you- she's-“ Gojo's brain is short circuiting, glasses fogging from the sudden heat of the room. His eyes dart between Sukuna's sweat slicked torso, your arched back, the obscene gape of your pussy every time Sukuna pulls out to the tip before slamming back in, “That's Toji’s girlfriend!”

“Is she?” Sukuna's voice drips with mock innocence. His tatted up hand tightening in your hair, yanking your head up so Gojo can see your face clearly. Can see the way your eyes have glazed over, pupils blown wide with need, any trace of shame long since fucked out of you, “Could've fooled me. She's been my personal cocksleeve for months now.”

“Wha- months?!”

You moan- high, desperate, shameless and push your hips back against Sukuna, chasing his cock like your life depends on it, “AAAHHHH-! OH GOD-! S-Sukuna, he's- he's watching-“

Gojo makes a choked sound. She's- she's not even trying to-

“I know.” Sukuna's red eyes lock onto Gojo's frozen form, “Isn't that the point?” He yanks your hips up higher, so Gojo can see everything -the way your puffy lips stretch around his girth, the creamy ring of arousal at his base, the way your clit throbs with every impact. “Come closer, Satoru. Get a real look at how a pussy should be fucked.”

I should leave, Gojo thinks frantically, even as his feet carry him two steps closer. I should definitely leave. This is insane. This is- I should turn around and walk out and pretend I never saw this. I should tell Toji. I should- His hand drifts unconsciously toward his straining erection-

“Don't touch yourself,” Sukuna snaps, and Gojo's hand freezes mid air, “You don't get to cum. You get to watch. Learn something, virgin.”

Gojo doesn't move.

“I can see your dick twitching from here. Poor pathetic virgin, watching his roommate ruin another man’s girl. Getting off on it. Tragic.”

Gojo's face flames scarlet. His hand shoots down to cover the obvious tent in his sweatpants, humiliation burning through him- but he still doesn't leave.

Toji’s going to kill him, Gojo thinks wildly. Toji’s going to find out and literally murder him on campus.

Sukuna slams back into you so hard the bed screeches across the floor, “-pay attention, looser.”

What follows is the most deviant lesson of Gojo Satoru's life.

He watches the entire time- glasses steamed, cock throbbing, shame weighing heavy in his chest as Sukuna fucks you through orgasm after orgasm. Sukuna even flips you over and makes you ride him reverse cowgirl so Gojo can see everything- the way his thick cock splits your pussy open, the way your creamy slick drools down his shaft, the way your stomach bulges slightly every time he bottoms out.

“Look at him,” Sukuna commands, gripping your jaw and turning your head toward Gojo, “Look at the pathetic little nerd jerking off to you getting bred.”

Gojo's hand is in his pants now... He doesn't remember putting it there…

You look at him -eyes glazed, mouth hanging open, utterly fucked stupid and smile, D-Does it feel good... Gojo-kun?”

He cums in his pants like a goddamn teenager after hearing your sweet voice… shit…

Sukuna laughs until he's breathless, then flips you onto your back again and fucks his own orgasm out of himself, painting your insides white while Gojo watches with a hand still wrapped around his softening cock.

“Haaaahhh… hahhhh…” You twitch and moan through the aftershocks, feeling his seed pump into your womb in thick, pulsing ropes. It's so much. Too much. It starts leaking out around his cock immediately, dripping in a creamy river onto his ruined bedsheets.

Sukuna pulls out slowly, a thick pearlescent strand of cum connecting his softening cock to your ruined, gaping hole. Your pussy clencheson nothing, pushing out more of his seed in a slow, obscene drool that patters onto the floor.

He turns to his roommate, not even bothering to wipe himself off, “clean ups on the bed.” Sukuna nods toward where you're still slumped, trembling, cunt exposed and dripping, “And Satoru?” He tucks himself back into his sweats, utterly unbothered, magnificently bored, “Next time, knock.”

He saunters out, and the door clicks shut.

Silence.

Just your ragged breathing and Gojo's sharp, pants filling the room.

Gojo doesn't move. Still stuck where he’s at admiring your glistening body- damp hair plastered to your face… the way your legs tremble…

Leave, he screams at himself. Fucking LEAVE. But… what if she needs help…?

His feet carry him forward, right to where you’re at.

One step. Two. Three.

You lift your head weakly from the bed, still trembling, mascara smeared down your cheeks, lips swollen and slick with drool. Your eyes -glazed, fucked out- find his.

You don't tell him to stop, don’t tell him to get out… you just wait and see what happens.

“He said...” Gojo's voice cracks, barely a whisper. His cock stirs to life again painfully in his soaked sweatpants, the wet patch at the front growing. He's so hard it hurts, harder than he's ever been in his pathetic virgin life, “He said clean up was on the bed…”

What the fuck am I saying, he thinks wildly, what the FUCK am I- she’s Toji’s- Sukuna’s? She isn’t my responsibility-

You shift on the bed, spreading your shaky thighs wider until more of Sukuna's cum oozes from your gaping cunt. Your swollen clit pulses visibly, still engorged, still needy.

“Then clean me,” you breathe.

Gojo drops to his knees so fast his bones crack against the floor next to the bed.

Oh god oh god oh god- His hands shake as they grip your thighs, pushing them further apart and bringing you closer to the edge until he's eye level with your pussy now, close enough that the musk of sex and Sukuna's cum fills his nostrils… until it makes his head spin. She's so- it's so- I can see inside her- she's still clenching- there's so much cum-

“I've never-“ he chokes out, face burning, “I don't know how to-“

“Lick.”

He licks.

His tongue drags a hot, wet stripe from your dripping hole to your throbbing clit, and the taste of you, mixed with him, salt and musk and sweet- explodes across his tongue. You keen, hips bucking against his face, and Gojo moans like he's the one being touched.

“Nnghh- f-fuck- more- G-Gojo- get it all- please-“

He buries his face in your cunt.

Lapping at your folds, sucking Sukuna's cum from your twitching hole, tongue fucking into you to chase every drop. His nose grinds against your oversensitive clit and you cry out so prettily, fingers fisting in his white hair, shoving his face harder against you.

“J-just like- oh god- just like that-“

She tastes so good, Gojo thinks deliriously, even with his cum- especially with- I'm eating his cum out of her- I'm- His hips rut pathetically against nothing, I'm so fucked. I'm so fucking fucked.

“Ahhhn- right there- suck my clit- s-suck it-“

He obeys. Like the good boy he is.

Wrapping his lips around your swollen bud, sucking hard, tongue flicking rapidly- sloppy and inexperienced and desperate to please. Your thighs clamp around his head, muffling his whimpers, and his hands grip your ass to pull you tighter against his mouth.

“Good boy,” you gasp, and Gojo sobs against your pussy, hips jerking, “Such a good- nnghhh- good little clean up boy- eating his cum right out of me-“

“Mmmph- mmhhnn-“ He can't respond, mouth too full of your cunt, but his cock leaks in his sweats, another spurt of precum joining the mess.

The door opens.

“Shit I forgot my wallet-“

Sukuna stops.

Gojo freezes, face still buried between your thighs, Sukuna's cum smeared across his lips and chin.

Sukuna's eyes take in the scene- his roommate on his knees, face deep in the pussy he just bred, glasses askew, sweatpants tented once more and soaked…

“Well, well.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking, “Maybe you're not completely useless after all, four eyes.”

I'm going to die, Gojo thinks, He's going to kill me. I'm going to-

“Did I say you could stop?”

Gojo's tongue resumes its work against your sloppy cunt until you throw your head back and moan.

Sukuna watches, pulling out his phone.

Click.

…

That night, Toji texts Gojo: Hey man, have you seen my girlfriend around? She's not answering her phone.

Gojo stares at the message for a long, long time.

Lounging behind the counter in a black dry-fit shirt that's cropped to showcase his washboard abs, while his toused white hair and stupidly perfect complexion make him look like he's headed to a photoshoot rather than a workout.

Tipping his sunglasses just low enough for you to catch the flash of icy blue eyes, his grin widens as you approach—like he already knows just how completely out of your depth you are.

“Welcome to Limitless!” he chirps. “I’m the owner, Gojo Satoru.”

Like you don’t already know.

Even a ramen-fueled, overworked shut-in like you knows about @ SixPackGod—TikTok’s reigning fitness thirst trap.

Gojo’s got 5 million followers and a cult-like fanbase—naturally, he monetized it by opening a gym. You’ve definitely seen his videos—stretching in ways that should get him banned and somehow making kettlebell swings look erotic.

As if on cue, a group of girls swish by in matching Lulu, Alo, and Vuori sets—tan, toned, and giggling as they wave at him. He winks back, weaponized charm turned up to 100 earning him shrill squees and coos as they exit.

It makes you want to book it the hell out of there. You clearly had no idea what you were getting yourself into, suddenly becoming painfully aware of your ratty anime tee and faded track shorts from high school.

Gojo turns back to you excitedly, completely unbothered by the fact that you look practically homeless. He launches into a rapid-fire tour, rattling off all the high-tech equipment and renovations—some already done, some still on the way.

You nod, clueless, too busy tracing the slope of his arms, the stretch of his shirt, the twitch of long fingers as he talks with his whole body.

Looking back, Gojo catches your totally glazed-over expression.

“Y’know,” he says, flashing you a panty-evaporating grin, “all new members get one free personal training session. Helps you get the most out of the place.”

Gojo steps in closer, charm dialed up to max and absolutely zero concept of personal space.

“Oh—no, thank you,” you say quickly, hands going up in half-surrender, half-subtle plea for him to back the hell up. “I—I can’t afford that. I mean, to continue after.”

You wouldn’t even be in here if your aunt hadn’t paid for your membership. One session probably costs your rent.

And in this economy?

You can barely afford to heat your apartment in the winter.

Gojo just shrugs, all smiles. “It’s freeeeee though! C’mon cutie.”

Cutie!? You!?

“I-I just don’t wanna waste your time,” you mumble, flustered and trying to keep your shit together. 

“I don’t mind, you wouldn’t be the first,” Gojo flirts with a wink. “Buuuut, if it eases your worries, I’ll set you up with a girl trainer. Yuki. She’s great! Won’t yell at you… well, much. No strings. Promise. C’monnnnnn babe.”

The drawn-out plea and puppy-dog eyes are ridiculous—but the ‘babe’ seals it. 

You fold faster than a wet paper towel in a hurricane, agreeing to sign up for a session on the spot.

What harm could one free session with a girl trainer do?

Except you don’t get Yuki.

Two days later, you show up—and Yuki’s “out sick.”

Instead, standing in front of you is Personal Trainer!Sukuna.

And holy shit—he’s fucking massive.

Like someone compressed chaotic aggression and carved it into pure muscle. Black tribal tattoos snake across his arms and chest, flexing under his tight “trainer” shirt like every inch of him is weaponized.

Your gaze drags from the cut of his shoulders to his chest—and lower, to thighs thick enough to crush a watermelon. And is that—? Oh fuck. There's a heavy print stretching his sweats.

You suddenly get what SZA meant about needing a big boy for winter.

What would it feel like—being pinned under all that weight? Back arched against the mat—

"AYE!"

Sukuna snaps your name like a whip, yanking you out of your fantasy and causing you to flinch so hard your heels lift out of your shoes.

He just looks at you like you’re stupid.

Which, to be fair, at this moment, you absolutely are.

You start babbling, fast and frantic—sputtering about how this is a bad idea, how you’re not going to book more sessions, how you’re probably just wasting his—

He rolls his eyes and gives you a look that screams: I don’t get paid to hear your bullshit.

That shuts you up immediately.

Sukuna’s red eyes then skim over you in a brutally clinical fashion. Unlike your ogling, his glance catalogs every weak point, every soft roll, every underdeveloped muscle in under fifteen seconds.

“Sukuna,” he says flatly. “Your PT.”

That’s it. That’s all the intro he gives you.

“You’re mine for the next sixty minutes—now move!”

You nod like a bobblehead, eyes wide—but he’s already walking away.

Scrambling after him, heart pounding, you try not to trip over your own feet Sukuna leads you deeper into the gym.

Not surprisingly, Sukuna’s intensity is so fierce that you can barely look at him the entire session. He runs you like a drill sergeant—efficient and merciless.

There's zero flirting, no coddling and definitely no encouraging bullshit beyond clipped commands. 

When he needs to correct you, he does it physically—grabbing your hips, waist and shoulders with rough, unapologetic hands. Sukuna moves you into position like you’re a piece of gym equipment needing to be adjusted for his use.

His fingers press into muscle and bone like he already knows exactly how your weak little body is supposed to work for him, and it does, struggling yet ultimately bending to his will.

You can only sort of be thankful that Sukuna doesn’t seem to give a fuck that you freeze under his every touch. He certainly doesn’t blink nor acknowledge when you suck in a sharp breath or let out a shaky, humiliating little sound of anguish when his fingers trace over your ribs to correct your posture.

He just keeps going, dishing out relentless commands that push you harder than you’ve ever worked out in your entire life.

“Stop trying to cheat, brat” Sukuna growls, tapping your soft belly—right over your abs—with just enough force to make you squeak like the Pillsbury Doughboy.

“You’re weak here. Engage it. Squeeze tighter. That’s it, good girl.”

Good girl!?

Little does Sukuna know it’s not your core that’s responding but your pelvic muscles, your pussy fluttering wildly at the command like he's addressing her directly. 

By the end of the session, every muscle in your body is cooked. Lungs on fire, like you’ve never worked out a day in your life.

And honestly—if this is what real training entails? 

Then yeah. You definitely haven’t. Not even close.

Still, for a one‑off session, Sukuna gave you more than enough to continue on your own—form breakdowns, weak points to target, enough structure to build a routine from scratch.

Not that you’re thinking about fitness anymore. You just want to crawl out of here—and into bed.

You’re so worn down, so light-headed, that you don’t even notice you’ve grabbed the wrong towel—Sukuna’s, damp and still warm from use—instead of one of the cool eucalyptus-scented ones the gym provides. You sling it over your shoulders without thinking, wobbling toward the water fountain.

By the time you bend down for a much-needed drink, it practically slaps you across the face. 

The aroma of salty sandalwood and heat, along with a musk so dark and undeniably masculine it makes your belly tingle.

Oh sweet fuck!

Warmth floods your senses, spreading through you all the way down to your toes. Your legs begin to quake once more—worse than they did during the three-minute wall squats Sukuna forced you to hold. 

You’re no virgin—but you’ve never been affected by a man’s scent like this.

Ever.

You spot the laundry bin the moment you step into the women’s locker room—your rational brain whispering to just drop the towel and walk away.

Your hand hovers over the bin… but lingers a second too long. Voices now echo behind you as a group of women enter.

Snatching the towel back on instinct, your pulse spikes as you shove it into your locker like illicit contraband. There's no time to think more about it as you rush to the showers, hoping cold water can cool off whatever the hell is happening in your brain.

The shower soothes your muscles but it does nothing for the fire in your belly rapidly increasing.

Already weak, you slide down the cool tile. Water beats against your body as your fingers slip between your thighs on instinct. You circle your clit once, twice, then trail lower, pushing two fingers into your cunt with shaking hands.

You bite your lip hard, trying to stay quiet, acutely aware of how thin the walls are, how public and just wrong this is.

Yet no matter how hard you work your fingers, you can’t scratch the itch.

Even angling yourself so the water beats directly against your clit doesn’t get you there.

Shiiiit. You can’t even get off properly. Argh!

Frustrated and flustered, you finally give up. Shutting off the shower, you towel off in record time and book it out of the locker room—but not before stuffing Sukuna’s sweat-drenched towel deep into your duffel like contraband.

Glancing around you attempt to play it cool as you make your exit… only to duck your head a little too obviously as you pass the front desk.

Gojo, of course, spots you anyway. He waves at you cheerily and you try not to flinch as you force a smile and wave back, doing your best to look inconspicuous.

Nothing at all like the perverted little horn-dog thief you actually are.

You drive home like a woman possessed. The second your door clicks shut behind you, you’re already bolting for your room.

Shoes kicked off in a hurry, your duffel landed on the bed with a heavy thud. Your hands shake as you fumble with the zipper, pulse pounding with the insanity of what you’re about to do.

There it is.

The stolen towel, still damp and filthy, you lift it to your face and inhale like it’s oxygen itself.

God, that hits!

Your eyes lodge into your skull as the odor particles hit your brain, your mouth and pussy watering instantly.

This is wrong.

Disgusting.

Depraved.

And yet—you can’t remember the last time you were this fucking horny.

You don’t even undress properly—just shove your shorts down, kicking them off with your panties as you hurriedly reach into your nightstand.

Got it!

The suction vibrator hums to life in your hand as you collapse back against the pillows, towel pressed over your face.

The second the toy clasps over your clit, a gasp punches out of your chest, your eyes flying open.

Embarrassingly slick and oversensitive, your body reacts like it’s been waiting for this since his hands were on you. Your hips grind into the suction with helpless little thrusts.

The crumpled towel muffles your moans as your brain fills in the blanks—his voice, his hands, his tongue in place of the toy.

His gruff voice berates your thoughts.

Push harder, brat.

Hold it. Take it.

Good fucking girl.

As far as your delusions are concerned the soreness in your muscles isn’t from the workout, but from him folding you over the bench, stretching you open with this hefty cock and working you over until you’re shaking for an entirely different reason. 

Trembling, your hand almost slips as your orgasm builds, causing you to arch into the vibrations.

Engage it! You hear him growl.

And you do—just like he taught you as you bury your face deeper into the towel and flick the button increasing the pulsing suction on your throbbing button.

When you come, it hits you all at once.

A breathless cry tears out of you as your body locks up—pleasure tearing through you. You cling to his scent, hips jerking as you ride the overstimulation until you finally go limp.

Lying there afterward, dazed, sweaty, staring at the ceiling in quiet horror because even through your shame the hard truth is—you want more.

And like an addict after the first hit—you’re already clicking the wand back on.

By morning, to your horror, the scent has already started to fade from the towel and the panic that claws up your throat is immediate.

You know you can’t afford another session... 

But an unhealthy obsession?

That, you can manage.

After that, the gym doesn’t just become part of your routine—it is the routine. You start showing up religiously, like you’re worshipping at the altar of your own filthy fixations.

Well, for your workouts too. But mostly?

You come for him. Sukuna.

Like a fucking weirdo you start watching Sukuna from a distance.

In mirror reflections. From across the floor. From behind machines.

You just… observe—quietly and patiently—drinking him in like a thirst you can’t quite quench.

You never try to make eye contact though, nor dare to try to make conversation. 

Hell no, you’re too terrified of him for that.

Plus Sukuna didn’t seem like the small talk type.

On the rare occasion your eyes do meet in the gym in close passing, you barely manage a stiff and squeaky, “Hi” before darting your eyes away, like you’ve been caught doing something illegal. 

Which, honestly, feels kinda accurate. 

But you weren’t really doing anything bad right? 

You were a gym member. He worked there.

Of course you’d see him. It’s normal.

Super casual. 

Just like you casually timing your workouts to use machines near wherever he is training clients. Hoping to get close enough to maybe, just maybe, catch another whiff of those musky pheromones that rewired your brain chemistry and wrecked your sense of normalcy in a single afternoon.

Your jealousy hits fast when those bubbly influencer girls, all high-ponytails and matching sets, laugh way too loud at things he definitely meant as insults and actually have the nerve to try to cling to his adonis-like form.

The only consolation is they are usually crying by the end and few rebook in return, making Sukuna's regulars mainly men who want him to tear them apart so they can have even a fraction of the physique he does.

Yet man or woman, Sukuna runs them into the ground. He doesn’t care how pretty they are or how hard they flirt or how much they protest.

It doesn’t take long to realize something else, either:

Sukuna’s harder to book than Gojo.

You only got him that day by pure fluke—Yuki was out, and someone canceled.

Sure, Gojo’s the golden boy.  Content king, the face of the gym and the main draw to why people sign up for the ridiculously expensive membership in the first place.

But Gojo’s sessions are all vibes. He jokes, flirts, counts a few reps, and always films a cute reel for your socials—just as long as you make sure to tag him and the gym.

But Sukuna? Sukuna doesn’t even have social media.

You only go to Sukuna if you’re serious. Or masochistic.

Or just plain obsessed.

Like you.

No one leaves his sessions looking camera-ready. They leave wrecked.

And goddamn—that just makes you want him even more.

Once, while leaving the gym, you spot the personal trainer shift schedule—just left out on the front desk.

Plain as day, just sitting there in the open.

You don’t mean to look. You really don’t. 

But the next thing you know, you’re pretending to scan a QR code on a sign advertising the gym app (which you downloaded weeks ago), while sneakily snapping a photo of Sukuna’s hours instead.

You nearly shit yourself when Gojo pops up out of nowhere.

Grinning, smoothie in hand, he starts chatting you up like you didn’t just commit a minor felony.

Panicked, you mumble something about catching your bus—

…while holding your car keys in plain view like a dumbass.

Then you bolt outta there like your name is Usain.

But minor mortification aside, from that day on, your visits become a lot more strategic.

You realize Sukuna comes in at the ass crack of dawn to train before his shift.

So, naturally, you start showing up even earlier—just to watch.

Today’s upper body, apparently.

You find Sukuna posted up at the shoulder press, casually repping weights that are triple your mass. His black tank clings to him, sweat-darkened and stretched across his chest like it’s trying to merge with his skin. You swear it looks just as desperate as you are to be pressed against him.

Getting visibly annoyed at the clingy fabric, Sukuna rips the tank off one-handed, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor like it had personally offended him.

You nearly fall off the elliptical at the sight.

His bare chest is on full display now—tatted pecs glistening, thick and meaty, bouncing slightly as he pumps out reps like it’s nothing.

You’re barely moving.

The machine beeps at you, flashing “INACTIVITY DETECTED.”

Chile, you don't even notice.

You’re too busy imagining burying your face in those muscular mounds, tits squishing against your cheeks while he presses you in deep and lets you suffocate in nirvana.

God, you just want to motorboat your face into them until you pass tf out.

Unknowingly, a soft whine slips out of you.

Louder than it should in the mostly empty gym, even with music pumping.

Sukuna’s eyes flick over toward you.

Fuckkkk.

Caught, your neck twinges from how fast you whip your head away. 

You don’t dare look back, but you feel Sukuna watching you. His stare scorches a hole straight through your soul. 

You don’t look anywhere other than the ellipticals display until Gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice calls Sukuna over from the back office, waving encouragingly like he’s summoning a particularly grumpy doberman.

Leaving all his stuff at the machine, there's a distinct growl of annoyance from Sukuna as he rolls his eyes and stomps away.

Alone now, your gaze slides back to the shoulder press machine.

The black leather shines under the overhead lights—drenched, shining like a fucking beacon, soaked through with Sukuna’s delicious man‑sweat.

Practically calling to you like an obscene siren song.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re already in front of the machine.

You’ve never even used it before—but that’s not about to stop you now.

Under the pretense of adjusting the weights, you crouch down and press your nose to the seat where Sukuna had been sitting.

A salty musk clings to the cushion.

Mmm, pungent. It’s so fresh. God, it’s been too long since you’ve smelled him this intensely.

A shudder rips through your spine as you inhale deep, chest stuttering.

Quickly, you glance around, checking to make sure the coast is clear. It is. Then you do something you never would have considered doing just a few weeks ago—you lean forward, tongue peeking out of your drool glossed lips and lick a lingering bead of sweat straight off the backrest.

Oh damn, Oh fuck!

This must be what heaven tastes like.

Suddenly, a door booms open from the back. You hear Gojo’s laughter, in near hysterics as and Sukuna’s grumbling something you can't quite make out.

Startled, you bolt upright, heart slamming into your ribs.

You don’t think, you just know you can’t get caught licking seats like a freakazoid so—you book it.

By the time you stumble into the locker room, panting you notice something in your hand—

—and realize you’re clutching Sukuna’s discarded tank.

It's practically saturated with sweat, beads dripping down onto your sneakers. Biting your lip, you know you just can't walk out there and give it back to him. 

You'd look bonkers.

And worse—you can still feel his warmth in the fabric. 

Shit! Darting into the nearest bathroom stall, you slam the door shut, sitting on the toilet lid as you stare at the dirtied tank in your hands.

You are absolutely fucking disgusting.

And you don’t give a solitary fuck.

Without hesitation, you wring the fabric out over your open mouth, catching the salty drip on your tongue. A moan fumbles from your lips as you lick them, before you stuff the fabric into your mouth and slurp it down glutinously like its holy water. 

From there, it only escalates further.

A few days later, a long sock falls out of Sukuna’s bag in the lobby.

You bend down like you’re tying your shoe and swipe it when no one’s looking. At home, you loop it around your head—hands‑free—covering your nose while you grind against a pillow until your thighs ache.

You steal water bottles.

Sweatbands.

Once, you even snag a pen he’d been chewing on—lift it straight off his clipboard and stuff it into your pocket. Later, you suck on it like it’s his tongue while your fingers work between your legs in the women’s locker‑room showers.

Yeah. You get over the embarrassment of getting off in the private stalls pretty fast.

It goes on like this for weeks. 

No matter how much you take, telling yourself it's the last time. It never is.

It's never enough.

When Sunday rolls around, you show up at 5:30 bright and early—well, not bright exactly. 

The sun isn’t even out yet, but as expected the gym’s a ghost town. 

Just Gojo behind the front desk, humming to himself as he uploads another fitness thirst trap video, sipping an energy drink he definitely doesn’t need.

“Morning, cutie. You’ve been looking good lately,” he calls out as you enter, flashing a devilish grin that throws you off before you’ve even cleared the threshold. “Reconsider any personal training yet? Sorry again about Yuki bailing. But you enjoyed Sukuna, riiiiight?”

You freeze mid-step.

Gojo hasn’t brought up training since that first—and only—session.

He doesn’t know anything… right? So then why bring it up now?

“Ah, um—no, I did,” you stammer. “It… it was great. Amazing, even. B-but like I said, budget is so tight it’s nonexistent.” 

You laugh nervously and Gojo hums like he's thinking something he’s not outright saying. “Mmhmm. Got it.”

Before you can slip past the desk though, he continues: “Oh! We just installed an infrared sauna, you should check it out! No one’s even used it yet, give it a test go for me will ya?”

Gripping your bag tighter, you offer a weak noncommittal smile, eager to get away from Gojo’s amused eyes.

But upon entering the main workout area your mood dips immediately.

No sign of Sukuna.

Goddamn it.

Early Sundays are usually your favorite—You always get a front-row seat to Sukuna’s infamous leg day routine. Full of squats that show off just how dummy thick his ass is.

Still, if you dragged yourself out here, you might as well make it count.

Surprisingly, when you pick up the 25lb dumbbell you used to struggle with, it feels light. Stalking clearly is a workout—your gains speak for themselves.

Usually, your “sessions” don’t last long—mostly an excuse to ogle—but today you grab a towel and decide to hit the new sauna tucked in the back.

You might as well do Gojo the solid, your study group isn’t until noon.

Besides, you’ve never tried the regular Saunas—too self-conscious to sit half-naked next to glossy, influencer types. But the gym’s a ghost town and the new one is down a quiet, empty hall. 

Perfect.

Stripping down in the locker room, you wrap the towel around yourself and head down the corridor.

There’s only one sauna, but a paper sign slapped on the door reads Women’s, so you don’t think twice.

Stepping inside, the noise from the main floor vanishes, sealed off by thick walls. The red glow of infrared lights paints the wooden heatbox in a soft, sultry rouge.

It’s oddly peaceful.

You breathe deep, lowering yourself onto one of the benches. Your limbs still ache from your half-hearted workout, but the heat is a balm. Eyes fluttering shut, you let it melt into your muscles, loosening tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying.

But your mind refuses to settle. Ten minutes, maybe less, go by, and all you can think about is Sukuna.

That wild pink hair. That gruff voice. Those hands. And of course—that stench.

You squirm slightly on the hard wooden bench, warmth pressing in from all sides. The silence thickens around you, humid and still. Your legs part just a little. A hand slips beneath your towel, nudging it up past your hips.

Sure, this is way more public than the showers… But no one’s around. Just Gojo up front—too busy refreshing his comments section to do any actual work.

Relaxing, as soon as your fingers dip into your folds—

Creak.

The door swings open.

Scrambling, you snap your legs shut, crossing them tight. Your hands fold in your lap like you’ve been sitting politely this entire time.

Adrenaline in overdrive, just when you think it can’t get worse—Sukuna steps in.

Shirtless, only in swim trunks, with a towel slung over one shoulder, Sukuna's torso gleams. The visible temperature of the sauna makes him look like a tempting mirage.

Pool? Since when does he swim? Also, you didn’t even realize the gym had one.

Breath stuttering you clutch your towel tighter around you. 

“Um, e-excuse me, M-Mr. S-Sukuna?” you mumble, refusing to meet his eyes, “T-This is the women’s sauna”

Sukuna just looks at you incredulously. 

“Cut that Mister shit out right now brat—tsk, but who the fuck said that?” he huffs, “There’s only one. It’s unisex.”

There’s plenty of room across from you, even on one of the upper levels. But Sukuna sits next to you, the bench creaking under his hefty bulk.

You swallow hard. “Ah, er… b-but the sign—?”

“What sign, you dizzy brat?” he smirks, flashing a single sharp canine.

Scrambling to your feet, you crack the door open and scan the hallway.

You blink at the walls, the floor, the door itself but the sign is nowhere to be seen.

Where the hell did it go!?

“Get your ass back in here and close the damn door,” Sukuna grumbles. “You’re letting all the hot air out.”

You straighten, nearly dropping your towel as you scurry back inside to avoid his wrath. Still mumbling apologies, you hover near the door—until Sukuna throws you a look.

You flinch, then shuffle back to your seat beside him.

Okay, girl, be calm. 

But that's near impossible when you are internally freaking the fuck out.

Your thoughts race to find an excuse to leave. But the moment you turn toward Sukuna to speak, every thought evaporates—unlike the thick sweat beading along his tanned skin, your gaze zeroing in on a drop rolling lazily between his sculpted pecs. 

You’d kill for a taste of that right now.

“You look good,” he finally says, causing you to jump, which only seems to amuse him.

You blink. He means you!?

Well… you suppose you can slip on your thanksgiving dress without a fight now. But you hadn’t really noticed—too busy splitting your time between school, the gym, and gooning yourself stupid over Sukuna.

Somehow, you’ve turned into a regular gym rat.

“You’ve been doing the sets I taught you, yeah?”

You nod quickly.

Sukuna doesn’t respond, his gaze unreadable as silence stretches between you. But you are stuck, frozen like a deer in headlights—fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.

Unfortunately for you though, patience has never been a virtue of his.

“Tch.” Sukuna clicks his tongue, clearly fed up. 

“Is that it? That all you’re gonna say for yourself?” His questions are intense as he eyes you down. “Didn’t take a freaky lil’ brat like you to be so damn shy.”

Hello!?

“Um, what—?”

Sukuna’s expression hardens further, his teeth sucking sharply as he leans in.

“Don’t bullshit me, brat. You’re into some kinda perverted stalker shit, right?”

Well…tea but damn, saying it like that makes you sound crazy.

“I—I don’t—what are you talking—”

“Careful.” Sukuna cuts you off with a sneer. “Lying’s not your strong suit.”

He shifts closer, thigh brushing yours, arm on the upper level bench draping behind you.

Dear god, he's so close you can smell him now. 

The scent of his sweat curls around you like a chain, thick and oppressive in the heat, seeping into your pores. 

The same scent that lives in the sock under your pillow. The tank you sleep in. The towel on your nightstand. The water bottle. All the stupid little trophies you stole like a greedy hoarding goblin.

“There are cameras in the gym,” Sukuna says casually—like he’s reciting policy, although his eyes never leave yours. “When my shit started going missing, I checked the footage.”

You would die on the spot right now if that was actually a viable option.

“I saw everything, woman” Sukuna spits, “You’re a fuckin’ freak. You should be locked up.”

Shitshitshit—is he actually going to call the cops!?

The sauna feels a thousand degrees hotter. Your instinct screams run—but you know you wouldn’t make it to the door if he decided to stop you.

“Ha, you know…Gojo called me into the office that day on purpose,” Sukuna adds, clicking his tongue, “He didn’t believe me that a quiet lil thing like you would be such a fuckin' weirdo at first, so he’d thought it’d be funny set a lil trap for ya.”

Your stomach drops… trap? Oh god, that day…

"Tch, a'course you fuckin' fell for it too—just like I knew you would…licked that groadie bench down like a slut."

But Sukuna, is unbothered by your falling apart, not softening his blows.

“You think I didn’t see you sniffing benches?”

“Licking the rim of my shaker bottle?”

“And that sock I dropped?” He snorts. “Wore that shit for five days straight. Smelled like rank ass.”

A broken sound slips out of you—half gasp, half whimper as you bury your face in your knees, trying to scrunch up in the tightest ball possible. 

You can feel Sukuna looming closer though, his aura utterly overwhelming.

“Just admit.” Sukuna’s voice lowers, a bit gentler but not by much.

“You’ve been stealing my shit to flick your slutty little bean for three months straight. Figured you’d own it, now that I’m giving you a chance.”

Peer up at him from your knees, you look puzzled.

A chance??

“You, um… mean you're not mad?”

His grin widens, sharp teeth flashing.

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ pissed,” he says easily. “That some greedy, perverted brat’s too cheap to pay for more sessions, so she creeps on me and steals my shit like a freaked out leprechaun…”

You grip the edge of the bench, ready to run. Out of the sauna. Out of the gym. Out of the goddamn country. Nine months of prepaid membership? You’d flush it down the drain and never look back.

“…but,” Sukuna interrupts your spiral, licking his lips, “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working. Like you’ve got my voice in that nasty little head of yours… telling you what to do.”

He leans in just slightly, voice dropping with heat.

“And that? That gets me hard as fuck.”

Your eyes drop. His shorts are tented—thick, obscene, stretching toward his thigh.

Pulling away from you, Sukuna leans back, spreading his arms along the bench behind you like he owns the place.

“Come here, brat.”

You freeze, just a beat too long—long enough to piss him off and before you know it Sukuna is grabbing you by the scruff of the neck, hauling you into his lap. Your towel slips in the process, falling around your hips. 

But you don’t even notice as his thumb presses beneath your jaw, tilting your face up to focus solely on him.

“Look at me, woman.”

Your throat tightens, holding his gaze, forced and trembling as your palms press flat to his chest and your bare pussy rests on his thick cock, still caged in his shorts—yet you still feel the twitch of it through the material.

The contact hits you like a fever, soaking into your naked body like fire. At long last, you are skin to sin, you imagined this more times in the last few weeks than you can count. 

You can’t help the tremor that ripples through you.

Sukuna’s lip curls.

“So…”

SMACK.

His palm cracks against your ass, the punishing blow, has you biting down on your lip not to scream.

“You like the way I stink, huh, slut?”

Your bottom lip quivers and sick of holding it in, your degeneracy boils over in your admission. 

“Oh fuckfuckfuck… yesss!”

God, that felt good. Like confession—but instead of relief, all it does is stoke the heat rolling through your body. You’re no sinner seeking redemption—you’re reveling in your own depravity.

Sukuna chuckles, pleased at your admission as his grip tightens at the back of your neck, yanking you forward until your face is buried in the thick curve of his raised arm.

Right into his funky pit. The epicenter of everything you’ve been chasing.

“Then get a good whiff, freaky-ass brat.”

And you do. Eyes fluttering shut, you bury your face in the muggy pocket of sweat and inhale—deep, greedy lungfuls that make your pussy clench helplessly around nothing.

Sukuna reeks of unfiltered masculinity. No deodorant. No pretense. Just thick heady pheomones—raw, musky and pungent.

You don’t care that you’re naked. Don’t care that you’re in public.

All you care about is getting more. More of him. More of that addictive stench that’s already rewired your addict brain. 

“That’s it,” Sukuna says, “Just like that. Fucking knew a nasty brat like you’d melt.”

You whimper against his skin, but shame doesn’t stand a chance anymore—choked out by sheer, throbbing need.

This is your sickest fantasy made flesh.

You nuzzle deeper, nosing through the soaked pit, surprised by how smooth the skin is—just a faint dusting of pink fuzz tickling your cheek. The texture alone makes your clit throb.

A needy moan slips from your throat as your hips roll forward on instinct, grinding against the fat stiff ridge straining in his shorts.

Already dizzy and feral, you rut shamelessly—slick soaking through the fabric—like you’ve long since forgotten what the concept of dignity even is.

Sukuna growls, teeth clenched as your soppy cunny smears across his thigh.

“Shiiit,” he grits out, voice rough as gravel. One big hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding languidly through your messy folds, far too composed compared to the frantic buck of your hips.

“You’ve been this wet the whole time?”

He snorts at the pitiful sound you make.

“What—never thought to get your fix straight from the source, huh? Fuckin’ scent junkie?”

You whine, helpless, hips jerking as he pushes a thick finger inside your perverted lil’ pussy.

“Where’s your shame, slut?” Sukuna jeers teasingly, “You want someone to walk in here and see you like this?”

You couldn’t care less.

You could die like this. And die happy.

Eager to show your gratitude your tongue drags wet and slow through the sweaty hollow of his pit, flicking, swirling and sucking at the flesh.

“FUCK—you're filthy.” Sukuna hisses, muscles twitching.

Your tongue swirls more obscenely at his praise—devouring the taste of him like you’ll never get another chance.

Exhaling hard, Sukuna knows if he doesn’t stop you, he’s going to fucking bust soon, just from your vulgar lil’ tongue in his pit and from the feral way you dry hump his cock like a deranged, funk-drunk perv.

“Say, brat?” Sukuna’s tone is laced with something dangerous but you’re too far gone to register, only groaning into his skin.

Sukuna loosens his grip on your neck just slightly to stroke the back of it, deceptively gentle.

“You do your warm-ups today? The ones I showed you?”

“Mmm—ah—” Your mouth breaks from his skin just long enough to mumble a blissed-out, “Always do~!”

“Good,” Sukuna chuckles, shaking his head “This shouldn’t break you then.”

Before you can blink, Sukuna yanks you from his pit.

He manhandles you face-down, ass-up on the bench, forcing your spine into a brutal arch.

There’s a rustle behind you—the sound of fabric hitting the floor.

That’s the only warning you get.

Then he slams in.

One brutal, bottomed-out thrust—balls deep—and the air rips straight from your lungs.

“Ngghh!—F-FUH!”

Your thighs spasm, cunt clenching tight as Sukuna rams straight into your G‑spot, slick pulsing out around his cock and soaking him to the heavy sack.

“Called it,” Sukuna snorts, smacking your ass, watching it ripple. “The crazy ones are always fuckin’ gushers.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Completely incapacitated, you quiver beneath him—already fucked too dumb by his veiny girth splitting you open. No time to brace. No chance to adjust. 

Just reduced to a shell, a fucktoy for his use—and fuck, it feels sooo good.

“Quit squirmin’, woman,” Sukuna growls, landing another smack—harder this time—making even the cheek he didn’t hit jiggle.

You’re desperate to follow orders—but you barely know where you are anymore. The sauna’s heat blurs your vision, your brain melted by the fire in your core and the way Sukuna’s cock throbs inside you, turning your guts to mush.

“Tsk. Not stable enough—looks like you need a spot.”

Sukuna plants one foot, swinging the other up to plant on the center of your back, pinning you in a shape exactly to his liking. Locked into position at the perfect depth, angle, and tilt to pound into your spongy walls and pound straight into your womb.

“There,” he grunts satisfied, “Perfect fuckin' form.”

The sauna fills with the sound of sloshing flesh. You’re leaking from everywhere—sweat slicking your skin, tits dripping, cunt gushing around his cock. The bench beneath you is drenched, an obscene puddle collecting under your trembling limbs and dripping onto the floor.

It’s messy, it’s vile and it’s the hottest sex you'd ever had,

“Take it,” Sukuna roars. Spreading your ass cheeks wider, he hunches over you, crescent moons digging into your flesh for leverage lest he slips out of your slick cunt entirely.

“That’s it. Fuckin’—tight little thing, *puh*” Sukuna grits, spitting. 

The fat wad of fluids hits the top of your crack, pooling with the sweat dripping off his brow and your own, rolling in rivulets down your back, dribbling down—all messily coalescing in the crack of your ass. The mixture bubbles over your hole as it flutters, struggling to take it in, but Sukuna’s thumbs keep it stretched open, ensuring it does.

Fuck what a filthy sight—it hasn’t even been that long and already his balls are tightening, wanting to explode in your crazy, stalker coochie.

“Look at you,” Sukuna pants, muscles twitching, the sauna’s heat finally catching up to even him. “This is the real training ya needed. Been too long since this freaked-out pussy had a good workout.”

“YESSSSS!” you cry, it feels so good, but it’s all too much. You’re seconds from blacking out.

Your hands claw at the bench, nails leaving streaks in the wood as Sukuna, removes his foot from your back, grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright, putting you in a headlock.

Each brutal thrust snaps your body forward, cheeks stinging with every slap of his hips against your ass.

“Sniff,” he orders. Thrusting harder with each word. “Breathe. It. All. In.”

But his arm's tight around your throat—you can’t breathe.

Everything collapses into sensation: the choke of his hold, his scent pouring over you, the heavy weight of his body pressing down, the wet flick of his tongue in your ear before he bites the shell just to hear you squeal.

“You wanted this,” he mocks, voice ragged. “Earned every inch, creepin’ on me like a filthy lil’ perv.”

The moment his palm smacks your swollen clit, your orgasm detonates.

Bruttally ripping through your body, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

You’re sobbing in pleasure, helpless, as Sukuna swears under his breath—but doesn’t slow.

He fucks you through the aftershocks, pussy squeezing him in erratic, wet pulses that has him coming undone.

With a final, guttural grunt, Sukuna’s cockhead presses flush to your cervix, thick, hot ropes of white flood your womb, searing your insides until you’re dazed and seeing galaxies behind your lids. Keeping you pinned in the headlock, Sukuna holds you there until the worst of your spams subside, finally pulling out with a wet, heavy pop.

You’re half-conscious, limp from exertion—but Sukuna isn’t finished.

He lowers you onto your back, spreads your trembling legs, and drops between them to survey the looks of your battered, swollen cunt, still plugged full of his cum.

“You know,” Sukuna smirks, “You’re not the only one into musky shit, slut.”

You shiver as he licks his lips—then dives in, hungrily sucking his own cum out of your pussy, groaning low as the cocktail of scents flood his senses.

You have no idea how much time passes. Surely there’s no cum left—yet Sukuna’s still down there face buried deep like your folds like your pussy juice was the much needed recovery electrolytes his body craved after fucking you into the bench.

If you had the strength, you’d push him away.

But you don’t.

You just lie there, ruined and twitching, as he rips another body racking orgasm out of you.

Click.

Unexpectedly, the sauna door creaks open.

You can barely see now with all the sweat dripping into your eyes—but the voice is unmistakable.

“…Well, well.”

Gojo.

He’s standing in the doorway, a green smoothie in one hand, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Oh,” he says, sipping through his straw. “Thought I heard some suspicious moaning through the vents. Wanted to make sure no one was dying back here.”

Panicked, you try to sit up—but Sukuna doesn’t let you. His arms lock tight around your thighs, dragging your ass back down onto the bench with a scowl.

He doesn't even look at Gojo.

Gojo snickers, lounging in the doorway. “I know I of all people shouldn’t judge but, Sukuna, buddy. The women’s sauna?”

“Unisex,” Sukuna grunts into your cunt. “You labeled it wrong on purpose, dickhead.”

“Guil-ty~,” Gojo sing-songs. “But hey—look at you! Finally got your dick wet in some crazy stalker pussy. I definitely did you a favor.”

“The both of you actually,” he drawls on, swirling the straw of his smoothie like a martini, “I did leave that trainer schedule out on purpose. Didn’t think you’d go full gremlin though, girliepop, but hey—looks like it paid off!”

A pathetic sob escapes you—half humiliation, half pleasure—especially when Sukuna tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you down like a meal that won’t stay still.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna snaps, surfacing just long enough to glare at Gojo’s smug ass. “You’ll scare her off. She’s jumpy enough.”

Gojo merely laughs it off.

“Nah, not this one,” he says, eyes glittering with mischief. “After indulging that freaky lil appetite? You’re the one who should be scared, Kuna~.”

But Sukuna clearly doesn’t give a fuck—he’s already back between your legs, this time sliding his thumb into your ass. 

You jolt, thighs shaking violently, muffling a cry behind your hands as your body bucks against his mouth. Although, given the situation, you still are considering skipping town when all of this is over.

“Well, don’t stop on my account.” Gojo hums. “I’ll throw a cone outside so no one wanders in on your little… aroma therapy session~”

Just before disappearing, Gojo pauses in the doorway, faux-pouting.

“Oh—and next time, you fuck little miss agora hills? Invite me. Or I’m docking your pay for unauthorized client sessions—okay toodles~~!”

Click. The door swings shut behind him.

Sukuna doesn’t even look up.

Tch. Like hell he’s inviting that fruity-smelling bastard.

 all rights reserved. blkkizzat©2023-2026

“You’re really cut from a different cloth…”

Enjin’s voice redirects your focus from rolling the lipstick between your fingers onto him. Lazily draped over the common room’s sofa, legs crossed as if you are ready to conquer more than just the makeup you surely tricked some bastard into getting for you — that stuff isn’t easy to find. You're smart enough to use a few words to have a guy whipping out his wallet. And he likes smart chicks — until they’re annoying like you’re easily earning the title.

In any case, he despises the fact some dude is getting what he can only dream of, no matter how much he’s sweating blood for the cause of earning your favor.

“What could you possibly mean, Enjin?” you answer casually, serving him a disinterested look already. No one should be fooled by it, as he knows it’s just a deceiving calm before the storm. What has begun as him chasing a pretty lady, initially unaware of her viciousness, has been turned — involuntarily to him— into the game of push and pull.

Involuntarily, if he weren’t giving you advantage voluntarily, unable to stay away from the source of excitement you bring. Flaunting yourself when you can, but withdrawing yourself away from him the second he think he’s about to get it. Entertaining his flirting attempts, but never turning them into more. Not to mention, teasing him so relentlessly he could believe you’ve been sent to punish and humiliate him; especially when it’s his honorary job to be a jerk.

Yup, so far you’ve been exceeding anyone else about being a pain in his ass. And Enjin — he is constantly forced to question what he could be possibly lacking, if you’re not falling straight into his arms… or lap. He’s handsome, tall, funny, charming, knows how to make someone feel special, and is definitely capable of appreciating a good woman.

“I see you put your claws on another guy. Is it a nice shade, at least?” Speaking condescendingly, he plops himself next to you and throws a casual arm across the space behind your head. Your eyes narrow, knowing he’s playing it cool as his shoulder brushes yours and there’s no apologies.

Inwardly, he’s already locating a shop that would sell better lipstick he could get for you.

“It’s decent,” you smile, turning your head to be gazing at him with slow blinks. Fluttering your lashes so he’s not able to look away, right before you’d throw him into another spiral of restlessness. He digs in, eyeing your pretty features up and down. Would you notice if he moved his face an inch closer? “Why, you jealous?” you taunt.

He snickers, as if unable to find such notion possible. Jealousy implies some sort of care about a chosen person. It’s not that he likes more than your body… even if he vies for your attention, trying to prove what a better guy he’d be. Not could — would be. Just ridiculous of him, who’s anxious at the though of lying his heart in someone else’s hands, or who thinks he’s stronger than a petty emotion envy is. It must have been that masculine need to compete, not a crush or anything…

He’s literally twenty-eight!

“Sweetheart, I could be many things you want me to be, but jealous ain’t one of them,” he grins, trying to sell you his confidence.

You don’t buy it. “Possessive, then?” It’s you who moves closer first, until he has to press his head really snugly to the furniture’s back. He tries his best to look at your lips, as if reciprocating the flirt and not getting all sweaty with a stressed heart. How does one woman make him fumble this much?

“Nope,” he pops his lips at the p letter to accentuate his conviction. “Though, I could see why some folk would be mad over you…” he says lowly. He winks and draws away.

You relax in your seat too. You’ll have to see if someone can repair the common room’s couch again. It’s nice, if you ignore the holes in the green fabric. Many things around are falling apart in general, and they barely fill any space of the yellow-wallled room as well; but it’s home sweet home. “Glad to know you don’t mind me seeing other men…” here you go, provoking him properly and swiftly.

As suspected, his head yanks up with offense, staring at you with “don’t you dare”, thinking he’d hate the idea; he puts on another nonchalant mask when he realizes he exposed himself a second later. “Wipe that smirk off. I don’t care what you’re doing with other guys. I have plenty of eyes on me too, you know.” He puffs out his chest a little.

“Oh, I know,” you flirt, not meaning it much, even if he gives you a look of interest at your sweet tone. However, you still didn’t expect him to last so long. Most men become aggressive or leave after you’ve kept them hanging in suspense for months. But Enjin? He’s damn hooked, desperate to finally lay his hands on you, he just keeps playing your game like moth drawn to the flame you are. At this point, he might even attempt to kiss you all softly until you’re swooning for him too — gross romanticism, if he must.

One thing is sure in his horny brain: you know how to frustrate the man. He can never tell if you're playing hard to get or are hard to get. You certainly enjoy spilling cruelties on his emotions and ego for your own enjoyment, as if you’re some sort of sadist.

“Good. Keep it mind. Maybe you’ll be the one to be jealous the next time you see me with some hot lady in the nearest settlement,” he says proudly, tapping his fingers behind your head.

“We should get a double date while we’re at that, cause I’d probably be with some hunk myself,” your smirk widens, with you enjoying the way his mouth open in protest too fast to call it nonchalance.

Enjin groans and hits the couch with his head dramatically.

“Must you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” You pop the lipstick open and close it to make him more agitated with the sound of plastic. His eyelid twitches.

“Not letting the man have even a tiny bit of you and all.” He’s the man in question. Talking about himself in the third person makes things less embarrassing. “It makes me wonder, what do I have to do to earn a chance with you?”

What does the mantra go like? Enjin doesn't chase — he attracts. Well, he always chased women, but they also have been coming to him on their own! With you, he does the chase solely himself; probably until his poor body will collapse from exhaustion, apparently. He wants to believe it makes him a virile guy who knows what he wants, who will be this lion king to pull the best woman around and crow about it, but who is he kidding…

You’ve been the one throwing curveballs. And it’s not some longlasting banter, if it’s an entire war on his pride, sanity, and confidence — or even masculinity.

“You were trying to earn a chance with me?” Your obviously feigned innocence pulls an even louder groan out of him, making you laugh.

It’s fun to tease people, see them stress over his words or get shy, but when he’s being subjected to it, especially by you… he just wants to strangle you. He almost pities everyone else he had ever taunted, finding himself in their shoes. Or rather, he has it much worse than they had it with him — you’re this spider crushing a cheap player’s ego. He’s supposed to be the one beguiling the other side, like he used to do so with women.

“Come on. I’ve heard that juicy gossip in the Canvas Town. Apparently, you putting men to their knees is every Friday’s special,” his tone turns more serious, which to you, is rather theatrical when you can’t care much. He hates both you chasing other men — it is jealousy like you said — and being another one on your list to check and abandon.

Demanding some payoff, he finally allows himself to play with your hair, gathering it to the side. When you let him expose your neck (surely a deliberate and well-thought move from your side), seeing your skin has his mouth water at the idea of putting his lips here. Staring intensely, he imagines leaving a nasty hickey on there, one that would deter other men away from approaching you until it healed.

“Being a cleaner is stressful. A girl must relax somehow. You do something about that too, I’ve been told by Semiu,” you reply apathetically to his possessiveness. Men use women all the time — you cannot be much worse. No one gets genuinely hurt, at least.

He snickers dryly, puffing out an air of astonishment. It’s nearly amusement by how ridiculous you sound to him. “You find using men relaxing?”

When you shrug, he’s reminded that he is still there, regardless of your misbehavior towards his gender. He’s just another fool for you to play with, but, fit for a fool, he likes to believe he’s doing better than the rest and there’s something awaiting him at the end of the rainbow. He’s still there, so isn’t that a sign he’s keeping you interested? You didn’t get bored so far, which counts for something — he has to be a worthy opponent.

“I guess it’s fair. Men do that with women all the time,” he comes up with the answer he’d expect to hear from you. Earning some brownie points, right as he drapes some of your hair further down your neck, almost cupping your entire throat with his hand.

Your pulse is steady under his fingertips. He hates that.

“Oh? So you are agreeing with me, not defending your sex? Or are you just trying to flatter me?” your inquiry is uttered with a lilted sound — you would have seen through him. Enjin is a tougher opponent in comparison to other men in your long past with them, yet you know how to disarm him nonetheless.

“Would that even change things for you,” he deflects brusquely. He’s finally acting on those impulsive demands of his body, unnerved — pressing his lips on your nape, spreading a kinder type of kiss first to see some shivers such delicate touch would have caused.

“Mm… eager,” you murmur, tilting your head back. No shivers.

Even though you’re letting him smooch you, he’s not sure if he’s doing you good — you giggle and shit, but it’s more you having fun than arousal. You might as well getting him hopeful for no reason, knowing you.

He looks up at you, still attached to your neck. You’re grinning down at him, not much rattled by his skilled mouth.

He doesn’t even bother to try again and takes some distance; he dramatically slumps his body until his head is hanging off the couch, and rubs his face. Good luck there’s no one in the room to witness his loss. “You’re so cold. Are you really into men?” he speaks more into the air, refusing to face you again. He doesn't need to hear your victory. Or entertaining the paranoia he’s not your type. That would be tragic.

“I am. I just am not sure I should let you get this ahead. You're trying to fuck me,” you say in a clipped voice. “I’m not interested in becoming a bed warmer for you.”

Which is hypocritical, considering you do fuck men for pleasure, often having him willing to do anything for more promised. However, you have a good reason to avoid hitting his bed specifically — sleeping between Cleaners sounds like a terrible idea. Besides, you think Enjin has enough ego without being able to touch you, one you don’t wish to reward. Secretly, or not so secretly, you hate men like him — all suave. You only respect him for who he is as a Cleaner and a friend, recognizing his importance to the symbiosis of everyone around.

He pouts, moving his lower lip to the front, again looking at you with something naughty. “Ah, but how do you know I don't want a date instead?”

“A date that would serve as a foreplay, you mean?” you chuckle.

He grumbles about you being coy under his nose and pulls you close, squeezing you so close to his big chest you feel your bones creaking. You make a sour face at his cologne overwhelming your nostrils. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy! You’ll have plenty of fun with me!” he laughs wolfishly, the sound’s vibrations purring between your huddled bodies.

Struggling to breathe and free yourself from the boa arms, you defend yourself verbally, “I’m pretty sure I’m not being shy.” You finally place enough strength on his shoulders to push yourself away, until you can inhale and fix your tousled hair. “You don’t know what I could do to you,” you tease too, still breathlessly. You smile; in that enticing way where your eyes sparkle, your eyelids lower into the bedroom look, and you’re meeting him from below your lashes. Once again, providing material for his mind to imagine beautiful things, but not being willing to materialize any of his dirty fantasies.

He spreads his legs wider to get more comfortable, needing to adjust himself. He imagines you on your knees between them, licking him up — oh, but you probably wouldn’t go there, and if you would, it’d be to pull out the most mortifying and slutty reactions from him. If anything, it’d be him being used by you. He doesn’t even go down there, being submissive or whatever, and yet…

As embarrassing he finds it, he probably would grant you some space for becoming your toy. Screw it, at this point, he’d take anything that’s equivalent to sexual. “Well, you can always fuck me instead. You probably would call it as that anyway, yeah? Taking charge and all?” He mocks, more self-deprecatingly about that he’s actually acknowledging the possibility. “So I guess this dick is all yours.” He motions his hand over his crotch.

“You mean the one between your legs, or yourself?” you grin slyly.

Not you calling him dick too. “Ugh, smartass woman… I guess both.”

This is what liking women smarter than him costs him.

One of the innumerable issues with you is that you wear work clothes that refuse to pronounce your real body shape. Yeah, your skin catching dust from the polluted zone is definitely yucky, but you’re going to get yourself washed after anyway. He’s seen you with your bust and ass out only once, in a tiny neon-pink dress reserved for going out to the colorful Canvas Town — unfortunately, as hard the sight had gotten him, it was as quickly ruined with you hanging on some man’s shoulder.

Enjin, regardless of his discontentment with your long jeans skirt and trashy-cheetah-print hoodie, is still a horny prick. You covering yourself only gets him excited about there has to be underneath — his mind tries to come up with the idea of what you could look like bare and on your fours, drawing the hottest visions to his mind.

Where he’d like to lay his hands on the most. How your body curves and fills the contours. Where his hands would rest the most comfortably when fucking you. What’s slappable, what’s grippable. Anything x you naked.

Of course, the fate had it that he are to be paired with you for the next cleaning. In fact, you make quite a good duo when you place your tension aside — not that you need to hear that from his lips.

It’s you you walking side by side by him through the trash-desert, whistling to yourself and swinging your vital instrument back and forth, while he tries to not side-ogle your body like a creep. As long as he doesn't angle his head excessively, the gas mask shall expose none… “So, you had a good sleep today?” he asks with a yawn.

You look up at him, already forming a taunting smile. Naturally, your face is covered by the mask, but he can gauge that expression with the expertise that was forced into him for the sake of surviving this one special woman. “Are you trying a new pickup line? It’s quite lame, to be honest.”

He shakes his head with exasperation. He’ll go gray prematurely because of you. Is chasing you even worth it at this point? Maybe he's just stubborn; no, he has to be. He hates annoying women, and yet, here he is. “No, I actually care about you being rested. Insane, I know. A man who’s into you also wants you rested.”

“So I can keep up with him in bed?”

“No!” he raises his voice out of frustration, then curses under his nose at the blunder — he’s ought to alert some beasts if he’s loud. It’s a loss of cool aura in front of you too. You just know how to provoke him, more than the brats around the HQ do. It's straight eight in the morning, too early to be baited by you. “No,” he tries again, quiet this time. “Because he’s being nice.” He forces a smile underneath his mask, barely keeping his sanity.

As your eye wrinkles keep up in mischief, he thinks that maybe you’re not done playing with his nerves. Thankfully, your answer comes out relatively normal. “Oh, then, it was good. Thanks for asking. You slept well too?”

“Yeah,” he throws casually, scratching the back of his head. Yeah, if he were to exclude the vivid dreams about you, or waking up with a boner in the middle of the night, lamenting you’re not there to take care of it. But you definitely shouldn’t know that — that’s giving you a loaded gun for free. “As much as those tiny beds allow. I’m a big guy, vertically and horizontally.” He flexes his arm under his trench coat, hoping to impress you.

You’re better than being bought by muscles, and worse as a human being. “I’ve seen taller,” you just had to drop the bomb, stopping him in tracks amid the sandy storm.

Enjin tries to keep his cool. He tells himself to remain calm, staring at his shoes. He acknowledges the fact there’s always a taller man; obviously, that’s logical. However, you didn’t need to make him sound short, especially when he takes pride in his broadness — playing the role of a peacock flaunting and spreading his feathers for you, his potential mate. He’s been hoping you find him tall enough!

“Excuse me?! If I’m barely fitting a standard bed, I think that’s tall enough!” he throws his hands and Umbreaker into the air dramatically, until the latter opens as dramatically. Forget being nonchalant. He gets efficient enough excuses to be emotional around you.

You stop your stroll, turning around to meet him with innocence. “Oh, but I didn’t say you’re not tall enough. Just stating the fact there are men taller than you, to highlight you still have it light compared to their struggle…” you chide him, smirking sideways.

He realizes how he allowed you to provoke him again. You didn’t even call him short directly; he fell for that because you know where to dig at his ego’s spectrum. “But… that logic applies to everything…” he says quietly to himself, itching to yell at you until you say sorry.

You’re stealing his job. He’s supposed to be taunting people. He’s supposed to be flirting with you, and you are supposed to be giggling all prettily at him, saying how great Enjin is.

You’re making him lose his mind instead. The worst gamble he took in his entire life is trying to win you over.

He makes a decision in order to save his mental health. “Wait here. I need a cigarette,” he grumbles.

You hit the sand with your instrument. “Huh? You crazy? You can’t take your mask off here.” He won’t kick the bucket if he will be fast enough with smoking, although, ending up with a sick lung isn’t a fun idea to spend your free time with.

“Oh, you’re worrying about me all of a sudden?” he scoffs. “I’ll smoke in the car. Put the filter on.”

“Must you? I just wanna get done with our job!” You give him pleading eyes through the windows of your mask — in the soft way he knows other men would fold under. It gets his knees weak also.

Fortunately, he’s still capable of recognizing his own shortcomings. There’s leftover crumbs of this quality, ones he plans to use when he’s being violently abused by your mindgames.

“Well, your fault, darling. You pissed me off again,” he says almost cockily, unable to believe he didn't give in under pressure.

Until you take on revenge, fussy that you were denied for once by him. “Tsk. Then go on, leave me waiting. Though let me tell you — you smoking is funny. Cigarettes already are a poison, but smoking them when you're already being slowly poisoned by trash… it’s just you giving a helping hand to the process of killing yourself.”

His umbrella almost snaps under the grip on the handle.

“No, you’ve got this, Enjin. She’s just showing she’s mad at you,” he thinks.

“The doll is being worried about my health. I’m charmed,” he exaggerates with a hand on his chest. “Yeah, I guess you need to pick your vice. And some damn cigarette is the least I deserve for risking my life everyday. Or for dealing with annoying kids… or women,” he says the last in a petty way, and turns his back around to walk away back to the car.

“Whatever. I’ll stay here and try to not be eaten by a trash beast,” you bark back at him, grumpily. Your eyes scavenge for any moving things in the dusty, beige-rock horizon.

“You do you!” he calls chirpily from behind his shoulder. Hearing you complain a bit has him feeling smug, tasting the victory on his tongue. Finally, for once in his predicament, you’re not having things go your ways. His walk is full of swagger, with Enjin thinking about how one cigarette might turn into two or three. He’s eager to keep you waiting and all; he’s resting easy at the notion you can defend yourself until he’s back.

Though, he’s worried he might start missing you again, and stuck with his thoughts alone, he’ll think about you bouncing on his dick in the car, the car bumping along the rhythm of you two, and—

He hears your scream, right as he’s about to climb the mound the car was parked on for a better chance to find it later amid the storm. “Enjin, help me!”

One thing about you is that you don’t ever have it bad enough with trash beasts to be screaming so helplessly — it’s only in his head, when he pretends you’re creaming on his cock.

Wielding his umbrella, he quickly turns around, forgetting about the smoke break, as he’s ready to protect his object of desire — a precious Cleaner companion too, he’d dare say. “Girl, what’s wrong?!”

He scans the area, looking for the source of danger. It’s weird, he didn’t hear any rustle of beasts… and now, he sees nothing. No you or the beast. “Huh? What the hell…”

You take advantage of his distraction to sneak into your car and hide the cigarettes, in order to frustrate him some more. You don't plan to spend entire day here because an emotional dude wants his cigs. You open the door, hoping to work in earned time.

In the same moment, he turns around towards the car again with lingering confusion, searching for something in another direction.

With the height the door is placed at, you end up hitting something.

Then you hear a thump, something heavy falling on the sand moving under its weight. Your eyes widen in terror when you see him knocked out.

“Enjin, no!” you jump off the mound, crouching down next to the unconscious man. “Why were you just standing there!”

As he doesn't wake up, you shake on his shoulder. Sure, you hit him pretty hard, you carry some strength, but you would have thought he’s more sturdy. “Enjin, you frog-looking bastard!” There is no bleeding or crack in his skull under the mask you momentarily remove to inspect him, so he must have been hit with the force of your swing instead. You sit down on the sand next to him, all resigned.

The beasts that soon finds you, you have to defeat on your own. Then drag this big inconvenience to the car and drive back to the headquarters on your own.

You didn’t expect Enjin to ever be capable of causing you to feel something like honest guilt. Really, everything that has taken place in the zone was no more than an accident, as even your cigarette thievery wasn’t meant to hurt him. The fuel is added when you think about how he was ready to protect you, with no hesitation to jump in to help you.

You added to poor Eishia’s worries too. She thought you killed the man everyone depends on.

You’ve been out of his space ever since bringing him back, and now are standing in front of the hospital room, trying to cherry-pick any anger in Enjin’s voice after he finally woke up.

“Ouch, ow, can't you be more careful, kiddo…” he’s complaining about something to Rudo already foaming in his mouth.

“I brought you food! I’m adjusting your pillow too! You asked me to! That’s just ungrateful!”

“Hey, I was just saying—”

You knock on the open door, willing to interrupt a possible volcano eruption. “Hey, Enjin. I’m glad you’re awake,” you greet humbly for yourself.

To your surprise, or lack thereof when you know him well, he’s immediately quieter, straightening his body on the bed too, as if no pain was ever bothering him. Wearing on nonchalance to not lose your respect. A head concussion? Nah, he had it worse in the past. It's merely a bit of headache. He might be butthurt about you trying to deprive him of his cigarettes, though. “Yeah, yea. You can go, Rudo. I’ll be fine, kiddo.”

“Hey! You told me you want me to—” Rudo’s mouth is being covered, not letting the boy take away his chance of being with you alone.

“I did. But the new help’s here, exempting you of work,” he nods over at you. Rudo makes a disgruntled noise and leaves, not without spilling few insults. Enjin has wasted his time, but at least he doesn’t have to look after the older guy.

“How are you feeling?” you ask placidly, no tease or hidden intention for the sake of your regret. When he eyes you with suspicion, you move closer and sit on the edge of his bed, conceiving the need for an earnest talk.

His pupils dilate at the sight of you, regardless of him having been a bit mad at you. He tries to express his dissatisfaction at what happened with pursed lips, only to feel more like a child desperate for attention. Eishia filled him on why was his head brutalized by you, but somehow, he’s feeling petty about the idea of being mad at you. Special treatment he’s been brewing from his little crush.

“As good as a man with a head concussion can feel. All of this because you tried to hide my cigarettes. And here I thought you were in genuine danger…” he sounds whiny already. Not without giving you tiny glances about whether his trick works on you. You just look so caring and it gets to his head, and he’ll be lying to say he’s not irritated by being defeated by something as stupid as you hitting him with a car door, enough to need some TLC.

Except, you're not that easy. “What happened to your bravado?”

Right. He’s supposed to be tough in front of you, not a spineless loser. Even if you have made your point a long time ago — usual tactics do nothing to impress you, especially if it’s forced masculinity or platitudes. “It’s right there alright. I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” he shrugs his shoulders too insistently on being chill, only to wince at his headache going down his spine under the movement.

“Oh ho,” you shake your head with pitying smile. You shouldn’t be so soft, in his opinion — he doesn’t like his feelings being touched. “You can tell me if something is wrong, you know. It’s my fault you’re here. I didn’t mean to have you injured, but…” you speak in a tone meant to be comforting. You even place your hand on his bicep, rubbing his instantly tightening muscles.

Only exciting him. Fantasizing about your hands on him is one thing. It’s a minuscule part of the issue, when your rare softness is working its way into his heart.

Oh no. You’re going to be all sentimental — you looking at him with worry and regret of a puppy, as if aware you did something wrong is the manifestation of it — and he won't know how to deal with that.

He quickly opens his mouth, also adjusting his body after it tingled from your touch. “Don’t try to apolo—” “I’m sorry,” you interrupt, solemnly. “Seriously. That was stupid of me.”

“You just had to…” he sighs deeply, rubbing his temple. Now that you two are here, he’ll have to be frank with you just to move on. “I know you didn’t want to hurt me. I'm just a bit pissed at you, but I doubt you’re that cruel to hit me deliberately, despite what you’re doing to me.”

Your tense shoulders relax, relieved he’s not considering killing you for your prank went wrong. “Oh? And what am I doing to you?” you tease, more so to lift his spirits than irritate.

“Don’t get me started,” he laughs off nervously, peeking at your hand on him.

Right as it moves up to his shoulder. You scooch closer to begin massaging him, the least you can do — as if able to tell he needs it. It feels so good on his stressed body, a groan leaves his lips and he wants to close his eyes. “Chin up. At least I won’t find the strength in me to torment you when you’re in this state,” you remark humorously.

He’d disagree. Not with the way your hands skillfully knead his muscles and make him further descend into being your fool. Your attention is on him, you smell nice with whatever perfume you were gifted, and your pretty face is right there for his tired eyes — literally a sight for sore eyes. But he’ll digress — you’re actually being innocent with your touch for once. It’s only the body knows what it wants.

“Yeah? You’ll hand-feed me too?” he mocks with a small grin.

“I just might. Whatever the patient needs,” you mention, digging your fingertips into his muscles until he winces at the knot being undone.

He gets hit with the realization you mean your words, feeling responsible for him. “… Don’t. I need to maintain my reputation.”

“Suit yourself.”

Eventually, he relaxes his heart tremors enough to close his eyes and submit himself to your soothing touch. He even manages to not make it weird, just therapeutic for his body and soul.

Then he suddenly remembers, his eyes snapping open, directed with accusation at you. “You called me a frog looking bastard!”

“Huh?” you play dumb. You didn’t know he was still lingering in consciousness when you said that at the time. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” He sits up straight, stopping your motion. He gives you a stink eye. Your insults was so abysmal, of course he memorized it even through the fog of his mind.

“Enjin, you must have been hallucinating after you hit your head,” you pat his shoulder patronizingly.

There's no way he’ll settle at that version. He has to defend his handsome looks. “Is it my big, tired eyes? Because women love it—”

You laugh, then switch to scolding when he visibly winces from pain. “Calm your tits. Let’s focus on you getting better first. Eishia might have fixed most of your head trouble, but you still need a good day of rest.”

“Great, now you’re being maternal,” he grumbles. He’d like to prove you wrong, but in battle of wits, you’ll dim his enthusiasm anyway — so he turns on his side, away from you, sulky.

Silence follows. Regardless of his mood, you place your hand on his shoulder again. “Seriously, Enjin, is there something I can do to make up for almost cracking your skull?”

He perks up, looking at you over his shoulder with interest. Oh, there’s many things he’d love to receive. Being cracked instead of his skull, for example. But he has enough decorum and decency to refuse to be the nasty man who uses your body by weaponizing your guilt. “Nah. Don’t mention it.” He lies down again, wrapping himself snugly in a blanket.

But you see it; the way he tenses under your touch and it definitely isn’t discomfort. You have always noticed his desperation and thirst for you, you simply didn’t act on that need of his.

Today, feeling guilty and mostly worried, you actually feel like doing something about it… although, it’s not really the sense of being indebted that has you considering doing more. It’s an excuse to have some fun, on another level of tormenting him for your indulgence. You’ve been worried about crossing the lines your job would have drawn; except, they were long tarnished when you didn’t put a clear stop to his chase months ago.

You’ve been craving him for quite a while now. So you ask again, implying your true intention with a lower tone. “Are you sure?”

His head whips up immediately, turning to look at you. “Huh? Yeah.” He nods rapidly, more so to ground himself in his certainty.

“Hm…” your hand wanders up his tattooed neck and he gulps, eyes full of surprise at your unexpected eagerness. Every nerve awakens with your touch, sending pleasure coding to his brain. “But I can make you feel better.”

He’s sitting up fully, glad his blanket pools around his growing need. “WHA— no, no, wait. I don’t want you to forcing yourself for my sake. I’m not that much of a bastard to take advantage of you,” his protest is anxious, coming from the need to protect you. He scratches the back of his head, observing your hand for any more suspicious move, wondering why you don’t seem uncomfortable — are you seriously being into the perks of doing more with him, or are being a good actress? He would have though all that happened for the past months was no more than a game to you.

“Who said you’d be taking advantage of me?” you purr. When he looks at you as if you just have told him cigarettes were banned, unable to comprehend the idea of you finally doing something to him V O L U N T A R I L Y, you roll your eyes with a mocking disappointment. Wanting to light up the bulb in his head, you add, “What if I want you too?”

“You- you do?” he forces out with gaping eyes. Perhaps, you’re leading him on again. Why the change? Although, he doubts you’re gullible enough to offer yourself out of pity — you must want him somewhere. No forgiving type you are.

You click your tongue at his slowness. “Well, of course, I wouldn’t let you sleep with me or anything.” No, that would be allowing him to win a jackpot. “But, hopefully the sight of my body should make you feel better?” You play with a Choker around his neck, slipping your fingers under until you hit the dip between his collarbones. He gulps.

Enjin of course would have preferred if he could outright fuck you, further motivated by your ongoing touch. But at this stage of your game, he’d take anything and it’d still be much more than he ever could have bargained for.

The sole obstacle in his way is his pride. It’s not as if you don’t know how desperate he is, but he still wants to maintain some illusion of control in front of you two. Besides, he remembers how you reacted to him denying you your request in the desert — your frustration was delightful to witness. “I don’t need that. I can ask any woman to do that for me. There’s like ten of them in my Choker.”

But you don’t play bullshit, challenging him with suddenly cutting his supply of your touch. You stand up from his bed. “Should we call them now? I can speak with one for you. Tell her poor Enjin needs to see some nice tits to get better.”

“I—” his face flushes. What you describe sounds on brand for character; he’s simply not used to women putting his lust bluntly. Nor does he want to lose the chance to see you naked FOR ONCE.

Who is he trying to fool, playing coy and unavailable? He’s conscious about the fact he’d regret saying no. “How much?” he mumbles through his lips.

“Hm?” You raise your brow.

“How much would you let me get away with?” he repeats, louder.

“You can look… you can touch… just no trying to shove your dick in me,” you bat your lashes at him.

As expected. He rubs his brow, foggily calculating the consequences of lying in bed with you. There’s many coming to his mind, actually, but he’s thinking with his dick. “Well, the least we can do is move over to my room…” He looks around. The ugly hospital hall’s beds are empty, thought you never know when someone might storm in.

Not to mention, he’d be revolved and angry in case someone sees what’s meant for his eyes only — in his non-humble opinion.

“Go on. I allowed you that much, didn’t I?” you smile coquettishly under him. You’ve been ready to be on top and give him a little show, but he insisted on being above you, promising his head will be fine as long as he’s not too vigorous. Though with the music he decided to blast in another bland and empty bedroom of the headquarters, supposedly to set a good mood, a headache is promised.

His big arms are trapping you by the sides of your head, on his own bed. Your legs rest on the side of his as he’s kneeling between yours, getting him horny at how close your groins are.

Although, staring at you, your body spread for him like a gift and beautifying his plain bedsheets, being allowed to finally have some taste… he’s nervous, not dominating you with his energy or any of such. It’s too good to be true to have you here, nor does he need to fall even more fixated with you. For a man with some buildup experience, he’s not sure where he should begin with ‘unwrapping’ you. Any move could be read as wrong by you.

It’s too hot in this room.

“I know… I’m just… not taking your reward for granted.” His spacious palms hesitantly move to the button of your jeans skirt, unzipping it after — he manages to do it last second before you’d have to help him, shunning the same. You watching out for any slip up definitely didn’t make it easier.

He sees the black lacy panties peeking underneath the zipline and his cock throbs in his pants. To get such nice ones, a small bow to make it pretty and all, he doesn’t doubt your ability you encouraged some man in the town to buy them for you. Just this layer between him and your pussy, he’s already panting like a desperate dog. “Okay, now…”

You’re being nice to him, lifting your hips for him, silently observing his actions. The lower the skirt leaves, the more it opens the view on your thighs and hips. The moment the clothing is gone, he’s immediately gripping them — fuck him, they rest so good in his hands. “You might just be a goddess, sent to torment me…” he remarks quietly, pitying himself. You're soft too, using whatever lotion bottle you found after people from the above dropped it down still half-filled.

He ogles you shamelessly, burning the image of you, as well as the palpable feeling, on his mind. He omits your pussy, wanting to leave the dessert for the end.

“I take it you like it?” you chuckle, wiggling your body a bit on purpose.

“That’s an understatement…” he pinches your thigh a little to see your flesh plumped, until you're serving him a pout from the tiny pain he springs into life.

“Be gentle with me. That body is important,” you tease.

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t I know that...” You and your hunt on men… “Lift your arms for me, darling.”

You obey. The moment your hoodie is paired with the skirt on the floor, he inhales sharply through his teeth.

There was no bra all along, so he’s drooling at the sight of your breasts hitting his vision immediately. His eyes could fall out of his sockets. “Really?”

“I’m comfy.” You just don’t like wearing one around the headquarters, finding it bothersome to cage your breasts for the majority of work already.

He’s on you immediately, fondling the jiggly between his fingers, cupping them entirely. Gawking at them, all starved and willing to pounce on you the millisecond you allow.

You'd love to bully him over that, but his fingers roll your nipples between them, the honey in his eyes darkening when your buds poke back at him. You shiver, annoyed when he grins at your sensitive vulnerability shown. “Finally something else than leading me on, huh?” he taunts smugly.

“I can feel your boner against my leg, Enjin,” you bite back, grinning as he scrunches his nose in irritation — of course, you’re terribly right. You still can't believe you’re letting him this far, so some taunting is due.

Deciding he wants to explore more possibilities of your reaction, and most importantly, needing your pussy for dear life, he grabs the band of your panties. There’s an itch to be a brute and rip off your panties, something he knows other women would find hot, and then… but you’d hate him for that. No waste is allowed and that jazz. “Screw that, you’re right. I’m hopeless with you and you feast on that shit. Satisfied?” he sighs.

So to calm himself, he glides your underwear down your legs, on a slower side to see if you’ll collect some anticipation in you as well.

You both fix your gazes at each other, not willing to break the condensing tension with divided eye-contact. You’re watching him intensely, noting every desperation for your enjoyment. He’s throbbing harder under being scrutinized, and yet, he can still your breath hitch to have some power over you. Good — you’re not immune to his touch.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this…” Of course you do. You made the wait happen. He needs for it to be said for the sake of releasing the intoxication you’ve been inculcating in his mind and loins. It’s invigorating.

“Only you get the pain of it, huh?” you rest your hands over his knees twitching occasionally.

Once your panties are good and your pussy is there for his display, he stops moving to take a deep breath in, shiver spreading down his whole body at this visage finally given to him. You’re the vision to haunt him forever especially down here.

He doesn't miss the way your thighs tremble over his, as if waiting for something or someone to sink their fangs into you properly. He has to oblige.

Your hand trails his knee, brushing over his pants to let him know it’s all very much real.

He prays for himself. “And I really can…?” Getting hurt by you was definitely worth it, considering everything that’s playing out right now. Wet dreams coming true. You’re naked as the way you were born like you’re some nymph, while he’s still fully in his clothes and it doesn’t even feel like having control over you.

“Yeah, Enjin, you can.” He doesn’t waste time after the reminder still keeping him on the Ground. His fingers brush between your folds, zeroing in on the way they part for him. What he’d do to be able to rub his cock here, surely big enough to be taking up all the space here.

You squirm from the inevitable pleasure, angling your hips into a better position.

“Mm, how’s the view?”

Enjin doesn’t look away from your cunt for even a second. He taps his finger on your clit next, watching as it twitches, as if he’s some expert on your body. Sparking small sensitivity in you, you’re suddenly acutely aware of the ache growing in your groin. You whimper, drawing out a satisfied sigh from him. “She’s pretty. You’re pretty…” he comments dreamily.

“Thank you— she?” you ask with both sense of being flattered and amusement.

“Your pussy. I bet she tastes sweet too,” he groans at the thought.

That man. It’s amazing his dirty tongue doesn’t turn off when he’s anxious; though, that’s what the horny does. Now your head is filled with thoughts of what destruction he’d bring with his tongue once you let him between your legs. Perhaps that’s the plan for another day…

“I do. I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to pull you away from me,” you tease.

“And I bet you're right on the money,” he smiles knowingly at you in the peripheral vision.

Your body tremors when he then spits on your hole to see it glisten, before he’s spreading your vulva with two fingers. “Damn…” he could taste how tightly you’d wrap around him. How much you’d soak his cock. “I know you said no fucking… but I can use my finger, right? Just to see what you feel like…” he pleads, eyes darting at you with a need.

You weight your option, staring at his huge hand fitting well between your legs. Those fingers would fill you so nicely, wouldn’t they? It’s no more than your feeding curiosity, you try to tell yourself. You end up nodding, not without your stomach clenching at the thought of him breaching your hole beyond previously highlighted line.

“Bless you,” he says with gratitude. He pushes his index finger inside along with his saliva, feeling the way your walls immediately trap around him in a suffocating fashion. He can tell you’ve been wet already, and he’s right, as his spit fuses with your slick into juices being rushed back and forth. Enjin memorizes the grip of your hole to replay in his head later; your tiny gasp at the stretch as well. “Ugh, so tight too… can’t even hate you properly with a body like this.

Can’t even imagine what it’d be like to have you warming my cock instead.”

He feels it — you instantly clamping on his digit shallowly thrusting. You moan too, unable to repel the dizzying thought of being split by him. His throat tightens, as he’s half-considering asking you for more. You haven’t pushed him away so far, and your pussy cooperates with his strokes.

He feels like a jerk asking for it, yet no guilt hits him when his bulge pulses and demands in his boxers. “Aren’t you curious too…?” he suggest lowly. He curls his finger, wiggling around to find some nice spot that would have you reconsider every limitations you have placed on him.

“E-Enjin…” you whine a little, puffing out air at the small sparks of pleasure he’s stirring. “You know we shouldn’t…”

Oh, he knows it for sure — Cleaners’ conflict of interests and all. But just a small dip inside shouldn’t hurt, right? “We don’t have to fuck. Simply check our compatibility,” he jokes, regardless of staring at you with what he’d consider way outside what his pride would allow. Any traces of nonchalance are entirely wiped. “Just the tip, I promise.”

Your mind conjectures the image in your head, ghosts your hole with it too — you believe just the tip would be a lot with what he’s hiding in his pants. And you find yourself drooling at the fantasy, any inhibitions are being spontaneously thaw out. “But really just the tip?” the hesitation in your voice is just a decoration.

“Really,” he says, biting his lip until it goes white. Now more confident, he moves his hip to the front so he can grind his bulge against you and coax you into agreeing. The friction has you moaning, not to mention the size, with you crumpling his bedsheets under your hands. “You see what you’re doing to me?”

You certainly feel it. You nod.

Then he takes it one step further, moving his red shirt over his head, which soon joins your clothes. Your mouth goes dry at the image of his muscular torso, painted in black and red lines of his tattoo. He has you right there, feeling good about himself in front of you for once.

“Alright, alright…” The sparkle in his eyes at your yes has you bout to regret your choice.

The coil snaps. Wasting no time, he’s shoving his pants and boxers down with nearly an inhuman speed, revealing anything you have ever dreamed of in the man.

He is huge. His clothes often turn his body shapeless, and while he has some nice waist on him, his cock remains big. Standing up and resting against his abdomen, leaking fat beads of pre-cum from the furious red of the tip about to grace your body. He tries not to smile at your stare.

“Scared?”

“You think I can’t take it?” You want to take every inch, no drama or complaining.

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, hoping for a bit of struggle for the ego stroking value.

Back between your legs, he spreads them with those also huge hands, before pushing a finger into you again.

“You said just the tip,” you whine at the repeated stretch, holding onto his thigh. Your long nails scratch him on purpose, watching goosebumps awake.

“I know I did, pretty girl. But I have to stretch you a bit or you might get hurt.” This one is not an excuse served by him; though it does give him a perfect opportunity to fondle you for extended period of time, by other hand over your hips.

Though you foolishly want to challenge yourself and prove him wrong, you still appreciate him being considerate. You’re certainly not complaining, as just his hand on you is wonderful. You let a pretty mewl pass your lips. Those he wanted to kiss forever.

Hoping asking for a kiss is no worse than anything else happening at the moment, he lowers his face until his forehead and nose bump yours. There’s no stopping, but adding another finger inside — you want to cry from how full it has you already. You both gasp at his cock laying itself over your thigh in this angle — you almost from the terror, he from the contact.

He’s pretty in this proximity; he thinks you’re even prettier. He doesn't look away, nor do you, ghosting his face by ventilating breath in an upbeat manner. It’s you who kisses first, softly at the start, then twisting it into heated after the months of denial of your own desire for him.

Both of you bite at each other's lips, shoving your tongues in as far as they can go. He overwhelms you a bit more, pressing your head into the pillow with his lips moving to the sides as if to swallow you entirely, leaving the track of saliva all over your face. He's skillful, having you whimper into his mouth; you’re delicious, you have him groaning for more, especially when he grinds himself into your leg.

But on the other sides of things, he remains mindful with you, not jamming his digit like a brute who thinks it’ll have you screaming in anything else other than pain. It’s hard to stay indifferent, nor do you want to be ungrateful when he’s working hard for your pleasure.

Resurfacing for breath, he keeps his forehead while fucking you on his fingers, with a deep stare. You’re licking your swollen lips and he think he’s the luckiest man alive, as he is the stupidest to be here.

“No complaints for once, vixen?” he laughs lightly, handsomely raspy.

“Well, yeah… you're being tender and that’s already something.” You smile and tilt your head, comfortably dizzy at the tingles between your thighs.

His brows furrow in worry at what you’re implying. “You’re saying other men are being too rough with you?”

You tense up a little. “I mean, some think just pounding a woman away is a way to go. Rough is nice, but not when they lack any sensuality or carefulness.”

He closes his eyes, trying to not let irritation get to him in the best moment of his life. The idea of some douchebag being inconsiderate with you or other ladies is disgusting. He’s not saying he’s a saint and perfect guy — by any chance — and likes being surrounded by hot chicks a whole bunch, while also being emotionally repressed, but he does try to make everyone’s experience worth the attention they give him.

Seeing the dilemma, you soothe it. “Don't worry. This is why I don't let most men do more than buy me a drink. Despite what you think, I don't sleep around that much. And if I do and something goes wrong, most men don’t see my fist coming.”

He raises his brow. A femme fatale and… although, he assumes it's mostly about playing men, not fucking them unless you think they are tasty enough. You enjoy the psychological aspects of things first and foremost, and you don’t lack in intelligence to gain something without having to let some man into your pants’ way.

You’re not totally fair towards these folks, though it’s now evident some for sure deserve it. And in times like this, you have to survive somehow.

Then, among his judgments of you, it’s this selfish relief painting itself. That not many men can touch you in general is great, but especially when this neatly like he does is rare.

“That’s good to know. If you need any man beaten up, you know where to find me.”

You laugh, dispersing any heavy energy, and raising his heart with a cute melody. When he places his thumb on your clit with enough pressure, it’s rewarded with a highest moan so far. You’re gorgeous when you're relaxed like this, it has him warm in a lightness he doesn't like.

“Thanks. Still, I can show you how to please me,” you tease to raise a reaction, rolling your hips under his fingers hastening their thrusts. They're so deep into your guts.

“Huh? But I know how to touch a woman?” he scoffs.

“But do you know how to touch me?”

“Why? You come with some sort of manufacture instructions or som—”

When your knee kicks at his thigh, he winces and shuts up about trying to one up you. “Anything you say. I know, I’m being pathetic, but at this point, I’ll take anything you’re willing to give.” He speaks in that “what’s even my life?” tone. He pulls out his fingers, despite wanting to redo his work at your disappointed noise, looking at the wetness coating it. Without much hesitation, he puts them in his mouth and licks, looking you straight in the eye.

Your stomach twists, enamored with his handsomeness being amplified by that dirty move. You throw in a disgusted look to be yourself.

“I was right.”

“Huh?”

“You’re delicious,” he grins at you and leans away slightly. “You ready for more? I feel like you barely survived my fingers,” he moves his hands down to stroke himself, sighing — he’s grown so neglected, the sensitivity is a bitch.

“As if.”

“Mhm, I guess you do have to stay alive to take my cock...”

“So foul-mouthed for what…”

“No more back talk,” Enjin, holding himself, pushes your legs apart some more with his other hand. None of you is able to hide your anticipation, breathing heavily in the room drowned in fast music beat.

Able to admit it to himself, he’s scared of what he’s about to do — of how good it'll feel, as once he gets the taste of you on him, he might never experience something akin to that bliss again. If you’ll ruin other women for him, he’ll blame you for the rest of his life.

“You better hold tight, sweetheart…” he warns, not knowing what’s about to hit him.

“Hold?” You’re suddenly pushing him onto his back, drawing out a surprised gasp from him.

“So that’s how you’re playing. I didn’t expect any less from you,” he smiles wryly, immediately landing his hands on your hips after you straddle his lap, frozen in the air. Another loss for him, but at least the view is out of this world — he’ll jerk off to your body memory for days after.

“Can’t have you thinking you’ll get more than this…” you mock, grabbing his leaking dick; he hisses. Even your hand on him feels phenomenal.

Fixing your form above him, you lower your body until it’s his blunt head at your entrance. You mewl quietly, as it's still pulling you apart no matter how prepped you might be.

And Enjin is losing his mind already. His tip is most sensitive, so just the shallow depth is killing him when you're squeezing him as if begging to push in further. He strangles your hips. “Fuck…!” his curse comes out thickly.

He’s girthy, and now that you experienced it first hand, you can engrave that fact into your mind. “You don't deserve all that…” you whine.

“D-don’t deserve what?” he asks pussy-dumbly. His legs start to shake more than yours are from the strain of hanging above him.

“Being so big. You're too egotistical for that,” your own voice falters too. You should be now removing yourself from his body, but the need to sink down onto him fully keeps you in place.

“Hm, that’s the closest to a compliment from you, so I’ll take it…” he laughs through you squeezing the soul out of him. Before you’d decide to pull away, he navigates his hand to your back, playing with your ass, weighing it in his grip — he loves it too.

You stay like this for a few seconds, before you offer him a communicative look. “We should…” you start quietly, but don’t move.

“Yeah, you should,” he agrees with disappointment, even if he’s staring at you with all the hope he could muster.

As if you could stop now. Too late, and none of you is thinking straight. Knowing what the both of you need, you're shoving your hips down.

When Enjin notices the slight movement at first, he tries to stop in yours and his name. “Wait—”, but he’s already deep in your guts before he could throw you off. His head throws back so hard it sends a spell of pain, quickly forgotten by focusing his senses on you warming his cock entirely. “Holy fuck… that’s a murder attempt…”

You’re barely holding up on top of him, hanging with your mouth open in a silent shock — there’s nasty sting on your hole, after you overestimated taking his size. Right as he think he accidentally broke you, or that you broke yourself on him, you raise your hips and lower them again, too aroused to let some pain stop you. “I really hate you, Enjin,” you finally say, all high-pitched. “You think too highly of yourself to my tastes.”

The words barely translate themselves in his pussy-addled head, but once he remembers to breathe again, he’s helping you to fuck yourself on him, making indents on your ass. He needs that fast and rough desperately. “Yeah? Imagine what I had to go through because of you. All these months of torture…”

You circle your hips, angling his cock in you that he almost bites his tongue off. There’s no way in hell you’d let him do as he pleases, and he begrudgingly has to admit he loves it.

He finishes his thought. “I guess they were worth it, in the end. Though, you better ruin me properly while you're at it…” he mocks, just to provoke you, despite the fact he’s seeing stars and his cock wants to spill inside you already.

You pull out entirely he nearly makes a shameful whine at the loss, then moans like a whore when you take him back entirely in one, sharp thrust. You're no better, crying out as he hits your cervix.

It’s a whole fight at this point — him trying to control the pace, while you're torturing him with different types of tactics. Then you put your hands on your breasts, fondling them and pulling on your nipples with coos of breath at the sensation.

“H-hey, go easy on this guy…” he lets go of your hips to hold at the bars of his bed, basically shaking under you. He should be scared of you and your pussy, in fact.

“You told me to show you all I have,” you laugh breathlessly through the way he’s stretching you, keeping up a faster tempo now that you’ve adjusted to his size. You cry out as you occasionally graze your sweet post, one hand falling down to hold yourself with his thigh.

“I bit more than I could chew, sweetie. Spare me,” he complains at himself, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Has there been something he didn’t know about himself? He’s not fussy about being below you as much as he’d have assumed he would.

For a moment, he lets you do everything on your own. It’s no break just because he’s lying and taking it — the friction is unbearable, you’re sucking him inside with every thrust, and you're so wet it tickles at his sensitivity. He tries to enjoy the view of your tits bouncing, your ass bracketing his hips, and the most beautiful look of your face both having fun and being lost in pleasure with lips gasping for air. Your eye-contact doesn’t falter, pulling him in with obsessive need to make sure those sweet meetings will keep happening, as long as he keeps letting you use him.

The sound of your song itself could make him burst right here.

That would be the course of action if you don’t then throw the line reminding him of his lame position, so in character for you but clearly digging at him, “I expected a little more from you, Enjin,” you pout.

He’s moving despite his legs have been growing limp.

You feel the shift in his energy the moment the groans he leaves is far more aggressive than you have ever heard from him, but then you're made to feel it when he’s shoving you face down into the mattress, knocking your legs apart too.

“You had your fun. Now it’s time to settle a score. And yes, it is very personal.”

You feebly turn your head to the side, watching as he lays his tattooed body over yours entirely, squashing you down and putting faith in your Cleaner’s strength to handle him.

“What the fuck, Enjin…” you flail your legs under him. You try to push him away from you so you can reestablish your prior command, but he’s leashing his arms under you to lock you in place. With his cock nestled between your asscheeks and grazing your sensitive slit, one goes under your tits, the other one under your neck and Choker till you have to lift your head, locking you in his grip entirely.

“You bitch—”

“You’ll take it anyway,” he says cockily, on a sterner note, and shuts you up by thrusting back into you in one, wet glide.

Taking matters into his own hands, everything is made much more intense in this position. His weight is stealing your breath, his dick is reaching everywhere, especially with the gravity shoving him inside; every push is met with his balls grinding and slapping at your clit. Enjin is being brisk from the start, hitting your thighs with his every half-second.

Your throat is turning sore from how loud he’s turning you. “What the…” your lashes catch moisture. “Enjin… you’re gonna kill me…” you say desperately through the loop on your neck restricting your talk. Your Choker is digging into your throat additionally.

“Not gonna kill...” he groans, tortured by the way you're even tighter in this position. He laps at your shoulder, leaving an ugly hickey for another man to see and turn away his head from you. “But I will leave you in pieces for sure.”

The promise goes straight to your pussy, having it squeezing harder at him ruining you from the inside. “Fuck… you’re annoying even when I’m fucking you…” he growls in his throat.

Your legs kick at him again, as your hands scratch ahead of you. Enjin clutches your breast, before rubbing your nipple between his thick fingers. Your head slumps over his forearm, unable to take more of stimulation with this level of fight. His cock and hips are relentless, quickly pushing you into something that will leave your muscles weak for a week straight, regardless of his own legs trembling on yours.

“Just like that… finally being a good girl for me…” he mutters a praise into nape he hides his face into. Still, his fingers pry at your mouth, pushing a finger inside you mindlessly begin sucking at. So hot you are.

Enjin picks up his pace into a merciless one, creating a loud echo in the room and drawing your orgasm closer and closer by hitting your clit with his heavy balls; loosening the screws in his poor bed rattling under you and he hitting a tempo of the lively beat he put on in the background. There’s no space not being stretched back and forth inside of you, and you’re crying into the pillow, staying close to the edge of him turning pounding you into painful. The soreness building up is not wasted, as what he’s doing to you is ecstatic to feel.

His own moans are falling straight into your ear, driving you even more mad. “Mercy, Enjin… I’m gonna…”

“You think you can?” he taunts and lifts his head to bite your ear point, tickling the piercing there. He’s about to fill you up nicely himself, feeling himself twitch inside your heat, but he’d like to upkeep some control he established over you.

Still finding some defiance and will in yourself, you make a threat he knows to not downplay. “Deny me and you’re never touching me again,” you mumble into the pillow, snarlingly.

“Can't win against you…” he clicks his tongue, tightening his arm below your neck until your vision is swimming in lightheadness. It’s not as if he could have handled denying himself by doing that to you in the first place, so he submits to the pleasure you're forcing.

“But you’re still gonna take all that I will give you, won’t you, sweetheart? Be nice to me?” he says softly to your ear, soothing your anger.

You nod, desperately. You’ll think about taking something after — as for now, you can’t end your recompensing session without him creaming your pussy. “Please, Enjin, I need it…” you angle your hand awkwardly to the back to pull on his hair like a leash, drawing out a wince.

“Dammit…” he curses quietly at your wanton utterance of his name, hiding his face in you again. He’s glad you can’t see it — you wouldn't let his promiscuous look live down after. “Come on, cum on me, pretty girl. I’ll give it to you.”

One, two, three thrusts later and you're screaming into the pillow, feeling your muscles tighten and throb around him. “Fuck, fuck, Enjin, Enjin, don't stop—” your entire body shaking.

Music to his ears.

“Shh, I’ve got you, lovely. Just ride it out, I’ll help you…” he whispers into your skin, not letting on his grip over you; he only slows down, aiding you in coming down.

“Just a bit more… just a bit…” he grunts. You’re spent and sweaty under him your bodies almost separate, and he feels like he should hurry — not that he can last much longer, his legs turning jelly. He lifts his head from your shoulder and licks at your tears with weird fascination at your rare vulnerability, before kissing you with your salty taste, chasing his climax until he’s bursting his load into you.

His vessels threaten to pop from how enormously his high hits him, emptying everything from his balls with the meanest of peaks. His moans are barely muffled, but you can’t hear much post-orgasm anyway, lazily following his lips, hazy-eyed.

His head collapses on the side of yours, with him relaxing his grip too, desperately trying to circle some air back into his lungs. Enjin groans inwardly at the thought of letting his load spill out, so keeps crushing you. “I think you did it…”

“Hm…?” you barely make a sound, incoherent.

“Ruined me for other women. Ruined women for me. How will I fuck others after that?”

Your vein pulses in annoyance already. “Get off me, you heavy man,” you mumble, regaining blood back in its rightful place.

Enjin sticks his tongue at you, before he’s rolling to the side and forming a starfish from how fucked out he feels — he, the man who fucks. He wasn’t aware a strong orgasm can leave a man unable to walk too — he can't move. “Man…”

“Man indeed…” you agree, turning your sore body onto your back, shivering when his cum runs down your thigh. “I think you made me overdid the thank you part,” you grumble, as if it was his fault.

“I did?” he takes offense, somehow managing to prop himself on his side. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. You did this all with malice and being insufferable.”

“Oh, I can be much more insufferable. Just wait ten minutes,” you smirk.

His eyes widen. “Really?” He’s getting another round with you? Although, maybe he should be worried…

“Why? Was I that bad?” you prod.

“Nah. Best pussy I ever had. Ten out of ten. Type of pussy that—”

You throw a pillow at him. He ruffles your hair, before pulling you close with a content smile.

It doesn’t last long.

“Oh, fuck me!” he suddenly winces. Both of you totally forgot about his injury, and now its debilitating pain was returning with twice strength. You’re sitting up, worried you might have fucked his brains out literally.

The evening after, he’s found walking into the hospital room with a limp in his legs and exhaustion painted all over his face. If Eishia’s temper was different, she’d be screaming at him instead of panicking for him being that careless with a head concussion.

Gris visits him soon post hearing from Eishia, concerned by the sudden degradation in his state. “Woah! Are you doing good, man? Do you need anything?” he asks with worry shortly into entering the room, unaware of the truth.

“Nah. Don’t save me. I'm where I want to be,” Enjin snickers to himself.

After all, he has a date with you this Friday. For the excruciating presence he tends to be in your life, he earned the chance to prove he could be more than your fuck-and-cuddle buddy. Womanizer and maneater is a duo no one has seen coming.