ᥫ᭡.

From the bits and pieces of his backstory you managed to put together, his family was wealthy enough to have the sort of connections to make his shows possible - but it was his own personality that made them profitable.

"Come on," he beamed, picking out a guest at random, gesturing for them to come up on the stage. They blinked, looking around nervously before hesitantly pushing off the arms of their chair and starting for the stairs. "Let's play a little game, okay?"

You'd seen it before.

Every Friday through Sunday for the past six months.

Traveling to different cities, rehearsing in the evenings, practicing stage direction rather than his tricks. He never needed to work on those. Just guiding you on where he wanted you to stand and what he wanted you to do.

Brighter smiles, wider twirls, deeper bows.

It was fun. Almost everything about him and this was.

Getting dolled up on his dime, letting him help you zip up the last couple inches of your bodysuit, listening to the chatter of the audience from backstage. Using the expensive products he provided, a full face of makeup and hair completely done, sprayed into place so it wouldn't so much as budge while you were up there with him. How you could feel the applause in your chest standing up there at the end, how right it felt to have his hand in yours when he clasped it and made sure you took your bows by his side. He made you feel needed.

You knew his routine by heart. Memorized every line, knew every step and sword that he'd pretend to slice through you in a box with, daggers being driven into wood while you were tucked safely in the hidden compartment.

But it wasn't really just the tricks people came to see.

It was him.

Something intangible about him, not just his shining blue eyes or the stray wisps of white hair poking out beneath his hat, but the energy surrounding him, the way his words boomed out through his wired mic and entangled you in his web of carefully-crafted illusions. Sure, you had the tiniest crush on him, but you told yourself it was simply the amount of time you'd been spending together, the chemistry that came with putting on performances night after night where he rambled to an entire audience of people how gorgeous you were.

Anyone who saw him would either want him or want to be him.

Even now, when he was just doing the whole boring pick a card thing, the one practically every magician did, the whole audience was only paying attention to him, trying to spot his sleight of hand.

They never did though.

Always left whispering 'how did he do that?' or trying to ask for his autograph as he walked off stage, sometimes even waiting out back to catch him on his way to his car.

This show was no different.

The same spiel, the same jokes, the same good night speech, twirling his wand in that big hand of his before waving goodbye at the crowd, all while you smiled and held onto the pretty white bunny he used that you affectionately named Gojo Junior.

The third most important part of the act really, after Satoru in second. He liked to tell you that you were the star, as if you both didn't know that he'd do just fine without your support. He could probably pick any other girl off the street at a much lesser risk of getting pepper sprayed - but he scoffed and scolded you the one time you joked about being replaceable.

Tonight came with one change you hadn't expected though, one in the form of friends you hadn't thought even existed popping up when you were both preoccupied with taking photos with a few lingering fans.

"Yo, Satoru," someone called out, and you looked up to see a man, maybe about his height clasping a hand on his shoulder. With another guy, and a pretty girl who was distracted on her phone, brown eyes glazed over with boredom. "Nice show."

"Thanks," Satoru smiled, relaxed, easy. Not the showman. Performance dropped, almost seeming like a normal guy who just happened to be in a full tuxedo, tilting his hat off as he glanced between his friends. "Didn't think you guys would come."

"After how much you talk about it?" The girl dryly said, not looking up as she exhaled.

"And her?" The other man chimed in, his deep grunt catching you off-guard as your head snapped over to him at the realization he was talking about you.

Or, well, belatedly processing that he meant Satoru was talking about you to his friends.

Satoru was unfazed though, buzzing through brief introductions and offering up their names while you nodded along, your outfit started to rub a little around your thighs as you shuffled on the soles of your heels.

Standing a little bit behind him, like you always did, watching him banter back-and-forth, used to fulfilling the role of the accessory on his arm until someone crossed the thin line separating what was staged and what was real.

"Are you free after this?" His pink-haired friend casually asked you, cocking his head to the side as he sized you up, dark eyes dragging over your exposed body and the shimmery fabric clinging to it. Sukuna, wasn't it?

You paused, considering what to say. Sometimes after shows you let Satoru convince you to come back to his place or whatever hotel room he booked, staying up late ordering pizza or whatever junk food he was craving while you watched old movies together. But he always passed out on the couch, hand in a bowl of popcorn and drool dribbling from his lips, and you usually left before he woke up.

"I'm actually-"

"She's still mine for the next, ah, two hours?" Satoru smirked, looking down at his wrist to check his watch for the time.

Except, it wasn't his watch.

Sukuna glared at him, attempting to snatch his watch back only for Satoru to take another bow, bending down too low just in time for his hand only to close around air.

"Too slow," Satoru cooed with fake sympathy, stepping back and unclasping the watch from his wrist just to dangle it in front of his face. "Gotta be quicker next time."

"Clean up isn't going to take two hours," you huffed at Satoru, snatching the watch first before holding it back out for his friend to take.

"I know," your boss pouted at you, pretty pink lips pushed together in a dramatic (and fake) display of disappointment. "I have some, um, notes I need to go over with you."

"Oh," you blinked, glancing towards backstage. "I guess I'll go get changed then."

Your performance had been pretty damn perfect.

No missteps or mistakes you could remember making, at least, frowning at your reflection as you slipped out of your heels back in your dressing room. You had already returned Gojo Junior to his cage in the corner, the bunny happily napping as you scanned the bag next to his set up for your extra clothes.

While you picked them up and started to throw them across the makeup chair, a little voice in your head slyly suggested the slim chance that Satoru was jealous. That just maybe your feelings could be mutual instead of just one-sided pining blinded by the persona you were used to him putting on.

Two sharp knocks had you snapping out of it, glancing back in time for the door to creak open before you could answer it.

"Is my lovely assistant dressed in there?" Satoru's warm voice called through the thin wood, and you instinctively checked the mirror, making sure your makeup wasn't messed up before you actually replied.

"Yeah," you called back out, stifling a sigh as you resisted the urge to put on a little more lip gloss.

"Damn," he shamelessly flirted, swinging open the door the rest of the way.

"Is that your way of asking to help?" You sarcastically muttered, shaking your head just slightly as you sighed.

"Can I?" He asked, almost managing to sound earnest.

You rolled your eyes at him, ignoring the faint fluttering in your stomach at the sight of him standing there and staring at you.

It wasn't that you thought his flirting was serious. You just sorta wished it was. It couldn't hurt to tease him back just a little too, right?

His blue eyes burned down your body, his jaw tensing as you turned away from him. You reached over your shoulder, making your own little show out of getting ready to strip down, glancing back to see how his face went slack. Watching him hold his breath, his grip tight on the wand still in his hand, knuckles bone-white.

"You'd make a terrible assistant," you wryly murmured, mouth twitching and fighting back a smile at how he was just standing there.

"My sincerest apologies," he purred, feigning remorse, a familiar grin twisting up on his lips as he reached up to tilt his hat, leaning against the doorframe as your fingers stopped just above the hidden zipper along the back. "Can I assist you in getting out of that then?"

You didn't say yes out loud.

Nodded just enough to answer for you, biting down on your bottom lip at the thump of the door shutting behind him.

"I'll start with the zipper first," he muttered, delivering the line like you were some audience member he had to impress. But his breath was warm on the nape of your neck, little goosebumps running up and down your arms as you barely stopped yourself from shivering at the sound of him so close.

"How sweet of you," you hummed as casually as you could, a little more pleased than you ought to be at how it felt for his long fingers to skim over your spine to reach the zipper. His other palm settled on your waist, your nose scrunching up as you realized he must have managed to slip his wand away without you noticing just to have both hands on you.

"Only to you," he quipped back, and before you could make a quick retort, he was tugging the zipper down all the way, sucking in a sharp breath at the freshly exposed skin.

Did he want to touch you as badly as you wanted him to? Ached for a connection that would catch sparks instead of fizzling in the shadows? Where you'd both stop acting like your chemistry ended once you stepped foot off-stage?

Feet planted on the ground, glued in place as he stayed there, both of you refusing to budge, daring the other one to break.

"Well?" You swallowed hard, keeping your head forward so you wouldn't have to see his face. "Are you going to help me with the rest or not?"

"As you wish," he quoted, murmuring all sweet and low in your ear as he started pulling your bodysuit off, taking his time to wiggle it past your hips and down your thighs, using it as an excuse to run his palms over every inch of you possible.

You tried to find a sliver of rationality. You'd even take regret. But there was just excitement brimming beneath the surface, desperation and craving melting together into you were just putty waiting for him to mold.

"Should I keep going?" He asked in that pretty whisper of his, making your heart stutter and race, mind reeling at his proximity, at the increasingly real possibility that you were really about to find out what more meant with him.

"Please."

He stripped you down to just your thin seamless panties fast enough it really did feel like magic, just to take off his top hat and put it on your head instead. You reached up to touch the brim, but then you were being picked up, his big hands sinking into the soft flesh of your thighs as he hoisted you in the air, carrying you with your back still pressed to his chest over to the old couch in the corner, turning around and plopping down so you were on his lap.

You gasped, surprised at how sure he was even now, in this totally new territory of your friendship? Relationship? Acting like he'd planned it all out, knew how to execute every lingering touch, practiced the way his lips would graze against the shell of your ear.

"For my next trick," he grinned, his hand skimming down your stomach and stopping just between your thighs. "I'm gonna make your panties disappear."

Your lips parted, about to giggle at how sleazy he sounded, but then you blinked - and they were gone.

"Holy shit," you breathed, too surprised to care about how much you sounded like one of his fans. "How did you-"

"That's a secret, baby," he wryly chuckled, showing you an empty hand before he used it to cup your dripping cunt. A funny pulse shooting straight down to the pit of your stomach as he pressed a feather-light kiss to your shoulder. "Spread your legs a little more for me, princess."

You always complied when it came to him.

And he always made everything worth it.

Watching two of his thick fingers disappear into your soaked cunt, with his gloves still fucking on, mouth hanging open at the way he kept plunging in and making a fucking mess of you on the couch. Could anyone else hear the filthy squelch of his digits pumping in and out through the paper-thin walls? Your moans of his name getting sloppier and sloppier, somehow turning Satoru into weak whimpers of Toru as he wrapped one strong forearm around your waist to keep you from squirming while he worked to stretch you out for his, ah, wand?

God, you couldn't even think about it like that without being filled with the lewd mental image of him trying to stick his real wand inside of you.

"I-I thought you had notes for me," you groaned, grabbing onto the dark material of his pants as you rested your head back on his broad shoulder, struggling to hold onto your slipping thoughts with every brutal drag of his fingers inside you. The fabric made it somehow even hotter, your brain going all fuzzy as he dove in all the way.

"I lied," he bluntly confessed, burying himself down to his knuckles just to see you shudder, keeping you supported as he fucked you harder with just his nimble fingers, his practiced motions making you forget how you were supposed to feel about your suspicion that he was jealous being proven correct.

He didn't want to see you with someone else.

And when you were here, when he had you like this, you couldn't really picture yourself out on a date when he occupied all your thoughts anyways.

"Are you on birth control?" He paused long enough to ask, although you were hardly coherent enough to answer.

"Mm, mhm," you half-yelped as his fingers swirled up to poke and prod in a particularly sensitive spot.

"Thank God," he groaned, yanking his digits back out, and it was only at his absence that you realized the ridiculously hard thing you hadn't noticed poking your ass was his cock.

How the hell was it so-

"S'toru," you attempted to say his name, your throat growing dry at the thought of his size before he readjusted you off of him just enough to pull his pants down and let it spring out, a thick vein bulging along the side of it, his tip a pretty shade of pink and pre-cum already leaking along the slit.

"Change your mind?" He asked, as if your toes weren't already curling at the anticipation, thighs trembling as your body aches to have him back inside you.

"N-no," you mumbled, heat pooling deep enough in your stomach you could probably drown in it. "You're just, um, bigger than I thought."

"So you've been thinking about me too, princess?" He teased, not missing a single fucking thing, apparently.

Your first impression of him hadn't been that far off.

Satoru was a pervert.

And none of your rehearsing, none of your practice could have prepared you for how it felt to be lifted up by the back of your thighs, for that fat head of his cock to snugly press against your entrance and sink in before you had time to blink.

Eyes closing just to feel the burning pressure of his thick length bullying it's way in, pushing past the first ring of resistance to claim the rest of your body as his.

"Can I tell you something?" He whispered in your ear, all hoarse and rough, right as he folded you further, his cock rubbing against your walls and making space for himself.

You tried to respond.

But the only thing that came out was a fuzzy moan, messy syllables slurred together as you felt your insides getting pushed around, shoved up, up, up until you thought there surely wasn't any room anymore. Yet, he just kept pushing in deeper, inch after inch until you started to wonder if he was about to reach your lungs at this rate.

"Been fucking my fist after every show thinkin' about you," he rambled, oblivious to your whines, or maybe just spurred on by them. "Thinking about how this would feel."

He groaned, all deep and gravelly, bottoming out and hitting your womb while he was at it, reflexively jolting just for him to chuckle, pulling you right back down to meet him. Keeping you pinned, his hands on your thighs and your back to his chest, completely connected.

"Y-you could've said something," you cried out, tears collecting in your lashes as the pleasure started to condense into a hard ball at your core, pinging around and demanding attention as he started rutting his hips up, pulling out and pushing in at a pace you couldn't believe he was keeping up.

The couch creaked louder, the frame of it smacking into the wall as his thrusts picked up, your brain freezing as his tongue abruptly dragged up your throat before he started to leave a trail of kisses in time with his thrusts.

"I didn't want to lose you," he admitted, and you wondered if he could feel the way you clamped down, squeezing hard at how raw he sounded.

"You're not going to."

Satoru snapped.

Acting more like a bunny in heat, although this Satoru Junior was much meaner than the sweet ball of fur in the corner.

Fucking into you fast and hard, one of his hands moving to sweep over the swollen bundle of nerves between your thighs, making quick work of stroking and soothing your need as if he could sense it himself. The friction of the fabric only heightened it, his gloved fingers catching over your clit with adoration and perfected pressure. Treating you like his new favorite trick, delicately tracing over it, practicing different patterns until he found the one that made you throw your head back, a strangled gasp stringing through the air as he repeated it again and again.

"Oh, that's it," he purred, putting on his professional bravado to disguise the way his voice quivered at that last word. "Give me a good finale."

You finished for him with a moan you hoped made him proud, squirming in his hold as he continued to finger and fuck you through it, mouth permanently parted as he kept your thighs apart enough you had to feel the force of him thrusting up to fill you with cum.

Warmth that lingered and leaked down your legs, his cock only stalling when the last drops dripped out, both of you frozen in that intimate position as you tried to blink and bring back at least an ounce of sensibility.

"Can we go again?" He muttered while you were still out-of-breath, another strained whimper leaving your lips as his teeth nipped at your neck.

"W-what?"

"I forgot to kiss you," he whined, and you could hear his pout, feel the way his lips pressed together on your shoulder. "You can make it one more round for me, right?"

His cock throbbed inside you, not going soft as he gave you a small kiss just above your collarbone.

"Please?"

"Depends," you murmured, tilting your head to the side so he had easier access to paint your neck with more affection pecks. "Are you my boss or my boyfriend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be."

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3

Before the thought can even finish forming, his body jolts upright as adrenaline floods his veins, snapping him awake faster than his mind can catch up. The sharp thud of his heart feels almost ridiculous in the silence, but the apartment is so quiet that it only makes every instinct louder.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he pushes himself up, rakes a hand through his hair, and steps into the hallway, every muscle tense, ears straining for the faintest sound.

Nothing.

Moving down the hallway without hesitation, he checks the bathroom, even though the darkness behind the door already tells him you aren’t there.

The living room is empty, the couch looks exactly the same as earlier that night, with your blanket still tossed carelessly over the armrest where you left it. Maybe you slipped out onto the balcony, but the curtains hang motionless and the glass door is sealed tight. The pressure in his chest ratchets up another notch, and he moves through the flat faster now.

The last remnants of sleep are completely gone when each room confirms the same thing over and over again: you aren’t there. Each feeds the growing, irrational fear that something has happened while he slept, and by the time he reaches the kitchen, his breathing is shallow, his jaw clenches, and his hands ball into tight fists at his sides.

And then he stops.

The kitchen is bathed in dim light, just the gentle glow from the stove clock and a faint spill of streetlight through the window, enough to outline you standing barefoot by the counter. One hand holds a glass of water, the other strokes absently over Mikan’s back as the cat perches on a high chair, leaning into your touch and purring like nothing in the world could ever be wrong.

You look half-asleep yourself, hair a little messy, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs, eyes soft and unfocused the way they get when you wake just enough to wander to the bathroom before crawling back to bed.

For a long moment, Sukuna stands frozen in the doorway, breath caught somewhere between relief and anger, adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. The sight of you, safe, slams into the fear he’s been carrying, heavy and real as anything.

Your head lifts when you notice him.

“What the hell are you doing?” The words come out sharper than he means, still edged with the panic that hasn’t left his body yet.

Confusion flickers across your face at his tone, and you blink at him, like you’ve only just remembered there’s a world beyond the counter and the purring cat pressed against your palm.

“Drinking water,” you answer quietly, your voice rough with sleep, lifting the glass slightly in explanation, like the answer should be obvious. Then, softer, as the reason for him standing there at four in the morning, staring at you like that, finally clicks, you add, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Something in his chest finally gives, and the tension snaps all at once. Muttering a curse that barely makes it past his teeth, he walks over and catches your arm before you can get another word out, tugging you into him so abruptly that the water in your glass nearly spills over the rim. Only then does he let out a shaky breath he’s been holding since the moment he woke up.

His voice rumbles low and rough, words muffled by your hair as he pulls you tight against his chest. “You scared the shit outta me.”

His grip tightens for a heartbeat before easing. One hand slides up, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of your neck, while the other stays splayed warm and steady across your lower back. Caught off guard by the sudden intensity, you let your free hand find its way to his side, settling there gently.

“I’m sorry.” It slips out before you can stop it, even though you know you haven’t done anything wrong. Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, you find his stare heavy with something that makes it clear that he doesn’t want you apologizing for this, not ever. Nuzzling your cheek into his chest, you feel the frantic thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear. “I was only gone a minute,” you add softly, a little sheepish.

Sukuna huffs softly, and the short, weary sound carries more relief than frustration, but his arms stay locked around you, unyielding, as if letting go might let the fear slip back in.

“I know,” he mutters eventually, almost to himself, the edge of panic fading away. “I know that.”

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. The kitchen is quiet except for the slow, steady thud of Sukuna’s heartbeat finally calming beneath your cheek, and the impatient purring of Mikan weaving around your ankles, as if he’s been personally wronged by all this drama.

Then, he slips the glass from your hand and sets it on the counter, his other arm settling around your shoulders, steering you gently toward the bedroom, unwilling to let even an inch of distance creep in.

“Come on,” he murmurs, and you don’t argue.

Sleep tugs at you again, heavy and insistent, and as you sink back onto the mattress, your body leans instinctively toward his warmth. Sukuna wraps himself around you, pressing his chest firmly against your back and banding one arm tight across your waist, his hand splayed over your stomach. The other slips beneath your pillow, fingers searching until they find yours and tangle together.

Now that you’re back exactly where you should be, Sukuna lets out a slow, quiet exhale as the last traces of restless adrenaline finally drain from his chest.

so you tried to ignore the way your thighs always clenched whenever toji was around, or the way your eyes would wander down the expanse of his muscles whenever the two of them worked out together.

you weren't that kind of person, right? the kind of girl that would shut her eyes the second sukuna slipped inside of you, wishing it was toji instead.

—

"y'know you really are too good for him." 

"what?" 

toji moved behind you, holding you from the back before spinning you around, his arms wrapped around your waist, his lips hovering over your neck while you giggled.

"i mean it—you're pretty, kind, smart and you're insane for putting up with a guy like sukuna."

"says you." you said, turning over to face him, pouting just a little to get your point across.

"what? you've never seen me leave you behind, have you, pretty?" his voice was smooth, laced with the slightest bit of condescension.

"it's whatever." you rolled your eyes at him, lightly hitting him on his chest while he laughs, his grip tightening around your waist while he slowly leaned in.

"what's going on here?"

"sukuna! you're home." you shoved toji off of you, sauntering your way to sukuna, wrapping your arms around his neck before he kisses your senseless, eyeing toji the entire time his lips were connected to yours.

because sukuna ryomen knew. he knew the way toji looked at you, and he saw the way you looked at him when you thought nobody was looking.

but it was just a fleeting thought, right? i mean, yeah, he'd been busy, ditching dates to stay over at practice—and he knew you didn't like it when he just left, only to show up in the dead of night, drunk out of his mind and on the verge of collapsing. 

sukuna ryomen knew you deserved better. but better didn't mean toji fushiguro.

—

"fuuuck you feel so good—." sukuna was rutting his hips against yours, his cock buried inside your walls while you held onto his back, leaving behind bruising marks on his skin, biting down on his shoulders to stop yourself from screaming.

"oh come on, the least you could do is let me hear you." he purred, his eyes glinting a little underneath the dim lights while he lifted himself up a little.

"f—fuck but to—ji might hear us."

sukuna cocked his head in confusion, because knowing you, wouldn't you have wanted toji to hear how pretty you sounded getting absolutely wrecked?

"i barely get to see you all week, at least let me hear you, doll." is all he said before quickening his pace, his hips snapping against yours forcefully, your slick running down your thighs, with the entire room filled with the noises of the two of you moving against each other.

"so—good kuna nngh—."

—

"fuck, this is pathetic." toji whispered, fisting his cock, his ears pressed against the shared wall of his room, listening to your whimpers through the walls.

he could hear you chanting sukuna's name, the creaking with every thrust—

"keep going toj—sukuna-!"

what. the. fuck.

—

sukuna was gone. again. and knowing him he was probably black out drunk on someone's lawn, with a sorority girl half asleep on top of him while he tried to figure out where the fuck he was.

you tried to tell yourself that you could put up with it—the parties, the alcohol, the sheer amount of people that orbited sukuna, but it got to a point. where you just want to fuck it up so you can finally let go.

but sukuna knew. he knew you wanted him to change, to swoop into your life like some kind of knight in shining armour. so he kept you close enough to have you stay.

well, that's what you would've done, anyway. until toji decided to get himself involved, which he always did, he was tojiafterall.

and when sukuna walks back home with a pretty girl with a heart of gold wrapped around his fingers, toji's only goal is to unravel it.

and when you looked up and him and blinked through your lashes, toji fushiguro knew that he'd do anything to fuck over anything you had happening with sukuna. 

—

"he's not home again, huh?"

"fuck off toji." 

you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, still dressed in the stupid outfit he was supposed to take you out in, curled up in his bed while toji barged in like he owned the place.

"why do you even put up with this, pretty? you can do so much better."

"by better, you mean you, right?" you let out a bitter laugh, barely looking at him while he closed the space between the two of you.

"well, you can allow me to be selfish just this once, right?"

you let out a bitter laugh, hitting him on his chest once, expecting him to move away, to leave you to wallow in your own misery and hope sukuna would at least show up before two in the morning.

"whatever, toji."

"aw, don't be like that, doll."

his arms looped around your waist again, pressing you into his chest like he always did, your soft sobs muffled by his boobs pecs.

he slowly shifted you onto his lap, kissing the top of your head before looking down, your eyes brimming with tears while you looked up at him, your cheek still pressed up against his chest.

"he's good to me, toji."

"sometimes. i could be better, y'know."

"i don't know that."

"then let me show you. please." 

his eyes were flitting down to your lips, only when he thought you weren't paying attention, slowly drawing mindless circles around your waist with his hands.

you nodded once, and that was all the permission he needed before his lips were on yours, his tongue sliding on the edge of your lips while you sobbed into his mouth.

"are you sure?"

"you wanted this, toji, why are you so hesitant now?"

"because now, there's no turning back."

well, fuck it, right?

—

"f—fuck t-toji, s—slow down."

"never heard you sound like this around sukuna, doll."

"stop talking about him—while you're inside me."

"you're unbelievable, you know that?"

you rolled your pretty eyes at him, only to have him thrust into you again, your ankles up to your ears while you tried to muffle your screams.

"i've heard you—before."

"w—what?" you sputtered out, your saliva dribbling down the corners of your mouth while your cunt clenched around his stupidly big dick.

"i've heard you a—almost moan my name before."

"fuck."

"you're gonna tell me when it's too much, alright?" 

you nodded against him, trying to bite back your noises while the room filled with sickening squelches, and toji's grunts filling the gaps of silence that echoed.

"f—fuck, what if kuna hears us—."

"let him." he let your legs down, his lips finding yours again, nipping at your skin while they cascaded downwards, soft lips kissing each and every little darkened bruise he'd left on your skin.

"even better."

"you're sick."

"well i'm not the one sleeping with my boyfriend's best friend, am i?"

"asshole." you laughed out while his pace quickened, his hands moving down to your core to thumb at your clit, knocking the words right out of your pretty lips while whispered filthy, filthy words into your ears.

"gods, you suck." 

"and you're screaming my name, doll, i must be doing something right."

—

with his ears pressed against the door, sukuna finally heard you scream the name you'd been trying not to yell while he was inside you.

and this time around, he was the pathetic one, fisting his poor, leaky cock to the sounds of his best friend putting you through the mattress.

—

you were tracing mindless patterns on toji's chest, his arm casually slung around you while he kissed your forehead, holding you close as if you'd disappear if he didn't and—

slam!

"sukuna—." you gasped out, trying to get the blanket to cover your naked form. like that'd make it any better that you just fucked toji.

"hey man."

"what the fuck."

"sukuna i swear i can explain—."

"oh, but there's no need to, doll." toji purred, pulling you back into the bed while sukuna was all but punching his nose in.

"toji what the fuck are you talking about—."

"y/n, he was listening in the whole time."

you looked around you for a second, your eyes finding sukuna's eventually cascading lower and lower until—.

"this never would've happened if you were better, right 'kuna?"

"oh fuck off, fushiguro."

sukuna moved towards you, kissing you like he never had before, his tongue finding its way into your mouth slowly while you sunk back into the mattress next to toji.

"if you were into this, i would've done it sooner, kuna."

"don't test it."

"shut the fuck up." you spat out. you knew you were in the wrong, going behind his back, essentially cheating on him, but whatever, right?

his fingers found your core immediately, thumbing at your already swollen clit while toji moved behind you, kissing the back of your neck, one arm finding its way around your throat while sukuna scissored you open.

"f—fuck it's too much."

you squirmed, while the two of them held you down, with toji pushing your thighs apart from behind you while sukuna moved lower and lower, his mouth finding your cunt, lapping up your slick mixed with toji's while you bit back a moan.

"gods she's pretty, isn't she?" toji cooed while sukuna shot a glare right at him, but remaining laser focused on making you cum on his face, his tongue moving against your folds when his lips eventually found your clit.

you could feel your vision going blank, your legs struggling to close around sukuna's head while toji continued to keep them apart, still pressing kisses to your neck while you came on sukuna's face, slick dripping down his chin while he licked it off his lips slowly.

you were slowly coming down from your high, panting in toji's lap right when—

"so what does this make us?" sukuna said, eyeing both you and toji on the edge of the bed.

"well, i guess we're about to find out." is all toji said before unbuckling his pants.

sorry if it’s ass ok.

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join lili’s taglist!

He did not sign up for this.

You bend over to fix your bag — and he catches a flash of your ass. Bikini bottoms. Tiny. Pink. His soul briefly ascends.

He immediately looks away like you pulled a gun on him.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he barks, voice cracking slightly.

You blink. “A bathing suit?”

“That’s not a bathing suit. That’s floss.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being—” he cuts off, eyes darting back and instantly looking away again. “You’re the one out here butt naked, acting like this is your OnlyFans launch party.”

You squint. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” he hisses, adjusting his position on the towel like he’s uncomfortable. Which he is. In multiple ways.

You sigh and sit beside him, smearing sunscreen on your arms.

He watches you from the corner of his eye — mouth dry, sunglasses hiding how they’re nearly glued to your collarbone.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You nudge him with a grin. “Wanna do my back?”

“I’d rather get hit by a boat.”

You pout. “C’mon. I’ll get sunburned.”

He takes the bottle with a grunt, muttering the whole time. “Stupid beach. Stupid bikini. Dumbass roommate with her dumb shiny skin and her hot little waist—fuckin’ hell.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Shut up.”

His fingers graze your back and he has to swallow the groan threatening his throat. You're warm. You're soft. You smell like coconut.

This is fine. This is normal.

He finishes in record time and throws the bottle like it insulted his family. Then lays back and covers his face with his towel like he’s being punished by God.

You giggle. “You’re acting so strange.”

He mutters something like, “I’m gonna fucking drown myself.”

You stretch beside him, and he peeks over the towel — only to see you adjusting your top again. Your chest. Bouncing.

He jerks his head back with a thud on the sand. “FUCK.”

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

You reach into the cooler and hand him a popsicle. “Here. Chill out.”

He glares at you.

Then at the popsicle.

Then back at your lips.

He takes it and bites it like it owes him money.

“You’re not even fun,” you say. “I brought you out here to relax.”

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he growls. “This is torture.”

You raise a brow. “So go home.”

He scoffs. “And leave you here? Half-naked? In public? Where other people can see you?”

“…Is that a problem?”

He looks you dead in the eye. “Yes. It’s a fuckin’ problem.”

“Why?”

“Because I—because it—fuck off.”

You blink, confused. “Are you blushing?”

He points the popsicle at you accusingly. “Don’t flatter yourself, porn star.”

“You’ve been acting so weird since I took off my cover-up.”

“Yeah, because you came out here dressed like a Sports Illustrated midlife crisis!”

You burst out laughing, which only makes him scowl harder. His sunglasses are fogged up. He’s fidgeting. His ears are red.

“You’re such a loser,” you grin.

He snarls, “Say that again and I’ll drown you.”

“Aw, are you flustered?”

“I'm annoyed,” he snaps, but his voice breaks on the end and he knows he's losing.

You lean back, smug. “You like me in this bikini, huh?”

Sukuna doesn't respond.

He just bites his popsicle again with unnecessary violence, eyes glued to the ocean, and mutters:

“…I'm gonna build a sandcastle and bury myself in it.”

For whatever reason, tormenting you was his favorite extracurricular activity. He wasn’t the type to just shove you in the hallway or copy your homework—no, Sukuna liked to get personal. He’d lean over your desk, crowding you until you could smell the faint tang of smoke clinging to his uniform. He’d tug on the strap of your bra through your shirt when no one was looking, snap it hard enough to make you flinch, then snicker like you were just entertainment.

“Nice panties today, princess,” he’d mutter after “accidentally” brushing his hand against your skirt when squeezing past your desk. He never said it loud enough for others to hear, but just enough to watch you squirm. Half the time he didn’t even hide the way his eyes lingered—like he got off on catching glimpses, cataloging them, storing them away for later.

Everyone else thought he just hated you. That Sukuna Ryomen had found his personal chew toy and wasn’t going to let go until you broke. And yeah—he was cruel. He’d call you stupid, shove your books off the table, whisper in your ear in that gravelly voice just to see the goosebumps rise on your neck. But under all the insults, there was this sick, obsessive edge.

Because Sukuna wasn’t just a bully. He was a pervert.

He knew exactly how to make you nervous, exactly how close to stand, how to bend low so his lips nearly brushed your ear when he spoke. Sometimes he’d steal your pen just to chew on it, eyes flicking to your mouth like he was imagining something worse. Sometimes he’d force you to walk the long way home just because he liked trailing behind you, watching your skirt sway.

The worst part? Half the time he looked mad about it. Like he resented himself for wanting you, and that made him even meaner. He’d sneer after letting his eyes drag over your body, jaw tight, as if to remind himself—and you—that you were beneath him.

Still, he kept coming back. Every damn day.

And you? You let him. You let him torment you, because have you seen the man? He was six feet of pure asshole with muscles, scars that made you wonder how he got them, and a mouth that looked like it only knew how to say cruel shit… or press you against a wall and ruin you.

Sukuna didn’t just bully, he invented new ways to fuck with you.

He’d steal your water bottle in P.E., unscrew the cap, and tip it over his mouth slow, throat bobbing as he drank, staring at you the entire time—then toss it back empty. “Thanks, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I don’t have herpes.”

He’d drop his pencil on the floor just so he could bend down, slide his hand along your calf under the desk, and act innocent when you jerked away. “Relax, I was just grabbing my pencil. Unless you liked that?”

He’d grab your phone in the hallway and hold it above your head, scrolling through your notifications like he owned you. “Wow, no one’s texting you? That’s depressing as fuck.” Then whisper low so only you could hear: “Bet you’d blow me if I said I’d add you to my contacts.”

When teachers called on you to read, he’d mouth obscene shit across the classroom, tongue dragging over his lip, two fingers shaped like a V, just to watch you stumble over your words.

And the worst part? You never said anything. You could’ve told the teacher. You could’ve pushed him off. You could’ve screamed when he crowded you in the back stairwell, one hand braced above your head while the other tugged your skirt just an inch too high. But you didn’t. You froze, you fumbled, you blushed—and he noticed. Every single time.

That smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

Because behind every shove, every whispered insult, every “accidental” brush of his knuckles against your thigh—there was a glint in his eye that said he wasn’t doing this to humiliate you. Not really. He was doing it because he couldn’t fucking stop himself.

And if you were being honest? You didn’t stop him because you didn’t want to.

That’s why it was no fucking surprise when you were found in the back of his car, sprawled across torn leather seats, being fucked into oblivion by the same asshole who used to snap your bra straps in homeroom.

The windows fogged up, the cheap pine-tree air freshener swinging violently from the rearview as Sukuna drove his hips into you like he was trying to wreck you on purpose. The car reeked of smoke, sweat, and him—and you were gasping for breath, nails clawing at the cracked upholstery while he laughed against your throat.

“Always knew you were a little slut for me,” he growled, voice low and cruel, one hand pinning your wrists above your head like you were some helpless toy. His other hand gripped your thigh, shoving your leg higher until the stretch burned—but fuck, you couldn’t even think straight anymore.

He didn’t kiss you, not really. He bit. Sharp teeth sinking into the soft skin of your neck, claiming you the same way he claimed every fucking thing—rough, selfish, like he deserved it.

And you let him. You fucking let him.

Because god, Sukuna was huge. His cock was stretching you out in ways you didn’t think were possible, every thrust knocking the breath out of your lungs and making your eyes roll back. He knew it too—the bastard grinned every time you choked on a moan, every time your hips arched off the seat despite how much you hated yourself for wanting it.

“Pathetic,” he hissed in your ear, rutting into you harder, each word punched out by the slam of his hips. “Acting like you don’t like me in class, but look at you now—fuck—taking it so well.”

The car creaked with the violence of it, every movement reckless, every thrust a reminder that he had you exactly where he wanted.

His rhythm turned brutal, the kind of pace that made your brain short-circuit. Every time he bottomed out, the leather squealed under you, and Sukuna laughed—actually laughed—at the mess you were making on his backseat.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he muttered, dragging his cock out halfway just to slam back in with a wet slap. “And you try to act like you don’t want me? You’re disgusting.”

He spat right where your bodies met, a crude, wet sound that made your face burn, then shoved himself back inside like the saliva was enough lube to make it easier for him to ruin you. “Take it. Take it all.”

When you tried to turn your face away, whimpering, he gripped your jaw hard, squeezing until your lips parted whether you wanted them to or not. His mouth crushed yours, hot and aggressive, tongue forcing its way in. The kiss was messy, mean, all teeth and spit—but it left you gasping for more when he finally pulled away, lips slick with saliva.

“You have no idea what you fuckin’ do to me,” Sukuna rasped, dragging your leg higher over his shoulder until your body folded under him. His eyes flicked down, and his grin sharpened. He pressed one big hand to your stomach, right over the bulge his cock made inside you, forcing you to look at it. “See that? That’s me. That’s how deep I am.”

The sight had you moaning, and he mocked you instantly—throwing his head back, mimicking your breathless little sounds in a high, fake voice. “Oh Sukuna, you’re so big, ohhh.” Then he slammed his hips down harder, voice dropping into a growl. “Shut the fuck up. I’ll make you scream it for real.”

And he did. Every thrust was relentless, his body hunched over yours, sweat dripping down his temples as his chest crushed yours. He kissed you again, filthier this time, tongue forcing its way past your teeth while his cock bullied deeper into you, your entire body rocking with every snap of his hips.

At some point, Sukuna got sick of leaning over you. With a rough grunt, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you, dragging your body up until you were straddling him in the backseat. The shift was dizzying—one second he was caging you down, the next he was shoving you up,

dragging you onto his lap, his back slouched against the car seat like a king on his throne. One knee spread wide against the door, the other pressed to the opposite seat, he looked every bit the bastard he was—tattoos shifting over his arms, head tipped back with that cocky grin pulling at his mouth.

“C’mon,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, hands gripping your hips like handles. “Show me what you got. Ride me.”

You braced your hands on his shoulders, heart slamming in your chest as you sank down onto him. His cock stretched you wide, the intrusion brutal, and you could barely catch your breath as you tried to ease yourself slowly onto his lap. The leather squeaked under you, his thighs flexed, and Sukuna’s head lolled back against the seat with a ragged groan.

“Fuck—you’re so tight—” His voice broke, his hand shooting to your waist to steady you. Then you clenched, unintentionally, and his reaction was instant: his grip tightened, teeth bared. “Shit—don’t—fuck—don’t clench on me like that—” He bit off his own words, jaw twitching, eyes snapping open to glare at you like it was your fault he was losing control.

You whimpered, trying to rock your hips, but your pace was hesitant, too slow. Your thighs trembled from the stretch, your body struggling to keep up. You tried, bouncing weakly, but every movement felt clumsy compared to the way he fucked you before.

Sukuna chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Pathetic,” he drawled, though his voice cracked at the edges, rougher than he meant. His hands slid down to your ass, fingers digging in hard. “You really think that’s riding me? You’re useless.”

And then he thrust upward.

Your whole body jolted, a cry ripping out of you as his cock speared deeper, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. He did it again—harder, sharper—his thighs snapping against yours, his back never leaving the seat as he drove up into you.

“Yeah,” Sukuna grunted, his grin sharp and filthy, “that’s more like it. You sit there, pretty little thing, and I’ll do the real work. Lazy slut—look at you, bouncing like you were made for this cock.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red trails across his skin as his pace grew ruthless. He caught your chin in one rough hand, forcing your face to his, and crashed his mouth onto yours. The kiss was all tongue and spit, aggressive and wet, his teeth biting down on your lip as his hips never slowed.

He broke away with a laugh that sounded more like a growl, his forehead pressing to yours. “Every time you squeeze around me—fuck—I can feel it. You’re strangling my dick, you know that?” His thrusts grew sharper, seatbelt buckles clattering against the door from the force. “You’ll make me lose my shit, keep clenching like that.”

The car shook with every brutal snap of his hips, his cock splitting you open while your body melted against him. And all you could do was hold on, gasping into his mouth as he fucked up into you, mocking you with your own moans between every breath.

Your body was nothing but tremors and moans, sprawled across Sukuna’s chest, skin sticking to his from sweat. You could barely hold yourself up anymore—your face was buried against his neck, hair plastered to your cheek, every sound that left your throat muffled against his hot skin.

But Sukuna wasn’t slowing down. Not for a second.

Every thrust of his hips ricocheted through your bones, his cock driving into you so deep the damn seat shuddered beneath you. Your thighs trembled uselessly at his sides, spread wide over his lap, the stretch brutal.

“Listen to that,” he rasped, sweat dripping from his temple into your hair, his mouth hovering against your ear. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the car, obscene and endless. “So fucking messy. You’re soaking me like a goddamn whore.”

His hand cupped your breast, rough fingers pinching your nipple until you cried out, the sound breaking against his throat. He chuckled, leaning down to suck harshly at your chest, his teeth dragging sharp over your skin before sinking in. “Sensitive, huh? Knew it,” he muttered, voice vibrating against your flesh as he left his mark.

You whimpered, but he wasn’t having it. His hand caught your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he shoved two thick fingers past your lips. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled, watching your lips stretch around him. “C’mon, bite me. Do it.” He pushed deeper until you gagged, then yanked them out, spit stringing from your tongue. His smirk was vicious as he slapped your cheek lightly with the wet hand. “Good girl. I knew you liked being used.”

The other hand slid down your stomach, calloused knuckles pressing rough against your clit. The jolt had you gasping into his chest, thighs clenching, but Sukuna only laughed, rolling the sensitive bud with cruel precision.

“Feel that? You squeeze me tighter every time I touch you here.” His hips slammed upward to prove his point, cock punching the air from your lungs. “Jesus christ. You can’t even fucking hide it.”

Your moans spilled against his neck, broken and helpless, and Sukuna swallowed them greedily when he dragged your face up and crushed his mouth to yours. His tongue shoved past your lips, messy and possessive, while he pounded harder, faster, your whole body shaking against him.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice frayed and feral, his thrusts violent enough that your ass left the seat with each snap of his hips. Your back hit the roof once, hard, and he just laughed, grinding deeper until your stomach bulged around him. “Take every inch, fuck—stop strangling my cock or I’m gonna—” His words broke into a curse, teeth sinking into your shoulder as his hips hammered up again and again.

The windows ran with condensation, the car stinking of sweat, sex, and smoke. Sukuna’s mouth dragged down your throat, sucking and biting until your skin bloomed with bruises, while his fingers rubbed your clit ruthlessly.

“Don’t think lying here all fucked-out means you’re in control,” he gritted, every thrust jarring your limp body higher against him. “This is my pace. My cock. My fucking rules.”

And he was right—because at that point, your body wasn’t yours anymore. It was his playground, his outlet, his mess to ruin. And he laughed, low and mean against your ear, as he drove you even deeper into oblivion.

Sukuna manhandled you like a ragdoll, flipping you onto your stomach across the backseat so fast your head smacked the door. The leather squeaked under your skin as he shoved your face down, his palm heavy on the back of your skull, forcing your cheek against the sticky seat.

“Face down, ass up,” he growled, voice thick with sadistic glee. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

Your knees scrambled against the cramped floorboard, back arched awkwardly, ass in the air. He didn’t give you a second to adjust. A wet spit hit your cunt, hot and obscene, and then his cock was there, smearing it in, pushing the mess inside along with him in one sharp, ruthless thrust.

You screamed against the leather, the sound muffled, your whole body jerking forward from the force.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Sukuna hissed, one hand locked onto your hip, the other braced on the fogged-up window. The car creaked with every slam of his hips, each thrust a violent clap of skin. “Messy little slut—your pussy’s eating me alive.”

He pounded into you mercilessly, backshots so deep you felt him in your stomach. Every rut had your ass smacking against his pelvis, the wet slap echoing in the confined space. The car actually rocked on its suspension, windows dripping with condensation, filling with the smell of sweat, sex, and leather.

“Too much,” you choked, voice raw, fingers clawing at the seat beneath you. “Sukuna, please—fuck—it’s too much!”

His laugh was mean and breathless, teeth flashing as he leaned down, chest pressed against your back. “Too much? You sound like you’re about to cum all over my cock. Don’t bullshit me.” He spat again, letting it dribble down your spine, and smeared it across your skin with his thumb like he owned you.

The angle had him hitting so deep your knees gave out, but he held you up by the hips, slamming harder, grinding into you until your ass stung. His cock dragged every inch of your walls raw, his pace relentless, every thrust nastier than the last.

“Fuck, this pussy,” he groaned, voice cracking, losing composure as his hips snapped faster, rougher.

You sobbed into the seat, body trembling, begging again—but Sukuna didn’t stop. He grabbed your hair, yanking your head back just so he could hear you whimper louder.

Then he broke. With a guttural curse, Sukuna slammed one final time, cock burying to the hilt as he came inside you, hot and deep, his hips grinding forward to spill every drop. He held you there, cock twitching inside your spasming cunt, making sure it all stayed in.

“Yeah,” he panted against your ear, voice low and smug. “That’s mine. Marked you from the inside out. Anyone who looks at you is gonna fucking know it.”

You lay there trembling, face pressed into the sticky leather, his weight pinning you down, his cum dripping out and soaking into the car seat. And Sukuna? He just smirked, chest heaving, cock still buried in you like he had no plans to pull out anytime soon.

Sukuna didn’t pull out right away. No—he stayed buried deep, grinding slow, filthy circles with his hips just to feel you twitch and leak around him. Every time you thought he was done, he shoved himself forward again, forcing his cum deeper until you whimpered into the leather seat.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, nails digging into your hips. His thrusts weren’t hard now, but insistent, pushing his mess back inside every time it tried to spill out. “Your cunt doesn’t even wanna let me go. Greedy little thing.”

You gasped, weak and broken, your thighs trembling as he rutted lazily. “S-Sukuna… please, I can’t anymore—”

“Can’t what?” he snapped, punctuating it with another sharp push that made your whole body jolt. “Can’t take my cock? Can’t take my cum? Too fucking bad. You asked for this, brat.”

You sobbed into the seat, clenching helplessly around him. That seemed to be enough for him. Finally, with a low groan, he eased out, hot spend spilling freely between your thighs. You thought he’d laugh at the mess—but instead, his palm smoothed down your back, steady, grounding.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, but not cruel this time. “C’mere.”

Before you could collapse, he scooped you up, pulling you into his lap like you were fragile. You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted as your chest rose and fell against his. Sukuna brushed damp strands of hair off your face, thumb grazing your temple like it was second nature.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, quiet enough that it almost didn’t sound like him. His forehead pressed briefly to yours, heavy breaths mingling.

Your throat worked around a dry swallow. “…y-yeah. Just… tired.”

“Tired, huh?” His mouth curved, somewhere between a smirk and something softer. His hand cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking gently against your scalp. “No shit. You’re lucky you can even walk after that.”

You let out a weak laugh, more a puff of breath, your face burying in his chest. “You’re such an asshole.”

He huffed, a sound that might’ve been a chuckle, his arm tightening around you. “Yeah, maybe. But I take care of what’s mine.”

And that was it—no more cruelty, no more taunts, just Sukuna holding you close in the sweltering car, his breath hot against the top of your head while his thumb kept tracing soft circles against your hip.

The windows were still fogged, the car reeking of sex and sweat, your body a trembling mess slumped across his chest. Sukuna sat back against the seat, big hand spread lazily across your lower back, the other stroking idly through your hair like it was instinct.

You shifted weakly, wincing at the soreness between your legs. “...You’re such a fucking dick,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

He snorted, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Tch. Big words for someone who just let me rearrange their guts in the backseat.” His palm slid down to squeeze your ass, sharp enough to make you jolt. “Don’t forget you were begging for it.”

“Was not,” you muttered, cheeks burning as you buried your face in his neck.

“Yeah? Then what was all that whining, huh? Crying for me to stop while your pussy was strangling my cock?” His laugh was cruel, but his fingers kept combing gently through your hair, untangling sweaty strands. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You groaned in embarrassment, trying to hide deeper in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said simply, almost soft. His hand smoothed down your spine again, slow and steady. “And you’re fucked. For putting up with me. For liking it.”

You peeked up at him, lips swollen, eyes hazy. “…You don’t hate me?”

His grin was sharp, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He thumbed at your cheek, almost tender. “Hate you? Baby, if I hated you, I wouldn’t be wasting my time fixing your hair after fucking you stupid.”

You blinked, taken aback by the honesty buried under the bite of his words.

Sukuna leaned in, his forehead bumping yours, his mouth brushing against your swollen lips. “I’ll say it once—so don’t make me repeat myself. You’re mine. My brat. My fuckin’ problem. And yeah, I’ll ruin you every chance I get, but…” His voice dipped, softer, dangerous in a different way. “…I’ll be the one holding you after, too. Got it?”

You nodded, small and shaky, and his smirk returned as he tugged you closer, pressing his mouth hard against yours—rough kiss, tongue and teeth, but the hand at the back of your neck never stopped stroking gently.

That was Sukuna, through and through. The bully who spit venom and fucked you raw, but still carried you out of the car afterward with your clothes half-fixed and your hair tucked behind your ear, muttering shit under his breath like, “Don’t fall asleep yet, dumbass. I’m not done with you.”

Hardest fucker. Softest touch. Always mean. Always yours.