ᢉ𐭩 𝓚𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐘— she/her — 𝓲 occasionally write.

my blog contains sfw and nsfw content

minors do not interact!

please read with caution.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ masterlist & taglist ⋮ ⌗ ┆

Ი𐑼 feel free to spill your thoughts ⋆.˚

˚. ᵎᵎ you can find me on  tiktok   ⋆.˚

⋆˙⟡ alt acc / @kouandbananabread ! ⋆.˚

you told yourself you weren’t coming back this time.

yet here you are again, standing on the rotting porch of the frat house at 2:34 a.m., the cold night air biting into your skin. the bass from inside shakes the windows like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you anymore. your fingers tremble as you stare at the door, hating yourself more with every second you wait.

the door opens.

sukuna leans against the frame, pink hair messy, eyes bloodshot from whatever he’s been smoking. he doesn’t say anything at first. he just looks at you like he already knew you’d show up, he’s been waiting for you to fail again.

“you really are pathetic,” he mutters, voice low and rough. there’s no smile this time. just exhaustion and something meaner underneath.

your throat tightens. “then why do you keep letting me in?”

he lets out a bitter laugh and steps aside. you walk past him, shoulders brushing, and the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with weed hits you like a punch to the chest.

inside his room, it’s quieter. the party downstairs feels a hundred miles away. you sit on the edge of his unmade bed while he shuts the door and leans against it, arms crossed, watching you like you’re a problem he can’t solve.

“i hate you,” you whisper. it’s the same thing you always say.

his jaw clenches. “oh yeah? then stop coming here. stop texting me at 1 a.m. when you’re drunk and sad. stop acting like i’m the only person who can make you feel anything.”

yo u look up at him, eyes already stinging. “because you’re the only one who does, even when it hurts.”

silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating .

he finally moves, dropping down into the old chair across from you. his elbows rest on his knees as he stares at the floor. for once, the arrogant frat king looks tired. almost human.

“you think this shit doesn’t fuck me up too?” he says quietly. “you come here, you look at me like i’m supposed to fix you, then you leave and act like i’m the bad guy. every single time.”

tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them. “then why don’t you tell me to leave for good? why do you always open the door?”

sukuna’s hands curl into fists. His voice cracks just slightly. “because i’m fucking selfish. because when you’re gone, everything feels… empty, and when you’re here, it still hurts, but at least i’m not alone in it.”

you laugh through the tears, but it sounds broken. “so we just keep doing this? hurting each other until there’s nothing left?”

your chest aches so badly it’s hard to breathe. you want to scream at him. you want to hit him. you want to crawl into his lap and beg him to make it stop hurting.

instead you just sit there, tears falling silently, while sukuna stares at you like he’s watching something he loves slowly burn to ash.

“i should leave,” you say, but you don’t move.

he nods slowly. “yeah. you should.”

neither of you moves.

the silence is worse than any fight you’ve ever had. because deep down, you both know the truth.

you’ll keep coming back.

he’ll keep letting you in.

and you’ll both keep burning for each other long after there’s nothing left to save.

it took you a couple of weeks before you could even walk past the sigma nu house without feeling that sick twist in your stomach.

at first you just stayed in your dorm, crying into your pillow and replaying those muffled voices from the hallway on loop. every unknown number that texted got deleted right away. you knew that it was sukuna trying to get you to unblock him. eventually you forced yourself back into your normal routine. you started showing up to your 8 am lit seminar again, sitting near the front, actually paying attention instead of zoning out. that’s where you met kento.

he was the guy who always sat two seats over , blond hair neatly combed, glasses, button down shirts that somehow never had a wrinkle. he took notes by hand in this nice leather notebook and actually read the assigned books. when the professor asked questions, his answers came out in this calm, steady voice that made the whole room quiet down a bit.

after the third class, he turned to you and asked if you wanted to join the small study group he was putting together for midterms. “if you’re free, it might help.” you couldnt resist so you said yes.

kento was nothing like sukuna, and that turned out to be exactly what you needed.

he was patient. he’d walk you to your next class even if it made him a few minutes late for his own. he remembered how you liked your coffee and brought it without making it a big deal. when you finally told him a little about what happened with “this guy from the frat,” he just listened quietly, then said, “you didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

not trying to prove he was better. just calm and respectful, nothing like sukuna.

you started hanging out more in the library. he helped you organize your notes for essays. you made him laugh one afternoon by reading the worst lines from an old poem out loud until he was shaking his head with this small, genuine smile. a week later he walked you back to your dorm and asked, a little awkwardly, if you’d want to go to dinner with him sometime. just the two of you.

you said yes.

it felt good. really good. like you could finally breathe again without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

sukuna noticed, of course.

at first he acted like it was no big deal. he figured you’d come back eventually — you always had before when things got rough. but the days kept passing and there was nothing. no texts, no late night drop ins at the house, no angry outbursts.

he started asking his frat brothers casually if they’d seen you around. most of them just shrugged. one of his brothers, satoru mentioned spotting you in the library with “that quiet business major, nanami. the one who always looks like he’s heading to a job interview.”

sukuna laughed it off at first. “her? with that nerd? your bullshitting.”

but it started eating at him.

a few days later he found himself walking past the library windows on purpose. and there you were, sitting at a table with him. he was pointing something out in his notebook, talking in that even tone. you were leaning in, smiling softly. the smile that was supposed to be meant for him. only him.

that night back at the frat house sukuna was in a foul mood. he drank more than usual, snapped at his brothers over nothing, and when a girl tried coming upstairs with him he told her to leave before she even got comfortable.

he couldn’t stop thinking about it. you laughing at something he said. you letting that straight laced guy walk you home. you looking at someone else the way you used to look at him.

the next week he “accidentally” ran into you outside the student union.

you were on your way to meet nanami for lunch, earbuds in (so performative) when sukuna stepped right in front of you, arms crossed, that familiar cocky tilt to his head.

“hey, pretty.”

you pulled one earbud out and looked at him. you stomach twisted, but not in the excited way it used to. “what do you want, sukuna?”

he shrugged like this was casual. “heard you’ve been spending time with that nerdy business kid. nanami, right? real big upgrade.”

you didn’t take the bait. “he’s nice. he treats me like i actually matter, and he doesn’t go fuck another girl.” his eyes filled with something you couldn’t recognize, was it guilt? “it wasnt how it looked—“

“oh cut it out sukuna. you know exactly how it was.” jis jaw flexed. he took a step closer, voice lowering. “so that’s how it is? one rough afternoon and you run straight to the most boring guy on campus? you really think he can give you what i gave you?”

you met his eyes and for once you didn’t feel small. “he doesn’t make me cry standing in hallways, sukuna. he doesn’t make me wonder if i was ever important to him at all.”

he opened his mouth, but nothing came out right away. regret crossing his face.

befoe he could say anything else, kento appeared from across the quad, bag over his shoulder, walking toward you. when he saw sukuna he didn’t puff up or try to act tough. he just came over and stopped beside you.

“everything okay, baby?” he asked you quietly, glancing at sukuna without any interest.

you nodded and slipped your hand into his. it felt easy.

“yeah ,” you said, looking back at Sukuna one last time. “we were done talking anyways.”

as you walked away together, you could feel sukuna’s eyes burning into your back. his hands were clenched at his sides, the king of the frat house suddenly realizing everything he wanted didn’t mean as much when the one person he wanted wasn’t looking at him anymore.

he’d done this to himself.

and for the first time, it looked like he was finally starting to feel it.

a/n : “nerd!higuruma or nerd!nanami” how about a threesome 👀

aw thank you! you can join my taglist here !

𓂅 you thought being with frat!kuna meant something real but how very wrong you were .ᐟ

the sigma nu house smelled like stale beer and leftover pizza even in the middle of the afternoon. you let yourself in through the front door the way you always did, offering a small wave to the two frat brothers sprawled on the couch playing video games. one of them barely looked up and muttered, “kuna’s upstairs,” before going back to shouting at the screen.

your heart did its usual little flip as you climbed the creaky wooden stairs. sukuna had texted you after your last lecture. “come over when you’re done. door’s unlocked.” nothing sweet, nothing long—just the same short, demanding messages he always sent when he wanted you there. you’d smiled at your phone like an idiot the whole walk over, already imagining how he’d pull you into his room, how his tattooed arms would wrap around you, how he’d mutter sweet things in your neck.

you reached the end of the second floor hallway. his door was closed all the way.

that’s when you heard it.

a girl’s voice coming from inside his room. breathles. excited. hapy in a way that made your stomach twist, then sukuna’s voice—low, rough, the one he only used when he was deep in something he enjoyed. he laughed once, that short, arrogant chuckle you knew so well.

your hand stopped halfway to the doorknob.

more voices. here again, then his, muffled but unmistakable through the thin house walls. the bed creaked steadily. the headboard tapped against the wall in a slow, repeating rhythm.

you stood completely still, keys dangling from your fingers, suddenly feeling cold all over.

this wasn’t a conversation. this wasn’t him studying or playing music or arguing with one of his brothers.

he was in there with another girl.

right now.

in the same room where he’d had you pressed against that door less than a week ago. in the same bed where he’d fallen asleep with his arm heavy over your waist. on the same sheets that still carried the faint scent of your perfume mixed with his cologne. in the same spot he’d whisper “i love you.”

the sounds continued—her voice rising and falling, sukuna saying something you couldn’t quite make out, followed by another low laugh from him. the rhythm of the bed grew steadier, more insistent.

your throat burned. tears prickled hot behind your eyes as the realization settled in like ice in your chest.

he wasn’t waiting for you. he hadn’t even bothered to lock the door or tell you not to come.

he was just… doing this. like it was normal. like you weren’t supposed to be walking up those stairs any minute.

you took one shaky step backward, then another, careful not to make a sound. the last thing you wanted was for him to hear you out here and open the door while that girl was still inside.

your vision blurred as you turned and hurried down the hallway. you didn’t run, you didn’t want the guys downstairs to see you like this—but every step felt heavier than the last. by the time you reached the front door, your hands were trembling so badly you almost dropped your keys.

the cool air hit your face the second you stepped outside. you kept walking down the sidewalk, past the row of frat houses, past groups of students laughing like nothing was wrong.

your phone buzzed in your pocket.

one. twice.

you pulled it out with numb fingers.

kunaa 💕: you close?

kunaa 💕: don’t take forever

you stared at the messages until the screen went blurry with tears.

he was texting you to hurry up while someone else was in his bed.

you blocked his number right there on the sidewalk, chest aching so badly it felt like something had cracked open inside you.

the walk back to your dorm felt endless. every time you blinked, you heard those muffled voices again. every time you swallowed, you tasted the bitterness of realizing you’d never really been special to him at all.

you were just another girl to him.

turns out sukuna never chooses anyone.

he just takes what he wants whenever he feels like it.

and today, that someone wasn’t you.

a/n- been a minute since i wrote angst..

pt2s will be coming out..

made empty promises last time….

the gym bag slammed against the door the second toji kicked it shut. he was drenched, black tank plastered to every ridge of muscle, sweat rolling down the sharp cut of his abs and soaking into the waistband of his shorts. his chest heaved.

you were already exactly where he liked you: flat on your back in the middle of his bed, wearing nothing but one of his huge hoodies that barely covered the soft underside of your ass. legs kicked up lazily, thick thighs spread just enough to tease him, your soft belly and heavy tits spilling out the bottom like they were made to be stared at.

“damn, baby,” you laughed, popping another grape between your lips. “two and a half hours again? you’re gonna be like.. huge.. whats the obsession? trying to get even more jacked so all the sorority girls cream their panties when you walk by?”

toji’s eyes flicked to you, dark and hungry. he didn’t answer at first—just ripped the tank top off in one motion, muscles flexing hard, and crawled onto the bed like a predator. he dropped his full weight between your open thighs, pinning you without squashing, forearms braced beside your head.

“nah.” he growled, voice low and rough from breathing heavy all night. “fuck those girls.”

his big hands shoved the hoodie up to your tits in one rough push, exposing every soft inch of you. he grabbed two thick handfuls of your hips, squeezing the plush give until his fingers sank deep.

“t—then what for?” you breathed, already getting wet just from the way he was looking at you.

he leaned down, mouth hot against your ear. “for this, ma. for you. your a fuckin’ pillow princess and i’m addicted to it. i love that you just lay there all soft and lazy and let me wreck you. love how your fat thighs tremble when i hold them open. love how heavy and warm and perfect your body feels when i’m balls deep and you’re not moving a goddamn inch.”

you shivered. he grinned, sharp and filthy.

“but last time? when i had you folded in half for forty straight minutes, cock buried so deep you were crying, and my arms started fuckin’ shaking? yeah. that shit won’t happen again.”

his hand slid down, two thick fingers dragging through your already slick folds, spreading your pussy open without warning.

“so i lift. every single day. deadlifts for grip strength so i can hold these thick thighs exactly where i want them. squats so my legs don’t give out when i’m fuckin’ you against the wall for an hour. core worl so i can keep pounding this pretty pussy until you’re squirting and still have enough left to carry your perfect ass to the shower after.”

he pushed both fingers inside you in one slow, wet thrust—curling hard against your g-spot while his thumb rubbed tight circles over your swollen clit.

“fuuck—toji!—”

“yeah? feel that?” he pumped faster, obscene wet sounds filling the room as your pussy clenched and drooled around his knuckles. “these arms don’t shake anymore, baby. i can hold you open like this all night. can pin you down and fuck you stupid without tapping out. that’s why i live in the gym. so I can ruin my soft little pillow princess exactly how she deserves.”

you were already panting, hips twitching uselessly because he had you locked down. he added a third finger, stretching you wide, scissoring deep while his mouth latched onto one of your tits—sucking hard, teeth grazing your nipple until you moaned loud.

“look at ya,” he rasped, pulling off with a wet pop. “just layin’ here taking it. titties bouncing, belly jiggling every time i fuck you with my finger. damn, i love how fuckin’ wet you get. this pussy’s dripping down my wrist already and i haven’t even put my cock in yet.”

he yanked his fingers out, shoved his shorts down, and his cock sprang free—heavy, thick, flushed dark and already leaking. he stroked himself once, smearing precum, then hooked your legs over his elbows and folded you in half like you weighed nothing.

“watch,” he ordered.

one brutal thrust and he buried every inch inside you—bottoming out so deep your breath punched out of your lungs. your pussy stretched obscenely around his girth, lips puffy and glistening.

“fuuuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “still so tight even after all the times i’ve wrecked you. feel how easy it is now? no shaking. no burning arms. i can fuck my pretty girl like this for hours, lazy and deep and nasty.”

he started moving—long, hard strokes that slapped wetly against your ass, balls smacking your skin with every thrust. the bed creaked. Your tits bounced heavy. your soft belly jiggled with every impact and he couldn’t stop staring, eyes feral.

“touch yourself,” he growled. “play with that swollen clit while i pound this pussy. i wanna feel you creaam all over my cock.”

your fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing messy circles while he fucks you stupid, he shifted his grip—hands sliding under your ass, lifting your entire lower half off the bed so he was basically fucking you mid-air, using nothing but raw strength.

“see that?” he panted, sweat dripping onto your chest. “deadlifts paying off. i could hold you like this and fuck you till you pass out. no mercy, baby.. just this fat cock splitting you open while you lay there and take it like my perfect pillow princess.”

you were sobbing now—pleasure so intense your vision blurred. he slammed in harder, angling to hit that spot over and over, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing.

“come on, baby. squirt for me. soak my fucking cock. i trained for this—let me feel it.”

your orgasm hit like a freight train. your whole body locked up, pussy clamping down so hard he groaned like he was dying. you squirted hard—hot, messy pulses soaking his stomach and dripping down his balls while you screamed his name.

he didn’t stop. just fucked you through it, meaner, until he buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural groan—his cum flooding you so deep you felt it in your belly.

only then did he ease your legs down, still buried inside you, and collapse half on top of your soft body. his arms, those stupidly strong, gym sculpted arms, wrapped around you like steel.

“see?” he murmured against your neck, voice wrecked. “worth every fuckin’ rep.”

you could barely speak, still twitching around his softening cock. “you… absolute gym-rat freak.”

he laughed low, kissed your sweaty temple, and squeezed your hip possessively.

“only for my pillow princess. now stay right there. i’m nowhere near done using all this new strength on you tonight.”

a/n - bye im obsessed with toji and chubby reader now omg, i was gonna do sukuna on this but WHY NOT TOJI??

the barbershop smelled like fresh clipper oil, cedar aftershave, and the faint metallic hum of tools running hot. you pushed the door open with your hip, one hand gently steering your son so he wouldn’t make it straight for the candy jar like he always tried to do.

you were in your usual attire that you wear to the barbershop, high-waisted black leggings that clung to your thighs and ass in a way that felt comfortable but looked anything but innocent, and a simple white tank top—soft, slightly worn, scooped low enough that when you shifted your weight or reached for something, the neckline dipped and showed the full curve of your cleavage. no bra today, the heat made that decision for you. your curls were up in a loose puff, a few strands sticking to your neck from the humidity.

your son spotted him immediately.

“kuna!” he shouted, already bouncing.

his barber, sukuna was mid-cut in the center chair, pink hair tied back messily, sleeves rolled up over tattooed forearms. he looked up—first at your son, then at you. his crimson eyes dragged down your body slow and deliberate, the way the tank stretched across your chest, the dip of your waist, the thick shape of your hips in those leggings. he didn’t even pretend to be subtle.

he shut off the clippers mid-line.

“what’s up, lil man,” he said, voice low and rough over the trap beat thumping from the speakers. “your chair’s waitin’.”

he scrambled into the booster seat. you stayed close, arms crossed loosely under your breasts—which only pushed them up higher. sukuna’s gaze flicked there again, quick but obvious, before he snapped the cape around your son’s shoulders.

“lightning bolt again?” he asked, already combing through the dark strands.

“yeah! mommy says it makes me look like a superhero.”

sukuna huffed a quiet laugh. “mommy definitely knows what she’s talkin’ about.” his eyes met yours in the mirror. “she lookin’ real good today too.”

heat crawled up your neck. “focus on the haircut, kuna.”

“can’t help it when you walk in dressed like that.” he shrugged one shoulder, muscles shifting under his black tee. “pants huggin’ every curve. tank showin’ off all that… real nice.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. he started on your son—clippers buzzing, hands steady and surprisingly gentle. every few passes he glanced at you again, your chest rising with each breath, the soft swell where the fabric clung, the way your thighs pressed together when you shifted your weight.

when he finished, your son hopped down and ran to the mirror, turning his head to admire the sharp lightning bolt etched into the side of his fade.

“that’s so cool!” he yelled.

sukuna dusted the stray hairs off his shoulders, then looked straight at you. “on the house.”

“you can’t keep doing that.”

“i can. and i will, ma.” He stepped closer, close enough you caught the warm, smoky scent of his cologne mixed with the shop smells. “unless you wanna pay me some other way.”

your stomach flipped. your son was distracted, showing off to the other barbers.

you kept your voice low. “sukuna.”

he leaned in a fraction. “been thinkin’ about you since the first time you walked in here. you handlin’ everything on your own, smilin’ at your kid, lookin’ like that… makes me wanna be the one who shows up for you. for both of you.”

you swallowed. “you don’t know me like that.”

“i know enough.” his eyes dropped again—slow, appreciative, lingering on your breasts, your waist, your hips. “know you deserve better than what you had. know i’d treat you right, you know it.”

your son ran back over. “mommy, can we get ice cream?”

sukuna crouched to his level. “what if i come too? my treat.”

his eyes lit up. “reallyyy?”

sukuna looked up at you, waiting.

you exhaled. “one time. ice cream. arcade. if it’s weird, we’re done.”

his grin was slow, pleased. “deal.”

three weeks later, after four “not-dates” full of arcade tokens, melted ice cream cones, and sukuna carrying your son on his shoulders when the kid’s legs gave out, you finally let him come over after dropping your son at your mom’s for the night.

sukuna’s got you face down on the bed, ass up, knees shoved wide, one massive hand splayed between your shoulder blades pressing your cheek into the pillow so you can barely turn your head. the other hand is fisted in your hair, yanking just hard enough that your scalp stings in that perfect, dizzying way. he’s kneeling behind you, cock so hard it’s slapping heavy against your ass with every impatient shift of his hips.

he’s been edging you for what feels like hours, fingers, tongue, the blunt head of his dick rubbed raw against your clit until you were crying into the sheets, thighs shaking, begging in broken syllables. he didn’t let you cum. not once.

now he’s finally lining up, but he’s taking his sweet time.

“look at this greedy little hole,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked like he’s been holding himself back too long. he spreads you open with both thumbs, watching the way your cunt flutters around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs in slow, obscene strings. “clenching on air. she wants it that bad, huh?”

you whimper, hips twitching back instinctively.

he slaps your ass once, hard. the sting blooms hot and bright.

“stay still or i stop.”

you freeze. breathing ragged. face burning.

he drags the fat head of his cock through your folds, up, down, circling your clit, then back to nudge at your entrance. juust the tip. barely inside. you feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs like he’s already close from watching you fall apart.

“beg, mommy,” he says.

your voice cracks on the first try. “pleeease kuna—please fuck me, i want it so bad, need you deep, please—”

he cuts you off by pushing in slowly at first, so you feel every heavy inch sliding in, filling you until your breath hitches and your walls flutter around him like they’re greedy for it. you’re so wet it’s obscene, he glides in easy, but deep enough that you feel that delicious pressure blooming low in your belly, making your toes curl against the sheets.

he pulls back slow letting you feel the drag of him along every sensitive spot then rolls his hips forward again firmly, bottoming out with a wet smack that sends a shiver straight up your spine.

“fuuck… listen to that,” he growls low against your ear, voice rough with want. “so fuckin’ wet for me already. you love this cock stretching you open, don’t you?”

he sets a rhythm that’s steady but hard long, deep strokes that make your whole body rock forward, then a filthy grind when he’s buried to the hilt, the thick base pressing right against your clit until sparks shoot behind your eyes. everytime time he bottoms out you feel him nudge that spot inside that makes your thighs tremble and your breath come in soft desperate pants.

his hand slides down your stomach, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, slick circles that match the pace of his thrusts. not teasing, just relentless enough to keep the heat building fast.

“k—kunaa” your voice cracks, half moan, half plea.

“yeah, baby..”he rasps, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “say my name just like that. let daddy hear how much you need it.”

he shifts his angle a little, tips his hips and suddenly every thrust is dragging right over that perfect spot inside you. your moans turn higher, breathier, spilling out without control as your hips start rocking back to meet him, chasing it.

he presses his chest to your back, one arm hooking under your waist to pull you flush against him, the other hand still working your clit in firm, slippery strokes. his mouth finds your neck, hot and open kisses, a slow scrape of teeth that makes you arch and whimper, skin tingling where he lingers.

“feel how deep i am?” his voice is gravel and heat. “gonna fill you up so good, pump you full till you’re dripping me down your thighs. you want that? want me to come inside this pretty pussy and mark it as mine?”

you nod frantically, words tumbling out in wrecked little gasps. “yes!—fuckfuckfuck—yes, pleeease—fill me—”

the wet sounds are filthy and loud now, skin slapping softly, your slick coating him, the lewd squelch every time he drives in deep. heat coils tight and sweet in your core, building steady, unstoppable.

“cum for me,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding against your skin. “cum on this cock, let me feel you squeeze me so tight i can’t hold back.”

that tips you over.

you cum with a soft, broken cry, walls pulsing hard around him in rhythmic waves, milking him as pleasure rolls through you in long, shuddering pulses. your thighs shake, back arching, fingers clutching the sheets as you ride it out, gasping his name into the pillow.

he flips you, his hand sliding up your thigh, hooks under your knee, and pushes it back toward your chest, opening you wider. then the other leg, folding you beneath him until your knees are near your ears, ass lifted just enough that he can sink even deeper, putting you in a deeep, nice mating press. full exposure you feel every brutal inch as he drops his weight forward, pinning you open and helpless under him.

the angle changes everything.

now every thrust bottoms out hard, deep enough that you swear you feel him in your throat, the delicious pressure blooming low in your belly with every grind. his pelvis grinds right against your clit on every downstroke, no escape, no mercy, just constant, slick friction that has your toes curling and your breath hitching in sharp little gasps.

“kunakuna—ooh fuuck—right there!—”

“oh yeah?” he leans down, forearms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. his crimsn eyes lock on yours, dark and hungry. “you feel that? how deep i’m fucking you? gonna ruin this pussy for anyone else. gonna make sure you only remember this cock.”

he picks up the pace harder now. long whithdrawls that leave you empty and aching, then sharp, punishing plunges that make your whole body jolt. the squelches are louder, filthier, your slick squelching around him, his balls slapping wet against your ass, the creak of the bed under the force of it. your hands scrabble at his shoulders, your nails digging in, trying to hold on as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter.

one hand leaves the mattress to slide between you again, thick fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, firm circles that match the brutal snap of his hips. relentless pressure that has your thighs trembling, your back arching as much as the position allows.

“s’much—fucck—kunaa”

“take it,” he growls against your mouth, lips brushing yours but not kissing, just breathing you in. “you’re gonna cum like this again, folded in half, stuffed full, dripping all over me. might even give you a second kid.”

you’re dangerously close. the heat in your core is a living thing now, pulsing with every thrust, every grind against your clit, every time he bottoms out and grinds slow circles like he’s trying to carve himself into you. your moans turn into soft, broken whimpers, eyes watering from how good it feels, how full, how fucked stupid you are.

“c’mmonn,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. “give it to me. cum all over your future baby daddy—squeeze me so fucking tight again.” you cum again with a choked cry, walls spasming hard around him in violent, rhythmic pulses, milking him greedily as pleasure crashes through you in long, shuddering waves. your thighs quake against his shoulders, back bowing, vision blurring as you ride it out, gasping his name like a prayer.

he doesn’t stop, keeps fucking you through the orgasm, drawing them out until you’re twitching, oversensitive, little whimpers slipping out with every deep thrust.

only then does he let go.

one last brutal snap of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a low, guttural groan that vibrates through your chest. hot, thick ropes flood you, so much it starts leaking out around his cock even as he grinds slow and deep, forcing every drop as far inside as he can.

he stays locked in you like that for long minutes, breathing ragged against your neck, one hand stroking down your side in lazy, possessive lines while the other keeps your thigh pinned back. you can feel him softening inside you, but he doesn’t pull out yet—just rocks gently, stirring the mess he made, making you whimper at the overstimulation.

“let me be there for you and him, promise ill be a good father.” he says, while kissing your neck softly.

“f—fine.”

a/n : this has been in my drafts for a little while now!!

based on this tiktok ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ (not proof read)

current taglist

comment if you wanna be on it and tagged everytime i post a fic!

if you wanna be tagged in a specific fic, let me know in the comments!

krissy’s masterlist ^_^

upcoming work : your son’s barber potentially becoming your very soon baby daddy.

barber!sukuna x single mom reader

sukuna knows exactly what he’s doing when he “forgets” to put a shirt on after a shower. he’ll walk through the living room dripping, towel slung low on his hips, pretending to look for his phone while every single ridge of his abdomen glistens under the lights. he doesn’t even glance your way, he just waits for the hitch in your breathing. the second he hears it, the corner of his mouth twitches.

he has caught you staring so many times that he’s started narrating it just to fuck with you. mid conversation he’ll casually go, “eyes up here, princess,” while flexing his forearm on purpose when he reaches for his drink. or worse he’ll lean back, link his hands behind his head, and say “goo on. tell me which part you’re on right now.” you usually end up hiding your face in a pillow while he laughs low.

sukuna keeps his gym progress pics in a private folder titled “your daily suffering” and sends you one at the most inconvenient times like when you’re in a work meeting or grocery shopping. just a mirror selfie, lights low, sweat still shining on his chest, caption: “thought you’d wanna worship this later.” you have to mute your phone because the notification sound alone makes your face burn.

the first time you actually got to touch him for longer than a few seconds, he let you explore like it was a privilege he was granting. but the second your fingers started tracing the deep cuts of his obliques he grabbed your wrist not hard, just firm and rasped, “slower, okay? i wanna feel how bad you’ve been dying for this.” he’s a sadist like that, he wants you shaking by the time you reach his waistband.

sukuna started wearing certain things on purpose now. tight compression shirts when he knows you’ll be around. those dumb and stupid low-rise gray sweats that should be illegal. once he wore nothing but black boxer briefs and an open flannel while cooking breakfast just to watch you try (and fail) to act normal. you dropped your fork. not twice. three times. (who blames you?)

he doesn’t do pet names often, but when you’re being extra obvious about ogling him he’ll lean down close and murmur “my favorite little perv” against your ear. it’s condescending and affectionate at the same time and it makes your knees and your cunt weak every single time.

sukuna’s actually kind of smug about how much you like the tattoos. he’ll catch you following one of the lines with your eyes and then drag his own finger along the exact same path later, smirking when you swallow hard. “you wanna lick it again tonight?” he’ll ask like he’s offering you a second helping of dessert.

after sex he doesn’t move right away. he stays inside you, propped on one elbow, letting you run both hands over his back and shoulders while he’s still catching his breath. he pretends it’s for him “keeep going, feels good, ma.”—but really he just likes watching your face when you get to worship without any barriers. your fingers always end up digging into the thick muscle of his traps like you’re scared he’ll disappear.

sukuna once came home from a late night training session, shirt already off, and found you asleep on his bed wearing one of his hoodies. instead of waking you he just stood there for a solid minute, arms crossed, abs still pumped and shiny with sweat, watching the way your hand was curled against the pillow like you’d been reaching for him even in your sleep. he didn’t say anything about it the next morning. just kissed your temple harder than usual.

when you’re both out somewhere and he catches someone else checking him out, he doesn’t even acknowledge them. he just slides his hand around the back of your neck, pulls you in, and mutters loud enough for them to hear. “don’t worry, your the only one who can touch me and take this dick.” possesive but mostly because he knows it makes you wet.

a/n : obsessed with sukuna rn im ovulatinf him and i want him iside me im gonna make another sukuna smut bc i have free will

“i actually don’t like skinny girls,” he says, leaning back on the couch while his frat brothers argue. “i like somethin’ to hold y’know?”

toji describes his ideal type like it’s a checklist.

- soft

- thick thighs

- smart

- glasses are an honorable mention

“y’know like the quiet nerdy type that would correct your grammar but still let you carry her, thats what i want.”

but then he meets you and its at a campus library study session the frat is “required” to attend for pr reasons. you’re sitting there with highlighters, oversized sweater, glasses sliding down your nose, completely focused.

he goes dead silent mid sentence when he sees you. his frat boys notices.

“isn’t that literally your type?” satoru whispers to him.

“…shut up.” you’re not paying attention to him at all. which somehow makes it worse. he tries to approach casually.“you’re in my stats class, right?” you blink up at him. “…no, mustve gotten me mixed up with someone else.” his cheeks almost turn red.

the thing is.. he’s used to girls approaching him. he’s confident flirty and smooth.

but with you?

he suddenly feels embarrassed and stupid for approaching you.

toji loves how beautiful you look in your glasses, the way your thighs press against the chair when you sit, the way you get excited when talking about something academic.

the first time he hears you passionately explain something complicated?

he is DONE for.

he starts bragging about you to the frat guys before you’re even his. “yeah, shes pre-med.” “she corrected the professor.” “she’s smart as hell.” “she’s so beautiful.”

if he sees some finance random trying to flirt with you at a campus event? he’s suddenly beside you, hand resting on your back . “she’s busy, lil bro.” he says calmly.

toji LOVES when you get flustered. if you laugh and your whole body moves? he’s staring. a complete goner. he lowkey flexes when you sit next to him at his frat party.

you in your cute nerdy outfit, a little shy, holding a drink?

he has an arm around your waist like he won a reward.

the first time you sit on his lap?

his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

his hands unconsciously settling on your thighs, firm and possessive but respectful because he doesnt wanna make you uncomfortable, not when hes this close.

he leans into your ear and whispers,

“told ya you fit perfectly.”

toji absolutely worships the fact that you match his preference exactly. not in a fetishy way. in a “ive been yearning for someone like you my entire life and i finally have you.” way.

he loves when you info-dump on his dumbass.

loves when you get shy about your body

“why are you acting like this isn’t exactly what i like, hm?”

and when you finally start dating?

his frat house never hears the end of it.

“i told you guys,” he says smugly. “i have taste.”

he found exactly what he wanted.

sukuna kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his cleat. the sound echoed. he was still in half his pads, shoulder plates making his already obscene shoulders look even wider, crimson jersey dark with sweat and grass stains. blood from a split lip had dried in a thin line down his chin. he hadn’t bothered wiping it. looked way hotter that way.

you were already waiting.

leaning back against his locker in your cropped cheer top and tiny skirt, thighs pressed together, pom-poms discarded somewhere near the benches. mascara slightly smudged from screaming his name for four quarters. lips glossy. eyes hungry. he didn’t speak at first. just stalked forward, towering, until your back hit the cold metal slats.

“thought you were gonna wait in the car like a good girl,” he rasped, voice still rough from shouting plays.

“couldn’t.” you tilted your head up, letting him see how dilated your pupils were. “not after that last touchdown. and definitely not after you looked straight at me when you kicked the ball.” a dangerous grin split his face. the kind that promised he was about to ruin you and enjoy every second of it.

“on your knees then, darling. you wanna celebrate? earn it then by taking it down your throat.”

you dropped instantly, knees hitting the tile, palms sliding up his thighs, fingers hooking under the waistband of his compression shorts and the cup still strapped in place. he was already thick and heavy behind the padding, the outline obscene. he reached down, rough fingers catching your jaw, tilting your face up.

“open.”

you did. tongue flat, lips parted, eyes locked on his. he shoved the shorts and cup down just enough. his cock sprang fres— thick, veined, flushed dark, the head already glistening. the musky scent of him hit you hard. clean sweat, victory, raw arousal. you whimpered before you even touched him.

he fisted the base and slapped the heavy length against your waiting tongue once, twice, watching the way it flexed and leaked against your lips.

“fuckin’ desperate cheer slut,” he muttered, almost fond. “go on. suck your champion off.” you wrapped both hands around what your mouth couldn’t reach and took him in deep on the first try. he groaned, low, guttural, the sound vibrating through his chest. one of his tattooed hand slammed against the locker above your head. the other tangled in your ponytail, not guiding yet, just holding.

you hollowed your cheeks and slid down further, tongue dragging along the thick underside vein, lips stretched tight. th stretch burned deliciously at the corners of your mouth. saliva already pooled, dripping down your chin. you didn’t care. you wanted messy. you wanted him to see what you’d do for him after he just carried the whole team on his back.

“s—shit.. there you go princess,” he hissed when you swallowed around him, throat fluttering. “k—knew that pretty hah fuuuck throat could take it

you moaned around his length, the vibration making his hips jerk forward involuntarily. he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes watering but you didn’t pull off. instead you breathed through your nose and pushed deeper until your nose brushed the pubes at his base.

“fuuck.” his grip tightened in your hair, yanking just enough to make your scalp sting. “look at you. mascara runnin’, lips swollen, choking on championship dick like it’s your fucking job.”

“what a slut.”

you pulled back slow, obscene, wet, strings of spit connecting your lips to his glistening cock then plunged down again, faster this time. sloppy. noisy. the wet gluck gluck gluck of your throat filled the empty locker room.

he started fucking your face in shallow thrusts controlled at first, then harder. the metal locker rattled behind your head with each snap of his hips.

you let him use you. let him tilt your head exactly how he wanted, let him grind against your tongue, let him smear pre-cum and spit across your cheeks when he pulled out to slap his cock against your lips again.

“gonna ngh paint that pretty face—fuck fuck fuck if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he growled.

you pulled off just long enough to rasp, voice wrecked, “insiwde. wan’ it down my throat. pleeease, sukuna—givme it— your cum.”

his eyes flashed.

“greedy little thing.”

he shoved back in deep, ruthless, holding your head still while he fucked your throat in short, brutal strokes. your nails dug into his thighs. tears streamed freely now, mixing with spit, dripping onto your chest, soaking the cropped top.

his breathing turned ragged.

“fuck—fuck—take it—”

he came down your throat, hips slamming forward one last time. hot, thick spurts flooded your mouth, your throat—too much to swallow at once. you tried anyway, gulping, choking, some of it leaking from the corners of your lips and dripping down your chin onto your tits.

he held you there until he stopped pulsing, until every last drop was down your throat or decorating your face.

only then did he pull out, slow, watching the way your swollen lips clung to him, the way your tongue automatically chased the last bead of cum on the tip.

he thumbed the mess on your chin, smearing it across your bottom lip like gloss.

“goood girl,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost reverent. “my pretty slutty trophy.”

the argument wasn’t supposed to get this far. you and higuruma had been arguing for 40 minutes over a case gone wrong, injustice slipping through his fingers again, the bitterness sitting heavy in his chest.

“you know you don’t have to do this alone, hiromi. i dont know why you think your able to. im here for a reason to carry your burdens.” you said for the third time, stepping closer. “you dont understand, alright!” he snaps.

“im trying to—“

“thats the problem, your trying to. you think this is something you can fix with just concern and soft words?” the words stung but you didn’t back away.

“i’m trying to be there for you, but all you do is push me away.” he ran a hand through his hair, pacing around the room. his frustration wasnt at you, it never was but it had nowhere else to go. the room felt too small. his thoughts were too loud.

“just drop it.” he muttered.

“no,” you said, firmer this time. “just because everything goes wrong each time, doesnt mean you can just shut me out like i’m—“

the sound was sharp, sudden.

your head snapped slightly to the side before your brain even registered what had happened.

silence.

not heavy silence. not tense silence.

horrified silence.

his hand was still half raised, your cheek stung. his breath hitched

“…i didn’t—“ he dropped his hand like it had burned him. “i didn’t mean to,” the words came out raw, stripped of pride. “i didn’t— i wasn’t thinking.”

you didn’t yell

you didnt cry

you just looked at him.

and that look, not fear, not even anger— just quiet wounded clarity, made something inside his chest collapse.

“..angel.”

you stepped back, just one slow step like you were adjusting the distance between two strangers. higuruma felt like verdict being read aloud.

“i-i can’t stay here right now.” you whispered softly.

his throat tightened. “you don’t have to go.. i.. i didn’t mean it love..”

but even as he said it, he knew you did.

you grabbed your jacket. your hands were steady. that steadiness unsettled him more than tears ever could.

“i love you, but.” you said softly.

“but?

“i won’t stay somewhere i get hurt for caring.”

no accusation, just fact. he nodded once, a lawyer accepting evidence.

“that’s fair.”

fair.

he hated that word right now.

you paused at the door. for a second, he thought you might turn back. that maybe this would dissolve into a fragile embrace and apologise and promises.

instead, you said quietly, “you need to figure out why that happened. and i need to figure out if i can trust you again.”

the door closed gently.

a/n this is sloppy and short ik but its something bc i havent been posting lately, i will get back to it tho 🥹 soon trust!!

lowki been thinking about professor higumura (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

but the second you turn around? the mask cracks. you’re in the kitchen making coffee and your back is to him, he just… stares. like he’s trying to memorize every line of your silhouette against the morning light coming through the window. his expression goes soft in a way no one else ever sees, eyes slightly wider, lips parted just a fraction, like he can’t quite believe you’re real and choosing to exist in the same space as him.

naoya thinks you’re angelic. not in a cheesy waybut in a quietly devastating way. he’s convinced you’re too pure, too kind, too beautiful for someone raised with nothing but arrogance and cruelty in his blood. “an angel like her shouldn’t even glance at trash like me. if she ever realizes how much better she could do…” so he pushes. hard. because if he keeps you annoyed or rolling your eyes, maybe you’ll leave on your own before the truth hurts worse.

naoya when its late at night and you’re asleep on the couch after a movie (because you always fall asleep first), he sits there in the dark just watching your face. fingers hovering like he wants to trace your cheek but doesn’t dare wake you. sometimes he mutters under his breath, barely audible. “you’re too pretty… it’s unfair.” then he catches himself, scowls, and yanks a blanket over you a little too aggressively so you don’t catch cold but also so he has an excuse to touch you without admitting he cares.

one time you caught him. you’d gotten up to use the bathroom at 3 a.m. and came back to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at your sleeping spot like it personally offended him. when he noticed you, he immediately snapped, “what the hell are you doing up? go back to sleep, dumbass.” but his ears were bright red, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. you teased him gently about it the next morning and he nearly unraveled, called you every name in the book while refusing to look anywhere but the floor.

he buys you things “because they were on sale and he didn’t want to waste money,” but they’re always exactly your taste. that necklace you stared at for two seconds in a shop window, the hoodie in your favorite color that “happened” to be in his size too (so you can steal it), fancy skincare because “your skin looks like shit lately” translating that he thinks your skin is flawless and wants to keep it that way. if you thank him sincerely, he gets flustered and barks something like “don’t make it weird, stupid.”

naoya in rare moments the facade fully drops when hurt or upset. someone made a cruel comment about you? he destroys them verbally in seconds. cold, precise, vicious. then turns to you with a scoff, “don’t listen to trash like that. you’re—” he stops, clears his throat. “whatever. just don’t cry, it’s annoying.” but later that night he pulls you against his chest without a word, arms tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

deep down he’s terrified of the day you see through the act and realize you deserve better. so he keeps being mean because as long as you’re still here rolling your eyes and calling him an asshole right back, you haven’t left yet. and every time you stay, every time you lean into him anyway, he feels something dangerously close to hope.

——————

lowk been sitting in drafts for a while🥹