Whatever you had said must have been satisfying enough for him though, as he followed it up with a story that was beginning to sound exactly like the five previous anecdotes he’d chosen to enlighten you with. All of which were egregiously self-important, and sufficed by not a single follow up question about yourself. So instead of listening like a good date would have, you leaned back in your chair, slumping further down toward the marble floor with each supplementary vowel from your dates lips.

Entirely unperturbed by your antisocial behavior, your date continued blabbing, and you sat nursing your solitary glass of wine and thinking about what a waste of a good outfit and makeup the night had been.

You usually kept your outward presentation simple, polished and professional. Pretty, but subtle. Mascara and a little eyebrow gel, a BB cream, maybe a touch of blush, and some concealer if you were feeling particularly inspired. But tonight you’d decided to go all out. A Friday night date at an upscale restaurant you’d had on your bucket list for literal years, with an allegedly rich and handsome man? You’d even dabbed on some of your most luxurious perfume before you left - an expensive bottle you’d splurged on as a gift to yourself when you’d graduated, saved for only the rarest of occasions.

Just like your makeup, when it came to fragrance you usually kept things light. Soft inoffensive florals, a subtly sweet skin scent, or nothing at all. But this was supposed to be a special night - the giddy promise of something new and a night finally away from the office - so you’d splurged, and left your apartment perfumed in a cloud of indulgently rich spices. Too bad your dates good looks and seemingly bottomless bank account couldn’t ever hope to cover his average personality.

You’d honest to god nearly jumped from the restaurant seat with relief when your phone rang at the tail end of his next monologue - buzzing along the silk tablecloth where you’d tucked it beside your unused cutlery. Prayers answered, with a mock apology you tilted the screen and let your eyes roam over the caller ID. You weren’t even upset when you saw the research facility office number printed there. You’d take wrestling with a rogue hybrid over the rest of this date any day.

Plus, it would save you the awkwardness of turning down your dates offer to check out his "luxurious" penthouse hotel room. Which you were certain was where the night was heading, given the bedroom eyes he’d been shooting you across the table ever since you’d leaned down to pluck something from your handbag and he’d snagged a glimpse down the sloping cut of your neckline.

With a string of placating apologies and a hurried peck to your cheekbone that lingered a little too long for comfort, you fled. Slinging your coat on and gliding out onto the street with the crisp click of your stilettos, arm raised to flag a cab.

The facility was dark when the taxi came to a screeching halt out front, though even through the dimmed lights you could see the hurried silhouettes of the night nurses bumbling around the foyer - apparently frenzied by the flash of the headlights. You shook your head, thanked the driver and slipped a generous folded note into their palm as you stepped out into the crisp night air, coat closed snugly around your throat.

One of the night staff faculty gave you the rundown when you finally made it inside, or rather they tried to, though you could barely make out a single word with how quickly the words were spilling out. In fact they were trembling all over - lower lip wobbling, shoulders tense and jumping when you grasped them gently and guided them to the staff room. With a worried expression warping your face, you pressed a plastic cup of water from the visitors refreshment table into their hand and insisted they sat down. Only once their shoulders had stopped trembling and they had gulped down a few gracious mouthfuls of water, were you finally able to comprehend just why exactly you’d been contacted so late.

There had been a fight. More specifically an altercation that had turned physical between two of the more… aggressive high class predator hybrids. From everyone’s general hesitance and the air of hushed tension that seemed to have fallen over the facility, you didn’t even need to ask who the primary culprit was. You couldn’t even feign surprise when the nurse shakily murmured the name “Sukuna” like they were afraid he might hear them and burst through the door, teeth bared and claws outstretched, seeking retribution.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to your last official visit, one that had undoubtedly blurred the professional lines between doctor and patient to a degree that had sweat prickling at the back of your neck even reminiscing about it. You’d hoped the tests would come back negative, give you a reason to transfer him to another facility, to another doctor who specialized in complex breeding programs with difficult patients. But to your dismay the results had come back crystal clear and resolute - Sukuna was a perfectly healthy, virile male.

With his previous buyer pulling out after his blatant refusal to integrate, and with no real reason to transfer him, you’d instead resigned to place him back into his previous lodging within the facility, back under your personal care.

Since then you had been trialing him with other predator type hybrids with the desperate hope that he might take a mate, or at least shed some of the antisocial behavior he’d begun to display. Suffice to say it had not been going well, though you’d never dreamed that he would stoop to physical brawls. In fact you’d imagined prior to the program that he’d have thought that he was above petty cat fights, that no other hybrid at the facility was worth lifting a paw to.

Not that you could say you were entirely surprised - Sukuna was probably the proudest hybrid, no, the proudest man you’d ever known. Through that lens it wasn’t surprising in the least that he would be hesitant to share the spotlight in any sense of the word. Resources, territory. You’d even caught him glaring through the glass like he could snap bones through will alone if he’d happened to pass by while you were working with another hybrid, regardless of their type, class, or even gender. Maybe the big cat was getting territorial in his old age. The thought made you chuckle, though you cleared your throat swiftly to cover your amusement when the nurse crinkled their nose at you, still wide eyed as a doe in high beams.

“Alright,” you nodded, lips still spread into a tight smile, “I’ll go see him.”

The moment you stepped through the door into his quarters, Sukuna's nose scrunched in what you could only read as unfettered disgust.

Ignoring his blatantly rude greeting, you instead busied yourself by surveying the room as you finished buttoning the last few clasps of your coat, tugged tight over your sleek gown. The acrid smell of stale blood hung sharp and musky in the air, and your own nose twitched responsively as you eased into the room.

“You couldn’t let me have a single night off, huh Sukuna?” You greeted cheerily, taking a few strides further inward, heels clicking crisply over the smooth linoleum.

Your movement was slow, a little hesitant, still not certain of his temperament. You stopped a few metres shy of him, taking in the sight. Despite the dramatic reports from your faculty, all together he didn’t look too bad. He was lounging across the excessively large zabuton set he’d insisted on having installed, though the sheer size of him would make any piece of furnitureseem small. One thick arm lay outstretched sideways along a few stray cushions, the other was hooked in a subtly defensive posture around his abdomen, his hand tucked beneath the fold of his robe.

“And here I was thinking you just missed my company, doc,” came Sukuna’s flat reply after a few moments of consideration.

Beneath the curl of his tensed forearm you could see a smear of red staining the striped hide of his chest, beginning to seep into the silk of his robe. As if sensing your scrutiny, he huffed, flaming ear flicking alongside his tail in evident irritation. Your eyes snagged on the motion, trailing up to catalog the crisp sliver that had been sliced from his ear in a ragged and bloody triangle. When your gaze shifted back down to his face, you found that he was watching you in return. Sharp eyes narrowed to slits of ember, tracking the slow approach of your stilettos as you moved across the floor.

“So you and the bull, huh?” You continued easily, careful to keep your voice light and unobtrusive.

As you spoke you eased yourself to your knees, creeping over the tatami until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, that if you reached out you could clasp a hand over his shoulder. To your relief he didn’t revolt, simply watched you begin to unpack the first aid kit you’d brought, expression scrunched into a lightly defensive scowl and nostrils flared.

“Shame, I thought you’d appreciate the company of another apex,” you continued, tugging on a pair of shiny blue gloves with a practiced ease, “Maybe you’d share stories, might even become friends?”

He spat at that, and his striped tail writhed atop the tile like a great lashing serpent.

“You can’t possibly think that I’d want anything to do with that pigheaded fool.” He spat with a venom so biting that you almost flinched.

Holding your ground, you instead exhaled a long breath, and with it suddenly you were exhausted. You raised a hand to delicately rub a knuckle over the space between your brows, conscious of the makeup still slathered there, which you were sure was creasing by now.

“You could have at least let one of the night nurses patch you up,” you sighed, meeting his gaze again with a newfound fatigue, “really, they’re much more skilled with a bandage than I am.”

“No.” He huffed in a tone of scorching finality, nose lifted to peer down at you in reproach. “You’re my doctor, so you’ll tend to my needs.”

“Alright, alright,” you yielded, much too tired to argue with his idea of correct patient care, “sit up for me then, show me where it hurts.”

With only a mild roll of his eyes he slipped the sleeve of his robe downward, revealing an angry red slash running from his plump pec to the center of his chest. The skin surrounding was beginning to bruise a sickly purple, indicative of brute force impact hard enough to split skin.

“Ouch,” you winced with a genuine sympathy, leaning forward a little to peer at the wound, “that’ll teach you to go toe to toe with a prime bull, hm?”

He snarled, seemingly on instinct, though the sound eased into a low rumble when he saw you jump a little at the outburst.

“Don’t say that like we’re on equal footing,” he huffed, though the tone was a touch softer now, edged with a little less bite, “and don’t ever pair me with him again. Actually, don’t pair me with any of them. None are worthy to stand beside me.”

You laughed suddenly at that. A deep, full bellied laugh, and when you finally recovered enough to wink an eye open, you found that he was utterly silent - lips pressed flat, watching you with slightly widened amber eyes.

“None are worthy,” you mocked lightly, in a similarly low rumble, “you’re very amusing sometimes, Sukuna.”

He grumbled something beneath his breath, but offered no further argument as you continued to giggle quietly to yourself. Though you joked now, what he had done to the other hybrid was no laughing matter, and you were sure the nurse tasked with patching the other hybrid up would be looking at the self proclaimed king of the jungle with a newfound unease come daylight.

Shaking your head a little and with your lips still tugged into a soft smile, you diverted your gaze to your lap and began to sift through your collection of tools. From your peripheral you watched him lean in slightly as you worked, huffing great lungfuls of air through his flared nostrils so deep you could feel the vacuum against your skin. His lips parted a little as if he were tasting the air, expression turned quizzical.

“What is that?” He questioned finally, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“Hm?” You hummed, lifting your head in curiosity, “What’s what?”

“That stench,” he groused, nose once again scrunched in displeasure.

“Stench?” You echoed incredulously, lifting an arm to sniff at your coat. You sucked in a deep breath, but could identify nothing but the faint remnants of your perfume soaking your skin below.

“My perfume?” You wondered, “I’m very sorry if it’s not to your refined taste, my lord.”

You supposed you couldn’t blame him for the negative reaction, he didn’t get exposed to many artificial scents cooped up as he was, and with a nose as delicate as his you’re sure even the tiniest spritz was unbearably strong. It was for that exact reason that the facility had rules similar to most hospital or care facilities - scents were to be kept light an in offensive, or not worn at all.

“You happened to interrupt a personal outing of mine with your little cat-fight,” you explained, inching forward to inspect the wound closer. Your eyes trailed over the curve of his chest, relieved to find that it was already beginning to seal at the edges, blood drying to a hard crust.

To your surprise, he said nothing else. He simply settled back into place atop his zafu and watched you in silence as you moved. You worked in mutual silence, though his nose still twitched subtly, crinkling each time you turned, the movement sending a gust of perfumed air toward him. A few times you caught his eyes wandering too, dipping beneath the collar of your lab coat with a barely hidden curiosity, those pinpoint eyes surely catching glimpses of the silky fabric hidden beneath.

Trying your best to ignore him and keep your expression neutral, you focused instead on applying a simple adhesive bind. You delicately spritzed the site with liquid saline before lifting your hands to his chest, firmly pinching the skin together. His pec was warm beneath your hands, hot enough that you could feel his skin beginning to stick to the latex of your gloves. You bit the inside of your cheek hard, neck flushed beneath his watchful gaze, feeling the steady beat of his heart thrumming beneath your palms. After a moment, satisfied that the site was clean and aptly closed, you applied a thin slather of medical adhesive to the wound, brushing delicately over the slit to seal the edges.

With your hands free, you reached into the kit and pulled out a tube of antibacterial ointment. Without thinking, you began unscrewing the lid of the tube, and his brow furrowed. You squeezed a dab onto your gloved finger, and when you lifted it to his cheek he went rigid, recoiling away from your outstretched hand with wide eyes and his fuzzy ears flattened to his head.

“I’ll clean the smaller cuts now,” you explained, hand lingering in front of him, “stay still.”

He didn’t reply, simply eyed your hand warily when it inched closer. You held your breath, feeling the burning weight of his gaze on you as you slowly thumbed dots of antibacterial cream over his face, rubbing the salve into the spatter of cuts that laced his cheeks. His brow twitched under your delicate touch, tip of his tail beginning to sway back and forth over the mat.

“There,” you said finally when the wounds were finally clean and sealed, wiping the back of a gloved hand over your brow, “now, is there anything else before I go get some much deserved sleep?”

The uncharacteristic quiet that had settled over the room was enough to have your pulse quickening beneath your skin, but it was the way he was looking at you that really made the fine hair along your neck prickle. Carmine eyes narrowed, equal parts reverent and critical, and he moved before you could manage an argument.

“What are you-?…”

You froze, body entirely rigid as his paw lifted, fingers wrapping around your jaw with a surprising gentleness that you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Brows knitted in sudden determination, eyes locked on your face, he leaned in, and you couldn’t help the small noise of unadulterated fear that slipped from your throat as you tugged feebly against his iron grip.

There was the dig of his fingers at either hinge of your jaw, the clinical scent of the antibacterial salve, and then his breath, hot and damp tickling your lashes, before you felt something wet and rough press against your cheek. Your eyes shot open, and with a heart stopping flush you realized that he was licking you.

His massive sandpapered tongue lapped flat over your face, a single stripe over the patch of skin where your date had kissed you, square on your cheekbone. Once your cheek was sufficiently lathered, he moved down, tongue curling up the strip of skin behind your ear, over the line of your jaw where you’d dabbed a few spritzes of perfume earlier.

After a few additional indulgent laves of his tongue, he pulled away and released you. Eyes half-lidded, looking oddly satisfied as he traced the blooms of raw skin left in his wake. Seemingly satisfied, he once again met your gaze, and the contact was heady enough to make you press your thighs together beneath the spread of your lab coat.

“Don’t come in here reeking like that ever again.” He drawled, pink tongue slipped out to swipe at his lips, like a predator licking its chops after a satisfying kill.

You’re not sure you’d ever fled a room quicker. Only feeling your pulse begin to settle once you were in the safety of your apartment and had shed your evening clothes.

Thrust beneath the spray of the shower head, you scrubbed at your throat and turned the water to a stream of ice, trying desperately to forget the feeling of that rough tongue against your skin and cool the heat beginning to swirl low and dangerous in your stomach.

The next day you barely saw him at all, having been run off your feet tending to a new resident - an apex snow leopard with an attitude to boot. By the time you’d reached his room for your daily check in you were running on nothing but the fumes of three espresso shots and the hopeful dream of leaving before 7pm.

“How are you today, Sukuna?”

You couldn’t find the strength to mask the exhaustion seeping into your tone. Tired eyes lowered to the clipboard in your hands, blinking slow and sticky as you mulled over the half scribbled notes left by the night staff.

“Better than you, by the looks.”

Despite the humor of his words, his expression was dead serious when you met his gaze. So intense in fact that you lifted the clipboard a little to sever the line of sight, pulse thrumming hotly beneath your skin.

The telltale metallic slide of the door behind you gave you pause, and you turned just enough to catch sight of a nurse wheeling in a meal tray. You offered a strained smile over your shoulder, listening to the gentle squeak of the trolley wheels as you angled to face Sukuna once more.

“Well, I’m sorry for interrupting your meal, but I was hoping we could chat for just a few minutes.”

He scoffed where he was sat lounging across the tatami, but nonetheless nodded toward the cushion placed across the table from him - a silent invitation.

With a gracious dip of your head you lowered yourself, legs tucked beneath your knees as you settled into place. Sukuna watched you shift atop the cushion, though you didn’t meet his gaze in return. Instead you focused on the assistant who was delicately lowering various dishes onto the table with hands that trembled so subtly it was almost imperceptible.

“Thankyou,” you smiled, lifting your head to the assistant, who bowed slightly in return and slipped the tray from the table before slinking away just as Sukuna’s lip began to curl into a sneer.

Since the fight he’d been edgy, and evidently he hadn’t quite been able to shed the territorial attitude that had triggered the incident in the first place. Most of the time he simply refused any non essential service from the staff and refused to let anyone into his personal quarters at all - anyone aside from you, of course.

You let your eyes drop to the table and gazed, a little envious, at the spread of freshly prepared food peppered there. There was plethora of dishes decorating the surface - grilled vegetables, dipping sauces displayed in delicate ceramics, a heaping mound of fluffy rice, and a slab of steak so large you’re sure that it was bigger than your head. Watching the little plumes of steam float skyward from the hot meal, you suddenly felt all at once the chill of the air kissing your bare arms.

Silently, you cursed yourself for forgetting your sweater in your office. Shoving down the urge to shiver again, you instead gritted your teeth, brows furrowed determinedly as you turned your attention instead to the incident form tucked into your clipboard, eyes roaming the lines.

“So Sukuna tell me, how are you feeling today?” you began, though when you finally lowered the clipboard, any supplementary words died on your tongue.

For a moment you were unsure what to make of the sight that met you. A massive hand laid outstretched before you, the corner of a knitted blanket clutched between blackened claws.

“I-…” you trailed off, tongue tripping over the vowels, entirely unsure of what to do.

“Take it.” Sukuna prompted flatly, nudging the blanket toward you again, “you’re cold, are you not?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could gather the words your shoulders quivered in betrayal, a fresh shiver wracking your frame. He raised a slit brow at you, and with a defeated sigh you reached out and closed your fingers around the knit - thick threaded wool looped into a delicate feather pattern. It was soft beneath your grasp, evidently worn soft and plush from use.

“Thankyou, that’s very thoughtful,” you replied, voice gentle and a touch breathless with surprise.

Slowly, you looped the blanket around your shoulders, letting the excess drape along the floor behind you like a cape. You exhaled, relief washing over you instantly as warmth began to build beneath the blanket. You were no hybrid, but your nose wasn’t completely useless, and with a little rush of heat you realized that it smelt like him. As subtly as you could manage, you dipped your head into the wool bundled across your chin, taking a slow inhale. Something wild and unnamed hit your nose, mellowed by a deep richness - sweet and smoky like burning cherry wood woven through the knit. It was raw and oddly intimate, and that concept sent an embarrassing bolt of excitement straight through you.

Clearly pleased with your response, Sukuna settled back into his lounged position, feigning a cool detachment, though his eyes didn’t leave you - trailing over where the blanket was wrapped tightly around your collarbones, the way your body relaxed into the warmth it provided.

“Now, as I was saying,” you cleared your throat, one hand slipping from the shield of the blanket to tap at the clipboard, “how are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” he replied flatly.

You gritted your teeth a little behind your smile.

“That’s good. How about your wounds, are you feeling any residual pain?"

He scoffed, ignoring your questions to instead slide his hand around the teapot that had been delivered fresh and steaming alongside his meal. His other hand lifted to grasp a clean cup, fingers dwarfing the delicate china entirely as he poured a heaped serving.

The crisp scent of tea leaves perfumed the air instantly, mixing with the heady scent of food which sat taunting and undisturbed atop the table. Thick juicy steak, sticky rice, and perfectly seasoned vegetables. You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your mouth was beginning to water, though it was no use - the cocktail of delicious scents was fuel to the fire, and before you could stop it your empty stomach rumbled into the silent air.

After a haunting moment of silence, your lips parted to continued your line of questioning, intending to ignore your bodies mildly embarrassing intrusion, but his sudden attention forced your silence.

“You haven’t eaten?” He questioned incredulously, slit brows knitted into a serious expression, hands paused mid pour.

“I -uh… I had a granola bar earlier?” You offered with a hesitating smile.

He growled, shaking his great head in evident irritation. He lowered the teapot, cup abandoned to the edge of the table as he instead began to shift the dishes dotted across the tabletop.

“You don’t dress appropriately, you don’t feed yourself. Must I do everything for you?” He grumbled, shoving the plate of steak across the table before he lifted his head to fix you with a pointed stare.

“Really, there’s no need…” you stuttered, unable to quite hide your surprise as you watched him thumb the dish until it came to rest directly in front of you.

“Eat.” Came his simple reply as he folded his arms across his chest, more of a demand than a request, really. Especially grunted past the shield of pearly teeth, glinting between his lips in the dim evening light like the threat of a knife.

You considered the plate before you, feeling the steam filter upward through the air to warm your cheeks. The scent was tenfold at this distance, gracing your nostrils, savory and delicious and temptingly close. Before you could think better of it your hands were moving toward the cutlery, body taking the initiative for you.

You could feel his gaze on you as you moved, sticky and heated like the press of a palm. The knife slipped through the steak like silk, meat tender and lathered richly with butter, parting beneath the press of metal to reveal a perfectly bloody center. Lifting your hand, your eyes fluttered closed and you hummed when the meat hit your tongue - a soft pleasured sound at the flavor that sizzled over your taste buds. It was delicious.

He watched you eat intently, peering over his teacup, eyes following the movement of your fork each time you lifted it to your lips as if he himself were being satiated - quietly intense and hungry. The weight of his attention was stifling, and you didn’t dare pause until finally your stomach cried fullness and you slid the cutlery back to the plate alongside a third of the steak.

Sukuna glared at the remaining food like it had personally scorned him.

“Finish it.” He demanded, bucking his chin at the steak, left half cooled and bleeding pitifully onto the plate.

“Sukuna,” you retorted, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, “look at the size of you.”

Your hands outstretched to gesture at him, poking the scrunched napkin at every considerable pound of hard packed muscle sat opposite you, tucked beneath the little table like a grownup playing tea party.

“Now look at me,” your hands flipped toward yourself, and his eyes followed the movement greedily, “I don’t need as much food as you do.”

His expression eased an inch, though he still looked a little wary, as if he didn’t quite believe you.

“That was more than enough, really,” you insisted, lips spread into a genuine smile. “I feel a lot better now.”

And it was true - your body hummed, and your limbs tingled pleasantly. Warmed and satiated by the thick wool blanketing you and the hot meal sitting comfortably in your belly.

Sukuna huffed a little beneath his breath, but gave no further argument, instead settling back into his seat and lifting his steaming cup once again to his lips.

“Now,” you continued cheerily, “please, let’s get back to my questions…”

Sukuna’s behaviour over the next week had been similarly jarring.

He’d been prescribed a standard catalog of care following the incident, and he took most of the minor checkups and medication with as much grace as he typically reserved for the nurses poking at prodding at him - with a heavy dose of grumbling and a few growls. But other than the occasional snarl, the care was administered without further issue.

That was until about two days later when he’d been moved to the medical bay for a course of supplementary vaccines - a standard precaution against infection following close proximity with another hybrid. To everyone surprise, yours most of all, he’d taken the injections with exactly zero complaint.

Even in the hours following, the shift in behavior he'd displayed had remained. Nurses reported that he had been quiet and docile throughout, uncharacteristically so. His only complaints were that it was too warm in the bay - which was always kept at a controlled and comfortable 70° - and of a repeated headache.

You’d read the report over a few times in the comfort of your office, feeling a gnawing little bead of unease begin to form. The irritating feeling needled away in the back of your mind throughout the morning, enough so that by lunchtime you had slipped on a lab coat and strutted your way down to the medical bay yourself.

“Sukuna,” you voiced the familiar greeting when you entered, expecting a huff, or an unimpressed slue of insults thrown at you in return, but when the automatic door slid closed behind, you found that he was simply watching you.

His gaze was soft, eyes a little dilated, delayed about a second behind as they tracked your movement across the room. You frowned, brows knitted lightly as you approached. He didn’t move, just sniffed the air lightly when you paused beside him. His head craned a little, posture relaxing an inch with the next slow exhale as if in relief.

Lifting your hand, you hesitated for a moment before snapping your fingers in a sharp ‘click!’ beside his head. Sukuna jolted, great shoulders jumping along with an irritated flicker of his ear.

“What do you want?” He grumbled, gazing up at you, soft expression hardened to one of irritation and badly concealed confusion, like he’d only just noticed your presence and was too embarrassed to admit it.

The strength of his gaze provided you a little comfort.

“You told the nurses your head hurt,” you offered patiently, “are you still feeling pain?”

“Hm,” he hummed, eyes slipping from your face to instead fix themselves upon your shoulder with a sudden spark of interest.

You frowned and dipped your head subtly to follow the line of his gaze, finding only the smooth expanse of your lab coat and a few stray strands of inky hair wedged between the folds of fabric - remnants of your afternoon spent wrangling the very same bull you could likely thank for Sukuna’s current state.

“Yes,” he replied after a few contemplative moments, and you wondered what it was he was thinking about as he bore a hole into your shoulder with his gaze.

“Alright,” you continued with a light clearing of your throat, brushing away the hairs alongside a few lone specks of lint, “let me see then.”

His brow twitched, and then with a surprise degree of willingness, he tilted his head downward, offering you access to the crown of his head. His eyes dropped similarly, studying the expanse of white tile beneath your feet. You peered for a moment without moving, simply studying the tufts of pink sprouting from his scalp, and the way he was rocking ever so slightly with each gentle breath. Without further words, worried even the slightest outward reaction would send him recoiling back into his shell, you stepped forward and lifted a hand to his head.

You began with his ears, fingers tracing the round discs delicately, the silky skin feeling soft as rose petals beneath your fingers. You eyed the sliver where the bull had sliced away a chunk of skin, pleased to find the wound nearly healed, kissed pink with fresh scarring. When you reached the space behind his ears you slowed, fingers beginning to tease into the expanse of salmon spikes with a clinical efficiency. As you worked, your nails caught suddenly on a knot, scratched lightly against skin, and Sukuna shuddered beneath your touch.

“Stop squirming,” you sputtered instinctively, a little flustered by his uncharacteristically raw reaction, “I need to check the rest of your scalp for surface wounds, so stay still, okay?”

He offered nothing but a low rumble, and his head remained down-turned, shielding his expression from view, though you imagined that his eyes had fluttered closed if his relaxed body language was anything to go by. You gritted your teeth and continued, fingers carding through tufts of hair, eyes narrowed in scrutiny as you split the expanse of pink to study the scalp beneath. When you finally reached his forehead you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relieved to find that there were no hidden cuts or bruises that were missed in the initial assessment. Though the cause of his sudden migraines remained a mildly concerning mystery.

Without thinking, you ran a gentle hand through his hair in outward relief. Smoothing the pink spikes that were stuck in all directions, wayward from your roaming fingers. Sukuna made a soft sound beneath you, and you felt him shift suddenly in response, pressing his head up into your hand in an action you could only describe as nuzzling.

He stayed like that for a few indulgent breaths, lashes fanned over his flushed cheekbones and chuffing happily, clearly reveling in the feeling of your bare fingers lacing through his hair. You paused, eyes wide, taking in the rare sight of him utterly relaxed, all that innate harshness smoothed away by tranquility. You studied his face, the curve of his brow bone, the delicate wisps of scarring you hadn’t ever noticed dotted between dark stripes, painting the edges of his cheeks like lashings of ink.

Indulgently, you curled your fingers until your nails hit scalp again, and you watched him shiver beneath you. His massive thighs twitched either side of your knees, hands gripping the bed so tightly that his knuckles paled with the effort. His lips parted, and a soft breathy sigh slipped free. The tender sound went straight to your belly, where that betraying little knot of heat was once again beginning to tighten.

Sukuna shifted, squirming beneath your slowly tightening grip, and the bed creaked in argument. With another soft little breath, his hips nudged upward, tented lightly beneath his robe, and all at once with a dizzying rush of heat you realized what exactly you were doing.

You cleared your throat sharply, and when the motion of your hand paused its motion thumbing over his hairline, his eyes shot open.

Sukuna went stiff beneath your touch, expression sharpened to one of surprise and then of utter mortification, as if he were confused and a little horrified by his own actions. With an amused little hum you lifted your hands away and stepped backward, eyes lowered to instead smooth your hands over your coat, picking at invisible threads to afford him a little dignity.

“Your scalp looks fine, no cuts or bruising that I could see,” you offered smoothly, managing not to sound as shaken as you really were, “I think you’re just feeling the crash of adrenaline and the mix of sedatives we gave you for the wounds.”

He growled something unintelligible, tail lashing behind him. You tried to meet his gaze, but found that his head was turned, studying the glass beside him intently. Your eyes roamed his profile, the sharp angles of his nose, his jaw, the subtle blush creeping over his striped throat like a collar.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” you said finally, “let me know if you start feeling any further symptoms, alright?”

He offered no reply.

Your office was silent aside from the clack of your nails flying over the keyboard and the delicate ticking of the clock mounted on the wall opposite. The air was cool, still. Dimmed dark with tendrils of cool evening light creeping between the half closed shades like poking fingers. With a click of the mouse that was more forceful than was probably necessary, you slumped backward into your chair and lifted a hand to rub at your brows. Your eyes stung beneath the press of your fingers, tender from hours of staring at line after line of mind numbing reports.

A melodic jingle chimed beyond the blackness of your vision, and the sound shot straight through your skull like the piercing intrusion of a shell casing. Winking an eye open, you peered at the landline phone atop your desktop, rattling lightly with each ring, doing absolutely nothing to ease the ache thrumming behind your eyes. With a sigh you sat up and leaned forward just far enough to see which of the multitude of blinking lights on the directory was lit up. Your jaw tightened.

Room 1E - Sukuna.

You peered longingly at your handbag, slung over the hook on the back of the door alongside your coat. The sight had once been a comfort, a promise of an end to a very long day. Now it stood as nothing but a taunting tease of a freedom that was slowly slipping through your fingers.

With your teeth gritted in determination, you lifted yourself onto your aching feet and began the long trek to the private wards, slipping past your bag with nothing more than a longing hand slid over the leather to comfort yourself.

The hall was dim, late as it was, lit only by a few sparse corridor lights that blinked to life at the motion of your passing. It was as silent as it was dark, utterly abandoned by any signs of life on account of the late hour and the weekend looming only a few hours away now. Your nose twitched absentmindedly as you walked, catching the unusual scent of something vaguely sweet perfuming the air. It was subtle, almost untraceable - like someone had sprayed cologne and then walked down the hall before you.

You paid it no mind, figuring the cleaners were trialing a new soap, a different detergent, something simple and entirely explainable. With your jaw clenched and your brow furrowed, you came to a halt in front of the lone door decorating the stretch of hallway, examining the nameplate screwed into the drywall with a wary eye.

Sukuna had been troublesome all week. Picking fights with staff and other facility patrons alike, straight out refusing any nurse from doing so much as breathing near him. Even on the rare occasion that he had let you - and you alone - enter, he was bratty and uncooperative. Refusing to do much more than stare at you. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing your appearance, like he was working some unknown theory over in his mind, some idea that you were not privy to.

“What is it Sukuna, you do know I need to sleep at some point righ-?…”

The moment you stepped inside you were slapped by a wall of thick heat, palpable enough that you physically recoiled. You inhaled a desperate breath and immediately choked on it, resigned instead to sucking tiny slips of air through your parted lips, unable to bear the heat stinging your nose. The scent was stronger here, unbearably so. The air was thick with it, like you were breathing in water with each staggered gasp.

Tripping a little over your heels, you stumbled backward, shoulders hitting the door while your hand immediately fumbled for the doorknob - struck by an instinctual need to flee.

“Don’t.” A graveled voice rumbled from the dark, rough and heavy from apparent lack of use.

In the near non existent light you could barely make out the source of it, just the vague outline of a hulking form tucked into the corner of the room.

You focused on the shape writhing in the dark, and as your eyes adjusted you were met with the reality of the space. What once had been a tidy sanctuary was turned upside down - tufts of feathers flitted through the humid air, cushions shredded and tossed into a mountainous pile in the corner of the main room alongside seemingly every other piece of fabric that had dared to exist between the four walls. Sukuna was usually neat as an arrow, obsessively so, and the stark contrast of the room you were now standing in made your stomach churn in unease.

“Stay.” His voice came again, softer this time, edged with a rawness that you’d never heard grace the deep tone. It felt sinful against your ear, silky and tattered like shredded satin. “Please.”

You’re not sure what possessed you, maybe it was the utterly broken tone, or the fact he’d actually pleaded, but you found yourself doing what he asked - abandoning the safety of the door to instead take a few slow trembling steps into the room. Driven by sense of duty, or at least that’s what you told yourself as you inched further into the literal belly of the beast.

“What’s wrong Sukuna?” You murmured into the darkness as you moved, sliding one unsteady leg before the other like you were walking a tightrope, “are you feeling sick?”

The only reply was the muffled shuffle of fabric and the sound of a heavy, stuttered exhale.

“Come here,” came his croaking demand.

The air was caked with heat, oppressive and unwavering, and your knees wobbled beneath the weight of it. You tore desperately at your collar as you moved, shedding your coat to the floor as a bead of sweat formed at your hairline and began to trickle down your forehead.

“Sukuna? Where are you?”

Your hands waved blindly in the darkness, splayed before you and swiping at the air as you blinked, trying desperately to find anything to ground yourself in the sea of blackness. With a relief that was almost dizzying, your palm slapped against something solid, and in the next moment you were wincing against the sudden burst of light - down lights flickering to life overhead.

The sight that met you was enough to have any moisture stripped from your mouth in an instant. Your pulse quickened, heart beginning to hammer frantically against your chest like the beating of a drum.

Sukuna lay in the center of a shredded pile of what had once been cushions, massive limbs splayed in all directions, tan skin slicked with a sheen of sweat. He’d shed his robe, and by the looks of it his pants too - clothed now only in a thin sheet tossed haphazardly over his hips. He was panting, plump chest heaving with the effort of each stuttered breath, accompanied by a whine so soft it was almost inaudible.

As if sensing your approach through the fog, his head lolled to one side, flushed cheek resting on the curve of a massive shoulder, pink lips parted and glossy with spit. The heat of the room was sweltering, but it didn’t ease the further you traveled, in fact it was almost as if the heat was emanating from him - as if he were a living furnace stoked hot. Exactly like you’d expect if he…

In an instant it hit you - all the little pieces finally pieced together in your mind, forming a picture with shuddering clarity. That’s where you’d smelt it before, the same sickly sweet cloying scent you’d sniffed samples of in school just to catalog it to memory. The same scent that had sweat beading at your hairline and your thighs trembling where you stood. He was in rut.

You’d have to worry about what had triggered him later. Right now, you weren’t equip to deal with a hybrid in rut, certainly not one of Sukuna’s type or class. You’d need at least half your staff just to keep the other hybrid residents at bay when the pheromones finally leaked out from beneath the seal of the doors, and another team to organize the swift sourcing and delivery of a suitable partner, or at least a doll-

You froze in place, a quiet sound interrupting your spiraling thoughts, though you could barely hear it over the blood pounding hotly in your ears. It was a soft mewling, and all at once the shape of the words became crystal clear. He was groaning out a name into the curve of his shoulder, your name whimpered between pained huffs, raw and thick with need.

With no biologically suitable partners around, Sukuna hadn’t gone into rut in the entire time you known him, and the reality of the sight was stark. The terrain of his tan skin was beaded with sweat, glistening like a valley of rhinestones, droplets beginning to dribble down the curve of his heaving abs. Veins ran down his biceps in thick bundles, pulsing over his forearms. Like coiled vines snaking over his lower belly and dipping below the slip of sheet tugged over his manhood. 

“Sukuna…” you breathed, unable to tear your eyes from him.

He jolted as if he’d been slapped at the sound of your voice, and another jagged breath escaped his throat, hips nudging upward seemingly of their own volition. The pale sheet shielding his dignity slid with the motion, held in place only by the weight of the bulged fabric. His leaky cock twitched pathetically beneath, weeping a slick wet patch into it, turning it to glass.

It was nothing you hadn’t seen before of course, but this felt entirely different - raw and utterly primal. The way he was pressing obscenely against the thin cotton, so hard you could practically see each pained throb of mottled purple beneath the stretched sheet, hips twitching each time the fabric moved and administered another delicious graze of friction.

Your mind ran wild. Who had done this, triggered him so suddenly and to such a degree? The pretty little snow leopard you’d spent your week pampering? Shit, the bull?

You were so entranced by the sight that you lost balance entirely when his paw lifted to wrap around your wrist and tug. To your utter mortification you found yourself kneeing the tatami, straddling one of his massive thighs. Splayed over his lap, your hands found his chest, where you clambered desperately to keep yourself upright.

He was blisteringly hot beneath your palms, so warm in fact that your skin was already beginning to stick to his. The sensation was stark without your usual shield of gloves, warm and personal, undeniably intimate.

“You…” he panted as if he’d read your mind, curling hot and humid over your collarbones, “you did this to me…”

Your breath caught like a stone in your throat, face flushing as the reality of his words dawned. You?

When you dared to peer down again his head had lifted, sharp jaw raised to meet your gaze. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy in the dim light, devoured entirely by desirous black as he blinked up at you, dazed as if he’d been sedated.

“Me?” You managed to squeak the lone word.

He nodded with a slow flutter of his lashes, the motion limp and boneless like his head was too heavy to hold up.

“Told you, didn’t I? Scrambled my brain, doc… can’t think, can’t breathe…”

Before you could think of anything to say in reply he broke the sizzling eye contact, instead dropping his head into the valley of your chest. You squeaked, though he only pressed deeper at the sound, pink tufts tickling at your neck, nosing at your spread collar until the tip hit your bare skin. You realized then that he was sniffing, huffing deep lungfuls of your scent like it was water, like it was a lifeline. His lips parted, and a relieved groan slipped free.

“Good, ‘s just you this time…”

You felt the tender graze of his lips, then his teeth nipping feather soft at your skin before he pressed his tongue flat and - just as he had earlier in the week - began lapping at you. His tongue was big and rough, mapping the expanse of your throat methodically in long slow lines, like he was tasting you, like he was grooming you, ridding you of anything that wasn’t him.

“Needy little thing….” He murmured between licks, “Covering my scent so blatantly… Refusing my offerings… So hard to please, aren’t you?…”

He spoke the words into your skin as if you weren’t even there, as if he didn’t realize he was speaking aloud at all. He burned beneath you like a furnace, dewy cheekbone hot and blushed where it was sticking to your clavicle.

You’d honestly thought you might have started to stink a little, too busy with work to worry about sweating, but with the way he was huffing your scent you’d think you smelt like heaven personified.

“Sukuna…” you choked again, unable to hide the weakness working its way into your voice as he continued to mouth at your jaw. “You need to let me go now, I’ll go get something to help you feel better, okay?”

A snarl sounded then, so sharp and sudden that you jolted, and his grip around you only tightened in response.

“Don’t want some doll with fake pheromones,” He shook his head wildly where it was still nestled firmly against your chest, “don’t want medicine, don’t want a machine...”

You could feel him beneath you then, all the impossibly thick inches of him - hard and throbbing where he was rutting a sticky patch into your slacks, hips rocking in a subtle motion you were sure was entirely instinctual.

“Want a warm body squirming underneath me…” he rumbled, mouthing at your collarbones, losing himself in the fantasy of his own words. “Yeah… Want to bite… Wanna fuck… I want you.”

A sudden wetness hit your skin, drool smearing as he rubbed at the nape of your neck, where your scent glands would have been if you were a hybrid. The heat was stifling, as was the sheer size of him, a brick wall caging you on all sides. His bare chest pressed to yours, plump arms wrapped around your waist, and the firm press of his thigh pulsing between your legs, thick as a tree trunk.

“I want you,” he said again, all sweet and pleading, and it sounded utterly foreign from his lips, “Need you…”

You swallowed hard against his tongue, and a traitorous heat began creeping up your throat. He groaned, so in tune with you that even such a minute shift your body language, a tiny flare in your scent, had him groaning low in his throat. It was as if he could taste the little bud of desire beginning to bloom sticky between your thighs, like he could tell just how badly your body needed exactly what he was offering.

“Know you need it too, can smell it on you…”

He could overpower you in an instant, you knew it, and you knew that he knew it too. But despite his physical prowess, he did nothing more than keep you pressed tightly in his lap, laving his tongue over your skin in what you thought was intended to be soothing.

“Am I not enough, woman? Tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

Difficult as it was to think with him tonguing at the delicate skin beneath your ear, through the haze beginning to blanket your brain you considered hybrid mating rituals. He was courting you, fronting for you - that much was clear. His odd behavior over the last week had been subconscious instincts spurred on by his pre-rut hormones. Showing you what he had to offer whether he’d consciously intended to or not - strength, protectiveness, the ability to provide, defend territory - all hallmarks of a desirable mate.

You cursed yourself silently for not having recognized the signs, blinded by your closeness to it.

“Just let me… need to…” he grunted between breaths, between long sandpapered licks that were beginning to edge on painful.

Most hybrids of his class didn’t bother with traditional courtship anymore, or with what was socially expected amongst their species. They were the top of the food chain, the apex, and thus they could take what they wanted without consequence. But Sukuna had always been a little unconventional, with a deep rooted sense of his own honor and tradition no matter how warped others may have perceived it.

You considered the warm press of his body beneath you - strong and capable and singing for your attention. Sukuna had never taken a mate in captivity, had blatantly rejected every candidate you’d proposed to him. The chances of him navigating this rut alone without artificial assistance and without consequence was slim. Either you did something to ease his pain now, or you left him to his own devices to potentially injure himself, or worse.

Decision resolute, you let your body go limp and began to ease down into his lap. With your pulse pounding deafeningly in your ears, you tilted your chin up to allow him access to the soft of your jugular - a primal show of submission that you hoped translated through the thick fog of his rut. The response from him was immediate - bulging forearms enclosed around your waist, and a tail thick as rope slid over your thighs like a chain. With a groan that edged on woeful, his teeth hit the bare skin of your throat, accepting your silent invitation.

“Mmm, shhh…” he soothed, sounding relieved and pleased in equal measure. “That’s it, I’ve got you…”

He nosed along your skin, following the long line of your throat with his tongue upward until he hit your jaw, where he began to nibble. Pressing gentle little kitten licks along your cheek, across the corner of your mouth, up to the delicate skin beneath your lash line.

On the next swipe of his spiked tongue you moved too, tilting your head downward to interrupt him mid lap, capturing his lips instead in a gentle, almost hesitant kiss.

He froze instantly, and you felt the way his breath caught, then released in a hot puff through his nostrils. You pulled away with a soft sound, blinking down at him brows knitted in worry.

“What… what are you doing?” Sukuna wondered, sounding a little breathless. His glossy eyes wide despite the way lust was weighing his lids down.

“Kissing,” you replied, feeling your cheeks begin to heat, “Is that… Is that alright?”

Despite the fact that you were spread over his lap, littered with his marks and grinding on his thigh like you were the one in heat, suddenly you felt oddly shy beneath the weight of his attention. His hand lifted from your waist to instead drag a calloused thumb over your bottom lip, entranced.

“Kissing…” he echoed, fingertip brushing thoughtfully over your lip, eyes locked on the sight of your spit painting his thumb in the low light.

He leaned in, murmuring the next words so close and so quietly that you could feel the syllables curling through the air between you.

“I like it… give me more.”

With that he lifted his chin, eyes fluttering closed as his lips replaced the thumb atop your lower lip. Sukuna was always a fast learner, sharp and strategic, and he proved it now with the ease by which he had you melting into the kiss. He moved with fervor against you, the roll of his jaw looser, more confident. Though it wasn’t long before any rhythm or semblance of control dissolved and the contact turned suddenly heavy - more like he were trying to devour you than anything.

He groaned into your mouth, all teeth and tongue, losing himself in the taste, the delicious friction forming between you. Not that you were fairing any better, losing more and more of your weakening self control with each press of his tongue against your own. The sensation was rough and entirely foreign, peppered alongside gentle nips at your lower lip, like he couldn’t help but push just a little further, shivering each time he swiped a fresh bead of blood from your skin.

The scent of him was intoxicating, surrounding you like a blanket. Vaguely familiar and oddly comforting, like the cool wind breeze off alpine rivers, the crackle of burning cherry wood - deep and smoky and utterly him. You were dizzy with it, drunk on the scent of him, the taste of him, the weight of him pressing into you. You thought back to your school days, academic discussions about the impact of hybrid pheromones on humans - a hotly debated topic that most people of scientist chalked up to pseudoscience at best. But now you knew the reality of it first hand, it was enough to melt your brain clean out of your skull.

You hadn’t noticed when exactly your hips had started to rock, you only knew that it felt so utterly right grinding against him as you lost yourself in the heat of it all, guilt and shame turning to liquid desire in your veins. His grip around your waist tightened in response to a particularly well placed hump, thumbs hooked over your hip bones and pinching the fat there as he began rolling you along his lap. He panted, jolting a little each time your soft inner thigh bumped against him.

You gasped into the kiss, a fresh sizzle of need washing over you when you felt the kick of his cock against your clothed crotch, separated now only by the thin sheet and the sticky fabric of your slacks.

“Oh…” you moaned, hand abandoning his shoulder to instead snake between your bodies, finding the thick bulge in the fabric and offering a delicate squeeze to whatever you could manage to fit in your hand.

He felt bigger somehow, thicker than you’d remembered, and hotter too. The weight of him in your palm, throbbing between your clasped fingers was enough to have you squirming, clenching around nothing as you let his head drop to your shoulder.

“Ah… hah-….”

He went limp as you tugged him half free from the cloth and began to pump, as if all coherency had simply fled his body. Whining pitifully into the crook of your neck, hands useless and limp atop your thighs. He was utterly consumed by the rhythm of your hand, the contrast of your smooth skin and the scratch of the cotton against his leaky cock, and the way you were purring sweet nothings into his ear all the while.

“There you go, shhh…” you cooed, swiping a thumb over the reddened head just to feel him jerk beneath you, “doesn’t that feel good?”

He nodded, temple rubbing at your shoulder. His eyes were down turned and low lidded, locked on the obscene sight of your fingers slicked with his pre, glazing over in time with the expert curl of your wrist.

Suddenly on the next pinched upstroke, as if he’d been slapped, Sukuna made a sharp sound. A quick exhale of air as his own hand shot down to close around your wrist where he squeezed tight enough to give you pause.

“No, no…” he panted into the heated air between you, sticky with your shared breath. Shaking his head like it was painful, like he had half a mind to let you keep stroking him until he painted your front in heaping pearly strings, “not your hand, can’t waste it, not this time…”

He released your wrist to instead slot it between your bodies, fingertips trailing feather soft over your lower belly before he slid his palm flat and rubbed firmly. The contact was stifling, made hotter still by the rawness simmering beneath his words.

“Need it inside,” he insisted, eyes drooped to watch the way his hand dwarfed your abdomen, length of his palm nearly reaching either side, before they flicked back up to meet yours, “understand?”

Unable to find the words and struck with a sudden wave of need that had your head feeling fuzzy, you simply nodded dumbly in reply and allowed his hand to slide across your back. His fingers curled around the nape of your neck, firm and protective, and suddenly you were moving. Caged between his arms and maneuvered until you were blinking up at the ceiling with your back pressed flat to the tatami.

Before you could quite fathom it, the little buttons of your dress shirt were clinking along the tatami either side of you. The air was thick, contrasting against the cool press of his nails against your now bare skin, slicing through your silky dress shirt as if it were nothing more than paper.

“Sweet… smell so sweet.”

He murmured into your chest, nose once again glued to your skin as he worked his way down. Warm breath curling over your breasts, your ribcage, the soft curve of your belly.

“Need more, need to taste…”

Finally, he paused - nosing gently at your still clothed crotch where he took a long huff, and you jerked when the bridge of his nose brushed your tender clit through the fabric.

He rumbled a soothing sound in response, before he lifted his chin and parted his lips to press his tongue flat over your clothed cunt. You choked on your next breath at the dulled sensation, while he simply groaned below you - low and desperate.

His tongue slipped back behind his teeth, and his eyes fluttered closed, as if savoring the taste.

Before you could recover, two big hands lifted and sharp nails dug into the fabric either side of your pussy. You watched, dazed, as he tore the center seam of your slacks open, splitting the cloth in a single effort.

He lapped slow, indulgent strokes along the plush skin of your exposed inner thigh, pressed a thumb indulgently over your soaked panties just to gather the slick there before those too became mere shreds of fabric beneath his claws. You watched him move, nosing along the length of your now bare leg until he reached the sticky center.

For a moment he did nothing but look, longing and hungry, before he leaned in and pressed his tongue flat against you again, now with nothing separating you from the sinful heat of his mouth.

“Oh god…” you choked.

Tiny barbs poked at your delicate nub, feeling like the press of a thousand tiny silicone tongues. He made a breathy satisfied sound and lifted his head just far enough to lick his lips, rolling the flavor of your over his tongue.

“Good… tastes so good,” he sighed, light and a little breathless. He sounded faraway, he sounded high. Drunk on the scent of you, and now the taste of you.

With that simple utterance he dove back in, massive head craned and one hand curled over your thigh in a motion that read as decidedly possessive. The other settled over your belly, rubbing slow soothing lines over your womb, thumb petting at the sparse coils of hair peppered there, tugging the skin up to expose more of you to his greedy mouth.

You simply babbled a slur of unintelligible words between spineless gasps and cries of his name, blinking down at the blur of pink moving between your thighs. Your jaw hung slack in pleasure and shock in equal parts, watching the hypnotic slip of tongue between the sharp glint of his teeth, the little strings of your arousal linking him to you each time he lifted for air.

You’d expected him to claim you immediately - you’d expected it to be rough, for it to hurt as he crowded over you and took what he wanted, what his instincts demanded of him. You had no doubt that he was doing exactly as he pleased now, but what surprised you was that that seemed to entail making you come undone on his tongue, despite the throbbing weight between his legs that was surely beginning to border on painful.

Your hands found his head, and your fingers locked firmly around the pink spikes there. He nudged up into your grip, though he didn’t slow. He ate like a hungry beast, like a man starved - splayed over the mat with his bare hips grinding haphazardly, the tip of his flaming tail twitching each time you clenched around his tongue. It was like a switch had been flipped, a version of him entirely absorbed with making you leak into his mouth.

It was rough and hot and utterly too much, and it didn’t take long before you were riding that delicious line. One swipe of his tongue away from tripping over the edge. He mouthed, sandpapered and rough, over your clit, spreading you open between two thumbs to make room for him to slide his tongue inside. Deep enough that his nose hit your sensitive clit, sending a spark of pleasure zipping up your spine.

The sound was obscene, wet slurping alongside your own desperate squeaks. His lips pressed flat in a seal around your clit, and when he began to suckle like he could nurse something out, you were finished. Your pussy pulsed helplessly against his tongue, once, twice…

“Sukuna,…please, ‘m gonna…!-…”

It hit you like the crash of a wave - hot and rolling and decorated with a gush of slick. Your head smacked against the tatami, hands wringing tight fistfuls of pink hair as your thighs trembled either side of his ears.

He groaned, lapping at you as you jerked, drinking in your spend like it was satiating, like he were sipping water after months without. You lay in the afterglow, dazed, limbs sizzling with residual little nips of pleasure. You’re not sure you’d ever come that hard, certainly no man had ever done anything remotely similar.

“Why?” Came your croaked voice through the silence, quiet, the edges of it softened by pleasure.

“You and your incessant questions,” he tutted between licks, though his tone was affectionate. “Look at the size of me,” he echoed your earlier sentiment.

And you did look, blinking up at him as he straightened, thumbing at his chin which was glazed and slippery with remnants of you. Your gaze dribbled slowly over his frame like the drip of honey. Tanned hide stretched over thick slabs of muscle and fat, flecked with lashings of jet black ink. Broad shoulders and a thick neck tapering to an angled jaw. Pearly canines poking from between his parted lips - longer now, you thought. The teeth of a predator, sharp and poised to latch onto the nape of some poor little thing that couldn't run fast enough.

Biting your lip, you let your eyes roam freely, taking in the sight of him laid entirely bare where the sheet had been tugged loose. The sinful spattering of hair trailing over his softened abs, dipping down between his thighs. The thick inches bobbing before him, too heavy to stand upright, pulsing with veins and blushed so dark that it looked painful. You swallowed hard, watching glistening droplets dribble slowly down his shaft, in such excess that if you hadn’t have known better you would have thought he’d come already.

“Now look at yourself.” He didn't try to hid the lazy pleasure in his voice. 

Held up on trembling elbows, you peered down at yourself. At where he was rubbing a hand slowly down the plane of your stomach, cupping the soft flesh like it was a form of worship. At your thighs, spread and twitching with residual sizzles of pleasure - where his spare hand was creeping into your vision, snaking between your legs to begin petting at your pussy. He watched keenly, eyes low lidded and locked on the sight of your folds glistening with a mix of your arousal and his own spit.

“So small, so tight,” he purred, thumbing at your entrance, which gave easily beneath the pressure, “But you’re going to take it all, aren’t you? Let me put all of it inside?”

You didn’t answer, instead you gathered your remaining resolve, lifted yourself onto your palms and rolled over.

Recalling what you’d researched in your many long years in the field, all those ridiculous demonstration videos - you crawled a few feet from him, lowered your chest until it hit the floor and lifted your hips to present yourself in as blatant of a show of compliance as you could manage. You held yourself there on trembling thighs, back arched and palms pressing sticky hand prints into the tatami.

You’re sure you painted quite a sight - flushed cheek pressed to the mat, ass in the air and thighs spread to give him a stellar view of the way you were still twitching and drooling with the residual hum of your first orgasm. The position was revealing. Primal, submissive, and you felt every inch of your exposed skin sizzle beneath his attention.

Whatever you’d done, it must have been right because you heard his breath catch behind you. A big palm crept over the curve of your ass, sharp nails dragging stinging lines over your skin until it settled on your lower back with a claiming firmness, forcing you down further into a sinful arch.

“Look at you, presenting for me so well,” Sukuna purred, voice nothing but a pleased rumble, and you could all but feel the heat of his gaze, teasing over the sight of your dripping folds like a wayward hand. “Perfect. Just like I knew you would be.”

The mat was warm beneath your chest, tempered by your shared body heat. It it felt like skin, like sin incarnate brushing against your tender nipples. You felt the weight of him as he slotted in behind you, one great hand reaching over to tease down your inner thigh while the other remained firmly planted atop your spine.

“That’s why I’m going to make you mine,” he murmured with a bluntness that was surprising, hand easing your thighs further apart, scraping your knee over the mat. “They can’t have you, none of them… the leopard, the fucking bull… none of them.”

In an instant the moment of clarity was gone, dissolved further with each spiraling word until in its place was only the singe of blind, sizzling lust. His words were thick with it, salacious and sticky against the shell of your ear.

With a jolt you felt it - the sudden heat of him grinding against you. Nudging through your spread folds slowly, letting you feel every curve, every ridged pulsing vein until his tip grazed your clit and you had to force yourself to remain upright. As soon as he’d moved forward, you felt him retreat, length slick now with your arousal, easing backward until he brushed grazed the tight valley of your entrance.

He rumbled behind you, tip pressing inside just enough to feel the stretch, and all at once the dizzying realization of what you were about to do hit you like the sobering slam of a brick wall.

“Wait-Nngh!… w-hah-wait… slow down… Sukuna!” You hissed, yowling when teasing pokes turned into a concentrated push.

It was a futile request, how could you expect him to hesitate. Thick length midway through plunging inside your silky heat, doing precisely what his instincts demanded of him, and after so very long spent being patient.

“Can’t, I can’t…“ he grunted.

He slowed but didn’t stop, murmuring gentle slips of praise into your ear as inch by thick inch sunk inside. You could feel your body caving, sucking him deeper and deeper until he hit a spongy little spot that sent your legs quivering in a wobbled frenzy. You were panting, face screwed up against the searing sting of him splitting you open, the mammoth task of simply holding him inside. So unbelievably big that despite the way your orgasm had softened you, you could still feel the slow welling of tears begin to bubble at your lash line from the stretch.

“Need it inside, need to put it in…inside… need it inside now…” Sukuna was growling behind you, hands curled possessive over the curve of your hips.

Just as the words left him, you felt the front of him hit your backside, wholly and completely full. Like the missing piece of a puzzle slotted into place in the form of his toned thighs pressed flat to your trembling hips. You couldn’t speak, honestly you wondered how you were even breathing with such a monstrous length stuffed inside you. It felt as if he were poking at your lungs, at your throat. He seemed similarly dazed, eyes low lidded and blown black as the night sky, peering down at where you were joined.

“It is… it is inside ’kuna… hn-!…” you grunted between gasps, little slips of air sucked into the minuscule space left inside.

He shook his head limply, as if drunk, and slipped out an inch. He made a low keening sound at the sticky little strings that laced you together before he nudged forward and sunk back in again, relishing in the silky wet heat of you.

“No… ‘s not… it’s ‘not enough… ‘s not deep enough…”

You felt his grip tighten, nails dug into your tender flesh to leverage the way hips began to roll, shallow little thrusts against the sheer tightness of you. He took you in firm steady thrusts, like a predator, like an animal. Slow, but not for lack of effort, purely just to feel the way your shaking amplified each time he eased back inside, body stretching around a length so thick that your vision blurred on each downward pump.

It was then that the pain began to give way to something sweeter, a honeyed pleasure blooming beneath the sting, low and hot in your belly, edged more and more desperate with each thrust. The sensation was stunning, devouring, and your eyes hit the back of your skull before you could utter further argument.

In the blackness you pictured what you might have looked like - shredded remnants of your business slacks clinging desperately to your shins, slick and spit dribbling creeping lines up your belly to your throat. Your face flushed from the rush of blood, jaw agape and drooling onto the mat as his thrusts stole the very breath from you. You sobbed at the thought.

“Ah, hn!-… ah, ah, hn-hah!” You couldn’t help the sharp stuttered gasps that escaped, each accented by yet another fleshy slap, the vulgar sound of his balls smacking your creamy cunt, slick with your spend and his own pre leaking down between your thighs, smearing up to your belly button.

The front of his thighs were sticky with it, toned muscle there glistening as if rubbed with oil. With an animal grunt, he shifted behind you, planting one foot atop the mat to get a better angle, massive thigh twitching, thrusting so deeply now that tears bubbled hot and incessant at your lash line.

“S-oh-…so -hah- deep S’kuna…” you cried,

You tried to breathe, tried to muffle the tiny little squeaks he was knocking out of you each time he bottomed out and a fresh little nip of pain flared in your gut. But it was impossible. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe - relegated to sucking in shallow breaths only on the retreat of his hips, when your spine could decompress without the oppressive weight of his body pressing into you.

“That’s right,” he purred, a pleased rumble - though you hadn’t been trying to convince him, your brain simply felt empty aside from the simply fact that he was just so deep.

Your hands slapped feebly at the floor, grasping backward blindly in search of relief, something to anchor to. You found his hands, and thick fingers closed tightly around your own, driven further into the floor with each thrust. You sniffled, digging your nails in harder, biting white little crescent shapes into his palm

“Good,” he continued, voice thick with adoration despite the way you were clawing at him, a rarity you’re sure would be hard won if not for the state he was in, “so good taking what I give you.”

It was then that you noticed it, the slow creep of his tail inching along your ankle. Just like the education videos, just like he’d done around when you’d milked him dry with your gloved hand so many weeks ago - his tail slipped up around your thigh like a python, the fuzzy tip tickling at your bare hipbone. He was really going to do it, what he’d murmured to you in between those white clinical walls wasn’t just lust-filled babbling, it was a threat, a promise.

You recalled the sheer volume of his spend; smearing your glove, your lab coat, sprayed over your glasses and dripping down to your chin. You thought back to the test results - healthy, potent, virile.

“Ohgodhn-…,” you croaked, “oh god, Sukuna, you’re going to-…”

You collapsed before you could finish, trembling thighs giving in beneath the force of his movement until you were forced flat. Your belly hit the ground, front flush to the floor and hands grasping fitfully at the tatami. His thrusts didn’t slow, he simply followed you downward - body laid over you like a blanket - and shoved a thick arm beneath you. His forearm curled just enough lift your hips, enough for him to snake a hand down between your belly and the ground and tuck his fingers snug against your clit.

“Shhh nearly there,” he breathed into your nape, lips grazing the sweat soaked hair there, “nearly there… just a little more…”

It was hot, so hot, so sticky. You were melting into the mat, melting into him - packed so tightly that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. You felt the brush of his teeth, and his hand angled downward to begin rubbing tight little circles in time with the dizzying stroke of his hips.

“Oh Sukuna… please, pleaseplease…” you found yourself begging, shame washed away by the delicious wave of pleasure, too stunning to manage anything else.

He hit deep like this, and you could feel the stretch of your walls, muscle clenching of its own volition around the intrusion. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t stop it, the way your body was shaking beneath him - with pain, with pleasure, with the unfiltered desire thrumming through you like a rush of adrenaline.

“That’s it, beg me for it, beg me to fill you. Won’t be able to move when I’m done…”

If you’d had the strength you would have teased him for how talkative he’d become since sinking inside your cunt, tongue surely softened by the honeyed taste of you and the sweltering heat of his rut.

“All full and round and waddling…” he drawled, voice a near snarl, “you’ll have to stay here, stay with me, just me, mine…”

His words were slurring, blurring closer together as he pressed his lips to your neck, nosing at the sweat slicked hair curling there.

You were no hybrid, but when his teeth breached the delicate skin of your nape you went limp beneath him all the same. A bone deep urge to submit as instinctive as the urge to spread your thighs when you felt the pulsing heat of him begin to fill you.

The bite was hard, firm enough to break skin with a rubbery ‘snap!’, and when it did you squealed, writhing in a frenzied shake despite the futility of the action. He held firm against your thrashing, clamped jaw keeping you immobile and docile as he continued rutting into you, firm sucking slaps against your ass in an obscene ‘schlick! schlick! plap! plap! plap!’

“Yes! Yesyesyes, ohhhnnng!-“ you warbled with a fitful shaking of your head.

The release of pressure flooded you along with the physical dribble of blood, and it was enough to send your hurtling over the edge after him. The tight knot in your belly unraveled in tight pulses alongside his thick throbbing spurts, pussy milking him readily, greedily. You could feel blood beginning to dribble down your shoulders, pooling at your clavicles just as his spend began to leak out around the stretch.

After a few stuttered thrusts he released you, let his jaw relax and instead craned his head to begin lapping at the bite, sending a fresh burst of goosebumps over your skin each time his rough tongue brushed the tender puncture wounds.

You managed to wring your head from the mat, cheek wet where you’d been drooling and where tears had seeped out between your skin and the bamboo.

He gazed down at you with an intensity that made you whine again, pulse thrumming hotly in your ears.

“More…S’kuna… More…” you pleaded, sucking in a desperate, shaking breath between your chapped lips.

He laughed, a deep chuckle that sounded as manic as it did wolfish.

“My greedy woman, crying for more.”

A lazy pleasure painted his face like a mask, severe features softened with it, and you gazed distantly at the contrast of inky stripes over his blushed skin with a sort of dulled awe.

He shifted behind you, but he didn’t pull out. Instead he simply wedged two great arms beneath your chest and flipped you over until he could crowd over your shaking form once more. He took a moment just to indulge in the sight of you beneath him - face darkened and glimmering with a sheen of sweat and tears, blinking up at him with wide, syrupy eyes, body still trembling as it tried desperately to accommodate the sheer bulk of him. Your body was stained with him - a littering of sucking marks and plains of skin rubbed raw from his endless licking. His spit glossing your thighs, his cum smeared up your belly, and the little rivers of blood still dribbling down your throat where he'd planted his teeth so deep he was sure that it would scar.

A low, contented sound escaped him at the thought, and he lowered himself without thought, knees lodged into the mat as he sucked in another indulgent breath. You even smelled like him - your own scent thrumming mellow and sweet beneath, mixing with his own and the sticky heat of his rut into a cocktail that had drool pooling on his tongue.

You whined, mouthing at his shoulder as he sunk back inside and pressed down to the hilt, until the spatter of soaked hair at his base tickled your tingling clit. Deeper and deeper until there was only him - his thick thighs forcing your own apart, and his fat cock filling you again.

You mewled, squirming and crying as the firm rhythm of his hips resumed, tender now with the new angle that left you exposed and splayed beneath him. Thrusts a little sloppier but lacking none of their previous intensity. Each stroke still made you gasp, still made both of your legs quiver where they were spread and limp either side of his massive form, heels dragging pitifully over the floor.

“Shhh, quiet now, pet.” He was murmuring into your ear, soothing pleasantries that did nothing to soften the weight of him splitting you open, or the slick sound of his milky cum turning the mat slippery beneath you where it was beginning to dribble out. “Gonna give you all of it… yeah… G’na stuff it all inside…”

Dazed, you lifted your head. Crown bumping into the curve of his collarbone as you peered down between you, sneaking a glimpse at the sight of each inky band disappearing inside, only to be dragged back out glazed and glossy with your shared spend.

“Needs to go inside, all of it… you’re gonna take it for me, aren’t you? Going to take it all…”

One massive hand slapped the floor beside your head, driving brutal divots into the mat with the length of his claws. The other slid down your spine, nestled into the curve of your lower back and gripping the fat there to work you down further onto his length.

“One more, c’mon just one more.” He mouthed into your sweat soaked hair, sinking into incoherence beneath the heat of his instincts. Driven utterly mindless by the tight clench of your walls around him, and the sole goal of filling you to the brim bouncing in the cavern of his skull.

Your hands found the firm slope of his shoulders, and with the last of your strength you lifted your aching legs and crossed them around his waist in a pointed lock of limbs, the meaning of which was irrefutable even with senses dampened by blinding lust, a primal cry - don't pull out. With your ankles secure, heels pressing into his hips, whatever coherence or restraint he’d shown before - however minimal it may have been - was utterly gone, swept away alongside whatever was left of your brain.

“That’s it, take it, take it all… my woman, so strong, so…hah-…”

He was growling, each sentence accented by a brutal thrust so hard and so final that you saw a burst of stars twirling in your hazed vision each time the head of his thick length kissed your cervix. You simply squeezed your eyes closed and tightened your grip - heels digging into his lower back, grazing the base of his tail which quivered beneath your curled toes.

“Another, need one more… need’t make sure it takes, right? Need it to stick…”

He sounded so sweet despite the obscenity of his words. In stark contrast to the way he was pounding you into the floor, bruising something soft and delicate deep inside. You were writhing beneath the assault, feeling every muscled pound rock against your frame like he was trying to break you, like he intended to make it stick.

You were nodding, a wild frenzied toss of your head. The mat was slick below you, stained with a vulgar mix of sweat and cum and blood where the bite mark at your nape was smearing red up into your hairline. Your skin was flushed and dewy, rogue hairs splayed and glued to your sweat soaked forehead.

“Yesyesy-hn!- yes, Sukuna… need you ‘t fill me…breed me, want you to hngnn-mate me,,…”

You didn’t know what you were saying, you only knew that you didn’t want him to stop. Not until you felt full, stuffed, bloated with it. You could feel the tight swollen press of his knot, looming and incessant at your rim. You were dizzy with the thought of it, with the promise of being plugged, stuffed full - not a single drop allowed to leak out, at least not until it took.

“Gonna give you a baby… gonna stick a whole litter right here, nice ‘n deep…” The softness of his tone was gone, replaced now by something raspy and utterly possessive.

Your hands moved in a stuttered crawl to claw at his back, feeling the taut muscle there jump beneath your touch, sure that you were carving deep scratches into his skin. Not that he seemed to mind, in fact when you dug your nails ever deeper, you were sure that you felt him twitch deep inside, thick length kicking at your walls.

“Feel that, woman?” He growled, nudging the red hot swell of his knot tighter against your weeping entrance, “That means you’re mine.” 

Neither of you may have voiced it, but you knew the reality. He’d claimed you long before you’d crawled onto your hands and knees and let him mount you like a beast. You’d been his since you’d first laid eyes on him. When you'd walked into the holding bay at the facility and seen him muzzled and chained like destruction incarnate, jaw snapping behind the metal cage and carmine eyes narrowed to slits of burning coals - feral and beautiful and utterly wild. Since you’d nursed his wounds, since you’d let him feed you and clothe you and lap at your throat like he was trying to drink in the mere scent of you.

Brain utterly fried and vacant, you could offer no more words. Instead, as penance for the searing puncture wound at your nape, you lapped a gentle kitten lick over his throat, tasting the sweat there, before you sunk your teeth in as hard as you could manage. An outlet for the bruising ache of him splitting you open.

He stuttered in response, knee slipping and tail tightening where it was locked in an fuzzy restraint around your thigh. The tip of it twitched each time you winced, each time you clenched, each time your teeth drove ever deeper into the sinewy column of his throat. It ached now, all of it - your jaw clamping down into his skin aiming to draw blood, your muscles worn down to bone, your fingers trying desperately to hold on.

“Mine,” he was panting, chanting like a hymn, like a promise, “oh, mine, mine, mine…”

Before another thought could form, before you could even suck in another desperate mouthful of air, he had nudged his hips forward. You shook your head, struck with the resounding belief that you couldn’t possibly take anymore. To your horror and delight in equal measure, there was a gasp, a blinding sting of pain, and then you were completely and unequivocally full.

Your mind was empty, buzzing static like a radio tuned to the wrong station. You took a few delayed blinks, eyes wide, brows raised in disbelief. He pressed into you, grinding against the seal just so you could feel the way his thick knot stretched you open, the sensation so foreign and unbelievable that you felt as if you were wading through the thick haze of a dream.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times in silence, disbelief, before you felt your swollen pussy twitch, and then all at once the winding, looming wave of pressure finally gave.

“Full… full… so… fu-hn-!”

Your vision blurred, sensations cutting so severely all you could manage to do was hold onto him when your orgasm finally hit. He was shuddering above you, still shifting in tight shallow humps despite the binding clench of your cunt and the swell of his own knot.

His hips jerked, rhythm faltering to sweet little jolts in time with the desperate throb of his cock. A sticky sweet burst of heat filled you, gush and after gush painting your insides in a pulsing rhythm until you felt bloated with it, stretched to the very limit and plugged by the tight press of his knot.

Finally, feathered at the edges of his next groan, and with a final brutal nudge of his hips, he sounded satisfied.

With the last of his strength Sukuna’s hands curled over your waist, holding you snugly against his front as he moved. You held on limply, caged by his massive arms and making weak little argumentative sounds into his sweat soaked skin before he collapsed into the pile of shredded pillows, keeping you tucked against his plump chest.

You melted into the contact, the warm plain of his chest glued to your front while his hands lowered to rest gently over your waist. His breaths came slow and steady beneath your curled body, and you listened quietly to the frantic pulse of his heart as it began to slow.

“Sukuna,” you tried, finding your voice small and hoarse in the thick air.

He gave no answer, simply the limp flicker of the tip of his tail where it was still coiled firmly around your thigh. You swallowed, throat dry as if you’d run a marathon, or been trapped in a desert for days without water.

You shifted slightly, wincing a little against the tender pressure of his knot still tucked snugly inside, and the effort earned you the flicker of his ear and a low sound deep in his chest. You felt the cavernous rumble against your palms, fingers teasing through the spatter of fur dusted over his pecs, and you waited until he had stilled once more before you peered up, blinking slowly against the sudden heaviness of your eyelids.

Your eyes moved slowly, tracing the length of his throat, catching on the outline of your blunt teeth indented in the skin there. The indents were deep, turning pink in the afterglow. You licked your teeth, imagining a sharp coppery burst of blood coating them, considering what he might have tasted like on your tongue at the height of pleasure.

Head mostly clear from the haze of lust, you now felt the sobering cramp of your muscles - a bone deep ache beginning to settle over your body beneath the pleasant hum. Your skin felt sticky, lacquered in all manner of bodily fluids - shared sweat and spit and semen coating you like a glaze of sin. Though as you gazed up at the angled cut of Sukuna's jawline, softened now in sleep, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Sure, it was filthy and raw and all manners of wrong, but it was yours. He was yours.

A distant, nagging little part of your brain still argued - how could you even begin to explain what had occurred between the four reinforced walls that now caged you? What would your staff think when they came looking for you bright and early on Monday morning, expecting to find you sitting at your desk nursing an hour old cup of coffee, only for some poor unsuspecting assistant to swing open the door and find the truth. Sukuna's quarters devolved into a mess of torn pillows and shredded clothes, perfumed with a cloying heat so overwhelming it could send a sizzle of need through even the most disciplined researcher.

Would they offer you any sympathy at all after finding you buried within some sort of love nest, laying atop the very patient you’d been tasked with finding a mate for, knotted and bred so thoroughly there was no room for argument or denial?

Your nape pulsed, raw and stinging in the open air where the bloody teeth prints of your fresh mating mark were cooling to a crusted smear. Your stomach flipped at the concept, though another sick little part of your brain retorted that you’d simply completed your assigned task.

For now you simply let rational thought drift away. Instead, you relaxed into the warmth of his frame, walled by softened muscle, and let yourself slip into the blackness behind your eyelids. Lulled by the steady thrum of his heart against your ear, and the soft scent of a satisfied beast tickling at your nose.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Kento,” you huffed, “I’m trying to- ah…”

The sudden heat of his fingers stole any further words from you, his hand slipping between your bare thighs with a precision that was almost alarming.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” he soothed, like his fingers weren’t beginning to tease over your clit, rubbing slow firm circles into you, “but you’re going to work yourself into a state.”

Your jaw was slack, glossy eyes downturned just to watch his wrist curl between your thighs, which had split almost immediately either side of his forearm.

“Just relax for me, just for a minute.”

The circles he was drawing were beginning to sound wet, sloppy where you were easing into his touch, body betraying you in favour of the delicious friction of his fingers.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he cooed, leaning in to brush his lips over your throat, feel the gentle hum of your pulse against his lips as his spare hand thumbed at the hem of your shirt.

“You’re worried over nothing, you look beautiful in everything.”

You shook you head limply, but he didn’t back down, instead the hand petting at the hem of your shirt stilled, then lifted, slowly peeling the fabric up. The reveal was slow, inch by inch new of skin - your hips, the curve of your belly, the soft peaks of your chest - until your entire abdomen lay bare atop the crinkled sheets.

“Ken,” you huffed, lower lip pushed out into a pout as you blinked down at your exposed body past the crumpled neck of your shirt, the same valley of bumps and dips and curves that were the very source of your agitation.

Nanami ignored your argument, instead lowering his chin to press a slow, open mouthed kiss to your stomach before he eased back to reply.

“What is it my love?” He questioned innocently, breath curling warm over your bare stomach, sticky where he’d left glistening lip prints.

“Stop,” you managed, though it was evident that your heart wasn’t in it, much to preoccupied in watching the way his lashes fluttered as he pressed another kiss to your skin, this time just below the curve of your breast where your heart was fluttering like a caged canary. “it’s embarrassing…”

“Embarrassing?” Nanami echoed, lifting his head to meet your gaze, “You really want me to stop?”

The hand petting between your spread thighs slowed, and he blinked up at you with those tired, beautiful eyes that made your chest ache. The simple sight of that endless honey brown was enough to melt you, gazing into your eyes like you’d hung the very stars.

You found yourself shaking your head, and the corners of his lips lifted into a smile, worried lines worn smooth between his knitted brows.

“Then you’ll have to allow me a few kisses, deal?”

The movement of his hand resumed, dipping down just far enough to gather some of your wetness before he was pressing the slick pads of his fingers to your clit again, rubbing in sweet tight little heart shapes now.

“Oh… okay, okay…”

You sighed and let your head fall backward, nestled between pillows as your eyes fluttered closed and you allowed yourself to wade deeper into the soothing bliss he was offering.

Nanami worked dutifully below your line of sight. Fingers rolling in sinful strokes, each press of his lips bolder than the last until finally they sealed flat around a perked nipple and he began suckling lightly.

You arched into the sensation, spine curved and chest lifted to meet the wet heat of his mouth as he moved.

“Oh, Ken…”

He groaned softly, the sound thick with adoration. His teeth grazed gently over the sensitive bud before he moved to the next and administered the same treatment. Laving a fresh burst of kisses over the swell of your breast before sucking the pebbled nub into his mouth, tongue swirling beneath the vacuumed pressure.

You found yourself teetering on the edge much quicker than you’d have liked to admit, testament to just how on edge you were, and how well your husband read your body. With the steady rub of his fingers and the hot press of his lips peppering your skin, the sticky heat blooming in your belly peaked swiftly - tightening to a coiled knot which snapped with the next well placed nip of his teeth.

Nanami worked you through it, fingers slowing but not stopping until you whined, crossing into the realm of overstimulation, and he lifted away to instead trace gentle shapes into your twitching thigh.

In the sizzling afterglow you lay panting into the messed sheets, head tilted to take in the sight of your husband as he adjusted his frames and smoothed your shirt back over your chest. Not missing the way his eyes caught on the sight of his sucking marks blooming over your skin.

“You’re too good at that, Ken,” you breathed, voice utterly softened by pleasure.

“Not too good,” Nanami replied smoothly, leaning in to speak the next words against your lips, “exactly what you deserve.”

With that he lifted his chin to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, though it landed wayward when you tilted your head to instead capture his lips in a cheeky kiss.

He indulged you, let you hum into his mouth, run your tongue over his lips until he yielded. You shivered when his lips parted, and you finally felt the silky heat of his tongue against your own.

He split from you as the kiss deepened, just shy of too heavy to pull back from. Though he looked a little pained by the notion, cheekbones and the tips of his ears dusted a sweet rosy pink.

“What about the blue dress?” You offered, lifting your hand to tuck a stray strand of gold behind his blushed ear, “the silk one, the one I wore to your office party last spring.”

Nanami exhaled, and all the weight of the world seemed to melt away with the motion. His head tilted into your touch, where your knuckles had abandoned his hair in favour of drawing slow soothing lines over his cheekbones.

“You know, that’s my favourite.”

You smiled at that, chest and cheeks warm.

“Sure it is, Ken.”

────────────────────────

“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”

Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.

“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.

The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.

“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.

Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.

“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”

Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.

“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”

Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.

“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”

If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.

If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.

Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.

He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.

His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.

“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.

You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.

With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.

“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.

You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.

“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”

Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.

“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.

You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.

“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”

Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.

The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.

He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.

“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.

It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.

“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.

“There she is,” Toji soothed.

“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”

“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips lowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”

“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.

Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.

Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.

“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”

“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”

“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”

The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.

You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.

“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.

You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.

“Deep… deeper…”

The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.

“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”

One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.

“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”

Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.

You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.

When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.

“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.

You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.

“Oi, what are you?-…”

You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.

Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.

Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.

You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.

“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”

His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.

“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”

Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.

“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.

Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.

“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”

You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.

“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”

“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.

“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”

You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.

Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.

“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.

The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.

You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.

“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.

Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.

“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”

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