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Chapter 1

Summary: The rich students at Calvary University frown upon the scholarship girl who doesn't come from money. However, Sukuna intends to make her pay for thinking she can come on campus and pretend to be one of them. What he doesn't expect is her reaction.

Warnings: bullying, degrading

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 2

Summary: Your already limited luck seems to have run out now that Sukuna's your lab partner. The man doesn't understand boundaries and crosses the line. Now it's up to him to make it up to you.

Warnings: bullying, degrading

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 3

Summary: Your trip to the boutique changes your perspective about things and the way Sukuna is suddenly treating you is filling you with conflicting feelings, especially at the party.

Warnings: Degradation, drinking, assholes being assholes

Word Count: 5.7k

Chapter 4

Summary: You find yourself in a precarious situation when you wake up side by side with Sukuna. A switch has flipped in his mind and now it's all you can do to push him away.

Warnings: NSFW, ignoring boundaries, touching

Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter 5

Summary: It's the day after Sukuna 'claimed' you, but you're not going down without a fight. It's time to prove he can't control you. Do you live up to the test?

Warnings: NSFW, finger play, toy play, public activity

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 6

Summary: A phone call with Sukuna triggers major jealousy and results in a confrontation at work. Later on at lab, he decides to prove yet again how he's claimed you.

Warnings: NSFW, nipple play, fingering, public activity, harassment

Word Count: 3.3k

Chapter 7

Summary: You're supposed to meet up with Sukuna to finally write your midterm lab paper when he chooses to surprise you with his most devious plan yet.

Warnings: NSFW, harassment, toy usage, nipple play, oral female receiving

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter 8

Summary: The drive home forces you to confront Sukuna's recent actions. You've been thinking about them a lot, especially when he makes a proposition.

Warnings: NSFW, oral female receiving

Word Count: 3.1 k

Chapter 9

Summary: Now that he's made his decision, Sukuna finds himself wholly committed. Date night with Sukuna floors you in every sense of the term, from the clothes, to the food, to the 'dessert,' he's thought of everything and once again, you find yourself in the most compromising of positions. What he has planned next makes you nervous.

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM themes, oral female receiving

Word Count: 4.7 k

Chapter 10

Summary: Driven mad with desire for you, Sukuna races to a secluded spot and caves to his primal needs. You ask for more but he denies you, instead asking for a few photos

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM themes, oral female receiving, squirting, public-ish

Word Count: 3.7 k

Chapter 11

Summary: Sukuna's denial of what you want has reset your relationship. Done are the days of caving to his demands. Let the games begin.

Warnings: Public flirting

Word Count: 2.5k

Chapter 12

Summary: Sukuna spends the night but as he's taking you to work, insecurity about last week's incident with Toji creeps back up. Little do you know, it's about to get a lot worse.

Warnings: Public flirting

Word Count: 2.3k

Chapter 13

Summary: Toji's games amp up to a new level driving a wedge between you and Ryomen.

Warnings: Public flirting, use of your alternate name.

Word Count: 4.9k

Chapter 14

Summary: Toji's lust for you is unrelenting even though the message is clear. Thankfully, Sukuna is ready to scare him away.

Warnings: Breaking and entering, assault

Word Count: 2.8k

Chapter 15

Summary: After tornado Toji's tantrum, you can no longer deny Ryomen. The moment you've been waiting for is finally here.

Warnings: NSFW, unprotected penetration, toy usage, anal play

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 16

Summary: The hunt for the cameras is on. Who is your new enemy and where are they hiding?

Warnings: NSFW, temperature play, penetration, stalking

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter 17

Summary: Sukuna catches on to your secret and is done being in the dark. Now it's time to own up.

Warnings: NSFW, stalking, coercion, fingering, oral female receiving

Word Count: 4.1k

Chapter 18

Summary: Sukuna catches on to your secret and is done being in the dark. Now it's time to own up.

Warnings: NSFW, bondage, oral male receiving, oral female receiving.

Word Count: 5.2k

Chapter 19

Summary: After working his magic, Sukuna is ready to both move you into a new home and meet your mom.

Warnings: name-calling, drunk encounter, audacity

Word Count: 5.9k

Chapter 20

Summary: After admitting to your boss that things between you and Toji are tense, you come home to a surprise from the security team at your new residence.

Warnings: NSFW, assault, choking, tazing, audacity

Word Count: 5.4k

Chapter 21

Summary: Hot on the heels of your attack you’re faced with yet another challenge: meeting Ryomen’s family. Gods I hope you’re up for the task.

Warnings: NSFW, Oral male-receiving, Exhibitionism, Anal, Unprotected penetration.

Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter 22

Summary: Even with how terrible dinner with Ryomen's parents went, the two of you manage to unwind at a surprise house party.

Warnings: NSFW, public acts, shock kink, overstimulation, handcuffs, toy usage, oral, unprotected penetration.

Word Count: 7.7k

Chapter 23

Summary: The morning after the party is full of humiliating information. At least the interview for your dream summer internship went well. Right?

Warnings: NSFW, public acts, violence, assault.

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter 24

Summary: Ryomen's meeting with his father doesn't go as planned, not even a little. You receive news from the head of the Zenin clan.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter 25

Summary: Together with Ryomen, you plot how to escape your engagement while Toji puts on the pressure.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.0k

Chapter 26

Summary: The time has come for you to pick your groom. You'd better be strategic about this. Anything could happen while you attempt to worm your way out.

Warnings: coercion, degradation, creepy relatives

Word Count: 4.7k

Chapter 27

Summary: Finals week has come, and the gravity of your situation is stressing you out. You're stretched thinner than ever, but at least you have someone eager and willing to help.

Warnings: NSFW, public sexual acts, unprotected penetration, harassment.

Word Count: 4.7k

Chapter 28

Summary: The second half of finals week doesn't go as planned, leading to an uncomfortable compromise with Toji.

Warnings: Harassment.

Word Count: 4.0k

Chapter 29

Summary: Tonight is the engagement party and Toji continues to ignore your boundaries. That's okay though, cause the chaos is just getting started.

Warnings: Ignorance of physical boundaries, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter 30 & Epilogue

Summary: The engagement party goes sideways and you end up becoming a true enemy of the rich and famous... so exactly what you signed up for.

Warnings: NSFW, violence, references to SA, oral female receiving, unprotected penetration, light bondage.

Word Count: 7.4k

Masterlist

Your mother was marrying for the third time.

You don’t resent that. Your biological father and the one that followed after him were narcissistic wastes of space who only had their money to offer and your mother, regrettably, believed in third chances. No. Her remarriage didn’t concern you much. What you resented was this fucking dinner.

It smelled like dry-aged lamb and forced civility stuffed into a high-ceilinged room accompanied with the backdrop of a small, live orchestral band playing a sad rendition of Tchaikovsky. Jin—your mother’s newest husband—was kind. Genuinely, almost embarrassingly, kind. The sort who thanked waitstaff twice, tipped half the bill, and tried to make you laugh with his puns (without much success). You don’t hate him. Not at all. You think he’s the most decent guy your mother’s ever brought home, given her piss poor track record.

You just hated that he came with a son.

Sukuna.

The bastard currently sat across from you, slouching back against the suede chair, licking his steak knife. Classy. He had tossed some black leather jacket that you guess hadn’t been properly dry cleaned for the years he’s had it over the back of his chair, exposing the extensive black tattoos that lined his beefy arms. He wore a thin black tank top that seemed to hold on for dear life just to cling to his bulky and sinewy muscular body. Underneath the table were his black ripped jeans. Then a pair of beat up black combat boots streaked with mud. So much for a formal dinner. He looked like the quintessential delinquent who spent the majority of his academic years with numerous probations and violations on his silver-studded black leather belt.

The only thing more offensive than his outfit was the look he was giving you as he chewed the chunk he tore from his medium rare ribeye steak. His canines were bared to you like some rabid street dog. It allowed you to see the crude visage of the red meat torn apart by his maws. His lips smacked against each other like a child who hadn’t yet received table etiquette lessons, appraising you from head to toe like a shiny new toy.

Your fingers curled around the stainless silver fork and knife in your hands, your nails digging red crescents into your palm. 

Sukuna had already walked in late. By thirty minutes, mind you. The entrées were served and nearing room temperature when he swaggered in with his hands in his pockets, entrenched in the scent of smoke and something so synthetic and musky that it made your nose twist. He plopped down languidly on the seat across from you. No apology out of his lips. No sign of remorse on his indifferent features. His hair was styled in what seemed to be a pompadour, a violent pink-red shade that reminded you of a nasty bruise and gelled up in the aposematic way that poisonous animals colored themselves.

“Yo,” he had said, addressing his father as if he were simply another peer at his fraternity. “Didn’t know we had company, old man.”

Jin’s gentle face, which seemed uncanny now when he sat beside his son who shared the same exact features—except they somehow looked hostile and wolfish on Sukuna—had folded into something between affection and apology. 

Your mother had stiffened beside you.

“Sukuna, please,” Jin had sighed, patient. “This is your new sister. Introduce yourself.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes had landed on you. And he smiled like a wolf that found its rabbit.

“Shit,” he had said, glancing at your mother. “That’s your daughter?”

Your mother had flushed, pinching her lips pale. Jin cleared his throat. The waitstaff exchanged glances.

Sukuna had leaned back, stretched, eyeing you like he was already ripping off the black dress you wore in mourning and bending you over the table to fuck the mortification out of you.

“Holy shit.” A cruel sneer had twisted his lips. “My new sister’s my exact type.”

Somehow, dinner resumed after, which was why Sukuna was across from you, licking his bloodied steak knife like he was imagining it was you instead.

You cut your lamb despite your limbs trembling from anger. You sipped your cabernet. You didn’t taste any of it.

Sukuna licked his fingers. He dragged a bone across his plate like he was gnawing on it for show. Occasionally, he hummed. A pleased little hum. Not one with a real tune, but a sound that a child would make while tearing butterfly wings in half.

He licked his thumb languidly, sneering as he stared at you with hooded lids.

“Food’s good,” he said, grabbing the table napkin that he hadn’t bothered placing over his lap to roughly wipe his mouth.

No one answered him. The small orchestral band seemed to play a bit louder. As if the shrill violin could somehow drown out the tension in the air. You feebly hope it does.

Abruptly, Sukuna stood.

The chair screeched. He doesn’t excuse himself. Doesn’t bother pushing in the chair. 

“Well,” he said, tossing down the table napkin like an afterthought on his emptied plate, left with remnants of ribeye blood, soaking the white fabric crimson. “I showed up, didn’t I?”

Your blood curdled.

“Nice to meet you, Dad’s new wife.” He took his black leather jacket, sliding it onto his beefy arms.

Your mother offered him a thin, brittle smile.

He turned to you, grinning wolfishly, one hand resting comfortably in his front pocket.

“And my hot sis.”

He left without waiting for a response. You swear you saw red.

The sound of his boots echoed—those fucking combat boots—as he stomped away on the tiled hallway floors until they faded completely.

There’s a long, pregnant pause. And then Jin sighed.

“He’s…” he began, but trailed off, deciding if there’s somehow a diplomatic way to describe an open pervert—not to mention son—calling his new daughter hot.

“He’s acting out,” your mother supplied gently with a sigh of her own. “Jin told me this might happen.”

You didn’t look at either of them. You reached for your wine glass again. You remembered the same crimson staining his steak knife, and how he licked it off languidly with his tongue dragging against the sharp titanium serrations, staring at you like he either wanted to cut you open or eat you. Most likely, both.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Jin said. “He just wants a reaction. He’s always been like this when he feels threatened.” He sighs apologetically. “I’m sorry. He… lost his mom when he was young. And he’s never let anyone replace her. I think this marriage just set something off in him. But Sukuna’s a good kid.”

It’s been three days since the dinner.

The house hasn’t recovered. Neither have you. Sukuna seemed to have a knack for bulldozing through things and leaving them in tatters.

They call it integration, like this was some kind of corporate merger. Like moving a full-grown man into your estate’s west wing wasn’t the architectural equivalent of leaving a lit cigarette in a bottle of bleach.

You were living under the same roof now. A modernist concrete mansion your late grandfather commissioned in the ’80s. Clean lines, high ceilings, a koi pond you’ve never once stepped into. It used to feel sterile in a comforting way. Controlled. Now it smelled like marijuana, vape juice, and a man who didn’t belong there.

Sukuna’s room was supposed to be in the detached guest villa. The one with its own entrance, bathroom, and full-service kitchenette. A perfectly reasonable offer. It was more than he deserved, honestly. But he yawned and said it was “too far.”

Now he was in the room directly across the hall from yours.

The first thing he did was rip the curtains off. The second thing was to start leaving his door open. Always shirtless. Always loud with those crass songs that talked about sucking dick, marijuana, and carjackings. Always watching you.

You tried to ignore him. You tried harder than you’ve ever tried at anything. But he seemed to get a sick kick out of your cold demeanor. Like the mere sight of disdain in your eyes made him shiver in arousal. He was vermin.

You heard him before you saw him.

No, not his footsteps—he didn’t bother softening those—but his laugh. Low and throaty, punching through the quiet. You tightened your grip on your espresso cup. The garden was glassy with early light, still damp from last night’s mist. It should be peaceful. 

But then the sliding door opened.

Of course, he was shirtless. Wearing nothing else but gray sweatpants that hung criminally low on his hips. His tanned torso rippled with layer upon layer of muscle, his arms bulged as he scratched lazily at a hip like he knew exactly where your eyes landed a half-second too long.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Sukuna drawled, like you were lovers and not the unlucky children of newlyweds with matching prenups.

You didn’t answer. You sipped your coffee. The arabica tasted acrid on your tongue.

“Still sulking about that dinner?” He leaned one shoulder against the frame, casual, obscene. The lines of his tattooed thick stripes of black lines, as if a nod to restraints that didn’t exist on him, remind you of carnivorous animals that designated themselves as kings of the wild. “C’mon. It was a compliment.”

“Calling me your type in front of my mother isn’t a compliment,” you said, ice-cold. “It’s a threat.”

His grin sharpened. “Mm. You make it sound dirty. Kinda hot.”

You slammed the cup down too hard. Porcelain clinked against the saucer. You hate that your hand slipped. Hated more the slow drag of his gaze down your robe, silk catching the morning light over the slip beneath. You hated that he made you clumsy. You hate more that you could feel his eyes on your thighs—your robe barely covered your slip. You hadn’t expected to see anyone this early. Even the maids weren’t up and about yet. Certainly not him.

“I’m not scared of you,” you told him, clipped, deliberate. “You’re just a cockroach in Chrome. You’ll be gone in six months.”

He laughed low in his chest, then pushed his palm over the front of his sweatpants, shameless, adjusting himself in full view. Your lips parted in mortification, revulsion, something you refuse to name—a mix of everything.

“Six months? Fuck, princess, I’ll have you bent over before six weeks.”

Heat flashed down your spine. Immediate, treacherous. You masked it with a glare, but your skin betrayed you. The flush at your collar, the way your thighs pressed together under the robe.

You stood to leave. You refused to give him the spectacle he was baiting for.

But as you passed, his hand snapped around your wrist, iron-tight. With one hard tug, he yanked you off balance. You stumbled, and suddenly he was kneeling in front of you, broad shoulders filling the frame of the doorway, his head tilted back to look up at you.

It should have looked deferential. Submissive, even.

But it didn’t.

On Sukuna, it looked obscene: this brute of a man crouched at your feet, staring up through unfairly thick lashes, grin wolfish. For a heartbeat, he looked almost submissive—on his knees, head tilted back—but there was nothing humble in it. Just hunger. As if he was settled into this posture only to imagine what it would take to sink his teeth into your thighs. To slot his tongue against the hood of your clit.

“Do you expect me to bow to you like this, princess?” His voice was rough, mocking. “You think I don’t know you’d love it if I stayed down here, worshipping that spoiled cunt of yours?”

Before you could utter a word, he leaned in, his nose pressing against the gusset of your thin panties, his breath hot against the silk of your slip, inhaling like he meant to taste the air clinging to you. “Fuck, you smell like it already. Sweet.” A heavy inhale. “Wet.”

Your stomach twisted. Rage coiled tight in your chest, but so did something else.

And then his hand was under your robe, fast and shameless, ghosting over the curve of your ass. His fingers pushed the hem of your slip high, and before you could stop him, two thick fingers pressed brazenly against the heat between your legs.

You choked on your own breath. The betrayal was instant. Your body slick against his touch, your thighs locked too late. The heady musky scent that you recognized very well.

Sukuna’s laugh rumbled against your skin, guttural and thrilled. “Knew it. All ice on the surface, dripping underneath.” He pressed harder, dragging across the damp fabric just to feel you twitch. His eyes never left your face, watching for every flinch, every stutter of shame.

“Look at you,” he crooned, low and poisonous. “My perfect little sister. My exact type. Knew you’d open up for me.”

Before you could wrench free, he pulled back just far enough to bring his hand to his face. Slowly, deliberately, he inhaled, lids lowering in mock reverence, then slid those same fingers between his lips. The wet click of his tongue filled the silence. His grin sharpened as he licked them clean, savoring.

“Tastes even better than you look.”

Your fury spiked. The sound of your hand striking his cheek cracked through the room. His head snapped to the side, but the only thing that changed was his smile. It widened, his teeth flashing as color rose in his face.

But instead of recoiling, Sukuna laughed in a low, broken sound that rumbled out of his chest like he'd been waiting for it. His tongue darted to the corner of his mouth, catching a bead of spit like it was proof of your rage. His cocky smirk only widened, shameless, eyes dark with something hotter than malice.

“Fuck,” he growled, almost giddy. You stammered at the crazed glee in his irises. “Hit me again, princess. You have no idea what that does to me.”

You shoved past him, robe whipping around your legs as you stormed down the hall. You don’t stop, don’t look back, don’t acknowledge the sticky heat between your thighs.

But his laughter follows, low and obscene, echoing down the corridor.

Sukuna knew it the second he first saw you.

Not just that you were hot—you were, of course. Straight out of a magazine. Sharp-ass collarbones, expensive skin, lips like you’d sneer while sucking cock. The kind of girl who smelled like spa water and judged him for ordering beer on tap. But that wasn’t it.

It was the look you gave him.

Like you wanted him six feet under the koi pond.

Fuck, he thought, watching you sitting like a queen in mourning, staring at him as if he were somehow beneath the ground that kissed the sole of your heels. That’s it. That’s the one.

His exact type.

Not just beautiful. Unreachable. Vapid and fucking gorgeous. 

He got hard halfway through the soup course. He had to leave early to jerk it in the car, imagining what your face would look like, all pretty and twisted in a disgusted sneer, marred with his fucking cum. You’d probably spit it out, wipe your lips off with those perfect fingers, and glare at him. God, he wanted to fucking wreck you. The perfect princess who had everything.

Life didn’t give Sukuna a lot of things.

No stability. No money while growing up before his dad made it later on. No mom, after a while.

But what it did give him was instincts.

He could tell when a girl wanted him. When she didn’t. When she wanted to slit her own throat before letting him touch her.

And you? You fell into the third.

That just made it a thousand times better.

His dad’s house—your house—was a joke.

Everything’s silent to the point that you’d hear the flapping of a stray fly’s wings inside. The staff don't make eye contact, keeping their heads lowered all the time. The walls felt like museums, stretching on for meters and meters, decorated with paintings by European fucks he doesn’t care to remember. No fingerprints, no noise, no signs of life. His mom would’ve hated it. And because of that, Sukuna does too.

But he wasn’t leaving.

Jin asked him to stay for a few weeks. Said it’d be good for him. Said his new little sister was nice.

He didn’t say you’d be delicious. Didn’t mention the way you held your fork like you wanted to stab him. Didn’t warn him about the robe that stuck to your thighs when you walked past his door in the morning. Didn’t say you were the kind of girl who probably kept vibrators in a silk pouch next to your diamond jewelry.

Princess, he called you now. Because you hated it. And because you are one.

You grew up with chauffeurs tailing your every move. He grew up stealing bikes and fingering girls behind gas stations.

You were trained to be untouchable. That just makes him want to touch even more.

Not out of love—certainly not that. Not even lust, really. But just to see what you’d do when your perfect little world broke.

His dad doesn’t get it. He’s always been that kind. Always expected the best out of others. Especially out of his own son. 

“Give her time,” Jin said, caressing Sukuna’s head. “She’ll warm up to you.”

Sukuna had laughed in his face. “If she warms up to me,” he said, “she’s the one in trouble.”

The dining room was all sharp lines and polished silver, glass chandelier spilling light over the table. Every seat had its place. Every fork had its order. Your mother had drilled the etiquette into you since you were old enough to hold a knife. It was meant for grand receptions, not nightly dinners with a man who treated rules like they were napkins to soil and toss.

Sukuna lounged across from you, shoulders loose, grin lazy. For once, he wore a shirt. Crisp white, though the top three buttons gaped open, collarbone and tattoo peeking like an intentional insult. He wasn’t trying. He never tried.

Your mother and Jin carried the conversation. Work, charity, upcoming travel. You stabbed your salad with precision, refusing to look up. Sukuna chewed with slow theatrics, licking his thumb when the vinaigrette dripped down his wrist. Neither parent noticed. Or maybe they just chose not to comment on it.

Then, mercifully, your mother’s phone buzzed. A car was waiting. Some reservation she’d forgotten. She and Jin excused themselves in a rustle of silk and polite laughter, leaving you and Sukuna at opposite ends of a table built to seat twenty.

The silence swelled. The clatter of cutlery hummed faintly.

You cut your steak into perfect squares. One. Two. Three. You feebly hoped it was Sukuna’s throat you were stabbing your knife into.

The abrupt clang of Sukuna’s cutlery on his empty plate pulled your attention.

“You always eat like that?” Sukuna’s voice carried, low and careless. “So neat. Like a fuckin’ princess. It’s kinda hot.”

You regarded him with a flat stare. “Is that all that your vocabulary is limited to?”

His laugh cracked through the quiet, too loud for the room. “Ah, still pissy about this morning. My bad, princess. Couldn’t help myself. You’re just—” He leaned back, chair tilting dangerously. “—fucking delicious when you’re furious. You know I still feel the sting of your slap? Got me hard all over again just thinking about it.”

Your knife slipped against porcelain. A shriek of steel on china. You kept your eyes down, but your pulse betrayed you, a hammering at your throat.

“See, that’s what I mean,” he drawled. “You can’t even cut meat without thinking about me now.”

Your gaze snapped up. He was watching you lazily, fork balanced between two fingers, tongue dragging along the prongs before sliding it into his mouth. Pink spilled past silver. He sucked slowly, obscenely. A moan. His lips shone when he pulled it free.

“You’re revolting,” you spat.

“Mm. And you’re wet.” His grin widened. “Wanna check, princess? Or should I crawl under the table and prove it for you?”

You pushed your plate away, napkin tossed hard enough to flutter like a white flag that wasn’t one. You rose without another word, heels clicking a sharp exit across the polished floor.

At the door, you turned, words like glass in your mouth.

“Go get your dick wet with someone else, Sukuna. Stop dreaming about something that will never happen.”

You should never have given him the line. Never told him to go get his dick wet with someone else. Because Sukuna listened.

The next night, and the night after, the west wing of the house—your wing, mind you!—turned into a brothel. Women paraded in and out of his room like he’d paid for them wholesale, all cheap glossy lips and cheap perfume. Their laughter filled the hallways, shrill against marble, and then came the real noise: moans, cries, whimpers so loud they rattled the art on your walls.

At first, it was only the sound of a car pulling up too late, too loud. Tires crunching gravel, laughter spilling before the engine even cut. You pulled the pillow over your ears, tried to will it away.

Then the music started. Bass-heavy, muffled by concrete walls but still pounding through the marrow of the house. Voices carried through the halls, high-pitched, eager, drunk on more than champagne.

And then—worse than the grating music—came the first moan.

It ripped through the air like a violation. Followed by another. And another. Then the banging of the headboard against the wall. Heavy thuds. Until the chorus built, shrill and obscene, a cacophony of pleasure orchestrated by one man.

You buried your face in the sheets. You tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But the house gave you no mercy. The walls echoed with it, the floors throbbed with it, every shriek and giggle crawling under your skin. You scorned the soundproofing being only limited to the music rooms.

You caught snatches of his voice between the cries. Cruel and filthy.

Louder, slut.

Spread wider. Jus’ like that.

Yeah, scream for me. Make sure she hears it.

You hated that you could picture it. Him in that wide bed across the hall, body moving between tangled limbs, mouth pressed to someone else’s throat, tattoos dragging over perspiring skin.

But what made bile rise was how similar they all sounded. How their laughter, their little gasps and groans, mirrored your own voice too closely.

It was confirmed when you left your room the next morning. One of them was in the hall, wearing your silk robe. Your robe. Her hair was a shade too close to yours, cut to the same length. She looked you over with lazy disdain, perfume too sweet, clinging to the fabric that belonged to you.

And worse: every girl he brought home looked like you.

Not exactly. That would’ve been too obvious, too easy to deny. But close enough. The same shade of hair. The same curve of the lip. Even their clothes, a silk robe that could’ve been borrowed from your closet, a pair of heels not unlike the pair you’d left by the foyer.

At first, you told yourself you could ignore it.

You weren’t fucking stupid. You practically handed him the idea yourself at dinner. On a damned silver platter, too. You should’ve known Sukuna would take it literally, weaponize it. Malicious compliance. Of course, the fucker must frequent Reddit like he does seedy alleyways and sketchy weed dealers.

So you ignored the footsteps down the hall. Ignored the laughter spilling past midnight. Ignored the way the walls carried the sound of girls choking, begging, shrieking his name. You buried yourself in silk sheets and pressed a pillow over your ears. You told yourself you were above it.

But on the fifth night, you found her.

You’d padded down to the kitchen for water, robe cinched tight, when you saw a stranger leaning half-inside your fridge. Long hair, glossy, almost your shade. Your pearl hairclip glinting in her bun. A bottle tipped back in her hand.

San Pellegrino. Your San Pellegrino.

“Put that down.”

She jumped, bottle clinking against teeth. Slowly, she lowered it, sheepish smile pulling at her lips. “Sorry, I just—he said I could—”

You were across the room before she finished, fingers snatching the clip from her hair so hard she yelped. You threw it against the counter, the crack loud in the sterile quiet.

“Don’t say his name.” Your voice cut like glass, but you didn’t even bother to look at her. You moved forward, wooden sandals ticking against marble, gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder, as though she was part of the furniture. “Do you have any idea whose house you’re standing in?”

She faltered. “I—”

“You don’t,” you went on, ignoring her, tone bored in its dismissiveness. A brief glance at her appearance gave you an idea: tall and slender, pretty, naivety in her beaded eyes. An aspiring model, it seemed. You almost felt bad, but then again, she needed to learn to avoid men who were nothing but trouble. “One phone call and I could end whatever it is you call a career.”

Her breath hitched. You reached out, plucked the bottle from her hand with deliberate ease, as if she were nothing more than poorly trained staff.

“Leave,” you said flatly. 

The girl fled, heels clattering down the stairs.

And that’s when you noticed him.

Sukuna, propped against the doorframe, sweatpants slung low, cigarette hanging from his lips. His eyes burned molten, fixed on you like he’d just witnessed a public execution.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, voice rough with arousal. “You’re beautiful when you’re cruel.”

The cigarette smoke curled between you like a specter. He was shirtless, of course, and that cruel sneer hung on his mouth, half-amused, half-ravenous.

“Clean up your mess,” you said at last, voice smooth as marble. 

Sukuna’s gaze slid over to you. He exhaled a fume of smoke. “What, the girl or the mess?”

You gave him a flat look.

He chuckled, taking a step forward. “Thought you liked it clean. You should thank me. I’ve been recycling the same type just for you.”

“Do you find this funny?”

He plucked the cigarette from his lips, digging the butt into the cool marble countertop. “A little,” he replied with a curl to his lips. “But you know exactly what it is I want, princess.” His fingers curl around a lock of your hair. “You know what you want, too.”

Your fingers twitched by your side. His grin turned wolfish.

“Yeah.” He continued to circle you like a predator stalking its prey. “You keep pretending like you don’t care, but you can’t even sleep through the noise, can you?”

You refused to face him, though his scent—that overwhelming manly musk, mixed with the touches of cigarette smoke—something so wholly him, permeated your very being.

“Won’t you let me make you feel good, princess?” He whispered, thick fingers curling around the strands of your hair, inhaling your scent. “I’ll behave if you do. No more of these women. I can’t cum properly with them anyway. Gotta imagine it’s your pretty cunt I’m fucking to get me going.”

He caught your wrist before you could shove past him, the heat of his palm searing your skin. That lazy, mocking grin he always wore was gone, replaced by something tighter, rawer, like he’d been pacing this room waiting for you to snap first.

“Still mad at me, princess?” Sukuna murmured, stepping in until your back brushed the door. “Or are you just scared I’m right about you?”

You jerked your hand from his grip. “The only thing you’re right about is that you’re disgusting.”

He laughed, low and humorless. “Funny. You only call me that when you’re wet.”

Your jaw clenched. “Move.”

But he didn’t. He leaned in, bracing a burly palm beside your head, his warm breath ghosting your cheek. He wasn’t touching you—he didn’t need to—because he looked down at you like he already had you bent over the nearest flat surface, trembling.

“You hate me,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on your mouth. “But you want me. I can smell it on you every time you come near me.” His fingers brushed your hair, slow, deliberate. 

You shouldn’t have reacted. You shouldn’t have felt anything. But the proximity did something ugly to your resolve—your anger sparking against the heat rolling off him, the sharp tang of his jealousy, the confession he hadn’t meant to let slip.

He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “You think I want those other women? They’re background noise. I can’t even finish unless I picture your little pussy wrapped around me.”

Your breath hitched, not from his words but the honesty in them, shameless and humiliatingly earnest. You saw it now: the tension in his jaw, the restless twitch of his fingers like he was holding himself back from grabbing you outright. Not seduction. Obsession.

“Say you don’t want me,” he whispered. “Look at me and say it.”

You opened your mouth—ready, willing—but the lie stuck like a stone in your throat.

His hand slid into your hair and his mouth crashed into yours, not gentle, not asking. Just the violent exhale of weeks of wanting you alone. You shoved him back, but he only laughed against your lips, catching your wrists and pinning them above your head for a breath, for a tremor, for a moment you should have used to pull away.

You didn’t.

And the second you leaned into him—just barely, stupidly—he groaned like it broke him.

The room spun. The door slammed. His hands were on your hips, under your slip, dragging you backward toward the bed with something between hunger and relief, like he couldn’t believe you’d finally stopped running.

You told yourself it was only a moment, only heat, only frustration.

But then his knees hit the floor.

Your slip slid off your shoulders.

And he looked up at you from between your thighs like he’d been starving for centuries.

“Spread,” he rasped, spitting on his fingers.

Sukuna’s tongue lapped up at your cunt like a starved man.

Your silk slip has long been thrown somewhere on the floor of his room, leaving your body bare. Your legs are bent over the broad curve of his muscular shoulders, the tangled pink mess of his hair disappearing between your thighs. 

You could hear the sound of your slick decorating your inner thighs. The sound of his saliva as he spat and ate your cunt like it was his last meal on death row.

“Tastes so good, princess,” he mumbled into your pussy, poking his tongue into your clit, flicking at the hardened nub. “Shoulda let me taste you sooner. Spread so good for me right now.”

You understood now why the women who left his room often did so with trembling legs. Why they squealed like dying donkeys beneath him. You could barely find a moment to spare to think coherently, to breathe properly, to process what exactly was going on. All that mattered to you right now was the sweltering heat in the pit of your stomach and the intense pressure of his pumping fingers and tongue exploring every ribbed crevice of your cunt.

“S-Sukuna, ‘m going to—” You managed with a shaky voice, soft hands gripping his hair.

“Cum f’ me. Let me taste it.”

A shiver ran up your spine as you felt him smirk into your pussy. 

“So loud and needy. Are you gonna cum all over my face?”

He groaned again, wrapping his hands around your ass and giving the meaty flesh a harsh squeeze. The sharp tips of his nails dug into the supple skin, forcing you to let out a high pitched yelp. 

“So sensitive. Nobody’s ever dared to lay a hand on you, princess? I wonder what kind of sound you’d make if I slapped you here,” he growled, punctuating his words with a particular pinch to your clit.

“Let me find out.”

The next second, he was standing up, your legs hanging off his shoulders. He walked to your desk chair and sat down, pulling you into his lap so your back was pressed to his chest. You could feel him hard against your ass as he slapped your cunt again and again.

Each slap was harder than the last, leaving stinging red marks over your trembling thighs and sore pussy. 

“So responsive,” he murmured, landing another harsh slap on your cunt. 

His hands ran up your body, tracing up your sides and making you shiver with each touch. He cupped your breasts, squeezing and rolling your pert nipples between his roughened fingers.

“Dripping everywhere.” He slid a hand down between your legs, easily entering you with two fingers. You moaned, bucking against his fingers and chasing your release. 

“Such a needy slut,” he murmured, slowly pumping his fingers into you. 

You moaned again, pressing back against him. His chest was warm against your back, and you felt each movement of his chest as he moved. You tried to form words, but all that came out was a series of whimpers and moans, your brain unable to catch up with the overwhelming pleasure. 

Sukuna chuckled against your neck, his hand moving away from your core and back to your ass, delivering another hard slap. He was moving at a slow pace just to keep you on the verge of cumming, prolonging your sweet torment.

“Beg me to cum, princess.”

“W-what?” you managed to squeak, your legs shaking.

His grip on you tightened possessively, his hands moving back to play with the button of your clit, fingers slipping out of you, leaving you empty. 

“Beg your big brother to let you cum.”

Reason momentarily came back to you, and the situation slapped you in the face. You were on your damned stepbrother’s lap, dripping on his sweatpants and his fingers, on the precipice of an orgasm. Heat filled your face, and your mouth parted and closed in hesitation.

“You’re disgusting,” you managed to grit out. “Don’t say that. We’re not siblings.”

Sukuna merely chuckled as if you were arguing over something so trivial as the weather and not the complicated—and unfortunate—family dynamic between the both of you.

“Does it only count if we’re full-blooded siblings to you?” He pushed his fingers into your cunt again, rocking them into that spongy spot inside of you that had your breath hitching and unable to rebut him. “Sorry to disappoint you, princess. Even if you were my full-blooded sister, I’d still fuck you.”

Before you could react to his words, he was already using his other hand to grip the back of your head, tilting it back so he could pull you into a harsh kiss.

Sukuna had to suppress his laughter as he practically could feel your surprise, repulsion, and disgust. His mouth enveloped yours, tongue pushing against yours, tasting every inch of you.

You quivered in his hold, unable to prevent yourself from succumbing to the burning and blinding pressure building low in your stomach. He bit your bottom lip, dragging it out before letting it pop back. His hand traveled from the back of your head to pinch at the erect nubs of your nipples, his fingers working themselves earnestly in your cunt.

The sensation was too much. Your stomach tensed, your hips quivered, and that thread threatened to snap. It was when he thumbed your clit that sealed the deal.

With a cry, you came around his fingers, your chest rising and falling tumultuously.

He pulled you in a kiss, almost as if to reward you. “There you go,” he murmured against your lips. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Your senses were hazy, still trembling from the pleasure coursing through your body. Indignantly, you managed to form a thought about Sukuna’s ease with a woman’s body. Like a fucking fish in water.

His hand cupped your chin, guiding you to look at the mirror in front of you. Your vanity. You could see yourself, settled on his lap like a slut, your body bare, shimmering with the thinnest sheen of sweat. Strands of your hair clung to your temples, your lips swollen and glistening with his saliva.

“So fucking pretty,” Sukuna muttered hoarsely into your hair.

You registered his hand holding your hips, angling you so you sat on the edge of his thigh near his knees. You caught your breath, hearing the soft ruffling of clothing.

Sukuna freed himself from the confines of his boxers, pressing the warm and hard appendage against your back. You couldn’t see it properly yet with your back facing him. He merely hummed and lifted you, slotting his cock against your pussy, rubbing it against you.

His size startled you. Thick and hefty, then warm and heavy. It matched him, your thoughts wandered unbidden, before you policed yourself by biting down on your lip.

“God, I should just fuck you right now,” Sukuna breathed heavily into your hair, rubbing his cock against the slickened surface of your cunt, humping you. The tip of his cock rubbed your clit incessantly, and you whimpered at the sensation.

“Use a condom,” you breathed out. “I’m not going to let you—ngh—fuck me without—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured dismissively. “But you’re on birth control, right?”

“I’m not, you bastard!”

“What, you don’t wanna have your big brother’s kids?”

“I’m going to fucking kill—”

Your words died on your lips as he lifted you all of a sudden, pushing you to bend over your vanity, faced with the horrified expression on your face. Sukuna towered behind you, letting his sweatpants and boxers drop to his ankles.

The position allowed you a better look of his cock. It was certainly a dick befitting a man like Sukuna. So big it barely held up its weight even when he was fully hard, flushed red, littered with angry veins, already spitting out precum. It didn’t look like it was meant for pleasure. It looked like a weapon used to destroy.

“Think I prepped you enough, princess,” he mused, leaning down to gather your hair in his fist and pressing a kiss on your shoulder. Satisfied, he moved back and held your hips, parting your ass cheeks, slotting his fat tip against your entrance. “I’m gonna use you now, hm?”

You glared at him over your shoulder. “I told you to use a condom. I’m not on birth control. Get it through that thick fucking skull of—”

All your brain function ceased when Sukuna pushed his angry raw cock into your cunt. His expression didn’t even change as it did, save for when his brows furrowed and he breathed harder at the sensation of your clammy walls hugging his length like it didn’t want to let go. The pleasure blanketed your body, forcing you to adjust to his monstrous fucking third leg, before reason knocked on your noggin.

“Pull it out!” You gasped out weakly, pushing at his broad, immovable mass of a chest with one hand outstretched awkwardly behind you, your right hand clutching onto your vanity table for stability. Sukuna looked positively unperturbed on the mirror’s reflection before you. “I mean it, you bastard! I’m not on—”

He pushed in another few inches, and your words faltered on your tongue. “Seems I’m not fucking you good enough if you can still talk,” Sukuna simply said, grunting with effort as he fought with the tight embrace of your cunt. Your walls betrayed you and clenched desperately around him. “One time won’t get you pregnant. If you’re so paranoid, I’ll get you a Plan B. Just want to feel your pretty cunt, princess.”

You mewled out unintelligible words—probably expletives—which Sukuna ignored in favor of shutting you up with a kiss. He gripped your neck to turn your head back and kissed you like an imbecile, practically devouring you. You were certain your lips would swell. You fought back the best way you could, which wasn't much, but you settled for digging the long crescent curve of your nails into the hand he had wrapped around your neck. Sukuna let out an amused huff against your lips, like he noticed a small ant biting him.

Then he drew his hips back slightly, giving you temporary reprieve, before he slammed back in all the way to the hilt.

You cried out from the sudden sensation, the pain from being stretched so thick and so deep, and the simmering pleasure beneath it all. Sukuna grunted into your ear, nudging your poor cervix with the fat tip of his cock. Your lips parted in a silent scream as he adjusted, pushing and pushing like he wanted to reach all the way into your fucking stomach.

“There you go,” he grunted in satisfaction, reaching over to rest a large hand over the swollen area of your lower stomach. “Taking your big brother’s cock so well.”

Your teeth chattered from anger and shame, forced to stare at the visage of your flushed and dazed expression and the swaying of your breasts on the mirror before you.

He fucked exactly how you expected him to.

Deep and rough. Fast and unforgiving. Each stroke knocked the air out of your lungs, rendering you unable to think of anything else other than the weight of his heavy body over your body and the mean pounding he was delivering to your poor pussy. You briefly thought of all the women you had heard crying from his bedroom. How they always left his room disheveled, looking all sorts of broken. How you’d become one of them, too.

“Tight fucking cunt,” he spat into your ear, pulling out with a wet squelch to maneuver you onto your back on the vanity table, pushing your thighs up and folding you so your knees brushed your ears, before he entered once again. The new angle allowed him to reach an even deeper spot inside of you. The one that made you see stars behind your eyelids. Your whines and whimpers and cries fell on deaf ears. He was only listening to the fluttering of your cunt. The wet sound of the creamy ring of slick that had formed around the base of his cock and was dripping down your inner thighs and ass echoed lewdly in your room. The vanity table beneath you groaned and creaked in agony as it held itself up against the inhumane fucking Sukuna subjected you to.

You felt that thread trembling again. You couldn’t believe it. Were you cumming just from penetration alone? From him, of all people?

“About to cum?” Sukuna crooned, leaning down to bite down and suckle on your nipple, earning a squeal from you.

His thrusts deepened, intentful pumps that had your breath stuttering. His heavy balls smacked against your skin. The precipice inched closer. White rimmed your sight, your eyes brimming with tears.

With a deep thrust, you cried out, cumming around him.

Sukuna continued to fuck you through it, pushing you to overstimulation, crying beneath him and weakly pushing him to ease up. He chuckled darkly at your state, letting up.

He pulled his cock out with a soft pop, shining with the sheen of your slick and cum. He lifted you easily with your thighs, and your hands naturally rested on his broad shoulders to steady yourself. He strode across the room to settle you down on your bed.

He looked down at you expectantly, ruggedly handsome face, barely a bead of sweat on it, cocked to the side. He held his still hard cock in his hand.

“Open,” he said simply.

You glared up at him, keeping your mouth firmly shut into a scowl. But he ignored that, looping a hand of his through your hair and pulling you toward his cock. “Don’t make me repeat myself, princess.”

You eyed his flushed tip, just inches away from your nose. He was neatly trimmed, contrary to what you had expected, with a pair of heavy balls. You could smell your slick on him, and a deep and musky masculine scent that drove you dizzy.

You parted your mouth reluctantly, before leaning in and taking his tip in your mouth. Just the tip felt like it was already stretching past the limit of your mouth.

Sukuna tutted. “Is that all the dick you can suck, princess? I expected more from you.”

If looks could kill, he would be six feet under.

He chuckled, mirth dancing in his crimson gaze. He cupped your cheek, guiding you better.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said. “There you go. Look at you, so fucking pretty like this. The prettiest when my cock is in your mouth.”

You followed, acquiescing, and took the opportunity to attempt to take more of him. Your eyes closed shut when his tip snagged at a sensitive part of the back of your throat. Your instinct told you to pull away, but Sukuna’s grip tightened around your hair, keeping you exactly where you were.

“Take it,” he grunted, staring down at you. “Either you do it properly, or I’ll just use your mouth how I want. Your choice, princess.”

You glared up at him, and in a display of your anger, you dug your nails into the flesh of his hardened skin. He didn’t even seem fazed. Nonetheless, you followed, relaxing your throat, easing yourself to take as much of him that you could in your mouth. The stretch was borderline unpleasant.

Sukuna gave you a bored look. “Don’t know how to suck dick, princess?”

You pulled off with a sneer. “I prefer to occupy myself with better things.”

He looked satisfied at that. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you how to suck dick properly.”

You woke to the smell of him.

It was everywhere. On the pillows, tangled in your hair, clinging to your skin like a second layer you couldn't scrub off. The sheets were a mess, tangled around your legs, and your body ached in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, bruised soreness between your thighs that throbbed with every small movement.

You blinked against the morning light filtering through curtains that were not yours. The room was wrong. The ceiling was wrong. The weight of a heavy tattooed arm draped across your waist was very wrong.

Memory crashed over you like a bucket of ice water.

Sukuna.

You shot up so fast your head spun, shoving at the heavy limb pinning you down. The movement disturbed the man beside you, who let out a low, sleep-rough grunt.

“Mm. Mornin', princess.”

He was shirtless—of course he was—and the sheets had slipped to his hips, revealing the thick lines of tattoos that crawled up his unfairly muscular torso. His hair was a disaster, pink strands sticking up in every direction, and his eyes were half-lidded with that infuriatingly pleased expression he always wore.

You scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed. "What the hell—"

"Relax." He caught your wrist before you could tumble, yanking you back with casual ease.

"Don't touch me!" You wrenched your hand free, chest heaving, and realized with mounting horror that you were completely naked beneath the sheets. Your body had left an indentation on the sheets. You could feel varying sensations all the way from the stickiness on the sheets and the pounding of your back. "What—how did I—"

"You don't remember?" Sukuna's grin was a slow, devastating thing. "Shame. You were pretty vocal about it last night. Screamed my name like you were praying." He stretched lazily, the muscles in his arms flexing. "Or maybe that was a curse. Hard to tell with you, princess."

You stared at him, your mind a storm of fragmented memories. The vanity. His fingers. His mouth between your thighs. His eyes peered up at you from the apex of your breasts. The way he'd—

Oh, god.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, nausea rolling through you. "This didn't happen," you said flatly. "I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare."

"Pinch yourself, princess. I promise I'm real." He reached over to the nightstand, and you noticed for the first time the small white box sitting there. He tossed it onto the bed beside you. "Bought you a little present."

Your eyes focused on the box.

Plan B One-Step.

The nausea intensified. "You—"

"Told you I'd get it." He shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "You were so worried about getting knocked up. Figured I'd take care of it."

"Take care of it?" Your voice rose an octave. "You chose not to wear a condom! You—you—" Words failed you. You grabbed the first thing within reach—a pillow—and hurled it at his head with all the force you could muster with your arms.

Sukuna caught it with one hand, laughing. "You're cute when you're pissed. Look." He held up the box. "You want it or not? 'Cause I can just toss it. Wouldn't mind seeing you round with my kid, honestly. Would be a nice fuck you to the old man."

You snatched it from his hand, your fingers trembling. "I hate you."

"I know." He said it like it was a compliment. "Come here, princess." He reached for you, arms wrapping around your waist.

You flinched away. "Don't touch me."

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered. Darkened. "Fine. Have it your way." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing without a shred of modesty. You averted your eyes, your face burning. "Take the pill. Shower. I'll make you breakfast."

"I don't want your breakfast."

"Too bad." He pulled on his sweatpants, that infuriating smirk back in place. "You're not leaving this room until you eat something. You need your strength."

"For what?" 

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his grin sharp as a blade. "What, you think I'm done with you? That was just the appetizer, princess."

It became a professional play of pretend.

During the day, you were the perfectly amiable stepsister. You smiled at your mother. You made polite conversation with Jin. You sat across from Sukuna at dinner and treated him with the same cold indifference you always had.

But at night? At night, you were in his room. Every single time.

You told yourself it was just physical. A release. A way to burn off the tension that had been building since the moment you met him. You told yourself you could stop anytime you wanted.

But you didn't stop. You couldn't stop.

Because Sukuna was addictive. The way he touched you, the way he talked to you, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. It was intoxicating. And you loathed yourself for wanting it.

The first time you almost got caught, it was your fault.

You'd been careless. Too loud. Too consumed by the feeling of his callused hands on your body to remember that the walls were thin and your mother had a habit of checking on you both before bed.

A knock on his door practically sent you flying off him. You scrambled for your clothes, heart pounding, while Sukuna called out in a tired and irritated drawl, "What?"

"Your father wants to know if you're joining us for breakfast tomorrow." Your mother's voice filtered through the door. "We're having a family meal before he leaves for his business trip."

"I'll be there."

There was a pause. "Is your sister with you?"

You froze, your hand gripping the edge of the mattress. Sukuna's eyes met yours, unreadable.

"Why would she be?" he asked, his voice perfectly casual. "She hates me, remember?"

Your mother laughed with a brittle, uncertain sound. "Right. Of course. Well, I'll leave you to it then."

There were a lot of close situations. And it was only getting harder to pretend.

At dinner, Sukuna's eyes found you across the table, and you felt it like a physical touch. He didn't bother hiding it anymore. At least, not entirely. His gaze would linger too long on your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your lips. He'd find excuses to touch you: a hand on your shoulder as he passed, fingers brushing yours when he reached for the salt.

Your mistake was that you couldn't stop yourself from reacting.

Your breath would catch. Your skin would flush. You'd press your thighs together under the table and hope no one else but Sukuna noticed.

"Sukuna," Jin said one evening, his voice sharp. "Your manners."

"Just admiring the decor." Sukuna's grin was wolfish. "Nice vase you got there, Dad."

Jin's eyes narrowed. Your mother's lips pressed into a thin line.

You kept your gaze fixed on your plate, your heart hammering.

It happened on a Sunday afternoon.

Your mother had left her phone in the kitchen. She came back to get it. You and Sukuna were in the pantry. Stupid, so fucking stupid, in hindsight, but he'd cornered you there when Jin was in the study and your mother was supposedly out.

The pantry was small. Cramped. Shelves lined every wall, stocked with jars and cans and boxes of things you'd never paid attention to. The air smelled like dried herbs and olive oil and something faintly sweet. Vanilla, maybe, from the bottle of extract on the top shelf.

Sukuna had you pressed against the far wall, your back to the shelves, your dress bunched around your hips. One of your legs was hooked over his hip, the other barely keeping you upright. His hands were everywhere. On your thighs, your waist, your face, tilting your chin up to kiss you.

He kissed like he was starving. Deep, consuming, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. You tasted coffee and cigarettes and something darker, something that you’d come to learn was just him.

His cock was buried inside you—had been for the last ten minutes, ever since he'd dragged you in here under the pretense of "helping him find something." He was thick, impossibly thick, and every time he moved, you felt yourself stretch around him, felt every ridge and vein drag against your sensitive walls.

He wasn't moving fast. He was moving deep. Slow, rolling thrusts that pressed against that spot inside you. The one that made your toes curl and your vision blur. His forehead was pressed to yours, his breath hot on your lips.

"You feel that?" he murmured, his voice a low rasp, his hand pressing against the protrusion on your stomach. "Feel how deep I am?"

You couldn't answer. Your voice was gone, stolen by the overwhelming sensation of him filling you.

"That's it," he breathed. "Take it. Take all of me."

You heard her footsteps before you saw her. The click of her heels on the marble floor. The soft hum of a song she'd been listening to in the car.

Your mother's voice drifted through the wood. "Sukuna? Have you seen my phone? I left it somewhere around here."

You froze. Your whole body went rigid around him, clamping down involuntarily.

Sukuna's eyes met yours. His grin was slow, wolfish. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. You could feel it in the way his hips kept rolling, shallow and teasing, like he was physically incapable of pulling away.

"Think I saw it in the kitchen," he called back, his voice perfectly steady. "On the counter. Near the fruit bowl."

Your mother's heels clicked closer. "Oh, thank you. You're a lifesaver."

She was right outside the pantry now. You could see her through the gap in the door; the hem of her pleated skirt, the edge of her cream cashmere cardigan. Three feet away. Maybe two.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your whole body was trembling, your inner walls fluttering around him.

His hand slid up your body, palm flat against your stomach, pressing down. You could feel yourself wrapped around him, could feel the shape of him through the thin layer of skin.

"Feel that?" he whispered, his thumb tracing circles on your belly. "Feel how deep I am? You're so fucking tight around me. So perfect."

Your mother's heels clicked again. She was walking away. "Actually," she called back, and you heard the click of her heels as she started back to where she was standing just moments ago, "could you grab me that jar of olives from the pantry? I wanted to add some to the salad."

No. No, no, no.

You looked at Sukuna. He looked at you. And then he did something so audacious, so utterly unhinged, that you couldn't even process it.

"Sure," he said. "One second."

He pulled out of you. Slow, agonizing, every inch of him dragging against your sensitive walls. The wet sound of him leaving you was obscenely loud in the thick silence. You felt so empty, so achingly hollow, that you almost cried out.

Your release dripped down your thigh and ass cheek, warm and shameful.

But Sukuna was far from done with you.

He turned you around, pressing your front against the shelves. His chest was hot against your back, his breath warm on your ear. One hand gripped your hip, steadying you. The other reached for the top shelf.

"Stand still," he murmured. "Don't make a sound."

And then he pushed back in.

One smooth, devastating thrust, and he was buried inside you again. This angle was different. Always deeper, somehow, the tip of him pressing against your cervix. Your vision went white. Your knees buckled.

His arm was still stretched above you, reaching for the jar of olives. The motion of his body, the stretch of his muscles, pushed him even deeper inside you. You felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein, felt yourself stretch and flutter around him.

"I see them," he called out to your mother, his voice perfectly calm. "Just gotta reach them."

He stretched farther. The jar was just out of reach. His body shifted, and the movement made him grind against that spot inside you. The one that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

You bit down on your own arm to keep from screaming.

"Got them," he said.

He pulled out just an inch—just enough to make you gasp—and then pushed back in as he lowered his arm. The jar of olives, which was usually huge, looked normal in his hand.

"Here you go," he said, pulling the pantry door open just enough to stick his head and arm through.

Your mother was right there. Two feet away. You could see the back of her head, the curve of her neck, the way she smiled as she took the jar.

"Thank you, sweetheart." She patted his shoulder. "You're so helpful today."

Sukuna smiled back at her. Smiled. While his cock was buried in her daughter. While you could feel his heartbeat through his chest, could feel yourself clenching around him involuntarily.

"Anything for you, Mom," he said, and the word Mom was a twisted joke only the two of you understood.

Your mother hummed, pleased with herself. Sukuna had been considerably more “behaved” these days, so your mother came to interpret it as him having come around to the idea of his father Jin remarrying her. "Your father will be so pleased."

She turned away. Her heels clicked toward the kitchen.

Sukuna pulled the door shut. And then he groaned. A low, guttural sound, like he'd been holding his breath the whole time.

"Fuck," he breathed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Fuck, princess. You have no idea what that did to me."

He started to move again. Slow, deliberate thrusts that made you feel every cruel inch of him. His hand slid up your body, cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with want. "So beautiful like this. So desperate for me."

"Sukuna—"

"Say my name again." He thrust deeper, and you gasped. "Say it."

"Sukuna." The word came out broken, desperate.

"That's it. That's my girl."

He reached around, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. He circled it slowly, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and you felt yourself climbing higher, felt that familiar pressure building in your core.

"Cum for me," he whispered against your ear. "Cum on my cock, princess. I want to feel you."

You shattered.

It wasn't quiet. But his hand was over your mouth, muffling your cry, and he kept moving through it, kept thrusting deep and slow while you trembled and clenched around him.

"That's it," he groaned. "Fuck, that's it."

His own release followed moments later, a low groan torn from his throat as he spilled inside you. You felt him pulse, felt the heat of him filling you, and you clenched around him, drawing it out.

You stood there in the silence, trembling, his cum dripping down your thighs. His forehead was pressed to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.

"Fuck," he breathed.

You couldn't even form words.

His mother's voice drifted from the kitchen from another room over. Sounds of her ordering the maids and cooks around to set the salads, meats, and various dishes in the fridge.

He pulled out slowly—so slowly that you felt every inch of him leaving you—and tucked himself back into his jeans. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek.

He let you leave first to make yourself presentable, after he gathered the excess cum dripping down your thigh and stuffing it back in your puffy cunt. You escaped quickly to avoid being spotted.

Several moments later, Sukuna stepped out of the pantry just as your mother rounded the corner.

"There you are," she said, cocking her head to the side. "I was about to come look for you."

He nodded, his hand dropping casually to his side, his fingers smeared with your shared cum. But he didn't wipe it off. Didn’t even try to hide it.

And then he did something so audacious, so utterly shameless, that it would have made anyone else privy to what had just happened choke.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean in front of her.

Your mother blinked at him. She had found herself growing slowly desensitized to Sukuna’s apparent distaste for proper manners.

"Mm." He let out a low, satisfied hum. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

"Couldn't help yourself?" She tilted her head. "Did you eat something from the pantry?"

He grinned. "Tried the salad you made. The one in the fridge." He licked his lips, slow and deliberate. "It's really good. You should try some."

Your mother chuckled, utterly oblivious. "Oh, that? I haven't even finished it yet. You must be hungry." She turned toward the fridge, reaching for the salad bowl. "Do you want some more? I can ask the maids to plate it for you."

"No." He stepped closer, his grin wolfish. "I've had my fill."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, casual, unconcerned.

── .✦ satoru gojo ˎˊ˗

⟢ morning sex ⟢ taking him from behind ⟢ he got your leg shakin ⟢ after a night out ⟢ making you come with his tongue ⟢ he loves your pussy

── .✦ suguru geto ˎˊ˗

⟢ holding you ⟢ getting faster and faster ⟢ cums to your tongue ⟢ making your eyes roll back ⟢ the cure to his depression ⟢ caught you using a dildo

── .✦ toji fushiguro ˎˊ˗

⟢ both holes ⟢ he's an eater ⟢ legs up ⟢ fingering you in the mirror ⟢ he's great with his tongue

── .✦ kento nanami ˎˊ˗

⟢ after a rough day ⟢ riding him ⟢ after a rough day pt2 ⟢ his hands are rough ⟢ making you squirt ⟢ scream and cream

── .✦ choso kamoˎˊ˗

⟢ masterbating together ⟢ waking you up from a nap ⟢ he bites ⟢ can't keep his hands off of you ⟢ he's obsessed

── .✦ ryomen sukuna ˎˊ˗

⟢ aggressive ⟢ shoving it down your throat ⟢ pins you down ⟢ ripped fishnets ⟢ he loves the way you taste

── .✦ hiromi higuruma ˎˊ˗

⟢ before bed ⟢ he had a stressful day ⟢ shoves his fingers inside you ⟢ making you scream ⟢ pleasuring you

── .✦ bonus ˎˊ˗

The air was cool, refreshing, even if a little moist. Damp metal railings cooled my elbows, and warm air crackled past my lips. I tapped the joint once to watch ash fall through to the dark void below. I relished in the cool air on my legs and stomach and arms while the smoke warmed my face. I could still hear the faint echoes of the music at the late-open club far away. 

Looking left, then right, each side looked the same. A wirey metal bridge leading across to a tunnel dug into the middle of a wet, cave-like chasm. On one end, silence. A huge, arching hallway leading to acres and acres of underground gymnasiums and practice halls. On the other, the bridge led to a splitting hallway leading to homes, recreational areas, shopping, offices, and most significantly- the far-off lights flashing green and red and purple and blue to the beat of an old pre-war pop song. My head was bobbing involuntarily to its own beat as I watched the tip of my joint light a bright orange in the near-black chasm. 

“What did I tell you tonight?” A deep voice boomed. He wasn’t so much loud as his voice was heavy and projected intensely, making a smile creep up my lips. 

“I was hoping I’d run into you here.” I couldn’t help but look from boot-to-toe through my lashes at the very distinct silhouette approaching. Through the few lights hung far on the cavern walls, I could barely make out the reflection of Eric’s piercings and his entertaining scowl. I took one more hit straight to my throat, my eyes glazed over the dark jeans hanging over barely-visible dark boots, and swiped my tongue across my teeth as the man stomped his pointed eyebrows right in front of my face. I could smell his cologne, the whiskey on his breath, and the perfume I had rubbed off earlier. He nearly had me pinned to the railing. 

“Answer the question.” His voice was calm, strict. 

“You told me a lot of things tonight,” I held the tip to the corner of my lipstick, careful not to smudge the dark red pigment with the burning cone. I frowned a little. “But none of them were that you liked my outfit.”

It was true, the dysfunctionally short leather shorts that barely covered my ass and the cropped tank tied up behind my neck wasn’t usual for the leader to see me in, but I knew what he referred to. 

“I told you, if you were to embarrass me out in public tonight-” I could hear his hands grip the rail and creaking it- pulling himself closer to me, “-you’d suffer a suitable punishment.”

My hands rested carefully behind me, just between his on the cool metal. I was nearly nose-to-nose with the square-jawed, tattooed, gelled-hair man towering over me now. “I didn’t embarrass you, you’re the one who said we’re public now.”

Eric’s rough hand gripped the corners of my jaw with gentle fingers, ones that warned me what was coming. “You’re not going to have that cheeky smile for much longer. You like making a show for everyone rubbing all over me at a party?”

“I didn’t see you stopping me.” I shrugged. He still held my chin in his hands. “Weren’t those your hands all over my ass?”

“Of course they had to see what’s mine.” I felt a hand on my hip, my back shook the cold railing, and Eric’s hand tilted my head up farther. I could see his face just barely in the dark, enough to make out him staring me down with an equally dark smile. “But I am a man of my word.”

“Ooh, a Candor,” I raised my eyebrows up and down. I could feel his body heat sending hot waves against my torso and legs, and the railing behind still contrasted with cold metal. “So, what’s this punishment I’m supposed to be scared of?”

Fingertips pressed tighter against my jaw as I felt Eric’s breath up near my ear. I could help but hold onto one of his belt loops and pull him in tighter. “Now you’re going to give me my own show. You’re going to sit on my face until you cry.”

I felt him smile against my cheek just barely, and I laughed softly. “Yeah, right. Good luck.”

“Oh.” It was filled with mocking sympathy, and he looked me in the eyes from several inches above again. “You have no idea what you’re in for, do you? Be at my apartment at one. Do. Not. Be. Late.”

I smiled again, then nodded. Eric wordlessly turned and walked off. His boots echoed with each footstep back to the rock-solid ground. I waited for him to disappear, dragged another long puff of thick air from my dying joint, and flicked the finished tip down the void. 

I checked the watch on my wrist. Bead bracelets flew across the face. 12:32. Plenty of time. 

The next phase of getting back to the bar, washing the smell off my hands, closing my tab, and meeting back with my friends was a blur of scenes. First I was in the bright-lit tile bathroom, where the LED bulbs reflected obnoxiously off black and grey tiles where drunk party-goers spilled water and drinks. The hallway was filled with dark patches of making out couples, people talking, people crying, and an entrance back to the club areas. Through a set of glass doors, I grabbed the silver handle for balance as I stared out for my group. People I didn’t know, people I didn’t know, people I kinda knew, people I didn’t know. I made my way up to the raised bar area, terribly designed to be up four or five giant black steps on raised platforms. Or seven, I lost count. I closed out my tab, received my points card back, and made one more look for the group I came with. Nothing. I’d see them at work eventually. 

The walk back through the hallways was the perfect time to catch my deep, cool breath and find my footing again. I still staggered slightly through the echoing hall, past the occasional talking couples or chatting smokers. My heeled boots padded gently past everyone, around corners, and past the general residencies. 

I followed my muscle memory back up to Eric’s apartment. Do. Not. Be. Late. was running through my head. My heart was skipping, and my foot almost joined as I smiled a little to myself. Flashbacks and fantasies were running through my head at warp speed while I tried to walk at a normal pace up more stairs and through renovated hallways. 

I stopped at a navy blue door. It was nearly black. I checked my watch again. 12:58.  I pulled my boots back, and tried not to swing around too much. I calmed my lungs to silence my breath. 

I checked the watch again. 1:01. I held my fist up near my head, paused for a few more moments near the door, then finally knocked three times. 

“Open it.”

What greeted me was another dark room. Not nearly as dark as the chasm, but a warmly-lit minimalist apartment with barely any decoration to reflect the soft yellow lamps. There were, however, a couple candles burning on the end tables that had just been lit in the past several minutes. 

“That’s already how you’d like to start this?” Eric sat on a leather black couch across the room from me, stoic and colossal as usual. His spread knees bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle with his arms stretched across the back of the couch. He still stared at me with fire, and I once again looked up and down what appeared to be perfectly-tailored black jeans and a tight black tee that pulled on his bicep muscles and showed off the dark linework on his arms. 

“Like what?” I frowned and shut the door behind me. “You told me to be here, I’m here.”

“Two minutes.” 

“One minute.” I crossed my arms. 

“If you knew that, then you knew you’re late.” His piercings arched up with his eyebrow. “When I give you a command, that’s what it means.”

“Well,” I said thoughtfully, kneeling down towards the edge of the couch. “You weren’t great at getting me to do what I was told during initiation,” I inched closer to his boots on the floor, “You aren’t good at getting me to listen at work, unless I feel bad about saving your face,” I sat directly in between his knees now, “I’m not sure why you think it would work well now.”

Eric grabbed my chin again, barely leaning forward to address me from above. “Because next time you wear those little shorts, you won’t need to shake your ass on me to have proof you’re mine. The pretty red marks will do the job just fine.”

I smiled up at him, leaning my face into his hand as my own hands stroked up the tops of his thighs. Eric leaned down slowly again, until my eyes were half-open and I could just barely feel his lips nearly about to touch mine. My hands reached where the denim waistband dug into his skin, pressing my fingers into him. I felt Eric’s mouth move, and opened to see that plotting smile. I frowned. 

“You’re not getting anything until you pay that late penalty.”

I looked up through my lashes and tried to look innocent, brushing my hands over his jeans more thoroughly. “What will you do to me?”

“Come lay down.” He snapped, pointed up, then at his lap.

I pushed myself up by my arms. “Really?” It was laced with curiosity. 

“Now.” He was nice enough to place one of the black throw cushions where my head belonged, how gracious. He sat back with his open hands. I lied across his lap, arching my back and pressing my stomach against his thighs. I could already feel a hard tent digging against my hip, and bore down as if I was just getting comfortable. Eric gave a swift smack to my ass. 

I laughed softly. “That was kind of embarrassing.”

Smack! My breath caught in my throat. Pain stung my left ass cheek, and a kind of whiny moan escaped. 

“Better?”

“Mm,” I tried not to sound defeated. 

“Take these off.” Eric snapped the leather booty shorts against my skin. He guided my hips up with my hands as I arched up, nearly putting my ass in his face to pull the shorts down and off. Eric did the rest of the work pulling them off my legs. He hummed. He snapped my black thong against my ass. I grumbled. 

“Keep count,” he ordered. 

Crack! 

My butt stung again. Barely above a whisper, “One.”

“I can’t hear you.” 

Smack! The right side. I could kind of whimper a “Two.”

“Get to five.” 

Snap! 

I couldn’t help the soft moan. The hot sting was just barely painful enough to wake up my body, and I could feel even more heat between my legs. “Three.”

Smack! I tried not to wiggle my ass around and beg him to touch me. “F-Four.”

“You shouldn’t be enjoying this.”

Smack! He grabbed my butt hard after the last. 

“Five,” I was still airy and whiny. I pressed harder against his hand on my skin. 

“Aw, you took it so well,” Eric still spoke with almost a condescending tone. “If only this was your only punishment tonight.”

I hummed, starting to grind tiny circles in his lap with my hips. “What do you want me to do next?”

Eric held a handful of my hair and pulled me back. I stared out into the space above his couch and focused on his breath in my ear. “First off,”

Smack!

I yelped. I wiggled my hips around in painful shock of the unexpected spank. I whined at Eric. 

“That was for being late on purpose. Now, I want you naked on your knees on the bed. Go.”

Next thing, I was pushing off my knees to stand up. Now in just my tight top, a thong, and the heeled boots; I paused before deciding to make a show out of untying the bow on the back of my neck as I walked away, pulling the straps of my shirt all the way down before disappearing behind the bedroom door. I was quick to pull off the tiny piece of lace around my hips, untie the boots, and hop up onto the wide grey-sheeted bed to wait. I was brushing my hair out with my fingers and fixing my calf-high socks for minutes before Eric finally swung the door back open. I leaned forward in my W-sit, staring at him up and down as he entered shirtless. 

My tongue swiped over my teeth with every inch I took in of him. Eric’s well-carved muscles were decorated with the most intricate geometric mazes and shapes and designs across his arms and torso, reaching up his neck. I felt a wet spot growing on his sheets as I watched how each part of his body tensed and rippled with each step, down to his unbuckled leather belt. The black denim rested low on his hips and he swung them towards me wordlessly, that intense stare back on me. I chewed on my bottom lip and leaned forward, fighting the urge to grab his waistband and pull him towards me. 

Eric leaned in, so close I could almost reach out to kiss him, and paused with an arched brow. “I thought I said naked?” He flicked my sock against my skin. It made my leg pull out and press me harder into the wet spot. I frowned. “They’re cute, so I’ll let it slide this time.”

“You haven’t told me what you’re gonna do to me.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“If you’d been listening instead of being a brat, you’d know I did.” Eric gripped my face in one hand again, tilting it to the side. “You’re going to sit on my face until you cry for me.”

I laughed like I had for the first time. “Is that a challenge? I’ll bet you tap out before I do.” 

Eric had an evil smile on his face. “You’re not going to enjoy this like you think you will.”

He walked around and flopped on his back next to me, making the bed squeak. Before I could process it, he grabbed my knees and pulled my legs closer. I whimpered as I fell back and tried to keep my balance. Eric pulled my legs over his chest as easily as I was a toy. My brows raised in surprise, not sure how to react. I tried to adjust myself safely on either side of the man’s square shoulders, but his arms wrapped around each leg and pulled me in close to his jaw. 

“Now you sit there and look pretty for me.”

His soft tongue slid up, finally giving me some of that friction I was begging for. I whined when he rode directly over my clit, and then slowly back down over it. I whined again and wiggled around. Eric’s hands gripped harder into my thighs and pulled me down tighter. I tried to calm my breath as I felt his hot tongue drawing firm lines up, down, up, down, up, down. My clit begged for more and cried that it was too intense at the same time. When I bore my hips down, pure pleasure shot up my core. I moaned out openly, and Eric pulled me in further, encouraging me with his hands to ride against his face. His mouth enveloped my pussy, breathing hot air and grinding his tongue hard directly against my clit. My entire abdomen tingled, and I couldn’t help but melt into his arms rocking my hips on beat with his tongue. 

“God, Eric,” I managed before I could get a deep breath. I tried to relax all my muscles and just enjoy the feeling; I knew if I came too soon, the overstimulation would make me lose this challenge. A few soft moans still blew past my lips. 

The rough man below my legs decided now was the time to start playing tricks with his tongue, drawing perfect little circles over my clit and sucking on it and teasing my lips. I whimpered and threw my head back and fell harder against Eric as I was trying to both contain the amazing rippling feeling across the entire central part of my body and savor it at the same time. “Holy fuck, Eric, please, please don’t stop.”

I could only see the upper half of Eric’s square, fierce and pierced face below me, but he looked incredibly focused on the task directly in front of him. One hand trailed down to his perfectly-gelled hair, traced his eyebrow piercings, and rested on his temple as I hummed through the burning pleasure he caused between my legs. 

I was trying so hard not to cum. It wasn’t that I ever had to ask, but if he was serious about going until I cry, that wouldn’t happen until after the overstimulation. I wanted to hold him there forever, grasping hard to my hips to pull me down against his face, playing with my clit with his tongue, moaning and grinding and tingling and melting into his touch before the orgasm exploded. 

“Oh, fuck, please,” I whined like a horny cuckoo clock. My breath was getting faster. I was having difficulty calming it with all the flicking and swiping and licking Eric was doing. He just pressed against my clit so perfectly that I couldn’t hold it in. 

My legs shook and trembled hard. All that pleasure in my stomach exploded and sent fire across my whole body. My head threw back and my eyes got stuck at the grey ceiling. I didn’t even have control of the loud, untethered moans ripping from my lungs. All I felt was hot, wet, blinding pleasure pouring from my folds and spiraling out across my body. One hand was resting back on Eric’s abdomen, the other gripping his hand on my thigh. I briefly wondered if he could even breathe. I was brought back on track by his tongue still dancing across my clit while my legs shook and spasmed against him. 

It was so much. It was so good. I didn’t want him to stop, but every touch of his tongue left me frantic. I whined, wiggled, bucked, twitched, whimpered, and jerked with every bit of friction against his mouth. 

“Please,” I squeaked. The overstimulation was beginning to take over, but I didn’t want to lose the battle. A hitched breath later, I was moaning and whining with my clit throbbing against him. 

He wasn’t slowing down. I felt Eric’s hot mouth still rubbing hard against me, sucking, licking, drawing, grinding against my almost painful pussy. I cried out harder and instinctively bore my hips down more. This only made Eric swipe harder against my clit, completely soaked. 

I leaned back farther, almost completely on his tough stomach now. I rocked back and forth. “Fuck, Eric!” I tried to last longer but my hand instinctively shot against the bed and onto his stomach, ripping myself from his mouth. I laid awkwardly and shakily against his abs, breathing in shallow sobs. I stared up at the ceiling with blurry, white vision, still trembling through every part of my body. I felt one hot tear roll out of the corner of my eye. 

Eric pulled me down closer to his lap and sat up ever so slightly. I still lied back between his legs, barely processing his head leaning down closer to me. His hand turned my face to one side, then the next. 

“What did I tell you?” He said with a cocky smile that just barely traced the corners of his lips. “I guess you’ll learn to listen next time.” 

I whined in response, still riding the serotonin high. I closed my eyes and felt Eric shift, then grab my face again. I opened my eyes to see him directly over me now. His voice was soft as he eyed me, less intensely than before, but with the same hunger. “Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you,” I squeaked softly. 

“You took me so well, sweetheart.” Eric’s hand still gripped my lolled-back jaw, but his voice wasn’t filled with that sense of mocking. “Tell me what you want.”

I gathered the ability to open my eyes and look far up at him, resting my hand over his. I could still see that love of control in his eyes. I reached my face up, close to his. He finally leaned down and let his lips touch mine. It was soft, gentle, a massive contrast to his character. Then, I breathed out, “I want you to bend me over and make me beg for you.”

That plotting smile was back again. “I don’t have to make you do anything, you’ve done that all on your own.”

I didn’t have another chance to respond before Eric turned me over like a toy again. His huge hands grasped my hips and flipped them over, then pulled them towards him. Now in a prone position, I leaned back and let my hips grind my ass against his unbuttoned jeans. He was pressing his clothed boner against my drenched vulva, but then disappeared. Just as I could look back for him, I felt hands grab my thighs and yank me backwards. A quiet yelp displayed my shock as Eric pulled me to the edge of the bed. His repositioning came with an evil chuckle. 

Suddenly, my toes were barely touching the ground. One of Eric’s hands was on my neck, just below my hairline, gently pushing my face to the bed. The other grasped my hip and pulled my ass to him. “Good girl.”

I whined and pressed harder against the jeans I could feel him shuffling off. “Already came, and still so desperate,” Eric hummed. “That’s my good little slut.”

I whined and backed against him harder. His dick now slid against my sore clit, and I twitched. Eric rubbed slow, but hard against my folds. I whined again, grinding to get him to go where I wanted. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” That condescending tone was back. “What’s wrong?”

I groaned and wiggled against him more. “Please.”

“So whiny tonight,” he remarked, still teasing me. “Use your words.”

“Please, Eric,” I added as if that would get what I wanted. 

“Please what?” Eric mocked from behind me. His fingers were gently teasing my entrance, making me somehow even wetter. 

I groaned. “Just fuck me, Eric, for Christ’s sake.”

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he taunted. 

My breath hitched. The orgasm and soaking preparation I’d had still wasn’t enough to prepare me for the absolute raw force that immediately broke through my body. Eric was big- like extremely big- but I still hadn’t been prepared. I bit my lip and hummed lightly. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

I shook my head quickly. “Please don’t stop, please don’t.”

I could visualize that evil smile on Eric’s face behind me as he pounded in again. I couldn’t stop the tiniest cry that escaped my lips. He pulled my ass up higher with each stroke, leaving my toes stretching to barely reach the floor. My hands gripped the sheets tighter with each hard hit, feeling his dick stretch my muscles out until they had to relax. Moans and hums brushed past my lips loudly again, and my head bobbed on beat with the creaking of the bed. Each hit to the inside of my walls made me feel like I was just gushing out my juices on him. My vision was tinging white again as he grabbed the hair at the top of my head and pulled back. 

One hand still gripped the sheets. The other grasped his fingers over my ass, bouncing with each slam into me. My legs were shaking again, my hips, my stomach tightening. I became like dead weight, unable to hold my head up without him pulling my hair and unable to press my ass farther against him without his hand to pull me up. The noises coming out of my mouth were ungodly, and I was only encouraged when I heard deep, guttural groans tearing from Eric’s lips. 

“Please, please, don’t stop,” I cried out. My jaw became slack and I lost control of my pleasure-burning body that erupted with waves of warm tingles and violent relief. 

I was broken quickly from my trance when the dick inside me was ripped out, leaving me empty. I heard another hot, dark groan before sputters of wet, warm liquid shot across my back. 

Eric’s hands disappeared for a moment, then was replaced by the feeling of fabric. A towel swiped across my back, and then his hands rested on my hips again.