a whore for fictional characters✨

“what happened?” voice trembling as she spoke. 

“a spark caught his hair and it caught on fire. he’s got burns on his scalp” bill responds solemnly leaving the driveway making his way to the hospital. “the family is there and i know the situation. but i also know you make him feel seen” he squeezes her shoulder affectionately. she gives him a wobbly smile as she reaches in the glovebox putting on her sunglasses. 

“thank you for coming to get me” she leaned against the window watching buildings pass by as they made their way to the hospital. bill led her in keeping a reassuring hand on her back as they made their way in. bill led her past the family straight to the nurses station. speaking low so no one could eavesdrop. after getting confirmation michael was awake, he immediately led her to the back; ignoring the questions especially from an irritated joseph who demanded to know who she thought she was. bill opened the door first after knocking gently. 

“hey son” bill greeted michael, “brought you something that might lift your spirits” he gently pushed her forward. she made her way to the end of his hospital bed. 

“hi my darling” she gave him the softest yet brightest smile that was reserved only for him. michael reached for her and she interlocked their fingers as he gave a weak tug pulling her to his side. “how bad is it?” her hand cradles his cheek. michael couldn’t get an answer out just slightly choked as tears welled up in his eyes. 

“second and third degree burns” he mumbles before bill steps out into the hallway to give them space to talk. as soon as he stepped into the hall he was confronted by katherine. 

“bill who was that girl?” she asked expecting an answer from the person closest to her son. 

“sorry mrs. jackson, michael will have to answer that for you” he looked at the door that kept the two young adults he’s grown to care about. michael being like a son to him for years and ever since you’ve been around he naturally treated you like his own as well. 

“bill please” katherine looked up at him, but he could only shake his head. 

“i’ll ask if he’s ready for you to come in” bill says knocking lightly stepping back into the room. greeted by the sight of her curled up beside him in the hospital bed (per michael’s request). “mike your mom wants to see you” bill’s voice breaking the brief peaceful moment. 

“she can come in” michael looked down at his wife. “now might be a better time than ever to introduce you properly” his hand found its way into her hair playing with it. 

“are you sure? what if she doesn’t like me? oh my gosh what if she doesn’t like me” she starts to panic until michael pressed his lips to her forehead. 

“relax baby. she’ll love you” he looks up at bill with a small nod to let his mother in. when katherine walked into the room her eyes met with the young woman who was curled against her son in a protective manor.

“mother this is my wife” michael introduced her, “baby this is my mother” he rubbed her back encouragingly.

“hi mrs. jackson” she sits up extending her hand for a handshake. mentally kicking herself for the action. shockingly instead of shaking her hand katherine grabs it and tugs her forward into a hug crying into her shoulder.

“thank you” katherine whispers into her ear. she understood exactly what that meant ‘thank you for loving my son. thank you for being here for him right now’. she melts into the hug with a smile on her face. michael and bill also smiled at the moment. “wait a minute. wife? michael joseph jackson” katherine scolds looking at her son after she lets her newly discovered daughter in law go. “how long have you been married?” his mother had her hands on her hips looking at him expectantly. while his wife giggles hiding behind bill. 

“a year” michael answered quietly. the giggles stopped as she fully hid behind bill now. michael despite his pain looked nervously between his mother and his wife. 

“a year. married for a year and didn’t even tell your mother?” katherine sat at his bedside giving him a motherly glare. “do i need to ask how long you knew her before?” even bill turned and faced the corner to not be part of this conversation. 

“we met new year’s day 1979” michael admits to his mother looking over at his wife with a dopey smile as she walked back over rejoining him in the hospital bed. 

“we can talk about this when you get better young man”

“yes mother” in that moment michael knew it was doing go to be getting the most stern talking to of his life. 

“you’re absolutely stunning sweetheart” katherine compliments her daughter in law smiling. 

“thank you mrs. jackson” she returns the smile. 

“you can call me mother, we’re family now after all” katherine insisted. 

“i told you not to worry” michael grinned at his wife who rolled her eyes at him. 

“you’re still in trouble with your mom when you get out right?” his wife laughs placing a kiss on his cheek. 

The rain in Tokyo never felt clean. It came down in greasy sheets that smelled like exhaust and old concrete, pooling in the gutters of the narrow backstreets behind Kabukicho where the neon signs flickered like dying fireflies. You pulled the hood of your black raincoat tighter, the fabric already soaked through at the shoulders. Your sneakers squelched with every step, but you kept your pace steady. Three blocks behind the man you’d been tracking for the last two hours.

Toji Fushiguro.

You’d first heard the name three weeks ago in a smoke-filled izakaya tucked behind a pachinko parlor. A low-level curse user with a broken nose and too much sake in his veins had been bragging about “the guy who doesn’t need cursed energy to make sorcerers disappear.” He’d laughed like it was a joke, but his eyes had darted around the room like he expected the man himself to step out of the shadows. You’d paid for his next drink, asked the right questions, and left with a description that still made your stomach tighten: tall, broad, scar at the corner of his mouth, eyes like chipped jade. No allegiance. No mercy. Just money and whatever violence paid the most.

You weren’t a sorcerer. You weren’t even a curse user. You were just… you. A civilian who had seen too much of the world most people pretended didn’t exist. A family member lost to a curse three years ago, a police report that called it a “gas leak,” and a quiet, burning need to understand the things that moved in the dark. Toji’s name kept coming up in the places where the veil between normal and nightmare thinned. People said he killed sorcerers for sport. People said he took jobs no one else would touch. People said if you followed him long enough, you’d either learn something worth knowing or you’d end up in a ditch.

You chose to follow.

Tonight he was moving like he had somewhere to be. Long strides eating up the wet pavement, black jacket slung over one shoulder, the white compression shirt underneath clinging to the hard lines of muscle across his back. A duffel bag hung from his opposite hand, heavy enough that the strap bit into his shoulder. You kept your distance, ducking behind vending machines and clusters of salarymen stumbling out of hostess clubs. You thought you were invisible.

You were wrong.

He stopped at the mouth of a narrow alley that smelled like rotting fish and wet cardboard. The streetlight overhead buzzed, casting his shadow long and jagged across the ground. For a second he just stood there, head slightly tilted, rain sliding down the back of his neck and darkening his hair.

Then, without turning around, voice low and rough like gravel dragged over concrete:

“You’re bad at this.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you felt it in your teeth. He didn’t raise his voice. The words carried anyway, cutting through the rain and the distant city noise like a knife through wet paper.

You froze mid-step, one foot still lifted. He still hadn’t turned. Just stood there, shoulders loose, like he was bored.

“Thought you’d quit after the third block,” he continued, the scar at the corner of his mouth pulling as he spoke. “Most people do. You’re either stupid or stubborn. Haven’t decided which yet.”

Slowly, he pivoted. The movement was casual, almost lazy, but there was nothing lazy about the way his eyes locked onto you. The kind of gaze that measured how fast you’d bleed if he decided you were worth the effort. Rainwater dripped from the tips of his hair and ran down the side of his face, tracing the line of that scar before disappearing under his jaw.

He was bigger up close. Not just tall, he was solid. The kind of build that came from years of breaking things that tried to break him first. The duffel bag stayed gripped in one hand, fingers loose but ready.

You swallowed. Your voice came out steadier than you expected. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

A short, humorless huff of a laugh escaped him. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been on my ass since Shinjuku Station. Thought it was a coincidence at first. Then you switched trains when I did.” He took one step closer, boots splashing through a puddle. The alley behind him yawned dark and empty, the perfect place for someone to disappear. “Most stalkers at least try to blend in. You look like you’re playing dress-up in a spy movie.”

Heat crawled up your neck. You hadn’t thought you were that obvious. You’d changed coats twice, kept your head down, stayed in the crowds. Apparently none of it mattered.

Toji’s eyes dragged over you slowly and assessing. Not leering. Just cataloging. The way your raincoat clung to your frame, the way your hands were clenched at your sides, the way you hadn’t run yet. Something like irritation flickered across his face, there and gone.

“Last chance, kid,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “Turn around. Go home. Pretend you never saw me. Whatever little game you’re playing ends here.”

You didn’t move.

He waited. Three full seconds of rain drumming on metal roofs and distant car horns. When you still stood there, jaw set, eyes locked on his, the corner of his mouth twitched again. This time not quite a smirk, closer to annoyance.

“Stubborn it is.” He exhaled through his nose, shoulders shifting like he was already dismissing you. “Fine. Keep following if you want. Just know I don’t do warnings twice.” He turned on his heel, boots scraping wet concrete, and started walking again like you were nothing more than a stray cat that had picked the wrong alley.

You let him get half a block ahead before you started moving again. Your pulse was still hammering, but your feet obeyed before your brain could talk you out of it. He didn’t look back. Not once. But you could feel the shift in the air between you, like the tension on a tripwire stretched taut.

By the time you reached the next intersection, the rain had eased into a drizzle. Toji disappeared into the crowd outside a 24-hour konbini, the fluorescent light washing over his broad back for a split second before he was gone again. You lingered across the street, watching the automatic doors slide shut behind him.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. You told yourself you’d stop once you figured out what he was really after tonight. You told yourself a lot of things.

But when he emerged five minutes later with a fresh pack of cigarettes and a can of black coffee, he didn’t even glance your way before heading deeper into the district. And you followed.

Again.

The game had started, whether he liked it or not.

And Toji Fushiguro? He already knew the rules better than you ever would.

The next morning hit you like a hangover you hadn’t earned. Your legs ached from the miles you’d walked the night before, and your rain-soaked clothes were still draped over the back of a chair in your tiny studio apartment in the outskirts of Ikebukuro, dripping faint puddles onto the tatami mats. You stood in front of the cracked mirror above the sink, splashing cold water on your face, and stared at your own reflection. Dark circles under your eyes. Hair still damp and sticking to your forehead. A faint bruise on your shin from bumping into a bicycle rack while trying to keep up with him in the dark. You should have felt fear. Rational people would have. But instead there was this low, electric hum under your skin. Something that tasted like defiance and curiosity braided together so tightly you couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

You told yourself it was research. You told yourself that if you could just figure out what made a man like Toji Fushiguro tick. Like what jobs he took, who he answered to, why the underground whispered his name like a curse and a prayer at the same time. Then maybe you could understand the world that had swallowed your cousin whole three years ago. The one the police called a “gas leak” and the sorcerers never even bothered to acknowledge. But deep down you knew it was more than that. He had looked right through you last night, like you were an inconvenience he could swat away, and something in you had refused to be swatted.

So you went back out.

Day two started in Shinjuku again, but this time the city felt different. It felt more sharper, more alive with the kind of tension that hummed just beneath the surface of the crowds. You spotted him at 10:17 a.m. outside the west exit of the station, the same duffel bag from last night slung over his shoulder, now looking a little lighter. He was wearing a different shirt today. Today was a faded black, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the thick cords of muscle and the faint white lines of old scars that crisscrossed his forearms like a map of every fight he’d won. The scar at the corner of his mouth was more noticeable in daylight, pulling slightly when he lit a cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter. He didn’t scan the crowd. He didn’t need to. You could feel it the second his eyes flicked in your general direction, even though you were half-hidden behind a newspaper stand selling overpriced tourist maps.

He started walking.

You followed.

This time he didn’t bother with the subtle stuff. He cut through the busiest parts of Kabukicho at midday, weaving between salarymen on lunch breaks and clusters of giggling office ladies in their pencil skirts. He moved faster than before. With long, purposeful strides that forced you to jog intermittently just to keep him in sight without breaking into a full run. You ducked into doorways, pretended to check your phone at crosswalks, once even slipped into a Lawson to buy a bottle of water just to look normal. But every time you emerged, he was still there, ahead by exactly the right distance to make you think you might lose him if you blinked.

By the time he veered off the main streets and into the narrower back alleys near Golden Gai, the air had grown thick with the smell of yakitori grease and stale beer. The buildings here leaned in close, laundry lines strung between them like spiderwebs, and the ground was slick with yesterday’s rain that hadn’t quite dried. Toji disappeared around a corner. You hurried after him, heart picking up speed, only to find the alley splitting into three narrower passages. No sign of him. You chose the middle one on instinct. The darkest, the one that smelled faintly of mold and something metallic.

Wrong choice.

You’d only gone ten meters when you heard it: the low scrape of a boot behind you. You spun around, but the alley was empty. Just shadows and a stray cat watching you from a windowsill with disinterested yellow eyes. Your pulse thudded in your ears. You kept going. Another thirty meters and the passage opened into a small, forgotten courtyard behind an abandoned pachinko parlor. Graffiti covered the walls in violent slashes of red and black. Broken bottles crunched under your sneakers.

And there he was.

Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, cigarette dangling from his lips. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. The duffel bag sat at his feet like it weighed nothing. His green eyes locked onto yours the second you stepped into view, and this time there was no boredom in them. Just a flat, assessing irritation that made the scar at his mouth twitch.

“Two days in a row,” he said, voice low and rough, carrying easily across the small space. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke that curled up toward the gray sky. “You’re either the most dedicated idiot I’ve ever seen or you’ve got a death wish. Which is it?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to stand your ground, shoulders squared even though every instinct screamed at you to back up. He was bigger in daylight. Six-foot-something of solid, battle-hardened muscle that made the courtyard feel smaller just by existing in it. The compression shirt from last night had been replaced by something looser, but it still clung to the wide spread of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. A faint sheen of sweat glistened at the hollow of his throat where his shirt collar dipped.

“I told you,” you said, surprised at how steady your voice came out. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Toji let out a short, humorless laugh that sounded more like a growl. “Yeah, and I told you to quit. Most people listen when I talk.” He pushed off the wall with one shoulder, closing half the distance between you in two lazy steps. The cigarette flicked away into a puddle where it hissed out. Up close, you could smell the faint mix of tobacco, clean sweat, and something sharper. “You following me into places like this? Not smart. These alleys eat civilians for breakfast.”

You swallowed but didn’t step back. “I’m not a civilian in the way you think.”

His eyebrow lifted a fraction, the closest thing to genuine surprise you’d seen on his face yet. He studied you again, slower this time, eyes dragging from the scuffed toes of your sneakers up to the way your jacket hung slightly askew from all the dodging. “No cursed energy. No technique. No backup. Just you and whatever dumb reason’s got you glued to my shadow.” He tilted his head, scar pulling as his mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Persistent. I’ll give you that. Most tails I shake off in under an hour. You’re on day two and still breathing.”

He turned then, like the conversation bored him, and started walking again. Deeper into the maze of alleys that led toward the more rundown parts of the district, the kind of places where streetlights flickered out early and the only eyes watching were the ones that knew better than to ask questions. You followed. Of course you did.

The rest of that day blurred into a test of endurance. He took routes that made no sense. Doubling back through crowded markets, slipping into subway stations only to exit three stops later and hail a cab that he ditched after two blocks. Once he sprinted across a busy intersection just as the light changed, forcing you to weave through honking cars and angry drivers shouting in Japanese. Your lungs burned. Your calves screamed. But every time you thought you’d lost him for good, he’d reappear just far enough ahead that you could still see the broad line of his back, the way his jacket shifted with each stride like it was barely containing the power underneath.

By evening, the sky had turned the color of bruised plums, and he’d led you all the way to a quiet industrial stretch near the Sumida River. Warehouses loomed on either side, windows dark, chains rattling in the wind. The air smelled of rust and river mud. Toji stopped at the edge of a chain-link fence that surrounded what looked like an old storage yard. He didn’t turn around this time. Just stood there, shoulders loose, head slightly cocked like he was listening to the way your footsteps slowed behind him.

“You’re still here,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. The irritation in his voice had shifted. Less sharp, more... intrigued? Like he was turning over a puzzle he hadn’t expected to be interesting. He glanced over his shoulder, green eyes catching the last of the sunset light. “Not scared off by the alleys. Not scared off by the speed. Not even by the fact that I could’ve snapped your neck back there and no one would’ve blinked.”

You stopped a few meters away, chest heaving, but your chin stayed up. Sweat trickled down the back of your neck. Your hands were trembling slightly from adrenaline, but you clenched them into fists at your sides so he wouldn’t see.

Toji exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a chuckle but darker. He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and for the first time you noticed the way the muscles in his arm flexed. Casual, effortless, but carrying the kind of strength that could crush bone without trying. “Most people who tail me want something. Money. A job. Revenge. You? You just... follow. Like a stray that doesn’t know when to quit.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He vaulted the fence in one smooth motion, landing silently on the other side, and disappeared between the rows of rusted shipping containers. You climbed after him. Though clumsier, slower, scraping your palm on the wire but you made it. The yard was a labyrinth of shadows and echoing metal. You moved carefully, listening for his footsteps, but all you caught was the distant hum of the city and the soft lap of the river against the concrete bank.

When you finally rounded a container and saw him again, he was sitting on a stack of wooden pallets, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. The duffel bag was open beside him now, and you caught a glimpse of something metallic inside. Tools? Weapons? Before he zipped it shut with a casual flick of his wrist. He was watching you. Not with the flat dismissal from last night. This was different. Calculating. Like he was measuring how long you’d last before you broke.

“Third time’s the charm, huh?” he said, voice carrying low across the empty yard. The scar at his mouth twitched again, but this time there was the barest hint of something else in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Or the first flicker of reluctant tolerance. “You don’t scare easy. I’ll give you that much. Most civilians would’ve pissed themselves by now.”

He stood up slowly, unfolding all that height and muscle until he towered over the space between you. The river wind tugged at his jacket, pressing the fabric against the hard planes of his chest. He took one step closer, then another, until the distance between you felt charged, like the air right before a storm. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint salt of his skin mixed with the cigarette smoke that still clung to his clothes.

“Keep it up if you want,” he said, voice dropping an octave, rougher now. “But I’m not slowing down for you next time. And the places I go after dark? They don’t play nice with pretty little shadows who don’t know when to stop.”

He brushed past you then. Close enough that his arm grazed your shoulder, sending a jolt through you that had nothing to do with fear. You turned to watch him go, boots crunching over gravel as he headed toward the far gate of the yard. He didn’t look back.

But you could feel his awareness of you now, like a hook sunk deep under your ribs. He wasn’t just irritated anymore.

He was starting to watch you back.

You followed him out of the yard anyway, the city lights flickering on around you like silent witnesses. Your body hurt. Your mind was spinning with questions. But the pull was stronger than ever. The stubborn refusal to let go of whatever this was becoming.

Toji Fushiguro had set the rules of the game.

And you had just decided you were going to play them all the way to the end.

The third day felt different from the start.

You woke up before dawn, muscles still sore from the previous day’s marathon through Tokyo’s underbelly. The scrape on your palm from climbing the fence had scabbed over into an angry red line, and your calves burned with every step across your small apartment. You stood at the window overlooking the gray sprawl of Ikebukuro, sipping bitter instant coffee, and stared at the faint reflection of your face in the glass. There were new shadows under your eyes, but your gaze was steadier and sharper now. The curiosity that had first driven you had twisted into something deeper, more insistent. You weren’t just gathering information anymore. You were proving something to yourself: that you could exist in his world without breaking. That the man everyone warned you about wasn’t untouchable.

You didn’t have to search for him that morning. He found you first.

It happened outside the small ramen shop you’d ducked into for a quick breakfast around 7:30 a.m. The place was cramped, steam thick in the air, the clatter of bowls and chopsticks a constant background hum. You were halfway through a bowl of tonkotsu when the stool beside you scraped back. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The sheer presence of him filled the narrow space like smoke. Broad shoulders, the faint scent of cigarettes and clean sweat cutting through the pork broth and garlic.

Toji dropped onto the stool with casual grace, one elbow resting on the counter, his body angled just enough that his knee brushed the side of your thigh under the bar. He didn’t order anything. Just sat there, green eyes fixed on the side of your face as the old man behind the counter slid a bowl in front of him without being asked. The scar at the corner of his mouth pulled slightly when he picked up the chopsticks.

“Morning, shadow,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear it over the noise. The word came out almost lazy, but there was an edge to it now. There was less irritation, more something testing. Probing. “Didn’t expect you to still be limping around after yesterday. Figured you’d sleep in. Nurse those pretty little bruises.”

Your spoon paused mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck at the casual way he mentioned your exhaustion, like he’d been cataloging every sign of strain on your body the entire time. You forced yourself to take another bite, keeping your tone even. “I’m not limping.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Deep and rough, the kind that vibrated through the air between you. “Sure you’re not.” He leaned in slightly, his shoulder crowding yours, the heat of his arm radiating through the thin fabric of your jacket. Up close like this, you could see the fine details: the way stubble shadowed his jaw, the faint white lines of scars disappearing under the collar of his black shirt, the thick muscle of his forearm flexing as he lifted noodles to his mouth. He ate like he did everything else. Efficient, unhurried, but with an underlying power that made the simple act feel dangerous.

He didn’t say anything else for a while. Just ate in silence, his knee still pressed lightly against yours, refusing to give you space. Every time you shifted to create distance, he shifted too, casual as breathing, until the contact felt deliberate. Not aggressive. Not yet. Just… invasive. Testing how far he could push before you flinched.

When the meal was done, he paid for both bowls with a crumpled bill tossed onto the counter, then stood. “Come on. We’re walking.”

You blinked. “We?”

Toji’s eyes flicked down to you, the scar twitching with the barest hint of a smirk. “You’ve been following me for three days. Might as well make it official. Unless you’re finally done playing pretend.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He headed for the door, and you followed. Because of course you did. The streets were just waking up, salarymen rushing past with briefcases, delivery bikes weaving through traffic. Toji set a brutal pace again, but this time he made sure you stayed close. He’d slow just enough for you to catch up, then accelerate without warning, forcing you to weave through the crowd beside him instead of behind. Once, when a group of tourists blocked the sidewalk, he grabbed your elbow. His large, calloused hand wrapping easily around your arm and pulled you through the gap, his grip firm but not bruising. He let go the second you were clear, but the phantom heat of his fingers lingered on your skin for blocks.

The real test came in the afternoon.

He led you into a part of the city you’d only heard rumors about. A decaying industrial zone on the edge of the Sumida River where old factories stood like skeletons, their windows shattered and walls tagged with faded gang signs. The air smelled of rust, stagnant water, and distant smoke from a trash fire someone had lit under a bridge. Toji walked ahead, but every few minutes he’d vanish around a corner only to reappear suddenly behind you, his voice low and close to your ear.

“Still breathing back there?”

You’d jolt, heart slamming, but you never stopped. He did it three more times. Slipping into shadows, then materializing at your side or just behind your shoulder, close enough that you could feel the brush of his jacket against your back. Each time his presence felt heavier, more intentional. He wasn’t just testing your endurance anymore. He was testing your reactions. How you handled the sudden proximity. How long you could hold his gaze when he cornered you against a rusted chain-link fence, one arm braced beside your head, his body leaning in until the space between you shrank to nothing but shared air and the faint scent of his skin.

“You don’t scare easy,” he murmured during one of those moments, green eyes locked on yours from inches away. His voice had dropped lower, rougher, the words vibrating through the narrow gap. “Most people would’ve run by now. Started crying. Begged me to leave them alone.” His free hand came up, not touching you, but hovering near your shoulder, fingers flexing like he was debating whether to push further. The scar at his mouth was so close you could see the faint white line where it cut through stubble. “What’s your angle, huh? You looking for a thrill? Trying to prove something? Or are you just that fucking stubborn?”

Your back pressed against the cold metal of the fence. His body heat wrapped around you like a cage. Solid chest rising and falling steadily, the hard line of his hips only a breath away from brushing yours. It wasn’t sexual. Not yet. It was pressure. Pure, unrelenting pressure designed to make you crack. But you met his eyes, jaw tight, and said nothing. Just held the stare until something flickered in his gaze, reluctant respect mixed with that same growing curiosity.

He pushed off the fence with a low exhale, almost a growl, and walked away again. But the distance didn’t last. By late afternoon he was doing it on purpose: cornering you in narrow passages between warehouses, appearing suddenly in doorways you were about to enter, standing so close in the dim light that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Each time his hands would find casual contact. Fingers brushing your wrist when he “steadied” you after a loose gravel patch, palm pressing lightly against your lower back to guide you around a puddle of oily water. Never lingering long enough to be overt. Always enough to remind you how easily he could overwhelm you if he wanted.

The sun was dipping low when he finally led you into the narrowest alley yet. A forgotten corridor between two crumbling brick buildings, barely wide enough for two people to pass. Trash bags lined one wall, and the ground was slick with something you didn’t want to identify. Toji stopped abruptly in the middle, turning so fast you nearly collided with his chest. He didn’t step back. Instead, he crowded you backward until your shoulders hit the rough brick, his body boxing you in completely. One forearm braced against the wall beside your head, the other hand resting lightly on the bricks near your hip, effectively trapping you without touching.

The alley smelled of damp stone and faint rot, but all you could focus on was him. The broad expanse of his chest filling your vision, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the slow, controlled rhythm of his breathing. His face was inches from yours, green eyes dark in the fading light, the scar at his mouth pulled into a line that was no longer purely irritated.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice low and slow, each word deliberate. It wasn’t a demand this time. It was heavier. More focused. Like he was genuinely trying to peel back your layers. “Three days. You’ve followed me through crowds, alleys, warehouses. I’ve tested every limit I can think of short of putting a knife to your throat, and you’re still here. So tell me. What the fuck do you actually want from me?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, so loud you were sure he could hear it. His presence was overwhelming. Heat, muscle, the faint salt-and-smoke scent of his skin. His knee had shifted forward just enough to brush the outside of your thigh, keeping you pinned in place. Not painful. Just inescapable. The tension in the air crackled like static before lightning, thick and unspoken. You could feel the restrained power in every inch of him, the way he held himself back from pressing fully against you, the way his eyes searched your face for any sign of fear or deception.

You opened your mouth, but the words caught. Not because you were scared, but because you didn’t have a clean answer anymore. Curiosity had become something messier. Stubbornness had become obsession. And standing this close to Toji Fushiguro, trapped in his shadow, made it impossible to pretend it was still just about gathering information.

He waited. The silence stretched, heavy and intimate in the narrow space. His breath ghosted warm across your cheek when he leaned in a fraction more, voice dropping to a near-whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t listen. You don’t run. You just… keep coming back.” His eyes flicked down to your mouth for the briefest second before returning to yours. “Careful, shadow. Keep pushing like this and I might stop telling you to leave.”

He didn’t move away immediately. Let the words hang there, let the proximity sink in. The solid wall of his body, the way his forearm flexed beside your head, the undeniable awareness that he could close the last inch of distance whenever he chose. Then, with a low exhale that sounded almost frustrated, he pushed off the wall and stepped back, giving you air again.

But the tension didn’t dissipate. It followed you both as he turned and continued down the alley, expecting you to follow.

And you did.

The game had changed again. He wasn’t just testing your limits anymore.

He was starting to test his own.

Night had fully claimed Tokyo by the time the fourth day bled into the fifth. The city lights glittered like scattered shards of glass against the dark sky, but where Toji led you now, those lights felt distant and irrelevant. The industrial zone near the Sumida River had given way to something far more derelict. An abandoned shipyard on the outskirts, where rusted hulks of old cargo vessels loomed like skeletal beasts half-sunk in the black water. The air was thick with the stench of saltwater, decaying metal, and something sharper underneath: gunpowder residue and old blood. Wind howled through broken windows and twisted scaffolding, carrying distant echoes of waves slapping against concrete pilings.

You shouldn’t have been here.

You knew it the moment Toji’s pace changed. Earlier that evening he had been almost… tolerant. After the narrow alley confrontation, he hadn’t told you to leave again. Instead, he had moved through the city with you trailing at his side more often than behind, his broad frame cutting a path through the growing darkness. There had been more brushes of contact. His hand grazing your lower back to steer you away from a suspicious group of men loitering under a bridge, his shoulder bumping yours when he stopped abruptly to light a cigarette. Each touch lingered a fraction longer than necessary, sending unwelcome sparks across your skin. The irritation in his eyes had dulled into something heavier, more watchful. He observed you constantly now: the way you breathed through exhaustion, the stubborn set of your jaw, the way you never asked for a break even when your legs trembled.

But tonight he was different. Tense. Focused in a way that made the scar at the corner of his mouth pull tight. The duffel bag over his shoulder looked heavier again, clinking faintly with every step. He had led you deeper into the shipyard without explanation, vaulting over chained gates and navigating the maze of shipping containers and abandoned cranes like he owned the shadows. You followed because stopping now felt impossible, like admitting defeat after four days of proving you wouldn’t break.

The first sign of real danger came as a low whistle cutting through the wind.

Toji froze mid-stride between two towering stacks of rusted containers. His hand shot out without looking, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist and yanking you behind the nearest metal wall. The contact was sudden, his grip iron-hard but controlled, pulling you flush against his side. Your shoulder pressed into the solid wall of his chest, and for a heartbeat you felt the steady thud of his heart against your arm. Calm, deliberate, like a machine built for violence.

“Stay quiet,” he muttered, voice barely above a breath, lips close to your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, carrying the faint trace of the cigarette he’d smoked earlier. “This isn’t part of the game anymore.”

You nodded once, throat tight. Your pulse hammered wildly where his fingers still circled your wrist, thumb pressing lightly against the frantic flutter of your vein. He didn’t let go. Instead, he shifted his body to shield you more completely, his broad back blocking the narrow gap between containers. The heat radiating from him cut through the chill night air, his black jacket brushing your front as he leaned forward slightly to peer around the edge.

Voices drifted from the far end of the yard. Rough, low, speaking in clipped Japanese laced with curses. Three men, maybe four. You caught fragments: “... the hit’s confirmed… Fushiguro’s supposed to be here tonight… pay double if we bring proof…” The metallic click of guns being chambered followed. Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t a random encounter. This was a setup. Someone had known Toji would come here. Someone who wanted him dead.

Toji’s jaw tightened, the scar pulling white against his stubble. His green eyes narrowed, calculating. He released your wrist but only to slide his hand to your waist instead, fingers splaying possessively over your hip to keep you pinned against him and out of sight. The touch was firm, almost grounding, his palm large enough to span a good portion of your side. “Idiots,” he growled under his breath. “They sent amateurs.  

You opened your mouth to whisper something. Maybe a warning, maybe a question, but he silenced you with a sharp look and a slight squeeze at your waist. Then he moved.

Everything happened too fast for you to process properly.

Toji shoved you back against the container with enough force to keep you hidden but not enough to hurt, then stepped out into the open like he was taking a casual stroll. The men spotted him immediately. Shouts erupted. Gunfire cracked through the night. The sharp, deafening pops that echoed off the metal walls. You pressed yourself flat against the cold steel, heart slamming so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. Peeking around the edge, you saw him: Toji moved like liquid shadow despite his size. He dodged the first barrage with terrifying ease, muscles coiling and releasing under his jacket as he closed the distance in three powerful strides.

The first man went down with a sickening crunch. Toji’s fist connecting with his jaw, the force snapping his head back before a knife appeared in Toji’s hand like it had always been there. A flash of steel. A wet gurgle. The second attacker tried to swing a bat, but Toji caught the weapon mid-arc, ripped it from his hands, and drove the end into the man’s gut with brutal efficiency. The third fired again, bullet whining past Toji’s ear, but Toji was already on him. Grabbing the gun hand and twisting until bone snapped. A final, precise strike to the throat, and the man crumpled.

It should have been over.

But you had made a mistake.

In your desperation to see what was happening to understand the violence unfolding in front of you. You had stepped out from behind the container. Just one step. Just far enough for the fourth man, hidden on a catwalk above, to spot you. He had been waiting for an opening, rifle trained on the chaos below. When you moved, his aim shifted.

The shot rang out.

Time slowed.

You felt the impact before the pain. A searing line of fire across your left side, just below your ribs. The force spun you half-around, slamming you back against the container. Your vision blurred with white-hot agony. A gasp tore from your throat as your legs buckled. Blood immediately soaked through your shirt, spreading in a dark bloom against the fabric. The world tilted violently.

“Toji—” The name slipped out, small and broken, before you could stop it.

He was there before you hit the ground.

One moment the night was chaos and gunfire; the next, his arms were around you, strong and unyielding. He caught you against his chest, one massive hand pressing hard over the wound to staunch the bleeding while the other arm banded around your back, holding you upright. The fourth man never got a second shot. Toji moved with lethal speed. His body twisting to shield yours completely as he hurled a knife from some hidden sheath with deadly accuracy. You heard the wet thunk of impact, a strangled cry, and then the heavy thud of a body falling from the catwalk.

Silence fell, broken only by the distant lap of water and your own ragged breathing.

Toji didn’t let go.

His grip lingered, almost bruising in its intensity. He lowered you both to the ground with surprising care, his back against the container for support while he kept you cradled against him. One knee braced on the concrete, the other leg stretched out so you half-lay across his lap. His large hand stayed pressed firmly over your side, applying steady pressure. Blood seeped between his fingers, warm and slick, but he didn’t flinch. His free arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into the solid heat of his body as if he could shield you from the entire world.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough and low, laced with something raw you hadn’t heard from him before. His breath came faster now, chest rising and falling heavily against your cheek. “You stupid, stubborn little shit. I told you not to follow me into places like this.”

You tried to speak, but pain lanced through you, turning it into a weak hiss. Your hand came up instinctively, fingers curling into the front of his jacket, gripping the fabric like a lifeline. Up close like this. Pressed against the hard planes of his chest, surrounded by the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of blood, you could feel every inch of him. The rapid thud of his heart. The tension in his massive shoulders. The way his muscles flexed and held rigid, like he was fighting the urge to do something more violent to the already dead men around you.

His green eyes bored into yours, the scar at his mouth pulled into a tight line. There was no irritation now. No bored dismissal. Just raw, protective instinct blazing in his gaze. His hand on your wound tightened slightly, not enough to hurt more, but enough to remind you he had you. “You don’t get to follow me into places like that,” he growled, the words coming out slower, heavier. “You hear me? This isn’t your fucking game anymore. You almost got yourself killed because you wouldn’t listen.”

His thumb brushed unconsciously over your hip where his other hand still gripped you, a small, grounding motion that contrasted the roughness in his voice. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he adjusted you closer, tucking your head more securely under his chin, his stubble scraping lightly against your forehead. The protectiveness radiated off him in waves. Completely instinctive and possessive, like some primal part of him had snapped into place the moment you were in danger.

“You’re bleeding all over me,” he said after a long moment, tone gruff but quieter now. Almost… concerned? He shifted his jacket, using the inner lining to help press against the wound. “It’s a graze. Deep, but you’ll live. Lucky it wasn’t higher.” His voice dropped even lower, vibrating through his chest into yours. “But if you pull this shit again. If you step out like that when I tell you to stay hidden, I’ll tie you up myself and leave you somewhere safe until you learn.”

The threat should have scared you. Instead, it sent a strange warmth through the pain. His body was a solid anchor in the cold night, all hard muscle and restrained power wrapped around you like a shield. The lingering grip, the way he hadn’t let go even after the immediate threat was gone, the raw edge in his words. It all spoke louder than any irritation he’d shown before.

Toji stayed like that for several long minutes, holding you against him while the adrenaline slowly ebbed. His breathing evened out, but his hand never left your side. When he finally spoke again, it was barely a murmur against your hair.

“Next time… you stay behind me. No arguments.”

He didn’t phrase it as a command to stop following.

He phrased it as an order to stay closer.

The shift had happened.

You weren’t just a stubborn shadow anymore.

And Toji Fushiguro had just proven he wasn’t willing to let you get hurt.

The shipyard faded into memory like a bad dream you couldn’t quite shake.

Toji had patched you up that night with surprising efficiency. No hospital, no questions asked. He’d half-carried you out of the yard, one thick arm banded around your waist to keep pressure on the graze while the other supported most of your weight. Your side burned with every step, blood soaking through the makeshift bandage he’d torn from the inner lining of his own jacket. He didn’t speak much on the way back, just low grunts directing you toward a dingy motel on the edge of the industrial district. The room was cheap and anonymous. Faded wallpaper, a single creaking bed, the faint smell of stale smoke and disinfectant. He sat you on the edge of the mattress, disappeared for ten minutes, and returned with antiseptic, gauze, and a bottle of cheap whiskey.

“Drink,” he ordered, pressing the bottle into your hands while he knelt in front of you. His broad frame took up most of the space between the bed and the wall, knees bracketing your legs as he worked. Those large, calloused hands were surprisingly steady as he cleaned the wound, green eyes focused entirely on the task. Every time you hissed in pain, his thumb would brush lightly over the uninjured skin just above the graze like an unconscious apology. When it was done, he wrapped it tight, then stood, towering over you again.

“Sleep. I’ll be here.”

He didn’t leave. Instead, he dropped into the single chair by the window, duffel bag at his feet, and watched the door. You drifted off to the sound of his slow, even breathing and the occasional click of his lighter.

That had been three days ago.

Everything was different now.

You no longer had to hunt for Toji through crowded streets or shadowed alleys. He found you first.

It started small.

The morning after the shipyard, you woke to an empty room and a note scrawled on the back of a konbini receipt: Don’t move much. Eat. Beside it sat a plastic bag with onigiri, painkillers, and a fresh shirt that was comically oversized that was clearly one of his. When you stepped outside later that afternoon, testing the limits of your bandaged side, he was already there. Leaning against a utility pole across the street, arms crossed over his broad chest, black jacket slung over one shoulder. The scar at the corner of his mouth twitched when your eyes met his, but he didn’t say anything about the previous night. Just jerked his chin toward the sidewalk and started walking.

You fell into step beside him instead of behind.

He didn’t comment on the change.

The new rhythm settled in quietly over the following days, like a current you’d both stopped fighting.

He started noticing where you were before you could even think about following.

On the fourth morning, you were in a small café near your apartment in Ikebukuro, nursing a black coffee and trying not to aggravate the healing graze on your side. The bell above the door chimed, and there he was. Filling the doorway with his height and shoulders, green eyes scanning the room until they locked on you. He didn’t look surprised. Just walked over, pulled out the chair across from you with a scrape of wood on tile, and sat. His knee bumped yours under the tiny table immediately, and he didn’t bother moving it away. The contact was casual now, almost habitual. Warmth seeped through the denim of his jeans into yours.

“Still breathing?” he asked, voice low and rough as he flagged down the waitress for his own coffee—black, no sugar.

You nodded, fingers tightening around your mug. “Thanks to you.”

He grunted, the sound almost dismissive, but his eyes lingered on the way you held yourself, protecting the injured side. Something flickered there. Not quite softness, but a watchful protectiveness that hadn’t existed before the shipyard. When the coffee arrived, he pushed the sugar packets toward you without asking if you wanted any, then leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest. The position made his shirt pull tight across his chest, outlining the heavy muscle underneath. He watched you drink in silence, the quiet between you heavier than it used to be. No more sharp warnings. No more testing routes to lose you. Just this weighted stillness, charged with everything unsaid.

By the fifth day, the pattern had solidified.

He would appear at odd hours. Sometimes waiting outside your building when you stepped out for groceries, sometimes materializing beside you on the subway platform like he’d timed it perfectly. Once, you woke to the sound of your apartment door clicking shut and found him in your kitchen, rummaging through your near-empty fridge like he owned the place. A fresh pack of bandages sat on the counter.

“You’re low on food,” he muttered without turning around. His back was to you, the white compression shirt stretching across the wide spread of his shoulders and tapering down to his narrow waist. The muscles along his spine shifted as he closed the fridge. “Eat better. That graze won’t heal if you’re running on empty.”

You stood in the doorway in an old t-shirt and shorts, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the kitchen felt with him in it. “You broke in?”

Toji finally turned, green eyes dragging slowly over you. From your bare legs to the faint outline of the bandage visible under your shirt. The scar at his mouth pulled into a faint, crooked smirk. “Door was shit. Easy fix.” He stepped closer, closing the distance until the counter was the only thing separating you. Up close, you could smell the faint mix of cigarette smoke and the clean, masculine scent that always clung to his skin. He reached out, large hand brushing the edge of your shirt near the bandage. “Let me check it.”

It wasn’t a request. His fingers were warm as he lifted the hem just enough to inspect the wound, thumb grazing the skin beside the gauze. The touch sent a shiver racing up your spine that had nothing to do with pain. He was close enough that you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows over his eyes when he looked down. His breath brushed your collarbone. The proximity wasn’t aggressive like before, it was deliberate. Possessive in a quiet way. Like he was claiming the right to make sure you were still whole.

“It’s healing clean,” he said after a moment, voice lower than usual. He didn’t step back right away. His hand lingered, palm flattening briefly against your side just above the injury, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. “Good. Means you might actually listen for once.”

The silence that followed was thick. You could hear the distant traffic outside, the hum of the old refrigerator, but mostly you heard the way his breathing had slowed, matching yours. Less distance between you now. Always. Whether walking side by side through evening markets or sitting on the edge of a rooftop he’d dragged you to “for the view,” he kept you within arm’s reach. Sometimes he’d wait for you by leaning against a wall with that lazy, dangerous grace, eyes already tracking your approach before you even turned the corner. Other times he found you first, appearing suddenly but without the old intent to startle. Just… there. Solid. Present.

The interactions grew more direct, too.

One night, after a long walk along the river where he’d pointed out a few “safe” routes you could take if you ever needed to disappear, you ended up back at the same cheap motel. He hadn’t asked if you wanted to go. He’d simply led, and you’d followed. The room felt smaller with both of you in it. Toji shrugged off his jacket, revealing the tight black shirt underneath that clung to every ridge of muscle. He dropped onto the bed, back against the headboard, legs spread in that casual, commanding way of his. Then he patted the space beside him.

“Sit.”

You did, careful of your side. The mattress dipped under his weight, pulling you slightly toward him. He didn’t move away. Instead, his arm stretched along the headboard behind your shoulders, not quite touching but close enough that you felt the heat. The silence stretched, heavier than ever. No more games of cat and mouse. No more sharp commands to stop following. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension. The memory of his body shielding yours in the shipyard, the lingering grip of his hands, the way he’d held you like something worth protecting.

You glanced at him. Toji was staring at the ceiling, jaw tight, the scar at his mouth faint in the dim lamp light. His free hand rested on his thigh, fingers drumming once, twice, before stilling. Then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“You’re not just following anymore.” The words came out rough, almost reluctant. “I know where you are now. Before you even show up. Sometimes I wait. Sometimes I come find you.” He exhaled through his nose, a low sound that vibrated in his chest. “Didn’t plan on that. Didn’t want it.”

He finally turned his head, green eyes meeting yours. There was no irritation left. Just raw honesty edged with something darker. Something that made the space between you feel electric. “But you wouldn’t quit. And now… I don’t want you to.”

The admission hung there, heavy and intimate. His arm behind you shifted slightly, fingers brushing the back of your shoulder in the barest contact. Not pulling you closer. Not yet. But the invitation was there in the way his body angled toward yours, the way the silence pressed in, thick with all the tension that had been building since that first rainy night.

You weren’t his shadow anymore.

You were something he kept close on purpose.

And the realization settled over both of you like a slow-burning fuse, waiting for the moment it would finally ignite.

The tension had been coiling tighter for days, like a wire stretched to its breaking point.

It finally snapped on the sixth night.

You had followed him again. Not out of habit this time, but because the pull between you had become impossible to ignore. The air in Tokyo felt heavier, thicker, charged with the weight of everything unsaid. Toji had spent the evening moving through the quieter districts near Yoyogi Park, his pace unhurried for once, broad shoulders cutting through the sparse crowds under the orange glow of streetlamps. You walked beside him now, no longer trailing behind. His arm occasionally brushed yours, the contact sending sparks across your skin that lingered long after he pulled away. He didn’t speak much. Just the occasional low grunt or a sidelong glance from those sharp green eyes, the scar at the corner of his mouth twitching whenever your steps faltered near a curb or when the healing graze on your side pulled uncomfortably.

But tonight something felt different. The silence between you wasn’t just heavy, it was electric. You could feel it in the way his gaze lingered longer, in the way his hand would hover near your lower back when crossing a street, not quite touching but close enough that you felt the heat. The protectiveness from the shipyard had deepened into something more possessive, more instinctive. He kept you close on purpose now, and every shared glance, every brush of skin, built the pressure higher.

He led you away from the main paths, deeper into the park’s less-traveled edges where the trees grew thick and the city lights faded into a distant haze. The air smelled of damp earth, pine, and the faint sweetness of night-blooming flowers. Gravel crunched under your shoes, and the distant hum of traffic felt miles away. Toji’s steps slowed as you approached a secluded section. A narrow, overgrown path flanked by dense foliage and an old, forgotten storage shed half-hidden behind a cluster of trees. The shed was weathered, its wooden door slightly ajar, the interior dark and musty with the scent of old lumber and dust.

Without warning, Toji’s hand shot out.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pulled you off the path in one smooth motion. You stumbled slightly, but he didn’t let you fall. Instead, he guided you backward into the shed, kicking the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot. The latch clicked into place, sealing you both inside the small, dim space. Moonlight filtered through a single cracked window high on the wall, casting faint silver stripes across the floor and illuminating the hard lines of his face.

The shed was cramped. Barely enough room for two people, especially one built like Toji. Stacks of old crates lined one wall, tools hung on the opposite, and the air felt close, intimate, trapped. He didn’t release your wrist. Instead, he used the grip to turn you, backing you up until your shoulders hit the rough wooden wall. His body followed immediately, crowding you completely. There was no escape now. No distance, no pretending this was still just following or tolerance.

Toji loomed over you, all six-foot-something of solid, battle-hardened muscle. His broad chest filled your vision, the black shirt stretched tight across his pecs and the ridged lines of his abs. One forearm braced against the wall beside your head, the other hand still gripping your wrist, pinning it gently but inescapably above your shoulder. His hips shifted forward, pressing you firmly against the wood, the hard line of his thigh sliding between yours to keep you anchored in place. The heat of him was overwhelming. It was radiating through his clothes, wrapping around you like a brand. You could smell the familiar mix of cigarette smoke, clean sweat, and that underlying masculine scent that was purely him. His breath ghosted warm across your forehead, then lower, brushing your temple.

“You don’t listen,” he said, voice low and slow, each word drawn out like gravel rumbling in his chest. It wasn’t the sharp irritation from the first night. This was different. Darker, rougher, focused entirely on you. The scar at the corner of his mouth pulled as he spoke, his green eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your pulse thunder. “All this time… following me. Pushing. Refusing to quit. Even after I warned you. Even after you got shot because of it.”

His free hand came up, large and warm, sliding slowly from your hip up your side. His palm pressed flat against the bandage over your graze, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing beneath the fabric. The touch was deliberate, possessive. Not gentle, but not cruel. His fingers flexed, thumb stroking just beside the wound in a slow, grounding circle that sent heat pooling low in your belly. He leaned in closer, forehead nearly touching yours, his stubble grazing your cheek as his lips hovered near your ear.

“But you’re still here,” he murmured, the words vibrating through you. “And I don’t want you gone anymore.”

The admission hung in the thick air between you. His thigh pressed more firmly between yours, the powerful muscle flexing as he shifted his weight, effectively pinning you harder against the wall. The proximity was complete with no space left to retreat. You could feel every inch of his body: the solid wall of his chest rising and falling against yours, the hard ridges of his abdomen, the unmistakable heat and weight of him growing heavier against your hip. His grip on your wrist tightened just enough to remind you he had control, but his thumb brushed over your pulse point in a slow, almost soothing rhythm that contradicted the roughness in his voice.

Toji pulled back slightly so he could look at you fully, green eyes dark and hooded in the moonlight. The scar made his expression look even more dangerous, more raw. “I’ve been watching you. Waiting for you. Finding you before you even start looking for me.” His hand on your side slid higher, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace bare skin. Calloused fingertips dragged slowly up your ribs, avoiding the bandage but teasing the sensitive skin around it. “This body… stubborn as hell. Taking a bullet because you wouldn’t stay hidden. Healing slow because you keep pushing yourself.”

He leaned in again, nose brushing along your jawline, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. His voice dropped even lower, slower, a deep rumble that sent shivers racing down your spine. “I could’ve left you behind a hundred times. But I didn’t. Because somewhere along the way, I started liking having my shadow stuck to me.”

The hand under your shirt continued its slow exploration, palm flattening against your stomach, fingers splaying wide to claim as much skin as possible. He pressed his hips forward deliberately, letting you feel the full, hardening length of him against your thigh. The thick, insistent press of his arousal through his pants. It wasn’t rushed. It was claiming. Rough-edged and instinctive, built from days of proximity and tension. His thigh rocked subtly between yours, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, the friction deliberate and unhurried.

“You feel that?” he growled softly, mouth now hovering over the pulse in your neck. His lips brushed the skin there, not quite kissing, but close enough that his breath scorched you. “That’s what you do to me now. All that following… all that refusing to run. You woke something up, and I’m not putting it back to sleep.”

Toji’s grip on your wrist finally released, but only so both of his hands could slide down your body. Large palms gripping your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh with possessive strength. He lifted you slightly, just enough to pull you more firmly against him, your feet barely touching the ground as he held you pinned between his body and the wall. The position made you acutely aware of every powerful inch of him: the way his chest crushed against your breasts, the flex of his abs, the thick bulge grinding slowly against you with controlled rolls of his hips. His mouth finally made full contact. Hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, teeth grazing lightly, tongue soothing the sting. Not soft. Rough. Hungry. Like he was marking territory he’d decided was his.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, voice thick and low, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, squeezing hard enough to pull a gasp from you. He rocked his hips again, slower this time, letting the heavy ridge of his cock drag along your core through your clothes, building friction that made heat flood through you in waves. “Tell me you don’t want this. That you’re done following. That you’re walking away.”

But his actions contradicted the words. His other hand slipped higher under your shirt, cupping your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles that matched the rhythm of his hips. His mouth moved to your collarbone, sucking a mark into the skin, then higher to your jaw, nipping lightly. The shed felt even smaller now, the air thick with the sounds of your mingled breathing. His deep and ragged, yours sharper, catching on every deliberate grind.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, forehead resting against yours, green eyes burning with raw need. Sweat glistened at his temple, his hair slightly disheveled from the way your free hand had unconsciously tangled in it. His chest heaved against yours, muscles taut under your palm where you pressed against him.

“But you won’t say it,” he murmured, voice a low, slow drawl. “Because you’re not leaving. And neither am I.”

Toji captured your mouth then, not gently. The kiss was rough, claiming, all teeth and tongue and pent-up hunger. His lips moved against yours with dominant pressure, tongue sweeping in to taste you deeply as his hips continued their slow, relentless grind. One hand stayed on your ass, holding you tight against him, the other tangling in your hair to tilt your head exactly how he wanted. He kissed like he fought. Always efficient, overwhelming, and leaving no room for retreat. The hard length of him throbbed against you with every roll, the friction building higher, the heat between you scorching.

When he finally broke the kiss for air, his lips hovered just above yours, breath mingling hot and heavy. His hand on your waist slid lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your pants, dipping just inside to brush bare skin.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growled, voice rough and edged with that instinctive possessiveness. “All those days… pushing my limits. Now I’m pushing back. And I’m not stopping unless you make me.”

He didn’t wait for words. Instead, he rocked against you again. Slower, deeper, letting you feel exactly how hard he was, how much he wanted this. His mouth found your neck once more, sucking another mark while his fingers explored lower, teasing, promising more. The tension that had started with irritation and stubbornness had finally ignited into something raw, physical, and utterly consuming.

In the dim moonlight of that forgotten shed, Toji Fushiguro wasn’t telling you to stop following anymore.

He was claiming the shadow that had refused to leave his side.

And the night was far from over.

The air inside the shed felt thicker now, heavy with the scent of sweat, wood dust, and the raw, unmistakable musk of arousal that clung to both of you. Moonlight still sliced through the cracked window in thin silver beams, catching on the sheen of sweat along Toji’s collarbone and the faint tremble in your hands where they pressed against his chest. His heartbeat thundered under your palms. Strong, steady, but faster than before, betraying the control he was barely holding onto.

Toji’s forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged and hot against your lips. The hard, thick length of him still pressed insistently between your thighs, throbbing with every slow rock of his hips that dragged delicious friction through your clothes. His large hands gripped your waist and ass with possessive strength, fingers digging into soft flesh like he needed to anchor himself. The scar at the corner of his mouth was pulled tight, his green eyes dark and half-lidded as they bored into yours.

Neither of you had said the words yet. But the silence spoke volumes.

He shifted his weight, one powerful thigh still wedged firmly between yours, keeping you pinned to the rough wooden wall. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged his hips back just enough to create a sliver of space, then rolled forward again. Deeper this time, grinding the heavy ridge of his cock right against your core with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest into yours.

“Fuck…” The word slipped out rough and broken, his voice even lower than before, slow like molten gravel. “You feel how hard you make me? All that stubborn following… all those nights I could’ve snapped and left you behind. Instead, I kept letting you get closer.”

His hand on your ass squeezed harder, pulling you more firmly onto his thigh while the other slid up your back, under your shirt, palm splaying wide across your bare skin. Calloused fingertips traced the line of your spine, then dipped lower, teasing the waistband of your pants again. He didn’t rush. Every movement was controlled, instinctive, like he was savoring the way your body responded to him. The way your breath hitched, the way your hips instinctively rolled to meet his slow, relentless grinding.

Toji leaned in, capturing your mouth once more in a deep, claiming kiss. His tongue swept in without hesitation, tasting you thoroughly, dominating the kiss with the same rough efficiency he used in everything else. Teeth nipped at your lower lip, then soothed with his tongue. When he pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected your lips for a second before breaking. His eyes flicked down to your swollen mouth, then back up, dark with hunger.

“You’re not my shadow anymore,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick and slow. “Haven’t been for days. You’re with me now. Whether you like it or not.”

The words settled over you like a brand. His hand finally slipped fully inside your pants, large palm cupping you over your underwear, fingers pressing with just enough pressure to make your knees weaken. He rubbed slow, firm circles, feeling the heat and wetness that had built there from all the grinding and tension. A low, satisfied rumble escaped his chest when he felt how soaked you were.

“Wet already,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “All that tension… all those days of me cornering you, holding you, protecting what’s mine. You’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you? Wanting me to stop telling you to leave and start keeping you close for real.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your hips in one smooth motion. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, but it was immediately replaced by the scorching heat of his body as he pressed closer again. Toji’s own pants were shoved down just enough to free himself. His cock springing heavy and thick against your stomach, the head already slick with pre-cum. He was big. Intimidatingly so. Veined and flushed, curving slightly upward, the sheer size of him making your core clench in anticipation.

Toji gripped your thigh with one hand, lifting your leg to hook over his hip, opening you to him. The position left you completely at his mercy, back still pressed to the wall, his broad frame caging you in. He dragged the thick head of his cock through your folds. Slow, teasing, coating himself in your wetness before pressing forward just enough for the tip to nudge at your entrance.

“Last chance,” he rasped, voice rough but his eyes searching yours with surprising intensity. The scar twitched as his mouth curved into a dark, possessive half-smirk. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you’re walking away. Because once I’m inside you… there’s no more following. You’re staying. With me. Where I can keep you safe. Where I can have you whenever I want.”

His free hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, smearing the wetness from the kiss. He rocked his hips again, the blunt head of his cock pressing harder against you, stretching you just slightly but not pushing in fully yet. The restraint in his body was palpable. Muscles taut, jaw clenched, every inch of him vibrating with the need to claim you completely.

But he waited.

Because despite the roughness, despite the instinctive possessiveness, this was still Toji. The man who had tested you, pushed you, protected you. He wouldn’t take what you didn’t want to give.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

Instead, your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Your hips tilted forward in silent invitation.

Toji’s eyes darkened further. A low, feral sound rumbled from deep in his chest.

“Good choice.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open with a burn that bordered on overwhelming. His cock filled you completely, the heavy weight of him pressing deep until his hips were flush against yours. The groan that tore from his throat was raw, almost pained with how good it felt. He stayed buried to the hilt for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours again, breathing hard as he let you adjust to his size.

“Fuck… so tight,” he muttered, voice strained and slow. “Taking me so well. Like you were made for this. Made for me.”

Then he started moving.

Not fast. Not frantic. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his cock almost all the way out before sliding back into the hilt. Each thrust was deliberate, powerful, grinding against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he fucked you against the wall.

The shed filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your mingled moans, and his low, gravelly curses. Toji’s mouth found your neck again, sucking dark marks into the skin while one hand slipped between you to rub firm circles over your clit in time with his thrusts. His thigh muscles flexed with every deep push, the power in his body evident in every controlled movement.

“You’re mine now,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No more games. No more warnings to leave. You stay with me. You follow me because you want to… and because I won’t let you go.”

His pace gradually built. Still deep and thorough, but harder now, the wet slap of his hips against yours growing louder in the small space. Sweat slicked both your bodies, making every slide of skin against skin smoother, hotter. Toji’s free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you again. Messy, desperate, tongues sliding together as he drove into you over and over.

When your walls started fluttering around him, clenching tight, he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through you.

“That’s it… come for me. Let me feel you.”

The orgasm hit you hard. Waves of pleasure crashing through your body as you cried out against his mouth. Toji fucked you through it, hips never stopping their deep, punishing rhythm, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive in his arms.

Only then did he let himself go.

With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot pulses filling you as his hips jerked against yours. His arms wrapped around you completely, holding you tight against his chest as he rode out the aftershocks, face buried in the crook of your neck.

For a long time, neither of you moved.

Toji stayed buried inside you, softening slowly, his arms a solid cage around your body. His breathing gradually evened out, but his grip never loosened. When he finally pulled back enough to look at you, his green eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. Still sharp, still dangerous, but laced with something deeper. Satisfaction. Possession. Quiet acceptance.

He brushed a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead, thumb lingering on your cheek.

“No more ‘don’t follow me,’” he said, voice rough but quiet now. The scar at his mouth curved into the faintest, most genuine smirk you’d seen from him yet. “You’re with me. Wherever I go. Whatever shit I drag you into. You stay close. I protect what’s mine.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time, almost tender in its roughness before carefully lowering your leg and helping you steady yourself. He fixed your clothes with surprising care, then his own, though he kept one arm looped around your waist like he couldn’t quite let go yet.

The shed door creaked open as he pushed it with his shoulder, the cool night air washing over you both. Toji glanced down at you, green eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. Got a better place in mind for round two.”

He didn’t ask if you were coming.

He already knew you would.

Because you weren’t following anymore.

You were with him.

And Toji Fushiguro had finally stopped fighting it.

“got outta the gym late. lost track of time,” he walks two steps to the kitchen pulling out two energy drinks, a protein drink, and a couple protein bars. “fuck,” he cups his crotch, palming himself through his low hanging sweats. he opens his shake. “accidentally swiped on that video ya’ sent me from the summer. I watched the whole thing between my sets.” his hand tips back, throat bopping as he chugs the shake, eyes closing as he sees the video play back in his mind, hand still on his bulge.

you’re leaning against the column between your smaller than small living room and kitchen, eyeing the way he’s shamelessly groping himself in front of you, men. you sigh, internally.

“hey,” he suddenly appears in front of you, towering. his musky scent fills your nose as he cups your neck, the other resting on your hip. he slowly lowers himself, tilting your chin up with a thumb as his lips connect with yours again. “haah,” he sighs, kissing your lips like it’s his saving grace, his sweats hang low on his hips as he presses himself against you. “remember that video?” he husks, “the one with ya’ spreading your legs out for the camera—“

you gently press a hand to his chest again, cheeks flushed, but stomach churning uncomfortably. “ryo—“

“wanna see this pussy,” he doesn’t even hesitate, he drops his head to your neck, kissing the exposed skin before dropping to a knee, hands on your hips. “wanna smell how good she is—“

“ryo,” you press a hand to his forehead, face aflame, as you push him back. your heart hammers as he frowns up at you, jaw tight and hands tightening around your waist. “I got my period yesterday.”

….

a silent beat passes.

then.

FUCK!

sukuna is horrible at controlling his face.

you immediately notice his dilated pupils dissipate, and the excitement die behind his eyes. your lips purse, making a my bad king type of face. but sukuna looks absolutely destroyed, his head drops forward, desperately trying to control his eye roll, but you catch it , along with the way he presses his face into your stomach, and groans. loud. uncontrolled.

“sorry…I forgot to text you, and you came all the way here,” you pat his shoulder apologetically, though you’re not super sympathetic since it’s not your fault.

“ya’ have cramps or some shit?” he grumbles against your sleep shirt.

“had crazy cramps this morning, but just like…not in the mood right now,” you cringe while saying it, but sukuna just sighs.

you bite your cheek as you watch him sit back on his heels. his black sweats straining against his thighs, his bulge shameless as it presses up against the material. your eyes flick over him again, wetting your lip as you reach for his hair. hesitant. but eventually…your manicured nails run through the slightly damp, salmon colored hair. you watch in silent awe as his lashes weigh down, and his jaw tightens like he’s holding himself back. your nails scratch his scalp, lightly, but enough to elect a raw groan from the back of his throat.

you bite your lip, eyeing the dark flush crawling up his neck, and dusting his cheeks a light pink. his large palm rests on your outer thigh and the other flexing as it grips his erection. how far will he—

“not cumming in my fucking sweats,” he suddenly barks, getting to his feet. your hand drops as he walks towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head, he kicks the door shut behind him.

your lips purse again, biting your cheek as you hear the shower turn on. men.

that was how sukuna dealt with his fuck buddy being on her period. somehow always finding out last minute that you’re bleeding, and in no mood for action — except for those very rare occasions, well he can’t divulge too much now since you never want him to mention it again — and he’s forced to take care of his problem in your shower. his rough calloused palm — a contrast from your soft smaller ones — jerks his painfully hard throbbing cock to the images of you floating in his mind until he’s finally shooting his thick white load all over your shower wall. haze clearing up as he watches the cum slide down. and then he’ll step out of the bathroom, usually wearing a pair of sweats he’d forgotten here, along with a plain black tee, and crash on the couch as you do your homework. he’ll eye you a bit, but eventually shift his attention to the tv and knockout.

it would be difficult for those five to seven days, especially when you would be slightly more clipped with him, or just plain bitchy and short tempered (like him). but it’d get him all hot and bothered, especially since he can’t act on it.

that was sukuna’s perception of a woman’s cycle. before he never cared, now he cares just a little more because he can’t have sex with you when you’re on your period.

but as smart as sukuna is, it takes a little more brain power for him to realize what this is.

this being, how he’s wound up because he’s trying to get through this studying for an upcoming exam. he’s far from prepared for and the best way for him to study is to be around someone who takes it seriously— you. and yet…

and yet, you won’t stop moving!

at first you were sitting across from him in the library. then you shift to the seat at corner of the table, and then you move to sit directly beside him.

“you need help?” he suddenly cuts. you’re shifting beside him stops, brows pulled in confusion.

“was just uncomfortable, am i disturbing you?”

his brow twitches, but you were completely innocent. your brow pulled up, like he’s the crazy one, and not you, who’s moved around like ten times in the last hour!!

“just a little,” he mutters, putting his headphones back on and turning back to his work. luckily, you seem to have settled down, attention back on your own studies. engrossed in your review sheets and notes, as sukuna reviews for his own exam.

however, what the fratboy did notice was even when shoko stopped bye to chat, and utahime came to whisper some gossip to you between her class, you didn’t move once. his brow quirked briefly when utahime chatted across the table, and instead of getting up and going to the hallway to talk freely, you remain seated, right beside him, and right against him.

what’s going on?

“I swear I told the girl I didn’t even know who she was talking about it—but she didn’t even care. girl! I wasn’t talking to your ex,” utahime rambles in hushed whispers, similar to the whispered conversations at other tables.

your brows furrow in shock, “what the hell?? why the heck is she even confronting you in the middle of class though? that’s so weird.”

“that’s what I’m sayinggg!!!”

sukuna has every reason to snap at you both right now. to tell you two to shut the fuck up or go outside. seriously, it was distracting as fuck. but his mind was short circuiting and stumbling around all because of how fucking close you are to him.

his arms are leaning over the table, biceps bulging from his tshirt, scribbling practice equations and notes. and you’re leaning over in an identical position, but your side is fully pressed against his arm. your zip up hoodie resting around your hips after you’d shrugged it off, and your usual cold skin was searing hot against his. skin to skin. and it’s been like that for the past twenty minutes.

usually when your friends stop by to ramble you have the curiosity to step away so he can study. but not this time— well you did a similar thing a month ago too. sticking to him like glue. brushing your fingers over the veins of his forearm—

“okay, I’ll update you later, but thanks for letting me borrow your airpods!” utahime concludes her rant with finally returning your airpods and running off to her next class. sukuna lets out an air of relief, relaxing beside you.

finally, some peace and quiet in the library.

…shift…

well, it could only last so long.

his brows furrow as he glances over at you, your cheek is now resting on his arm, mindlessly reading your notes like this is normal. is it because he’s finally anxious about an exam after so long, that he’s noticing how touchy you’re being? or maybe you’re not in the mood to do your work and in the mood for something else—

tch, he doesn’t have time to find some room to fuck you in though. it’s the middle of the day and the library is packed. the last thing you’d want is for someone to see you both. however, he can’t even tell if you want any action right now. it just looks like you’re tired…and clingy…?

sukuna exhales, thumb pressing against his jaw in thought, while you shift again, oblivious to his internal turmoil, cheek smushed against his arm…

“you hungry?” he interrupts, desperate for his mind to quiet down.

“not really,” you mutter, focused on your homework.

his lips downturn, pen tapping the desk, “I’m gonna grab another celsius.” he suddenly stands, startling you for a moment, noticing the way your pretty lashes blink in surprise. you’re definitely just focused on school…but last month you were acting the same-ish…if he’s right, then when he comes back…you’ll…

he places a celsius in front of you, eyes flicking over you as he sips his drink. you hum in distracted appreciation, like you can’t even see him sliding back into his seat, legs spread, and arms coming up back to the table to grab his pen. but like glue, you’re sliding yourself right beside him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, and taking a subtle inhale.

what the hell?!? it’s like he can predict you’re every move now?!

it didn’t stop there. the puzzle pieces are starting to come together slowly. especially when you subtly kept a grip on his arm muttering how he can finish studying at your place, without the distraction of the frat—which you rarely pressure him to do a night before an exam. except instead of going straight to the bathroom to shower, you followed him to your couch and sat beside him.

“do you mind if I turn on the tv?” you ask with such an unnerving amount of gentleness, glancing at him with your full undivided attention.

his brow quirks, why’re you looking at him like that? “it’s your place, woman.”

you hum, relaxing back, albeit pressed to his side and your knees tucked up, as he leans over on the coffee table (aka your only desk in your small ass apartment) reviewing more work. but just moments later he’s sliding to the floor for more comfortability—

“why’d you move?” your voice cuts through the quiet apartment.

“huh?”

sukuna glances back, brow quirked with confusion at the frown you’re wearing. “leaning over is fucking with my back,” he tsks, earning him an uncharacteristically quick attitude switch from you — your eyes roll, your entire body slumps further back on the couch that you’re basically laying across it, and your cute bottom lip juts out in an irritated, subtle pout. seriously? sukuna scoffs internally. you’re acting like such a brat??? for real this time.

your cheeks press against the cushion. your hypnotizing eyes flick between his, then eventually settle on his lips. they’re slightly chapped, pink…pretty…kissable…

“ya need something?” he snaps without any bite. you’re zoning out again. your eyes drift off, and your lips part lost in thought. “zoning out—“ are the words that you here before you feel an aggressive (light in his mind) flick to your forehead. “again!”

“ow!” you groan loud, face quickly turning and pressing into the cushion in annoyance. “what the hell!” your muffled yell barely comes out.

“what the hell me?” he tsks, rough hand landing on your head, and turning your face back for air. “I was talking and you did that shit again—“

“what thing?!” you scoff, brows pinched in anger as you stare into his eyes….his deep…dark…lidded…crimson eyes…..haah—

“that,” he exhales, hand softening on your temple, and irritation slipping away with your usual antics. “how do you even zone out that fast?”

your glossy lips part, manicured nail brushing your bottom lip, heat pooling between your legs, and eyes half lidded… “was thinking about your eyes.”

the softness of your tone was more shocking than the actual words that came out of your mouth. or it was the combination of both. or the bluntness of your gentle honey sweet voice that took sukuna by surprise…

but he blinked. once. twice—

“first it was your lips,” you whisper with a breathless sigh. your finger carefully reaching out and touching his lips. you mimic the way he parts his lips with your own. his thick brows creating a shadow over his lidded eyes. “then your eyes.” you explain with such clarity, it had sukuna short circuiting as he tries to rationalize why you’re acting this way—

“that’s why i zoned out,” you conclude, shifting closer to the edge of the couch, closer to him. your eyes dot up at him, brushing his bottom lip, pulling it down with a thumb. “you distract me sometimes.” you’re tired…it was a long day of classes and it was the middle of the week. that has to be the reason, sukuna thinks.

by now, he knows that look.

you wanna fuck.

“Mmm,” you whine the moment he presses his lips to yours. your tongue immediately finding his as your nails course through his hair. tugging. “make me cum, ryo.”

he snorts in your mouth, rough hand pushing your shirt up, thumbing your bra before hooking his thumb under and lifting up. “should’ve just told me ya want your pussy wet—“

“it’s already wet,” you cut, “been wet all day.”

shiit, he groans into your lips, pushing his hand down, past your waistband. “fucking slut.” a breathy gasp slips out as he cups your wet sticky pussy. “fucking drenched, dirty brat.” his teeth sink into your bottom lip as you whine louder, unaware how sukuna’s neck is unbelievably red. why do you taste sweeter?

“Mmm lift your hips up,” he husks. you don’t get the chance to react when he’s suddenly yanking your pants and drenched panties off. “spread ‘em.”

your tongue pokes your bottom lip, opening your legs for your fuck buddy. his huge palms press against your thighs, grabbing fistfuls and licking his bottom lip as your sticky pussy comes into view. his pupils dilate as he watches your hole twitch. and your scent immediately hits his nose. “you’re gonna taste so good today.” he mutters to himself, but your brow lifts.

“what’s different about today?”

he leans forward, eyes flicking up as he exhales. is he drunk? his eyes roll back, cock throbbing in his pants and he inhales again—fuuck, you smell so much sweeter, “nothin.” his tongue shuts you right up as he licks a long wet lewd strip up your folds. your back immediately arches off the couch, nails digging into his scalp as his beefy arms lock around your thighs, moaning. your sweet honey floods his taste buds…this pussy has always hypnotized him, aroma consuming him and taste intoxicating him…but now that he thinks about…this small little difference in taste and scent, a bit sweeter, happened last month—

“ryo—haah ah mmh ya like my pussy?” your eyes flutter as you keep them on sukuna’s flushed face.

his eyes roll back, completely falling apart between your thighs as he groans a deep husky, “fuck yeah.”

your stomach burns hot at his voice, and voice pitching higher as his tongue delves inside your hole. “haaaah—your mouth is so good, baby—ngh been wet all day,” you confess in your pleasure. “was staring at your hands all day, ryo—they’re so big…l-like your di—ahh—“ fuck you’re talking a lot, sukuna groans, annoyed how worked up your voice is getting him.

his tongue laps and sucks, his salvia creating an even bigger mess. he pulls away, cheeks dusted a deep red as he spits directly onto your puffy clit, pupils dilating as he spreads the mess all over your swollen clit. “these hands,” he runs his calloused palm over your lower stomach. your pupils grow black with lust. pupils blown as you stare at the way his hand encompasses the entire surface. his crimson irises dilate once he sees the lust all over your face. “want them inside ya?”

you nod, immediately.

he doesn’t wait.

two long, thick fingers push past the initial tightness, feeling the gummy walls of your pussy hug his digits with delight. your jaw falls slack, drool slipping as he leans down to plant wet kisses along your lower stomach, forearms and biceps flexing as he pistons his fingers in n out. the squelching fills his ears as you moan above him.

“ngh! fuh ryo, feels good, kiss—kiss me down there—“ you push his head down until his lips connect with your clit again, sucking. rough. mean. teeth sinking just hard enough to make your eyes water and a choked cry slip your lips. “ryo,” you mewl with such lewd sweetness that this huge 6’5 hunk is practically moaning in response. “ry—my pussy—ahh gun —mmm c-close—gun cum—“

but sukuna has already lost all sanity with how good your slick tastes. his eyes roll back pushing you over the edge. “mmm fuck!” you cry, lashes wet as they flutter from the pleasure coursing out of you. his throat bops swallowing and lapping your sweet slick like it’s a drug — which it might as well be with the way his cock is throbbing in his boxers just from eating his fuck buddy’s sweet pussy. “taste like fucking honey,” he groans, cleaning you up like a dog. he pants, catching his breath as he climbs up to your lips like a starved animal. he smashes his lips against you, kissing your spit slicked lips with a loud groan. how do your lips taste sweet too?

“gonna be a good brat and let me fuck this tight pussy?” He grunts, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans down along with his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock.

your tongues collide, dumb whine coming from the back of your throat, and hands running up and locking around his neck. “f’course.”

fucking you rough and fast on the couch as you babbled like a dumb slut, drunk on his cock, had him seeing stars. he was desperately trying to figure out how you're handling him with how uncharacteristically rough he’s being, but you haven’t told him to stop.

"ry—aa-haah!"

shit. he'd flipped you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips , ass in the air as he slams his thick throbbing cock in from behind. his rough palm is pressed into your lower back keeping you in that deep arch he loves, and hand cracking the nth spank to your sore ass. "feel good?"

"so good ryo—wanna cum again -cum-ngh haah please please-"

unbelievable.

and it’s not until he’s panting on the couch, your limp body resting across it, completely and utterly spent, does he realize just how rough he was being. his jaw tenses, as the fog clears up.

“hey…” his voice treads lightly, cautious as he turns on the couch, glancing at your resting form. your shirt covers your breasts after he finally came and let you lay back on the couch. but his spend leaks out of your abused hole, and your ass is still burning from his mean spanks. “hey…” he leans over you, hand brushing your waist. grounding. “you okay?”

he watches carefully as you turn on your side, eyes heavy as you blink up at him. “yeah…you okay?”

“you okay with how we fucked?”

you don’t blink, “yeah.”

yeah, somethings up. he was rough, even he knows that much. and you took it well. more than well, you were begging for me.

all of those should’ve been signs. the closeness, the slight sweetness spike in your slick and saliva. how unbelievably heavenly you smell, all the time. how you didn’t mind how rough he was. but the cherry on top was the party friday.

the frat is lit up like a damn fever dream. neon strips line the railings, glow paint smeared across walls and skin, bass from the dj bleeding through the floors as the pool outside shimmers under colored lights. it’s packed, but not suffocating. invite-only for once. people actually have room to breathe, but it was mainly because they didn’t want any complaints so early in the semester.

sukuna is sat back on the patio couch, shirtless, skin still damp from the heat, a thin sheen of sweat catching the lights every time he moves, tattoos flexing over his well defined muscles. gojo was loud beside him, geto half-listening while scrolling on his phone, a couple other guys scattered around with some girls mingling between them. but sukuna isn’t paying attention to any of it.

he has a drink in his hand, untouched. his eyes keep drifting. back to you. somewhere near the edge of the pool, laughing at something utahime is saying, glowing under the neon like it was made for you. your bikini hugged your tits so well he’d pop a boner if he stares too hard. the droplets run down your soft skin, as he sees you fix your necklace as you say something to your friend.

he clicks his tongue, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “you ever notice they act different sometimes?” he mutters, low enough that it doesn’t carry past the music.

nanami, sitting beside him in swim shorts, thick legs spread open for all to eye and an open button up putting his defined abs on full display, along with the sneaky patch of blonde hair peaking out of his waistband, doesn’t even look up from his phone. “that’s a very broad statement.”

sukuna exhales through his nose. “nah, like—” he pauses, frowning slightly, like he’s trying to piece a puzzle together when he doesn’t have all the pieces yet. “it’s not random.”

nanami studies him for a second, then follows his line of sight, and finds you immediately. is he starting to realize his feelings for you?— “not random how?”

sukuna tilts his head, “just… different. clingier. or—” he gestures vaguely with his drink. “more into it.”

nanami raises a brow. “into what.”

sukuna gives him a look like don’t be fucking stupid.

nanami hums, finally catching on, taking a slow sip. “you’re asking if there’s a pattern to women’s behavior.”

“i’m saying there is one,” sukuna mutters aggressively. “i just don’t know what the hell it is.”

“you know,” nanami says calmly, “they have cycles.”

there’s a beat. then sukuna leans back, jaw ticking slightly, still watching you. “yeah I fucking know that,” he mutters. “It’s annoying.”

nanami glances at him again, lost. “what is.”

sukuna doesn’t answer right away. just takes another sip, eyes narrowing faintly. “the way it’s not consistent.”

nanami huffs quietly, amused now . “if you’re starting to notice now then it is consistent.”

sukuna side-eyes him. nanami is no better than gojo or geto, he’s just more subtle about his innuendos. “I’m not noticing shit—“

nanami shrugs, setting his glass down. unaware that gojo and geto have agreed on teams.

“okay! water volleyball!” gojo’s voice cuts clean through the bass, already halfway to the pool as he grins like he’s been waiting for this all night. a cheer ripples through the patio. of course it does. a house full of athletes, half-naked, girls in bikinis, a competition handed to them on a silver platter? yeah, they’re moving before the rules are even explained.

geto stretches his arms above his head as he stands, “hey! the love of god,” he mutters, loud enough for the frat president t to hear him, “try not to break anyone’s teeth this time.”

gojo laughs, already hopping to his side of the pool because obviously he’s one of the captains. “no promises.”

sukuna’s already up, taking the second captain title and just like that — whatever train of thought he was stuck on snaps clean in half. gone. replaced with something sharper, more familiar. his shoulders roll once, loose, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the space, the people already splitting into sides. his team or gojo’s team. they’re always on opposite teams. it makes it more fun.

“don’t get in my way,” he tosses to gojo as he steps around to his end of the pool, his hand brushing his stomach as he crack his neck.

“you wish,” gojo shoots back.

people start gathering, some hanging back to watch, others eager, slipping into the water, calling out sides, laughing as they pick teams. a younger pledge scrambles to the middle, already trying to take control after geto shoves him in to the play referee, whistle in hand like this is some official match.

and of course, even as chaos takes over the yard. your eyes find him. instinctive, like something in you locks in and refuses to look anywhere else.

sukuna stands at the edge, skin still glistening under the neon, muscles flexing lazily as he stretches his arm over his head. his back, his shoulders, the deep v- line that has your eyes following down to the tuft of light hair peaking out the same one you always find yourself caressing during foreplay— it’s too much. it’s always too much, but tonight it sits heavier in your chest, lower in your stomach, something warm and insistent that doesn’t let up between your legs.

your clit throbs.

“wait—” utahime grabs your wrist, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. “you hate this stuff.”

you don’t even look at her. “it’ll be fun,” you murmur, already pulling away. and then you’re moving. slipping from your seat on the edge of the pool and jumping in.

the water hits cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s been building under it. you swim to sukuna’s side, breath catching slightly as you orient yourself to the chaos around you, because normally, usually, a crowded sweaty pool was something you’d avoid, but—he’s already looking at you. your thighs press together.

his eyes are not casual, not passing, he’s looking. his gaze drops first. slow and deliberate, catching the faint mark on your neck, the one he left last night, barely visible under the colored lights. his jaw ticks. then lower, just for a second, the way your body shifts in the water, the ripple of movement as you steady yourself, the rise and fall of your breasts threatening to spill out. the water calmly rocks underneath them. then his gaze shifts back to your face, and you’re still staring at him. you’re not even trying to hide it.

something about that makes his brow twitch.

because you’re not looking away. not when he meets your eyes. not when the noise around you spikes, not when someone splashes too close. your focus stays locked, heavy, almost… expectant.

it lingers a second too long. then—

“teams set!” the pledge yells, blowing the whistle way too aggressively. “first to ten— no cheap shots—“ he glances around before catching geto lounged on the other side of the pool, some girl already pressed against his arm. “OH! no punches or choking!”

“shut up and start it,” gojo calls from the other side, already grinning, bouncing lightly in the water.

sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off you for another beat. then he exhales through his nose, turning slightly, shoulders squaring as the ball is tossed into play and he’s in the pool.

the game starts rough. the second the ball is tossed, two guys are already lunging for it. water splashing high, bodies colliding mid-air before someone spikes it hard across the pool. girls moved out of the way, squealing as huge men fight. a chorus of shouts erupts from the sidelines, music still blasting behind it, neon lights flickers over wet skin and moving bodies.

gojo, the ever responsible fraternity president, grins like a man possessed on the other side. sukuna, the very responsible vice president, is barking like a mad man.

and of course, the competitive idiots fall into rhythm with each other. fast, aggressive, locked in, and every hit gets harder, a slightly more violent. every return is sharper and people start gathering closer to the edge, phones out, recording, yelling their names like it’s a real match instead of a drunk frat game.

“c’mon, kuna!” someone shouts.

“gojo! spike that shit!”

water slaps against tile. everything is moving fast, bodies move out of the way so they’re not hit by the aggressive spikes from the frat hosts. but they still refuse to leave the pool because it’s fun, messy, loud, and heated.

and then the ball comes your way. your eyes widen, barely able to think, so you just react. your hands come up, fingers pushing against it just right, and somehow, you’re sending it up in a clean arc, right to him.

sukuna moves instantly….he jumps, sculpted body cutting through the air, arm pulling back before he slams the ball down with violent force, sending it crashing into gojo’s side of the pool.

a winning point. a cheer explodes. and when he lands, water dripping down his shoulders, he glances at you, canines on display, as his deep voice cuts through the chaos to say, “good girl.” it’s low, automatic, and it slips out without thought, just like how he’d praise you when you’re alone, and his voice is raspy as he whispers it in your ear, cock usually deep in your guts as he gives you another mean thrust that you take with pride, pussy clamping when he bottoms.

something fast, hot, and dizzying rushes through you. your chest tightens, skin buzzing as your breath stutters for a second. your thighs press together instinctively under the water, pulse kicking up in a way that feels almost overwhelming. and from that moment on, you stick to him. you try to chase the ball for him, pushing it back into his reach every chance you get, doing your best to avoid the large men playing the game. but your focus narrows, locked in on your hot fuck buddy like nothing else exists. every movement feels sharper, more urgent, your body reacting before your brain can catch up.

on the sidelines, people notice. how can they not? most of the girls “playing” cling to the perimeter. and then there’s you, being an idiot, but a very hot one, throwing yourself in the middle. your bikini clings tight from the water, fabric hugging every curve, shifting every time you jump or twist. a few guys on the edge of the pool don’t even bother pretending they’re watching the game anymore. their eyes track you instead, murmurs passing between them. someone whistles when you jump to set the ball, breasts bouncing freely in the flimsy bikini top, your nipples hard underneath as water cascades like some playboy ad.

but sukuna, is too locked into the game to notice.

the first round ends with his team winning, and the second starts almost immediately, louder than before. people are picking sides now, chanting, recording, some still dancing on the grass behind them, focused on the dj, drinks sloshing as the party refuses to slow down around the chaos of the pool’s game.

you’re still right there again when it starts. you doubt you’re even playing anymore, but you wanted to see him, watch him jump high and spike the ball. watch the ink on his back ripple with his muscles. the same defined lines that you caress at night, and hug—

your attention is so narrowed, that you don’t even notice the guy at first. bodies are moving like a blur that you don’t focus on another moving behind you. until it’s too near, too familiar for someone you don’t know. then, a hand brushes your bare side under the water, lingering just a second too long making your blood run cold.

your eyes snap wide. “what the fuck!” you twist instantly, shoving him off hard, water splashing between you as your stomach turns. only a few people notice, the rest too consumed by the game until you’re moving straight towards a certain captain.

“THAT’S A FUCKING FOUL GOJO—what the—“

your arms wrap around him from behind without hesitation, pressing into him, chest flush against his back as you cling to one familiar form. tight, and instinctive.

it catches him off guard, just for a second. his body tenses slightly under your grip. his muscular arms lift, head turning halfway to see, “who the fuck—“ grabbed him in the middle of game! but then he sees you. and his eyes glance down at your familiar hands holding his chest. your name slips out of his lips, confused what you’re doing, but then the ball’s already back in play. and somehow he keeps going.

even with you wrapped around him, weight clinging to his back, he still moves, still blocks, still lands a hit that sends the ball flying back over the net. it’s messy now, uneven, but he’s too competitive to stop, jaw tight, focus split but still sharp. water splashes everywhere. people are yelling. gojo laughs from the other side. “what the hell is that— you got a handicap now?”

sukuna clicks his tongue, annoyed, shifting slightly to keep his balance with you still latched onto him. you don’t let go. not once. “you drunk?” he tries to talk to you mid-game.

“yeah,” you mutter over the music. but as more people fill the pool, and the third round feels much more chaotic, sukuna begins to notice. your grip tightens every time someone gets too close, every time someone accidentally touches you, every time your head spins just a little from the alcohol and the heat and everything. your cheek presses against his back, breath uneven, body still buzzing in a way you don’t fully understand, other than the fact that you can feel how hot it is between your legs. he smells so good…

the game drags on— until finally— gojo’s team takes the last point. a loud cheer erupts from his side, people splashing into the pool, celebrating, phones still up capturing everything.“told you,” gojo grins, pushing his wet snowy hair back, muscles flexing for the cameras as he sticks his tongue out.

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed, shoulders tense— he doesn’t shake you off. but unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance.

you’re suddenly ripped away.

“wha—! what the fuck!” you yelp as a pair of hands grab you from underneath, a drunk junior dunking under the water before popping up with you lifted high onto his shoulders. just for the crowd to erupt.

“OH SHIT— chicken fight!”

“LET’S GO!”

“get her, get her!” other guys in the pool dunk under and lift a few laughing girls up. but you’re not one of them. your thighs clamp instinctively around the stranger’s head just to keep from slipping, heart racing, balance completely shot as water drips down your legs and chest. your hands fly to his hair, trying to steady yourself, panic flashing across your face. you didn’t agree to this. your eyes lock with sukuna immediately. wide. confused. he’s not your boyfriend— but he’s still…

something in him snaps. he straightens, fast. too fast. the playful edge from seconds ago gone completely, replaced with something sharp and violent, jaw tightening as his eyes drag over the way the guy’s hands are gripping your thighs— and the whistles from the crowd don’t help, especially when your hand reaches to adjust the way your bikini top had shifted.

“damn!”

sukuna’s fist curls. “get your fucking hands off her,” he bites out, already moving forward through the water, splashing hard as he closes the distance.

the guy just laughs, drunk, clueless and not listening. “relax, man, it’s just a chicken fight. ever heard of those?”

he doesn’t get to finish. sukuna’s already pulling his arm back, when you squeak.

“wait—!” you gasp, trying to shift your weight, panic spiking as the situation spirals way too fast—but before anything can land another pair of bodies crash into you. a second drunk chicken fight slams into your side, bodies colliding, completely losing balance. and then everything goes under. water rushes over your head in a blur of limbs and noise, the guy beneath you losing his footing as you both go down. you barely have time to register it before a hand grabs you. hard.

sukuna’s arm wraps tight around your waist, yanking you up and out of the water in one sharp motion. you cough, sputtering slightly, fingers clutching onto him as he steadies you against his side. he doesn’t even look at you at first. he’s glaring past you.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he snaps, voice low and dangerous, water dripping from his hair as he stares down the guy who just broke the surface, coughing. “you fucking grab girls without permission and I’m fucking snapping your arm in half!”

the junior lifts his hands, half-laughing, half-defensive. “yo, chill— it’s just a game—”

“i said don’t touch her,” sukuna cuts in, sharper this time, stepping forward like he’s ready to swing anyway.

the energy shifts instantly. people nearby start stepping in, hands coming up.

“aye, chill, chill—” one tries to come between them. sukuna doesn’t even notice that you’d managed to slip from his grip, still coughing as you swim to the steps of the pool, heart pounding as utahime, having seen the entire interaction helps you out.

“you okay?” she sits in front of you on the edge handing you water.

you nod, chugging half the bottle, before breathing again, “swallowed like…” you gag, “a disgusting amount of that pool water.” utahime cringes as she glances at the pool. the interaction growing even more heated, as a crowd watches sukuna curse out the junior.

“anyone else fucking grab a girl without her permission is getting fucking banned from this frat permanently!” sukuna shouts. murmurs break out across the crowd, a few glance towards you, as utahime notices, but you’re too busy washing your mouth out to care.

gojo’s aloof attitude steps in after coming back with a sweet juice in hand. “okay, okay, we’re clear on consent aren’t we guys?”

people hum, cheering for the games to continue. but then…

“didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

it lands this time, cutting through the noise and sticking just long enough for a few whistles and low laughs to ripple through the crowd. the kind of comment meant to poke, to stir, to see what the hot headed vp will do with it. but what’s worse is that a majority of the crowd has no clue what your relationship is with sukuna. aside from the frat members.

sukuna doesn’t even look at him, and he doesn’t correct it. it’s not because he wants to claim you. not because it’s true. but because it’s annoying—because explaining it, denying it, entertaining it at all feels like more effort than it’s worth. he’s your fuck buddy, he knows that, you know that, and thats all. his jaw tightens once, eyes already elsewhere, done with the conversation before it can grow legs because then he’ll really break his fucking arm.

the party moves on like it always does. music swells back up, as gojo and geto thank the heavens that sukuna was in a good mood before the argument that he wasn’t tempered to continue the fight. luckily the drinks are raised again. gojo’s already laughing, pulling attention away, and just like that the moment dissolves into noise.

sukuna’s focus shifts and lands on you.

you’re still on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, skin slick and glowing under the neon lights. your bikini clings tighter now, nipples pebbled under your soaked top, every curve on display, highlighted by the shadows of the lights above. it makes it impossible not to look. droplets trail down your thighs, catching the light as you tilt your head back slightly, still rinsing your mouth out, brows furrowed in clear disgust.

utahime sits in front of you, just as eye-catching to the hungry men around, her own bikini hugging her frame, water beading along her collarbones as she watches you with a mix of concern and amusement.

and people are staring. not subtle glances—staring like you’re something to watch. something to linger on. like the game earlier just shifted into something else entirely and now you’re part of it without agreeing. no wonder you hate these parties.

it irritates him, fast.

sukuna clicks his tongue under his breath and pushes forward through the water, tall enough that even standing in the pool, he closes the height between you easily. the neon catches on his skin too. his broad shoulders still damp, muscles flexing as he moves, water sliding down his torso in slow lines. he’s not unaware of the way people look at him either—girls nearby pausing mid-conversation, eyes dragging over him openly—but he doesn’t care. not right now. not when he reaches you.

his hand comes up without hesitation, settling on your exposed thigh where it hangs over the edge of the pool. his palm is warm even against your wet skin, fingers spreading slightly, firm enough to ground, possessive. the contact is immediate. deliberate.

the shift is noticeable. a couple of those lingering stares drop off instantly. only then does he look at you. his gaze flicks over your face, still a little flushed, still catching your breath, before settling. his gaze is steady, assessing the way your glossy lips part with an exhale after chugging an entire bottle of watet.

“you good?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher around the edges from the leftover tension. his thumb moves slightly against your skin without thinking, a small, absent motion that doesn’t match the sharpness in his expression.

utahime has to hold back an eye roll, especially when his gaze flicks over your face, then your lips. unbelievable. what’s with him? what’s stopping him from asking you out if he gets so hot headed and possessive—ughhh…utahime holds back her anger, because she was pissed when someone suddenly grabbed you and then had you dunked in the water. why does sukuna have to be so fucking weird though?! she internally curses out sukuan for being the person that always protects her best friend, but acts like a complete jerk another second.

“how much sweat did you drink?” sukuna asks, tone laced with amusement .

your eyes snap, face grimacing, “shut the fuck—up,” you gag again, hand coming up to your mouth just for utahime to snort and sukuna to bark with laughter.

“did i tell ya why we had to drain the pool last year—“ sukuna starts, utahime’s eyes widen.

“oh my god I remember!”

your face pales, nails digging into sukuna’s shoulder while the other still covers your mouth. “don’t you dare tell me.”

sukuna grimaces with an amused expression remembering what happened at last years pool party. but distracting you has somehow managed to isolate everything else around him and have his sole focus on the way you wipe your mouth with a napkin utahime — and now nanami and geto at her side — comes back with, and the way your fingers shift from his shoulder to his forearm resting across your damp lap. and the conversation flows afterwards.

gojo was still on the dance floor, completely in his own world, some girl is pressed to his side as neon lights strobe over him laughing, loud, untouchable in the way he always is. meanwhile, the edge of the pool has settled into something more intimate and funny. the conversations around overlap as you all joke loudly and throwing around slight bickering, cooling off from the chaos, but still very much alive.

and with all that, you hadn’t left. even after everything, you’re still sitting where you are, leg still dipped in the water, skin dewy under the lights, bikini keeping your pretty tits in view for a certain salmon haired man. your hair is slightly damp, pushed back from your face, exposing the curve of your neck—the faint mark sukuna left the night before still visible if someone looks close enough. and you smell heavenly. fuck if you’re alone, he’d bury his nose closer to your breasts to smell the sweat clinging.

but people are looking. they always are now.

they just don’t linger as long anymore. not with him there. sukuna leans into the edge of the pool, upper body braced beside you, his arm draped behind your back like it naturally falls there. his other hand rests lazily against your thigh, fingers tapping absently against your skin as he takes a sip from his beer. his shoulders are broad, still slick with water, veins visible along his arms as they flex with every small movement.

he looks just as much of a problem as ever. and the attention doesn’t stop, girls nearby still steal glances, whispers, watching the way he’s positioned so close to you, the way his hand hasn’t moved from your leg once. but what’s more interesting, is that you don’t move either.

you don’t push him off, don’t shift away. if anything, you lean just slightly into his space, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his forearm where it rests across your lap, like it’s second nature. you like it there.

and sukuna notices. of course he does, with how touchy and clingy you’ve been these past few days. yes, he’s shocked you haven’t left, or haven’t asked him to go upstairs with you. instead you’re being so uncharacteristically attached.

his gaze flicks down for a second, watching the way your fingers move against his skin, something unreadable passing through his expression before he looks away again, taking another sip like it didn’t just register. his stomach churns when you lean forward slapping nanami’s stretched out hand after he said something funny.

“why the fuck are you guys sitting here?” gojo’s voice cuts in suddenly, dripping with disbelief as he approaches, hair damp, grin lazy. he looks down at your little group, then at the pool like it personally offended him. “this is embarrassing.”

utahime snorts. “she almost drowned, idiot.”

“she’s alive,” gojo shrugs immediately, already grabbing a drink from someone nearby. “get in the hot tub. it’s waaaay better!”

a couple girls attached to him nod eagerly, already following his lead as he starts heading that way without waiting for an answer. utahime glances at you. “you wanna stay out or…?”

you don’t even hesitate as you hum, soft. “yeah, why not.”

sukuna catches it.

the group starts moving, the energy shifting with them as they make their way toward the hot tub. somewhere along the path, nanami and utahime get pulled into another conversation, stopping off to the side, leaving you and sukuna to keep going without them. your skin burns as sukuna keeps a subtle hand in your lower back, biting his lip when you reach the hot tub and you step in front of him. his gaze drops to the movement of your ass, your bikini was so skimpy it’s definitely clinging on to your pussy lips too. fuck,

by the time you step into the hot tub, the heat hits instantly. you sigh without meaning to, tension melting from your shoulders as the warmth wraps around you, soaking into your skin. your body relaxes almost immediately, the contrast from the cooler pool making everything feel heavier, slower.

sukuna steps in right after you. and immediately shoves two guys aside with a sharp nudge of his shoulder. “move.”

they do quickly without argument, clearly frat members. he settles in beside you, close again, like earlier, like he didn’t just create that space for you.

gojo drops in for half a second, splashing water everywhere before grimacing. “it’s too hot,” he complains, already climbing back out. “i need another drink.”

and just like that, he’s gone again. leaving you, sukuna, and the rest of the group laughing, talking. the conversation easy as the night keeps rolling around you. especially when geto comes back with some girls and red solo cups for beer pong.

“don’t spill any in the hot tub!” sukuna barks as the girls organize the cups in place on the edge. geto slides into the pool with the ping pong balls.

“shh shh i know,” he zips his friend up as he takes aim. and as the party is brought back to the hot tub, you’re all swept up again. and your eyes are following every movement of your friend beside you. the way he’s shouting and laughing with his frat brothers, the conversations turning to fog when sukuna flexes his large bicep, the ink that wraps around it highlights how big they are. you can’t even recall the context of this sudden flex off, but you’re not complaining.

you watch his throat bop as he throws back another cup of beer, standing beside geto. your eyes trail over his sculpted chest. you suck in your bottom lip as sukuna falls back beside you. his arm draped behind you along the edge of the hot tub, barking another laugh at some crap geto is spewing, completely distracted.

“I swear TO GOD, you told me to go for that dive!” geto throws his hands up, flabbergasted.

“nah nah nah—“ sukuna shouts over, shaking his head with an amused expression, “I told you—“

“nah—satoru!!” geto looks over his shoulder, waving down the president. “SATORU!”

gojo’s head whips around. however, the debate is the furthest thing from your mind, honestly you can’t even understand what these idiots are talking about. but— there’s one idiot that smells heavenly.

sukuna distracted, doesn’t notice how much closer you’re pressed to him, how your lashes flutter at the mix of cologne and chlorine flooding your nose, and dizzying your mind. he’s so—uh..when men— your brain is short circuiting. literally. mind so consumed by how big and strong this man beside is, that all you can think about is how he protected you. he pulled you out of the water. snapped at that guy…for you.

you’re not normally this moved. but it was the series of events that unfolded, all in the last few hours, that has you doing what you do next.

“please! you know i did not agree to that!” geto tsks, pointing his finger at gojo who’s laughing, sitting at the edge of the hot tub, legs in. and the two — along with the rest of the group involved in the debate — are distracted, and unaware of the fact that the pretty girl that sukuna almost started a fight over, is slipping her pretty hand inside his swim shorts.

sukuna tenses. breath hitching.

his eyes snap to you, stomach clenching. “what’re you—“ he chokes when you squeeze his thick base without warning. your cheek casually presses against his shoulder, wetting your bottom lip. your leg is tucked against his side, as the other swings over his knee, pretty tits squished against his arm. your wrist rolls, stroking his flaccid cock alive.

“ryo…” you speak low enough so that only sukuna can hear. “was jus’ thinking about you.” his jaw tenses, hand clenching at the edge of the tub, leaning his head down.

“you’re the one that doesn’t like this shit,” he husks, throat bopping as you bat your lashes up at him, bitting your lip as you give his cock another squeeze, pushing your wet tits against his arm. “there’s people—“

“then be normal, ryo,” you say, all while nuzzling him like a clingy g— “just wanted to feel how big you are.”

his heads tips back, what’re you even saying?

you keep your cheek pressed against his shoulder, lip tucked between your teeth as you stroke the vp’s fat throbbing cock in the middle of a party and in a hot tub full of his close frat friends.

it wasn’t difficult for his dick to fully harden within seconds of your hand making contact. you let out a soft exhale, pressing your practically naked body against him like you could get any closer than you already are. but to make matters worse, he was so unbelievably turned on that you were touching him in public! fuuck, his stomach flexes, biting back a groan when your thumb swipes his bulbous tip, the water made it difficult for you to keep a fast pace stroke, but his skin was still prickling with heat.

“ryo, is this okay?” you softly pant in his ear, a hum like moan escapes your lips just by the way he exhales through his nose, turning his head to you, aroma engulfing you.

to anyone else it just looked like you were having a private conversation with each other. the hot tub and pool, a few feet away, booming with chaos, no one was paying attention to you guys. but even with all that information, sukuna — who spreads his legs further apart in the water, biting his lip when you kiss his neck now, sucking a light bruise on his flushed skin — knows that you’d never do this. you get touchy when you’re drunk, whispering dirty shit in his ear. but you’ve only had a couple drinks to make you tipsy enough to enjoy the party and remember, not black out drunk to jerk him off in public.

“yeah—it’s okay,” his head drops forward, hot red flush crawling up his neck and stinging his cheeks as he nudges your head with his.

“yeah?” you repeat with a coo.

he bites back a pathetic groan, arm sliding to your waist under the water, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it. you’re intoxicating.

“yeah baby.”

a flush of heat runs between your legs at his deep bedroom voice. sukuna is so hot, he’s so hot, so pretty, so sexy! you squeal internally, leaning closer to press your lips against his sharp jaw, whining just low enough for him to hear. your wrist twists down his cock. you hadn’t even full realized that you’d taken him out of his swim trucks, to possessed to care as his fingers dig into your waist, while the other balls into a fist against the tube’s edge.

“are you close, ryo? is your big cock gonna cum?”

unbelievable.

sukuna’s jaw tenses, abs tightening just by your voice. you’ve been hanging up on how big he is. how big his hands are. how big his dick is — scratch that, you’re using the word cock now. yeah he’s gonna fuckin’ cum soon if you keep talkin’ like that.

“there’s so many people around ry,” you shy quietly, “you don’t think they know I’m playing with you?” your slightly tipsy eyes bat up at him, pupils completely dilated. his eyes briefly sweep around him, the alarms flashing in his mind don’t seem to phase him as he drops his lips down to brush yours.

“what if they are aware?” he husks, lidded eyes boring into yours. “does that make y’r pussy wet?” he wets his lip, thighs flexing when you give his cock a squeeze as he speaks. “ya like knowing that there’s eyes everywhere…watching your slutty self jerk me off.”

your brain short circuits. face burning hot.

“I’m not a slut,” you whisper, just as you’re practically straddling his thigh now, with the way you’re inching closer to him every second. his hand slides from your waist to your ass, gripping the flesh as he pulls it apart letting you feel the warm tube water touch your heated pussy.

“you’re gettin on top of me—“

“to protect your dignity,” you attempt a frown, but your eyes keep flicking to his lips, brushing your lips against them again, just for him to pull back, again.

“didn’t take you as someone so generous,” he quips, hips angling up, subtly telling you to keep stroking him, even if it’s starting to feel like edging. “but,” he bites back another groan, “but to me, ya just look like another slut that wants to get her little pussy stuffed.”

you blink. once.

sukuna can see the lust burst behind your eyes. your thighs clamp around his beefy thigh, your hand squeezing his tip, and your lips parting. “is that so bad?”

ah fuck.

“you can’t say those words to a man,” sukuna’s rasps.

you pout, pressing your wet breasts against his chest, trapping his cock between your bodies. your hot breath fans against his face, scent invading his mind, and your lips brush against his, this time licking his bottom lip. once. twice. your tongue strokes his bottom lip, waiting for him to invite you in, whining a little louder when he refuses. “ryo.”

his large palms grip your ass. your flimsy bikini could easily be pulled to the side, exposing you just like him. your cheeks flush, arching even more, your arms are tossed around his broad shoulder, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, desperate. needy. “I’ve been holding myself back ryo,” you quietly speak, unaware how much like déjà vu this feels. memories of last month flashing in his mind about those exact words coming from your lips as you climbed into his lap in the middle of a party. “you have to take care of it.”

“i have too?” he quips with a sharp edge in his tone.

your flush with embarrassment, lips petting as your eyes flutter shut, “please…please can you take care of it.”

unbelievable.

his cock twitches violently against your stomach. his muscular thigh flexes under your pussy making your lips part.

as you and sukuna speak in hushed whispers. a good group of people have take notice of the awkward shifting in the hot tub and the unrecognizable look on sukuna’s face. but specifically the girl that the sukuna let attach herself to him during a violently competitive water volleyball match and almost pick a fight with. he’s smirking as she whispers in his ear, her lips even pressing his lobe, making the intimidating vice president blush?!

“her tits are all over him,” one whispers, taking a sip as they watch from a distance, both sitting at the pools edge watching the events unfold a few feet’s away in the hot tub. it’s not obvious unless you’re staring as hard as these guys, or if you’re a certain man laughing as you stand up at the edge of the tub, face dropping for a millisecond when you catch your vice president getting off by a hot girl.

fucking animals, geto shakes his head, eyes flicking to gojo, easily communicating with him about you know.

gojo’s brows pinch glancing over from his seat at the edge of the tub, to— “oh shit!”

geto elbows him. “idiot!”

gojo’s hands fly to his mouth, laughing hysterically as he stares at the way his short tempered friend is blushing like crazy, and making it obvious to anyone that he’s getting his dick touched right now. “do they know what they’re doing?” gojo speaks in hushed whispers.

“obviously,” geto sits beside gojo, the tub water doesn’t seem to be appealing anymore. and yet there’s still a few people on the sides laughing, too drunk to notice.

“fucking pervs,” gojo snickers.

a beat passes.

then gojo turns, eyes wide when he sees geto staring blankly at him. “what?”

“you’re worse!” geto slaps him upside the head. gojo gasps in shock. “I can’t even remember how many times you fucked someone in here and in the pool—“

“hey,” gojo frowns, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “that was…b-because they were hot.”

geto scoffs, “you weren’t even subtle about them, everybody knew you were fucking them. YOU’RE the biggest perv.”

gojo nods, “yeah…”

your whine flows directly into sukuna’s ear, lips coming back to his. “why won’t you kiss me?” you quietly demand.

his dimples press into his cheeks as he bites back a smirk. “we’re jus’ talking,” he says your name, but in that deep way he does when he’s stuffing you with his cock…which he’s not.

you sit up closer, sliding higher up his thigh, knee rubbing harshly against his cock — “ah!” you squeal suddenly straddling his lap instead of his thigh. his red irises sink into yours, watching the way your glossy lips part glancing at the surface of the hot tub trying to make out how close his cock is to where you need him. “you’re hard ryo.”

“and?”

your eyes flick up to him, pretty brows pressing together, “and we’re not jus’ talking—“

“y’know—“ he suddenly chokes.

you’ve moved your bikini to the side, and pushed his cock down, fully sitting on his cock and sliding across it, hips shaking, stimulating your needy clit.

your name cuts through the air, his grip moves to grab your hips, trying to keep you still, but his body betrays him as he bucks against you. “fuck, woman.”

your lips press against sukuna, whining like a desperate slut when he finally kisses you back. and this was why he didn’t want to entertain you this quickly. the sweet taste of your lips immediately rush the heat down into his cock, his arm wraps around your back, holding the back of your head as the other grips your ass, groaning as your lips smack in wet hungry kisses. your tongues collide, spit collecting in your mouth as he groans in response.

sukuna has to be responsible. he has too. but you’re such a fucking slut— touching his cock, stroking him in public, rubbing your body (his biggest weakness) against him like you’re alone together. and now rubbing you’re humping his cock like you can even feel something with the water’s friction.

all of it was a factor, and for some unexplainable reason, all the dots seemed to have connected at this exact moment—like a huge light bulb going off in his head.

“shit.”

you hum at the way his deep voice sends a warm heat blooming in your stomach. “are you turned on, ryo?” your lips purse, kissing his, unaware of the sudden realization he’s come too. “keep kissing me.”

your fingers thread through his short locks, gripping him as you keep his lips moving yours.

but sukuna’s palm splays across your spine, groaning at the you can’t even stop to catch your breath. then his grip tightens. his mouth drags slower this time, more deliberate. he’s testing something, and the way you react—how quick you melt back into him, how your nails press into his shoulders like you’re holding on and the pitched whine that leaves your lips when he tries to pull away.

“how bad d’you need me?” he murmurs, voice low, rough, right against your pretty lips.

you don’t hesitate. “so bad,” you breathe, almost frustrated, because it’s obvious.

his eyes flick over your face, searching, calculating—then narrowing slightly. “yeah?” he hums, thumb pressing into your waist, grounding you as you shift again, his cock snug between your folds. “why,” he asks, tone not soft or gentle, but testing.

you shake your head slightly, breath catching, fingers tightening on him. “because— i just—” you exhale sharply, frustrated, needy, “i just want you to touch me.”

that’s all he needs. a quiet, almost amused exhale leaves him, something darker settling behind his eyes now. nanami’s little comment about “noticing now” makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. it doesn’t mean anything that you’ve had this friend with benefits deal long enough for him to start noticing a pattern every month. especially when this part comes around and you’re practically begging him to just touch you. he highly doubts that you even notice it.

“been like this all night,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, but his grip doesn’t loosen. if anything, it gets firmer. “can’t keep your hands off me, huh?”

you don’t even deny it. you just pull him back in. and this time he lets you. let’s you kiss him like it’s your last time, let’s you tug his hair like he belongs to you. let’s you pull away with panting at him through glossy lidded eyes.

and then sukuna notices.

the shift.

your breathing breaks. shallow and uneven. you can’t quite catch it as your lips part, soft, glossy, letting out these higher, breathier sounds that you’re not even trying to hold back anymore. it’s quieter than the music, but he hears it. feels it.

his grip tightens instinctively.

your hips are moving without any rhythm now. they’re slow, needy, desperate. your body chasing something it can’t reach fast enough. your fingers press into his lower stomach, clutching there like you need something solid to hold onto, your head tipping forward, lashes fluttering like a fucking angel. and your mouth falls open. a soft, pitched sound slips out of you—one you don’t even seem aware of—and it’s enough to make something dark flicker across his expression.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath, eyes locked on your face now, watching every little change his cock twitching uncontrollably.

your brows pinch, then your body tenses, then softens, like a wave hitting and pulling back all at once. your grip on him tightens, thighs pressing in, grounding yourself on his cock without even thinking about it.

and he doesn’t move. doesn’t interrupt it. he just watches. because now he knows. and all he can think is how unbelievably hot you look in his eyes—like something wired wrong in his brain just flipped on. women that are ovulating mean they’re more likely to get pregnant. fuck. why is his brain latching onto that part? you’re his fuck buddy. this is simple. it is simple. it’s perfectly reasonable—completely normal, even—for him to get turned on thinking about how much you cling to him, how much you crave him, how much you need him, how your body reacts to him like this. that doesn’t mean he wants to get you—

absolutely the fuck not.

but still…fucking women. you’re insane. his brain is short circuiting while you’re coming undone on his lap, in a hot tub, in the middle of a packed party.

and the way you’re panting, your breasts pushed together as you keep a hand on his lower abs, pussy spasming as your orgasm rocks through you, has something low and satisfied settling in your fuck buddy’s chest. his hand slides up your back again, slower this time, more deliberate.

“yeah…” he murmurs, almost to himself, thumb pressing lightly into your side as your breathing tries to steady. “that’s what i thought.”

his lips ghost over you.

then he feels it…the eyes.

his dark gaze flicks up. meeting the dilated blue and black ones, along with the others in the crowd. they all saw, didn’t they. witnessed something that had his jaw tightening and his pupils returning to their size.

“fuck me,” you pant quietly, arms lazily coming back to his shoulders coming down from your climax. you kiss him deeply, unaware of the mess you’re causing inside his brain. “I’ve heard people say hot tub’s make you orgasm better,” you lick his tongue, “because of the hot water.”

his grip tightens around you, eyes open and staring past you at the people eyeing the arch in your back as you make out with him like you didn’t just hump yourself to an orgasm in public.

“do you wanna cum too ryo?” your mischievous smile would’ve made any man buckle, but sukuna wasn’t any man. and he sure as shit isn’t a fucking cuck.

“no.”

his sudden tone shift had you pulling back, wet hand touching his damp cheek. sukuna’s thick brows were pulled tightly, clearly angry, at what? you’re not sure. but you’re too lax to think much of it as you squish his cheeks between your fingers. his tatted arm possessively hugged you, eyes briefly leaving the not so subtle audience behind you, to meet your glass eyes.

“you mad I came before you?” you tease, head tilting in mockery. cute. “it’s okay, I’ll make ya cum,” you whisper, smile gracing those sinful lips for yours. “I’ll let you choose too…”

fuck, you’re insane.

“…my hands…my lips….or my tight, pretty pussy….”

sukuna snorts, eyes meeting yours. “unbiased much.”

you shrug biting your lip, batting your pretty lashes at him. “you always call it that. I’m just using your vocabulary, mister suh…ku…nuh.”

that was his final straw, because in a blink of an eye, sukuna’s tucking himself and pushing off the tub’s seat, standing up. water cascades down the sharp planes of his abs, his swim trunks clinging low on his hips—leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

and people notice.

of course they do.

your jaw drops for half a second, eyes going wide before heat floods your face so fast it almost burns. you shoot up right after him, fist clenching at your side, brows pinching tight. “what’re you doing?”

“we’re going upstairs,” he says simply, like there aren’t a million eyes on him, more specifically his thick bulge. girls are openly staring now, not even trying to hide it as their gazes drag over him, over the obvious outline pressing against his trunks.

your stomach twists. uncomfortable. sharp. ugly. you don’t name it. you won’t name it because it’s stupid. you no claim, no say, no right to feel any type of way about who looks at him or how they look at it. but still, your jaw tightens because the way they’re staring is making your blood boil and it’s like they’re in on something they’re not supposed to be. they’re looking at something that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you. just you.

your eyes flick back to him, to the way the water trails down his body, the way he stands there like he doesn’t give a single fuck about the attention. and it only makes it worse. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone. something untouchable. and everyone’s fucking touching him with their eyes.

your lips press into a thin line, pulse uneven, heat sitting low in your stomach now for an entirely different reason as you step closer to him without even realizing it, hand settling on his stomach blocking the view from the onlookers. your fingers twitch. and you hate…hate how much it bothers you.

“you’re hard,” you huff, pushing him to step out of the tub, heart beating uncontrollably.

sukuna snorts, leaning down, “yeah no shit.”

“people are staring,” you grit.

your pulse stops. the air shifting around you, then you feel it. sukuna’s eyes bore into you, as his palm cups the side of your neck. your lips part in confusion when his gruff voice cuts.

“they’ve been staring.” the muscles on his jaw flex, pupils moving over your face as his gaze drops to your body. “they all…” his words trail off. he can’t say it…he can’t tell you they all fucking saw you cum, or the way your entire form looked like something straight out of every guys wet fantasy. all because of that unspoken tug that twists in his chest as you look up at him.

his head tips back in defeat.

unaware of the turmoil, you continue pushing him back, glancing briefly over your shoulder to see a few eyes not on the party but staring at sukuna.

“can you walk faster,” you mutter.

sukuna suddenly grabs your wrist after another push backwards, almost making him trip. his grip is firm and fast, yanking you back toward him before you can take another step, your body colliding lightly into his chest. water still drips from both of you, heat clashing with the cool night air as he steadies himself, jaw tightening for a second.

“watch it,” he mutters, low, though there’s no real bite to it. if anything, there’s something else there. his hand doesn’t leave your wrist. instead, it slides up, fingers curling tighter as he pulls you closer. closer. until there’s barely any space left between you. you barely get a word out before he leans down and kisses you.

hard.

it’s sudden. messy. all teeth and heat, like he’s cutting off whatever rush of thoughts were building in your head. your hands come up instinctively, gripping into his shoulders as he angles you just right, one hand now firm at your waist to keep you there. your lips part, immediately tasting his skilled tongue.

and around you, the party doesn’t stop. it never does when it’s grown this chaotic. but there are pockets, small ones, where people notice. gojo, still leaning back against the hot tub’s edge, lets out a low laugh. “zero awareness,” he mutters, clearly entertained. geto just shakes his head, amused, watching the scene unfold like it’s expected. neither of them have the energy tonight to call their friend out, but they’ll be sure to give him shit tomorrow.

but off to the side, a couple girls lean into each other, whispering behind their solo cups, eyes flicking between sukuna and the very obvious situation he’s not bothering to hide. further back, a few of the same guys from earlier in the pool linger, their stares a little too heavy, a little too interested, but sukuna doesn’t register it.

he’s too focused on you. too focused on the way you kiss him back just as hard. how you’re still letting out those fucking whines and moans into his hot mouth. too focused on how quickly you fold into him like he’s the oxygen keeping you alive. to him, this urgency and impatience, just reads as one thing. you want him so bad.

he pulls back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, his gaze dropping to your face, slightly dazed, flushed, and lips parted from the kiss.

“…yeah,” he exhales, almost amused, thumb pressing into your waist like he’s grounding himself. “you taste so good.”

your fingers tighten around his bicep, the other around his shoulder, breath uneven as you blink up at him, still catching up.

“can we—” you swallow, then try again, quieter but more urgent, “can we go upstairs now?”

there’s a beat. then his hand slides down to yours again, grip tightening as he turns, already moving toward the house without another word—pulling you with him. he pushes straight through the noise that follow inside, the lights, the bodies still dancing in the kitchen like nothing. all the way up to his room, and immediately kicking the door shut.

and within a blink of an eye, your tongue is lolling out as sukuna sits behind you, fingers digging into your ass and face buried from behind.

“fuh—fuck yeah,” you drawl, lips wet at the feel of sukuna tongue dragging inside your pussy, lapping up and toying with your rim before going back to suck your slick juices. “c’mon ry, haah…” you’re pushing his head back, so you can sit up. you move to tug his wet trunks off, crawling onto his lap once he discard them. unbothered by the tick in his jaw at your stubbornness, because in seconds, your head is tossed back, and your back is arching as you sink down on nine thick fat inches. “a….ah—“

your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back at the unbelievable stretch. your pussy swallowing every inch like the slut he loves.

“there ya go,” he praises, fingers digging into your ass as you stare at his lips. his sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip as the slick that lubricates his cock. your pussy a generous fountain as you roll your hips, letting his cock stuff deep inside you. “take this fuckin’ cock like a good bitch.”

“ry…haah…” you’re moaning in choked gasps, drool peaking at the corner of your lips as you finally sit back on his thighs.

the man’s pupils dilate as you stroke your lower stomach, feeling the bulge as you bat your lashes up at him. “you’re inside me now, ryo.”

fuck you. seriously.

his brain short circuits in seconds. and now all he sees is you.

his body reacts like a dog with his master. obeying your needs like he’s wired to do that. and he’s not complaining. his hand falls on your ass, beefy thighs spreading, as he meets your bounces with rough snaps of his hips. your ass claps against his thighs with each bounce, gasps piercing the air as he fucks up into you with full force. and you let him.

“look like a fuckin’ porn star in top of me,” he grunts, swallowing a moan when you clamp around him, finger tugging on the knot around your neck letting your bikini finally fall off, freeing yours tits. “fucking brat—“

his tongue falls out, licking your tit that bounces in his face, lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking desperately. and he’s not nice about it. because now he knows. he knows you’ll let him. when you’re ovulating you’ll let him be a little harder, because it feels good. it feels good to feel his teeth bite down on your nipple possessively. it feels good when he spanks your ass until your eyes are rimmed red and flooding with tears.

it feels good to have him obsessed with you, because all you’re begging for is…

“cu—uh—cum.”

an electric current runs down his spine, jaw clenching and head tipping back, flooding your tight pussy with his thick load.

“shit—nghhh fuuuck—fuck baby,” he’s gripping your hips as you press against his stomach, rocking on his cock. he doesn’t fully realize his back is laying against the bed. not when you’re milking his cock like he’s some fucking cow…and yet… “shit keep goin, baby—yeah ya want m-Mmm shit.”

“feel so good ryo.” you shake your ass, feeling his cock twitch inside you when his arm wraps around you, tugging you down to his chest.

“you can keep going?”

you smile, hand touching his cheek, as your tongue strokes his bottom lip. “yeah.” you sigh, whining so softly he would’ve missed it. and you continue like that, kissing him over and over, sighing and calling his name as he pulls out, his fingers push inside your pussy from behind.

“y’r killing me with this tight pretty pussy,” he coos, sending a wave of heat through your veins.

you mewl against his lips, earning a hard spank to your ass, just for his middle and ring finger to slip back inside you. and he doesn’t that for god know how long, and when you finally spasm around his digits, he’s flipping you over and easily getting on top.

“keep em open cmon.” his low voice has your pussy pulsing, pushing his previous load out. he must know his voice’s affects on you.

you hold your legs open, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch sukuna stroke his member over you. the room smells of chlorine, you, and him. “theere we go,” he groans, palm pressing against your knee as he kneels closer to your open legs, dilated pupils staring at the mess between your legs as he slaps his hard cock on your pussy. “what dirty fuckin’ girl,” he drags his cock between your slippery folds, exhaling through his nose when his engorged tip catches your sore clit.

“ryoomen,” you call softly, like you haven’t been all over these last two days.

he snorts, “what happened to mister sukuna? don’t tell me you’ forgot how you humped yourself to an orgasm in the pool—“

“hot tub.”

“my bad,” he remarks sarcastically, tip pushing inside then pulling out again, teasing. “still rubbed this pussy raw, look,” he slaps his cock again, thumb rubbing your little bundle of nerves making you let go of your legs— “ah—keep em open.” he spanks the inside of your thigh. “dirty girls need to be taught a lesson.”

“pleaseee,” you scoff, sitting up on your elbows, “you were literally slapping everyone around with his hard your dick was.”

sukuna barks out a laugh. “my dick’s that big?”

you glance down at him, then back up. “I wasn’t being dirty. you were dirty too.”

“me?” he’s baffled, you’ve been throwing yourself at him all night!

you raise a brow at him, relaxing back against the pillows and headrest, eyeing him. “you never took your hands off me.”

sukuna scoffs, “as if, you latched onto me on the pool.”

“then i went to hime to wash my mouth out, and you—“ you point at him with emphasis, “came swimming to me, touching me, stroking my thigh, my back.” your brow quirks again, and sukuna goes mute. his jaw ticks, glancing over your face as your calf subtly hooks over his thigh, stroking up as your hands lay on your stomach, waiting.

“you…” he licks the back of his teeth, sharp eyes threatening, but… “so what if I had my hands on you?” oh, he admits it. your cheeks sting, wetting your lip as you shrug.

“well,” you tilt your head again, slightly embarrassed now, glancing down at his inked chest. “like…you can’t blame me for getting turned on then.”

“because I’m touching you?”

you nod.

“like this,” his palm trails from your knee, slowly up your thigh. the warmth of his skin feels like it’s leaving a trail across your body.

you nod.

his hand reaches your waist, eyes boring into yours. his cock throbbing at this point, he can feel the slick of your arousal costing his cock as it rests against your pussy. turning to some light foreplay after just fucking you was messing with his head…because….it feels so good.

“what about when I’m touching your waist,” his thumb strokes the soft skin. “it’s not your ass.”

your breath is uneven. your heart beats against your rib cage. “still,” you exhale.

“still turns you on?” he clarifies, catching the way your lips part, breathless just by the way he’s flirting with you. his cock twitches…you’re gorgeous.

you nod.

his free hand caresses your hips, moving it up your body in feather-like-caresses. his other arm is pressed beside you, keeping himself up as he watches your arms lay bend beside you. his hand lightly brushes the side of your breast before trailing over your collarbone. “still?”

you nod, wetting your bottom lip, blown pupils maintaining eye contact.

his thumb caresses your collarbone, eyes flicking between your eyes and the way your chest is rising and falling in uneven breaths. “how about now?” his palm glides over your bicep, then down your arm, before threading his fingers with yours.

you squeeze his hand, eyes unable to tear away from his. his face inches closer to yours, exhaling against your lips. “I think you’ve jus’ been horny these past few days.”

your breath stutters, angling your chin up, “obviously,” you mutter against his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating.”

something dark and electric flashing through his eyes. a low exhale leaves him, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just heat, thick and immediate, his grip on your hand tightening to the point it almost borders on rough.

“yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping, rougher now, like it’s scraping out of his throat. his forehead nudges against yours for a second, like he’s grounding himself, but it doesn’t work. if anything, it makes it worse. “tell me you want me to stuff you then.”

“I want you to stuff me, ryo,” you repeat, breathless as his jaw slacks finally rocking his hips into yours, slick cock massaging your folds.

“keep going,” he husks.

your free hand trails up his bicep, the other still holding his hand like an anchor. “I want you to fuck me. use me. cum in me.”

“ah fuck—“ he slips his hand between your bodies, pushing his cock down and snapping his hips into yours, sheathing his entire length inside. your jaw drops, broken cry slipping out. “y’ really know how to make a man fucking hard.”

your lips are glossed with spit as presses his lips against them. swallowing your moans as he snaps his hips into a mean thrust, picking up a brutal pace without warning.

and you love it.

the base downstairs shakes the bedroom walls, the laughing and chatter outside the windows is nothing compared to the way you’re panting and crying in his ear. the lights flickering from the strobe lights outside, only serve to illuminate your flushed face as you cum.

“fuck, you still want more,” he’s already kissing you again, and again. spit mixing together against your tongues as he pulls away. he pants over your face, his cheeks flushed pink and his cock rubbed raw. “fuck gunna cum…ngh yeah fuck fuck—“ he pistons his cock inside you poor cunt, dilated pupils zeroing on the mess that’s gushing from you. his chuckle is broken with his groan as he fucks you through it all. “keep squirting baby, won’t make me stop.”

and he doesn’t. his thrusts are rough. harder than usual because he knows he’ll get away with it just a bit more when you’re ovulating. and even as you’re gasping, back of your hand raised to your mouth, pussy spasming as sukuna slams his body weight behind each thrust — you don’t push him away.

“gunna cum…shiit, shit it’s coming—“ and it feels like a damn crashing. his cock pulses inside you, squirting buckets inside your poor cunt. “haah fuh—“ his abs flex, body weight dropping on top of you, hugging you tight as he rocks his hips into lazy humps. the rasp in his throat has you holding him tight, unbothered by how unbelievably heavy he is.

and sukuna stays like that. face buried in your neck, arms clutching onto you, and brain fried.

“you also smell sweeter,” he mutters.

“I don’t. you’re just a freak.”

he buries his nose deeper in your neck, inhaling sharply. “haah fuck, yeah you definitely smell good.”

your brain short circuits, cheeks flooding hot as you wiggle underneath him. “you can’t—“

“you humped me in the hot tub.”

your brows scrunch together. “so?”

he licks your neck, “then you can’t blame me for still being turned on by you.” he licks a strip up to your ear, a tingle runs down to your pussy, squeezing around him.

he smirks.

of course he does. and why wouldn’t he? you’re already nudging him to your lips, kissing him again, like you’re stuffed with loads of his cum.

“you’re cute,” he mutters between kisses, and even if that makes your stomach flip, and your face burn, and heart skip a beat…you don’t comment about it. you don’t address. and you sure as shit don’t think about it.

and the simple answer is, he’s kissing you right now and that’s all you want to think about it.

more frat!kuna here

a/n: I’m blaming the grammar errors on you guys for the rush (I also hate proof reading). but I hope u guys enjoyed it. believe me when I say, I was not expecting it to be that freaking long, I just really wanted to write sukuna and reader kinda skinny dipping, without losing their dynamic or doing something super uncharacteristic, so I dragged out the plot. but still I hope u guys liked it!