his jaw is set in a pout as he holds you at arms length, raking his eyes over your nervous form – your eyes are flicking around, not able to hold his gaze, and your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "you touched yourself. right?"

it isn't worth lying, not after being directly called out like this, so instead you decide to try another method: flattery and diversion.

"just once!" he's already shaking his head as you start to talk, and it makes your heart race, causing the rest of your words to come out rushed. "and it was because of you, because you sent me that picture in your suit and you know what that does to me–"

"so it's my fault?" his tone is lighthearted, and the question clearly rhetorical. you shut your mouth. "no, no no sweetheart, i wouldn't make you do something that goes directly against my instructions, would i?" you shake your head no, and he sighs, pressing your head to his chest and pressing a kiss to your hairline. pauses, thinking, before he says, "wanna make it up to me?"

relief floods through you at his words; sometimes he's harsher, meaner, leaving you needy and longing until he decides you've learned your lesson. he must be feeling generous today.

"yes, please..."

he holds your shoulders to peer into your face, eyes all soft. "touch yourself for me. right now." your heart sinks.

"but... i want you–"

a finger to your lips silences you. "not enough to be patient, so why don't you show me exactly what you did to get yourself off while i was gone?"

"i didn't though..." you mumble, and he tilts his head in question.

"didn't what?"

"didn't... get off...." his eyes crinkle at your admission and he coos.

he guides you to sit down, kneeling in front of you as he presses your knees apart and guides your hand between your legs. "how about this.... get yourself as close as you can, and then i'll help you?" it's the best you're going to get, arguably more than you deserve, so you bite your lip and nod, and he releases your wrist.

when you sink your hand into your panties his breath catches and he says, "did you leave those on while i was gone?" you blush furiously and look away to nod. he tuts, "ah ah! eyes on me, please."

his hands are pressing on his thighs as he leans forward ever so slightly, too enraptured by the sight of your fingers playing beneath the thin, soaking fabric to give you any semblance of space. he's glued to every single one of your reactions: the way your breath stutters when you notice his eyes devouring you, your pace slowing slightly until he nods at your fingers, communicating without words to keep going. you're so needy, feeling so frustrated that he's right there and yet denying you what it is you want so badly. the tension in your gut builds and builds, but nothing you do is enough to push it over the edge.

when you huff a whine and bite your lip, he leans forward even more, pressing his cheek into the side of your knee. you gasp at the contact and he makes brief eye contact with you before settling his gaze on your clothed pussy, pupils blown wide at the sight. you think he's going to touch you more, but he just lets you keep pumping your fingers in and out, the stretch almost nonexistent, only serving to remind you how much better his would feel instead.

you groan and pout, and he brings a hand up to trace the skin of your inner thigh. "do you have something you'd like to say?"

you're near delirious with the need of real satisfaction, blinking back tears of sheer frustration, when you whimper, "i'm sorry i didn't listen, please please please, i need you to help me–"

he silences you with action, pulling your hand out of your panties gently and popping your fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling around the digits to memorize the taste of you, humming a sigh of satisfaction. he then places your hand on his head, grunting in approval when your fingers curl around a handful of hair and tug impatiently. he missed you enough to let it slide, kissing a line up your leg until his breath is hot over your twitching mound, body trembling in anticipation.

"you missed me, huh?" he asks, and you start to reply, begging him to just touch you already, when he tugs the drenched undies to the side and licks a long line up your entrance, groaning at the way you clench around his tongue.

you did a good job, working yourself up, because it's takes almost no effort for him to get you right on the brink of orgasm, keeping you teetering with a thumb to your clit as he pulls back to look right at your face. he wants to see your expression when he says, "alright, baby, fall apart for me," and it doesn't disappoint; his hand is still applying pressure when your eyes roll back, gasps falling from your mouth as your whole body tenses, muscles constricting and thighs clenching tightly around his head and arm, then releasing spectacularly, tremors rocketing through you as you cum all over his fingers.

he takes a few steps closer, then another, drawn by the smell of food and the sight of you. “aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

you hesitate. just a fraction too long.

“…yeah,” you admit.

his brow lifts. “yeah as in you’re late, or yeah as in you skipped?”

you wince, shoulders hunching slightly. “i—” you glance at the stove, then back at him. “missing one lecture won’t hurt.”

he blinks. “you don’t just do that.”

you know that too. it’s written all over your face—nervous, bashful, but oddly resolute. “i know,” you say quietly. “just this once. i really didn’t feel like going…”

that does it.

sukuna doesn’t laugh.

he just stares at you, something shifting behind his eyes—shock, maybe, or the delayed realization finally crashing in. his gaze drifts over you again: his shirt, your bare legs, the way you’re standing there like this is a perfectly reasonable morning decision.

“you skipped,” he says again, slower now. not accusatory. stunned.

you nod, fidgeting slightly with the hem of the shirt. “i’ll catch up later. it’s fine.”

he rubs the back of his neck, jaw flexing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands or his thoughts. “you don’t do stuff like that. what did i do to you…?” he mutters under his breath, half in awe, half very concerned.

you blink. “what?”

he shakes his head, then looks at you properly—really looks at you this time. “you’re standing in my dorm. skipping a class you care about. cooking breakfast for me.”

your cheeks warm, but you meet his eyes. “well it’s not just for you! and i- i just…i wanted to…”

he exhales slowly, steadying himself, then gives you a look that’s oh so soft. “next time,” he says quietly, “at least tell me you’re doing something this reckless.”

a grin breaks across your face. “reckless?”

“yeah,” he replies, glancing pointedly at your outfit. “this is dangerous behavior.”

you giggle, the tension easing.

you step closer without thinking, voice soft but firm. “i stayed because i felt comfortable and i didn’t want to rush out like nothing happened last night…”

whatever restraint he had left snaps. not dramatically. just gone.

sukuna’s hand cups your jaw and he leans down, pressing his mouth to yours before you can even finish the thought. it’s warm and unthinking and clumsy, like he acted before his brain could catch up.

you melt into it automatically.

it lasts maybe five seconds before you pull back with a laugh, face scrunching. “wait— hold on. ew. we haven’t brushed our teeth!”

he pauses, hovering an inch from your mouth.

“…you’re kidding.”

“i’m serious!”

he stares at you, then scoffs, shaking his head. “you skip class but draw the line at morning breath?”

“yes!? and that doesn’t even correlate—”

something warm and helpless flashes across his face before he groans softly and kisses you again anyway.

“don’t care,” he murmurs against your lips. “at all.”

your face burns. “you’re gross.”

“maybe,” he says, pushing your glasses up with a smile, voice quieter now. “but you’re still here.”

you nod, smiling bashfully. “yeah.”

you pull away first, cheeks still warm, as you turn back toward the stove. “okay— food!” you say, like you need to remind yourself why you were here in the first place.

he watches you go, a little stunned, like he’s still catching up to the fact that you’re real and not something his half asleep brain made up.

you move around the kitchenette with quiet focus, plating the food neatly. it’s such a you thing that it hits him right in the chest.

he sits where you left him, elbows on the counter, chin in his hand, eyes never leaving you like a lovesick puppy.

fuck.

you’re so pretty and you don’t even know it.

…he doesn’t even realize he had said that out loud until you glance over your shoulder with raised eyebrows, slightly flushed.

“what was that?”

he scoffs, looking anywhere but at you. aw shit. you definitely caught that.

“shut up. you heard nothing.”

you giggle again, all giddy—and god, it’s an angelic sound. he’d be willing to embarrass himself again just to hear that sound.

you go back to plating the food, eyes glittering with smug amusement.

he groans internally. you’re a menace.

and now… he’s uh, popping a boner.

you grin to yourself, oblivious, as you slide his plate across the counter and get one for yourself, walking over to sit next to him.

he crosses his legs too fast and lets out a strained cough, shifting in his seat as you move to sit dangerously close. you hum as you take your first bites, all innocent and warm with your knees tucked under you.

“you gonna eat or...?” you prompt, tilting your head at his untouched plate.

he grunts. “yeah. eating.”

he fists the fork like a weapon, stabbing at the food you’ve prepared with far too much force. you watch him before a slow smile tugs at your lips, eyes crinkling behind your glasses.

“is it good?” you ask sweetly as he shoves a massive bite into his mouth.

you make him want to kiss you again so badly it physically aches.

he tastes the food and—god. yes. it is incredible. of course you’re a talented cook on top of everything. you’re fucking perfect.

“mhm.” he breathes, mouth full. “real good.”

he realizes then that he’d do anything to have you like this every morning. anything at all.

holy hell.

you smile, still unaware of his internal dilemma or the raging desire building within him.

“yay!”

despite your sweetness, his mind won’t stop wandering toward something dirty. he wonders what faces you’d make, what sounds he could pull from your throat if he was between your thighs. you had been so breathtakingly undone by just two of his fingers last night and he’s starving to know what you’ll do when he gives you more.

sukuna has to look away again, staring down at his plate furiously, like the food will somehow make him less flustered. he’s uncomfortably hard.

he tears through half the plate in record time just to have a focus, but eventually, even that isn't enough.

his gaze flickers sideways, catching on your lips.

he’s had enough.

he stands so abruptly the high stool creaks. before you can blink, he spins yours around, crowding you against the edge of the counter.

“sukuna! what?” you gasp.

your hands fly to his chest—part protest, part reflexive grip—as he traps you between the cold granite and his radiator warm body.

he leans down, forehead nearly brushing yours, eyes dark and locked on your mouth. he drags a hand up your thigh, slowly tugging the hem of your shirt higher without asking.

“you’re sitting here in just panties like you don’t know what you do to me,” he grunts, voice dropping an octave. “i want something a lot sweeter for breakfast. would you want that too?”

you gulp, finally noticing the heavy strain against his sweats and the underlying meaning in his words.

your mouth goes dry.

“sukuna…”

his thumb brushes your bottom lip, pressing down the same way he did last night. he’s obsessed.

“answer the question.”

your fingers clutch his bare shoulders, pulse racing. you give a tiny, shaky nod.

“gotta use your words smart girl. tell me you want my mouth on you.”

you whimper in embarrassment. “b-but— i feel like it’s too soon—” you protest weakly. after all, your body was still sensitive from feeling his fingers for the first time the night before.

the words act like a bucket of ice water.

he pulls back, running a hand over his face. “shit—that’s right. i’m sorry. i got carried away.” he turns his back to you, his neck flushed a deep red. “i’m gonna go take a shower—”

a spike of panic hits you. now you’ve really ruined the moment. you’ve ruined everything.

something snaps inside you, overriding the nerves.

“w-wait! no! sorry!” he turns around slowly, expression guarded and darting. “i- i do… i want to try…”

heat immediately blooms on your face at your admission.

sukuna exhales like those words undo him. he steps back and drops to his knees in one smooth motion. it looks like worship, and the sight like sukuna kneeling for you makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“fuck. thank you,” he mutters against your thigh. he reaches for your legs, but you stiffen, your hands flying down to cover yourself.

“sukuna, wait— it’s... it’s bright! i’m a mess,” you groan, your face burning. the thought of him seeing you so closely—so clearly, sends a wave of fear through you.

he stops, his hands hovering over your skin. he looks up, his gaze heavy and grounding. “hey. look at me.” he waits until you meet his eyes. “you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. i want to see every bit of you. only if you’ll let me.”

his voice is uncharacteristically soft, a low coaxing rumble that melts your resolve. slowly, your hands fall away.

he takes the opening, hooking his arms under your knees and throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“gonna make you cum for me again,” he promises.

he lifts the hem of your shirt, revealing your pretty little panties. he knows he promised to take it slow, but the scent of you this close is making his head spin. his hot tongue drags through the fabric—not even bothering to remove the cotton first. you arch instantly, crying out as heat explodes through every nerve.

“sukuna! oh my god—”

you weren’t prepared for the sheer, heavy friction of it. he groans against you, the sound low and guttural, sending a fresh jolt down your spine. he doesn’t pull away. instead, he presses his face into you, his nose nuzzling against the dampening cotton like a man who has finally found water in a desert. even through the barrier, he can tell you’re already slick for him.

he pulls back only long enough to hook his thumbs into the cotton, peeling your panties down with agonizing slowness. he watches the way the fabric clings to your wet cunt before he tosses them aside.

fuck. even though he saw it last night for the first time, he can’t help but think again how your glistening cunt is the prettiest thing ever.

you try to shield your face with your hands, the vulnerability of being completely bare on the kitchen counter hitting you with full force.

“don’t hide,” he commands gently, prying one of your hands away to kiss your palm. “i wanna see your face when i do this.”

then he dives in.

his tongue is everywhere—licking your folds, your dripping entrance, your sensitive clit. the sensation of his hot muscle is so new and so overwhelming that you feel like you’re about to combust.

“s-sukuna! i— i can’t! s’too much!” you stutter, head falling back.

he grunts and slows his pace just a little.

a part of him is embarrassed by how feral he’s gotten. he has to reign himself in with the reminder to take this slow for you. he wants this to be perfect.

“m’sorry,” he mumbles against your cunt, looking up at you with pupils blown.

“it’s ah- it’s o-okay…” you say weakly.

you bite your lip at the sight of him, on his knees, the morning sunlight streaming into the kitchen, his brows furrowed. he’s everything.

and him? he tries not to cum in his pants just at the sight of you and your cunt drooling for him.

he slows his movements further, dragging his tongue through you with agonizing deliberation. you realize then that you shouldn’t have complained about the pace at all. because now? these slow movements make you feel everything ten times more.

you stop caring about the embarrassing expression on your face momentarily in order to grip the cold counter behind you. you’ve lost track of when you had gotten this wet and it terrifies you how he can reduce you to a mess this quickly.

sukuna takes his time, tasting you like a delicacy. he sucks on your clit until you jolt into his mouth, jaw slack. this is so much more intimate than his fingers were. and you’ll be damned to admit just his tongue feels so good. he lets out a groan against your skin and your eyes roll back into your skull.

he good at this. too good. and he sounds so gone.

and oh… you never knew just how desperately you craved this—the way he looks up at you from his knees, his plump lips just tasting and taking.

the sweet little sounds spilling out of your mouth drive him insane.

with his nose nestled in your folds like that, he can smell how badly you want him too. feel how drenched you are from his touch.

“tastes so good,” he murmurs. “better than anything i’ve had. mmgh just want to eat your pretty little pussy all day, baby.”

you shiver at the lewd words, unable to respond. your toes curl where they’re still thrown over his back.

he feels it.

he suddenly pulls off with a soft slurp, chin shiny with you, lips glistening. you whine as he gives your throbbing clit a parting kiss.

“wha—?”

before you can protest, he’s pulling you off the chair and carrying your trembling body back his bedroom. he throws you down onto his bed and you land with a bounce, dazed and needy.

god. you look gorgeous. you always do. but with your legs spread, back arched, hair messy, and glasses crooked? he thinks you look like a goddess.

he looks at you like this and he just knows he’ll do anything you ask of him.

“sorry, baby.” he breathes, sinking back onto his knees between your thighs. “thought you’d wanna be more comfy the first time i make you cum with my mouth.”

and then his lips are back on you.

you’ve never felt so loved.

and you’ve never felt the need to cum this badly.

“sukuna!”

he works his tongue in deeper, nose nudging your clit. he moans softly into you, making it seem like he’s the one getting off. your hands fly to his hair, tugging on the pink locks. he looks up to meet your eyes, and this time, even though you’re embarrassed, you try to hold his gaze because you need to see him.

he wants you to make a mess. he wants to feel you cum all over his face. he wants all of it.

he tongue fucks you slow and deep, while his nose grinds against your swollen bud. your hips jerk, thighs clamping around his head on instinct, but he holds you in place.

“stay open,” he grunts into your cunt, the vibration making you whimper. “wanna see how pretty you get when i ruin you.”

you sob a moan as he moves faster now, tongue curling up inside to drag again and again—relentless.

he pulls back just enough to spit on your cunt before diving in deeper.

the squelch of it is so loud.

he groans at the taste of you overflowing onto his chin. “fuckin’ drownin’ me down here.”

“fuh- fuck—” you whine. it’s the softest and prettiest curse he’s ever heard in his life. “s-sorry- ‘kuna… m’close…”

he hums, the sound vibrating through your entire body. “don’t apologize. wanna feel it.”

his fingers dig into your thighs to keep them spread as his mouth works faster—sucking that sweet spot before two fingers slip back inside easily without warning.

you arch violently off the bed with a cry.

“there she is,” he growls, curling those fingers deep as his tongue flicks over your clit again and again. “wanna let go for me?”

your cunt clenches around him in frantic pulses—the wet sounds obscene now as pleasure rips through your every nerve.

he doesn’t stop until you’re shuddering with choked sobs of release. it’s the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve had, ignoring that you’ve only had last night to compare it to…

when he finally slows, he does it to kiss lazy circles over where you’re throbbing most intensely.

you pant, unable to catch your breath and he licks up every last drop from between your trembling legs like nothing else exists anymore.

when he meets your eyes you get the memo he’s not done just yet.

“let’s make this worth skipping class, hm?”

>> next (pt 4) | series masterlist

jjk x shy!reader series taglist! @gg-trini @luredlilac @cursesandcigarettes @nadiiraax @d0llyb1tes @sorenflyinn @mspinkpanties @booboobear-12 @5seos @doeeyestoji @paintedperidot @volleyballgirl2022 @sweetiecinnamqn @yummyygummyy @blubearxy @sukusdoll @lintobin @fantastucbaby @yippie-bug @scatteredwitch420 @dogggggggblog-kaye @7haze @erenspersonalwh0re @sh0kos-fav-doll @xrhoon @morgannmay @urmomishotyes @ninikrumbs @letiziabordas @cynthisleeps @spacestarz30 @im-a-simp139 @jasminelee324

note: i won’t be doing a taglist for just pt 4 i’m sorry!!! but if you want to be tagged ask to be added to the jjk x shy!reader series <3

click… clack.

both your steps still.

his gaze drifts to a bench tucked in the corner, a convenience store glowing quietly beyond it. without explanation, he tugs you along.

“stay here.” he settles you onto the cold wood, ignoring your raised brow.

“gumi—” you purse your lower lips, nose scrunching as you cling to his fingers. “what’s wrong?”

his gaze drops, and with a slight lean of his head, you catch the faintest tinge of pink creeping into the tips of his ears.

“three minutes,” he utters, eyes narrowing. and how could you say no to that?

you give his hands one last tug, slowly raising them as you squeeze tighter. finally, you reluctantly let go as he gently pulls them away.

“fine…” your fingertips linger at the very last trace of him as they fall, your lower lip wobbling. he huffs out a soft laugh, tightening your scarf around your neck while you puff your cheeks into it. his knuckle brushes your jaw.

“two,” he murmurs, before quickly turning and disappearing into the white hum of fluorescent light.

he doesn’t go back on his word—because before you can lose yourself to the plain boredom of counting intervals between bird chirps above, he’s already back, the sliding door swishing shut behind him.

the frigid breeze rushes as he calmly steps in front of you and kneels. “can i?”

your eyes widen instantly, spotting the small wrapping he’s already tearing open. your heart skips at the sudden warmth of his fingertips brushing your ankles, but you nod. silence drapes over the two of you as he slips your heels off.

as if reading your mind, he mutters, breath curling into mist in the crisp cold. “you were walking slower than usual.”

he smooths the bandage over the small bloom of red, presses it down once, then turns his back to you.

almost immediately, you stumble over your words. “gumi, you don’t have to—”

“c’mon,” he almost grumbles. but you know that tone too well now, and you can’t help but grin, arms slipping over his shoulders as you climb on.

ahead, the sky bleeds into an ashen, lucent grey of rising moonlight, the palest strip fading into the gradient. he straightens slowly, hands steadying you. “you don’t have to try and act so tough.”

a quiet pause settles between the two of you, muffling the rest of the muted world. suddenly, you nuzzle into the warm crook of his neck, tugging his scarf down just enough to slip closer.

a shiver runs along his spine. he quickly glances over at you, brows raised as he fails to suppress a chuckle when your warmth hits his weakest spot. “what the—”

“happy birthday,” you sing softly, eyes crinkling into softest crescents as you look up at him. your fingers thread through his wind-tossed hair. “my little sea urchin, how did you like the grand aquarium date i planned?"

he frowns at the absurd nickname, but still tilts his head over to you, hands holding your dangling heels. “it's whatever...”

in a futile attempt to quell the budding warmth in his chest, he aims a frown at your giggling. but when his eyes meet yours, the tenderest glimmer of evening light shimmering between, he turns away too quickly.

“let’s just get home quickly. it’s cold,” he huffs, even as the rosy pink of his ears and the pounding of his heart betray him.

the heat rushes in far too fast for the lie to hold.

"okay, gumi," you snuggle deeper into his neck, warmth blossoming between the shared wrapping of you both. you reach to fix his loose scarf, bundling it now around the two of you instead.

his fingers tighten their grip on you—and it isn’t figurative to say, the least, that he’s literally head over heels for you.

sukuna laughs again, low and full. “aw, shit. that was adorable.”

you shoot him a look. glare weak, eyes watery.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, already brushing your back, soothing in a way that shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“i’m fine,” you mumble, embarrassed. your voice cracks.

he grins again, mouth all smug and soft. “wanna try again?”

“…maybe.”

he watches you this time. doesn’t say anything when you steal another puff, smaller this time. still a little rough. still not good. but you don’t choke. not as bad, anyway.

“attagirl,” he says, and something in your stomach twists.

you hand it back.

“tastes weird,” you admit.

“you’ll get used to it.” he takes another hit, exhales toward the sky. then he glances over. “bet you’d like it better from my mouth.”

your heart skips.

“w-what?”

he shrugs, casual. “shotgun. ever tried?”

you shake your head.

he taps ash into an old beer can on the railing, then takes one more drag. when he looks back at you, it’s all heat.

“c’mere,” he says again, voice lower. slower. “i’ll show you.”

and you do. you hesitate, which only makes him smirk deeper. cocky. knowing. like he can feel your pulse skipping through your wrist.

“relax,” sukuna murmurs, voice thick with smoke. “just open your mouth for me.”

you shouldn’t listen. you know that. but your lips part before you can think twice.

he steps in closer. impossibly close. one arm braces against the railing beside your head, his other hand holding the joint with two lazy fingers, almost burned down now. the smoke clings to him, to the collar of his shirt, to his breath. he brings it to his lips again, inhales slow—then leans down before he exhales, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger like he’s done this a hundred times.

his mouth barely grazes yours.

and then he breathes it out.

warm smoke floods your mouth, your lungs. it’s smoother than before, still hazy, but your focus is too scrambled to register the burn. because sukuna’s lips are hovering over yours, eyes half-lidded, watching you like he’s already undressed you with his gaze.

you swallow, hard. his mouth lingers, breath mingling with yours, lips not quite touching.

“good girl,” he says, so low it’s almost a growl.

your stomach flips violently. the praise settles between your thighs like heat.

“see?” he adds, thumb dragging down the curve of your jaw. “tastes better like that, doesn’t it?”

you nod. or try to. it’s barely a motion, just enough to make him grin again.

“one more?” he offers, already moving in again, like he doesn’t need your answer.

and this time—this time when he exhales, your lips brush. soft. smoky.

he’s not kissing you. not really. but it feels like one anyway.

your knees wobble. his mouth hovers again, so fucking close.

and then he licks his lips. eyes flick down to your parted ones. waits.

“you wanna taste me again?” he asks, almost amused. “or you gonna be shy on me now, sweetheart?”

you don’t realize how warm you are until you’re back inside. maybe it’s the way the room tilts a little. not enough to scare you, just enough to feel like the floor’s moving soft beneath your socks. maybe it’s the bass still thumping through the walls. maybe it’s him, still pressed against your side.

you’re not even high, really.

just… warm. tingly. floaty. like a fizzy drink. like your mouth tastes like smoke and sugar and you’re not sure if it’s from the shotgunning or just him.

he doesn’t move away. his hand finds the small of your back when you wobble slightly. not to steady you. just to touch.

“you good?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

you nod. too quickly. then blink up at him.

and then—god help you—you giggle.

his brow arches. “oh?”

you don’t even know what’s funny. the way his shirt’s positioned? the way his necklace dangles right at your eyeline? the way your body feels like it’s made of candlewax?

you can’t stop staring at his mouth.

and he knows it.

“you’re high,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

you shake your head. “no,” you whisper, though you sound more breathless than you mean to. “just a little… floaty.”

he hums. fingers brushing your side, lower now.

“floaty,” he echoes. “that what we’re calling it?”

you nod again. but slower this time. eyes still locked on his mouth like it’s the only solid thing in the room.

“you’re staring,” he murmurs.

“m’not.”

“mmhm.”

you’re still staring. especially when his tongue flicks across his lip, like he’s daring you to do something about it.

and—god. you do.

you lean in.

not a kiss. not yet. just close. your nose grazes his. your breath catches. your hand fists the front of his shirt like you need something to hold onto, and his eyes flicker, half-lidded.

“you’re actin’ different,” he murmurs, voice dipped in something low and amused.

“noooo,” you whisper, lashes fluttering.

“no?” his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you snug against him.

“you’re just… really sexy,” you say. it slips out too fast. too soft. the moment it leaves your mouth, your eyes widen in horror.

he laughs. full-on.

you cover your face with both hands, mortified.

he pulls them down, gently.

“don’t hide,” he says, grinning now. “i like this version of you. high and horny.”

your mouth drops open. “am not—”

“baby,” he interrupts, dipping his head until your noses bump, “you’re grinding on my thigh.”

you freeze.

then blink down.

you are. barely. just a little. soft and slow, like you didn’t even notice. and now your hands fly back up to your face.

he groans, deep in his chest.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice ragged. “you’re gonna kill me.”

he presses a thigh up firmer between your legs and watches your lashes flutter.

“damn,” he murmurs, pulling your leg over his lap, “who knew my girl just needed a little smoke to show me how she really is.”

you squirm, half-embarrassed, half still riding whatever fuzzy, low-buzz high is humming in your limbs. you press your face into his shoulder, but he’s already grinning, hand dragging up the inside of your thigh like it’s second nature.

“don’t get all shy now,” he teases, voice dipped in that lazy charm. “too late for that.”

your legs tighten around him.

and he feels it.

he groans under his breath, head falling back for a second like he’s collecting himself, before his eyes drop back to you—a little heavy, a little wild.

“bathroom,” he says.

you blink. “what?”

“bathroom,” he repeats, already shifting you off his lap, steadying you when you stumble slightly. “unless you wanna grind my thigh in front of the whole fuckin’ party.”

your eyes widen, heat climbing up your cheeks. but your hand still finds his, fingers lacing without thinking.

the walk is a blur. music thudding behind you, hallway lights too bright. you barely notice people talking. laughing. someone calls his name but he doesn’t answer, just tugs you down the hall, his hand firm on your waist like he owns it.

you hadn’t even realized how bad it’d gotten until he locked the bathroom door behind you.

until the echo of the party vanished, muffled through tile walls and music-thick floors, leaving you both in this tiny, hazy space that smelled like weed and faded cologne and something sweeter—him. you were dizzy. not just high, not just warm from the smoke still coating the back of your throat, but dizzy from the way he’d been looking at you all night. since the shotgun. since the way your lips had brushed and you’d looked up at him with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide.

you don’t remember who kissed first, only that your back hit the counter and his hands were already everywhere. under your skirt, gripping your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing and sitting you on the edge of the sink.

“can’t believe you,” he muttered, pulling your panties down to your knees. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. this from one hit?”

you whimpered—barely nodded. it wasn’t just one. it was him. the heat of his palm against your neck. the heavy drag of his voice every time he called you baby in front of the other guys. the way he looked at you like he wanted to ruin you, just so he could build you back up again.

his rings were cold when they brushed your folds, but the burn of his mouth made you jolt. he knelt between your legs like he had something to prove, mouthing at your pussy like it was the only thing in the world worth praying to.

and fuck, you wanted to cry—his tongue was slow, thick, greedy, curling inside you while his thumb circled your clit just the way you liked. you could feel yourself dripping down the curve of his wrist, making a mess all over his hand, but he didn’t care. didn’t pause. just kept groaning into your cunt like he was starving and you were the only meal he’d ever wanted.

you tugged his hair. moaned his name. rocked your hips against his face and choked out a high, half-sobbing plea when your thighs started to shake.

“’kuna—fuck, wait, i’m—”

he didn’t wait. he never waited when it came to your pleasure. you came on his tongue like it was the only thing that made sense anymore, thighs clamped around his head, one hand slipping behind you to keep from sliding off the sink. your vision blurred. your lungs trembled. your legs twitched as he kissed back up your body, his cock already out, already hard—heavy against your inner thigh as he licked his lips like he could still taste you.

“you want me inside?” he asked, and you nodded fast, too fast, whispering something that barely made sense but sounded like yes and please and need it now.

he fucked you slow at first, one hand gripping your waist to keep you steady, the other sliding up the back of your neck to cradle your head. he kissed you while he did it, tongue hot and slick, swallowing every noise you made, like he didn’t want anyone outside that door to hear how good he made you feel.

but he got mean when you clenched. when you whispered his name like a prayer. his hand dropped to your throat, thumb resting against your jaw, and his hips snapped harder, faster—fucking up into you like he owned you. like you were his, and he was going to fuck that fact into your soul.

“look at you,” he rasped, fucking you so deep your body jolted back against the mirror, “high off one little hit. letting me fuck you dumb in the frat bathroom. you like this, baby?”

you nodded, gasped, whimpered—his cock hitting that soft spot inside you over and over until tears leaked out the corners of your eyes.

“yeah,” he growled, fucking you harder, sloppier, voice breaking with it. “you’re my good fuckin’ girl, huh? my sweet little thing who gets high and begs for dick. gonna let me cum in this pussy, sweetheart?”

you couldn’t answer. not really. not with how hard you were trembling, how your nails dug into his shoulders and your mouth parted in a silent moan. he took it as a yes anyway, slamming in once more and spilling inside you with a guttural sound you’d never forget. you were still panting when he kissed you again, slower this time. messier. his cum leaking out of you, still pulsing around the base of his cock.

he pulled back, sweat-damp and grinning, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers.

your lips are kiss-swollen. your lashes heavy. your thighs still trembling.

his thumb traces the corner of your mouth.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice ragged. “you’re unreal.”

you blink up at him, a little dazed. still floaty. still warm.

“can we go again?” you whisper.

his brow arches. “...like round two?”

you nod slowly, lips tugging into a half-smile.

“of which one?” he asks, grin tugging at his mouth. “smoking or sex?”

you pause, pretend to think about it, then shrug.

“both?” you offer, sweet as sugar.

he groans.

you’re on him before he can blink.

pressing him back into the edge of the bed, grabbing his face in both hands like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him. your lips are on his, messy and hot, teeth dragging across his bottom lip just to hear the breath hitch in his throat. and he lets you. kisses you back with one hand on your waist, the other sliding up the back of your thigh, testing the limits of this version of you.

you push him until he sits on the bed, legs spread, looking up at you with that cocky little smirk he always wears when he thinks he knows what you’re gonna do. because the last time you tried this—weeks ago, in his lap, flushed and shy and trying so hard—you bailed halfway through. too nervous, too overwhelmed, stammering apologies as you scrambled off his thighs and buried your face in his chest. he’d held you close, whispered “hey, it’s okay. we don’t have to rush.”

so now he’s watching you like he’s waiting for the same thing to happen again. waiting for the panic. waiting for the pause. but it never comes.

you climb into his lap, fingers curled in his hair, dragging him into another kiss—deeper this time, wetter, with more tongue than grace. you moan into his mouth when he squeezes your ass, grind down against the bulge in his jeans with a rhythm that makes him groan.

“fuck,” he mutters against your lips, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “you sure you wanna—”

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. your smile is slow. confident in a way that makes his chest tighten.

“don’t stop me this time.”

and then you’re tugging your dress up around your hips, wriggling out of your panties like they’re in the way, flinging them somewhere across the room.

he goes still. hands on your thighs, breathing heavy. watching you, waiting for the nerves to hit. for the hesitation. for the you he’s used to—the shy thing who flinches when he talks dirty, who hides her face when he groans too loud, who’s never once taken the lead in bed.

but this version of you? she straddles him. wraps her hand around his cock, already flushed and heavy against his stomach. lines him up and lets herself sink down, inch by inch, eyes locked on his the entire time.

“jesus fucking christ,” he gasps, head falling back.

you just hum, hips rocking forward until he’s buried to the base, thick and pulsing inside you. and then you smile. “happy birthday, baby.”

your knees press into the bed on either side of his hips, thighs trembling slightly from the slow stretch of him inside you, but you don’t stop. don’t even waver. sukuna’s breathing hard already, hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into the plush of your ass like he’s anchoring himself there, like that’s the only thing keeping him from cumming already.

you start to move—slow at first, just enough to make him feel the way your walls grip him, wet and tight and hot as hell. his mouth drops open, head tilted back, chest rising in heavy, stuttering breaths.

“fuck, baby,” he mutters, one hand sliding lower, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing tight. “you’re gonna make me—shit, you’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me like this.”

you smile, drunk on how wrecked he already sounds. grind your hips in lazy little circles and watch his brows scrunch, watch the muscles in his abdomen tense as he tries to hold back. he’s always in control—always the one flipping you over, setting the pace, making you beg. but right now? you’ve got him. under you. inside you. aching for you.

“what’s wrong?” you tease, voice breathy but sweet. “can’t handle it?”

he groans, hands gripping the fat of your ass like he’s trying not to break something. you start bouncing now, hips lifting and dropping as the sound of skin on skin builds between your bodies, obscene. he’s twitching inside you already, and you feel it—feel the way he’s struggling to breathe through the pleasure, jaw clenched, knuckles white where he’s grabbing at you.

“fuckfuckfuck, you feel so good—so fuckin’ tight,” he gasps, hips jerking up into you, chasing your rhythm. “shit, baby, slow down—i’m gonna—”

you don’t slow down. you moan when he hits that spot inside you, let your head fall back as your hands brace against his chest and you ride him harder. faster. chasing your own high, chasing the fucked-out look on his face.

he’s panting now. moaning. not even pretending to hold it in anymore. “you’re gonna make me cum,” he grits, voice breaking, hands digging into your ass as he fucks up into you now, desperate and sloppy. “fuck, baby—i’m gonna cum, i can’t—fuck—”

you clench around him, whisper, “do it. cum for me. fill me up, baby, c’mon.”

and that’s it.

he gasps your name, voice raw, body jerking as he spills inside you—cock twitching, grip bruising your skin as he holds you down on him. he cums hard. messy. can’t even speak for a moment, just moans through it, chest heaving like you just knocked the wind out of him.

you keep rocking your hips through it, slow and shallow, milking him for every last drop, smiling at the way his eyes flutter shut and his stomach jumps with every tiny aftershock.

when he finally exhales—his hands loosen on your ass, and he opens his eyes, dazed and breathless, looking up at you like you’re the devil and heaven and everything in between.

“…holy fuck,” he says, hoarse. “you just made me cum in, like… two minutes.”

you hum, leaning down to kiss the sweat off his jaw. “that’s what you get for not believing in me.”

he laughs, still breathless, still buried inside you, cock twitching even now like it wants more. and the way he looks at you—fuck. it’s not cocky anymore. not teasing. it’s reverent. and just a little scared.

“you can just—just hand it over. i can carry it the rest of the way,” you stammered.

he didn’t even look back. “not unless you want your shoulder fucked up by the time you hit bio lab.”

“i don’t—i don’t want to take up your time or anything.”

“what, like i was busy?” he scoffed, glancing over his shoulder. “don’t stress it, princess.”

and maybe it was the way he said it—but your stomach turned. and then the words fell out before you could stop them.

“are you… gonna expect something from me?”

he stopped. dead in his tracks. right there on the sidewalk. the breeze rustled the corner of your printout, the one he was still holding.

he turned to you, brow furrowed, face unreadable. “expect what?”

you looked down, suddenly wishing you’d kept your mouth shut. “i mean—i don’t know. people say you only help girls if you think you’re gonna get something out of it. i didn’t mean to—sorry, forget it, that was stupid—”

“sex?”

your eyes snapped up. he didn’t look angry. not even annoyed. just… confused.

“you think i’d carry your shit and walk you across campus because i expect to fuck you for it?”

you opened your mouth, then closed it again. he huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t mean. more like disbelief. like he was realizing something for the first time.

“jesus,” he muttered, glancing away. “i’m not a fuckin’ creep.”

“i didn’t think you were,” you said quickly. “it’s just… that’s how people talk.”

he stared at you a second longer. then he handed you your books, all perfectly stacked. his fingers brushed yours.

“what’s your name?”

you told him and he nodded. “well, now i know who to look for when i need to fix my reputation.”

you blinked.

“you can tell people,” he added with a smirk. “the ryomen sukuna walked you to class and didn’t try to fuck you. crazy, right?”

you smiled. just a little. and that was enough. he saw it. and from that moment on, he always made sure you saw him.

after that first day, things changed.

not in any explosive, movie-scene way. more like soft glitches in the matrix—small, strange patterns that started popping up in your everyday life. like the way sukuna always seemed to be where you were, without ever making it seem intentional.

you’d show up to the dining hall, and he’d already be there, feet kicked up on a chair, nodding for you to sit even before you got your tray. at first you hesitated, standing awkward and clutching your drink, but he’d just pat the seat beside him and go, “you can sit, y’know. i don’t bite. unless you ask.”

you never really responded to those comments. just dropped your gaze, your cheeks warm, and quietly unwrapped your sandwich. he didn’t push. he just talked—about how shit his chem class was, how hungover he still was from friday, how satoru threatened to kick him out of the frat groupchat if he sent one more drunk gym mirror selfie.

he didn’t flirt the way people warned you he would. not really. he teased, sure. but it was light, casual. never serious enough to scare you off. just enough to make your heart kick a little harder when he looked at you.

he called you “shy girl.” like a nickname. like it was endearing.

“shy girl’s got a dark academia playlist,” he’d grin, seeing your phone light up with your study timer. “you gonna let me listen to that while i pretend to do my essay?”

you weren’t even sure when you started spending hours with him. it started in public—shared tables at the library, post-class walks, sitting together on the frat house porch during the golden hour when the boys were too loud inside and you were too overstimulated to focus anywhere else.

then it shifted.

it became nights. not overnight at first. just late. sitting in his room while he scrolled through music and showed you unreleased rap tracks from his friend who “might’ve gotten kicked out but has insane beats.” you’d stay curled on the edge of his bed, hoodie too big, knees tucked up, pretending not to be nervous while he passed you a cold bottle of yerba mate and insisted you had to try it.

you never drank the whole thing. he never let you throw it out. he always finished it with a smirk, like it meant something.

you didn’t remember when you started sleeping over.

maybe it was after midterms, when you accidentally dozed off beside him during an anime rerun, your head slipping onto his shoulder. you woke up with a blanket tucked around you and his arm slung behind you on the couch.

he didn’t mention it. just said “you snore a little,” like it was no big deal.

then it happened again. and again.

somewhere in the blur, his room started feeling like a second home. you kept a lip balm in his desk drawer. your charger was always plugged into the wall. his frat brothers started nodding at you when you walked in like you weren’t just some girl anymore. like you were his girl. even if no one said it.

and sukuna—god, sukuna was soft with you.

but sukuna was still... sukuna. loud and reckless and a little bit of a dick. he still left his empty red bulls on the counter, still got into dumb arguments with toji about which protein powder brand was superior, still acted like he owned the sidewalk when you two were walking somewhere and wouldn’t move for anyone. he still flirted shamelessly with the waitress even when you were sitting right there, not because he meant it—but because it was muscle memory. frat boy habits that died hard.

and sometimes, he’d say shit that stung. not always intentional. sometimes it was just him being careless, a throwaway comment or teasing jab that landed wrong.

but you were shy. sensitive. you’d laugh it off at first, but then you’d go quiet. your shoulders would tense. your eyes would shift down and away, and you’d nod along too much, trying to pretend it didn’t bother you.

he noticed. the second it happened—he noticed.

“wait. hey. fuck, no—i didn’t mean that like that,” he’d say, voice dropping, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reached for your hand. “you know i didn’t, right?”

you’d just shrug.

sometimes he’d catch the glassy look in your eyes before you turned away and it made his stomach twist in this awful, unfamiliar way. because he’d seen girls cry before. but never because of him. not like this. not someone he gave a shit about.

and for the first time in his life, sukuna didn’t just apologize.

he adjusted.

he stopped making those comments. stopped brushing things off with humor when you got overwhelmed. stopped calling you “woman” in that joking, condescending tone when you corrected him about something. stopped turning everything into a bit just to avoid the quiet.

because the quiet wasn’t empty with you. it was sacred.

he started pulling back. not from you, but from the rest of it. the chaos. the lifestyle. the late-night parties and girls grinding on him at kickbacks and the endless cycle of beer pong and blackouts and shallow distractions. not because you asked. you never did. in fact, you never brought any of it up.

he just… didn’t want it anymore.

not when he could be with you instead. in his room. on the couch. watching you fall asleep on his shoulder while some old movie hummed in the background. he started ghosting the groupchat more, started saying “nah, i’m chilling tonight” when they invited him out. the first time he missed a themed party, toji asked if he was sick. satoru texted “who is she?” with twenty eye emojis.

sukuna left him on read.

he still teased you. still made stupid jokes and wrestled you into headlocks when you were fighting over what to watch. still took dumb shirtless mirror selfies and asked if he looked “academically hot.” he didn’t lose himself.

but he was learning how to be soft with you.

how to be patient.

how to earn the way you looked at him when you smiled, like maybe he wasn’t some campus legend or cocky asshole or party boy with a body count in the triple digits.

just a boy who liked being around you more than anything else.

and more than anything, he didn’t want to fuck it up.

they didn’t get it at first.

his frat brothers.

they saw you once—curled up in sukuna’s hoodie, hands wrapped around a matcha latte, barely making eye contact with anyone—and the whispers started.

“she doesn’t look like his type,” one muttered under her breath, eyebrow raised.

“thought he liked wild girls,” toji added, squinting toward you from across the common room.

satoru, smug as ever, just grinned. “maybe he’s tryna wife up a sweetheart for once.”

but it was naoya who really crossed the line.

you were sitting on the back porch with sukuna’s jacket draped around your shoulders, talking quietly to shoko. sukuna was only a few feet away, half-listening while pretending to be focused on his vape, when naoya sauntered up beside him.

“shy girls give the best head,” he said, elbowing sukuna like it was funny. “bet she lets you do anything you want. doesn’t even talk back, huh?”

and sukuna didn’t say anything. he just decked him.

no warning. no slow boil. just one clean punch across the jaw that dropped naoya to the grass, stunned and sputtering.

“say some shit like that again,” sukuna growled, standing over him, “and you’ll be spitting out teeth next time.”

toji laughed. satoru was hollering like it was the best show he’d seen all week.

but sukuna didn’t care about any of them.

he turned back toward the house, jaw tense, chest heaving. you were standing by the door now, eyes wide. you’d clearly seen it happen. he didn’t know how much. didn’t know if you heard what naoya said. didn’t want to explain himself with some clumsy, half-assed excuse.

so he just walked up to you, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered low, “you’re exactly my type.”

the words weren’t for you. not entirely. but the way you looked at him—like you’d just seen something real—it stuck.

after that, things shifted.

but truth is, sukuna had no fucking clue how to ask you out.

he knew how to start a fight. how to roll a blunt. how to get a girl in his bed if he wanted to—but this? this was different. he wasn’t trying to just get lucky. he wasn’t trying to play it cool. not with you.

so he did what any hopeless, tattooed, secretly-soft frat boy would do when faced with a problem.

he went on tiktok.

typed into the search bar with an annoyed sigh—“how to ask out a shy girl without scaring her”—and scrolled. and scrolled. and scrolled. most of it was bullshit. some of it was too corny, even for him. but one video made him pause: “bake her something. get her a treat. keep it simple. don’t make her overthink it. just show her you thought about her.”

cue the next scene: sukuna, standing at the front of baskin robbins, absolutely dead-eyed, arms crossed as the teenage employee nervously read back his order.

“you want the message to say… can i be your boufriend?”

“yeah,” sukuna grunted.

“you mean boyfriend?”

“no. boufriend. like, y’know. ‘boyfriend’ but wrong. cute and shit.”

the employee blinked. nodded. “...got it.”

that night, he showed up outside your dorm with the tiny ice cream cake in both hands, a sheepish little smirk tugging at his mouth, like he knew it was dumb but was trying to play it off.

“don’t laugh,” he muttered, cheeks a little red. “it’s cold. like you. so it reminded me of you.”

you blinked. stared at the cake. then stared at him. then blinked again.

“...boufriend?” you whispered, covering your mouth as you giggled.

“it was a choice,” he defended, but the sound of your laugh made it all worth it.

you didn’t answer right away.

instead, you leaned against the doorframe, all shy and flustered and pink-cheeked, then whispered: “do i get to keep the cake and the boy?”

he grinned.

“you get whatever you want, sweetheart.”

and that was it.

you kissed him on the cheek that night—just a quick press of lips—but he looked at you like it wrecked him. like you’d just broken the toughest part of him open.

and by the time he walked back to the frat house, empty cake box under his arm, phone lighting up with toji’s texts asking where the hell he was, sukuna just smiled to himself and thought: