#cupids.arrows

Best Friend!Satoru who tells himself he’s the same old him. You’re the same old you. Except he keeps catching himself staring at your mouth when you talk and your throat when you swallow and your pretty eyes and your pretty smile and your pretty tits (fuck, when did you get those?).

Like, objectively, they’ve always been there. But now they’re just.. there. And he’d be unappreciative not to look and admire, if only a little.

Best Friend!Satoru who finds himself wondering how soft they’d feel, how your nipples would look hard and wet from his tongue. How your neck would look with his marks painting your skin.

Then he blinks, realizes he’s half-hard in his sweats, and immediately starts complaining about being hungry again to distract everyone (mostly himself, and god, he’s hungry for so much more).

Best Friend!Satoru who – when you crash at his place after movie night and fall asleep on his couch with one leg thrown over the backrest and your shorts riding up so high he can see the little dimple where ass meets thigh – has to take the longest, coldest shower of his life.

Best Friend!Satoru who jerks off so hard he sees stars, biting down on his bottom lip so you don’t hear the way he whimpers your name like a pervert.

Fuck.

You.

He cums embarrassingly fast when he remembers you’re in the next room over. Spilling hot into his hand, groaning at the sheer amount. He then emerges half an hour later like nothing happened and tosses a blanket over you while muttering “slutty sleeping positions, jeez” under his breath.

Best Friend!Satoru who keeps telling Suguru “no, dude, she’s not my type”. To which Suguru raises a brow – because he sees the way Satoru smiles when you laugh.

He hums. Watches Satoru stare at you for a full ninety seconds longer – then raises his brow higher.

"Your balls are on the line, Satoru."

"Fuck."

Best Friend!Satoru who knows that you know that he likes your tits. Nothing really ever gets past either of you when it comes to each other. You call him a boob-obsessed pervert. He doesn’t argue, for once – because there’s nothing false about that statement.

Best Friend!Satoru who ends up drunk at your place one night. His head’s in your lap and you’re playing with his hair and his filter just.. evaporates, because he’s in your bed, and god, you’re pretty, and your tits are staring right at him, and fuck, he likes your tits, and he likes you.

“If I motorboated you right now, would you kick me out or moan?”

“Excuse me?”

He repeats the question, and you stare at him before laughing. So hard you snort, which makes him groan and hide his face between your thighs (out of embarrassment, and not for any other reason. no, no alternative motives at all).

“What would you even do if you saw bare boobs, Satoru?”

He gives you an incredulous look. Like it’s obvious.

“Uh.. duh. Squeeze ‘em. Bounce ‘em. Stick my face between ‘em and go brrr.”

He pauses. Looks at you as if waiting for approval. Then raises a hand and makes a little grabby motion mid-air.

“Honk honk.”

You blink, slow.

And maybe because you’re tipsy, maybe because his cheesy grin makes your stomach flutter, maybe because of some dumb concoction of the two – you tug your shirt up. Letting your tits spill free. “Okay.”

And for once in his life, Gojo Satoru is speechless.

No way.

There’s no way you– you, his dumb, stupid, gorgeous, absolutely-nothing-more-than-friends best friend – are in front of him right now. With your tits out. He’s gotta be delusional. Maybe this is one of those dreams he gets where you lean forward and kiss him and he wakes up with a wet spot in his boxers and the afterglow ringing in his ears.

Your shirt’s bunched just beneath your collarbones, tits sitting pretty like it’s nothing. And you’re perfect, just like you always are, and they’re perfect, just like he thought they’d be, and a flush is spreading across his face, and his dick is twitching so hard it hurts.

“Satoru.”

“Mm..?”

“You’re staring.”

“Whoops.”

You raise a brow. “You begged to motorboat me. So do it, loser.”

He answers with a wrecked noise wrangled from the throat – half-laugh, half-groan. Ridiculously long fingers landing on your bare waist as he surges up.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Mouth dry, hands clammy, eyes blown wide as his gaze snaps from your face to your tits to your face to your tits and then all the way down to your sleep shorts before back up. “You’re serious? You’re letting me–?”

“You’ve got about ten seconds before I change my mind, Satoru.”

And oh, that does it.

Best Friend!Satoru who lunges.

Zero hesitation and zero finesse and pure, greedy desperation. His face buries itself between your breasts with a muffled, ridiculous brrrrrrr that vibrates straight through your skin. Nose dragging along the inner curve of one, lips brushing the other, cheeks hollowing as he shakes his head side to side like he’s trying to drown himself in your cleavage. The vibration makes you squeak, before the sound dissolves into breathless laughter.

“You absolute fucking dork–”

He pulls back just far enough for you to see his face – flushed crimson from the tips of his ears to the hollow of his throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Lashes fluttering as he stares up at you in open awe.

“They’re perfect,” he whispers, voice cracking, “so fucking soft, holy shit– fuuuck, I might die. Am I dead? Oh, if I am, I’m so, so happy about it.”

Then he dives back in.

His lips are soft and his mouth is hot and he’s relentless – tongue laving open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin, swirling slow, filthy circles around one nipple until it stiffens into a tight, aching peak. When he closes his lips and sucks – hard – your back arches off the bed. Fingers twisting viciously in his hair.

He groans at the pull, hips jerking forward. Grinding against the sheets.

“Look at these,” he murmurs, hoarse. Hands sliding up to cup your breasts, long fingers splaying wide as his thumbs brush over your split-slick nipples. “Been thinking ‘bout them for years, y’know? Every time you wore those stupid tops and leaned over to steal my fries and hugged me and they pressed against my body– shiiiiit, had to count backwards from a hundred. Didn’t wanna pop a boner in public like a perv.”

And oh, you see it. His hard-on, all warm and thick and pulsing with every heartbeat.

He’s so hard it has to hurt.

“Perv.”

He freezes. A full-body shudder rips through him.

“Don’t,” Satoru whispers. “Don’t– hah– or I’ll cum in my pants right now. I’m not joking.”

You giggle. Fingers running through his hair, cradling his head to your chest.

“Peeeeervert.”

“You’re evil,” he whispers, nuzzling closer. “You’ve always been evil. I hate you so much.”

“You’re literally suffocating yourself between my tits right now.”

“I take it all back. I love you. Never change. Marry me. Have my babies. Name them all after me–”

Best Friend!Satoru who thinks that taking off clothes is suuuuch an inconvenience. He does it because he has to, but really – you’re best friends. You shouldn’t need to wear clothes around each other. If you’re naked in his room all the damn time, then hey, that’s just what best friends are for. And honestly, while he’s at it, what’s a little cock, too? What are best friends for if not fucking?

Best Friend!Satoru who’s on his knees between your thighs before you can even catch your breath, long fingers spreading you wide, eyes glittering in the low light.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes. Voice wrecked, thumb sliding through your slick folds just to watch you twitch. “Soaked, huh? Hiii, pretty girl. I know. ‘Toru’s here, baby.”

You barely manage a snarky shut up before he spits – deliberate, filthy – right on your clit. Watches it drip slow and nasty down to your entrance, then drags two long fingers through the mess, mixing it all together before pushing inside without warning.

The stretch makes you gasp – and then he curls his fingers just right, and you swear you see stars.

Best Friend!Satoru who lets out a murmured “attagirl” while he pumps his fingers into your pussy. You’re unsure as to whether he’s speaking to you or your cunt – scissoring you open as his tongue flicks out to swirl ‘round your clit.

“Mmm. Been dreaming ‘bout this pussy, y’know? Used to jerk off in the shower imagining your taste and then– fuuuck, yeah, post-nut clarity would hit so fucking hard. Felt like shit. This feels like heaven.”

Best Friend!Satoru who seals his mouth over your clit and sucks. The way he sucked on your nipples earlier, only harder, and filthier. Tongue flicking fast and then slow and then spelling his own name out against your cunt because of course he does.

“Satoru– fuck! Slow down–”

Best Friend!Satoru who does not slow down. Instead, he pulls off just long enough to grin up at you, lips shiny, chin dripping – “No.”

Then he’s hauling you up by the thighs, lying back against the sheets and dragging you over his face.

“Sit,” he grins. “Sit. Want your thighs around my head when I make you cum.”

Best Friend!Satoru who frowns when you hover just above. Who yanks you down until you’re smothering him, nose buried against your clit, tongue swirling inside you alongside two of his fingers, knuckle-deep. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting eaten, hips grinding uselessly against the air, a pretty bead of pre-cum dribbling down his cock.

And every time you try to lift up to give him air, he pulls you back down harder.

“No, no, use me, baby. Use me. Ride my face. Want you to drown me.”

Your thighs shake.

You’re close, so close, grinding down shamelessly now, chasing it – and he knows. He always knows. Just like he knows the sky is blue and the grass is green and he loves his best friend’s pussy so, so much.

Best Friend!Satoru who sucks your clit into his mouth one last time. Crooks his fingers just right. And then you’re crashing into your high, cumming with his name all sweet on your tongue, gushing while he drinks you down like he needs your arousal to stay alive.

Best Friend!Satoru who doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, oversensitive, trying to squirm away – and only then does he let you collapse beside him. He’s panting, face flushed a cherry pink, lips swollen and glossy with you. Sprawled on his back with an arm flung over his eyes, both of your chests heaving in sync.

You nudge his ribs. “You good, weirdo?”

He doesn’t move his arm. Just lets out the most pathetic little whine you’ve ever heard in your life, then curls into a ball.

“..I came.”

.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, peering down at him. “Wait. Like.. just now? Untouched?”

He peeks from under his forearm, mortified. “Don’t laugh. I’ll actually cry.”

You bite your lip so hard it hurts. Shoulders shaking. And he groans, rolling facedown into the pillows.

“I hate you– shit, sorry, not you.. I hate my dick. Why’s it so loyal to you?–”

You poke the small of his back. “Satoru.”

“–betraying me all the time–”

“Satoru.”

He turns his head just enough to halfheartedly glare at you, cheeks flushed. “Yes?”

“Wanna fuck me?”

His whole body jolts up – dick included. The arm flies off his face so fast it’s comical.

“Hell yeah.”

Best Friend!Satoru who lines himself up with trembling hands. Rubbing the fat head of his cock between your slick folds once, twice, swiping up and coating himself in the mess he’s made of you. And he’s big – bigger than you expected – filling you up with a burningly good stretch. He bottoms out with a groan – long and low and wrecked. Forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck. Fuuuuuck. Holy shit, you’re tight, baby.”

“Shush.”

He blinks. Pulls back. His eyes dart over your face – hesitant.

“Sorry.”

“It's okay, ‘Toru. Just give me a sec.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah– are you okay?”

You nod, slow. Silence fills the room.

And then his dick twitches, and the both of you burst out into laughter.

It’s awkward. In that best-friends-really-shouldn’t-be-having-sex way. But that’s what makes it fun, no?

And god, Satoru thinks he loves you.

He likes when you smile. He likes when you say his name. You’re really fucking pretty all the fucking time and even more so when you’re giggling – something in the frequency of your laugh making his brain short circuit to a pleasant buzz. And when you give him the green light, the buzz spreads all the way down into his chest, into some funny fuzzy feeling that makes his stomach do flips.

Best Friend!Satoru who fucks you like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin and live there forever. Slow, reverent, hips rolling deep and deliberate like he’s trying to mold your walls into the shape of his cock with every inch. His forehead stays pressed to yours, breath hitching every time he bottoms out, those ridiculously blue eyes all wide and adoring and completely fucking gone.

“Shit.. shit, you feel–” he cuts himself off with a shuddering groan, pulling out slow just to watch the way your pussy clenches around nothing, desperate to drag him back in. “You’re sucking me in, baby. Greedy little thing.”

Best Friend!Satoru who can’t decide where to put his hands. They’re everywhere, frantic, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he stops touching. Gentle against your tits, sliding down to frame your hips, then up again to cradle your face while he kisses you all sloppy and open-mouthed, tongue swirling with yours like he’s starving.

And then his eyes flutter open, and he murmurs soft against your mouth – “the clitoris.”

“What?”

He smiles bright, hand drifting down to thumb at your puffy clit. Grinning wider when your head falls back against the pillow and your toes curl and you squeal his name.

“The clitoris.”

Best Friend!Satoru who loses the plot completely when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. The rhythm stutters, turning all messy and desperate, and he pants into your neck, hips snapping hard enough that the headboard smacks the wall with a steady thump-thump. But his hand cradles your head gentle, the other supporting your waist. So, so careful.

“Wait– fu– fuuuckk, m’not gonna last if you keep–”

He chokes on the words when you clench deliberately around him, walls milking his cock.

“Shit, cumming, baby–”

Best Friend!Satoru who tries to pull out. Because he’s a gentleman (allegedly). But you lock your ankles behind his back and your arms wrap around his shoulders as you hold him tight to your body, murmuring a quiet “inside. on the pill” – and he’s gone. Eyes rolling back so hard you’re worried for a second, before he slams back inside with a guttural sound. Hips grinding deep as he spills all hot inside you.

He cums forever. Like, literally. Forever. You didn’t know a guy could cum this much. Pulse after pulse, hips jerking helplessly, face buried in the crook of your neck as he whimpers, muffled against your skin. “Fuck, fuck, take it– take it, baby, shiiiit–”

Best Friend!Satoru who stays buried inside you the whole time. Cock still half-hard and twitching every few seconds like it’s raring to go. Trembling, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, peppering gentle kisses along your collarbone as the silence spills soft between the two of you.

And then he pulls out, slow. Watches his cum drip out of you with a loving sigh. Proceeds to scoop it all up with two fingers and push it back in, smiling when your walls flutter weakly around his knuckles.

“Mine,” he whispers. Rolling your clit beneath the pad of his thumb almost absentmindedly. “All mine.”

Then he flops on top of you like an overgrown cat, face smushing between your tits, arms wrapped tight around your waist.

Best Friend!Satoru who, five minutes later, is hard again. Nudging your thigh with his dick like a golden retriever ready to play.

“Round two?”

You flick his forehead. “You just came inside me like a broken hose, Satoru. Give me five minutes.”

He pouts. Then brightens.

“Cool, I’ll use the five minutes to motorboat you again.”

“Satoru–”

“Brrrrrrbrrbprbrpbrrrrrr.”

Best Friend!Satoru who swears he’s not perving. Surely not.

Best Friend!Satoru who absolutely is.

But he’s doing it respectfully!

Quietly.

Desperately.

In the stupid way stupid guys do when they fall in love with their stupid childhood best friend.

(Satoru is NOT cutting off his balls for this.)

Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.

Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.

He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.

Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.

𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸

Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.

There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.

“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”

Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.

“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”

“Maybe.”

The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.

“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”

A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!

You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”

He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.

Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds. 

He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.

He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.

He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?

He’s excited. Very. In many ways.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.

Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.

God, he’s missed you.

“You’re staring.”

“..you’re breathing.”

“Yes, that tends to happen.”

His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.

He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.

Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.

He likes you a lot.

The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.

Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.

His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.

He can’t be bothered to care.

He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.

Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.

“Hold still, woman.”

“I am holding still, you dolt–”

There’s a sharp crack!

All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.

Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.

Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.

“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”

“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”

He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”

Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.

Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.

Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.

It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.

The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.

Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.

Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.

His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.

“..say you love me.”

Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.

“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.

“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”

His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.

Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.

You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.

“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”

Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.

Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –

“..missed this pussy.”

He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.

But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.

Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.

When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.

Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.

He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.

–––

Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–

.

Where the hell are you?

Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.

Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.

DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–

You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.

“Hi,” you sniff.

His eye twitches.

“Woman.”

“Yes?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.

Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.

He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.

“You told me you were seeing someone.”

You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”

“Maybe means yes.”

“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”

“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”

“Our apartment.”

“Same difference.”

You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.

Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.

What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.

It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.

And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?

You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.

“There is no guy,” you snort.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”

“You know where the apartment is.”

“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”

You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.

It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.

“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”

He glares down at you. You smile back.

And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.

“You big baby.”

Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.

Still, the itch never leaves.

Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.

“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”

You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.

Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.

Scratch that – his girl would, first.

Beefy!Toji who runs warm. Like a living heater. You’re always half-draped over him with the heat from his muscles seeping straight into your bones. Summer nights are a battle and winter mornings are a blessing and either way, he’ll find you lounging around watching TV in his sweats.

Beefy!Toji who wears reading glasses. Brain and brawn except it’s your boyfriend poring over some kind of furniture setup manual with his brow furrowed – at which point he gives up and goes back upstairs to take a shit. The sound from his rectum reverberates through the walls. You love this man dearly.

Beefy!Toji who comes back from the gym all sweat-slick and glistening. Yeah. Yeahhhh

Beefy!Toji who’s veiny. Lines tracing prominent down his forearms and hands. They stand out when he flexes or grips something tight, and when he catches your stare, he literally starts guffawing.

He’s got a thick one trailing up the underside of his cock, too. It scrapes deliciously against your walls when he’s balls-deep inside – and he knows that. Fucks you slow just to see your eyes roll back when his tip kisses your cervix, vein rubbing deliberate against your sweet spot.

Beefy!Toji who puts you in a headlock when you’re playfighting and it’s fucking terrifying. And hot. Muscles bulging as he holds you snug, smug little smirk prominent while you complain and thrash about. He only lets go when you quiet down and tap his arm twice, heart hammering, and suddenly he’s all soft. Big hand ruffling your hair, those languid eyes searching your face. Voice low as he asks if you’re okay.

Beefy!Toji who’s disgusting. Itching one foot with the other foot and drinking milk straight from the jug and burping loud enough to rattle your windows.

He sheds.

Clothes, that is.

There’s a permanent trail of socks and compression shirts and gym shorts and sweats leading from the front door to the bedroom. All of them musky as fuck with his scent – something of sweat, and laundry detergent, and whatever protein powder he’s currently obsessed with. It’s a little comforting, actually.

Beefy!Toji who falls asleep anywhere. Couch. Floor. Half-off your bed. One leg hanging and one arm flung over his face, drooling everywhere and snoring like a chainsaw. He’ll fall asleep on top of you, too, weight pinning you down – not that you’re complaining.

Beefy!Toji who fucks you anywhere. He’s giving you backbreaking booty bouncing backshots from the kitchen counter to the living room floor. From the moment you step through the door and he pins you to the wall, to your bed at 4am on a Monday morning. He’s got you in messy missionary. A downright filthy arch on your doggystyle. Big fan of dryhumping, too.

But Beefy!Toji's favorite position, by far, is full nelson.

Beefy!Toji who likes the power trip of scooping you up with no effort at all. Thick forearms hooking under your knees and spreading you wide, hands locking behind your neck.

He gets off on the way your body folds for him – cunt glistening and clenching around nothing after he's eaten you out. Plush of your skin pooling over the hardness of his arms, head lolled back against his shoulder.

Beefy!Toji who fucks you until you're babbling, mouth slack and drooling a little while he thrusts up with those heavy, deliberate rolls – curve of his cock dragging all filthy along your front wall. Then he walks you to the bed, gravity moving your hips with the cadence of his steps.

Beefy!Toji who fingerfucks his cum back into you. Rough pad of his thumb rubbing messy circles over your puffy clit, stretching you out with three fingers and spreading just to snicker at the way you tremble.

He’s mean. Terribly so. Spitting and watching the glob slide all nastily through your folds, mixing with your slick. Before slapping your pussy and grinding down with the heel of his palm.

Beefy!Toji who loves to overstimulate you. Switches from his fingers to his tongue to his dick then back again, over and over until your nerves are raw and your body’s twitching.

And all the while, he’s keeping track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

He can’t have his girl going to sleep without hitting at least five, after all.

Beefy!Toji who’s still rock hard and leaking inside you by your fourth, length pulsing in your oversensitive walls like he’s got a personal vendetta. You’re creaming around him, body jerking forward by instinct, and his hands clamp warm on your hips. Yanking you right back.

“Nah, baby.. you can take it.”

Beefy!Toji who pulls out slow. Lets you feel every thick inch drag before turning you to your back and thrusting right back in, hips bullying up – right against your sweet spot. Your tits bounce with the force, nipples stiff and aching in the open air, and he shudders at the sight. Doesn’t even try to hide the way his grin stretches wider.

“Yeeeeeah. There we go.”

Beefy!Toji who finally stills after lord knows how long. You’re both wrecked and sticky, fifth (maybe sixth) orgasm rippling through you in pathetic little aftershocks. He stays inside for a minute, buried to the hilt, pressing kisses against your neck. Weight blanketing you down as his cock twitches lazily.

Eventually, he rolls off just enough to drag you on top of him – your cheek against his chest, one bulky arm slung across your back.

Beefy!Toji who gives you the best meat. Yum. The end.

A/N: not proofread suck my nuts

Toji can handle this. Whatever it is – hormones, low blood sugar, divine punishment – he’s gone through worse. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

So he sits down across from you like a functioning human being, fork in one hand, knife in the other. Pretending that the sight of you leaning over to take the syrup and pour it for him doesn’t make his pulse thunder in his ears.

You’re the problem.

No.

No, he’s the problem, and everything you’re doing is only making his problem worse. The clink of cutlery against your plate and the lazy curl of steam from the pancakes you made for him and the way you tilt your head when you smile up, at him.

It’s domestic. Harmless! Lethal. Oh god, Toji thinks he's going insane.

He cuts into his pancake, if only to have something to do with his hands. Salivating.

For what, he’s not sure.

Toji wonders, briefly, if he’s always been this much of a fucking idiot.

This is breakfast. Not a mating ritual. But his body doesn’t seem to agree – blood humming, heat crawling up his spine, energy sifting and curling with weight in his stomach. And so, in a moment of poor motor coordination, his fork slips.

Clatters to the floor.

“Nice one,” you tease, about to rise to help, before he cuts you off with a halfhearted glare and crouches. “I’ve got it.”

Except he really, really doesn’t.

Because when his fingers close over the handle of the fork and he raises his head, he’s eye level with your pretty pussy. Clothed in cotton, covered by nothing else but your panties, his shirt rising up on your body. Exposing your thighs.

“Toji? Did you– oh–”

And without really processing it, his hands come up around your hips. Pulling you to the edge of your seat.

Is he delusional, or does your cunt smell like syrup?

Maybe he is ovulating.

Maybe you are.

He’d like it if you were.

His fingers hook in your panties and drag them to the side. He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. Smiles all wide-eyed when he sees your cunt clench involuntarily.

You frown, trying to look below the table – to no avail, as he’s directly beneath it.

“Toji, what’re you doing?”

“Eating breakfast.”

His tone comes out matter-of-fact. Like it’s his god given right to get his syrup straight from the source. And when you open your mouth to retort, you’re cut off by a whine – because without warning, his mouth is on you. Tongue dragging flat and slow along your folds, parting them with a deliberate kind of pressure. Flicking up to circle your clit before dipping back down. You gasp, fingers gripping the edge of the table, thighs trembling on either side of his head – and he just smiles cruelly against your cunt.

“Sweet,” he murmurs. Vibration humming straight through you, nose nuzzling against your clit. Inhaling deeply. “Fuck, so sweet.”

His tongue swirls messy, spreading out your slick. And you try to shift, or to push him away with a foot to his chest – only for him to prop your legs up over his shoulders for better leverage. Thumbs digging into the plush of your upper thighs to keep you spread wide. Another long lick, this one direct to your clit before dipping lower, and you feel the tip of his tongue probing. Pushing inside just enough to tease before shying away.

“At least eat your pancakes first,” you scold half-heartedly. Body betraying you as your pussy clenches around nothing.

He chuckles against you, the sound muffled and wet. “Nah. I’m good here.”

Then he’s back at it, tongue thrusting back in. Deeper. Fucking into you with shallow, insistent strokes while his thumb finds your clit. The table above creaks faintly as you lean forward, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

He’s relentless. Obsessed with every inch, everything about you – the way your walls flutter, the slick sounds filling the space. His hands slide further up, big palms resting warm against your inner thighs as he spreads you wider. Exposing your cunt fully to his mouth. He flattens his tongue again, lapping from below and then up to your clit in a single broad stroke, collecting every drop like it’s the sweetest nectar.

And then, hoarse and ragged, his voice breaks through the haze.

“Why the hell are you so sweet?”

He murmurs it right against your folds, mumbling things without a thought.

“Like honey. Driiiipping. My pretty pussy.. gotta clean you up, huh?”

His words send a fresh wave of arousal flooding out, and he groans in approval. Lips closing around your clit.

Two of his fingers join in. Digging into your cunt with an obscene squelch – sliding into your soaked entrance with ease.

He doesn’t just push them in.

He's exploratory and achingly slow, pads of his fingers rough against your walls. Bullying in and stretching you out until he’s knuckle deep inside and you’re pulsing around him.

He crooks them without a second thought. Not for your pleasure, but rather, to hit that spot that has your clit pressing further into his mouth, eyes rolling back with a cry.

Toji knows where you’re sensitive. All the spots inside you that have you melting into his hold. And he uses the curl of his fingers to scrape and press right against them, relentless. At the same time, his tongue swirls around your clit, sucking with a greedy, rhythmic pace.

Your breath breaks into a whimper. Lost in the fervid, focused attention of his mouth, and the brutal thrusts of his fingers.

He pistons them in deep. Almost to the hilt. Before dragging them out all slow and agonizing, letting your gushing cunt milk every inch of the retreat.

You shiver, back arching into the touch. “You– oh, fuck.. cumming, cumming–”

“Attagiiiirl.”

The vibrations zip right from his tongue to your clit. He scissors his fingers out, laughing when you tremble – back arching as the world dissolves into ringing white noise.

Your cunt spasms around him, clenching and contracting and desperately clinging to the sensation as your high washes over you. Pulling the digits in deeper, even as he holds them steady.

A long, shaky sigh escapes you, 

and for some reason, Toji can’t stop.

It’s not like he doesn’t hear your cries, or notice the way your pussy flutters helplessly and milks him in – he just doesn’t want to let go. You’re sweet, so sweet, and he’s still hungry. Still searching for more.

So he goes back for seconds.

His tongue flattens, working against your clit to draw out every last shudder and whimper. Fingers flexing deep inside to stretch you out. He pumps them slow, curling them right against that sensitive spot once more – then faster when your walls clench tight, gripping his knuckles. Twists his wrist. Finds an easier angle and starts pumping, faster, until you’re gripping onto the arms of the chair for dear life, head thrown back with an incoherent whine. Downright filthy sounds fill the dining room – slick coating his hand, dripping down his chin.

God. He’s greedy.

And you’re so good for him.

He doesn’t ease up, even as your thighs clamp around his head, bucking involuntarily into his mouth. Just groans low, dragging his tongue down your cunt to meet the base of his fingers, nestled inside you.

Your own fingers tangle in his dark hair, pulling – and he groans again, more guttural than before. The sound reverberating through your syrupy cunt.

“Please,” you gasp, voice cracking, “Toji, gonna–”

“–you’re sweet.”

Toji is not listening. He can’t even hear you.

“My pretty, pretty girl.” His tongue slurs the words out, gaze half-lidded and focused nowhere in particular. “Taste so good. Give me more. More. More.”

His tongue pushes in alongside his fingers. Digits crooking downward so he can taste up, swirling around to gather your slick. Your legs tremble, toes curling – and the overstimulation borders on pain. The good kind. The ache that twists into pleasure, sharp and unrelenting and inescapable in Toji’s hold. He laps at you, swallowing – nose bumping your clit with every eager movement.

And just as your body gives out and you slip into another orgasm, his lips close in a cruel suction around your clit once more. Tongue swirling as the waves crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his lengthy fingers – soaking, rivulets dripping obscene down his wrist.

He drinks you in without complaint, letting you ride it out on his face. Lips curved in a wide, wild grin. He keeps his fingers buried deep, thrusting through your high and prolonging the feeling until you’re sobbing his name.

When your climax fades, Toji withdraws his fingers slowly. Pupils blasted as he watches the way your hole clenches around nothing, as if begging to be filled again.

He brings those slick digits to his mouth and sucks them clean with deliberate slowness, watching the way your puffy pussy begs for more.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he whispers. Hoarse.

He leans back in and laps through your sticky folds one last time – one last taste.

Then he reaches down for the fork lying beneath your seat. Holds it up, a mockery of domesticity.

“Told you I got it,” Toji rasps. Rising and throwing the fork onto the table with a clatter.

Before you can process anything at all, he’s standing. Licking his glistening bottom lip, then a long stripe from his wrist where your slick has dripped down, before hauling you forward by your hips. Right out of the chair.

You let out a surprised yelp as he sits down and lands you hard atop his lap. His big hands bracketing your hips to grind your bare cunt down against his length, pressing against you through his boxers.

The fabric’s rough and hot against your already sensitive clit, friction sending a jolt through your entire body. Your slick soaks right through to his cock, and he rocks his hips. A slow, deliberate grind, smearing your warmth along his pulsing length.

You let out a stunned little noise, and Toji laughs. Head dipping down to kiss up your neck almost obsessively.

His hands leave your hips. Slip beneath your shirt, up, until they’re palming your breasts with rough enthusiasm. Thumbs grazing your hard nipples, circling before flicking. Playing.

“Look at the mess you made, baby.”

His voice is a demeaning drawl in your ear. But he’s satisfied, with you in his arms. Soaked and somehow just as gorgeous as always. If not more so

“Sticky now,” Toji grins. “Gotta take you upstairs and clean you up the right way.”

His hands slip back down around your waist, muscles flexing as his hips roll against you one more time before he lifts you up.

The pancakes sit on the table as you’re lugged upstairs. A sad little afterthought.