#sub sukuna

He called you every name in the book that first time. Said he’d carve your eyes out the second the opportunity came. But his cock was hard against your thigh the whole time you held him down, and when you finally shoved into him he made a sound that wasn’t anger at all.

That was months ago.

Now it’s just routine.

Tonight the lights are already out. You hear the soft scrape of his bare feet on the concrete when he shifts on the top bunk. He always pretends he’s asleep until you speak.

“Get down.”

Silence for a few seconds. Then the metal creaks as he swings himself over the edge and drops to the floor. He doesn’t look at you. Just stands there in the middle of the cell in the thin prison shirt and pants, jaw tight, eyes anywhere but on you.

You sit up slowly on the bottom bunk, elbows on your knees. “Clothes off.”

He still doesn’t look at you. His hands go to the hem of the shirt anyway. He pulls it over his head in one sharp motion and drops it. The pants follow. No underwear. He never bothers anymore. His cock is already half hard, hanging heavy between his thighs. He hates that. You can see it in the way his shoulders stay stiff.

You lean back against the wall and look him over. Marks from last night are still dark on his hips. A bruise on the inside of one thigh. Faint teeth marks on the side of his neck that he tried to hide under the collar all day.

“Come here.”

He steps forward until he’s standing between your knees. Close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him. You reach out and wrap a hand around his cock, just holding it. Not stroking. He flinches once, then goes still.

“You’re already hard,” you say.

His voice comes out low and rough. “Fuck you.”

You squeeze a little. “You say that every night.”

“And I mean it every night.”

You look up at his face. He’s staring past you again, mouth set in that same hard line. The only thing that gives him away is the way his cock twitches in your hand when you run your thumb over the head.

You let go and lean back further. “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

He does it without another word. Turns, plants both palms flat against the concrete, and spreads his feet like he’s done this a hundred times. Because he has. You stand up behind him and drag your hands down his sides, slow. Over the ridges of muscle, the scars, the places you know make his breath hitch even when he tries to stay quiet.

You press your chest against his back and reach around to take his cock again. This time you stroke him properly, long and steady. His head drops forward between his arms. A low sound catches in his throat.

“Still hate this?” you ask against the back of his neck.

“Yes.”

You keep stroking. “Your body doesnt.”

He doesn’t answer. Just breathes harder through his nose. You can feel the tension in every line of him, the way he’s fighting not to push back into your hand. You give him a few more strokes and then let go. He makes a frustrated noise he tries to smother.

You spit into your palm, work it over your own cock, and line up with his hole. No prep. He doesn’t get prep unless you feel like giving it. Tonight you don’t. You push in slow, watching the way his shoulders jump and then lock. The tight heat of him makes your breath leave in a short, quiet rush. He stays silent except for the sharp inhale through his teeth.

Once you’re fully inside you stay still for a second, forehead resting against the back of his shoulder. His whole body is rigid. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm where it’s pressed to his stomach.

“You can take it,” you tell him. “You always do.”

He turns his head just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. “I should’ve killed you the first night.”

“But you didn’t.”

You start moving. deep, steady thrusts that make the bunk frame behind you creak. His hands stay flat on the wall, fingers spreading wider every time you bottom out. You reach around again and wrap your hand back around his cock. He’s fully hard now, slick against your palm. You stroke him in time with your hips.

His breathing gets louder. Rougher. Every few thrusts a sound slips out of him that he can’t quite swallow. You feel the moment his knees start to give a little and you press closer, keeping him upright with the weight of your body.

“Look at you,” you murmur against his ear. “Acting like you don’t want it while you’re dripping all over my hand.”

“Shut up.”

You fuck him harder. The sound of skin on skin fills the small cell. His head drops further. One of his hands leaves the wall for a second like he’s going to reach back and grab you, but he catches himself and plants it again.

“Come on. Stop pretending.”

He shakes his head once, sharp. You feel the exact second he starts losing the fight. His hips push back to meet your thrusts without him meaning to. A low, broken sound leaves his throat. You keep the same pace, deep and relentless, hand working him in short, tight strokes.

“That’s it,” you say. “Just take it.”

He comes with a choked off noise, spilling over your fingers and onto the concrete. His whole body shudders hard. You keep fucking him through it, slower now, feeling the way he clenches around you. When his legs start to shake for real you wrap an arm around his waist and hold him up.

You finish a few thrusts later, buried deep, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. For a long minute neither of you moves. Just breathing.

Eventually you pull out. He stays where he is, hands still on the wall, head hanging. You grab the shirt he dropped earlier and wipe yourself off, then him. He doesn’t fight it. Just lets you.

When you’re done you sit back down on the bottom bunk. He stays standing for another few seconds before he turns around. His face is blank again, but his eyes are darker than usual. He looks at you like he’s still deciding whether to kill you or get back on the bunk.

You tip your chin toward the top. “Go to sleep.”

He picks up his pants, doesn’t bother putting them on, and climbs up. The metal creaks under his weight. You hear him settle. Then nothing.

After a while his voice comes down, quiet and rough.

“Tomorrow’s the same.”

It’s not a question.

You stare up at the underside of his bunk in the dark. “Yeah. It is.”

you've known sukuna for enough time at this point. and yet, there are so many things — too many things he kept from you. it was fine during the earlier years of your time together. but now, after so many years and so much effort you've put into relation with this man, this curse, you call your one. it was starting to get infuriating.

"what's the point of us being together if you're not going to be honest and real with me?" you cursed under your breath, hips jerking against sukuna's own. he's lost count of how long you've been buried deep inside him. not because of how long it's been, no. but simply because facing you without that kind, forgiving exterior he fell in love with felt like an agonizing eternity.

sukuna was used to pain. he was used to being treated roughly — with no pardon, no remission, and no purgation. he is the almighty king of curses, after all. guilty at charge of the murderings of thousands. antagonism was his nature. repugnance was the pulse he lived on.

that's what he had always thought until he met you.

you were an unfortunate soul sukuna found in the midst of his wanderings. faced with him, you had never once quivered in fear. you were willing; kind, funny, mindful, solicitous, benevolent — a truly good-natured being opposite to him in ways he couldn't seem to put into words or even thought. you were nothing like him.

"wait," sukuna rasped in between thrusts. his nails dug further into the skin of your shoulders, enhancing the previously imprinted crescent marks on your skin. "i– i don't like this," he called out your name, attempting to reach out and land a kiss on your lips.

woefully, to no avail. "i don't like you killing your butlers and keeping things from me, either," you hissed through frivolous breaths, eluding from his attempts for affection and proceeding to pound with no target in mind.

"but here we are, yeah, 'kuna?" you gritted your teeth. sukuna let out a noise alike to a whimper, his walls clenching around you in protest. "you piss me off," he bit his lower lip, legs twitching as you manhandled his body into doggy-style.

you've done this sort of play before. casual bantering was common between the two of you. rough sex; bdsm, spanking, choking, degradation, and all those things. but this time, it felt different. the tone of your voice felt distant and ruthless. the affection he's always longed for since the moment he received it left no trace in the way you spoke, and it felt like shit.

"go on, tell me why the fuck you beheaded john?" you snapped your cock inside him, fingertips digging into the mounds of his flesh. john was one of the servants he had murdered earlier that afternoon — a topic he snickered about with uraume said evening. "you know i told you to be done with worthless homicide," you lifted your hand, striking your palm onto his ass in an abhorrent manner.

his hips jerked in response. "shut— shut the fuck up," sukuna managed to gasp between moans, hips stuttering against your own as he tried to deny the overwhelming feelings he had circling in his system. "it's nun' of your business," he bites back just before your tip hit straight onto his prostate.

sukuna's head fell back, mouth agape without sound as his cock spurted worthless heeps of cum. "but uraume deserves to know?" you rolled your hips directly against his prostate, uncaring of the stimulation he's going through. he hiccuped, and your palm went straight to cup his mouth. "fuckin' whore," you grated out.

he doesn't know if he should cum again from how sexy your voice is or if he should get angry for what you said about uraume. right now, he's just trying to get off his high.

sukuna heaved out, attempting to control his breathing whilst his ass rolled against your cock once more. "i wish i was theirs," he retorted through a forced smirk. that's right, if you were gonna play at this game, then he might as well join in on the fun.

big mistake.

you wasted no time to slide your palm to the back of his head, tangling your fingers against the strands of his hair just to shove his face down onto the pillow before him.

"whore," you cursed, hips thrusting mercilessly against his sore ones. sukuna's hand reached out to grab ahold of yours on his hip, muffled groans resembling words aiming for rebuttal.

you hadn't even realized when the night of passion you had planned turned much more personal on your end.

sukuna grasped for air as soon as you let go of his hair, arms scrambling to support his body as your thrusts resumed torturously. he reached one hand to find yours, head looking back to meet your gaze. normally, even in doggy-style, you'd still be all over him — fingers lacing with his own on the mattress, kisses laid upon his back and shoulders.

now, it's all sex.

he's not sure if he likes it. but the tears in his eyes betray any sort of ground you had in the first place. "ryomen," you gasped out his name as soon as you caught a glimpse of the fat glands of tears rolling down his cheek.

"why are you the one crying?" you questioned through a slight scoff, easing your thrusts as you slowly handled him to lay on his back. they say a man's true weakness is the tears of his loved one. and man, is you.

the staggering of your hips came to a halt, palms reaching up to wipe his tears away with your thumbs. "was it something i said?" your voice faltered, the facade of your anger slowly losing its filter. "too rough? too much?"

sukuna shook his head, hand reaching to clasp the one on his cheek. "no," he breathed out. fuck, a curse rang through his head. this was the version of you he was used to. "just wanted you to kiss me," he almost clawed himself for sounding so pathetic.

your gaze of worry soon wavered. "fuck this shit," you exhaled, averting your sight before glancing back at him. "i really thought i lost control," your voice came out almost barely a whisper. despite his exterior, sukuna lets out a few tears often during intimacy. this time, it caught you off-guard, though.

"fuck you," sukuna uttered hoarsely, leaning against your palm. "you didn't kiss me. not even once," he rocked his hips against yours suggestively, steadying his breath whilst his fingers laced with your own.

your face fell flat, expression dull before you rolled your eyes. "will you stop killing your servants?" you asked.

his expression hardened, gaze flickering before returning back to you. "will you stop getting all touchy and flirty with them?" sukuna clenched his jaw.

oh. that was it the whole time?

you opened your mouth to deny that accusation — but seeing that look on his face; teary eyed with his lips pursed. fuck, he was acting way out of character right now. "i'm not even gonna argue with you," you sighed, leaning down to place a your lips on his forehead.

his hole spasmed with joy simultaneously with his sneer.