Sukuna shakes his head with a growl, trying to get his thoughts in order. He’s here, this he knows for sure, he’s here because he’s been haunted by the thought of you since you’d kicked him out of your apartment.

Absolutely haunted. Unable to move or breathe or take a piss without thinking of you. Seeing your fucking face everywhere. Getting distracted by the ghost of your cunt in business meetings with the opposition.

There’s only so much a man can take.

So here he is. Fidgeting like a common fool on your doorstep. Poised to do exactly what you’d told him not to when you’d said to leave you the fucking fuck alone. Your words.

He sighs. Two months of great sex gone up in flames when you’d suggested going out to dinner and he’d laughed in your face. You had stilled, expression gone cold in a way he’d never expected, and told him to get the fuck out, throwing his pants after him.

Sukuna lets out a huff. He doesn’t do dinners, he’s not gonna be your fucking boyfriend, he reminds himself sharply. He’s not going to chain himself to you like a dog, that isn’t how he operates.

But then, what is he doing here?

Grumbling, Sukuna bites the bullet and knocks at your door. It swings open; you’d left it unlocked. He slips inside, locking it behind him.

See! he thinks to himself, see! He can’t get himself into any kind of relationship with you because apparently you’re a fucking idiot who leaves your door unlocked, and he doesn’t have time for such stupidity. But he finds himself pacing quickly through your apartment, worried someone had broken in and hurt you. He’s prepping the lawsuit and sharpening the knives in his head.

But no, there you are, curled up in your bed. Sunlight streams around you, you’re wearing a loose t-shirt and lace panties, and you’ve pulled Sukuna in like gravity. He can’t help it, he stands over you, letting his hand slide gently across your stomach, fingers skimming the underside of your breasts.

He can’t fucking help it, and when you roll over and groan lightly, cracking your eyes open and smiling sleepily at him, it kicks him in the teeth.

Your hands come up to frame his face, fingers threading through his hair. “Only brave when I’m asleep, hm, Sukuna?”

Hn. Your barb hits home, but he ignores it. “You’re a fool for keeping your door unlocked.”

You gently push his hair out of his face. “Had a feeling you might want to stop by.”

He’d texted you his flight details last week, before it had all fallen apart. That you knew—that you could predict what he’d do, that lies heavy on his neck.

“So you took a nap?”

You shrug. “What was I supposed to do, twiddle my thumbs and wait for you? I was tired.”

Sukuna presses his mouth into a hard line. He decides to dig his own grave. “Thought you didn’t want me here anymore.”

You raise your eyebrows, moving your hand to his and pulling it so it’s flush over your breast. “Would you like to leave?”

Obviously not. He tsks at you, then quickly joins you on the bed, caging you in beneath him. You look up at him with a lazy smile, like you’re the one who has him trapped. Your attitude is beginning to fuck with his head. Why is he the one knocked off-balance? He feels like he’s scrambling, like you’re one step ahead and he’s struggling to keep up. And he doesn’t fucking like it.

Sukuna needs to regain some control. He needs to make you lose yours. So he gives you a cocky smirk and pushes your shirt up to expose your breasts.

You smile wider, giving a contented sigh as he braces one hand by your head and brings the other to your breast. He pinches your nipple roughly, rolling it between his fingers before taking your whole breast in his palm, kneading it in his hand.

You’re still looking at him like you have him right where you want him. Sukuna growls. This didn’t work at all. But now he’s got your tit in his hand and his dick is getting distracted.

Leaning down, Sukuna runs his tongue over the underside of your breast, licking up toward your nipple. He takes it into his mouth, sucking harshly before flicking at it lightly with the tip of his tongue. You moan sharply, hands flying to his hair, and he grins, victorious.

It goes straight to his head. “Missed these pretty tits,” he groans.

His tongue stutters. That felt like an admission. He quickly covers it up. “You missed my hands on ‘em?” He moves his free hand, using his nails to dig lightly into the skin around your nipple.

You jolt beneath him, saying nothing. He looks up at you to see your biting your lip, eyes squeezed shut. He lets one nail aimlessly slide against your breast, drawing light, lazy patterns. The ghost of a touch has your breath stuttering. “Ye—yeah,” you grit out.

Sukuna scrapes his teeth over the curve your breast. “Missed my mouth on ‘em?”

“Hmm, yes.”

Sukuna looks up to find you looking down at him, gaze cloudy. He gives you a smirk. “Missed my dick on ‘em?”

You snort, then scream as he bites down on your nipple. “Yeah, you fucking bastard,” you mutter, chest heaving under his lips.

Ha. You’ve finally lost your cool. Good.

Your hands come up to clutch at his sweater, but he came here for skin on skin. He quickly pulls his sweater off, throwing it toward the floor. Before it can hit the ground you reach out and snatch it out of the air.

“Sukuna,” you protest. He’s already rolling his eyes. “Sukuna, this is—” you check the tag and gasp. “This is fucking cashmere, you can’t just throw it on the ground!”

You’re always getting after him to take care of his clothes, insisting that they’re too high quality to leave in a heap. It’s irritating; he can always buy another sweater.

“They’re my clothes,” he growls, but you’re already scrambling out from under him. He props himself up on an elbow to watch you fuss over it, gently brushing it off and carefully folding it. He doesn’t miss the way your hands linger, smoothing over the soft fabric.

Maybe he should buy you one.

He chases the thought out of his head. That’s boyfriend shit.

“I’m tempted to get a hanger,” you mutter.

“Don’t get a hanger.”

You roll your eyes. As soon as you’ve laid his sweater carefully on the iron-wrought footboard, he grabs your hand to reel you back in. “Come on, woman,” he growls, grabbing you by the hips and settling you on his lap.

You gasp, hands coming up to grip his shoulders. When you raise your head, Sukuna realizes you’re face to face, eyes level now. The air in the room changes; it bites. His hands tighten on your hips.

You must notice it, too, because your face hardens, just a fraction. You blow a stream of air through your teeth and turn sharp, considering eyes on him, picking him apart.

Before his face can do anything, he leans down and licks his way between your breasts. He sucks deep, purple marks into your soft skin, smoothing them over with the flat of his tongue before doing it again.

Sukuna glances up at you, expecting you to moan prettily, like you always do when he gets his mouth on your tits. Instead, you’re looking at him with a wry smile. “One-track mind, huh?” But you’re gasping, arching your back to push your tits further into his face, so he counts it as a win.

He keeps going, kissing and biting and sucking at your chest until you hopefully fall apart for him. He has one arm against your back, holding you so you don’t fall, and another sliding across your thigh, reaching for your ass. Sukuna slips his hand past the line of your panties and grabs you, tracing the curve of your ass with his thumb before squeezing, and now, now you’re moaning, grinding down on him sharp enough to make him hiss.

He grins into your chest. How can he not, Sukuna’s got your tits in his face and your ass in his hand and you absolutely whimpering for him on his lap. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be here again, but look at him, he got his way and he’s ticking his boxes and soon, he’ll have his cock in your sweet little cunt.

His breath runs ragged as he thinks about it. God, he’s been thinking about it, all the times he’s had you underneath or on your knees, feeding his cock into your needy pussy. And you always take him so well, stretching and then moulding around him like a fucking glove, squeezing him like it’s your fucking job, like you were built for it. He had to come back, he realizes, mind hazy as you rock yourself up and down onto his hard-on. He had to come stuff you full of his cock, he couldn’t go without it.

He edges a hand to the front of your panties, already thinking of how wet and slick you must be for him, how hard he’s gonna make you come on his cock, when your hand on his wrist stops him.

“Sukuna! Sukuna-baby, wait.”

He nearly bites his tongue off. Sukuna-baby.

He pulls his face from your tits. A swell of pride rises as he looks them over, he’s marked almost every inch. Sukuna looks up at you, smirk clicked into place.

Your face is apologetic. “I almost forgot. I’m on my period.”

Oh. He looks down at your cunt. That means he can’t fuck you.

Damn. Damn. Every time he’s come over, every single time, he’s fucked and finished inside your pussy. Always. Didn’t matter if you’d blown him till he’d spilled down your throat, he wouldn’t leave until you’d sat on his cock. It’s all he’s been thinking about.

But now he’ll have to leave disappointed. Not that he ever does well with disappointment.

Sukuna looks up, ready to spit acid at you for not warning him, but it dies in his throat when he sees your face. You’re giving him a hard, questioning look, considering him through narrowed eyes. He feels flayed open.

Something clicks, and you sigh, rising off his lap. “I think you need to leave,” you say quietly, evenly. You reach for his sweater.

Sukuna’s hands fall into his lap. Something is happening, if he blinks, he’ll miss it. He forces his brain to fucking work.

If he leaves now, you’ll never let him see you again, that seems to be clear. You’re testing him, he realizes, you’re testing him, or maybe you’ve already concluded that he’s going to leave because he’s selfish by nature, because Sukuna is exactly what you think he is.

And he probably is. But Sukuna’s mood grows black at the thought of never seeing you again.

His brain runs on instinct. He can’t leave. But he can’t fuck you.

Okay.

Sukuna grabs you from behind, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest. You yelp, cashmere sweater falling from your hands.

“Come put that messy pussy on my face,” he rumbles in your ear. You let out a sharp gasp.

“But—Sukuna—” you turn, gesturing helplessly to yourself.

He rolls his eyes. “Think I’m afraid of a little blood?” Laying back on your pillows, he cradles his head in his hands and gives you a wolfish grin. “Come on, woman, ‘m getting cold up here.”

Your throat bobs as you swallow, nodding unsteadily. Your face is a mess, uncertain, shy, excited. Sukuna nearly shakes with glee. He’s done it, he’s gone and knocked you off kilter and now you’re confused and timid and in the palm of his fucking hand.

You crawl over to him, eyeing his face with trepidation. He raises his eyebrows, then grabs you by the hips and settles you over his mouth.

“Fucking hell, Sukuna, you can’t just—mmhh.”

He grins, nosing his way down your folds. “Can’t just what?” he quips.

“Can’t—unhh—can’t shut the fuck up,” you grumble.

He licks at your clit, tongue dragging on the lace of your panties. “Woman, you don’t want me to shut up. You want me to tell you that you’ve soaked through your underwear.” He slides a canine over you, digging in just so, and you let out a scream, hands in his hair. “You want me to tell you that I can already taste you. Drooling into my mouth like a good little slut.”

You whimper. He fucking has you.

Sukuna flattens his tongue over your clit and presses. Your thighs twitch. “Who has you so wet, huh? Who has you fucking dripping?”

The answer is immediate. “Y—you, Sukuna.”

Him. “Me,” he agrees, then takes your underwear into his mouth. “I’m ripping these,” he mutters, then tears them to shreds.

You quickly pull the tatters out of the way, and suddenly your cunt is in his face. You try and surge forward, but his hands snake up your thighs to stop you. “Hold on, woman,” he growls. “Missed this pretty pussy,” because he fucking did.

Then he spits, directly on your clit. Your moan is pornographic. He looks up at you, pleased with himself. You’re looking down with borderline wonder.

Sukuna laughs, then licks a fat stripe up your cunt. He gets his mouth on you and growls, vibration making you shudder, then puts his lips around your clit and sucks until you scream.

He swipes his tongue around your entrance, catching some of the blood there. That little taste of blood makes his pea brain go fucking apeshit; soon he’s dragging his tongue roughly over your clit again and again as you start to ride his face.

“Come on,” he hisses, “come on, woman, use me.”

Damn. Never said that before.

But you do, you grab the headboard and grit your teeth and grind down onto his face. You gasp, rolling your clit onto his tongue in sloppy circles.

It’s all Sukuna can do to keep up. He tries flicking his tongue and you whine, pulling at his hair.

“No, no!”

He tries again; “fuck, yes, yes, please, please don’t stop—”

Fucking hell. He licks at you furiously, and you groan above him.“Yeah, just like that, baby,” you pant. “Making me feel so fucking good. No one makes me feel like you do.”

Well, shit. That hits his cock like an earthquake. Shockwaves roll upward, making his head spasm.

“What?” you cry out. “No, why did you move?” You’re still rutting against him, but you look down at him furiously.

He laughs, but before he can move, you reach down and grab him, repositioning his face until you have him right where you want him.

“Yes. Yes, right there, don’t fucking move Sukuna, I swear to god,” you growl.

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He’ll hold his tongue still so you can fuck yourself on it until he dies.

But he’ll tease you about it first. Don’t fucking move? He cocks an eyebrow. Who are you to give him an order?

You glare down at him. “I fucking mean it,” you growl. Your hips are stuttering. “Don’t—fuck!—don’t move, just fucking let me—”

You freeze, thighs clamping down around him, head tipped back. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—”

You continue to scream as your orgasm hits you, pulling his hair so hard he hisses. Christ, you’re loud. Sukuna tongue fucks you through it, tasting your release as it seeps into his mouth. He pushes it back into you, then gets his lips around any part of your pussy he can find and sucks greedily.

“God, Sukuna, fuck,” you breathe out. “It’s too much, I need—” you shift off of him, collapsing at his side. “Holy fucking shit, I—mph!” You laugh as Sukuna pushes his tongue into your mouth, kissing and rubbing his face against yours to share the slick that’s coating his chin.

“Fucking nasty.” You swipe your hand across your face, then let it fall onto the bed. “Just…just give me a second to…” you trail off, panting. “Then I’ll…” you gesture at his crotch, squeezing your eyes shut.

Sukuna takes the opportunity to observe you. You’re struggling to get your breathing under control, limbs akimbo, chest heaving. He can almost hear your heart racing. He’s never seen you like this, never made you come this hard. He wonders if he can do it again.

You open your eyes to see him staring. He arcs an eyebrow. “The orgasms hit harder,” you say, “when I’m on my period.” You take a deep breath, face flushed. “Here, let me…” you slide over, moving a hand to his crotch.

He stills, then makes a lightning decision.

“Nah.”

Sukuna pushes your hand away, flipping over you to settle in between your legs. He rests his chin in your pussy, grinning wickedly.

You’re absolutely shocked. “What? But—Sukuna, you already…I mean, you don’t want me to blow you?” You look at him, stunned.

He keeps fucking doing it, Sukuna’s doing things you don’t expect and it’s keeping you uncertain. Surprised. Right where he wants you.

His skin feels like it’s on fire. He’s in control. He has you in the palm of his hand. And Sukuna can—can ignore his cock and insist that you do, too. Can prove that he’s not always selfish, if that’s what he has to do to see you again.

To feel your pussy around him again, he reminds himself.

You’re still looking at him, uncertain. He smirks. “Gonna give you another one of those orgasms.” He immediately starts to play with your clit.

“Shit!” You try to clamp your thighs shut, but he forces them open, laughing. “Sukuna—I can’t, it’s too much!”

He picks his head up to glare at you. Don’t you know he’s trying to be selfless?

“Tough shit. I’m not finished playing with this pussy.” He leans down and goes right back to your clit, flicking it again and again with the tip of his tongue.

“Just—just give the clit a break!” you scream, and he growls, but obligingly eases off, moving to your folds and taking one between his teeth. You yelp when he bites gently. “Oh my fucking god,” you breathe. “What the fuck are you doing, holy fucking shit.”

Your hand finds his hair again and he laughs. “I’m giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever had,” he says arrogantly. You snort, and he looks up to see you smiling fondly at him. He grins, all teeth, then turns back to your cunt. “I’m gonna eat this pussy till it fucking rots,” he mutters.

That gives you a full body shudder. He pulls his lips back and opens his mouth into a snarl, setting his teeth against you and raking them through your pussy, canines catching on your folds.

You shout his name, loud and long. He feels wound tight, poised to kill.

“Sukuna—please, do that again,” you beg. He grunts, opening his mouth wide and slowly closing it until he’s got your clit trapped between tongue and teeth.

You come like that, moaning, writhing against him. Sukuna holds you down and pulls another one out of you, this one just as good as the last.

After three, though, you kick him away, holding your legs tightly together. He laughs, deep in his chest, but relents, sliding out from between your legs and sitting up. As soon as he’s gone, your legs collapse. “Fucking hell,” you pant, throwing an arm over your eyes. “Goddamn fucking shit, Sukuna, holy moly mother of god.”

He snorts, and you peek at him from under your arm, giving him a small smile. “I need…to take another nap…” you mumble.

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Again?”

You nod. “You pulled it all out of me. You pulled all my brains out through my pussy.” Your lips form a pout. “They’re gone, Sukuna.”

“Didn’t have much to begin with,” he mutters. You’re quick to give him the finger.

“You wouldn’t fuck someone with no brains,” you say, sure of yourself. “You wouldn’t want any stupid to catch hold of your dick.”

That stumps him for a moment. You’re right, of course.

“You left your door open,” Sukuna reminds you. “That’s fucking stupid.”

“Well, that was for you,” you reason. You lift your arm to look at him with raised eyebrows.

Stumped him again. He looks away.

You lower your arm, tsking. “I think you’re the one with no brains, Sukuna,” you mutter to yourself.

You’ve taken some of his control. He flounders, trying to get it back. “Why, ‘cause I won’t be your fucking boyfriend?” he snarls.

“I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend, dipshit!” you fire back. “I’m asking you to take me out on a date. That’s all.”

He scoffs. “Why?”

“‘Cause I fucking want to!” You glare at him. “You—actually,” you snap your mouth shut; pull a deep breath through your nose. He glowers at you. “Actually, I don’t want to scream at you about this.” You set your jaw.

Sukuna opens his mouth to retaliate, but you talk over him. “I’m not screaming at you over this because it’s stupid.” Your eyes flash. “It’s stupid. You won’t be anyone’s boyfriend? Fine. I don’t fuck people for more than two months without going on a date.” You fold your arms over your chest, challenging him.

You’ve backed him into a fucking corner. Sukuna does what he always does when he’s caged in—he lashes out.

“Who said I wouldn’t be anyone’s boyfriend?”

You close your eyes. His blood chills. “You’re really good at being an asshole,” you say quietly.

When you open your eyes they’re dead. “If you want to fuck me, you’ll have to hang out with me outside of this bedroom,” you say flatly. “Take it or leave it.”

You look at him expectantly, but he only sneers at you with narrowed eyes. You roll your own, scooting past him off the bed. “I’m taking a shower. Figure out what you fucking want, Sukuna.” You walk out of the room.

When he hears the bathroom door slam shut, he relaxes, wretched look falling off his face.

Ugh. Damn. When you’d let him back inside the apartment, he’d thought all this dinner bullshit was over. He’d thought he’d clinched it when he’d made you come three times without you even touching his cock; you were going to let him fuck you until he inevitably lost interest.

But the selflessness was for nothing. Tsk. He should’ve let you blow him.

Sukuna collapses against your bed. Figure out what he fucking wants? What he wants is a good little slut who will let him fuck her on his schedule, who needs nothing other than his cock. Preferably five nights a week. But he’s got you instead. It’s extremely irritating.

He tsks at himself. He’s acting like he’s fucking twenty again, he knows those women don’t exist unless they’re paid for. And he doesn’t want that.

He wants to keep fucking you. Is that the same as wanting you?

Sukuna wants to bash his head against a wall. This is so fucking stupid. He should just walk out right now. Bye forever.

But he already knows he can’t. He—he likes being around you. You knock him flat on his ass, which he hates, but then he has to fight to regain control, which he loves. Maybe that’s worth one measly dinner.

Ugh. Fucking fine.

He gets up, shedding his pants and briefs and stomping into the bathroom. He rips open the shower curtain.

You scowl up at him. “Christ, Sukuna, could you be any more dramatic? You’re getting water all over my fucking floor!”

Ignoring you, he steps into the shower, pulling the curtain shut behind him. He stands, facing you. You glower at him. “I’ll take you out to fucking dinner,” he mutters.

You smirk at him, victorious, but he only sees it for a second before you drop to your knees, tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hands grabbing at your wet hair. He’s been fantasizing about this all week, but he tries to stick to his principles. “I told you, woman,” he growls, “you don’t need to.”

You look up at him, blinking water out of your eyes. He’s already rock hard, his erection hitting your cheek. “Yeah, well.” You shrug. “I’m rewarding you for good behavior.”

He barks out a laugh, which dies in his throat as you smirk and swallow him down. Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck on him for a few blissful seconds before letting him go with a pop. “Missed this dick,” you say dreamily, letting him spread precum across your face. It’s enough to make him lose his mind.

You look up at him innocently. “You missed my tongue on it?” You lick him from base to tip and back again, then stop, staring at him.

He glares at you. Can’t you give him a break? “Yeah,” he admits.

Your grin is blinding. “Missed my lips on it?” You pucker your lips and bob up and down on his cock. “Yeah,” Sukuna groans, because of course he did. Your lips feel fucking amazing.

You let him go with a quick kiss on his cock head. “You missed when I took you down my throat?”

“Ye—oh, fuck.” He braces himself against the wall as his tip hits the back of your throat. He expects you to move, slide your lips around his cock, but you stay still, tongue laving at his shaft.

Sukuna pants heavily. Why aren’t you moving, why aren’t you blowing him with abandon, like you’ve done before?

He raps you on the head. You look up at him, pulling away with a cough and licking a stripe up his dick. Your eyes gleam. “Come on, Sukuna. Use me.”

Well, shit. He grabs you by the face and slams himself back inside your mouth. You choke on him, which almost makes him fucking finish, before taking him in with a cough. He can see spit gathering at the corners of your mouth, eyes squeezed shut as you struggle to take him again and again as he absolutely fucks your mouth filthy.

Sukuna holds your head still, railing into the hot, wet column of your throat. “Still want me to use you, sweetheart?” he growls. “Think you can handle it?”

Your eyes snap open. You rake your nails up his calves before settling on the back of his thighs. With a jolt, you pull him even closer, sending him deeper down your throat.

His eyes almost roll back. “Fucking hell,” he groans, hips fucking your face even faster. You’re gagging now, but you still manage to reach out with your tongue and lick him at his base. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart,” he mutters. “Gonna make me come right now.”

Your hands tighten on the back of his thighs and he comes with a shout, pouring his release down your throat. You cough, moving away and letting it fall to the floor.

Chest heaving, he arcs an eyebrow as you stand up. “Couldn’t swallow?”

You roll your eyes, wiping drool from your mouth. “Sukuna, I let you hit the back of my throat that whole time. I almost threw up on your cock. Forgive me for not swallowing this one time.”

He grins, pleased with himself. You reach past him and grab the bar of soap.

“You need a second bar of soap, woman,” he says flatly.

“Waiting your turn is part of the experience,” you say in a sing-song voice. You grin at him, deliberately dragging it over yourself as slow as you can.

He rolls his eyes and snatches it from you. Your eyes almost bug out of your head and he snickers, soaping up his shoulders. “Wait your turn,” he mimics you.

“No fair.” You fold your arms over your chest and scowl as he cleans himself off. Sukuna’s about to soap up his dick when you gasp, scandalized.

“You can’t put it on your dick!” You grab the soap from his hand.

He looks at you, disbelieving. “Why not?”

“That’s nasty,” you inform him. “Do you slide it between your cheeks too?”

“Maybe.” Sukuna grins, and you scoff.

“Just fucking—suds it up and then clean it with your hands!” You lather the soap between his hands, then leave him to his own devices.

“You’re absurd,” he says, shaking his head and cleaning off his cock.

“It’s my soap,” you insist, rubbing it over your yourself efficiently.

Sukuna stands, waiting for you to finish. “I’ll bring my own soap, then.” You both go quiet at the implication of that.

You shake it off first. “Fine. Carve a big “S” in it so we don’t get confused and I don’t use the dick soap.”

“But you will use the dick,” Sukuna smirks at you.

You nod solemnly. “But I will use the dick.”

Later, when you’re both clean and dry and laying on your bed, Sukuna feels a pang of—something. This is usually when he leaves, no reason to stick around.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “You gonna throw a fit if I lay on your chest?”

His body ticks. You look at him carefully.

He sighs. What the hell.

“Climb on, woman,” he says impatiently. You waste no time in pouncing on him. “Christ, stop wiggling.”

“I’m figuring it out,” you shoot back. “You’re not very comfortable, too much muscle.”

He smirks at you. “You’re the one who wanted to do this,” Sukuna reminds you. “Besides, you like it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” You bite his pectoral and he growls.

You still, and there’s quiet between you for a few minutes. He feels the pang again.

“Can I ask you a question,” you say softly. Whatever the pang is, Sukuna ignores it.

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you so anti-dinner date?” He stiffens beneath you. “Just, just relax, okay, I’m not—I’m not asking for your whole, like, outlook on dating, okay?” you clarify. “I just mean—I thought you’d be into it,” you admit. “I thought you’d love it, actually. You picking a restaurant, telling me what to wear, sending a car.” You shrug. “Buying me lingerie, I don’t know. I thought that was how you operated.”

But it isn’t. “Sounds like you just want a free fancy dinner,” he says, just to buy time. “Unless you would pay?”

You let out a snort. “Sukuna, you make about five times what I make. Maybe more.”

“More,” he agrees.

“Well, don’t rub it in.” You go quiet, question hanging in the air.

He sighs. “The men I work with—they’re fools.” You let out a shocked laugh. “Absolute Neanderthals,” he continues. “They think power is about who has the most expensive suit. Or who can pay to get the prettiest whore on their arm at a dinner. Or who can pick the most expensive restaurant for the dinner.” He stops, considering. “Or who can snort the most cocaine in the bathroom.” Sukuna shakes his head in frustration. “That’s not power. Power is commanding, demanding respect.”

“And you command respect,” you cut in.

“Damn right I do,” he growls. “These men, they don’t understand, they’re so shortsighted. It’s not about money, it’s not ‘who can bring the prettiest slut to dinner,’ he says in distaste. “It’s ‘who can make a room go quiet just by walking in.’”

You prod a finger into his chest. “You can. Because they’re afraid of you.”

“Exactly.” Sukuna nods in approval. “I don’t need to pay a whore for everyone to know I have power, that I’m the one who makes things happen. I don’t need to buy out a restaurant or order the most expensive champagne. If I’m late, the meeting doesn’t start.”

You lean up to look him in the face. “That’s awful sexy.”

Sukuna slaps your ass. “Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he growls.

You snicker against him. He keeps his hand right where it is.

There’s quiet between you for several minutes. Sukuna draws circles over your ass.

“We don’t have to go to dinner, you know,” you announce suddenly. “We can go to, like, an amusement park.” You grin up at him. “You ever ride the cyclone?”

Something hits between his ribs. He ignores it. “Nah, I already said dinner,” he says decidedly. Then he gives you a smirk. “McDonald’s.”

“Ha, ha,” you say wryly. “I’m not accepting McDonald’s, not from the man who can make a room go quiet just by walking in.”

He glares at you. “I’ll make your mouth go quiet by putting my dick in.”

“And I’ll thank you for the experience,” you say with a straight face. He snorts.

You raise yourself up on your elbows. “Come on, Sukuna.” You give him a sultry, inviting look. “Take control.” He feels his cock twitch; you’ve got his number. “Tell me where we’re going,” you continue. “Tell me what time. Tell me what to wear. Tell me what to wear underneath.” You’ve inched forward, your lips ghost over his neck. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it and then ride you in the car on the way back and blow you in the doorway.”

He swallows. The hand on your ass tightens. “You’re incredibly persuasive.”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I have some idea of what you like.”

Another hit between his ribs. You’re reeling him the fuck in, and you don’t even know it.

Hm.

Sukuna feels something in his brain switch over.

Unless you do know it.

He sits up suddenly; you tumble off his chest with an oof. “Sukuna, what the fu—”

“You planned this,” he interrupts you. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

Your face freezes. He can see you try to play it cool. “Ah, what?”

“Don’t try to act dumb, you’re shit at it. You manipulated me,” Sukuna growls at you.

There’s a slow smile growing on your face. You fucking did. You set a goddamn trap and he walked right in like a fucking idiot. You knew he’d come over, you knew he’d want to fuck you, you knew he wouldn’t be able to let go after having you again—

Holy fucking shit. “You manipulated me,” he says again, slightly in awe.

You shrug. “Only a little.”

“Only a little!” he hisses.

“Come on, Sukuna, you think I just choose to take naps in my hottest pair of panties? The ones I know you like?” You poke him in the ribs. “Get real.”

“Were you even asleep?” he demands.

“Yes!” you say defensively. “I got tired of waiting for you, so I passed out.”

“So you were waiting for me!” he crows, trying to put you in the hot seat.

But of course it doesn’t work. “Well, yeah,” you say, matter of fact. “I—I missed you.” You shrug, giving him a small smile.

Direct hit. Sukuna is crumbling. “You fucking told me to leave!”

You bat that away. “Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t listen.”

He can’t help but nod. He has a history of that. Something occurs to him. “That shit with your period?”

You look aghast. “No, I wouldn’t lie about that, I honestly forgot.”

He believes you. “But then you used it to your advantage.”

You raise your eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“Yeah I fucking say so! You came in my mouth three times!”

You smile dreamily up at him. “Yeah.”

“God almighty. You’re—you’re a fucking sorceress.”

You sit up, then, straddling him, hands to his chest. He lets you push him down.

“Sukuna, sweetheart,” you smile sweetly at him. Direct hit. You flick him on the forehead, right in the center of his tattoo. “You’re not actually all that complicated,” you say, pushing his hair back from his face. “Once you walked into my apartment,” you give him a triumphant grin. “It was over.”

Sukuna is seething. But also, a little impressed.

But still seething. He reaches for your chest, pinching your nipple and twisting it roughly until you cry out. “Could you predict I’d do that?” he sneers.

You frown at him. “No, but it’s not out of character.”

A laugh bubbles out of him. He makes a snapping motion and moves toward your other nipple. “Don’t do it again!” you squeal, rushing to cover yourself.

Sukuna pinches your ass instead. “That, I’m okay with,” you sigh.

You go quiet, while Sukuna chews that over.

“You mad?” you say suddenly.

He pauses. “Nah.” Then he grins, feral. “But don’t think you’ll get away with it again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Can’t promise I won’t try.”

He drops his voice low. “Then don’t blame me for what happens when I catch you.” His nails dig into the flesh of your ass.

You jolt, then shiver. “Deal.”

Quiet again. He’d let it go on, but he has a question. “And what if I left?” Sukuna asks lowly.

You suck on your teeth. “Then I’d be really bummed,” you admit quietly.

Direct hit. This one hurts, edges up his chest. He finds himself bringing up his hands to rub your back.

You look up at him, surprised. He smirks at you. Not so predictable after all. “Couldn’t leave your poor little pussy on her lonesome,” he says, faux earnestly. “Who would stretch her out like I can?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, thank god I still have the gift of your dick,” you deadpan.

He smiles, knife sharp. “Mmh, that’s what I’ll do, after I take you out to dinner. I’ll remind this pussy who she belongs to.” He snakes a hand between you to cup your sex. You gasp, eyes going glassy. “It’s been a week already, think she forgot how big her daddy is?” Sukuna whispers in your ear. Your breath hitches. “That’s okay, I’ll stretch you open like I never left. Fuck you so hard this pussy never forgets the shape of my cock.”

Your breathing runs ragged. Sukuna keeps going, nose skimming your jaw. “You want me to take you out to dinner, hm? I’ll take you to dinner, and then I’ll take you home and bend you over the counter. Stuff your pussy so full of my cum she’ll be weeping, clean her out and do it again.” He pauses considering. “Or maybe I’ll let it slide down your thighs, ruin your pretty dress.” Sukuna brings his head back to look at you. You’re biting your lip, eyes round, chest heaving against his. He traces the outside of your folds. “Maybe I won’t wait till we get home, fuck you dumb in the restaurant, stain your dress and make you go back to the table,” he growls.

“What,” you lick your lips. “What should I wear? So you can stain it,” you add hastily, but you can’t fool him, you’re practically squirming on his chest.

An idea hits him. “Don’t even bother, I’ll pick something out. What’s your size?”

He watches you out of the corner of his eye; your mouth drops open. Score. “Wh—what? Sukuna, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t say ‘tell me what to do’ if you don’t mean it.” He gives you a warning look. Your mouth snaps shut.

“And—and underneath?” you ask shakily.

“Tch. I’ll leave that to you.” He pulls you flush against him, leveling you with a glare. “Just pick something I’ll like.”

You smile brilliantly at him. Direct hit. “Mmkay.”

“When’s your period finished?” he demands.

“Uhh, Friday,” you purse your lips. “Yeah, by Friday, the pussy will be clear.” You grin at him.

“Then I’m taking you out Friday,” he growls. “I’ll send the dress before then.”

“Okay.” Your grin takes up your whole face. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

Direct hit. Mayday, Mayday.

“Thank me after I’ve let that pussy have my cock again.” He smirks up at you.

You sleep well, but you wake up in the middle of the night. After a few moments you realize you need to go to the bathroom, and now that you've noticed it you can't will it away. So you groan and drag yourself out of bed and down the hall. As you pass the living room it seems a little bright, so you pop your head through the archway. The TV is on, silently sitting at the A/V channel. You switch the TV off, use the bathroom, and happily nestle back down into your bed.

You wake up the next morning and take your time getting out of bed; you check your phone for a while (not that there's anything new or important on it), and when you finally drag yourself out of bed for the day, the first thing you do is go down the hall to take a shower.

Shower complete, you finally feel awake and alive, nd make your way to the kitchen for breakfast. You fix a quick bowl of cereal and head into the living room to check the damage, and find the TV on. You remember waking up and turning it off but it's on the AV channel again. You disconnect your gamecube and turn the tv off again, googling if old TVs are prone to this kind of problem, since you did get it used from a garage sale.

Your search doesn't turn anything useful up, but stuff breaks all the time. As long as it keeps playing games it doesn't matter too much if it keeps turning on.

Hmm. But it will run up your power bill.

You finish your cereal and unplug the TV, just for good measure.

It doesn't turn on for the rest of the day, but the next night you wake up to piss again and find it on. Or at least, you thought you saw blue light through the archway as you walked past, but once you walked in the TV was off.

There wasn't anything you could see through the window, so you'd assumed it was passing headlights or something, though it didn't...quite look right.

You weren't sure what it was but something about it set you on edge.

Today you have nothing better to do, so you decided to put your worries to bed. You decide to spend the day reading a book on the couch.

As always, you can't sit still, and it isn't long before you wind up laying across the whole couch on your stomach.

A little after lunch time you begin to drift off to sleep.

You don't sleep for long at all before a whirring noise wakes you up.

You reluctantly open your eyes and stretch, the noise quickly getting under your skin.

It's the TV. It isn't on, but the built-in VCR player is open, and it sounds like its trying (and failing) to load a tape.

Maybe, you think, something got caught in the player and it's been turning on because it thinks I want to play a VHS? But then you remember that you unplugged it.

But it's not lit up now, so maybe the VCR just has an automated component that doesn't require power? You can open the disk tray of a powered down computer.

You kneel in front of the TV and peer into the tape deck. You don't see anything so you stick your hand in, maybe there's some dust or hair caught in the gears.

You don't feel anything but one of the gears catches your hand and pinches you. You pull your hand out and see that it tore a small piece of skin off. There's just a small dot of blood but you're about done with this TV.

You're considering throwing it in the dumpster before pickup this week when you start having trouble focusing and notice that you feel quite heavy and tired. You wake up with your face buried in your book and realize the TV is just fine. No whirring, and your hand is completely unmarred.

A nightmare. And a stupid one at that.

But the panic doesn't leave you, and though you try to get back to your book you can't help but glance up at the TV every so often, almost feeling like you can still hear the VCR whirring.

And then the screen snaps on. Just a blank blue screen, but you can hear static.

No, it isn't static, it doesn't sound right -

You can hear your heart beating, practically feel it in your mouth already as you listen closer to the noise.

It -

It almost sounds like - for the very briefest of moments the thought crosses your mind that it sounds like meat, that its chewing up the piece of your hand it bit off.

You kick it in a blind rage at the same time you realize what the noise actually sounds like - like meat, yes, but it sounds like the twisting fleshy sound that a whole nest of maggots would make.

Your kick is ineffective, jostling the TV slightly but it's not enough to break the screen or even topple it entirely.

You remember again, suddenly, that the TV is unplugged. Maybe the sound its making, maybe it's sparks or something going off inside - obviously something is wrong with it, but as you lean in toward the TV to get a better idea -

You almost scream but instead you stare, slack-jawed at the screen.

Not a blank blue screen as you had thought but...you can see so. many blue maggots writhing on the other side of the screen, pushing the screen forward in small bulges here and there as if it were not glass but a clear cocoon.

You sit there, on your knees, and stare in horror as your TV, which was working only a week ago, was now acting like a prop in a bad horror movie.

What are you supposed to do about this?

What are you supposed to do about this!?

As you stare you notice something in the sound of the writhing, it does almost sound like static but -

But.

Its whispers. Hundreds of tiny voices speaking at once. 

You can't make out what they're saying but it almost sounds like singing, almost sounds like sense, and peace.

You place your hand against the screen.

It's warm, and it feels like soft rubber under your palm.

Only a second later you come to your senses and realize this was a terrible idea, just as a searing pain courses through the palm of your hand. You try to pull it off only to find that the rubber screen seems to have melted to your hand and a sensation that you reason is probably pretty close to a hot iron being shoved directly through your veins brings you to the edge of consciousness.

You regain your composure as the feeling lessons a bit and start pulling at your hand with all your might, careful not to touch a single other part of the TV.

It won't pull free no matter how hard you tug, though, and you feel that fire in your vein a second time now, worse than the first, and you think you might black out and get sick, but then you notice -

You notice that you can feel the maggots' flesh against your palm, and they are boiling hot.

You notice that a thin line is twisting up under your skin.

You do get sick.

You can do nothing but watch, and at some point you must have started screaming because you can hear your own voice in the background, behind the squirming.

Watch, as these maggots burrow and burn into your flesh.

They move so slowly up your arm, and you would try cutting them off if you could reach a knife or a shard of glass or anything sharp.

You begin to feel something else as the first of them finally starts to make its way toward your shoulder, but the strangeness is ripped out of your mind as a fatter maggot starts trying to get its way into your palm.

You scream.

And then the strange feeling returns, like a nausea in your chest, and you realize there's at least one of them in there, coiling around your heart, you imagine.

You can't feel the burning anymore, though, and you start to feel cold just a few moments later. As you start to lose consciousness your hand finally rips from the screen, and a whole mass of the cobalt blue worms tumble out and fall onto your leg.

You can barely feel them burning their way into your leg as you watch a final one finish making its way in through your hand.

You distantly notice, ad you start to close your eyes, that the arm full of worms has begun jerking.

You start, head whipping towards her. “Is that why you think I’m staring?” you say, affronted. “‘Cause I think he’s hot?” 

She looks at you, unimpressed. “What, you’re gonna lie to me? On the day my mother died?”

“She’s still alive, Sho,” you say scornfully. “That won’t work on me again.”

“Sure it won’t,” she mutters with a small grin.

“I’m staring because of his tattoos,” you reply indignantly. “Because I’m an artist.”

“You are drawing One Punch Man fanart right now,” she points out. “Literally as we speak.”

“And it’s art!” you insist, flipping to a new page in your sketch book. “And so are they,” you gesture with your chin at the tattoos.

And they are. Summer clings on for a few more weeks, and Sukuna wears a black muscle tank that shows off his art exquisitely. Thick black bands around his biceps, matching ones at his wrists. Inked in circles on his shoulders, circles surrounding those circles. 

It’s simple but—beautiful. Efficient. There’s not a lot there, but there doesn’t need to be. And what is there is—perfectly executed.

It’s the kind of simple, block-solid work you’d like to create. You sigh almost wistfully.

“Wish I could make art like that,” you murmur in admiration.

“Hn.” Shoko ashes her cigarette. “Heard he designed them himself.”

That derails you. “What?”

She looks up at you, amused. “That’s an issue?”

“He’s not an art major,” you hiss. “I haven’t seen him in our building!”

“Yeah, Yuki said he’s in the culinary program,” she says, off-handedly.

Your eyes just about bug out of your head. “He’s in the culinary program,” you growl, “and he created that? What the fuck am I even studying for if he can just whip that out?”

“Babe.” She flicks you. “Relax. It’s a tattoo.”

You mutter under your breath.

“Oh, look, he’s coming over here,” she observes. “You can tell him off to his face.”

“Great,” you grumble. Now you can be pissed at them up close.

Sukuna ambles over, wearing a face that—you’re not even looking at his face. The tattoos on his arms swim toward you, and of course they’re even better within spitting distance. Simple, but made of so many minute decisions. Your brain spins away from you.

How thick are the bands around his wrists? Are they the same as the ones around his biceps? Are they equidistant on both arms? How big are the circles on his shoulders? How many centimeters are there between them and the rings surrounding them? How thick are those rings? Did he have to use trig to get it right? How—

He clicks his tongue. You glance at him to see  a smirk at his lips.

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” he drawls.

“Yes,” you say shortly. We’ve established this.

And you’ll do it again, because now you’re looking at his face and the tattoos that adorn it.

Ugh. Beautiful, of course. Bare bones, yet incredibly effective. And what does that symbol mean—?

“Doing it again,” he notes, amused.

You grimace. “My bad,” you say flatly.

He smiles, wide and sharp. Your lip curls, you don’t give a shit what he thinks about you.

“She likes your tattoos,” Shoko says casually.

You kick her under the table.

“That so?” he says, chest puffing up. “Designed ‘em myself.”

Prick. “I know,” you say bluntly. “Shoko, I’m out.” You stand up, beginning to pack your things.

“What, really?” Shoko asks, eyes glinting.

“Yeah, really?” Sukuna asks, with an entertained, shit-eating grin.

“Really,” you say flatly. “Shoko, see you tomorrow. Sukuna…bye.”

You turn on your heel and storm off. 

Unfortunately, Sukuna’s tall as all hell and keeps pace with you easily. “Where’re you heading?”

Up your ass and around the corner.

“I’ll walk you,” he continues, heedless of your obvious attempts to get away.

“That’s okay,” you grit out. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he says, with a raised eyebrow. “This part of the campus isn’t very safe at,” he glances at the sky. “Midday.”

That pulls a snort out of you, and you hiss at yourself, furious. Sukuna raises his eyebrows, smiling in disbelief.

“Let me get your bag,” he offers smoothly. “Might get stolen, you never know around here,” he adds, with a knowing look.

“No thanks,” you say grimly, tightening the strap over your shoulder.

He nods thoughtfully. “Sure. What about—”

“Sukuna.” You stop in your tracks, turning to look at him. “What are you doing?”

He pauses, licks his lips. There are those tattoos again, sitting on a face that’s—really attractive. Like, really attractive. Made all the better by tattoos that are beautifully designed, and also hot as fuck.

All of his tattoos are like that, you realize with a start. Technically perfect, practically…obscene. Obscene, the way they hug the curve of his biceps, show off the strength of his shoulders. Draw attention to the clean line of his jaw, his high, arching cheekbones.

Wow. Sukuna’s stupid hot. It’s insane that this is just registering.

“I’m trying to ask you out,” he drawls, eyes lazy and heated

Huh. 

A few seconds ago you were hell-bent on despising him, but…well, a face like that makes you rearrange your principles.

You let yourself grin. “Yeah? What’s stopping you?” you let your voice drop an octave.

He smirks like he’s won something. “‘Dunno. Got myself a pretty girl who loves making things difficult.”

You laugh, slightly flustered. He catches it and the smirk widens, almost predatory.

“What do you say, huh?” he asks, voice low and velvet. “Come over, let me cook for you. I’m in the culinary school, tell me what—”

Your brain comes to a screeching halt. That’s right. He’s in the fucking culinary program, and he still designed those tattoos.

The ire comes rushing back. “I’m on a hunger strike,” you snap.

His smirk freezes in place. “You’re—what?”

“Bye, Sukuna,” you say forcefully, then stalk off without a backward glance.

•

Of course that isn’t the end of it. Before, Sukuna never hung around your part of the campus, but now he’s everywhere. Smoking outside of the Fine Arts building, getting a coffee at the spot right next to your favorite library, sitting with his friends on the lawn right next to where you sit with your friends on the lawn.

It’s fucking ridiculous. You glare at him where he lounges, casually smoking, five feet away.

Sukuna feigns innocence. You grind your teeth.

“You’re staring again,” Satoru notes gleefully. It’s become an irritating refrain over the past two weeks.

“I’m glaring daggers, Satoru,” you mutter. “I’m killing him with a look. There’s a difference.”

“Sure as fuck looks the same,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Just admit you like him,” Utahime goads.

“I like the tattoos,” you say primly. “They’re beautiful. I don’t like that a stupid-ass culinary student was able to design them.”

Utahime rolls her eyes. “It’s an insult to my profession!” you screech.

“You don’t have the degree yet,” Suguru cuts in smoothly. “What profession?”

“Ouch,” Utahime says sympathetically, while Satoru cackles.

“Yo.” You close your eyes as Sukuna’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Suguru.”

“Mmh?”

“You’ve still got the notes from the intro to bio course? Uraume said they got them from you last year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Suguru says easily. “Do you want to use them? I can share them with you.”

“For free?” Sukuna asks archly.

Suguru clicks his tongue. “No.”

You hear Sukuna let out a huff. “I can make you something?”

“Fine.”

Sukuna whistles. “Hey. Sweetheart.”

Your eyes snap open. He’s wearing that smirk, again. 

“What do you like to eat?” he purrs.

Utahime chokes, while Satoru barely smothers his laughter. 

You grimace and close your eyes again. Fucking shameless.

“Think she’d like to eat your tattoos,” Satoru teases. Eyes still closed, you kick him in the shin.

“No denial,” Suguru murmurs. Utahime lets out a snort.

You feel your hands clench into fists. They’re only joking, but you’re reaching your limit.

“Y’know, I’ve heard a couple times now that you like ‘em,” Sukuna says conversationally. “But you never act like you like ‘em.” He sucks his teeth, but you can hear the grin. “What is it, sweetheart, you jeal—”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Wrenching your eyes open, you rise to your feet, mechanically throwing your bag over your shoulder. “See you guys later,” you mutter, before walking quickly off the lawn.

“Sukuna, don’t,” you hear Satoru say evenly, voice uncharacteristically serious.

Mercifully, he doesn’t, and you get away in peace.

You move briskly through the campus, heading for your apartment building a few blocks away. Sukuna’s words churn in your gut.

You jealous?

You grin cruelly to yourself. Yes. Yes. You are.

Not that he has the tattoos, but that he designed them. They’re exactly the kind of simple, perfect work you struggle with. You agonize over the details and fuss too much at the end, adding unnecessary elements that sometimes make the piece worse. Your professor fucking eviscerated you for it in crit last week, you remember miserably. 

Strip it down, she’d said. Make a decision and then leave it.

That’s what Sukuna did, that’s why you’re so jealous of his work. It’s stripped down, bare bones. Six simple elements on his arms: four bands, a circle, and a ring. Nothing more, nothing less. And it works.

Ugh. You wish you could do that.

You’ll just have to practice, you think wearily. Just keep at it and hope for the best.

Practice, but not now. Now, you’re going to take a hot shower and order takeout. Try not to think about those tattoos, and the pretty face they lie on.

•

“Utahime, I’m so fucking fucked,” you mutter, stomping down the building staircase after your class.

“Cheer up,” she says ruefully. “The project’s not that bad.”

“‘A meal preparation process piece?’” you say archly. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that? I live alone, and I can’t cook for shit!”

“Mmh,” she says, seemingly unbothered. 

You narrow your eyes. “What have you figured out?”

“Shoko’s gonna cook for me,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Problem solved.”

“And what about me?” you hiss. “We can’t present the same fucking piece! Who am I gonna get?”

“Ahem.”

You close your eyes. No. Not happening. No way Sukuna overheard that.

You turn around to see the man himself. Band t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, tattoos fully on display. Smirking like the fucker he is.

“Seems like you need some help,” he says, eyebrows raised in faux-concern.

“Nope,” you say immediately. “I’m very resourceful.”

You make to turn on your heel, but Utahime stops you. 

“It’s going to be, like, fifteen percent of our final grade,” she says in a low voice.

You grind your teeth.

Sukuna smacks his lips with a pop. “Fifteen percent, huh? Damn. Wouldn’t want to leave that up to chance.” He looks at you meaningfully.

Damn it. He’s right.

“It’s, it’s going to be charcoal,” you argue weakly. “It’ll get everywhere.”

He shrugs, gleam in his eye. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

You bite your tongue, nodding slowly.

Sukuna’s face lights up with a wicked grin. “What should I make you, sweetheart?”

“Something cheap,” you say immediately. “And not too labor intensive.” He’s doing you a huge favor, you don’t want to make it harder than it needs to be.

He makes a face. “Not all that helpful.”

“We need something with at least four stages,” Utahime cuts in. “Three drawings of process, last one can be of the finished meal.”

“Two if you count the ingredients lined up as one of the stages,” you add grudgingly.

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you. “You want that?”

Not really, it feels like a cop out. But you don’t want to ask any more of him.

You shrug, shoulders jerking. 

“Hm. Noted,” Sukuna says thoughtfully. “What else?”

“That’s all,” you say quickly. “And I’ll pay for the ingredients, of course.”

He rolls his eyes, ignoring you completely. “Sweetheart. What. Do you like. To eat?”

“Whatever you want to make,” you shoot back. You don’t want to owe him any more than you have to.

He narrows his eyes. You fold your arms over your chest with a scowl.

Eventually, he backs down. “Tch. Fine. When are you free?”

“When are you free?” you counter immediately.

“You’re being extremely difficult,” he mutters.

“No, I’m being flexible,” you inform him. “I’m already putting you out, I’m not going to make you work around my schedule.”

He clicks his tongue. “Friday?”

You nod. “Sure.”

He flashes a smirk. “It’s a date.”

You jolt, then force yourself to relax. Fifteen percent of the grade.

“It’s a date,” you say begrudgingly.

•

You reluctantly give Sukuna your number, just in case something comes up before Friday. Turns out that was the right move, because something occurs to you Thursday morning.

what’s ur lamp situation?

You grimace. Awkward, but the lighting’s going to be critical.

He responds a few minutes later.

uh, ive got some

I just mean the lighting. Like, in ur kitchen. Is it ass?

it’s p ok I think 

do u need pics?

Um. Maybe. But you’re being difficult enough.

no its ok. as long as its not totally dark it’ll be fine

ty

u sure? i can take some pics now i dont mind

You think it over.

nah its cool.

ty tho thats rlly nice of u

You swallow roughly. It is really nice of him, this whole thing’s really nice of him. Even if admitting it will have unintended consequences.

Sukuna doesn’t disappoint.

Anything for u, sweetheart.

You leave him on read.

•

You agonize over the lighting in Sukuna’s kitchen as you lug your supplies over to his place. You had downplayed its importance because you didn’t want to give him more work, but it could make a huge difference in the quality of the finished piece.

You chew your lip as you press the number for his apartment at the building door. Lighting’s the type of thing you lose sleep over, agonizing and fussing to get it just right before you start drawing. And now you’re going in practically blind.

He buzzes you in, and you get on the elevator. Ugh. You’ll just have to—make it work with what he has. Maybe this is practice, a sign for you to stop tormenting yourself over every detail.

Ugh.

The elevator dings, and you walk down the hall to his unit. Stealing yourself, you knock smartly on the door.

“It’s open!” he calls. Carefully, you turn the knob and push the door open.

Stepping inside, you survey his apartment as you shut the door behind you. It’s—surprisingly clean. Boy apartment, obviously, so the wall art is minimal and stupid and there’s a pile of laundry on the couch, but it seems to be washed laundry. Haphazardly folded, at least.

“Ah, there she is,” a voice hums dangerously. You turn from the living room to the open kitchen across from it. There’s an island in front of the stove, and Sukuna leans on it, palms braced against the wood. T-shirt on, tattoos flexing. “Was wondering whether you’d show.”

You glance at the clock on the microwave. “I’m right on time.”

“Even so.” He watches you as you set down your bag and toe off your shoes.

“Nice apartment,” you say bluntly. 

Sukuna flashes a grin. “You like katsu curry?”

“Everyone does,” you say easily. Including you. But—

“It’s…well, isn’t it a lot of work?” you say anxiously.

He raises an eyebrow. “Lot of stages,” he says with a shrug. “Prep, frying, sautéing. Seemed like a good idea.”

That’s…really thoughtful. “Um, okay. Thanks.”

“Mmh.” He grins, clearly pleased. “Want to check the lights?” he asks with a glance overhead.

“Uh, yeah.” You look at the space critically. “Where are you going to work?”

“I’ll prep on the island and cook on the stove.”

You suck your teeth. Okay. 

The lights in the ceiling are fluorescents; sterile and unforgiving. It’s a choice: do you want it to be a harsh piece, or do you want something softer?

You deliberate. It’s charcoal, does it even really matter?

Yeah. 

Ugh.

“Uh, the lights—” You shake your head. You really don’t want to be difficult. “What lights are on when you cook?” you ask instead.

Sukuna cocks an eye at you. “Not those eyesores,” he says eventually. He messes with some switches. “I usually go for these.”

He flicks on a warm light above the stove and a few small lights dangling above the island. You smile wide. Softer, light yellows instead of harsh whites. Much better.

“Yeah, this is great,” you say thankfully. Then you raise an eyebrow. “You use knives in all that shadow?”

He smirks. “I’m good with my hands.”

You roll your eyes. Walked into that one. “Where do you want me?”

Sukuna gestures at the island. “Sit on the barstool, you’ll be able to see.”

You bite your tongue. “Sukuna, it’s charcoal. It’s really messy, I don’t want to get it near the food.”

He brushes you off. “Tch. It’ll be fine.”

“Let me just lay down a tarp,” you insist, turning to get one from your bag. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, honestly,” you mutter under your breath. He lets out a snort.

“I’m serious,” you say, wrestling it out of your bag and glaring at him. “This shit gets everywhere, I don’t want to ruin your countertops.”

Unfolding the plastic carefully, you spread it over the counter and tape it down. Then you eye the chair critically.

“That barstool looks nice,” you mutter, before taking an Xacto knife and cutting a neat section off the bottom of the tarp, moving to drape it over the chair.

“You’re working too hard,” Sukuna says, amused.

“You’re doing me a huge favor,” you grind out. “I’m not gonna fucking trash your kitchen, this is where you—you do your homework, or whatever!”

He bursts out laughing. “Is that what you think?” he teases. “That our homework is to go home and practice making brownies?”

“My homework is lines,” you say clearly. “My homework is colors.” You pull out the rest of your materials while he snickers under his breath.

Two kinds of charcoal sticks, erasers, blending stomp, tissues, q tips. You set it up neatly on the tarp, then pull out the big square of reinforced cardboard that you’ll draw on. You get out your nice paper and gingerly tape it to the board.

Last: two rags. You hold one in your hand and raise an eyebrow. “You mind if I wet this real quick?” 

Sukuna holds out a hand for it and runs it quickly under the sink before passing it back. You nod, putting it carefully beside the dry cloth.

You survey your workspace. “I’m good.”

He clears his throat. “You got enough light to work? I’ve got more if you need.”

Sukuna jerks his head, and you look at the corner of the living room to see three standing lamps cluttered together.

You look at him quizzically. The tips of his ears redden. “Pulled ‘em from some other rooms,” he mutters. “Just in case.”

Oh. “Uh, this is fine,” you say awkwardly. “Thank you.”

He nods forcefully. You look at your hands.

Why is he going out of his way to be nice to you? You had never spoken to him before that day on the quad. Why—why do all this?

He raps his fingers on the counter, and you look up to see he’s got an onion, a few carrots, and a potato resting on a cutting board, along with a peeler and a knife.

Sukuna looks at you, eyebrows raised. “Good to go?”

You swallow, taking your seat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Let’s have some fun,” Sukuna mutters, placing a hand on the onion and lopping the top off.

You pick up a charcoal stick and get to work. The cutting board quickly takes shape on your paper, along with the scattered onion peel and scraps he neatly sets aside. Sukuna cuts the onion into thick spears you draw with easy, wide curves. He’s clearly skilled, the knife is quick, hard to follow. It sets your tongue between your teeth.

His hands still. “You need me to go slower?” 

You glance up at him. “Uh-uh.” Make decisions and stick to them.

He rolls out his shoulders; keeps going. You push through the challenge of the knife and get into a groove; make thick marks for the shadows, blend them out like hell with your fingertips, wipe them on your thigh and swap out your stick for a pencil to get the details.

By the time Sukuna finishes the onion and moves onto the potato, you’re ignoring him completely, filling in the dead space of cutting onions one.

You’re also crying. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks playfully. 

“Damn onion,” you sniff, wiping your tears on your shirt. “If I drip on this I’m going to drop out,” you add, gesturing to the drawing.

“Don’t worry, pretty thing, I’ll put it over here,” he says smoothly, dumping it into a bowl and setting it by the stove.

“Thanks,” you mutter, willing your hand not to crack the charcoal in your fist.

Pretty thing.

He picks up the knife like nothing happened. You look up suddenly. “You’re going to peel the carrot?” you ask archly.

Sukuna furrows his brow. “Yeah?”

“Cool. Do you mind, uh, waiting, before you start that?”

He shakes his head, eyebrows raised. “You got something planned?”

“Second piece,” you say easily. “This one’s about done.”

You eye it critically, snagging a q-tip and blending lightly.

The knife stills again. “Can I see?”

You freeze, the sound of his hand setting down the knife ringing in your ears. You watch him circle the island, the tattooed bands resting easy on his upper arms.

“Uh…” you’d really prefer he didn’t. But with how he’s let you turn his place into a workshop while cooking you a damn meal, you don’t have much choice.

Sukuna rounds the corner and comes to stand beside you, looking over your shoulder.

“Wow.” He clicks his tongue softly. “Knew you were good, sweetheart.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, sweet and easy.

Something tightens in your chest. “Thanks,” you mutter, reaching for the wet rag. Wiping the charcoal from your hands, you dry them before carefully peeling the paper from the board and putting it in your portfolio folder. You grab a fresh sheet and tape it down as before.

You look up to see he’s got one of the carrots in his hand. He raises an eyebrow. “Ready?”

You quickly take your place. “Yeah, go ahead.” You can’t quite keep the excitement from your tone.

Sukuna furrows his brows. “Why’re you so thrilled about this?”

You huff. “Cause you’re gonna—”

He starts peeling, and you fall silent, charcoal flying over the page. He’s all movement; quick, efficient flicks of his wrist sending long orange peels elegantly onto the board. His hand is clean and the tool is sharp, and it’s going to look fucking excellent. As soon as you saw the carrot, you knew you’d struck gold.

You have to draw his hands, though. That’s unavoidable.

Which means you have to look at them, really look. They’re big, you note absently, scribbling away. Sukuna keeps his nails short—culinary student. He’s got a scar just above the second knuckle of his left ring finger and what looks to be a burn mark on the back of his right hand, off-center. Band-aid around his thumb, you observe, switching to pencil.

Then the knobs of his wrists. You stop, biting your tongue.

Sukuna clocks it; makes a questioning noise in his throat.

You raise your head evenly. “You wanna be identifiable?”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. You gesture roughly at the page, and Sukuna leans over and freezes.

You watch him take it in, eyes pouring over your drawing. “Do I want people to know that’s me you drew?” he says finally, looking at you with eyes that are far too hot. “What do you think?”

Asked and answered. Picking up the charcoal, you add four quick lines before you can second guess your movements.

Pulling back, you survey your work. You glance at the tattoos around his wrists, then look back at your piece. 

You hum happily. “Pretty good, no?”

Those wrists enter your field of vision as Sukuna steps closer for a better look. 

He’s silent, and you look up to see him staring at you, eyes inscrutable.

You look back because you don’t know what else to do.

Eventually, he laughs quietly, like he’s at the end of his rope. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course it’s fuckin’ perfect,” he says, low and soft.

You only manage to hold his gaze for another second before your eyes drop. He steps away, and you quickly finish the second piece.

You complete the third one in almost total silence, picking up the board and moving it next to the stove to watch him fry the vegetables. It’s when you’re unsticking it from the board and taping down a new paper that he clears his throat.

“That’s three, right?” He flips the veg in the pan without looking.

“Uh, yeah,” you say distractedly. 

“You still wanna do the last when everything’s finished?”

You glance at him to see him staring adamantly at the wall.

“Uh…why?”

Sukuna blows a stream of air through his teeth. “Food’ll get cold,” he mutters grudgingly. “If you wait to eat till after you draw.”

You nod slowly. Oh. He wants you to eat while it’s hot.

“Okay,” you find yourself saying. “Doesn’t have to be the finished product. What else is left?”

He relaxes, enough for you to realize he was tense. “Chicken frying and the rice.” Sukuna grins. “You wanna draw the rice?”

Ha. “I’d sooner die.”

His eyes light up. “Want to draw me tenderizing the chicken?” He reaches for the mallet.

You purse your lips. “Do you have to, like, dip the chicken in egg and breadcrumbs?”

“And flour,” he nods.

“Let’s do that,” you decide. 

By the time Sukuna’s actually frying, you’ve finished all four pieces and have taken them out again, adding some touch ups on his floor. 

You don’t allow yourself to touch the eraser. Charcoal, pencil, blender, but no eraser. Hopefully it’s progress.

Minutes slip by, and then Sukuna clicks his tongue.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out, painfully domestic. “Dinner’s ready!”

His teasing cadence falls flat; you’re too focused to care. “Hm, smells good, thanks,” you mumble absent-mindedly.

The silence lasts ten seconds. “Sweetheart,” Sukuna says again, this time with real force. “Come eat.”

“Uh-huh.”

You hear him stomp over. “Sweetheart,” he growls. “There is a plate with food. Go eat it.”

You twist up to scowl at him. For a second, he scowls right back.

Then, his face solidifies. Then, he bursts into laughter.

“Christ, what?” you hiss at him.

Sukuna whips out his phone and snaps a picture before you can stop him, turning the screen to show you.

Oh. You’ve got charcoal all over your face.

“Yeah, that happens,” you mumble, scrambling to your feet. That’s not the only picture of you covered in the stuff, you’re pretty sure every one of your friends has a photo of you, just like that, saved as your contact photo. It’s Shoko’s home screen.

Still, Sukuna finds it hilarious. “You look like me,” he snickers, holding the phone beside his face for comparison.

That stops you short, because he’s right. You kind of do.

You don’t…you’re not really sure what to do with that. You grab the rag and quickly clean yourself off.

Stowing the rag and washing your hands, you find your gaze drifting to Sukuna’s phone.

He notices. “Want me to delete it?”

You pause, then shake your head. “You want it, you keep it.”

Sukuna laughs under his breath. “Eat, before it gets cold.”

You turn to the island and realize he’s set two places at a corner, the far end from where you were drawing. There are two bowls each piled with steaming white rice, thick curry sauce, and a piece of fried chicken. He’d even put napkins under the chopsticks.

“Damn. Looks amazing,” you say easily. He grunts, satisfied. 

You sense an opportunity. “But I forgot to tell you,” you say, turning to him apologetically. “I already ate.”

You see the anger fly clean across his face. “You what—”

Your stomach growls, obnoxiously loud. You grin helplessly. 

“I swear to fucking god,” he growls, running a hand over his face. “Eat the damn food.”

Smirking, you take a seat, waiting for him to join you. He does, but he doesn’t pick up his chopsticks.

You glance at him, sidelong. Sukuna’s tense, a muscle in his jaw working. His eyes are riveted on your plate.

He’s waiting for you to try it, you realize.

Taking a deep breath, you snag a piece of chicken, dredge it through the sauce, and pop it in your mouth.

You don’t look at him, you can feel him watching you. Instead, you carefully let the food settle on your tongue, chewing thoughtfully.

Mmh. Yeah. That fucks.

“Damn, Sukuna, that’s incredible,” you say honestly, shoving a clump of rice in your mouth.

The exhale hits you from where he sits. “I know,” he says easily, but it doesn’t land. You glance with a raised eyebrow to tell him so.

Sukuna gestures at your bowl. “Eat your damn carrots, spent so much time drawing them,” he growls.

You comply, shoveling your way through the rest of the bowl. You don’t really want to talk, so you ask him which brand of curry paste he used. That sparks a long rant on the ideal choice, as you suspected it would.

It’s nice. Gives you time to…settle.

You like this, you realize. Being here with Sukuna, listening to him talk. Eating his food, which tastes unbelievable.

Even drawing with him there wasn’t the minefield you thought it’d be. It was…okay. Easy. So was showing him your work, even though you’re so insecure about his.

Your eyes flick to it now, gaze resting on his wrists, the bands surrounding them. Still jealous, you think ruefully, but the flame’s dimmed.

He tsks, and your eyes fly up to his. He wears a light smirk.

“The tattoos, huh?” Sukuna glances at them meaningfully.

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“You like ‘em?” Sukuna prompts.

“I love them,” you admit easily. He brightens immediately, and you almost laugh. “They’re exactly the kind of work I wish I could do. Simple. Deliberate. Few elements, all utilized effectively.” Your mouth twists. “I add too much. Agonize over decisions, go back and correct until it looks bad. Overthink. Your work isn’t like that. You’ve mastered the thing I can’t seem to fucking get.”

You stare straight ahead, unable to meet his eyes.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “You know why I came up to you in the quad a few weeks ago?” His voice is gruff

Looking over, you shake your head.

Sukuna blows a stream of air through his teeth. “I saw your work. An end of semester thing last year.”

“For Drawing I,” you agree. Then your eyes narrow slightly. “Why were you there?”

“Had a friend in the class. Didn’t see you, but uh,” he thumbs the tattoo on his wrist absently. “Saw your self-portrait.”

You jolt. That’s right, you remember. That was the piece you chose to exhibit.

“I—didn’t get it,” he says bluntly, giving you a small grin.

“It was really abstract,” you reassure him. It was, you’re not even sure you gave yourself eyes. “They let us go crazy with it.”

“Yeah, it was—crazy,” Sukuna sucks his teeth. “I remember thinking ‘the hell kinda fuckass self-portrait is that?’”

You snort. His lip ticks up. “Thought the artist was on drugs,” he adds, egging at you. You roll your eyes.

He flashes you a grin, before the line of his jaw settles. “Yeah. Didn’t understand how it was a self-portrait at all. But, when I saw you in the quad, I recognized you. I knew it was yours.”

That hits you hard. Sukuna watches you carefully as you manage the impact.

He—he really could tell it was you? He recognized you from that insane, experimental portrait? It didn’t even really look like you, the assignment wasn’t even a self-portrait. It was ‘draw a portrait of how you see yourself.’

And Sukuna recognized you from it. That’s—wow.

He looks at you, eyes almost wary. You meet them shakily. “That—that’s a really nice thing to say, Sukuna,” you tell him in a low voice.

“Not saying it cause it’s nice,” he adds frankly.

Your throat bobs. “I know. That makes it better.”

He nods slowly, like he wants to make sure you understand. That’s almost better than saying it at all.

You look down at his wrists. They’re closer than before, you realize, he’s shifted. 

Taking a deep breath, you bow to the inevitable and lay your hand across them. 

Sukuna freezes, then exhales. You give him a light smile. “What’s the width of the bands?” you ask quietly.

“An inch,” he answers, voice rough. “Seemed neat.”

“It is,” you answer truthfully. Your eyes move slowly up his arm, muscles thick and perfect, second pair of bands wrapped around them tantalizingly. You hear him grin, arm flexing.

“Narcissist,” you breathe, ignoring them completely. He snickers under his breath.

Feeling brave, you brace your hands on his shoulders and lean toward him, eyes level with his forehead. “What’s up with this symbol?” you murmur.

You feel him tense, then shrug. “‘Dunno,” he rasps. “Looks cool.”

You grin, laughing softly. “It does,” you agree. “Symmetrical?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue. “Of course.”

“Symmetrical all the way down?” you ask, taking a hand and running it down his arm.

“Mmh.” The rumble of his chest reaches all the way to his shoulders. “Thought I’d commit.”

You nod absently. “It works.” 

You feel his arm move more than hear it, slowly dragging through the air until it comes to rest on your jaw. Carefully, he tilts your head down, eyes meeting yours.

They’re so hot they pin you there, holding you for a moment. Sukuna licks his lips, and you thaw, raising an eyebrow.

He leans even closer. “Yeah?” he murmurs, eyes searching your face.

You nod, smiling lightly. “Yeah.” You close the distance, meeting his lips with yours.

It’s soft. Sweeter than you thought he’d be. Sukuna kisses you cautiously, like he doesn’t want to mess this up.

Cute, you think, before licking into his mouth. He’s got a face that makes you want to turn the volume up.

Sukuna grins, groans, follows your lead. Soon you’re in his lap, fingers in his hair while his hands knead your ass.

He pulls back to nose along your throat. “I got more, you know,” he hums.

It takes a second for you to catch up. “Huh?”

He huffs a laugh. “More tattoos,” he clarifies. Smirking, he takes a hand and runs it over one of his traps, across his chest, down to his thighs.

Your breath catches. “Symmetrical?”

The screwdriver in your hand clinks against the metal of the door. You grit your teeth and squint. You’ve got a choice, here: you can pick the lock clean and leave no trace, or you can break it. Let everyone know some skunk-rat broke into the house of the richest man in town.

Easy. You pop the lock until it cracks. The door swings behind you, useless.

Silently, you toe off your shoes, holding them in your hand. The inner door is unbarred; that one, he can get away with leaving unlocked for you. You let yourself in like a ghost, shutting the door carefully.

You’ve been here before, you know where to go, creeping through the silent house like a thief. And maybe you are, you’ve thought about taking things. The statues that dot the shelves, the tapestry that covers an entire wall of the living room. You could grab it and run; snatch it from under the watchful eyes of the family portrait opposite the stairs. Two pairs of red eyes and one blue, all boring down at you, recognizing you instantly as a different breed, a different species altogether from the kind of people who can afford a family portrait.

You pass by the breakfront. You think that’s where they keep their silverware, even three spoons would probably cover your family’s rent for a year.

Heh. Three silver spoons; three of the silver spoons that Sukuna was born with in his mouth.

See? You can make clever jokes, you’re not stupid. Everyone at school thinks you’re stone dumb, but you’re just quiet and dirt poor. There’s a difference.

They assume you’re trouble, too, which is also unfair. That’s why Sukuna’s parents, that’s why everyone thinks he should stay away from you. They think you’re corrupting the pretty little rich boy.

As if you could even afford the cigarettes he smokes. He’s corrupted all on his own, you just happen to be there. Everyone assumes it’s your fault.

Unfair. Then again, you’re the one with the screwdriver. But he left the door unlocked. Both guilty, but you both know you’re the one who’ll be punished.

Whatever. People in this town think you and your family are shit anyway. And in a few weeks you’ll graduate high school. Sukuna will learn to take over his father’s business, and you’ll get the fuck out of here for a while. See what else is waiting for you.

Carefully, you climb the stairs, wary of the squeaky floorboards. The cool air of the central AC raises goosebumps on your arms. Another benefit of visiting Sukuna in the dead of night—your family can’t afford air conditioning.

You feel the early-June sweat begin to dry on the back of your neck. Your father’s a handyman, picking up odd jobs for cheap, and your mother works nights at the twenty-four hour convenience store. Means Sukuna gets AC and you wore the same pair of jeans to school for a year straight, until even your mother’s patchwork couldn’t save the cheap fabric.

Whatever. Nothing you could do about it, so you decided not to care. Sukuna didn’t, either; that’s why you like him. Maybe growing up with all that money taught him to see through bullshit. Everybody at school was always ready to kiss his ass and lay out the red carpet. You never did, because why bother? Maybe that’s why he likes you.

Reaching the second floor, you cross to his bedroom door and knock softly. It opens instantly, like he was waiting for you.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, pulling you inside.

You set your shoes down, arms coming up around his neck, muscle memory. Lightly, you pull him into a kiss.

Sukuna shoves his tongue into your mouth, rough and hot. It always hits you like a Molotov cocktail.

“Had to walk,” you remind him. “My Rolls Royce was in the shop.”

He pinches the skin of your hips, hard enough to make you gasp. “Take your dad’s car,” you suggest. “Pick me up.”

Sukuna wrinkles his nose. “Glued a fucking AirTag to the keys, he’d see where I went.”

You’d get in trouble. You shrug. “You could do it anyway.”

He pulls back, narrowing his eyes. He hates when you take the consequences on the chin.

You think back to the broken lock. You can’t make yourself care anymore. In a month, you’ll be gone.

You’re not sure if Sukuna knows that.

Maybe he does; he pulls you back in and kisses you like he’s trying to keep you. You let yourself lick into his mouth, let him take a hand and knead it into the flesh of your ass.

You follow his motion and press yourself against him, his hardening dick rubbing against your stomach.

He curses, shifting back. “Are you sure?”

You nod slowly. Sukuna seems tense. “Are you sure?”

If he says no, if he wants to stop altogether, you’ll just—leave. Walk out, walk home. Wait for school tomorrow.

He holds your gaze, gives a slow grin. “Yeah. Been thinking about this.”

That makes you blink. “You have?”

He scoffs, hands finding your hips. “‘Course I have, you joking? Ever since you brought it up, couldn’t get through the day without my dick in my hand.”

Sukuna says the last part quickly, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Have you thought about it?”

You purse your lips. “…yeah.”

“Mmh.” He grins victorious. His eyes get an evil little glimmer. “Since when?”

Your mouth flattens. He raises an eyebrow.

“Since before then,” you admit grudgingly. “Before all…this,” you wave a hand at his bedroom.

Before you started sneaking into his house to make out with him for hours, grinding against him, body spitting out heat so good it surprised you. So good you had to take some of it home.

“Mmh.” Sukuna hums, pleased. “Had a thing for the rich boy?” he goads, moving in close. “Got off on getting him in trouble?”

“Fuck right off,” you gasp as his lips jump to your neck. “As if you’re not about to take my virginity.”

“As if you’re not about to take mine.” 

You both stop at that, staring at each other. You want to shrug it off, pretend it’s no big deal, but you suddenly see through your casual front. You’re not too cool for the weight of this, you’re not so slick that your first time is meaningless. It means something.

Being here, being with Sukuna, it means something.

He’s looking at you like he knows that. Maybe he’s known it the whole time, and you’re the idiot.

Breathing hard, you clear your throat. “Did you—” your voice cracks. “Did you get a condom?”

Turning, Sukuna goes to his nightstand and pulls out a box. He hands it to you.

You squint, trying to make out the letters. “‘Magnum?’” you ask with a disbelieving grin. “Someone’s cocky.”

He lets out a huff. “Listen, I did some fucking research, okay?” he says irritably. 

“You broke out the measuring stick?” you tease.

“Watch it,” he warns. “We—we fucking need this one, alright?”

“Sukuna,” you start, laughing. “There’s no way—”

“Wanna bet?” he asks, suddenly sly.

That worries you. “Uh, actually—”

“Nah, come feel.” He grabs your wrist, gives you a second to pull away. When you don’t, he tugs you closer, holding your hand over his waistband.

He raises an eyebrow. You take a deep breath and plunge your hand into his boxers.

Only to give a full body jolt. “Holy fuck,” you mutter. He’s right, his dick is fucking huge.

“See?” His voice is so smug. You raise your eyes to his, almost frightened.

“Uh—is this, is this going to work?” you say a little desperately. You’ve barely fingered yourself, the only thing that’s been up there is a tampon.

“What, scared?” he teases. Then he gets a good look at your face and walks it back. “I mean, I think so? I can’t be the only one with a big dick.” He makes a face like he’d like to be.

You let out a deep breath. “Oh—okay.” But you don’t move, hand gone slack around him.

He gives you a smirk. “Wanna do some research?”

Yes. “You’re a fool,” you sigh, pulling your hand out of his pants. “Come on, where’s your phone?”

He gets it off the nightstand. “Where’s yours?”

“It’s my sister’s day with it.” You tug him onto the bed, and he settles in next to you, pulling up google.

Five minutes later, you learn he should finger you, you should probably do it in doggy style, and you won’t come from his dick alone.

The last one annoys him. “Really? I read you could.”

“Where?”

“Reddit.”

“Sub-thread?”

He huffs at you. “‘Is-my-dick-big-enough-to-make-her-cum?’”

That makes you laugh, because it’s so fucking stupid, but it also leaves you…weirdly touched. That he thought of you like that.

“It’s not,” you say snobbishly. “Gonna have to find my clit.”

“You think I can’t?” he says, challenging.

“Pretty rich boys can’t find clits.” You say it like it’s a fact.

He smirks. “Like you’d know. Come on, pants off.”

You both freeze again. The air in the room goes heavy. Your fingers tremble as you pull down your shorts.

Instantly, you’re self-conscious. Your underwear isn’t anything special, just cotton panties you’ve had for ages. But Sukuna stares at them with cartoon-character eyes, looking at your cunt in the dim light like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

It makes you bold. “Alright, pretty boy, put your money where your mouth is,” you instruct, like you’re not shaking, like you’re not suddenly terrified at the thought of someone touching you.

Sukuna reaches out and puts a finger on your clit instantly.

You gape at him. “What the fuck?”

“Am I right?” He presses; starts rubbing his finger back and forth. You squirm, grabbing him by the wrist.

“Oh, I’m right.” He smirks at you, pushing harder. Heat surges, and you let out a gasp.

His hand is bigger than yours, coarser. It feels good, but it also hurts; he’s going too rough.

“Sukuna,” you breathe. “Sukuna, I need it softer.”

He stops immediately. “What…”

You bite your tongue. Be brave. Tell him what you want.

It feels impossible. But Sukuna waits you out, he’s good like that.

Hesitantly, you reach out and draw light circles over the back of his hand. “Like—like that. Lighter.”

He copies the pattern over your underwear, running a finger soft and perfect over your clit. You jolt, arms coming up to squeeze his shoulders.

“Good?” his voice is a low murmur, and it is absolutely gorgeous in the dark.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, really good. Keep going, please.”

“‘Please,’ huh?” he rasps, but he doesn’t stop, keeps tracing your clit with the pad of his finger. He’s propped up on one elbow, now, looking at you. You wonder what he sees.

Sukuna changes his rhythm and you gasp, throwing an arm over your face. Heat strikes you like lightning.

“Still good?” The question guts you; makes you want to pull out your fingernails. You reach out and feel along his abdomen, rubbing your palm over his crotch.

“Fuck.” He spits it into the air between you. The finger on your clit stutters, and your hips chase after it without thought.

“Shit,” you both whisper, staring down wide-eyed. You look up at him and burst into laughter. 

“Shut up!” Sukuna hisses frantically, shoving his fingers into your mouth.

It’s the hand that was at your underwear, you realize almost deliriously. A haze fills your mind, and you let out a moan.

Another wide-eyed moment. Sukuna quickly shifts into a smirk. “Oh?” He runs a finger over your teeth, and you choke.

“Hmm, that’s what I love about you,” he snickers, clearly satisfied. “Always keep things interesting.”

He begins to slide his fingers back and forth on your tongue. Both of your hands grip his bicep. Sukuna holds, waiting, and you shove his hand deeper into your mouth.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. You grab his leg and slot it between your own, lining up so that when you rock into him your clit hits his bulge.

His hand grips your jaw. “Fucking—” he cuts off with a snarl as you begin to slide yourself against him.

You’ve done this part before, but it doesn’t change how fucking good it is, how much you make each other light up. And the knowledge that there’s more, that there will be more, sends hot sparks searing through you. 

Suddenly, you want nothing to do with the fingers in your mouth. You bite sharply, then pull his hand free. Snaking a hand behind his head, you shove your lips together.

It’s kissing, and it’s familiar, but it’s also—different. Desperate. Like, like there’s an ocean rising, right there on his bed, and your head is the only thing above water. You need to stay afloat, you need to breathe, but you also need to keep your lips pressed to Sukuna’s, or else you’ll die. You need to tread water, but you also need to slide your hands up his shirt.

You do, tattooed skin and muscle revealing itself under your palms. Nothing you haven’t done, nothing you haven’t seen, but it still leaves you breathless.

Sukuna trembles, chest dancing under your hands. You tug at his shirt impatiently and he quickly takes it off, throwing it to the floor.

He puts his hands to your back. “You—”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pulling off your shirt and bra. This, this is new, and you both freeze, staring at each other.

You feel the chill of the AC again, and you shiver. Sukuna jumps, hands reaching for you. 

Before he can do anything, before his palms can make contact, your hand darts out and grabs him by the shoulder. Pulling gently, you guide Sukuna to fall on top of you. Hand spread between his shoulder blades, you gently hold his body to you, the endless skin of his chest running wild against yours.

It’s—indescribable. The weight of him, the heat. It shouldn’t be real. Sukuna—Sukuna’s body shouldn’t be capable of this, this electrical storm.

Yours shouldn’t, either. But Sukuna curses above you like it is, hips instinctively rutting into yours. His dick rubs hard against your clit, and you gasp, wrapping your arms around his back and squeezing, keeping him there.

Just when you don’t think it’ll get any better, Sukuna leans down and kisses you. His lips are familiar but rough, stilted and hungry. You reach a hand up to pull at his hair and he moans, new and low and devastating. 

It’s dizzying, Sukuna knocks you off-balance. His tongue slides, his hips jerk, and the knowledge of what’s to come kicks you in the teeth.

Then, he pushes himself up on one arm. The other hand slides to your breast, kneads it experimentally, then begins to pinch and play with your nipple.

Your grip on his hair tightens. You gasp, shocked, as his clever fingers move across you.

“You like it?” Sukuna murmurs, voice shaky.

Yes. Heat lances through you, hurtling from your nipple to your core. But breath is hard to come by, so you just nod.

He grins happily, leaning down to lick and suck at your neck.

Your voice pops back. “Where—” you cough. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Sukuna pulls back to smirk at you. “Porn.”

You choke out a laugh. “You’re watching fucking tit play?”

“All part of the research,” he says smoothly, before leaning down to seal his lips around your nipple and suck.

That drives you crazy like you didn’t think Sukuna could. You squeeze your eyes shut, spit curses under your breath, bend your back into an arch so you can shove yourself further into his teeth. Hot desire digs under your skin and rips through you, so strong you feel your skin will burst.

For a moment, Sukuna freezes. Your hand on the back of his head pushes him into your tits. 

“Holy shit,” he mutters, before diving back in, dragging his tongue and teeth over you. You seize, then squirm, holding his head in place like your life depends on it.

It’s so good, until abruptly it isn’t: the sensation is too much, too focused on one area while your cunt is fucking screaming. Sukuna licks again, and discomfort rolls through you.

“Sukuna,” you call quietly. He lets out a rumble, teeth still going at it.

Now the feeling almost gives you the ick. You let go of his hair and pull on his neck. “Sukuna.”

He lifts his head up, panting, eyes-heavy lidded. The sight is incredible.

You clear your throat. “We need to do something else.”

That throttles him. You actually see his throat bob. “You want to—stop.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no. Just—” you gesture at your tits. “That part.”

Sukuna’s lip quirks. “You seemed like you were having fun,” he goads.

You roll your eyes, face heating up. “Yeah, well—”

“So what should we do?” he interrupts conversationally, looking down at you, eyes wide with faux-concern. You draw in a breath to speak and he flicks at your nipple to make you squirm

You narrow your eyes. Like lightning, you snake your hand down and cup his dick through his shorts. 

He tenses above you, hissing, and you smile meanly. “Don’t know why you’re talking like that, got this raging hard-on and nowhere to put it,” you mutter.

“Think I’ve got somewhere to put it,” he gasps, gloating, like his hips aren’t rutting into your hand.

“What, you gonna take out the fleshlight?” you joke, curling your hand around the shape of him. You’re shaking, but you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

Then he reaches down and sets a finger on the back of your hand. It jitters uncontrollably, and he smirks.

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” he asks smoothly, moving his fingers back to your cunt. “My fleshlight?”

“Gross,” you snap. “Don’t ever call my pussy—ungh.”

Sukuna grins, settling his hand comfortably inside your panties and sliding his fingers through your folds. You can feel how wet you are, how the slick clings to him. He finds your clit again, easy, and every pass of his rough skin against it sends a rush of heat soaring stubbornly up your chest. Rising and falling, back and forth like a bow dragging deliberate against the strings of a violin. You tremble, and he grins, satisfied. 

Then his expression shifts into something thoughtful. You see the idea occur to him in real time. “Can I spit on it?”

The question throws you. “What?”

“On my fleshlight.” He smirks, but your brain hasn’t caught up.  He looks at you, unapologetic. “On your pussy. Saw it in a porno.”

Spit? The thought rattles in your chest, but you don’t want him to see. “You gonna eat it?” you challenge.

Shit. You’re not sure—maybe that was a bad idea.

You size each other up nervously.

“You gonna let me eat it?” he says eventually, eyes trained on your face. 

Smart, asking you like that. Are you?

“…yeah.” His face lights up, and it makes you bold. “I’ll let you spit on it, if,” you break out into a grin. “If you can make me come.”

He makes a face. “That’s fucking stupid. The spit is lube, why would I do it after?”

You roll your eyes. “Well, tonight you’re spitting for glory.”

He stares at you. “Idiot.”

“Okay, then don’t do it!” you say, feeling suddenly stupid.

“No, I’m gonna do it,” Sukuna says, like it’s obvious. “I’m just saying, your order of operations is fucked.”

You swallow down a pounding heart. “You seem very confident that you’re going to make me come at all.”

He scoffs easily. “I found your clit in less than a second, I’m going two for two.” He grins. “Come on, open up.”

You freeze, then twitch your thighs open. You don’t—you’re scared to look at him as he carefully pulls back, resting on his knees. It feels—it’s shockingly vulnerable, stretching yourself wide like this. Like you’re, like you’re presenting yourself to him. There’s nowhere for him to look but your cunt.

You look resolutely at the ceiling. You feel his hands hook around the edge of your panties. Skin screaming, you bat his hands away and pull them off yourself.

Mechanically, your thighs part again. You grit your teeth and force them not to shake, bracing for—for whatever’s about to happen.

You’re, suddenly, blindingly afraid of what’s about to happen.

Eyes on the ceiling, braced, waiting. Tensed in—in an anticipation that thrums, that burns and shivers.

Sukuna doesn’t move. Your muscles coil tighter.

Eventually: “Tch.”

You close your eyes. If he’s—if Sukuna’s fucking smirking, if he’s laughing at you, you’re sure you’ll die.

You crane your neck to look at him. Sukuna’s bent low, tucked between your thighs. He isn’t smiling, his face is blank, with something nibbling at the edges. Like he’s waiting, too.

Maybe he is. He’s not touching you at all, you realize, eyes searching your face. 

You can leave, you realize with a jolt. You can haul yourself off this bed right now and disappear, if you want.

The thought settles you. You meet Sukuna’s eyes and swallow thickly.

“Come on then, rich boy. Or are you getting cold feet?”

“Am I getting cold feet about putting my tongue on this pussy?” he repeats flatly. “Are you fucking insane?”

Before you can reply, he leans down and flattens tongue against you.

You gasp. It’s—warm. Wet. Intensely strange, the weirdest sensation you’ve ever felt in your life. You’re almost not sure you like it.

Then Sukuna twitches like he’s been kicked. “Holy fuck,” he mutters, then licks furiously, a long drag that paints your cunt from top to bottom.

W—weird. Awesome. You spasm, thighs clenching around his head. Your back arches. Yeah, you like it.

Sukuna jerks again, then grabs you roughly by the ankle. “Come on, put it—” he throws your leg over his shoulder. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he hisses, eyes on your cunt.

You raise an eyebrow, voice shaking. “Sukuna, it’s my fucking pussy.” You’ve gone down there with a mirror, it looks…weird.

Weird, and hairy. Shit, you didn’t even think of that, is he grossed out? Shit, shit—

“Yeah.” Sukuna smirks unabashedly. “And your fucking pussy’s in my face.” He blows a long stream of air over it, and your hips jerk, almost hitting him in the nose. “Yes,” he hisses, like he’s scored a point.

“Inspired by porn, again?” you pant, flailing around for your cool.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Now where’s your fucking clit?”

“It’s—” you actually have no idea how to describe the location.

“I’m not asking you, idiot, I don’t need your damn help,” he huffs.

“Then who are you fucking asking?”

“Reddit. Sub thread, ‘pin-the-tongue-on-the-clit.’” He sets about exploring your folds with the tip of his tongue.

“Ho-ly fuck,” you grit out. It feels so fucking strange, you think, sparks exploding over your skin, heat cutting at your navel. Your hips writhe, your hands grip the sheets. 

“Why are you so fucking stupid,” Sukuna mutters. He grabs your hands and shoves them into his hair. “Show some fucking initiative.”

“You’re—you’re the stupid one—ohmygodohmygod—”

“Sure. I’m the stupid one.” Sukuna slides his tongue to the top of your cunt, moving it carefully until—

You jolt, heat piercing through you. 

“Jackpot,” he murmurs.

You lean down to glare at him. “You did not just say fucking ‘jackpot’ when you found my—ooohhhh.” His tongue does—something, and your heel over his shoulder thumps against his back.

Sukuna seems dazed by the hit, until he remembers himself. “Ooohhh,” he mimics, laving against the spot, dragging his tongue messily over it again and again.

Heat again, turning you molten. Over and over, hitting you in the gut as he flicks his tongue. Your fingers curl instinctively into his hair, holding tight enough to rip it out.

“Christ, don’t fucking bald me,” Sukuna mutters.

“You put them there,” you remind him. “Don’t complain when I—mmph!” You cram a fist in your mouth to keep from screaming as the rough hot of his tongue runs over you. You feel it sharp, all the way down to your toes. Fuck, it feels so fucking good.

“Huh. Didn’t realize I’d find your ‘shut up’ button,” he says meditatively.

“Shut up,” you growl, trying to get a lid on the—the heat, that’s just—just fucking bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

Then you look down. Like a predator, Sukuna senses your eyes on him and meets them. Eyebrow raised, smirk on. Normal asshole behavior.

Then your eyes dip further. His chin is wet.

Wet. 

Slamming your eyes shut, you grab his hair again and shove his face back into your pussy. Your core—your entire body tenses, wound so tight your toes curl.

He licks again. Tighter, tighter. Sukuna’s nose brushes your clit. The pressure expands, cracks, blows through you. You come on his face with a fucking squeak.

Heat rolls through you like a wave, pulling you under; lapping gently. Your skin buzzes, your stomach seizes.

From below: “Did you just fucking ‘squeak?’ 

You can’t answer, not yet. Sukuna doesn’t let up. “Did my tongue turn you into fucking Mickey Mouse?” 

You glare at him. “I came, dipshit.”

That wipes Sukuna’s face blank. “Really?”

You nod carefully.

Then the bastard goes ecstatic. “Damn,” he sucks his teeth and grins. “I’m already two for two, and you’ve barely looked at my cock.”

You growl furiously. It’s gas to his ego. “Bet you can’t even find it,” he goads. “Bet you can’t even make me come.”

You let out an ugly snort, you can’t help it. “Sukuna, we both know you’re going to blow your load the second your teensy little virgin dick gets anywhere near my cunt.”

You expect him to rise to the bait, but he looks up at you angelically. “My virgin tongue did juuuuust fine making you come, or did you lie?”

His grin stills, his eyes turn just a touch serious. The question stands: did you lie? 

You could fuck with him. Instead—

 “No,” you answer honestly. “Why, you going for clout?”

“Personal pride,” he says easily. He makes to get up, but you use the leg you’ve got hooked over his shoulder to hold him in place.

Sukuna’s hips stutter. You file that away for later. 

“You—” he said virgin tongue. “You’ve never done that with anyone else?”

He scoffs. “Christ, no. Who the fuck else would I do this with?”

That slaps you clean across the face. You look down, wide-eyed. He shrugs, taking it in stride.

“Who—who else will let you spit on their pussy?” you say shakily, going for jokes.

His lips twitch; shark smile. “My thoughts exactly.”

Sukuna’s palms hit your thighs, pressing them apart. The look of him, big hands splayed across your skin, makes you shiver. You swing wild to cover for it.

“You jerk off to this?” You work to make your voice teasing. And maybe the swing wasn’t so wild, because Sukuna tenses below you.

It takes the teeth out of your question. “Do you?”

He huffs out a breath, close enough to make you tremble. “Yeah.”

You’re caught on that, for a moment, snared like it’s a hook beneath your chin. 

His words dangle awkwardly. You don’t want to say the wrong thing, so you don’t say anything.

Sukuna stares up at you, jaw tight. His eyes are looking for something, you know that much. You try and school your expression into—into whatever it is he wants from you.

You must manage, because his face smooths out; eyes lidded and low. “You gonna let me do it?” His voice is a murmur, a soft challenge.

For a moment, he strikes you stone dumb. Sukuna is so stupidly, absurdly attractive, the kind that floors you with one hit. You always forget he can do that; let his eyes burn down to the coals and his smile go heavy and silence you like he’s slapped his palm over your mouth.

You can’t speak, not with a face like that looking up at you. He clocks it, because he’s an asshole.

“Aw,” he croons meanly. “Got nothing to say?”

You growl, then jolt as his nose hits your clit again. Unfair, he shouldn’t have figured that out so quick.

“You want me to spit on it that bad?” Sukuna says delightedly.

He slides his nose back and forth, and your hips buck helplessly. “I—” You choke. “I don’t care if you—”

“Well, since you don’t care.” Sukuna grins evilly, hoists himself up onto his elbows, and spits.

To be fair, his aim is impeccable. You feel a cold something splat against you, and you can tell by the widening of his eyes that the bullet hit home.

“Fuck,” Sukuna says reverently.

You shift uncomfortably. It—it doesn’t really do anything for you. But Sukuna groans and starts rutting into the mattress. It’s kind of strange, how he works his hips like that, and you watch, fascinated despite yourself.

“Gonna make you come again,” he rasps without warning, then slams his thumb into your clit. 

“Ouch!” you hiss desperately, biting back a shriek as you instinctively jerk backwards. “Sukuna, your fucking nail!” He sucks his teeth, adjusts his thumb and keeps at it, swiping over your clit furiously.

“Sukuna.” You whine embarrassingly. You can’t help it, it came on so fast, it’s so much, it’s so fucking much. The heat, the pressure, the feeling of those red eyes boring into yours, it’s so much—

You gasp, thighs twitching around his head, back bowing as you come suddenly.

He keeps at it, working at your clit, and you kick him in the shoulder. “S’too much,” you cry, voice high and needy.

His hand stills. “You come again?”

Shame grips you. Is—is it something to be embarrassed about? That you came so fast?

“Y—yeah,” you mumble, not looking at him.

Silence for a moment. Then—

“Ha.” At first you think he’s laughing at you, and you whip your head up, gripping righteous indignation like a lifeline.

Then your gaze focuses, and you realize Sukuna’s grinning triumphantly. “Fuck, I am so good at this,” he crows gleefully.

You roll your eyes. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Oh, sure. Finding your clit on the first try and making you come twice is beginner’s luck.”

You scowl because you have nothing to say.

His smile grows impossibly wider. “Are you even good at this?” he goads.

That knocks you off-balance, because: are you?

The question settles at your throat. Are you good at this? What if—what if Sukuna’s just infinitely better at sex than you, and you can’t even make him come, and then he doesn’t want to see you anymore, and then—

You cut off the thought before it can take root. “Fuck me and find out,” you snap.

Then you freeze. So does Sukuna.

Fuck me and find out.

Is this—is this really—oh—okay.

You’re a little bit afraid, and you can’t keep it out of your eyes. It might be a trick of the light, but it looks like Sukuna is, too.

Slowly, like he’s afraid of startling the very bed itself, Sukuna rises to his knees, and begins to slide himself over you. Immediately, the thick length of his dick hits your thigh and rubs against it. You gasp; Sukuna grunts quietly.

It’s so—it’s so fucking big—how—how in the fuck are you supposed to—

“Sukuna,” you stop him desperately. He holds in place.

“You—you need to finger me,” you remind him shakily.

“Oh.” He shakes his head with a twitch. “Yeah, okay.” He moves back down, then meets your gaze resolutely, looking at you with tight, narrowed eyes.

His hands don’t move; he doesn’t know what to do. You almost laugh; compared to eating you out, this one feels obvious.

“Just—just put your finger in.”

“That’s it?”

This time you do laugh, just a small huff. “Yeah, I mean—it's not gonna bite you.”

He frowns indignantly, then shoves his finger inside. 

“Ouch!” you yell again. 

He jumps. “Shit. Did I—” 

“Just fucking wait,” you snap, holding stiff until the pain subsides. After a moment, you try to force yourself to relax. “Okay. You can move.”

Experimentally, he wiggles his finger around. You jerk, then frown at him. “Like, out and in.”

He stares at you dubiously. 

You stare back. “Haven’t you been researching this?”

“It didn’t come up,” he mutters. 

You roll your eyes. “Out of the way,” you mutter, reaching down and pulling his wrist to the side. “Look, like this.”

Gently, you bend your wrist and begin to finger yourself, sliding your longest finger in and out of your cunt. “See? Easy. Primal. Caveman shit.”

You look down at him expectantly. Sukuna isn’t looking at you; he’s got his eyes on your hand, absolutely engrossed by the sight of your fingers.

Something like vinegar hits your tongue, singes at your muscles. It seizes, squirms, you don’t know what to do with it. You move your hand away. “Just—just pretend it’s the dick, Sukuna. Out and in.”

He shakes, comes back to himself and smirks. “If it's the dick, my finger’s gotta be four times bigger.”

“That’s literally the point. That’s why we’re doing this.”

His smirk shows its teeth. “Opening you up to take my massive cock?”

You nearly roll your eyes again, because there’s only one answer. “Yes, Sukuna. Opening me up to—to take your massive cock.”

You make a face. Sukuna chokes back laughter. “That sounded like a porno,” you mutter.

“My dick twitched,” he agrees. “It recognized the call sign.”

“Oh my god.”

He does laugh, this time, then quickly brings his hand back to your cunt.

“Slow,” you tell him quickly. “Or it’ll hurt.”

He clicks his tongue, then carefully pushes his finger back in

It’s—uncomfortable. Much more blunt and awkward than when you do it. Deeper, too, the angle of your wrist can’t get nearly as deep as he can.

It almost hurts, and you grimace. He pulls out immediately.

You glance down. “What?”

He shifts on the bed. “Is it…do you want to stop?” He says it almost begrudgingly.

“Uh. No?”

Sukuna relaxes, but he squints up at you. “Looks like it hurts.”

“Yeah,” you say it like it’s obvious.

“Tch.” He turns his head to the side.

You try and figure out what the fuck he’s thinking. “…keep going,” you say eventually.

He squints at you. You shrug uncomfortably. “I think, it’s just, like—gonna hurt.”

Sukuna brings his hand back to your cunt, pushing a slow finger in. You wince.

He holds, waiting.

“S’okay.” You hook a leg back over his shoulder. “I, uh, did some of my own research,” you admit, shy despite yourself.

He flashes his teeth. “Reddit?”

“No, I asked my cousin, dumbass.” You roll your eyes. “She said it might hurt, that’s normal.”

Sukuna goes quiet, then. 

“What?”

He sucks his teeth, then looks at you seriously. “And you still want to do it?”

Oh. “I mean, yeah.” You feel your face heat up. “You—you already made me come.” Your voice shakes. “So.”

He pulls his hand away again. You frown, and he looks at you with narrowed eyes.

You scoff, turning away again. He waits you out.

“And I…I want to know what it feels like,” you mutter.

Your eyes are on the ceiling. He pinches your thigh, and you jolt, glaring down at him.

His gaze is thick and serious. “Me, too,” he admits gruffly, beginning to slide his finger in and out of you. “I want to know what this pussy feels like,” he adds, glancing down at his hand.

That lodges in your throat. For a moment, you think you’ll choke. Sukuna’s looking up at you, measured, like he’s not expecting anything from you.

You give it anyway. “I,” you take a deep breath. “I want to know what you feel like,” you say quietly.

His hand freezes. You tense around it, squeezing your eyes shut. Body coiled, ready to run, waiting for—

Sukuna moves his hand again. He raps his knuckles against your hip until you open your eyes, face pinched, scowling at him.

His face is placid, easy, open. “Me, too.”

Your mouth slackens in shock. He raises an eyebrow. The words hang between you; they glitter.

You can only stand it for a couple of seconds. Then, you ruin it. “You want to know what you feel like?”

Sukuna tsks. “Can’t leave well enough alone,” he mutters under his breath, before raising his voice. “Don’t worry, I know plenty what I feel like.”

He tenses at the admission, but you roll right through it. You weren’t lying, you realize. You want to know what he feels like.

“Here,” you breathe, gesturing at him. “Here, come on—” you grab at his shoulder, and Sukuna takes the hint, moving up the bed so he lies on his side next to you. Deliberately, you move a hand to his crotch, feeling around the outline of him. Sukuna twitches, and when you slip a hand into his boxers, he jerks away from you and wrestles them off, along with his shorts.

The air stills, again. You’re both naked, which is terrifying, but it—levels the playing field. You feel like you’re on more equal footing than you were a few seconds ago, when you were bare and he was hidden.

More equal, but—Sukuna’s naked. Which means you have his dick to contend with.

You shiver as he resettles himself. Terrifying. But also, a cool venture into the unknown. 

Curiosity has you leaning forward for a closer look. It’s big, you knew that. Almost a shame, you’re certain his ego spiked the second he grew it. It’s thick, too, mushroom tip ballooning over the shaft. 

You inch closer. Is there really a slit at the top, where you can see him jizz? You’d thought that was just a smut thing, but no, look, there it is.

Huh. It’s the first dick you’ve ever seen in person, and it is—it is so fucking odd-looking that you want to examine it all over. Unthinking, you reach out and take it in your hand.

First thought: warm. Like holding a—a warm worm that shakes

Second thought: it shook, what the hell

Third thought: Sukuna shook, what the hell—

And Sukuna did, jolted like your hand was a live wire. You look up at him, startled, only to see him glaring fiercely at the wall, teeth bared, jaw wound tight. 

You freeze, unsure of what’s happening. After a moment, he glances down at you. “Just gonna hold it?” He tries to joke, but his voice is sandpaper.

Experimentally, you give it a squeeze. He jumps again.

A kind of heady power fills you. You grin, and you see his throat bob.

You look down again, and a wave of weird dampens your high. You push through it, lifting his dick up to look at the underside.

Is there a vein that runs beneath it? You drag a finger along it, feeling here and there just to see.

“Shit,” Sukuna hisses brutally. 

You shiver. Huh. What does the slit feel like?

You walk your hand up to the head, sliding a careful finger over the top. You can feel the slit, you think abstractly, the flesh dips enough that you can dip the tip of your finger inside—

Sukuna gasps, jerks your hand away. You glance up again. He’s panting like an animal, grip on your wrist tight. “You keep doing that,” he says, voice strained, “and I’m gonna finish before I get to fuck you.”

You nod, swallow. The words settle in your gut, heavy and hot.

Carefully, you take him in your hand again, looking up at his face. He nods, exhaling. “Yeah, that’s—yeah.”

Turning back to his pelvis, you lift his dick to squint at his balls. They’re hard to see, you think, and you almost ask him to turn on his flashlight for a better look. They’re heavy; well, actually, are they? They look heavy.

You let go of his cock to cradle his balls. Again, Sukuna jumps. “What are you—fuck.”

He shifts beside you. Eyes on him; he’s got his fist pressed to his forehead, teeth grit. You press in with a thumb, and he bites down on his knuckle, eyes wild.

Wow. You keep your hand where it is, massaging lightly. Your fingertips meet coarse pubic hair that you’d swear is pink. The skin is wrinkly as fuck, and your fingers and palm keep catching on it. Annoying, so you pull back and lick over your hand, hoping to ease the friction.

You recoil instantly. Your hand tastes fucking terrible.

Beside you: “Holy fuck.”

You only get a glimpse of Sukuna’s awestruck, pained expression before he buries his head in your neck. You can feel his hot breath warm your skin.

Stunned, you hold for a moment, before putting your hand back where it was. Sukuna fucking, fucking groans.

Whoa. You’re suddenly overcome by the need to make him—make him fucking scream. Like a woman possessed, you shift downward, bending your head and pressing your mouth against his sack, huffing air onto it.

Sukuna snarls, twitches his hips forward, curls his body around you. You place a hand on his hip; reach out and lick him with your tongue.

Ugh. Dis-gust-ing, and your tongue hooks on his pubic hair. But worth it because Sukuna whines. Whines. 

Fucking hell. You lick again, pressing the flat of your tongue into the skin and dragging it up slowly. Sukuna lets out an aborted shout; you realize he’s brought a hand to his mouth so he can bite it.

That makes you twitch, yourself. You could say something, you think, something hot, like “let me hear you.” It’s true, you want to hear it, you want whatever sound he makes, whatever sound you make him make.

Your gut flares. You chicken out.

Instead, you lick again, sour-sweat taste hitting you hard. He jerks, moans, grabs wildly for your hand. “Here, fucking—” he guides it to his dick.

You freeze in shock. Just where does he get off? you think angrily. Christ alive, does this rich boy have balls.

Then you realize they’re in your mouth, and you almost burst out laughing.

Clearly unaware, Sukuna reaches back for your hand. “Wait, I’ll—” he takes your wrist in his hand and licks you from palm to fingertip.

Your brain chokes, your core stumbles. You stare at him dumbly.

Breath coming fast, Sukuna still manages to smirk at you. Rolling your eyes, you bring your hand to his dick and begin to stroke it gently.

“God, yes,” he hisses, hips rutting into your palm. Sukuna’s entire body jolts, moving towards you on instinct.

The sight of him in the dim light from his window nearly blinds you. Tattooed bands on his thighs flexing, lines on his abdomen jumping as you move your hand back and forth. You look up to see his biceps tense, bands popping, and you let yourself go a little crazy. 

Leaning back to his crotch, you stretch your mouth wide, as wide as you can go, and take his ballsack in your mouth.

Almost all of it, you can’t quite manage the whole thing, but you lick and suck and jerk your hand on his dick like your life depends on it.

Sukuna nearly shakes himself off the bed. “Holy shit, holy fucking shit, what the ever loving fuck—”

You grin, tongue flicking lightly. Your hand is wet, you realize, slick with what must be pre. Sukuna only lets you go on for another second before he snarls, hauling you up by the back of the neck.

You look at him indignantly. “I was in the middle of something.”

Sukuna stills, then laughs in disbelief. “Fucking obviously, but I was gonna come.”

Pleased heat flares over you. “You liked it.”

“Fucking obviously.” Sukuna pulls in long breaths, squeezing his eyes shut. “What,” he coughs, “what made you do that? You see it somewhere?” He gauges you through his lashes.

“Didn’t see it anywhere. Just pure ingenuity.” You tap the side of your head and grin knowingly. “Some of us are so good we don’t even need to research, we just figure it out in the field.”

He stares at you. “Congrats, you just made my dick soft.” You squeeze it, and he hisses.

“And now we know you like your balls getting played with,” you say happily.

Sukuna laughs grimly. “Save that for future use.”

The air thickens, sours. Future use. Will this happen again?

You look at each other, uncertain.

Sukuna moves first, twitching his hand to your cunt and gently slotting a finger into you.

You gasp, right back in it. “That’s it,” Sukuna mutters, then kisses you, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

You both pull back, grimacing. “You taste like pussy,” you say, gagging. The sharp, acrid taste of yourself fills your mouth.

“You taste like balls,” he coughs.

You size him up. “I’m cleaning the ick off.” Muttering, you lean down and slide your tongue against his shoulder.

Sukuna jolts, rutting into your hand that’s loosely clenched around his dick. Your muscles seize; you lick him again and he gasps.

Experimentally, you bite, and there’s that whine, again. It slips into your blood like adrenaline. Suddenly, you need everyone to know that he made that sound for you, that you dragged it out of him.

The hand on his hip clenches. Frenzied, panting, you move your mouth to his neck and bite, sucking a harsh mark onto his skin. You do it again, high, right under his chin so he can’t cover it up, so everyone who wants the pretty rich boy will know that you got to him first, you, you, you—

He grunts; raking sharp nails down your back. It stings, and you ignore it; or maybe you don’t, maybe that sharp drag spurs you on, because you just snarl and bite harder. His hand moves at your pussy, driving in and out, and it’s another point of pain but soon it’s edged with pleasure, and then it’s more pleasure than pain, and it’s so fucking good—

You gasp, pulling your face from his neck so you can moan and marvel at—at this feeling. Of—of being fucking stabbed with a blunt knife, blunt enough that it doesn’t cut it just presses. Jabs sharply. It shouldn’t feel good but it does, and soon you’re rocking down onto his hand, hips twitching to meet him in a move that’s so good you could die.

Then, Sukuna’s hand stops. You look up at him to protest, but the words melt when you see how wild he looks.

“W—what?”

“I—” Sukuna sucks his teeth, head flicking to the condoms sitting inches away. He looks at you, gaze narrowed.

A moment of dread, but you push it aside. “Y—yeah,” you say unsteadily.

Sukuna freezes, entire body tensed like he’s ready to bolt. Then his hand skitters to the nightstand, fishing a condom out of the box.

The world narrows to the little square of paper between his fingers.

Carefully, Sukuna tears it open, the sound of it echoing through the room.

You swallow, sure he can hear it.

Gently, his fingers pull the condom from the wrapper, dropping the discarded cover on the floor. Then he holds the condom up to his face, squinting.

Your throat unsticks. “What is it?”

“There’s like, a way to do it right,” he mutters. “It has to be facing a certain way, hold on.”

He wipes his hand on his bed sheet, then reaches for his phone, thumbing on the flashlight.

You wince. The light is bright, clinical, and you shy away on instinct.

“I know,” he grunts, “just—”

“No, uh.” You swallow again. “It’s, uh—thank you.”

You grimace. Awkward. But you meant it.

Sukuna throws you a glance, cracks a small smile. Then he takes a deep breath, checks the condom one more time, then settles it over his dick.

You hold your breath. Flashlight still on, he sets his phone on the bed and sets both hands around the condom, painstakingly rolling it down his length.

Wordlessly, you hold his phone, angling the light so he can get a better look.

Sukuna raises his eyebrow. You try to shrug; it’s more like a twitch.

He doesn’t comment. Instead, he keeps going, unfurling the latex down until it sits snug at his base.

Then, Sukuna looks at you; lets his eyes catch. He gives you a half smile that shakes.

“Yeah?”

You nod. He stares at you like he needs you to say it.

You nod again. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” His face flickers, uncertain, before settling into something expectant, waiting for you.

Waiting for you to move, you realize. Right. On all fours. Hesitantly, feeling slightly stupid, you raise yourself up onto your hands and knees.

Exhaling, Sukuna maneuvers himself behind you, kneeling on the bed.

You grimace. You can’t look at him. You feel ridiculous.

Warm hands find your hips. “Fucking christ,” Sukuna whispers.

Now you have to look. You crane your neck; Sukuna is looking at your ass like it’s the new religion, like it’s going to burn him alive.

Something hot wriggles under your skin; makes you soar. You want more of that look, so you arch your back and shake your hips back and forth.

His hands tighten almost painfully. “Don’t—don’t fucking do that or I’ll fucking come right now,” he grits out.

You grin, do it again. His hand cracks against your ass.

Your mouth falls open in shock. The hit stings, burns bright. He’s got a small smirk on, like you caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

“My bad.” Totally unapologetic.

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean,” you say quickly. Then: 

“…you can do it again.”

Sukuna doesn’t waste a second, hand smacking sharp into the meat of your ass. It hurts, but the pain goes right to your navel, sparking like a flint striking stone.

You moan softly, and Sukuna snarls above you. “Fuck this, I need to—”

His hand leaves you, and soon you feel something nudging your entrance.

“Sukuna—” you snake a hand backwards and catch him by the wrist. “Go—can you go slow?”

Your voice trembles. “Yeah,” Sukuna breathes. “You know I—yeah.”

“O—okay.” You turn your head back around. “You can—yeah.”

He digs the heel of his hand into the flesh just above your ass. You reach out and tap his thigh.

Then, he moves, pushing himself into you.

You grunt immediately, muscles of your abdomen clenching brutally. Shit, shit, he’s so fucking big, oh my god, how are you meant to do this? Should you have done this with someone else?

The doubt strips you bare. Should you?

Sukuna holds, hips twitching slightly. “What,” he rasps; you can hear the restraint in his voice. “What’s going on?”

No, you couldn’t have done this with anyone else. It had to be him. 

The thought lodges in your throat, becomes a feeling that is huge and inevitable and very, very dangerous.

You try to push it away; it comes back and bites. You talk around it. 

“N—nothing,” your voice breaks.

He reaches down, hand finding your jaw comfortingly. “Is it—” he huffs. “Should we stop?”

Stop being so fucking nice, you think angrily. “No.”

He must sense the weird, because his body locks. You sigh, forcing yourself to fucking relax. “I’m good.”

“You su—”

Before he can finish, you push yourself backward, taking him a couple inches further inside you. It feels like you’re pussy’s gonna crack the fuck open, and you hiss.

His hand tightens on your jaw, hard enough to hurt. You wince, and he whips his hand away. A small whimper escapes you.

“Fuck, I didn’t—” Sukuna’s hand returns to your face, cradling it gently.

“I, uh—” you inhale sharply, gritting your teeth. It hurts, the rough drag of him stings, but you want to push through it. “Um, I—I want to keep going.”

Sukuna turns your head to face him. He looks at you for about a second before clicking his tongue. “Not buying it,” he says flatly.

“No, I do,” your voice is almost angry. “It’s just gonna—it’s gonna hurt, I know that, but I, I want to keep going.”

You swallow harshly. You do, you want to—to see it through.

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask archly, a bite of insecurity closing around your throat.

Sukuna looks at you like you’re stupid. “Are you joking?” he asks in disbelief. “This is—you feel fucking insane.”

You can’t help it, your lips quirk into a small smile. “Yeah?”

He exhales, as if he can’t believe people like you are allowed to procreate. “Yeah, dipshit. This is—this is better than I fucking imagined.”

You can’t resist goading him. “And it’s not even all the way in.”

“And it’s not even all the way in,” he growls, moving his hand back to your hip. “I’m gonna—”

“—yeah.” He thrusts his hips, sinking deeper, splitting you wider. You feel like he’s poking at your stomach.

“How—” you choke down a gasp. “How far now?”

He struggles to catch his breath. “Halfway.”

Halfway? “Sukuna, what the fuck kind of monster dick do you have?” you growl furiously.

He snorts. “Aw, my bad,” he says again.

“Stop lying to me.” You wriggle your hips. “Come on, more—”

His hips snap forward; you blink back tears. 

“More?” he rasps.

“You are in my fucking chest,” you garble, “your dick is poking between my ribs.”

Sukuna lets out a shocked laugh. “Is this you getting stupid on my dick?”

“You’ll never make me stupid.” Some smoke detector beeps, tells you that’s a lie. 

You can’t take this anymore. “Just—just go until it’s all the way in,” you demand.

He holds. “You sure? There’s a lot—”

“Just do it!” you snap. He stills even further, you can hear him growl at you. You force your tone to soften. “I,” you take a deep breath. “I think it will get better, once—once you’ve gone all the way in.”

You turn your head to catch his eye. His face is uncharacteristically serious; jaw set, eyes trained on yours. 

You give him a small smile. “Come on, go.”

He inhales, pushes in with one mean thrust. You may have made a mistake.

Your body screams, cunt fucking burning, blistering around him all the way to your throat. Your arms buckle, and your face hits his sheets. You gather fabric between your teeth and bite down, frantically trying not to shriek.

“Jesus,” Sukuna pants. “Did I kill you?”

You can’t answer. His arm moves, you feel him reach out, and you grab his hand and squeeze bitterly.

“Shit,” he hisses.

“Yeah,” you mumble around the sheet.

He clears his throat. “Should I—”

You dig your nails into his hand. “Just—just give me a second.”

Letting go of his hand, you press both palms into the mattress and pull in sharp, trembling breaths. One after the other, in and out. 

Distantly, you register the warmth of his pelvis pressed against you, his thighs leaning into yours. Just from that, just from that little contact, you can feel the whole heat of him, stretching up into his strong body that leans over you, the hands that tentatively rub your back.

That part’s nice, you think, and your body loosens around him.

“Okay, uh. You can move but, uh. I’m gonna stay down here.” You cringe at yourself.

Sukuna barks a laugh, incredulous. “Yeah, please, stay down there. I don’t give a shit, my dick is not on planet Earth right now.”

You snort. “Your dick is inside my pussy.” A stupid line, but it pulls at you.

“And your pussy is not on planet Earth,” he says, dead serious. Strong hands grip your hips, and he cautiously slides himself out a couple inches before thrusting in again.

Your entire body jerks forward, face pushed along the mattress. You grit your teeth and try to hold firm.

“Fuck,” Sukuna laughs under his breath. “Your ass is shaking.”

“Physics,” you stutter.

“Incredible,” he says honestly. He moves again, pulling out just to slam himself forward.

You let out a groan. It still hurts, but your body is getting used to him, each slick slide a little less jolting, a little less painful.

Above you, Sukuna seems to be going stupid.

“Fucking hell, you’re so fucking tight what the fuck.” He picks up the pace, driving himself into you again and again.

You moan, whimper, but you don’t even think he can hear it. “Your ass is so fucking big, fuckfuckfuck you’re so good for me, this pussy is so fucking good holy shit—”

You choke out a laugh. “You take your idiot pills?” you manage weakly, but Sukuna doesn’t seem to even notice. You can’t turn to look at him, every thrust shoves your face deeper into the mattress, but you can hear him just fine, can feel the way his hands shake, his hips stutter. Sukuna’s falling apart.

That hits you in the teeth. Sukuna’s right there, right behind you, falling apart. Just—just from touching you.

That—you have to do something, you can’t just sit with that. His hand is at your hip, you twist your arm and grab him lightly by the wrist. Just, holding onto him.

His hips stutter again. “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, and isn’t that just—amazing. Amazing. You feel you could cry.

“So good, so perfect for me,” he continues, “gonna come soon, shit, shit—”

The pain of him has just faded enough for it to feel good, really good. You start anticipating each thrust, body keening and moaning and sending aborted little screams up your throat. Fuck, it hurts; fuck, it feels good, it’s making you delirious.

Delirious enough to tell him so. “Fuck, Sukuna, feels really fucking good,” you whisper.

That, he hears. You let that escape, and his hips stop. You feel his dick twitch inside you.

A hand reaches down and grasps your shoulder. You jerk away on instinct, but he holds fast. 

“Nah, c’mon. Let me see.”

There’s glee in his voice, and it scares you. You debate for a moment, before giving in and turning around.

You’re tensed, braced for—for something vicious? You don’t even know. But Sukuna’s face is closer to amazement. He thrusts mildly. You crumple; you moan quietly.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Y-yeah,” you croak.

Then, Sukuna gets mischievous. Holding your gaze, smirking lightly, he puts a hand to your head and gently presses it back down, back into the sheets.

You roll your eyes and let it happen. “Only ‘cause it’s you,” you mutter.

Your eyes squinch shut. You regret saying it immediately, and you want to kick yourself. That, that feels like something he can use against you. Tear it from your chest, fashion it into something sharp, and throw it back in your face.

He wouldn’t even need to fashion it, you realize in horror, it’s plenty sharp all on its own. You begin to panic. Shit. Shit.

Sukuna uses the hand on your head to tap your forehead. “Hey,” he demands, fingertip hitting again and again until you open your eyes.

You’re already scowling. “What?” you snap.

Sukuna looks at you, shakes his head, then grins crookedly. “Lucky me, then.”

Smooth bastard. You feel your chest lighten.

The smirk is back. “Now be a good girl.”

That lands in your gut like a stone. “Not that,” you say on reflex.

Sukuna hesitates, then slaps your ass again.

Heat. “That’s fine,” you say, a little out of breath.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, sounding slightly undone himself.

Before you can open your mouth, two hands on your hips drag you backward, yanking you flush against him. Sukuna pulls himself out and then snaps forward, fingers holding strong, making your body move with his.

It’s fucking excellent. You both grunt, groan, shake uncontrollably; you can feel Sukuna shake uncontrollably. Just when you think it’s going to be too much, Sukuna loses his rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he pants in your ear, “I’m gonna—shit gonna come soon, right now—”

He twitches, body spasming jerkily as he finishes. You wait for him to come down from the high, suddenly exhausted, breath huffing against the sheets.

Eventually, Sukuna leans forward, pressing his forehead into your back. “God almighty,” he mumbles, before pulling out of you.

You make a face as you feel his dick—exit. Weird.

He gets off the bed altogether, hissing lightly as he takes the condom off and throws it in the trash. Then he turns back to the bed and laughs in amazement. “You can—you can move, you know.”

You grimace. Yeah. Body like lead, you stretch your legs out and flop prone onto the mattress.

He snickers. “Freak,” he says, voice like warm water.

“You’re the one who spanked me,” you remind him, then slam your lips shut.

“And you liked it.” Sukuna climbs onto the bed. He settles beside you, then taps your shoulder until you turn to face him. He’s on his side, you’re on your stomach. You look at each other.

“That was wild,” he says with a smirk. A laugh bubbles out of you, and he shows his teeth. “My dick leave you intact?”

You think it over. Your cunt still hurts, even with the absence of him; you might even be sore tomorrow. But the ache is dim and dull, something you can manage.

“I’m okay,” you decide. The heat of his palms, of his touch, has leeched from your skin, and the AC in his room’s pumping. The cold air makes you shiver.

Sukuna notices. “Get closer,” he orders, reaching for you.

Get closer. You let him tug you against his chest. “Furnace boy over here,” you mutter as  his body heat slips into you. His abs twitch as he snorts.

You feel yourself go serious. “You—you okay?”

Sukuna pulls back to look at you incredulously. “You joking?” he growls. “I’ve never been fucking better.”

You laugh helplessly. “Furnace boy got his dick wet.”

“Furnace boy got his dick wet,” he agrees. Then his arm settles between your shoulder blades. He squeezes once.

You know what he means. You let your head knock against his chest.

Eventually, Sukuna tips your chin up and kisses you. It’s chaste, quick. You give it back, quick.

He grins. “I gotta wash my dick off, feels gross.” He gets off the bed. “You need the bathroom?”

Your pussy feels wet and sticky. “Uh, yeah, I need to—” you gesture at your crotch. “But—can I?”

Sukuna grimaces. If his parents spot you in the hallway, it would be a shit show. “Probably not,” he agrees. “Here, I’ll be back.”

He disappears for a few minutes. You stare at the ceiling and let the last hour wash over you.

That—Sukuna was—

You rub your eyes fiercely.

The doorknob turns, and Sukuna walks back in with a washcloth in his hands. He hands it to you, and you gently clean yourself off. “What do you—?”

“Give it here.” He puts it carelessly on his nightstand. You eye it warily. Gross.

“Listen, uh.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you want to put your underwear back on?”

Oh. Pragmatic. You wrinkle your nose. “Uh, not really.” But you’re wearing jean shorts. Not preferable for commando.

Sukuna seems to have anticipated the problem. “Wanna wear something of mine?”

You catch a gleam in his eye. “Perv,” you mutter. “Yeah, okay.”

Grinning in satisfaction, Sukuna crosses to his dresser.

“Find something from when you were, like, in utero,” you say, resigned.

“Not my fault puberty hit me hard,” he says easily, rooting around in a drawer. 

“But it is my problem,” you grumble.

“Damn right, it is,” he crows. “Here.” He tosses you a pair of basketball shorts; tugs on some boxers. “Tie it tight and roll them the fuck up.”

“‘Roll them the fuck up,’” you mimic. They still come down past your knees.

Sukuna’s lips twitch. “You look ridiculous.”

“It’s this or denim rubbing against my cunt,” you say unhappily. “Poor planning.”

“Think ahead next time,” Sukuna teases.

That punches you in the nose. Next time. Is this happening again?

Across the room, Sukuna’s gone stock-still. Apprehension crosses his face.

You turn and methodically begin to pull on your bra. 

“Idiot, I didn’t—” Sukuna crosses the room to put a hand on your waist. “I didn’t mean—”

You step back to pull your shirt over your head. “It’s late,” you say evenly. “I’ve got a long walk back.”

Sukuna opens his mouth, closes it. Inclines his head.

You find your shoes. Sukuna opens the door, and you duck under his arm, stepping carefully into the hallway.

You move first, light as a ghost and twice as out of place. Sukuna follows you, retracing your steps as you climb down the stairs, past the family portrait, out onto the back porch.

You pull on your shoes, crouching. Sukuna stands behind you, half inside the house, half out.

Taking a deep breath, you turn around to face him.

Sukuna looks how you feel, uncertainty hung tight over his shoulders.

The air is silent. Neither of you move. His face fills your eyes.

You cough. Someone has to speak first. “So, uh. I’m gonna, I’m gonna go.”

You hike a thumb over your shoulder. Sukuna exhales, long and low. “Yeah.”

Again, nothing. Dead air.

Someone has to move first.

You turn back to the door, fingers tightening on the handle. “Bye, Sukuna,” you mumble over your shoulder.

“Bye.”

You step outside. The screen door swings shut behind you, broken lock clinking awkwardly.

You don’t make it halfway down the steps before the screen door whistles again. A hand clasps around your arm.

You look over your shoulder. Sukuna’s face could skin a cat. “You broke the lock,” he says flatly.

Feeling caught out, like you did something wrong, you nod.

His nostrils flare. “You always pick it.”

Also true.

Sukuna’s hand on your arm tightens. “Why didn’t you just pick it?”

You don’t have an answer that makes sense. You want your face to be measured, but you think it’s helpless.

He rubs hand over his brow. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he mutters under his breath. “Stay here. Don’t—don’t fucking leave.”

He gives you a strict look that nails your feet to the ground, then slips into the house. Before you can even consider bolting, he’s back on the porch, jamming his feet into his sneakers.

“Come on,” he growls, leading you to the driveway. “I’m driving you home.” 

You see the glint of car keys in his hand, AirTag firmly glued on. “Your dad will know,” you say softly.

“You broke the lock,” he fires back. “Go get in the fucking car.”

Sulking slightly, you open the passenger door and duck inside, shutting the door softly behind you. It’s probably the nicest car you’ll ever sit in, you think warily; the soft leather like butter against your arms.

Sukuna slams his body into the driver’s seat; you can see the restraint in his bicep as he shuts the door. He tips his head down and takes a couple of deep breaths, clearly furious.

“Why do you always get so fucking mad,” you mutter.

Resolutely, face like stone, Sukuna puts the key into the ignition. The engine starts, purrs, and he quickly backs out of the driveway and onto the road.

You stare out the window. Almost an hour if you walk, but Sukuna will reach your parents’ house in fifteen minutes.

You rest your head against the window, breath fogging up the glass.

“You’re leaving,” Sukuna says abruptly. “After we graduate.”

Your eyes dart to him. He’s not looking at you,  he’s looking at the road, driving obscenely careful.

“Yeah.” Your voice doesn’t shake, doesn’t give an inch. Yeah, you’re leaving. You have to.

He’d better not ask you why.

He doesn’t. He just says, “where?”

Heh. “D’unno.” You’ll figure it out.

He’d better not call you out on that.

He doesn’t, just nods slowly.

“You’re staying,” you say after a moment.

“Yeah. They got me part-time at the university so I can work with my old man.”

The fancy university, you add in your head. The expensive university.

“Good for you.” It comes out like you mean it, thank god.

He scoffs anyway. “Sure.”

Silence, again. He wants to say something, and you can guess what it is.

“You coming back?”

Right. You close your eyes; you don’t know.

Sukuna catches your hesitation, makes a low sound in his throat. “Maybe,” you answer honestly.

He looks at you then, eyes cheating away from the road. Sukuna’s face is—guarded. Dubious.

You meet his gaze for a moment, then flick your eyes away, glaring out the window. It’s true, or at least, you think it is. You don’t know if you’re coming back.

The car is silent until you get to your house. Sukuna kills the headlights, then the engine. You sit in the dark.

Sukuna clears his throat. “You marked me the fuck up.”

You look over; he’s got the visor down and examines himself in the mirror. “Fucking Christ.”

You see for yourself. The dash throws harsh, LED light over his skin, and he didn’t  bother to put on a shirt. You stare for a moment, at the slick lines of his muscles, the dead beauty of his tattoos.

The blush-red splotches that dot his neck. Ringed with teeth.

Something comes over you as you look at them, something that reaches out and takes and plays for keeps. It has you setting a finger against one of them and pressing.

Sukuna jolts, raising his eyebrows. You allow yourself to smile. 

Dangerous. The act of giving it, the smile itself. You wear it anyway and let him have it.

He swallows. You feel you’ve been electrocuted.

“Can’t cover this shit up,” he grumbles, but his eyes are glued to your face.

You add something deep to your gaze. “No,” you agree. “Gonna have to wear them to school tomorrow.”

He freezes. Your smile sharpens. You did that.

Sukuna reaches out and gently grabs your jaw. “Let me give you one, then.” He arcs an eyebrow with a smirk. “So everyone knows this was you.”

Your turn to freeze, your turn to tremble. Your fingers dig into his borrowed shorts.

“O—okay.” You nod. He holds your face in both hands and leans forward, tilting your head so he can press a kiss to your neck, just below the hinge of your jaw.

It’s a kiss, for a moment. Then he sucks hard and adds teeth. You shiver violently.

He’s about to stop, you can feel him tense to pull away, but you slide a hand into his hair and keep him there. He smiles, licks over the bite.

You exhale, drop your hand. He leans back to admire his work.

His eyes jump. You press on the mark experimentally with your fingers. “Now everyone will know,” you say. Your hand pulses into a fist.

“Tch.” Sukuna glances back to himself in the mirror. He looks back at you; your one mark to his ten. “Everyone will know you’re a damn freak.”

You smile serenely. That’s okay.

He clicks his tongue, gives you a smirk. You roll your eyes.

Then you glance out the window, looking at your front door. Sukuna clocks it. “You coming back tomorrow?”

You try to hold yourself in place, but your eyes fly to him. Tomorrow night? Are you going back?

Yeah. Yeah, you want to, and you know he wants you to.

“I need to,” you say, realization dawning. “I left my shorts on your bedroom floor.”

“Oh, shit,” Sukuna’s grin unfurls like a flag. “Did you?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, disarmed enough to smile in disbelief. He did that on purpose?

“So forgetful,” he admonishes, rapping his knuckles on your head.

You grab him by the wrist, grinning outright. “Yeah, dipshit, now I gotta come back tomorrow.”

His arm flexes. “Yeah,” he agrees, “now you gotta come back.”

You share a grin. Sukuna could just give you the shorts at school tomorrow. But you won’t ask him to, and he’ll hold them until you sneak into his house again, until you pick the newly-repaired lock on the screen door and slither into his bedroom and take him for yourself.

Your grip on his wrist tightens. He twists his arm inside it.

You let him go and open the car door. Warm June air floods the car. “Bye, Sukuna.” 

One foot outside, and you begin to climb out. “See you tomorrow,” he says quietly.

You turn your head and fuck with him. “At school.” You make it all the way out of the car before Sukuna reaches out and snatches your hand. 

“Tch. And after,” he says pointedly.

Your hand grips his. “And after.”

You stay like that, for a moment. Then you let go and shut the door behind you.

Soft humidity envelops you, heat sticking to your armpits, your elbows, between your breasts. Your house swims up in front of you.

You stand still. You feel very far from the cool of his bedroom, the wide expanse of his bed.

Sukuna starts the car. He won’t leave until you’ve made it inside, you know that by now. You hold a moment, wave, and walk up your front steps. Let yourself inside the house, then turn and watch through the window as Sukuna’s taillights fade.

Then you cross to the bathroom. Shut the door, flick on the light, and there it is. Sukuna’s mouth, a purpling mark, right there on your neck.

You stare at it, momentarily stunned. That pretty rich boy wants you.

Then—

Sukuna wants you.

That rings in your bones. Your hands grip the sides of the sink; your forehead hits the glass of the mirror.

You exhale, once, twice. Then you straighten up. Pee, brush your teeth. Switch off the light and walk into your bedroom. 

Your younger sister sleeps soundly in the corner. Your bed waits by the window; you carefully climb into it, mindful of the squeaking springs.

You lay back, eyes on the ceiling. You’re still in his shorts. Something cracks through you; you wish you were still in Sukuna’s bed.

You handle that very, very carefully. Worrisome, dangerous.

You’re going back tomorrow night, you remind yourself to quiet the feeling. You are, you’ll be there again.

Will you? You said you would, but—you don’t have to.

You think over—what happened. Think of Sukuna and his hands, covering all of you and swallowing you whole.

Your throat goes tight. Here, in the safety of your room, in the safety of the dark, you can admit this to yourself: you’re glad it was him. You’re really, really glad it was him, you don’t want it to have been anyone else. 

You might not want it to be anyone else.

Dangerous. You might need to lock that one down.

Your head lolls to the side, you stare out the window. The moon is high in the sky; it’s almost tomorrow. 

It’s almost tomorrow, and then it’ll be tomorrow night, and you’ll walk for forty-five minutes so Sukuna can welcome you into his bed and you can get some of that white lightning. That soft heat that warms you up, even now. That only seems to come from him.

You look out the window. It’s late. It’s almost tomorrow. Soon, you’ll go back.

You roll over, close your eyes. Let sleep take you whenever it’s ready.

an: ...I said "expect something more between one and five million business days" that was on the original post...and by god...i delivered on my promise...

I am an “all things from the body taste bad” truther, but i talked to @belimah and realized that might not reflect everyone's experience. if you think vagina and balls taste good, I salute you. i may write a short follow up to this, i really love these two they mean so much to me. they love with their whole hearts

req tags: @julieisafreakforfanfiction @volcanicnomadlocket

Sukuna perm taglist: @fantastucbaby @ryosphere @touyaonmymind @aschwppes @mutedwinter @riribugged @superjelly0us @dawnsoblivion @knb-1 @sukunash0e @chososcupoftea

Still, the drinks aren’t too expensive, and you’re happy to go out with the girls from work. You’ve heard them talk about hitting happy hour a couple of times now, and it gives you a warm glow to be included.

“A round of shots, then,” one of them smiles conspiratorially. “Pouring one out for Mina, who just got written up, and for Miss Long-Face over there,” she adds, gesturing to you. “Who’s in a fight with her boyfriend.”

They all look at you sympathetically. You bite your tongue to keep your lips from twisting. “Two for me, then.”

They laugh; you get another flare from that. It dies quickly. It’s true, you are in a fight with Sukuna.

“What are we drinking, then?” one of the girls asks you.

“Tequila,” you say instantly. You like the salt and lime, the little ceremony.

“My kinda woman,” she agrees, and puts the order in.

“So what’s going on?” another asks with concern. 

Right. You were so upset at work this morning that one of the girls had pulled you aside to ask what was wrong. You gave the short answer: fight with boyfriend.

All of them look at you, worried, ready to be the shoulder to cry on. You grimace. “It’s, uh—”

It’s hard to explain, especially because you know that once you try, they’ll look at you like you’re crazy. Why are you in a fight with Sukuna?

You told him you would cook last night, salmon, potatoes, veg. You asked him, very nicely, if he could get groceries, and reminded him of the stuff you needed. He said he would pick up groceries.

Your text definitely said ‘salmon.’ You told him you were making salmon, you went back and checked. And when Sukuna came home with no damn salmon, you had a meltdown.

“Tch. You didn’t tell me to get salmon,” he said irritably, as you rifled frantically through the shopping bags. “You listed a bunch of other stuff.”

He was still in his work clothes; button up shirt, slacks, dress shoes. Just setting his car keys down, coat barely on the hook. “I told you I was making salmon!” you nearly screamed. “Obviously, we need salmon if I’m going to fucking cook it!”

Sukuna sucked his teeth. “Should’ve told me to get it then.” He glared at you. “I’m not a mind reader.”

It spiraled from there.

You can’t meet the girls’ eyes. It’s hard to explain. And you’re not sure you want to, because as soon as you tell them what Sukuna did, they’ll throw around words like “gaslighting” and “weaponized incompetence.” You don’t want them thinking of Sukuna like that, you know he wasn’t doing it on purpose. When he gets stressed, Sukuna needs things laid out for him; comes home angry and grumbling and unable to think in patterns that seem so easy for everybody else. You know he’s been stressed at work, it’s not like—it’s not like this came out of nowhere.

But you’ve been stressed at work, too. It’s because you keep doing well, and they keep giving you these fucking client meetings that you are just ass at. Yeah, you do okay, but that’s because you spend hours preparing for them, brainstorming every single thing a client might say and what you should say and what you should emphasize and what you should follow up with—

Lists upon lists. Bullet points of contingency plans for anything the client might throw at you. 

It’s exhausting. And they keep giving you more, and then you come home and Sukuna says something like “I didn’t know you meant salmon when you said salmon” and you have to struggle not to light the place on fire. 

You’ve been with Sukuna for years. Normally you can handle it when he pulls shit like this, you even write him a list to begin with. But after work yesterday—

Ugh. You don’t want to think about that.

The girls are still looking at you. You’re about to spit out some bullshit when the waiter interrupts, handing out shot glasses and little dishes of salt and lime. You perk up, excitedly licking the back of your hand and pasting a bit of salt below your thumb.

“Ready?” you ask, shot in one hand, lime in the other.

“Is it lime, drink, then salt?” someone asks.

“Salt, drink, lime,” you say quickly. “The lime is the chaser,” you add.

The girls nod, holding their shots up. “Cheers!”

Clink. Salt on your tongue, liquor down your throat, lime between your teeth. You shudder, slamming the glass down on the table. A girl grins, raising her eyebrows. “You want another? I got an extra.” She smirks.

“Give it here.” The girls whoop as you repeat the process; salt, liquor, lime. Feels just as good as the last; you get the comforting feeling of having ticked items off a to do list.

“So,” one of them says as you wipe your mouth. “What happened that made you take two shots?”

You wince. “I, uh—” you won’t say anything bad about Sukuna, but you’re more than willing to trash yourself. “An argument. About groceries. I said—I said some really nasty shit.”

You tuck your chin into your chest. You did, you said vile things to Sukuna. Said he doesn’t know how to take care of you, that he was too difficult to deal with, that you should just give up on him…

Bad shit. Mean, mean to be mean. You’re not proud of it.

“Aw, honey.” A girl shakes her head sympathetically. “Did you apologize?”

Your hand jumps to the table, fiddling with the paper napkin. “Uh, kind of? I’m not—not great at apologizing…”

Terrible, really. Not because you don’t want to, because…because you were so fucking mean. What can you even say after that? You yelled at Sukuna, realized immediately that you fucked up and…ran into the bathroom and locked the door.

And stayed there. You slept in the bathtub.

It wasn’t—you weren’t crazy all the way down. You felt bad about not cooking, so you ordered Sukuna takeout, shouted through the door that it was on its way, and ignored his on and off yelling and hammering for the next six hours.

Not—not your finest work.

The girls are looking at you expectantly. You can’t just tell them you’re an insane bitch who hides in the bathroom to avoid apologizing.

You avoid your actions altogether. “I…I kind of just…went silent. Didn’t talk to him.” Your head droops. Why would Sukuna want to see you, anyway? You had been such a fucking bitch, he probably wanted the space.

“Hm.” A girl nods. “Ran away, then.”

Cut right to the core. You grimace. “…yeah.”

An awkward pause circles the table. You pick up your glass of water and try to disappear behind it.

“Don’t worry,” one of them says reassuringly. “I’m ass at apologizing, too, it’s hard. Even when I want to, it’s,” she makes a face. “Never seem to do it right.”

You smile at her gratefully. That was a really nice thing to hear.

“When did you last talk to him?” someone asks.

You suck your teeth. “Last night.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad, I’ve had fights that lasted days,” she says.

You wince. “Yeah, I know, but…” but you and Sukuna aren’t the type to go on like this. You’re too anxious, and he’s too brash and pragmatic. He likes to handle this shit immediately, and you’re grateful to follow his lead.

Of course, he hasn’t had the chance to force a resolution. Because you hid from him.

“Still sucks, though,” she offers. 

“Yeah,” you agree quietly.

Another moment of silence. You realize they’re waiting for you to spill your guts.

You…ugh.

“Did he say anything bad?” one of them asks finally.

You swallow past a lump in your throat. Yeah, Sukuna did. “He said I don’t care about him, that I act like I don’t care about him,” you whisper. “That if I don’t know how to live with him, maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

The girls all gasp indignantly. “That bastard,” one of them seethes.

You smile wetly. “Thanks.” The girl next to you reaches over to rub your shoulder comfortingly. You flinch on reflex, then force yourself to lean into her lightly.

“Want another shot?” someone offers.

“No, thanks.” You’ve had enough.

A pause, and you don’t say anything to clear it. Another awkward moment. Christ, you are bad at this.

The girls ask you a few more questions, but you give non-answers. It’s—you don’t know what to say to them. You don’t want to make yourself too sympathetic, but you don’t want to come off as heinous, either. And you don’t want them to think of Sukuna as cold. Robotic. You—you wouldn’t do that to him.

Too many mines to step on, so you keep silent, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Tactfully, the girls move on, politely leaving you to stew uncomfortably as they talk about office drama. It’s not intentional. And it isn’t—it’s not mean, you’ve learned that it rarely is. They’re not trying to be nasty; one of them keeps looking over at you, worried. It’s just—you don’t know how to—

Ugh. It’s like they’re speaking another language. 

The minutes tick on. The conversation, it’s—it’s a fucking maze, with no entrance point. You know they mean well, but maybe coming here was a bad idea. You’re—you’re not built for shit like this.

Then you feel his eyes on you.

From—somewhere in the room. You’re two drinks deep and too miserable to check, but, from somewhere across this wretched bar, Sukuna’s watching you.

He’s here. Part of you relaxes. You exhale. His gaze settles like a weighted blanket, all slow heat and easy heaviness. Comforting, like the alcohol should be but isn’t. 

You bite your lip. Should—should you go over to him? Does he want to see you? Probably, he dragged his ass all the way over here, but maybe, maybe he’s just cooling off after a long day. Or maybe he’s going out with his work friends, or—

You can’t do this. Abruptly, you begin to gather your shit. His gaze feels too good, you want desperately to be in his space.

“You’re leaving?” a girl asks in surprise.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My, uh, my boyfriend’s, um—”

You turn your head this way and that, finally spying him at the end of the bar. “My boyfriend’s over there.”

“That’s him?” she asks. “How did he know you were here?”

Suspicious, protectively so. You flash her an appreciative grin. “We have each other’s locations, it’s okay.” You throw your wallet and your phone into your bag. “Think we’re gonna kiss and make up.” Or at least you hope so.

“Atta girl,” one of them says. Then—

“Face tats?” She wears a knowing smile.

You nod cautiously. She immediately backpedals. “I wasn’t trying to—I’m sorry if that came out weird.” She holds her hands out in front of her, placating. “I just—they’re so rare.”

You grin, genuine. “Yeah, no worries, they’re pretty cool.”

“Why’d he get them?” she asks with interest.

You shrug, grabbing your coat. “‘Cause he could.”

Standing up, you glance around the table, trying to make eye contact with everyone. “Listen, uh, this was really great. Thank you guys,” you give a grateful smile. “It was uh, really nice of you.”

“Of course!” 

“Don’t worry about it!” 

“Anything for our girl!”

It kind of makes you want to cry. You clear your throat. “Let me—let me know how much I owe you.”

The girls scoff, and one of them waves you off. “Don’t even joke. You’ll pay us back when one of our boyfriends is stupid.”

“And it’s gonna be Jenny’s girlfriend,” you say impishly.

“And it’s gonna be Jenny’s girlfriend!” they all repeat with a laugh. “Go on, before your man shits himself.”

You look over your shoulder. Sukuna’s not looking at you, but he’s got that weird, concentrated face he wears when—

Okay, yeah. You see why they say that.

“See you tomorrow,” you say softly, then make your way over to him.

The space is tight, close. Too many tables and spindly wooden chairs crowded together. You take a zig zag path, stepping awkwardly around people, doubling back when you hit a dead end or when your coat snags. 

It’s painstaking and stupid. You catch Sukuna’s gaze for the first time that night. His lips quirk; he raises an eyebrow.

You scowl at him. He flashes his teeth.

Rolling your eyes, you look down and focus on not spraining your ankle, or knocking anyone’s chair out from under them. By the time you actually reach Sukuna, the weight of the argument presses heavy, like a yoke around your neck.

It crushes you. You’re close enough to touch him now, standing right next to the high barstool he sits on. Your fingers twitch, you crave the contact. You walked away from the girls’ circle to be in his. His body, the whole of him; it’s so familiar and it pulls you in, lapping at you like waves. Now that you’re here, you want all of it.

You keep your distance. You—you don’t know what he wants you to—

You keep your distance.

You meet his eyes. Sukuna’s face has smoothed out some, lost some of its tension. 

But his eyes are narrowed. You hold them nervously. You want to say something, but you don’t know what.

Sukuna knows you don’t know. He tchs, jerking his head toward the exit.

You exhale; nod. He stands up, motioning for you to go first. You step ahead, and he places a hand at the small of your back. It’s huge and warm, and you register it the way a fish does water: natural and obvious, only noticeable when it’s gone.

His car’s just across the street. Sukuna shuffles you across the road; jaywalking, putting himself between you and the oncoming traffic. You hurry to the passenger door, slip inside, and buckle your seatbelt.

Then you can’t help yourself: you turn and stare resolutely out the window.

Idiot, you hiss at yourself as Sukuna shuts the driver’s side door. Idiot. But you can’t turn your head.

There’s another horrible moment of silence. Then he huffs a laugh and turns on the engine. “Ladies night out, huh?” 

You wince. Mean, still mad enough to be mean. You decide the best thing to do is keep silent. 

Sukuna lets it drag on for about five seconds, just until he gets the car running slick on the road. “What the fuck was that shit last night?” he growls.

You scowl out the window. Can’t say anything nasty if you don’t say anything at all.

Three seconds, this time. “What happened at work yesterday?”

You freeze, then let your head thunk against the window. “Got some feedback,” you mumble.

He reaches out and tugs on your ear. “And what was the feedback?”

“Um, one of the clients said I was too—like, awkward. Off-putting.” You suck in a breath, fighting back tears. “And I—it didn’t seem like I cared. About the client, about the project, I just—yeah.” You bite your tongue, hard. “Just come off cold, I guess.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Your words settle in your gut. Soon, you’re turning from the window to rest your elbows on your knees, head in your hands. “God, why is it always—why can’t I—ugh.”

Sukuna cuts the engine. You glance up, realizing he’s turned down a side street, pulled the car over. He sets his hand against your back, the warmth of his forearm running down your spine. 

Like water on dry soil.

You look at him properly, for the first time this evening. His mouth is flat, his eyes are cold and cutting. “That client should be euthanized.”

You give a half-smile; take a deep breath. “Do you really think I don’t care about you?” You dig your nails into your palms. 

Sukuna looks you over. It would be half a second too long, if you didn’t know how he operates. “No,” he says, shrugging. 

Your throat unlocks. Relieved, you bury your face in your hands. “Good,” you mutter. “Couldn’t bear that.”

He hums, tapping his fingers against your neck.

You have more: “Do you think I’m cold?” You shiver as you say it.

Sukuna’s answer is immediate. “No.” Clear, decisive. “Not if you know what to look for.”

Your breath hitches. “Okay,” you whisper.

Then he raps his knuckles on your head. “But,” he stresses when you pick your head up. “Don’t say shit is ‘obvious.’ It’s not fucking helpful.”

You roll your eyes. “Sukuna, it was obvious,” you mutter.

“Mhm-hm. And you forget to be affectionate.”

God. He’s cruel when he wants to make a point.

Incredibly effective, but it burns on the way down. “That was mean.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, resettling his hand on your back. “You knew what I meant.”

Sukuna looks at you seriously then, eyes narrowed and probing. Come on, he’s saying. Come on. I’m like you. Move at my pace.

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching out and settling a hand on his knee. “I know what you mean.”

The warmth of him travels right up your arm. He squeezes your shoulder, then hauls you up and buries his face in your neck. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Shouldn’t have said that, about you not caring.”

You reach up and thread your hands into his hair. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, easy now that he’s shown you how. “I’m sorry I got so mad, and—” you stutter, words slurring as you struggle to get them out. “I’m so fucking sorry I said that shit about you, Sukuna, I was just mad, I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

“Tch. I know.” But you feel him loosen against you.

You exhale carefully. Okay.

You last another few minutes. Then—

“Um, so, what—?” you clear your throat. “Now, we, uh—”

He snorts. “Give it a moment.”

“Okay.” You give it a moment.

Sukuna kisses your neck, bites it, and licks over the mark. You huff and push him away, grinning.

“Pissed out the window last night,” he says, amused.

You grimace. “Listen, I know—”

“What would I have done if I had to shit, hm?” he smirks at you. “Dropped it into a doggy bag?”

“Sukuna,” you hiss. “I—I panicked, okay!”

“My blood pressure medication was in there,” he says reproachfully.

“You don’t take blood pressure medication, you ass!”

“And you’re lucky I don’t.” He frowns, exaggerated. “I would’ve died.”

“I would’ve rolled the bottle under the door,” you mutter. “I’m considerate.”

“You’re very considerate,” he agrees, and you can tell he’s only half joking. You thunk your fist against his thigh.

Silence, again, but it goes down easy this time. You lean your head back and breathe.

“I bought salmon today,” Sukuna says abruptly.

You rub your eyes, tired. “Thank you,” you say, working as hard as you can to show you mean it. “I can’t cook tonight, I’m—exhausted.”

He nods. “You slept in the bathtub.”

“I—” you twitch. “I slept in the bathtub.” Wincing, you roll out your shoulder.

Sukuna clocks it. “Idiot,” he mutters. “All right, make it up to me,” he says loftily, looking at you with a grin. “Buy your handsome boyfriend dinner.”

You snort, thrilled that he isn’t mad. “Is the handsome boyfriend in the car with us?”

“Tch. That would offend me were I weak and insecure,” he mutters. He waits until you roll your eyes before pinching you at the nipple.

“Bastard,” you hiss, shoving his hand away. “Fine, I’ll buy you dinner, what do you want?”

“Salmon,” he says instantly.

“I’ll kill you.”

“You’re not very accommodating.”

“Sukuna,” you grit out. “Tell me what you want, or I’m going to tell you what you want.”

“Hm.” He taps your cheek lightly. “And what do I want?”

“McDonald’s.”

Sukuna thinks it over, then nods. “You’re right, I want McDonald’s.”

You smile, soft and easy. He presses a thumb into the inside of your elbow, and you slide your knuckle along the ink on his jaw.

He closes his eyes, like he’s savoring it. Then he turns the engine on and pulls back onto the road.

Something occurs to you, and you slip your phone out of your bag, pulling up the McDonald’s menu. “Sukuna,” you call out. “They redid the combo menu.”

You see his grip on the wheel tighten. “What?”

“Yeah, I saw it on Instagram,” you say apologetically. 

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “I’ll kill that clown bastard myself.”

“Sure, sweetie.” You pour over the menu. “What was your order?”

“The number seven.”

“Right, but what was in it?”

“Two cheeseburgers.”

You nod. “Yeah, they just gave it a new number. It’s a number nine, now.”

He stares minutely ahead. “Ridiculous. Did they get rid of the fries and drink, too?” He glares at you accusatorially.

You shake your head. “Just changed the number. Marketing scheme, or something.”

“Just to make my life miserable,” he growls.

“And mine by extension,” you agree.

Sukuna grits his teeth. “Is your order the same?” he demands.

You check the menu and wince. He’s gonna hate this. “It’s the number seven, now.”

You see his leg twitch, as if he’s going to slam the brakes. “I am going to kill myself,” he mutters. You pat his shoulder sympathetically. “That rat-clown is toying with me.”

“He’s got your number.” Sukuna shoots you a look that could lop your head off.

“Are you still getting a coke?” He reaches over to dig his nails into your leg. “If you get anything other than a coke I will crash the fucking car.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll get a coke, Sukuna, chill out.”

“No,” he grumbles, steering the car into the drive thru. 

You watch him tense as he reaches the intercom, rolling down the window.

“Hi, welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you?”

“A number seven combo,” he says on autopilot. “And—”

You watch his brain stall out. “Number nine,” you remind him. 

“Number nine,” he repeats, bouncing a loose fist on your leg.

“What fountain drink with the number seven?”

“Coke.”

“And the number nine?”

“Coke.”

Mission accomplished. The worker rattles off the total, and you fish for your wallet in your bag.

“Idiot,” Sukuna barks. “Get my card out of my pocket.”

Rolling your eyes, you dig his wallet out of his pants. “Thought you said I was paying.”

“Thought you knew sarcasm.” He leers at you. “Now touch my cock.”

“Wait until we get home,” you mutter. “I ain’t jerking you off in the McDonald’s drive thru.”

“Pussy.” He drives to the next window and hands off his card, taking the bag in exchange. You hold out your hand but Sukuna keeps it, clicking on the interior light rifling through the food.

A car pulls up behind you. You start to get nervous.

He flashes his lights. “Sukuna,” you whisper. “Someone’s behind us.”

“Tough shit,” he says flatly, digging around.

The worker through the window has a weird face on. You tense even further. “Sukuna, come on,” you hiss.

He ignores you. The car behind you honks. 

“Sukuna.”

He turns to the worker. “We need mayo, there isn’t any here.”

Oh.

The worker reaches around and hands Sukuna a fist full of mayo packets. “Thanks,” he grunts, shoving them into the bag and switching the light off.

He hands the bag to you. “We don’t have any more at home,” he notes. “I’m not driving your ass to the supermarket when you complain about it later.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, putting the car in drive and guiding it back onto the road.

“Eating at the apartment, then?” you ask.

“Mmh. Need to get out of these clothes.” He gestures at his dress shirt and pants.

You seal off the bag so the food stays warm. “Came straight from work?”

His lips twitch. “Obviously.”

You hesitate, then push yourself to talk. “Thank you for, uh—for coming to get me.”

Sukuna takes a second to look at you, then, sharp eyes meeting yours over the console. “Don’t call me an idiot for missing the obvious if you’re going to say shit like that.”

You close your eyes, snaking a hand out to clutch at his wrist over the gear shift. He grunts.

Another calm few minutes. Your muscles relax further. “How was work today?”

He shakes his head. “Pah. Don’t ask.”

You look at him worriedly. He shrugs. He’s unbothered, you realize, as he shifts his hand beneath your fingers.

You settle back against the seat. Easy silence, again; the kind you don’t have to worry about.

When you reach your building, Sukuna wriggles the car carefully between a looming minivan and a Honda that’s way over the parking line.

“Too tight,” you comment absently. 

“Stop doubting me,” he mutters, gritting his teeth as he gently forces the car into the spot. 

He manages, of course. Still—

“Sukuna, how am I supposed to get out?” There’s about a millimeter of space in between your door and the minivan.

“Wiggle,” he advises. “Ruin that eyesore’s paint job.”

You wiggle, rolling your eyes, clutching the food as you drag it out after you. “Why do you park like you have something to prove?”

“Love of the game.” Sukuna picks the McDonald’s bag out of your hands, unlocking the front door to your building and guiding you toward the elevator with a hand at your back.

Sukuna lets you press the button, then press it again after the doors slide  gently open and you step inside. As soon as they close again you thunk your head against Sukuna’s shoulder. He flicks you in the ear.

You take a deep breath. Thank god that’s over.

Ding, again. Doors open, hand at your back, Sukuna’s keys in the lock, and then you’re inside your apartment. Your bag falls with a thump, and you exhale gratefully, day sliding off of you. You feel you could melt. 

Sukuna gives you a moment, then leads you to the kitchen island. He sets the bag down, positioning you with your back to the counter. His hands squeeze at your hips, you give a little jump, and he lifts you onto the island.

“Don’t want to shower?” you murmur as he slips off your shoes.

He shakes his head, hands sliding under your skirt. It’s chilly enough that you’re wearing tights, and you feel his fingers tug at the waistband.

“Don’t rip them,” you warn.

He shoots you a look. “We’re not twenty-three, anymore.”

You smile, amused. Guess not.

He gently pulls the tights down your legs, over your ankles and toes, and drops them on the floor. Your panties follow. “Help me out.” Sukuna lifts you again, just slightly, and you hike your skirt up past your hips.

Sukuna makes a low sound in his throat, getting to his knees. The sight of him there is familiar, obviously so, but the fight lingers on your tongue. Your legs tense around him.

Sukuna notices, of course he does. He looks at you, eyes narrowed. You smile shakily.

His expression doesn’t change, but he presses forward, running the hot flat of his tongue gently against you. 

Your eyes fall shut. Sukuna eats you out like he’s trying to tell you something; his tongue rigid and achingly precise. Your hands grip the edge of the counter as he expertly licks against you, making your belly flare with each rough pass. He is searing and perfect and very, very careful. He touches you like—like he’s nervous. Afraid that if he makes one wrong move, you’ll disappear.

It takes you a minute to notice, you’re too lost in the lush feeling of his tongue gently tracing your clit. But once you do pick up on it, it’s impossible to ignore. Sukuna is being cautious.

You crack an eye open. He’s got his eyes trained on your face, still slitted, watching you intently.

A chill ripples over you. Your heel thumps lightly on his back, and you scoot backwards, away from him.

He scowls at you. You take a deep breath. “I—”

You cut yourself off. Sukuna’s frown loosens, some, as his eyes refocus; attention completely and utterly on you.

Another deep breath. “You’re the only one who can do this,” you say quietly. You gesture at your—at everything. “It’s—it’s only you. It’s always gonna be you.”

His eyes narrow even further. “Tell me you mean it,” he demands.

You don’t hesitate. “I mean it.” You’re nervous; terrified, but you force yourself to keep and hold his gaze. “I mean it, Sukuna. There’s only you.”

Sukuna’s body tightens, then goes lax. He nods, holds, then presses the side of his face into your thigh, hard enough to make it jerk. You hold yourself steady, pushing back against him.

He pulls away, pointing his chin at your hand. You huff, threading it through his hair. The other lays flat on the counter behind you, arm braced as he licks into you again.

He’s more relaxed now, you can feel it, moving his tongue with practiced ease. The fight is gone, thrown further and further from your mind as Sukuna works you over. You gasp, gritting your teeth as he finds your clit, drawing wet circles around it, teasing it before moving to slick down through your folds, laving bitterly against it so you’ll pull his hair.

The tension of the day leaves you; Sukuna’s changed it into something hot and sent it rushing terribly into your navel. You flare bright, then brighter, the sharp feeling nearly unbearable.

“Yeah, just like that, please,” you mumble. “Don’t stop, that’s so good.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Sukuna murmurs, matter-of-fact, breathing hot against you. “I know it’s good.”

You glare, then groan: he’s working these hellish spirals over your clit that have you seeing stars. “Why do you have to be so difficult—shitshitshit—!”

“‘Cause I can.” He smirks, and you come on his tongue. He catches all of your slick, then turns and licks it along your thigh.”

“Ass!” you grit out, kicking at him as he stands up. “And I only came once?” You glower at him, and Sukuna actually laughs.

“My dick is going to explode,” he says frankly,  unbuttoning his pants. “You’ll get your second one when I’m not moments from detonation.”

“Did I get you hot?” you ask, grinning as you slip his cock from his underwear. “Were you gonna come in your pants like a teenager?”

“You got me stressed,” Sukuna corrects, panting lightly. He means the fight, you realize, and you tense. Before you can apologize, he adds: “It was excruciatingly sexy.”

Oh. You grin, triumphant. 

“Don’t make a habit of it,” he warns.

“Never.” You’ll find some nondestructive way to do it again.

He eyes you distrustfully. “Only to make your cock kick,” you amend.

He hisses as you drag your palm over the head. God, he is worked up. Delighted, you take your other hand and settle it on the back of his neck, drawing him toward you so you can slip your tongue into his mouth.

Sukuna groans, sliding his lips messily against yours. Gone is the earlier precision, the deliberate caution; now Sukuna just wants to get as deep into your mouth as possible. You laugh, humming onto his tongue, then begin to work your hand up and down his cock.

He jerks, but you hold his head in place, kissing him as sloppily and lewdly as you can manage. Sukuna copies you eagerly, hips twitching into your palm. You drop his cock to grab him by the wrist, guiding his fingers to your cunt.

His fingertips find your clit, and you gasp. “Thought your dick was gonna explode,” you breathe, dragging his hand lower. “Finger me so you can fuck me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he retorts. “And put that hand back where it was.”

Rolling your eyes, you wrap your fingers around him and slide your fist along his length. “Mmh, good,” he sighs, then moves his lips to your neck. You breathe shakily, hand stuttering, as he sucks and licks at you. The hand at his neck grips the short hair at the back of his head. Sukuna groans, then begins to suck a bruise onto your neck.

“S—Sukuna,” you pant, “Sukuna, too high, people will see.”

He grunts. “Your shirt’s still buttoned.” You feel his teeth. “Can’t get any lower.”

“So unbutton it!” your voice is so high.

“My hand’s busy.” It’s true, his fingers have been steady, gently playing with you until you’re right up at the edge. 

His finger flicks, and your body winds tighter. Too tight; you force your hand not to squeeze his dick in half. The other hand flies to the top of his hair and pulls the longer strands hard. Your muscles spasm. “C—coming again,” you gasp, hips shaking until they freeze.

His hand slows, sliding leisurely through your folds. He traces the outline of one delicately. “Stop stating the obvious.” 

Panting on the comedown, you squeeze hard enough to snap his dick in half.

“Fuck,” he spits. Sukuna whips his hand away from your cunt, placing both palms on the countertop. One on each side of you, caging you in.

Ooh. You look up at him, thrilled.

“Why must you be so difficult?” he grits out, batting your hand away from his cock so he can drag it against your thigh.

“I’m the difficult one?” you laugh.

“Tch. Obviously. I’m perfect.” His tip nudges at you.

Your breath stutters. “Not gonna finger me, then?”

He smirks. “No. I’ve had a very difficult twenty-four hours, thanks to you. Suffer the consequences of your actions.”

You roll your eyes, stomach tightening in anticipation. You expect him to make you feel it, to push in cruelly so you’ll scream, just to prove he can make you scream. Instead, he goes by inches. One light thrust, and then another, with those lovely red eyes on you the whole time, making sure you’re relaxed enough to take him further.

God, is he good to you. You stretch up, licking him from collarbone to chin before kissing him again.

Wet and filthy, how he likes it. You wrap both arms around his neck and press your chest flush against his, swiping your tongue across his teeth. Sukuna moans quietly, snapping his hips into yours. The stretch is delicious, always is, and you pant, open-mouthed, against his lips.

He bottoms out and sets a rhythm, rutting into you. Neat and near-efficient, but you can tell he starts to lose his mind after you lock your legs around his waist. Digging your heels against his back, you use the leverage to rock yourself into him, meeting him when he drives himself into you.

Sukuna doesn’t last long after that. His hips jerk once, twice, and then you feel hot cum hit your insides. He drops his head onto your shoulder, breath heavy against your skin. 

You card your fingers through his hair. It’s comfortable, for a few minutes. Then—

“Uh, Sukuna.” You clear your throat. “What, um—”

He huffs a laugh, then slides out of you with a hiss. You close your thighs so the cum doesn’t slip onto the floor. Sukuna unbuttons his dress shirt, hanging it over one of the barstools, the tugs off the white tank top beneath it. Legs open, and he uses the shirt to clean the mess off you.

“Thanks,” you sigh, leaning back and laying your torso down on the island, legs still swinging. He grunts, tossing the shirt to the floor. You hear fabric shuffle as he kicks off his dress pants and tucks himself back into his underwear, then the tread of footsteps and the water of the kitchen faucet as he washes his hands.

You hum to yourself, staring at the ceiling. You should clean up, too; your skirt is bunched uncomfortably under you, your hands are nasty, and you need to take a piss.  But you can’t move just yet. You are so desperately grateful to be here.

Sukuna steps back to the counter, and the McDonald’s bag rustles. You look up to see him inhaling one of the cheeseburgers. “Can I have a fry?”

“Get it yourself.”

“My hands have dick on them.”

“Tch.” He puts down the burger, opens one of the mayo packets, and squirts it over some of the fries. You watch as he picks out the biggest one and holds it over your face, dropping it into your open mouth.

“Thanks,” you mumble around it.

He inclines his head, picking up the burger again.

All of a sudden, your throat goes tight. “Sukuna,” you say quietly, gently kicking his calf.

He must hear something in your voice, because he sets the food back down. Your thighs twitch open, and he steps between them, leaning over you.

“I—” you bite your tongue. “Thanks for coming to get me,” you whisper. “I’m glad you—yeah.” You pray that’s enough.

Sukuna slips a hand beneath your shirt, fingertips methodically tracing your ribs. “I’m always going to come get you.” Frank and simple, like it’s obvious. And his eyes are so clear, so sharp. “I know what you’re like.”

You nod, swallowing tears. “Oh—okay.”

His eyes hold yours for another moment. Then he taps you on the forehead and clicks his tongue. “Eat. Food’s dead cold, but eat anyway.”

You hop off the counter to go to the bathroom. When you return, you see that he’s taken out your box of chicken nuggets, ripped the paper bag open so you can share the mess of fries, and given you all the mayo packets. 

You step up to the counter and start in on the chicken nuggets. You don’t have to look to see Sukuna wrinkling his nose. “Leave it.”

“They’re synthetic,” he argues, as he does every time. “Chicken is not meant to look like that.”

“You think you’re eating prime Kobe beef over there?”

He glances down at his second burger. “Surely there are several degrees of separation between haunted ground beef and whatever that is.”

“I doubt it.” You dunk a nugget in mayo and pop into your mouth.

“It’s simpletons like you who fall for tricks like these,” he admonishes. “Now come on, hand one over.”

“Thought you didn’t like them,” you say, amused.

“Collecting my tax.” He snatches one from the box and eats it, wincing all the while.

“Stubborn ass,” you say fondly. “Slave to your principles.”

“Mmh. Blunt and difficult,” Sukuna agrees. “Can only be like that with you.”

He says it like it’s nothing. It sucker punches you in the gut. “Yeah?” you breathe, voice shaky.

He turns to look at you fully. His face says don’t question what’s obvious.

“Tch. You’re the only one who will let me.” He raises an eyebrow, like he thought you knew that. You manage to hold his gaze for a few seconds. Then you thunk your head against his shoulder. “Okay.”

His arms come up around you, and he pulls you tight against him. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair.

You tap your fingers against his wrist. “Try not to scare me like that again,” he amends.

You nod into his chest. “Okay.”

He tugs at your hair, then grips your chin when you look up at him. “I meant it,” he says seriously. “You’re the only one who’ll do this with me.”

Your throat constricts; you try to deflect. “Sukuna, don’t say that,” you say weakly, trying to get out of his hold. “There are other people who—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Don’t do that. You know what I mean.” He squeezes your chin to make sure you’re listening. “You’re the only one I want to do this with. It wouldn’t be as good with anyone else.”

You bury your head into his chest, and he lets you get away with it. He’s right, you think. You don’t want to do this with anyone else, you can’t. You and Sukuna are cut from the same cloth, alike enough to understand, different enough to file down each other's rough edges. For a moment, you feel as if you’re seeing yourself through his eyes, what you have with him. It’s a neat little equation; a formula. It only works if the variables don’t change. And it is greater than the sum of its parts.

“It wouldn’t be as good with anyone else,” you agree. His arms stiffen, then relax.

Just when you start to get uncomfortable, Sukuna releases you. “Go on, eat your garbage,” he gestures at your meal, reaching for his burger. “Then we can shower.”

You raise an eyebrow. He grins lasciviously. “You smell disgusting,” he adds.

“Thanks,” you snort. The last twenty four hours hit you like a truck, and you nearly sway on your feet. “Sukuna, I’m tired,” you mumble. “Pussy is closed, fucking is over.”

He scoffs. “You are not taking advantage of how turned on I am.”

You glance down; he’s already half hard. “I’ll pick a fight with you tomorrow,” you yawn, shoving a nugget into your mouth. “Get you all riled up.”

He goes silent. You flick your eyes to his face, worried you went too far, but he wears a considering look. “We’ll have to stage it,” he decides.

You smile. “Okay. What should we fight about?”

His brows furrow. Sukuna is taking this very seriously.

“I could move your shoes?” you suggest.

“Absolutely not,” he says instantly. “Do not do that. Besides, I have to unwittingly do something that pisses you off.” He thinks for another moment. “What were you going to make for dinner?”

“Sheet pan meal. Potatoes, veg.”

His gaze sharpens; he grins. “We’re nearly out of olive oil, tell me to go pick up some.”

You have a guess where this is going. “I’ll text ‘get some oil,’ and you’ll…”

“Buy baby oil.” 

You burst out laughing. “No, wait.” You smile knowingly. “Get massage oil.”

Sukuna flicks your temple. “Brilliant.”

“…but can you also buy olive oil?”

“Tch. Of course.”

You stare at him dubiously. “You’re going to forget the olive oil.”

He shrugs. “Likely.”

“Can I remind you in the text?”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot. “No.”

Okay. You sigh. “Can you set an alarm on your phone?”

“…fine.” He digs his phone out of his pants, typing away. “There.” He shows you the screen.

“This is elaborate,” you observe as you eat the last nugget.

“It’ll be worth it,” he promises. “I’m gonna fuck you till your pussy falls off.”

“Seems counterintuitive,” you muse, shoveling fries into your mouth.

“You’re not seeing the full picture. It falls off but there’s a new one underneath. Like snakeskin.”

“So your dick is so good that it makes my pussy…molt?”

His lips twitch. “Yes.”

“I hate this mental image,” you announce.

“Well, tomorrow it’s going to be a physical reality.” He smirks. “Buckle up, buttercup.”

“I’m too tired for this.” You eat the last of your fries and wad up the paper containers. “I’m going to shower.”

He polishes off the last burger. “We’re going to shower,” he corrects smoothly. He collects the garbage and throws it into the trash. 

“I ain’t fucking you,” you remind him.

“So you’ve said,” he mutters. “I think we’re capable of showering without fucking, don’t you?”

You look pointedly at his dick, still at half mast. “I don’t think he is.”

“He has very good self control.” Sukuna follows you into the bathroom, kicking the door shut.

“Whatever you say.”

Sukuna ends up rutting against your hip until he splatters against the wall of the shower. But then he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth and does your entire hair care routine for you. So you suppose it evens out.

“I’m still horny,” he announces as you’re getting into bed.

You snort. “Congratulations.”

“You still need to text me about oil tomorrow,” he reminds you. “This can’t be solved in one night.”

“Okay, Sukuna.” You roll over so your weight is on his chest. He lets out an oomph and glares at you. “So I’m going to text you ‘I’m making dinner, please get some oil.’”

“Right.”

“And you are going to interpret that as massage oil.”

“Yes.”

“Because it’s unclear.”

“It isn’t specific,” he argues.

You grimace. “This game is frightfully realistic.”

“Ah, see? You’re getting angry too.” Sukuna grins wolfishly. “Tomorrow night I’ll fuck right through your birth control and get you pregnant.”

You shiver, and he gives you a smirk. “Okay,” you agree with a yawn, already starting to nod off. 

His arms come up around you; he squeezes once. “Sleep now, love. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you agree again. You fall asleep against his chest, and he holds you like you’re the only one who belongs there.

the line "seems so easy for everybody else" comes from the title of this fanfic. I read it genuinely twelve years ago when i still cared about sherlock and was looking through my bookmarks when the title hit me in the face.

sukuna perm taglist: @fantastucbaby @ryosphere @touyaonmymind @aschwppes @mutedwinter @daroomiz @superjelly0us @dawnsoblivion @knb-1 @sukunash0e @chososcupoftea + @belimah

Furious, Sukuna throws the covers off the bed and stomps through the apartment. Still and silent; you must’ve already left.

He nearly hisses in anger. Don’t you know he’s got a plan?

Stalking back into the bedroom like an animal looking for prey, Sukuna snatches his phone from the nightstand.

Sure enough, there’s a text from you waiting:

Had to get up earlier than normal

forgot to turn off online orders 6 more came in

fml

Excited to see u later! Check the kitchen counter xoxoxoxo

Sukuna grimaces. Fuck.

He only got up so damn early because he wanted to get everything ready before you left at your usual 5am. 

But of course you had to get up earlier. It’s Valentine’s Day, he knows your flower shop is swamped.

He probably just missed you. Damn it.

Ruefully, he goes back into the kitchen, only to see a plate he’d missed. Walking closer, residual anger still swirling, he sees a cute little cupcake in a Tupperware, decorated with heart sprinkles. 

His stomach sinks. It looks homemade. When the fuck did you have time to do that?

On the plate, spelled out haphazardly in pink glitter, are the words Happy Valentine’s Day, Ryo! I love you!

There’s also a complicated symbol that, upon further inspection, looks like a shitty rendering of his forehead tattoo.

His heart swells, then pops.

Damn it. It’s four in the morning, and you’re already ahead.

Sukuna opens the Tupperware and crams the cupcake into his mouth.

He winces. Tastes delicious. You are beating his ass into the ground.

Still annoyed, he showers, makes your coffee, remakes it just to be sure, and gets in the car. You had made him a cupcake, but he should probably just buy you a sandwich from that spot you like. Knowing you, you hadn’t had breakfast.

Coffee and sandwich in tow, he walks into your flower shop to find it in absolute chaos.

Utahime burns through arrangements like there’s a fire lit under her ass. Ino hauls flowers and accents through the shop over to Utahime’s workstation, and Shoko, called in for reinforcements, trims accents and cuts ribbon with surgical precision.

Nanami mans the computer and phone, and you’re running around with a clipboard, furiously ticking off orders and double checking arrangements. Every so often, you pause, say “Shoko,” or “Utahime, wait,” and pass them the clipboard. Delicately, you rearrange a few flowers, or trim the stalks slightly differently. “Like that,” you instruct, and they nod, following your note.

Sukuna waits until you see him, not wanting to interrupt. 

When you do, you brighten. “Hey, Ryo!” you cross the shop happily, falling into his waiting arms. 

Something flutters. “Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair.

“Mmh, thanks,” you beam up at him. “Did you like the cupcake?”

“Course I did,” he growls. “Here, made you a fancy coffee.”

You take the thermos with wide eyes. “You used my syrups?”

Sukuna laughs. “Almost all of ‘em.”

“Yum.” You grin happily. “Thanks.” Looking down at the paper bag in his hand, you ask “is that for—”

Nanami clicks his tongue, loud enough to ring through the shop. “Someone would like to speak to my manager,” he says bluntly, gesturing at the phone.

You roll your eyes, grabbing Sukuna’s hand and pulling him across the shop. Reaching for the phone, you hand the clipboard to Nanami.

“Hello? Yes, I’m the owner.”

Sukuna can hear the man through the phone. “Your employee said I couldn’t order a bouquet of roses.”

“Yes, well, we specialize in advance ordering, and we are unfortunately out of stock.”

“That’s ridiculous, this is a flower shop.”

“Yes, well, we specialize in advance ordering.”

“Can you check your stock?”

“Yes.” You put the phone down and slide your fingers over Sukuna’s jaw, tracing his tattoos. He grins, licking your thumb, and you raise an eyebrow.

You keep your hand where it is and put the phone back to your ear. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough for a bouquet.”

“You must have something.”

Your eyes flash. “I have three red roses. Would you like them?”

“…obviously not.”

“We are more than happy to fulfill advance requests,” you say firmly. “Please call back or visit our website to place an order.”

“Sure.” The man hangs up.

“Fucking idiot,” you mutter.

“You eat yet?” Sukuna taps lightly on the back of your hand.

“Nope,” Ino grunts, walking by.

“Here, come on.” Sukuna unwraps half of the sandwich, pushing it into your hands.

You scarf it down in thirty seconds, then grin at him ruefully. “Sorry, love, I’ve gotta—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a hand at you. “Come to the shop when you’ve closed up.”

You nod distractedly, taking up the clipboard again.

Sukuna walks to his tattoo shop and is really, really early for work.

That’s fine. He plants himself at the desk in the back and opens up the sandwich and coffee he’d bought for himself. Settled, he flips through his sketchbook, turning pages until he finds part two of his plan: your Valentine’s Day gift.

He examines the drawing critically. It’s good, he’s more than arrogant enough to admit that. Clean lines, smooth shapes, just the right amount of shading. He hopes fiercely that you’ll like it.

The rest of the day passes easy. It’s Valentine’s Day, and a weekday to boot; nobody’s coming in for a tattoo. Sukuna spends the day doing inventory, squaring his books, and sifting through emails. 

He checks the drawing every half hour. Pathetic, but he gets like that with you. The sketch hasn’t changed, he thinks wryly as he scrutinizes it yet again, but he checks anyway.

Sukuna wonders idly where you’ll let him put it. Your choice, of course, but he hopes you’ll pick your ribs. It’s selfish, the spot is painful, but he wants to splay his hand across it while he fucks you.

Finally, 5pm rolls around. Sukuna closes the shop early and waits for you to join him. 

Ten minutes later, you rap your knuckles on the glass of the door before ducking inside. Your shirt looks looser, Sukuna notes, and when he reaches down to pull you into a hug, you lean back slightly.

He almost frowns, but then you get a hand on the back of his head and drag him into a kiss. Sukuna meets your lips hotly, unease clean out of his mind. He tends to forget what he was doing when your tongue’s in his mouth.

Eventually, you pull away with a gasp. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” you murmur happily.

“Mmh. Said it already,” he comments with raised eyebrows.

“So I’ll say it again.” You shrug, unperturbed, then dance away. “Wanna see your present?” you grin eagerly.

He smirks. “Wanna see yours?”

You stare at each other. “Me first,” Sukuna says before you can get a word out. 

“Damn it. Fine,” you mutter. He reaches behind him for his sketchbook.

Here Sukuna’s body betrays him. His heart pounds, his hands shake slightly. He takes a breath to get himself under control, then carefully opens the book to the tattoo he designed for you.

He pushes it roughly into your hands. You gasp. “Christ, Ryo, this is beautiful,” you breathe out softly.

Sukuna feels himself preen. It is beautiful, he spent hours on it; nearly killed himself getting the detail on those flowers and the wrapping paper just right. A realist design of a bouquet of roses, exactly the kind you sell at the shop next door.

He watches your eyes pour over it. “Whose hands are those?” you murmur lightly. 

His heart picks up even further. Sukuna sees you put it together in real time, tracks your eyes as they fall to the bands he drew encircling one of the wrists.

You gasp again, louder this time. “Is this…us? Is that our hands holding it?”

Sukuna clears his throat. “Yeah,” he mutters, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

Your hands clench around the book, mouth hanging open.

Eventually, Sukuna can’t take it anymore. He clicks his tongue. “You like it?” he asks carefully.

You look up at him, eyes bright with tears. “I love it,” you say fervently. “Is this—is this the day of our first date?”

He breaks out into a wide grin. “‘Course it is.”

You carefully put the sketchbook down before throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” you whisper into his ear.

He grins into your hair, mind calling up the memory. Your first date, and he wasn’t fucking around. Yeah, you had met on one of those stupid apps, but Sukuna can be uncannily perceptive. He knew, from the moment you started messaging, that he was going to fight to keep you.

Not fucking around, so he visited the shop next door to his tattoo parlor to buy you flowers. Roses, in fact. Sukuna’s no fool.

Except maybe he is a fool, because apparently the hot girl he swiped on last week is the florist in charge of the shop literally right next door to his.

Like, manning the counter levels of in charge. Like, was about to ring him up for a bouquet of roses you had probably put together.

Sukuna figured it out before you did, bouquet dropping out of his hand as he froze, staring at you in shock.

Your mouth twisted—probably because he crushed some of the flowers—before controlling yourself, picking up the bouquet and punching in the total. “Did you need anything el—”

You flicked your eyes to his face and cut yourself off with a choked gasp.

Sukuna blinked stupidly at you, all game flown right out of his head.

You stared back, eyes wide.

He coughed. “This your shop?” Pulled straight from his ass.

“Uh—uh-huh.” You nodded. Then your mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. You’re a tattoo artist. At that place?” You flicked your head towards the shop next door.

“Sweetheart, I own that place.” Sukuna leaned against the counter, smirk finally clocking in.

You jolted, eyes darting between his and the counter as your teeth worried into your lip. Fucking adorable.

And Sukuna? Scoring points before he’s even on the date? Looks like his game was finally showing its teeth.

He mentally congratulated himself. Thank fuck he decided to wear a tight Henley today.

You cleared your throat, nodding at the flowers. “Am I still ringing these up?”

He stilled, caught buying flowers for you at your own shop.

Then he thought ‘fuck it’ and grinned. “Sure. I’m sure florists like roses, no?”

You choked, then rolled your eyes, turning to the computer. “There’s your total,” you said, voice bored but eyes alight.

He pretended to be offended by the cost, just to push his luck. “Wow-whee. An arm and a leg, huh?” he said, pulling out his wallet.

“This is a very nice flower shop,” you informed him faux-snootily.

“Hmm, I suppose it is,” he said, counting out the bills. He gave you exact change, stupidly proud of it.

Cash in the register, and you raised an eyebrow and handed him the flowers. Sukuna took them easily before pushing them right back into your hands.

You both held there, for a second. Hands wrapped around the bouquet, taking and passing it back. It felt like it could be a moment.

Then you allowed him to press it into your grasp. “Didn’t want to wait for tonight?” you asked softly.

Sukuna sucked his teeth, considering. Should he take it back and give it to you later?

He took in your soft glow, your quiet smile, and grinned. “Nah. Too pretty to wait until then.”

You let out huff, rapping your fingers on the counter. His smirk was a mile wide. Later, on your date, you wore a rose behind your ear.

As if you needed to. By then, it was all already over.

Sukuna laughs as he thinks about it. You had been there for ages, you opened the flower shop three full years before you and Sukuna started dating.

Right next door. For three years. And you never met.

In retrospect, it was a colossal waste of time.

But how can Sukuna complain? He’s got you now, absolutely beaming, turning from him to grab the sketchbook. Your eyes trace over it again. “Shit, Ryo, you’ve fucking outdone yourself,” you say happily.

He snorts, grinning. “Pulled it out the damn bag, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. Tattoo of us giving each other flowers. You slick, romantic motherfucker.” You bounce on your toes excitedly. “It is a tattoo, right? You’re gonna put it on me?”

“‘Course,” he growls, just to make you shiver. 

“Gonna let me draw it on you?” you tease.

“I’d lose my license, sweetheart.”

“A small price to pay for love.” 

Sukuna tweaks your nose. You grab his finger and bite. “Where’re you gonna put it?”

“Mmh, good question.” Sukuna begins to lift your shirt, pokes at your ribs. “Was thinking he—”

“Ah!” You jump back, pulling your shirt down. 

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, smirk unfurling. “What’ve you got there for me, pretty girl?” he all but purrs. He hopes it’s lace. And red.

“It’s not lace,” you inform him. “Or red. It’s not lingerie at all.”

You must catch the light scowl that crosses his face. “I’m setting your expectations,” you add.

He clicks his tongue. “What, you cut yourself on your shears again? Got a bandage under there?”

“That was once,” you snap, and he snickers.

Then you go shy. “It’s—it’s your gift, okay?”

Sukuna nods, makes his face serious. “Can I see?”

You take a shaky breath. “Yeah, I—yeah.” Carefully, you lift your shirt up to your collarbone.

Sukuna stares at your tits. You’re not wearing a bra.

Eventually, you whistle. He snaps out of it and registers something between them. It’s a tattoo stencil, he realizes. And it’s in the shape of—

Sukuna’s breath leaves him in a rush. It’s a stencil of his forehead tattoo. Right there on your chest.

He picks his head up to gape at you. You smile uncertainly. “Do you like it?”

He crosses to you in an instant, hands on your waist. “You want that?” he asks roughly.

You look up at him helplessly. “I mean—yeah, if you’ll let me.” His eyes search your face. “You drew your own wrist on my tattoo,” you reason. “You drew the black band there. Why’s this tattoo diff—”

“It is,” he interrupts, then grimaces at himself. “It—it is. It’s,” he points to his forehead. It’s the first thing people see when they look at him. Just how he likes, he made himself that way on purpose.

“Yeah, I know.” You smile softly. “That’s why I want it, too.”

Sukuna breathes out slowly. Shit.

“I—ah,” you click your tongue, grin almost rueful. “This is kind of embarrassing, but it’s…it’s why I swiped.”

Sukuna stares, dumbfounded. You’ve never told him that.

“Yeah, I…” you shrug, sheepish.

He finds his tongue. “Thought it was hot?”

“Well, yes,” you admit immediately, and he smirks. “But also…”

You reach up, finger tapping against his forehead. “A man doesn’t get a tattoo there unless he’s certain.” You eye the symbol carefully. “Unless he knows exactly what he wants, and isn’t afraid of the consequences.” Your hand moves to cup his jaw. “I liked knowing that about you, right from the beginning.”

His throat bobs. You give him a soft smile.

“And you’re certain?” Sukuna asks, voice gravel. “About…” he gestures at the sketchbook, the stencil.

“Yes,” you answer immediately. “Of course.”

Shit. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, turning your head and gripping his chin. Sukuna bats your hand away and shoves his nose into your face.

You laugh, then open your eyes wide. You blink at each other.

Sukuna knocks his forehead against yours. Yeah.

You hum, threading your fingers through his hair. He clears his throat.

“How’d you get the design?” 

“Drew it from some pictures,” you say easily. “It’s not perfect, though, think I made some mistakes. Want to fix it?”

You pull a face. He moves away and sees for himself. 

Some of the ink smudged when you hugged him. He absently licks a finger and starts neatening it up. “D’unno. I kind of like that it’s different.” He glances up at you. “Especially if you drew it yourself.”

“I see it,” you nod. “Okay, warts and all.”

“Mmh.” Something else occurs to him. “Who gave you the stencil?” 

His fists tighten. Was it Suguru? He’ll skin that bastard alive.

“No, ah. Well—remember when I knocked over all those bottles of ink? The colored ones?”

He glares at you accusatorially. “And I had to reorganize them?

You nod, unapologetic. “Yeah. Printed out the stencil then.” Your grin is victorious.”

He sucks his teeth. Raises an eyebrow. 

You shrug. “It was for a good cause.”

Sukuna decides to tease you. His eyebrow climbs even higher. 

You scoff. “Don’t be an idiot, Ryo. It’ll heal and then you can lick it while you fuck me.”

He breaks, snickering. “Don’t you worry, pretty thing, I’ve already thought of that,” he croons into your ear. You shiver, and he pulls you back into his arms, jamming your face into his neck.

He keeps you there, snug in his grasp. One of your hands creeps up his back, the other finds his hair again.

After a while, Sukuna hums. “Want to guess why I swiped?”

You laugh, low in your throat. “I’ve got a fifty-fifty shot?”

“Mmh.”

You rap a pattern on his spine. “My tits?”

“Nope.”

“Damn. I don’t even remember putting a good ass pic in the profile,” you mutter.

“Oh, you did,” Sukuna reassures you. “I have it saved, actually.”

You pull back to look at him, scraping your teeth along his jaw. “Wanna take another?”

He smirks, dropping his hand to cup your ass through your jeans. “Now?”

“Yeah.” You smile impishly.

“Hm, I don’t know,” he frowns, faking indecision. “I really wanted to get a start on those tattoos…”

He dips a finger below the waistband. You’ve got a dangerous gleam in your eye.

Sukuna slides his finger lower, until his hand hits lace.

His breathing quickens. “No lingerie?”

“Not here,” you gesture to your tits. “You’re gonna want to take a picture of it,” you add, smiling devilishly.

Sukuna laughs outright, taking your hand and pulling you toward the back of the shop. “Anything for my girl on Valentine’s Day.”

You duck your head to lick at the tattoo on his wrist. He swallows a groan. You run your tongue over your lips, eyes smug. “Damn right.”

perm taglist: @fantastucbaby @ryosphere @touyaonmymind @aschwppes @mutedwinter @riribugged @superjelly0us @dawnsoblivion

He raises an eyebrow. You take a deep breath and plunge your hand into his boxers.

Only to give a full body jolt. “Holy shit,” you mutter. He’s right, his dick is fucking huge.

“See?” his voice is so smug. You raise your eyes to his, almost frightened.

“Uh—is this, is this going to work?” you say a little desperately. You’ve barely fingered yourself, the only thing that’s been up there is a tampon.

“What, scared?” he teases. Then he gets a good look at your face and walks it back. “I mean, I think so? I can’t be the only one with a big dick.” He makes a face like he’d like to be.

You let out a deep breath. “Oh—okay.” But you don’t move, hand gone slack around his cock.

He gives you a smirk. “Wanna do some research?”

Yes. “You’re a fool,” you sigh, pulling your hand out of his pants. “Come on, where’s your phone?”

He gets it off the nightstand. “Where’s yours?”

“It’s my sister’s day with it.” You tug him onto the bed, and he settles in next to you, pulling up google.

Ten minutes later, you learn he should finger you, you should probably do it in doggy style, and you won’t come from his dick alone.

The last one annoys him. “Really? I read you could.”

“Where?”

“Reddit.”

“Sub-thread?”

He huffs at you. “‘Is my dick big enough to make her cum?’”

let me cook...expect something longer in anywhere from five to one million business days... I did it! I cooked! Full fic here!