#tw 67

Woke: Grace's Eridian students slowly start to realize that he flinches every time someone says 6 and 7 in succession and the little bastard that figures it out and spreads the word is the bane of Mr Grace's existence

Ultra-Woke: In order to combat his Eridian students' response to their discovery, he has Rocky as a TA and Rocky gets to chase after anyone who dare start the notes to those numbers

frieren doing 67? 🫴

6767676767676767676767676767676767

Fratkuna x little miss perfect. How many licks does it take to get to the centre of your teacher’s shoes?

18+ mdni and uhhhhhh 67🤤

You linger in the doorway of Sukuna's frat room, arms locked across your chest while your pulse hammers in your ears. The space smells like sweat and cheap cologne, his bed half-unmade and his desk cluttered with empty cans. He stands a few feet away, tall and broad-shouldered, that fluffy pink taper haircut falling into his eyes as he watches you with a lazy smirk. You hate the way he looks at you—like he already knows you'll give in—but the ache between your legs has been building for weeks, and no one else will fuck you the way he does without pulling punches.

"Took you long enough to show up," he says, voice low and rough. He doesn't move closer yet. Instead he peels his shirt off slowly, revealing the hard lines of muscle across his chest and stomach. You swallow hard, refusing to let your eyes linger, but the sight still sends heat curling low in your belly.

"This doesn't mean anything," you mutter, voice tight. "I'm just... frustrated."

Sukuna's smirk widens. "Yeah, I got that." He steps forward but stops short, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. His hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw without quite gripping. The touch is light, teasing, and it makes your breath catch. You want to shove him away, but your body stays rooted in place.

He leans in until his lips hover near your ear. "Strip for me. Slow." The command hangs in the air, and your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate how your hands move anyway, tugging your shirt up inch by inch. The fabric drags over your skin, cool air hitting your stomach first, then your chest. Sukuna's eyes track every movement, dark and hungry, but he keeps his distance. The tension coils tighter with each second he doesn't touch you.

Your pants follow, sliding down your hips until you're left in just your underwear. He exhales sharply through his nose, the sound almost a growl, but still doesn't close the gap. Instead he hooks his thumbs into his own waistband and pushes his pants down, revealing the thick outline of his cock straining against his boxers. The sight makes your thighs press together, but you force yourself to hold his gaze.

"Bed," he says, nodding toward it. You move on stiff legs, sitting on the edge rather than lying back right away. Sukuna follows, kneeling in front of you. His large hands settle on your knees, spreading them apart with deliberate slowness. The calluses on his palms scrape lightly against your skin as he drags them up your thighs, stopping just short of where you need him most. Your breath hitches, hips shifting forward on instinct, but he holds you still.

"Patience, goody two-shoes," he murmurs, voice laced with that familiar taunt. His fingers trace the edge of your underwear, dipping just beneath the fabric before retreating. The teasing touch sends sparks through you, and you bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound. He notices anyway, eyes flicking up to your face with a satisfied glint.

You reach for him then, hands sliding over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the muscle flex under your palms. Sukuna lets you explore for a moment before catching your wrists and pinning them gently above your head as he guides you onto your back. The bed creaks under your combined weight. He hovers over you, his body caging yours without pressing down fully. The heat of him is everywhere, his cock brushing against your thigh through the thin barrier of fabric, but he still doesn't rush.

His mouth finds your neck, lips dragging slowly along the column of your throat. Teeth graze your pulse point, not quite biting, just enough pressure to make you arch. One hand releases your wrist to trail down your side, fingers splaying wide over your ribs before cupping your breast. He kneads the flesh with firm but unhurried strokes, thumb circling your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. You squirm beneath him, the friction of his body against yours stoking the fire, but he keeps the pace measured, drawing out every sensation.

When his hand finally slips between your legs, it's over the fabric first. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit through your underwear, rubbing in slow circles that make your hips buck. The pressure builds gradually, wetness soaking the material as he works you over. You hate how responsive your body is to him, how the tension in your gut winds tighter with each deliberate stroke. Sukuna watches your face the whole time, cataloging every flicker of expression.

"Tell me how bad you want it," he says against your skin, breath hot. You shake your head, refusing to give him the words, but your legs spread wider anyway. He chuckles low in his chest and finally hooks his fingers into your underwear, tugging them down your legs with agonizing slowness. The cool air hits your exposed pussy, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

Sukuna settles between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing them apart. He leans in close, exhaling over your slick folds without making contact. The tease makes you whimper despite yourself, and his hands grip your hips to keep you from chasing his mouth. He drags his tongue along the crease of your thigh instead, tasting the skin there before moving inward with the same unhurried pace. Each lick and kiss builds the ache until you're trembling, fingers fisting the sheets.

Only then does he finally press his mouth to your pussy, tongue dragging flat and slow from entrance to clit. The contact rips a moan from your throat, and he hums in approval against you. He licks you open with long, deliberate strokes, circling your clit before dipping inside. The wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your ragged breathing. His hands hold you steady as he eats you out with focused intensity, never speeding up even as your thighs start to shake around his head.

You feel the orgasm building like a slow tide, pressure mounting with every pass of his tongue. Sukuna adds two fingers then, sliding them in deep and curling against that spot inside you while his mouth stays latched to your clit. The combination makes your back arch off the bed, but he doesn't let up or rush. He works you steadily, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue until the tension snaps. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, pulsing as waves of pleasure roll through you. He keeps licking through it, drawing out every aftershock until you're limp and panting.

Sukuna pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock is fully hard now, the head flushed and leaking as he shoves his boxers down. He lines himself up without preamble, the thick tip pressing against your entrance. But even now he pauses, holding there with just the slightest pressure, letting you feel the stretch starting without pushing in yet. Your hips tilt up, seeking more, but his grip on your waist keeps you in place.

"Look at me," he orders. You meet his eyes, seeing the same frustrated hunger reflected back. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, the burn of the stretch making your breath catch. Every ridge and vein drags against your walls as he sinks deeper. By the time he's buried to the hilt, you're both breathing hard, the air thick with tension. He stays still for a long moment, letting you adjust to his size before he starts to move.

The first thrust is deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in at the same measured pace. His muscular body flexes above you with each stroke, sweat starting to bead on his chest. You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to urge him faster, but he resists, keeping the rhythm torturously slow. Each drag of his cock hits deep, the head nudging against your cervix before retreating. The friction builds steadily, reigniting the heat in your core.

Sukuna leans down, his pink hair brushing your forehead as he captures your mouth in a rough kiss. Tongues tangle, teeth clash, the kiss as intense as the slow grind of his hips. One hand slides under your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle. The new position lets him grind against your clit with every thrust, sending sparks through your nerves. You moan into his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck again, sucking a bruise into the skin above your collarbone. His thrusts stay controlled, each one deep and purposeful, building the pressure without rushing toward the end. You feel another orgasm approaching, this one slower but no less intense. Your pussy flutters around his cock, walls clenching as he maintains the pace.

"Fuck, you're tight," he growls against your throat. His free hand finds your clit again, rubbing in tight circles that match the rhythm of his hips. The dual stimulation pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you in long, rolling waves. Your body milks his shaft, pussy pulsing as pleasure floods your system. Sukuna groans but doesn't speed up, fucking you through it with the same steady thrusts until your tremors subside.

Only then does his control start to slip. His pace increases incrementally, hips snapping harder as he chases his own release. The bed creaks louder with each thrust, his muscular frame pinning you down. You feel him swell inside you, the telltale sign that he's close. With a final deep thrust he buries himself to the hilt and cums, hot spurts flooding your pussy. He stays locked inside you as he rides out the aftershocks, breathing ragged against your neck.

When he finally pulls out, cum leaks from your well-fucked hole, trailing down your thighs. Sukuna collapses beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes. The room falls quiet except for your combined breathing. You stare at the ceiling, body sated but mind already spinning with the knowledge that you'll be back despite everything. The tension between you hasn't eased—it only feels more charged now, waiting to ignite again.

I’m sorry, I was continuing the serious conversation and then realizing that I had drawn the 67 pose ruined it for me and I couldn’t unsee it.