#wolfboy

500 follower special - puppyboy!sukuna

Artist credit: sakimenz

TW: blood, breeding kink, namecalling

You already knew the evacuation order was coming. Sukuna has spent three days snapping at the servants, not that it isn’t a normal circumstance for him, but even losing it over them breathing too loudly. And also because his heavy pink tail has dropped low and stiff to the floor, as it always does when he’s in a foul mood.

Now his manor is nearly empty. The servants practically left in a stampede when the order was announced, eager to keep their heads attached to their necks. Only a handful of people were excluded from the evacuation order. Mostly males (which unfortunately he is much harder on than females in times like this). They all have the sense to stay well out of Lord Sukuna’s way when he’s in one of his ruts.

You read the list twice and realize your name isn’t on it. In fact… you’re the only female servant whose name isn’t on it. It must be a mistake.

You find him on the engawa overlooking the garden. He’s watching storm clouds stack over the mountains with a bored, irritated expression. He’s wearing a white kimono that’s loose at the collar, making the black markings on his chest visible. 

He isn’t wearing anything under it. Not even pants. He rarely does during ruts, since he runs too hot, and it’s his estate, so in truth he could simply walk around completely bare if he chooses to.

“My lord,” you say, taking a bow. “Did you mean to exclude me from the evacuation order?”

One pink ear swivels towards you, then flicks back. He doesn’t bother turning his head to look at you. “Do you want to leave?” he growls.

“No. I just want to know if the list was correct.” You take one careful step closer to him, peeking at his grumpy expression. “If you want me to stay, then I want the same.”

His head turns towards you and his nose twitches traitorously as your scent reaches him through the humid air. His ears pin flat against his hair for a second before he forces them back up with all his willpower.

“What terrible instincts you have then,” he mutters, leaning back on his hands. “If you’re still here by sundown, I’ll take that as your answer to the more obvious question.”

His heavy tail gives one slow sleep across the floorboards, but he stops it fast. 

…Was he wagging?

“Once again, I desire what you desire,” you say, cracking a little smile. You sweep your hair back over your shoulder, baring your neck even more to him so he can catch more of your scent, and faintly bite your bottom lip. “So I’ll go make dinner then.” You watch his nostrils flare and his stare become fiery just before you turn away.

You walk so softly like you didn’t just make his cock start painfully throbbing under his kimono. His rut turns his desire into a constant ache, and you’ve purposely stoked it into a full burn. He snarls and drools uncontrollably from the sides of his lips like a starved mutt. The King of Curses, reduced to this mess. Unfortunately the humiliation of it does nothing to soften him down there.

He palms himself rough and gracelessly through the silk, grinding up against his own hand, and a ragged growl rises from his chest. It doesn’t help. It makes it worse. Everything makes it worse. Only thing that could possibly satiate it is fucking you again and again until dawn.

You are so infuriatingly beautiful. His ears pin back in frustration. His instincts are screaming go, take, now, she clearly wants it, she reeks of lust, you smelled it on her. But going to you is the one thing he won’t do. 

Because you haven’t earned it yet. Ryomen Sukuna does not chase. Having him like that is a privilege. But at the same time… he’s not so sure how long his stubborn principles can endure this suffering.

….

It only takes a mere minute for him to lose to himself.

You’re in the kitchen, chopping food at the counter with the storm rolling closer outside, and you can already feel him standing at the doorway. He’s a furnace when he’s in his ruts, and warms a room just by standing in it. You can feel the hot air climbing up the back of your neck. You smile faintly but you don’t turn around. You just keep your knife moving.

“Dinner won’t be ready for another hour, my lord,” you say to the cutting board.

The floorboards creak under his bare feet as he pads over to you. You can hear him breathing ragged and restless through his nose. Even with the aroma of bison and garlic sizzling on the stove, your sweet scent is stronger, and it’s filled every corner of this room for him inescapably.

But he doesn’t wish to escape it. He’s come to stand in it. Wants to submerge himself in the sweet aroma of your skin like stepping into a hotspring.

The floorboards creak closer, then his hands come down on the counter on both sides of your body, caging you in without touching you. Those huge, tattooed, clawed hands, white-knuckled against the cherrywood. 

The whole burning length of his cock presses into your lower back. It’s twitching and tremoring with the restraint running through his body, and his hot breath stirs your hair. He presses his nose to the curve of your neck and inhales sharply.

“You’re burning the food,” he rasps, and you feel his drool drip down the side of your neck, soaking onto the shoulder of your kimono. 

“The food is just fine,” you murmur with a smile, setting the knife down. You tip your head back against his shoulder. “Hungry, my lord?”

Thump, thump, thump. His pink tail swings against the cabinets behind you both, but he doesn’t bother to stop the wagging this time. He drags his hot tongue up the side of your neck, retracing the path his drool took. All the way up, over your pulse, and to your ear. His claws sink hard into the counter with a soft crunch.

“Starving,” he breathes low and ragged into your ear. “I believe the storm has caused the sun to set early this evening.”

“Is that how it works now?” You turn inside the cage of his arms and get your first proper look at his face, and at what you’ve done to him.

He’s flushed from his tattooed cheekbones down past his open collar, chest heaving, ears twitching restlessly, four pupils blown wide between blazing red irises. Drool drips from his mouth, making his sharp pearly canines glisten.

Thump, thump, thump.

“It works…” he heaves, “...however I say it works.”

Crrriicckk. His claws mark long sharp lines into the counter. “My home. My storm. My sun. My—” his eyes narrow on yours and his voice drops low and gravelly, “—girl. Aiming those doe eyes at me. Smelling like that. Asking me ridiculous questions about the sky as if I take orders from it.”

“So which is it?” he asks, reaching for the stove without his eyes leaving yours, and the flame dies with a click. He leans in and grazes his lips against yours, most likely the last feather-soft gesture you’ll receive from him tonight. And every ragged word comes out as a hot, wet huff against your face. “My room, or right here?”

….

He tosses you onto his huge bed, on the silk sheets, and stands at the edge with his broad chest heaving, looking down at you with the patience of a match that’s been struck. The hum of the heavy rainstorm pounds against the curtained windows. 

Before he has the chance to pounce, you rise up to your knees and slowly untie the sash of his kimono. It slides off his shoulders and drops to his feet. Then there’s nothing left but his bare, furnace-hot body under the glow of the lantern light. 

Black markings band all over his body, his chest, his arms, his thighs that are flushed rut dark and shining faintly with the way he’s been leaking all over himself with excitement. And two more black markings wrap around his heavy, twitching cock.

You slide your hands up his chest over the ink and hot muscle, and beneath your hands his heart is pounding like prey. You can’t help but smile with amusement. Of all the things you’ve ever witnessed, nothing compares to this. The most dangerous sorcerer alive is so precious.

“Your heart’s racing, my lord,” you say through your small smile that you’re trying your best to fight.

“Tch.” He darts his fiery eyes away and bites the edge of his lip with a single canine. “Quit stalling, girl.”

“I’m not stalling.” You press your tongue flat against his abdomen to taste him, and drag is slowly up the hard ridges of his washboard abs. He tastes like clean sweat and rainwater, like the storm outside got into his skin. “I’m savoring.”

He bites off his embarrassingly ruined groan much too late, then darts his vision back to you with a growl. But when you start sucking and nipping gently on his skin, his head falls back in blissful defeat.

“Ten seconds,” he groans through gritted teeth as he grips your hair with two clawed hands that prick into your scalp. “You have ten more seconds of this.” His tail is wagging behind him in a shameless blur of pink. Thumpthumpthumpthump.

You wrap your hand around the throbbing base of his cock. It’s so thick that your fingers don’t meet. Then you glide your tongue all the way up his veiny length to the tip, and he’s watching you again, eyes unbelievably wide.

He detonates.

He doesn’t even warn you before painting every inch of your pretty face with his cum, in almost endless hot spurts. The snarls that drags from his throat sounds less like pleasure and more like furiousness. The mess of it all drips down your neck and collarbone, all over your kimono and the bedsheets.

His tail has gone still and the rain is suddenly much louder in the silence. You look up at his face, and his head is tipped back all over again as he’s very pointedly looking up at the ceiling, chest heaving, flushed all the way up his chest to his ears. “That,” he heaves through a tattered breath, “was your fault.”

“I barely did anything,” you say with a sultry smile.

“You know what I’ve been going through, brat,” he snarls with his ears back, but when his eyes fall back down to the mess he’s made of you, his frustration melts and he bites his lip. He drags his thumb through it, spreading it deliberately across your cheekbone. “...No. Better this way. Now you smell right for the rest of it.”

His cock, against every law of nature, hasn’t softened a bit. 

“You’ve done nothing but sharpen me, girl.”

He quickly grabs your waist and turns you, pushing you forward onto your hands and knees. He presses his heavy palm between your shoulder blades until your chest and face are pressed against the silk bedding, and your ass is raised for him. He removes your kimono and swiftly rips off your panties in one tug.

“Spread like a whore and blushing like a bride,” he muses with dark delight.

Smack! His heavy palm slaps hard across your ass. The whimper that comes from your lips melts into a smile against the mattress.

“I’m going to breed this pretty cunt until it takes,” he growls with a sharp grin. “Then I’ll continue fucking you stupid because I can. Because you’re mine.”

“Mm. Words, words, words,” you say with a bored little smirk, suddenly feeling very bratty. And though you know you’re ass-up and dripping, and a heartbeat away from being claimed by the strongest sorcerer—you yawn delicately just to tease him. “Wake me when the breeding starts, my lord.”

“You have the nerve to yawn at me, brat?” Both of his hands smack against your asscheeks with a rough, iron grip, and his claws sink in. Ten sharp points piercing through, with thin lines of blood trailing down the backs of your flushed thighs.

You grit your teeth, but the breath that shudders from your chest is not a protest in the least. It’s embarrassingly, and very obviously into it.

“No more ‘my lord” he growls with a devastating sharp smile, mocking your tone, “That’s what my servants call me. What you are is much less dignified. You’ll moan Sukuna like the needy whore you are. Say it while you bleed for me, foolish girl.”

He leans down and drags his tongue slowly over one of the blood trails, lapping it up like a wolf over a fresh kill, and speaks against your skin. “Say it.”

“Suku—”

Shliickk! He splits the name into a scream when he slams his thick cock inside you, all the way to the hilt, his balls smacking heavily against your dripping pussy. Your knees almost give out from the force.

“Rnnghh—nnnmm…” His growl dissolves into something dangerously close to a moan. The smile on his face goes slack from the sheer heat of your insides squeezing around him. But he drags his sneer back into place. He’ll be damned if his brat’s heavenly cunt gets in the way of him taming her.

He leans over your back with his claws dug into the sheets, and grinds slow and deep while you shake. “Hm,” he huffs against your ear, keeping himself insufferably calm even though his tail is wagging with uncontained excitement. “I didn’t hear it. Start over.”

“Suku—”

He draws every veiny inch all the way back and —smack! 

He slams home again and again, making you cry out, “Ahh-ahh-ahh!” He fists your hair and lifts your mouth off the silk so nothing muffles you.

“Keep failing, girl. Fail louder.”

“Suku—aah! hnngh—Suku—nngh!”

Your failure is music to his ears. But at the same time he’s coming apart in his own way, and the evidence of it is dripping all over your skin. His drool drips freely from his mouth, sliding down from your neck to the bottom of your spine. 

His mouth is animalistically watering beyond any hope of control with your slick pussy clenched around him and your sweet scent filling his nostrils.

But instead of trying to hide his ecstasy anymore, he owns it, just owns making a slobbery mess of you. He drags his long, hot tongue up the back of your neck to taste your sweat as he slams into you with powerful thrusts plap plap plap! His heavy pink tail thump thump thumps eagerly against the mattress.

“At this rate, your belly will be round with my pup before you even finish my name,” he laughs low, fangs grazing your shoulder. 

But you stop trying to say his name altogether and he notices it. His ears flick up as he cranes his neck to take a peek at your wrecked face.

“...Given up already, brat?” His drool-wet, dark chuckle burns against your shoulder. “Surrender suits y—”

You reach back and scratch the perfect spot behind his ear.

“Don’t—fuck!—”

You can feel the consequence of your actions, his knot swelling like a balloon inside you, stretching your pussy around his throbbing cock. He’s buried so impossibly deep that it’s punching the air from your lungs and you can’t help but take your hand back to desperately grip the sheets as his dick has nowhere to grow but further into you.

“Now you’ve done it,” he snarls, jackhammering the fat head against your womb like he’s trying to break in and make it his home. “I intended to take my time with you, but it’s too late for that now.”

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

The knot tugs at the stretched rim of your aching pussy. He’s panting open-mouthed, drool falling in hot drops onto your back. Behind him, completely at odds with the vicious pace of his hips, his tail is still wagging in a blur, broadcasting his pure canine ecstasy while his mouth keeps snarling the sexiest threats.

“I’m going to seal every drop of my seed inside you—hhnn—huff huff—get you pregnant—huff—everyone will smell me on you when they return—rrrgh fuck—take it—”

You’re wailing into the sheets when he erupts. His hot, tattooed chest crashes down against your back and he floods you in thick, pulsing spurts. Each one is wrung out with a ragged growl against your shoulder as his cock twitches in the tight clutch of your sticky insides.

Thump thump thump. His tail still drums against the mattress through every spurt like an applause, and he’d murder anyone else for witnessing it.

It takes a long time to end. When it does, he’s a heavy furnace pressed against your back, still locked deep, chest heaving.

“We’re stuck now,” he says dryly, tipping you both onto your sides and tugging you back against him with one arm around your waist. He buries his face in your hair, taking in the sweet scent of his new mate. 

“...Not that it matters,” he grumbles, fangs grazing the nape of your neck through your tangled hair. “Knowing this rut, I’ll be ready to go again while we’re still locked.”

The rain has softened to a gentle patter and his heartbeat is slowing down now. “Mm… Sukuna?” you mumble. 

One pink ear flicks against your hair. “Hm.”

“Am I just a mate or… do you intend to make me your wife?”

There’s a long enough silence that you think he’s fallen asleep. Then a lazy, “Do you want to be my wife?”

“...I asked first.”

“And I outrank you.” His nose drags through your hair. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

He snickers against the back of your neck. “Then beg for it.”

Your cheeks heat up. “Seriously?” you ask, but you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder and use your most sultry tone. “Please, Sukuna,” you say breathily. “Make me your wife. I want it so bad.”

His plush tail that’s resting heavy across your leg thumps hard involuntarily, and you feel his cock twitch inside you where you’re still locked together. “Very well,” he huffs, trying to seem composed even though you just completely melted him from the ears down. “No need for a ceremony. That’s what you are now.”

“Mm… but I want a romantic wedding with you. This is too anticlimactic.”

“Oh, you want climax, do you?” he drawls, tilting your chin back over your shoulder with one claw.

He presses his lips to yours, deep, slow and shameless. His long tongue slips past your teeth to dance with your own, tasting you while he holds your jaw at the angle he wants it. The over-the-shoulder twist should be awkward, but it isn’t at all. 

You can’t help but crack open your eyelids to look into those hazy, smug rubies, the eyes of your mate, your husband, whose own eyes are cracked open as well to watch you in return.

Then the knot inside you softens and slips loose, and you can feel his warm release flooding down your thighs. He pulls back an inch and looks down at it. “Hm. Faster than usual. Oh well. Just means I get to take you another way.”

He quickly turns you onto your back and tugs your legs over his shoulders. He holds his hardening cock and drags the fat tip through your slit that’s still dripping with him. “Hold something, wife. Or your head will hit the headboard.”

You grip the silk sheets because there’s nothing else to find. He’s upright on his knees with his arms wrapped around your calves. Everything of him you could touch, could scratch, could use against him, is a foot beyond your fingertips.

Your fists twist hard into the bedding on both sides of your hips. And it;s a good thing, because he wasn’t exaggerating about the headboard. 

SMACK. That first full thrust practically punches into your already sensitive pussy, making you scream louder than you ever have in your life. His answering growl is thick with satisfaction, and he slides all the way back out with a honeyed schlick sound.

“There it is. That’s the angle,” he says with a fanged grin. He drives home again brutally. SMACK. “Don’t you dare let go of those sheets. Want to watch your knuckles go white while I ruin you.”

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

He’s magnificent like this and he knows it. Towering over you on his knees, tail thumping, tattooed muscles in the low light, giving it all to you while you scream into the storm noise that’s returned with a vengeance. You’ve already twisted the sheets half off the bed.

When he takes you over the edge and you cum around his cock with a slick squeeze, you decide in the white-hot blur of ecstasy, to end him.

“Sukunaaa,” you whimper needily, looking up at him through your lashes, knowing full well you’re driving his rut-brain crazy. “Please breed me.”

His rhythm instantly trips up and his ears flatten. “Shut—hhnn—not now—”

“Pleaseee, need it sosobad! Need to be full of you! Need to stay full! Put a pup in me!” You squeeze even tighter around his twitching cock as you babble and beg. He stares into your eyes, clenching his teeth.

He leans down, folding you like a lawn chair, and slams his huge palm over your mouth. His hips grind to a shuddering halt buried to the hilt and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fuck—girl—” he bites out, barely leashed. You can feel his cock jerking wildly, feel how close you dragged him to the edge. “Do you want this to end too quickly again?”

You lick his palm.

His ears pin flatter. “Stop that, brat.”

You speak anyway, muffled and shameless against his hand. “Mmph…use me… please… pin me down by my throat and pump me full…”

A high, cracked dog whine escapes him involuntarily before he can strangle it. He sounded like a puppy that was denied a toy. His whole face ignites with a mortified color of red.

He feels your lips pursing under his palm. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls.

But you can’t help it. Your laugh bubbled up anyway, muffled and helpless against his hand.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he breathes, and his hand slides from your mouth to wrap around your throat, pricking you with his claws.

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

He gives you no time to gloat. He fucks into you savagely, each thrust rocking you up the mattress until you’re forced to press your hands against the headboard so you don’t slam against it.

He leans down over you with his flushed face and his blown pupils and snarls: “Laugh—hh—laugh again—huff huff—see what it—fuck—see what it gets you—” 

You clench harder around him and he keens embarrassingly loud. “Brat—filthy—perfect fucking—take it—it’s coming, take it—”

The knot swells fast this time and stretches you all over again to seal you around his fat, throbbing cock. He throws his head back and lets out a full-throated howl, throat bared in the low flickering light, hips grinding as he stuffs you full for the second time.

His howl is so wild and loud it swallows the sound of the storm whole, and then it frays into a groan, and the groan into your name, and your name into ragged breath as he slumps over you again, locked deep inside, still pulsing.

“Brat…” he huffs against your neck, “the whine never happened.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And neither did the howl.”

“Sure,” you snicker, patting his arm. “Whatever you say, puppy.”

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