but there it was. sat on his kitchen counter, a medium-sized red box with a tied bow of ribbon. inside laid a knife sharpener. a good one that actually costs money, not some don-quijote-dollar-store junk. there's a note tucked under it, folded once neatly. your handwriting was pretty yet unusual. rather on-brand.

your knives looked dull and i'm tired of not being able to julienne cut carrots whenever i cook here. figured i'd save you and me both from chopping a finger off. happy birthday.

you didn't sign your name, you didn't need to. it bothered him that you knew he would know who it was from. it bothered him even more when you never brought it up, sticking to the routine of never acknowledging him outside of a respectful bow whenever you bumped into each other in the itadori apartment or a rare moment in public.

you weren't infallible, though. as much as you'd want to keep your interactions with the older itadori to a minimum, sometimes fate has other ideas.

he was already half-asleep when the phone rang, and he almost let it go to voicemail until he saw the caller id.

you didn't call him. ever. not once in however long he'd known you, not for anything. yuuji was your first go-to. then the red head, he's 99% sure. following after, fushiguro's kid. hell, anyone before sukuna.

so when your name lit up his screen at a little after midnight, he was moving before he'd even answered, some part of him already knowing this wasn't nothing. your voice hit him worse than he expected. it was wobbly and scarily soft, the sound of someone trying oh-so-hard to stay calm. he'd heard that tone of voice before. a long time ago, in circumstances he didn't like thinking about.

"u-um, i'm really sorry for calling you so late. there's... there's a man following me, sukuna. i don't know what to do. i did the walking in a circle trick to make sure, and he's still a couple meters behind me, and i.." your voice trails off in a tremble.

“i'm coming. don't stop saying things, alright?" sukuna's voice rasps over the line, still deep from the slumber.

you oblige and keep blabbering to him, random stuff about your day and how your classes went. nothing to tip off the man a couple dozen steps behind you, as sukuna reminded you. he asks you to discreetly let him know where you were walking and you mention the closed-down laundromat, the one with the flickering sign. he knows exactly where that is. it's a dodgy stretch, badly lit, with no cameras.

"don't run," he says, taking the stairs two at a time instead of waiting on the elevator. "keep walking toward the main road. towards the streetlights. you hear me?" he hears you hum an "mm-hmmm" shakily.

"eyes forward. don't look back at him." sukuna's already running the red light two blocks from his building, spinning the steering wheel fast when he comes around the bend. "i'm two minutes out. you're doing good, okay? just keep talking to me. tell me something stupid. i don't care what, don't stop talking."

you ramble away, trying your best not to let your legs give out as you keep the pace steady. when you see the familiar black lexus' white leds come into view, you breathe a huge sigh of relief.

the car doesn't even fully stop before he's stepping out of it, door slammed behind him, the engine still running in the middle of the street. he's in front of you instantly, close enough to smell his spicy sandalwood cologne.

"go sit in the car." his voice is firm, in a different register entirely from the calm tone he had with you in the phone. "lock the doors. don't watch."

you don't listen. not fully, anyway. you get in the car like he says, but you don't take your eyes off him, watching through the tinted windows as he goes to face the man who's finally stopped walking, clearly recalculating the odds of the night now that there's someone the size of a bull standing between you and him.

you can't hear what sukuna says from inside the vehicle. you can see it though; with the stillness in his shoulders as he says words that send the guy one step back and then two more, eventually turning and walking fast in the other direction like he suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to be.

sukuna watches him go for a long moment before he turns back toward the car.

when he gets in, he doesn't say anything. he simply sits there a second with both hands on the wheel, jaw tight. he's deciding whether he really wants to let the creep go without a physical lesson to take home. but he knows best that you don't listen to anyone, let alone sukuna, so you were most definitely watching the interaction. he didn't want introduce you to that version of him. mindless rumors were one thing, but if you witnessed sukuna was capable of everything people said and more... well. he didn't want to know what you'd think of him then.

"you're still shaking like a fucking leaf." is what comes out instead.

you shake your head, as if to disagree with the very obvious observation. "i'm fine now, promise."

"i didn't ask if you were fine." he reaches over without looking at you and turns the heat up, aiming the vents your way. "i said you're shaking."

you don't have a response for that. you just watch him drive, only his left hand on the wheel now, eyes flicking to you at every red light. it felt like he's checking if you're still there. you would be completely correct.

you blurt a single sentence out of nowhere. "you were the first person who i thought of."

sukuna doesn't say anything to that. just nods once, short, and pulls up outside your building, and doesn't pull away until he watches you get all the way through the front door. realistically, he didn't know how to answer that, which is why he opted for the silence. he thinks about the declaration the whole drive home.

sukuna didn't expect after the incident for things between the both of you to change. it's a week later on a particularly lazy sunday where you're leaning against the breakfast counter, halfway through a rant about your e-mech professor's terrible lectures when sukuna walks in for coffee.

you don't do the usual thing of ignoring his presence. instead, you wave him toward the mug he always uses. it was clean and awaiting him by the pot of already-brewed folger's. he wordlessly moves to pour himself the cup, and it goes unnoticed by yuuji and your other friends. he takes a couple sips and leaves it there, opting to move to the couch and read a dusty magazine that hadn't been opened since the moment it was kept on the coffee table. he was trying to not to look too conspicuous that he was invested in your ramblings.

you pay no mind and yap away, hands gesturing through the story, and somewhere in the middle of it you reach over without looking and steal a sip of his abandoned coffee. like it was habitual. he swallows the cough that tries to erupt from him, burying his nose deeper in the copy of teen vogue, highly engrossed in the article titled "top five tips to elevate your makeup bag!"

half an hour later when he manages to catch a moment where the rest of them were absent from the living room, he comes up behind you like fog. you only see a pair of tattooed arms cage you in.

"that's disgusting, by the way." he says, awfully close to your ear. you smelled of lilies and vanilla ice cream. he could get high on that scent alone.

you roll your eyes. "you'll live."

you don't even try to look behind at him when you say it, already moving to push past, but he doesn't let you off that easy.

he takes the mug of cold coffee from in front of you. you instantly turn to protest that it's arguably even more disgusting to drink stale coffee, but he's already downing the drink from the same side where your lipstick mark was. his narrow eyes were looking above the rim and straight at you. his gaze made your skin grow hot.

"you're insane," you finally manage with a breathy sputter.

"you started it." he sets the mug down and finally lets you out of his makeshift confines. before you knew it you were left alone, speechless.

sukuna himself didn't know what came over him to act so boldly. you were an itch he couldn't get rid of. the sunlight that seeps through his blinds. he was so close to acting uncouth, unable to make sense of the melting pot of emotions in his mind when he thought of you. you weren't yuuji's little friend anymore. you were fucking lilies and sinful vanilla that invaded his sensibility. it was bringing out a part of him he hadn't seen since his own college days.

you've come alone to the itadori apartment on a tuesday night because yuuji begged you to drop off a textbook he left with you. to no one's surprise, yuuji's not even home because of some study group he forgot he agreed to, so it's just you; standing in sukuna's doorway with an advanced materials textbook in your arms sporting your favorite sweatshirt and snoopy pajamas combo. he was clad in a t-shirt and sweats looking like he wasn't expecting company. he more than doesn't mind that it's you.

"he's not here," he says, stepping back to let you in anyway.

"i know, he told me. i just need to drop this and go, i've got a paper due—"

"do it here." sukuna doesn't pose it as a question.

despite giving him a look and rattling off a bunch of excuses about pending chores and whatnot, you find yourself sitting at the dining table, laptop open, with a plate of dinner he had just made.

"i wasn't actually going to stay," you say, watching him move around the kitchen. "i just really like pesto linguine."

"i know." he slides a glass of water to you. "i won't bother you while you write."

you scoff. "i really doubt that, sukuna."

you end up staying for hours. yuuji texted sukuna a while back that he was staying at megumi's, which he relayed to you. you didn't want to think further on why he let you know that yuuji wouldn't be home. you were trying your best to type away at the essay, but with sukuna reading across from you it was impossibly difficult to focus. you catch him watching you instead of his book, unhurried about it, not bothering to look away when you notice.

"what?" you say, not quite steady.

"nothing." he doesn't go back to reading. "you finish that essay yet?"

"you're distracting me."

"me, distracting?" he sets the book down slowly, leaning back in the wooden chair. "this is the first time i've spoken in two hours." his chair scrapes. two steps and he’s on your side of the table. one tattooed arm plants on the surface beside your laptop. the other reaches past you and closes the lid with a quiet click. “sukuna, i—”

you bite your lip before you realize you did, the lidded look in your eyes giving him enough ammo. a big hand moves to your head, his thumb brushing the side of your neck.

“you’re too much,” his voice was rough with arousal. “every damn time. it's like you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

you don’t deny it. instead you tilt your head into his palm, calm and curious if he'd cross the line. that tiny surrender is what finally cracks him.

he kisses you like a man starved. sukuna is nothing like what your past boyfriends were. he hopes they don't even come close. his mouth ravages you, tongue sliding against yours as if he needs to taste every second he’s spent away from you. when you make a soft sound against his lips he groans into it, the noise beyond pained.

“fuck,” he mutters against your mouth, already yanking your sweatshirt up and over your head.

“you walk around here smelling like that, talking like that, looking at me like that—” his hands are everywhere at once: your waist, the curve of your breasts through the bra, the soft bit of skin just above your pajamas. “and you expect me to just sit across from you and read a fucking book?”

you let him strip you and shove away your pajamas and underwear down in one impatient motion. let him lift you onto the table with impeccable ease, pushing away your things to make room. he clips off your bra and nearly cums at the sight of your perked nipples. he is every bit the domineering figure he always is; big muscles heaving, thick fingers already sliding between your legs to feel how wet you are for him and gather the slick.

but you notice his hands shake slightly when he finds out. the almost rabid look in his eyes when you don’t look away. sukuna was reeling from how unreal the entire ordeal felt.

“you're soaked,” he breathes in awe. “you’ve been sitting across from me like this for hours.”

you reach down to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. the simple touch makes his breath stutter. he drops to his knees like the floor pulled him down, spreads your thighs wide and puts his mouth on you with zero restraint.

sukuna licks into you like he’s trying to devour the feeling itself. if you asked him, he was in utopia. his tongue operated in greedy motion, lips sealed around your clit, two thick fingers pushing inside and curling hard at the spot that made you squirm. the sounds he's making are filthy, almost frantic, like he’s the one coming undone.

you thread your fingers into his hair and hold him there, guiding. he follows every tiny shift of your hips like he’s desperate for the instruction. when your legs start to tremble he only works harder, sucking, fingering, chasing your pleasure with single-minded intensity until you come with a broken gasp of his name, thighs clamping around his head.

he doesn’t stop until you tug gently. even then, he stays on his knees a second longer, forehead pressed to your inner thigh, breathing hard, like he’s trying to get his bearings. “good,” he mutters. “that’s one.”

when he stands again, his sweatpants are already shoved down. you make an audible gulp he chuckles at. he’s big and thick, already leaking precum that makes you eager for what his actual cum looks like. he steps between your legs, rubbing at the entrance, making you whine.

"be patient." he murmurs, eyes trained on your wetness mixing with his. sukuna wanted nothing more than to sink into you, but he was too drunk on your juices to not savor the sight before him.

when he does push forward, the sound that leaves him is almost a growl.

“god, you feel so—” he cuts himself off, burying his face in your neck as he starts to move, slow and deep. the table creaks under the force of him. you can feel he's getting impossibly bigger inside you.

sukuna fucks you like the pressure cooker of emotions exploded and his body can't restrain any further. the pace picks up fast, every stroke carrying the weight of months of wanting you, of not understanding why a paradoxical girl like you has him this wrecked.

you wrap your legs around his waist and meet every thrust. your hands slide up his back, pink nails dragging a path of angry red lines, pushing him to hit inside you harder. the way he shudders under the touch tells you everything.

physically sukuna may be in complete control: pinning you, filling you, setting a growing velocity that has you gasping. but mentally, you owned every inch of him. you feel it in the way he chases the soft sounds you make, how he softens the second you lay kisses on his skin, when his rhythm stutters when you breathe his name on the shell of his ear.

“look at me,” you murmur.

he does, immediately. sukuna's eyes were dark and a little wild, pupils blown. his face was flushed a light red and sweat beaded on the surface. the second your gaze holds his, he groans like it hurts, hips snapping harder.

you come again with him watching, pussy tightening around him in pulsing waves. the feeling rips the last of his control. he buries himself to the hilt and follows with a broken sound against your mouth, spilling deep, body trembling through it like the release is almost too much.

his hands have gentled on your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles. he’s still inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hoarsely. "i haven't acted this unhinged since i was twenty."

you brush a strand of pink hair off his forehead fondly and watch the way the simple touch makes his eyes flutter shut for a second. “i must give you real big feelings, huh?”

sukuna’s laugh rumbles, a little helpless. he turns his head just enough to press a kiss in your hair. “you have no idea.”

this was fully written with big feelings by ariana grande on loop for more than two whole hours. proof ⤵

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© sozila 2026, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posts on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

It doesn’t matter where the group is—the beach, a club, a simple hang out—somehow, Katsuki gravitates, slowly drifting across the space until he’s by your side for the rest of the night like a semi-annoying moon.

You two aren’t…dating (yet), but you have crossed a line: kissed. A quick make-out session in the shadows, light petting in a club when no one’s looking. Obviously, a conversation needs to be had, but you’re not starting it.

It isn’t him that catches your attention, but the sound of your vest powering down for the first time during the game. It’s a depressing sound, a mechanical splat. You turn around to see Katsuki, hair haloed by black lights.

“Thought you were slick, huh?”

Despite your compromised state, you lift and pull the trigger on your gun. It doesn’t do anything, obviously, other than make Katsuki snort.

“I was until you shot me,” you huff, ever a sore loser. Katsuki presses closer in flickering orange. “There goes my streak.”

“Your streak ain’t nothin’ to brag about if you’re hidin’, Princess.” He pockets his gun, still encroaching.

“A streak is always something to brag about.”

Your vest whirrs back to life, and you scramble for your gun, only for him to beat you to it. It powers off again, and you groan. “Ugh, you suck!”

Katsuki just snickers, clearly having more fun messing with you than winning the game. Which is a little crazy—he’s always prioritized winning over everything, even when winning doesn’t really matter.

“You’re shit at this.”

He’s close, now. Close enough that you know his skin is a little tacky from sweat, and you can feel his breath along your lips. You puff.

“You’re shooting me at point blank. I don’t wanna hear it, Katsuki.”

He tries to stifle a growl by clearing his throat, but you still hear it on the way down.

“Say it again.”

“Huh?” Your eyebrows furrow, but unsure if he can see them, you give a little more context than necessary. With a little laugh, you say, “That you shot me at point blank?”

“No,” Katsuki’s hands find your waist under your vest. It powers back on, but suddenly, neither of you care very much. He knocks his forehead into yours, so close you can hear his chest rumble with his voice, even through the equipment. “My name.”

Oh.

“…Katsuki?”

He kisses you. Hard.

Hard enough that the back of your head knocks into the wall. And Katsuki, who’s always been better at apologizing through actions than words, places a hand behind your head and caresses it. He tastes sweet—for some reason, he always does—and you whimper a little, wrapping arms around his neck.

“You look kinda good like this,” he mutters as kisses fall from your lips to your jaw. You giggle.

“In a laser tag vest?”

“Nah,” he says, and bites into your neck. You slam your lips together before you can make another sound, even with EDM pounding through the room. “Hot and sweaty and mad at me.”

“If you want me to bully you, just say that,” and, Katsuki pushes you flush against the wall. You were already close enough—but now, his body presses you into it, heavy with want and infused with something new. Then, he crosses another line, and rolls his hips forward.

“Oh,” you breathe, and position your hands against his shoulders for leverage. Katsuki gives up on kissing your neck to let out a heavy sigh, uncaring about all the clunky plastic in the way.

“I don’t like when you bully me,” Katsuki says, voice low and heady, “I like watchin’ you try, though.”

“Fuck you,” you glare, but the bite is long gone. Left at the door, actually.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he huffs a laugh, body grinding heavy in a steady rhythm. A blink, then he has your leg in a palm and wraps it tight around his waist, pulling your hips closer to him and tilting your body at an angle. You don’t feel like you’re going to fall, so you let it happen. “Don’t tempt me, Baby. I’ll take your pants off and fuck you right here.”

He won’t. You know he won’t, but that doesn’t stop you from keening, or melting, or tugging him tighter. Katsuki chuckles at your reaction, but it’s breathless and half-assed.

“Bet you’d like showin’ everybody how good I can make you feel,” his words trail off into a moan, and the hands around your thigh and waist tighten.

“Kats—”

Katsuki takes your other leg and lifts it—thankfully, your arms are already around his neck. He shoves your back into the wall until it rattles, his slow and weighted pace never failing. You hear a scream that sounds like it’s coming from your base, and only have a moment to hope it’s a scream of success before you feel his cock catch against your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. Katsuki growls at the little noises you make, spurring him further, harder, faster. The image is lewd within itself, and you can only pray no one will get creative enough to check behind the slide.

“God, Baby, you feel too good,” Katsuki pants into your ear, and the timbre of his voice makes you shiver. “I can’t—y’gotta let me fuck you.”

You laugh, but it’s useless. “Right now?”

“Fuckin’—no, not right now,” he growls. “Later. Lemme give you your birthday present, Baby.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Cheesy.”

“Y’like it,” Katsuki says, arrogant and callous and relatively uncaring. “C’mon, lemme—”

"Players, please return to the armory! The game is over."

It isn’t until the lights turn back on that you understand how wrecked Katsuki is.

His face is flushed a deep red, lips pink and swollen, and hair a mess (your fault). He looks at you with something wild, eyes trying to memorize everything and nothing, all while you’re still precariously perched between him and the wall. Katsuki takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before he gently sets you back on your feet. Then, he adjusts his pants.

“Later,” he says, a promise. Before he steps out, he takes one final look at you, licking his lips as a fire flashes behind his eyes. It’s gone as quick as it came. “And fix your shirt. Your tits are out.”

You look down. Your tits are, in fact, out.

You cover yourself with an embarrassed quickness, swiftly trying to fix yourself until you don’t look like you just got dry-humped to hell against a wall. Hopefully.

“Later,” you nod, and follow him out.

© mamashima/pumaya. do not edit, translate or copy my work without my permission. do not use for ai. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

“you’re real pretty,” he admits out loud, crimson locks drifting down your body to rest between your legs. large hands pry them open, getting a good look at the mess growing between them, pointed teeth grinning when your lips squelch into the uncomfortable silence, “know i’ll take good care of you, right?”

“yes but—” you squeak, hiding your face between your hands, staring at him through the gaps between your fingertips, “a-are you going to fuck me?”

the question catches kirishima off guard, vermillion irises staring up at you between the valley of your bare tits, nipples pebbling under his gaze.

he’d been growing antsy waiting to finally get the chance to fuck you. it wasn’t like him to be this patient with a girl, especially when fans threw themselves at him left and right any chance they got, yet you were different.

as equally shy as you were eager, he knew it wasn’t a matter of if, but when, and tonight sounded perfect.

“wha…” he trails off, nibbling at the skin at the soft flesh that connects your mound to your inner thigh, using it to shield the pure look of disbelief on his heated cheeks.

there’s no way he could possibly stuff you with his cock anytime soon. what a shame. “no, not tonight,” he sighs, watching the way your cunt pulsates so close to his face, the arousal making his tastebuds salivate.

kirishima’s jumping cock twitches in his pants at the idea of fucking you though, splitting you down the middle with his monstrous girth, imagining the pure look of horror plastered on your face as you’d tear up all nice and pretty for him—he’d make sure to kiss the pain away, gently cooing wordless praises at you until he’s stuffing you full.

not tonight.

not yet.

he slides your lace panties down with ease, a delicate string of wetness clinging to the fabric of the soaked gusset. he can fully smell you now, lungs filling with air as he takes a big whiff of your cunt, knees nearly buckling to the ground.

your thighs close on command, knees squeezing the sides of his ears, “quit hiding pretty,” kirishima mumbles, leaning backwards to spread you wide open, placing a kiss to each of your ankles.

his hand toys with the flimsy garment once protecting your cunt, fingers swiping over the lace fabric you surely picked out for him and humming, popping it into his pocket to add to his collection.

kirishima is strong enough to hold himself back from desecrating the darling picture painted for him, veins bulging in his arms as he gets nice and comfortable between your legs. his mouth ghosts up the flesh until he’s practically pressin’ into you, lust drunken eyes looking up for permission.

your shy nod of approval is all he needs to place a fat kiss to your clit, letting the wetness stick to him like glue before flattening his tongue, swiping it up your slit.

“fuckkkk,” his hips buck into the mattress, mouth continuing to devour you like a man starved, voice growling into your cunt, “she’s real fucking sweet, baby.”

it’s slow, meticulous. watching for your reaction whist his tongue dissolves your brain from processing any memory stored inside, every thought consuming your body being ones of him.

“eijiro!”

his mouth dances over your wet heat, every kitten lick through your glistening folds creating a determined promise held between the two of you, each moan slipping past your lips only encouraging him to figure out what makes you fall apart.

your hands find purchase on your tits, unsure what to hold on to as they aimlessly rummage around, squeezing at the flesh and letting them shakily fall to the sheets. kirishima finds your hands, pressing them into his head roughly, nodding up at you to pull.

“feels so good!” you’re yelping, fingers rolling and ripping the hair on his scalp, the burn forcing a feverish grunt out of his chest, hips rolling into the mattress.

the pathetic little moans that spill from your lips urge him on, tongue drifting lower and lower until he’s circling your hole, lips murmuring into the sticky skin, “you want more?”

he doesn’t wait for an answer, groaning once the band inside of your elastic hole presses against him as if it’s rejecting him. kirishima doesn’t let it, flicking it deep inside until he’s feeling your velvet relax around him, wetness slipping around his tongue.

his pink muscle pistons in and out of your crying hole, moaning at how your walls can barely take him. his nose juts into your clit, the button perfectly rubbing into yours just soft enough you keen.

“i- i’m— i don’t—slow down!” screaming, its hard to keep quiet as the waves of pleasure soar down your spine, core boiling with a feeling you’ve become unsure of.

but kirishima can’t stop. not now.

he nuzzles his face deeper, cheeks utterly soaked by your essence. his tongue curls upwards, nose smudging your bundle of nerves just right, causing your thighs to clamp down hard, squeezing him tight.

“oh! eijiro! oh my god!”

fucking you head first into your high and eating your pussy like he’s proving himself to you, wild tongue collecting ever last drop of wetness from your hole. he’s slowly stripping you of your virginity one layer at a time, claiming the title to hold it above your head until your back in his sheets again and again, an invisible string of lust created between the two of you.

unkept and raw, he feels you come undone, a delicate crescendo babbling out of your now raspy voice, slurring incoherent nonsense that makes him grin, knowing kirishima has permanently ruined you for the rest.

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